If this is too much dialogue, I apologize, but it's hard when this is interviews, and not something like the Private Sessions. Also, these chapters are taking me longer than normal, and I believe that the reason for that is obvious…
Cashmere Combe (15), District One Female-POV
Standing behind the stage, the other Careers surrounding me, I smooth down my dress, awaiting Clark Hallen to give me the signal to come out for my interview. It's a short blue number, complimenting my skin tone perfectly, with a tail attached to the back of it. Spreading around me in a half moon, it reminds me of the feathers of a peacock. Around my luxurious black hair is a green ribbon, dark blue boots reach up to my calves, and when partnered with stunning makeup, I look just like the majestic bird that my stylist intended me to. My interview angle Julius Le Omen, my Mentor, selected for me was shy yet brave. No doubt Clark would be questioning me all about my training score, though, as I received the best one out of the entire Career Pack.
"And without further ado, let's bring out District One's Cashmere Combe!" Clark bellowed out, causing the audience to burst into cheers.
Stepping delicately out onto the stage, a small smile is plastered on my face. Upon reaching Clark, he eagerly shakes my hand before indicating me to sit down in the seat. A ruby red cushion, the entire thing is covered with swirls and stars, with little gold tassels hanging below my feet. The floor is covered in a cool tile, the reason that my feet seemed to click when I walked, but that's all I have a chance to observe. Clark Hallen is ready to commence the interview, his golden hair swept off to the side, and his shiny white teeth shown in a charming smile; no wonder the ladies in the Capitol go nuts over him.
"I must say that you do look wonderful, Cashmere. May I call you Mere?" Clark asks, his baby blues looking crystal clear.
"All right," I said quietly, "Thank you, Clark."
People do say that the interviewers always try to help out the Tributes, and I do believe that they are right. After watching several Hunger Games, it's become obvious, painstakingly so. Alas, I don't think I'll have any problems with making my interview angle look appealing to the people here, even if it's not want they would find typical of a Career. Oh well, I'm going to win the Hunger Games anyways, so it will not matter all too much. Too bad he'll have to die as well; I think I'll miss him; I'll miss him more than I really should. Yet throughout my own interview, I found that my mind didn't drift towards him all too much, instead being free to think what I like, and say what I think is right.
"So tell me, Mere, how are you enjoying the Capitol so far?" he asks, relaxing back in his own chair, which is identical to mine.
"Well…," I paused, mulling over my words, "It's very big…and full of wonderful things and beautiful people. I think that I'd like to live here one day…"
Grinning, Clark nods, "I know exactly what you mean. It's a never ending party! Am I right, folks?"
Instantly, the audience hoots out their approval, and I smile sweetly out at them. Soaking it up, they already adore me, despite the shyness that I have been displaying so far. As soon as they quite down, Clark returns his stellar like focus to me, reminding me very much of his grandfather, Caesar Flickerman, who had used to run the interviews for the Hunger Games. In fact, he had even been the one to interview the Mockingjay and Haymitch Abernathy.
"You received an Eleven for your training score; very impressive! Mind telling us how you were able to do that, Mere?"
Glancing up at the Gamemakers, the white haired one scowling down at us all, and I have to remind myself that it is completely private, "Oh…I suppose I could tell you how I received that score. It's all rather simple, and the bottom line is that I am going to win, and none of the other Tributes are going to be able to get in my way."
My competitive edge showed through the mask right there, but I didn't care, returning back to my sweet smiles and shy looks. Right when Clark is going to reply to that, the buzzer rings, signaling that our time is done. Standing up out of my chair, to which the interviewer tells me that it's been a pleasure, the audience is cheering as I vanish off of the stage. Returning to the Careers, Nicolas doesn't look all too happy with me, but I playfully bat my eyes at him, making my message clear. I may be a nice girl, but no one, and I mean no one, is allowed to mess with me.
Griffin Holloway (17), District One Male-POV
"And now for Griffin Holloway of District Two, let's make him feel welcome, people!" Clark announced, beaming out at the audience.
