Let The Flames Begin.. [Semp, Matt, Luna, Geebs?]

[Skylar]

Hilderic Ekon

Sleep, it didn't come for me. In fact, it hadn't since the day my name was called from the Mayor of my District. No matter how much time I tried to spend doing just that, it hadn't, and wouldn't come.

The ceiling of my room was blue, a royal sky blue, without an obstruction in the construction of it. Smooth, and flowing, like water. My eyes seemed to get lost in it, and it was no surprise to me that they were. You see, I had been lying on my back for the latter of the time I were to be sleeping, except, it hadn't and didn't come. Only in small, little cat naps would they comfort me, rid me of the evil thoughts that would run through my head as I thought of the Arena. Blood, death, betrayal. The three things that I hoped would be with me the least in there, even though I knew it was impossible for such a thing to happen. There would be blood, there would be death, and there would be betrayal.

The small, electronic clock next to me let out a small beep, alerting me that Training was now open. I slipped off of my bed, butterflies already gathering in my stomach, and placed some Capitol supplied clothes on me. First the pants, then the shirt. It was hard even now to keep my head straight. As I slipped on the shoes I would be wearing for the day, I didn't even look in the mirror before heading out the door. It no longer mattered how I looked, and it no longer mattered what people thought of me anyway. I was either going to die, or survive by others dying, and I don't think it would matter how I looked when either of these things occurred, now would it?

* * *

The Training Room was empty, empty except for those that were helping us Train, and the two other Tributes that had already arrived. They would be dead soon, I thought to myself. Hopefully I was right. As bad as it sounded, and was, I wanted those people dead. I didn't know them, and I didn't care. They would need to be dead soon. One of them was the Male Tribute from District 2, whom I remember seeing on the television. A Career. The other was the Male Tribute from District 11, who volunteered. I had respect for this boy, even though, deep down, I wished he were dead.

I forced myself a bit deeper into the room. It was unusually cold. Either that, or I just was being a pessimist already.

The usual stations were there. Blades, target practice, shelter. Things like that, but the one thing that stood out to me was the huge pile of wood at one of the stations. Fire. I needed this skill, it would be life or death to me if I didn't have it or if I did, and I knew this was where I needed to be.

Fire.

[Prince Inigo]

Papero Hitomiya

The first station wanting to be attended was of the fire-making class. Purification of water and poisons were to be needed or desired, in case if the Arena was scarce of supply. Still, light-brown eyes hid away the man's disinterest in training at all. He knew his place in the world.

A tanned hand played with the identification stapled on his shirt, then stopped. He walked over to the station, hearing the cackles of flames, and attempted to smile and be well-mannered. His voice, coming out a mixture of elegance and deep assertiveness, asked the trainer if it was okay for him to attend to the practice. Given a nod, the tanned man bowed and started his own wooden pile with no hesitation. He picked up a pinch of flint and repeatedly struck against the rocks as per the instructor's oral protocol.

[Skylar]

As I made my way to the station, the volunteer from District 11 made his way to the same station. A not-so-appropriate word slipped out of my mouth, but overall, I remained calm.

As I sat down, I couldn't help but stare at my opponent. Brown eyes. Brown eyes were one of the few things that I didn't like, just because the color brown was dark, and dark colors to me represented death, and death was the one thing I was trying to stay away from.

The Instructor let out a few words before allowing fire-making to begin, in which I grabbed a bar of flint and a striker to start with, and after that I grabbed a handful of Birch bark, which was located in a labeled tub.

The table I sat at had small little squares sectioned off for making fire. The squares were made out of a type of rock, and I thought it clever.

I placed the handful of bark on the square and started to strike the small, cylindrical bar of flint, directing the sparks toward the wood. Embarrassment flooded my face though, because absolutely nothing came off of the flint bar. But I refused to let it show, and one more strike, with double the force, caused sparks to fly onto the bark and light up the wood immediately. So fast in fact, that it burnt my hand, in which I pulled back off of instinct and sent the bar of flint and striker flying behind me.

Oops.

[Prince Inigo]

Each time the tanned man struck, little glowing sparks produced. The little fire children would snuggle their way into the flint-and-wood pile, but they would not cry a burn. The flint rocks kept striking, calm but wishing dearly for the practice to be over with.

