Commercials
Noemma Dobra, 16, District 4 Female
Noemma takes a deep breath as her stylist spreads more powder across her cheeks. She's never had this much makeup on her face before and, when she looks in the mirror, she can't believe that she still even kind of looks like herself. Every part of her face has been dramatized, from bronzing over her soft tan to darkening her freckles. She tries to smile at her reflection but the expression is the one thing she can't recognize on the girl in the mirror. It's never been this hard to smile before, not even in the moments at home when she was clearly just pretending to be happy.
"You look beautiful," Abril, her stylist, tells her and Noemma nods gratefully. The Capitol is nothing like District 4, but thankfully not everyone is as unwelcoming as her mentor Venice has been. Noemma always felt like she knew where to stand back at home. Once she was accepted onto the coast guard it became her whole life and the people there became her new family. They didn't always get along and life wasn't always easy, but Noemma knew her goals and where she needed to go to achieve them. Now, being here in the Capitol, it feels like everyone has already given up on her. It's hard not to give in and let their thoughts become hers.
When Abril gives her the okay to join Jordan and Venice, she does her best to swallow back all of her nervousness before they see her. They've only given up on Noemma because they don't know her, at least that's what she's managed to tell herself. She might not have her footing in this whole thing yet, but she's determined to prove them wrong. Noemma is terrified and she knows that every odd is stacked against her to actually win, but she can't allow herself to give up. To do that would be to admit that she's already as good as dead.
She turns the corner and barely catches Jordan's smile before he covers it with an obvious cough. Noemma puts her hands on her hips, looking down at her outfit as she tries to suppress a laugh of her own. She's dressed in a short white dress with blue trim, obviously trying to emulate a sailor but failing miserably. Jordan is dressed in a similar outfit though, lucky for him, it comes with pants. "I'd look at yourself before laughing."
The smile is wiped off his face and Jordan's eyes widen in surprise at her comment. His eyes flash briefly down at his clothing before they come back up to meet her. "Touché."
"Looks like you'll be doing the commercial together after all," Venice grumbles, interrupting their conversation. He hands them each a pin and directs them to attach it on the right side of their chest. Noemma rolls it over in her hand and her heart drops when she sees the Capitol seal, not District 4's. Her mouth feels dry as she puts it on as instructed. It feels like a dog tag telling everyone who she belongs to, even if it's just a plastic pin. She wishes she could throw it into the ocean but Noemma has never been one to argue so she doesn't.
"They're ready for you," Abril says, peeking around the curtain and handing pleated white hats to her and Jordan. Noemma tightens her lips as she puts on the hat, trying not to smile as Jordan coughs to cover another laugh. The only comfort she can find in this situation is that at least Jordan also sees how ridiculous they both look. She doesn't know if she would be able to handle any of this alone.
Noemma is lead by the hand to stand in front of a bright green sheet. Abril turns her head so that she is looking over the camera with her shoulders facing Jordan. She tries to keep the nerves off her face as she looks over at Venice, who already wears a deep frown. Noemma pushes another smile to her lips. She isn't exactly sure what she is supposed to be doing, but she is determined to do it. Venice told them that sponsors would be watching these commercials and that makes it important enough to pay attention.
"Just say your name and try to look at the camera," Venice says and Noemma perks up when she realizes that he's speaking to her. She nods enthusiastically to tell him that she understands, but he looks apprehensive at best. It's not the first time she's had to prove herself, in fact she's been doing it for her entire time on the coast guard, but it is the first time she's done it dressed like this. She pulls her shoulders back and lifts her chin, eager if not desperate for Venice to see her succeed.
"My name is Noemma Dobra," she says with more confidence than she feels, but to her it sounds okay. As soon as the director gives her a thumbs up, Noemma looks to Venice to see his reaction. Her smile falters a little when she realizes he's just looking at Jordan again.
"Jordan, your turn."
Jordan's face remains neutral as he delivers his name and by the end Venice is beaming. "Noemma, you need to match his energy. Try it again, but notice what he did."
Noemma nods and turns again to the camera, wiping the smile off her face and holding tension in her face to hopefully emulate her district partner. She looks to Venice as soon as she's done, hoping that she's done well but he's looking down at his clipboard. She doubts for a moment that he was even watching her but tells herself immediately that this can't be true. He's her mentor too, even if he's clearly got a favourite. "I guess that will do, moving on."
She stares up at the ceiling to prevent the tears from forming, knowing that crying will not help the situation. Noemma lets out a slow breath and brings the smile back to her face, wiping it away again just as quickly when she remembers Venice's critique. Jordan nudges her softly as Venice talks with the director. "You okay?"
