Author's Note:
Summer is going by too quickly. D: Though I do have over two months until mine ends, but… Guh. I just need to get off my butt and work but I'm so lazy and I just wanna write and sleep and play video games all day. Life is hard.
Ah ha ha, anyway - I'll be putting up a poll later, where you can vote for your favorite tribute as displayed in the interviews. The winner (or winners) will receive an advantage in the Games. Also, I've split up the interviews into two chapters; there will be a winner for this chapter and for the next, so make sure to vote both times! In any event - have fun reading a fairly long chapter, and thank you for all your support!
Semper Fi
"Always Faithful"
a Hunger Games (© Suzanne Collins) fanfiction
Chapter Five
Saint or Sinner, pt. 1
Opening Song: "The Ruler and the Killer" - Kid Cudi
The little girl tugs on her mother's long skirt with fervor as she points one chubby finger at the TV. "Momma, Momma!" she cries, begging for her attention. "It's on, it's on!" Mother and father scrape their chairs against the ground, pushing themselves away from the dining room table in order to rush to the large screen in their living room. The woman, already on the verge of tears, kneels on the ground and turns up the volume until the loud music fills in the house's silence.
"Jorden," she half whispers, half sobs as she reaches out to touch the dressed up young man. She wants to brush back his chocolate-colored hair and feel that is alive and real, but her fingers meet only static and glass. Her lower lip trembles and a tear courses down her cheek.
"Good day, faithful citizens of the Capitol and ardent viewers of Unified Panem!" The fairy-like woman on stage waves at the cameras excitedly, and the crowd roars in delight at her energy. "For those of you who don't already know me - shame on you - my name is Merope Duncaine, and I will be your host for the 76th Hunger Games!" The cheers escalate, until she claps her blue-tinted hands over her ears and wordlessly asks the audience to quiet down. "Now, I know you all are just as excited as I am, but try to contain yourself a little bit longer, hmmm? We haven't even introduced you to our first tribute, yet!" They laugh and chuckle at her teasing. "And on that note, why don't we get started?"
She glides over to one of the large red arm chairs in the center of the stage, and beckons over to someone hidden in the shadows. "Hailing from District 1, looking just as luxurious as his district's namesake - Jorden Biber!"
Small, quiet claps accompany the brunet as he walks onto the stage, waving charismatically at the crowd. Whispers of approval follow soon after, once they observe the finely made purple suit he wears. "Good evening, Ms. Duncaine," he greets when he takes the seat beside her. "How are you doing today? For added effect, he presses his lips against the skin of her hand when she extends it to him.
Merope squeals, clasping both hands over her heart. "What a gentleman! And to think, all of us thought you folk in old Panem were such stiffs."
A grin stretches across his face. "And here we were taught that you guys were over-dressed and shrill. Quite honestly, though, Ms. Duncaine, you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen." Her cheeks, already painted red with makeup, brighten further as she giggles at the compliment. "Though, you probably shouldn't tell my girlfriend." He raises a hand to cover one side of his mouth, as though he's telling her a secret. "She gets jealous easily."
She makes an "o" with her red-painted lips. "A girlfriend! Why, you little heartbreaker!"
Jorden chuckles impishly as a couple people in the crowd boo an "aww" in disappointment. "'Can't say I'm sorry - I love her." Everyone eats up his declaration of love, cooing and swooning - including Merope. "We've been together for almost three years now… I miss her like crazy." His smile is wry, different from the flashy grins he has shown off to the audience. "And my family, of course. My sister's probably enjoying my absence, though; she's been fighting for my room since she learned how to talk."
"You have a lot on the line, then," she concludes, and he nods affirmatively. "You know, my sources tell me you're a very popular boy, Jorden. I bet a lot of people will be betting on you, both here and at home."
"I think your sources are exaggerating a bit," he laughs, waving his hand dismissively. "Yeah, I have some friends, but… I don't know. I hope they'll be supporting me. I feel like I'll need all the help I can get."
Merope nods and leans forward, taking both of his hands into hers. "Well, I wish you the very best of luck, Jorden. If all things go according to plan, maybe we'll be seeing your handsome face up on this stage in a month, eh?" She winks as the crowd cheers loudly for him, already enraptured by the boy from District 1. "Thank you so much. Now, let's bring on our female tribute from Luxury: Terra Rush!"
Two large boys are huddled over the flat screen TV, eyes glued to the moving images. Both are stiff, with hands clenched by their sides and teeth gritted. Their mother sits behind them on the living room couch, a far away look in her eyes; she can't even bring it in herself to look at the young woman gliding across the screen.
"Oh me, oh my! I think I just might have some competition, folks!" Merope gushes as she stands up to greet the dark-haired beauty. "Miss Terra Rush - how are you liking your stay here in the Capitol? Hmm, though I suppose, more accurately, it should be called the Island of Lemnos."
Terra hesitates a little, but the nervousness on her face quickly dissipates. In its place stands a white grin. "Well, it's not quite home, but maybe it's because I'm fighting for the TV with just one boy rather than two."
Both the audience and Merope laugh. "That's right, I hear your rooms are furnished beautifully. Not that we can compete with the extravagance that is District 1, of course. Speaking of extravagant - that is a beautiful number you have on."
