Okay, before I write this, I have no idea how long this is going to be. I've looked up a lot of things on the Hunger Games wiki in order to get as many details right as I can, but I have no idea how long a 2-3 minute interview would be translated on paper. So this will probably be an extremely long chapter.
Thanks, and enjoy.
Hunger Games Host
Blaineley POV
"Ladies and gentlemen, let us now welcome the mistress of ceremonies, Blaineley O'Haaaaaalloraaaaan!"
The usual introduction. An oldie, but a goodie, no doubt. I make sure to smile broadly and gesture in a grandiose manner. The usual fare. And the usual enthusiastic fanfare, of course. I control the applause with my extended arms, letting out a cheer of excitement. This truly is my favorite time of the year...the excitement! The fashion! The drama!
"Thank you! Thank you!" I take my seat, crossing my legs comfortably as the applause died down. "For twenty-three years, twenty-three long, wonderful years I've been the host of the Hunger Games, and once again I'd like to let you all know how much it means to me to have me here. We're coming up on twenty-five, after all! Is that exciting or what?"
Resonating cheers from the audience, and I grin in a practiced manner. And I've had plenty of time to practice. "I know, right? The Hunger Games is my life, and I don't think I could live without it. But enough about me! We have twenty-four tributes to interview. So let's get this show on the road! First up! She's drop-dead gorgeous, has a heart of gold, and loves the Capitol fashion! Please welcome Lindsay Top!"
Lindsay walks onto the stage, waving to the audience and smiling. There are multiple catcalls from the male members of the audience, and she giggles, blushing at the praise. She's wearing a partly see-through golden dress. Apparently, her stylist thought that less was more with her. Can't say I blame him.
She sits down in her seat, and I clear my throat before beginning the first interview. "Lindsay! How are you doing? Enjoying your stay in the Capitol so far?"
She nods, grinning. "Yeah! My stylist has such an awesome sense of...um...style. That was redundant."
Laughter in the aisles. I grin. "That's great, Lindsay! You're into fashion?"
"Uh huh!" she replies excitedly. "Everyone here is like, so fashionable and trendy! It's awesome!"
"That is awesome," I agree. "So, how was life back in District 1?"
Her face immediately falls. "My daddy loved me. I had a dog. She loved me. Everybody loved me...I miss them..." She starts sniffling and I comfort her by patting her on the shoulder.
"It's okay, Lindsay. I'm sure they're all cheering you on back at home. And I'm certain some of us will be cheering you on as well. Right?" I turn to the audience, who respond with enthusiastic cheers and clapping. Lindsay smiles sweetly, still sniffling.
"Thanks, guys," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "That means a lot to me."
I clear my throat. "If I may ask, you got a score of 3 in your private lessons. Now, I don't want to sound like a bully or anything," I say, shaping my words rather largely and slurring, making the audience laugh. "But how did you get that score?"
"I tried to tie a knot," is her response.
There's laughter from the audience, and she looks around, confused, totally oblivious as to the other meaning of "tie a knot."
"What?" she asks defensively, and I save her.
"Lindsay, tying a knot can also refer to marrying somebody," I explain comfortingly, and realization draws itself across her features.
"Ohhhhh, I get it now," she says, looking enlightened. "Thanks! Heh heh heh, no, sillies, I didn't marry a Gamemaker! I tried tying a knot, and it just didn't work out too well."
"Thank you, Lindsay," I say sincerely. I make a show out of checking my watch. "Well, it looks as though we've run out of time. Thank you so much." Lindsay stands and I raise her hand in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, Lindsay Top!"
Cheers fill the air, and Lindsay smiles and waves as she walks off the stage. I like to think that I just increased her chances of survival, if only a little bit. We'll just have to see. I take my seat and address the audience once more.
"Second up. He's dreamy, stunning, and made half the girls in the Capitol, including myself, swoon, it's Justin!"
Justin walks onto the stage with a truly stunning grin. He wears a black tuxedo with a golden shirt, and he snaps his fingers, making a finger gun at the audience. Screams of girls of all ages fill the room, and he sits down, lounging comfortably.
