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Interviews, Part 1
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Next day, he toppled his head off
On an island beach to the south,
And the enemy's two-handed sword
Did not fall from anyone's hands
At that miraculous sight
'The Performance', James L. Dickey
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Interviews
Casca Van Beck, Apprentice Gamemaker
Milling around in the control room with the panel of twelve Gamemakers in full regalia isn't exactly my idea of a good time, but somehow this is the most exciting part of my job. In off-season I'm cooped up in the back sending missives and doing data-entry for the sponsorships wing, so honestly, this is the start of the month that's about as good as it gets around here.
There's also wine – there wasn't during the private sessions, but I'm pretty sure Lorenzo cajoled our tight-ass Head Gamemaker into letting us have a little fun, at least, since we're not even there in person watching the interviews.
Annia is all decked out for the near-incipience of the Games in a form-fitting royal purple suit shot with gold embroidery – rumor is, she commissioned it from the District 1 stylist, Lepida, after seeing the chariot attire. For someone so insistent that she be referred to informally, only by her first name, she certainly does make an effort to dress a cut above the common throng.
Today's skirt suit probably cost more than three of my apprentice Gamemaker paychecks would cover – in terms of station, I'm maybe one step over from the guy who fetches the coffee. His name is Laertes, and he speaks so little I thought he was an avox for the first month at my post. I probably outrank him to an extent, but that's a soft 'probably'.
Most of the time, the two or three apprentice Gamemakers they keep around are more or less just expected to offer the stupidest possible suggestions and get soundly shot down in order to build character or something. Senseless ideas and inane proposals give the actual Gamemakers the confidence boost they need to do the job they're all doing so spectacularly well that they have to keep apprentice spares around in case one gets killed. Doesn't happen so these days, but some positions and power structures hang around as relics of the past.
We're like extra tires stored in the trunk, but a lot more fun to push around.
The apprentices are pretty easy to recognize – we have a brightly colored badge that clearly distinguishes us from full Gamemakers. I can spot my fellow apprentices scattered around the meeting room.
Today, we're convened to watch the interviews screened in real time. It's still a stadium-style spectacle, but with Annia's rise as Head Gamemaker, the Gamemakers are no longer permitted to attend. That was ruled 'too stressful' for the competitors - the interviews, she claims, ought to be more of a 'getting to know you' moment than a 'getting to judge you' moment, which is stupid because we and every other person in the Capitol aren't going to quit judging anyone because she arbitrarily decides that we shouldn't.
But I'm just an idiot, right?
Part of it also has to be because the interviewer who replaced Flickerman after the Mockingjay Rebellion, Leona Forester, doesn't get along well with Annia. Tabloids have covered vitriolic exchanges between them - each one provoked by Annia, who is notoriously short-tempered about media coverage of the Games that she doesn't explicitly control that doesn't meet her standards.
So maybe it's a blessing that instead of getting to join the masses of enthusiastic Games-viewers in the arena, we're all stuffed in the big meeting room to watch them on the big screen. Annia is guaranteed at least one angry outburst about the treatment of some interviewee, and it's probably better that it takes place behind closed doors.
Like, on some level, I get why they have Leona. People, by their nature, will find something to be upset about – probably a good idea to have a lightning rod for that. A little dulled meanness, a few stupid comments, she doesn't have to be perfect. Most of the great performers from before my time got slaughtered during the rebellion, and there's no big incentive for the best creatives in the country to go this particular route. Not with the knowledge that they'd have to be policed within an inch of their lives by Annia.
The time is approaching for the interviews to start – something in Annia's manner changes as she turns to address us.
"Are we all present?" she asks briskly, and the room quiets. "Assuming we are, please take your seats – let's use this as an opportunity to solidify our direction for the bloodbath. Please be writing down ideas as we go, and pay particular attention to alliances and tributes we've tapped for post-bloodbath likelihood."
The control room dims, and the seal flashes across a massive screen that I have to turn uncomfortably in my seat to view. With the first strains of Panem's archaic anthem, the interviews begin.