During the matter, the Tribute from District 8 slipped his way in. The District 11 Tribute shot a look of reassurance, a smile full of acceptance. It was a short attempt to make a bond with a peer.

The 18-year old heard the crackles and turned to the sound's origin. His rose his hands, about to clap congratulations, until he caught the burning of the Tribute's hand and the flinging of the fire-starting supplies. He suppressed a laugh as he said to the Instructor, "Dear Sir, may you bring the emergency kit immediately? The young man has damaged his hand badly, I believe."

He turned to the Tribute. "Are you alright, Sir? Do you need any more help?"

[Skylar]

"Don't,please, don't call me sir. I'm not that old, Mr. Volunteer." I believed the boy didn't know the severity of
my hand, because truly, it wasn't that bad. I had had way worse things happen to me back home with Laura, including a whole vat of boiling water falling on me. It really wasn't that bad, maybe a small blister would form on my hand, but that was it. Really, I could use some pain.

I gave a small smile to the boy, as much as I disliked him. There really wasn't any reason to, I just did. But, letting out a sigh, I figured some conversation couldn't hurt. And so, I slipped a little further down the table, but not prior to putting out the fire I had created.

I now sat in front of the boy, and in my hands were a new bar of flint and a striker, and on the square in front of me was now a type of hay. A small, clear of the throat and words spilled out of my soft pink lips.

"Might as well get to know you. Your name? What is it?"

[Prince Inigo]

The District 11 Tribute made no attempt to speak until he was addressed. "It's Papero Hitomiya. May I ask for your name, so I have something to go by?" His eyes fixed onto the new flint and pile the District 8 Tribute was starting. "I think it would be wise to wait practicing until your hand is tended to."

He struck against his flint stones again. The desire to get the practice over with was astronomical. "I do hope the medic will arrive soon." Smoke was escaping from the heart of his pile. Papero supplied breaths of life within, seeing the yellow glow radiate as he provided oxygen.

[Skylar]

"It really isn't that bad. Truly. There isn't any need for a medic, I've suffered way worse, Papero." I let out a small chuckle at the name. Papero, seriously? What were his parents thinking? I had no idea, but I didn't really care.

"Oh, and it's fine, I don't think it's really going to make a difference if I started another fire right now or not."

As I said this, I continued to work on my fire, finally getting somewhere without something embarrassing and damaging happening. As the cool, small flow of air entered my mouth and onto the hay that sat in front of me, burning, a sense of accomplishment rushed over me. In fact, it was the first good thing that I had done since I'd arrived in the Capitol, other than practicing good etiquette while eating.

"Well, seems like I'm not too bad of a fire starter after all."

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[Prince Inigo]

Papero clapped at the District 8's effort, smiling. "My congratulations to your fast learning capabilities." He looked down at his own, smoking and barely having enough fire children to set ablaze. A frown set on his face as he kept making friction between his rocks. "I really do congratulate you. I can't get my blasted thing to set fire."

He kept calm about the situation. District 11 would never think about setting fire to plants and crops. The whole procedure was new to him.

Sparks flew into the wood. He could hear a crackle underneath the bed. Papero decided to blow more oxygen into it, being gentle and motherly about his wind initially. Eventually the fire rose out to hug him and his hair, but he kindly went back and sat erect. "Phew. I finally got it. It's not so bad after all."

[Skylar]

Combat for the District 8 male tribute was something that never came naturally to him. It was just something that never had. In a sense, it never really occurred to him that he'd ever need it. That is, until he arrived at the Capitol. In fact, until the first syllable of his first name slipped out of that Mayor's mouth that sat back at District 8, not even fretting about the two lives that he'd sent to the Capitol to be killed, it hadn't. In District 8, nobody was anybody's enemy, and everyone was everyone's friend. At least to Hilderic that's how it was. No one was his own personal enemy, and no one ever wanted to fight him, or even hurt him in that matter, which lead to the fact that combat wasn't something that was important. In fact, it didn't really even belong in his vocabulary, but that all changes when we go back to the Reaping. The dreaded day where tears were shed, goodbyes were given, and prayers were prayed for the District 8 Male Tribute of the 55th Hunger Games. That's when everything changed, and his worst nightmare became a reality.