Stepping out from behind the curtain, a broad grin plastered onto my face, I make my way over to Clark leisurely. Today, my stylist dressed me in a suit, the same exact color as Cashmere's dress coincidentally. Randomly, it would sparkle, not even needing the light to do so, and it still managed to give off a sophisticated aura. However, the crowning piece was the small concealable device placed in my mouth, making my teeth literally sparkle with each smile I threw towards the Capitol woman. Doing so right now, a couple of them started fanning themselves, a delicate blush rising up and out of their rosy red cheeks.
"It's good to be here, Clark," I said as I sat down, flashing out another dazzling smile.
"Likewise, Griffin," the interviewer replied, "So tell me, why did you Volunteer for the Hunger Games? I'm sure I'm not the only one who's curious about it."
A tear glistened down my face, "Well…You see, Clark, I'm not doing this for me, or anyone alive for that matter. M-my mother passed away, and it had been her dying wish for me to win the Hunger Games. How could I, let alone anyone, deny that plain request? It would be shameful of me not to…"
While some of that had been true, half of it was a cold lie. When my mother had died, she had wanted me to Volunteer for the Games when I was eighteen years old, not seventeen. But I'd make sure to fulfill my vow, the entire reason that I had Volunteered a year early, just in case I wouldn't make it in this year. It was a safety net of sorts, to ensure that I would be able to win the Hunger Games, and go down in history, but more importantly, appease my mother's spirit. In my mind, when we die, we go to a magnificent place, full of riches and wonder, which some of the Christian kids in District Two call Heaven. And though I don't mind dying, as it is a risk for participating in the Hunger Games, I am confident that I will win, as I have no other option that will fulfill my vow.
"Wow…," Clark whistled, astonishment evident, "You must have really loved her, didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," I responded, my voice purposefully weak, "All I want to do is appease her, that way she may finally rest in peace. There's not really much else that I can say, Clark, but that I cared deeply for my mother, and I hope that she's in a better place right now."
"What do you think she'd say if she saw you right now, Griffin? Would she be proud of you?" Clark questioned, leaning forward in his seat to grab the carefully placed box of tissues.
Pausing, "I think she'd say: 'Griffin, you're everything I could have dreamed you to be. You've made me, and your father too, so proud. Take good care of Alura for me, Griffin dear.'"
Flashing into my mind, Alura smiled up at me sweetly. I'd have to win for her, too, I thought, that way she wouldn't have to grow up without a father figure. There was so much riding on me winning the Hunger Games, so much that I can gain, yet so much that I could lose. Was the risk really worth it? A small voice in my head said no, but my own, much louder one, said yes. It would be always worth it to grant my mother's dying wish; if it wasn't, then nothing in the world meant anything at all, to anyone. All of the names in my family were designed to strike fear, and once I've accomplished my win, it would become Alura's turn to follow in our footsteps. After all, her name was a play on the word 'alluring' and from the way she's been growing up, she'll look just as beautiful, if not more, than Cashmere does.
"I'm correct in guessing that Alura is your little sister?" Clark requests.
"Spot on. Alura is my younger sister, and eventually, she'll be a Victor of the Games as well. It's the least we could do for our mother, to honor her instead of honoring ourselves or District. But needless to say, I expect to be talking to you very soon, Clark. You can count on it," grinning sadly at him, the buzzer goes off, ushering me out of my seat and off the stage.
Leah Dagger (16), District Two Female-POV
"Now for District Two's striking Leah Dagger!" Clark calls out, giving me my cue to come onto the stage.
Wearing a tight, not to mention short, purple dress, I toss my red hair over my shoulder as soon as I'm in the public eye. Batting my eyelashes, which have been coated with thick mascara, the eye shadow a dark purple color that matches the dress. My hair's been curled, slightly braided at the front, and black combat boots are my favorite part of the entire ensemble. The male population loves it, so I place my hand on my hips, striking a pose which sets them wild. A couple flowers are tossed in my direction, a deep red colored one catches my attention, and I stick it inside of the dress, that way it's pressed up against my chest. Laughing musically, my hair is tossed one more time, just to leave them wanting more, and I take my seat down next to Clark.
"Wow!" Clark enthuses, almost rendered speechless, "Those stylists of yours sure outdid themselves, Leah!"
"They did, didn't they?" I muse, chuckling slightly.
Blinking slightly, as if to clear his head from the show I've been giving them, Clark finally starts my interview, "So, tell me, Leah, what are your thoughts on the Tributes this year? Anyone we should look out for?"
