A/N: Today we're viewing the pre-interview preparations! From discussing interview strategies to getting outfits designed to practicing with Fabula to waiting to go onto the stage for the big night and more, we're going to see these tributes today: Fender Hopkins, District Six Male, Calico D'Amboise, District Eight Male, and Carmen Ionique-Astron, the District Twelve Female! I hope you like this chapter, next up is the INTERVIEWS!

Trigger warnings: Profanity and sexual references

Fender's song is Pills N Potions by Nicki Minaj, Calico's song is Ride (the monologue portion from the music video) by Lana Del Rey, and Carmen's song is the same as Calico's.

I'mma keep it moving, be classy and graceful

I told 'em it's no friends in the game

You ain't learned that yet

All the bridges you came over, don't burn that yet

Self-righteous, and entitled

But they swearing on the Bible that they love you

When really they're no different from all your rivals

But I still don't wish death on 'em, I just reflect on 'em

Fender Hopkins, 17

District Six Male

Calla, Libby, Medusa, and myself walk as a unit of four down the angular, fluorescent-lit hallways. While the training center takes up a majority of the basement of the Tribute Center tower, the rest of the space is taken up by a grid of dozens of corridors. They're lined by storage rooms, offices, and most importantly, the styling center. The swinging doors at the end of this hallway lead into the large hub where I was stripped, waxed, scrubbed, and dressed in a restricting hovercraft pilot's uniform. Memories of the stifling costume and Twinkle's insecure antics aren't the fondest that I have yet from the Games, but I don't really mind the place. It's always abuzz with creative energy and (mostly) hardworking people, which is a refreshing change from how most of the Capitol acts.

Calla elbows into the room, and we all slip inside after her. Avoxes, prep teamers, and other staff bustle about in the central room of the styling center. It is a circular chamber, and fourteen doors line the walls. One is the large set of entrance doors we just came through, a second is the office of the Head Stylist Erasma Busquell, the right hand woman of Odore Ehrmphelt, the Gamemaker in charge of all pre-Games festivities. She told us that when we all arrived here before the chariots. The other twelve doors contain several rooms, and each is for a District. I don't know if they all have the same rooms, but I imagine that they do. The Six one has a design room where the District stylist works, a sitting room for talking about interview angles and such, a cleaning facility for when tributes arrive before the chariots, and then the large prep room where the prep team does hair, makeup, and whatever else is needed for the occasion. The whole complex is much more complicated than I ever imagined. I just always thought they put you in a suit and sent you on your way, but hell, was I wrong.

Once we enter, everyone quickly splinters. Medusa staggers off to the prep room, where the prep teams for Libby and myself lay in wait with their wicked makeup palettes and bristly combs. One of her skinny snakeskin heels has broken off, and she needs to get it fixed. Twinkle comes out of the design studio and keeps her eyes on the floor. She murmurs something and beckons for Libby to follow her, and my District partner does so, looking just as spacey.

That leaves Calla and I standing in the little hallway between all of rooms on the Six wing of the styling center. She breaks the silence with a worn out sigh, and motions me towards one of the doors. I walk complacently after her, and when we walk inside, I'm staring open mouthed.

The entire room looks like it's made out of ice or glass tinted purple. The chairs and sofa are rigid but functional, made out of the smooth, cold substance. A frilly chandelier hangs from the ceiling, and a small fireplace crackles with purple fire. The room is rather small, but breathtaking. When Calla turns on the chandelier, purple light floods the room, seeping through all the translucent objects in the room. It's eerie, but amazing.

"The stylists get to design for their wing of the building," Calla sighs, collapsing into one of the chairs, and immediately wincing as her back hits the hard surface rather roughly. "Twinkle likes the color purple I guess, and being uncomfortable. That's alright. It forces my usually distracted tributes focused for the most part."

I just stand there for a little, continuing to marvel at the room around me.

"So...are you sitting down? This isn't time to learn how to be a home decorator. It's time to learn how to be a good interview giver," Calla hisses.

I quickly sit down on the couch facing the chair that Calla is perched in. I shift around, trying to make myself comfortable, finding that doing so is rather futile honestly. I finally settle for a position that only aches my lower back, better than most, and look up to Calla.

"I think I should go for the good boy angle, right?" I ask, folding my hands in my lap. I really don't know how to sit or act. I've never been alone in a room with Calla, one on one. Her eyes are narrowed and the scrutiny is a little disturbing.