Time to get this interview started. "Okay, first things first, Justin, if I faint during this interview, it's all your fault, okay?"
Laughter from the audience, and Justin chuckles. "Yeah, I get that a lot. At school I once got sent into the hall because no one could concentrate because I was so hot."
More laughter. I smile warmly at him. I need to give the impression that I care about him for more than his looks. Making a tribute feel like he matters makes their best side come out, and therefore the side that would win the most sponsors. I raise an eyebrow. "No one? Isn't it just the girls?"
He waggles his eyebrows. "The guys too. Even the ones with girlfriends."
"Well, now it just seems like you're bragging," I chuckle.
He rolls his eyes jokingly. "I should be able to brag. I mean, not everyone has these." He exposes his biceps, causing an immediate and high-pitched scream from the female members of the audience.
I pretend to go wide-eyed at the sight of them, and then chuckle in a good-natured manner. "That's very impressive, Justin, but could you sit down?"
He sits, giving me a mock-scowl, but the laughter from the audience makes it clear that this is a joke. "So, Justin. What's your life like back at home. Got a girlfriend?"
"Not currently," he replies slyly, taking advantage of the audience reaction. He's certainly got control over the crowd. Probably had lots of practice.
"Well, that's something," I reply, laughing. "There any reason for that?"
He shrugs. "I dunno. My life back at home is pretty sweet. Girls-and guys-propose to me a lot, ask me out on dates. Not that I can blame them, I'm gorgeous."
"Indeed you are. How about your family?"
"My parents are pretty cool. I'm an only child, so I'm really hoping I win...I miss them." It's clear to me that the tears he sheds are fake, but the audience is none the wiser and are filled with sympathy for him.
"So! We've heard about your home life, how has your stay in the Capitol been so far?"
His grin reforms on his face. "It's been fantastic! It's really fancy, the food is great. But I can't say the same of our fellow tributes, but yeah, I probably shouldn't talk about that."
I smirk. "Why not?"
"Because they're backstage, and I doubt they'd take it well for me to badmouth them."
"Good point," I agree, nodding my head. "How about your score? You got an 8, which is pretty impressive. How'd you do it?"
"I went in without a shirt."
Laughter takes hold of the room, and I chuckle as well, smiling comfortably. "I'm not honestly that surprised. Well, that will be all for you." We stand, and I take Justin's hand in mind (I had the envy of the whole room, I'm sure) and raised it in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, Justin Bailey from District 1!"
The rooms explodes with cheers and high-pitched screams, and Justin exits the stage.
I clear my throat before introducing the next contestant. "Moving on to District 2 now! Please welcome the raven-haired maelstrom, Heather Chandler!"
Heather slides onto the stage with a slippery grace, smirking confidently. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she wears a short jet-black dress that matches her hair. Minimalist make-up completes the image of an opponent to be feared.
She sits, and the applause dies down. "So, Heather, how are you liking the Capitol so far?"
She scoffs. "What do you think my answer is?"
I pretend to think about it. "A lot?"
"Duh. It's quite nice, although I can't say the same of my fellow tributes."
Laughs and oohs penetrate the air. "What do you mean by that? Not liking them?"
She laughs. "I'd prefer not to talk about all of them individually, but I think that I'm one of the best tributes in the Arena."
"Isn't that a little arrogant?"
She shrugs. " I suppose. My mentor told me to be arrogant, but seeing as he's a total jackass, it didn't really work out for him." Laughter from the audience, especially from those who know Jose Burromuerto.
I laugh. "How true. So, what was your life like back in District 2?"
She hesitates for a microsecond before speaking, something only a trained professional like me can notice. "Well, I don't really see much difference between tributes and my friends back home. I intend to win this, just the same as I intended to win at life back in my district. I can't afford to make attachments. To anyone."
I nod, knowing that this is in some part an angle being played. "Well, that's great. So, considering you got a 10 in training, would you be arrogant about that?"
"Probably more smug."
"I thought those were the same thing."
"Arrogant is thinking you're better than someone. Smug is knowing and enjoying it," she responds, a dangerous glint in her eyes.
"Well, the two are quite closely related," I say.