"Why, thank you!" Terra voluntarily stands up and spins around, so that the shimmery pink fabric fans out around her ankles. "Eunia and her team did a fabulous job, didn't they? Thanks, Eunia!" She waves excitedly to a small portion of the crowd; her giddiness rubs off on the audience, who laugh and clap. "You guys definitely know how to make a girl feel like a princess," she comments when she sits back down.
"Says the girl who looks like she popped right out of a fairytale!" Terra blushes and shakes her head dramatically, while Merope grins. "So, beauty queen, do you have anything you want to say to your enemies?"
She wears a contemplative expression, and her seriousness strikes the audience so that they are silent. Suddenly, as if donning a mask, she grins and holds both her face in both hands. "Please don't hurt me too bad," she pleads, jutting out her glossed lower lip in a pout. Merope can barely stifle her giggles as the audience breaks out into laughter, clearly enjoying her act. "Don't worry, guys, I got this!" she cheers, jumping to her feet so that she can wave both hands at her new fans. "This princess can fend for herself." Few people notice her eyes darkening momentarily. "So don't count me out yet!" She grins, even adding a small twirl.
"Woah woah, prima ballerina," Merope laughs, standing up to shake her hand one last time. "Thank you for interviewing with me, and good luck with the rest of the process and, of course, the actual Games." Terra actually embraces the TV personality, earning a couple claps and cheers, before blowing kisses at the appreciative crowd and walking off. "My, what an array of tributes we have this year - and we've only met two! Now, moving on to District 2: Ms. Riley Maryn!"
The clothes and the jewels and the make up - none of it matters anymore. Margret sits in the middle of her daughter's King-sized bed, clutching a blonde-haired doll, crying for her only child to come home. Steven looks back into the room, where his wife is whispering apologies to the doll, before focusing his attention on the small TV they have in their kitchen. His hand shakily grasps the coffee mug when he watches his baby walk onto the stage.
Riley is dressed in a flirty gold cocktail dress, with her honey blonde hair pinned up in an elegant fashion. "Hello, hello!' she shouts to the audience, who receive her welcomingly.
"Such cheery and outgoing tributes we have, this year," Merope raves as she moves in to greet the latest tribute. She gasps in surprise when Riley hugs her tightly, much more so than Terra had, but returns it enthusiastically. "And such kind ones, as well! Oh my dear, take a seat, take a seat." Riley sits down beside her and smooths out her dress before crossing her legs. "You are such a ray of sunshine - your family must miss you so much."
Not four minutes into the interview, and already the radiant female is frowning. Merope senses the almost immediate shift in attitude, and regret can be seen on her face. "Actually, I don't really know, to be honest," she answers, smiling tightly. "My parents and I… Well, let's just say I don't see them around very often."
"Oh," is all Merope can say, and the silence of the audience implies that they too are at a loss.
When she laughs, they can see that the mirth has returned to her eyes. "What's with all the glum faces? You all look like you've been kicked! Just because I don't have parents cheering me on or siblings to pray for me, don't think I don't have a chance. I guarantee you, I've got more than enough incentive to keep fighting."
Merope is in awe as claps sound around them. "What a brave young lady we've got on stage, m'dears. Certainly, we'll all be watching for you. Now, I know we're not really allowed to know the details, but please - we're all dying to now - how well do you think you'll do in the Games? I hear you didn't even know what they were until just a week ago."
Riley bobs her head in affirmation. "And you're absolutely right. None of us, and if any of us did it was a small number, knew what the Hunger Games were. We were never taught about it or anything; it was like it never existed."
"My, you sound a little angry."
Her laugh is humorless. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. They were ignoring an important part of history, and… Well, look at where we are now, Merope." Silence falls over the studio once more as Riley glares hard into the camera, as though searching for the perpetrators. "But I won't lose. My ignorance might have worked against me up until now, but I promise I'll give you one hell of a show." The applause is deafening, and the confident smirk she shoots adds fuel to their fire.
"Ladies and gentlemen: Riley Maryn!" Merope gives the departing tribute a standing ovation and wipes a (probably fake) tear from her eye. "Oh my, so many theatrics and we're barely in. Woo, I am getting so excited!" The Capitol citizens holler in agreement. "Now, accompanying Ms. Maryn from District 2 is the lovely Dahlia Dunbryll."
"Pop!" Gerrard instantly drops his materials when he hears his youngest calling for him. When he walks into den, his sons are crowded around a small TV, eyes glued to the screen. He has to swallow the fear that has risen to his throat before he sits beside them. His jaw sets when he sees his only daughter standing on the stage, her arms folded across her chest. Klaus looks both frightened and relieved when he murmurs, "It's Dolly."
"Well, don't you look like a doll!" Merope compliments when Dahlia joins her.
The platinum blonde groans loudly, earning a couple laughs. "Oh God, not you, too. First my family, my friends, now you - next thing I know, I'll be walking down the street and some stranger will be calling me that."
"Can you blame 'em? You look like you popped right out of the box!"
Dahlia looks down at the long royal blue dress she's wearing, before pulling up the slightly exposing sweetheart neckline; even those in the back row notice her discomfort in her garb. "I'm gonna go ahead and blame my prep team for that. Thanks, Whytt." She shoots a half meaningful glare into the audience, who chuckle at her honesty.
