Silas Euphemia, 38

Head Gamemaker of Panem

The stage lights come back on and the Capitol Anthem blares. Alistair comes out wearing a different suit, which begs the question of why he was always wearing the bulletproof armor.

"Welcome back, everyone! It's time to meet the last twelve tributes of the One-Hundredth, Fifty-Third Annual Hunger Games!" Alistair cries. "Now, let's start off with the lovely Eris Rowan of District 7!"

Eris's outfit is very on-brand: she wears a knee-length, dark green dress that appears to have actual tree branches woven through the fabric. It looks extremely uncomfortable to Silas.

"Hi," Eris says, sounding annoyed. "Can we make this quick? I can barely breath in this thing."

Alistair ignores her and plows on. "So, Eris, I think everybody here wants to know one thing: why did you volunteer?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Eris says. "That was my sister that was Reaped. I was just…paying it forward, I guess."

"Paying it forward? Can you elaborate on that?"

Eris rolls her eyes and says, "I paralyzed her by falling out of tree. She makes money for us, but I don't. I'm expendable, but she isn't."

Alistair nods as the audience sighs sympathetically in unison. "You've got quite the outfit there!"

"I hate it," Eris says. "I can't even sit down."

That would explain why she is leaning on the chair opposed to sitting in it, Silas thinks.

"Fashion over comfort, yes?"

"Hell no!" Eris cries. "I'd pull this thing off right now if I could!"

Alistair gasps. "Let's…not do that. Doesn't quite fit our rating."

Eris stalks off of the stage to the sound of twigs snapping.

"Well," Alistair says decisively. "Let's move onto our next tribute, shall we?"

Mercury Harrigan is dressed in a simple black suit. His skin is pale and he appears almost sickly. Even from this distance, Silas can tell that he's shaking.

"Bit of stage fright, eh Mercury?" Alistair asks.

Mercury jumps and says, "Y-yes. S-stage…fright."

"So, Mercury, what do you have waiting for you at home?" Alistair asks.

Mercury doesn't say anything.

"Friends, family, pets?" Alistair prompts.

Mercury still doesn't say anything. His eyes have gone wide and are slowly perusing the audience.

"Plants? Sports? Anything?" Alistair says.

Ezra laughs from beside Silas and says, "I told him he needs to try a little bit harder. So far, he's not doing so great."

"No, he certainly isn't," Silas agrees.

"I-I-I—" Mercury stammers. "I…have, um, sib-siblings."

"Oh, do you?"

"Adopti-tive, yeah." Mercury looks down quickly, holding his arms close to his chest.

"What is wrong with him?" Ezra asks.

Silas resists the urge to glare at him in answer. "I'm not sure. He must just have stage fright."

"Yes, well… Mercury Harrigan, everyone!" Alistair says uncertainly.

Mercury hurries off of the stage to minimal applause. Silas almost feels bad for him—not because he's in the Hunger Games, but because he knows exactly what's wrong with him. And he knows that Mercury stands little chance tomorrow.

Lyndie Franklin is dressed in a baby blue, long-sleeved dress. One of the sleeves mostly covers her cast, making it almost possible to forget that she is significantly handicapped. Her hair is cascading down her back. She looks extremely young, like a naïve child. Silas wonders if that is just how she is, or if it's the angle she is going for.

"Hi, Mr. McKinley!" she says happily with a grin. There's something unnatural about her smile. It's too forced to be genuine, but Silas doubts most of the Capitolites in the audience have picked up on that. "How are you?"

"Alistair is fine, thank you," Alistair says.

Lyndie looks at him, confused. "Why are you referring to yourself in third person?"

Alistair does not seem amused. "I'm not. I'm saying you don't have to call me "Mr. McKinley"."

"Oh." Lyndie looks down. "Did you know I have six older brothers?"

"Do you?" Alistair says, sounding uninterested.

"I do!" Lyndie exclaims. "I miss them terribly. I really hope I can get back them. Do you think I will?"

"Of course," Alistair says.

Lyndie grins with a face full of childlike innocence.

"She's going to get eaten alive," Graciela says, shaking her head.

"Did you hear what the tabloids are saying about her?" Ezra asks. "Apparently, her escort talked…"

Silas knew that Lyndie was religious long before Nikita Lennox let it slip. He knew she'd be someone to watch out for, but if this is anything to go off of, she likely won't be much of a threat, whether it is an act or not.

