Fall Into the River

by Oisin55

"Oh, no, not Cecelia," gasped Effie Trinket as the woman from District 8 walked up to the stage after her children were torn from her. This is the woman that even Effie felt for. This is the soft-spoken, shy young girl who became one of the deadliest tributes in Hunger Games history. This is Cecelia Rheys. This is the Fifty-Seventh Annual Hunger Games.

10. Chapter 10

Cora:

Aurelius and Simona Silvertree have hosted the Interview Night Gala at their home since before my own Games. Aurelius' father was a close advisor to President Lucius long before Snow took office and he began the tradition before the very first Hunger Games, even though back then there were no interviews, or training, or sponsors. There are hundreds of parties being hosted all over the city, but this is the event to be seen at in the Capitol tonight. Despite my contempt for the necessary evil of dealing with sponsors, and the general loathing most Victors have for the Games, I can't help but feel a bit of smugness as I weave my way through the gardens where the guests are mingling knowing that thousands of Capitolians would give half of what they owned to be here.

Hey, I won the Hunger Games. I'm allowed to enjoy what small perks there are.

However, business calls and I drift over to a group of Capitolians standing far enough from the fountains so that they don't get sprayed but close enough to watch the doors from the foyer to see who's coming and going. They're glittering with jewels and their clothes are so fine they must have been made in Warehouse 001 back in Fog Town, which crafts fabric only for the very richest of the Capitol citizens and the Hunger Games stylists. I'm dressed in a silver mesh evening gown thick enough to preserve my modesty but clinging enough to show that my figure hasn't changed much from when I was a seventeen year old tribute girl. Opals glitter at my neck, ears and wrists. I'm suddenly stuck with gratitude that Madame Lucia keeps an interest in her tributes long after they win the Games. There's one thing I've found when treating with the Capitolians. They gravitate towards surfaces. If you look like one of them, you'll almost be treated like one of them.

"Urgulana," I say as I sidle up to a woman attired in a shocking kaleidoscope of blues and oranges.

"Cora Shutter! What a surprise!" Urgulana grasps my hand and pulls me towards her. I kiss her on her bony cheek, shuddering inwardly at how decades of cosmetic surgery has given her skin the consistency of sun-baked clay.

"Everyone, you've met Cora, haven't you? The Victor of the very first Quarter Quell, of course. Of course you have. And of course Cora is one of my dearest friends. Cora, you simply have to go shopping with me while you're here, there's this new boutique near President Lucius Memorial Park, it's simply divine-"

I feel my mouth curl at the mention of that accursed park but I smooth my features into a smile and wait as Urgulana introduces me to every companion in her considerable entourage. While I'm grateful that even among the most prestigious Capitolians knowing a Victor personally is something to attain to, my impatience and boredom at being treated like a fashion accessory threatens my carefully maintained Capitol-smile. Especially by someone who speaks like a giddy schoolgirl rather than a seventy-nine year old woman.

I feel eyes on me and look beyond the Minister of Tesserae, whose eyes have yet to leave my chest, to where Blight is standing in his own group, Jason at his side. He smiles at me, his eyes twinkling, and then draws a hand over his face so that he suddenly appears stone-faced. I burst out laughing, but fortunately the Minister thinks I'm amused by whatever he's saying.

"Opals, Cora?" I look over my shoulders to where Larissa, the young twit from the train station, is standing with a glass of champagne and a smirk on her face. "Haven't you heard? Pearls are in this year. Opals have been out since the 40th Games. District Four was simply radiant at the parade this year. And when Andromache wears the crown everyone will remember who was wearing pearls before the gong sounded."

I smile at her and rake my eyes over the….thing she has the audacity to call a dress. "Larissa, darling, Madame Lucia dressed me in opals when I wore that crown myself. Some of us prefer class to fads. And if pearls are in, I would have thought you could've afforded a few more. Your back fat is showing ,my dear."

"So is your desperation," says Larissa, not missing a beat. "This is what, the thirty-second year you've worn opals? And how many District 8 girls have worn them at the Victory Ceremony since you?"

I take a step closer, wondering how our companions don't feel a chill in the air. "I'll tell you what, darling. The day Cecelia still stands in the arena as Andromache is lifted out by hovercraft, I'll switch pearls, and you can wear opals. Unless you're not confident in your chosen tribute?"

