Let's get those cameras on and those smiles wide because it's time for the interviews!
Slightly late today, but we're here! I was enjoying real life, watching movies, all that good stuff. Yeah, you caught me, I'm enjoying real life for once. Mind-blowing. ;)
Speaking of insane things, the support everyone's given me is incredible and I can't thank you all enough! I won't get soppy yet though, I've reserved that spiel for the bloodbath, and for the final chapter of this story. A way off, but depending on writing speed, give me a couple of months and this could be finishing. We've got a way to go until then though, so let's get going!
Thank you to Remus98 and BamItsTyler who reviewed!
Disclaimer: I do not own the Hunger Games in any way, shape, or form. I only own the arena I have created.
"Cock your hat - angles are attitudes." ~Frank Sinatra
Naydene Carmello, Sixteen, District Three Female
Remember the angle.
My mentor, Leila, told me that I should try and stick to my angle, which is my sweet self. Fortunately, my so-called "angle" isn't any difficulty for me at all. It feels nice to be able to just let go and be me during interviews. I've heard rumours of some tributes having to completely change themselves for the Capitol and to be honest, I wasn't really looking forward to the idea of that.
I can feel the thunderous applause of eager hands vibrate through my chest, even from so far away.
Dallas Cornwall, as charming as he is, is almost alien in the way he looks. It's weird talking to stylists (when they do talk sense) and in a way, he represents everything different and unusual about the Capitol. However, Dallas can ramp up a crowd. I can see it in his body language and his face, the message in his words and his mannerisms; he's a performer at heart. Convincing myself that I wouldn't be nervous for this interview was hard enough.
Convincing myself that I won't mess up? Harder.
Despite having no ties to the people in the crowd, I desperately want to impress them. Of course, people hated me in Three because of who my family were and who my sister chose to marry. Now it feels like the world is watching me all over again, ready to decide my fate. It's not a pleasant feeling, but I'm quick to ignore it. Focusing on the positives will give me the strength that Leila's told me I have. My quick-witted mind, my accepting heart…these are the strengths that could entice a crowd of people.
It's not long before the crowd roars once more and I'm being ushered up to the edge of the stage.
"Everyone, give it up for Naydene Carmello from District Three!"
I swear, the lights are so bright that I could have been knocked out by them. The stage is made of glossy marble tiles, black and professional, with small sparkles in them that catch the light. Overhead lights spin around and around, and a phantasm of colour swirls populate the background behind me in constant flux. The people before me are a mish-mash of pigments beyond my wildest dreams, in outfits outside of my imagination. That's when I realise; this really is a show to them, a way to introduce the tributes in an attractive, addictive new light. Everything in the Capitol seems sickening sweet, oddly curated, yet with a colour pop that feels disorientingly inviting. Somehow, I find I don't mind it.
I can barely see my way over to Dallas' guiding hand, but I make it there, sinking into a soft chair. I immediately feel strangely safe. Letting go of the breath I was holding, I relax a shade. I don't think I noticed how tense I was.
"So Naydene, tell me, how have you found the Capitol so far?" Dallas asks.
"Colourful!" I cheer. That's a given. "I love how bright everything is. It's so different from Three, and everything is so beautifully made. I think it's nice here. Of course, there's no place like home."
"There certainly isn't," Dallas agrees. "What's life like at home for you?"
Instantly, the memories of home wash over me like the waves of a thoughtful sea.
"I have my sister, Millicent and her girlfriend Zaphyria," I explain. "My parents died some time ago."
The crowd mutters sadly at this revelation, but I put a hand out to them.
"Oh no, don't be sad," I tell them. "Sometimes life tends to change things in a way you don't expect. My sister and her girlfriend are my family now, and I know they love me more than anyone else in the world."
"That's beautiful," Dallas bows his head with a smile as the crowd cooes. "I bet they've taught you things, yes? Strengths you could use in the arena?"
I can see a glint in Dallas' eyes now, hungry for some kind of information. My score was by no means legendary, but it doesn't mean that I don't plan on playing it up.