"Pish posh - you look beautiful, Dahlia. And as Terra said earlier, every girl loves to be treated like a princess, yes?"
Her snort startles the interviewer. "I grew up in a family of weaponsmiths. Their idea of treating a girl like a princess is letting her smelt her own sword." A row of chuckles sound, coming from both the viewers and Merope.
"Oh, you can't fool me, Cinderella! I can hear the adoration in your voice," she teases, lightly poking her in the thigh. "C'mon now, tell us more about these weaponsmiths. How many of them do you live with?"
"Three," she answers, wearing a congenial smile. "My dad and my two brat brothers; one's older than me and the other's younger. It's been just the four of us since as long as I can remember." The crowd coos, drawn in by the family dynamic. "All of them can be a pain the ass, but… They're family. And I know they'd all be screaming at me if they knew I was just sitting around, waiting for something good to happen."
"It sounds like family is going to be your driving factor in these Games, hm?" Merope questions, to which the answer is a simple nod (accompanied by a smile). "You certainly don't seem like the quiet type, though. Surely you must have some friends or, oh could it be, a boyfriend? A lover who's waiting for you to come home?"
Dahlia's guffaw is definitely genuine, along with the slap she delivers to her knee. Merope sits back, a little taken back, but she certainly looks amused. "Yeah, boyfriend, as if," she laughs, wiping a tear away from her eye. "Sorry, but you don't have a romance story here."
"But I hear you have some very close friends in your class." Dahlia physically freezes. "Having to fight against your own friends… That's a bit romantic in its own way, isn't it?" Merope smiles sorrowfully.
For once, the blonde looks unsure. She fiddles with her fingers, clenching and unclenching them in the dark fabric of her dress, and her eyes dart around the studio. "My friends have helped me through a lot," she says finally, softly. "They're the greatest. I can… I know it's stupid, but… It'd be great if we could all make it out, you know?"
"Of course. Friendship is not something that can be so easily severed," Merope answers sympathetically. "But, as you and I both know, folks, there can only be one victor. I wish you the best of luck, Dahlia." Dahlia leaves the stage, still a bit stunned, but manages a final wave to the crowd before she disappears. "Well, ladies and gents, I think it's about time we got some testosterone up here, don't you? Let's pull on our final tribute from District 2: Cole Nature!"
It's quiet in the Nature household, the way it usually is - the way it has been for almost a decade. It is nearly vacant, save for one boy who is seated in the middle of the living room with a small TV in front of him. As the fourteen-year-old watches the brooding male stalk onto the stage, he grasps a yellowing picture. It features a younger version of himself and the man on stage, along with a healthy version of their mother. He looks down at it, smoothes a thumb over the crinkles, then shifts his attention back to the program.
Tall, dark, and handsome is definitely working in Cole's favor. Despite his lack of loquaciousness and fervor that the past tributes displayed, the crowd adores him. "Woah-wee, you haven't even said anything, and they're already in love with you," Merope states with a laugh. "I have to agree with them, though; you definitely look like a winner. Are you sure you haven't been training for the Hunger Games?"
He rolls his eyes, unimpressed by the praise. "I go to the gym a lot," he says plainly, plucking a piece of invisible dust off his dark slacks.
Merope blinks her long lashes at him, expecting him to elaborate but, sure enough, he doesn't. "Well, I can definitely tell," she continues, unperturbed my his meager choice of words. "Which means you must have the advantage going in, hmm?"
He shrugs.
"District 2 is known for having produced many victors in the past," she explains, more to the audience than to him. "Tributes from District, along with 1 and 4, were typically known as Careers, and traveled in a pack. The strongest hailed from these districts, and it looks like Cole is no exception. Do you already have a strategy for the Games?"
His green eyes harden, momentarily shocking her. "Don't lose." There is strong resolve behind his simple words, and it strikes the audience with awe.
"Such confidence!" Merope squeals. "I'm getting chills! Thank you so much, Cole, and good luck." He brushes her off, in no need of her luck, but she grins amiably anyway. His cool confidence, lacking in any warmth, captivates the audience, who shout after him even when his figure disappears behind a wall. "Things are really heating up now, aren't they, darlings? Well, I certainly won't keep you waiting, so let's bring on our next tribute! Hailing from District 3 is Oliver Winters! C'mon out, Oliver!"
Tears won't help anyone, least of all the skittish young boy slowly making his way across the TV screen. Still, Kimberly can barely maintain control of her emotions when she finally sees her son, who's been missing for over a week. The young girl next to her holds her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "He'll be alright, Mrs. Winters," she says, steadying her weak voice. "He'll be fine, right?"
The watery-eyed mother tries to return her son's friend's smile, but all she can manage is a despairing simper.
"You look nervous," Merope observes when Oliver sits beside her, hands clenched fearfully in his lap. "The lights and all the people must be really intimidating for someone your age. You are the youngest one to join us so far, but I hear there are a couple of younger ones in your class. Are you close with them?"
Oliver's blue gaze is still darting around the studio unconfidently. "N-not really," he manages quietly, tugging at the collar of his forest green dress shirt. "I, um… I don't really… I'm not…" His breathing is clammy and uneven, adding to his already anxious image. The crowd has long since simmered down, unsure of how to receive this awkward young man. "I usually prefer to read," he explains finally, "so I don't really talk to anyone."
