A/N: My computer was having problems with the blue screen of death, so I lost some progress along the way. But I'm so glad I got the first group of interviews finished! Like I did for Broken, the interviews will be split into three chapters, with eight interviews in each one.
I have to leave a trigger warning for suicide on this chapter. Skip Bernie's interview if you want to avoid such things. Thank you.
I met a girl who sang the blues, and I asked her for some happy news.
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store, where I'd heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldn't play.
And in the streets the children screamed, the lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken, the church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most, the Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.
Taj King, 46
District 1 Resident and Victor of the 93rd Hunger Games
Time really flies, doesn't it? It's hard to believe it's been thirty years since they perfected the cure for the nasty Three Plague. That's what we call it now: the pathogen that those pesky rebels in District 3 unleashed when they burned down a scientific research facility. The disease devastated Panem's population and brought technological advancement to a near-complete halt as 3's factories emptied.
This place really reminds me of my younger days. It seems like just yesterday I was walking out onto that stage for my own interview. The victors, including myself, are seated in the first few rows, arranged by district. Naturally, the career districts take up an entire half of the section and then some.
The audience roars with applause as Phoenix Withers struts into the spotlight, wearing a dark-blue suit with a sparkly bow tie. He bends forward in a deep bow. As he straightens up, his mint-green hair swivels around his heart-shaped face.
"Welcome, one and all. Whether you're in the audience or watching us at home, we're so glad you could join us. Tonight, we'll all get to know our tributes a little better, as a three-minute interview is provided for each of them. First off, our purr-fect princess from District 1, Jade D'Amore!"
The girl waltzes onto stage wearing a skirt with glittering silver sequins. Her hair is dyed a lovely auburn color, with a golden cat-ear headband tucked underneath. The look is bright and colorful without coming off as gaudy or overdone. Black makeup forms a cat nose and whiskers on her porcelain-clear skin.
"What a lovely look!" Phoenix marvels as the girl sits down and crosses her legs. "I don't think any of us will be able to guess your favorite animal."
Jade giggles. "You might have some difficulty. Jokes aside, I love cats. My friends say that dogs are better than cats. But those people have never sat under a warm blanket with a cat tightly curled up on their lap. If that though doesn't make your heart melt, I don't know what's wrong with you. Do you have a cat, Phoenix?"
He frowns, feigning tears. "I'm afraid not. The hair irritates me."
"Lucky that we're sitting this far apart," Jade says. "I've probably got an entire cat worth of hair on me and I wouldn't want you sneezing through the rest of the interviews."
"From what I've heard, Cashmere has surprised you with a furry friend here in the Capitol. Would you mind telling me about her?"
"Her name is Princess," Jade says. At the same moment, a towering image of the fuzzy feline appears behind her. The crowd sighs with adoration. "And she likes the heart-shaped cat treats. She won't eat anything that isn't shaped like a heart."
Phoenix laughs. "Anything to say about the food here in the Capitol? Princess likes it, but do you?"
"I feel like I've lived my entire life for this," she says. Jade stares at the nearest camera. "To all future tributes back in District 1: as soon as you end up here, you've gotta try the sugary pink soup with the cherries. It's culinary heaven."
I expect either of them to make a pun about the food being to die for, but Phoenix rapidly shifts the conversation to other matters. "How's your family, Jade? What are they like?"
"Well, my grandpa basically raised me," she replies. "I've got a twin sister too. She's better than nothing. Just kidding, Eliott, I love you. My cousin Val will be getting a great seat at my victor interview too."
Phoenix leans forward in his chair. "And what'll that day be like?"
Jade lights up, eyes opening wide. "Everybody will be a cat. They'll give you cat ears when you walk in. There'll be a string quartet playing while people walk in. And Princess will get her own little crown."
Phoenix chuckles. "I just can't wait."
The loud buzzer makes Jade jump. Phoenix puts a hand on her shoulder and waves her off of the stage. "Jade, I have no doubt: you'll land flat on your feet after all of this."
Phoenix introduces the next tribute as soon as Jade disappears from sight. "Please put your hands together for Midas Sinthra, the other half of the District 1 team!"
Midas strides onto stage wearing a flashy gold suit and a black bow tie. His hair is neatly parted. The entire look is very neat and well put-together. He gives an extremely memorable first impression: this is a guy who seriously knows what he's doing. Phoenix waves the applause down, and the interview begins.
