The Interviews
Cyrellia Willis
Second in Command, Gamemaker
It's like the wailing never stops.
The baby's…not anyone else's, of course. Cyrellia would never debase herself to the point of mulling over other people's misery. Not anymore.
But right now, her head echoes with the cries of her newborn, even though she's miles away. Cyrellia rubs at her forehead, and sighs tiredly.
Motherhood never ceases to amaze her. At least her husband has been agreeable, as of lately. Not that he has much of a choice… she's a Gamemaker, so she's got a lot on her plate right now. Being safely tucked away at their luxurious apartment with the kids is the least he can do, while she stays up until ungodly hours of the morning, working tirelessly for this whole event to work the way it's supposed to. In a way, these Games are as much her flesh and blood as her own children.
The chatter in the crowd makes the throbbing in her head worse, but she powers through it.
At the same time, the anthem of Panem blares out from the orchestra pit, sweeping over the gigantic theater.
And just like that, the interviews begin in earnest.
Cira Dupont glides with grace in a breathtaking floor-length backless dress of a smoky pink color. The elation is clear on her face, but doesn't quite reach her eyes.
Philostrate D'Amour greets her, his energy hitting seemingly unachievable levels. The show runner had always been a peculiar and eccentric man, but he always kept the attention of the public, and that's what mattered.
Cyrellia rubs at her eyes, wondering how a man like Philostrate can exude that much energy on a constant basis. It must be the fact that he doesn't have any kids.
"Greetings to our first tribute on-stage tonight! Cira Dupont, all the way from our darling District 1."
The applause deafens Cyrellia momentarily, as the girl from One smiles delicately when Philostrate kisses her hand.
They exchange pleasantries, and Cyrellia zones them out, her eyes shifting over to the adjacent booth where Milo is seated, his back straight as a ruler.
"How does it feel to have a lower score than your… ehm, if I dare say, more impressive district partner?"
Cira's smile doesn't falter, but Cyrellia catches that beautiful self-doubt, like a hawk. That's why they had given Cira a lower score.
Truth be told, Cira was clearly as skilled as her allies from Two and her own District partner. It's her self-esteem that ultimately tanked her. She deserved a ten, but … how could they pass up an opportunity to feed into her feelings of inadequacy?
Cyrellia was a hunting hound when it came to things like this. Milo had disapproved, silently of course. But she argued that the girl would perform best under these circumstances and that was the end of it.
Either way, it'll create interesting dynamics and drama in the arena, Cyrellia is sure of it.
Philostrate leads Cira to the right edge of the stage, kissing her knuckles once again as she waves at the crowd with the other hand.
Ambrox Linden takes the stage in an elegant black suit, his undershirt the same color as Cira's dress. Clipped to his breast is a beautiful rose of a pale pink.
"My dearest Ambrox! The crowd is absolutely dying to hear your story. Aren't we?"
Ambrox smiles charmingly, winking at the front row. Philostrate doesn't even let the boy speak, before throwing himself into gushing over the District One tribute's score.
"We have an absolute legend on stage tonight, my dear friends! As the highest-scoring tribute in these games, how confident are you about your chances?"
Ambrox leans back, and Cyrellia must take a moment to appreciate the minute precision with which every one of his movements are executed. Jasmyn is one hell of a mentor, she'll give her that.
"Well, Philostrate…"
"Call me Philo, we're all friends here!"
"Philo, you see, I believe that the scores are a great metric, but the more days that pass in the Games, the less they matter. And I am certain that my allies and I will be there for a while. We're in this together. A lot of people seem to gloss over the fact that loyalty means everything to our District, and Cira and I both will do our utmost best to uphold a standard to be proud of."
The boy really is eloquent.
An absolutely compulsive liar, if Cyrellia has ever seen one, but an enticingly eloquent one. She doesn't doubt for a minute that he could slit every single throat in the arena if it meant glory and acceptance.
Seeva Andino walks up on stage, all confidence and quiet accomplishment. She towers over Philostrate, in her platform heels. Her red pantsuit ends mid-calf, showing off the muscles underneath her caramel skin.
Philostrate picks up on her assuredness and decides to mess with it. Cyrellia frowns for a moment; Philostrate might be great at his job, but the way he seems to make the girls' lives harder on purpose… it just rubs her the wrong way.
"If you weren't a tribute in these Games, what would you do?"
The question clearly throws Seeva off from the way she smiles, her lips pursed in thought.
She doesn't rush to an answer, as so many other tributes are wont to do under pressure.
She is like a tidal wave, Cyrellia thinks, or a towering mountain. Absolutely unshakable.
"I think I'd be a baker," the girl decides on, eliciting laughter from the audience. Smart.
Humor is clearly not the angle she had practiced for, but the pair of Victors from District 2 are good at what they do. Not as good as Jasmyn, with her almost-neurotic attention to detail and knack for a dozen contingency plans. But the people of District 2 play on something else entirely, and it works just as well: honesty. Cyrellia watched intently as Seeva played along with Philostrate, smiling proudly as she left the stage.
