Free Morning, Interviews
Nevaeh scrutinized her reflection in the floor-length mirror, approving of her dress. She ran a finger over the floral designs over black fabric; it met the embroidered hem in an explosion of reds, greens, and white. She'd personally requested to bring this dress from home, along with a frillier red one for the interviews tonight. So what if they had to pull a few strings? No Capitol imitation could ever replace the colors and patterns of her beloved District Ten.
Anytime now, she and Sos would go down to meet the Ones and Twos for their morning out in the Capitol. She and Ili had spent so much time in training talking about what they'd do and where they'd go, yet Liat leaving the alliance had cast a shadow over their day. Were the Twos up to no good? She didn't want to believe it. But Liat was no fool, and something had to be brewing under the surface for Liat to make such a drastic decision.
She adjusted a few strands of hair and flashed her award-winning smile. She wouldn't let yesterday ruin her last fun day before the Games began. Her escort had made a huge fuss about her not using his designs, but after she'd threatened to go up in all orange, he'd had no choice but to acquiesce. What power did a stylist have, anyway? Maybe a less well-dressed tribute might cave to their stylist's stuck-up demands, but fashion was her life. She knew what she was doing. Besides, Capitalinos loved District Ten fashion, if the tourists' enthusiasm was any indicator. How else did she make such a profit every year from her little boutique?
A knock on her door.
"Ready to go, chica?" Sos's voice filtered through the door. "It's almost time."
She tiptoed over to the door to open it. On the other side, Sos leaned with his arm against the frame, dressed in a casual button-up striped in oranges and browns and a straw fedora in hand. Perfect. Nothing fancy, but she couldn't think of a better outfit for this precious country boy. Well, she could, but she'd give some credit to his stylist where credit was due. Now if only her own stylist would stop trying to make her a fashionable Capitalina and just let her be the proud District Ten chica she'd be until the very end, whether that be in the Hunger Games or elsewhere.
"Ay, you dressed up?" He raised his eyebrows.
"Of course!" She did a little twirl to show it off. "We're gonna show the Capitol our style."
He chuckled, mumbling something about how style wasn't really his thing. "Excited to hang with them today?"
"Claro que sí." She supposed she was excited. Maybe a little less excited than she was before yesterday, but excited nonetheless. "We've waited for this all week!"
"You're still thinking about yesterday, sí?" He gave her a warm smile, one that resonated with the warmth of a summer sunset, promising shelter from the pressing heat of the day. Warm, but sad, for the coyotes came out to hunt in the night. She wished it would last forever. Given their circumstances… No bueno.
Gosh, for him to have seen through her so quickly, she'd must've become too lax around him. She wasn't too concerned; no self-respecting citizen of District Ten would betray their home. If he were gonna cause problems of any kind, it'd probably be because he was too nice. She was abundantly thankful for him, to have someone trustworthy watching her back. Up until yesterday, she'd felt similarly about Ili and the rest of her allies, but now she wasn't sure. Something was happening outside her control. She didn't like it.
It'd been a statement, and he didn't need her response. "At least we got each other. The moment Darah gives the signal, we'll hightail it outta there."
To be perfectly honest, Nevaeh didn't like the plan much. She had to know everything herself; she felt a visceral need to hold all the necessary pieces in her head. Waiting for someone else's signal felt a bit too much like blind trust—and there weren't gonna be no backup plans if things went south.
Caramba! She'd let it dampen the mood again. With a giggle, she grabbed his wrist and pulled him along towards the elevator, beaming at him. Time for a fun morning out in the Capitol!
Three cookies, two ankle monitors, and one elevator ride later, Nevaeh found herself in the lobby of the Tribute Center, where the Ones and Twos had already gathered. Ilithyia ran over before the elevator doors had fully opened.
"Oh my goodness, you guys are finally here! It's time to gooooooo!"
"Hermana, it's so good to see you!" Nevaeh laughed as Ili pulled her into a quick hug. It was familiar at this point, almost comforting in its familiar unbridled passion. Nevaeh wished Liat hadn't left the alliance. It'd changed everything.
Ili gaped at her dress. "Yes, girl! That's so gorgeous? The style is just. Perfect!"
"So where are we going today?"
Ili brought the two of them along towards the front entrance with a spring in her step, where Eros chatted with the Ones. Adora waved at them, her breezy sundress waving in the air conditioning. Nevaeh waved back. She still didn't know Adora too well, but her aesthetic was—chef's kiss—on point.
"Y'all have a plan for today yet?" Nevaeh asked.
"Oh! We were just talking about that!" Ili said, nearly bouncing off the walls. "You guys good with splitting up? I think Eros got jealous—" She nudged him in the ribs. "—and he wanted to get to know you two a little better. So he'll go with you two, and I'll go the Ones."
Nevaeh resisted the tug at her eyebrow. They hadn't discussed this. She glanced at Sos, but if he was bothered, he didn't show it.
"Sounds good to me," he said. "We'll meet back at noon?"
