Chapter 6 Scores and Interview

Bobby Jean "Blight" Oakley District Seven Male

Blight crossed his arms and slumped in his seat on the luxurious sitting room sofa, almost sinking into the burgundy cushions. A silky tassel slapped him in the face and he brushed it aside irritably, dreading the results of the individual scores. Their mentors were nowhere to be seen which wasn't unusual.

So far he hadn't seen them outside of mealtimes and even then they were so out of it they might as well not be there at all. Just as well, it ain't like they were going to be any help once he was in the arena either, he scowled and thought dejectedly.

"Oh dear, I seem to have lost my phone," Selphie murmured, peering under cushions in concern. She was dressed in what she called a "casual outfit" consisting of a skintight catsuit, latex gloves and black combat boots. Suddenly she bent over too far and a loud rip tore through the air. She yelped and clutched her rear end which was now split open and revealing her hot pink underpants.

Anya muttered a rude suggestion of where she should look for it but Selphie was either too distressed by her wardrobe malfunction to notice or purposely ignored her.

A faint buzzing noise interrupted them and Blight could feel something vibrating underneath his thigh.

"Oh thank goodness!" Selphie dove for it and pulled out the phone from under the cushions. As soon as it was in her hands she began swiping in all directions. She frowned when the phone wasn't responding but then realized it was because of the gloves she was wearing and hastily took them off.

"I've been talking you two up to everybody I can, trying to get some potential sponsors," she said brightly. "In fact, I have a meeting with... er... I seem to have missed it." She frowned at her phone. "Well, I'll get the next one, how do you two think you did at the scoring session?" she asked hopefully.

Both tributes simply grunted in reply.

An awkward silence stretched across the room's endless forest-painted wallpaper and Selphie chewed her lip hesitantly.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't catch that, what did you say?"

Anya rolled her eyes. "Get the hint lady, we don't want to talk to you."

"Oh." Selphie seemed to deflate in her seat and in spite of how badly he thought of her Blight found himself feeling sorry for their escort. Sure she was clueless and clumsy, and any of her badly-executed attempts at helping them get sponsors was probably wouldn't amount to so much as a cracker but unlike their mentors she was actually trying, and Blight decided that it had to count for something.

"I threw some knives and matched some berries," he mumbled. "Didn't do too well in either though." A gloomy cloud settled over his head as he remembered how the knives had clattered to the floor well before reaching the target and the computer had lit up like christmas as he mismatched berry after berry. It wasn't his fault though, none of the plants that came up were native to District Seven which made him flustered.

"Oh it's alright dear, I'm sure you did fine," she said reassuringly and patted his knee.

He knew he didn't. And it wasn't the inevitable low score that bothered him, after all scores only mattered for the betting and impressing prospective sponsors which he would have none of.

What bothered him was the knowledge that training was over and he was no better at anything than the day he started. After struggling for three days he couldn't use a weapon, build a shelter, or even recognize which plants were safe to eat. When the games started tomorrow he would have nothing. No brains, no brawn, no sponsors, and he realized with a dull pang, no hope.

A commercial for a shampoo that promised to keep the curls of any wig intact wrapped up and finally, the scores were announced by the ever faux-encouraging Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith.

As usual, the Careers scored in the eight-to-ten range, the tributes from the urban districts averaging a three. And then District Seven came up. Anya managed to pull an eight, a score that made the corners of her mouth turn up into a barely perceptible smile while Blight received a three.

The scores for the outer Districts started up and it was barely a surprise that this year a number of outlying tributes scored exceptionally well with scores of seven, eight, nine, flashing on the screens while the hosts joked that there must have been something in the water.

Impressive scores from Districts that poor was practically unheard of, making Blight's score even more pitiful in comparison. He hung his head in his hands in despair as he realized it wasn't just the Careers that he would be in trouble with, everyone right down to the coal-boy from the poorest district would probably be able to kill him easier than pie.

He was barely aware of Anya rising from her seat and walking to her room until he heard the soft click of her door.

"It's alright Bobby Jean," Selphie said consolingly and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Scores hardly matter when it comes right down to it. Look, last year's victor scored a two. Nobody thought much of her but at the end of the day, Wiress turned out to be ever the winner."

"Call me Blight," he mumbled. He wasn't sure why he was telling her now, but maybe it was because he wanted at least one person in the Capitol to know his preferred name before be died.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Only one that calls me Bobby Jean's my ma. Everybody else calls me Blight."

"Why, that's a terrible thing to call someone!" she protested.

"It ain't, if you get the meaning behind it."