"Please welcome Luther Szeto!"
The male volunteer from District 2 stalks up on stage, his strides precise and cutting the air like blades. Cyrellia leans in, despite herself. Athena might not be happy about his volunteering, but Cyrellia is certain he is going to be a god in the arena, if he makes it past the unpredictability of the Bloodbath.
Philostrate decides to zoom in on Luther's personal life, and strangely enough, his exasperation on the fact that he couldn't cut off the skin on his elbow to show his near-immunity to pain. Apparently, that was a running joke, now.
"What do you think of your allies?" Philostrate chimes in, as a final question.
"They're great, actually," Luther answers, candidly. "They're going to make this extra fun, and I'm all for it. Can't wait."
The buzzer sounds, and Luther is replaced by Salamandra Mitch of District 3.
The seventeen-year-old volunteer. She was quite intriguing, if not a little too… savage and emotional for Cyrellia's taste.
"Salamandra, I'm so glad to finally share the floor with you!" Philostrate exclaims, welcoming the lithe and extremely tall girl to sit. Her hair is sleeked upwards, so different from the usual curly chaotic mess she usually has. It's painted silver, just like her dress and lipstick.
"Now, and I'm sure everyone here shares the sentiment… Who is the mystery girl who visited you before you left? Is she your illegitimate daughter? The rumors have been running wild!"
Cyrellia would spend her entire monthly wage to immortalize the scowl that appears on Salamandra's face.
"I mean…"
The entire theater waits with bated breath as Salamandra gathers an appropriate response.
"I guess if you consider someone that you cared for since you were 4 years old, a toddler really, like their own child after they were forcefully cut out of your own mother… If that's your twisted fucked-up notion of an illegitimate daughter, then sure, that fits the bill quite nicely."
Salamandra takes a breath, leaning forward. Even sitting, her tight-fit dress exacerbates the pointy edges of her hip bones. In that moment, she is wrath itself. Cyrellia turns to Milo, who is frowning at the girl on-stage.
"Like, damn, I should have gotten the notice of that when we repeatedly got stuck in foster care and I was almost separated from her indefinitely, because I wasn't considered her legal guardian!"
The entire crowd is silent.
Salamandra leans back, and the cockiness is back. The anger is still there, but it's under the surface, hidden in an instant under layers of self-assured calm.
"I'm just kidding guys, y'all really do love to gossip. It's my little sister Nambie. Hey Nambie! Hope you're good!"
The viewers laugh nervously as Salamandra waves at the self-stabilizing floating cameras.
Cassius Fleur is next, and Cyrellia is disheartened at his outfit.
He hobbles on stage in a bright orange suit, clearly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of thousands of people. He shields his eyes from the glaring lights as Philostrate beckons him forward.
"Would you describe yourself as a stereotypical Three, Cassius?"
The boy is taken aback by the random question, but he recovers fairly quickly. He's funny, Cyrellia realizes. And smart. And extremely awkward.
It's charming in a way, and the crowd actually eats up his stage presence, as quirky and uncomfortable as he looks. He finds a way to weave in a story or two about his family.
"There's Rye, back home, who's rooting for me. Him and my mom."
"We all remember Rye, it was really emotional at the Reaping, wasn't it, folks?" Philostrate sighs dramatically, and a ripple of agreement travels through the crowd.
Cyrellia can see Philostrate itching to ask the questions… why didn't his brother volunteer? Does Cassius feel any inadequacy at the revelation that his own brother wouldn't save him?
But somehow Cassius keeps him off-topic, subtly. It's mesmerizing to see the master of show-hosting be played like this. In that moment, Cyrellia forms the opinion that she likes the boy, contrarily to his District partner.
"Welcome to the stage our lovely Orla Ferraris from District 4!"
Orla's floor-length dress is of a deep green color, in stark contrast with her milk-white skin. Her neck is adorned by an expensive-looking emerald necklace, and the long sleeves of her dress sparkle with sewn-on gemstones. Her almond-shaped eyes are traced with dark green eyeliner which makes them even more expressive than they usually are.
"All of our volunteers have very intimate, and frankly, great reasons to have come here…" Philostrate begins, his tone conspiratorial.
Orla sniffs, like a privileged child that just has been told that they were accepted into a prestigious school. She inspects her nails, while maintaining an austere look of dignified pride.
"Can you please enlighten us with your own reason?"
"Well, Philo, it was a long time coming, and honestly it doesn't help when your crappy parents lie to you your whole life!"
She comes off incredibly childish and off-key, and that does not resonate with the audience.
"It isn't often that tributes trash their own parents on-stage!" Philostrate counters pragmatically, making wild eyes at the audience.