I've trapped her and she knows it. Her lip curls for a moment before she smiles and says, "Of course, Cora. How fun! I do love the Games, don't you all?"

The shallow, vain people around us all tinker their assent. I purse my lips together until the smile comes.

"I do hope the girls this year are up to the challenge," says Urgulana. "I sponsored Districts Two and Six last year. Six! What was I thinking? Sure, she looked strong enough, but then that horrid boy from Nine got a hold of an ax from somewhere at the Cornucopia and…well…I couldn't even show my face at the Victory Ceremony. Never again.

I glide over to Urgulana as her companions make sympathetic noises. "It must have been so dreadful for you, Urgulana. Just dreadful. But there's good news. I have more confidence in my tribute this year than I ever have. Cecelia is going to win the crown. I have every confidence. But of course, it's only possible with your help, dear friend."

"Well…I don't know." The old woman is carefully avoided my eyes. "She's pretty enough, but she only scored a six, Cora. And I was also looking at Andromache…" Her hands go up to touch the blue pearl choker at her neck.

"Well, of course, Cecelia doesn't have certain advantages that some of the other districts may have. But that doesn't mean she doesn't have surprises up her sleeve."

"What, is she going to flash her tits for the cameras? If you read the papers today, it seems like quite a possibility."

I ignore Larissa. "I know it's asking quite a big favor, my dear Urgulana. But we've been friends for so long. I've always known I can count on you. And since Cecelia is my tribute, sponsoring her is, in a way, like sponsoring me again."

I have her now, and we all know it. Urgulana cannot possibly deny Cecelia sponsorship unless she wants all her friends to know that we're not as close of friends as she's been boasting. The realization fills her eyes and her smile becomes rather fixed.

"Well, it is against my better judgment. But that's what friends are for. Of course I'll donate to Cecelia's funds as well as Andromache's, Cora. A token of our friendship!"

"Here's to true friends!" I say in a carrying voice as I raise my glass of champagne and ignore the vomiting gestures Blight is making from across the garden. We drink, studiously avoiding each other's eyes. Inwardly, I'm crowing with delight, knowing that a token of Urgulana's friendship is the equal to the rest of the sponsor donations I've found combined.

That glass is followed by three more after finally breaking myself free of that repulsive woman and her entourage. I wander through the garden, exchanging polite words and laughter with ministers, musical performers, officials, Gamemakers, and the wealthy and elite of Panem. Their jarring accents grate on my ears, their oozing words make me feel filthy, but I carry on. I have a job to do. The only people I have worthwhile conversations with are the other Victors. Well, some of them. Mitt is passed out behind a statue. I motion for some Avoxes to carry him out. Jade is gliding through the party like she owns the place. I nod at her as she passes, a gesture she doesn't return. I finally join a group with BeeTee and Nolan, and enjoy some worthwhile conversation until I feel a tap on my shoulder.

An Avox is standing behind me, dressed in the traditional red and bowing slightly to me. I'm about to ask him what he wants until he raises his head and I see that it's Oenimus.

"What is it?" I ask in a whisper. Nolan is looking at us curiously and I turn my back so he can't hear my words. "Is it home? Della?"

Oenimus simply bows and presses a scrap of paper into my hand before disappearing into the crowd. I look down at the Capitol tabloid in my hand, one of the many rags that speculate on celebrity gossip, the betting odds for the Games, and ludicrous stories about the barbarity of the districts. I glance at the headline, the picture underneath. And my heart stops.

A clearly altered picture of Cecelia is looking up at me. She's dressed in some slinky negligee that I'm sure she's never even seen in her life and standing in a doorway, her hand raised in a 'come hither' gesture.

"CECELIA RHEYS: LADY OF THE NIGHT IS GOING FOR THE CROWN!"

I rip open the paper and scan the article furiously. Between the exclusive interview with me that I never gave and more altered pictures, they manage to get one fact correct. That Cecelia is a whore back in District 8, and that she works for me.

I stand frozen for a moment. Something that feels like ice is flowing through my veins. The only thought I can process is one of complete disbelief. How did they find out?

