The Capitol

The Capitol Hall

2233 Hours

Ally had always known it was in the realm of possibility, but she had never seen herself following in their footsteps. Them being Grace and Becca. Both once beautiful, kind girls; Ally's friends. Both now dead.

The odds of one of the four being picked at the reaping was miniscule. The odds of two even smaller. When Grace went, Ally figured that if the Capitol was willing to waste two of the four, why not a third? But it still was a surprise when she herself was chosen.

A cold hand presses into the small of her back. Ally turns to see the woman responsible for the doors. She gestures impatiently for the girl to pass through onto the stage. Ally frowns. Did Caesar call for her? She hadn't heard it.

"Would Ally Gamble care to grace us with her presence?" Caesar calls.

So he had called her before.

Ally had never liked attention. In Ten, sticking out meant you got the Peacekeepers. Fitting in was essential if you wanted to live peacefully. And fitting in had been doubly hard for Ally. Because your sexuality obviously determined everything about your persona.

But there is no way to avoid Caesar and the lights. So, step by step, Ally makes her way to her seat.

"Ally!" Caesar clasps her hand in his own. "It's great to finally have you with us!"

"I've been here for a few days now," the girl says sharply.

Caesar laughs. "Well, I know that. I mean, I've been waiting to talk to you since then, and it's so great that your interview has finally come! It's great to finally meet you in person."

"I've been seeing you on the screen just about every day for all of my life," Ally says. "I never thought I'd actually be meeting you. Well, I knew it was possible, but it's entirely different, thinking about meeting you and actually meeting you."

"Well, good to meet you at last." Caesar extends his hand, and the fifteen-year-old takes it. "So, I had heard about you before the reaping, you know. I'm sure you can guess from who." His eyes twinkle along with his suit.

Ally dips her head into a nod. "Grace and Becca."

"Grace and Becca," Caesar agrees. "Tell us, Ally, what was it like, seeing your two best friends get reaped?"

"I was only eleven when Becca volunteered," Ally says. "She was twelve. She volunteered for another twelve-year-old, a crippled girl. I came to see Becca, to tell her goodbye. I couldn't believe she'd volunteered to die. She had so much potential, she did. But she volunteered. And she died in the bloodbath.

"Last year, Grace was picked," Ally continues. "She lasted longer, until the final five. But she died, too. And since then, it's just been me and Catherine. Joined by our losses."

"If you could tell them one thing, what would you say?" Caesar inquires curiously.

"I'd probably ask Becca why she didn't try harder," Ally says numbly. "She could have survived the bloodbath. She was strong. If she'd went for the weapon, not the pack, she would still be alive. If she'd put up a fight, she'd still be alive. Well, she would have made it past the bloodbath. And once she'd collected herself, she'd have had a chance."

"What about Grace?"

"I suppose...I'd just remind her that I loved her, that I was always rooting for her," Ally says. "She got to the top five, and I was hopeful. She almost made it, Caesar. I was rooting for her, and she made it far. But it wasn't enough."

"Ah." Caesar sighs. "So, you've told us why Becca volunteered. Now will you tell us what motivated you to take the chosen girl's spot?"

Ally laughs softly. "It's funny, Caesar. I volunteered for the same girl Becca did four years ago. She must be the only person ever to be chosen twice, but never enter the arena."

"Probably. But did you enter the arena for the same reason? Why did you volunteer?"

"I'd love to say it was because I felt sorry for her, but though I did, that wasn't my main motive," Ally says. "I just couldn't take life in Ten any longer. I needed out. My step-father hated me anyways, so that's two who benefited."

"Hated you?" Caesar frowns.

"He's not the only one," Ally says stiffly.

"Yes, but why?"

She shrugs. "I'm lesbian, so I'm obviously an awful person, didn't you know?" She rolls her eyes. "As I said, he's not the only one. I don't know why, but so many people seem to despise us."

"I'm sorry, Ally." Caesar's heart pounds. He must maintain his facade here, he cannot break, he cannot fall along with Ally. The Capitol is not accepting of gays, has never been. It was a mistake to announce it.