The first tribute, Jewel Lasday, District 1, looks stunning in a form-fitting emerald green dress that, at first glance, affords her the illusion of height. Looking closer, as she walks, the hem lifts slightly, revealing perilously high heels.
She is flawlessly made up – I know good contouring when I see it – hair curled loosely and interspersed with emerald pins.
This stylist knows exactly what they're doing.
"Good afternoon, Jewel," the interviewer, Leona Forester, begins.
"Good afternoon, Leona," Jewel replies, matching her interviewer's command of the situation pace-for-pace.
She has a remarkable sort of posture to her. For her size, the way she squares her shoulders announces that she has no compunctions about taking up space.
"I was going to take a moment to thank you for being here, but my goodness, your stylist has really been rolling out the welcome mat for you and your partner – the two of you just fit right in with the Capitol!"
"That's the thing about District 1 – we can belong just about anywhere."
"I hope that'll hold true for you in the arena – you pulled a respectable training score, no? A nine – more than a little impressive for someone who comes in at under five feet."
Jewel throws back her head and laughs. "Well, I'm not going to say size doesn't matter, but in this case it really is how you use it."
The crowd is loving her, I note – and several of my colleagues around the long table seem to be nodding their approval.
When the applause onscreen dies down, Leona presses on valiantly.
"I know everyone who's seen the training footage is dying to know – what's the deal with you and Manari? Well, and Marcus, and Angel…" she trails off suggestively.
There's a microsecond where Jewel pauses to recollect herself – I see several of my fellow Gamemakers respond immediately, jotting aggressive notes on their little notepads.
"I mean, have you seen Manari? Talk about tall, dark, and handsome. All I hear is a list of unnaturally attractive young people, and frankly, I don't have a problem with that if you wanna keep listing. I don't think anyone watching would have a problem with that either, hm?"
She grins wolfishly, and the audience goes along eagerly. Jewel seems to be feeding off their energy – a real pro.
"Only allies worth your time, then?"
"And them just barely," she replies, a little smugly. "The rest are hardly fit to look at, let alone last a day or two."
"Surely you can't dismiss all of your competition!"
"Surely I can. And even my beloved allies, well - it'll be a real shame to see them die," she finishes.
"By which you mean?"
"When I win, Leona. I'm just a little disappointed I had to meet them in this context. But my story won't end in the Games. I trust we'll see each other again."
It's Leona's turn to smile. "You seem very confident!"
"Well, yes," Jewel says, suddenly steely. "I'm confident because I've earned it.
A bell sounds – she stands, navigating near-effortlessly on heels that must be seven inches high, and returns to her seat, tapping Manari's shoulder and whispering something that makes him squint back at her as though she's just told him that President Lancaster is secretly a turtle.
His presence is very different than Jewel's as he finds his feet, impossibly tall and broad beneath a long, fancy emerald green coat embroidered with gold thread over a set of gold pants, looser than the ones he wore in the chariot ride that made such a stir. He's positively regal, shoulders tossed back as though he's already won.
I can't find it in me to doubt that victory is his exact intention. His certainty in his own superiority is positively contagious – though this posture is a marked discrepancy from the way he carried himself snickering with Jewel over some unspoken jibe.
I wonder what's going on in his head. There's something inscrutable in the set of his jaw, the way the muscle clenches beneath dark, satiny skin.
"Well, Manari," Leona begins as he finds his seat, six and a half feet of stony silence sitting opposite her. "Looks like you've got your hands full with Jewel."
He bristles visibly. "I'm not her keeper."
"It didn't sound like she'd mind very much."
"She's literally right there."
His expression is impossibly cold. Jewel called it wrong - tall, dark, and irritated, more like, I want to whisper to the Gamemaker next to me – technically my supervisor, a tall, severe woman named Jachima. I meet her gaze – she doesn't look like she'll be amused by whatever I'm going to say next.
I keep my witty comment to myself.
"Regardless, walking into the arena with a ten – I'm sure you feel prepared to take on just about anything!"