"Midas, how are you today?" Phoenix asks. As he sits, I notice that the sleeves of his suit are strategically translucent to display his muscle.
"Great, thank you. The food is great. The rooms are great. I can't wait to be back here in just a few weeks."
"Oh, so you're confident?"
"Yep," Midas says, crossing his arms. "I'll win. You know, this is all extremely exciting, and I'm so grateful for everybody who has gotten me to this point. But it's impossible not to be a little scared moving forward.
Am I hearing him correctly? The audience falls dead quiet. They're fascinated. Midas isn't acting like an emotionless killing machine. He's showing vulnerability. And it's working. It's working.
"Well, doubts are natural," Phoenix says. "When I was much younger, learning the ropes of being an entertainer, I had my own doubts. What if I can't think up anything fast enough? What if my voice runs low? What if I get drunk and say something dumb on social media, you know? I like to think I've gotten over most of those doubts."
"You have," Midas says. "I've been a big fan for years. It's an honor to be up here with you."
"Why, thank you," Phoenix says, flattered. "There are other teenagers, little kids even, who are watching you back in District 1. In just a few years, they'll be seated right where you are. And they'll be scared. What would you like to tell them?"
Midas thinks for a while. Panem, get your notebooks out. This kid is about to make history.
"It's okay not to have everything figured out at first. Let me tell you, stepping forward at the reaping was not easy. Keeping my cool on the train was not easy. I had doubts, and having doubts is completely normal. There's a lot of push to stand out, and that push will never go away. But try not to ask yourself 'who am I really?' or 'how will I handle all of this?' Think in terms of 'what do I want?' and 'what is going to help me get there?'"
The buzzer sounds, and the audience explodes as Midas exits the stage with one last smile. Midas Sinthra has accomplished anything and everything a tribute can accomplish in an interview. I can absolutely see him winning.
"Next, we have the pleasure of hearing from District 2's Kennedy Coil!"
Her light-green gown is a very jarring change from the gold and silver of District 1. Kennedy wobbles slightly in her heels, but ultimately keeps her head up as the audience cheers.
"What a unique costume choice," Phoenix notes. "We haven't seen green from District 2, have we?"
"Oh, I don't recall," the girl says. "If I'm being honest, I've never been super obsessed with fashion. I couldn't survive in District 1. Not for one day."
"Is fashion a big thing back in District 2?"
Kennedy bites her lip. "No. My family knows nothing about fashion. They complement me whether I'm wearing sweats or a trendy dress. Wearing nice clothes to school is a confidence booster though."
Talking trash about your family generally isn't a good idea. Kennedy cringes, realizing her mistake, but recovers quickly.
"You definitely do seem confident," Phoenix says. "At the end of the day, confidence is what'll carry you through to Victor's row. You've got some pretty large shoes to fill, Kennedy. How does it feel to be the second highest ranked female tribute in the games?"
Kennedy makes a sour face. "Well, I was definitely shooting for first place. But I can't complain too much. I'm better off than most. I'm so thankful for the Capitol for everything they've done for me."
The girl tries to pull things together, but her answers are sporadic and almost never coherent. "Visiting the Capitol itself has been a great experience. The city is so beautiful at night, isn't it?"
"It certainly is," Phoenix says. "I've watched the lights sparkle every night of my life. I sincerely hope you will do the same for many years."
The audience isn't paying attention. "It's a great city. And it's beautiful. It's just beautiful."
She crosses her arms just like Midas. Whether she realizes it or not, she is trying too hard to follow Midas' lead. Kennedy Coil is more than just a little sour.
The buzzer rings. Kennedy shakes hands with the master of ceremonies and shuffles off center stage. She is pissed. If one good thing can be said about her interview, she never turned soap-box-y: she never lost her temper, she never made any bold statements to regret later. Angry tributes tend to do that, so I must say Kennedy has kept her cool well enough. Overall, though, her interview is likely to be forgotten quickly.
Phoenix leans forward once more, effortlessly transitioning into the next interview. "Put your hands together for Gaius Alabaster!"
The large, dark-skinned boy enters. He wears a midnight blue suit with dress pants and black leather shoes. The outfit isn't flashy: nothing colorful could suit his figure or his demeanor.
"One quick note, folks. Mr. Alabaster has been mute from birth. He will communicate with us by typing on this keyboard."