"Well, I'm sure the crowd won't let something like that stand in their view of you," Caesar says cheerfully. The audience murmurs unsurely, and Ally shrugs.

"I'm used to this response," she says.

"Don't let it hold you back in the arena," Caesar says. "You have fans, always remember that. And I am your biggest."

For the first time, a small smile creeps over her lips. "Thank you."


Meggie had seen it coming.

Her parents had both gone through it. Victors' children had been called into the ring before. But the child of two victors? Meggie didn't know if it had ever happened. Even if it had, it wasn't common, and she always accepted that the Capitol might wish to do it again. She hated the thought of following in her father's footsteps, minus the surviving part.

But at least she had seen it coming.

"It wasn't a surprise," the eighteen-year-old tells Caesar.

"It wasn't?" he says dubiously. "You took a lot of tesserae?"

"None, actually."

"None? Then your odds were pretty low, right?" Caesar frowns.

"Maybe, if my parents weren't victors," Meggie says. "Maybe if just one of them was. But both of them won."

"Really?" Caesar's eyes grow wide.

"Yeah," Meggie says. "My mom, Aria, won the eightieth Games. She was from District Four. She married my father, who was from Ten." She omits her mother's struggle to stay in her home, the Capitol's insistence that she prostitute herself to men around the districts. Meggie's father buying her.

"Wow, that's quite a tale," Caesar comments. "So what's it like, having two victors for parents?"

"Father died five years ago. Tuberculosis. He was receiving medication from the Capitol, but it wasn't enough in the end."

"Oh. What was your reaction when that...happened?"

Meggie shrugs. "He was never nice to me, or any of my siblings. He was awful to Mother. So I can't say I was that sad to see him go. But then again, he was my father. It was a bit of a shock."

"I can imagine." Caesar shakes his head. "Well, I'm sure he'd be proud to see where you are today."

"Probably," she agrees bitterly. "I bet he'd want to be alive for this, though. A victor's fortune if I win, a compensation penance if I don't, plus he isn't responsible for me anymore. As if he ever took that responsibility to heart. Win-win for him."

"Speaking of winning," Caesar says, "do you expect to be the victor?"

"I don't know if I'll come out on top, but I certainly shouldn't be overlooked," Meggie says. "I'm good with a knife, had to use one a lot in Ten. Helped out at the butcher quite frequently. I'm good at recognizing edible plants, too. And I'm fast."

"You will not be counted out," Caesar promises. "So, Meggie, your mother is from Four, right? Would you like to travel there one day?"

"My only way would be on the Victory Tour," Meggie says. "If I'm to see my mother's home, I'll have to win the Games. So while yes, I would love to see where she grew up, odds are I will die dreaming of the place she spoke so highly of, knowing nothing of it beyond what she has told me."

"The odds can be deceiving," Caesar says gravely. "Now, my dear, remember that you do have a chance, if you fight."

"I will fight."

"Then things should go quite smoothly." Caesar smiles. "Good luck in the arena, Meggie."


For the first nine districts, Scarlett had sat with Ally. Side by side, they waited for the hours to pass. But then it had been Ally's turn. The older girl had stood up, walked through the doors, leaving Scarlett behind.

That was just six minutes ago. But for Scarlett is has felt like an eternity.

Just three minutes in front of the Capitol, the fourteen-year-old tells herself. Just three minutes, and then you can join Ally on the other side. Just three minutes. You can do it.

"Scarlett DeAngelo!" Caesar calls. "District Ten!"

The doors swing open smoothly, and she walks through them. She smiles at the audience, and the cheers don't begin to die down until long after she is seated.

"Seems like you don't have a shortage of admirers," Caesar says, grinning.

Scarlett, who spent much of her time in Ten maintaining a bubbly, kindly appearance, has no trouble returning the grin. "I'm grateful for anyone and everyone who offers me even the slightest support."

"There'll be quite a few recipients for your thanks," Caesar says with a laugh, gesturing toward the masses, who promptly bursts into applause once again.