Adora winked. "On the dot, or else we play manhunt with the Peacekeepers!"
"Really? Manhunt actually sounds really—" Ilithyia's voice suddenly dropped from a five million down to a one. "Wait. I get it."
Eros laughed, giving her a hearty pat on the back. "Love you, sis."
"Anyway, time's ticking; let's get going!"
Nevaeh felt like she was watching from a television screen as Ilithyia left with the Ones, whereas before she'd been in on the action herself. She hoped she was just being paranoid; she loved being around Ili. Though the Two girl had trained to kill, Nevaeh felt as if underneath everything that their different backgrounds had tacked on them, they weren't all that different. Ilithyia would do anything for her friends; Nevaeh would do anything for her family, both blood-related and extended throughout District Ten.
Eros raised an eyebrow, his flawless skin radiant with charm. "Ready to go, m'lady?"
"Look at you, bein' all Príncipe Azul today," she said, batting her eyelashes. "Ili said you were getting jealous?"
He looked both Tens up and down and threw up his hands. "How could I not? You guys look fabulous."
"As do you!" she said, gesturing at his smooth get-up. She glanced at Sos, who looked back and forth between them, a little clueless. She chuckled. "Pobrecito. He'll come around someday."
Before, she'd sometimes felt like Sos was a weight that dragged her down with how direct and down-to-earth he was, leaving no room for a little fun. His presence now felt comforting. It was nice to know that at least one person in this room undoubtedly had her back, and she had his as well.
Eros gave Sos a good-natured slap on the back. "I couldn't let Ili have all the fun, could I?"
"Qué horror!" Nevaeh gasped in mock horror. "That would never do!"
"Oh my goodness, she's so possessive and power-hungry," he teased. "Gosh, I love her."
Though her smile never faltered, she died a little inside with every word. How well did she know Ilithyia anyway? Diablos, he was just joking—Sos' groundedness must be rubbing off on her. But that seed of doubt from yesterday had sprouted and grown, and she couldn't root it out. No longer could she simply have fun with the others—the Games were on. She knew it'd been on this whole time, but it hadn't felt like it until now.
Oh, how she wished to go back.
Adora strolled down the streets of the Capitol, admiring the architecture of the skyscrapers. For a moment, she slowed her pace and allowed Ven and Ilithyia to walk on ahead. She smiled as Ilithyia nudged Ven playfully, bringing out Ven's lovely chuckle. He was a good person, unlike anyone else she'd ever met among her father's social events or in the Capitol thus far. He deserved this much.
She breathed deeply, filling her lungs with Capitol air. It wasn't too different from home, actually, maybe just a little less clean. She didn't know why she felt disappointed, why she'd expected a huge difference when she'd learned in school that the Capitol and Districts One and Two all sat amidst the Rocky Mountains. Somehow, simply knowing something beforehand didn't necessarily prepare oneself for it—and this issue with reason plagued her soul. She could calculate all she wanted to, but she would never know for sure how she'd react to anything until it actually happened.
Such was how it'd gone down when her father had told her to volunteer. Many times she'd dreamed of someday fighting back, someday throwing off his grubby grasp over her life and living her own. If she'd ever had a chance at it, that was it. But like every time before, she'd nodded and curtsied and obeyed him like the dutiful daughter she was. Who cared that she hated the thought of it? Not him. Not her district. Not even herself.
But obedience was exhausting, so she allowed herself this moment to breathe. She tilted back her head until the sun's rays dodged the brim of her bonnet and warmed her face, where a genuine smile curled across her carefully done lips. She could already hear her mother chastening her—what unladylike posture, unbecoming for the esteemed governor's daughter—but how often did she get a chance to simply enjoy living?
This was her nibble of rebellion. It wasn't much, but for someone accustomed to spending every moment trying to satisfy her parents' requirements, it was enough to keep her going.
If she won, she wouldn't have to bow to her parents' desires, would she? Now that was a strange idea. She wasn't even sure what she'd do with that freedom; she'd never been given the option. Her world was the play-pretend of District One's political scene, where honesty was the exception and her singular goal had always been to pull the strings in her favor—or rather, her father's favor.
Up ahead, she heard Ilithyia squeal. The Two girl's hands were lifted high as she admired the front a cute little cafe, as if she wanted to give the building a hug—though Adora wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if the Two girl did in fact give the building a hug.
"Oh. My. Goodness! Ven, we have to stop here. I saw it when we were coming into the Capitol and—ah! It's so pretty!"
"Sure, why not?"
"Adora, what do you—wait, where's Adora?" Ilithyia looked left and right before finally spotting Adora, coming up to them at a leisurely pace. "Oh! I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to leave you behind!"
Though the smile came naturally, Adora couldn't deny that it felt good inside. All throughout her life, it'd always been "Adora, hurry up."
"All good!" She waved, accelerating to a brisk walk in her high heels. "I'd love to stop here. They sell… coffee here?"
