Metamorphosis: The 100th Hunger Games
Interviews! - Part One.

Marceline Devereaux,

Hunger Games Master of Ceremonies

It all begins with a cowbell, which is then accompanied by a cuíca, a piano, the brass and the woodwinds until they all form a groovy theme song fit for a host such as I. I risk a quick glance to my cadre of floral-dressed performers behind me, exhaling while I plaster a smile onto my face.

It's showtime!

In unison, we enter from the upper lodge to raucous applause. Our backs hunched and our hands pawed, we scurry down the steps, only to pivot from side to side while shaking our hands as if we had maracas. We quickly transition to splaying one arm outward while working the other like a long hand of a clock, bringing it forward and in reverse. When the band reaches the crescendo, we freeze into place, my cadre's hands all splaying forward to present me...

"...Your master of ceremonies, Marceline Devereaux!"

"Well salutations, Panem! Don't mind me!" I greet to fervent cheers. Letting out a cackle, I join my entourage in some tap dancing further down the steps, shimmying with a member of the audience before hopping on a banister and riding it down to the arena floor, front flipping over a guard rail into the waiting hands of some buff assistants as I'm surfed to the stage.

"Ready boys, altogether now!" as they continue to support my weight, I back flip onto the stage proper, flowers of various species exploding from hidden pods. I splay my hands outward, presenting myself for all of Panem to see once more as the bulbs rain down onto the stage.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you for joining me here tonight on the eve of the ONE HUNDREDTH HUNGER GAMES! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?!"

My ears pop as their cheers rumble through the arena.

"How lucky are we to witness such a momentous occasion within our history," I gesture to the twenty-four rustic pedestals just yards away. "Especially here none the less, where it all began...Are you excited?"

More cheers rip though the arena.

"Twenty-six mature tributes each with stakes so very high will vie for one crown – a coveted one at that! We'll be meeting each and every one of them here tonight – right now!"

Donna Cordillera, 49
Snow Island female

"Without further adieu, we begin the night with Snow Island! If you still have your heart out for Snow Island this time around – which I doubt anyone still does – Donna Cordillera is your gal! Donna, come on out!"

I strut out onto the stage, waving to the audience at-large with a few blown kisses for good measure. Eccentric and down to earth, Marceline's show is exactly the type of platform I need to distance myself from Ricardo and his self-destruction. Greeting the host, I draw her in with a hug and customary Isla Nieve greeting - a kiss on the right cheek.

"Hey, I'm not complaining, I love free love." Marceline exclaims, gesturing to her iconic teak sofa which has sat many a guest. "Please Ludra, take a seat. That's what you like to be called right?"

I nod, crossing one leg over the other. "That's right."

"That sweater dress looks absolutely fab baby." Marceline hums, her eyes roaming from my stocking-clad leg upward to the sienna-colored dress I wear. "Oh and don't get me started on that hair."

"Gracias," I purr in reply, earning cat calls from men and women alike. "Sr. Ford chose it for me."

"Horatio Ford, what a peach that guy. Give it up for Horatio over there, yeah you, I could sing your praises for days!" When we finish applauding my stylist, Marceline turns to me. "So, Ludra, tell me about Snow Island, your life there, so on and so forth..."

"Life goes well back home." I reply, reclining back into the sofa as I recall the Island's beaches...Jamaica and her baby. "I work for the transportation department."

My smile falters a tad when an amused sniff escapes from Marceline. "You could say bus driver, you don't have to embellish." She says, earning the laughter of the audience "In Panem, everyone has a purpose after all, am I right guys?"

My smile perks up once more when the crowd begins to applaud. "I suppose that's true."

"And everyone has struggles as well..." Marceline says with a serious tone. "I heard that you had lost some people close to you?"

"Yes...my husband and our two babies are no longer with us." I answer with a tight face.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It was a long time ago...Enrique would want me to go on, so I do." I say to applause and light cheering. "My mother takes up most of my world now anyway."

"Tell us about mom."

"Of course, she's been – and is – quite the writer. She isn't Alana Oskoii-tier," I smirk toward the audience as they chuckle. "But back home she has thousands of eyes on her works. They even read her books to schoolchildren."

Marceline smiles. "Is it true that her age is getting the best of her at times?"

"Yes, her memory isn't as sharp as it once was, but she tries." I answer with a shrug. "I can't begin to tell you how many times her stories have either devolved from children's to erotica or romance into horror because of it."

The crowd laughs once more, Marceline along with them.

"Where's she now?" she asks.

"In a convalescent home for safekeeping until..." I die..?

"I see, which leads us to the here and now." Marceline says, swiveling in her chair. "That was quite the reaping reaction, Ludra...Is Melanie okay?"

I shrug. "She should be fine. I imagine she's taken plenty of knocks to the head before."

The crowd doubles over in laughter now as the cameras pan to Melanie Vasquez, our scatterbrained escort, who waves vigorously to the audience none-the-wiser. It takes Rafaela tugging her to bring her back to earth.

"We love ya Melanie, never change." Says Marceline while she points and winking at the escort. "What about that district partner of yours...I've heard bits and pieces and I could only imagine how the rest of you are faring..."

I offer a playful shrug, which earns some laughs. "You're not wrong. We're doing the best we can though. Rafaela has been doing a great job keeping the team together."

The camera pans to the victor in question, who adjusts her glasses with a smirk on her lips as the crowd heaps praise upon her.

"Miss Novia has grown up quite a lot over the past five years, although mentors – and good looks – can only do so much... ha ha ha." Marceline drawls. A tough question was on the horizon. Rafaela and Melanie taught me this. I ease upward on the sofa, bracing for it. "Your chariot ride was amazing but when it comes to the nitty-gritty, you paint an average picture. For example, your training score of five. If you could curtail some of those doubts out there, what would you say?

"Well, as we've seen quite a lot during the past decade, those who appeared average or even below average ended up with the crown." I reply without a skipping a beat.

"That's fair."

"And besides," I continue, "I'm not a confused child like a normal year might yield. I'm an adult with plenty of applicable experience. I wouldn't count me out just yet, I just might have an as up my sleeve that will surprise many."

"An ace up your sleeve you say...What, are you hiding something from us now?"

My stomach stirs. "Qué?"

"Y'know, like some hidden side-gig like a thug or a serial murderer...? That's the only ace I can see." Marceline says while rolling a hand. That smug grin never leaves her face as the audience laughs along.

"Nope." I reply, shaking my head and reflecting the grin back.

With a raised brow, her grin relaxes as she rises from her desk and strolls over to me. "No, well then, here's hoping that ace is put into play." Marceline places my hand into hers as we face the audience. "Let's have a round of applause for Ludra Cordillera, everyone! Ludra, I believe many people's fears have been sated...If Snow Island is your favorite, Ludra is the horse you need to back."

Curtsying, I begin to take my leave, waving to the crowd all the while.

That's right. I am the one they could back. I may not like this situation at all but at least I have a safety net...unlike him.

Ricardo Marcenas, 50
Snow Island Male

"Now Ludra's district partner on the other hand...Need I say anything that we already know?" Marceline asks the audience, their jeers and laughter audible from backstage where I wait. "Let's see if we can get into that hard head of his...Here he is, Ricardo Marcenas."

I immediately want to swivel on my heels and return to the lounge. That Capitol secuaz and her clapping seals – otherwise known as the audience – aren't worth debating. However, when I crane my head backward to see that the Peacekeeper Officer and her lackeys are still standing guard, blocking the way out, I have no choice but to engage.