"Thank you!" Scarlett calls, blowing kisses at a splash of green here, a group of blue-clad civilians there.

"And that's not even taking into account the fans you have back in Ten."

"District Ten." Scarlett leans back in her seat. "I probably have a few, yes."

"Is there anyone you believe is among those?" Caesar inquires. "Friends, family?"

"Yes. I'm sure Bree is," Scarlett says. "She's my best friend. We - we made a pack when we were twelve. We promised that we wouldn't volunteer for each other, no matter what. And I'm glad she didn't volunteer for me. I don't want her to die. Well, not before her time. Not when she's this young."

"Noble."

"She's my best friend. I love her."

"I can relate," Caesar says quietly. "So, is there anyone else?"

"Yeah. My dad." Scarlett twists the blue material of her dress around her finger, nearly cutting off her circulation. But there is a relief to the pain. "We've had a few disagreements over the years - like when he found out I'm homosexual - but he's a good man. He was always working to support us. I wish he was around more, but I know his time away was necessary. I could not be more grateful for his care.

"My mother would support me, I'm sure," Scarlett continues. "The thing is...she's been in a coma for a while now. Ever since my brother died."

"Your brother?"

"Mikey." Scarlett exhales, and her eyes drift from the stage, from the audience. They rest upon a light on the ceiling, far from the others, brighter than the others. Due north. "He would be seventeen."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Scarlett. May I ask how he died?" Caesar eyes her curiously.

"No," she says abruptly. When Caesar raises his eyebrows slightly, she sighs. "Fine. He - he was killed by a bull. He wasn't careful enough. He was treading a fine line, and he stepped over it." Scarlett had never been a particularly good liar.

Memories fill the girl's mind, overwhelming her. A reaping, and a boy hardly into his teenage years yelling out from his section near the front of the square. The same boy chucking a rock at an official in a white suit. Speaking to a small crowd of teens and younger adults. Standing with his back to a concrete wall as bullets tear him apart.

A woman screaming, silenced with a sharp blow to the head.

Scarlett cannot be associated with it, and she knows it.

"He was killed by a bull," she says, firmer this time.

"How unfortunate," Caesar says sympathetically. "So - you said you are homosexual? Like Ally?"

"Yes. Like Ally." Scarlett smiles as the other girl's name passes her lips.

Caesar does not miss her wistful expression. He raises his eyebrows. "Are you together?"

"I'm not sure," the girl answers honestly. "Hopefully - I mean, maybe..."

Caesar laughs. "Good luck with her."

"Thanks," Scarlett mumbles, her face tinged pink.

"You'll have quite a bit of time in the arena to work it out," Caesar says cheerfully. "Report back here when you've figured it out, okay?"

Scarlett grins. "If I can. If we can."

"And maybe you can." Caesar stands, and the two shake hands. "Good luck once more, Scarlett."


"Hi, Caesar!" There's a small plop as Carolina Smokewood sits on her chair.

"Hello, dear!" Caesar replies enthusiastically. "How are you tonight?"

"Good! What about you?"

"Me, I'm fine, but this is about you tonight, okay?" Caesar smiles at the seven-year-old, who returns the smile happily.

"Yay! What do I get?" Carolina bounces up and down in her chair. "Do I get a ticket to the arena? I heard about the tours. But that's not the same as tomorrow, right? I don't need a ticket, do I?"

Caesar laughs and pats the girl on the shoulder. He has always loved the naive ones. Especially when they first stepped foot in the arena. "No, dear, you don't need a ticket. You just need yourself."

"Oh, good." Carolina smiles shyly at the audience.

"So, Carolina, would you mind telling us about your family?" Caesar asks kindly. "We're very curious."

"Well, I have the most adorable baby sister in all of Panem," she says. "I love her so much, and I can't wait to see her again. If...if I see her again. And my parents are both really nice. They're not exactly adorable, but you know, they're not babies."

"They're not?" Caesar asks, shocked. The audience howls with laughter, and Carolina doesn't hesitate to join them.