"Clearly. I volunteered."
Ouch. He is not giving Leona the interview she wants, and she hates it but has absolutely no idea how to get the thing going in the direction she intended.
"The prospect of winning couldn't have been the only thing motivating you to do such a thing?" she presses. "No broken heart to heal, no wrong to right, nothing to prove~?"
He raises a single eyebrow, apparently thinking for a long second.
"No," he says coldly.
"That said, it's hard not to notice alliances forming – it looks like District 1, District 2, and District 4 will be together again!"
"It seems."
"You seem to place a great deal of faith in your high training score, but you have to be aware of your competition – you allied with Marcus, who, of course, scored an eleven."
Leona is pushing it, now, aware that he's completely closed off and she's not likely to get any more useful answers, despite having a good minute or two left to fill.
"I'm aware."
"How do you feel about that? Can you account for the discrepancy between your scores?"
"We fight differently."
He sighs, and while his back remains perfectly straight, the strong impression that this interview is disappointing him rolls off of his posture in waves. Leona is not immune, increasingly frustrated by his near-smug attitude.
Laughter - mostly of women - and the ebb and flow of whispers in the crowd suggest that while she may be increasingly upset, not everyone feels the same.
Women can be so ridiculous with their preferences. As though he'd be any more captivated by their witticism than he is by Leona's attempts at repartee!
"How exactly do you feel you play into the dynamic of your alliance?" Leona nearly pleads.
"Just fine."
"Just fine?"
"I'm sorry, do you have a better answer? Would you like me to interview you instead? Maybe you could just repeat everything I say with a slightly different intonation. That would make for great television."
He's so utterly, delightfully done with this interview. I get the vibe that these sentiments have been bubbling up pretty steadily over the last several days.
"Perhaps it would make for a better viewing experience, if that sort of thing could coax you into polysyllabic answers," Leona sniffs.
"'Victor' only has two syllables."
The bell rings, and Leona seems to glow with relief.
Manari returns to his seat, where Jewel nearly hops into his lap in her eagerness to hug him. That muscle in his jaw stays tense – he's grinding his teeth something fierce, gaze still locked smolderingly on Leona as Jewel apparently congratulates him.
Next up is Cora, the District 2 girl – blonde, beaming, beautiful as a vision with her hair cascading around her face and a modest but well-tailored white dress covering nearly every inch of her impossibly fair skin.
"Sure they didn't mix up District 1 and District 2?" Jachima asks no one in particular, but I entertain the delusion that someone is talking to me.
"The District 2 pair are awfully good-looking this year," I say aloud, so that I can feel like I'm adding something.
All of the Careers are – pretty tributes are the norm in District 1, and Manari and Jewel are delivering the smolders and the perfect figures wrapped in just-a-bit-too-tight costumes admirably. It's more of a surprise when it comes to District 2, but hey, who's going to criticize form over function in the Capitol?
"Cora, it's so lovely to have you this afternoon – and can we just take a moment to admire this dress?" Leona begins, delighted by the change of pace. "Your stylists have outdone themselves."
Cora smiles brilliantly. Her teeth are as white as the fabric of her gown. "You can't even imagine how much I love it. It's just like home – white, like the marble, see? You haven't seen white till you've seen our quarries. They just glow."
I find it hard to believe that the dangerous mining industry is quite so beautiful as she's making it out to be, but I'm willing to suspend my disbelief.
"Is the Capitol more of a transition for you than for the tributes from District One, perhaps?"
"Oh, to be sure!" she emotes. "It's so different! I haven't been able to break the habit of getting up at five, though. It's natural to be up to see the sun rise, though it's over the buildings instead of the mountains."
"Something about your hard work paid off, Cora – the ten that you earned blew us all out of the water."
"I did volunteer – it's like Manari says, you don't volunteer unless you feel you can represent your district fairly. And I'm the daughter of miners, of course, would have been one myself if I hadn't been chosen for this…"
There's something terribly wrong with this entire interview, but I can't put my finger on it. I scan the faces of my colleagues to try to discern from their reactions whether I've had some sudden break with reality.