There's a commotion near the front of the garden as the double doors to the house open. Chills that have nothing to do with the newspaper in my hand ripple my skin as Ahenobarbus steps through and down the steps. At seventy five he's still straight backed and tall, his black eyes filled with something that can only be described as a complete lack of humanity even after fifty-seven years. The crowd breaks into polite applause as the Victor of the First Hunger Games walks down the steps to the garden, his fellow District 2 Victors smirking behind him. I take the opportunity to slip through the crowd and back into the house.

My heels click across the foyer as I try to keep myself from breaking into an outright run. They're joined almost immediately by another. I look to side and see Blight keeping pace with me. He raises his eyebrow at me but I don't answer his unasked question. A servant holds the front door open for us and we descend the massive marble staircase to where the cars and carriages are waiting. Oenimus is waiting with a black limo. He helps me inside as Blight follows.

"The Remake Center," I tell the driver. Blight starts to speak as the car speeds off but I shake my head and we pass the rest of the trip in silence.

My fury builds as I stalk across the foyer of the Remake Center and pound the lift button until it arrives. We soar up to the eighth floor and I take deep breaths, reminding myself that the last thing Cecelia needs right now is an emotionally compromised mentor and that everything will seem better with coffee.

I like to think that my will is iron, that my emotions are always completely under control, but all armor has a weak link, and apparently mine goes by the name of Hector.

"WHAT IS SHE WEARING, YOU INCOMPETENT, LUNATIC EUNUCH?!" I shriek as I walk through the door.

Cecelia's insipid prep team scatters with squeals and admonishments that would almost be humorous if I weren't in such a rage. Hector looks down his overlarge snout at me in that way so many Capitolians have, but I can't help but notice that his left hand starts twitching when he sees me approach. And Cecelia, poor Cecelia stands in front of the mirror in a scarlet something that cannot possibly be called a dress. I could fit the entirety of her outfit in my coffee mug and still have room for cream and sugar.

"Hello Cecelia," says Blight. "You might want to let your stylist know that your ovaries are showing."

"Not now, Blight," I hiss, and my friend looks embarrassed for what I'm certain is the first time in his life.

"What is this?" I ask as I stalk closer and the vile little stylist takes a step back. "This is my tribute. Not a doll for you to dress up in your twisted sexual fantasies. What about what we talked about? What about her angle?"

Cecelia and I spent the entirety of yesterday together. I took over Agrippina's traditional role, teaching her to walk properly in heels, sit straight, carry herself with poise, and smile properly. We then focused on what angle she would be going for in the interviews. I decided that she would be modest, clever, affable and, above all, mysterious. There's nothing mysterious about what Hector has dressed her in. Not even District 1 is this crass, and the sexy angle is usually their exclusive property.

"Her angle is what the city has chosen for her. I am merely accentuating Cecelia's image." Hector's lower lip juts out in a pout. "I thought you would be pleased."

"Pleased? That she looks like some Capitol tramp in Samson's? When did I ever say that was her image? I told you yesterday-"

"I'm not yours to command, district woman. And when you tell me one thing and the newspapers something else, what am I supposed to do? I am an artiste, not a mind reader!"

"Miss Shutter? What is he talking-"

"Be quiet Cecelia. The adults are talking." I snap.

Cecelia glowers in a way I didn't think possible, and I can't help but smile inwardly at the thought that if she looks at the other tributes this way on the starting podiums she might actually intimidate them.

"I'm a tribute. Not a child. And don't talk about me like I'm not here. Now what is going on?"

I take a deep breath. "I'm sorry Cecelia. I'll explain. Just give me one moment."

I turn to her stylist, who is avoiding my eyes. "Fix her."

He gapes at me, waving his arms furiously. "The interviews start in an hour! You expect me to snap my fingers and make a dress appear out of thin air? She's going in this whether you like it or not!"

I grit my teeth. "Fix her. Now."

Hector's eyes get a cold, flinty look. "I am through with this. I am an artiste, not a servant of a couple of district strumpets who are no better than they ought to be. You want her in something else? You find something suitable. And I in turn will go straight to Vitellius Veridian of the National Gallery, who in turn will go to President Snow. So if that's what you want, by all means, redress her. But I'm done here. Make sure she's downstairs on time."