Back straight and my head held high, I enter the stage proper, ignoring the booing and jeers hurled at me by these clowns and instead electing to glare at them. My eyes find the victors and escort that make up my 'team'. They all glare at me, as if I'M the monster.

Stupid, stupid children. They're far too gone.

Marceline extends a hand my way, her toothless, shit-eating grin stretching from ear to ear.

"Why the gloomy threads?" she asks me, gesturing to my black suit. "Someone's getting ahead of themselves..."

As the crowd howls with laughter, I breeze past her, taking a seat on the couch opposite of her desk.

"Hey," Marceline says with a shrug while swiveling in her chair. "He burned the olive branch, not me."

The booing continues for a couple of seconds more before Marceline calms them with a "Now now..." and a wave of the hand. "If anything, I pride myself on allowing multiple viewpoints to be discussed. Mr. Marcenas is not an exception."

"Are you sure your handlers agree with that?"

"I'm my own agent, man...if they had a problem, someone else would be here." She retorts, retaining her carefree lilt. "But they're not. Because I do my job very well."

"I'm sure you do."

"Look at that, wit!" Marceline shoots, snapping her finger. "Who knew you had traits other than brooding and shrewd."

The audience lets out a racket of laughter. Part of me thinks their reaction is to spite me. A moment of silence passes without any interchange. As the audience regards me with scornful gaze, some muttering amongst themselves, I turn to the 'host', who continues to eye me with that stupid grin.

"Is this interview going to start or what?" I bark, glaring daggers at the woman.

Reclining in her seat, Marceline places her booted feet on top of her desk. "We've already started my friend...I don't even have to say anything, the material writes itself."

"A la mierda esto..." I rise out of my seat as the stupid audience chuckle themselves to death.

"And there you are folks..." Marceline says behind my back. "Honestly, I expect this behavior from a tribute forty years his junior. It just goes to show you that people like that live among us, and the Games serve as the only equalizer."

I pause. If I had no sense, I'd choke her until those droopy eyes of hers held no life.

The Peacekeepers from before still haven't left, eyeing me from backstage with their truncheons drawn. So that's what this is...a mandatory roast.

"Ah, he stopped." She continues. "Are you gonna get back here and have a mature discussion, or...?"

I turn back to face the witch. Fine, if it makes it so that the nation at large can retain something here tonight, so be it. As the crowd cheers her on, I return to the sofa.

"There you go...take a seat." Marceline coos with sickly edge. "Now everyone, Mr. Marcenas seems to be a little miffed by his being here. I will shed light on why. Now, you were an officer in the Panem Navy correct?"

I cross my arms. "That's correct."

"Now gang, here's where the history lesson begins. Ricardo here served during the Second Rebellion, with his father, who served as a commander. Back when Snow Island was an obscure – but essential – territory on Panem's fringes. The rebels from the coastal districts tried to take the island and they nearly did." Marceline shakes her head as the crowd begins to rumble. "Imagine that, a rebel island, all because Ricardo and his father failed to follow orders–"

"Anyone with a sense of compassion would refuse an order to sink refugee boats and shell cities!" I exclaim, jabbing a finger her way.

"The island was nearly overrun, with boatloads of rebels sailing in..." Marceline drawls on, dismissive of my tone.

"My job was to patrol the seas and rediscover land anew." I snarl.

Marceline raises an eyebrow. "Yes, but you swore an oath to protect the Capitol against enemies both internal and external...did you not?"

"I wasn't going to murder my own countrymen in order to uphold...this..." I say, shooting my hands into the air regardless of the booing the audience hurls at me.

"What do they 'uphold' exactly, the rebels – besides anarchy?" Marceline asks with a shrug. "The train derailments nationwide, the sinking of ships, granaries set on fire, noble peacekeepers ambushed and slaughtered, loyal citizens raped and killed among other atrocities. Ask Zenobia Rivendell of District 2, she knows the last part very well." Marceline turns to the audience at-large. "How many of you lost a relative in the cowardly raid against the Capitol?"

A sizeable amount of hands shoot up into the air. Pathetic, people outside their gilded city had a far worse experience.

I cross my arms. War is war and these people wouldn't know horror if it slapped them upside the head. "If I were under someone's boot for seventy-five years, I wouldn't be surprised if they lashed out the way they did."

I roll my eyes as the crowd exclaims and bursts into acidic chatter. These people are unreal.

"What a shame...You see, this is why the Games shall continue." Marceline regards me as if I committed murder...twisted bitch. "As I've said before, my work is done for me, seeing as you've done absolutely nothing except make yourself the poster child for rebels nationwide, I don't have any Games-related questioning for you. We already know the angle you're playing."

"Good. Then nothing else needs to be discussed." I rise out of my seat and begin walking away, waving dismissively toward the rowdy crowd. "Enjoy your hourly propaganda."

"I feel sorry for his sister," Marceline says behind my back. I halt immediately, my chest bursting with heat. "Unlike Ricardo and his father, the fools, she serves her Capitol proudly. I can't imagine how much of a drag this must be for her. Oh, and don't forget the mother -"

Swiveling on my heels, I pounce toward her. I'd be on her now, pounding her face into a pulp. But instead I'm subdued by the Peacekeepers, squirming against their grip as they haul me away, Marceline watching on with a coy smirk. I was so, so close.

But as long as a handful of rational-minded people watched – and were inspired – that's all that matters.

Veradisia Smith, 19
District 12 Female

"Oh man..." The young man from One says while snickering into his glass of drink. "He's getting his ass handed to him out there."

"Hey, as long as Snow Island is knocked down a peg after this..." Warren Holt trills, joining the rest of the Careers in their darkly sniggering.

Meanwhile, the rest of the non-Career tributes in the lounge watch Ricardo's segment with tight lips. We know what he says is true but lest we face ridicule – or instantaneous death – it's best you keep your opinions to yourself.

I wonder how Marceline would tackle my segment, or that of my allies?

The Peacekeepers standing guard at the sliding door step aside as it hisses open. All eyes gaze toward the doors when a well-dressed, lanky man with a slicked comb over enters the room.

"Veradisia Smith?" he croons in his crisp Capitol accent. As the lounge bursts into confused chatter, I raise my hand in the affirmative as he taps away at his holopad.

"Present." I say, unperturbed by of the numerous eyes that lay on me.

He motions for me to follow and I do, sparing Hermia and co one last glance. With the Assistant by my side and an Avox following close behind, I make my way to the stage for my interview.

I couldn't help but feel confused, off guard even. Like the private sessions, Kaviraya and I during any typical year would be last to go.

But this wasn't any typical year...was it? I should know.

We were just about to turn the corner when numerous Peacekeepers come barreling down the hall, the Assistant pressing me against the wall to avoid being rammed. It's then when I hear the shouts, cries of pain and contact being made with something. First to round the corner seconds later are a serious looking man and woman wearing suits and then...Ricardo.

A sharp gasp escapes my lips when I see his unconscious, bruised and torn-clothed body being dragged off by Peacekeepers followed by a high ranking Peacekeeper. A wolfish grin on her crimson lips and hands casually clasped behind her back, she winks at me.

"With that fiasco out of the way, let us move on to District 12!" Marceline announces, to the confusion and delight of the audience. It was like a rollercoaster how their exclamations flowed. "Weren't expecting that were ya? My next guest has left the nation scratching their heads since their bizarre volunteering...They were so eager they left us without a name. So, allow me to introduce for the very first time, Veradisia Annora Smith!"

