A/N: Welcome y'all, it's time for the Top 8 Interviews, with our lovely interviewer Fabula Obcubo visiting the families of all of our Top 8 and getting their perspectives on the Games so far and also digging into my worldbuilding! I tried to keep it short but y'all know me well enough by now to know it got long as hell lmao. By the way, this also doubles as Day 8 of the Games. I hope you enjoy!
Fabula Obcubo, 35
Interviewer
I stare out of the window of the small jetliner as it cruises downwards from its soaring pinnacle in the cloudy skies. The Wilderness blurs into a dark green smudge beneath us as we fly at the speed of hundreds of miles per hour, and in the distance I can see the mountains of District Two rising stoicly out of the endless forest. I switch my gaze back to the gorgeous interior of the plane, everything soft tan leather and glistening chrome. There's no one here besides me, the camera crew, and a couple of Avoxes to tend to my needs. I swirl my little glass of scotch, the square ice cubs inside clinking together quietly, while the camera crew lounges in the seats behind me, checking their equipment or chatting quietly among themselves. No one speaks to me, as they all know better than to disturb me on this particular day. Usually I can make interviews fun; even if it's with politicans with rotted morals or celebrities with synthetic faces, I can crack jokes and make the conversation entertaining. However, the interviews with the families of the tributes are simply different. It's not something that I can bring much joy from, but I also know it's a necessary part of my job. I can't let Snow see my weakness by refusing to travel to the Districts each year and conducting the interviews with the families of the final eight. If I can't handle talking to the relatives of the tributes who are most likely going to be dead in a week, it's going to make him think my ideals might lean...away from his, to say the least. So I can't back out now. I get to enjoy the fame and the hilarity and the money in the Capitol all year, and for one day only I have to travel out into the bleakness of the Districts and see this country for what it really is.
I'm thankful we get to start off in District 2, although I am upset than neither of the Ones made it far this year since the luxury District tends to be my favorite. Two is much too serious and imposing for me, but it's also the most loyal District in Panem, and the families of the volunteers always know what to say to make the interview brief and painless. Still, my heart beats a little faster as the plane crosses over the mountains and we can see into the valley where all of Two resides. The scattered villages on the mountain slopes and the numerous small quarries dot the land, while bigger quarries fill in the forested valley below. The plane flies towards the biggest mountain in the range that Two encompasses. At its foot is the District's largest city, Ridge, where the Academy and Tyberios's family can be found. Up the mountain from Ridge sits the imposing military fortress known as the Nut, the only part of the Districts to never fall during the Dark Days. The plane descends and lands on a runway outside of the Nut, coming slowly to a halt right outside the towering walls of the fortress. I've never been inside, and I'm relieved I don't have to today. I imagine there's more nightmarish things going on inside those impenetrable walls than in the 22nd's arena at the moment. I shake myself out of my head as I see the crew collecting their equipment. Crux, my director, smiles at me weakly as the plane comes completely to a stop and the rest of the crew begins to disembark.
"Ready for this?" he asks me, offering out a hand to help me out of my seat.
"I'm not a grandmother, Crux, of course I'm ready," I snap at him absentmindedly, but I still grasp onto his hand anyway and squeeze it before walking out of the plane and onto the tarmac.
In most Districts, the Mayor would be waiting for me, doing their darnedest to seem organized and serious in front of a famous celebrity from the Capitol. However, I'm always the one to be fretful when I visit Two, as I am greeted by the general in charge of all of Panem's Peacekeeping forces. Commander Patrolus is a hulking man, taller than any of the Victors and just as muscular. He's a Capitolite by heritage of course, but by his plain gray hair and olive colored skin, you would never guess it. A fleet of dozens of Peacekeepers stands behind him in their menacing white suits, acting as a welcome delegation but really doing nothing but unnerving me further. Patrolus extends a gloved hand to me with a smirk as I saunter towards him, and I do my best to exude confidence and roll my eyes at his formality. I'm suddenly hit by the garishness of my hot pink pantsuit against the dark gray tarmac and the crisp whites of the Peacekeepers' uniforms, but I push it from my mind. It's my approved image after all, and I cannot deviate from it if I wanted to. I take Patrolus's hand in my own and give it one light shake before stepping back.
"It's a pleasure to see you again, Commander Patrolus," I tell him with a sparkling smile. "Thank you for having me in Two." I know deep down that the starkness of this place makes me inconsolably anxious, but I also know that I'm good enough at acting and putting on my mask that no one here will be able to tell how rattled I am.
"Greco. I always tell you to call me Greco," Patrolus chuckles, shaking his head softly. "Well, Fabula, it's a pleasure to see you as well. You know the drill; we have the caravan ready to take you and your crew down to the Palatium's house. They live down the slope in Ridge, so it won't be much of a ride. They're good people, strong Peacekeepers, some of my best. They won't give you any trouble."
"Thank you P-...Greco. Thank you Greco," I tell him with a thin lipped smile. The Commander grins at the use of his real name in a way that I can't make ends of, but I surely hope it doesn't insinuate anything improper. I can't even put my mind to something like that in a place so bleak with a man so imposing. I run a hand through my hair to calm myself before speaking again. "Well, lead the way, sir."
If he's bothered by me not using his first name again, the Commander doesn't show it, guiding me and the crew to a line of shiny black jalopies waiting a ways down the runway. He salutes to us after we've climbed in along with the several dozen Peacekeepers behind him. As we trundle down the steep roads cross-hatching their way towards Ridge, I let the tension in my shoulders relax with a heavy sigh, collapsing against the supple black leather seat.
"You always let him intimidate you," Crux notes quietly as he goes over a checklist of equipment. He's the only person that knows how I'm really feeling, and I love him and hate him for it. "I never understand it."
"It's just frightening to meet one of the few people in Panem that wields more influence than myself, that's all," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "You know I don't savor being outclassed. And he always makes it a point to bring along half of the Nut and make me call him Greco and shake his hand to remind me how strong he is. It's horrifying."
"I thought you didn't get involved in politics?" Crux asks, quirking a brow.
"He's a Capitolite who likes the Districts better than his homeland, even if it's in the name of Panem's defense," I reply. "And that just nags at me to no end. Only a sociopath would choose to live here."
"They're not that bad," Crux tries to argue. "You are always too harsh about them."
"You're only saying that because we haven't been to Twelve yet," I chuckle. "Just wait til then."
Within fifteen minutes, our caravan of jeeps makes their way down the slopes and into the city of Ridge. The people here are tall, strong, and healthy, and many of them wear smiles and walk with confidence. It's a clean and uncluttered District, with strictly organized cities and a strong work ethic. It makes sense that they are the District of stone and military; it shows in their very nature. The buildings here are humble and built from wood and stone like in the other Districts, but the citizens carry themselves with grace and importance, knowing they are the lapdog of the country. It always surprises me a little, how proud they are, how convinced they are that they are powerful, but then again they are the strongest District. They might be nothing without the Capitol, but they have reason to be a little haughty.