Death.

Inside he knew he would die, but also inside did he know he would live. He would die emotionally, as he sat and watched his friends, his allies, die. But you see, he would live physically, as he sat and killed himself emotionally by killing physically his enemies. The times where combat would be a factor.

So now, as he sat dumbfounded, eying the fire that sat ablaze, he realized that fire could come later. Because for now, combat was on his mind, and combat was what he would get. But this is no Hand-to-Hand combat. It was a different type, including dummies and arrows. Yes, target practice. The thing is, Hilderic already had a sense of Hand-to-Hand combat, such as fighting with friends playfully and watching others fight, but the one type of combat he knew absolutely nothing about was the kind with the weapons. And since he wished to stay the furthest from his enemies while fighting as possible, Archery seemed like the best bet, and so, with that, he carefully snugged out his fire with a small splash of water, and said a few words to his newly found friend, or enemy, or ally, or whatever you wished to call him.

"So, Papero, since I think I've had enough of blowing on wood and seeing flames dance about, I think I'm soon going to skedaddle over to the Archery, as I have absolutely no education when it comes to weapons, and I think it's pretty important that I do, don'tcha think?"

And with that, Hilder let out a small smile and escaped from his seat, shuffling his feet across the floor of the heavy, concrete ground that lined the Training Center, and started towards the other side.

[Prince Inigo]

Papero watched as the District 8 Tribute drowned the fruit of his labors and went off, with a smile, to the Archery station's general direction. Brown eyes flitted down to the newly-made fire, pondering his choices. The Tribute had gotten the gist of the fire-making protocol, but he did not think it was good enough. Standing, he struck his rocks towards a thrown-together pile of wood and flint in the next station. Surprisingly, it blazed immediately, almost like magic.

District 11's Tribute doused the pile and walked out in a daze yet strutted his normal way. It took him only a moment to locate the Tribute from before, hastening his pace. "I am done with that activity and spent most of my energy in it. May I watch your performance, Mr. District 8 Tribute?" Papero never did catch his name.

[semper]

Semper Capone

Death.

Each time the word echoed through Semper's head, it caused a cold shiver to run down his spine. He didn't have a fear of dying -- it was just the part of what was after death. Back when his mother was alive, she would always tell him and his siblings stories about God; something about a religion that had faded from most memories. She had said that every person that dies either goes up to live with God in paradise, or else suffers eternal agony. All of this baffled Semper's mind, but it gave him a strong sense of hope that even if he did die (and he knew he most likely would) in the Games -- or anyone else that died during the time -- would be taken up into paradise if they were good on Earth. However, the more he thought about it, the more confused he became, so he pushed that thought to the back of his mind, figuring he'd dwell over that later.

As he made his way down to the Training Center, his shirt was itching him terribly. 'Darn Capitol clothes....' He thought, giving a quiet grunt. 'It ain't like the worn-out cotton shirts I'm used t'.' Instead of trying to scratch at the shirt, he took his mind off it by fiddling with his token that hung around his neck; a much better way to put his mind at ease.

Opening the doors to the Training Center, Semper was surprised at what he saw. All the other Tributes -- within a few days, they'd be the ones to hunt him down. Some of them would die the first day, but some wouldn't, and then they'd be the major threats. 'I can't kill none of 'em.... they're all people, jus' like m'. How can I kill 'em?' He shook his head, taking his hand off his token and rubbing his temple briefly and running his calloused fingers through his blonde hair. Looking around, the half-blind boy figured that it'd be best to visit a station that hardly anyone was at; and going by that standard, he noticed that the archery table only had two people. Giving one last glance around, he then headed over towards the archery area.

When he reached the archery station, the last thing on his mind was communicating to the other two. For all he knew, they were to be his future murderers. The thought sent another cold shiver down his side. Picking up an arrow from another box that wasn't being used, he weighed it in his hands, being sure to turn so that his blind side wasn't towards the other two Tributes.