She nods her head understandingly, trying to smile congenially so that he's not so jittery. "Ah, so we've got a bit of a loner and a bookworm. Those intellectual types always get me - and so young, too! How do you think you'll fare in the games, then? Surely you've read about what's gone on in these Games, and brains can only take you so far."
He shakes his head while tugging at his cuffs. "No. As Riley said earlier, we knew nothing about the Hunger Games. The first I actually heard of them was when…" A bout of nervousness takes over him again, and he takes a couple moments to swallow and compose himself. "… was when we first came here. I've gotten the chance to read a couple things, though."
Merope's perfectly trimmed eyebrows raise in curiosity. "Oh? And what have you learned?"
"That they're just as much about strategy and brains as they are about brawn - if not mores."
"So what you're telling us is not to count you out now," Merope says solemnly, and stands up with him to bid him goodbye. "We will definitely be watching for you, Oliver, and I wish you the very best of luck." His hands are still shaking when he takes hers, and he quickly scuttles off, relieved to be out of the limelight. The audience claps, though it's more out of respect than awe. "And now we've got another young'un joining us. Come on out, Drizzle Ainsworth!"
It's difficult to continue living when all that you have in the world is taken away from you. Caroline Ainsworth knows that she can't just sit idly crying, though, not when her only reason for living is struggling so hard. "You can do it, honey," she whispers to the small TV that's been set up in the factory entirely for her benefit. Her co-workers watch her with pity and sympathy, but no one can bring it in themselves to say anything; the scratchiness of her voice and the sunken look of her eyes say enough to keep them at bay. "You'll be alright, baby."
The girl who walks on is just as awkward as the previous boy, if not more so. To try and get her to settle in, Merope strides across the stage to meet her halfway, and takes her hands in a friendly gesture. "Welcome, welcome, Ms. Ainsworth," she coos, ushering her to the plush seat. "And what a fabulous number you've got on there."
She flushes a brilliant shade of red, but mutters a quiet thank you as she smoothes at the silver/gray material of her knee-length dress. When she sits down, she focuses her eyes on the shiny tile floor, which is much less intimidating than the crowd of garish people. She inhales slowly through her nose before finally raising her gaze to Merope, who is watching her with a concerned but soothing expression. "T-thank you. The preparation team worked really hard," she replies shakily.
"They certainly did. The purple in your hair is beautiful, by the way." Drizzle subconsciously raises her hands to the darkened purple streaks in her hair, trying to flash a smile. "So, Drizzle, why don't you tell us a little about yourself? You seem like a very nice, reserved young lady. What's it like back home in District 3?"
"I live with my mom," she answers quietly. "She's the only one I have."
"Any friends or anything?"
"People don't really… like me." Merope despairs, holding a hand over her heart; someone in the audience sniffs. "But it's okay," she speaks up, strength behind her words. "Because I have my mom, and she's the only one who matters. She works so hard… I don't want her to suffer anymore."
"Amazing, Drizzle." The interviewer wipes a tear from her eyes, then leans forward to take Drizzle's hands once again. "Now, is there anything you want to say to those who might doubt you because or your age or size, or anything?"
She presses her glossed lips together, contemplating. "Yes." She waits a moment, though it's more for her to think than to raise suspense. "I have to go back home," she says finally. "I can't lose."
"Your mother will be delighted to hear you say that, I'm sure," says Merope as she gives her hands a light tap. "Thank you so much, and good luck, Drizzle." The crowd claps in her honor as she strides across the stage, her head higher than it had been when she first walked on. "Such an inspiration, right, folks? Well now, let's wrap things up with District 3: please welcome Rea!"
It's almost like a large family gathering, the way everyone is seated around a table with food, in front of a large screen TV. The atmosphere is far from cheery, however, and nothing on the plates has been touched. "There's Rea!" Kino points his chubby finger at the screen when he sees his sister greet the strange woman. The three-year-old bears excitement on his face, a contrast to the grimness around him. "Mommy, Daddy, look!" His mother, trying to smile for her child, nods and lightly pats him on the head. "Woah, Rea's on TV…"
"Yeah, sure is something, isn't it?" Zax murmurs, then glances over at Diala, who is hugging her knees to her chest. He turns his eyes back to the screen, both entranced and mortified by the image of his best friend.
The crowd is very tame, as the last couple of tributes have lost the excitement and vivacity of the first ones. When Rea walks in, dressed in a flattering layered green dress, waving at the crowd, they nearly break out into screams. "Pop-pop-pop-popular, aren't we?" Merope giggles when she shakes Rea's manicured hand. "So you are the oldest representative from District 3; no pressure there, right?"
Rea laughs nervously as she rubs the back of her neck. "Geez, now you're making me nervous." The audience solicits a small giggle. "But, um… I guess it does instill a sort of responsibility, having two younger kids from the same District. They both keep to themselves, so I don't know them too well, but I've got a younger brother, you know, and sometimes big sister mode just kicks in."
"Do you think that will play a part in how you do in the Games?"
She opens her mouth to answer, but pauses. After a moment, she says, "It might."
Merope cocks her head to the side curiously. "What do you mean?"
