48th Maze Public Private Training Session

[tom]

This is where you can post your PTS' publicly <3

[Kaplan]

Nellie Query

As soon as I exited the Maze that the Mazemakers had put me in, I stopped to catch my breath. I knew that I couldn’t take too long to do so, though, or I wouldn’t be able to impress them very easily. Immediately, as soon as I was able to, I collected a rope and a few other items from the supplies that were available in the room. Tying a loop at one end of the rope, I tossed it up into the rafters so that both ends of the rope were hanging down on the opposite sides of the beam. Then, I tied the rope so that it was suitable for climbing and made my way up to the rafters.

When I reached the top of the rope, I used a knife and another tool to cut down a surveillance camera that was up there, pointed down at the area below me. Climbing back down, I took the camera with me. When I reached the ground, I brought the camera over to a table and began to deconstruct it. Quickly, I reassembled it into something else- a pair of binoculars, utilizing the zoom lens and other components from the camera. Then, showing it to the Mazemakers, I flicked a switch that turned on a night vision setting. With a smile, I then set the device down on the table and smiled at the Mazemakers, bowing and exiting the room.

Score: 6
Rolls: 4, 9, 9, 5

[tom]

Fae Drakon -- District Seven

The exit takes her longer than anything else to find. Wrong turns leading to more traps as she eventually finds it, tired and sore from the abuse of a pretty mini maze full of flowers. Rising up like a storm in the clouds, everything crashes like lightning around her feet. Falling to her hands and knees, she can feel the exhaustion in her body. Rae's counting on her to come home with a smile on her face. Fingers splayed on the ground as she pushes herself up again to find a way to impress the mazemakers now. Tiredness in her bones as she points to some trainer in hand to hand combat. At least, she can remember him standing nearby waiting for runners to need help or a spar. This is the person that she needs to show her skills on.

Her words escape her lips as she prepares herself by putting her hands out and spreading her feet apart slightly.

"Hit me with your best shot."

The trainer looks to everyone else as they all shrug. She's asking him to attack her. She's asking him to give her what she wants in order to impress the two that are waiting to see something interesting from her. Fae's been blinded by flowers and held down by some fucked up plants, but she'd prove that she needed to get home to her little sister. The trainer decides to charge at her, swinging fists at her violently as she blocks them carefully with her palms and arms. Fae's moving like a dancer around the momentum of the hits as she brushes past them and closer to the man. Frustration sets in the man as she pushes him back with her palms extended. The worst that she could do to him right now, or so it seems. Another charge at her as she extends her palms to black blows. Instead of sliding past them with the momentum they have, she pricks him with a tiny needle. Prick, prick, prick. The man slumps down, sickly and dying. Her voice escapes her lips as she gets the attention of a medic.

"I just poisoned him with hemlock! Cure him!"

The rush of people past her leaves her with a small smile as she drops the needle of iron with a dot of hemlock on the sharp point. The crushing of hemlock into a liquid to be infused on the end of a needle that she's been carrying this whole time. A bow to the Mazemakers is all she does before leaving the room. Rae would be proud of her, even though they've seen enough death for a lifetime.

[Kaplan]

Gardenia Sinnoh

I knew I had to show my skills, so it was about time I used some sort of knowledge that I had from my time in the training center. I may not have been as experienced with such things as this when I was back at home in District Eleven, but now I was sure I knew what I was doing. I walked over to the fire-making station with a throwing knife in one hand and matches in the other. I struck the match to start a fire in the kindling and sticks that I'd put into a pile, letting it ignite into flames. As the flames grew, I heated my knife over the fire until it was red hot. Then, I stood up, quickly got into the proper stance and threw the knife about 75 feet across the room into a target dummy. It smacked deep into the dummy's stomach and I smiled. I wasn't normally the type of person to condone violence, but I knew I'd need it to survive the maze. I turned to the Mazemakers and thanked them for their time before I was dismissed from the room.

Score: 7
Rolls: 6, 9, 1, 12

[Kaplan]

Rachel Violette

Rachel was relieved that she hadn't done too terribly in the first part of her private training session. She had, at this point, however, run out of energy almost entirely. The career girl was unsure of what to do for the Maze Makers, and therefore made a rather rash decision. As soon as she emerged from the mini maze, she looked to the Maze Makers and spoke.