Noemma nods. She didn't realize that her emotions had been written so plainly on her face. The last person that Noemma would want to see her upset right now is Venice, but Jordan is a close second. She still isn't exactly sure what to think about him. On the one hand, she's jealous that he is so well adapted to all of this when she's just barely managing to stay afloat. Not to mention the fact that she's more than a little afraid of the training he has and the fact that he's volunteered for this. On the other hand, he hasn't exactly been unkind to her so there should be no real reason to hate him. He's the favourite and Noemma decides that's not his fault.
Chiara Truist, 16, District 6 Female
Everything she has done seems to be wrong, but Chiara isn't sure what to do to fix any of it. The more she tries to sound confident and effortless, the more notes she seems to be getting and the more frustrated she is definitely getting. It doesn't help that her district partner seems to be perfect at all of the charades they're being forced through. Fitzroy's cool smile as he delivers his lines just brings more attention to the fact that Chiara is failing.
"Let's take a minute," Malia says sweetly, nodding at Chiara and Fitzroy. Just like on the train, Malia doesn't appear to have any kind of spine to actually hold her up. No, all she's said is that they're doing great. She won't even come straight out and say that it's not going well. No, she's left that to the director who has no issues pointing out the flaws. Chiara has stopped herself more than once from shouting at the man and telling him that she really is trying.
Fitzroy accepts a small bottle of water from his stylist as Chiara's presses more powder into her cheeks without permission. Chiara hasn't forgotten what he said about her on the train, that she's given up, and the words have blown around her mind ever since. She isn't completely sure that she hasn't given up, which only makes his statement sting more. It's the Hunger Games and there will be one winner. Who is she to believe that it will be her? She's no one special, just some girl from District 6 that happens to have the worst possible luck.
Chiara doesn't want to give up on herself, but the more she thinks about it the more her spirit seems to sink. She wants to fight but it feels hopeless, especially after seeing the other tributes and hearing about the ones that have actually trained for this. At the same time, she is afraid of what giving up will mean for her. If she doesn't fight, she isn't going to make it out of that arena alive. Even if she does fight, though, there's a good chance she'll still die. At the end of the day, there is only one choice she can make. Chiara has to fight and that means that she has to shoot this damn commercial.
"May I offer some advice?" Fitzroy asks, taking another sip out of his water as he waits for her answer.
Chiara almost immediately rejects the offer, but she manages to hold back her temper for a second long enough to think. She hates the fact that she has to even look at his face after what he said to her, but she knows she has to be smart about her situation. Knocking him to the ground might make her feel better right now, but if he can actually help her get through this it might be worth holding back. This is a lesson her sister, Carina, has been trying to teach her for years and it took a death match to make it finally stick. Chiara would almost laugh at the irony except for how freaking terrified she is.
"Fine."
"Try to relax," Fitzroy says. When he sees her smirk, he laughs with her but it sounds far too controlled to be real. "I'm being serious. You're overthinking it."
"Wow, what an insight," Chiara says, wiping the smirk off her face. She isn't going to laugh with him; she doesn't like him. If he thinks that a little joke is going to make everything from the train disappear he has another thing coming.
"You ever had a conversation back in Six?" Fitzroy asks. "In particular, one where you didn't hate the other person."
Chiara doesn't even feel the need to validate that question with a response. Fitzroy cocks his head to one side and smiles again. "I'll take that as a yes. Well, that's all this is."
"It's not a person," Chiara says, nodding towards the camera. He steps closer to her and she immediately crosses her arms over her chest, letting him know that he's more than close enough. She might be willing to accept his help, but that in no way means that they're friends now.
"Pretend it is," he suggests. "The lens is just one big eyeball staring back at you."
"Gross."
"Kind of," Fitzroy agrees.
"Why do you care if I bomb this?" Chiara asks suddenly. The pretentious rich kid on the train didn't really seem like the type to help people out of the goodness of his heart. Besides, the one thing that always rings true about people being kind is that they will want something in return. She's just not sure what he expects as a reward.
Fitzroy tries to laugh away her question, but Chiara holds eye contact until the smile falters slightly on his face. She relishes in the fact that he seems almost uncomfortable, but it's a short-lived moment. Soon enough, another expression replaces the earlier one and he looks back at her with a shy grin. "If you haven't noticed, they're trying to make us a bit of a package deal. If you bomb, I'm pretty sure that means I bomb."