Ilithyia pressed her face to the window and squinted to read the menu above the counter while Ven poked his head in the front door. "That's… Feu… Feu?"
"Tea," Ven said. "That cursive is almost unreadable though."
Though it still blew Adora's mind how the Two girl was so… okay with displaying her mistakes for the world to see, but she figured it might actually be nice, however scary it seemed, especially when the alternative was the prison she knew so well.
Ilithyia pursed her lips. "I don't know… I'm not really a tea person."
"Oh, don't worry about it!" Adora said, resting her purse on one of the wicker tables outside. "We'll show you. Right, Ven? Tea is pretty big in One."
Ven smiled. "I don't know too much about tea myself, but I promise it's nice."
As they settled down around the outdoor table, Ven went in to order the beverages, a rare easygoing lull in his step. Adora liked seeing him at ease. Somehow, it also made her feel a little more at ease, a barometer of sorts. She'd seen the way the others treated the misfit back in One, though she'd never known him personally. If he could bring himself to trust someone, then she could worry just a little less.
Ilithya leaned back in her seat, flinging her arms wide and tilting her head back against the wicker backing. "Gosh, I love it here."
"Isn't it lovely?" Adora said, smiling at the other girl's liveliness. "District One doesn't even come close."
"You think they'll let us live here if we win?"
"Maybe."
The idea wasn't terrible—leaving District One and the reach of her father, settling down in a whole new world with her own life ahead of her. But Victors undoubtedly had their own obligations to attend to, and living in the Capitol might feel like constantly being at work. Maybe that was why very few Victors chose to permanently relocate here after their victories.
"Actually…" Ilithyia said, voice pensive with the same realization. "Maybe it'd just get old too. I was so excited the first time I went to One, but I got bored of it after a while. No offense."
"None taken." Adora wasn't sure what to think about that. She vaguely enjoyed the security of knowing everything, yet its predictability grated on her nerves, fanning the burning desire within to escape.
"I guess we just enjoy it while we can, huh?"
"I suppose."
Enjoy. That was a strong word Adora rarely allowed herself to use. She might enjoy the gustatory overload of a Capitol feast, but why would she enjoy it when she knew that overeating would only cause problems for her image and her stylist? She'd much rather give up current momentary exhilaration here to avoid future complications.
Ilithyia brought her head back up to look at her, eyebrows scrunched up in concern. "Aren't you having fun?"
"I…" Adora bit her lip. She'd slipped up. But Ilithyia looked so earnest, so genuine. Maybe, just maybe, the girl could be trusted, just a bit. "Let's just say that I didn't choose to be here."
"Huh. That's so interesting."
Adora's nerves immediately tensed up; she forced herself to maintain the appearance of relaxation. She'd let her guard down too much.
After a moment of thought, Ilithyia slowly nodded. "That's hard for me to get since I've always wanted to volunteer, you know? Still, I don't like being forced into places I don't want to go… so I think I understand a little." She looked at Adora with sympathy. "I'm sorry. That's hard."
Part of Adora found it all revolting. These were the Hunger Games of all places. All this downtime was just a Gamemaker tactic to make the ensuing drama as terrible as possible, and here she was, walking right into their plan.
Yet her heart felt just a little warmer at the girl's words. Her back felt just a little lighter, as if the girl's sympathy had come up beside her to help her carry the weight of her parents' expectations. And when Ven returned with the cups of tea, she laughed with them for real.
Maybe this wasn't all that bad.
Kiran couldn't be happier that his escort had finally left the room. Not that he would wish that man and his torture upon Electra—no, he didn't care about people, let the reader note—but after an hour with the man, anything to get him out was a boon in his eyes. He breathed deeply, freely, allowing himself to slump in his chair, glad that he wouldn't get a sharp rap on the back for his "bad posture."
For a wonderful moment, all was calm. His mind drifted off towards the Positron's next adventures in dark alleys and deserts. It was such a waste of time when the Hunger Games were set to begin in less than twenty-four hours, but what a pleasant waste of time it was!
They'd called it a free morning, but so far, it'd been more of a punishment than training had been. Back home, "free time" meant hours splurged on story planning alone in his room, dreaming up new plot twists and obstacles for the Positron. His parents would be at work. That dumb kid Jeggings from school—not his friend—wouldn't be around to bug him. The only other person in the house would be his sister, and she wouldn't judge him or call him dumb for "wasting his time" with stories. Alas, this "free morning" was a scam.
Footsteps approached down the hall; the door cracked open behind him. He instinctively stiffened and crossed his arms, ready to face whoever it was with a scowl.
"How did the first session go?" Alva. His mentor. The middle-aged woman settled down in the chair opposite him; her polite smile brightened a calm face framed by her red hair.
"Fine." He smirked at her, trying—and failing—to maintain eye contact. "I can handle him, no problem."
She sighed—and was that a slight eye roll? "You don't have to do this around me."
"I'm not trying to do anything."
