A/N- Well, here it is, folks. Starvation 2. To everyone who read Starvation 1, welcome back! To first timers, welcome. Now, while this is a sequel, you do not need to have read Starvation 1. However, this will spoil the first Victor. If you don't want spoilers, then I invite you to read Starvation 1. This introductory will start out showing a train ride and will cover the pre-Games events. The Games will start in the next chapter.
Now, a note. An enormous, huge, you-have-no-idea-how-big, thank you to LoveTheBoyWithTheBread, my betareader. Love ya, Mel!
Disclaimer- Penelope Wnedy Bing does own the Hunger Games. There's a "not" missing from that sentence. Be a dear and see if you can figure out where it goes for me.
Now, welcome to Starvation 2.
"Gooooooooood evening, Panem! This is Tennem Flore-"
"And this is Erasaziel Toonce!" Sazi broke in quickly. Tennem did his best not to give his friend an annoyed glare and jumped right back in.
"Last year's Hunger Games were an exciting event that climaxed with the victory of Wrianin Abro! Now we are fast approaching the second Hunger Games."
Sazi took control of things again. She never was good at letting others do the talking. "The reapings have just been completed and we have got a very promising batch of children this year! In case you missed one of the reapings, we'll do a recap!" She chirped, "First, District 1 with Wesley Sawr and Baylyn Homer."
Sazi and Flore quickly settled into their comfortable routine of switching off with those sorts of things. Tennem exclaimed, "The future champion of District 2 may be Hary Lumer or Eewyn Carre!"
"If Nolaf Killt or Eviu Navers does as well as the District 3 tributes from last year, they'll have a run for their money."
"Don't forget about District 4's Evita Cormichael and Mattrick Brint!"
"The tributes from 5 are Adrian Martinez and Heiress Elmdan."
"Winona Sweet and Indigo Resham from the wonderful District 6!"
"District 7's daring contestants are Fib Carzon and Kiteriin Fromet."
"From District 8 come Caspian Toushone and Roe Tamden."
"Followed by Wilf Errol and Mikki Kismet of District 9!"
"Reno Serman and Jerrica DeJoro of District 10 are in it to win it!"
"Next the fabulous Dewq Deffen and Berra Timsing!"
"To finish the lineup is Svetlio Tren and Wenda Carlotti." Finished Tennem with a huge smile. He really got into the spirit of the Games. Sazi always found it harder to enjoy them because she sympathized too much with the younger children. But Tennem was fairer. He believed anyone who earned it deserved to win. They'd gotten into fights over that. Erasaziel didn't like the last Victor, Wrianin Abro. She figured that since he'd fought with the rebels, he shouldn't be allowed to be the one to survive. But Tennem argued that those were the rules. He'd beaten the others, so he was a Victor. He was right, but Sazi still didn't like it. It made her so upset when they argued; they'd been friends for a long time.
"This is shaping up to be a wonderful Games! We'll see you all back here for a new event organized by the Gamemakers, the chariot rides! How exciting." As the news station's theme song played Sazi and Tennem mouthed a scripted conversation, laughing and reacting in just the right spots. Anyone not in the studio would have thought it was a genuine conversation.
"And- cut!" Shouted the head cameraman. The On Air light turned a relieved shade of red.
The camera crew, makeup artists, and other staff began to disperse, chattering with a just-off-of-work high about their celebratory plans. Some people were going to watch the first Hunger Games again on holodisk with relatives. Some people were going to go out partying in the many bars, clubs, and other night owl institutions that were celebrating the second anniversary of the end of the rebellion. Others were going to be up all night on online forums, talking about and betting on the tributes. Some people didn't really care all that much about the event itself and were just caught up in everyone else's excitement. No matter what the reason, the entire Capitol was aflutter with excitement.
Erasaziel and Tennem stopped mouthing their pantomimed exchange and lapsed into real, familiar conversation.
"I don't know about this group, Tennem. They seem...different." Sazi commented, packing up her bag for the day.
"I think that's a good thing." Tennem said thoughtfully, "They look strong. Like the District 1 boy that punched his escort when she tried to shake his hand."