Orla launches herself into an extremely superficial and unnecessarily complicated explanation, to the crowd's dismay. Even from her private balcony, Cyrellia can smell the arrogance coming off of Orla. Undeservedly so, she might add, considering the girl seemed absolutely useless during the Gamemaker's sessions.
Cyrellia specifically instructed Philostrate to poke at this particular pain-point, but unfortunately the buzzer rings before he can cut in. Cyrellia exhales in disappointment that Orla continues talking, even as she is escorted off-stage.
Talk about being deaf to social cues, Cyrellia messages Milo on their private line.
Tell me about it, he replies almost-instantly, and she catches him rolling his eyes at her in mock-exasperation.
Scout Trinian is brought on stage, and his hands visibly shake from the nerves.
"Anything in particular you'd like to tell us?" the show host prompts, trying to get anything out of the nervous little boy.
"Um… can I talk about my allies, I guess?" Scout ventures. For once, Philostrate doesn't throw unnecessary hurdles at the tribute. Probably because it wouldn't yield any intrigue whatsoever.
"Roizer's really nice. If you ask him, he'll show you his stories! Or ahh…" Scout glances off-stage quickly, "maybe I wasn't supposed to say that, but he's actually really talented. And um, oh Cassie, Cassius from District 3 was really nice to me after my really bad Gamemaker's session."
The crowd laughs, and there's a few ladies that grab at their chests, smitten by the cute boy.
Emboldened by the positive response, Scout continues, "Yeah so now we're just trying to figure everything out, and we'll probably be in an alliance!"
"I understand Cassius, but do you really think someone as old and experienced as Bexley would accept the two of you?" Philostrate asks as the buzzer rings. Scout's lips tremble as he isn't even given the opportunity to answer the question.
"Let's switch it up a little bit, to keep this fresh!"
Philostrate crosses the stage and takes Andrew Vickens from District 5 by the arm. He is dressed in a beautiful marine blue suit, and glitter is dusted over the scarred patterns on his face, giving him an ethereal look.
Without missing a beat, Andrew beams at the audience. Many people scream his name, and even before Philostrate has the opportunity to introduce him, Andrew takes control of the stage.
"Settle down, settle down, you don't have to scream so loud, I'm not deaf, you know!"
The crowd erupts into laughter.
"So, Andrew - "
"Call me Andy, being formal is for Careers and losers," Andrew interrupts. "When Mara comes on, you can go ahead and just call her M, she won't mind I swear on my life."
The cameras pan off-stage on a fuming Mara Griffith for humorous effect, and the crowd wheezes collectively out of laughter.
"What, is she scowling at me? I wouldn't know, I can't see shit! And what I can't see won't hurt me, right?" Andy laughs, as he clumsily fails to dodge the mock-attack punches Philostrate throws his way.
Cyrellia finds herself cackling to this boy's strange brand of dark humor.
A friendly back-and-forth ensues between the two men on-stage, and Cyrellia is momentarily transported out of the Hunger Games she helped orchestrate into the kind of comedy sit-com she used to enjoy as a girl. Something like sympathy stirs deep in her chest.
"I wouldn't turn a blind-eye on us just yet," Andrew jokes in his finishing statement as the buzzer goes off.
There's something about this kid, Cyrellia decides.
"Mara Griffith to the forefront of our show, or may I say, M?"
"I highly suggest you don't," Mara replies through gritted teeth, keeping her head high as she approaches the show host.
The temperature in the giant theater feels like it drops ten degrees in a single instant. Everyone is hanging on to her every word.
"Onto more serious things," Philostrate begins, wiping away a fake tear from his right eye.
"We all saw the positive reaction your district had to your Reaping. It was… highly unusual, to say the least. Did District 5 suddenly understand the value of these Games, or was there something else at play?"
Cyrellia sees the girl tense up, her lips forming a straight line on her face. Her heterochrome irises shimmer under the lights.
"I … I caused a lot people to die."
"A murderess in our midst!" Philostrate whispers in shock, as the murmurs pick up in the stunned crowd.
"I'm not a murderess," Mara clarifies mournfully, wringing her hands together before folding them on her lap. Her short black dress shows off her long legs and perilously needlelike high heels. "We're the power district, and … well my dad, he…"
She stops, gathering herself.
"I distracted him at work, and there was a huge disaster at our main powerplant that could have been prevented if he had been paying attention. A lot of people were killed."
Philostrate is at the edge of his seat, seemingly hanging onto every word Mara is saying.
"That's why Andy is the way he is, yes?"
Mara nods, her wards back up. She jerks her hand away as Philostrate tries to comfort her.
"How do you feel about living with the notion that first you crippled him, and then by proxy robbed him of a chance to escape death in the arena?"
Mara remains silent and cold for the rest of the interview even as Philostrate keeps prodding at her personal life, and when the buzzer sounds her heels click with a regularity which indicates that she has practiced this walk multiple times with her mentor.
Cyrellia makes a mental note to congratulate Triss on his tribute training. Things like that must be encouraged, after all.