"Alright, so..." she said, her gaze focused mostly on Chaos at this point. "I'm gonna be honest with you guys right now- I don't have a hell of a lot of energy left."

She put her hands on her hips.

"I'm really not sure what to do for you guys, so, let's just say I did some sort of cool shit and leave it at that?" she said this with a smirk on her lips. Turning on her heel, she started to leave the room. Before she stopped, however, she looked back at Chaos again, blew her a kiss and then turned once more to leave the room.

Score: 8
Rolls: 2, 9, 3, 4

[tom]

Vallis Bannister

The red hum of lasers that radiate heat off of them vanishes as he escapes in someway. Difficulty in escaping a maze of lasers that screech into the air like the rejection ringing in his ears of Viktor Blackwood. Leaving Vallis in a place where death was clawing at his shoulders just waiting for his inevitable breakdown of emotions. Training was easy, but going through with this was terrible. A career who only did it because his parents wanted him to be prepared for anything. All he wanted to do was go back to the days of throwing a football and this biggest worry being the football going in the neighbor's yard. The memory of Viktor's smile echoing along the memories he carries, but now he's letting them fade from his mind. Arte needed him now. All he could do was let the platform rise back into the regular training session where he could do anything that he wanted.

Anything at all to get a better score, or he could just say fuck it and walk out of there with a low score. Maybe it'll make people think that he's weak and not a problem at all. A sigh follows from his lips as he looks across the room for something to do. Showing off his skills with a sword could be useful. He could make a trap. Show off some plants. Except none of that seemed good enough. Nothing mattered now, he could figure out how to survive, but there's this overwhelming energy of failure that he's carrying over himself right now. Eyes close as he moves away from the weapons and to buckets of paint used for camouflaging one's self. He grabs the paint and tosses all of it onto a sword with glittering silver, until it's completely coated in colors of all sorts. Greens, browns, blues, yellows, oranges, reds, whites, pinks, and any other color you could think of.

"I don't care about expectations. I'm more than a career or a volunteer."

The sword is hefted as paint slides down onto his hands. There's dummies across the way that he charges at with the sword covered in wet paint. Swinging the paint launches at the dummies covering their eyes and body with paint that spreads in a swipe. Movement as he shuffles on the edges of his toes and changes directions with swipes at dummies where paint opens cuts into chests and heads. A dummy's head falls off with paint soaked wounds. Almost as if his goal were just to make a mess of the room with paint. Wounds covered in colors. A violent dance of colors that spread between each one of the dummies that stands in the room. Spread out for certain stations before that he doesn't care about. All he does left is pull both hands back as he tosses the sword at the last one with a swirl. Paint splattering along as it flies, until it stabs into the eye of the dummy. Fingers reach into the only paint left, black, like his emotions. Dark and unruly like the heartbreak he still suffers from. Black like the nights he sat up in bed starring at the sky trying to find answers to a boy named Viktor Blackwood.

The paint smears across his eyes that are closed. Words whisper from his lips as he leaves the room in a mess of paint and broken dummies.

"I'm just Vallis Bannister. A boy with a broken heart."

[tom]

Oasis Tuson -- District Six

Ice melts to a warm air with comfort to her chilled body. The exit was quick to find. Better than she thought she would have done in the mini maze, but feet tremble as she stands in the open warmer air waiting for her body to warm up before moving again. Rafe's counting on her to survive and make it home to him. Pain and suffering would leave them as she can remember the bruises that reside along his arms. The stinging disappears as she breathes in steadily, catching herself. Whispers of truths that lies under her skin from the father than she didn't claim to be her own. Rafe's gentle words and own fists flashing across her mind at the memory of a bloodied father on the ground. Everything had been spinning that day, but no more. She's tired of letting it get to her. She tired of letting the bruises come to life every day. This was her moment and she'd prove how much she's left in the past.

"I'm tired of hiding the truth. Tired of being too weak to make it stop."