"Wesley."
"Yes, him. The District 8 boy got second last year. Maybe District 8 going to turn out to be real contenders."
"Mm. Could be. I think I like the District 7 boy better." Sazi said as she shouldered her bag.
Tennem snorted. "He's too young. He won't make it past the first week."
"I know, Tennem." Sazi sighed, "I just feel so sorry for the weaker ones."
Tennem made a small noise of agreement without any real commitment. "Yes. It's bad luck."
"I'll see you tomorrow, Tennem." Sazi said. They gave each other a friendly hug and headed off to their magnecars. The Capitol streets had highly magnetically charged metal embedded in them, which the cars' own magnetic fields would push against to make the cars move. It was cutting-edge technology, only recently produced, and only the wealthy and famous like Tennem and Sazi had managed to get their hands on them.
The Capitol was awash with lights. Neon and strobe lights accented the clubs that were having special Hunger Games themed events. Sazi drove past the parties toward her apartment in the Cristle Building. The Hunger Games would be beginning soon. She didn't need to rush them in.
Winona Sweet, District 6
Trains are something I've heard about lots of times, but I've never actually been on one. All the stories I've heard are true. It's like the mayor's car, but bigger. It's so big. Big enough to fit me, my District mate (Indigo), a bunch of different rooms, a whole scrum of servants, and Wrianin Abro. I've seen the Victor of the Hunger Games around before, but I've never spoken to him. He always looks so sad. You can tell he's always in pain. Both because he won the Hunger Games and his friends died, and because of his constant headache. Something happened to him; he almost died in the hospital. They saved him, but it somehow went wrong and he's had splitting headaches ever since. I've heard he takes medicine for it, but it's the kind that makes you sleepy and fuzzy-minded. He looks like he didn't take it this morning.
Indigo and I sit silently, waiting for him to speak.
"I'm Wrianin Abro. But I guess you already know that." He says finally. "And you're Winona and...Inigo?"
"Indigo." He corrects Wrianin Abro. "It's a little hard to tell through the Capitol accent." He's doing his best to sound upbeat.
Wrianin Abro smiles faintly. "Alright. We'll be at the Capitol early tomorrow morning. Until then you can relax on the train. I recommend pigging out on the food. It's beyond anything you could imagine. And once you get into the Games you'll be hard pressed to find anything to eat." His eyes cloud up with painful memories. "Once we get to the city you'll be dressed up for the chariot rides. That's a new event the Gamemakers have cooked up. Basically they're going to put you all in costumes the way they will for the interviews and then parade you around on T.V. It's a useless event. But it's not my choice. Then you'll have the interviews and the Games will start."
Panic begins to shoot into my stomach. "The Games will start." This is really happening. I've been trying so hard to let myself be swept away in the rush of seeing this train, meeting a big celebrity, going to the luxurious Capitol, and now my little pocket of safety is being torn down. I desperately turn myself to innocent thoughts, trying to not know how much danger I'm in.
"Any questions?" He asks, rubbing his temples.
"Uh, nope." Indigo swallows hard. I shake my head.
"If you think of anything, just come find me. Even if it's the middle of the night. I want to help you as much as I can." Wrianin Abro says and stands up with a forced smile. He heads to his room, probably to go take his pills.
"Well...this sucks." Mutters Indigo, mostly to himself. His happy smile is gone, and he looks small now.
Yeah, Indigo. That's one way to put it.
We're hustled from the train and its fabulous food. Wrianin Abro was right. It's perfect.
There are camera crews from the big news agency here, and two reporters are babbling excitedly into their microphones. They're not the ones who are on the T.V. most of the time. These are some other perky people, sent to do the outdoor work that they don't want to lose their best announcers to. Transit to the train station takes too long, I guess.
Everything passes in a rush. It's like my brain has slowed down to process all these sights and now it can't speed back up again. Wrianin Abro smiles tightly, waving like he doesn't like it but has to. Indigo gives a happy thumbs-up to the cameras, since his smile is back. Good. I like to see him smile. It makes me feel warmer to see someone happy.