"Oh yes," I smile brightly. "My mind is strong, and I notice a lot more than people think, like the toothpaste on your lip, right there!"
I joke around with Dallas sweetly, and he puts on a somewhat dramatic show of him dabbing wildly at his upper lips while the crowd chortle along. They don't seem overly impressed with my interview, but they're not bored either. Dallas glances over at the front row, where a small clock signals that it's already time for my last question.
It's odd how they show you a mere snapshot of each tribute, but they do have to get through everyone, and nobody's planning on sitting there for more than an hour or so at most.
"Naydene," Dallas begins. "Before you leave, I'm sure we all want to know – if there was one thing you could say to your sister right now, what would it be?"
I bite the inside of my cheek, imagining Millicent huddled into Zaphyria's side, watching my face on the screen once this is broadcasted. I wonder if she thinks of my auburn hair and how it's been swept back and dampened, or how the black jumpsuit has cut out panels on my sides, showing off my pale skin. I wonder if she can see how the Capitol have transformed me into something so different from the girl I left behind at the reaping bowl.
"I'm always going to be me," I say, looking directly at the camera. "I'm not going to change into a monster when I come back to you. I miss you and love you. Don't stop believing in me."
"Heart-warming words, from our sweet Naydene Carmello from District Three!" Dallas calls, standing up and bringing me upwards with him.
The crowd claps politely and there are a few cheers as I make my way off the stage. Breathing a sigh of relief, I meet up with Leila, who gives me a high five.
"Well done, you did so well!" she smiles at me positively.
As I thank her and hug her; I can't help but feel like I did okay.
After all, the best angle to play was my own.
Cassia Foster, Fifteen, District Eight Female
If I play this just right, I could burn this entire building down.
I'm kidding, obviously. Or am I?
Playing a game alone has always been a dangerous one, but I've never given much thought to making friends. Tributes have had their conversations and given each other glares, but they haven't really paid me a lot of attention, and for that I'm grateful. Sure, I speak my mind or I run my mouth and I couldn't give a damn about it. However, nobody's really given me the chance to do that until now, so I'm caught between my own cautions and stepping out to show the world who Cassia Foster really is.
I wonder if somewhere, Cumin is watching me, admiring me for the person who I've become. There's always a beauty to seeing someone who you haven't seen in so long, so I wonder if she'd conflicted as I am too; somewhere between happiness and despair. I have my own role to play, and that's to smash this damn interview, be it for Cumin or myself. If I win this, I'm taking Cumin back. We're running away into the Victor's Village in Eight to enjoy life together, sister next to sister, living life together as we should be.
I can't stop thinking about her.
I hadn't seen her for so long before the reaping, but once my name was snatched from that bowl by the eager fingers of the escort, we were reunited once again.
She looked well, her skin glowing almost angelically, her tears like small crystals that fell from her eyes in sweet silence. I held her head to my shoulder and we cried together for the entire time she was there but telling each other of how we missed each other and what it meant to be reunited again. I'm fiercely protective of Cumin, but the fact I saw her in such good condition reassures me that she's in good hands.
The waiting line grows ever shorter.
I'm not really that nervous for the interviews, but I'm not exactly thrilled to be questioned either. Who wants to listen to anyone talk about their life just days before their probable death? Well, I guess the Capitolites do. We're their distraction after all. While they play their game of make-believe and luxury, we play ours of blood and broken dreams. I shudder to think of what will befall anyone in the arena, especially myself. The idea of dying at all isn't pleasant, let alone dying painfully.
Before I know it, one of the attendants is dragging me up a few steps. I curse on my way, ripping my arm from the attendant's grip and walking myself to the side of the stage with the intent to break my neck before I actually get out there. Finally, Dallas Cornwall calls my name.
"Now for our lovely female from District Eight, Cassia Foster!"
A confident smile graces my cheeks as I stride out across the stage, waving as I go. I'm not stupid; I was no legend in training, but I can be an icon on their stage. If it means that I can get some attention from someone then my chances of survival will increase tenfold. I sit down in the interview chair, and Dallas smiles at me, dressed head to toe in silver.