"Whatever you say," she said. "But we need an angle for you, and I mean need."
Kiran frowned. His Private Session hadn't been terrible. He'd tried to fight a trainer—and of course he'd lost, but no one else had to know that. It'd be more embarrassing than…
…than he already was? He cocked his head confidently to compensate.
If Alva noticed, she didn't comment on it. "We don't have a lot of options, either. It's not like you can pull off the grumpy and intimidating look."
"W-What do you mean?" He stuck his chin up in the air, trying so hard to ignore the discomfort of the air-conditioned air brushing past his exposed neck. "I was made for that look."
"Relax, will you?"
He withered a little before he remembered that he wasn't supposed to wither, so he tried to square his rigid and awkward shoulders. Alva looked unamused. He knew she was right. When he'd faced the Four Male in training, it'd been less of a face-off and more of a forehead-to-neck-off with how tall the other guy was. Four could pull off the look for sure. Four was strong enough, tough enough, intense enough—at least until Seven pummeled him.
"I hate to say it, but…" Alva gave him a serious look. "This isn't going to work with sponsors. I need you to be real with me."
"I am being real with you." Kiran bristled. He had to be tough; he had to be frowny; he had to be intimidating—and even if he wasn't all that, he needed her and everyone else to think he was.
But he was all those things, right? Hadn't the Eleven girl thought so? He'd seen the fear in her eyes, and oh, how it'd felt good. For once, he'd proved to himself that he could be enough, that he was tough, that he wasn't at the bottom of the food chain, so low as to practically be ignored.
She shook her head. "We've been here for five days, and I still barely know who you are. You're not fooling anyone."
Kiran tried to glare at her, but she actually looked like she cared and he couldn't bring himself to do it. What was wrong with him? He didn't care if he hurt some feelings in the way, not at all, 'cause no tough guy really ever stopped to care for anyone's feelings.
But the Eleven girl had been scared, and of him, too. Azolla had been disappointed, like she'd expected better from him than for him to act like her district partner. He hadn't felt good himself after the entire thing happened, a fact he couldn't deny no matter how awesome it felt to be in control for one shaky moment. He still remembered the intense shame that'd followed.
He couldn't fool himself either.
"Are you ready to talk?" Alva asked. "I've got all day, at least until the prep team comes after you."
He met her probing gaze, hoping he looked sturdier than he felt. "Maybe."
"Why don't you tell me about yourself? What do you like to do? What's your passion?"
Her smile was warm. Not mocking. Warm. Maybe she wouldn't judge him or look down on him for not being tough. Maybe it wouldn't kill him to stop trying so hard. Maybe he dared to speak, just a little.
"I… write."
So much for just a little.
Alva's eyes brightened. "That's a start. You know I write too, right?"
Kiran recalled that her Victor talent was novel writing. All of a sudden, he wished he'd told her earlier. But now she watched him expectantly. What else was he supposed to tell her? His deepest darkest secrets and insecurities? It was enough to make him wish he'd never said a word.
"That's it."
She didn't seem bothered at all as she flashed him a smile. "Tell me about your stories! I'd love to hear them."
One step had been hard enough. It felt wrong for him to tell her more, to expose his stories to the light of others' scrutiny, to completely discredit the front he'd tried to project for so long. He felt a sudden need to pull his limbs in and protect himself. This wasn't tough, or intimidating, or intense. But it was nice, and it was him. Actually him.
Would he tell Panem the same things tonight at the interviews? Not a chance, but for now… he supposed it couldn't hurt to tell her more.
The interviews were finally here. From the backroom where Laforza awaited her turn in the spotlight along with her fellow competitors, she could hear Jovian Vermilius work up the crowd, which responded with ecstatic cheering.
Laforza had never seen such a frivolous waste in her life.
She plucked at a loose strand on her top, wondering if it'd all come unraveled. Probably not, but her stylist's horror would be hilarious. She scoffed at the decorations, from the dangling lights draped along the midnight walls to the twenty-four maroon seats arranged in a wide semi-circle. At some point, someone must've expected the tributes to wait their turn patiently in their own seats, but the tributes loitered in their alliances around the room without rhyme or reason, waiting on the last few tributes to emerge from their dressing rooms.
The screen in the corner cut between the stage and the various balconies, where the most important people in Panem sat prim and proper, drinks in hand. She snorted. Most important, huh? If a Gamemaker died suddenly, they'd quickly be replaced by another spoiled brat. No one outside the Capitol would give a second thought. For all they were worth, even a regime change wouldn't make a huge difference in the districts. The rich were still rich, the poor were still poor, the systems that maintained this inequality wouldn't go away.
She plopped down in a seat as the One girl entered, all dolled up in a brilliant white dress. This was all so stupid. Laforza was a factory girl, used to the grime and dust of hard labor—and now they wanted to pretend all that didn't exist and that her only purpose in life was for their entertainment. She'd rip her dress off her body if she weren't worried that she'd get herself tangled in the process.