I'm pretty sure my mouth is hanging open, but the Capitol's much too distracting for me to focus on silly things like that just at the moment. Everything's so big and expensive looking. I'm really glad I'm so awestruck by all of the sights and events. I'm sure I'd spend all of my time crying if everything really got to penetrate, the way it almost did on the train.
After being paraded for the media for a while we're rushed off to a long, low building. It's not nearly as special or pretty as the others. Next to it is another, grander building being constructed. My guess is that this plain building is not fancy enough to meet Capitol standards, but they needed somewhere to house us quickly. Maybe the building they're still working on is going to hold next year's tributes in style. Well, lucky them.
The heavy metal doors close behind us with a solid thud. Wrianin frowns and rubs his head. Apparently loud noises hurt his head even through his medicine. He smiles tightly. "Well. Let's find your rooms, shall we?"
Nolaf Killt, District 3
It's funny. Just when you think you're going to be sent to your death you sit around in a gray, ugly building for hours. Kind of a letdown. But a welcome one.
Our rooms are perfectly comfortable, but bare. There's a lounge area in the middle of the building, which is where we've been spending most of our time. I'd say that at any given time, half of us kids are in the lounge...lounging. I think we're all in shock. Some of us have figured out that we're going to die and kill, and have locked themselves in their rooms. But the rest of us are sitting around the lounge in a daze.
My District partner, Eviu, is staring off at a wall blankly. The girl from 10 is crying, face down, on a couch. The two from 12 are arguing in the corner. I can't remember anyone's name but Eviu's yet. Maybe it'd be better if I never did. After all, life has a way of taking away the things you care about, at least in Panem.
A Capitol servant comes in, dressed in white. He claps for our attention, silencing the kids from 12. Another man bobs through the door, this time one of the privileged Capitol citizens themselves. He claps for attention, despite the fact that the quiet servant has already done this and we're all looking at him. My guess is he just wants to act like he's someone important.
"Attention please!" He bellows. Not only do we hear his voice, but it plays through invisible speakers, which I guess is why he doesn't need to go gather the ten or so kids in other rooms. They can hear him already.
"I am Head Gamemaker Cyril Debrown." He begins.
Oh. So he really is someone important.
"In approximately two hours your stylists will come to collect you to dress you for the chariot rides. You will be put in costume and be led on a parade through the city. The night after you will be interviewed. This will consist of another batch of costumes and being given three minutes to talk. Are there any questions?" He lists, clearly bored.
The District 8 kids are watching the floor, like this is all old news to them.
"Yeah. How're you supposed to get some food in this joint?" Drawls the District 2 girl. I can't tell whether or not she's being sarcastic.
Cyril's mouth twitches. "Tell one of the Avoxes what you want and they'll bring it to you. What I meant was are there any questions about the pre-Games events?"
"Why are we doing this anyway?" Growls the District 1 boy.
"Don't question those older and more intelligent than yourself, Wesley." Reprimands Cyril. Wesley blinks, apparently a bit thrown by the fact that this strange man knew his name.
"The day after that the Hunger Games will begin." Cyril resumes, an element of relish slinking into his voice. "This year, things will not slow down the way they did for the first Games. The other Gamemakers and I will provide some incentive to act if necessary." He smiles, showing elongated canines. One of the girls yelps in surprise.
"I would suggest that you not let it become necessary. Now, any questions on the Hunger Games?" He asks, with a pointed glare at the District 2 girl.
"No. I'm good." She says with a snarky smile.
"Wonderful. You may have the remaining time before the chariot rides to yourselves. Do...whatever it is you District brats do in your free time. Whine about how horribly mistreated you are or something."
Cyril turns on his heel and struts out the door.
The only reaction is from one of the older girls, who coughs into her arm.
"Well, I'm starved." The girl from 2 says. "Hey you! Could I have...smoked ham, please?"
The servant nods and exits, presumably to go find some food.
"What?" She says, realizing everyone's looking at her. "Might as well enjoy it while you can. Most of us aren't going to come back."