Rolling my eyes playfully at Clark, I briefly think through my answer before responding to his dull question, "Well, there is this really strong girl in the Hunger Games. She has long red hair, blue eyes, and a killer attitude. And no, I'm not talking about Reina Vane- she'll be dead in the Bloodbath if I have a say in it. Oh and this girl is wicked with just about each weapon, especially…Well, that's for me to know, and everyone else to find out, now isn't it?"
Clark's eyes widen comically, "Don't say no more. I'm already pretty sure that you could take me in a heartbeat!" he chuckles, "I probably need to hit the gym, don't I folks?"
The audience laughs, watching Clark who flexed the muscle that he certainly did not have. A couple of them yelled out that he looked fine the way he was, but some of them were encouraging him to go work on. Thinking up an idea quickly, knowing that my time would be over shortly, and I needed to be able to impress as many sponsors as I possibly could. After all, I needed to get back to Matt somehow, and if I didn't have the financial backing, anything could happen to me in the arena; I might even lose the Hunger Games that way. If that happened, my brother wouldn't last longer than a week, with Thomas taking his rage out on him, no doubt. There was no way I wanted him to turn out like that pathetic Reina Vane, quiet and nervous all of the time, as if she didn't have any confidence in herself. How could I person live like that? Exactly, a person couldn't, so the determined look on my face grew.
"You know what, Clark?" I started, and would have continued if he didn't realize my question was rhetorical.
"What is it, Leah?" he asked curiously.
"Once I win the Hunger Games, I'll train you," I replied, smirking sexily, "We can start off slow, twenty sit ups, pushups, and squats a day. Then, as you improve, we can go up to thirty, and start hitting some bags. Eventually, you'll be able to do a set of hundred no sweat, and you'll be training like a Tribute! Sound good, eh?"
Clark chuckles, "You might want to take the zero out of those numbers. I'm pretty sure I can only do two of each! And that's on a good day!"
Ignoring that comment, despite having laughed a bit myself at it, I said, "I don't know, Clark, you totally look in good shape to me."
"I'll take your word for it Leah…," he paused, glancing up at the timer that says that our interview will be done in about twenty seconds, "Before you go, how about you tell us about home? How's life in the day of the dazzling Miss Dagger?"
What was I supposed to tell him? That I was abused each day by Thomas, a person who I was supposed to be related to? Should I tell him that my mother had been murdered, that she hadn't fallen like I had been forced to tell the Peacekeepers? My mind flickers again to Matt, the only person who could truly bring a smile out of me, and one that didn't scream bloodthirsty. I didn't think that Clark would be able to understand, but maybe Thomas was watching right now, so I could give him a tiny piece of my mind. A niggling suspicion told me that any anger would be taken out on my brother, but I didn't care right now, as the spark of anger had ignited into a huge flame; we all know you cannot stop a catching fire.
"A person who is supposedly my father abuses me every day. He murdered my mother," I let the words hang in the air, giving a steely look into the camera, and I'm positive that I have a close up right now, "My little brother, Matt, is alone with him right now. I want to come home, that way I can give Matt a better life. And…I want you to know that I hate you, Dad, I hate you and I always will! In fact…I'll kill you for what you did! I'll kill you for my mother! Eh, Thomas? I'm not some weak little girl! I am coming hope and I'll stop you for good this time!"
Jackson Leo Ross (17), District Two Male-POV
A stunned silence greets the end of Leah's interview, but when the buzzer goes off, they all return to their avid cheering as if nothing had ever happened. Slightly bewildered, I didn't even know all about that, but I pushed it out of my mind when I heard Clark's voice bellow across the stage again.
"Jackson Leo Ross of District Two, come on out!"
Unlike the Tributes from District One, our styling team went for a more simplistic look. Today, they had dressed me in a plain black tuxedo; there wasn't anything special about it. Even though it wasn't nearly as flashy, my copper colored hair stuck out and drew everyone's attention. And my eyes, of a similar color, may have very well had their own spotlight, pointed directly at them for all to see. Grinning cockily out at the audience, throwing a few winks to some of the richer looking women, and men as I don't know their preference, as I made my way over to Clark Hallen. Grasping his hand, shaking it firmly, I have a good feeling about my interview as I sit down in the red chair; I'll be sure to gain loads of sponsors from this.