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[Skylar]

As I traveled on, I noticed the magnitude of people that had arrived since I had first got here. There were all the careers, and there were people like me. Who came from Districts where this wasn't a fun thing. Where it wasn't worth celebrating over, but who cares? I couldn't change what had happened, and I wasn't going to try.

I quickly grabbed a bow and stepped forward towards the target. I needed to get started and fast, before the giant that had just entered the Training Center comes and eats me.

[[ooc: sorry... ProBoards ate my post and I got mad so I just slopped this down really quick. My next post will be better. Muuuuccchhh better. And muuuuuuuccchhhh longer.

[Prince Inigo]

Papero took the silence as an appropriate approval. With the mental and emotional stress siphoned by the fire-making station and his fires, he leaned against the wall with proper etiquette. Lightly-toasted eyes gazed with both observation and laziness but mixed with respect. From the corner of his vision, Papero identified a rather tall character making way to the archery station.

He was feeling bold. District 11's Tribute did not mind striking up a conversation. Knowledge existed knowing a rule that a brawl between ladies, gentlemen, or even a lady and gentleman was unacceptable prior to the Hunger Game's beginning.

"Good morning to you, Sir," he called to the newcomer. "How was the sleep last night? Mine was just riveting."

[semper]

As he stood there with the arrow in his hand, Semper occasionally glanced back over at the District 8 and District 11 male tributes. He couldn't help but notice how quickly the one boy picked up the bow, and it unsettled him slightly.

"Y' don't gotta hurry or anythin'. I ain't lookin' t' use a bow.... jus' lookin' at this arrow is all I'm doin'...."

Despite his massive height, his voice made it obvious that he really wouldn't have wanted to speak, but he didn't want the other boy to rush his training. Turning the arrow over, he gripped it with one hand while he stroked the feathered end with his fingers, looking back up at the two other Tributes.

"Good morning to you, Sir. How was the sleep last night? Mine was just riveting."

For a moment Semper didn't answer, only because he didn't know that the District 11 Tribute was talking to him. After a few moments of silence, though, the half-blind boy realized that no one had answered, so he raised his gaze from the arrow.

"M' sleep last night? Well..... it certainly wasn't pleasant, that's for sure. I kept havin' nightmares."

He answered, his voice trailing off towards the end. Nightmare after nightmare had plagued his mind during the night; some simply horrifying, and others absolutely gory. He unintentionally gripped the arrow shaft tighter, his knuckles turning white until he realized what he was doing and loosened his grip.

[Matt]

Carex Julian

I look out the window, at District 7 rolling away faster than I ever hoped it would. I realize now I had made the biggest mistake of my life volunteering for the Games. I am reminded of this by the makeshift axe necklace that my father had given me the day of the Reaping. He told me my mother had made it for me before Piper was born, before she died. I was too young to be a lumberjack, so she made it for me to play with. My dad converted it into a necklace, and I am proud to wear it as a district token. I clutch the axe in my hand, fighting tears as my grip tightens.

My father. I am all he has left, and I just left him to be all alone. At first, I thought the Games would be a way to end the constant loop of everyday District 7 life, but now I realize what a death trap it truly is. I am more determined to win now, because if I fail, my father's life as well as mine may be destroyed by the cruelty of the Capitol.

I look beside me, where Ree sits in silence. There is nothing more I want to do than to talk to her, to have a certain ally for the Games. But I can't form words. I am still in shock of what's happening, and I'm sure she is too. So we sit in silence the rest of the way to the enormous city known as the Capitol.

----------------------

I am clueless as to what I need to start with as I arrive at the training center. I see two boys at the fire making station, and decide to venture over there. I mean, fire would be very useful in the Games. As I reach the station, the boys leave and go to the archery station. Great. I listen to the instructor, alone, and slowly but surely start a fire. After nearly mastering the fire, I go to the archery station to confront the boys, even though I have no real desire to train here. By that time, a third boy shows up. I approach the District 11 volunteer first, as I know we have at least one thing in common. "Good morning." I spit out, as it was the only thing that came to mind for starting a conversation. This morning wasn't good, in fact, and no morning wqould until I returned to my father. "I'm Carex."I say, extending my hand to greet him.