Slowly the conversations begin to resume. The pair from 12 continues to argue bitterly. They obviously hate each other. The girl from 10 stops crying and drifts off, eyes clouded. The 8 girl is making a nuisance of herself, asking weird stilted questions. Her conversations don't make much sense. For a moment I wonder if she's mentally disabled, but it becomes clear pretty soon that's she's just stupid.
I sit down in a chair, not sure what to do. We've still got awhile until we need to go, but this is becoming so overwhelming, so fast. I have no idea how to start.
The boy from District 5 is sitting down on the opposite side of the room, chin on his hands, watching calmly. I think he's trying to learn. To learn these people. After a couple minutes he strikes up quiet conversation with the girl from 1.
I stand up to head to my room. I'm getting nothing done here. Maybe I can get some sleep, or strategize. I should probably strategize. It feels like I'm just remembering. I might be dead in seventy-two hours. It just now hits me. I could die.
I lurch toward the door, knocked off my guard by my own sudden understanding.
My door always seems to be a few stubborn feet further down the hall than I thought it was, which is probably because my head is spinning.
"Hey. You okay?" Calls a guy's voice.
"No." I mutter.
"Well, get over it." He says. I stop trudging down the hall and focus on him. His dark skin identifies him as the boy from District 11.
"Well, what do you want me to say?" I snap back, the realization opening doors of opportunity to anger. "You want me to tell you that I'm okay that I'm going to be thrown into an arena to kill other kids in three days? You want me to tell you that?"
"No. But if you don't get over it, you're going to drive yourself insane. See you around." With that bit of sage wisdom he turns and disappears through his door.
Evita Cormichael, District 4
I kick the door open. A few heads turn in the lounge, but everyone quickly goes back to their own stupid conversations. The bathrooms, apparently, are on the other side of the building. I have to pass through the lounge to get there. I kick a chair as I walk past. I've been kicking things a lot lately. It's the only thing I've found that helps me let out some of the feelings inside of me.
I was chosen for the Hunger Games. Me. How can that be right? My mind is fighting against it. I know it's the truth, but I'm still desperately hoping that there's some way to undo this with sheer force of will.
"Hey." Grumbles the person sitting in the chair. It's that blonde girl with her smoked ham. "Watch it."
I snort. "If you can't deal with your chair being kicked, you're doomed."
She rolls her eyes. "What I don't like isn't that you kicked my chair. I'm not a wimp. I just don't like your attitude,"
"Attitude?" I scoff. "You're one to talk."
"Thanks for noticing. I'm Eewyn." She holds out her hand. I shake hard, seeing how much she lets me jerk her around. Not much, is the answer.
"No last name?" I ask.
"Eewyn Carre,not that it matters. You going to tell me your name or do I need to go bug everyone else about it?"
"Evita."
"No last name?" She mimics.
"Not to you." I shoot.
"So, Evita Nottoyou, which District did they take you from?"
"4. And you're from 2. How long are you going to keep up this stupid small talk?"
She grins. "As long as it takes to make you smile. I'm not a total jerk, you know."
"Oh really? You had me fooled."
"Someone needs to relax." Eewyn says, raising an eyebrow.
I bark with laughter. "Are you for real?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm talking about the ham. And telling me to relax. Talking back to the Gamemaker. Do you really not care what's happening to us?" I say.
Eewyn sits back for a moment, like she'd never thought about that. She frowns for a moment and then her face clears. "It's easier to not care. To just let whatever happens, happen."
"I guess so."
We sit in silence for a moment, before Eewyn says, "Want a bite?"
"What?" I say.
"Of my ham." She says like it's obvious.
"Oh…okay. I guess.
She asks one of the "Avoxes" for another fork.
"They cut their tongues out, you know." She whispers.
"Who? What?" I say in surprise.
"The Avoxes. They don't have any tongues, because the Capitol cuts them out."
The Avox comes back, giving Eewyn a fork, which she hands to me.
"Here." She shoves the plate at me.
"Mm. Thanks." I mutter, spearing a strip of ham into my mouth and chewing loudly.
"No problem."