It's focusing away from the screen for a second that does it – they've been hypnotized by the interview, and I see it for what it is. Or at least, a crack in the façade.
"She's shaking," I announce. "Look at her hands."
Under the modest white dress, you can barely see the District 2 girl's body – it seems so calculated, now. Her hands are shaking violently, and, on closer inspection, are wrapped in bandages. Recalling her display in the private session ... but surely they would have patched her up by now? The pain would have to be excruciating…
"That's a distinction in identity between you and your partner, isn't it? How proud are you to stand next to someone like Marcus, Cora?"
"I love Marcus!" she announces - gasp from the audience, all very predictable, we've seen declarations of love before but rarely so angry.
Mutters among the Gamemakers as she clenches her fists, and for a second, her dark eyes are chips of flint. The microphone pick up the last remnant of what sounds like a soft crunch. Red abruptly seeps through the white bandages that have been, up until now, blending so well with her skin.
"Oh my," Leona comments nervously. "Are your hands alright?"
"He's better than all of us!" she insists, ignoring the further question, dark blood dripping onto her white dress. "I was born into the greatest district in Panem - he chose this, he chose this! You could never understand what that takes."
"Yes…" Leona trails off, likely not having expected quite this sequence of events.
"It-it's not how you look, it's loving your district, loving each other, dying for each other! I'll die for District Two and I'll die happy!" she declares. "I'll bleed and I'll die and so will he and you can't stop us!"
"I doubt anyone would dare try," Leona says, quite sincerely, though making a subtle effort to shift her skirts away to avoid being actively bled on.
"I hope they will," Cora says softly, disarmingly. "District Two will win these games. Bet against either of us, bet against both of us."
The bell rings – she timed that impossibly well. Cora rises with a flourish and returns to her seat, smiling, somehow, though she's gone somehow even paler with blood loss and is shaking, now, visibly, almost too hard to take her seat.
Marcus leans in to kiss her on the cheek, and she beams. Keeping her blood, I notice, to herself.
"Whoa," one Gamemaker from the far corner comments.
"'Whoa' is right," Annia confirms. "My, but District 2's Center really is adept at giving us exactly what we want. But let's wait until the next one before we pass judgment."
The boy from District 2, Marcus Ota, is everything that his partner appeared to be at first. He's dressed in a crisp, somehow-still-clean white button-up and slacks, both achingly well-fitted, a few too many shirt buttons left undone. A little yellow flower is tucked in one of the buttonholes – on anyone else, exposing half of their chest might seem a bid for attention, but he's making it look downright wholesome.
"Are we sure this is District Two?" Jachima asks again.
There's no doubt that the boy is utterly beautiful – you can tell he's not wearing makeup, his skin is really just that perfect, plush lips quirked in a kind but knowing smile. Huge, expressive black eyes. Beautiful, yes – District 2? Not much. We haven't heard much about that until his partner's interview, and the blood down her dress seems to suggest this might be a sore spot.
"Well now, let's just take a look at you!" Leona exclaims as he approaches.
His modest half-smile, revealing a fraction of a canine tooth, makes it very clear that he's about to utterly win her over, especially after the difficulty of the last interview. We're all still a little on-edge after the girl, the reveal, all that blood. He's under scrutiny and he knows it. There's a shocking well of intelligence in those dark eyes.
I wonder how he'll play it off.
"Don't mind if I join you and take a seat?" he asks gently.
"Please, my goodness," Leona says, beckoning him closer. "Marcus Ota, let's clear the air. You and your partner..?"
That shy half-smile again. "I'd be reluctant to speak publicly to that, but Cora, well… that's the thing. My little sister Alexa turned twelve this year, and I find myself admiring, so deeply, the woman who would volunteer to die so she can be safe. You understand? Cora is everything I love about my district."
"Your district," Leona pushes. "And yet, I look at you and I see - forgive me… District Six? I can usually guess."
He raises both eyebrows, an expression of… surprise? or discomfort, or… regardless, it passes quickly.