She nods. "But yeah. I'm not going to hold back just because I think I'm better than other people. I plan to get out of here alive, and I won't let anything or anyone slow me down."
I grin. "That's a great strategy, Heather. But I'm afraid we're out of time. Thank you so much."
"You're not welcome."
I jokingly pretend to ignore her, and we both stand and I hold her hand up in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, Heather Chandler!" Applause fills the air for the snarky, self-confident Heather, and she bows gracefully before leaving the stage.
I calm down the audience, and make my next introduction. "Next up, he's charming, the brother of esteemed victor Jose Burromuerto, and actually managed to get a higher score than him during his private sessions, please welcome Alejandro Burromuerto!"
Alejandro walks onstage wearing a dashing red tuxedo with a black tie. He blows a kiss to the audience, a charming grin on his face. There are more screams from the female audience members, around the same number that did so for Justin. These Career tributes are quite well-shaped if you ask me. He sits down comfortably, sitting cross-legged with his ankle over his knee.
"So, how are you doing, Alejandro?"
He directs his grin in my direction. "Quite good, thank you. Before you ask your first question about my stay in the Capitol, let me assure you that my stay here has been positively delightful, and I've made many friends among my peers."
"What made you think that was the first question I was going to ask?" I inquire, raising an eyebrow.
He chuckles. "It's a pattern. I could probably answer all the questions you could ask before you even ask them. I've watched these Games before, you know."
"You watched the one with your brother in them? Tell us, how did you feel when your brother was selected for the Reaping?"
"He wasn't selected. He volunteered, same as me. And the entire time a part of me was hoping he wouldn't come home," he says bluntly, causing quite a stir in the audience.
"And why is that?" I ask, trying to sound sympathetic. "Was he...mean to you?"
"As dear Heather said, he's a jackass."
The way he says the phrase is just so casual, so nonchalant that the audience busts out laughing. He grins at the camera, obviously pandering to those who couldn't be here in person. Oh, he is good.
"Well, that's great, but-if you're willing to, of course-could you provide details?"
He shrugs. "Suffice it to say that the reason I volunteered was to prove him wrong."
I nod, and salute him. "Well, you seem like a charming young man. You have any kind of lady friend at home, who'll be cheering you on?"
He actually busts out laughing at this, banging his hand on the armrest. "Heh heh...I'm sorry...you'll see why that's funny. Actually, Heather and I were close to becoming a couple."
Collective gasps from the audience, and he takes care to put on a sad face. "Alas, I volunteered. I know she has to die, and I truly regret it. But I will be capable of moving on. And...I'm sorry about the laughing outburst, I was just trying to imagine Heather cheering for me."
Laughter from the audience once again, and he goes into a silent imitation of Heather, jutting his hip and making feminine hand gestures. The crowd is rolling in the aisles, especially having just seen Heather onstage. His impersonation of her body language is uncanny.
"Well, it's been a pleasure, Alejandro. Thank you for your time." I repeat the raising our arms together thing. "Ladies and gentlemen, Alejandro Burromuerto, lady killer!"
Cheers and applause, and they don't seem to recognize the pun I made, which slightly irks me. He bows to the audience and exits smoothly. He's good. That's for sure.
I clear my throat once again. Stupid cough. I hate it. But it sounds professional, so I go with it. "Next up, our first non-Career tribute! Please welcome Izzy!" I'm rather glad I'd gotten the memo from McLean that she goes by the nickname of Izzy. Apparently she got a bit short with him when he called her Isabelle, and we can't have that.
Applause, blah blah blah, yay, happy fun time, whatever. Izzy comes in grinning, red hair a complete mess, no make-up on, and a short green dress. Overall, gives off an excitable and eccentric air. She sits down, and doesn't seem to be able to sit still, constantly changing her position or scratching something.
"So, Izzy, how are you doing today?"
"Fantastic for a person who's going to die in the next couple of days!" she chirps happily, which disorients the audience yet makes them laugh.
"You think you're going to die? Well, that's a bit of a pessimistic attitude," I deadpan, drawing some chuckles.