Phoenix snaps once. An avox appears and rests the keyboard on Gaius' lap. "When Gaius has typed his response, he can press the 'enter' key and display his words behind us in the blink of an eye. Just to make sure everything is working properly, please type the word 'testing'.
Gaius clicks a few keys, and the word flickers into existence at the back end of the stage, large enough to be seen from the very back of the audience.
"Stellar. So, Gaius, how have you been liking the Capitol so far? Are you ready for the games?"
Yes.
"Yes? That' all we're gonna get, yes?"
I'm ready to win. Gaius gives a slow, but very certain, nod.
"You excited, man?"
I'm excited for when I win. He raises an eyebrow, as if to say that all of this is below him. He leans back in his seat, his bulky frame making it look miniature.
"Right. The fame and money," Phoenix says. "How do you feel about your opposition? There are twenty-three others. Picking your way out has got to be just a little challenging, hasn't it?"
Keeping my eyes set on the prize.
"Well, you've certainly got an advantage. How did you manage a 10, second only to Midas?"
It's unclear whether Gaius is trying to vague and mysterious. That's the only tone to vaguely and quickly communicate through text. No matter what happens, this could never have the charm of a real interview, which is a real shame, because Gaius is one of the finest specimens of this year's crop.
After a long silence, Gaius types, Strong enough to carry. Fast enough to duck.
"Any thoughts on the other careers?" The audience is clearly zoning out by this point. Phoenix's desperate attempt to pull things together ultimately ends with a four-letter word.
Weak.
There's no time to explain. The buzzer rings, and Gaius is gone before the avox can come back to take the keyboard away.
"And here comes Monita Lidell from District 3!" Phoenix announces.
Monita waltzes onto stage. The sequins on her strapless orange dress glint in the stage light. Even her gold shoes glitter. She gives the crowd a sweet wave. It's hard not to like someone with such a genuine smile.
"My, my. Don't you look special," Phoenix whispers.
"It's a lovely costume, isn't it?" Monita says. "I've never worn something this bright. This is one of the lesser new opportunities, of course."
"On the subject of opportunities," Phoenix muses, "How are you getting along with your mentor?"
"Oh, Pixel?" Monita's smile widens. For a few moments, the bright dress and smile don't seem to match her large frame. But the girl works everything so effortlessly that the dissonance is barely noticeable. "She's awesome. She isn't only a great mentor; she's a great friend. And it's nice to have a friend during the pre-games."
"Oh, for sure, for sure. And speaking of friends…"
Phoenix pauses for a moment. "Got anyone back home? Anyone closer than just a friend?"
Monita waves a hand. "Oh, there's nobody. That kind of thing is so complicated. I've never gotten into it."
"You just made quite a few guys back home very happy, I'm sure."
"Stop it. I look like a potato."
"Nobody could turn down that smile. You're glowing, girl. You look ready for anything."
Her face turns a little red. "Well, thank you. You're glowing yourself."
"Oh, I'm old," Phoenix says, turning his head as if to deflect the compliment. "But you're young. You've got your whole life ahead of you: the whole world as your oyster. I have every confidence in you. You'll do great."
Monita flashes another smile and exits the stage. "Next up, Bernie Tropello, also from District 3!"
Bernie grudgingly trudges out of the wings wearing a flashy silver suit. His short stature and hunched posture remind me of the kind of mangled dog that waits outside a slaughterhouse. It's clear he hasn't eaten in several days. Sunken features and cracked skin attest to severe dehydration.
"Well, well," Phoenix says, "Our sixth consecutive volunteer. Why'd you do it, Bernie?"
Bernie sits down and stays silent for a few moments. The crowd murmurs softly as he fails to respond.
"You know exactly why I volunteered."
"I can't say I recall. You… oh."
The entire crowd recognizes Bernie Tropello at the same time. The chorus of gasps makes it sound like someone just collapsed on stage. Bernie Tropello the arsonist. The felon. The murderer.
"You've made some mistakes in your past. There's no denying that. But that isn't to say you can't move forew…"
"Oh, shut up," the boy interrupts. "I'm going to die. I'm going to die right now and you can't stop me."
Phoenix glances backward, making eye contact with a stagehand. He looks worried. Bernie is fuming. "You… fuckers. You absolute fuckers. I hate all of you." He sweeps a finger over the crowd. "I hate everything single one of you. I'd fucking kill every fucking one of you if I could."