"Welcome Cassia," Dallas greets me. "You're looking pretty confident tonight, I must say!"
I laugh a little before shrugging.
"Huh, isn't it obvious?" I ask. "I'm not here to take shit."
There's a few "whoop!" sounds from the crowd, while everyone else claps politely. Dallas edges away slightly.
"You're not going to cut me, are you?" he jokes.
"Hmm, I might have to think about that," I respond, leaning back casually. "What a few people don't realise is that there's more to me than meets the eye."
"Do tell…" Dallas answers, raising one of his glittery eyebrows.
"Well, I simply don't care enough to worry so much," I explain, playing things confident despite feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the hundreds of eyes watching me right now. "I'm here to win the Games, get out, and go home."
"That's a pretty solid plan," Dallas compliments. "What is your strategy? How do you think you'll outsmart the other tributes?"
The answer almost spills from my lips before my mind reminds me that the other tributes are likely to be listening.
"I can't tell you that," I tell Dallas honestly. "It would ruin the show! Just keep an eye out for me. I'm not the type to be underestimated."
They're fighting words, I know they are. But even under the gaze of these bright lights, I can feel a red-hot fire in my veins, spurring me onwards, pushing me to get to the Games, to fight, to survive, to win.
"Well, you seem like you've got a plan that you're ready to unfold!" Dallas calls, and the crowd cheer, clapping for me wildly as if I'm someone to be revered. "But what's hidden behind your fighting spirit? What are you fighting for?"
Cumin. Home. A life of peace away from this fucking hell hole.
Any of those would have been great answers, words that I would freely say if the secrets in my heart weren't claimed by my own shadows. There are some things that I just can't say, and the idea of Cumin becoming a concept of flesh and blood to the world…it's too much. No, I can't speak my truth yet. I can't tell the world about how much I care about my poor sister, and about what Mom did to us.
"I'm fighting for myself," I explain. "For the things I want. For the people I care about."
Dallas nods, closing his eyes for a moment as if he can feel the weight of my vague words. The crowd too, have quietened, coming together as a whole to engage in the charade of empathy. Maybe they do care, I don't know, but they don't understand. As the buzzer sounds off, and I'm brought to my feet, a part of me still burning.
I'll wait until the time comes for me to set it aflame.
Landon Caruso, Eighteen, District Two Male
My waiting time is over.
Underneath my skin, my self-control bubbles away, struggling to hold in words on the rooftop of the training centre.
I'd taken my leave fairly quickly after the close of the interviews. I portrayed the perfect victor, confidence that so many believe I can uphold. I just can't wait until my Father sees how that will all change in the arena. Best laid plans make for best-laid finishes. I wonder how quickly his skin with grow pale with shock when I do the unexpected? The Caruso's, no longer perfect, no longer respectable. The idea is really quite appealing.
A bed of wheatgrass bends in the night-time breeze nearby, and the gentle hum of the lamps dotted across the top of the roof are beautifully calming. Like them, I appear calm, but my light is bright and wishes to shine from within.
It doesn't take long for Vanity to appear by my side, a metre or so from me, looking out over the buildings of the Capitol, so different from District Two, with houses made from pebble grey or honey-coloured stones, evidence of the masonry trade in our district. A mountain, the Nut, rises over the district, but here it's barely visible on the horizon. But here? It's just endless rows of concrete and glass, twisted sculptures of consumerist fantasy. And I'm in love with it.
Maybe it's because I'm so far away from the empty hallways of the manor in Two, away from the fake niceties, the lying and the cover-ups, the monotonous drone of my Father's instructions to train, train and train some more. Such a chant is missing from my mind, and for one, my shoulders don't bear the weight of the Caruso family, especially since I know I'm already casting it off.
"So," Vanity begins. "You've got something to tell me."
"I do," I say slowly, unsure if I can even get these words out, yet knowing that I have to.
"Let's hear it then," Vanity turns to me expectantly, her brown eyes scanning over my clear skin and brown curls. "What do you want from me?"
"A favour," I sigh. "But first, I have to explain myself. The Caruso's are not as perfect as you think they are."