"My father chose a better life for me in District Two," he replies smoothly, barely acknowledging the ripple that passes through the crowd. "You'd be correct about his origin."
"So, a Peacekeeper," Leona says.
Well, duh, no other way someone's going to move between districts without getting their legs shot off.
"Yes, though it's sad to think we've already lost so much of our time to get to know each other in my heritage," Marcus laughs. "You'll have plenty of time to meet my parents in the final eight."
"The confidence!" Leona chimes.
"The eleven," Marcus replies.
"Earned, then, of course," she says, fluttering her lashes at him.
"Earned," he echoes, quirking that charming smile afresh. "Chosen, Leona, because my district deserves the fruits of victory."
He stands as the bell chimes, bows to Leona with more than a little hyperbole, and takes his leave.
An older Gamemaker whistles softly. "There are things you don't see when they're just practicing a sword routine in front of you," he comments.
"We've know that since day one," Jachima replies. "Come on, Lorenzo, senile already?"
"Ask your mother how senile she thinks me," Lorenzo sniffs, adjusting his impressive grey beard.
"More like my grandmother," Jachima shoots back.
I can almost hear Annia's teeth grinding from the other side of the table. She absolutely hates unprofessional behavior in the Gamemaking rooms – basically, if you're not talking exclusively about the tributes and doing it in your most respectful tone of voice while you're on the clock, you're asking for a tongue-lashing.
Even among the apprentice Gamemakers, I'm an alarmingly frequent recipient of those lectures.
Fortunately, Annia doesn't have to shush us back to the screen.
Bridget from District 3 is trying her very best not to look uncertain and out of place in a truly magnificent costume, a slightly shimmering blue-black dress only a few shades darker than her skin, adorned with neat silver lines that stretch from her sleeves to her arms and neck, sectioning her body into parallelograms.
With her shaven head, the effect is captivating. She herself has a vast well of quiet interpersonal charisma – you can see it in the way she carries herself on the way to meet Leona – but she's too young to really know how to use it properly, and in a terrifyingly unfamiliar situation as well.
"Bridget, may I just say it's a pleasure to have you here," Leona begins as the girl hesitantly seats herself. "You look positively otherworldly."
"I think that's the vibe the stylists were going for," Bridget replies, shrugging her slender shoulders.
"While you've looked utterly stunning in your public appearances, I think it's your back-home activities that have really ignited our interest. What can you tell us about that?"
She half-smiles, half-grimaces. "I stand by everything I said at the rally, and it was totally legal for me to be there."
"You wouldn't feel more prepared if District Three had a Center?"
"It's not…" she pauses, fidgeting in frustration. "I just want to make things better for all of us, I swear. Preparation or not, like… no one has a great chance. Even the people who have Centers don't win all the time, right?"
"That's true, but-"
"We're already not spending money right, and though we'd obviously get more if, like, me or Dion won, we don't need more. We have enough. Y'all give us a lot, but we don't use it for what it needs to be used for. A training center doesn't fix that."
"You've clearly thought this through. Is there any way to keep advancing your cause in the arena?"
Her face seems to fall for a second, expression deviating only momentarily from the pure conviction of her previous answer. "I'd have to win. Like, I'll… I guess I'll have to, right?"
"Now you don't sound so sure."
"Should I be? You saw my seven, it's not like I don't have a chance. And if there's anything you can learn from my history, I don't give up – I get shit done. I got shit done. District Two ain't the only one that can fight for the district they love."
"I don't doubt it," Leona says, and she smiles with a warmth that reads only a few inches from actual sincerity.
"You shouldn't. I'm taking this as a chance to make things different, to show y'all I'm willing to play the Games to get to where I need to be. We aren't enemies. I won't become your enemy. I want to make this country better."
"But-"
"But nothing. I'm not giving up."
At the sound of the bell, Bridget rises and throws up a fist – a gesture the crowd doesn't seem to understand, applause mixing with confused murmurs. I wonder who she's gesturing for. It seems important to her.