"Roizer Loudon from District 6 is fortunate to join us tonight!"
The younger boy is dressed up in a black suit and a red tie. He stumbles ahead, towards Philostrate.
As he walks, Cyrellia realizes that he isn't stumbling so much as he's oddly jumping, one leg jerking up a little bit higher than the other. During the Gamemaker's session, he actually displayed remarkable skills in terms of memory and shelter-building, all of which were marred by his constant jerking and odd movements.
"So, kiddo, tell me. What's up with all this jerking?" Philostrate mimics grotesquely the boy in front of him, who becomes red.
Highly inappropriate.
"I-It's… I – I have tics. It's… it's like an i-involuntary hab-b-it," Roizer slowly enunciates, clearly struggling harder than usual due to the huge amount of people in front of him.
"An involuntary habit," the man in front of him echoes, almost mocking.
Cyrellia purses her lips at this. Digging up dirt on tributes and provoking them is one thing. Laughing at disability without the tribute's consent is another. Unacceptable.
What might people suffering from debilitating tics, stutters or Tourette's in the Capitol think?
She jots down a note on her phone, to make sure to mention it to Quill later.
"Scout t-told you ab-about stories I write," Roizer opens up, trying to ignore Philostrate's intimidating gaze. "I wr-wr-write about s-superheroes, and-and I'd l-love to show you all."
The audience grows bored but Roizer soldiers on, and Cyrellia feels relief flooding her entire system as he is replaced by his district partner.
Daisy Jackson takes the stage, her movements sluggish. She is covered from head to toe in fabric that hides her greyish and hole-riddled skin. A strategic move.
It seems as though they caked on makeup by the gallon, onto her face. It has a healthy tint to it, her lips painted a lovely pink, while her hair is elegantly placed on top of her head in an elaborate knot, making it appear to have volume.
"Drama in the Capitol!" The man in front of her announces loudly in the microphone, and the slip of girl flinches away. "I've heard some scandalous things, but nothing as scandalous as… a tribute procuring drugs from an Avox!"
The Capitolites in the crowd boo at Daisy, and her eyes fill with tears.
"I didn't!"
"Oh, that's not the story we've heard, young lady," Philostrate launches himself into a passionate diatribe. "You earned yourself a respectable score of 5, before the Gamemakers realized you were under the influence because of your… peculiar behavior."
"I wasn't -" Daisy starts, before being interrupted.
"Were you aware of the fact that drug trafficking by Avoxes is punishable by death? You must feel pretty lucky, having gotten away with losing only one point on your score, young lady!"
Cyrellia remembered debating that punishment over with the other Gamemakers. They had found the girl's addiction an interesting plot-point to exploit, and one of the younger Gamemakers suggested the idea.
It didn't matter much if she was under the influence or not during her session. They just had to get the conversation started.
"It's my normal behavior," Daisy moans, putting her hands together in supplication. "You have to believe me."
The pathetic interview quickly ends, but the seeds of doubt are sown. Cyrellia is satisfied by the result, throwing a thumbs up at Milo.
Milo Zimmermann
Games Organization, Design and Analysis (G.O.D.A.) Director, Gamemaker
The influx of last-minute edits on his tablet kept popping up, even as the tributes took the stage. The work never stopped, until the moment the Games were completed, and the Victor was removed safely from the arena.
The Games design was a highly iterative process, and no one knew it as well as Milo did.
He was momentarily distracted, as the District 7 boy took the stage.
"Logan Arteficavitch, everybody!" Philostrate intonates as he clasps the boy's hand firmly in his own.
"It's good to be here," Logan responds, a little awkwardly, but Milo lets it slide. It's hard to be in the spotlight, for most people.
"We've been so curious about your tight-knit alliance, and the strategy you guys have come up with, to face the adversity of the Games."
Logan beams at Philostrate.
"Well, you'll see more about our strategy in the Games, but I can assure you that we're going to do great in… in there. We've got each other and a solid plan. We're all complimentary… and each of us bring something unique to the table. You'll just have to see, and support us."
"And what happens in the end? Are you planning on backstabbing your allies?"
Genuine confusion momentarily clouds Logan's handsome features.
"I don't understand what you mean."
Philostrate throws a knowing glance at the audience, and shifts towards Logan, "to put it plainly, there's betrayal written all over your alliance."
"You're absolutely wrong, and we will prove it to you," Logan defends his friends with a foul-hardy passion that makes Milo smile.
The effort is very clear, but in spite of that, the boy just seems so… boring and plain. He's got skills, and a nice alliance to play off of, but Milo isn't sure how long that will play out in his favor.
As Morgana Foster takes the stage, a cluster of posters go up in the middle section of the theater. Milo squints at the sloppy letters on the white cardboard.
"Morgana Foster for Career of the Year, isn't that so?" Philostrate booms loudly as he reads the inscription. "Hailing all the way from District 7!"
Morgana waves at the crowd, smiling brightly.