After some more driving, we enter the residential area of the Ridge, where the two-story homes of Peacekeeper families are clustered together in regimented rows like soldiers preparing for battle. Our caravan stops in front of one painted a dark mahogany color. Crux opens the door of the jeep for me, and I step out after fixing my hair, putting on my most dazzling smile. It's time to get to work.
The cameras start rolling as I walk up the steps and to the front door of the Palatium's house. I only have to knock once, and the door swings open eagerly. Tyberios's parents both grin at me from the doorway. They have the same tall, muscular builds and reddish-brown hair as their son, and their smiles are warm and gracious as they welcome me into their home and guide me into their sitting room. I sit down on a worn leather chair that looks comfortable, sighing as I sink into it and making his parents laugh as they sit down on the couch across from me. A girl a couple years older than Tyberios with frizzy red hair is already sitting on the couch, her mouth set in her a firm line as she stares at me judgmentally. That instantly bothers me; sure, I'm wearing a hot pink pantsuit in their drab house, but she could've at least combed her hair and put on some makeup like her mother before appearing on national television. I push her out of mind, turning to the cameras joyfully.
"Hello Panem! I'm your always perky interviewer, Fabula Obcubo, and today we're starting off our Interviews with the family of Tyberios Palatium of District Two!"
"Welcome to our home," Tyberios's mother says, her voice husky but cheerful. "My name is Euritea, and this is my husband Gaius, and this is our daughter Fulmia. We are honored to have you here." Gaius smiles pleasantly at me, but Fulmia remains emotionless. I choose to ignore her moodiness; young adults are not my specialty, and I have no interest getting into a spat on national television during my first stop.
"It's very nice to meet the three of you," I say with a gleaming smile. "You must be incredibly proud of how well Tyberios had done so far."
"Couldn't be prouder of my boy Ty," Gaius responds triumphantly. "This is something he's wanted for a long time, and he's going out and getting it, just like the strong man I've always known him to be."
"How long has he wanted to enter the Games?" I ask them. I know they'll be tactful enough not to mention Tyberios's training explicitly on live television; they do work at the Nut, after all.
"Oh, well, he was always enamored with being a Peacekeeper like Gaius and I," Euritea chuckles sweetly. "He became very invested in learning how to defend himself, and then realized that he could do his District and nation an even greater service by competing in the Games. We've always been supportive; it's an absolute honor to have someone from our family represent Two in the arena."
"I'm sure it is an honor," I smile sweetly. While I'm not one for all this honor and moralism talk, it certainly makes for a smooth interview. "How confident are you in his chances of winning?"
"I know Ty is going to do everything he can to come home to us. No matter how he does, we'll be proud. But we know he's capable of Victory, we've all seen how strong he is in the arena after all!" Gaius replies, laughing good naturedly. "I know he'll be home before I know it."
"Well, we all know he has the capability, but there have been some concerns over his chances due to his chronic headaches. Has he always suffered from them?" I ask.
"He was alright until he was 8 years old, and then it was just like something clicked in him," Euritea sighs, studying her hands. "They were horrific ever since then, and exercising was the only thing that could get them to go away. It's the reason he's built the way he is, after all. But he's lived so long with them, he knows how to fight them. They're not going to inhibit him, I promise you that."
I'm pleased with what I've gotten from Tyberios's parents, but his sister has been stubbornly silent. I turn towards her, intent on getting her to say something before I leave. "What about you, Fulmia? How do you feel about your brother being in the Games?"
I can see both Euritea and Gaius tense a little bit as they glance at their daughter, and I instantly know they are urging her silently to keep her true opinions to herself. The girl doesn't respond for a few moments before sighing and casting her gaze down to the floor. "I'm proud of him. I just want him to come home." The tension in the room drops at her response, and the smile on my face is genuine as Fulmia looks up and meets my gaze with an unreadable expression on her face.
"I'd feel the same way if I was you," I coo comfortingly, reaching over and patting Fulmia's knee. She doesn't flinch. "Tyberios has the second best odds left, so I really think you have a good chance of having a Victor in the family!"
"It would be an honor," Euritea intones again, and I just smile at them brighter in order to conceal my minor annoyance with their constant virtue signalling. Whatever. It's better than the Outliers crying and starving, so I can't complain too much although I'd never understand why it's an honor to see your child die voluntarily. The people of Two are strange, but at least they're hospitable. I know I can expect much less in some of the other Districts to come.
It's raining hard when we arrive in District Three, and I'm already ready to leave the place as a dozen Peacekeepers guide us into the darkened Fifth Precinct while I huddle under a pale pink umbrella. Compared to the clean, organized streets of Ridge, this place is a horror show. I don't mind District Three usually; the weather is typically cool and dry, and the nicer parts of town where the merchants and engineers live are even more regimented than District Two. While I've never been much of an intellectual, I can still appreciate their commitment to order and innovation. There is none of that here, in the slums of Three. This part of the District is as bad as many of the Outer Districts, packed with guns and gangs and rampant crime. It's been years since a tribute from the factory-worker slums of Three has made it this far, and while Fuji isn't a tribute I particularly despise, I do wish desperately that no one from her neighborhood makes it this deep into the Games for quite some time.
While much of the Fifth Precinct is packed with crumbling apartment buildings, there are also small houses clustered between them back from before the District was urbanized after the Dark Days. Fujitsa's family lives in one of these homes; the roof is sagging and the navy blue paint on the exterior is faded, but it's still a house with more than one room. It's a lot more than many of the Outlier tributes can provide during their interviews. As I walk up the creaky wooden steps to knock on the door, I hear shouting behind me, and I turn quickly to see where the noise is coming from.
A girl about 17 or 18 is sprinting wildly through the rain towards the LaMac cottage, dressed in a resplendent cream dress with her makeup done beautifully, all shielded by a clear plastic umbrella. She obviously comes from money, and so does the older man chasing her angrily in a velvet suit. The Peacekeepers do not lift their guns as the girl rushes towards us, and I quickly begin to panic despite myself, confused as to why they are letting a random citizen of Three run at us.
"Why aren't you stopping her?" I bark at the Peacekeepers as the girl in the cream dress nears the house. She reaches the bottom of the steps, and as she is catching her breath, one of the Peacekeepers answers.
"She's the tribute's fiancee," the Peacekeeper responds simply, and I understand quickly, my fear swiftly forming into eagerness and excitement. I rush down the steps and take Cartenya's hands in my own, squeezing them excitedly.
