Interviews Part Two

Zimozielony "Z" Drewno, 14, District 7

I feel the other tributes (especially the girls') gazes cling to me as I sit down in the small chair behind the stage. I find a wicked grin on my face. Yes, I'm wearing pants, the grin says, Deal with it.

My straight black hair is done in the nicest braid my stylist could manage without me biting her, my jeans are clean and a little elegant, and the green shirt is a little too flowy and silk for my taste, but at least it covers me up unlike the District 8 girl's dress. Ew… I wonder how girls could stand being like that all the time.

I see all of the other tributes go up in front of me, and feel a little downhearted at how well they full it off. The Careers are deadly killing machines, District 3 is smart, District Four charming and courageous, District 5 clever and cunning, District 6 interesting and diverse. And Caesar, aqua wig and all, calls my name, just as charmingly as the rest.

I wipe my palms on my jeans, steadying my breathing. Time to go.

I remember what my mentor said: I'm devious and witty, I can pull this off if I just be myself.

The first few questions are a blur. I answer honestly, and even get a few laughs. And finally, Caesar grins at me and says, "Well, we already discussed your score, but I see lots of potential in you as a tribute. In your personal opinion, how do you think your chances are in the arena?"

I sigh, thinking of the most honest answer I can summon in the midst of my fear. "Don't count me out, Caesar, because I never give up."

Forrest Asher, 15, District 7

Z gets applause long after she's seated. I find myself staring at her in awe, at her courage and rebelliousness. Even wearing pants for the interviews, which seems like nothing, just reeks of it. I admire her for that.

I wish, for a moment, that we could be allies.

But I shake the thought away quickly. I couldn't kill someone from my district. Not someone as similar to me as her.

And then my name is called. My feet shuffle to the podium, the suit making me look charming, I assume, but must seem unbalanced with the black leather glove on my left hand. There is no way I am letting the Capitol see what their bloody lumber machines have done to me. It is my problem to deal with, not theirs.

Caesar shakes my hand awkwardly, but doesn't question the glove. I mentally praise him for this level of respect. I never expected it from a Capitol citizen.

"So, Forrest, although I do tend to repeat questions, I've always liked this one." He pretends to read it off a blank slip of paper from his sleeve, making the audience laugh. He even overpronounces the syllables, even though I know he's asked it before. "What is your worst fear?"

No. I need to be normal. The Capitol has no room for weird, odd, exceptions like me. I gulp, and let the stutter in my voice show, knowing I have no other option.

"I-I'm afraid to be beaten."

"Could you elaborate?"

"I-I won't be weak. I can't b-be weak." The words come out strangled and hoarse, and I take a deep breath, forcing the stutter from my voice. "I am afraid of having my weaknesses control me and force me to do the bidding of others." My eyes narrow, and I stare directly at the cameras. I give up the good guy act, knowing that I need to show them that I am not afraid. "I am afraid of being controlled. But don't worry, I don't plan for that to happen. Not in these Games."

Annabelle Crest, 15, District 8

People were a bit intimidated with Forrest's odd change of tone, so the applause is light and concerned. And then it is my turn.

I hear the audience take a big breath in as I delicately step onto the stage. My dress is a bit revealing, but it feels heavy, and pulls me down, as it is made purely of bits of crystal that reflect in the bright lights. My high heels are also crystal, and I try not to wobble as I make my way over to the white leather chair.

I cross my leg over, like my mentor taught me too. I can win this crowd.

"Wow." Caesar says, looking me over. "May I just say, you look wonderful!"

Huge applause from the crowd. My cheeks redden a little bit at the amount of attention and spotlight that is being cast on me…literally.

He finally draws his eyes away from me, and clears his throat, regaining himself. I smile sweetly, causing tons more applause. "So, Annabelle…A four. Not the best training score out there, would you say? Do you have confidence for the upcoming Games?"

My smile becomes smaller, shier. More applause. I feel threatened with the difficulty of the question, but I know it's not his fault, and that he does try to help the tributes. "Well, Caesar, I can't give much away, but the four wasn't necessarily my fault. My skill set is different than using weapons, I am fast, and I know how to survive."

Lots of applause this time. I didn't expect this for such a terrible answer. Sometimes I wish I weren't so pretty… then people could be honest with me. And not just applaud after I do the littlest thing.

Caesar nods. "And, Annabelle, before you go…good luck."

I smile again. "I think I'll need it."

Flint Mandrake, 15, District 8

All the male tributes stare at Annabelle with awe as she steps off stage. Her dress brushes me a little as I go by to sit by Caesar, and I shudder a little. Hopefully the cameras didn't catch it.

The interview is quick and short, and I was so nervous, I could barely hear what Caesar said until the last question.

"So, Flint…do you think you have a chance to win these Games?"

I gulp back a pessimistic answer, or a sob, or both. Instead, I try to remain upbeat and positive, like I have been previously in the interview. So I say, "I'll do my best, Caesar."

Kira Howren, 16, District 9

Flint didn't make much of an impression, and I barely notice him on my way up. My eyes must seem bright and swimming with fear, as my silvery dress compliments them, but people applaud at my entrance anyway, although I must look like an elegant, lost sheep.

