Part two of the interviews is here! Sorry for the wait.
And I'm going to keep on advertising Mapping Out a Sky up here, no matter how annoying it might get. Go to http:/mappingoutasky(dot)blogspot(dot)com—there's a new poll up, among other things.
Fun Fact of the Chapter: How the Escorts Got Their Names, Part VII. Aliena Candlewick, the District Seven escort with an odd laugh, takes her first name from the fanfics of Penelope Wendy Bing (Aliena is the name used for Katniss's mother) and her last name from my own fanfic Quell (Candlewick is the first president of Panem after the creation of the Games).
…..
Dr. Broca Jamen, Professor of District Studies at Snow University, Capitol Citizen
The Hunger Games is the most exciting set of case studies a scientist like me could have on hand. They're not perfect, mind you—the arenas are always far too variable, as are the tributes—but it's a helpful tool for gaining insight into the lives of the district people. I've watched the full coverage for every single Games in the public archive. Someday I would like to gain access to the tapes of games 74, 75, and 76, but I've been told they're confidential. This I don't understand. Everyone knows the basics of what happened in them anyways. And besides, those particular Games could end up critical in my research. They could provide the key evidence that proves district people are a separate subspecies of humanity.
Ah, well. I suppose I'll have to make up for that lost data by scrutinizing every inch of these Games.
The District Five female is currently being interviewed. She is obviously putting up the front of an agile, instinctive fighter while trying to hide the fear building up inside of her. It's intriguing, the way these district people feel the need to hide their true natures from the Capitol. That would be an excellent topic for a paper, one day...
"And who do you have cheering you on at home?" asks Liya.
The female swallows. "M-m-my sister. And my... my uncle." It's the first time she's stuttered so far in this interview. Her fear breaks through very clearly for a moment, then dies down as she gains composure.
"Can you tell us more about them?"
"No," she says immediately, and her buzzer rings.
Next up is her district partner. From what I've observed of him so far, the "mask defense" (as I like to call it) seems to be integrated into his personality—he is in no way willing to show emotion. This is a part of his fabricated persona, that of a cold, rational-minded individual always one step ahead of the competition who will not even let his own emotions get in the way of winning. I like to imagine that underneath that persona is nothing but an arrogant youth prone to thinking himself and his intellect superior to everyone else.
Some irrational, emotional part of my mind decides that I hate him.
"So, Veras, what do you think your strongest asset will be in the arena?"
He taps his head. "I can think, and I can observe. Deduction is only one of the sciences that I've mastered, but it is among the most useful." He leaves it at that.
I want to watch him die.
Huh. I've never thought that way about an animal before.
…..
Libera Imperitrix, Capitol Citizen
The Games always make me so sad. Other people think this is weird, as they relish every moment of bloodshed in the Games—and don't get me wrong, I'm not squeamish, and I do like a good fight. What makes me want to cry is whenever a cute, defenseless little twelve-year-old is killed.
They're so innocent and loveable, like kittens! Nobody that I know wants to watch kittens be tortured and killed! And these—these are kids! They're—well, they're not just like you or me, I do know that. But they're just so cute... too cute to kill.
Neetamarie Telva—Mary, I've heard she likes to be called—is a prime example of what I mean. Twelve years old, tiny, friendly and sweet but so, so afraid. She's not shaking during her interview, but her lower lip is trembling and I'm half-expecting her to burst into tears. I bite my own lip and let my thumb hover over the sponsoring button.
"I saved my friend Margaret from being crushed under a voltage machine!" she suddenly cries, much to Liya's—and the audience's—surprise. I can tell she's not lying or exaggerating, but some of the audience looks skeptical. Mary crosses her arms and continues. "It's true, I did. We were touring the generators and they were transporting this heavy thing with ropes and our teacher was stopping to explain the pulley system that lets them carry that through the air across the factory floor. Well, the rope snapped and it came crashing down and I pulled Margaret to the side and... only her legs were crushed. But without me, she would have died." Mary breathes heavily, knowing that this might be the only chance to get sponsors.
I immediately jam my thumb into the button on the side of the chair, and I can hear a few beeps from around the audience. The poor thing isn't so defenseless after all. She obviously can think quickly and now that she has a few sponsors... I sigh in relief as all my guilt washes away. Now I can sleep at night, now that I know we're not sending anyone off to be slaughtered without a chance of survival. Now that Neetamarie Telva has that chance.
A chill runs through my spine as her district partner, an eighteen-year-old, sits in the spotlight. He refuses to look at the interviewer and instead stares straight at me. It's like his crazed eyes are drilling into my soul. Any sense of comfort that I might have gotten after Mary's interview has blown away with the wind.
"My name is Eadem Ordinaria." A grin spreads across his face. "I used to be Eadem Lovett. I am eighteen years old. My mother wants me to be normal, but I'm not. I'm going to show her exactly how special I am." He laughs, and out of the corner of my eye I can see President Shadow rising, ready to cut off this creepy interview if necessary. Eadem just continues. "I was sent to the Hunger Games. But don't you know? I didn't die. I didn't win. I escaped."
A buzzer sounds, far before his three minutes are up. Eadem is escorted back to his seat by the Peacekeepers. And one thought keeps returning to the front of my mind, no matter how hard I try to keep it down: Why do you feel for Mary but not for Eadem, or Briana, or Kirby, or Anderson? Do you think it makes you more morally upright than the rest of the people in this city?
The answer is yes, and that disturbs me.
…..
