May have possibly gone on a mad writing tear the last two days, and knocked out nearly 30K words. As such updates will be more frequent. Reviews always appreciated.
The clock is creeping towards dinner time when the dining room door bounces open and Carmenius stalks out, already drinking from the neck of a wine bottle. Stuvek barrels past him, head bowed and disappears into his room. It seems that the fear he was able to put aside during training with his new friends has returned with the poignant reminder of his imminent death. We all agree to let him be when he doesn't answer the door for dinner, and the meal is oddly silent with just the three of us there.
I can't help but be glad for the reprieve of the planned evening session with Carmenius, who has apparently given up on us in disgust yet again in favour for a bar somewhere. I spend some time practicing my knots with the skirt cords until I let my mind wander and find my fingers now following the familiar patterns without needing to concentrate. Throwing them aside I wander aimlessly around my room for a bit before a thought strikes me and I summon one of the mute servers, who takes little time to supply me with a pen and some paper.
Wondering why I didn't think of this before I sit in my usual planning position, cross legged on the bed and start drawing whatever comes to mind. Arrays of ropes and shafts that form far more complex snares than the ones I showed the Gamemakers. Various simple projectile weapons like the one Cupros built, that might be possible from natural materials. The circuitry design for an SSI assignment, due in the week after the Games finish. Maybe Beetee can take it back to Miss Tafter for me if I don't make it.
I even try drawing my family, though I've never been much good at capturing living things on paper. Balia's eyes are too far apart and her nose just doesn't look right in this picture here. I can't quite capture the oddly absent look in Malcy's eyes as he stares at me from the page. Ezra's head is too squashed and the stubble he regularly forgets to shave is nearly impossible to capture with a pen. My parents, not quite right either of them, though I can't put my finger on what. Maybe Dad's glasses, which are too large. Mother's curls start too high on her forehead. Grandma Tolsey is entirely at the wrong angle, though her chair looks right.
I don't realise I am humming until I toss the pen aside in frustration and notice the room seems suddenly too quiet. Grandma's songs again, though I still can't remember the words. The haunting melody seems appropriate for the situation, so I lie back, humming it over and over until the echoes from the metal walls lull me to sleep.
-xXx-
I had wondered earlier why it would take most of the day for our stylist and prep team to prepare us for the interviews, given that we had been plucked and scrubbed only a few days prior. After two hours of intensive bathing, alternating between soaking baths and hard spraying jets Juliette informs me that I am almost presentably clean, though she had hoped to get the absolute last of the grey tinge from my skin. I can't really tell what she's looking for; to me my limbs are an unnatural shade of pale gold and my black hair shines under the down lights.
Marius seems to be in charge of my makeup, coating me in a spray that enhances the golden tinge to a nearly healthy glow. He follows this up by coating my face in a thin layer of primer, over which the actual make-up will go on closer to the time.
The other man, Lorcan does my nails with a dark green-grey polish then surprises me when they dry by handing me a bit of paper.
"Dido said to get you to draw some actual circuitry designs, and I'll paint them on in silver and gold. I can get pretty fine with the pens so don't worry about how fiddly they are."
Touched again by my stylist's care I sketch out some of the interesting sections from my assignment last night, hoping that someone at home will recognise it if the cameras zoom in at any point. Lorcan carefully copies the patterns over with a fine airbrush pen that I really want to try out while Juliette makes a start on my hair. It seems my soft curls are nearly perfect as is, though she winds them through with a few copper strands, studded with the occasional pinhead diamond. These should glitter subtly under the stage-lights, drawing attention from my face to my hair, which really is my only attractive feature.
Finally Dido arrives with my outfit, a loose silvery dress criss-crossed with fine copper spirals. The collar is pale gold and folds down to form a pair of lightning bolts resting over my collarbones and doesn't ride too low for immodesty. The skirt swirls a little as I walk, the spiralling patterns taking on a hypnotic effect as I toy with the material. Even better, the shoes have almost no heel at all, making balancing a lot easier than yesterday.
The final touches are added in the jewellery, a pair of copper bracelets that spiral up my arms from wrist to elbow and a matching hairpiece that loops a portion of the copper-accented black waves higher on my head so that they tumble over one shoulder.
When I am finally permitted to look in the mirror, the figure I see appears to be some metallic creature, shining with every step like brand new electronics, straight from the box. The swirling patterns are mesmerising and mysterious and the conservative length hints at intellectual refinement. Perfect.