"Well, I hope not, but if you look at the statistics, I have a one in twenty-four chance of winning. I mean, I know that's not really accurate, considering there are people who have less of a chance, but you know what I mean! I'm still pretty much dead and I'm super sad about that, but I'm just going to stick it through and hope I win!" She says the words at about four words a second, yet I can understand it all. Strange.
"Whoa!" I chuckle. "You talk that fast all the time?"
"Pretty much!" She rubs her arm nervously. "To tell the truth I've been doing that a lot lately to get my mind off my parents..."
Sympathy from the crowd, yawn, blah. I take on a sympathetic persona. "I understand, Izzy. Were you close with your parents."
"Yep. And now they're being taken away from me. Who could do that?" The audience looks decidedly uncomfortable, so I decide to change the topic.
"How about the Capitol? How's that been?"
"Oh, it's been great!" Her happy mask has been put right back on. "I've made a whole lot of friends, and it's so fancy! I had to like, be restrained because I broke half the furniture on the train."
Laughter.
"And yeah, I've made friends, I'm really sad they have to die presumablyprobablypossibly, BUT, that's life. I just wish our lives weren't being taken away from us so soon, is all..." More uncomfortable silence, and her face brightens instantly before it gets too depressed. "BUT, I have a plan to win this thing, and it's sure to work! But I'm not going to tell you because the other twenty-three competitors are watching this as we speak. SO JUST KNOW THAT IZZY'S OUT THERE, OKAY?" she shouts, still grinning.
"Well, that's great! So, a 7, huh? Pretty impressive for a non-Career. How'd you manage it?"
"Like Lindsay said. I tied knots, obviously! Except I was much more successful with that than Lindsay! AND NO I AM NOT MARRIED TO CHRIS MCLEAN!" The audience is at first startled by her suddenly shouting, but then start laughing again.
I chuckle. "That's fantastic. What did you do back in District 3?"
"Ran from Peacekeepers, played the hand-in-the-bowl-of-warm-water-trick on the mayor, ran from Peacekeepers because I played the hand-in-the-bowl-of-warm-water-trick on the mayor...you know, all sorts of stuff!" She says all of this with a bright smile on her face.
I stare at her in a mock-scared manner. "You made the mayor pee himself. Why are you not in jail again?"
"Because we're friends! Duh!"
"My heart goes out to the man you just embarrassed on National TV," I deadpan. "I'm afraid we're out of time. Ladies and gentlemen, please give it up for Izzy Connelly!"
Applause and cheers for her enthusiasm. I'm sure her perky attitude will get her some sponsors. I continue. "All right! Next up, we have a guy who scored a 6 in his private sessions and quite possibly could be a dangerous contestant despite his lack of muscle! Please welcome Harold!"
Harold walks in in a blue tuxedo and a white shirt. His hair is swept back and rectangular glasses are positioned on his nose. He waves calmly to the ground and walks to his seat, stiff as a board.
"Harold. Sup?" I grin.
"I'm fine, I suppose," he rasps. "I personally could be better considering the whole Arena thing. You know." He sighs dejectedly, and then perks up slightly.
I wink at him. "Come on! I'm sure you're not that bad. I mean, you may be a little..." I gesture to my waist. "...scrawny, but that doesn't mean you can't win. You got a 6 on your training score. That's pretty impressive!"
"For a non-Career. But yeah. My strength lies in my smarts. I just hope it's not an allergy that takes me out."
I chuckle. "Well, I'll be sure to give the Gamemakers a call, let them know not to kill you like that." Laughter from the audience.
"I hope so," he replies, dead serious. "I don't want to die like an idiot. I know I'm not going to make it. And I've accepted that. But I just don't want to be forgotten."
"You have your family cheering for you back at home, Harold. You'll be remembered."
"My mom was devastated," he sighs. "I just don't see how anyone could do this to us, you know?"
The conversation is veering into a dangerous subject once again, so it falls to me to dispel the awkward uncertainty of the audience. These tributes, they can't be seen as people. They can only be seen as characters, distant from the Capitol. People to root for, but not befriend. Is he doing this intentionally? Is he trying to get the audience to view him as a person and not a character? It has happened before, I know that...
"It's okay, Harold. How has the Capitol been treating you? Anything in particular you like?"