"Wow, you guys are even more enthusiastic than I thought!"
The audience is elated to see her, partially because her score promised someone of reputable skill. Her quick integration into the Career alliance was another point of great interest.
Of course, Philostrate decides to go the asshole route, bless his rotten soul.
"You've clearly got a pretty large fanbase at the Capitol already, but can we safely say you've been a fan of the Careers since your childhood?"
Morgana chuckles, her laugh low and throaty.
"Yeah, I guess you could say something like that."
"You must be really honoured. You earned your place among them though, with a 9 for a score."
Morgana explains deftly her rags to riches aspirations, and why the Games are the perfect opportunity for a girl with big dreams like her, while touching base with the kind of patriotism required from typical Careers.
The way she structures her story is clever, if not a little rehearsed. The crowd loves her, regardless.
"So, if you could pick, who's your favorite alliance member?" Philostrate asks.
"They're all really great, honestly," Morgana gushes, smiling fondly off-stage. "It's been only a few days, and we're like a family."
Philostrate doesn't let off, prodding. "No, but if you had to pick. Let's say I'd hand you your Victor title right now if you pick your favorite."
Morgana is caught off-guard, opening and closing her mouth. It's subtle, but Milo discerns the panic in her slightly-narrowed eyes. She didn't think this through.
"I guess I like Seeva a lot… because we're both big foodies," she finally settles on, taking a deep breath. "They're all great, but none of them could eat as much random weird stuff as the both of us."
"Is it because you both had rebel roots that you desperately want to outgrow by winning this?"
The buzzer cuts off any potential answer.
Not fair, Morgana mouths at Philostrate as her hair hides her face from the general crowd.
"Next up, Jean Taylor from District 8, and my my, the fashion statement on this man! Let's give him a big round of applause."
The boy is feeding off of the energy of the room, dancing in on shiny lacquered shoes. He looks positively flamboyant, and completely in his element.
Philostrate picks up on the boy's enthusiasm and greets him warmly, sitting down together with him. The boy's suit is bright pink, with intricate patterns sewn into the lapels at the front.
"How are you liking the Capitol so far?"
"It honestly has been the silver lining in this entire situation," Jean admits, waving his hands for emphasis. "Everyone has been so nice, and it's so beautiful."
He blows a kiss at a particularly enthusiastic fan in the crowd, and the whole theater erupts in praise.
"It must be a huge difference from District 8," the announcer pushes, trying to get the tribute on the defensive.
Instead, Jean gushes about the amazing service and the district's escort. The camera pans to Lucretia, who is sending Jean air-kisses that he catches.
"Overall it's been pretty amazing," Jean admits. "I'd love to keep sharing this experience with you all. If I win, no, when I win, I'll be back here before you even notice I'm gone."
He garners a decent amount of claps from the crowd.
His District partner is much less forthcoming.
As Philostrate calls her up on stage, Bexley Ward stomps hurriedly towards the seat, her platform heels making loud clunky noises. Her dress is white, cinched at the waist, and for a moment she looks absolutely breathtaking.
But after a few restrictive steps, she huffs, hefts the dress up to her knees and grabs the fabric like a bunched-up rag she's about to throw out in the laundry, making her way to the announcer unimpeded.
The lack of proper etiquette and training from an experienced Victor is especially notable in her case, Milo notes down on his tablet. A lack of guidance can be particularly painful, throughout the Games.
"Forgive me, my dear, but I just can't wrap my head around the fact that you're only seventeen."
Bexley scoffs, jerking her head backwards. Everything about the girl is rough edges, Milo thinks. He likes her, and he finds it unfortunate that the majority of the crowd doesn't share his sentiment.
"Yeah, the orphan life sure ages you."
Philostrate waits a few more seconds for her to continue, but is met with a disagreeable stare.
"Speaking of orphans, ahem, we couldn't help but notice a horde of children escorted out after your goodbyes. Can you elaborate on who exactly they were? Are they orphans like you?"
"They're… my family that I found along the way."
"Are you concerned about their well-being?"
"Of course, I'm f- I'm very concerned. I'll fight my best to get back to them," Bex answers bluntly, crossing her arms. She's not one to mince words, or… you know… use them extensively at all.
Philostrate tuts his tongue across his pallet, patronizing.
"How could they possibly survive without you?"
"They can and they will, because if not I'll come back to whip their asses into shape. And if I die, you can bet I'll be haunting the goddamn house, and that means you won't be able to sleep in til' 10AM doing nothing, Renzo, you hear me?"
The small outburst is met with a few laughs from the audience.
After finishing with District 8, the show host reverts back to calling the girls up first.
"Our youngest female contestant Mona Tillery from District 9, please join us!"
The little girl tiptoes onto the stage, waving at the crowd that swoons collectively at her adorable demeanor. Her baby blue dress has frills and a beautiful bow at the front. She looks positively childish and fragile.
When Philostrate asks her about her family, Mona makes a little sad choked noise.