Smoothing down my skirts, I slowly make my way toward the roaring audience and blinding lights where Marceline greets me. A grin on her face, I take her extended hand while she leads us to the front of the stage.

"That's quite the number you're wearing Veradisia." She muses, ogling the black dress while caressing the raven stenciled onto one the pauldrons. As she does this, the steel-like fabric glistens in the light. "Very...arcane."

"Why thank you Marceline." I reply to her. "Tell me about it...I have petticoats for days under this thing."

"You truly are ready to rumble...In more ways than one, it seems." Marceline comments to my detriment. When the cheering dies, she escorts me to the famed sofa. "Come, sit, we have much to chat about."

"I'm delighted to begin." I chirp in reply, taking my seat. I wasn't delighted. If Ricardo's encounter taught me anything, Ms. Devereaux isn't as tranquil as she lets on. I see this now as she takes her seat behind her desk, plopping her feet on top. She grins at me, but her eyes never meet her lips. Those piercing blue eyes...

"So, Vera..." she begins with an inquisitive lilt, leaning forward. "Veradisia Annora Smith...You know, with that type of moniker, I'd expect you to be watching these Games in your manor parlor with avoxes at your beck and call."

I grin tightly as the audience chortles along. "It is quite the name, I agree."

"So you agree that you're quite the enigma?" she asks me with a raised brow. "Someone of Capitol lineage living in Twelve of all places...it raises flags."

"How so?" I ask, immediately biting my tongue afterward. Oh Vera, you sweet, sweet summer child...

My hiccup must've shown, as Marceline's grin grows. "Well, what of your father and mother? Surely they must've done something to prompt them to flee or be emigrated." She shrugs. "I'm not sure myself, the records are spotty."

"My mother passed away when we were young." I answer matter-of-factly. "Unfortunately, I can't speak for my father's actions."

"He can't speak for yours either." Marceline shoots back, reclining in her chair. "Neither can your foreman, your sister, your neighbours...your volunteering took everyone by surprise."

"I got earful of complaints during the goodbyes..." I reply, earning laughter from the audience.

"Why did you take the plunge?"

"Because Marceline," I say with a shrug. "I simply want to be a victor of significance."

"Like how say...Katniss Everdeen was?" Marceline counters. My eyes drift to the front row of past victors and current escorts until I find mine. Ainsely continues to wear her permanent frown, supported by Francine who continues to eye me with concern whilst caressing Ainsely's hand.

"Come on Marceline, why the compare and contrast?" I ask jokingly, earning laughter throughout the arena.

A sly smirk spreads across her lips. "The miner's getup...?"

"To stand out of course," I reply simply. "Also to show everyone from the Grand Pacific to the Atlantican that I'm an everyday person."

"Why would anyone else care? They have their own tributes to root for?"

"Victors regardless of their home district are loved nationwide. I would use my victory not just for Twelve, but for everyone."

I continue to grin as Marceline blinks once. I'm not lying? Not to be perturbed, she continues on. "The 12 in training...?" she says.

"I thought the Gamemakers were a little too kindly in that regard..." I reply, earning a few sniggers from the audience. "I didn't think I performed that great, but I'm forever thankful for their opinion regardless. I imagine I have sponsors citywide now."

The crowd cheers as Marceline hums in agreement. I watch as the screen pans to the VIP section where Pearlana Singh perches with the rest of Panem's crop. She sits right next to 'Her Excellency' President DeWynter herself. Their faces show no inkling of emotion, though I could only imagine their inner thoughts.

"What about them allies of yours..." Marceline continues, her eyes drifting from the screens back to me. She points to the exit. "A dissident and three former rebels...many people say that you're gearing up for something."

"I wanted to align myself with like-minded people." My breath hitches when the crowd breaks out into murmurs. Marceline's face scrounges into one of confusion. "A-A group of mature and level-headed people would be good for me. They know what they want, un-unlike the others."

Marceline's confused expression morphs into one of smugness. "I've heard through the grapevine that you've asked plenty of tributes besides these?"

I immediately straighten up on the sofa. The once manageable dress now constricts me like a snake mutt. "They had other dealings going on? Regardless I think this alliance will go on to become a tremendous player in these Games."

"I agree. I too wonder how this alliance of yours will play out." Marceline replies, her smile never faltering as she leaves her seat and collects me by the hand. "They all have their own individual flavor..."

She presents me to the audience once more.

"It was nice to finally meet you, Veradisia Smith everybody!"

Marceline releases me, prompting myself to quickly curtsy, smile, wave and disperse in that order. When I enter the backstage, I watch as crew of Avoxes continue to mop up the mess the Peacekeepers made with Ricardo. At least I wasn't given that treatment.

Which means the front holds...for now at least.

Kavirayah Parathi, 29
District Twelve Male

"His colleagues say he's quirky but hardworking. The Mayor of District 12 swears up and down that he wouldn't be there if it weren't for this man's brain. Next up, we have Kavirayah Parathi, our male from District 12!"

The Assistant gestures towards the entrance, prompting me to groan with discomfort. I quickly refer back to Ms. Nguyen's words, drilled into me all day today and yesterday.

If there's one thing I'll remember from school, it's this – back straight, eyes bright, chins up, smiles on! You got this!

I nod to the man, gripping the steel banister while walking upward. "Right...Eyes bright, chins up, smiles on...Eyes bright chins up, smiles on..."

I suppose it worked, as I walk on stage to polite applause. I wave here and there, but most of my time was spent fending off the blinding light that seems to peer into my being.

"Kavi, how are you this evening...I can call you Kavi, right?" Marceline asks, pumping my hand. "A friend of yours back in Twelve seemed to do so a lot."

I return the gesture. No, you cannot. "I suppose, but—"

"Perfect. It's a fab nickname to use." Marceline prattles on, perusing the shimmering scales on my blazer. "I see that Twelve's stylists collaborated a little bit with your suit there. I'm digging the turtleneck as well."

I twiddle my thumbs. "Thank you Marceline...I...um...requested the sweater myself."

"You have a good eye for fashion." She says with a smirk, turning her attention to the audience at large. "Doesn't he ladies...gentlemen?"

I grin towards the audience as the arena rumbles with low chuckles. "Go on, take a load off. Something tells me we're gonna have plenty to unpack here." Marceline says with folded hands. "So, from what I gather from you, Kavi, is that you are a self-made man. Correct?"

I nod. "...Yes, I suppose that's a fair observation."

"It strikes me as odd, however, with you being the son of Commander James Tacker – an important leader during the War." Marceline continues. "Being the son of such a famous man, you think things would be a tad different?"

"He was my father for formalities sake." I reply tersely to her, gripping the arm of the sofa with one hand and balling my fist with the other. Asking me about the Games and my occupation are one thing, but why do they insist on airing out people's business for the nation at-large?

"Ah, so things were less than ideal." Marceline says with a nod.

"Yes."I reply simply. Far more than anyone could imagine. My thoughts drift back to the spent days and nights locked away in an annex while my dear old man got on with his hag wife and priggish kids. The rats have a deeper relation to me than he does.

"And unfortunately he passed away about a week ago. Your thoughts on that?"

To stave off the sudden urge to massage my temples, I simply shrug in reply. Where eighteen year olds across the nation are showered with affection and promises to support their endeavors, 'Dad' handed me a knife and made me choose between banishment to the streets or simply no longer breathing.