"Hot chocolate," he responds wistfully. "Such a perfect combination of cocoa, milk..." He sighs dreamily. "It's amazing, and I wish I'd had it back in the District. We just had really bad tea."
Yawn. Laughter. Bleh. I decide to change the subject yet again. "So, you don't think you're going to win. What do you want there to be left behind?"
"A man of duty, honor, a man who didn't sink to the depths of murdering another person in cold blood," he replies, as if reading a passage.
"That's very honorable," I compliment him.
"I know," he replies.
"I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Harold!" I raise his arm in the air. He grins and bows before leaving the stage the same way he came in.
"Well, now that that's gone and done with, we are a fourth through interviews! Now let's move on to District 4! She's big, terrifying, and got the highest score out of all the tributes, it's Eva!"
The bear-like girl known as Eva walks in with a scowl on her face, fists clenched, and wears a navy blue dress. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail. She looks really uncomfortable, and really furious. There is applause for her, but part of me feels like it's out of fear. Gee. I wonder.
She sits down roughly, shaking the chair a bit as she does so. Uncertain chuckles rise from the audience. I clear my throat before beginning. "So, Eva. An 11, huh?"
"Yes."
Okay then. That's wonderful. I try to remember to not ask yes or no questions. "Okay, well, thank you for being curt, you know."
"I don't care," is her reply.
"Well, come on, Eva! This is the only way we're going to get to know you!"
"You'll see plenty of me in the Arena."
"I don't doubt that, but...you know, the real you," I say awkwardly.
"The real me is out in the Arena. Killing people. Not here. In a dress."
"Well, I hope you understand if we ask you not to be the real you right here," I joke, prompting laughter from the audience. "So, are you concerned that tributes will target you because you got an 11?"
She scoffs. "Duh. I've got a target painted on my back. But I don't plan to die. I plan to keep a cool head, control my anger, and kill anyone who tries to kill me. Nothing more. Nothing less."
"Admirable."
"Shut it."
"I wasn't being sarcastic! But moving on. You volunteered, correct? Why?"
She gives me a blank look. "I've been training for this my whole life. Now I'm ready. Live with honor, die with honor. It doesn't matter to me."
"What about your family?"
"They've accepted it."
"Well, that's good to hear. How about the other Careers? How are things going there?"
She rolls her eyes. "I'll do what is necessary. Alejandro's taken charge, so I guess I do what he wants for now."
"What about your time in the Capitol? How are things going there?"
"Boring."
I grin. "Understandable. You have any siblings, other relatives cheering you on?"
"No."
"Well, that sucks. But hey! Who am I to judge. That's all the time we have for today, so let's give it up for Eva Conall!"
I try to raise her hand, but she abruptly walks off the stage without looking at anyone. "Okay! Rude!" The audience laughs, and I turn back to the crowd. "Our next contestant is not nearly as muscular as Eva, but is just as scary. Please welcome Duncan!"
Duncan, with his absurdly short legs and large torso, walks onto the stage wearing a jet black tuxedo with a skull imprint. I can tell that this is much more comfortable to him than that aqua tuxedo he'd worn at the parade. He smirks at the applause, and flashes the peace sign. He sits down as the applause dies.
"So, Duncan. Skulls, huh?" Laughter from the audience.
"Yep," he shrugs. "Found it fitting. I mean, I've been told I have a pretty thick skull." More laughter.
I chuckle. "Yeah, you certainly look like you belong in the Careers. Have you trained at all back in the district?"
He rolls his eyes. "Duh. Not as much as say, Miss Happy-Go-Lucky who was just onstage but you know, enough." More laughter.
"Yeah. So, how's the Capitol treating you?"
"Lame."
Gasps from the audience, and he cracks up. "Joking, just joking," he snickers, "I just wanted to see what happened if I changed up the response a little. Guess it worked, huh? This place is pretty badass if you ask me." Chuckles from the crowd at his swear.
"Well, that's wonderful, Duncan. But how about the Careers?"
"I can't name names, but I'm ready to kill some of them. The others are pretty cool, though," he says casually.