"Of course not, silly!" she exclaims. "They're old. I love them, though. They taught me about God, ya know. Do you believe in God, Caesar?"

"Well, no," the man admits.

Carolina frowns. "Why not?"

"Oh, I've just never really been exposed to things like that. But anyways, this interview is about you, not me. Tell us about your friends now, okay dear?"

"Okay!" Carolina grins happily. "Well, I've got a lot of friends at school. My best friend is probably Georgia."

"And what'll your strategy be in the arena?" Caesar asks.

"What's a strategy?" The audience laughs, and the girl gives them a puzzled smile.

"How are you going to win the Games?" Caesar clarifies.

"God says not to kill," Carolina says hesitantly, "so I guess I'm not going to win. I may save someone else's life, though. God likes that."

"Does he? Well, people have won without ever having to kill before, you know."

"They have?"

"Yeah." Caesar grins. "Survived while the others killed each other off."

Carolina's eyes are wide. "Ohh, really?"

"Yup. Will that be your strategy?"

"Yeah," the young girl says firmly. "Maybe I'll win like that. Maybe I'll win..." Caesar chuckles at her amazed tone. She had clearly never before considered the possibility of winning. And Caesar had succeeded in implanting a false root of hope.

"Are you prepared for the blood and death that awaits you in the arena?" Caesar inquires. "Ninety-five of you are going to die. Are you ready to see that happen?"

"No," Carolina mutters. "No, not at all. I don't like killing and death, and I hate to see so many innocent children die. The killers are mean. I don't like Careers. They're scary. They want to kill me, and they'll probably kill me in the end."

"Only if you let them." Caesar smiles that the tiny girl and takes her small hand in his larger one. "You're in control of your life, Carolina. And you can preserve it."


Multicolored strobe lights. Countless cameras swooping down and over the stage. Thousands of people dressed in ever color on the spectrum. Cheering, hooting, clapping. Celebratory music blaring over the cacophony.

You can't blame Lorcan for being a bit overwhelmed by it all.

He manages to summon a smile. "Hello, Caesar," he says quietly. His voice is no louder than a murmur, but the mic at his collar magnifies the sound.

"Hello, Lorcan," Caesar says cheerfully. "A bit louder here than in Ten, I'd expect."

"A bit," the seven-year-old agrees. "Ten was pretty quiet. Well, the cattle could be loud sometimes. Riper's voice was probably the loudest sound I'd hear all year. Riper's my escort," he adds.

Somewhere, Claudius Templesmith hits a switch, and Riper's crisp voice shouts from the speakers. "Lorcan Jocelin!"

Lorcan jumps, and forces his lips into a smile. "I remember that," he says.

"Your reaping?"

"Yeah."

"Your reaping." Caesar nods thoughtfully. "What was it like for you, being chosen?"

"I was terrified," Lorcan admits. "I - I didn't know what was going to happen to me. I still don't."

"No one knows what's going to happen," Caesar says. "Anything could happen. You could be the victor!"

"I could be," Lorcan agrees. "Maybe. I'm not really that great with weapons, though. I mean, I can use a slingshot, but I don't really have much experience."

"Well, then what else do you have to your advantage?"

"I - I'm a medic," the boy says uncertainly. "I'm good with healing. I did that a lot in the district. Helped the doctor."

He still remembers the day the rebel army marched back into the district, worn and injured from the latest battle. The Capitol army had won, taken countless hostages. The wrecked troops had stayed wherever they could, wherever a medic could treat their wounds. Lorcan, barely four, was called in to assist his mother.

The mass of flesh and bone had terrified Lorcan, but his mother said the only way to be gone with the ruins was to treat them.

So Lorcan had taken to the job.

But if he told the story to Caesar and the crowd, they would ask about his job. He had never been a very good liar, and he wouldn't be able to avoid mentioning the rebels. Lorcan's family's assistance.

"Ooh, a medic?" Caesar smiles. "So you'll be able to heal yourself in the arena?"