And with that, Hector swoops out of the room, followed by the three women who give me scorching glances as they leave.

"You know, Miss Shutter, I can't help but feel as though I'll have a better chance if you don't make enemies out of everyone who's supposed to be helping me."

This startles a laugh from me, although I'm not sure what's funny, the joke or the fact that Cecelia has actually summoned the courage to tease me.

"Cora, what is going on?" asks Blight. "You stormed out of the gala looking like the gods were at your heels, and now Cecelia is dressed like, well, like a scarlet woman. In scarlet, no less."

I toss him the newspaper. Blight catches it deftly and frowns at the headline. He rips the paper open and scans the article.

"Oh Starbucks above," he mutters. "Is there anything they won't do for a story?"

"It's about me, isn't it?" asks Cecelia.

"No," Blight and I say simultaneously, which only seems to confirm her suspicions.

She stands and takes the paper out of Blight's hands. He gives me an apologetic glance as Cecelia's eyes widen, first in shock, then in horror.

"No. No. How did they find out?" Her eyes fill with tears. "Not now. Not this. How could they? How could you? Cora, how could you tell them about this?!"

"Don't cry, Cecelia, you'll ruin your make up and your prep team has left. And I didn't tell anyone. You know that."

"You told him!" she cries with a black look at Blight, who raises his hands.

"I told no one but Jason, and Jason keeps my secrets."

"Then who?" I snap at Blight. "Who? If none of us, it must have been-"

"Luckie." Cecelia sinks down onto the chair. "It was Luckie. He knew. He knew at training."

"Connor's tribute? The boy from Seven? Why would he do this? What would he gain from it?"

"Sponsorship money," says Blight.

"And revenge. I…I sort of threatened him with a knife. He tried to touch me!" she exclaims at our upturned eyebrows. "Oh gods. It's my fault."

"No. It's not," says Blight as his face blackens. "Excuse me for a moment."

He turns and marches out of the room. When I look back, Cecelia has sunk down onto one of the white leather chairs.

"They know. They're all going to know," she whispers, tears dripping down her face. Somehow I know she's not talking about her fellow tributes.

"Don't be silly. How could they know?" I lie as I sit down beside her.

"They have to. If it's in the paper, it'll be on the television too. In the programmes we all have to watch. Ceasar is going to ask me about it. And if they send me out in this dress…Oh, Cora. I tried so hard. I tried so hard!"

I awkwardly place a hand on her arm. I'm no good at this sort of thing. Manipulating people for sponsorship money is one thing, being motherly is totally different, but for some odd reason I feel I have to try, more so than any of the other thirty one girls I've mentored.

"Cecelia, Capitol gossip means nothing in the districts. You know that. Granted, there will always be some people who know what you did in the Red. You were quite popular after all. But if you're talking about your family, they won't hear. And if they do, they won't believe it. And if they do believe it, they won't care. They just want you home."

"Don't make me go out there, Cora. Don't make me go out there in this dress. Don't let them look at me. I don't want them to look at me anymore."

"It seems we have no choice my dear. Remember why you're doing this. Your family is watching. So make them proud." I run my fingers through her hair. "What were their names again?"

"Carl, Kerry, Paylor, Crinoline. Della. And my Da. I'm doing this for my Da."

"Mmhmm. What about your Da, dear?"

"He's sick. He's dying. I'm fighting for his life. The Victor's purse will be enough to buy him the medicine he needs. It has to be."

I jerk my hand away, horrified. "Why didn't you tell me this?"

"I was going to say it in the interview. I didn't want anyone to know. It was going to be a surprise."

"Cecelia Rheys, you keep your mouth shut about this. I forbid you to mention anything of the sort!"

She looks at me, her dark eyes wide. "Miss Shutter, I have to-"

"You don't have to do anything! You have to listen to what I say. And my name is Cora!"

"He is my father! I have to tell him that I'm fighting for him. I have to give him hope!"

"I forbid it!"

"Just because you didn't love your father doesn't mean you have to be jealous of mine!"

I slap her.

She slams her fists against my chest and screams.

We glare at each other for a long time.

"Go sit by the mirror. I need to fix your make up."

"Yes, Miss Shutter," she mutters.