"Yes, this will do nicely," Dido says, echoing my unspoken thoughts. She takes over the pencils and powders from Marius, adding a dash of colour here and there, gesturing abruptly for me to turn my head at this angle or that under the lights until she is content.
"Oh you're just going to look marvellous out there," Juliette trills as she claps her hands together with excitement.
I smile at her in the mirror, trying not to let the slight wishy-washy feeling in my stomach come to the fore. Judging by the fading light through the window it is getting close to the time. Possibly my last sunset if things go badly. No, I tell myself firmly, looking away from the orange glow, I can't think like that if I want to survive. And I do want to survive, as long as the person at the other end is still mostly me. Perhaps this is what I fear as much as death; that I will become one of those heartless monsters. That my family and friends will watch me become that cold, emotionless killer, or worse the crazy savage who laughs hysterically over my fallen foes.
I try to rehearse some of the answers I practiced yesterday in my head while my prep team pack up, but my mind keeps jumping to images of my family. They will all be watching, of course; the interviews are mandatory viewing, so even Pella will be looking on during my three minutes in the spotlight. Will they see through the cool persona I present to cover the scared girl beneath? As long as the audience doesn't it shouldn't really matter.
Now is when I want my longer, sharper fingernails back so that I can dig them into the soft flesh of my wrist and keep my mind alert. I almost wish they had been less efficient in getting me ready, because we have to wait the time until the show starts in a nervous silence, broken only by the occasional swish of clothing and clatter of heels as the prep team move about.
Finally the call comes to start assembling downstairs, and we are the first to arrive behind the stage outside the Training Centre. I hope Stuvek gets here before the Careers do, so I have someone non-menacing to talk to, but I am out of luck it seems when the very next tributes to arrive are the pair from Two, who glare at me as their stylists continue to fuss over their outfits. The boy, Halifax is dressed in a dark grey suit that matches his eyes, though there are brass pins in the shape of a sword in his sleeve and collar button-holes. Lucinda is swathed in silvery-grey cloth edged with blood-red silk tassels. From a distance she will look like she is literally dripping blood, though I guess the effect is supposed to be her as a blood-coated blade.
I keep my eyes lowered, pretending they aren't there until the other tributes start to arrive, including my district partner who visibly quails under Twos' hungry gaze. Lucia seems to have switched things down a notch from the opening ceremony disaster and Stuvek looks relieved to be dressed in a fairly plain striped grey suit with gear-wheel buttons.
A determined band of organisers start arranging us in an orderly line as the last of the tributes appear, and I realise my knees are shaking beneath the swirling skirt. I've never really had a problem with talking in front of a small crowd, though usually I am presenting my work to a like-minded group of students and teachers not myself to an enormous audience who will soon be cheering for my death. Finally we make the march onto the stage, to the wide arc of seats, and I remember to sweep out the skirt of my dress before sitting, legs crossed at the ankles, knees together.
I stare out into the crowd, momentarily overwhelmed by the sheer number of people I watching until Caesar Flickerman bounds onto the centre of the stage, the lights turning his pale yellow-green hair luminescent against his midnight blue suit.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Capitol, of the Districts, of Panem. It's that time again, the chance for you to meet our courageous tributes for the Forty-eighth Annual Hunger Games!"
The crowd roars its reply, responding eagerly to Flickerman's words, howling and chanting the names of their favourites already. They can't wait to see us suffering, bleeding, dying. When I look again out to the sea of faces and colours and swirling, flashing lights I see instead the dogs that guard the warehouses, snarling and slathering. Great fanged beasts like the ones that devoured three tributes in the forests a few years back. Animals, muttations, out for blood, ready to feed off our delectable agony.
The only thing that stops me heaving is the fine dress I am wearing, and the thought of what Dido might do to me if I ruin it on stage. I am so very glad that we are seated, because my legs would not support me right now, and I have exactly twelve minutes to get myself under control. I find a point far above the heads of the audience, a flashing light on a high-up building in the distance and stare at it, one breath after another until the sound of applause shakes me from my stupor. And I've gone and done it again; completely zoned out my mind so that I've missed my last opportunity to study the curvy beauty from One.