"It means…" She hesitates, looking so naturally shy, and bites her lower lip. "It means that I have a lot waiting for me back home. I can't… allow myself to just drop everything here. I'll be leaving behind so many people. My brother, my parents, my friends…" Her eyes, which look far away, drift upwards as she falls into silence.
"Oooo, I recognize that look!" Merope accuses, pointing a finger at the girl. "That's the look of love!" Rea flushes a brilliant shade of pink, but no matter how much she shakes her head, she's caught. "Oh come on, you can't leave us all hanging now - what's his name? Is he from your district? How long have you known him for? Oh please, oh please, Rea, you just have to tell us! Who's the lucky guy?"
Merope is literally sitting on the edge of her seat, and the cheers from around probably aren't helping Rea's embarrassment either. "No no no, we're just friends… The two of us, we're just… We're just friends." She can't bring herself to look at the camera, as though afraid she'll make eye contact with it (or someone on the other side).
"So he's a friend! You're in love with your friend - oh darling, that is just the sweetest." Her words are iincere, and Rea swears there are stars in her eyes. "He must miss you so much… Oh no, you haven't confessed to him yet! He'll be cheering for you, though, and what a way to return home, huh?"
Her cheeks are still painted pink, but she manages a nod and a small smile anyway. "Hopefully."
"I wish you luck, and hope you'll be able to woo Prince Charming, whoever he may be," Merope bids genuinely, standing up to embrace the final tribute from District 3. "Thank you, and good tidings, Rea." She waves after the female, until she walks behind the wall, out of sight. "Oh my, romances always get to me," she sighs dreamily, fanning herself with her hand. "I do wish it wasn't such a mystery… Though I suppose that's what makes it so alluring." She giggles and the audience laughs in agreement. "Alright, alright, enough of that. Let's move on to a crowd favorite: District 4, Fishing! Come join us, River Matthias!"
Proximity of family members doesn't always result personal strong bonds. Father is off in the docks working with the older brother, while Mom is at home in the kitchen. Regardless, there is a crease between her eyes as she chops the vegetables and the radio plays in the background. "… River Matthias!" Her fingers freeze, with the knife hovering over an onion. "Well, isn't she just precious? I don't think I could ever pull off that look!" Mom bites the insides of her cheeks, then continues cooking.
At the dock, crowded around a television set up by the shift managers, Father and Son exchange a look. Behind them lay their nets and rods, work for once forgotten in lieu of the little girl on the platform.
River struts up to her seat with the confidence that few fourteen-year-olds can claim to have. Her dress is blue and silver, with the fabric styled in a way that it resembles both water and fish scales. Her heels, though small, are just as eye-catching as the dress, and her wavy hair falls over her shoulders in a graceful waterfall. Her grin stretches from ear to ear, accentuating the brightness of her green optics.
"Before we start, can I just say: you are possibly the most adorable thing I have ever seen." The audience screams, declaring their agreement with Merope. "So you hail from the fishing district, hm?"
"What, the dress doesn't give it away?" River chortles, earning a couple laughs. "I mean, yeah, I like fish, but dressing me up like one? No thanks."
"But you look beautiful," Merope insists.
She snorts. "Yeah, I bet you're paid to say that." Merope tries her best to look offended, but it's playful, and even River has to laugh. "But honestly, yeah, I've got a lot of District 4 pride. We're not-so-secretly the best." She winks and throws a thumb's up at the crowd, who shout and clap in response. "My parents are hard workers, too, so my family's always been pretty well off… Which may or may not be the reason for my answer."
"With riches do come a better lifestyle," the host agrees.
"Mmm, yeah, but we're not that close," she says, with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. "Yeah, I'm thankful for what they gave me, but it's not like we're the family who sits at a table for every meal, talking about what we did all day. Honestly, I feel more at home when I'm at school; back in District 4, our house is… I don't know. Just a house, I guess."
"You're so frank, so candid," Merope points out, though not in a way that is demeaning or harsh. "It wasn't hard growing up in that kind of environment?"
River's eyes aren't watering from the memory of a childhood that never was. Instead, she just grins. "Well, you just gotta make do with what you have. I just found stuff that entertained me, made friends with people who really liked me and made me feel like I was part of a family. I was really, uh, what would Drizzle say… Resourceful? Yeah."
"We've got a little warrior in this one! Definitely, then, that resourcefulness will be helping you in the Games."
"Definitely," she answers confidently.
"Let's give a hand to the fabulous River Matthias, everyone! Thank you so much for sharing with us, River, and good luck with everything to come." River shakes Merope's hand with fervor before literally skipping off the stage, a spring in her step. The TV host giggles, amused, while the audience's cheers fill up the studio. "Oh, and it looks like we've got another hot personality from District 4, folks. Say hello to Altair Osriel!"
Three little girls run around the Osriel household screaming, trying to get everyone's attention. "Altair's on!" announces the youngest, Linnea, who jumps up and down on the living room couch in excitement. "He's on, he's on, he's on!" Cairoh, his mother, and his father rush into the room, where chaos has all but broken out. "Look!" she shrieks, pointing at the auburn-haired boy on screen. "Oooh, he looks so handsome."
"Shut up!" Cella hisses, slapping the back of her younger sister's calve.