"Well, of course. I'm just going to ask you a question or two and see how you answer," Calla replies with an shaky smile on her face. I can never get a good read on this woman, honestly, and it bothers me. I usually am pretty good at detecting sarcasm, but with her it's either hit or miss. "I...I usually don't even really do this, I just let my tribute fool around and I remind them not to make a total fool of themselves. But my friend Takami compiled the most commonly asked interview questions, so I'll ask you all of them that I can until you have to go into design, and it should help you find your angle, alright?"

"That's great," I say with a beaming grin. I honestly expected much, much less from Calla.

We spend the next hour or so going through rounds of questions. Calla fires them one after another, and I have a continuous smile plastered on my face that never fades or wavers. My tone is always kind and buttery, and I try to keep my posture relaxed and comfortable, but not slouchy and lazy. Calla actually looks a little impressed as we go on and on, and I retain my composure through and through. By the time we're finished, I feel like I have a really good sense of how I need to act onstage tonight in front of the entirety of Panem. Calla gives me a few last tips that she reads off of a piece of paper from Takami. Halfway through it (they're mostly things about how to be calm and not nervous), Twinkle peeks into the room and Libby enters.

"C-can I have Fender now?" Twinkle whimpers, staring at her glittery purple flats.

"Of course," Calla answers softly, and Twinkle may be the only person in the world that I've never seen Calla Espenson get angry at. Libby sits down on the glassy purple sofa, in awe just like I was when I entered, while I exit, following behind Twinkle.

Her design studio is rather homey. Everything is purple, but it is cushy and warm. Twinkle sits down at a purple wooden desk that has dozens of papers on it, scrawled drawings all over it. She's instructed me to sit down on a purple beanbag low to the purple hardwood floor, but I stand after ten minutes and shuffle over to her design table. She's sketching a design for a basic black suit, and she startles when she spots me looking over her beautiful designs.

"You're quite the genius," I murmur, impressed.

"Th-thanks," she stutters, looking at her toes again. "I...I'm not exactly sure what-at to do with y-you...is a black suit okay-ay?"

"I love the colors purple and silver," I tell her with a wide grin, and a small smile fights its way onto her face. Her soft lavender eyes, surgically altered for sure, glitter with ideas.

"Really?"

"Really."

Live fast. Die young. Be wild. And have fun.

Who are you?

Are you in touch with all of your darkest fantasies?

Have you created a life for yourself where you can experience them?

I have.

I am fucking crazy.

But I am free.

Calico D'Amboise, 14

District Eight Male

I try to keep the snarl off of my face as my prep team clusters around me. Apollonia dusts brown makeup that matches my skin tone exactly across my cheeks expertly, while Kali sweeps her fingers through my curly black hair and tries to tame it somewhat. Meanwhile, my third prep teamer, a rotund man named Terrius, is looking through racks of glasses along with our Stylist, Fashionista. They finally select a glossy black pair that's rather blocky, and they carry it over to me.

"You're putting glasses on me?" I snap, looking at them with a raised eyebrow.

"It'll match the outfit really well. Please just put them on," Fashionista coaxes calmly. The poor woman. She's actually one of the only people that I don't like being rude to, but if I want to wreck the world, I have to wreck everyone. Her nose job annoys me anyway.

"Try me," I hiss, and Fashionista sighs loudly. Terrius does try me, however.

"I'm done with your uppity antics, 'rich boy'," Terrius snarls, and he grabs the glasses out of Fashionista's startled hands. I don't have enough time to move, and he crams the glasses onto my faces, scratching a little through the makeup and squishing them against my face.

"What the fuck!" I scream, tearing off the glasses and throwing them to the floor. I leap from the chair in the prep room towards Terrius, screeching. I land in his arms, and I tear at his face. My fingers hook around one of his lime green ringlets, and I tug off his frivolous wig with a sharp tug. Terrius yells indignantly and throws me off of him, and I land with a dull thud on the ground. I struggle to breathe, the air knocked out of me.

"TERRIUS!" Fashionista screeches. Peacekeepers flood into the room, and everything is a dizzy mess. I hear yelling and shouting and kicking and punching, and I just curl up into a small ball, catching glimpses of blood seeping across the floor and a trio of Peacekeepers dragging an unconscious Terrius out of the room, his nose crooked and bloodied and a huge gash on his face. I struggle to my feet and collapse in the styling chair, panting.