"I miss them s-so much. I just wish they were here with me, because I have no one to even hug, or tell them I love them, here," Mona sniffs.
"Oh, there there sweetheart, we all love you here," Philostrate attempts to console her, but the little girl is undeterred in her mission to show just how deeply shaken she is.
She cries bitterly, tears escaping her large eyes in droves. It's a tragic sight.
Usually unexpressive and stoic, Milo can't help but frown for the second time in minutes.
They actually discussed Mona's score extensively, since they had seen her perform much better during training. It was clear that when it came to her session with the Gamemakers, she severely downplayed her attributes and strengths.
Even now as she cries, Milo catches the small tell-tale signs of overacting. She is a little sycophant, but it's working like a charm on the audience.
"I love you all, ma', Arla, Zia, Georgina, and Barric."
Her voice breaks at the mention of her brother.
"You guys … I hope you know I'm sorry for everything bad I've ever done, I know I haven't always been the easiest one to deal with, but hopefully you will still root for me."
Milo hears a few particularly loud sobs coming from the audience, and when he shifts his eyes to the crowd, almost no one remains dry-eyed. Mona's heartbroken expression projected on the large screens across the theater exacerbates the aw's and poor thing's that travel across the audience.
The girl might be young, but she's clearly smart about her tactic.
Especially without a mentor, having worked out such a clear angle intuitively is impressive, and Milo vows to vouch for her if she makes it past the Bloodbath.
After Mona's emotional interview, Geoff Windsor takes the stage and the entire room lights up as the volunteer brings forth his thousand-watt charismatic smile and optimistic energy with him.
"Geoff, a volunteer from District 9 is unheard of… what influenced you to make the leap?"
Geoff's curly hair frames his face elegantly, complimenting the mustard-colored three-piece suit he is wearing. It's not a color Milo would personally pick for himself, but somehow it works.
The boy effortlessly sits back, captivating the audience's attention almost instantly.
"Well, I guess I just felt like it was the right thing to do."
"Oh, we have a righteous man over here, my friends! Please, tell us more…"
The topic of conversation inevitably shifts to Geoff's alliance.
When the announcer asks Geoff the same question he asked Logan, the boy laughs off Philostrate's concerns.
"I mean, people might jump to conclusions before knowing the whole story. I mean, you only have what… three? Four minutes with each of us? That's not enough to know how much we've bonded, and how important we are to each other, y'know?"
Apparently satisfied, Philostrate cycles back to the original topic of conversation.
"Since we're running out of time, is there anything you want to say to anyone out there?"
Geoff thinks for a few seconds.
"To the kid I volunteered for, I hope you live a really good life with no regrets, because those can completely tank you. They drag you down and a life of regrets isn't one worth living. Stay at school if you can, and keep smiling."
This statement is well-received, and Geoff parts to the sound of general approval.
After the noise subsides, Aderyn Klossner peaks in timidly awaiting to be called, her face neutral.
Whatever the quality of her interview afterwards, Milo instantly knows that the stylist for District 10 needs a raise.
After the phenomenal costumes during the chariot rides, the stylist did not disappoint, as the girl floats in on a beautiful dress that is dark blue at the very top, and fades into a fiery red at the bottom. The sheer material makes the girl look like she's an angel, and the trailing pieces of fabric falling from her arms accentuate that image. Intricate ropes hold the ensemble together.
"You are absolutely breathtaking Aderyn," Philostrate gushes, running his hand in the air, as though trying to touch the material. "Absolutely all of my compliments go to your stylist."
Aderyn blushes, as the camera pans to a stout little lady who waves happily at the camera.
The interview seems to take a rather traditional route, until the very last topic of conversation.
"We don't mean to pry, but some of our experts did a little bit of digging… could you elaborate on the nature of your father's work?"
Aderyn turns white as a sheet, her mouth opened without a sound escaping.
A few seconds elapse, before she takes hold of herself.
"Um… he was … he was a Peacekeeper."
"A commendable job! And a strong able-bodied girl like you must have been dying to follow in his footsteps, hm?"
At a loss of words, Aderyn can only nod weakly.
"Well that's refreshing to hear! Finally, a supporter of peace and order!"
Aderyn quickly glances off-stage, and then down at her feet.
"Now, you are shrouded in mystery, young lady, but I will ask you one last question before we have to let you go. As a Peacekeeper, your father should be known for his heroic acts, which have sadly been buried and erased from common knowledge as time went by. Has he ever mentioned to you the infamous operation B.L.A.N.K., which involved the eradication of your district's most wanted terrorists?"
For a moment, it looks like Aderyn is about to faint, but she purses her lips and clasps her hands firmly together. Even without the direct mention of Enzo Ricci, the crowd connects the dots and a huge cry of dismay erupts. Thus far, this topic of conversation was buried and judging from Aderyn's reaction, she hoped for it to remain that way.
"I wouldn't know anything about that."