Selphie looked as if she were about to ask him before she was interrupted by the mandatory broadcast. "Aaaaand welcome back to Caesar's Palace, with an exclusive interview with Camilla Silver," Caesar Flickerman's voice blared from the television.

Both Blight and Selphie turned to the television to see the newest Head Gamemaker, a pink-haired young woman who had been surgically enhanced with cat's ears and tail walk up to the stage waving and blowing kisses to the applauding crowd.

"So Camilla you're the youngest and also the first female Head Gamemaker in history, isn't that right?"

She settled on her seat, legs crossed, hands neatly folded. "I'm the first of my kind, you seen any? No shade, but the previous Head Gamemakers, were a bunch of stuffy old men who didn't know when to shake things up."

The audience gasped, then burst into raucous laughter.

"Hey, I said no shade," she held up her hands in mock defense with a laugh.

Blight couldn't help but notice that the cat's ears on her head kept twitching and her tail swished nervously throughout the interview. He watched her carefully, noting the cracks in her smile, the way her brow seemed to furrow, the beads of sweat on her forehead. She was walking on a tightrope, and she knew it.

"So you're planning on shaking things up eh? Can you give us a hint?" Caesar leaned forward expectantly.

She waved him off bashfully. "Oh Caesar, you know a lady never reveals her secrets. But I can tell you this, I've been designing this arena since I was in high school. It's going to be big."

"And deadly?"

The audience laughed.

"Do you even have to ask?"

Blight shivered with apprehension.

They moved on to other topics like her early life and school, at which point Selphie murmured "Camilla was actually one of my sorority sisters back in university."

Blight stared at her in disbelief. "You went to university?"

"Why do you sound so surprised?" Selphie had the gall to look insulted, touching her gloved leather hand to her similarly gloved leather chest. "All the escorts have to take a few required courses, of course I was never nearly as clever as Camilla though. I swear everyone in that family's some sort of genius, her older brother is a unit commander in the Special Ops and they're always competing to see who's more successful."

They both continued to watch for a while before the interview wrapped up and they were allowed to turn off the television.

Selphie glanced at the clock. "Well then, that's that. Time for bed dear, you have a big, big, big day tomorrow for the interviews. Try to get as much rest as possible, you don't want dark circles under your eyes hmm?"

He nodded and walked into his room numbly, shutting the door behind him. "Sororities, Special Ops, ha…" his lips trembled and he clenched his fists. As much as he tried distract himself with Capitol intricacies, alone in a quiet room he was flooded by thoughts of death. Interviews tomorrow, and then what? He collapsed against the door, sliding down until he was sitting on the ground.

Blight buried his head in his arms and began to shake uncontrollably as he listed all the things he had taken for granted and would never experience again.

The feel of the cool breeze on a hot day.

The crunch of wet grass beneath his feet in the morning.

The satisfying scraw of a cockatrice followed by the thump at his feet.

The smell of smoke and gunpowder and the sight of the bullets flying towards their intended targets as if they were magnets.

His family.

He was scared dammit! He didn't want to die! In his desperation, his eyes fell upon the window of his large bedroom. He opened it, immediately feeling the whoosh of wind against his face and the dull honks and roars of vehicles whizzing by. Peering out, he remembered that he was on the seventh floor so it wasn't like he could simply jump but maybe...

He turned to his closet and flung it open.

"What can I do for you?" a cool robotic female voice asked.

"Gimme scarves, a whole bunch of 'em," he said frantically.

A chute from the top of the closet opened out and an assortment of long woolen scarves came tumbling out.

He gathered them in a pile and tested them for sturdiness. They were felt strong, strong enough to support his weight so he lashed them together with a knot he had learned from training and secured one end to his bedpost.

He wove the other end under his legs and tied it around his waist and climbed out on the steel-wrought windowsill, squatting down to duck his head and body under the window. Holding the rest of the length of bunched up scarves in his hands, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

This actually reminded him of one of the stories his ma used to tell, the one with the princess imprisoned in a tower by an evil witch. Well, if she could survive a thousand foot jump, and escape, then surely he could too. Blight forced himself to throw his body backwards and jumped out the window... only to be knocked back inside by some invisible force.

What the?

He fell on the bedroom floor with a clatter and only managed to break the fall with his hands. He dusted himself off as he staggered to his feet again. What in tarnation? Cautiously, he reached his hand out the window further until he met with some electrical resistance and actually punched himself in the face from the recoil so hard he fell over and met the floor for the second time.

Face smarting, he brushed the dust off his knees and staggered back to his feet. Well, what did he expect? Of course the Capitol would have some measures to keep the tributes from escaping. He felt furious at himself for even trying.