No one is ready for my thoughts, I'm not even ready.

Marceline notices my unease, her frown morphing into a warm smile. "Regardless of those downs, you truly have pulled yourself up. Your co-workers sing your praises."

My brows rise in confusion. "Do they?"

"Especially Mary Dunhill." Marceline adds, her smile growing. "Is she someone of significance?"

"No, however she is a very good friend." I say. V I imagine will be in good hands, spoiled to death by Mary's ditzy love.

"Now as I stated in the introduction, Kaviraya here works for the mayor's office in District 12." "Now Kavi, we don't really get bureaucrats in these Games often. Before we let you go, tell us, how exactly are you going to tackle this challenge especially with no allies?"

"Well Marceline..." "Sure being an aide doesn't have much going for it in terms of physicality. However, my occupation comes with particularity."

"Particularity." Marceline repeats.

I nod. "I tend to tackle issues one at a time, fixating on said issue until it is resolved completely without error. The Games are rather simple in that regard – just survive until you're last. If one simply stays on task and is efficient about it, there's very little room for error."

"I somehow fear yet yearn to see that...'Particularity' in action." She purrs, gesturing with one hand for me to rise, and I do so. "A round of applause for a Mr. Kaviraya Parathi!"

More so out of elation rather than genuine happiness, I smile towards the audience and offer a modest wave. Before I turn to leave, my eyes briefly catch that of Francine, who offers thumbs up and a bright smile. I must've done 'ok' in her eyes. All this doesn't really matter.

All that matters is tomorrow and heavens willing the day after tomorrow, and so forth.

Wondr'a Okafor, 30
District Eleven Female

"Now, we all know that District 2 holds a special place in my heart..." Marceline begins, her smile becoming coy as she adds "With Isla Nieve serving as my mistress of course..."

The audience doubles over with laughter.

"However, this next tribute is interesting to say the least...and I imagine that many of you agree." The Master of Ceremonies continues over a murmuring audience. "Just one of the many doctors joining us this Hunger Games, please join me in welcoming Wondr'a Okafor of District 11!"

With all my might, I muster up the same moxie Wondr'a would before the accident when she engaged in things like these, entering onto the stage using both my hands to wave to the massive audience and smiling as the cheers reach their peak.

"Evenin', Marceline." I greet, choosing to hug the older woman rather than the typical handshake. She responds in kind, returning the hug as if I were an old friend just catching up.

"Hello hello, Wondr'a!" she replies, her hand on the small of my back as she gestures to the peach-colored mini dress with petal-decorated sheer sleeves I wear. "May I say that you look absolutely fab? Your dress, those heels – and oooh, that giant bun!"

"Thank you Marceline, you look just dandy as well." I reply in kind while regarding her daffodil earrings, the white, floral-patterned, collarless tunic that seemed to change colour every minute and the green flared pants she had on. She'd fit right in with Alphonso and his commune. "I can't believe no one before me brought it up."

Marceline's head cranes back in laughter. "Well you know what they say. I'm the harbinger of trends, they can vouch for me!" She says over the cheers of the audience. "Come sit, I'm genuinely curious about you, Wondr'a. I'm sure everyone else is as well."

"Is that so?" I inquire, earning soft laughter from the audience.

"Again, it's not every day we get a doctor on that sofa." Marceline replies. "You're not a doctor in the 'generic' sense though. Do you mind filling us in?"

"I have a..." I swallow in an attempt to hold off the brain fog. "...Doctorate in technology, with a minor in agriculture."

Cheers flow from the audience as Marceline nods in acknowledgement.

"I imagine that a lot of people are confused on why you'd need such credentials in Eleven of all places. Could you...?"

"Sure. I work for the district government," I offer. "Advising on a mu- mul...many issues, too many to count. Mainly, I tend to manage data – like our internet."

"So you're one of the many brains working to get our internet in tip-top shape!?" Marceline asks as I nod in reply. "The computer virus is a real drag, so how about you try and win for us so you can get back to work?"

"...Of course." I reply, shrinking into my seat and offering a tight-lipped smile as the crowd cheers some more.

"Speaking of winning, why in the world would you volunteer?" Marceline asks. "I imagine you live fairly comfortably back home, your family is widely known for their educational contributions." Marceline smiles when she adds "And you don't peg me as the type to split people in two with a machete."

"Umm..." I readjust myself, nervously laughing along with the audience. "The girl in the wheelchair –Tera – she wouldn't have been a good tribute. I enjoy helpin' people and no one else did...so I did."

Marceline quirks a brow. "I'm sure that's part of why, but are you sure there isn't more to this tale?"

"H-How?" I splutter out, my body beginning to simmer up like a District 11 day.

"Well, your colleagues and your family seem to think otherwise." Marceline elaborates. "Your father says due to your injuries, you've been a little...irate."

"He'd be the last to know..." I quip back. Inside me...I feel...weird, as Marceline's...look becomes serious and the people begin to mumble. I didn't want them to hear that, but it's true. If he cared harder, things would be different.

"He says you were found in your office with a banged up conk..." Marceline continues...with caution. "I take it that's why you talk the way you do?"

Sighing, I nod. "Like I said, I enjoy helpin'. So when the computer virus hit, I was eager to do so. And when none of my formulas worked after weeks of tryin'...I blacked out. I still do feel awfully beat up about the whole thing. Nothin' has been the same since."

"I could imagine why one would be fairly upset..." Marceline nods along as the audience coos with sadness. "Especially with you losing the baby and all."

I beg your pardon?

"WHAT?!" the shriek that escapes out of me prompts the crowd to still. Marceline becomes straight-lipped, leaving her desk to join me on the sofa. What baby was she talking about?! I didn't know about any...

"Now now..." she coaxes, easing beside with caution. "I also heard you were out of it for a couple of days...maybe your father didn't want to hurt you?"

I ain't even listening at this point. My eyes glance up past the skylights and into the evening air. Poor, poor Otel, how must he feel? Does he even realize? If I wasn't so weak...I'm unfortunately brought back to earth when Marceline caresses my hand.

"Regardless of all that, Tera Hutchinson, her family and many people of District 11 are very happy with you and are rooting for you." She soothes. "My crew spoke to a rather handsome boy, Otel Sharps? He sings your praises."

"Otel?" I repeat.

Marceline nods. "Yes, he says you help out with his daughter sometimes?"

"Yes, I often make clothing for her and cookies." I reply, crossing one leg over the other. I'm going to miss carrying her in my arms, looking at those bright brown eyes. "She's a mighty fine babe. You could never deny her a thing."

"And Mr. Sharps?" she asks. "Your reaping scene was well...quite the scene!"

"Oh my, there's an awful lot to say and so little time." I say, earning light laughter from the audience. "He's friendly, articulate and handy to have around the house when I need it...what?"

Marceline's face carries a knowing grin as the audience giggles. "Oh nothing, your description seems pretty accurate from what I hear."

As the laughter and...suggestive "Oooh-ing" grow, I simply offer a thin smile, hoping that those watching at home don't think too hard about what Marceline is...rightfully trying to suggest.

"Another thing was that you were always someone they could rely on – a 'mother hen' one man called you?"

I nod in reply. I could use Alphonso's sage advice right now. "I can't help but agree."

"They say, Wondr'a, that you are a part of a growing community of Panemians nationwide taking after what they call 'bohemianism'..."

