Nehemiah Bunting, 15, District Eight Male
He coughs politely as the stylists measure him for his outfit, dancing around him with tape measures and pieces of cloth that they hold up against his bare torso before shaking their heads and running for another. He's been standing in the middle room like this for fifteen minutes. And if the way they're moving is any indication, he'll be here for a bit longer. The Capitolites want him to shine. He's District Eight, the home of all sorts of fabrics and fashion and beautiful outfits! He should shine just as much as a One, maybe even more!
But when he's fitted for his costume, all he'll be able to think about is the blood that was spilled to make it.
Hem's father flashes through his mind for an instant, a picture of his smiling face lingering behind as he blinks away a small tear. He shouldn't think about his father yet. After all, he's been advised to forget about his family and just smile for the Capitol by Tomas, to just pretend that he loves being here and that he's had the best food of his life here.
But when he's given his last chance to say goodbye, why should he squander it?
The stylists continue to measure, one of them routinely dashing out of the room and back with different shades of red and gold. They've seemed to settle on a pattern for his outfit and are now quickly double-checking to make sure that it fits, continuously crying out in delight and patting his cheek as they pass him. He smiles ruefully, rubbing his sore cheek as the stylists continue to frantically run out of the room. Soon enough, there's only one left of them, silently cutting out fabric and checking to make sure that it fits on Hem. Then he runs out of the room and Hem's all alone, silently standing in the middle of the room as he waits for them to come back.
Only eighteen hours before the bloodbath starts.
He doesn't want to die tomorrow. He wants to survive. He just wants to survive.
But is it really plausible for him to do so? Eight will be gunned for from the start, what with Tomas having won just the year prior. The fact that they had done well in the private sessions only bolstered their chances of being gunned for. After all, the careers were there to get rid of the competition. And right now, he and Holly were at the top of the list.
He'll make sure to smile in his interview. He wants to make sure that his father can remember him with a smile on his face.
One of the stylists cries out in delight as another comes in with his finished outfit, all surrounding him as they quickly work on articles of clothing onto his slight body. They finish with rapid speed, crying out in delight as they gazed at their finished product. Hem glances down to see a gold and red patchwork suit covering his body, different shades of the colours blending in to form a snappy suit. He laughs as the stylists spray his hair with a gold substance, leaving it shiny and thick once they finish molding it. His head matches the suit.
One of the stylists call for their head, Gorgio, to come and see Hem, and he cringes as the man walks in silently and surveys him. Up and down his eyes go around Hem's body, silently observing the suit. He gives a small nod and the stylists cheer, patting one another on the back and clapping for me. "You'll do well out there! Remember to be funny! The audience loves comedic tributes."
He smiles politely for them before they all walk out, leaving him alone once more. And strangely enough, he's fine being alone. He can let the shiny tears that have been streaming down his face flow in peace.
Taffeta Paisley, 18, District One Female
She smiles politely as the stylists start to twirl around her, waiting patiently for them to fit her for her dress. It's bound to be beautiful, One always has beautiful dresses. For all five years of the interviews, the One girl has always gotten the most attention for her dress and, as a result, the most sponsors. And this year, she intends to be the sixth.
"Oh, the crowd's bound to remember you, you beauty," coos a purplish woman as she yanks a knot out of Taffeta's hair. "Of course, it'll help that you're going last, my dearie."
"Last?" Taffeta asks, looking queerly at the stylists. The interviews have always been One to Twelve, Female to Male, and she had thought that it would always remain that way. But the Capitol was fickle, and they had likely demanded to save the best for last. Who wanted to struggle through watching sniveling outliers at the end of the interviews when they could be spurred on by the thought of careers being at the end?
She smiles again as the stylists bring out her dress, a gorgeous velvet and violet stunner with a slit up the right side that makes her lips curl up in satisfaction. Oh, she's going to make an impression.
The stylists clap in delight as they watch her twirl around the room, curtseying for them and letting them add a few accessories to the outfit. As they continue, she watches her reflection in the mirror, enraptured by the beautiful girl grinning to her stylists. She has to give props to her stylist, it is an amazing outfit. When she comes back, she'll definitely recommend them for her victory interview.