Adrian Martinez, District 5
Baylyn Homer is eighteen years old. She has two older siblings, both male. She comes from the poorer part of District 1, where gang activity is commonplace. Her father was pressuring her to marry into money and get them all out of the slums. His two sons are too busy drinking and gambling to do the same. The man he wants her to marry is almost forty years old. Baylyn is unhappy about needing to kill and is as of yet undecided about whether or not she'll be willing to.
A lot of these people are easy to pin down. Some of them, not so much. There's Wesley from District 1. He's angry. He'll be brutal and probably blunder into things. I understand following your instincts, but you need to exercise caution sometimes. You need to observe.
Jerrica DeJoro from 10 cries all the time. She's vulnerable. Wenda and Svetlio from 12 do nothing but fight. They were friends, I've gathered. But now the Hunger Games have turned them against each other. And we haven't even entered the arena yet. I shake my head. False friendships. I've never understood how people can act close to someone and then let everything crumble at the first sign of adversity.
"What?" Baylyn asks.
"Wenda Carlotti and Svetlio Tren." I answer absently.
"Again, what?"
"The pair from 12."
"Oh. How do you know their names?"
"I heard them talking to each other. They started out calling each other by first name, but now they're using last names."
"Oh." Baylyn frowns and looks out at the room. Or at least, that's where her face is pointed. It looks like her mind is somewhere else.
"You have a good memory." She murmurs.
"Photographic." I inform her.
She looks at me briefly in surprise before we look back at the people in the room.
The silence is comfortable. Baylyn's not the type who needs conversation, and I'm busy observing the other tributes.
People hardly ever listen to each other. But I do. I'm very observant. I notice everything. Baylyn and I will chat quietly for a moment or two as the minutes go by, but for the most part we just sit. Me watching, her thinking.
The doors bang open and everybody jumps.
Head Gamemaker Debrown claps his hands loudly. He's fond of doing that.
Cyril Debrus Debrown: Head Gamemaker and violent Capitol politician. Forty-three years old. Short, fat, and balding. A fondness for attention, power, and feeling like he has more influence than he does. Thinks he's closer to the president than he actually is. I've gathered most of this information from watching the news. But I must admit, he's not so tough a nut to crack. None of the Capitol people are. As a society, they're very easy to read.
"You will now be dressed for the chariot rides!" He squawks, "You will find your stylists and makeup teams in your rooms!"
"So get moving!" He finishes, and takes a grand exit.
There's silence until the District 2 girl announces, "Well, what the heck you all waiting for?" And strides off.
"Well, I guess it's time to go." Baylyn says with a smile.
Eviu Navers, District 3
"Hold up your arms, girl! Were you raised in a barn?" Scolds the designer.
I don't bother answering. I figure she doesn't really care. I don't either. I don't care anymore.
"Now, you need to show this off, dear. It's lovely and shiny, but it'll all be wasted if you don't swing your hips."
The dress is metal plated, but I wouldn't say shiny. It's dull. Or maybe that's just how I see the world now. It has buttons down the front that glow when you push them. The stylist felt that that was terribly clever. I disagree.
"Makeup!" She squeals and claps her hand. A pair of eccentric-looking men begins applying thick shimmery green powder. It takes me a moment to realize that they mean to apply it to every visible inch of skin. While the men powder my arms, face, and legs the stylist shrieks at them not to get anything on my dress. It all fades away to a sort of background hum.
I'm pretty numb as they cake on lipstick and mascara. My nails are painted a horrible neon green with silver tips. I look ridiculous.
I don't see the hall as we're shuffled into chariots. The District 1 kids are resplendent, I'm sure. District 2 has a tough act to follow. Nolaf Kilter and I don't make any waves.
Only District 8 shows any competition, in their fine and fancy clothes. This is a useless event.
Dewq Deffen, District 11
"Deeeeeewq?" Berra whispers as we're shunted back to the holding building.
"Yeah?"
"Are we going to die?"
I'm brought up short by my District partner's abruptness. Most people like to dodge the issue. But not me. And apparently, not Berra Timsing.
"Who knows? We might. It's entirely possible. But then again, we may win. It's impossible to tell." I answer candidly.