The ring of the buzzer cuts through the air.
As Valentino Ricci steps onto the stage and the crowd's screams ratchet up an octave higher, Aderyn lingers for a moment, mouthing something at her district partner, the contents of which is drowned out by the noise.
"Welcome to our resident heart throb from District 10!"
Whistles and high-pitched screeches drown out any following words by Philostrate.
It's for the better, Milo thinks, as it gives Valentino a moment to compose himself.
"How is everything with you? You seem to be in good shape," Philostrate purrs into the mic, and Milo grimaces when he punctuates this already-creepy statement by touching Valentino's biceps.
"The stay's been really great, actually! Met some nice people, and the food is to die for," Valentino jokes around, but his eyes are clouded with some indescribable feeling.
He is definitely rattled by what was said minutes prior, but he's doing an exceptional job hiding it.
Luckily for Valentino, the crowd hangs on to his every word, and he evades any pointed questions that Philostrate might want to direct his way, after his district partner's tumultuous interview.
"If there's one last thing I can squeeze in there," Valentino says, before the interviewer can throw any curveballs at him, "it's that I want to give a shout-out to the most amazing grandparents in the entire world. I know my Italian sucks, but ti voglio bene!"
He takes a moment to stare at the camera.
"Alessio you're the best brother so you better step up your grandson game while I'm away. I love you guys, I can't say it enough."
"A family man!" Philostrate screams, his hands to his heart as the buzzer sounds.
Next up, Jessamine Law from District 11 comes up to Philostrate, who twirls her around to show off the intricacies of her skirt. Birds, exotic fruits and mythical animals are sewn on with bright threads.
Milo is surprised at the quality of the girl's interview, especially considering the fact that Philostrate's questions keep getting more and more nonsensical and out-of-touch.
"Are you happy to be able to represent your district at the most prestigious event of the year?"
Jessamine smiles brightly.
"I don't think I would have ever had the opportunity to do anything this grand. We're honest people in District 11, so we… stay in our lane. Here, I hope I'll be able to inspire people to stay strong and loyal to their values. The Capitol has truly been a wonderous place to discover!"
Judging from her reaction at being reaped, that's not the extent of her feelings on the matter, but it's smart of her to avoid stating the outright truth, while also boasting about the Capitol's kindness. She is a normal kid with no real quirks that make her stand out after all, but that might just play out in her favour.
At the very end of her interview, Jessamine stands up.
"Back home, I used to work part-time in the orchards, and we had this six-tonal whistle we used to do to encourage each other, when we got tired."
Once again, clever move. Surrounding yourself with a brand… Milo nods along, in approval.
If there's one thing that the Capitol people love, it's to feel as though they're in cahoots with the tributes, somehow relating to them on a fundamental level.
"I'll show you guys," Jessamine laughs, as Philostrate demands her to teach the crowd.
She whistles six simple notes over and over, and the crowd echoes them, the sound a little distorted by the fact that hundreds of people attempt it at once.
Jessamine laughs and gives the whole theater a huge thumbs-up.
"My big brother taught it to me, and now I've taught you! Hopefully now we can all encourage each other to do better."
Powerful message hidden behind a simple and effective statement. Milo isn't sure if it's Casmir that came up with this symbol of unity, or if Jessamine did, but either way it is very commendable.
Afterwards, Philostrate welcomes Tyree to the stage, and at first, no one appears.
After a few seconds of painful awkwardness, the little boy stumbles forward, clearly shoved by one of the backstage operators.
He is hugging an old worn out-looking toy.
The crowd is moved by the boy's cuteness at first, but as he waddles over to the center of the stage silently, any semblance of charm evaporates and is replaced by utter confusion.
Philostrate is clearly tired, and Milo can feel his own patience quickly seeping through the cracks.
"My apologies for my frankness, Tyree, but… why are you so damn weird?"
Silence.
Milo wishes they could get something, anything, out of the boy, but the next three minutes are the most excruciating of Philostate's career.
The announcer tries his best to coax anything out of the child, in vain.
"What do your parents do?"
"Do you know why you're here?"
The crowd booing is what finally causes Philostrate to personally escort Tyree off the stage, even before the buzzer rings. A sheen of sweat covers the announcer's forehead, as he comes back to the spotlight.
The enthusiasm with which Sparkle Aire from District 12 is greeted reinvigorates the host, who plasters a wide fake smile across his face to mask his embarrassment from before.
"So, Sparkle Aire of District 12, are you an escort?"
Instead of gawking at the offensive question, Sparkle grimaces, waving her bejeweled hand at the man in front of her. Her dress is a deep blue color, and the massive rings on her fingers reflect tiny specks of light in all directions.
"I'm a prostitute, darling, and frankly if you don't know the difference from a look, you shouldn't be asking."
Whistles are heard from the crowd, at Sparkle's gall.
Philostrate changes tactics, quickly.
"You've got an interesting and frankly atypical name there, Sparkle."