Lincoln Jefferson Aetius, Vice President of Panem, Capitol Citizen
I catch Shadow's eyes as she sits down and find myself surprised, as always, at how composed she manages to look, even in the most trying of situations. Her lips are pressed into their usual thin line. Her gaze remains sharp, but there is no discernible trace of anger or even frustration in her hazel eyes. There are only two signs that something might be amiss: the fact that she's drumming her fingers against the arm of her chair, which she never does, and the sudden increase in Peacekeepers lining all the exits and entrances of this building, hands on their guns.
I wonder briefly if Shadow would actually be paranoid enough to order the shooting of this entire room of Capitol people, but then dismiss it. Shadow does things much more subtly than that, and she likes to avoid bloodshed as much as possible. She's learned from the mistakes of her predecessors.
Leaning back, I begin to mutter under my breath—soft enough so that no one can know we're communicating, but loud enough so that the president can hear. "Anything to be concerned about?"
She just stares straight ahead. "I can deal with this on my own." Her gaze now seems to be fixed on the girl from Seven, and her finger-tapping slows ominously. I sit up and start paying attention to the interview. Briana Renay Geers is being grilled by Liya about her training score and what that might mean for the history of the Games.
"As far as I know, a 12-year-old has never gotten an 11 before. Do you think you'll end up being the youngest victor ever?"
"I certainly hope so," says Bri. "But it's all up to what happens in the arena, isn't it?"
"Well, may the odds be ever in your favor!" Liya says with a grin. The buzzer rings and Bri's district partner ambles up to the chair.
"Rebel," hisses Shadow under her breath. I turn my head and then quickly look away, reminding myself not to draw attention. "Who, Che Botill?" I mutter back, raising my eyebrows.
"No. Geers. I recognize the name." She leans back and folds her hands, pretending to at least be interested in this interview for a few seconds. There must be a camera on us. After a few seconds, she continues. "And there's no way a Capitol-faithful, law-abiding twelve-year-old can have such skill in archery."
"Archery?"
"I watched her private training session." Shadow suddenly bursts into laughter along with the rest of the audience, apparently in response to some joke Che has made. It's a little uncanny, how easily President Shadow can divide her attention and fool the masses. I wish I had half that skill. But I was never a good liar, anyways.
"This Capitol food is ridiculously good, though I have found myself having nightmares where a bunch of singing turkeys are hunting me down in the Games and I have to eat them all to survive." A panic-stricken look slides onto his face and hangs there for a moment before being replaced by a goofy grin. "But if I've gotta die, I want to die eating turkey and pudding."
Another big laugh. Personally, I don't find it that funny, but apparently this affable boy from Seven has managed to get into the humor mindset of the Capitol. Great for him.
Suddenly, Shadow leans forward and starts tapping her fingers again. "Somebody's trying to take us out of office, Aelius," she mutters. "The districts are starting up another war. And they're using the Games as their tool." I shudder. A smirk spreads across her face. "Well, we'll see about that."
…..
Deluna Etoile, Capitol Citizen
"You seem like a friendly girl, Parker. Tell me, have you made any alliances yet?" Half the audience leans forward, eager to hear a tidbit that might affect the blood levels in the arena. I lean my head on Mick's shoulder and pray that we can go home soon.
"Well..." She smiles coyly, and the people in front of us press their buzzers to sponsor, charmed by her sweet attitude. "I have."
"With whom?"
Parker looks behind her at some of the tributes in their chairs. The boy from Seven nods at her and she bites her lip. "Che and Mary."
I'm so bored. Normally, I'd be sitting on my couch at home making snarky remarks to my friends about how stupid these tributes are, but Mick's in town right in time for the Games and, sure enough, he insists on dragging me to every Games-related event possible just because his son's in them.
I mean, seriously? Mick has sons all over the Capitol and he doesn't give them a second glance. But no, this is his district son, the only son he's supposed to have, and Mick wants to care for him and make things right and blah, blah, blah.
He's even pressuring us to sponsor the kid. Geez. I mean, I might have considered it before, what with Yon's high training score, but now I'm not even going to bother. I'm sick of Mick's worrying and groveling and whining. I want him to pay attention to me!
Mick bolts upright as the name "Yon Trizzle" is called, eyes wide with something that resembles fear. I lean back and cross my arms. Yon, Yon, Yon.
Liya squeals. "Tell us about that training score!"
The boy blinks. "It was a 9." His tone is so dull, I bet he's lost half his sponsors by now. Unless, of course, they're under the impression that he's playing hard-to-get with them or something. Snort.
"I know!" says Liya, all fake enthusiasm and stupid smiles. "Very impressive for a boy from your district!"
Mick cringes at this for some reason. I roll my eyes, and he turns to me, pleading. I know what he wants me to do. He wants me to press that little silver button on the side of my seat and give up my hard-earned money so that his pathetic little twerp can stand even more of a chance in the arena.
"I'm not going to do it, you know," I hiss. "I'm not like your other girls, Mick. I don't live to please you."
"Del-"
"No. That's final. I'm sponsoring the girl from Ten." Mick turns away. He's angry, I can tell. But he really shouldn't be. He should learn to get over it. Apparently, being emotional and clingy is a unique district trait.
Well, I'll help him lose it. Mick Trizzle is has to become Capitol through and through, just like he has to be mine through and through. His son's death is just what I need to spark that transformation. I'll make sure that when Yon Trizzle is killed, Mick won't feel a thing.
And neither will I.