Chapter 38: Dead Horse

Interview Day, the Capitol

Venatrix spent the morning with a pit in her stomach.

During breakfast, her father tried to reassure her that it would be okay, that whatever happened with the pack, he'd make it okay. Venatrix wasn't stupid enough to believe him.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, and she'd dragged Percy down with her.

Stop worrying. We'll deal with them when we have to.

The memory of last winter's mock Games trickled to the forefront of Venatrix's mind; Coquina ditching them at the Bloodbath, Percy reminding her that they'd been trained to adapt. Adapt they did, and adapt they'd have to do now if Venatrix couldn't wrangle her alliance within the next twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four? Venatrix glanced at the marble wall in the dining area and the silver tick-marks embedded within that formed an analog clock, taking a minute to parse the information – twenty-three hours and fourteen minutes, if the Games started at their usual time.

Less, considering she'd last see her tentative allies before the end of the night.

But stewing in anxiety wouldn't do her any good, especially with the interview looming over the evening. Venatrix focused on the rich taste of her breakfast omelette, the various vegetables and spices seeping onto her tongue instead while the others chatted. "On the bright side," Oberon was saying, "we've got a bunch of potential sponsors lined up for the pair of you thanks to that shoot."

She frowned. "Potential?"

"Well, you know they don't go through until you reach the arena."

Venatrix nodded, though the frown remained etched on her features. They'd be stupid not to accept the advantage.

Her pack… allies they may be, but they all knew what they signed up for when they volunteered. It was almost cute, really, to pretend like they were friends last night when nothing could be further from the truth. Historically, the partnership between Careers has been one of convenience, and it will always, always splinter.

Some years sooner than others.

As much as Venatrix strove for a cohesive alliance, she would have no problem sinking her blade into the hearts of her allies– well, excluding Percy, but that was a mountain she'd climb when she came to it. It would be foolish to assume the others didn't share that sentiment. Venatrix intended to keep one eye open; can't be caught off-guard if you strike first.

But before then, interviews. The last hurdle to tackle before the Bloodbath.

Venatrix squeezed her eyes shut, letting a stiff breath puff through her nose. The sooner we get this shit over with, the better. Something about the Capitol pressed heavily on her mood; she missed the open air, the freshness of District Two. For the time being, she could at least hope for a similar arena.

At Kitty's brisk directive, the District Two team headed for the elevator. Venatrix let the escort hustle her back to the Remake Center without complaint where the three Nells immediately took the helm. Despite the interview taking place in the early evening, Venatrix's prep team spent all day polishing her from head to toe. When she knew what to expect, the process was almost soothing; Spinella rubbed scented oils and lotions into her skin, providing a low stream of chatter that Venatrix easily tuned out beneath the feeling of Penelope's nimble fingers scrubbing the thick hair at her scalp. Eleanor remained silent, seemingly lost in thought as she removed Venatrix's old nail polish, rebuffing her already-perfect nails.

Venatrix didn't make an effort to engage any of them, letting their dialogue wash over her like the warm water running through her hair, the rehearsed interview responses running through her mind.

The robe that temporarily clothed her sat lightly on her freshly-pampered skin; she closed her eyes as Penelope ran a brush through her hair, followed by a heat-emitting wand. Streaks of glitter shot through the Capitolite girl's own deep indigo hair; a new style, Venatrix supposed. Penelope smiled in thanks when Venatrix offered her a brief compliment. "I won't be changing yours up too much; don't you worry. You've got such a lovely natural color…"

"Thanks," Venatrix said. "I was, uh, born with it."

Penelope and Spinella chuckled, the former switching out the heat-wand for a flattening iron. "Stefania wants it straight for this look, though," she said, clapping the iron. Venatrix only nodded; she hadn't had it straightened in years.

They only managed to get about halfway through before lunch; luckily, Eleanor hadn't started on her nail polish yet, only a base coat that had long-since dried in time for Venatrix to quickly scarf down a few small sandwiches and a plate of greens. Penelope paused briefly for a snack as well, though one finger sandwich and a quick wash of her hands later, she was back at her task, keeping Venatrix's hair out of her face while the tribute ate.