I nod in agreement. "We get some Career drama every year. It's always entertaining to watch."
"Yeah, like watching kids kill each other is entertaining to watch."
Okay, what is with their choices of topics? It's like they're trying to make the crowd feel uncomfortable around them! Like they're trying to appeal to the crowd's sense of...humanity...no no, this is bad. We can't have them feel for these tributes as any more than characters. Okay, just change the subject, and it'll be fine. Everything will be fine.
"Well, in other matters, what's your family life like back at home?" I ask, trying to sound cool and professional, yet also caring.
For once, his arrogant features soften and droop a little. "I...I was a troublemaker back at home, but my parents loved me. They're cheering for me. I have to win. Not just for me, but for them. I'm not just a selfish jerk, which might come as a shock to the other tributes. I'm human too. I'm not the enemy."
Shit! Once again, that unspoken implication that the Capitol is the enemy! Just ignore it, Blaineley. There's nothing you can do about it right now. Just move on. "I feel for you, Duncan," I say comfortingly. "But in the end, what will happen will happen, and who knows? You got a score of 8, pretty impressive. I think that you'll be able to go home to them if you try. That's all the time we have for today. So let's give it up for Duncan!"
He grins triumphantly and pumps his fist in the air, tossing aside my hand. He struts off the stage. I turn back to the audience. "And that's all of our Careers! Now, let's move on to our District 5 competitors! Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Courtney to the stage!"
Courtney glides onto the stage in an elegant golden dress, grinning and waving politely to the crowd. She takes her seat and I cross my legs before beginning. "So! Courtney! You got a pretty good score of 7. If you don't mind me asking, how'd you do it?"
She giggles. "Well, I'm actually pretty good with weapons, and I'm smart as well. I guess they saw that I am a formidable competitor and not one to be trifled with."
I quirk a fascinated eyebrow. "Oh, is that so? Well, I'll understand if you don't want to talk about your strategy in front of all your competition."
She nods in agreement. "I quite agree. I must say, the Capitol is astounding! And the fashion styles are so...interesting! It's all so big and grand..." She smiles wistfully, though I'm not sure if it's real or not. "...it's like something out of a dream, really! And the people are great." She gives the audience a coy smile, to which they cheer and applaud. They've always loved compliments.
"Well, glad to see you're having a good time! What was your life like back in District 5, your family, friends, et cetera? Oh, and if you don't want to answer this, you don't have to. We're not going to force you to do anything."
She raises an incredulous eyebrow before giving her answer. "Right. I was class president, very popular, athletic, and probably would have gone on to be a politician. Actually, I might still become a politician. I do plan on winning," she says proudly.
"Well, don't you sound like a Career," I joke. "Speaking of which, what do you think of them?"
"Slimy and disgusting," she replies evenly. "Vultures."
"Slimy vultures. Well, I'd pay to see that," I quip, inciting more laughter from the audience.
She looks a little bit flustered. "Well! Um...uh...you know what I mean! I'd never associate with them, except for killing them."
"What about the other tributes? You know, the non-Careers."
She sighs melodramatically. "I feel bad for them, and wish that it didn't have to be this way."
"But the Careers are slimy vultures?" Laughter.
She glares at me mock-seriously. "That's right. I don't really want to kill them, and would be fine with making an alliance. But I'd still win, of course."
I nod in fake agreement, pursing my lips. "Of course. Well, I'm sure that a girl who got a 7 should get pretty far! You seem like a smart girl! Well, I wish you luck tomorrow, and I'm afraid that's all the time we have for today."
"Thank you so much!" she calls to the audience, grinning like a presidential candidate having just finished her speech, and I hold her hand up in the air before she pretty much waltzes off the stage (not quite a waltz, but close). I turn back to the audience.
"Well, she seemed nice! Up next we have the first tribute in the history of the Hunger Games to ever get a '1' rating on their training scores! Noah! Come on out!"
The skinny tanned boy walks up wearing an inconspicuous tuxedo, nothing really special about it. His eyebrow seems to be permanently raised, and he waves lazily to the cheering crowd as he takes his seat. The applause dies down, and I begin.
"So, Noah. How does it feel to be the first contestant to get a '1' rating?"