There's a beat, followed by a scoff from Vanity.
"There's a surprise," she hummed. "Nobody ever believed the Caruso's could be truly perfect, although you were pretty much close to it."
"We're far from it," I reply. "My Father sleeps with whoever he pleases, my Mother drinks herself below the table, and my sister and I are mere little puppets, dancing when my Father wants us to dance."
Vanity watches me, done with her questioning and her sarcasm, awaiting more. I've given her a sip of the Caruso cup, and she can't wait to taste its truths once again. I comply. I don't care for my family, because it's them who made me who I am; a polite shell hiding endless coils of utter resentment.
"We're by no means perfect, a dysfunctional family," I continue. "I don't think anyone in my family actually likes each other. I don't think any of us even care for each other."
"Shit," Vanity breathes. "I'm sorry, Landon, that must s-"
"I don't care," I cut her off. "I don't need people to pity me for a lifetime of being a Caruso. What I need, is a way to defy my Father in the Hunger Games."
"What do you mean by that?" Vanity questions, a hand on her hip.
"I need to destroy his image of perfection," I plan. "Some way to show him that I'm not so prim and proper. I've thought about jumping off the pedestal before the Games begin. I've thought about standing in the middle of the bloodbath and seeing who decides to kill me. I've thought about cursing the Capitol to bring on early death."
"What's the point of that?" Vanity asks, sounding a little exasperated. "You're just going to throw your life away? You volunteered for the Games, to show the world who the Caruso's are. Beat your Dad another way. Show him your strength and then cast him out. If I were you, I'd win the Games and then shut him out of your house in the Victor's Village. Show him that he doesn't own you."
I'm doubtful about this proposition, but I nod hesitantly. Maybe there's a chance that I can win these Games and prove to my Father that he doesn't own me. But can I? Can I throw off the chains of fabricated perfection to walk back to District Two, unrelenting and uncaring of my family and its ties? My Father is the Mayor, basically untouchable. I'd never be able to escape him even if I do get back home alive.
Vanity grabs hold of my elbow and shakes it slightly, her eyes sharp and voice laced with conviction.
"You're a Caruso, Landon, perfect or not," she tells him. "You either fight for yourself, or you're not going to last long in the Career pack. The other's will see a weak link and remove you. Fast."
I nod in this and breathe a deep breath.
"Yeah, I guess that's true," I mutter.
I'm adept at the Games, but I'll stand no chance against four other Careers and the girl from Eleven. That's assuming Vanity wouldn't gut me too.
"Don't give up your privilege to be here," Vanity stretches, walking back towards the elevator door. "Being a tribute for these Games is an honour, after all."
High ponytail swinging behind her, my district partner leaves me in silence to ruminate on our short discussion. Maybe she's right, maybe she's not. Living or dying, perfection or blemish, it's all a swirling mess of confusion, anger and hate. There's been so much frustration built up inside of me over the last few years that I've wondered how I still have my humanity.
Looking out over the Capitol, I know I have learnt one thing. Vanity's words stuck with me, but so did her tone. When she was so honest and forthright before, her last words held less weight to them.
The Hunger Games is an honour? No, not really.
For both myself and Vanity, it's a lie.
Interviews are done! I had to do some rearranging with the structure in this chapter but I honestly thought it turned out really well. What do you think?
As promised, that poll is now closed and the results are on my profile. As of this time tomorrow, the blog will be showing scores and predictions, as promised :D
It's actually ridiculous how close we are to the Games. I told myself I wouldn't upload a word until I had pre-written the chapters to the Bloodbath, (all 11 of the ones I hadn't written oof). The fact that I'm almost there just reinforces that I can write when my heart and soul is in it. Way back when, it wasn't in Picking Up The Pieces, but it for sure is now~
Naydene's a sweetheart! Do you think she made an impression with her interview?
Cassia's confidence was infectious. Do you think she played to her angle well?
Landon's secrets are beginning to spill over. What do you think of his conversation with Vanity?
As usual, don't be shy to use your voice and let me know what's up!
Over and out!
~Mental