"Jackson Leo Ross, that's quite a mouthful," Clark commented good naturedly, "Is that your full name? Or do you have two first names?"
"Oh, just call me Jackson," I reply, "Or Victor, if you want, though you won't have to do that until my next interview."
Laughing slightly, "We'll get along all right, Jackson. So, how about you tell me about your sister, Mariah? What was that all about?"
Recalling the fury, the hatred that Mariah had felt towards my District Partner wasn't all too hard to do. Everyone in our family always did know that she had a mouth on her, but I don't think I've ever seen it run that much. For the most part, my sister was just my sister, just someone who'll probably enter herself into the Hunger Games next year. However, a funny feeling tells me that she'll be stopped from doing so again; I don't want to be around when she loses her top. Last time, before the Reaping, that it had happened, her boyfriend had just dumped her; he hasn't been the same since.
"My sister has had a dream of being in the Hunger Games. So, it was natural for her to be a bit disappointed that she couldn't enter as soon as possible. But hey, I'm going to be the one winning it anyways, so it's actually a good thing Mariah didn't get to come," I paused, chuckling slightly, "Though, I can bet my life that Mariah will be sitting on this stage next year. You guys better watch out for her!"
"Don't worry, I will!" Clark assures me, before changing the subject yet again, "We didn't ask this of the District One Tributes, as District Two traditionally leads the pack, but who is in the Careers this year? I know I'm dying to know!"
Looking towards the Pack, who sit clustered together behind the stage. Malaya has a calculating look on her face, as if she's going over the final details on what she's going to say in her interview. Griffin and Cashmere each appear to be bored, with Leah smirking slightly while eying some of the younger Tributes. The last of the Career Pack, Nicolas Riddle, is watching someone, but I can't make out who it could be. Following his gaze, I find the largest alliance, besides us, and I doubt that he'd been paying any special attention to any of them; Nicolas swore to us that he didn't even care for his tiny District Partner. Somehow, it makes me feel as if none of them are going to last very long, with the exception of Leah, as I know she's got the skills from our training sessions at home.
"Oh…," I say, my voice sounding dull and bored, "Combe, Holloway, Dagger, Finaca, Riddle, and myself."
"Finaca? As in Malaya Finaca? How'd she make it in?" Clark asks, curiously.
Frowning slightly, I can't help but hate that Malaya didn't receive a poor score. That girl from District Three did well, almost too well for a legacy Tribute. Sure, her gramps had won the eightieth Hunger Games, but that doesn't mean that Malaya would have been training twenty four seven. As far as I knew, only District One, Two, and Four actually wanted to be in the Hunger Games, with District Thirteen as a borderline Career District. The army for the Capitol is situated there, so we've been trying to get them to join the Careers for almost one hundred years, but the Mentors keep denying the invitations to join.
"Why don't you ask her yourself?" I question, my voice tight and controlled so the hatred wouldn't show, "I don't see why you'd waste time with me with a guaranteed kill's alliance choices."
Pausing, Clark is about to say something else when the buzzer goes off abruptly. It didn't feel like I had received my three minutes of time, but I heard that it happens that way in the interviews sometimes. Perhaps I had spent too much of my time reflecting, winking towards the crowd, and playing up my interview angle of cocky and confident. Standing up from the chair, the smirk returns to my face, as I wave outwards towards the cheering and adoring crowd. They don't know that I had been bothered by the last question, as all of their social cues must have vanished from their memory after living in this place for so long.
"I'll be back soon, folks," I promise, "After all, it's the only way I can really beat my father!"
Malaya Finaca (15), District Three Female-POV
Standing behind the stage, I've run over my plans one last time and I'm confident that I'll succeed. My stylist, whom I detest, has dressed me again in something that had made me appear to be appealing. Impossible, that's what I had thought when the thickly accented man had informed me, but apparently he had been able to pull off these miracles again and again. Glancing behind me briefly, Jitz stands off all on his lonesome, and I pity him for it; I'd actually taken a liking to the sullen boy. If I hadn't had other plans, I may have proposed an alliance, but it doesn't help me at all to be thinking that way; it'll only make me regret my actions.
"You all remember her great-grandfather, so we're sure you'll love District Three's Malaya Finaca!" Clark cheers, signaling the audience to begin to do so as well.