"There you are!" Virginia called, just crossing the doorstep. The Eight girl lifted the hem of her dress and daintily settled down in the seat next to hers. "You look fantastic!"
Laforza pinched her dress and rubbed the silly thing between her fingers. "This dumb thing? I hate it."
The Eight girl smiled anyway. "I think you look great."
She wasn't sure why Virginia always sought her out. Sure they were allies, she supposed, but her signature hadn't meant anything more than an "I'll watch your back and you'll watch mine until one of us stabs the other in the back"—and Laforza was determined to stab first, even if betrayal within an alliance would hurt her sponsor prospects. Not like she had many sponsors anyway, since they flocked to the brats from the lapdog districts, showering them with money that the Capitol then added to with the alliance bonus.
Once again, the system was rigged against her from the start.
She had to admit, though, that it was nice to have someone seek out her company. She couldn't think of a single person that had done that in years.
The door that led towards the stage cracked open; a Peacekeeper stepped in.
"Ms. Noble, Mr. Piersson, Ms. Aella—if you would come with me."
The Ten girl gave them each a high five and wished them luck, sickening Laforza to the stomach. For all their glamour and facades of friendship, Laforza was sure they each were only thinking of how they might take each other down. Not that she herself didn't often wonder how she'd kill Virginia, but at least she'd told her ally up front.
A few moments later, the One girl appeared on screen, floating across the stage as she waved and blew kisses like the two-face she was. The entire show made Laforza gag. Heck, just about everything in the Capitol did.
"Woah… I wonder what it'd take to look like that." Virginia muttered. "She's gorgeous."
Laforza snickered. "Such a prissy. Probably hasn't worked a day in her life."
"But that dress! I think she's still gorgeous."
"You're a prissy too."
Virginia sucked in a breath and swallowed, forcing a smile. "You… have the right to think whatever you want."
"You know I'm right."
Laforza found her ally's fascination with clothes amusing, the way she found Thomas' obsession with his little old camera or her escort's toxic neon nails amusing. She herself hadn't ever given her own clothes a second thought, other than to wonder if the stench of factory waste would ever scrub out (spoiler alert: it never did). She crossed her arms and slumped in her chair, staring off into nowhere as her ally watched the interviews. What a good little student! Laforza could almost smell the teacher's pet reeking from the Eight girl.
Laforza didn't give the screen another glance until the Two boy sauntered off-stage. She couldn't stand to watch those privileged kids chat up the Capitol. For them, the interviews might as well be a formality; they were guaranteed to attract sponsors, whether from Capitol tourism in their districts or impressions during their free morning or even their high Training Scores. She herself already knew she'd flunk her interview, and she was absolutely fine with that. As for Virginia… Perhaps Laforza was just a little glad the little miss goodie-two-shoes sought her out. The Eight girl was bound to do somewhat well.
Virginia sighed. "Do we even have a chance? They're all so good at this…"
"Oh, you'll do fine," Laforza scoffed. This girl was primmer than an effin' primrose; she had no business worrying about a three-minute talk. "Just smile and wave and be your horribly polite self and I'm sure they'll love you."
"Are you sure?"
Laforza rolled her eyes. "You're literally a doll, Virginia. All you know how to do is sit still and act pretty. And that's somehow really useful here."
The Eight girl pressed her lips into a firm line, which slowly curved up into a tense smile, almost like bending a metal bar. Even through the makeup, her red cheeks showed.
"C'mon. You won't get anything better from me so you might as well take it."
The Peacekeeper called for "Ms. Wheeler," and Laforza groaned. As she rose, catching the hem of her dress with her toe, she gave Virginia a little pinch on the cheek, if only to see how the girl would respond. Much to her disappointment, the Eight girl maintained perfect poise; her hand reached up to brush her face, but there was no other acknowledgment. What a doll!
Laforza stepped in line behind the boy from Five, the one that'd tried to mess with the girl from Eleven. Though the bright lights ahead made him more a silhouette than anything, she could tell he was shaking. She poked him in the back. He jumped, cursing under his breath. Mission accomplished.
When the shy Five girl stepped out on stage, shuffling footsteps approached from behind, certainly Thomas'. The faintest hint of alcohol from his breath wafted past her nose. She didn't even want to look at him; the sight of his pathetic figure left her seething. What had he been talking about over dinner—some stupid thing about the sunset?—but now he was there and he was so close and she hoped he'd go out early so she wouldn't have to ever see him again.
All through the Five boy's interview, she shuffled from one leg to the other. She rolled her eyes as he tried to spit responses back at Jovian, only to stumble over his own words. She'd give him a few points for trying, but he simply wasn't significant enough to really make an impact on anyone.
"Up next, please welcome Laforza Wheeler, from District Six!"
When she stepped out on stage, the lights immediately assaulted her eyes and she nearly tripped. Effin' heels, escort be flogged. Even so, she regained her balance and wobbled over to Jovian. The crowd laughed below her. She glared at them—how amusing! If only they could see how hard she was laughing, how funny this all was to her.