"Linnea, Cella, please," Yule sighs as he takes a seat on the couch beside them. He motions for his wife to sit next to him, and she does so gingerly. In an act of protection and reassurance (both for himself and her), he wraps an arm around her fragile shoulders. Her eyes are focused entirely on the screen, however; it's like all she can see is the TV.
Friendly and cheerful, but a little reserved and more laid-back: that's the image Altair is going for. He walks across the stage with one hand tucked into the pocket of his white slacks, the other in the air, waving at the accepting audience. "Miss Merope," he greets, getting down on one knee before pressing a kiss against her offered hand. She squeals excitedly, jumping around on her feet, as he stands up with a boyish grin. "Thanks for having me."
"No, no, no, thank you, you little charmer!" She playfully slaps his shoulder before raising her hands to her cheeks. "Goodness, you're making me blush. And here my friends made me believe that I was the intimidator."
His laugh is natural as he settles back into the chair. "Sorry, Miss, I definitely didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."
"Stop, stop!" She sits back down, but she's on the edge of her seat, with her body angled towards him. "I can tell - you're a real casanova. C'mon, Romeo, how many broken hearts have you left in your trail? How many girls are crying over you back home, hm? I bet you've got your own fan club back at the academy."
He waves his hand dismissively. "No way. I'm a girl repellent." The crowd guffaws despite the sincere simper he wears. "Actually, there's this one girl I know from back home; she's the daughter of one of my dad's best friends. I've liked for forever, but I've never really had the courage to ask her out." He scratches his head as everyone "aw"s sympathetically.
"So, are you trying to tell me you're just this naturally charming? That it's not all just a ruse to get the girls?" He blinks, unsure of what to say, then raises his shoulders hopelessly. "I guess real princes do exist, ladies and gentlemen. Well, then, Altair, tell us more about yourself. What exactly makes you tick?"
He grimaces a bit, though it's meant to be humorous. "Oh geez. That question's kinda difficult… Well, this is probably gonna sound super stereotypical, but I'm a big family guy. I've got three baby sisters and an older brother; I bet Linnea's super excited to see her big bro on screen." He waves at the camera, smiling amiably at the sister who is surely watching him.
"Oh yes, the charming family man," Merope sighs. "If only your type came in abundance… Anyway, your family will definitely be a good base of support, hm? They'll be wanting their boy to return safely, I'm sure."
"Yeah." His smile softens. "I, well, we suffered a great loss a while ago. I've actually got four baby sisters; the oldest, Marigold, died when I was younger." Merope places a hand over her heart. "It's… not really something we've gotten over."
"And what do you think Marigold would say, if she were here now, knowing what you have to go through?"
"I think…" He rubs his hands together as his body leans forward, painting him in a picture of thought. "I think she would tell me to do my best, to try to win, to come back home so we can play together."
"Do you think you'll be able live up to it?"
He adjusts the ocean blue tie knotted around his neck as he sits up straight. "I'll sure as hell try," he replies with a lopsided grin.
"I'll be cheering for you from the sidelines, Altair. Good luck." He gives her a farewell hug, which she returns heartily, before walking offstage. "What's this? I think my heart is still a flutter! Goodness me, I don't know if I'll be able to live through these Hunger Games!" The spectators chuckle as they applaud both her and the boy who had previously been accompanying her. "We certainly don't have time to waste, though, so let's bring on our final contender from Fishing: Lana Wood!"
The cell phone that is so often glued to Elaine Wood's head is abandoned on the coffee table. Her attention is zoned in completely on the widescreen TV in her bedroom; she doesn't even notice her husband, who paces back and forth anxiously. She can only see the exuberant young woman jumping around on stage, waving and squealing at the audience and camera. This can't possibly be her daughter, she thinks. "But you don't even know who she is, not really," a voice tells her.
It hurts, she decides, being unable to recognize her own child.
"Hey hey heeeey, beautiful people of the Capitol! You're all looking awfully beautiful today! Hello, hello!" Lana actually has to be dragged over to her chair by Merope, but the interviewer looks more than ecstatic to have another energetic tribute to share the stage with. "Hey hey hey, you're totally stealing my limelight!" She pouts when she's forced to sit down, and folds her arms over her chest.
"Oh sweet potato, I don't think I could ever steal the limelight from someone in that hot get up," Merope joins in on the playful banter, winking. "You know, I don't think the audience got a real good look - and we'd hate for all the work of your prep team to go unnoticed. Go on, spin around a couple more times!"
Now with permission from the host, Lana jumps to her feet and spins. Her seafoam green dress is tight and short, leaving little room for imagination. Her long legs are accentuated by the silver pumps on her feet, and her dirty blonde ringlets have been tamed and perfected so that they hang alluringly over her shoulders. A few boys in the crowd wolf whistle, and she reciprocates with a blown kiss in their direction.
"Alright, alright, now you're taking away the small spotlight I actually have left," Merope jokes, but the light tug she has on the tribute's arm is forceful enough to pull her down. "Wow. You are absolutely stunning, Lana. You must be extremely popular back home."
"You don't even know," she giggles. "Kids are always lining up outside my dorm room, trying to get my autograph. It drives Dahlia crazy."
Merope's eyebrows shoot up towards her exaggerated hairline. "Dahlia? The two of you are friends?"
"She's my roommate," Lana answers evenly. "And, yeah, friend. We've been in the same class every year since we both joined the academy. She's been with me through everything."