Fingers splayed on the ground, until she lets herself stand, fingers clenching at the thought of all of this. Grabbing the closest dummy that she could find, she stands it up to stare at her. Cold eyes that remind her of the man who bruised her skin and told her that this was what life did to people. Fingers wrap around the tshirt that she's wearing that hides the majority of healing bruises along her skin. Discarding it, she shows the world what her own father did to her skin. The memories behind each mark filling her mind with the heavy anger that blinds the intelligent girl from Six. "These are the marks that my father put on me. Told me that I was a weak woman and would never become anything great." Words fill the air as she lets her eyes close. "You know what I think?"

Fist moves forward into the grove of the dummy's elbow breaking the arm completely.

"I say fuck him and his manipulating words."

Fists start flying as she breaks the other arm at the elbow. A kick to the knee that slams it in the wrong way. Another fist to the jaw that cracks it completely. The burning in her hands are nothing to the pain that's been along her skin for years. A fist to the cheek to leave a large bruise. Multiple hits all over the chest and back. She's dancing around the dummy as if it was her own father that was receiving all the wounds that she's ever had. Breaking another leg and then a foot. Bending a hand backwards into a broken mess. Bruises litter the fake body as do broken wrists, knees, arms, and feet. A broken jaw just dangling left as her fists feel on fire from it all. Then she grabs the axe next to her, pretty and gem encrusted with amethysts for whatever reason. She pulls back and opens wounds along the stomach and back. A few cuts along the cheek and the right arm
that burn into sight. Breathing heavy as she drops the axe and stares at all of the damage that has been done to her.

"My father created these on me one time or another."

Silence until an echo of sound falls from her throat as she picks up the axe and cuts into the neck deep and as far as she can go, which is enough to be lethal.

"I am not that weak little girl anymore."

Eyes looking back to the mazemakers as she lets out a breath.

"Thank you for your time."

[EMS]

CHESTER

So happy to finally exit that dreaded maze, and yet I'm stuck in front of people that will never care for me. On my way through, I snatch a knife from the weapon wrack, and once I'm in the middle of the gym, I sit down on the ground cross legged. I have no skill that I can show them in here. Yeah, I'm good with an axe because I've spent my lifetime chopping down trees, but that's for me to know right now. A large grin spreads from ear to ear as my gaze locks on the floor in front of me. Gripping the knife as tight as possible, I scratch the blade against the ground over and over allowing the nails on a chalkboard sound to fill the air around me, and I can't stop myself from cackling. Once my time is up, I drop the knife on the ground, and leave the gym. What are they going to do to me now - kill me?

[tom]

Elliot Alescio

As the platform rises, he can hear his father screaming to be a better son. Better men make better careers. Elliot was nothing more than a pathetic drug dealer from Four. A drug dealer who wasn't even the best in all of the district. Cris was better at it than he had been. Memories of childrens games and playing pretend fills his head. Fuck, he's tired of this already. Protecting Cris was not his job, but fuck, if had to in order to live, he would do it. A sigh falls from his lips as he sets to work in the training center. Pieces of this and that, which he picks up as he feels his annoyance rises through him. This was the moment that he's supposed to take his father's words in stride. Not the words of how fucked he was in the Justice Building when his father told him that Cris would survive over him any day.

As if he knew what she was like and he was like.

"Hmmmmmmm, I say we have a deal Chaos. I'll protect Cris for you."

Arms crossed as he puts on the gauntlets and grabs his spear, waving it forward. He cuts into dummies, taking limbs off. His gauntlet goes into a dummy's skull crushing it completely turning the floor red with fake blood. It's a dance like the deals he makes as he violently moves tearing up dummies until there's nothing but red and limbs. That's when the work begins. He's kicking limbs to their place as it begins to spell out something. Heart beating in his ears as he goes to the fake blood, writing the rest out in hand smears of blood on the ground, big enough for the mazemakers to see. Joy is in his eyes as this is violent and gross, but also enjoyable. He's touched real blood and hasn't hated it before. Broken noses of assholes who didn't know better. He didn't like the Aquas, but fuck he'd follow them if it meant living for another day possibly. Fuck them still, for putting him through this mess. Oh well, this was going to be interesting.

Feet take him away as the words stained in red and made of limbs from dummies reads to the mazemakers.