"Yup! And my allies! That's why people should ally with me."

"Do you have any allies?"

"I'm with Kaila and the kids," Lorcan says proudly. "I was asking lots of people if they wanted to ally with me, and they all said no. And then I asked Kaila, and she said sure! She said she was making a big alliance with all of the younger kids, and I was welcome to join."

"Congratulations!"

"I was scared I'd be alone. I don'e like being alone," the boy admits.

"Who does?" Caesar asks darkly. "So, Lorcan, tell us about your home."

"Well, I have a pretty big family," he says. "We're, uh, pretty close, I guess. District Ten's cool. The cattle are...cool. But I must say, hearing them twenty-four seven is a bit irritating."

"It must be," Caesar agrees with a laugh.

"I really hope I can go back there. I miss it already," the young boy says wistfully.

"Do you think you'll be able to?"

"Maybe. I'm a medic. I've got some skills. Maybe that'll be enough."

"Good luck," Caesar says. He opens his mouth to say more, but is cut off my the incessant beeping of the timer.

"Thanks. I'll need the odds on my side." Lorcan smiles gratefully. "And good luck to you too, with the next several years of tributes."

"Thanks." Caesar grins.

Lorcan stands and clears from the stage. After a pause, the audience sends him away with a blast of applause, and the second boy comes to the stage.


Ironically, Spencer hadn't been this fearless for months. In District Ten in the months preceding the reaping, he had been plagued with nightmares. Visions of Riper calling his name, beckoning him to the stage. When reality had mimicked the dream, he had been shocked, horrified.

He feared the unknown. When fate was left to the chances.

But he had seen twelve years of Games. He was not scared of the arena. He knew what to expect. The death would not depend on the arena. Whether they spent the next few weeks in a burning desert or a freezing wasteland, ninety-five would die. He could prepare for that, so it did not scare him.

"Spencer Jackson!"

The boy's head jerks up. The voice isn't Riper's sharp, high pitched caw. It's not calling him to the platform in the square. It's calling him to a completely different stage.

That danger is past, Spencer reminds himself. The doors slide open before him, and he slips through. He walks to the seats, giving the crowd nary a glance.

"Hello, Spencer," Caesar says amiably.

"Hello," Spencer returns stiffly.

"How are you tonight?"

"Come on, you can't be more original than that?" Spencer rolls his eyes. "I've lost count of how many times you've said that tonight."

"Well, how are you?"

"Now we have to consider whether or not that's any of your business," the twelve-year-old says irritably. "You're planning on my dying, and you want to know how I feel about that."

"We're not planning on your dying," Caesar says. "I'm just sure we would all like to know how you're doing. What you think of your odds."

"I know my odds," Spencer says. "I'm ranked thirty-first. Just barely in the first third. You don't think I'm going to win. The odds don't say I will. But you underestimate me."

"You think they did?" Caesar smiles. "Tell us why."

"I messed up pretty badly in training, that's why they only gave me a seven," the boy explains. "I could have gotten higher. A nine or a ten, maybe. I'm twelve, but I'm not weak."

"Oh, I think we know that by now," Caesar says with a laugh. "So, tell us about your strengths. Why did you deserve a higher score? How did you get your seven?"

"I'm good with a knife," Spencer says. "That's my specialty, but not my only skill. My mom's a butcher, and I'm always helping her out. My dad was, too, before you killed him."

"Killed him?"

"Yeah." Spencer shakes his head. "I was six. I think he tried to leave the district or something. Your men shot him. Peacekeepers. I've been fatherless for half my life because of your Peacekeepers. He was causing quite a commotion, trying to climb the fence."

"Climbing the fence?" Caesar repeats. "But - "

"It's almost never electrified," Spencer says. "You guys don't like to waste your energy on outer districts, do you. So, yes, he was climbing the fence. I was in the crowd, yelling for him to climb back down. And then the Peacekeepers shot him down. He fell down, on the opposite side of the fence by then. They left his body there to rot. I passed him ever day on my way to school. My father's dead, rotting, stinking corpse lay by the side of the road for weeks. And then, one day, it was gone."