Once she's seated, I turn to the massive make-up kit that's still opened on the table next to the mirror. I take linen cloth, wet it in the tub, and begin dabbing off the tear streaks from my tributes face. After a minute of her opening and closing her mouth she finally gets a word out.

"Miss Shutter, I-"

"Shut up." She does.

Long minutes pass until her face is clear. I wish I could send out on stage like this. She's beautiful, more beautiful without the lights and the makeup and the glitter. I wish I could show the audience the real Cecelia, not the tribute from District 8, not the lovely and vulnerable pleasure woman from the slums, not the fierce and determined woman with a will and fortitude that continues to astonish me. I want them to see the girl, the girl I have only gotten glimpses of, which convince me that Cecelia is like no other tribute I have ever mentored.

But I can't. Because we're playing the Game. Always, we are playing the Game. And so I begin applying blush.

"My father was from District 8 of course, but he worked in the Justice Building his whole life. He was educated, and very gifted with sums and accounts. So they put him in charge of the tax, the ones that people who don't work in the factories have to pay. He kept track of how much was owed, when it needed to be paid. And he had enforcers for people who wouldn't, or couldn't, pay what was due.

"As it often happens with people who are given a bit of power over those around them, the position went to my father's head. He became obsessed with his status, obsessed with being as Capitol-like as possible. Considering the only Capitol contact we had were the poor officials who were stuck in District Eight due to their political disfavor, it was a poor representation, but it didn't matter. And it didn't help when my mother left him for one of those Capitolians. He began overcharging the district residents, grievously overcharging the tax, until he was the most hated man in the district."

Cecelia is silent and motionless, whether caught up in my story or because I'm applying her eyeliner I can't say. But I'm grateful. This prep work is harder than I thought.

"One night, he went to one of the tailors, the ones that make and alter suits and dresses for people in the Clear. The tailor was behind in his tax. He couldn't pay any more. He refused to pay any more. My father didn't have his enforcers with him. He didn't think he'd need them with a tailor. So he pulled out a stun gun, like the ones the Peacekeepers use when they don't mean to kill. He tried to use it on the tailor. He had never fired it before. He missed. He hit the man's daughter instead."

My hand wavers, just for a moment, and I pause so I don't streak the eyeliner. Cecelia could be a statue.

"She fell, and hit her head on the table. The healers did all they could, but the girl died the next day."

"What…" Cecelia swallows and continues. "What happened to your father?"

"Nothing. The man refused to pay his tax. The Capitol held him to blame. My father was never charged or punished for what he did that night. He came home, got drunk, and was at the office the next day.

"And then, a month later, the Quarter Quell was announced. 'To remind the districts that they were being punished because of their own choice to engage in violence, the tributes would be selected by a vote cast by every citizen of reaping age or older.' And three months after that, well, it was no shock whose name came out of the bowl. It was myself and an eighteen year old who had raped a child. The district got their revenge. They took my father's daughter from him. He didn't even come to say good-bye in the Justice Building."

"Cora…gods, I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"I'm sure you've heard some of it," I say as I begin applying golden and scarlet glitter to her face and arms.

"No one talks about the Quell. The first one, I mean. All I heard was that your father didn't live with you in the Victor's Village after you won."

"And they were right," I say as I apply more glitter.

"Did…did you ever see him again?"

"Yes. Once. He showed up at my door three years later. He was sick, he said. He needed medicine. He was desperate. He couldn't afford the pills that would heal him.

"I closed the door in his face. He died two weeks later."

Cecelia is quiet for a long time.

"I'm sorry for what I said," she says.

"I'm sorry for hitting you. It was not professional, and you did not deserve it."

"And that's why you don't want me to talk about my father's sickness?"

I put down the make-up and kneel down in front of her. "Cecelia, you can't talk about your father because you have no idea what the Capitol would do with that information. I'm sure people who matter already know, but the general public doesn't and that's what's important. The Games are entertainment, and tributes who are fighting for someone else's life are always more exciting. They're pushed harder. They face more obstacles. The Gamemakers will try to see just how far you'll go to save your father's life, and the crowds will cheer you on. Yes, you might get a few more sponsors, but when you've got fire and flood on one side, the Careers tracking you on another, and mutts snarling above, there will be nothing I could send to save you. I've seen it happen.