"It's an absolute pleasure to meet you, Cartenya. Your story melted my heart during the Interviews," I tell her, my gleaming smile as genuine as I let it get.
"Thank you," Cartenya pants, still gulping down heavy breathfuls of air. "I'm sorry for my tardiness, but-"
"You cannot let her go on your television program!" the man who had been chasing Cartenya roars. The Peacekeepers take action this time, coming between the two of us and the red-faced merchant man who is pointing at us angrily.
"Put your finger down sir. She's the tribute's fiancee, of course she will be appearing in my interview," I scoff. "You may be her father or uncle or whatever you are, but if she was not here, I would have hunted her down myself and forced you to let us interview her. We have the authority to do this, so I ask you to return home. Cartenya will be done in no time."
"I don't want her on everyone's TVs, with them all seeing...all seeing my daughter...in love..." The man can't finish his words, too overwhelmed by their weight, and I just roll my eyes. One of my least favorite things about District citizens are their staid, traditional morals. The Capitol may be many things, but at least it is a haven for free love and self expression.
"Get him out of here," I sniff with a wave, and the Peacekeepers take hold of Cartenya's father. He tries to fight them, but they end up just threatening to arrest him, and that quiets the merchant man. Cartenya looks utterly terrified by the theatrics of the moment, and I grab her hand again and squeeze it comfortingly.
"I'm sure you've been going through a lot recently," I tell her kindly, smiling softly. "Get inside with Fuji's father and sister, and I'll see you in there in a moment to talk."
"Thank you," Cartenya says breathlessly before walking up the stairs and into the house. Once the door clicks shut behind her, I whistle, turning to Crux with a smile.
"Drama already," I muse as I walk down the stairs so we can reshoot me walking up to open the LaMac's door. "We don't usually get this much fun out of Three, if we ever do."
"Just do the shot again," Crux chuckles, but I can tell he's entertained as well as the cameramen reset and I hop to the bottom of the stairs. Once I'm in place and I get the signal from Crux, I walk back up the staircase with fascination as if I haven't been her for five minutes. A single knock does the trick at the front door, and a man with a gaunt face opens it. He must her father, and by the looks of it, I can tell he's had a rough go in life. He manages a semblance of a smile for me, this unnaturally bright Capitolite creature in his dark world, as he gestures for me to enter his defeated-looking little scrap of a home.
I follow Mr. LaMac deeper into the house without another word, and he leads us to a small room that seems to triple as a living room, dining room, and kitchen. Many of their belongings have been pushed to the side; two wooden kitchen chairs sit on one side of the cleared space. Cartenya is sitting on one, and on the other side of her is Fuji's twin sister, Adata, sitting up as straight as she can in her rusty wheelchair. While I don't always remember the families and names of some of the tributes, especially if they are going to lead to an easier interview like the Palatium's, I could not forget Fuji's broken home if I tried. Her dead mother, her crippled sister, her broken father, her distraught fiancee. While Fuji is potentially the least favorite tribute in the Capitol at the moment due to her inaction since murdering Ivy on the first night, her family dynamic is something to behold, and I know the girl from Three still has a fire burning within her that she's been concealing. If she gets to let it burn anything down remains to be seen.
I sit down in the third wooden chair set opposite of them as Mr. LaMac sits down next to Adata. With a smile, I begin the interview.
"Hello Panem! Now we are here in District Three, talking to the family of the fiery Fujitsa LaMac!" I exclaim excitedly. "Would you all like to introduce yourselves?"
"My name is Kenny LaMac, and this is my other daughter, Adata," Fuji's father says quietly and slowly, as if it takes plenty of effort to get the words out. Adata waves shyly at the cameras, a bit intimidated by the camera crew packed into her house.
"And I'm Cartenya Daynes, and I'm engaged to Fuji," Cartenya says afterwards, smiling prettily for the cameras as she says it. Her father may be a bastard, but he at least taught her how to use her charm.
"First, I'm going to have to go to you, Adata," I say, wanting to get talking to the shy girl over with. "What is it like being without your twin sister?"
"It's hard," Adata whimpers, avoiding my gaze and the gaze of the camera lens deliberately, tears already watering in her eyes. "We're the exact same age, but Fuji has always been smarter and stronger, and she's always taken such good care of me. It's just hard, being without her. I'm so happy she's made it so far. I don't know what I'll do without her. She's my other half." The tears are streaming down Adata's face now, forcing her to stop talking, and her father grips Adata's hand tightly.
"She was definitely a lot of help around the house," Kenny says before I can ask him anything, staring me down so hard as if he could blow me and the entire Capitol to shreds with his gaze. "She was a good girl, better than I deserved to have, and I wasn't helpful enough to her, especially after my wife died. I hope she comes home so I can apologize for how I've been acting."
"I bet when she comes back to Three, she will be willing to accept your apology," I respond softly, knowing the immense pain this family is dealing with. Trying to brighten them, I ask next, "What's your favorite memory of Fuji?"
"When we used to draw chalk on the streets outside of our house," Adata says softly, a smile working onto her face. "She was a horrible artist, but we just did it for hours in the hot sun...it was a time I miss so badly, my mom was still around then too." Kenny can't speak, as he is crying too much, and Adata comforts her father, reaching over and rubbing his back as they both cry quietly.
Feeling like I've put Kenny and Adata through enough, I turn to the person I'm most eager to speak to. Cartenya looks distraught, but she puts a smile on her face again once she notices my attention is on her. "Tell me about your romance with Fuji, Miss Daynes."
"She is just everything to me," Cartenya breathes, the devastation plain on her face. "My parents didn't know that...well, that I am a lesbian until the Reaping, and when I kissed Fuji there. But I just had to do it, and I wish I had gotten to have more time with her after the Reaping, all the time in the world. I asked her to marry me only a couple of months ago because she's so goddamn strong, and so goddamn pretty, and just the only person that could make me soar while also grounding me. The fact I might lose her..." Cartenya trails off, twisting the ring around her finger that looks identical to Fuji's own engamenet ring. "This world doesn't matter to me without her. I need her to come home."
Leaving the LaMac house, I glance back and see all three faces of the people I have just interviewed staring out at me, and they are all filled with immeasurable sadness. My disgust at the slums of this place is still palpable, but the pity I feel for the people that live here sits too heavily in my chest. This is why I hate coming here, because I have to confront the realities of the places these people live, and the ways that the Games actually destroy people's lives. I personally like Fuji, but I know she has little chance of coming home, and I know that those three people in the window will probably never see her again. Instead of examining how that makes me feel, I let myself be absorbed by the way the smog in the air makes my lungs itch. Maybe I can think about it when I'm locked alone in my penthouse in the Capitol, but I still have more interviews to do, and there's no way I'm letting myself lose control over three crying faces in a window in District Three. I've seen too much for that to get to me.
