Caesar Flickerman walked into his dressing room and quietly closed the door behind him. Upon quick inspection, he found the room to be empty and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been too long since he had been alone. He locked the door and shuffled to the middle of the dressing room, facing the mirror. His face, unlike during the tribute interviews, was void of any emotion. Blank. Slowly, he pulled off his jacket, and then his shirt to reveal his chest, stomach, and arms. They were filled with letters, which would be seemingly meaningless to anyone who saw them (nobody had actually seen them yet). However, they were the initials of every single tribute that he had interviewed. Every single tribute that had lost their life. While he put up the act of pretending to enjoy The Hunger Games, he couldn't stand it.
This was Caesar Flickerman's form of rebellion.