My lips curl into a small smile. "Are you a bohemian, Marceline? You color me as such?"

The host chuckles something fierce as the crowd roars along with laughter. "Well, I do dabble in artistic pursuits, enjoy the pleasure of intellectual company and take the occasional chem..." she replies, smacking me on the leg. "But this isn't about me, it's about you! Do you mind explaining what it means to you? It seems to vary from region to region."

I nod. "Well sure...Bohemianism to me simply means to live by a different set of rules..."

"As we've seen time and time again...deviating from the Capitol..."

"It ain't...d-deviating from rules, rules." I counter. Well, it was but I ain't about to admit that. "It's simply – to me and many others - living life without doting on day-to-day...issues, something that we tend to do a lot in Panem. Do what makes you happy. To me, that means engaging in the arts, tending to the earth – and its people – creating things..."

"So I imagine that this creed contributed to that solid training score of yours?" Marceline asks. "The trainers and the Gamemakers I hear were pretty impressed."

"...I think so, yes." I reply.

The host becomes serious, leaning in slightly towards me. "So what will you do with this momentum...I wonder?"

My eyes drift out toward the crowd, scanning through the curious faces until I meet the soft eyes of Octavia and Eleven's victors. Paisley raises a concerned eyebrow. "...I'm not sure."

"Well, please try and figure that out asap." Marceline soothes, gently clinching my hand as she stands the both of us up. "A lot of eyes are on you, more than you think. Everyone, please please please give a giant round of applause to the wonderful Wondr'a Okafor!"

After a brief wave goodbye to the crowd, I make my way back to the lounge. Marceline had a touch for making people comfortable, but it wasn't enough. The thoughts I suppressed to get through this night have come back with full force, with new ones in tote.

"I could imagine why one would be fairly upset...Especially with you losing the baby and all."

I had a baby...and I lost it. All because of the life I lived.

"So what will you do with this momentum...I wonder?"

Absolutely nothing.

Linden Norton, 40
District Eleven Male

As Wondr'a crosses my path, she only stares lamely at me as I offer a nod in return. And here I thought she'd cry herself off the stage or something.

"And now, onto the male half of this duo, please join me in welcoming Linden Norton to the stage!"

Buttoning my blazer, I jog up the steel steps and onto the stage proper, waving to the audience while pumping hands with Marceline.

"Thank you for having me, Marceline...thank you." I greet. As the cheers die down, she gestures for me to take a seat on the sofa opposite of her desk.

"You're looking pretty dapper with those psychedelic threads, friend." She replies, giving me a look-over. "Your stylists must have good fashion sense, like me."

She's right, it was a pretty nifty suit, constantly changing colors to represent Eleven's seasons. "Thank you. I requested it myself...requested it myself."

"What?"

"Huh?"

"You repeated yourself twice..." Marceline smiles as the audience giggles softly.

"Oh right, pardon me...it's just a vocal tic."

"That's a-ok, Linden. The 99th Hunger Games and their victor have taught me plenty about tics." As the audience doubles over in laughter, Marceline makes a nodding motion, her finger pointing toward the medallion around my neck. "And what's that you have there?"

"That there is my token." I reply, fiddling with the gold material. "Within each panel are portraits of my family."

"Ah, so you're a family man then, the first of the evening." Marceline muses. "Tell me about your family, Linden."

"Things are surprisingly okay back home, all things considering. I work as a harvester part time and work at my family general store with my side of the family – mother, brother, father..." I begin, fidgeting with the medallion. "There's my wife...my lovely wife, Delia...Delia. She's an overseer at one of the orchards. Then we have my three kids. Salas – smart kid. There's my only daughter, Ace – nothing but troublesome since she was born. And then we have Jarlan – the youngest of the bunch."

"Ace...Yeah, Ace is quite the card." Marceline's head peels back as she lets out a cackle. The audience follows after immediately. "She's told my people a lot of salacious things...Apparently things can get very volatile in your household, especially with the younger son?"

I shake my head. "Oh Ace...your old man is about to die yet you still can't resist getting one last jab in..." I smirk as the audience chuckles along. I joke about it outwardly, yeah, but that inward feeling of annoyance begins to rise. Seriously Ace, now I look like a bumpkin in front of all these folks! "Don't we all have family scuffles? He's a growing, confused boy. I just try to raise him as proper as can be."

"I imagine if you won, you'd hold them even tighter than before?"

I nod in agreement. "Of course Marceline, this predicament I face has allowed for a whole heap of reflection."

"Yeah I could imagine..." she replies a little too quickly. "Speaking of reflection and holding people tighter, will Daniel Arnett be one of them?"

"...I'm sorry?" I babble. Dan you idiot!

"Daniel Arnett." She repeats. "He says that you two are...very close. Which is odd because of the wife and—"

My eyes lay on the victor's row, meeting Clarence's. His rolling of the hand, shake of the head and stern gaze tell me everything I need to know. "I'm not sure what he's talking about. He is a friend, that's it."

Marceline folds her arms, an amused smirk on her face as she snickers. "...My producers..."

"Simply a friend." I reply firmly. What's wrong with these people? Why does it have to be now that my weaknesses get aired? Why can't folks keep their mouths shut?

"Okay, moving on..." Marceline replies snidely, earning small bouts of laughter from the audience. "Since coming here, you've proven yourself to be a fair contender for these Games. An eight in the private sessions, fairly decent odds on the betting boards...Most people usually resign their fates, but you haven't."

That sense of dread I feel immediately fades when the questioning gets toned down. "Of course not, Marceline, I'm in this to survive and hopefully thrive."

"What about that alliance of yours?" the host continues. "Six tributes – you included –outnumber the Career pack this year...Care to tell us any strategies?"

"I too was surprised when we added on so many tributes." I answer honestly. Gio and Chris were in charge of that but if you asked me, I would've cut the ladies loose. A little cushioning wouldn't hurt nobody... "In terms of strategy, I'm not sure where to begin. Now that you mention it, I imagine we'll make a decent splash as a team."

"Well, here's hoping you and your crew perform to expectations." Marceline purrs, pointing a lazy finger towards me. "There's a lot of momentum to be had, don't waste it."

I nod. I don't like these Games one bit. If I were home right now and something kicked off, you could bet your bottom dollar I'd be there tossing a cocktail too. But I'm here now, and my fate is in the Capitol's hands. So if it means assuming a role to survive, then so be it.

Marceline nods, rising from behind her desk. "With that being said, Mr. Linden, I'm gonna let you go now. Thank you for such a solid interview!"

Laelia Alvarado, 19
District Ten Female

"Here we are now at District 10. Please join me in welcoming Ms. Laelia Alvarado to the stage!"

My score was okay, the people think I'm okay, which means I'm mostly fine.

Let's do this.

With Harriet's words of encouragement buzzing around my head, I quickly zip onto the stage, waving this way and that. The crowd's cheers are something else, and it takes everything within me not to freeze in place and become overwhelmed. A gentle side-hug from Marceline is enough to calm me. At least I'm not alone anymore. She was like a cool aunt – someone you could have a prolonged conversation with. All I have to do is be me and Marceline will feed into that.

"Laelia, you look as..." Marceline clears her throat as she says in a Southern lilt "Pretty as a peach in June!"

"Gracias, Marceline." I chirp back in reply. "It's a popular way of dress in Ten."