"I'm sorry, Spencer."

"You should be," he says coldly. "But he's dead now. No one can change that. Unless Peak's found the secret to reincarnation, so he can rule Panem even after he dies."

If that's the case, I'll torture him until he spits out the whereabouts of my father's skeleton, Spencer thinks. Then I'll kill him and wrench the stuff from his cold, dead hands. But, though quite reckless, Spencer is not an idiot. He knows what the consequences of those words would be.

Caesar laughs. "I doubt that's the case, but if it is, I guess we'll be able to keep Mr. President forever," he says cheerily. "From what I know about him, though, he'll prefer immortality."

"That wouldn't help Father."

"You're right, it wouldn't," Caesar says. "So, you've told us about your father. Not tell us about the rest of your family, okay, Spencer?"

"Fine," the boy mutters. "I've a little sister, Maia. She was illegible for the reaping this year, but just barely. We don't get along. Probably because she can't understand simple things."

"Like what? What can't she understand?" Caesar looks entertained.

"Well, she asks me at least once a day if today'll be the day Father comes back," Spencer says, rolling his eyes. "She can't understand that he's gone, he's dead, he's never coming back. Never."

"Ah. Do you ever humor her?"

"Why should I? I'm not a liar," Spencer says. "I'm a lot of things, but I'm not a liar. I'm not psychic, either, which she has trouble understanding."

"Where did that come from?" Caesar says with a laugh. "She thought you were psychic?"

Spencer shakes his head in exasperation. "Reaping day. And just about every day after the Quell announcement. She was always asking me if she would be reaped. I'd tell her that I'm not psychic, so I'd have no way of knowing who'd be picked. And she'd take that to mean that she wasn't going to be picked. And I'd tell her that she might be, I just didn't know. Her response: 'So I'm not going to be picked, then?'"

Caesar laughs. "And in the end, she wasn't picked."

"And I was."

"And you were," the man agrees. He folds his hands over his knees. "She's rooting for you, I'm sure. And your mother."

"Probably are," Spencer agrees. "And maybe I'll see them again. I'll do anything to win, Caesar. Don't count me out."

"I'd never." Caesar smiles. "May the odds be ever in your favor, Spencer Jackson."


"Stay down," the eleven-year-old says loudly. "Stay down."

Marcia, the ill tempered door assistant, turns to shush him. "Stow that talking," she whispers harshly. "If they hear you onstage, you're a dead boy."

"You think I am anyways, don't you," Woody says, quieter this time. He wasn't about to get on this woman's bad side. Not while he was in charge, anyways.

"Stay down, Woody Two," the boy mutters. "Just for three minutes, and then you can...oh, just leave me alone for three minutes, will you?"

"Who're you talking to?" Marcia whispers irritably.

"Woody Two," the boy replies, smirking.

"Who's that, your imaginary friend?" She rolls her eyes. "Keep it for the stage, kid."

"He can't come out on the stage," Woody says absently. "That would be bad."

"For you," Marcia agrees. "Now, quit it. Almost time for you to go on."

"Three minutes," Woody mouths. "Just give me three minutes, Woody Two."

"Woody Young!" Caesar shouts. "District Ten!"

"Three minutes," Woody murmurs. He slips through the doors and faces the audience. He gives them a small smile and makes his way to the chair.

"Hello, Woody," Caesar says cheerfully. "How are you tonight?"

"I'm...I don't know," the eleven-year-old replies. "I'm not sure what's going to happen."

"What's the big unknown?" Caesar asks with a laugh. "We're just going to ask you a few questions and then you can be on your way?"

"The big unknown?" Woody sighs. "That would be Woody Two."

"Woody Two?"

"Caesar, if I start being really weird sometime in the next three minutes, or in the arena, anywhere really...if my behavior becomes erratic, if I start yelling or being, well, not me...know that it isn't me."

"Who is it, then?"