Lyndie leaves the stage to sounds of sadness rather than applause. Even the bloodthirsty Capitolites have half of a heart, it would appear.

"Now…let's welcome…Navarro Lune to the stage," Alistair says dejectedly. The bulletproof vest underneath his suit coat becomes painfully obvious to Silas.

Navarro does not appear on stage.

Alistair glances to stage right and pulls his microphone away from his mouth.

"If Navarro stabbed another crew member…" Graciela says, putting her head in her hands. "God, I'll never hear the end of this."

Silas leans forward and says, "There's no way he could have run, could he?"

"I'd know," Graciela says, sitting up. "I'm the President of Panem, Silas, if a dangerous and likely-armed murderer were running around the streets I'd be the first to know."

"Fair point."

Alistair pulls his microphone back to his mouth and says, "Sorry; we're having some technical difficulties right now but we'll be right back…" With that, he dashes off the stage.

A few moments later, he returns. He is followed by Navarro, who now has his hands cuffed behind his back. His cheek is marred by a bruise which is swiftly turning purple and his lip is split.

"Oh, no," Graciela says. "He definitely stabbed another crew member." She gets to her feet and adds, "I'd better go check on damage control."

"So…er, Navarro," Alistair says, taking several cautionary steps away from him. "Where did you…get that bruise?"

"Like I'd tell you," Navarro growls. He flashes the audience with an uncomfortable smile.

"Okay…" Alistair says slowly. "So…how do you feel about going into the Games tomorrow?"

"It's going to be…bloody," Navarro says triumphantly. "Myself and my ally are going to dominate tomorrow."

"Your ally?"

"Oh, yeah," Navarro says in a low voice. He winks at the audience like they are all apart of some big joke. "My ally is a complete idiot, but he'll do…"

"Well! That's all the time we have so let's welcome Ainsley Platte to the stage…"

Navarro doesn't leave the stage. Instead, he rushes straight up to Ainsley and yells something to her. Ainsley rolls her eyes and shoves him away.

Ainsley's left eye is half-closed and ringed with bruises. Makeup is caked on her forehead, likely in an attempt to cover up another mark. "Fuck off," she says annoyedly. "Fight me tomorrow."

"I will!" Navarro answers. He starts to say something else, but is stopped by a Peacekeeper that drags him off of the stage.

"Nobody got stabbed, at least," Silas commiserates, relaxing at Navarro is at last pulled away from Ainsley.

Ainsley herself wears a glitter-covered tan dress. It goes off of her shoulders and reaches the floor, but looks like it could use ironing. Silas assumes she got into a fight with Navarro.

"So, can we make this quick? My head hurts after my fight with THAT BITCH NAVARRO!" Ainsley cries, her gaze trained resolutely off of the stage. "I mean, just look at this shit!" Ainsley angrily gestures to her black eye. "But…did you see Navarro? Sure did a number on that bitch, didn't I?"

Alistair swallows and says, "Okay, then. What caused this fight with Mr. Lune?"

"It's all his fault, anyway," Ainsley says. "You'd think he would've learned to just sit down and shut up, but noooo!"

"Yes…" Alistair says uncertainly. "So…what's waiting for you back home?"

"Grain," answers Ainsley with a shrug. "Lots and lots of grain."

"No family?"

"Some family," Ainsley says. "Not that that matters, though."

"Oh…kay," Alistair replies. "Ainsley Platte, everyone!"

Ainsley leaves to surprisingly wild applause. Violence sells, apparently.

Everett Reed appears to be exhausted and jumpy. He is dressed in a bright blue suit which does not seem to fit his mood. Dark circles hang poorly concealed beneath his eyes.

"A little bit stressed, are we, Everett?" Alistair asks with a laugh.

Everett shrugs tiredly and says. "I guess, yeah."

"So, what would you want to do with your victory?" asks Alistair.

"I don't know," Everett says quietly. "My whole life is work."

"Work?"

"Work," Everett affirms. "I'm the main breadwinner in my family. I don't know what my little siblings will do if I die."

"That's very unfortunate," Alistair says. "I'm sure they will figure out something."