"Okay." She says with a nod. The peacekeepers surrounding us kids open the heavy door and shepherd us inside. Although sheepherders is probably the wrong analogy. More like butchers. But whatever. The point is they put us back in the holding building.
It's late. Past ten, for sure. Some of the kids mill around and talk in their costumes, but I just want to go to bed. So I do.
The light spills in from my window, right into my eyes. I hate waking up. Hate it, hate it, and hate it. I mean, really. What goes on at six in the morning that it's so important I know about?
But I suppose it must be later than six, if the sun is up. But the principle still stands.
I poke my head out of my door to find a servant passing down the hallway. Perfect.
"Kin I have…um…eggs n' bakin?" I slur. "Thanks…" I pull the door shut and collapse on my bed. My mouth doesn't work right after I get up. Just never does. I stare at the ceiling till my food is brought in. The eggs are fried. Not my favorite, but I forgot to ask for scrambled. Oh well. At least it's hot.
The last day of my life where I won't have to worry about being killed at any moment. Weird feeling. That's not something you really ever worry about worrying about. If that makes sense. But for whatever reason, that day has come.
I like to face things head on. I don't see the point of sugarcoating anything. Your life is what it is, and the best way to adapt to the problems life throws at you is to face them and accept their implications. Killing is repulsive. It's evil. But the kid who survives will be the one who can look that in the face, accept it, and kill anyway. Will I be able to do that? I don't know yet. But I will when the time comes. When faced with my choice, I'll make it.
I finish off the eggs and chew on a piece of bacon. It's really a shame that you have to be on death row to eat this food.
Pulling the door of my dresser open, I look through the bottom drawer, still a bit groggy. I settle on a functional pair of gray pants and a loose black long-sleeved shirt. The plain fabrics aren't exactly my cup of tea, but they'll do. Considering what I'm up against, I think I can sacrifice my sliver of a fashion sense.
I push the door open. The hallway seems a little too bright, so I give my eyes a good rub before I head down.
The lounge has the general feel of being woken up too early. Except for the one or two early risers. I've always wished I could just pop out of bed and be awake. Unfortunately, I'm not wired that way. Sucks to be me, I guess.
"You gotta try it!" Bursts Roe, that dim girl from 8.
"Try what Roe?" I say patiently.
"The hot chokip!" She says. She's jolted over here, and now she's close enough that I can smell her weird Roe smell.
"It's called 'hot chocolate', Roe." Corrects the guy who I think is her District partner from across the room.
"Yeah, it's really…" Her sentence trails off and she motions with her hands, like she suddenly doesn't speak my language or something.
"Really what?" I prompt her.
"Yeah, it's really good."
Roe Tamden is sixteen, just a year younger than me, but she's also incredibly stupid. I feel bad saying that, but that's the truth. You ask her to do something that would be simple to most people, and she just stands there and looks at you. She's too nice to kill anyone. But even if she wanted too she's also tiny and has no chance of winning a fight if she tried. I'm sorry, but that's the honest truth.
"Sure Roe, I'll try it." I appease her.
"One of…whatever it is she's talking about." I ask a servant.
"Hot chocolate." Grumbles Roe's District partner. Apparently, he's heard too much about hot chocolate recently.
Roe does some weird sort of jump over a seam in the flooring, "I don't know why, but ever since I was a kid I just love to do this." And giggles like this is funny. Maybe it is in her mind.
"Loved, Roe. Not love." The guy corrects.
"Who are you, anyway?" I ask him curiously.
"Caspian Toushone. District 8." He says tiredly. "I'm her District partner."
"Yeah, I gathered that." I answer and sit next to him.
He looks around furtively. It takes me a second to figure out that he's checking to see where Roe is.
"I'm also her babysitter." He mutters.
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"She's not going to make it past day one on her own. I need to keep track of her. We've made an alliance for the Games, too." Caspian say tiredly.
"You don't sound too excited about that."
"I'm not, but it's kind of my duty."
I nod. "You've got to take care of the kid from your District, huh?"
"Yeah. What about you? You and what's-her-face going to team up?"