"And if you win, you will never be at peace. The Capitol won't just let you waltz into an apothecary and buy what your father needs. You will have to do more things, terrible things, for that medicine.

"Keep it a secret, Cecelia. Let your father carry you through the arena, but do not, in any circumstances, let anyone else know about the hope you're carrying. Hope is dangerous. They will extinguish it where they find it. Do not let them find it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, Miss Shutter."

"My name is-"

"Yes, Cora."

"Good. I think you're set then. You look beautiful."

And she does. The dress is horrendous, of course, but Cecelia fills it out well. Her hair tumbles in glittered curls down her back, her makeup is set (and much better than it was, in my modest opinion) and as she stands I can still see her strength in the way she carries herself. Now she just needs to get through the interview.

I kiss the top of her head. "You'll be fine. You're going to be fantastic. The Capitol loves pretty things, and they'll love you, dear. Just remember what we talked about. Just because you look like District One doesn't mean you should act like them."

"Cora, what if Caesar asks me about the Red? What do I say?"

I start to answer, but Agrippina picks this moment to burst in.

"The interviews are in twenty minutes! Get out of there and downstairs! Now, now, now!"

She latches her fingers around Cecelia's wrist and physically pulls her from the room. Cecelia gives me one final glance before she's gone, and I'm out of words of encouragement to say. But there is one more thing I can do to help her. I just need to make one call.

I take out my personal phone and type in a number. I wait until the jarring Capitol accent is ringing in my ear, asking my name and business.

"Cora Shutter. I need to speak to Mr. Flickerman. Tell him it's urgent."

I only have to wait two minutes until I hear the familiar voice on the other end, grateful once again for the prestige that comes with being the Victor of a Quarter Quell.

"Caesar, it's so good to speak with you! No, I won't take up much of your time, I know the interviews are about to start. Yes, I did see your new hair, amazing color choice, just amazing. Listen, Caesar, you remember how we were at that party together at President Lucius Memorial Park? And I made certain that your niece got to play me in the re-enactment? Yes, of course you do. Oh yes, she was marvelous. Well, afterwards you told me that you owed me a favor. I hate to do this now, but darling, I'm cashing in."

---

Caesar Flickerman bounds up onto the stage to thunderous applause He's wearing his twinkling suit and his hair is dyed a bright cerulean that I must say actually does look pleasant for once. I clap politely, glancing at my fellow mentors to see their reactions. Haymitch is, as usual, slumped down in his seat. Chaff isn't doing much better, but at least he has Seeder beside him to keep him slightly presentable. Nolan is crossing his arms, Connor leans forward intently, Mitt giggles and waves his hands in the air. Woof is totally expressionless beside me, even as the camera swoops past us. I blow it a kiss as I do every year.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, welcome! Are you all ready for the start of the Fifty Seventh Annual Hunger Games?" Cheers ring around us at Caesar's words. The Master of Ceremonies bounds across the stage, making jokes, energizing the crowd, shouting out names of the tributes and basking in the applause each one gets.

"They're determined! They're deadly! They're clever! They're mysterious! They're beautiful! They're ready! But are you? Ladies and gentlemen, are you ready? Are you ready to meet this year's fantastic group of young tributes?"

The cheering reaches a fever pitch, and I find myself with a headache. Just get on with it, you stupid man.

"And here they are! Mink, Zinfandel, Pomponia, Ferrus, Satellia, Hidef, Andromache, Gillard, Electra, Soren, Violet, Track, Rowenna, Aspen, Cecelia, Loomer, Sesamy, Wheaton, Jonni, Ramon, Abundance, Wren, Lilac, and Shade!"

The tributes walk out in a line to their seats. All of them have clearly been through hours of remake, and some of them look as traumatized by that ordeal as they are by the one that's still coming. The Careers walk out with confidence, smiling at the crowd and waving. Only a few of the other tributes follow suit, and I'm exceedingly pleased that Cecelia is one. She doesn't look down at her dress once, she doesn't trip over her monstrously high heels, she just blows a kiss to the crowd and sits with everyone else, tucking her legs beneath her and folding her hands on her lap. I'm proud already. The walk is always the hardest.