Everett looks down. "I hope so." He hangs his head and adds, "I worry about them."

"As any self-respecting person would." Alistair nods as if he understands completely, when Silas knows he has done nothing in his life but be pampered.

"I'm not completely sure that I am a self-respecting person anymore," Everett admits, still looking down. "I'm…lost, I guess."

He fidgets with the hem of his coat, pulling at the seam as if he simply can't sit still.

"Everett Reed, everyone!"

Everett received few cheers. It doesn't come as a surprise to Silas. It just doesn't feel like many tributes are doing anything memorable this year.

"God, this is boring," Lanai says.

Graciela still has yet to return, and Silas certainly doesn't feel comfortable sitting there with no buffer between him and Ezra.

He glances at the man—no, the boy, he's still just a child—seated beside him. Ezra appears deep in thought, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks down at the stage. Silas wishes he could get a window into his mind, just to know what things he is planning.

The cameramen start experiencing technical difficulties; broadcasts to several districts suddenly cut out, leaving Silas to sit there and think.

His mind wanders to his wife and his daughter. Both are at their home right now, but Astoria is certainly already asleep. He loves his daughter so very much. It gives him peace of mind to know she will grow up safe in the Capitol, without the fear of the Games hanging over his head. She's so young, only three months old, but he knows she'll grow into a wonderful woman one day. He only hopes he'll be there to see it all.

Lanai wants more from him than he can give her. He has things to protect now, far more than he did when they first met several years ago. He didn't even know Rynna back then. So much has changed since then, and Silas just doesn't know how much he is willing to lose.

The cameramen give the thumbs up and Alistair welcomes Tamarah Colt to the stage.

Her dress would be stunning if weren't for the large stain on her stomach. She looks miserable: despite her done-up hair, her makeup is running and she stumbles slightly. The stain on her stomach still appears wet.

"Hey, hey, Alistair, how's it goin'? I'm havin' a pretty trashy night so far but maybe it'll get better," Tamarah says, seeming very happy.

Alistair doesn't bother to hide his disgust. "Are you…are you drunk? Right now? On stage?"

"Hell yeah, man," Tamarah says cheerfully. "Have you never done important things drunk? Totally takes the edge off, dude."

"Yes…well," Alistair says in a very haughty tone. "Why don't you tell us about your relationship with Liesel Leenheer and try not to vomit on my expensive shoes?"

"Jeez, you're boring," Tamarah says with a huge grin. "Liesel and I are just…we fit, ya know? She's just…god, she's purty."

"Uh-huh," Alistair says slowly. "And what do you have back in District 10?"

"My drinkin' buds!" Tamarah says enthusiastically. "Gosh, I do miss them though. Hopefully I'll be back to 'em soon!"

"Where the hell did Tamarah even get alcohol?" Ezra demands.

"Her mentor is Celinda Oxford. What do you expect?" Lanai answers.

Ezra murmurs something, sounding annoyed.

"Your expensive shoes are ugly, by the way," Tamarah says.

Alistair takes a deep breath and says. "Well, you are entitled to your opinion. Your…drunken opinion."

"That's one high horse you've got there," snickers Tamarah. "They're just ugly shoes!"

Alistair sighs exhaustedly and says, "Tamarah Colt, everyone."

He glares at her as she leaves the stage, but the Capitolites seem to have found her uproariously funny.

"She'll be hungover tomorrow morning, won't she?" Lanai says. "If she's drunk and all."

"Probably," Silas replies. "Depends on how drunk she is."

Lanai just shakes her head as Afandina Hariri takes to the stage. He wears a suit that appears to be made of money. It looks as if it was sown from an endless amount of paper Caps. Normally, Silas would expect anyone wearing a monstrosity like that to rock it, but Afandina just looks tired.

"So, you know what I love?" Afandina asks. His face is drawn and he looks like he hasn't been sleeping very well, but he still seems to be putting on an act for the cameras.

"What do you love?" Alistair dutifully answers.

"I'm a bit of a gambler, Alistair," Afandina says confidently.

"Oh?"

"Oh, yeah," Afandina continues. "I love that rush—and I don't lose card games. I can bet however much I want on a match, because I'll figure out a way to win. It's just how I work."

"So you think you stand a good chance at winning the Games, then?"