By the time they finished, Venatrix sported a glittering black polish on her nails and smokey shadow across her eyelids to match. Spinella held up a brush coated in light glitter, instructing Venatrix to close her eyes. "Ugh, that is so gorgeous," she swooned. With a larger brush, she dusted another shimmering powder across Venatrix's cheekbones. "I love this powder; such a nice brand." She sighed, dramatically despondent. "They've got just about every shade of natural color, but I can never find one for mine."

Penelope raised a dark blue brow, gently shoving her peer aside to style the hair around Venatrix's face. "That's 'cause you're pink, hun."

"It's royal magenta, actually," the pink – sorry, royal magenta – woman huffed. "You wouldn't believe how expensive my foundation and concealers are; it's ridiculous!"

"Isn't the treatment pretty expensive too?"

"Well, yeah…"

"There you go," Penelope said, parting Venatrix's hair down the middle with the pointed end of a comb. "If you can afford the treatment, you can afford the makeup, no?"

"Yes, but–"

"I miss the days when people would just get tattoos," Eleanor sniffed from Venatrix's elbow, no doubt inhaling the acrid clear coat of polish she'd just painted overtop her charge's glinting nails.

Spinella brightened. "Oh, I've got some of those too!"

"Me too; I just got a new one the other day," Penelope said, pulling up her sleeve to show off the outline of a cat inked into her pale forearm. "Hey, Venatrix, if you win, I can get one for you too."

"Oh, that would be incredible!" Spinella gasped. "Let's all do one!"

The two excitedly began swapping ideas of tattoo placements and artists they frequented; Venatrix was saved from having to offer her opinion on shoulder versus calf tattoos by the arrival of her stylist, large dog and larger dress bag in tow. If anything, they should be asking Zavian, Venatrix thought, recalling the array of squiggly tattoos that peppered the Thirteen boy's arms.

"Oh, excellent, they've got your hair done," Stefania said, carefully hanging up the bag and giving Venatrix a quick once-over. "I suppose Pink Nell will have to finish your makeup after you change."

"It's not pink, it's–!"

"Royal magenta, I know." Stefania's smile was affectionate despite her ribbing. "But seriously, do not forget her lipstick."

"Oh, right!"

Venatrix glanced apprehensively between the Capitolites. "Lipstick?" Every time she'd attempted to wear any back home, it ended up in her teeth.

"Don't you worry, dear," Stefania said, brushing a stray eyelash from Venatrix's cheek. "As long as you don't forget you've got it on, you should be fine. But first…" With a sweeping gesture, she unzipped the dress bag; lengths of dark fabric snapped up Venatrix's attention, interspersed with flecks of white light from above catching on the sequins embedded in the garment.

Quickly, Venatrix stepped out of the robe and into the dress. Stefania's gracefully cold fingers pulled the zipper all the way up to her neck, the dress constricting considerably as it went.

Not entirely a dress– tight shorts cinched around her upper thighs, though not enough to be unbearable. The sequined fabric that hung from midriff level rendered them necessary; two large slits cut through the floor-length skirt, Venatrix's tanned skin a distinct contrast to the glittering black cloth. The same fabric clung tight to her torso, up her neck, all the way down her forearms. Despite the innumerable plastic sequins covering the dress, not a single one bit uncomfortably into her skin, and Venatrix found herself deeply impressed by Stefania's skill, assuming the stylist herself had been the one to sew it together.

While Stefania double-checked that everything sat right, Spinella floated into her vision with a tube of deep crimson lipstick. Venatrix automatically puckered her lips, holding still while the Capitolite carefully painted them with color.

The dulled glittering of the fabric negated the necessity for an abundance of jewelry, and a simple yet dangerously tall pair of black heeled shoes completed the look. After a few last-minute touch-ups, Stefania led Venatrix to a nearby full-length mirror where she could admire the stylist's work, and Venatrix barely recognized her reflection.

Sharp, green eyes stood out beneath heavy shadow, coupled with a layer of powder that shimmered across the angled planes of her face, though it was the lipstick that automatically drew her eyes, the most glaring pop of color within the entire ensemble. Venatrix tilted her head, light catching on the ridges of her cheekbones, the silky curtain of her now pin-straight hair; even with a neutral expression, the intensity of the paint job twisted her features into a threat.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd worn makeup this heavy; like the presence of clothes on her body, it had an almost-physical weight, as if the powder and paint wanted to seep beneath her skin.