It's a relief to walk through the wide streets of District Four as the summer sun beats down over us. I'm not usually a fan of heat, but the clear blue skies of Four's picturesque capital city are preferrable any day to the smoggy rain of Three's slums. The cement streets are pale white like the beaches that line the coast nearby, and small bungalows crowd the outer reaches of the city where we are walking. As we get deeper into the heart of the town, however, the houses become larger, and the main shops and the Justice Building are in sight in the distance. Children rush around us giggling happily, and older people can be seen out for a stroll in the sunny weather. The mood of Four is one of relaxation and relief, and it's one of my favorite Districts for that reason. Its beauty and calm atmosphere makes it a wonderful place for a vacation, and my mind briefly flashes to the resorts clustered at the southern tip of the District before I force myself back to reality. There's no need to indulge in daydreams when I'm already here, although Abaco is thousands of miles from the Capitol-made hotels I dream of. The sun and the smell of the surf feel the same no matter what stretch of the long coastal District you're on.
Walking through the streets, we turn down one that is lined by houses as big as some of the ones in the Capitol, and I know we've arrived at the richest neighborhood in Abaco, the place where we will get to meet the Belasco family. There are no dramas here, no platoons of Peacekeepers from the Nut or fiancees running in the rain to profess their adoration on national television. We simply walk down the wide sandy white streets, everyone giving us a wide berth. There is little crime or poverty here, in the richest city of Four, and despite myself I find myself liking it a bit too much. I know that must mean something that I'll have to think about later, about how the only place in the Districts where I'm comfortable is on a street full of miniature mansions without a speck of dirt on it, but I push that from my mind. Not now, Fabula. Not now.
Soon we reach the steps of Chavez's elegent two-story home, all painted in soft blues and whites. The house is large and expansive, bigger than that of some ministers in the Capitol, and I know instantly that the Belasco family is a family of true elites, and that is why their son is in the Games. While Tyberios's family was not poor, they were humble compared to this, their son going into the Games for the honor of it. Here, I can see that the only thing that would motivate a boy raised in this house to join the Games would be more wealth and attention. It's not necessarily a bad thing; I'm the biggest attention whore I know, I do interviews to sate the need for Snow's sake. Still, it's a different, darker motivation, and I prepare myself to deal with some of the most Capitolite-like District people I will ever meet.
The door opens for me before I can even knock, and Mateo and Lavada Belasco welcome me with wide open arms and glittering smiles. They are both stunningly attractive like their son, and the clothes they wear could be found in the upper-crust bars in the Capitol. I know they are doing their best to flaunt their wealth and status on national TV, and I allow them to do it as they lead me across the marble floors of their large house and into a vast sitting room filled with different pieces of beautiful furniture. I picked a cushy mauve chair with an arched back to lounge on while Mateo and Lavada sit down on a red velvet coach roughly opposite me. Mateo has all the feel of a rich Capitolite heir who has more money than he deserves, while Lavada seems to be the type of social climber I'd expect in such a beautiful home. The woman calls down Chavez's brothers, and the two older men run down the staircase outside of the sitting room and join us, collapsing on the ground on either side of the couch their parents are lounged on.
"We're delighted to welcome you, Ms. Obcubo," Lavada says with exaggerated benevolence. I feel slightly offended for a moment, her tone almost suggesting I should be thankful to be allowed in their house. It might be beautiful, but it is still in the Districts, and rebel blood flows through both of them no matter how quiet they stayed during the Dark Days. Still, I brush it off, returning her tone broadly.
"It's a pleasure to get to visit the family of Chavez Belasco of District Four in such a stunning little house!" I respond cheerily. Lavada's eyes go a little dark at the word little, but she quickly recovers. Meanwhile, none of the men seem to have noticed, all seemingly antsy and unable to sit still. "I can tell from the way that the three of you men are fidgeting that Chavez is not the only energetic one in the family."
Mateo booms with laughter at that, and both of his older sons laugh as well. "Yes, we are known for our energy," Mateo smiles. "Things must get done if you want to be respected, after all. Chavez knows that better than these two buffoons here, Cisco and Lando."
Cisco and Lando both roll their eyes, and Lando easily jumps at the bait. "Whatever, Chavez is dumb as a bag of rocks, it's a surprise he could even get off the pedestal!" Both boys dissolve into a fit of giggles as their mother swats at them.
"I'm sorry. They're such troublemakers," Lavada sighs. "At least we raised one willing to aim high for things in life." This quiets her sons; Cisco rolls his eyes while Lando looks a bit hurt, but neither says a word more.
"Speaking of that special son, tell me all about him," I rave. Chavez may be a bit...malevolent for my personal tastes, but he is driving many people in the Capitol wild with his brutishly handsome looks and violent disposition, and I know that I need to milk this situation even if it pains me to see how hard the Belascos are trying to seem as opulent as possible.
"All three of my sons have always been fighters, but Chavez just rose a little bit above these two knuckleheads here," Mateo replies, his eyes shining as he talks about his son. "The day he volunteered was the proudest day of my life. And the fact he's going to come back here with even more money is just going to make life here a lot more fun for us!"
All four of the Belascos laugh at that, although Cisco and Lando notably laugh less vigorously. I can't help but leap at their discomfort with their younger brother. "Cisco, Lando, what's it like being the older brothers of one of the most notorious Careers we've had in several Games?"
"He might look scary up on that screen, but I promise you, he's just as dumb as us," Cisco laughs, shaking his head. "Love him to death, though. He really is all he acts like he is. I taught him all he knows, all the manipulation and confidence. He wouldn't be in that arena without me."
"Whatever, you peacock," Lando snorts. "He's my brother, and I'm proud of him for doing what he's doing, but he's always been a bit of a showoff, and I think you can all see that with how he acts in the arena."
"Well, he certainly does like to showoff," I smile, burying the retort of So do all of you. "Are you all confident Chavez is going to be coming home?"
"Of course," Mateo replies with his brows knotted, as if Chavez's Victory is already a foregone conclusion. "Why wouldn't it be?"
"Well, there is the alliance with the gun, Miriam and-" I begin.
"My boy can beat a gun. He's a Belasco. He can beat anything," Mateo growls, and I don't press the subject further. If they want to believe Chavez is impervious to bullets, so be it. The Belascos certainly seem like they believe they've already figured everything out.
"What do you mean you can't find them?" I snap at Crux ten minutes after we've departed the Belascos' expansive manse. "Everyone in Panem knows that these interviews are happening today. Where are they, the fucking grocery store? They made a girl as smart as Cordelia and they're stupid enough to not be home to meet me?"