"It's just a high stakes card game, isn't it?" Afandina responds. "I never lose—and I certainly don't plan on this being the first."

Well, there is a first time for everything, Silas thinks, crossing his arms.

"Are you well off, then?"

"Er…" Afandina falters for a moment. "More or less, yeah."

Alistair seems uncertain of how to answer that. Instead, he simply announces Afandina's name, managing to absolutely butcher his last name.

Afandina's confidence seems to have won him Capitol admiration. Or perhaps they think he is attractive. It's usually one or the other. The Capitolites usually think with their hearts, not their brains. Or they simply don't think at all. Both are common.

Ashe Illyrian's dress is bright blue and covered in sunflowers. There are little flower pins braided into her hair and she has a placating grin on her face.

"So, Ashe, tell us about your alliance," Alistair says.

"Oh, yes," Ashe says cheerily. "My alliance consists of myself, Ainsley Platte, Lana Meadows, Lyndie Franklin and Eris Rowan. We may not be the strongest of the bunch, but we work well together, and I really think we might stand a chance!" She levels her eyes with the audience and adds, "We may be young, but you can't discount us because of that!"

"An excellent sentiment," Alistair says. "Do you have any family?"

"I have a fairly large family. I have two brothers and two sisters. My oldest sister is married so we don't see much of her, but the rest of my siblings still live at home." She heaves a sigh, her smile momentarily faltering. "I miss them terribly. That's why I'm going to fight. So I can get home to them."

"It sounds like you are all very close knit," Alistair answers. "What makes you think you could win?"

Ashe purses her lips and says, "I'm smart. I'm…not very strong, but I can use my head, and I can use it well. If I keep an eye on that and watch my back, I think I'll be okay."

"Well, the best of luck to you," says Alistair. "Ashe Illyrian, everyone!"

Ashe receives about as much applause as you can expect for a fourteen-year-old who admits she can't fight well. Silas can, however, appreciate someone who is good with words.

Quinn Bayers is dressed very simply; his suit is a dull silver, but Silas notices that there is a single sunflower tucked in his hair. He wonders if Ashe gave it to him.

"I think we're all wondering why you volunteered, Quinn," says Alistair. "It's rare that District 11 ever gets one of them."

"…I need money," Quinn admits after a moment.

Alistair waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn't. "…that's it?"

"That's it," Quinn affirms.

"You must be in some financial situation if you are willing to volunteer for the Games in order to fix it." Alistair cocks his head slightly, as if he's confused about why anyone would do such a thing.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," Quinn agrees.

"Well, I'm very sorry—"

"No," Quinn says, quickly and sharply. "Don't do that. Don't pity me."

Alistair appears affronted. "Well, I'm sorry if I was simply offering my condolences."

Quinn glances at the audience and his anger falters. "I don't need your…your sympathy."

"Yes, that's obvious," Alistair says annoyedly. "I'm going to assume you're an orphan, then."

"I have a family," Quinn says, crossing his arms impatiently. "Just because I need money doesn't mean there isn't anybody in my life."

"Let's hear it for Quinn Bayers!" Alistair says, seeming eager to end this conversation and move on. "Now, we'll meet Ishtar Marmaduke of District 12…"

Ishtar wears a bright orange dress. It looks nearly identical to Jayce's aside from the color. The same halter-top and skirt length, just a different person wearing it.

"I think our most burning question is about Jayce Dotter of District 6—"

"District 12," Ishtar says tartly.

"What?" Alistair exclaims.

"District 12. Jayce is from District 12," Ishtar says simply. "Now…I don't want to talk about Jayce anymore. Ask me about my family or something."

Alistair seems annoyed by that. "Fine…what is your family like?"

"My parents are the definition of absentee," Ishtar says pointedly. "Jayce was the only thing I had…and now I don't even have her. I have, really, nothing at all."

"I thought you didn't want to talk about Jayce," Alistair says uncertainly.

"Well, she's the only thing in my life that actually matters!" Ishtar cries. "I've always been nothing without her and—and—and she was the only thing that kept me going, through years of being ignored! The thought that Jayce was out there just as in love with me as I was with her! But no! No—Jayce was—Jayce was in love with another girl! A girl would always be better than me!"