Stepping out, the dress I'm wearing dazzles as the light catches it. It's very figure flattering, turning my athletic build into a beautiful hourglass shape, another thing that I didn't believe that anyone could have done. The gown is a long one, covered with glittering diamonds, which is the reason that they give off a silver sparkle with all the flashes of light coming towards me. Once again, they had dyed my hair a thicker color of brown, explaining that it would bring out my natural beauty. Though I had insisted on no makeup, mascara adorned my eyelashes, making them look full and voluminous. Smiling out at the crowd, I make my way towards Clark as quickly as I could without tripping; they had placed me in awful six inch heels, though no one could see them from the length of the dress.
"Woah! You nearly blew me away seeing you, Malaya!" Clark enthuses, "You clearly inherited your great-grandfather's good looks! Why, we almost had to pull him up again to see his boyish charm!"
On the inside, I'm frowning slightly, even if I love my grandfather, "That's actually why I'm here, Clark. The very reason that I Volunteered to be the newest Quarter Quell winner, after Alecto Cobalti won the last Quell."
Instantly, Clark perks up, and I know that I had hit the exact topic that he had wanted to talk about, "Clearly, you are a very intelligent and beautiful young lady, Malaya. Mind telling us more on your choice to come into the Hunger Games willingly?"
In my head, I can easily picture my far more pretty family. For being ugly, for being me, they had punished and abused me frequently. Not as much as Reina, who we could all tell by just looking at her, but just enough that I wanted a way to escape. Though not to escape from them completely, but to escape from the ridicule, to get them to realize that you do not have to be beautiful; that you're okay just the way you are. Taking a deep breath, it's right now that I have to break the ice, to get my point across and hopefully win a sponsor or two along the way.
"People think that they're better because you're pretty…I'm not pretty. I'm ugly; I know that. And that's why I Volunteered for the Games; I'm not beautiful, but I'm proving that you don't need beauty to win. All you need is you," I told him, staring into the camera and out at the millions of citizens in Panem.
A stunned silence greets my little speech. Of course, it would only be expected here in the Capitol, where vanity is one of their top priorities. Would they be able to understand what I'm trying to tell them? Possibly; the likelihood of it happens to be a statistic that even I don't wish to dwell on. Somewhere though, watching through a screen, sits the abusive family who also couldn't understand. The people who I loved, yet detested for the angry marks they left, just because I wasn't as physically appealing as they happened to be. No one should have the right to do that to a human being; no one at all. Whatever was running across their minds right now, I hoped that they had finally gained the knowledge I had, and maybe they would when they saw what I had accomplished in the arena; that I had won the Hunger Games.
"I couldn't possibly agree more, Malaya," Clark comments, finally finding his voice again, "And did this have anything to do with how you were able to join up with the Careers?"
"Well, they were short a member and I asked them. Obviously, my training score is enough to prove that I am highly capable," I reply, smiling slightly as if it had been the cleverest thing in the world.
You see, almost the entire thing is a lie. I'm not going to join the Careers; I just wanted the protection from being killed too early in the Games. By thinking that I'm on their side, they won't be as prone to come after me when I slip away during the Bloodbath. Sure, after about a day they ought to realize that I'd flown the coop, but I'll be far away by then. All in all, it puts me one step closer to becoming the Victor of the Hunger Games. In fact, Jackson had even given some tips on swords to me, which will surely become handy in the Games.
As the buzzer rings, I can't help but feel smug as I walk off the stage, leaving the Capitol wanting more. Yet more importantly, leaving the Career Pack completely and totally clueless as to my plans; This, I believed, would be easy.
Jitz Low (14), District Three Male-POV
Huffing slightly to myself, Malaya whizzes by me to resume her place by the Careers. Idiot, didn't she know that they'd kill her? In fact, that's what I believed would happen to every stinking alliance in this place, no matter how much they thought that they trusted each other. It's all going to go down to who holds the knife in the end. Rarely did an alliance not kill themselves off, and that's usually because some other Tribute did the dirty work for them. We're all going to die in this arena; my emotions have been fluctuating on how I feel about it. Sometimes, I don't care that I'm going to my doom, but at other times, it tends to matter a lot to me. But right now, there is no way I want to be placed six to seven feet underground and mourned each and every Reaping day by my family. Knowing my mother, however, she'd make a positive thing out of and pull some spiritual crap, like the boy from Five would.