Before any of the Capitolites could stop her, Venatrix ran a steady hand through her waterfall of hair. Not a single knot snagged her fingers; a rare occurrence. Parted at the middle, the rich brown locks hung all the way down to her stomach, far lower than her natural waves. She'd never seen it this straight before; it hardly felt like hers.

Altogether, however… Intimidating. Deadly. Striking. Stefania had presented her exactly how her angle demanded.

Venatrix bared her teeth in a grin, half a snarl; she was almost surprised when the creature in the mirror copied the movement. With a quick flick of her wrist, Venatrix brushed her cascade of hair over her shoulder as she turned to Stefania. "It's perfect," she said genuinely. "How much time do we have before interviews start?"

Stefania glanced at her cellular. "Still a good half hour."

"Great," Venatrix said, heading for the dressing room door. "Thanks again, all of you."

"Be careful with the skirt," Stefania called after her while the Nells returned her appreciation with enthusiastic smiles; two-thirds of them, at least.

Backstage, a seemingly endless amount of people milled about in various frantic states, morphing into blurs of vibrant color as they passed around her. Venatrix strode carefully, heeding her stylist's words; the spindly heels of her shoes pinched noticeably around her toes and threatened to catch on the short train of her skirt. She bunched it in hand, out of the way of careless footsteps

For now, she gritted her teeth through the ordeal; the tributes typically spent the majority of the time seated onstage anyways.

The annoyance contorted her features into a glare strong enough to part the crowd of Capitolite busybodies like a hot knife through butter. Venatrix didn't bother softening it when she encountered the watchful gazes of her allies. Having finished their own interview preparations, Patience and Shannon lingered outside what appeared to be the latter's dressing room in semi-casual conversation, and Venatrix offered a cordial nod of greeting as she passed. The Four girl's expression remained mistrustful; she sent an elbow into Shannon's side when he waved back, but Venatrix didn't break her stride, eyes locked on the head of blonde hair emerging from the room a few doors down.

As much as Patience might hold last night against her, there was a reason Venatrix wanted to speak to the Ones first. Preferably…

"Mariposa! Posy, hey, I wanted to– oh, wow."

At the sound of her name, the District One girl turned around. 'Dress' was a strong word for the scant scraps of soft orange satin they'd clad her in. The goal of the outfit seemed to be to display as much of Mariposa herself as possible for a national broadcast while keeping within her theme; pastel butterflies about the size of her palm artistically dotted Mariposa's shoulders, the slit of her draped skirt. Their wings fluttered with the One girl's movement, but even that couldn't distract from the dangerously thin strips of fabric that lay tight across Mariposa's torso, doing the bare minimum to cover her chest and absolutely nothing for the rest of her upper body.

Mariposa's eyes raked appreciatively over Venatrix's own outfit. "Damn, Vee, you look badass."

"Um." Venatrix barely registered the compliment or the return to her nickname. As elegant as the other girl's ensemble was, Venatrix couldn't get rid of the sour taste in her mouth, her eyes resolutely fixed above Mariposa's shoulders.

She caught on quickly. "I was right, wasn't I?" A twinge of dryness seeped into Mariposa's laugh. "Told you they'd dress me like a whore."

Venatrix pressed her lips together. "Are you… comfortable wearing that?"

"Does it matter?" Mariposa shrugged.

This was hardly the first time the Capitol had dressed their tributes in such attire; Venatrix recalled what they'd put her mother in for her crowning ceremony. She didn't think she'd ever seen something this blatant, however. "It should."

Mariposa poked at one of the butterflies on her shoulder. Its wings fluttered in an unexpectedly autonomous movement, and Venatrix noticed more sitting within her ally's curled locks. "As long as I'm not dressed like a leprechaun," she joked, jerking her chin towards her district partner, who'd just emerged from his own dressing room.

Granted, the silky emerald tuxedo contrasted nicely with Viper's auburn hair, now gelled smoothly off his face. Judging by his expression, he'd caught the tail-end of Mariposa's comment.

"It's fine, really," Venatrix reassured him before he could snap something rude. "Patience is wearing green too; well, more of a dark teal, really, but same idea."

Viper straightened out his cuffs. "It's a nice suit," he huffed. "I'm glad they stopped with the snakeskin gimmick, at least; it would not work twice."

Venatrix nodded in agreement. Belatedly, she remembered her reason for seeking out the District One pair, suddenly unnerved by their congeniality in light of the previous night. "Yeah, so, about yesterday…" Mariposa's shoulders straightened at the change in topic, Viper's expression shifting. "I didn't expect for that to end up being a whole thing, and I really want us all to start off on a good foot tomorrow– as good as it can get, at least."

