Hellooooooo! Here it is! Day 3! The Individual Assessment! 

What does Scarlet have planned? 

Let me send up a little prayer in advance... 

Please let Scarlet Wolfe keep her temper... Oh please, let her keep her head.

As always, I look forward to hearing what you liked, what you didn't like, or what would/could make it so much better. Thank you again for all your support! 

Remember to vote on your favorite chapters!

Take care and stay safe! ~CANGEL

***

Scarlet Wolfe

     For the Individual Training Assessment, Scarlet was dressed in black, form fitting pants that stopped just below the knee. She wore a white, thick-strapped tank top that had a built-in tight bra underneath. The entire outfit was specifically designed by Cassandra to add curves to her body, that at twelve years old, she just didn't have.

     "We have to make them forget that you're twelve."

     "But I am twelve." Scarlet grouched at her stylist as she stood in the bathroom underneath the extra bright lights that Scarlet hadn't even known existed until Cassandra walked in here and flicked them on twenty minutes prior.

     "Twelve-year-olds never win." Cassandra responded, pulling down on one of Scarlet's eyelids as she touched up what she had already done. Scarlet didn't understand why any make-up was necessary. Scarlet was going to go be in there by herself today. Fighting and sweating and proving how deadly she could be. It wasn't as if the Gamemaker's would give her a higher score because she looked pretty. Chances are, she'd look like a mess when she left anyways.

     "Don't pout, you'll create lines." Cassandra said, lightly flicking the space between Scarlet's eyebrows.

     Scarlet dropped her arms down and glared at her stylist with her one free eye.

     "I'll be the first one to win." Scarlet said firmly. It didn't matter to her that there had never been a twelve-year-old, or if no one thought a twelve-year-old could win. She would prove them wrong.

     "Maybe." Cassandra said.

     Their eyes met for a moment, and Cassandra's face softened as she let go of Scarlet's one eye. She resisted the urge to rub her eye as her vision blurred. Instead, she blinked rapidly for a few seconds until her vision cleared. Her stylist pinched Scarlet's chin. "I want you to win, Scarlet. You're my first tribute. And I actually kind of like you." Cassandra gave her a wry grin. "Just a little bit though." 

     Scarlet smirked at her. She would never say it out loud, but Scarlet found herself liking her sharp-tongued and keen-eyed stylist as well. 

      Cassandra continued, her smile fading from her face and her eyes growing serious, "the first one to accomplish anything is always met with backlash, Scarlet. They always suffer the most. Especially here in the Capitol. A twelve-year-old winning would give people hope. And Panem only survives if all hope is lost. Even if you win, would you really even win?"

     Her eyes widened as she met Cassandra's dark brown eyes. Scarlet had never listened to words like hers before. Panem only survives if all hope is lost.

     Were those treasonous words? They were certainly daring. Bold. And honest. But were they also treasonous?

     Even if you win, would you really even win?

     Maybe that was true. Maybe it wasn't. But what choice did Scarlet have?

     Die?

     No.

     Never.

     Cassandra finished her make up in silence while Scarlet considered the words that rattled around the inside of her brain, refusing to fade away.

     When she was finished, Cassandra tied Scarlet's long black hair up into a tight bun on top of her head to keep it out of her face.

     Cassandra looked at her in the mirror. "For the Arena, we should braid your hair. You'll want it out of the way while you're in there."

     "Okay." Scarlet said with a nod, only half focused on the suggestion.

     As Cassandra readied to leave, Scarlet stopped her, grabbing her wrist. Cassandra turned back, raising a brow in question. She is so tall that Scarlet had to crane her neck back to see her face with them standing so close together.

     "There are only two choices once you become a tribute for the Hunger Games. Fight to live or give up and die." Scarlet told her. "Maybe you can't understand that, as it has never been your reality, but it is mine."

      Cassandra's lips tighten and her normally smooth brow furrows.

     "I will never stop fighting, Cassandra." Scarlet said resolutely. She could never stop fighting to live. The desperation to survive at any cost was so deeply engrained in her—and in Crimson. It wasn't a choice and conscious thought—it just was.