"Woody Two," Woody says. "He's been with me for as long as I remember. Usually I'm like this. Usually I'm Woody. But sometimes he'll take over. He's...he's sadistic, cruel, and bloodthirsty. To be honest, I'm afraid of him."

"Wow," Caesar manages. "So..."

"I was diagnosed with schizophrenia a few years ago," the boy says with a shrug. "When I came here, to the Capitol, they said it was multiple personality disorder. I'm going with the opinion of the specialized psychologists."

"Wow," Caesar says again. "Well, we'll know what to think if you do start spazzing out." He grins.

"Good. I don't like taking the blame for his behavior." Woody smiles dryly. "I do sort of hope he stays with me in the arena, though. He'll be useful. Because he can kill. I...I'll be much more hesitant."

"So, before Woody Two comes and makes this interview impossible to sustain, tell us about your family," Caesar says, grinning.

"Sure," Woody says. "My father...he doesn't speak much. I've become good at deciphering his thoughts. He's a good man. I hope I can see him again."

"And your mother?"

"Well, she..." The boy stiffens. "She doesn't like me," he says coldly. "She hates me because I give the family a bad reputation. She says it's hard to raise me because of it, and it's only because of my father that she's doing it. And you know what, Mother?" Woody leers. "I hate you, too. It's been plenty difficult, living with you for eleven years. I don't know how I did it."

"Well, win, and you can live the great life of a victor," Caesar says encouragingly.

"Trust me, I'll be the victor," Woody says softly. "I'll cut out their hearts one by one. I'll stab them in the chest and stir until I find it. Then I'll dig the bloody thing out. They'll be long dead at that point. Perhaps I should sustain it a little, let them suffer before biting the dust."

"Woody? Still there?" Caesar laughs.

"Old age has gotten to you, has it? Can't you see me? Or are you blind?" Woody snaps. "No, I'm not here, I'm floating near Jupiter. What do you think? I...oh, no." The boy puts his head in his hands.

"Back now?" Caesar grins.

"Back now," Woody confirms tiredly. "I'm so sorry, Caesar. Woody Two...he might be of some use in the arena, but everywhere else he's just a burden."

"Ladies and gentlemen, that was Woody Two!" Caesar shouts.

Woody smiles tightly. "Yes, it was. And I assure you, we're not the same person. I'm not him. I'm not."

"Are to glad to have him because of his usefulness in the arena?" Caesar inquires.

"Yeah, I guess," Woody admits. "I...I just don't want to come to and realize that I've slaughtered someone in the way Woody Two would wish for me to."

"Would you realize that?" Caesar asks. "I mean, do you have any recollection of his actions when you come back to yourself?"

"Sort of," Woody says, frowning. "It's...it's like it was a dream, though. I sort of know what happened, but it's hazy."

"It must be so interesting," Caesar says. The beeper sounds, and he sits up straight. "So, you'll tell us more when you win, won't you?"

"Happily." There's a gleam in Woody's dark eyes as he stands and shakes Caesar's hand. "I can't wait to."


"Deep breaths," Maroon's mentor always said. "Breathe deeply. Your mind needs oxygen to function properly. The best thing to do to stay in your feet in the interview is to take deep breaths."

Maroon, of course, had taken this to heart. He needed all the help he could get. His mentor and he had had trouble finding an angle for him to take tonight. He wasn't strong, he wasn't particularly intelligent, nor was he handsome or brave or sly or powerful. He wasn't advanced in any arena. He was just a pudgy, big fifteen-year-old who was only below the standards. After several painstaking hours of attempting and abandoning angle after angle, Maroon's mentor had given up.

"Just be yourself," he had told the fifteen-year-old. Maroon hadn't needed any extensive work; it was quite clear that he would not be Panem's favorite boy this year.

Not that he wants to be - if Maroon is to be the victor, he will have to kill. And he would rather not have blood on his hands, particularly not that of a child. He knows his life depends on his ability to kill, and he has promised himself that, if it comes to it, he will end a life. But those moments of hesitation, the moments before his knife enters a heart, those moments may be his downfall, and he knows it.