Fashionista is trying to calm Kali and Apollonia, who are clustered in the corner of the room, weeping into each other's shoulders. I'm still dizzy and fazed by everything that's happened, and I'm starting to realize that because I refused to put on a pair of false glasses, a man just got beat almost to edge of his life. He lost his temper because I was a snarky little brat and he probably will end up in prison for the rest of his life.

I hide the smile that's broken out on my face once the girls come over to check if I'm alright. I don't want them sending me to Dr. Endell again to see if I have any screws loose in my head, because I don't. It's just delightful to cause trouble for the people that are putting me into a death match and primping me for it. It's a nasty payback, a sizzling hot dish of revenge, and I like to eat things when they're hot. Revenge cold has never made any sense. When revenge is cold, that means it's been waiting a long while. And when it takes a long time to get revenge, I either get bored or, in this case, I'll be dead before I get to see their pain.

Ah, I'm turning into the little villain, aren't I? Too bad I can't kill anything, or I could be a real fucking antagonist.

Once everyone calms down, we all realize that I'm a total mess. My checkered red and white suitcoat, honestly not that bad for an Eight tribute's interview outfit, is rumpled. I remove it and Kali races off to iron it out. Apollonia hurriedly reapplies my makeup, and Fashionista takes to cleaning off the scuffs on my red dress shoes and fixing the hem on one of my pant legs. They work hurriedly; dress rehearsal is in minutes, and we can't be late.

Kali gets back with the smoothed out suitcoat, and I shrug it on, and then we all race down the hallways and out of the styling center. I quickly fall behind even the overweight Apollonia, who's admitted to eating two banana sundaes for breakfast each morning. Damn me. The lithe, aqua colored Kali grabs my pudgy hand and tugs me along. Soon we're rushing down a set of familiar hallways, and I find myself stumbling out into the tunnel where we got loaded onto our chariots. A row of twelve sleek, shiny black cars, definitely expensive, wait. A frazzled Odore rushes over.

"Where have you been?!" he shouts. "Get Mr. D'Amboise to the car!"

Kali and Apollonia rush me over to my car as Fashionista quickly explains what happened. Odore softens upon hearing about Terrius and the terrorization and the ruined outfit, and soon he's back to his smiling self. Kali opens the door to the car and Apollonia stuffs me inside, and they slam the door shut. Once I'm in and buckled up, the cars in front of us start to move, and soon we're moving too. Gaia sits next to me, looking rather jittery. She's dressed in a nice vivid green dress, and she wears a small crown made out of daisies and lilies. It's actually rather good, and I suddenly feel poorly about my red and white checkered suit.

We don't speak, and the drive isn't long. After around five minutes, the car is parking in a hidden back lot. We climb out, and Peacekeepers immediately surround us and line us up, putting Gaia in front of me. Soon all twenty three of us are in a nice line. I notice that the pregnant Twelve girl isn't here. Oh yeah, she went into labor last night. She still hasn't given birth? That's rather troubling, I guess.

I can hear the screams and cheers from the thousands of Capitolites amassed in the front of the huge building we are behind. They're waiting to enter the auditorium to view the interviews, one of the most exciting nights in Capitolite culture. Everyone wears their best and everyone gets high off their ass. It's a mega party, and whoever can't get a ticket to the real thing goes to the bars and sex clubs and have huge parties. My grandma went to one once when she was visiting the Capitol on government business during Games season. She said they were not to her delicate tastes.

A few people try to sneak around from the front of the massive auditorium with their cameras and notepads to get sneak peeks on what the tributes are wearing, as that's always the topic of conversation in the Capitol. They dissect every bit of us, and it's disgusting to me. Yet it entertains them, and if slashing me about being overweight and rude gives them entertainment, go ahead. If they're entertained, I get to stay alive longer and create more havoc.

The people who try to sneak around get repelled by the Peacekeepers, and one girl fights back, and the Peacekeeper sprays this simple mist from a small bottle on his belt that knocks her out. He carries her back to the front and out of our sight, and then suddenly our line is moving forward as we enter the backstage of the auditorium.

