Ladies and Gentlemen! I've done the impossible and completed two chapters in less than a week! Cheers and merriment for everyone!
I'd like to mention I took some dialogue directly out of the Hunger Games for this chapter. Credit for all dialogue between Peeta Mellark and Caesar Flickerman belong to Suzanne Collins.
Remember to like and review. That always makes me more inspired.
Cato
It's nice after finally managing to adjust to the comfortable accommodations of the Capitol to get a chance to sleep in. And even though I only wake half an hour after six, it's really the thought that counts. Old habits die hard. The interviews should be a piece of cake. Publicity was always a part of my life – something that comes as a given for a legacy. I've been measured several times over since arriving at the Capitol, and I'll only have to arrive an hour or so early to be plucked over by the prep team.
Clove, however, is a different story entirely. First of all, being a girl, her hair and makeup will take the prep team all afternoon. And after nearly mauling the reporter on Reaping Day, Isodele is utilizing the morning to introduce Clove to the notion of public relations.
With a huge yawn, I arise and throw on the luxurious bathrobe and wander into the dining area to find my District partner. Although I'm allowed the whole morning to myself, I can think of nothing more entertaining than Isodele trying to teach Clove manners.
I don't have to look far. I can see a few figures in the common area from my vantage point in the dining room. I grab a handful pastries from the counter and stroll casually into the room.
"– and the lights will be much brighter anyways, so you shouldn't really be able to see the crowd."
Clove, whose dark hair is barely visible over the sofa, huffs. "Fine. That's all fine. But you still haven't hold me why I'm listening to this shit while this." She rises, and the evening gown she's modeling drapes down around her ankles.
My jaw drops open and I'm dumbfounded. I've never ever seen Clove in anything but pants. Her slight form and slouched shoulders do not belong in a dress, especially this dress. Clearly it's been made for someone with much larger endowments because she keeps hiking the sleeves back self consciously while the front tries to slide forward. It looks like she's a little girl forced to play dress up by her older siblings.
I can't help it – I laugh.
Her eyes snap over to the kitchen door, finally noticing that I'm there. "Great." She rolls her eyes, "I see you've come to join my fashion panel."
I prop myself up on the back of the chair occupied by Brutus to keep from collapsing. "Please – " I manage to say, "Please tell me they've cancelled the interviews in favor of a parody reenactment of the 42nd Games!"
Clove's glower is blocked by the sudden flurry of her prep team. "Oh do you really think so?" Frets one.
"I told you this style wasn't ready to be reintroduced yet."
"Maurice won't be happy to hear this."
In a moment, the dress is ripped off of Clove, who is left standing mostly naked in the middle of the room, looking much relieved. She is much more comfortable with nudity than fashion – something cultivated at the Academy. There, we recognize that in the Games, you can't be a prude if you want to clean wounds properly.
"Here, catch!" says Clove to no one in particular as she rips the three-inch heels off of her feet and throws them in the air. I notice now that the room is incredibly crowded. Clove stands surrounded in the middle. The closest person to her is Isodele, spouting helpful interview tips, which Clove completely ignores. Brutus sits in front of me, amused, and throwing in bits of advice whenever Isodele stops for a moment to breathe. Parnaby bounces on his toes, hovering between the kitchen and the excitement. The prep teams (mine included) flit here and there making adjustments to Clove's hair and looking critically at her body. And finally, Clove's midnight stylist swoops in dramatically, carrying a new dress.
"You've managed to make three of my best designs look like garbage," she growls, crossly. "Perhaps orange is more your color. It better be. It's my last one that will fit you."
Clove pulls the fabric over her head and lets it fall around her frame. The transformation is surprising. With her hair down and the bright colors encapsulating her body, she looks much younger than I ever remember her seeming, even when she joined the elites in training three years ago. The look doesn't suit her. Clove belongs with a knife in her hand and blood splattered across her face. The change unnerves me. Why the Capitol wants to hide the killer she is behind the guise of a sweet, innocent face is more disturbing to me than anything I've seen yet.
She tosses me an appraising look since I haven't burst out laughing yet. "Well?"
"The cutesy eight-year-old look doesn't fit well," I say, "but it does better than the rag you were wearing."
"Don't worry, young man," says a prep team member, "She'll look glorious when we're done with her.
"Yes," adds Brutus. "And imagine the shock it will be to the crowd when an innocent eight-year-old beheads Flickerman out of nerves!"
Everyone laughs except Isodele, who suddenly looks very stern. "Clove, you will not bring a knife onstage with you."
"I would never!" Says clove, feigning a scandalized expression.
"Seriously, though," Brutus stage whispers to me, "you better frisk her before she gets out in front of the entire Capitol."
"Try it," says Clove, "and you'll lose your fingers, even if I am weaponless."
Our mentors have us line up according to Districts. Glimmer manages to worm her way under her mentor's arm to get to me. She gives me a huge hug that accentuates the fact that her breasts are barely concealed under a thin golden sheet, which doesn't leave much else up to imagination. Beaming at my expression, she turns to Clove.