Neither responded immediately, though Mariposa pursed her lips in thought, finally settling on another nonchalant shrug. Viper's similar response surprised her more. "I agree."

"I— really?"

"Yes." Viper tugged at the hem of his suit jacket, smoothing out the non-existent wrinkles. "As you said, it wouldn't do much good for us to fall apart before we even start." For once, Mariposa seemed to agree with her partner's words.

"So, you're… not mad anymore?"

"I was never mad, per se," Mariposa clarified. "More like caught off-guard."

Before Venatrix could respond, an obvious Capitolite — Mariposa's stylist, Venatrix assumed — poked her head out from the nearby dressing room, beckoning to her tribute. "Mariposa dear, your jewelry!"

With an irritated eye-roll, the One girl disappeared into the room, no shortage of reluctance in her stride.

"You're really not mad?" Venatrix pressed; Viper's obvious compliance unsettled her.

He smiled. "I realized you were right."

Venatrix's eyebrows shot straight up to her forehead.

"More sponsors will be better for the whole of us," Viper continued. "In the short term, at least. The way I see it, the two of us, we're the top players." His eyes drifted upwards to meet hers, their heights now reversed thanks to Venatrix's tall shoes. "The 'Makers, they can mess around with our district partners, but we both know the truth."

Venatrix pursed her lips, though the fact that he still shared her father's sentiment regarding their training scores didn't surprise her in the least. "I've been training with Percy since we were ten," she said resolutely. "Trust me, he deserved that score."

Viper raised a disbelieving eyebrow. "If that's what you want to believe."

Is this his move now? Venatrix shrugged with indifference. Trying to drive a wedge between Percy and I, just as he's doing with the rest of the pack… It would never work– even her father couldn't do it.

But Viper didn't need to know that.

"Listen," Venatrix said, laying a firm hand on his shoulder; Viper tensed under her grip. "Are we really okay? I wasn't lying when I said I didn't know about the shoot. I'm not gonna beg, or whatever, but it really is in your best interest to stay."

"Stay?" Viper's curled smirk was just as oily as his hair. "Oh, I'm not going anywhere, Venatrix."

That's it, I'm killing him first chance I get. Genuinely, she'd never met anyone who looked more punchable than the One boy did right now, his expression wreathed in smugness and guile. Trusting him at this point would be absolutely idiotic.

What Venatrix did trust was his training score.

In overestimating himself, he severely underestimated Mariposa; Percy, too, if Venatrix had to bet. His wrath at being proved wrong would only serve to blind him— Venatrix didn't doubt that for a second. Viper's arrogance would be his undoing, even if it took a sword through his chest for him to realize.

"Good," she said, nodding firmly.

The more she played into Viper's obvious crookedness — the more she reacted — the more satisfaction he would undoubtedly draw; growing up with Iago had taught her a thing or two. Besides, she only had so many ever-diminishing hours until she'd be allowed to legally deck him in the face.

A shout rang over the buzzing backstage commotion, calling the tributes in place for their lineup, and Venatrix released her hold on Viper. He sauntered off while Venatrix waited for Mariposa to re-emerge from her room. She didn't wait long; Mariposa slipped her arm through Venatrix's with a dazzling smile, and the two girls headed towards the increasing gathering of tributes. "Thanks," Venatrix murmured into the One girl's ear. "Think I'd fall over if you weren't here."

Mariposa snorted, though she was forced to let go of Venatrix when an attendant separated them, replacing her with Percy. "Damn, you look great, Trix," he said appreciatively.

Venatrix quirked a half-smile in thanks. "You too." She pinched the satin lapel of his suit, a deep red rose embedded within the breast pocket. "This is nice. Very classic."

"Kinda boring."

"Nah, they like classic around here sometimes." He'd been dusted with just enough makeup to highlight his defined features, the subtle shadows around his eyes bringing out their blue. "It's a good angle for you, Perce." She patted him fondly on the cheek, and he huffed, attempting to dodge but grinning sheepishly all the same.