We're walking through seas of officials, crew, Avoxes, and others who are helping prepare for the Interviews. In the utter chaos, a simple path is cleared for the twenty three of us as we process in. We're led out onto the massive stage. I look around at the quarter million seats loaded into the giant building. There are two tiers of thousands upon thousands of seats, and then hundreds of boxes are suspended from the walls, where the wealthiest watch with all the amenities.

Two hot pink chairs, plush and inviting, are situated on the stage, and the Fabula Obcubo sits in one of them. I almost have a fangasm, and then I calm myself down. Sure, she's a great celebrity, but you are inciting havoc. You won't get dragged off the stage, but you are going to make things rather...difficult...for Ms. Obcubo, aren't you Calico?

"Welcome tributes," Fabula says with a stunning smile once we've all gathered around her. "It's very simple. You're going to come out here one by one, I'm going to ask you a stupid question like 'Do you like zucchini or cucumbers more?', and then you're going to go backstage again and wait for the real thing to start. Understood?" We all nod, and Tyberios barks, "Yes m'am!" That makes Fabula chuckle.

We line up backstage, and the first to go out is Trinity. She's back in under twenty seconds, and an Avox leads her to the true entrance, which I've heard from Woof is a tunnel of sorts filled with rainbow lights that gets you even more excited and nervous before the whole thing begins.

Soon enough, it's my turn to walk out. I strut to the best of my ability, and I sit down nicely in the chair across from Fabula, smiling sweetly.

"Hello Mrs. Obcubo. Something tells me we won't get along very well," I murmur.

"You don't scare me," Fabula replies with a similar sickly sweet smile.

"I should," I retort before smiling and marching off without another word. I'd count that as a win, I think. I might actually make a splash tonight. It'll be refreshing to be important here for once.

I once had dreams of becoming a beautiful poet.

But upon an unfortunate series of events

I saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky

That I wished on over and over again, sparkling and broken.

But I didn't really mind because I knew that it takes getting everything you ever wanted, and then losing it, to know what true freedom is.

When the people I used to know found out what I had been doing, how I'd been living, they asked me why.

But there's no use in talking to people who have home.

They have no idea what it's like to seek safety in other people.

For home to be wherever you lay your head.

Carmen Ionique-Astron, 17

District Twelve Female

I remember the day of this baby's conception well. Cape and his wife and grown daughter took the kids on a lunch trip to the animal shelter to look and give us some alone time on the day of our anniversary. Aris and I made the most of it, sweating the entire time as we were wrapped together like we were one being underneath the itchy hand sewn sheets. It wasn't anything magical or truly romantic, but with the kids and the turmoil that had been going on in the Seam at that time with a drop in the produce coming in from Eleven, we hadn't had sex in over a month. The break was much needed, and in our haste we had forgotten contraception.

After Bonnie, we both agreed that we at least needed to wait a couple more years to have kids. Three was almost more than we could handle on Aris's sparse salary, and a fourth child wasn't something that we needed nor wanted necessarily. So we'd begun to take the basic precaution measures, yadda yadda yadda. People might assume that since Twelve is run down we don't have condoms, but if a place has bars and strip clubs, it was condoms. And the Seam is rife with such deplorable dens. Most sell them, and it just took one innocuous trip to purchase a box and never visit there again until you ran out six months later. But yeah. We were playing it safe. We wanted to get Cobalt and maybe Aramis old enough to be able to help themselves, around seven or eight, before we continued.

But in the heat of the moment, it was just right, and we both let it happen without saying a word. It felt better, and we didn't bother to mess around with pulling out or whatever the hoodlums do when they're too cheap to buy contraception but don't want to get their girl pregnant. We're married, and what happens happens. A couple of weeks later, I did the basic herbal test that everyone in Twelve uses under the supervision of Cape. And it came back positive.

I wasn't astonished or worried really, but I knew I'd have to start doing other work. I knew how to sing, and sometimes I would go out to bars or birthday parties for the more wealthy and sing a few songs in exchange for a few coins and a warm meal. We had a small jar of coins, saved up for this little baby that is wriggling its way out of my vaginal canal in the most stunningly painful may imaginable. I push through my thoughts of that fateful night, with thoughts of Aris's smiling face, with thoughts of my other kids clustered at my feet. I imagine Bernie's warbling, frightened voice is the firm, warm tone of Cape, and that the fearfully watching Avoxes are excited neighbors and my children. And the concerned looking Eris, kneeling beside me and almost-but-not-quite touching my hand, is Aris. I almost plant a kiss on her lips, but I can't move enough to do so. I'm getting too deep into the dregs of my fantasy.