"No different than usual, actually," he deadpans, making the audience laugh.
I smile warmly. "Well, here's a better question. How did you get a '1' rating?"
He snickers. "I sat there. The whole time. It was hilarious."
More laughter from the audience at his dry tone of voice. "Well, what was the reasoning behind that?"
"Might I ask what the reasoning is behind your botox injections, Miss I'm-Actually-In-My-Sixties-But-I-Go-Around-Telling-Everyone-I'm-In-My-Forties?"
The audience cracks up, but for the first time the laughter is directed at me! They wouldn't be laughing like that if he was making fun of THEM! And some of them have probably used botox too! What's his problem? I try to control my anger. I'm supposed to like these tributes, I shouldn't lash out at them.
"That's not your problem, Noah. But anyway, moving on!"
"I'm sorry, Miss I'm-Actually-In-My-Sixties-But-I-Go-Around-Telling-Everyone-I'm-In-My-Forties, but I find the reason why I got the '1' rating to beso much more interesting. Yeah, because it couldn't just be me being lazy. After all, that would be way too boring of an answer."
"Noah, I respect you and all as a tribute, but we really should move on," I say as calmly as I can. He nods in acceptance, and slouches slightly. "So, how was your life back in the district."
"Wonderful. I'd very much like to go back," he says sarcastically.
"Could you be a bit more specific-"
"No." The abruptness of the response makes the audience laugh again. He gives an amused smile to let them and me know he was just kidding around.
"What about the Capitol?"
"I view it as an extremely comfortable waiting room. Except I wouldn't want any of the other tributes as my doctor." Laughter. This guy is heavy on the sarcasm and jokes, light on actual details. I suppose it works, when he's insulting people other than the audience, but if he took a crack at them, they'd hate his guts.
"Well, I wouldn't really want any of them as my doctor either," I agree, chuckling. He goes cross-eyed and pretends to hold a scalpel, pretending to accidentally slice his own leg off. He holds his hand to his face and gasps. More freaking laughter from the audience.
"Yeah. They'd amputate me, and they wouldn't even give me anesthetics! And then they'd leave me to die in the woods! Rude, much?"
I chuckle along with the crowd this time. "They really would be the worst doctors ever! How about Courtney, you ever interact with her?"
Noah chuckles in a sinister manner. "Let's put it this way. I enjoy pissing her off just as much as I do everyone else." Laughter from the audience, and I check my watch to see that the time is up.
"Well, it's been fun talking and joking with you, Noah. And insulting, of course. But I'm afraid we're out of time. So ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Noah Hayden!"
There's loud applause and cheers for him, and he bows sardonically before making his leave. He's used humor to get people to like him. Smart.
"Well, now it's time for District 6! Ladies first, per the norm. Let us welcome to the stage: Katie Edwards!"
Katie walks onto the stage, looking squeamish and terrified out of her wits. This is the first tribute to outwardly be nervous on stage. And it's my job to make her feel more comfortable with her surroundings. She wears a pink dress and has her hair down. Looks nice enough, I suppose. She takes her seat, face flushed and eyes fluttering around anxiously.
"So, Katie. How have you been doing the past couple of days?" I ask soothingly.
She hesitates before responding. "I-I've been good...I-I guess." She casts her eyes at the floor.
I smile warmly. "Nervous? Oh, don't worry, we all get nervous. Don't worry to much about it. We're all trying to help." I turn to the audience. "Would any of you here try to make her feel uncomfortable?"
A chorus of 'no's, and the like. She smiles a little bit. "I'll...I'll try to not be nervous here. I mean, like, I'm just nervous, it all happened so suddenly, then there's the Games tomorrow...I...I'm feeling really nervous. I don't think I'm going to make it."
I pat her on the shoulder. "Well, don't worry. The more the Capitol sees you, the more likely you'll get to have sponsors. You'd all sponsor her, right?" I call, and the audience cheers and applauds, and Katie brightens up even more.
"Thanks for helping," she says gratefully. "I have really been miserable here, I haven't made very many friends and I just feel like I'm going to be forgotten."
"We would never forget you," I say sincerely. "So, what was your life like back at home?"