Within the gathered crowd, Venatrix caught sight of her mother's curls, her father's head poking above the others. Morwenna's fiery hair wasn't far behind, and they managed to make it over in time for a quick exchange of luck before the tributes were guided up to the stage itself. Thick red curtains separated the stage from the audience, though Venatrix could hear the chatter and bustle of thousands of voices settling in place as the attendants began to arrange them in district order. Venatrix took her seat between Viper and Percy near the beginning of the lineup, exhaling in relief with her weight lifted momentarily from her feet. Stretching her legs out, Venatrix dug the heels into the floor as she scanned the stage, hoping to give her toes an extra millimeter or two.

A set of plush white chairs sat beneath a gleaming spotlight, the rightmost one already occupied by the host. Venatrix could only see the back of Bethia Apheleot's pink pearl-studded wig from here, but her trademark cackle as she exchanged words with an attendant was unmistakable.

Louder still was the opening fanfare of the national anthem; automatically, Venatrix straightened her shoulders, letting her lips twist into a confident smile as the curtains rolled open.

Blinding light washed over the array of tributes, and Venatrix forced herself not to wince. The roar of the audience nearly drowned out Bethia's welcoming words, the glittering array of people nearly distracting her from the moment at hand. Her eyes just managed to find Stefania in the front row — Anita laying neatly on the ground before her — and her parents settling down in the Victors' seating area, before the interviewer called Mariposa to the stage.

Gracefully, the One girl stood, floating as easily across the floor as the fluttering insects inhabiting her dress, the perfect embodiment of her namesake. A sporadic chorus of whistles and catcalls followed her entry, but Mariposa handled it with dignity, her smile never faltering.

Bethia, of course, didn't let her slide so easily. "What a daring ensemble you've graced us with today!" the Capitolite chirped.

"You can thank my stylist for that," Mariposa said, leaning forward, and Venatrix didn't miss how the camera chose to center more on the sparse fabric across her chest than on her face. Aware of her angle, Mariposa leaned into it until she found a clever way to work in her skills, her stellar training score. At the end of her interview, she seamlessly exchanged places with Viper, not a word of congratulations or wishes of luck passing between them.

While the audience soaked up Viper's sychophantic charm, Venatrix's attention remained fixed on Mariposa, now fidgeting with the pastel orange fabric of her dress. 'You good?' Venatrix mouthed once Mariposa noticed her staring.

The One girl nodded, but a few seconds later, Venatrix caught her fidgeting again, interrupting her attempts at rehearsing her pre-prepared responses. Every time Mariposa shifted in her seat, the dress seemed to need readjusting. Venatrix found herself grateful again that Stefania hadn't taken a similar approach to her outfit; she frowned at Mariposa's struggling, wondering if it was as distracting for the audience as it was for her.

Center stage, Viper still prattled on about his various skills, and Venatrix wondered then if that was the point.

Next to her, Percy had noticed Mariposa's plight as well. With a wordless sigh, he shrugged out of his jacket, nodding towards their ally as he passed it to Venatrix. Mariposa looked taken aback by the offering, wide eyes blinking in confusion before she accepted the jacket, shrouding herself in its protection.

Just in time; Venatrix's name rang out from the host's lips.

The thundering cheer that rose up with it trailed alongside Venatrix as she stood to her feet, sinking into her pinched shoes with every step. By her outward appearance, the confidence in her stride, one could never tell. "Welcome, welcome Venatrix Pyke!" Bethia beamed as Venatrix took her seat across from the Capitolite. "I have been dying for the chance to speak with you, Miss Pyke; such a tragedy that we only get three minutes tonight!"

Venatrix smirked. "I'm not worried; we'll have plenty of time later."

"Spoken like a true Pyke!" Bethia crowed; her own magenta lips curled into a cruel grin. "Most of them, at least."

She means nothing. Her words mean nothing. "That's why I'm here," Venatrix said, forcefully pleasant. Her eyes sought the faces of her parents in the crowd again; the stage light shining on Venatrix and the host rendered their expressions nearly undetectable, bathed in shadow as they were, but Venatrix could imagine their stony glares well enough.

"I bet you are." Venatrix didn't dare drop her smile, even at the subtly patronizing note in the woman's tone. "Now, you may not be the first of your siblings to appear on my stage — so sorry about your sister, by the way—" Venatrix acknowledged her with a terse nod. "If you win, you'll be the first Victor of the Pyke siblings! No more competition for that crown, eh? Well, aside from the other tributes."

