Satine La'more P.O.V
"My lord, as I was sewing in my closet, Lord Hamlet, with his doublet all unbrac'd,No hat upon his head, his stockings foul'd,Ungart'red, and down-gyved to his ankle; Paleas his shirt, his knees knocking each other, And with a look so piteous in purport As if he had been loosed out of hell To speak of horrors- he comes before me."
I expect to hear something. A voice, a glimmer of hope that this production will work out. Graham peers at the paper in his hands, trying to decipher the code of language etched eternally into the literary world. t least, that's how my group leader, Corda, puts it.
"Polonius? Earth to Polonius. You awake there?" Corda marches up to the stage from her usual velvet chair, adjusting her curly milk chocolate hair. She gets to Graham, and taps him on the shoulder. He turns around, adjusting his thick-rimmed glasses. "Graham, take off those silly glasses."
Graham adjusts them on his face. "I need them to see."
I smirk. "No you don't. You just wear them to look good."
Graham gasps. "Nobody asked you, honey."
"Love you, too."
This is probably one of my favorite parts of the day. I live in the theatre. It fills me with all of the great drama and creativity that perspires of high-class and culture. When it comes to art, I've always loved every morsel of it. Even the worst of it has some sort of value in the world. It's nice to know that people still love the alluring atmosphere of a packed house. Enough about philosophy, though. Time to turn on the charm.
"Sorry, Corda. These glasses are just...me." Graham says.
To be honest, the glasses make him look so fake. I don't want to hurt his feelings too much, but those glasses need to come off. I walk up to him with a small grin. My eyes lighten up as i get right up to him, our noses almost touching. I trace my finger around his chest, using my other hand to ruffle his dark brown hair.
"Graham, baby. You don't need those glasses to be you," I lean in closer, whispering. "You're as much of a hottie either way."
Graham rolled his eyes. "Satine, if it was that easy, I would have been your slave a long time ago."
"You practically are. You're so whipped."
"Shut up, Dyno." Graham turns and shouts at a snickering guy backstage.
It's not like fake seducing is something I'm not used to. I do it for real all the time. Let's just say that I'm quite the promiscuous person. It's not exactly something to put on a resume, but I'm not embarrassed by it. In fact, I actually enjoy it. Who wouldn't? Granted, I would much rather be a real actress. I don't need a corner to act; I need the limelight of the stage! If I have to be a complete whore to work my way up, then I guess I'll need to keep taking those birth control pills.
"Calm down, Graham. Everybody, please relax. We need to focus on opening night. Remember the three 'R's' of success."
"Reps, rest, repeat." We all say in unison, like a group of soldiers reciting a creed.
"Exactly. Let's start at Polonius, and finish off the scene from there." Corda says when she moves back off the stage. Before she calls for the next scene, her face lights up. "By the way, I forgot to mention that practice tomorrow is canceled. I hate that we scheduled opening night for this week, but that's how it is. From the top!"
I feel a little worried now. Tomorrow, I planned on volunteering. That may seem like I'm throwing everything I have away, and maybe it is. For some reason, I can't resist it. The glitz of the Capitol, shining spotlights pointed right at me, and the whirlwind of screaming fans all wanting just a glimpse of me. The Games are the ultimate stage, and I feel like I can win. I'm fast, street smart, and, if need be, I'm sure some of the boys wouldn't mind having a little fun during this whole thing. After I win, I won't need to sleep around. Hell, people will be begging that from me. I can live in style, and never look back. Maybe I'll even see my parents over there, and I can stab them with a knife for leaving.
Sorry for the sudden mood change. I'm usually not like that. Time for another quick monologue.
Glint Mugg P.O.V
Poor Mog. He just can't seem to find the bright side of life. Granted, hitting on girls is a forte of his, not mine. My goodness, though. Can't he just leave feather alone? Doesn't he realize that she is not into him? It's not like she's quiet about it. Sitting on the stoop by the reaping area, my and Mog are playing cards with Feather. We have been fine. She doesn't pay to much mind to me, but she hates Mog. Actually, she may just like him, but in a love-hate way.
"Alright, bastard. We need to go to the reaping." Mog says in his low, angry voice.
"Calm down, idiot. We're gonna go. By the way, any of us volunteering?" Feather asks.
"I am. And I'm going to take the world by storm." I say.
Mog rolls his eyes and picks up his cards. We go over to the reaping. Standing in line, I can barely contain my excitement. This is just way to much for me. I've been waiting for this my whole life, and now, I am ready. You may be wondering why I am doing this. I live pretty richly, and my parents like me. My approval rating is high, let's put it that way. I just think that the games are an endless thrill ride. When I get back, I'll be the most popular person in all of Panem easily. It's the perfect plan. All of my training center buddies love me. Hell, the instructors love me. It's only a matter of time before my pedestal is finally finished, and I can sit on it with a throne.
I guess deep down it is a little over-the-top. If I can shoot high, though, I'll at least land somewhere. And why not shoot for the stars?
I get into the pen, and we go through the traditional things. I personally like the video. It hypes me up big time. The tradition of it all is just really fun and thrilling. Nothing like a little reverence before the main event. It amps up the tension. Im not tense, though. I can do this. Everybody is rooting for me. At least, they will be soon.
The lady in drag (or man in drag) reaches into the bowl. I swear, she goes in slow motion on purpose when she does this. She snags a slip, and smooths it out in her pale fingers.
"Our female tribute is Demi Lovato."
A chorus of "I volunteer" sprinkles through the crowd. Now, the rush for the stage begins. The gates smash onto the ground with a clang, and a girl breaks away. She dodges and hops around the mob, and makes it to the stage first. I didn't even see her, and she just appeared in front of everyone. She waves at the crow, giving a quick wink. She certainly looks amazing. Maybe Mog would have liked her, that man-whore. I think her name is Satine.
Now, it's my turn. I warm up my throat, and bounce up and down on my toes. She reaches in, and reads out another name.
"Our next tribute is a Mister Ian Hecox"
A guy next to me with bushy eyebrows and a brown bowl-cut screams and starts to run backwards. Lucky for him there's plenty of testosterone here to cover for his cowardice. I'm not particularly fast, but I can drop some people to make my way to stage. A hop, skip, and a punch later, I'm up there.
"What's your name, dear?" She asks.
"I'm Glint Mugg, and I'll be the greatest tribute ever." I say with a shout.
The crowd goes wild. For just a split second, it feels like I have accomplished something. Something I've always wanted from the day I was born. This whole crowd loves me, and I can't wait for my chance coming up.
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New Question! Who would win in a battle to the death? The teenage inspiration that you can do anything, or the ratchet Pokemon trainer. Demi Lovato or Ian Hecox? Answer in the next chapter. We still have spots for tributes. The middle Districts are all open. Call up your long, lost, biological dad. Ask him to send a tribute in. Get the librarian to send one in. She's not horribly busy, anyway. See you soon!