"Welcome, Kira. You look lovely." He doesn't say it with the drool on his lips like he said to Annabelle, but the small compliment makes me feel a little better.

"So. Another four. From what the Gamemakers tell me, you're very smart, so I know you have something to offer to this question… what is your greatest strength?"

I feel my mentor's deep blue gaze gouging into my own from somewhere in the stands. This is the question that will determine my sponsors. I need to be brave, defiant. Strong. If only I weren't so nervous…

My answer comes out like a murmur at first. I clear my throat and repeat it. "I don't care if people think I'm weak. I know that being clever is much more important than strength alone. I am not going down without a fight."

Collita "Col" Gra, 16, District 9

The white leather seat feels weirdly comfortable, but different than the rough wooden ones I've grown accustomed to in my upbringing in District Nine.

Caesar faces me, and with the aqua paint around his eyes and his wig, he appears to be crying and very pale.

"So, Col. A nine. Very nicely done, I must say."

"Thank you." My voice is softer than I expected. Good. They need a sweet boy who is looking out for their brother. My score should be enough to prove to them that I am strong, but in order to move the Capitol citizens, you use emotion.

"So," says Caesar, quietly. "We're all dying to ask… when you volunteered for your brother… what was going through your mind?"

I avert my gaze for a moment before replying. I don't need to pretend to have emotion. I do…I do.

"My brother's name is Ordi. He's 12, and he means the world to me."

Silence. Good.

"I couldn't bear the thought of being without him, but mostly him having to suffer, having to fight for the very will to be alive." I pause. More silence. I am defying the Capitol in this very speech, but I do not care. "I did what I had to do, Caesar." I look away. "And that is it."

Azalea Mine, 16, District 10

We are all struck by Col's deep speech, and the applause lasts long after he is seated, his green eyes fixated at a point on the floor.

It is my turn to step up. My stylists didn't do a terrible job—my dress is a deep silver that compliments my dark brown eyes and curly hair, and goes down to my ankles.

I know what he will ask me. I will not cry, I will not cry, I will not cry. I bite the inside of my cheek hard until I taste metallic blood, and I look straight into his dark eyes, and answer the question that he just asked.

"I love my brother, Caesar. Not even the Games could change that. And I don't care how it's done, we'll both come out of that arena alive."

Karina Towhee, 17, District 11

My dark green dress isn't as terrible as I thought it'd be. My menacing scowl made my stylist scared enough that she made it short, at knee-length, like my shorts from home. Home. I can nearly picture the large farms, incredibly vast seas of familiar faces… but then come my parents. No, I do not miss them.

I stare at the little boy coming off stage, Jaryn Mine, in a miniature suit, tears coming from his eyes as much as he tries to prevent them. I try to find sympathy inside me for the poor boy, but I suppress the urge and glare at the ground as I walk. You cannot win the Hunger Games with sympathy.

And then there's Caesar, aqua wig, freaky makeup and all, beaming at me. "Karina, you look lovely."

Be charming, my mentor told me.

No way in hell.

I glare at him, sizing him up. "Well, I look better than you."

He pretends to wince dramatically and be offended. Oh god, they think I'm joking. Well, the joke's on them.

The audience stops laughing, and Caesar continues. I answer the questions in my usual, blunt manner, but quietly, unsurely. I take more rebellious digs at him, hidden behind casual subtext. By the end I am nearly spitting out answers at him.

"So, Karina… tell us, do you think you can win this thing?"

Honesty. I search my brain for good answers. But I can only say one thing. "I am not helpless, Caesar." I look in the camera, directing my answer at the cameras. "I have the potential to do anything I want to, if I can set my mind on it."

I leave the white leather seat without being dismissed.

That'll give them something to think about.

Quinton "Quincy" Cottondale, 12, District 11

I do not speak during the interview. I do not move. There is nothing for me to say. There is nothing for me to do. I blink, I breath.

I am nothing.

Em Kingston, 13, District 12

My coal back dress reveals my bone-thin arms covered in a thin layer of muscle from working and starving. I shuffle awkwardly onto the stage, biting my lip till it bleeds in an effort not to cry.

Caesar's smile is so warm, so welcoming, I almost have hope for a second. Almost. I have one of the lowest training scores, I'm young with not many advantages, there is no chance for me.

As he talks and I reply, I wonder what my funeral will be like…lots of red roses, I hope…maybe a bit of music, if I'm lucky. But I live in a community home with hardly any friends…nobody loves me.

The jeering of the crowds brings me back to reality. A fight to the death, televised, enjoyed. This is no ordinary sporting event. Life or death of people who did nothing wrong, even though ancestors they don't even know apparently did.

My brain conjures up an image of red roses and a long, black casket again.

And I know one thing for sure: I am going to die. And I am at peace.

Notes:

-Sorry about the crappy POVs…I'm sick D8

-Will post quicker next time – HOLY MUSHROOM THE GAMES START! :D

-Sorry for having no POV for Jaryn – I feel like having one sibling per event is better xD

-Crap, I totally messed up Quincy. I didn't know what he would do! *flail*

-I didn't write Rymet's either, just because I couldn't put him in that situation in my mind. Sorry Osprey! Hopefully Karina's longer POV made up for it :3