"I don't think we can rule her out, especially allied with her partner – they make an interesting pair," Palama, an older woman who's been on the staff since before Annia took over, comments, finally raising her voice.
We all know she's one of Annia's favorites, what with the 'quiet' and the 'respectful' and the 'ability to shut up'. She only speaks when she genuinely has something to say, which, admirable though it may be by some metrics, is also phenomenally boring.
No one responds, as the boy from District 3 is already making his way to the interviewee's seat, in a suit jacket and well-fitted slacks of the same satiny blue-black quality of Bridget's dress, edged with silver and white. He cuts an imposing figure, and while his posture is not so regal and assuming as the tribute from District 1, he might even be, inch for inch and pound for pound, a bit taller and more muscular.
Interesting. A laborer from District 3. Not the usual type we get.
"So, Dion – the question on everyone's mind, are you with your partner on the topic of District Three's proposed policy change?"
Leona is really jumping in feet first. Dion laughs.
"Y'all don't waste any time, do you? Bridget and I don't see eye to eye on everything, but why would we? I'm about twice her height."
Laughter ripples through the crowd as well.
"So you're not quite so politically inclined as she is?"
"Well, I'm from District Three, I'm no dumb muscle, but I've never seen sense in talking politics too much."
"Then let's talk about something else – you scored an impressive nine in your session with the Gamemakers."
"Yeah, there's a topic I'm more comfortable on!" He laughs again – it's a deep noise, with a mellow quality I would almost call 'comforting'. "Please, keep the compliments coming."
"So, no elaboration on your plans for the Games?"
"Me and Bridget are gonna be tough to beat, let's leave it at that. We've both got powerful incentive to make it home. I'm missing my girl, Xenita, something fierce. But I'm not too worried about whether I'll see her again."
He grins. "Love you, Xe – be home soon, baby."
"Aw," Leona emotes. "That's wonderful. Memories from home to keep you strong."
"Ain't that the truth. But don't get it twisted – I'm more than strong enough on my own. And I got a damn good partner watching my back."
The bell rings, and Dion stands, unfolding what must be going on seven feet of him from his chair, smiling widely and waving to the cheering crowd. I might be overestimating, but he really does have such a presence to him – in a different way to the menace of big trainee tributes who tend to make up the early districts. He's the sort of guy you just want to clap on the back and buy a drink.
"Back to trainees," Lorenzo notes. "District Four did pretty well for themselves this year – the girl pulled a nine, the boy an eight?"
"Yeah," Jachima confirms, checking her notes. "Solid. Wouldn't say special, though."
The girl, Renata, despite her stylist's best efforts, looks entirely out of place in a dress – at least it's not too frilly or over-styled, just a simple deep blue gown that highlights her dark complexion. Her short hair is pinned back, though there's not much to pull away from her face. She's no beauty, and while her features are relatively fine, they don't entirely fit her broad jaw – but there's a kind of fierce intelligence to her eyes.
As with Dion, there's little doubt at her approach that she's no dumb muscle.
"Renata Ortiz!" Leona announces. "A pleasure to have you here."
"Thank you," she replies, a little awkwardly as she's still trying to figure out exactly how to sit, and seems stressed by the way the folds of her gown are settling.
"Do you need a second?"
"Ha, no – just. It's a good thing they won't have us wearing this kind of silly thing in the arena, right?"
Some laughter, a little uncomfortable, though. The crowd is feeling her out-of-placeness. She seems to catch on to that, and straightens up a bit.
"I'll say!" Leona emotes, finally actually doing her job and easing the tension a bit. "Hard to score a nine in a long skirt, I'd bet."
Renata smiles, and while it's thin, it seems she's genuinely easing up. "But not too hard in a jumpsuit."
"That's an impressive score! But I'm not the first to tell you that."
"Y'know, you're not – but I still appreciate it. It's been nothing but hard work for me, but let me say … it feels good to see it paying off."