More silence.
Even Phoenix's charisma can't save this disaster, despite his most valiant attempts. When Bernie pulls a short, grey knife out of his pocket, none of us know how to react. Three peacekeepers rush onto the stage. By the time they reach him, he already has the knife set on his throat.
"Take one more step and I'll fucking kill myself."
"Mr. Tropello," a peacekeeper murmurs. "Your situation is dire, but we must have twenty-four tributes going into the games. You're free to treat your own life with any regard you choose once the games begin. For now, we are placing you under arrest."
The auditorium erupts with worried murmurs. A tribute, arrested? Phoenix struggles to quiet the crowd with some light jokes. Even by raising his voice, he is barely audible. However, the interviews must continue on schedule. The audience relapses toward a state of relative calm as Vista Juarez of District 4 makes an entrance.
"In my opinion, District 4 has some of the greatest costumes," Phoenix says, gesturing toward Vista's sparkling blue gown. "Water in and of itself is just lovely, isn't it?"
"For sure," Vista responds. She looks like she wants to cry. I'm pretty shaken myself. "I'd like to thank my stylist for the great costume. She can be a life saver. No pun intended."
The crowd chuckles. Vista is trying to take the audience's minds off Bernie, which is smart.
"How do you like the Capitol, Vista?"
She presses her lips together. "Very… colorful." She doesn't say anything else.
"Feelings on the upcoming games?" Phoenix waves his hands. "Thoughts?"
Vista nods. "I feel prepared enough. I'm not nervous. I'm pretty excited, all things considered."
"You have every reason to be excited," says Phoenix. "You're the highest ranking female tribute! That must feel stellar."
"Oh, it does. It… does." Vista stares down at her lap, her fingers laced over her chest. The girl's tone is very absent, almost dreamy.
"How'd you accomplish it?"
"Oh, I've not accomplished anything yet. Not until I hear the trumpets. That's when I'll know everything has been worthwhile."
Phoenix hums softly. "I like that mentality. It really keeps one moving forward."
Vista nods once. "Keep moving forward. Just keep moving forward."
The most forgettable career interview, no doubt. I struggle to remember a single line from the interview as the buzzer rings and the exotically-lovely girl curtsies out of the spotlight. She might have done better if she wasn't so shaken from Bernie. Are the other tributes equally shocked? Will every subsequent interview be equally disastrous?
"Let's bring in Dock Breckminn from District 4!"
His blue tux is a similar color to Vista's gown, with the sparkle-factor significantly toned down for a more masculine feel.
"My, my, Dock. I've heard a lot about you."
"That's what I'd expect. I'm just so amazing, aren't I?"
Phoenix laughs. "You're twelve years old. Twelve years old, and ranked sixth. How is it done?"
Dock thinks for a while. "I've got more to me than you'd think at first glance. You're not going to like this answer, but you'll just have to wait and see."
"We all love being kept on the edge. It keeps things fun. What do you think of the 113th Hunger Games?"
"Sounds great."
"Think you can hold up your spot in the career pack?"
Dock laughs. "Oh, I'm not a career. I've got my own little group set up. We're little, but we're fierce."
"I don't think you're little. You're big in spirit. You're big in your intentions."
"That's a poetic way to put it. But yeah, we're going to pack a punch."
This interview is providing surprising little about Dock's personality. The victors were let on that he has broken a few rules leading up to the present day, but nothing was ever completely specified. Dock could probably sit in silence for three minutes and be a smash hit: it's not every day that a twelve-year-old ranks sixth.
I realize he may be being vague on purpose. That trope borders on overdone. If I were his mentor, I'd have cautioned him against it.
Phoenix speaks next. "If there's one thing all tributes have in common, it's loving the Capitol. What's your favorite part?"
Dock raises his pitch a little. "Working the shower out was kind of fun. Reminded me of those damn six-color puzzle cubes you get at birthday parties."
The buzzer sounds, and Dock brightly leaps off of the stage with a smile and a wave. I haven't seen him much, but from what little I've seen, this seems like such a huge change from who he's always been. He clearly put on a mask for his interview. But his attitude is so sporadic that the mask might as well have a big hole in it.
I lean back in my seat and take a sip of water, eagerly awaiting the next tribute's entrance.