"District Three's Jitz Low; let's make Jitz feel welcome!" Clark says cheerily, wasting precious energy that we could have used for a more proper and beneficial purpose; they always disregard resources in the Capitol if it doesn't aid the tears of children.
Sighing at their painful enthusiasm, I reluctantly make my way forward. Boringly, they had dressed me in plain black slacks, crisp white shirt, and tie. Though, it didn't really matter to me whatever I wore right now, as there had been literally no point to it whatsoever. Sponsors may send in money, but they might not; Mentors may release gifts to us at the right moment, but they might not. Something may happen, but that something may not, and if you think about things that way, it is then that you can truly understand my true luck. This is, in case you haven't noticed already, horrible beyond compare. The bug that it splattered beneath a shoe, mercilessly, must have had more karma points than I, for I'll be tortured before given release in only a few days time. Whatever someone said, my mother is completely wrong, and will most likely stay that way for the duration of my days, though admittedly it isn't all too long.
"Hello Jitz!" Clark pipes, "Sit down, sit down!"
Hovering a bit, to make it clear that I don't appreciate his happy demeanor, I take the lavish chair slowly. Scowling at him, as if I had been forced to sit on a den of pythons, a part of me thought that Clark had gulped. Good, the interviewer would learn that I wasn't some hippie Zen child that they had dug out of the forest. Nope, people classified me as the ever so morbid Jitz Low, the one that they'd probably never see anyone like again, so they best pay attention. There won't be any song and dance coming out of me; no hideous monkey act that the other Tributes would undoubtedly put on.
"So…Jitz," he hesitates, the smile on his face fading a tad bit, "Anything you like about the Capitol?"
"No," I reply, "There is nothing to enjoy about this place. It's too loud, too noisy, it's grim and grueling, and quite frankly, each person here has an I.Q. lower than that of an ant. A dumb ant at that."
Clark blinks, as if he can't believe that I had the nerve to say that, and oddly enough bursts off laughing. As if on cue, the stunned audience joins in, probably mistaking my insult for a witty joke. Witty? I may be clever, but no one had ever believed me to be so. Rolling my eyes, I cannot wait for the buzzer to come off, to free me from these stupidly simple minded people. They would all be killed in the Bloodbath; Reaped just like the fresh meat back in my District should have been instead of me. Instead of sending me off to a hellish death, laughing and jeering and cheering on whoever would get the 'honor' of being my murderer.
"I'm not joking," I cut in, silencing their laughter, "Each and every one of you are complete imbeciles. A small percentage of you have even looked at a book, and a smaller percentage has even read one. Now, tell me how I am supposed to enjoy my time here? Am I supposed to laugh with the people sending me to my death? No. I am going to enjoy shredding down each and every bit of your-"
The buzzer interrupts me, sounding hasty to cut off the demoralizing words I had read out to the Capitol. But as I walked off of the stage in silence, I finished my sentence in my mind with a glare.
-self esteem until there is nothing left but the hollow shell, until the only thing left is what you really are…
Fialla Howards (14), District Four Female-POV
After Jitz waltzed his way off of the stage, everyone seems a bit desperate for me to be a more normal Tribute. Well, what they actually want is someone to make the Capitol people feel good about themselves, despite that they were the ones who created the Hunger Games. Breathing in deeply, I smooth the girlish dress that they stylist had selected for me, hoping that it would play along with my angle of cute and likeable. Pink accents were the only decoration on the yellow gown, which came out slightly like a typical princess dress and stopped at my knees. It had almost been smothering, making my tiny and miniscule form appear to be even more so; just the way my Mentor, Tia, wanted.
"Next up, we have the sweet Fialla Howards, hailing from the lovely District Four!" Clark Hallen announces, clearly trying to draw any lingering thoughts from Jitz's interview out of the Capitol citizen's heads.
Smiling widely out at the crowd, a blush graces my cheeks as I stumble slightly in the heeled shoes. Even if they were going for the innocent child approach, that hadn't stopped them from putting me in super high white shoes, humming and joking about something called a Labor Day rule while they did it. In District Four, we didn't care much about fashion, so I didn't expect to understand whatever the kind people in my Prep Team were chatting about. Gracefully, for once, I sit down on the red chair, my feet not quite reaching the ground. Blushing slightly, the entire audience seems to be smiling up at me, but no one has a grin on their face as broad as Clark's.