I wonder how hard her mentor worked to try to coach her into something likeable. This clearly isn't natural for her – she's playing down her accent, hard, her voice something very different from what we heard during training. In contrast with Manari from District 1, who embraced 'strong and silent' as a type, she seems to be gamely trying to connect.
District 4 isn't the easy bet for sponsors that District 1 has become, with their three victors and no sign of slowing up. If Renata didn't sell a moderately 'out there' angle – whether strong and silent or something else – perfectly, she'd have been shit out of luck.
Neveah probably judged it safer to stick with the classics. As I'm no mentor myself, I'd wager he knows better than me.
Still, doesn't make for an exciting interview experience for anyone observing.
"Have you been getting on well in the Capitol?"
"Me and Angel have been having a pretty good time of it, but of course, it's what's coming next that's important. And I hope anyone who's watching knows, they haven't seen anything yet."
"Anything else we should know about you, going in?"
"Well, I have to be careful where I hold my hand – but be ready to see the best of what District Four has to offer. That's me."
She smiles, and – I've got to hand it to her, she does manage to sell that last line before the bell. When she stands, she doesn't teeter, at least partially because she doesn't seem to be wearing heels. In fact, she moves with surprising grace for a woman of her size and build.
All and all, she must be proud of how she came off – Renata didn't exactly display fantastic charisma throughout the training process, mostly keeping to herself, even when paired off with her partner, the ever-ebullient Angel.
He looks dapper, flashing her – and the rest of the early districts – a thumbs up as he takes his seat, putting a beaming grin on display before greeting Leona with a kiss on the cheek that seems to surprise her.
His stylists have him in a dark blue dress shirt and a pair of light-gold trousers that fit him just at the edge of too tight – his hair is tousled artfully, and while he's no Finnick Odair, he has a kind of rakish charm to him. A different approach than the first two career tributes, but, if he can play it right, perhaps a solid move.
"Beautiful Leona!" he begins, leaning in to kiss her on each cheek before she can lead him with a first statement. "What a pleasure!"
"Well, same to you, I must say!" she replies, a little flustered by the greeting.
"That's how to greet a good friend in the part of District Four I come from," he says. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable?"
Leona practically giggles. "Not at all!"
"Well, I couldn't live with myself if I did. After the Capitol has opened its heart to me, I only want to return the favor as best I can."
"You've already made a good start, in training – it's clear you took something of the lead in your alliance, wouldn't you say?"
He looks so tremendously pleased with himself, only slightly abashed at the praise. I would pay a quarter of my paycheck for a camera angle on the other trainees right now. The crowd may love him, but I doubt his allies are responding in the same regard.
While they don't seem like a vicious enough bunch to turn on him over a few boasts in an interview, it would be a real treat to see how the first post-event conversation goes amongst the allies.
"…well, anything more than an eight is window dressing if you ask me," Angel is saying to Leona when I turn my attention back to the screen. "I'm happy with my score."
"What do you mean by that?"
"It matters that I can fight, right? And I think you know by now that I can. Who cares how fancy I swing the sword, so long as I can?"
"I do believe you," Leona says, smiling. "But how are you going to compete with your allies – nines, tens, an eleven?"
Angel's smile doesn't waver for a second. "Doesn't matter what you got, we all die with a blade in our throats. Even if you score an eleven."
The bell rings – he timed that very well. I've gotta give it to him, he's got confidence, and the charisma to back it up. He garnered at least as much applause as the bizarre but fascinating pair from District 2.
"Okay," Annia announces from the head of the table. "Let's take a little break and discuss. That's all of our trainees – they're some of the most important players we have, and they're our principal alliance. What have you learned about them?"
In the background, the girl from District 5 – mentally delicate, physically delicate, and well-dressed but totally spaced out in a yellow gown that complements her dark complexion – takes the stage.
Annia spares her a brief glance as Leona opens up the conversation.
"I'm not worried about her," she says. "We know about all there is to know about her, and we profiled her as doing poorly with public speaking."