The stylists file out one by one, waving goodbye to Taffeta and promising that her stylist will return soon, and she's left alone in the room. She's content to look at herself at first, but impatience combined with anticipation soon bades her to rise from her seat and search for Luxx. Even if he is a royal pain and a complete idiot, he might as well get to see her shine. He probably won't even have a good outfit. With any luck, she'll outshine him like the sun does the moon.
She walks quietly down the hall, suppressing a grin as she peers in the various doors. Even though she's supposed to sit primly in her own room, she's escaped and is looking around the centre like some rebel. Funny how things work out.
She keeps peeking in the doors, being rewarded with an image of an uncomfortable Luxx in a shiny green suit. He scowls when he sees her, tugging at his neck as he stands up and walks towards the door. "What are you doing here?"
She smiles, twirling in the doorframe and leaning against the side. "Just wanted to see how my least favourite twin was doing! And oh, it doesn't look that good."
Luxx laughs in her face, shutting the door in her face. His voice drifts through the thin wood, laced with sarcasm. "At least one of us has personality."
She scoffs and walks away from the door, hurrying back to her room and shutting the door. She'll show them all. She's going to have the best interview by far out of every tribute in this building.
And after she's finished, they'll all know not to mess with Taffeta Paisley.
Wyatt Blink-Box, 14, District Five Male
He yawns as he waits for his stylists to continue dressing him, holding his hands up customarily and slipping on pants quickly as they jabber in their high, foreign Capitol accents to one another. They're obviously worried about something with his outfit, he can tell by the way one of them is trying to dab away tears off of their face while a girl with blue skin comforts them. And when they bring the failed outfit out, he can see why.
The stylist who might be in charge of the rest yells loudly, causing the girl with pink skin to cringe as she hurries the metal monstrosity away. Even Wyatt breathes a sigh of relief when it vanishes; it looks like a failed parade outfit. And the interviews aren't meant to have outfits like the parades. They're supposed to make them look like proper Panemians. And right now, he has nothing to make him look like one.
The stylist in charge gives up in disgust after a man with a blond afro snaps and yells at him, walking out of the room and leaving his employees scattering around the room in panic. One of them brings out a tuxedo and the others nod, the girl with pink hair tossing him a green tie to match. He puts on the outfit quickly, breathing in sharply as Afro tightens his tie an inch away from suffocation. A few frantic hand gestures manages to get one of the stylists to loosen the green tie, and Wyatt's left alone in the room as the rest of the stylists leave, their heads sagging as they admit defeat.
He can't help but feel pity for the stylists. They tried an idea that clearly failed, and he knows that they're likely going to be replaced by other, better stylists sometime in the near future. There's no room for failure in the Capitol.
Just like there isn't any room for it in the Games.
Mom and Dad are probably working right now, darting glances up at the television in their studies as they wait for the interviews to start. He can't blame them for not stopping to work. After all, they have a kid to support, and their jobs don't pay much.
Well, they have a kid to support for now.
He shivers when he remembers that he'll be stuck standing next to Ashrifah in the line, the girl likely already gathering up anger for her interview. Or maybe not. Ashrifah is many things, but she doesn't seem to be a person who was mad at the Capitol to him. She seemed like her hatred was for weaklings in general.
But at least he'll be able to lock himself in his room and hide if her interview goes bad tonight.
Paxton Webb, 13, District Nine Male
The stylists are happy with his simple outfit, one of them playfully tousling his blond locks before exiting the room and chattering happily to one another. They dare to be happy with this, this, this green polo shirt and beige pants? Why? Why are they so content with something so simple? Don't they want him to shine?
No matter. He'll just make up for it in the bloodbath. He has plans for the bloodbath. And when he's finished with them, no one will mistake him for a cute little boy with tousled blond hair again.
He automatically grins when a stylist comes back into the room, waving to him as they pick up a brush before walking back out, a silly little grin on their face. Well done, stylists. Well done. They'd wipe off that silly little grin on their face if he demonstrated to them exactly what he'd like to do to their precious dyed foreheads…
Steady on, he cautions himself. He can't blow up. Not yet. Not when he still has the Capitol on his side. Even an avox can easily communicate to some higher-up that he's not the innocent little boy that they're all content to believe that he is.