I wore a red shirtdress with black floral yolk on the front and back of the shoulders. On my feet was a pair of stylish leather boots with floral embroidery on them. It was a typical District 10 look by any means.

"Please take a seat, Laelia." Marceline instructs. "Although many people may find you plain Jane, there seems to be plenty more to you than meets the eye."

"Is that so?" I ask in an inquisitive tone, a light smirk on my lips. "Like everyone else, I'm curious as to what."

"You're a girl that belongs to two worlds, it seems." Marceline muses. Though her hands cover her mouth partially, her grin was still visible. "Born and raised in District 10, yet carry the looks and trappings of a One."

"Yes, my family moved from One following the war..."

"The entire house?" Marceline asks with a quirked brow.

"I believe so, yes." I say, nodding in reply and trying my best to keep a straight face amongst the confused murmurs of the crowd.

"Come on Laelia, you're a smart girl." Marceline says with a sigh. "Why would they move from One to Ten?"

"Because of the War of course..." I answer, adjusting myself on the sofa in an attempt to mitigate my unease. "I'm not sure what they did or what happened to prompt the move..."

"They didn't tell you about the poisoning of rivaling, loyalist houses?" Marceline says to the utter shock of the audience. "Because the War went the other way, they fled to escape reprisal."

I remain frozen as the arena bursts into animated chatter about my family's supposed treachery. I knew, I always it was a negative reason...I guess here was a perfect time for it to be aired. I glance toward Annabelle, who looks at me with urgency in her eyes. "Turn this around, NOW!"

"Marceline, I was born in Ten. I have no true ties to One or what happened with my family."

"...I suppose that's fair, but rebel families tend to fall not far from each other."

"Isn't this punishment enough?" I reason, pointing towards myself. "I imagine my parents are ruing the day as we speak."

"That seems about right, Laelia. And on the plus side, according to my producers, you are something of a star citizen in Ten."

"I'd like to think I have. And yes, I think that's very true." I reply, a little bit too earnestly I'd say. "I go to school, do my best, play futbol, and volunteer with special needs children..." my unease falters somewhat when the crowd begins to lightly cheer. "I strive to do the best in everything I do. It's the very least I can do."

"Mhm...I think that people who are watching can agree with your explanation." Marceline says while nodding. "Do you have any words for your family watching at home? Your friends?"

"Just keep on keeping on. I'll try my best to get back to you. Joy, Aurumn, help Papa take care of Mamá. Gods know that she must be having a fit right now." I gulp back the urge to tear up when the audience laughs as if anything about this is. "Miguel, give Jorge a break for me please?"

Marceline nods as the audience applauds. "Seems like a sweet message to me. Speaking of back home, so you say that you're a sporty person? Would you say that helped with that training score you got?"

"Yes. If need be, I believe I could step up to the plate and play these Games on part like the rest of them."

"I don't think it's a matter of "Need be", unless you want to be the next Piper Malveaux or Koller Ascort."

I nod. "You're right. I am more than able to step up, I mean."

"That's more like it. Those two victors are great and all, but I prefer tributes with a liiiitle bit more grit to them, am I right or am I right?" more cheers from audience. "Now, to wrap things up, apparently you were in one alliance with the Three female, but you guys split? Why?"

At first I begin to feel sadness...then indifference. I had found something far better than an alliance of two weak girls who happened to be the youngest. "She thought she'd be better off without me. Good luck I say, loners don't really last too long..."

"I see, I'll have to get her side after." "And what about this new pack of yours? Six whole people...what are your thoughts?"

"Well, they all seem very nice so far, especially Ludra. Latinos from Isla Nieve are a lot different from mainlanders..." I reply.

"How so?"

"They're a very animated people." I say, snickering when the audience bursts into a chorus of laughter.

Marceline claps her hands together. "I think time and time again, they've proven that. I can't help but agree wholeheartedly." She says. Her joyful tone quickly replaced with one of seriousness as she leans forward on her desk. "But 'being nice' has a volatile expiry date in a Hunger Games setting. Are you sure you can trust any of them?"

My mind flashes to that of Linden and his authoritative tone when discussing anything really. Ludra was always bubbly and eager...too much sometimes. Geo and Chris were ok though... "I'd imagine so? If any of them want to see their loved ones, we'd have to keep each other close for as long as possible."

"That's an interesting perspective." Marceline comments, "Let's see if it holds true once the gong goes off."

Moving from her desk in one swift motion, she collects me from the sofa and presents me to the audience at-large.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Laelia Alvarado, Laelia, thank you for the wonderful talk! See you out there tomorrow!"

Emmanuel Cade, 22
District Ten Male

"Alright, the next tribute is a little of an enigma – the type of tribute that we sit on until the finale and then they're there and we're all like..."Hey, this guy is still alive?""

I roll my eyes as the audience bursts out with laughter, taking hold of the metal banner in anticipation of my name being called. As stupid as the entire thing is, I don't want to end up like the gentleman from Snow Island, who had yet to return to the lounge.

Once this gong show is done, I'm one step closer to actually playing and hopefully surviving their Game.

"Let's see if we can pick his brain, please join me in welcoming Emmanuel Cade – the male tribute for District 10!"

I bound up the steps, shielding my eyes as I enter onto the stage proper. They adjust fairly quickly, as I find myself pumping the hand of Marceline Devereaux. A hunter's intuition can apply to other walks of life. It has shown me that one's lips can't be so loose around her ears.

"Looking fine, Mr. Cade." Marceline comments, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. "Your stylists are going all out with the District 10 culture."

Her observation wasn't wrong. I've never worn such fine material – a gray suit with a bolo tie, sky blue shirt and matching pocket square. When she invites me to sit down, I do so with the utmost care.

"Don't worry Emmanuel, the seat doesn't bite."

"Forgive me, Marceline. I don't want to crease the material." I say with a hesitant laugh, though the crowd seems to find the situation more amusing than I, judging by how loud they are as they laugh along.

"I don't blame you. Your people are a very practical one, so suits may be off the menu." Marceline replies. "Speaking of, Emmanuel, you offer a far different perspective than the rest of the tributes. Care to tell us why?"

"I belong to the Navajo Nation, which as you could imagine, allows me a free range of pursuits fit for a Hunger Games-like setting." I answer, earning "Ooohs" from the audience.

"I know many-a-thing about your tribe." I've spent many months studying you guys in my university days. I imagine people have been giving you hell about that hair of yours."

"Not many people share your knowledge, that's for sure." I comment, caressing the tsiiyéé – bun – my hair was styled into. "The escort for our district – Harriet Blakely – is another one. She knows to style one."

The cameras pan down the row of escorts and victors, holding at Annabelle and the young woman in question. Annabelle elbows her, prompting Harriet to smile and wave bashfully.

"Harriet Blakely is indeed a special case, all our escorts are interesting people indeed, ha ha ha!" "So, tell me about home. I imagine that you're the provider?"

"Yes, however I wouldn't say I'm the sole provider." I begin. "I hunt at the national park with my brother and sister, Nathaniel and Rosanna. And then we have Tara and Damaris – my younger siblings. All of us work together to run a pelt shop in our local market."

"So I imagine that you're quite the hunter...Would that translate into the Games well? The Gamemakers seem to think so, or so they tell me."

"I'd imagine it could. It may be a jarring experience but when it comes to family...I would do anything."

"Mhm...And you seem like the type of guy who means what he says." Marceline says over the applause of the audience. "Speaking of 'family'...Heh heh, word has it that yours is of the troublemaking type..."