"Our little Clover!" she gushes, "Don't you make a fantastic pumpkin!"
Marvel and I, the only two close enough to hear, chuckle. Clove's face turns pink. "At least I don't look like a common whore," she responds.
Glimmer smiles. "Never, common, love. And I prefer courtesan, if you must. People will pay much higher for them."
Her mentor manages to regain a death grip around Glimmer's shoulders. "Ta ta, my dears!" she waves at us as she is marched back to the beginning of the line.
"Uggh I hate her and her stupid costumes." Clove whispers to herself.
It's true that the girls have to wear much more demeaning clothes than the boys in the group, who are mostly dressed in simple suits. I reappraise Clove's appearance as we march on stage to a wave of applause and Glimmer takes the stage.
The prep team certainly improved the little-girl look from the morning. The make up adds several years to Clove, with her coal-like eyes and high cheekbones. Her hair is knotted on top of her head, adding a few inches to her small stature. Along with the heels, she is almost my height. The dress itself has changed a bit, too. It's been ripped in several places, revealing a fluid black material underneath. I realize now it's been modified to resemble a tiger. It's a metaphor well deserved by the girl who wields a weapon like an extension of her own arm.
Clove catches my eye and makes a motion with her wrist that indicates that she's just thrown an invisible knife at my heart. "Stop staring, dumbass."
I give her a saucy wink. "I'll admit that my ass is much less appealing than yours, Garlic."
Up front, Glimmer is wrapping up her interview. "Yes, Ceasar, I am very prepared," says Glimmer. She gives the crowd a flourishing courtesy and is accompanied back to her chair by a huge round of applause. Her blonde hair floats around her perfectly, and the interview gave her an excited flush on her cheeks. Glimmer was born for the Capitol life – as a movie star or show host. The spotlight is her greatest ally. I can't help but wonder what will happen to her in the arena where there is no shampoo, makeup, or adoring crowds.
Marvel's interview goes very generically. He makes a number of crude jokes that get half-hearted laughter from the crowd. He doesn't sound very intimidating, and the repertoire of his 8 is not winning him any bonus points. At least he seems confident, and the lack of audience enthusiasm does nothing to dampen that.
Clove marches up onto the stage next, looking particularly fierce. Caesar gives an appreciative whistle and looks out at the crowd. "What a gem!" he shouts out to their applause. "Look at that dress! Quite a statement – "
"Please, Mr. Flickerman," interrupts Clove with a superior sniff. "I may be a girl, but don't waste my time with fashion talk. I only have three minutes and I intend to have as much time to make an impression as the boys. Ask me something important."
There's a collective intake of breath from the invisible audience at her audacity. Flickerman only lets his surprise show for an instant before breaking into a huge grin. "Ladies and gentlemen! We have a fighter on our hands. Clove, my dear! What say you to those who believe that the age fifteen is too young to win?"
"I'd tell them to take a look at my mentor. Take a look at Finnick Odair. Take a look at me. Age is nothing when faced with determination." This is met with a round of cheers the cameras show her glare soften into a sweet smile. I wonder how she's doing this charming act in front of ten thousand people when she has such terrible stage fright.
"Very true," says Caesar solemnly. "No one here can deny your confidence, Clove, or your talent It's a rare thing to see someone of your stature come out with a score of ten!"
More applause.
"Caesar, I've dealt with naysayers my whole life. People didn't believe I was strong enough to deal with my father's betrayal. They didn't think my mum could survive with just me to help her. They didn't believe I was strong enough to make it to the arena. Now people don't believe I'll last through the first day, let alone win. But I've never failed yet. And I've overcome bigger obstacles in my life than the arena."
There are several interested noises coming from the audience. Clove has not only charmed them, but completely captivated them with her mysterious underdog tactics. They want to know about her father. They want to know about her childhood and how she managed to make it to the Hunger Games as a District 2 representative. They want her to get far enough so they can live her life through the various District interviews.
Caesar spends the rest of Clove's interview trying to extricate more secrets, but Clove manages to evade all of them, dropping hints here and there about the enormous odds she faced to be in the Capitol today and how she outmaneuvered some of the most vicious competitors with her wit and skill. I wish I could see the look on Isis' face right now as she watches the captivated audience siding with Clove against her.
"Well, ladies and gentlemen, that is all the time we have with her today. Clove, my dear, I sincerely hope we shall meet again!"
"That we will, Mr. Flickerman. Be assured." She waves at the crowd masked by the lights and floats back to her seat.
"Next up we have the man of the hour, the one favored to win this year, Cato Hummel, District 2!"
I jog up the steps to shake Flickerman's hand and sink comfortably into the seat occupied by the interviewee. "Thank you, Caesar," I say, "It's an honor to be here, representing my district."
"Are you prepared?"
"I'm a fighter, vicious, I'm ready to go."
"Of course you are! Of course. Coming from a line of victors like you do!"
As usual, my interviews always end up being more about my family than about me. Caesar spends the majority of our time going over the names of all my relatives and asking me about my relation with them. But, having so much practice at this type of attention, I'm able to extricate all the best qualities of my family and turn them into assets that make me a better fighter.