"Welcome, Laforza! How are you doing today?"
Jovian beamed at her, that sickeningly camera-perfect smile that covered any semblance of humanity, just like everyone else in this godforsaken place. Ha! As if he hadn't just seen her mess of an entrance. She wondered what she'd have to do to punch one of those glossy white teeth out. The red would be striking against his silver suit.
"Oh my!" she gushed, trying not to gag at the horrendous false excitement dripping from her voice. "I am so enjoying myself today! I think I just might just be falling in love with this place."
The crowd awwed. Brainless sheep.
She snorted, unable to hold it any longer. "Nope, not falling in love. Just falling on my face because of these stupid heels. Let's be honest, ladies—just tell me your feet don't hurt after a day in 'em. I dare you."
Jovian chuckled, echoing the crowd's stilted laughter. Of course he would laugh. He was basically paid to do that—though Laforza wondered if he'd ever had any experience in heels. She hadn't considered it before, but this was the Capitol. Who knew how else they might decide to torture themselves?
"My, my! You're doing a wonderful job with them, though! The resilience of District Six, right?" He clapped his hands. Oh, how he deserved a good punch in the face right about now.
She shrugged. "I don't know about resilience, but I'm fed up with it."
She rolled her eyes and smirked at him before jumping to her feet. As the crowd roared in surprise, she kicked the shoe off her right foot, and then her left, grinning with glee when the two foot-binders of death disappeared into the crowd. She caught her stylist on his balcony gaping, his hands clasped over his mouth. She gave him a little wave.
Jovian slapped his knee, laughing along with the crowd. He was a doll too; she'd have to try harder to shock him. "What an unexpected turn! Did you and your stylist plan this ahead of time?"
"Oh no, Jovian." She sat back down, voice dripping with exaggerated sugar. "I just live to make mistakes."
"You earned a very respectable 6 in training! I'd hardly call that a mistake."
Poor guy, trying to make her look good when she'd long decided that she didn't want to look good, if only out of pure spite. Though he was still just another harbinger for her likely gruesome death… so she didn't feel bad for him at all. This guy deserved some trouble.
"Oh no, that wasn't a mistake." She smirked, giving the crowd a few deriding glances for the heck of it. "But this is."
With that, Laforza Wheeler rose from the seat and marched off stage.
Jovian's voice echoed behind her, calling her back, trying to laugh it off as if it'd been planned from the start. She raised her chain defiantly at the Peacekeepers all around, challenging them to stop her, to drag her back to center stage, to force her to talk. As she brushed past Thomas, she summoned every ounce of fake sweetness and whispered a taunting "good luck, you'll need it" in his ear. He recoiled away from her. She grinned.
When she arrived back in the waiting room, she found Virginia with her mouth agape, utterly horrified.
"Laforza! What in the world—"
She shrugged. "They weren't gonna like me anyway. I'm not their Golden Girl. I might as well have some fun with it."
"But—"
"They're calling you now. Have fun!"
Virginia bit her lip, face flushed red. Was that second-hand embarrassment? The girl had the nerve to be embarrassed over something that wasn't even her business? But the Peacekeeper was waiting, so the girl rose to her feet and glided over to the door atop her heels as if they were extensions of her feet.
On the screen, Laforza watched as Thomas stammered through the first few lines of his interview. She laughed. She couldn't tell whether his beet-red face was because he'd had something to drink before he came or because she'd unnerved him. Maybe both. What a stupid boy.
He was dead to her, and not just him. They all were dead to her. Virginia, the other tributes—heck, even the Capitol. She didn't care whether they liked her or not, or if she had any sponsors (though she was sure she had none), or what her odds were according to the betting odds. The sponsorship system was nothing more than a farce anyway, designed to make gullible Capitolites invested in the lives of a few poor District children whose lives didn't mean a thing to them.
And if she had to kill… well, she didn't care about that either. Maybe she'd even enjoy it. After seeing everything the Capitol had to offer, she was ready to take that pent-up anger out on some unlucky someone.
When Thomas stumbled back from his interview, he felt angry.
He didn't want to be angry. Anger was a crushing emotion; it drained its victim of energy, leaving them exhausted—and Thomas didn't need to be any more exhausted than he already was after a day of grueling preparations with his mentor, escort, and stylist.
And for what? No amount of being angry would do anything to Laforza, nor was he sure if he actually wanted to get back at her, even though her venomous voice chilled him to the bone. Or was that the alcohol? It'd only been a couple of swigs. He usually held it down better; maybe he shouldn't have taken a drink before coming here, even though he had to admit that it was nice to not feel the sharp edge of the Capitol's terrible show.