Even if he had managed to leave the tower, then what? It wasn't like he could walk back to District Seven, and they would hardly let him leave the Capitol anyhow, even if he had managed to find the train station. He was going into the Games, and that was that. The only event left was the farce of the tribute interviews and then…. He grit his teeth at the thought of the arena and his grim future.

.oOo.

The next night Blight found himself sweating in a dark brown tuxedo with leaf accents between his partner and the girl from Eight.

There were too many cameras, the lights were too bright, it was too hot, and as tribute after tribute got up he was aware that it was almost his turn.

He remembered Lester once saying that the most common phobia is fear of public speaking. The second one being death. He drummed his fingers on the table and looked around agitatedly. As someone who was going to be facing both pretty soon, Blight had to admit that he understood how the torture of public speaking was more nerve-wracking than the idea of quick death.

When the feeling of suffocation become too much he loosened his tie- which was printed with apples because his stylist had still insisted that apple trees would represent Seven- and let out a sigh of relief.

Blight hated giving reports in front of the class, and even then it was a room of fifty people. And now he suddenly expected to be witty, playful, and entertaining in front of the whole country? Nah, it was more likely that he would just end up pissing himself.

This year Caesar's hair was an ugly brick red, and his lips and eyelids were painted in the same hue so that he looked almost clown-like. From his seat Blight squinted at the animated talk-show host.

Yesterday he had seen him on the television screen and hadn't thought anything of it, but now that he was up close and in person, he noticed that this Caesar Flickerman was a different man than last year's Caesar Flickerman, but as tradition, the actor kept the stage name and nobody mentioned the switch.

Like the Caesar Flickermans before him, the new host told a few jokes to warm up the audience, then got right down to business.

The interviews started and it seemed like everyone was playing up some angle. The boy from Two was an icy, cold-blooded killer. The boy from Four was humorous and friendly. The sleek, red-haired girl from Five was rather stiff. But of course it was the girl from Six who stole the show. Already a minor celebrity in the eyes of the Capitolites who kept up with her famous father in the media through the years, she would most likely have sponsors coming out her ass, even with her low score.

Blight listened to her gush and scowled at the hypocrite. During training she had let him know she looked down on playing their Game but what was she doing now? Playing up to the Capitol for their support! She wasn't even that special either, he thought sourly, just some girl who talked about repairing vintage cars with her father and how much she hopes to continue his legacy and bring pride to her District.

Selphie had encouraged him to talk about his family, especially that "interesting" brother-in-law of his but he had a feeling that the Capitol audience wouldn't be too interested in stories about a family of rednecks. And he was practically certain he would be gunned down on the spot if he started sharing some Lester' "theories" of how he thought the Capitol worked.

He turned his attention back to the front of the stage where Anya was clomping over in a pair of high heels and a short leaf-green dress. Her prep team had really outdone themselves, her shimmering makeup and styled hair making her almost look like a girl.

Still, her personality certainly wasn't winning her any points with the audience. Especially when she only gave short, one word answers to all of Caesar's questions and even the legendary host was struggling to remain upbeat and chatty.

Too soon they called his name and he stumbled his way to centre stage which was if anything even hotter and brighter than his seat at the back.

"So Bobby Jean, the Capitol must be quite a change from District Seven. What's impressed you most since you arrived here?" Caesar asked.

He blinked when the harsh light flashed right in front of his face. "The-the toilets," Blight managed to stammer.

The audience burst into laughter.

Caesar's shoulders shook and he slapped his knee in amusement. "You're killing me Bobby Jean, you really are, just keep this up and the Games will be a cinch."

Blight tried to pull the brim of his hat over his eyes in embarrassment. The toilets? Could he sound like a bigger hillbilly? But he realized he was bare-headed and instead tried to comb his hair back nonchalantly.

"I know what you mean though," Caesar leaned forward in a faux whisper as if in confidence. "After a day of eating the Capitol's rich foods and letting it out, I'm impressed about what they could do. I'm sure you've been over-indulging in the food as well?"

"Naw, can't stomach it," he mumbled.

"What?" Caesar looked scandalized. "Then what kind of food are you used to in District Seven then?"

"Racoon, squirrel, cockatrice, butter sketti," he listed.

Caesar held a hand to his mouth like he was about to be sick. "Okay okay, let's get away from the food, shall we? Tell us about your family, a real rustic bunch, that's what I'm guessing eh?" Something about the way he said it made him think that Flickerman was making fun of him but Blight couldn't think of a snarky retort on the spot.

Blight nodded slowly. "Um I have a ma and pa, two sisters, a nephew, a brother and a brother-in-law."