I will protect her.

[Arrow]

Art Vyserion

    Not even a single shred of breath remains barricaded within my lunges as I plummet from the peril pursuing me in the mini maze. However, the terrible threats are nothing compared to the sorrowful shadows of my catatonic heart heavy of stone. Although my legs ripple with the regrets of racing through the steel slivers, no longer am I trapped in the cruel confines of the Makers' madness. Above in some dome of dominance those who once wore my shoes and walked through these walls determine whether I am worthy of survival. Those who were once Runners then immortals for their success now deemed demons brought by their demands for control over the same Maze which began their journey. Chaos and Lightning Aqua are nothing more than slaves shackled to the severity of President Snow and the Capitol's control.

    Familiarity furls out before my gaze as the center which I have spent my time slinking through the shadows on the edges welcomes my arrival. Soon the Maze Makers descending from on high are present with the eyes of hawks watching my every minor motion. Inside my imaginative brain I wonder which route to follow, conventional or creative. My mind manages to think of my journals and suddenly the question is answered. My fingers finesse coils as soon shapes begin to blossom into letters. My memories of Dad leaving begin to battle against my presence the more I do with the coils only because I had to learn to do this because he left. Perhaps this is the singular positive that comes out of his rejection of me. 

    Soon the shapes are solidified and I attach them to long steel stripped rods. One newly and cleverly crafted brand with the word label on its end is finished. By its side I spend several minutes managing to ignite a small patch of supplies on fire. In the heat of the fire's flickering flames I watch the word begin to brightly beam with deadly danger a brand owns. Only once it is thick with magnificent hues of orange and yellow do I pull it from the fire and release a tired rope I've been holding onto attached to my belt since beginning. 

    Across the space swiftly swirling the pride of the people of district ten flies before sweeping around an unsuspecting avox target. My lasso latches harshly onto the avox as though its one of the many cattle which roam my family's farm. In sudden show of strength I send the avox reeling fearfully in my direction, the glowing brand waiting ready in my other hand. It only takes a few seconds for the avox to come into close enough proximity for my arm to thrust the blistering brand against the ass of the abox I swiftly exposed first with a sudden downward yank of my lassoing hand. A silent scream follows the pain piercing across the avox's through as his flesh forges into melting mania. After the brand burns deep into the skin I pull the brand and loose the lasso kicking the avox to the floor before the Maze Makers, his literally "labelled " ass facing their faces. 

    My brand bounces against the floor as I drop it stepping forward and placing a heel on the head of my downed victim. "I'm not cruel, he's a criminal so he was the most deserving to be my target." My eyes angle towards the two in charge of this entire scoring session. "My entire life I have been labelled. Disappointment. Sinner. Gay. I am done being labelled." I release my heel from the wreathing avox's head as I take a step back and towards the exit. "I won't be labelled just another runner in your Maze." 

    I make it two steps outside before finding a trash can to deliver my entire lunch into. At least I think they bought the plan I had written in my journal only hours earlier. 

[Arrow]

Amelia Larson

    Surging speed sends the blonde princess safely our the treacherous tortures of the mini maze. Overhead movement of the Maze Makers reminds Amelia of the next task she must now complete. While she stands for moment letting her breaths build back up in her body, her hands hover over her details ensuring her beauty is still at its optimal apex. She couldn't risk looking sloppy in front of those whose maze her fortune and her fame would see her walking right over. Amelia knows there is a big hype around to Victor siblings being the Head Maze Makers, but to her they were her pawns and not the other way around. Her life had become stagnant with brutal boredom stretching across all the endless acres of her family's land. This Maze Running was the new revival to Amelia's pitiful existence on the edges of truly living. 

    Finally sustaining support on her feet from her rest, Amelia begins a process she has been practicing her entire life. The Larsons were the best Griever breeders and trainers in all of Panem, it was time for the young perfect prodigy to show these idiotic Maze Makers precisely why. Grabbing a long double sided spear Amelia begins walking toward the trainers. Small in stature in comparison to the Capitol's best she asks simply who they all believe the most insignificant one is. They all stutter at such a question causing a tantrum of infuriation to ignite within Amelia. "Choose!" She brutal bellows sending fingers pointing towards an older gentlemen who she recognizes from the fire station. 