She sniffles. "It was amazing. I was going somewhere, I had great parents, and my life was just going great...yeah, I'm still pretty miserable but I'm grateful that you guys are so supportive. It's really nice."
"Well, that's why we're here!" I chirp. "How about a boyfriend, you seem like a nice enough girl!"
She shakes her head sadly. "No boyfriend."
"Well, if you make it back there'll be boys lined up at your door, I bet! You're stunning!"
She giggles. "I don't really like flattery..."
"Oh, it's not flattery. Well, maybe a little," I joke, with a wink to the audience. "But seriously, I think you could go far if you just open up. So tell us a little bit more about yourself."
She scratches her arm. "Well, I like to think I'm a nice person, but I've been told I'm a bit shallow."
I gasp dramatically. "Shallow? How dare they!" Laughter, and Katie seems more at ease now.
"Yeah, but I feel like I'd be able to make it far with some help! So yeah, sponsors would be nice!"
I glance at my watch. "Ooh, sorry to cut you off in the middle, but I'm afraid we're out of time. Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Katie!"
I pride myself on my ability to make all the tributes feel like winners. It's the least I can do.
They're only characters. Not people.
Does that make me a character?
Katie exits, grinning, although she's still shaking slightly. I turn once again back to the audience. "Our next tribute is Owen! Come on out, big guy!"
"WOO HOO!"
Owen runs out onto the stage, somehow managing to grin and look mortified at the same time. I imagine he's probably feeling a realy mix of emotions right now. Elation, sadness, terror...it's all in there, all in his face and body language. It's rather impressive, really.
"Owen! Have a seat, would ya?" The large blond boy takes a seat. He's wearing white, and is not wearing a tuxedo. I take a deep breath before beginning. "So, Owen? What's your favorite thing about the Capitol?"
His answer is immediate. "THE FOOD. Dear God, the FOOD! It's WONDERFUL! Like nothing I've ever had before! Pizza, hot chocolate, french fries, cheeseburgers, marshmallows, steak, mashed potatoes, and a whole bunch of other stuff. I mean, I had some food back in the District, but it was all stale and stuff because the Peacekeepers and the upper-class people ate all the good food!"
His enthusiasm is contagious, and I can see smiles in the audience. He may be fat, but he's certainly got energy. I grin. "Well, glad to see you're so into it! Could you choose a favorite food?"
"No, there's too many!" He laughs. "But yeah, I think I might be bipolar. Because I've been feeling really happy...and then really miserable...and then happy again...then terrified...then happy...then miserable...you know the drill." He sighs sadly.
"You concerned about the Arena?" I ask sympathetically.
"Yeaaahhh," he sighs. "I'm overweight, and I'm not very good at running. And I couldn't go a day without food. I find it hard to see how I could win this."
I place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't talk like that! This is ANYONE'S game! And, although I'm technically not supposed to be talking about this, a lot of Games rely more on luck than skill!"
"I guess you're right," he says sadly. "But I still have like odds of a billion to one against me."
"Well, what are your strengths?"
"...my farts are terrible, I guess I could use that as a weapon." The audience laughs, and then realize he's serious.
I raise an eyebrow. "Anything else?"
He shrugs. "I guess I'm likable. I could get some sponsors I think. Maybe. Possibly. HOPEFULLY."
"You could get some sponsors! You had the most energetic entrance of the day, Owen! People like energy!"
"You're right!" He perks up instantly. "I AM full of energy! And farts! But that's not as important."
"Anyway, Owen, what was your life like back in the district?"
"Oh, it was awesome! But then again, I think everything's awesome, so...yeah. I dunno." He doesn't give any more information on that front.
I glance at my watch. "Well, for the twelth time this evening, we're run out of time! Owen, thank you, and I wish you luck. You certainly seem like a likable fellow."
"Thanks!"
I raise his hand in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Owen!"
Cheers and applause, and my mind goes through deja vu.
And there are twelve more of these.
Geez.
I'll leave it to you guys to decide how much of the tributes' behaviors were acted or plotted. There will be a continuation on that front.
This is now the longest chapter. Exactly 7,000 words.