    Cassandra's lips turn upwards, though her dark brown eyes remain saddened.

    "Then I won't stop helping you, Scarlet Wolfe."

***

     Scarlet sat back in the hard metal chair with one of her knees pulled up against her chest. She played with a small hole she'd accidentally ripped in the material of her pants on the way down.

     Since they were seated in the same assigned seats that they had been at the beginning of the first day of training, Crimson sat next to her. He had not said a word to her since yesterday morning. He had hardly looked at her since she had pulled that stunt in front of the Gamemaker's and the Careers.

     Even when she had asked about the bruising around his neck, he had simply shrugged her off and headed to his room for the night, choosing to eat his meal in there instead of in the dining room.

     If wasn't as if she had expected a different reaction from him. She had known that he would be infuriated with her the moment she succeeded. But she also knew that if anyone understood her actions it would be him—even if he hated her for them.

     If their roles had been reversed, he would have done the same thing to her, the only difference was that she would have expected it from him, and he had not expected her to be able to ruin his alliance. He hadn't anticipated her action and stopped her. And that was likely what he was most upset about.

     She glanced at Crimson, his jaw locked in place, his gaze fixed on the glass wall in front of them. The silence between them was thick, near suffocating, but instead of trying to break it, she embraced it. Even with her brother's silent ire sitting next to her, she didn't regret her actions yesterday. Scarlet planned to win the Hunger Games.

     Boredom gnawed at her insides as she turned away from her brother. The glass wall that they could normally see though had some sort of barrier in place now. It still looked like regular glass, and she would swear that she could see the inside of the Training Center, but once the doors closed behind each tribute disappeared, the room beyond the glass remaining completely empty.

     The order of the tributes' assessment went in ascending order, starting with District 1. The male tributes each went first and then the female tributes. District 14 would go after each of the other Districts went, and Scarlet would be the very last tribute to be assessed.

     As each of the tributes from District's 1 and 2 made their way into the Training Center, they were filled with confidence. Each of them had left the Training Center with equal or more confidence than they had entered with, twenty minutes later. District 4 also seemed confident in their abilities as they walked into the Training Center.

     Tension hung in the air between District 4 and the Careers, however District 4 had seemed content to completely ignore them. She didn't think that Crimson had repaired the alliance, but she wondered how he was fairing stuck between the two groups and if it was one of them that had been the cause of the faded bruises around her brother's neck.

     As Scarlet waited, she considered what she would do once in there. Most of the doubt would come from her size. She had to show them that she could hold her own in a fight and pair it with her ability to use the throwing blades.

     Her goal was to score at least an 8, but she wanted a 9. She wanted to pull a higher score than Finnick. Afterall, how could she claim that she would do better than him inside the Arena, when she hadn't outperformed him outside of it.

     She hoped that her show yesterday would still be held in their minds. So many of the Gamemaker's had seemed impressed with her showing, but she also knew that many of the tributes—especially the careers and likely District 4 would be equally impressive.

     A low score would hurt her interview strategy, but realistically, it wouldn't hurt her once she got into the Arena. High scores were typically used to draw donations and sponsors. Without a mentor, she had never expected to get that.

     She had a plan, and she would stick to it. The other tributes knew what she could do. They knew she wasn't afraid of them. And she knew that they hated her and would be gunning for her first in the Arena.

     It was a near certainty that Crimson would help them hunt her down. Either District 4 or the Careers. The only question was where he'd lay his allegiance to. Scarlet thought that he would go with the Careers as they were more skilled and there were more of them, however District 4, for whatever reason, showed unwavering trust and obedience to Crimson.

     As long as she killed enough tributes and stayed alive, a low score couldn't hurt anything but her pride. Eventually, she would sway the people watching and the longer she stayed alive, especially as the number of tributes dwindled, they would start to believe in her. No matter how low the odds had started.

     So, Scarlet would kill.

     Humans. People. The other children.

     Up until this point, it hadn't seemed like a big deal. It had just been the reality that Scarlet hadn't given much thought to. But she couldn't shake the hand-to-hand Instructors words from her brain.