    Several steps later Amelia stands before him shaking his hand slowly while confusion cripples his facial features. "A shame that you are the weakest link." He doesn't have time to think staring at the small child as she drives her spear straight through his heart. Gasps grip the room but Amelia pays them no mind. As he drops dead to the ground she lets the real work begin. Snagging a nearby sword she slices free both his hands and both of his feet. She then strings them to a long wire which she puts on as a bloody necklace. 

    Eyes stare in disbelief at the gruesome gesture occurring in the center but Amelia is unphased as she reclaims the spear and snaps her fingers. It took a lot of work from her mentor but surely enough they are brought in on chained leashes, two hell hound grievers snapping and snarling out of control. Amelia looks towards the Maze Makers. 

    "May I?" She spies the brother of the two turn with doubts but his sister actually nods in approval. Suddenly the hounds are released and sent shooting towards her. Amelia screams loudly suddenly slamming her spear multiple times on the ground before spinning the spear several times above her head. She does this multiple times causing the hounds to slow to a stop, still snarling but intrigued. They are smart, but she is smarter and trained to control them. Suddenly the hands are thrown from her necklace of flesh to feed the savage beasts. One snack is not enough as once finished the hell hounds, although more reluctantly, begin to close in again on the blonde princess of horror. She performs her act of dominance again and again she rewards them after with the feet.

    However, as the dogs feast this time Amelia moves towards them eventually taking her hands and slowly settling them on the heads of the hounds. The freeze for a moment, a critical challenge to the young girl, and suddenly she shoves their heads to the floor harshly until whimpers rise from the grievers. After releasing them a change is clearly evident. Where she moves they move, a smile stained across her face. She begins to start walking with her beasts towards the exit when she stops suddenly. 

    "Oh yes you probably want these back." She sends the spear flying just below the Maze Makers and with a scream of aggression the hell hounds react by suddenly rushing towards what they believe is their master's enemy. She leaves letting the Victors handle grievers they welcomed her to use. 

[Arrow]

Ollivander Russels

    Breaths berate my body in tempos that are too similar to those following the piercing pain of Father's punches. I am not inside his Hell House but this place is not far off from the war zone I call home. Weak legs loose support of my frame as I fall with a crash onto the cold cool tile of the training center. A loud noise from above signals the coming of the Maze Makers for my second scoring session. If Father were here his threats would reach me through the silent stalking of the avoxes surrounding the center. His words of warning would be to do whatever it takes to ensure a high score, if I were to fall short surely one of his beatings would be bestowed upon me as punishment. But Father isn't here, all that's here is the sweat sticking to my skin and watchful eyes of those who call out hungry for the spilling of my blood. 

    As the final drop of elevation for the viewing platform ceases I rise from my place upon the floor. I look around a center which I've been attempting to learn and see nothing which can show skills of mine. I have nothing to demonstrate to them, I'm only a broken rich boy who gets beaten by his Father so he has given away into ultimate submission. Only outside of the watch of the always prevalent eyes of Father am I free to exist in the ways I see fit, smoking and with boys far more beautiful than myself. I'm simply just a beaten boy, but that's what gives me the idea.

    I make my way towards the sparring arena grabbing to black batons as I walk. With a gesture I summon forth the sparring trainer placing a baton in his hands. After a moment to free myself from my shirt fully exposing my skin of scars the battle begins. The enemy trainer strikes first sending shattering pain across my face and blood blooming from my split eye brow. I stumble back for a moment giving myself no time to avoid the baton again slamming into my stomach. I crumble to the ground shaking but not succumbing. Now while he thinks I'm weak I have my chance. The one thing I know how to do is take a beating. I sweep my legs knocking his feet from under him bringing him to floor as well. In a sudden motion I bring my baton into his stomach releasing the air he is holding. In another fast moment of short advantage I send my free fist straight across his face knocking him out cold.

    Shaking and bleeding I pull myself to my feet before staring with a now swelling eye and bruising body towards the Maze Makers. I give them a single nod before wincing with every step I take out of the center.