"That is news to me, Marceline." I say to the host, images of a snide man with slick blond hair and beady blue eyes cross my mind. "Tell me...was it a man by the name of Jamison who told you such information?"

"Yes, actually, and a couple of his buddies in his unit." Marceline replies, jutting a pen towards me. "It wouldn't be too far from the truth, as native populations nationwide seem to have a penchant for fighting against the Capitol...despite all the goodwill we show."

"I don't see that goodwill being shown to me at all, actually." I snipe back, reclining into the couch as the audience gasps. How dare I attack their Capitol so brazenly!?

Opposite of what I'd expect, Marceline quirks a brow while waving a hand toward the audience. "Now now guys, please, explain. Unlike Mr. Marcenas, you seem logical with your disagreement."

"Thank you Marceline." I reply, inclining my head. "I imagine that the Capitol is an open-minded community, right? You trust one another. You all get along most of the time."

"Yeah...that seems about right." Marceline nods. "Except those #TeamDistrictOne people...I don't like em."

"How can the Capitol expect civility all the time, if there's no unity within the districts – at least mine?" I continue, shrugging. "My people are shoved into the dirt at every given opportunity. Everything we do, we have to do ten times harder than everyone else. So when naysayers like Jamison come to our kiosk and harass us into not doing business, simply because of the colour of our skin, what else is there to do but be uncivil back? The same thing can be said for the War – when you said our people have a penchant for rebelling. If the Capitol enforced the same amount of community as it does well...here, Ten and Panem would be far better off."

Marceline nods, as do many other faces in the crowd. "I see...Many districts seem to have that problem."

I shrug. "I led a good life in Ten, I have a family I adore and four friends from all walks of life I am thankful for. Ask them, I have no anarchistic bone in my body...all I ask for is fairness. I think that's something we can all agree on."

"Mhm...He's mysterious and sage." Marceline muses over the light cheering and applause. "Maybe it's all that tea you're drinking. I heard that you served some up for the Gamemakers the other day, so I thought I'd order some up for myself...Hephaestus?!"

The crowd's cheers intensify a burly, dark-skinned man wearing a waiter uniform enters onto the stage. In his hands is a platter with two piping mugs of tea, one for me and one for Marceline. The crowd goes quiet as she takes a tentative sip. Smacking her lips, the host nods in approval.

"And it's good!" she cheers, much to the delight of the spectators.

"It has a tendency of making one mellow, yes. I'm charmed you enjoy it."

"Someone will be living lavishly in the arena, that's for sure." Marceline jokes, placing the cup down as her features become serious. "But in all seriousness, you seem prepared for what's coming. How are you feeling personally, heading into all this?"

I simply shake my head, bringing my lips to the mug to sip. "I have nothing to lose in that area, Miss Devereaux. I have a lot to live for outside of the Games and I'd like to get back to that."

"...And something tells me that the probability of that happening is fairly good." Marceline replies, rising out of her chair and raising her mug towards me. "Emmanuel Cade everyone, we look forward to your performance tomorrow and the days following!"

Buttoning my blazer, I rise to my feet, offering a kind wave and a tip of my mug before turning heel and escaping backstage. That certainly could've ended on a worse note.

Hermia Rhodes, 52
District Nine Female

"We've arrived at District 9! Nine is usually a fairly quaint district, as we all know. But this year seems to have brought us an interesting duo this time 'round. Representing the female half of this pair, may I present to you the proprietor of Fargo-Rhodes Wine & Spirits - Hermia Rhodes!"

Vera returns from her interview, settling into her seat across from me without a word. Her face was stony, her eyes unfocused and her skin a step above its unnaturally pale pigmentation.

"Hey kid," Verona asked. "You haven't seen Ricardo out there have you...?"

I shook my head, wasn't it obvious? Vera said nothing as she caressed her temples while her eyes began to water. As I turned my head towards the doors, I barely caught the attendant eyes as he turned to head out once more.

With that in mind, I cautiously enter the stage proper, offering the host a cordial smile as we shake hands. She seems to reflect my gesture – seems – as the smile never reaches those cold blue eyes of hers.

"I see you're a no-frills woman." She comments, regarding my outfit – a sleeveless cream blouse and navy skirt with a pair of cream loafers. It's something you'd see on the street, more so than an event like this.

I find myself shrugging. "I'm a grown woman Marceline. I'm not much for trends, like you for example."

"Fair enough," As the crowd chuckles, Marceline raises her hands in faux-surrender. "Come, sit, I think we should get right into it."

I take my seat, folding one leg over the other. Unlike these younger folks, she won't get past me with those methods of hers. "Alright then."

"Hermia...you're a long way from home, aren't you?" she begins, downing the rest of her tea from the previous session.

I nod. "You could say that."

She gestures to the crowd, her eyes not leaving me. "Do you mind elaborating for the audience?"

"I was born and raised in District 2, but currently live in District 9 because I was stranded..."

"...After fighting for the rebellion, right." She finished abruptly, prompting the crowd to murmur. "What made you take up arms?"

"Well," I start, attempting to keep my voice level. "During the War's lead up, I began to question everything I've been taught. Were Twos really coveted and appreciated by the Capitol, or just expendable lapdogs?"

"Your verdict...?"

"Unfortunately the latter...I've seen far too much to be proven otherwise." powering through their booing, I continue. "I was caught up in the Mockingjay's wake. I thought I could make a difference. Obviously it didn't work and I'm paying for that."

"That's a fair observation. War is hell, as some might say. You're entitled to your opinion." Marceline relents, shushing the crowd with a simple wave. "Have you spoken to your parents since the War?"

"No." I answer. Post-War Panem was a mess. I was in no shape to even try and go home let alone in good standing to even ask.

"Well, I can gladly let you know that they – and your siblings – are ok." Reports Marceline, "In fact, many of your nieces are nephews are cadets themselves."

"That's nice." I reply evenly. "I'm glad they're doing well over there."

Knowing about them now only gives me more people to worry about. Even if I am basically now just a distant member of the family, what I do affects them.

"And what about you, I hear you had twins yourself?"

"Yes, I have twin daughters, Felicity and Esther." I answer her, stifling the urge to roll my eyes as the crowd "Awwhs". "They're grown young people now. I'm supposed to be a grandparent very soon. It'd be nice if I could get back to that."

"And regardless of your past, you seemed to have bounced back." Marceline smirks. From under her table she retrieves a bottle of my wine, pouring a glass out for herself. "You opened a brewery of all things. How'd you get that idea?"

"Well, it was a dream of sorts that my late partner and I thought up."

Marceline nods as she takes a sip, inspecting the bottle's labeling. "I see. He was..."

"Killed during the war, yes." I interject tersely. A discordant mixture of hovercraft screaming through the skies, panicked cries of "Gas, gas, gas!" being yelled, gagging, children crying, retching and coughing suddenly fill my ears once more while my mind is overtaken by a thick, white mushroom-shaped cloud blooming over a city.

Marceline leans back in her chair. "That's quite unfortunate. But I think we can both agree that he would be very happy to see you where you are now."

I nod. Suure...I highly doubt that, but ok. "Thank you Marceline, I'd like to think that too."

"Let's bring things to the present now." She says. "You seem like a level-headed person, Hermia. So why is it that you decided to truck with Ricardo Marcenas and the dubious Veradisia Smith? You have a lot of people back home waiting and it'd be a real drag if..."