He saw Mati and Iggy waiting for him when he returned to the waiting room. It put a smile back on his face. When Mati first approached him, it'd been a total shock. He'd spent days trying to work up the courage to go and talk to the boy from Nine, but each time, he'd found paralyzed by the fear of possible conflict. Yet all had worked out well so far. Now he just had to forget the Games tomorrow and everything would be alright…
Maybe that would be a little much, though he couldn't deny that the thought was attractive, to down his worries away, the way he did after arguments with Parker and Cosette, to forget it all temporarily. He wouldn't do it. It would be too far. No matter what he did or how much he drank, he wouldn't be able to make tomorrow go away, and if he didn't want to die, he needed to be alert when morning came.
Mati gave him a sympathetic look. "Are you feeling okay?"
"It could've been worse," Thomas said, resting in his chair. Though didn't fully feel it, he laughed anyway, hoping that his feelings would catch up to it.
"Don't worry." Iggy patted him on the shoulder. "Everything will be fine."
Thomas smiled sadly. He didn't know what he'd do without the two of them. The weight of impending doom felt too heavy to bear alone.
When a Peacekeeper called Mati next, Thomas gave him a high five. "You'll do great."
"I… don't know." Mati chuckled, his nerves surfacing under the attempted calm. "I appreciate the thought, though."
As they watched the Nine boy disappear down the hall to the stage, he sighed contentedly—or as contentedly as he possibly could be. He glanced at Iggy. Though he'd always felt bad for the girl whenever he saw her around, he'd never once imagined that they'd end up working together. It was a bad idea from almost any angle he looked at it, yet he couldn't say he minded. She radiated light and warmth everywhere she went. Just like the alcohol, she made existence a little more bearable.
Cheers across the room drew their attention to the Seven girl's interview.
"Do you have anyone waiting at home?" Jovian asked, voice from the speakers half-drowned by the girl's allies. "What would you want to tell them?"
"My parents, my co-workers…" The Seven girl paused for a moment. Her eyes turned dreamy. "My girlfriend Joanne. She… you mean the world to me, and I want you to know that I love you and that I'll do my best to return to you. But if I don't make it, I hope you'll forgive me and move on."
The waiting room suddenly fell into uncomfortable silence; the Twelves gave each other worried glances. Iggy looked at him with confusion, as if he had answers for her. He shrugged. It was strange, seeing someone look up to him. He'd never had a sibling; he'd never felt this responsibility for someone (other than his lovers Parker and Cosette, but romantic relationships were different).
He couldn't say he minded it, though. If it ever came down to it, he wasn't sure if he'd have the courage to rush to Iggy's aid, but he hoped he would. Maybe it'd help if someone sponsored him some beer. That usually helped when he needed to take a risk.
One by one, the interviews flowed together in an alcohol-tinged blur, through which he barely picked up on the individual tributes. The Seven boy, challenging Jovian to coin flip. The determined Eight girl and the charming Eight boy. Mati's district partner, whose snark and dark humor left the audience half-amused, half-disturbed. Right as they dismissed her, they called Iggy away, leaving Thomas alone to watch Mati's interview.
He fought through the haze to fix his eyes on the screen, where the Nine boy trod towards center stage and shook Jovian's hand. Though the boy was already miles ahead of how his own interview had begun, he could already see the audience losing interest. They'd already sat through fifty-one minutes of seventeen other interviews, and somehow, on-stage Mati lacked the charm Thomas and Iggy loved about in-person Mati.
Right when Thomas had given up hope, Jovian asked a question about working in the fields, and Mati began to sing. The atmosphere shifted above them. Perhaps it wouldn't be enough to make a meaningful difference, but at least it was something and it was him.
Thomas waved once Mati reappeared in the doorway to the waiting room. "You did great!"
Though Mati wore a perfectly serviceable smile, Thomas couldn't help but feel like the boy wasn't really smiling underneath. "It was alright, I guess. There's nothing too interesting about me."
"Come on." He gave the boy a friendly nudge. "Take some credit for yourself. That was wonderful."
"…I appreciate the thought."
"I'm serious—"
Mati pointed at the screen. "Iggy's up."
That was the end of it. Both of them gave her their full attention as she fluttered across the stage, shining with untainted joy. Thomas wanted to protect her light, guard it from the horrors to come, freeze time so that she'd eternally be happy. But that wasn't possible. Protecting her wasn't remotely feasible, or even advisable.
Thomas gulped. They had to talk about her, though it seemed like neither of them wanted to. As for himself, he'd already made up his mind. Even if sticking with Iggy was a poor decision, he was willing to pay that price. Life was short, whether he won the Hunger Games or not. Better to enjoy the bits of happiness he had rather than earn a few more years of a long, dreary life. He hoped Mati wouldn't disagree with him. He didn't know what he'd do in that case. He didn't think Mati would be the type to ditch the girl, but none of them had sent each other alliance requests and Thomas didn't want to enter the Arena not knowing where they all stood.
Three minutes passed. They'd be calling up the boy from Eleven any time now. Neither of them had spoken, so Thomas figured he'd give it a shot and hope for the best.
"So…" He played with his tie, avoiding eye contact. "About Iggy…"
Mati tensed. "I'm not abandoning her. I can't do that."