"Oh my goodness," she breathes. "And what's it like, knowing that you'll be pitted against someone you know so well, have been so close to for so long? Have the two of you talked about it?"
Lana shakes her head heavily, her energy heavily depleting. "N-no. It's… not really a topic you wanna bring up over dinner."
Merope nods understandingly and changes the topic, realizing that Lana will not willingly speak more about it. "What skills do you think you'll bring to the Games? What gives you the advantage over the others? Why do you think you're the one who will come out on top?"
"Well, if I'm lucky we'll all just be dropped into the ocean or something," Lana laughs, her vigor returning. "I'm sure this applies to every kid born into my district, but I'm not just being cocky when I saw I'm an awesome swimmer. I guess it doesn't hurt that I'm blessed with such charm and beauty, either." The crowd laughs at her small pitch of humor, though the smirk she's wearing leads them to wonder if her arrogance is true or not.
"And what a deadly combination that all is," Merope agrees, nodding. "I wish for nothing but good fortune for you in the Games." The females shake each other's hands before Lana goes bounding off the stage, though not before making a final show for the audience. Once she's done blowing her kisses and waving, it's time for the next tribute to step up. "I can definitely see how District 4 are the favorites," Merope muses out loud, "but let's not rule out everyone else, hm? Please welcome, from District 5, Joel Connor!"
The CEO of a large power plant in District 5 is not tending to the hundreds of calls directed to his office. He is not overlooking his workers, not chatting with close co-workers, not scribbling his signature on the hundred pieces of paper that need to go through him for approval. Instead, he is at home, cuddled on the couch with his family, eyes glued to the television set. He's trying to stay strong for his wife and children, who are clinging to each other, as though afraid of losing yet another one of them, but even he cannot control the trembling of his clenched fists.
"Joel," his mother chokes out, and her daughter reaches out to take her hand. She squeezes little Neera's hand, but cannot bring herself to tear away her gaze from the little boy sitting on stage.
The plush chair is so large, it practically engulfs him; or maybe it's just that he's so small. Despite his diminutive stature, Joel sits upright, bearing an almost smile for Merope, who is cooing over how adorable he looks. "You are just too cute," she comments, admiring the outfit his preparation team created for him. The suit is pure black, with blue lines and circuits sewn in to resemble the characteristics of a computer chip. "You're the youngest one to join us today, aren't you?"
"Ruby's twelve, too," he corrects.
"Oh my goodness, twelve," Merope gasps. "But you seem to act much older than your age. I'm sure your maturity spans far beyond your years." He blushes at the compliment, but says nothing. "I hear your father runs a large power plant in District 5. He must be very busy, considering how much the entire district depends on him."
"Yes, my father's usually at work and my mother often helps him because so many people demand his time," he answers frankly. "It's given my siblings and I time to grow and decide a couple things on our own, though, and we do get to see them at dinner and on weekends. Being at school, though, it's a little more difficult, since I can only come home on holidays, and sometimes he gets swamped with work."
"Speaking of school," she interrupts, "how do you do there? You're obviously much younger than many of your classmates. Do you ever feel intimidated?"
"No." Her eyes flutter wide at his honesty. "I've… always picked up on things fairly quickly, so I've never had trouble with keeping up with the lessons. The academy is designed to accommodate to all ages and children from all districts, which is why they mix the classes so thoroughly. But going back to the first point, adaptation is a primal instinct; you should be able to take control of the environment, not the other way around."
Merope blinks, impressed by both his vocabulary and general intelligence, and chuckles. "My, you certainly are an impressive young man, Joel. You'll be sure, now, that we'll be expecting a lot from you. After all, the Hunger Games are all about adapting to a new environment, aren't they?" He nods. "Remember, folks, age and size don't always equate a winner. Little he may be, but I suspect we've got a fighter in this one."
Joel cringes at the use of the word "little," but he stands to shake her hand anyway. She towers over him by far, even without the aid of her seven inch pumps, and he suddenly feels a rush of intimidation. "T-thank you," he manages, unable to look her directly in the eyes.
"No, no, thank you, Joel," she insists, trying to override the wave of nervousness. "Please, let's give one more hand for the boy from the district of Power!" The crowd's claps are soft, as though they can sense his discomfort in front of them, and continue until he has left the stage. "My, my, my, so many districts and tributes, so little time." She wipes away the invisible sweat from her forehead and heaves a sigh. "But - no time for breaks just yet! We've got with us another lovely young lady from District 5: Oralee Roshan!"
The usually chaotic Roshan household is draped in tense silence. The children, who are usually running around, are quietly huddled around an antique radio in the kitchen. Aubrey sits beside her children in her wheel chair, calmly listening, while her husband works on creating tonight's dinner. "There she is," she whispers.
The smokey-colored dress is flattering on the willowy build of Oralee, who carefully treads across the stage to meet Merope. "Welcome to the Capitol, Oralee," Merope says kindly, taking her by the hands to lead her to the chairs in the center. "How have you enjoyed your stay so far?"
"It's-" Something flashes behind her eyes when she cuts herself off. She thinks about her response, then replies, "It's been interesting."
"Oh? How so?"