     Don't be too shocked if it's harder than you thought. Eventually, it will catch up.

     Scarlet wished he had never said those words out loud. Silent thoughts were so much easier for her to ignore. It didn't matter though. Once she got into the Arena, she wouldn't hesitate. They wouldn't be people anymore. They would be targets.

     But right now, Scarlet wasn't in the Arena, and it was people around her. And she couldn't help but wonder how she would feel when she took a life? Would she be at a distance? Would she be up close to them, watching the life drain from their eyes? Would it be bloody? Painful? Quick? And what about afterwards? Would she dream of their faces? Would she carry them with her throughout her days in the Arena and after she left it?

     Scarlet didn't know any of the answers. And she was okay with not knowing. Knowing would not change her actions. She wanted to live far more than she wanted peace of mind.

     But perhaps the answerless question that did bother her, was this:

     What if the killing didn't bother her at all?

***

     As Scarlet walked into the Training Center, she took in the large room that she had become familiar with over the past two days, expecting to see everything as it had been. Instead, she found it reordered to place a stage to the left of the room that held the near thirty Gamemaker's present, and the feast that had been brought in to keep them occupied.

     Some of them were sitting in thickly cushioned chairs, while some were standing. A few were eating, but nearly all of them were drinking. Only a few of them even bothered to look up as she walked into the room.

     They had probably been drinking all day, and Scarlet was surprised that were Gamemaker's still standing. She couldn't believe that she hadn't anticipated this. She had sat in the metal chairs all damned day, awaiting her turn to finally show them what she could do, but they had also been waiting all day, and how could they be expected to do so without something to keep them busy?

     Irritation shot through her. She could start showing them, but there was no way that she would get anywhere close to a 9. She needed them to see her.

      She would have to get their attention first or today would be a total waste. Scarlet walked over to the stage, resting her elbows on the edge.

     Waiting.

     Five minutes passed before they even noticed that she wasn't by the equipment.

     One of the men who was there sitting nearest to her, raised a carefully shaped black brow in her direction. Dressed in an opulent outfit that was intricately woven with golden thread and adorned with a large, decorative golden brooch at his neck, everything about this man screamed power and wealth from the unnatural glow of his blue eyes to the contrast between his high cheekbones and his narrowed jaw.

     "Are you waiting for something—" He pauses, glancing down at the paper held in his hand before returning to her. "—District 14?"

     Her lips curled up as she shrugged. "Your attention, to start."

     The man chuckled, his voice was deep and rich. He flicked his fingers in the direction behind her, "go on, little girl. You have our attention now. Impress us or leave."

     The other Gamemaker's give soundless chuckles surrounding him. None of them thought that anything she could do would impress them.

     Anger flooded her veins.

     He wanted her to impress him? Very well. She smiled at him, hoping that he wasn't drunk enough to miss the death promised in her eyes.

      Of course, she couldn't actually kill him, but literal death wasn't what she had in mind.

     "What's your name?" She questioned, not taking a step away from the stage.

     His head cocked slightly to the side as he appraised her, taking slightly more interest in her than before. Still, amusement and disbelief flickered through his eyes. "You want to know my name?" He looked around the room at the other Gamemaker's, their faces becoming uneasy, masked poorly as amusement. She didn't have time to analyze their reactions though, because a moment later the man focused back on her. "My name is Alistair Paine." He glanced back down at the paper held in his hands. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Scarlet Wolfe."

     "Enjoy the show, Alistair Paine." She snarled at him menacingly.

     Scarlet twisted around on her heels and walked to the hand-to-hand combat area. As she approached, she noticed that not only had the stations been moved to give room for the stage that was now occupied with the Gamemaker's, but they had been moved to clearly put the stations that the Gamemaker's wanted to have the best view of closest to them, while a majority of the survival skills had been pushed to the back.

     Surprising. Not.

     She grabbed a bade from the table of weapons on her way to the hand-to-hand mats that were still in the center of the room.