It takes all of Maroon's willpower to step past the threshold and onto the stage. The lights are blinding, the audience's cheers deafening. But as he enters the hall of chaos, Maroon smiles. He did it. He was brave.

"Maroon! Take a seat right here, my dear boy, right here." Caesar pats the chair beside his own, and Maroon lumbers over.

"Hi," he murmurs. He winces as his voice is rings out around him. He fumbles with the mic clipped to his collar. "This thing is loud."

"You'll get used to it," Caesar assures him.

"Oh...good..."

"So, what are you thinking of the Capitol?" Caesar clasps his hands and reclines in his chair.

Maroon twists his head, takes in the thousands of spectators. His heart skips a beat, then continues at break speed. "I - I'm sorry, what was the question?" He wipes his sweaty hands on his pants.

Caesar chuckles. "A bit nervous?"

"Well, yeah, I guess I am," Maroon mumbles, his face bright red. "It's a bit...overwhelming..."

"So, I asked, what are you thinking of the Capitol so far?" Caesar smiles expectantly. "I've heard that it's more involved than most of the districts, Ten included."

"Well, that's definitely true," Maroon agrees. "Ten - Ten's quiet. Quieter. Well, not when my father's around..." He averts his eyes nervously.

"Your father?"

The boy nods. He shoots a fearful glance at the doors behind him, as if the man would walk through them any second.

"Go on, Maroon, tell us about him," Caesar says. "Don't worry, he's not going to come here."

"He - he's loud," Maroon mumbles. "He drinks a lot. He's really big, and...he scares me. We don't get along sometimes, and that's bad."

"Do you get along with your mother?"

Maroon smiles. "Yeah. She's nice. And she helps me."

"Well, that's good," Caesar says with a smile. "Do you have any siblings?"

"No." The boy's face falls. "I'd love to have some, but I don't think it'll ever happen. Now that I'm gone...my mother's the sort of person who'd probably...well, she had me, and now I'm going to die, so I don't think she's going to risk having and losing a second child. I'd really like a sibling, though. A little sister or brother. That's why I wanted to join Kaila."

"You're with Kaila, too?"

Maroon nods and ducks his head. "I know I'm a bit old for it - I mean, I probably am - but I wanted allies, Caesar. And she said, sure, I could join. So I latched onto them."

"Congratulations!" Caesar claps the fifteen-year-old on the back.

"Maybe I'll live longer."

"Ah, yes." Caesar crosses his legs. "Do you think you'll be the victor, Maroon?"

"Maybe?"

"Do you think so, though?"

Maroon hesitates. "Well...I don't want to kill, Caesar. They never did anything to me, any of them. But I'll have to, if..." He shakes his head. "I'll have to kill. But I'm not going to win. No."

"You might," Caesar says. "You most certainly have a chance."

"I...I guess, technically. But Caesar, they're going to kill me. It's going to hurt. It's going to be bloody. And I don't want that to happen to me." Maroon's eyes grow wide, and tears begin to pool up in them. "Caesar, I'm scared."

"Fight, and you won't need to be."

Maroon hastily wipes the tears from his eyes, but more replace them. His breaths are shorter, ragged. Holding back the tears soon becomes an impossible feat, and Maroon begins to sob.

The timer beeps, and Maroon stumbles from the stage, still bawling. There's a brief shocked silence, and then the audience bursts into applause.


A/N: Just two more districts, and then we can get to the Games! Almost there, guys!

So, spring break starts next week, and I'm going on vacation. I won't have Internet for a week or so. Hopefully I can get out District Eleven's interviews before then. It's possible but unlikely.

Anyone else want to attempt the prompt? I only have five submissions. Sponsor points...

And a few questions!

Who was your favorite tribute here?

Least favorite tribute?

Most likely victor?

Most likely to die in the bloodbath?

And a trivia question suggested by my dear friend Cloe: How many Careers are still alive when Katniss finds Peeta in the arena? (The 74th Games.)

Thanks, and please review! :)

-Skye