Better her than him, though, I decide as Jasper Noble struts to the front of the stage, clasping hands briefly with Caesar before turning to the crowd to flex the muscles visible from his rolled-up sleeve. Several middle aged ladies in ghastly low-cut outfits near the front swoon and he blows them a kiss before taking his seat. The conversation that follows provides little I didn't already know. He claims he is the son of a wealthy family, and that his parents were proud of him for essentially volunteering. I, like most of the audience had forgotten that he was actually reaped, but he assures the watchers that he would have been sitting here regardless, ready to reclaim glory for his district following last year's close defeat.
It makes me wonder what sort of lives they must lead in the Career districts for parents to willingly send their children to their deaths for that small chance of glory or honour. And surely even someone trained from a young age to fight and kill would find themselves a changed person once they actually had blood on their hands. Maybe this arrogant boy, who seems so at home with making others suffer won't be tormented by the deaths of the children he kills.
The pair from Two are both quietly menacing, though Lucinda isn't really that convincing at it. Halifax, who is the largest tribute by an inch over the boy from Seven carries the persona well, making Caesar flinch as they shake hands and staring intently around the circle of tributes with a small smile before answering the question about his readiness to kill.
Suddenly it is my turn and I take one last deep breath before rising to my feet. Thankfully my legs hold and I almost manage the confident gliding walk that I practiced before to the centre of the stage. Caesar takes my hand gently to help me sit and I again remember to sweep out the hypnotically patterned skirt, tilting my head so that the light will catch the miniature diamonds in my hair.
A soft sigh comes from the crowd, not from the front where the middle-aged women and eager young men are seated, but from a little further back where the older wealthy residents are seated.
"So Miss Ling, you seemed a little distracted before. Were you planning out your strategy?"
How did he see my reaction to the audience when he was facing them and egging them on? Of course. The giant screens showing the stage. They must have cut around our faces at some point. Deep breath, then answer, I tell myself.
"Oh I was just admiring the fantastic architecture. It really is spectacular, especially at night with the artistic lighting. In fact your entire city is spectacular."
I gesture out above the heads of the audience, and from the corner of my eye I spot Beetee sitting with the other mentors nodding with approval. Step one: compliment the Capitol. Check.
"Well, we have heard some interesting things about you Wiress, from your stylist and of course your mentor Beetee."
He pauses and looks at me expectantly, though he hasn't really asked anything. Maybe he's giving me a chance to take the initiative, though if I hesitate too long, he will undoubtedly try a different angle.
"Oh yes, well it has been wonderful to work with such brilliant people. Dido's designs are so…refined. And Beetee and I seem to be completely on the same wavelength."
I can see the camera do a quick cut-around to my stylist seated in one of the tiers, who nods graciously, and then to Beetee before centring back on me in time for Caesar's next question.
"So can we expect to see some of the same brilliance that Beetee used in his Games?"
"I certainly hope so," I reply cautiously, and Caesar takes this as an opportunity to ask about my strengths.
I try to avoid directly answering any of his queries about specific skills, and he eventually realises I am evading his questions and switches topic.
"So what about your family? I believe we saw your sister during the reaping? Do you have anything to say to them?"
I nod when he mentions Balia and force myself to clamp down on any emotional response. If this is my last chance to say anything to my family I want it to at least be coherent.
"I have no doubt my family will be watching on and cheering for me. My parents have always supported me, and my brothers and sister…s have faith in my returning home."
Pella will be watching and it seems petty to not include her in the statement now, so she will know if I die that I forgive anything she feels bad for saying over the years.
"I just hope that whatever happens they are… " What do I hope? That they are praying for the deaths of these other 23 children so that I come back to them? That they will be content in knowing I died relatively painlessly? I can't say anything that sounds weak, or like I am giving up hope.
"I hope that they are proud of me, whatever happens."
"I have no doubt they will be Wiress. Ladies and Gentlemen, Wiress Ling from District Three."
Just like that my time is up. I doubt I said anything that will keep me in the minds of the screaming mob, but I didn't collapse or break down sobbing so to me it is a success. And I got a chance to say goodbye to my family, sort of. If I can stay strong for them in the spotlight then maybe it will help them stay strong if I die.
Stuvek's interview is a little heartbreaking to watch. He tries at first to act like the nonchalant and cool killer we all know he is not, but is smart enough to realise no-one is buying it and switches back to the generally friendly boy that he seems to really be.