"No one has any idea where they are," Crux groans, rubbing his temples. "They haven't been seen in two days, Fabula. I think they've run off or...they've been relocated."
I just huff at Crux's words. I've seen all the classified files; I know that Cordelia's family has strong rebellious connections. I have no idea if her Reaping was rigged, but if it was, it would make sense that Snow may have already taken her family into custody silently before they could escape. I just curse him for doing it so quickly; now I have no one to talk to about one of the most sensational tributes of the year.
We spend much too long exploring all of Abaco to find the Nile family, but we turn up empty. The only person we can find is Cordelia's boyfriend Beck. He has no idea where the Niles have gone, but he's willing to talk to us about Cordelia and give us something about her, even if he's not her biological family. He seems skittish and absolutely terrified to meet me, and it's a bit satisfying to see a towering mass of muscle like Beck be scared of me. We set him up on one of the docks to make it seem natural as I stride over to him and tap him on the shoulder, making sure my expression feigns excitement.
"Beck! We're so glad to have found you," I say as the boy turns to me. His acting is pretty terrible, but he still manages to conjure up a half-surprised gasp of shock before smiling at me. "I'm Fabula Obcubo, as I assume you know, and I'm here to talk to you about the girl you're lucky enough to call yours, Cordelia Nile."
"I could talk about her for days," Beck sighs dreamily. "She's my entire world, really. I love her to the ends of earth. And I mean, I've always believed in her and thought she was smarter and stronger than I ever could be, but now I know for sure. She's a hell of a girl, Fabula, a hell of a girl. I just hope I can put her in my arms again once this is all over."
"Cordelia was the first girl Reaped from here in years; how is the District dealing with that?" I ask Beck, actually curious to see what the repercussions of her Reaping have been.
"It's a tragedy, of course. The girl who wanted to volunteer to represent our District had a panic attack, so Cordelia was forced to go instead. Everyone's been very sad for her, but I've always known Cordelia is capable, and I knew she'd be able to handle it. She's not a little girl, even if she's as tall as one." Beck chuckles at his own joke while I smile.
"Yes, she is quite short, especially for a seventeen year old, and meanwhile you're just massive! How did you two ever hit it off?"
"Opposites attract, I guess," Beck says with a sly smirk, and even I can't keep the little laugh from escaping my throat. The boy sure does know how to be cheesy.
As we walk away from the pier, leaving Beck to stare out at the ocean solemnly once the cameras are off, I can't keep a nagging feeling out of my head. I know I shouldn't care about the Niles, but curiosity digs at me to know if Snow has already cut out their tongues or if they've abandoned their daughter and disappeared into the Wilderness, or if there's another explanation for their absence. Either way, it throws Cordelia's fate into the balance, and I wonder if the 4 girl will be given a chance to atone for her family's sins or if she'll be taken out regardless. She has surely put on the show so far, so I wouldn't put it past President Gaius Snow to let her out once he breaks her down enough. I wouldn't write her off yet. She's already proved too cunning and sensational to be done away simply because of the misfortune of her rebellious family's disappearance into thin air.
Now that Four is in the rearview mirror, I know that the rest of my journey is going to be less thrilling as we head deeper into the Outer Districts, and Six is downright depressing as always. The sun is always hidden by a thick sea of smog in the air like it is today, and the tall urban buildings lining the streets look drab and broken. There are thirty Peacekeepers around us here and more spreading around our route due to Six's infamous gang wars. Most of the gangs are smart enough to stay away from a Capitolite envoy, but I'm not taking any chances in a place like this. Some small amount of pity works its way out of me like always, as I see the starving children crouched in the gutters and morphling addicts passed out in the shadows of the alleyways as we walk. However, I can't make it stick. This place is horrifying, too horrifying for me to feel bad for them. Nowhere in the Districts is comfortable for me, not even District Four, but here they could at least try to pick themselves out of the dirt. They do have an important industry after all, transportation. They could make something of themselves. Instead, they just remain grimy and poor and riddled with gang violence. It's one of my least favorite Districts in Panem, and I make myself walk faster across the cracked asphalt streets so we can get this visit over with sooner.
The place where Fender's family lives is actually a nicer corner of the District than most; there are less broken bottles on the streets, and fewer urchins crawl along in the shadows begging for scraps. The apartment building where they live is made of slate gray stone, and it looks relatively clean and solid as we enter it and walk up the stairwell. His family lives on the fourth floor, and I find that only two apartments are on this floor; his family has a lot of space for a District like Six. That calms me enough to be able to knock on the door that's painted a light shade of purple without much worry nagging at the pit of my stomach.
A woman with skin much lighter than Fender's opens the door for me, her straight light brown hair combed with care. She isn't particularly pretty, but she has a kind face as she steps back, allowing for myself and the camera crew to walk into the apartment. The communal room of the apartment is pretty large, with a nice window on the far wall overlooking the street below while the kitchen, dining table, and living room furniture are distributed evenly throughout the space, and none of it is in bad shape. There are also two doors on opposite sides of the main room, suggesting two bedrooms. The apartment is certainly very nice for Six, and his family looks nice as well, waiitng for me on the couch as his mother guides me over. His father has darker skin, and he sits with the straight back of a man trained to do so. Two younger kids, just around the lower limit for Reaping age, sit next to him, and they look remarkably like Fender. The girl is very pretty, grinning sweetly as I sit down, while the boy seems to be sulking a bit. I take a seat on a faded green recliner opposite the couch, smiling at them more genuinely than I would've expected.
"It's a pleasure to be here in District Six with the family of Fender Hopkins!" I say excitedly once the cameras are rolling. "Would the four of you like to introduce yourselves?"
"My name is Brunel. I work as an junior architect for the District's buildings," Fender's mother says before reaching over and patting the thigh of her husband lovingly. "And this is my husband Aran."
"I'm honored to work as a Peacekeeper for our great nation," Aran says stiffly, bowing his head to me. Ah, I see where Fender's pride and sense of decorum comes from now, and how they are able to afford such a nice apartment. The salaries of an architect and a Peacekeeper are nothing to sniff at in a District like Six.
"I'm Kyva," the younger sister says brightly, her face glowing with excitement as she speaks. "This is my twin brother Carter. He's in a bad mood, ignore him." Carter just sighs, waving at me with annoyance on his face. However, I can tell it's not really directed at me, and he seems to be trying to be less moody with the cameras pinned on him.
"Well, it's a pleasure to meet all of you," I respond. "Now, tell me about Fender. The Capitol is intrigued with how well-mannered and kind he is. You must be proud of how well you raised him."