"Must be nice coming from such a large, loving family," Caesar remarked.

"You crazy?" Blight found himself saying. "Y'all got any idea how loud seven people are in a single-wide trailer? Ain't no way anyone doesn't become crazy putting up with their noise." But they're my family and I miss them, he thought with a pang.

He was hit by the sudden realization that he was probably never going to see his family again. He was never going to hear Cody and Milly argue. Or listen to his mother screech at his father. Or pretend to pay attention to one of Lester's conspiracy theories. But what he regretted most of all was that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise to baby Jakey and teach him how to shoot.

"Awwwww," the audience cooed dutifully, just as the buzzer sounded.

Blight shuffled back to his seat, wondering dully what his family at home would think of his goodbye.

.

The pretty girl from Eight was next, but before she even got up from her seat, the monitors suddenly went dark, met with a sharp intake of breath from everyone in the audience.

When they came back on the shots of the stage were replaced them with indiscernible masked figures, but Blight couldn't tell for sure because they were gone after a second.

And everybody in the audience began freaking out. A garishly dressed woman near the front let out a high-pitched shriek and promptly collapsed into her flustered husband.

"Holy shit, what the hell's going on?" Anya murmured with interest, her hands gripping the armrests of her seat with curiosity.

Everybody watched as the monitor dissolved into scattered snippets from the previous interview and then suddenly static.

Without moving from their seats, the twenty-four tributes simultaneously turned around to watch the whole thing erupt over the big screen behind them in rapt fascination. Control for the screens broke down into a broadcast battle as the Capitol tech masters tried to fend off the hacker's attack.

After a very brief struggle they managed to wrestle control back to their side, which made the boy from Eight whisper something to his district partner. Blight pricked his ears and tried to overhear their hushed conversation, he could have sworn he heard the name Paylor, but wasn't sure. He frowned and leaned back in his chair. Now that he thought about it, the Capitol solved the problem so quickly and so easily, it was as if they had prepared for and were anticipating the attack, but was the attack really from Paylor in District 8? Was it really possible?

The black-clad figures in the audience sprang into action and blocked the doorways. "Special Operations Police, counterterrorism division. That was only a broadcast signal intrusion, please remain calm the signal is now clear. Nobody is allowed to leave until our partner division has finished their investigation," the leader barked.

Understandably the audience buzzed with questions and objections, a few more Capitolites fainted from the excitement, and more were clamouring to get out and arguing with the Special Ops.

Their voices rose against the din of feet scrambling to the exits, their red faces with spittle flying and garish costumes created a scene from some sort of circus-nightmare.

Completely frozen to his seat, Blight for the hundredth time wondered if there was any possibility that he would be able to avoid going into the Games.

"Well, what an uh, surprising turn of events!" Caesar Flickerman seemed to just come out from a dazed stupor and put on a huge smile and tried to act like it was part of the show.

He was speaking to an empty audience though as no one was paying any sort of attention to the front of the stage at all. Even the cameramen were giving each other puzzled glances, wondering if they should take off as well.

"But no matter what the show must go on!" He gave the blinking cameras a toothy grin. "Now let's get on with the interviews, shall we? Give a warm welcome for Lyssa Sullivan everybody!"

The girl from Eight pouted and sashayed up to the stage in a swathe of scarlet gauze, but Blight saw the steely anger in her eyes and her tightly clenched fists. If he had to guess, he would say she wasn't angry at the fact that no one was paying attention to her interview, but that they insisted on continuing this mockery when there was a bigger news story everybody else wanted to hear about.

As if in her own cheeky rebellion, she turned her face against Caesar and refused to say a single word, forcing the host to answer his own questions.

Not that it really mattered, given that the mob below the stage was more concerned with getting the hell out than the show. Their frantic voices actually drowned out Caesar's and Blight couldn't help but wonder how much the viewers in the Districts knew of what just happened.

Wouldn't the president be furious at this small slip in control? His gaze was drawn to president Snow, head furtively bent in discussion with one of the Special Ops.

What in tarnation is going on this year? He wondered.


A/N Next chapter Blight enters the arena! I was asked if the story would be Blight's POV all the way and no, once the Games start POV will switch between Blight, Sabine, Raven, Niko, Tally, Cabel, Dexter, and Marlin. Plus Ike Paylor gets his own chapter too. I know some people prefer one consistent POV all the way (like The Hunger Games and Harry Potter and a lot of really good books) but I chose multiple POVs to show all the different stuff happening around the arena and between each alliance. Plus, each tribute brings their own insight on their own secrets about their Districts when they drop their backstories.