"Okay, then," Lorenzo says, disregarding the beginning of Doreen's interview. "That Angel is quite a character, but I'm not sure he has the skills to back it up. Jewel, from District One, is really the one making this alliance work. She's got pretty absolute support from her partner, and I don't see much likelihood of backstabbing between the two of them. He really confirms her authority to the group – he respects her, so they do."
"Hold on now," Jachima says. "Don't put all of her success on Manari. He's got her back, but she's also perfectly savvy on her own. They just happened to luck out with that pairing."
"I wouldn't chalk up anything the District One training center does down to luck," Annia says. "But I think you're both right. Good work. Any thoughts on the spectacle from District Two?"
"The girl is…" one of the other apprentices volunteers hesitantly. "Well, we know she's had a drug problem, right? Is that what's going on? There's no way she's actually… but have we talked about how we're gonna use that?"
"Sponsors send drugs into the arena all the time," Annia replies, smiling at the young woman, as if encouraging her to speak more.
She checks something on her clipboard. "Medical-grade dependency, so that shouldn't be too hard to engineer. Don't we have a pharmacist coming up in District Six?"
The room's attention shifts back to the screen – Doreen, the girl from District 5, is sobbing into her hands as Leona attempts to comfort her. The bell finally rings and allows her back to her seat, as her ungainly partner, who must be barely over 15, but looks tall and gawky in his sunshine-yellow suit, approaches. He has beautiful green eyes behind glasses set in a clearly-teenage face, not unattractive but also not far along enough to really tell who he'd be in a few years, if he had the chance to grow up.
While he looks smart enough, and he doesn't seem to have any issue with public speaking, it's hard to imagine him making it through the first day or two. His voice is uncommonly soft and has a higher pitch than you'd expect to look at him.
"Welcome, Trace!" Leona is saying, looking delighted to be interviewing someone who is not crying yet.
Annia interrupts after watching for a few seconds. "Anything more on District Two? I know that was a lot to take in, especially since Claudia didn't send much in the briefs on a romance between the two of them."
"How is that 'romance' - which I use as skeptical as possible - going to play back in Two?" I ask aloud. "Leona's one kind of weird about the interdistrict thing, but I understand Two can be even worse."
"Unfortunately, that's a valid concern," Annia sighs. "I can see why Claudia and Aaron brought him on – in terms of skill, he's got every tribute in this lineup beat. But I don't know how we'd play his victory, and I don't know exactly how whatever angle the two of them have dreamed up will play out."
"There's no reason to worry about that yet," Jachima observes. "He's a smart one, and he can clearly tell that he's got a few cards stacked against him. If he plays himself right, we won't even have to put a spin on it."
"True," Annia says contemplatively.
"His partner doesn't seem sophisticated enough to have thought the romance up herself, but it could help him out. A little bit of her popularity back home could rub off on him, if you'll pardon the crudeness of that expression," Lorenzo notes. "Then again, since this really seems like a last-few-days development, how hard could it be to break them up if necessary?"
The unspoken 'violently' to the idea of breaking them up makes me stifle a laugh. The political correctness of the Gamemaking chamber is comical.
"I'm not sure," Annia replies, checking her notes again. "Claudia claims they didn't get on spectacularly well before the reaping, but they've been inseparable in the Capitol. We haven't seen much of this in public, but they are in each others' rooms constantly in the Two quarters."
"Trainee romance hasn't played out well, historically," Lorenzo says. "They must know that. Their mentors are too smart to be encouraging it. Trainees are in the Games for a reason, and if they fail to do their job, they die at the hands of someone better at it. Surely Claudia and Aaron have made them aware of that."
"I doubt that will be the issue…" Annia trails off, still lost in thought.
From the screen, I hear an uptick in applause – Trace, the boy from District 5, seems to have done a fairly good job with his interview. Shame his score, a fairly-earned 4, won't serve him nearly as well in the Games.
"What more can we do than our best?" he's asking Leona, and before she can reply, the bell rings and ushers him back to the line of chairs where the other tributes wait.
"Oh, hang on," Annia says. "District 6 is up next. The girl is a contender and the boy's father has been making trouble for us back at home."