     The large instructor from yesterday greeted her silently, listening intently as she explained most of what she wanted to do. "I want to fight a male, about his size," she pointed back to the Gamemaker that had demanded she impress them. "And I'd like to use a non-bladed weapon in the match, specifically the wrap that's normally used to prevent injury. Oh, and I'll need a piece of paper and a black marker."

     "It's your show," he said, picking an assistant for her.

      While the assistant was getting ready, she quickly wrote a single name on it, before setting the paper on the ground face down and setting her small blade down on top of it.

     Once finished with that task, she began preparing for the match herself, wrapping the hand wrap around one hand, while leaving about six inches hanging loose.

     The assistant that she faced was taller and stronger, but she refused to let it intimidate her. Lowering herself into a fighting stance, she reminded herself:

      Losing wasn't an option.

     If she lost this fight, then all of the Gamemaker's would probably give her a score of zero for her insolence and poor performance.

     I don't have to be a better fighter.

     She had a plan and just needed to be patient for the assistant to give her the right opening.

     At her nod, the assistant charged her, swinging a fist. Scarlet ducked and sidestepped. Though it was instinct to attempt to counter him right away, she resisted the temptation. She needed to wear him out and allow him to get sloppy.

     They circled around each other. Scarlet dodged his heavy blows and landed a few of her own, though her hits were likely considerably weaker than his, each of the hits that landed shook him up more and more.

     Finally, she saw her opening. Gripping the loose end of the wrap, she sidestepped his next punch, wrapped the cloth around his wrist, and dropped to her knees. She used his own momentum to throw him over her shoulder. He landed sprawled out on his back.

     As he began to scramble to his feet, she leapt onto his back and pulled the wrap tight across his throat. She pressed a knee into the center of his back for leverage. The assistant struggled, desperate to get her off, but she held firm.

     He tapped twice against her hand for mercy. Scarlet instantly released her hold and watched from her feet, breathing heavily as he collapsed against the floor, a hand pressed against his throat as he struggled to pull in air.

     She turned to face the stage, and satisfaction filled her with the surprised faces of the Gamemaker's. She took an exaggerated bow and as she rose, her eyes caught on the piece of paper she'd placed on the ground before her fight.

     Scarlet grabbed the paper and the blade from the ground and tossed the paper back onto the ground near the assistant who was just starting to rise. The paper landed perfectly face up as if fate wanted her to complete her task without issue. She flipped the blade in her hand and sent it flying from her fingers.

Alistair Paine

     The name was written on the paper with the black marker she'd been given. And her blade tore straight through the bold print, pinned to the mat.

     Scarlet turned back to the stage, basking in the shocked, astonished, and angry faces of the Gamemaker's that were watching.

     She focused her attention on Alistair Paine. The man who had thought it was a good idea to belittle and mock her. "Have I impressed you well enough?"

     His bright eyes shined with darkness and barely leashed fury as they locked on her. His mouth stayed closed as his fingers brushed the neatly trimmed beard along the side of his jaw.

     When it became clear that no one was going to utter a word, she cleared her throat. "If you want a show in the Arena, I'd like razor wire to be a weapon of choice in the cornucopia."

     She shrugged at the lack of response. Maybe tributes weren't supposed to make requests like this? Either way, it couldn't hurt to ask, right? The most that would happen would be that it wasn't put into the Arena.

     "Okay. Bye, now." And with those parting words, she turned and walked out of the Training Center, without a backwards glance. 

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

So....I'd like to take a moment to remind you that Scarlet doesn't have a mentor...And at this point, she doesn't have much of an escort.

Also... Prayers...do they work? because I feel like my prayer was ignored and rubber stamped in big bold letters. DENIED. 

I can't help but wonder how this will affect Scarlet in her assessment score but also in the games... And also, if Scarlet keeps antagonizing the people that make her mad and retaliating in such an explosive matter, she is eventually going to explode on the WRONG person. Could you imagine if this had been President Snow? Especially in front of the other Gamemaker's?

I know that Scarlet is smart enough to know better. She just cannot seem to control herself and always seems to react, react, react! 

Dear girl! Stop yourself before you wreck yourself!

Be safe and take care! ~ CANGEL