Caesar Flickerman's POV:

These have been very eventful interviews. Kestra's was a disaster. I felt like a blew a cover I didn't realize I had when I signaled for the Peacekeeper to take her away. Oh, she'll be back for the Games. She'll die soon. We can't let a tribute who's insulted the Capitol in such a way live. Not if we can help it. But this is Hellia Leston's interview. And from what I've seen, she isn't capable of much.

"May I welcome to the stage, Hellia Leston!" I announce. "District Ten!"

Hellia trots up to the stage in a pair of huge black boots. She wears a thin black dress over her slightly pudgy body. Pudgy! From a district! Well, it's District Ten, and they tend to be better fed than other outlying districts. But still. Hellia has been one of the least remarkable tributes this year.

"Welcome, Hellia," I say. "It's great to have you here tonight."

"Caesar," Hellia says, smiling widely, "I wish I could fly."

The audience titters. Hellia, that's not a great opening remark.

"Really?" I say, laughing slightly. "That's...ambitious. It would be nice to fly."

"Yes," Hellia agrees. She glances away from me.

"So, Hellia," I say, "how are you tonight?"

Hellia doesn't look at me. She doesn't give any sign that she even heard me.

"Hellia," I say. "Hellia! How are you tonight?"

Hellia still pays me to attention whatsoever. She looks down and picks at her dress. The audience laughs slightly, unsure of what else to do.

"Hellia," I croon. "Earth to Hellia. I asked, how are you?"

Hellia looks up at me. "What?"

"How are you tonight?"

"Oh." She frowns. "I'm...normal, I guess. Hi."

"Hellia, are you okay?" If she continues with this, she will only ensure that she has no fans whatsoever. "Hellia?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," she says. She grins at me. "I'm okay. Really, I'm feeling great today! Great, Caesar! Great! Well, maybe if it wasn't snowing..." She appears to lose all interest in our conversation, looking back down at her dress and continuing to pick at the hem.

"Snowing?" I frown at her. "Snowing, Hellia?"

Hellia laughs. "It's snowing? That's ridiculous, Caesar. Lies!"

I clear my throat. "Hellia, you do realize that you just said it's snowing, right?"

"It's snowing," she says. "Snowing? Caesar, it's snowing? That's silly. Silly, silly, silly." She laughs and stands up. "Caesar, my legs hurt. Ahh! They cut them off!" And she clomps to the edge of the stage and collapses in a heap of skin and wrecked black fabric.

For once, I'm at a loss of words. I gesture for one of the Peacekeepers to help her up. He complies, and Hellia takes her seat again. She stares at me. I find it a bit unsettling.

"Sorry about that, Caesar," she giggles. Then her face molds into one of depression. "Hi. Jingle bells. You know, Caesar, I actually know the song!" And she proceeds to sing it, the entire Christmas carol. This tribute...she's not right in the head.

"You have a good voice, Hellia," I lie. In reality, she sounds like a deaf cow would had it been taught to make "music".

"Thanks!" she screams. She literally screams it. I wince and cover my ears.

We're both quiet for a while. Then I break the silence. "You have a lot of strange...skills, Hellia. I'm sure they'll serve you well in the Games."

I hope I'm a good liar.

.

Draxton Renaldo is next. He is wearing a white suit patterned with grey emblazoning.

"Welcome, Draxton," I say.

"Hi, Caesar," Draxton replies.

"How are you tonight?" I ask.

"I'm okay," he says. "A bit nervous, but otherwise fine."

"Good," I say. Let's get a bit of humor here. "So, Draxton, what do you think of Hellia?"

Draxton pauses. "She's...nice," he says.

"Does she do anything we should know about?" I ask, wiggling my eyebrows at him.

"She talks about fish," he says. "And rocks. And snow. Random stuff, really."

"Well, enough talk about Hellia," I say. "Could you tell us a bit about yourself? Give us a few adjectives to describe you."

Draxton looks a bit uncomfortable. "Um...protective? Um...I'm not great at describing myself, Caesar..."

"How about 'awesome'?" someone from the audience cries out. This gets quite a few laughs. Draxton and I both join in.

"Thanks," Draxton says. "You're awesome, too." There is a whoop, probably from the same person.

"So, Draxton, your last name's Renaldo," I say. "Weren't there two tributes with that surname almost two decades ago?"

Draxton looks down at his polished shoes, then back up at me. "There were, Caesar. My parents. They were eighteen. They both died, as you know. My dad in the bloodbath, my mom six days later. I was a baby, not yet a year old."

It was because they tried to keep him at home, and we both know it. But the story was not told to anyone else. No need to give anyone any ideas. It's a good thing he didn't try to talk about it.

"So, Draxton," I ask, "what're you planning to do in the Games?"

Draxton thinks about it. "Well, I know I'm not going to win, Caesar, so I might as well give my life to a good cause."

"A good cause?" I repeat. "Such as what?"

"Oh..." Draxton pauses. "Saving someone else. Preserving someone else's life. Someone else. They might win, who knows."

"Protective and awesome," I say. "Looks like we have something else to add to the list: selfless. Draxton, you are one interesting tribute. I can't wait to see you win these Games."

The buzzer goes off, and Draxton leaves the stage.