Bethia cackled loudly at her own words; beneath Venatrix's flat smile, her mind flashed forward to a future scenario a year or two down the line– Iago sitting where she is now, forcing a smile to his face while the host dug into the still-raw wound created by two dead sisters.

Leaning back against the chair, Venatrix forced her curled fists out of sight, folding her arms squarely. "Obviously I would prefer if Bellara were alive," she sneered, not bothering to hold back her own tone of condescension. "But since she's not, I intend to win in her honor."

"Oh, that is so sweet," Bethia cooed. "I'm sure your sister–"

"Bellara." She has a name.

"–I'm sure Bellara would be so proud to see you here tonight."

Venatrix nodded staunchly, allowing another small smile. That much, at least, was true. As much as Venatrix had hated watching her sister in the arena, she knew Bellara would've felt the opposite had their positions been reversed. The same naive arrogance that compelled her to the Reaping stage would've convinced her of Venatrix's inevitable Victory– there was no other possible outcome.

"Yes, she was just so cute in that little dress of hers, and that huge axe!" Bethia leaned forwards in anticipation, her glittering makeup shimmering beneath the stage lights, almost as sharp as her smile. "I'm sure we all want to know, my dear Venatrix; what was it like watching her in the arena?"

What was it like watching her die?

The prepared response tasted like acid in the back of her throat. Because they'd prepared for this one; of course they had.

But their tiny Academy classrooms couldn't replicate the harsh heavy lights pressing down upon Venatrix's shoulders; the quick rehearsals in their Training Center suite didn't prepare her for the thousands upon thousands of eyes soaking up her reaction, ears waiting for her response, voices silenced by bated breath.

Shoulders squared, Venatrix inhaled one of her own and forced the words between her teeth. "It was… hard. I was… so proud of her, for going in there, and representing not only our district but also our family." She sucked in another breath, willing herself to continue, willing the timer on her three minutes to move faster. "When she was fighting those mutts–" she paused, swallowing. "I just wanted to be in there with her."

The host nodded, rapt and faux-sympathetic amidst the sighs of the audience. "And now, you're here." Her hand reached across the arm of her chair to give Venatrix's a cold squeeze; it took everything in her not to pull away.

Venatrix smiled, solemn. "Now I'm here."

The dead air allowed the moment to sink in; ever the professional, Bethia honored that for a beat before her grin widened, all teeth. "Beautifully said, my dear. And you can bet we look forward to seeing your brother here when it's his turn too!"

My… what?

Bethia was looking at her expectantly. Venatrix willed her smile to stay in place, forcing the interview to take that as an answer; even if she managed to get any words out, Venatrix didn't think she'd hear them over the low ringing, in her ears, her own incessant heartbeat… They can't… I'm still– I haven't even…

Breathe. Dammit; she's still fucking talking–

"–thing else you'd like the country to know?"

"Yeah–" Venatrix cleared her throat. In her peripheral, her face dominated the camera screen, and she carved the unnatural, hunted look in her eyes into something stone; something angry. "Yeah, I do. Last year? You got lucky, District Eleven." It was almost a relief to let her features twist into a sneer. "And right now, you are shit out of luck."

Sharp cheers of shock and excitement undulated through the crowd at her words; likely more for the cussing than her proclamation— no doubt she'd get an earful from her parents later. Their voices nearly drowned out the buzzer indicating the end of her interview, and Venatrix stood swiftly to her feet, chin up. As she returned to her seat, she threw a nasty glare down the line; she could barely see the Eleven pair from here, but it didn't matter.

The cameras caught it perfectly.

Noticing her expression, Percy gave her a quick squeeze on the shoulder as he stood for his own interview. The brief, stabilizing touch grounded her more than the shoes on her feet, and Venatrix returned the sentiment with a good-luck pat to the back, a silent gesture of thanks. It would be impossible for him to miss her distress; she counted herself lucky that he still cared.

Her interview, at least, was over, the words caught midair and preserved forever on tape. Right now, she couldn't afford to get worked up over it, not with her face still plastered onscreen, nevermind what Bethia insinuated about her brother–

Stop.

"Just Percy, please." Her friend's voice rang out through the auditorium, aided by the microphones scattered across the stage; Venatrix forced herself to pay attention.

"Percy, Percy, Percy," Bethia tutted, shaking her head. "If this were anyone else, I'd be worried about you being overshadowed by your illustrious district partner–" his what? "–but you, Mr. Silverhorn… A twelve! How on earth did you manage that?"