"Well, Cato, our time is drawing to a close. I have one last question for you." He pauses for dramatic effect, "What does your appearance in the arena mean for the people of District 2?"
I smile wickedly. "It means a show that will blow the performances of my family out of the water. It's a year that will go down in the history of District 2 forever." Caesar bows to me and I shake his hand before returning to my seat.
Clove smiles up at me. "Stunning performance Hummel. I wonder if you'd have anything good to say if you weren't always leaning on your family lineage for your fame."
"You're one to talk," I reply. "What better way to have them discover your victory over Isis than to get them curious of your pathetic struggles? They'll have secret media spies interviewing people before the night is over." This news doesn't seem to upset her at all. In fact, she is looking rather pleased with herself. "Oh, now you want the world to know your history? I thought you hated people knowing about your life."
"Well," says Clove, "Times change. Now seems like a perfect time to come clean."
"Why?" I ask as Haddock takes the stage.
"This world is different than District 2." She responds. "There, it matters where you come from, who you are. I thought you might have noticed, since you completely destroyed my reputation during my first year in the elites." I feel a weight in my stomach. After nearly a week of friendly-ish interactions, I hoped that Clove had chosen to forget my years of hostility. It is clear, however, that nothing is forgotten, or forgiven.
"Here," she continues, "things are very different. These idiots love the underdogs who overcome everything to win. They love me as much, if not more than you now."
"Well, Garlic, that may be true now, but things will change once they see us in the arena."
She grins, "May the most kills win."
"Don't worry," I say, "I will."
Being the leader of the alliance, I am the one with the true power, no matter what Clove, the sponsors, or anyone else has to say about it. I'm the leader. I decide how any gifts received in the arena are distributed. I call the shots.
The bighead from District 11 returns to his seat and the girl tribute who earned a higher score than me takes his place. She's as much a bumbling idiot as Marvel was. They talk about her dress for a while and she twirls some more so flames spurt out of the bottom of her hem. It's just the same as before at the parade. They love her because of her stylist, not because of her viability as a contestant. I'm going to kill her so brutally that no one will ever know why or how she earned that eleven. She tells Flickerman she will try to win for her sister, and then returns to her seat.
The boy from her district is not much better. He makes jokes with the Master of Ceremonies, provoking the usual questions about girls and romance. Typical Capitol intrigues. "She have another fellow?" he asks.
"I don't know, but a lot of boys like her," says Peeta.
"So here's what you do," says Flickerman in a conspiratorial manner, leaning in closer to the boy. "You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?"
"I don't think it's going to work out. Winning… won't help in my case."
"Why ever not?" The crowd leans in to hear the answer.
"Because… because… she came here with me."
Oh, that does it. Of all the stupid things to do in an interview, this boy has capped it all. Crying over a fellow tribute before the games have even begun! There are more important things for a sixteen year old to be thinking about right now. Namely, not making oneself a target for elites like myself.
The crowd screams for the girl to come back onstage to satiate their ridiculous lust, but it's an impossibility. She's had her three minutes. Our time is up and we are ushered off stage and into the lobby as soon as the anthem ends.
Our alliance hangs back a bit from the elevators waiting to take the tributes to their respective floors. I want to catch a brief word with them before the games begin. "The strategy is simple enough," I command. "Whoever gets to the cornucopia first takes defense while the others have time to get their weapons. Glimmer, you'll probably take over after that because you've got the physical strength to fight those without weapons. Remember, we want to take out the higher ranking ones first."
"And how," muses a voice behind me, "do you expect to catch those ones?"
I turn around and almost choke in laughter. Peeta Melark, the boy who just declared his love and idiocy on public television, stands confidently before us.
"Excuse me," says Clove, "but I don't think we asked for the opinions of a dimwit."
The boy shrugs. "Call me what you will, but you'll never catch her. She's going to head straight for the woods, and once she's gone, she's gone."
We look at each other sidelong. Maybe this boy is right. We can't really split up and have one of our numbers chasing the mysterious eleven into the woods. "Oh yeah, Lover Boy," sneers Glimmer. "You know something we don't? You know her skills and talents?"
"Of course I do," says Peeta. "We've been sharing a mentor. It's hard to keep anything a secret. She'll disappear once she hits the woods. It's impossible for anyone who doesn't know her to find her."
Riel snorts. "You expect us to believe you want to help us find her? After that ridiculous performance you gave tonight?"
"I expect you to be smart enough to realize that I said what I needed to make an impression. Do you really think I meant anything in that interview? God, handling weapons your whole lives must make you careers denser than bricks."
I raise my eyebrows. "Make your point quickly, Twelve."
"I know how to find her. I can track her. If you let me join your alliance – "
He's cut off by the derisive laughter of District 4. "Please! We've been learning to track from the day we learned to walk. We don't need you for that. I doubt you've been outside your town a day in your life."
"Stand down, Haddock," I say before returning to the boy from 12. "Alright, Lover Boy. We'll see what you have after tomorrow."
"So am I in?" he asks, hopefully.
"We'll see," I reply, "after tomorrow."