"We are indeed," Brunel tells me with a sweet smile. "Six is a hard District, as I'm sure you must now. We want our children to do their best to succeed, so we try our best to instill strong values in them. You can't get anywhere without being respectful and positive."
"Very true," I nod in response, shocked by the apparent patriotism of the family. It could all be feigned of course, but it doesn't quite feel that way. "Are you surprised that Fender's made it so far, Aran?"
"With all honesty, no," the man tells me, his serious facade slipping a bit as he lets himself grin at the thought of his son. "Fender has always been ambitious and strong-willed. You know, he puts a lot of emphasis on physical and mental fitness, he always has. He's just a good kid, really. I hope he comes home soon so we can go back to fixing trucks together, and get his garage up and running."
"Garage?" I ask, intrigued.
"It was always Fender's dream to open his own garage with his friend Torque," Brunel replies. "We actually had him come over; he's waiting in the bedroom since we didn't want to disturb the interview if that was not proper conduct."
"Of course Torque can come on out!" I say, and I watch as Torque and a girl walk out of one of the bedrooms together. "And who is this beautiful lady here?" I ask as the two of them stand next to the couch where the Hopkins family sits.
"I'm Demica. The one Fender talked about at the interviews with you," Demica says shyly, sweeping her hair behind her ear, and I suddenly remember his declaration of love for her with fondness.
"Well, it's nice to meet you Demica. I bet you'll get to see him again soon," I tell her as if it's not something I tell everyone. Then I turn to Torque, who looks even more muscular than Fender. "Tell me about this garage, Torque, and just about Fender in general."
"We've both always just wanted to get a good job for ourselves in this hellhole of a District, and we thought, why not start it ourselves?" Torque chuckles, crossing his thick arms across his chest. "Fender has a real passion for that automotive stuff, although you probably can't tell. I am proud to say I'm the one who got him as muscular as he is, though. Without me he would've never sarted working out at all!"
"Well, I'm thankful that you are all such supportive, kind people," I tell the people crowded in the apartment's living room, the people that are too clean and kind for this harrowing District. I'm surprised with how much I actually mean it once the words leave my mouth.
The jetliner lands in an open pasture in District Ten, but one look outside and I know that we're not in one of the crude little hamlets scattered throughout the District. Those places are almost worse than Six, with the way their houses are made of wood and have thatched roofs sometimes and look like they're stuck hundreds of years in the past. Instead, we're in one of the rich suburbs of Ten, known as Latticeville, about ten miles from one of the twin capital cities of the District. I'm surprised a little to see that we're here; Miriam's revelation about her mother dying from cancer and the poverty of her family would've led me to believe she lived in one of the cramped capital cities or out in the rural areas, but I guess there must be more to her unfortunate story.
As we walk through the streets of Latticeville, I find the little suburb of Ten to be extremely placid. The houses are widely spread apart and nicely sized for a District as far out as Ten, and this place reminds me of the reason why Ten is the seventh richest District in the nation. Children frolick in the green front yards of the two story homes lining the streets, and white picket fences surround the backyards. It's a picturesque place, another of the nicer places in the Districts, the remnants of what life was like in this nation a long time ago, before there were even Districts at all. Still, as we walk towards the wooden two-story house that belongs to the Park family, I can instantly tell that the house is an outlier among these cozy suburbanite retreats. One of the windows is broken, covered by plastic taped to the outside wall, and the red paint on the house is peeling all over, so much that it looks half brown. As I walk up the front steps, the banister rattles, obviously loose and almost ready to fall off. I don't touch it again, climbing the creaking stairs until I reach the front door of the Park home. I tap the brass knocker on the door lightly, and the door swings open swiftly.
Inside stands the man that must be Miriam's father, although I wouldn't be able to tell it from his immediate energy. He has the same olive skin and black hair as his daughter, but there is not the same spark of sarcasm and life within him. He looks hollowed out, perpetually exhausted, and I can tell that he fits perfectly with his broken house. He gives me a thin lipped smile, strained as if moving his mouth in such a way requires great effort, before leading me into the house. Instead of going to the living room, he guides me into what must be the master bedroom of the old, rickety house. Inside, Miriam's mother lays in the bed, covered by the sheets. It takes all my control to not gawk; her skin is thin and papery, and her eyes look unfocused as she tries to greet me.
"H-hello," she manages to choke out, trying to sit up in the bed to speak to me but struggling to do so. Her husband soothes her, and she collapses back on the pillows with a huff. I can tell how weak her body is, and why her husband and the house seem to exude a spirit of loss already. She looks like she could die at any moment, and it's frankly terrifying. I reach over and take one of her hands in mine, trying to rub it comfortingly. The woman looks terrified at my touch, but she doesn't pull away. However, she still looks deeply uncomfortable, so I let go of her, feeling slightly ashamed for some reason.
The cameras whir to life even if this woman deserves to be left alone and not plastered all over national television while she's in her death throes. I plaster on the best smile I can muster in the murky light of a dying woman's bedroom, the glint in my voice unnerving to all of us as I speak. "Welcome back Panem! We're here now in District Ten with the parents of Miriam Park, the little girl that has taken the nation by storm!"
"It's a pleasure to have you," Miriam's father says, doing his best to smile again, but the action looks painful. "My name is Kenneth, and this is my wife Lillian. She's not feeling very good today, so she probably will not be able to speak with us much."
Lillian waves a little bit to the cameras before letting her hand fall limply into her lap, as if the movement required great effort. I focus on speaking to Kenneth; his hopeless eyes are easier to look into than Lillian's vacant ones. "You must be so immeasurably proud of Miriam, Kenneth."
"I didn't think she'd be able to do what she's doing," Kenneth says, the tears already pooling in his eyes. The smile he puts on as he wipes them away is more real though, raw and desperate with longing. "I mean, Miriam has moxy. You've all seen it. She's a one of a kind girl. I'm so proud to call me her my daughter. She's just so young, though, and I didn't know how she'd do. We never lie to her, you know, we're open about things, and we all knew that her age was going to limit her. But I'm proud, so proud to call Miriam Park my daughter. I knew she had the fight left inside of her."
"She certainly does have moxy, and she certainly does have fight," I chuckle softly, trying to fill my voice with kindness. "What were you thinking when she found the gun?"
"I was so happy," Kenneth replies, looking up at the ceiling as he smiles at the memory. "I was so scared when she got into that house. I was screaming for her to go the other way, to go anywhere but there. I thought Lord was going to kill her right then and there. But he didn't, and they found the gun, and she's been able to do so much. It was horrifying to see her have to kill that Career boy, but...she did what had to be done, if she wants to come home. We need her to come home. She knows that, and I believe she can do it with how far she's come."