"I won't do that."
"Good."
Silence. Awkward, but relieving, all the same. "Should we form an alliance?"
"I thought about it…" Mati rubbed his chin. "I think it might be wiser to stay split. At least officially."
The two glanced at the screen. As Iggy's interview wrapped up, the popularity rankings at the edge of the screen rearranged in real time—it seemed like Iggy had managed to pull a few pity points, for she'd moved up from twenty-third to twenty-second, above the Three Male and Thomas himself. After hovering there for a few moments, she shifted up a few more, but even that was a far cry from the Star Alliance's crazy popularity. Each of its members remained near the top of the chart, their names backed with gold to denote their position in the Arena's dominant force.
Mati chuckled nervously. "I promise I won't pull anything funny—Iggy won't either; I know she won't. I just don't see us getting a lot of sponsors, so there's not a huge benefit to an alliance, you know?"
Thomas didn't really understand the inner workings of the Alliance system, but there was vaguely something about how each additional member of an alliance granted a multiplier to any sponsor funds sent their way. Not that it mattered if they didn't have sponsors in the first place.
"I see…"
"It'll be safer if we're not presented officially as a group." Mati's analytical eye wandered across the room. "Considering our training scores and popularity… it's probably best for us to lay low."
There. Issue resolved. Thomas could feel the atmosphere clear—or maybe it was just him, worrying too much about any potential rifts between himself and his informal allies.
The room had settled down, energy depleted after over an hour of interviews. Each decorative bulb dangling by the wall cast its weak golden light in a sweet circle around it, rippling along the majestic black backdrop.
Thomas breathed deeply and tilted his head back. A few tingles from the alcohol still bounced around inside his head; they'd be gone soon. He wished he could stay here forever, under the golden light with pleasant feelings in his head, by this kind boy whose company meant the world to him. He wished he had Silver with him here. The vibes were just right.
"Isn't it nice here?"
Mati jittered his leg nervously. "Nice? Thomas, the Games—"
"Forget the Games, please," Thomas said, lifting his head slightly. "Just for now. Forget that they're coming for us. Forget that we might be dead tomorrow. Right here, right now… isn't it nice?"
"I… guess so."
For a moment, the two of them soaked in the atmosphere, under the twinkling lights, with the crowd's indistinct voices in a low rumble, almost soothing to the soul. Faint perfume wafted through the air.
Mati didn't stay quiet for long. "Nope. Not really. I can't forget about tomorrow."
"That's fair."
But then Iggy appeared in the doorway, having returned from her interview, and he found that he could forget tomorrow if he'd just fixate hard enough on the beautiful and happy things happening all around him right now. Without the context of the Games, he might even be able to enjoy it himself.
Even if it wouldn't last.
Official Alliances:
(Credit to goldie031 and ladyqueerfoot for most of the names/epithets)
Star Alliance (Los Amigos Negativos):
Adora Noble (1F), Ven Piersson (1M), Ilithyia Aella (2F), Eros Worshire (2M), Adair Ryder (7M), Nevaeh Jiminez (10F), Sostonio Caspiano (10M)
Anti-Star Alliance (Gaslight, Gatekeep, Girlboss, and Zeph):
Liat North (7F), Clarke Brioche (9F), Zirconia Eskridge (12F), Zeph Kadir (12M)
District Three (D3serves Better):
Ada Sparks (3F), Ace Invidia (3M)
Purely a Business Arrangement (That's Just Showbiz):
Laforza Wheeler (6F), Virginia Bedford (8F)
Loners (Teenage Dirtbags):
Azolla Majuli (4F), Navarro de Leon (4M), Electra Eirisse (5F), Kiran Malhotra (5M), Thomas Montoya (6M), Ellis Lowery (8M), Mati Strye (9M), Yggdrasil Kane (11F), Scythe Chandler (11M)
A/N Here it is, the last chapter before Launch! At this point, every kid had received at least two Pre-Games POVs in addition to their introductions. I've decided that I'll be releasing the Launch chapter (along with the announcement!) on Sunday, June 6th around 3 PM-ish Eastern Time (USA). That means you now have a deadline for your memes! Get 'em in, either in my discord (Josephm611#4848) or email (josephm611ffn at gmail. com).
I've decided on the participation prize for the meme competition. For each meme you submit (up to three), you may ask me one of the following, and you will receive a little spoiler:
1. You give me three names, I tell you which one hurts me the most.
2. You give me two names, I tell you someone else one of them will run into (without saying which of the two it is)
3. You give me a name, I tell you a number related to them and their future without any context as to its meaning
4. You can try asking other questions, but I reserve the right to withhold information.
Sorry for the longer A/N. For a question… who do you relate to the most? For me, it's a combination of Mati and Virginia. Almost every aspect of my personality is reflected in one of the two, with Mati having my shyer, conflict-averse, fearful side and Virginia having my stubborn, moral, responsible side.
I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts!