Caesar throws out a few more jokes, but then the interviews start in earnest. The first to come up is Mink, dressed in the white fur that is her namesake. The Capitol has been eager for this interview and the one that follows it. Everyone knows about the family rivalry now between the cousins from District 1, and both tributes play their parts well, scorning the other and trying to convince Caesar that they're the one that will be wearing the crown in the end. Caesar is in his element and as Zin returns to his seat the applause continues for a long time.

Pomponia is next, playing her role as the ruthless District 2 killer. Caesar presses her about her ten in training, but she keeps tight lipped about it. She doesn't need to say anything about it, not to those who matter. We've all heard the rumors, that she went against twenty-three other trainers and beat them all. Even if it's not true, her brutal conversation about how she's going to eliminate the competition is enough to convince all of us that it is.

The boy from 2 is quiet. Almost shy. He doesn't answer a single question of Caesar's directly, and the applause for him is less than his predecessors. I'm left frustrated. I can't help but think that his eleven in training was a fluke, but if it wasn't I'm sure we'll all find out in the arena. I hate surprises.

The interviews glide along from there. The girl from 3 seems determined to speak in technical terms that no one understands, but she does much better than her stuttering partner. Andromache is fierce and determined, her partner is a heartthrob. The girl from six breaks down in tears halfway through and can't get another word out.

I sit up a bit straighter as Rowenna glides along to the interview chair. She's stunning, her copper hair pouring down her back, dressed in an evening gown made of silk leaves. She and Caesar have a great back and forth that leaves the audience in peals of laughter. When asked about her family, Rowenna describes her sweet mother, handsome brothers, and sisters who love to dance in the soft lawns of the forest.

"They're waiting for me, to join in the dancing again. And I know they can't wait to meet all the new friends I've made here who are going to help me get back home so we can all celebrate together!"

She's met with thunderous applause and I curse inwardly. Blight isn't mentoring this year but Rowenna's interview could have been straight from his mouth. He's my dear friend, and he genuinely likes Cecelia, but I let myself forget that he's fiercely loyal to his own tributes. I can't let that happen again.

Aspen, who insists on being called 'Luckie,' is everything I expected him to be. Arrogant, supremely confident, and seemingly oblivious to the way the Careers are eying him like a wild dog eyes a rat. When asked if he has a girl waiting at home, he boasts that he has seven and that's why he's called "Luckie."

"Well technically eight now," he says as he glances back to Cecelia. Hoots and hollers ring out around us. Cecelia doesn't look at him. She doesn't even blush. I feel a swell of pride.

Luckie returns to his seat after three unmerciful minutes and finally Cecelia walks up. Caesar kisses her hand and she sits down next to him, positively beaming.

"Cecelia Rheys! Welcome! I have to start out by saying that you look devastatingly beautiful tonight. Doesn't she folks?"

Cheers ring out and Cecelia blows a kiss. I get a strange feeling in my throat as I remember that the Master of Ceremonies said the exact same thing about me and I responded with a kiss myself, all those years ago.

"Now, Cecelia, let's start with your training score. You got a six. How do you feel about that?"

"It was exactly what I wanted, Caesar."

"Exactly what you wanted. Fantastic. Why is that?"

"Well, with all the threes and fours and fives this year, no one should doubt that I'm capable, confident and ready to win."

Cecelia gets a huge reaction to this, and I smile, pleased that she remembered her carefully rehearsed response.

"But there were also a number of high scores this year. Even an eleven. Does that make you nervous?"

"I think everyone is nervous. It's quite a show you're putting on!" Caesar laughs. "But the difference between them and myself is that I know the value of a girl keeping her secrets."

"Beautiful and mysterious! Cecelia, I'm excited about you, very excited. You have a secret weapon then?"

"Caesar, you bad man! That's telling!"

Caesar roars with laughter. "One hint. That's all I'm asking!"

Cecelia leans in and Caesar does the same. For a moment she seems about to whisper in his ear and then she kisses him on the cheek."

The crowd cheers and Caesar actually blushes. "Cecelia, you're working hell on an old man's nerves. Your kisses are renowned already!"

Cecelia smiles. "They're not given freely, that's for certain."