"Adorable as always, Fialla. Or do you prefer Fi?" Clark says looking friendly and relaxed despite the rather large age gape, which most people wouldn't have reached across for a chat.
"I don't mind which," I respond politely, "My friends call me Fi, and I suppose you're a friend, Clark."
"Yes!" Clark bursts out, "I'm friends with Fi Howards! Everyone is jealous of me now, right folks?"
People roar out their consent, causing me to giggle and smile even more. They've already adoring me, that much is clear, so the entire getup for my interviews is almost overkill. But I don't really mind right now, as this feels as if I'm in an entire room with my friends; it feels even better than my daydreams about Nico. A ripple goes through me, thinking about his beautiful sea colored eyes, and the very way they seemed to sparkle in the twilight. Pausing myself before I swooned, I heeded my oldest ally's words, reminding myself that I didn't need him to be happy; I couldn't be sure if it was working or not.
"All right, back to the interview!" Clark reprimands, snapping my attention back to him, "How about we start off by talking about your family, Fi? Got any siblings? Favorite relatives? Or…Someone special, eh?"
Stuart's face comes to mind, his grubby little hands clinging to Kallice as much as he could; he never really did that to me. My older sister smiles down at me, but the look is slightly wary, as if I am a stranger to her. Even if Kallice is six years older than I, it is all too easy to remember the time that we were like two peas in a pod; I really wish that things could be like that again. And even my younger brother, the one who spends so much time out at sea, is the one that Kallice feels closer to. Really, Aunt Shorrie resembles a sibling to me, an older sister that loved to gossip and tell spooky stories when the lights are low. My actual sister never really did that, I realized sadly, and tried to not look bummed out in front of each living citizen of Panem. Someone out there might be thinking about sponsoring me, so it would be better if I kept up the positive, instead of the negative like Jitz had done before me. Recalling again how Clark had asked about someone special, Nico's face flashed into my mind, yet it disturbingly wore a smirk, differentiating from my previous daydreams.
"I have a little brother, Stuart, who is only eight. I don't really get to see him that much, as he practically lives on the boat, fishing and all so we can have enough to eat…My sister who's twenty, Kallice, is an athletic and intellectual type, meaning that she'd do better than I ever could in the Hunger Games," I pause slightly, letting the truth of the words sink in briefly, "My aunt, Shorrie, lives with us too. She's a bit of a romantic, but an older sister to me in a way…"
"Yet no one special, Fi?" Clark presses, no doubt wanting the juicy details that don't exist.
Blushing, I remind him, "I'm only fourteen years old…And the guy doesn't even realize it…I doubt that he ever will…"
Hoping that he'd realize what I meant, without having to turn me into one of those star-crossed lovers, it seems that the universe is bent against me at this moment. Elezar talked briefly on that, how certain things were supposed to happen to certain people for certain reasons; while I understood a bit of it, I mainly noted that he likes to use the word 'certain' a lot. Sighing slightly, I can only watch as Clark goes forward in his seat slightly, asking the question that I knew he would ask from the moment I carelessly blurted out about Nico.
"Why is that, Fi? I'm sure he'd date you if you win! Right?" Clark states, not quite seeing the predicament that I'm in.
"But for him to know, Clark, I'd have to be dead…"
Nicolas Riddle (16), District Four Male-POV
Wearing a lame tuxedo, plain black and white, I impatiently await my cue to go onstage. Clark and Fialla still sit there, chattering on and on about the pros and cons about the Capitol food. My District Partner, but by no means ally, should have had her turn finished by now, that way I could have my shot at going out and impressing the sponsors. After what has felt like an eternity, they reluctantly tell Fialla that her time is up, ushering her off the stage so I can come over. Cracking my neck and knuckles, another short period of waiting occurs, as I actually have to wait for formal invitation from Clark Hallen to walk over. Cheering in the audience dies down after a bit, when Clark clears his throat to continue on with the other interviews.
"Nicolas Riddle, the other District Four Tribute!" Clark calls out, at which I practically spring out from behind the curtains.