Suddenly another woman enters the room. My blurry vision recognizes her barely; she's Bernie's Mentor. Suddenly my ally and friend is gone, even though she resists wholeheartedly, and I have to finish this all on my own I guess.

"Please hold my hand," I beg, and Eris nervously agrees with my wishes, tentatively reaching out and wrapping her hand around mine.

The next couple of hours pass in a haze of pain and splintered memories. I swear that I feel like my body is going to give out a couple of times. The ceiling is spinning and I feel so tired, just so tired, and it hurts more than it ever has. My hand is clenching Eris's so hard I bet I'm cutting off the circulation to her fingers, yet she doesn't object although I can see the grimace on her face. I'm too engrossed in the labor to be my nice self and remove my hand from hers or ease up the pressure. If anything, I need to squeeze harder to survive this whole thing and have a healthy baby.

As I know I'm getting closer to the end, Dr. Endell and a few nurses arrive with a cart of medical supplies. I almost start crying, thinking that the law has been lifted or some miracle, and they're here to help me. But they just wait by the wall, and they inform Eris that they're here to check the vitals of the baby once it's born. Once again, they're not allowed to help me I believe. That's just really messed up.

I push and push and push, and then things start to ease a little, and I know it's the end. With one last glorious "umph", I feel my child fully leave my body. I sag back into the pillows, panting heavily. My body is drenched in sweat, and I just want to fall asleep and nap for the next twenty four hours. However, my maternal instinct kicks in, and when I see the plastic gloved Dr. Endell descending to snatch up my baby, I object.

"Give me my baby," I pant, breathing heavily.

"Carmen, we're just going to run a few quick, harmless te-" Dr. Endell begins.

"Give me my baby." I reiterate, and Dr. Endell carefully hands over my little baby. Once my little child is in my arms, I dissolve into tears, swaddling it in my arms and hugging it to my chest as I sob quietly. My baby is safe. My baby will live a good life.

"It's a boy," Dr. Endell inserts.

"Hello Filippo," I whisper, tickling the bottom of one of his feet. "I'm your Mommy. We...we might not be together for long, so I want to spend as much time as possible together." I suck in the snot that's dripping down my face, and Eris lends a hand, dabbing away my tears and holding a tissue to my nose, ordering me to blow a couple of times. When I'm cleaned up, I stare at little Filippo, finally at peace, for a long time. Then I hand him over to Dr. Endell. He takes a very quick blood sample and checks a few vitals before leaving, informing me that my baby is perfectly healthy.

"And by the looks of you, I think you should recover at least somewhat by the time the Games arrive," Dr. Endell says cheerily. "Good luck, Carmen, and just call us if you need help with little Filippo."

"This isn't my first rodeo, Doctor," I laugh quietly.

"Good evening, and I'll tell them to pardon you for the interviews," Dr. Endell tells me. "They might come in with a camera to transmit a feed of you to the auditorium. Be prepared, I can't do anything except say that you can't be at the hall physically due to health concerns." I nod in understanding before he leaves the room along with his staff. I sag into the pillows, still holding little Filippo to my chest. He begins to cry a little, and I coo softly, coaxing him back to a calm state.

"You're such a good mother," Eris mutters incredulously. "I'm happy the baby was born before you went into the arena."

"Me too," I whisper, bending my neck down to kiss Filippo's soft little forehead. "Me too."

A/N: That was a roller coaster of a chapter! These three are all stellar characters, and they all have a great network of things built around them! It was totally fun to write this chapter, and it was maybe one of my favorites yet! I hope you liked it! Up next we have the interviews from Fabula's point of view! I haven't decided if I'll do the entire interview for each tribute, or just a snippet. I think just a small piece, because I don't want to have to write 10,000 words for interviews honestly.

So what did you think of Filippo and the birth?! :D Thoughts on all the POVs this chapter? Thoughts on Calico's havoc making and Terrius and all that? XD Who do you think will have the best interviews? The worst interviews?

Trivia:

Fender (1 pt.) - Which of Medusa's articles of clothing needed repairing by the prep team?

Calico (1 pt.) - What color is Terrius's wig?

Carmen (1 pt.) - What gender is her baby?

Until Next Time,

Tracee