It is obvious they need her to come home, from the way their house sags with sadness and her mother is barely gripping to life. I turn to Lillian, trying to make my face as soft as possible, yet again feeling disgusted with the way makeup is caked on my face and my hot pink wig is shining in this dead, dead house. "Lillian, is there anything you would like to say to your daughter?"
Lillian coughs a bit before taking a deep breath and warbling her way through a short response. "I...love you...Miri. I love...love you." The words exhaust her, and she closes her mouth with what feels like finality, like no more words will leave her today, maybe ever. It's a horrifying sight, and it takes all of my self control to keep myself from recoiling.
As we walk down the creaking steps of the Park's residence after the interview, I find myself brushing a few tears from my eyes. No one notices except Crux, who looks at me in confusion.
"Fabula, are you okay?" he murmurs as he sidles up to me, tucking the dataread he's been checking the whole trip under his arm as he looks up at me in worry.
"I told you it gets worse," I huff, wiping the last tear from my eye as we walk away from the dead house. "It always gets worse."
Eleven always seems like it's stuck a half dozen centuries in the past, and my journey to the little village of Alahee is no exception. Eleven is one of the most diverse nations in the country, with a giant capital city and plenty of smaller cities where all the canning factories and the like reside. However, the majority of its massive population live out in the country, farming the land. There's thousands of independent farms scattered throughout the expansive District, and plenty of little villages like Alahee as well where the people live in small communities and support one another. Alahee is by no means the smallest; one year, I remember turning up to a village that had only four families in total tending to an expansive sea of lettuce. This year isn't as horrifying; Alahee has to have around a hundred homes at least, which means there must be maybe half a thousand people living here. It's not the worst I've ever seen, and the little village seems pretty nice as I walk through it, although the unimportant Mayor of the village blithers endlessly upon our arrival. I'm glad that he leaves us alone once we leave the central village behind and begin trodding down the thin dirt path that leads to Omri's cottage.
His mother lives on the outskirts of town, with nothing around her little bungalow besides a few trees and the fields that the people of her village tend every day. Mrs. Plower is waiting for us in the doorway of her little shack of a house, her hair styled into intricate braids piled atop her head. She wears a jean dress embroidered with colorful flowers; while nowhere near glamorous by my standards, I understand it is something that a woman that lives in the boondocks of Eleven would consider formal wear. She is dark skinned like her son and rather pretty, although hardship and time have made her less so. I put on my best smile for her as I approach, grateful that there's only one person to talk to so this can get over with quickly; it's almost dusk, and I don't want to have to be in Twelve for long after the sun sets.
"Welcome to Alahee," Omri's mother says confidently, obviously trying to seem strong for the cameras crowding around us. "I'm Lyossa Plower, Omri's mother."
"It's a welcome to be here in District Eleven with you!" I tell her, a little miffed she has messed up my usual introduction. I don't say a word as I follow her into the small cottage where she raised Omri Plower, one of the Capitol's biggest Outlier crushes in quite some time. The house is as beat up as I expected it to be, the sunlight of the setting sun bathing the battered furniture in the single room house in a golden hue. Lyossa has pushed the two mattresses she and Omri must sleep on into the corner with the scarred dining room table, having pulled the only two chairs in the house into the middle of the room for our interview. There are little flowers in a vase on the windowsill behind us, and the floor looks newly swept, showing the effort Lyossa has made to make her home presentable. Seeing how hard she worked to prepare for this, my heart softens a little; it's always nice to see someone from the Outlying Districts show some respect.
"Well, Lyossa, thank you for having us," I tell her kindly. "It looks very nice here today."
"Thank y'all, I tried my best to make it clean. We don't got much to work with out here, but I do my best," Lyossa replies, the pride at my compliment lightening the worried creases around her eyes.
"Now, tell me about Omri. Is it true that he volunteered for the Preliminary Reaping?" I ask, already knowing the answer but wanting to hear what she has to say.
"Sadly, it is," Lyossa sighs. "You know how the system works, you never think you're gonna get picked from the big crowd over in Lima. Omri always...he was always not the most popular, and here in Alahee, you get to be Homecoming King and Queen if you get picked in the Prelims. So Omri, he wanted that, he wanted that bad. Didn't ever think he'd be in the Games. I didn't either. It's a tragedy, but it's what happens. He made his choice, and he's gotta reap what he sowed." There's bitterness in her voice over Omri's impulsive decision, more than I expected. "He's doing a good job at reapin' it, though. He's got the fire in him."
"He certainly does," I nod. "What do you make of him getting a chainsaw from the sponsors?"
Lyossa chuckles, shaking her head. "I'm happy that some of y'all Capitolites like my boy enough to give him that thing. I mean, it's gonna give him quite the advantage, I'd say. He's already so far and he's still got it. He's a country boy, he knows how to work hard. I'm just happy y'all like him, that y'all want him to come home like I do."
"Of course we want him to come home!" I laugh. Lyossa's eyes go stony at that, and I curse myself inwardly. Of course we like Omri in the Capitol, but if we wanted him to come home, we wouldn't have taken him away in the first place. Lyossa seems pained at the same thoughts in her own head, and she bites her lip as she speaks next.
"Mighty kind of y'all to feel that way," she murmurs huskily, as if the absolute deference in her words hurts her physically. "Mighty kind of y'all to want him home, for sure."
The hate's in her eyes now, hot and smoking and directed right at me, and I wrap up the interview quickly after that. Sometimes I forget there's only so far you can go with District people; no matter how kind they are and how much they clean their house for your arrival, they still live in backwards villages like this one. There's nothing that could bridge the gap between a woman like me and a woman like Lyossa, and there's no point in even trying. Maybe years from now, when none of us remember the Dark Days and the times before the Hunger Games existed, but not now. There's no words that could quell that type of hatred, so it's better to just leave it be.
The last fingers of the sun are hooked over the horizon, wagging at me teasingly as they begin to slip away and cloak Twelve completely in darkness. I'm thankful that this is almost over, and that this last interview can hopefully be swift. I know Lord has no known family left alive, but after some digging around through the seedy underbelly of the Seam, we've been able to track down the tavern where he lived and worked before he was Reaped. As we walk through the shadowy alleyways of the worst parts of Twelve, I'm thankful for the flank of Peacekeepers surrounding us. I'm also thankful for the fact that it's mostly dark out; I don't need to witness the decrepit devastation of the poorest District in Panem, not after everything I've seen today. This is only my second time in Twelve, and the things I saw in the light of day last time were enough to know I never needed to come back here. But yet, I am here, and now I have to go talk to some delinquents in the worst part of the worst District to get my job done.
