Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

Gamemaker Assessments: Districts Seven to Twelve

By the time Dalton's name is called, the Gamemakers are more than a little affected by the amount of wine they've consumed in a relatively short time. One of them even goes as far as to stand and clumsily imitate the stiff little bow that he does. Dalton feels nothing but disgust for the drunken men and women, but he can't let it show, not now. There's too much riding on the next few minutes for him to be mouthing of sarcastically like he wishes he could. He turns away, ignoring the snorts from a few of the Gamemakers.

His sharp eyes pick out the holes that mark the wall; it's obvious that someone has been hurling knives around. Someone strong, by the look of those marks. He was going to do that, but let them wait and see what he could really do once he arrived in the arena. Instead, he heads over to the mass of weight lifting equipment. It's not his strong point, but he's good enough to be a little impressive. Last night, his mentor had counselled him to be good, but not as good as the Careers. That way he wouldn't be seen as weak, but they might think twice before going after him.

After a few minutes of lifting, he hears a bored sounding voice echo around the room; "Are you still not done? Get on with it, will you?"

In that second, Dalton's concentration snaps and for a moment he struggles to lift the bar and weights back up into the supports. He just hopes that he's done enough to earn more than a six or a seven. Any less than that, his mentor had said, and he can kiss any hope of sponsorship goodbye.

Jolie flicks her bangs nervously as she enters, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She doesn't even get an acknowledgement from the Gamemakers, who are busy discussing the latest bottle of wine that they are drinking. Five years old, from the really good crop that came out of Eleven; perfectly matured. Unlike the Gamemakers themselves. One of the Avox circling the group with trays of breads and fruit shoots her an almost sympathetic look. Jolie isn't sure what to do and stands there for a moment, her hands twisting over each other. She wants them to be paying attention, so they don't miss a single moment, but at the moment they're more interested in the food. One of the Gamemakers notices her and lets out a loud huff of annoyance.

"Well, hurry up love, we haven't got all afternoon," she snaps, her voice slightly slurred from the wine. Jolie jumps and scurries over to the weapons rack, grabbing the first weapon she sees. It's a short sword, not too heavy, and it actually feels comfortable in her shaking hand. Weapons hadn't been her strong point in training, Jolie had found her strength lay in agility and camouflage, but she figures she can put on a good enough show to get through this.

The sword bounces of the dummy on the first couple of slashes, but Jolie grits her teeth, ignores the laughter from the balcony behind her, and goes in for another attack, the blade slicing the fabric open this time, much to her satisfaction. The attack is rough, and lacks any form of real skill, but she persists until the dummy collapses to the ground, stuffing spewing from the numerous slashes and rips in its skin.

She doesn't bother to wait for the Gamemakers to dismiss her when she leaves. She might be dead tomorrow and she isn't going to spend any more of her life bowing and scraping to the orchestrators of it.

"I'll need the wrestling instructor", Sokka announces, by way of an introduction. His abrupt demand sends the Gamemakers into a huddle, brows knitting and fingers pointing in all directions. Sokka can't tell if they've reached a resolution when the door opens and Garth, the burly blonde instructor enters. He ignores the Gamemakers, and motions for Sokka to come at him. The District Eight tribute doesn't hesitate, closing with the older man at an astonishing speed. They grapple with each other for a few minutes, neither willing to submit. Twice it looks like Garth has Sokka pinned, but somehow the tall boy manages to twist out of his grasp, and the struggle resumes. Even the inebriated Gamemakers have stopped their drinking to watch the match. A few start to consider betting on it.