Ishtar sinks miserably to her knees and starts to cry.

Alistair distances himself from her and says, "You have had quite the life, haven't you?"

"What do you do when you have nothing, Alistair?" Ishtar asks as she wipes her tears. "What do you do when nobody wants you?"

Silas sighs. It's not the first time someone has had a breakdown on stage, and it certainly will not be the last. However, it's always uncomfortable to watch—just knowing that they are going through something and will be tossed into a death match in twelve hours…it often leaves Silas wondering how he ever condoned something as cruel as the Games.

"It is an interesting question," Alistair says, glancing out at the audience, and more importantly, the cameras. "I suppose I don't know how to answer that."

"I don't either," Ishtar says, getting to her feet and dusting off her skirt. "I wish I did. I wish I could know before I die."

Alistair doesn't answer that. Instead, he simply announces Ishtar and sends her on her way.

Geo Stryker's suit is simple and dark green. A sheen of sweat is obvious on his forehead, and he looks terrified.

"Greetings, Geo," Alistair says.

"Hi," Geo says quietly, his voice quivering slightly.

"So, what is waiting for you back in District 12?" asks Alistair.

"Um," Geo says nervously. "My parents are…are there. And my friends. I have some friends. That I need to get to home to."

He speaks very choppily, like he's giving himself ample time to backtrack between each word.

"Do you think you could ever win?" Alistair asks.

Silas notices a strange look on Ezra's face. Triumphant, almost.

As soon as Ezra catches him looking, he quickly averts his eyes and faces the other direction.

"I…I guess," Geo answers. "I could. M-maybe." He looks down, a grimace on his face. "I think that…that anyone could. Maybe."

He starts to fidget nervously. He wrings his hands in his lap but keeps his eyes trained on the floor.

"I would agree with that," Alistair says. "I think that anyone could win if the circumstances were to go right."

"Y-yes," Geo replies. "I think so. Too."

"Geo Stryker, everyone!" Alistair calls. The audience applauds politely as Alistair gives his closing remarks.

Silas gets to his feet and stretches. The interviews always feel ridiculously long-winded—there isn't anything there that interests him. He already knows everything there is to know about his tributes. Really, he would rather skip them all together and do something that actually relates to the Games in the morning. Like, perform last minute checks on the arena. Or make sure Lanai doesn't fuck him over and get him executed.

It is easier said than done.

As they leave their viewing box, a Peacekeeper approaches them.

"President Purdue has requested your presence in her office in an hour." The Peacekeeper glances at Lanai beside him and says, "Your assistant is required as well."

As soon as he leaves, Lanai glares and says, "Your assistant? I'm going to be Head Gamemaker next year; you'd think he'd show a bit more respect!"

"Do you think she needs help with damage control?" Silas wonders aloud as they make their way down the stairs. He glances toward the line of limousines pulling out from the front of the theater. He wishes he could go just go home—to Rynna and Astoria and perhaps to go to bed, but summons from the President can't go ignored.

He only hopes that tomorrow will go more smoothly than tonight has.

A/N: Eyyyy it didn't take me months to update again! It was only like one month! Character development!

Anyways, I started high school and it sucks! It's literally been two weeks and I'm already so done with it. But I've already written more for this story since then than I did all summer, so I count this as a win.

1. Best Interview?

2. Worst interview?

3. Best outfit?

4. Worst outfit?

Random Question of the Chapter: who is your favorite tribute? (that isn't your own.)

My answer: well, obviously I can't answer that.

So, next up is the last night, where I'm packing in like six POVs because I'm trying to even it out, and then subplot! and the last morning. Trust me, it's going to get crazy from here on out and I am so excited!

ALLIANCES:

We're Still Extremely Volatile This Year: Shad (D1M), Calista (D1F), Scoria (D2F), Bayou (D4M), Ottilie (D4F)

Flower Power: Lana (D3F), Eris (D7F), Lyndie (D8F), Ainsley (D9F), Ashe (D11F)

Sad Lesbians: Jayce (D6F), Ishtar (D12F)

Disaster Lesbians: Liesel (D5F), Tam (D10F)

5'6 Gang: Darwin (D3M), Sterne (D5M), Mercury (D7M)

For Peace of Mind: Everett (D9M), Geo (D12M)

-Amanda