"It's just different than what I'm used to," she admits, her gaze wandering around the studio in disbelief. "Both at home and at school. You all live a very… extravagant lifestyle." Becoming blinded by all the lights, she blinks away and shifts her attention to Merope, who is watching her. "It's so surreal."
"And what's your favorite you've interacted with so far?"
The pleasant look on the strawberry blonde's face shifts to something of mild annoyance. Merope notices instantly, but before she can recover, Oralee snaps. "You people kidnap me, lock me up in a cell, and take me away from everything I've ever known - and you think prettying me up and putting me on TV is going to make it better? What's my favorite thing about this disgusting society that takes away children and makes them kill each other?"
Merope is stunned, to say the very least. A murmur ripples across the audience, but they two are at a loss for words and reactions. On stage, Oralee fumes, her brow furrowed and fists clenched in her dress. "You people are the worst," she whispers. "You're disgusting."
Someone runs onto the stage - her stylist, most likely, judging by the way he is dressed - and carefully pulls her to her feet. "C'mon, Ora," he whispers into her ear, urging her to follow him offstage. She complies with no argument, though she does shoot a stony glare at the shell-shocked Merope.
"A-alright," she coughs after finally recovering. "W-well, then, folks, no time for breaks, right?" She pats the volume of white curls on her head and clears her throat, still visibly upset from the bizarre encounter. "Right… Okay, okay, on to District 6, then! The district of Transportation! Just to mix things up a bit though-" (she pauses and the audience laughs), "we're bringing on both representatives. Why, you wonder? I'll let you see for yourself." She winks playfully. "Please, help me in welcoming on Lewis and Lorea Carnet!"
It shouldn't be too much of a surprise, that she's the only one at home watching this unfortunate television program, with her husband no where in sight. He never cared much for his children, and was ecstatic when the two of them went away for school. She knows he'll use the excuse that he has to work - which he does - but she can't help but wonder there is a part of him that is concerned for their well-being.
Delilah Carnet exhales heavily before raising the large coffee cup to her lips.
The twins are dressed in the likeness of train conductors, hat and all. The only difference between the two of them is that Lorea is wearing a dress - that, and her frown is large enough to separate the upper part of her face from the lower. Lewis, contrarily, bears a grin as he waves excitedly at the crowd. "My oh my, I don't think we've ever had twins in the history of the Games," Merope states, clearly thrilled by the concept. "Oh, goodness, we've only two seats…"
"Go ahead, I don't mind. I can stand," Lewis offers sweetly, motioning to the two chairs to the females.
"Such a gentleman," Merope sings, while Lorea rolls her eyes. "So the two of you hail from District 6, you're twins, you're both in the same class at the academy… I'm going to assume you both get along very well."
"She's my best friend," he confirms, and the crowd swoons. "I mean, we're very different, but… She knows me better than anyone." He and his sister lock gazes momentarily, but she quickly turns her head to the side and scowls. She can't completely hide her flushed cheeks from the camera, however. "We've been through it all together. Hopefully, we'll be able to go back home together, too."
"That is very sweet," Merope says earnestly. "But…" She looks crestfallen at the unspoken words, and Lewis's face does the same.
"But there's only one victor," Lorea speaks up finally, voicing the words that neither of them want to say.
Lewis looks troubled, but Merope nods grimly and reaches across to hold Lorea's hand; the latter tries her hardest not to yank her hands away. "Yes, that is true… But I'm sure your sibling bond will play a very important role in how the two of you do in the Hunger Games. So… Is there anyone waiting for the two of you back home, aside from your parents?"
Lorea scoffs loudly, earning a questioning look. "Except our parents are probably out clubbing right now. They're probably thinking, good riddance.'"
"Lorea!" Lewis scolds, his eyebrows knitted together in concern.
"Oh, right, I forgot - Mom actually likes you," she answers offhandedly, rolling her eyes once more. He looks truly distraught by her words, but he can't say anything to counter the candidness of what she's said. "A lot of people like Lewis," she says to Merope, who's both interested and confused by the sibling dynamic. "He's even got a girlfriend waiting for him back at the academy."
"Is that right?" Merope gushes, having already proven that she's a hopeless romantic.
"Yes, and I miss her, but… Well, right now my primary concern is just getting back home - with Lorea." They all know what Merope wants to say, that it's fruitless and he should be concentrating on his lone victory, but she smiles at his sweet demeanor.
"No doubt, the two of you will be great assets to each other," she concludes, and the twins exchange a look. "Thank you so much, Lewis and Lorea, and good luck to the both of you in the Hunger Games." She makes sure to shake the hands of both Carnet siblings before sending them off, with Lewis being a little more kind to the crowd. "Whew! Fifteen tributes, and we're only halfway there! We'll be taking a short break, but don't go away! Right after our short intermission, we'll continue with the interviews for the tributes of the 76th Hunger Games!"
Closing Song: "Stripped" - Shiny Toy Guns
Aaaand there's Districts 1-6! Districts 7-13 will be in the next chapter. Remember to vote, even if your character hasn't been featured yet; there will be two winners, after all. Also, keep an eye out for tributes you may want to ally with. I have a general idea of alliances and whatnot, but your input is important to me as well. Once I get the rest of the tributes up, I'll ask for your official requests for alliances (and possible romances).
Until next time!
may the odds be ever in your favor,
der kapitan