"I'm not sure," I say honestly, "the bare truth is that every kid in this arena is worth just as much as the others. To be blunt about it, Berra shouldn't matter more to me than anyone else here. She does, of course, but I'm trying to look at this all objectively."
Caspian nods. "I can respect that."
"Yeah. I'm saving the apple for later. I don't know why, but ever since I was little I eat peanut butter. I don't know why, it's just…yeah." Roe's voice travels across the room.
"'Ate', Roe. Not 'eat'." Caspian sighs. "Excuse me." He says as he stands.
"Of course." I answer.
"Roe, leave the boy alone!"
"Uhh…yeah."
Jerrica DeJoro, District 10
The spotlights catch the glint of tears on my cheeks. I can't stop.
I don't understand it. I was never a particularly strong person before, but I was never a crybaby. But now all I can do is cry. But, you can't say that it's really my fault, can you? I am going to die. But still. I'm making a fool out of myself.
I try for the thousandth time to stop crying and save my legacy. But as usual, I can't. The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. I must be insane, then.
"Welcome, Panem, to the interviews of the contestants in the second annual Hunger Games." Says Miss Climian in her soothing, hypnotic voice.
"First I will be speaking with Baylyn Homer."
Baylyn is quiet and thoughtful, saying little and thinking a lot.
The boy from District 1 is aggressive and angry when he does his interview, which is sort of a slap in the face after his quiet District partner.
Tsepelia Climian has a hard time adapting to the subtle sarcasm of the District 2 girl, and looks relieved when Eewyn moves back to her seat. She just has enough time to relax with a disgusting Capitol-loving kid named Mattrick from 4 before she's slapped again with Evita Cormichael's bitterness.
"Now, Heiress. What do you think your chances are?"
"Really? You stand there and ask me what my chances are? You wanna know where you can stick your chances? Stick 'em right up your a-"
"Thank you very much, Ms. Elmdan. For your opinion." Tsepelia interrupts her. The bell to signify the end of her interview rings and Tsepelia looks like she's just decided that yes, there is in fact a God. I smile through the still-falling tears.
The pair from 6 doesn't really get to talk about themselves; Tsepelia mostly just asks them questions about Wrianin.
The boy from 9 jokes and acts like the whole thing is some routine he set up with Tsepelia.
Reno, my District partner, tries to look strong but just fades into the background. Then it's my turn.
"What do you have waiting for at home?"
"Tell me about your family."
"What do you most want to do if you win?"
All of the questions she asks are kind and encouraging, but I have trouble finding the breath through my tears to answer. I'm pathetic.
My interview isn't over soon enough. It couldn't possibly be. Next the 11 kids. That Dewq boy scares me. He seems so unattached. It's like everything is one big philosophical issue for him to ponder over a cup of tea. His District partner is no one memorable.
The pair from 12 is drilled about their rivalry and not much else. Tsepelia gives some closing line and we're escorted off stage in the dark. Escorted offstage, to go to sleep before the day we are sent to our deaths.
Happy Hunger Games.
"Well, my friends, the moment you've all been waiting for has come! Last year's smash hit, the Hunger Games, has returned."
"Indeed it has, Erasaziel. It's time again for this exciting event of reparation to the Capitol."
"Before we start, let's watch a short clip of President Hellwick's pre-Game speech."
The president was shown in her characteristic gray suit, never once looking at the notes she held in her hands.
"As the rebellion grows further and further behind us, old wounds begin to close. Old hurts begin to heal. Old societal traditions begin to take back their deserved places in history. However, as the world begins to right itself, we cannot forget the crimes that have been committed.
As these twenty-four children prepare to battle for glory and riches, remember that only one may prosper. Punishment will be exacted en masse. Thank the mercy of the Capitol that we have decided to punish a few for the sins of the many.
As we begin on this path to repairing our beloved Panem, remember that the tragedy of the rebellion was the final act of division. Panem will stand forever, as it is, and as it should always be."
The announcers are back on the screen.
"Now, people of Panem, sit back, prepare yourself, and enjoy the second Hunger Games!"