Part of me expects flashing lights and glowing neon signs when we get to what's considered the "entertainment district" of the Seam by locals, but all I see are buildings as dark as the others around us that look set to keel over at any moment. We make our way towards one of them, and from inside I can hear the faint sounds of laughter and music. The smells of cheap beer and body odor emanate from the place, and I can't help but wrinkle my nose at the putrid scent. This interview better be quick, and Lord's friends better be people of few words.
As we reach the foul-looking tavern, I see two people waiting for us outside. One of them is a tall, muscular man that looks like he'd fit more in Two than Twelve, while a diminuitive and sad looking girl that can't be older than fifteen stands next to him. Despite her sad face, she's still decently pretty, and the man isn't ugly himself. I work up my best attempt at a smile after this long day towards them, and neither smiles back as I come to a stop in front of them.
"Hello," the man says, his voice deep and gravelly. "I'm Thor, and this here's Cressilda," he says, jutting his thumb towards the pretty scrap of a girl next to him. She meets my gaze with her wide, mournful eyes, and I quickly have to look away, the sorrow in her stare making me feel exposed in an awful sort of way. "We're Lord's friends."
"Well, it's wonderful to meet the two of you," I respond, my voice lilting loudly in the empty street. The inside of the tavern has gone quiet, and there is no movement in the darkened streets and buildings around us either. I once again feel awfully vulnerable, almost as if I were naked. "Where would you like to take us?"
"We gots an apartment over the tavern, if you don't mind," Thor murmurs. "'S where Lord and I lived the past few years."
"Lead the way," I tell him, following Thor and Cressilda up a rickety iron staircase on the side of the building that leads into their apartment. The thing wobbles a little as we climb, and I'm terrified it's going to collapse. We all die one day, but I'd prefer not to bite the dust in this fucking place at least. The wobbly metal staircase holds, however, and soon we're inside the apartment. I can tell it's usually a mess; posters have been torn off the blank gray walls, leaving scraps of tape and paper all over, and things have been hastily shoved into corners and draped with blankets. I don't know what junk they're concealing, and I quite honestly don't care much either. The only furniture they have are two beanbags. Thor and Cressilda sit down on the one that's more battered, and I stare at the other one, knowing I must sit but not wanting to. With a deep breath I lower myself to the ground until I'm on top of the beanbag, feeling absolutely mortified by the way I sink so deep into it that my tailbone almost touches the floor.
"Well, it's a delight to be at the last stop on our journey, here to talk to the friends of Gaylord Parthenia of District Twelve!" I say rapidly once the cameras are set up, eager to get this over with. "What is it like, Thor and Cressilda, having someone from Twelve make it so far after so many years without anyone in the Top 8?"
"We're all very happy to see Lord do good, he's always been a slippery bastard, so we knew he could do it," Thor says with a weak smile. "'S good to see someone go far after so many kids dyin' every damn year, especially since Lord's a good friend."
His words toe a dangerous line, but he either doesn't seem to notice or doesn't seem to care. "Were you surprised to see how he's worked with the girls in the Games?"
"Not at all," Thor snorts. "Him flirtin' with the 11 girl before the Games was classic Lord. And he's always liked witty ones, so that's why he likes Miriam."
"Lord has always been kinder than her lets on," Cressilda whispers. "He has a soft spot for kids, I think."
"Well, he certainly has been showing his soft spots for the nation," I laugh. "Did you all know about his rough home life?"
"I did a little, not all of it though," Thor grumbles. "Poor kid. He deserves to come home after alla this. Really deserves it."
I don't let myself sigh in relief until the tavern is far behind us and we're out of the Seam and back in the merchant sector of the District. Even the merchant quarters are rundown compared to the richer areas in many of the other Districts, but anything seems like a haven after that. I can't get the feeling out of my head, the feeling of sitting on a soiled beanbag and talking to two young people who looked deader in the eyes than some of the tributes whose cannons have already fired. I hope I don't have to come back here for a long, long time. There's just something about Twelve that unsettles you to your soul, and I know the interviews are over and I can think about it now, but I don't want to. I don't ever really want to think about it. Instead, I just focus on walking to the jetliner, one step at a time, until my mind turns elsewhere.
Back in the plane, I sip at my second glass of scotch of the night, watching out the window as darkness blurs against darkness and obscures whatever is below. My head and my chest both thump with pity and confusion and sadness still, and I just want to tear something apart. However, we're still an hour out from landing back in the Capitol, and I'm not embarrassing myself by breaking down in front of the entire crew. I just sip my scotch and try to take my mind off of the day's events, closing my eyes and dreaming of standing on stage during the Pre-Games interviews. The sea of undulating applause calms me enough that I can let myself speak without my voice wavering.
"How have the Games been going while we've been gone?" I ask. I can assume not much has happened throughout the eighth day, as none of the families we spoke to seemed to be particularly moved. Last year, the girl from Eight died before we could come interview her parents, and when we got there, her mother was screaming like a banshee. I'm thankful there was none of that today.
"Nothing of much note," Crux sighs. "No runs in, no mutt clashes, just a regular boring day. I guess the Gamemakers wanted us to be able to get out our interviews before trying to stir up more action, or they're just trying to lengthen the drama. You know Ludum likes the melodrama of a long Games."
"Well, whatever, at least we didn't miss any of the fun," I sigh before taking a long sip from my scotch, draining every last drop from the glass. I place it delicately down on the table between Crux and I, and an Avox scurries over to retrieve it and refill it. I lean back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling that's impeccably lined with tan leather, not even a bump in the fine handiwork. My mind begins to wonder about which broken man in Ten slaughtered the cow, and which desperately patriotic woman in One stained the leather, and which exhausted little kid in Six stitched it into the plane's metal shell.
"Fabula, are you okay?" Crux murmurs. "The broadcast is almost completely edited, if that's what you're fretting about."
"I'm swell, Crux," I tell him as the Avox sets down my refilled scotch on the table. I take a big swig of the drink, staring back up at the pointlessly perfect tan leather stretched above my head. "Everything's just swell."
A/N: Well there was that chapter! This was very different, and I did not expect it to turn out like this, but I hope you guys enjoyed it. I had lots of fun exploring Fabula's character as we only really got to see the character she plays for the audience and herself during the Interviews before. So it was really fun to dig into how someone from the Capitol would be interact with the Districts, and I also had so much fun digging up the forms from 2016 and writing about everyone's family dynamics xD I hope that this chapter was enjoyable even if it may have been low action; next chapter we're back in the arena for Day 9, and I promise things are going to start heating up more! Thank you all for reading, it means the world to me to still have supportive readers after all this time :) Let me know what you thought about the Fabula and the different family dynamics (and Cordelia's missing family of course).
Until Next Time,
Tracee