It does him no favours with the audience, but he was never going to make an impression, and at least now his family won't have to watch him spend his last time pretending to endorse the monstrosity he has been forced to fight in.
An enormous cheer greets the announcement of Francis Waverley, which shows no signs of dying down as Caesar tries to start up the conversation. She frowns when she realises she is losing valuable time, and eventually the noise dies down enough for them to be heard.
Caesar starts with the usual introductory questions, including the obligatory "How does it feel to be following in the footsteps of last year's Victor?" and she responds with typical grace, thanking her mentor Mags and stylist Antiquilla for their help in presenting her. Once she is speaking the audience falls respectfully silent, and I can't help but be impressed by the confident face she presents. She directs away the questions about what particular ability scored her a 10 in training more skilfully than I did and announces that she hopes to be the second person in the history of the Games to create a winning streak. I can't remember who the first pair were but I suspect this statement alone will ensure her the greater part of the sponsors in the crowd. They all want to back the winner, and this would be a nearly unmatched feat for their entertainment and excitement.
Following on from her, Damian is decidedly bland, and he shoots her a disgusted look at the end of his three minutes. The person who follows on from the previous Victor always gets more attention, but I suspect she would have been up there amongst the favourites regardless.
Districts Five and Six are uninteresting enough that the audience starts a low murmur of conversation despite the glare the heavy-set Aleksander Yancy shoots them. He is large enough to pose a threat, but is so softly spoken that it's hard to take him seriously as a fighter. Little Emilia from Seven breaks down into tears when asked about her family and Shovan gives her a supportive pat on the shoulder as he passes her on the way to centre stage. He is enough of a contender that the audience stays respectfully silent, especially when he says he is willing to do whatever it takes to get back home.
Eloise from Eight doesn't even make it through one question before she starts bawling and Caesar gives up on trying to get anything coherent out of her and spends the three minutes letting her sob into her velvet dress. By contrast, Stuvek's ally Felton maintains a decent composure, as do the pair from Nine. The girl Tarragon still seems surprisingly confident despite her low training score and assures us all we will see why tomorrow. Starria is greeted with raucous cheers and whistles from the contingent of young, rich men towards the front of the viewing area and plays up the sexy angle as much as she can, though the tremor in her voice suggests she is not as confident as she wants us to believe.
Her district partner Anton is quietly likeable, joking easily with Caesar though he shrugs when asked what he will amaze us with in the arena. Finally Junis steps up to the chair, starting up an easy banter with Caesar about how different the bright lights and tall buildings are from home. When he asks her about her support team, she casually mentions that she has always worked well with her Aunt Seeder and the whole crowd is thrown into an uproar. It turns out that her mother was Seeder's half-sister and that the different surnames prevented the sharp-eyed media fact-finders from realising the relationship, though undoubtedly the core Gamemakers were aware. As Caesar tries to quiet the horde I wonder absently how many people will be losing their jobs over that one.
The buzzer sounds before they can continue a proper conversation, though Junis looks pleased enough with the results. Her odds as an underdog would have just sky-rocketed with the announcement that she is related to a former Victor, and probably gained her some potential sponsors from the older elites who remembered fondly Seeder's Games. Which is bad for me as these are the people who are likely to make the small contributions for items like bread or matches early on without expecting anything in return. Now they will be throwing their change into her jars instead of mine.
From the looks the Careers are giving her, they seem to have realised the same thing and I wonder if this might work against her if it brings down their ire to focus on her as an early target. My thoughts are interrupted by Caesar introducing Sparrow Harper to the crowd, his golden hair flopping over the pale green suit as he executes a graceful bow to the audience.
There is something spellbinding about his light, childish voice as he talks about how excited he is to be here and how he can't wait to get into the arena, not because he wants to fight but because he misses the trees from home. Not that he doesn't find the Capitol beautiful in a different way. Glib-tongued and cheerfully innocent, by the time his three minutes are up he has the whole audience hanging on his every word, and the cheer as he departs is every bit as loud as it was for Francis Waverley.
Now that they have the popular support behind them, if District Eleven team up they could become a significant force in the fight to come. No-one seems to pay much attention to the pair from Twelve, whose only Victor was the first one and she rarely appears in public. The only thing either of them has in their favour is the boy's scrawny muscle and height and before I know it Caesar is wrapping up the show until tomorrow.