He grabs an apple and chews, letting the sweet flavour flow down his throat as he continues to bite. Panem, he's so hungry he could -
A sharp pain comes from his tooth and he instinctively spits out the apple, feeling around in his mouth for what happened. Was there a switchblade hidden in the knife? Was someone intent on sabotaging him? Was he wounded? He can't be wounded! It isn't even the Games yet! He can't deal with a mouth injury tonight. Not tonight. Anyday but tonight.
He feels the fresh gap in his teeth and groans in relief, bending down to grab the apple. The tooth isn't inside of the fruit, but a quick scan of the floor proves to discover the molar. It's his last one. He can show it to the Capitolites tonight. Maybe the loss of a tooth will be enough to convince him that he's just an innocent little boy.
And when he reveals what he can really do in the bloodbath, they'll be all the more surprised.
He straightens the collar on his shirt and stands up once more, being careful to grab a banana this time around. There's a knife on the side of the table, one that's dull enough to make sure that he won't be able to injure himself or someone else while he's in here. There are probably cameras in here as well, keeping an eye on him in case he gets any strange ideas. No matter. He'll be fine all alone.
He takes the knife and slowly slits the skin of the banana, curving it around until the skin falls onto the ground in a heap. He smiles and drops the knife on the floor, chewing the gooey banana and smiling wide grins for the benefit of the security cameras. Maybe they'll think it's weird that a kid would peel a banana like that. But he doesn't care anymore. He's almost past caring at this point.
But he sits back down quickly once his stylists come back into the room, smiling for them and letting them gaze at their sloppy work one last time. He still cares enough to let them think that he's weak.
After all, loose lips sink ships.
Zora Stikander, 16, District Two Female
She shifts to the side of her chair, waiting impatiently for her stylists to come back into the room. The idiots obviously have no idea how easy it is for her to slip out of the room and to wherever she wants to go. But she won't say that out loud. She doesn't want to offend any person who could potentially sponsor her through the Games. She needs sponsors, especially if it's true what they said and that she's going to be third last in the row of tributes. She doesn't trust the Capitol audience enough to remember her well when she's at the end of the program. She's got to shine today, just like Caleb said. And then she can prove her worth in the bloodbath.
She looks up as her mentor enters the room, sitting down and smiling politely with his white cane as he stares in the direction of what he believes that she's in. "Pleasure to see you today, miss."
She can't stop herself from snickering, covering her mouth and throwing back her hair. "And you too. Enjoy my dress?"
Caleb ponders the thought for a moment, pushing back a lock of hair as he answers. "Very… creative of the Capitol to do such a thing."
She looks down at the gold and black dress and laughs, patting her chair on the side. "Isn't it? I've always liked the colour gold. Nice to wear the colour of victory."
Caleb nods, stroking his chin as he adjusts his dark sunglasses. "Make sure to have fun. You can't lose track of that."
"Yes, I know. I'll be ready. After all, it's easy to talk in front of a bunch of brightly coloured birds. They repeat everything you say, you know."
"As long as you don't say anything you don't want them to repeat." Caleb's face turns to a serious expression, his voice quiet and somber. "Just… just be happy. It's all you, you know. I don't have any great tips for how to showcase a dress, just advice. But if you aren't having a good time, there's no point in showing that side to the Capitol. That isn't the side they'll see in the Games, is it?"
She nods, standing up and shaking his hand. "They'll see my lighter side today. And I'll make sure to show it in the Games as well."
"Don't go frolicking through any daisies. It might blind me," Caleb quips, and Zora bursts into laughter. She straightens her dress as she sits back down, allowing Caleb to stand back up. "Are you ready to go? We're on in a few minutes."
She stands up again, fixing her hair as the excited stylists come back into the room and help Zora and Caleb get through the hallway. She'll be ready.
After all, she has plenty of time to prepare.
Ashrifah Keyaut, 16, District Five Female
She walks down the hallway with her stylists, frowning as her dress flounces through the hallway. The pink, fluffy, and huge creature - it's so bizarre, it might as well be the hide of some strange animal - clings to her sides as she continues to make her way towards the growing line of tributes at the stage, brushing against her stylists. One of the stylists with rings all the way up her ear touches it with something that looks like awe, stroking the fabric with care. Why are they so pleased with this, with this monstrosity? She looks like a little girl, all dressed up for a party!