"Well," Percy huffed, a practiced smile flitting across his features, "I was hoping to show you tomorrow."

The Capitolite let out a gasp of excitement. "Marvellous! I, for one, cannot wait!"

Percy chimed in his agreement, and they passed an easy back-and-forth between themselves. Expertly, he dodged Bethia's suggestive question about the nature of his relationship with Venatrix, redirecting it into a heartfelt description of their friendship and a mention of Lancelot back home. The natural ease at which Percy painted himself a seamless picture of District Two's golden boy – from his hair right down to the way he'd offered Mariposa his jacket not ten minutes ago – spoke to some genuine truth in his angle, a truth she didn't question for a second.

When he returned, Venatrix offered him a congratulatory smile, and they settled in for the long haul. "You okay?" Percy whispered as Grethel rattled off a dumbed-down description of her academic achievements.

Venatrix nodded stiffly, unwilling to let her expression reveal the truth. He knew it either way.

For the rest of the night, at least, she would pretend; it was easier to let herself focus on the rest of the interviews. Shannon's humble grace, Patience's boldfaced determination. Idris's jokes, though too dumb to crack through Venatrix's marble focus, earned him titters of appreciative laughter from the audience.

It was hard to feel like her task held any meaning once it came to the Fives, little Genera too timid to be interesting and Valkan too deadpan for the audience to care. Six wasn't better; Heather of Seven worse, and it was almost a relief when Ochre managed to capture the audience in a wave of unexpected vitriol and passion– he had a life to get back to in Seven, and the way he spoke had the audience hanging onto every word.

Caitlin was lauded for her training score as much as Ochre, especially given her willowy stature. The number seemed to have granted her an unwarranted confidence; absently, her fingers brushed her forearm as she spoke, and Venatrix caught sight of a fresh-looking scar along the skin. Venatrix narrowed her eyes; if that was related to her training score, she couldn't think of any reason the Gamemakers would score the girl so high for getting that cut up, unless she'd managed to demonstrate an incredible pain tolerance.

Despite his own impressive score, her partner barely said a word, even under Bethia's insistent prodding. Houndstooth went so far as to snarl at her near the end; far more entertaining than the Nines.

Nines and the Tens; more sob stories over families at home, bemoaning forsaken friends and partners, or, in Yaroslav's case, three minutes of accented muttering that the microphones hardly picked up. Venatrix found herself more invested in their apparel than their words, and maybe that was heartless of her, but her own heeled shoes were really starting to become unbearable. When that failed to keep her attention, her eyes wandered back to the crowd to find her parents again; they appeared to be paying about as much attention as her.

Of course, when Paprika Pim took the stage, Venatrix's gaze zeroed in on her like a hawk.

Her nerves were as palpable as her smile was brave, dainty as the flowerlike dress they'd put her in, though under Bethia's equally predatory grin, Venatrix expected it to falter sooner rather than later. Sure enough, as soon as the host brought up Venatrix's name, she quailed, her voice audibly wavering for the better half of the interview.

She made it through without crying, Venatrix thought appreciatively, as if that would make killing her any easier.

In practice, at least, it shouldn't exactly be hard.

The boy Starling too, though if Venatrix had to bet, he'd put up more of a fight. She could hear it in the kid's voice; he was done begging for the Capitol's approval, his answers clipped and honest in response to Bethia's prodding.

"Starling, my dear, we're eager to know; in the face of the remarks made by our lovely District Two female, how do you plan on handling your time in the arena?"

The resignation in Starling's tone couldn't hide his resentment. "I got a four in training, Miss Apheleot; a pretty well-deserved four at that. She got an eleven." He squinted at the host like she was an imbecile. "How do you think I'm gonna handle it?"

Bethia looked taken aback. "Well– what about your family? Wouldn't you like to return to them?"

"Y'know, I'm glad you asked about that." There was no mistaking the boy's anger now. "Pyke's not the only one with a dead sister. The difference is, I'm not milking mine for sponsor money."

true vengeance 151 . weebly . com

A/N: Ope. Lmao.. Ignore how this took me forever, it's my birthday ok you can't be mad at me JHHJFH. Uh. One more chapter until BB lol c: ..Check out the blog for art of Venatrix's interview fit btw !

Ok that's all, I'm sleepy see ya soon ish !

- Nell