"What makes you think I'm a threat?" I counter. "What makes you think we're a threat?"

"What was that meeting about in the hallway outside the gymnasium...?" she queries with a wide smirk. "What did she mean by wanting to have 'like-minded' people by her side?"

Ah jeez. The crowd gasps, and the mask falls now, as I purse my lips and glance around at the various members of the audience break out into animated chatter. Marceline pours some more wine into her tumbler, that smug smirk never leaving her lips.

"One dissident is nothing...having multiple is a recipe for disaster." Marceline continues, shaking her head as she sips from the glass once more. "And I can't understand for the life of me..."

"For me personally, it's all about protection in numbers." I counter. I knew what I was getting into saying yes to them, but I'm not privy to their thoughts. "I'm fifty-two years old, Marceline. The entire alliance is old...er. Isn't being hypersensitive about us a little much?"

Marceline jostles her head from side-to-side, swirling the amber liquid in the glass. "Okay. I'll give you that one. So...I suppose you're in it for the long haul then?"

"That's the plan. I'm simply playing the game like everyone else." I answer. "I'm no-frills, like you said."

Sighing, Marceline folds her hands on her stomach. "Ok Hermia, I believe you. Unfortunately, we are out of time, although I enjoyed our conversation here tonight."

"Thank you for the chat, Marceline." I reply, inclining my head. "I'm glad I wasn't burned at the stake."

Marceline smirks as the audience chuckles. "Hermia Rhodes, everyone!"

As I turn and make my way backstage, I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding. It was a plain interview, all things considered. Which means everyone will most likely forget it by the end of the night – which means that I can breathe freely...for now at least.

Lars Malatic, 36
District Nine Male

"That wasn't too bad, was it—?" Marceline asks to light applause. "Now I know that many of you have been dying to –"

Just as I make my way towards the stage, Hermia comes bounding down the steps with a brooding expression. It softens though when our eyes meet.

"Did you warm 'em up for me?" I ask jokingly.

"They're all yours." She replies with a soft smile on her face as she gestures to the stage. "Good luck, jailbird."

"Please welcome our next tribute—" Marceline's voice is drowned out by the cheers. Though I can't see it, I could imagine the cringe on her face. "Jeez Louise, I didn't even introduce the man yet and you guys are already getting wound up! The people can't contain themselves, Lars Malatic, get on out here!"

You'd think a man of my status in Panem would be booed and pelted with trash...but instead the cheers and shrieks I receive from men and women equally as I enter the stage are something else entirely.

...I think my ears popped.

"Yeah, uh, good evenin'. Thanks for havin' me." I say with a single wave. Is it possible for the cheers to get any louder?

"Welcome to the show, Lars." Marceline purrs. "As you've just witnessed, we've been dying to make your acquaintance."

"Is that so?" I reply, taking my seat and smirking towards the cheering audience.

"Well, it's not every day we get a jailbird as tribute in the Hunger Games." Marceline continues, swirling a finger towards my clothes. "I see your stylists had a lot of fun there."

A black and white striped suit, black dress shirt, black boots...Y'don't say? "It's a little on the nose, if you ask me."

"It suits you very well, if I may say so myself..." Marceline breathes with a chuckle, flashing me one of her big, white smiles. "You're a real biscuit, isn't he ladies?"

The women in the audience let out a racket of flirty giggles.

Elizabeth's voice floods my thoughts. "I know they aren't your forte, but just roll with it."

I smile, though it's anything but genuine. They don't seem to be any the wiser, though. "Thank you Marceline, ladies."

"What is a handsome fella like you in for? Breaking too many hearts?"

"No Marceline," I reply, a hesitant snicker escaping my lips while the audience's cat calls flow my way. "It was because of trafficking."

Marceline quirks a brow as the audience gasps mildly. "Trafficking?"

"It was either that or wastin' away on a street corner." I say with a shrug.

Marceline hums, her mouth obscured by her fists. "I take it your early life didn't consist of baseball and cartoons?"

"No, not at all." I reply. More like constant shrieking and stinging hands. "It was my only choice."

"Surely there were other options, but that doesn't really matter now, does it?" Marceline says. "Apparently there were more actors in your arrest than you let on. Care to explain?"

"Yes, there was someone else – a friend – involved with me..." I answer. "Her name is Eleanor, a dish of a girl if you ever saw her. If I didn't find her, I probably wouldn't be here at all. She's the type of person t'keep you up while you were down."

"She was caught red handed with you...yet you essentially shouldered the blame. Why?"

"Like I said, she was the looker – she could fit in anywhere. She wasn't the one cracking skulls or breakin' windows. She had dreams, so...I let'er live 'em. She's studying t'become a nurse now."

Heh, applause...Who would've thunk?

"How humble of you." Marceline remarks over the applause of the audience. "Don't you have dreams of your own?"

"'Course...But how will I see 'em though in sitting behind bars?" I reply. "Volunteering was the only solution."

"And who brought you to that conclusion...Eleanor?"

"Her and another friend of mine – Micah – he's the Three behind the whole thing." I say, chuckling at the slang used to describe him. It was true though. He's never been wrong about anything. "Although one of my friends – Benji – he wasn't so keen."

"I know that tone of voice." Marceline teases with a waggle of her finger. "Tell me about Benji, Lars."

"He's like my other half. We both want the same things in life, y'know? If he's watching, I'd like to let him know to keep on keepin' on no matter what happens."

"Okay pack it in ladies, Lars hays eyes for someone else!" Marceline laments. The entirety of the arena follows her stead as they moan out with supposed sadness. "And so here we are now. The Gamemakers and trainers alike are fairly impressed with your performance. Have any alliances scouted you?"

"The Careers wanted me, but I declined them."

"You declined them..." Marceline ponders.

"They're a little too hardcore for me..."

Marceline smirks. "Wasn't prison pretty hardcore?"

"Yeah, I suppose you're right." I respond, earning soft laughter from the crowd. "If prison has taught me anything, though, it's that a guy has to be calculating about his actions. If there's an opportunity to work with someone once the gong goes off, I'd probably take it...though I can't blame them for being apprehensive about teaming with a criminal."

"That's a fair perception of your situation. I think if you were to run it alone, you'd be fine." Marceline says. The host swivels in her chair, the smile she wore on the spin around was now a look of curiosity. "However...a lot of prospective sponsors and fans alike are a little cautious of you."

"That's fair." I shrug. More laughter from the audience.

"A man of your status doesn't exactly give off a 'model citizen' vibe...Are you just one more tribute we may have to worry about?"

I shrug again, a slight smile on my face. "Hey, why would I volunteer if I didn't want to be a model citizen? I'm thankful that the Capitol even allowed me to volunteer in the first place. So if I won, I guess I'd owe you guys one."

"Well there you have it folks! If you ask me, Lars Malatic is clear to back!" Marceline lets out a joyful guffaw, clapping her hands together as she leaves her seat, takes me by the shoulder and guides me to the front of the stage. "Lars, I'm afraid we've come to the end of our time."

"Thanks you for the opportunity, Marceline."

"Thank you, Lars, for providing a gas of a session." Marceline replies with a wink, raising my fist into the air with one hand and gesturing to me with the other. "Ladies and gentlemen, give it up for Lars Malatic!"

Using my open hand to wave towards members of the audience, my eyes catch Sindy and Elizabeth as the both of them raise their thumbs in approval. I smile.

If that ain't success, I don't know what is.