I can tell that Caesar badly wants to follow this line of thought. So badly. I mentally remind him of the promise he made, not to ask Cecelia anything about the Red or mention anything from the tabloids during her interview. We must have some sort of psychic connection, because Caesar stumbles on a word and then veers off into a different direction.

"Tell me about your family, Cecelia. Who's waiting at home?"

"My brother, Carl. He has a baby boy. He's already saying new words every day. The last one I heard was "Feek mahn!" It's how he says "Flickerman."

A chorus of 'Awws,' rise up, from the crowd and the host alike.

"I'm sure he'll have many new words when you come home, Cecelia!"

"As soon as I do, I'm going to teach him to say 'Victor.'" Applause.

"Anyone else?"

"My sister, Kerry. I love her dearly. My friends Paylor and Crinoline. Don't worry about me, I can't wait to be with you both again. My step…My mother, Della. She knows how much I care for her. And my father…."

"Your father? Tell me about him."

Cecelia's eyes drift out to the crowd and meet mine for the briefest of moments. "He calls me his angel. And I love him more than anything."

The buzzer sounds and Cecelia walks back to her seat with as much applause as Andromache or the cousins. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.

"She did well," says Nolan next to me. I nod in agreement. On my other side, I feel Woof tense as Loomer stands and skips over to Caesar, clapping his hands. The boy is dressed in dark trousers and a plain, tight white dress shirt. His simplicity is etched all over his face and I want to bury my face in my hands. I didn't realize how much I had been dreading this interview.

"Welcome, Loomer, welcome! How are you?"

"Happy!"

"Good to hear! How do you like the Capitol?"

"I like it, Caesar! It's lots of fun!"

"And what has been your favorite part?"

"Oranges! And video games! And training!"

"Training?" Caesar raises his eyebrows , something that I'm sure is being imitated by every member of the audience. What have you been doing in training, Loomer?"

"Being strong!"

"Strong? Show me your muscles, there's a good lad!"

Loomer stands and flexes, and I'm astonished to see the muscles that fill out his shirt. Caesar wraps a hand around Loomer's bicep and congratulates him. Cheers and whistles echo from the crowd, and a chorus of female voices breaks out with a shout of "We love you, Loomer!"

I turn towards Woof. "You clever dog. You had us all fooled. Even me. I thought you weren't going to pretend he had a chance."

Woof doesn't look back at me, but I see the smile playing on his lips.

Loomer's interview continues in this vein, with more talk about oranges and pretty Capitol girls and how Loomer managed to throw a spear across the entire gymnasium three days ago. He gets a healthy cheer as the buzzer sounds and he returns to his seat, beaming.

I zone out after that. Districts 9 and 10 are the typical quivering tributes, nothing special at all. I calculate Cecelia's odds in my head. I'm fairly certain she could outlast half the Career pack if she stays out of their way. They don't seem to have a healthy alliance like they have in other years. Ferrus is still the wild card and there's something about Andromache that strikes me as more dangerous than she lets on. I'm certain she can outwit Rowenna, but if it comes down to killing her…well…I may need to send her something to remind her of her father. But she'll do it. Other than that, the only other threat I can think of is the girl from 11 who's being interviewed now. She's gruff, bordering on rude, confident, and comes across as totally ruthless. If I were the betting type, and not a mentor, I would be very tempted to put money on her.

The interviews end with neither of the tributes from 12 making an impression on me or anyone. The anthem plays, we all rise, and the tributes are led off. My fellow Victors stand and move off, talking about last minute strategy sessions and spa appointments and who's going to be appearing at Samson's tonight.

I catch a last glimpse of Cecelia as she disappears behind the stage, walking towards what very well might be the last night of her life. As I make my way out, I find myself thinking about the start of the Games in a very different way than I usually do, in a way I almost don't recognize.

It takes a few long minutes before I realize what's different.

Hope.

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OMG an update! With my crazy summer work schedule this is almost a miracle! Thanks again for everyone's continued support and follows. Don't forget to let me know what you thought of the interviews.

Thanks as always to my reviewers from last chapter: Clove'sAllies, mintjellyfish, Guest, Evaelin, and Anla'shok. If you're reading, please just drop a line to let me know what you think. Only takes a couple minutes and it's the best motivation!