Sparkle cuts him off with a throaty and seductive laugh.
Milo grimaces as the most lecherous men in the crowd observe her through hooded eyes, already imagining themselves purchasing her company after her victory, no doubt. Some people are disgusting and just can't seem to appreciate art from a distance.
"Yeah, if you're gonna ask me what a girl like me is doing in a place like District 12, well... I'm going to let you in on a little secret."
Sparkle leans forward, strategically showing off at this point. The Capitolites in the theater are mesmerized.
"I used to live in District 1."
Exclamations and huffs of indignation erupt in the audience, as Sparkle leans back, satisfied at the effect she has caused. It would take an idiot to not piece this puzzle together, but the audience eats up this piece of artificial new information like the gossip-hungry idiots that they are.
"Scandalous!" Philostrate exclaims. "A beautiful and sensitive girl like you should not have been subjected to a life in the most miserable of districts."
Sparkle snorts, a distinctly unladylike noise, but keeps her mouth shut.
"Do you have any comments for the female tribute of District 1? Any advice perhaps?"
It's a clear ploy to artificially set these two girls up against each other. And Sparkle does not waste the opportunity.
She waves her hand again, extending her long legs and examining the crowd.
"I mean, between you and me, is it really even a competition? We all know who the real survivor is here. It ain't her."
To accentuate her point, Sparkle points at Cira backstage, her tone taking on a mean edge.
"Stay out of my way, because you don't hold a candle to the goddamn experiences I've had."
She is replaced by her district partner, as the last interviewee of the night. Philostrate throws himself into it with the last energy that he has left.
"Last but not least, let's give a huge round of applause for Abel Collingwood of District 12!"
The tribute seems to be carved of stone, a negative 'stay away from me' energy coming off of him in waves.
As he sits, Philostrate gets serious.
"Collingwood… that rings a bell, right, folks? If I'm not mistaken, your younger brother sat in this very seat, a few years ago."
"Two," Abel grits through his teeth.
"What's that?"
"Two years ago."
"Ah yes, that's quite right," Philostrate starts chuckling, before stopping at the murderous gaze Abel throws his way.
"Anyways, did your brother's tragic demise at the hands of a Career embolden you to volunteer for these monumental Games?"
"In a way."
"Can you elaborate?"
Abel thinks about it for a second.
"No."
"We have a very stoic volunteer on our hands," Philostrate attempts to lighten up the situation, but Abel is having none of it.
"You know, you can be a little bit more respectful to the tributes you interview."
Philostrate is baffled for a moment. "Excuse me?"
"I'm just saying, you could be a little nicer and less of a dick."
"Speaking of dicks… I mean –"
The crowd erupts in laughter, as Abel glowers at them in silent rage.
"I meant speaking of being nicer, have you found someone 'nice' to ally with, perhaps? Someone to serve as the yin to your yang?"
"No comment."
"This isn't a police investigation Mr. Collingwood," Philostrate chuckles nervously, but Abel ignores him completely, looking directly at the crowd. He's leaving them with a message.
"My brother was a sweet kid. I'm not so sweet."
The buzzer relieves Philostrate from ever inquiring about this any further, and the show host jumps up, bowing repeatedly as the crowd applauds his valiant efforts tonight.
And that's the end of the night, finalized by the anthem and the recorded closing statements by the President.
Now that this is over, Milo is restless once again, weighed down by the amount of work he has yet to finish by the end of the night. As the saying goes, there ain't no rest for the wicked and the Gamemakers are as wicked as they come.
Shuffling out of his seat and joining the crowd that spills out into the stairs leading outside of the theater, Milo allows himself a few seconds to think. The interviews are always entertaining, because the allow a quick preliminary glimpse into the tributes' minds, but at the end of the day, they don't matter.
After all, he already made bets on who won't be making it out of the Bloodbath. He had refused the first two years on the job, but Cyrellia coaxed him into doing it this year, and he accepted for some dumb reason.
In a way, it was nice to see some of his assumptions about the children's behaviour get validated, solidifying his claims against Cyrellia's.
Regardless, only one night separates them between today and the Games, now.
He can't help the jittery feeling that always precedes the Bloodbath, and he is sure everyone in the room feels the same.
It's his job to make sure it looks flawless.
Notes: Hope you guys liked this chapter! I tried my best to really shake things up for the tributes, so hopefully the questions they were asked gave you a bit more insight on their internal struggles, aspirations, and anything else that is interesting.
We touched base with Cyrellia and Milo, and the next chapter will focus on the 24 tributes and what they're doing on their last night at the Capitol. In other words, you're getting 24 short POVs, and if that's not something to be excited about, I don't know what is hahaha!
The Head Gamemaker himself will also make a quick appearance, and then we're off to the races. Only. One. Chapter. Left.
Thank you for all your lovely reviews, my heart melted a little. Stay healthy, stay awesome, and keep washing your hands.
Peace and love.