Cheering erupts once again, even more so as I smile cockily and wink at some of the women. It's a standard routine for a Career, but only because of its supreme effectiveness at earning boatloads of sponsors. Crossing my legs, almost as if I didn't have a care in the world, I laid back and stared down my interviewer. Bursting with energy, no doubt just as bubbly as every other Capitol citizen, I didn't relish my opportunity to talk with the ever so famous interviewer. Other people might have been appalled by this, but it hasn't bothered me in the very slightest.
"Let's get down to business, eh Nic?" Clark states, not really asking a question, and then continues, "I remember when your father won the Hunger Games, so how about we start with that. How's life for the fabulous child of a beloved District Four Victor?"
"Pretty good, Clark," I admit, "Though my mother isn't a very big fan of the Hunger Games, Sapphire, my sister, and I get to just about whatever we want. We get to handle all the weapons we can back home, eat all the food we want, sleep whenever…it's a never ending party that whipped me into shape for becoming the next District Four Victor, after Tia Eerie won the Games three years ago."
It would be almost shameful to live in District Two, I recalled, as their last Victor had been Runa Stone. The vixen from the masonry District had won the One Hundred Sixty Ninth Hunger Games, meaning that five years had passed without a Victory for that District. At this rate, they may forfeit their place in the Career Pack to the Tributes of District Thirteen, who have been showing promise lately. Of course, that Newton kid became an exception to the rule, but the score Adia had received made up for it greatly. Shaking my head slightly, an unwelcome intrusion comes into my mind.
My crush is standing there, sand covering her tiny little toes as she's laughing musically. Unlike the other girls in the District, it doesn't sound so much as like a tinkling bell, but an orchestra of the most beautiful sound that I had ever heard: happiness. Warm brown eyes soft with amusement, metal glinting slightly in the sun, all causes my knees to go weak; fortunately I'm not standing up at the moment. Right now, all I really want to do is clear my head and go back to my interview, to focus in on whatever garbage is spewing out of Clark's mouth about my chances of winning the Games. But like the spell of an evil witch, there never really did appear to be any good ones, I couldn't shake the vision out of my head. A blade then was discovered, coming out of nowhere, and now wrapped tightly in her dainty little hand with a hidden fury.
"You killed me, Nico! You killed me!" she shrieked, driving the blade that didn't exist into me, snapping myself from the odd vision when Clark had already started another sentence.
"-allies. Mind telling us about that?" had been all I had the fortune to catch, meaning that I'd have to think up something fast or look like a weak and distracted Tribute in front of the sponsors.
Thinking back to my interview angle, I practically spit back a response, "No. None of this is needed; all of them are weak, even my allies. They're all going to die from my hand and mine alone! My little sister could take all of them in her sleep, so why couldn't I?"
Sapphire comes to mind once again, the way she could just fall in love with a song, something that I could never do. With me, all I'd really cared about had been training; I'd even used it as an emotional output. If my younger sister had been her, then it would have been plain to see that her blue eyes were a deeper color than each varying shade around me. Ginger hair, brighter than that of Reina Vane or Wednesday Vespers, would have looked certainly better groomed as well. Part of me felt a niggling emotion of regret, but I quickly pushed it aside; I'd see my sister soon enough.
"Completely agree, Mr. Riddle," Clark said casually, "but I heard rumors about you having a romantic affair. Thoughts?"
"Thoughts?" I echoed, my voice sounding alien to me, "I don't have an affair, I never will. I've worked hard to come here, too hard almost, and if I'm turning into another Boy with the Bread, gladly slap me out of it! Certainly, you wouldn't expect me to throw away my life for a girl?" I continue on, my voice now filled with disgust, "Have you not been listening? Well, clean out your ears! I will not, am not, could not, and would not have an affair with Fialla Howards!"
It was then that I realized my fatal mistake; it was then that it had become already all too late. Clark's eyes widened, his eyebrows shooting up as I frantically tried to find a way to cover my blunder. Rerunning over my words, it was then that I took a calm breathe, despite the knowing smiles displayed by each member sitting in the audience.
"And certainly not with any other Tribute," I hastily added, "District Four doesn't have star crossed lovers this year and we never will. The Games may have some this time, but I assure you, I am not one of them."
They seem to buy this excuse, and I can't help but think that that had been almost too close.