But she's not just another little girl to die in the bloodbath. They should have dressed her in all leather. That would show the Capitol her true side. But she's stuck in this creature of a dress for the interviews, and that's just the way it is.
As soon as it's over, she's going to rip it off and throw it into a potted plant next to the elevator. With any luck, it'll grow into some tree with proper watering.
Part of the dress rubs against Wyatt, and the skinny boy slows down with a surprised look on his face. He wasn't expecting the feel of the fabric. It's as itchy as coarse wool inside of it, and she can feel sweat dripping down her thighs as she continues to walk towards the end of the hallway. Yep, that's what the Capitol will first notice when she walks onto the stage. A black-haired girl with a pink monster on her shoulders and pools of sweat in her shoes.
At least she's after the other outliers. By the time they get to her, they'll just accept it. There's always at least one strange outfit from the other outliers. It might be Nine, it might be Twelve, but one district always gets the short straw for the interviews. As long as the outfit's worse than hers. But looking at the dress, that might not be as plausible as she might hope.
She's screwed.
Bernard Hancock, 12, District Twelve Male
He grins in the line, standing next to Moon as they get in front of the pair from Eleven. "Do you think we might get any sponsors tonight?"
Moon laughs hoarsely, scratching the side of her neck as she waits for the interviewers to finish speaking. "We'll be lucky to not lose sponsors, Bernard. Just stay calm."
She blushes slightly, scratching the back of her neck and breathing in and out quickly. That's when he realizes that Moon is nervous. And like the mature, responsible person he is, he doesn't react to it instantly.
He waits five seconds before he starts to tease her.
"Don't worry, Moon, there are only around fifty people in there that you actually have to please. They're all game makers, but no matter! You can go piss off the rest of the crowd, as long as you don't do anything truly stupid. Don't want any tainted sponsor gifts, do we?"
"Shut up," Moon growls, glaring at Bernard as he dodges her fist. "Don't make me punch you. That'll look real nice in front of all of those cameras."
"But we aren't supposed to fight any other tributes before the Games start!" he protests in mock innocence, turning around to face his annoyed district partner. "After all, there's no chance that you'll catch me in that dress like one of your squirrels. Just make sure you don't trip over yourself as you choke on stage! Don't want Mom to see that at home, do you?"
Moon breathes heavily, glaring at Bernard with hatred as she struggles to contain herself. She's on the brink of attacking him, he knows it for sure. But before he has a chance to push her over the edge, Bernard's whisked onto the stage and towards Belinda. Time to shine.
The crowd applauds him as he sits down heavily on his chair, grinning in the top hat and red and green suit that he's been outfitted in. "Thank you! Thank you! I'll be sure to remember how loud you guys are in the Games. It only gets this loud in Twelve when a mine collapses!"
Only a few children laugh at his joke in the audience, the rest remaining deathly still. Never mind, he still has a chance. It's only one joke, and it was before Belinda even started to speak! He's going to do well, right?
Of course. He isn't here for nothing.
He's here to die.
Just roll with the change to Third Person Present.
Also, where have I been for the last two months? Glad you asked. Actually, I've been working all summer, thirty-five hours each week as a janitorial assistant in my old school. And before you asked, yes, it sucked. It paid well, but it SUCKED. I did manage to finish my partial SYOT, Impossible, before the end of the summer, but now I'm trapped in a little thing I call school. I advise you not to try it :3
Well, I hope you guys liked the chapter! Before the two or three of you who are left yell at me for being gone so long, one, remember that I haven't given up, and two, I have written the bloodbath! That 8.3K chapter is waiting to be uploaded after the two remaining pre-game chapters, so look out for that ;) I'm looking forward to getting into the Games! Probably the only thing I want to say is that I hope I can get back into an okay update pace, but I won't promise you anything. This year in school has been a bit of a leap, to say the least.
Anyway, I hoped you liked the chapter! Read, review, follow, fave, and look forward to the interviews! Until next time, TheAmazingJAJ