"I don't think they give a shit as long as long as we spill some blood in the arena," Chiara says honestly. She doesn't quite understand the concept of the commercials when they're literally just here to fight for their lives. Malia said that they want to 'get to know the tributes' but Chiara calls bullshit on that. No one is going to care about a girl from Six dressed as a train conductor unless she somehow manages to become the Victor from Six.
"Look," Fitzroy says, his voice dropping some of its earlier confidence. "I don't know what they want from us, but Malia thinks this is important. If we can do this, maybe she'll help us out later. Do you want help or not?"
"Yes," Chiara says automatically. As much as she hates to put herself in a position below her annoying partner, he seems willing to work with her on this. She doesn't understand why the Capitol wants to know her, but she isn't in any position to refuse. Chiara wants to fight and that has to start now even if it feels stupid. When someone throws you a bone, you don't question where it came from; you just have to take it and run.
Aberro Tripe, 14, District 8 Male
Aberro tries to smile through his lines, hoping that this one will be the last and he can finally go back to his room. He dreads the breaks between takes, when he's left to talk with Evi and the stylists, but they seem to be coming more often. He feels ridiculous in old-fashioned suspenders with loose threads stuck to his white shirt. More than anything, he just wants today to be over.
Even a day later, Aberro isn't sure that he's really come to terms with everything that's happened. He knew that his chances were higher because he's been taking tesserae, but actually being reaped feels like a nightmare he's just waiting to wake up from. He's terrified, frustrated, and exhausted all at the same time and has probably spent more hours crying than sleeping at this point. His mind is focusing on all of the wrong things, like the odd accent of his escort and the way that their mentor, Madina, doesn't seem to want to look him in the eye. Aberro knows that he should be thinking of some brilliant strategy to make it home, but nothing comes to the surface. Everything is happening too fast and he just needs time to think.
"I bet it's weird asking for sponsors when you're one of the smallest ones here."
Aberro looks up at Evi, her face twisted in mock concern that he could probably pick out in the dark. He opens his mouth to reply, but there's nothing he can say to her statement. It's true that he's one of the smaller tributes and it's also true that it feels weird asking people to believe in him enough to sponsor him. That's the most difficult part about being around Evi, not just that she's saying these things but the fact that almost all of them are true.
"Aw, don't cry, honey," she says sweetly, resting her fingertips on his shoulder with a one-sided smile. Aberro reaches up and makeup comes off on his fingertips, but he didn't even realize that he's been crying. It's a common pattern by now, but he feels just as embarrassed as the first time. It's hard to say whether it's the exhaustion or utter terror he's experiencing, but Aberro feels like he has almost no control over his emotions anymore.
He turns away and heads over to the makeup table, where his stylist, Moriah, gives him a chiding look before reaching again for her supplies. Aberro doesn't say a word as she dabs underneath his eyes with a damp cloth. He just wishes again that he could be anywhere but here. His mind is tired and he needs time to process all of this, but that's one commodity he doesn't have- time.
"Aberro, we need you again," the director calls and just the sound of his voice makes more tears fall down his cheeks. Moriah tries to wipe them away but Aberro is already heading back to the set like he's supposed to. He stands as tall as he can in front of the camera, feeling the warmth from all the stage lights and trying to tell himself to get it together.
"I thought you were going to wipe those?" Evi whispers and Aberro reaches up to flatten the tears without even looking at her. He is willing to bet what her game is with all of these comments, but what other choice does he have but to try his best to ignore her? It's not like she will listen if he says she's making it hard to concentrate. Aberro believes this is likely what she wants anyways, and thankfully for her it's working.
"Cut."
"I didn't say cut," the director says, looking around.
Madina steps onto set with the tributes and taps Aberro on the shoulder. She leads him away and he is too tired to argue, especially when he wants nothing more than to leave like she's asking. Madina calls over to the director as she opens the door. "Continue with Evi, we'll be right back."
"What's the problem?" She asks as soon as the door slams behind them. Aberro can feel more tears biting at his eyes and he knows that if he speaks they will all come tumbling out. It's difficult for him to even look at her, knowing that she has already been through the arena and she's not the one here crying about it. Her standing in front of him makes Aberro feel even worse than before.
"Aberro, I know it's a lot," Madina begins and Aberro buries his face in his hands as the tears start to fall again. After a moment of hesitation, he can feel her hands on his shoulders, but they feel much softer than Evi's. He doesn't want to cry in front of her, he truly doesn't, but today has already been too much for him.
"I'm sorry," he chokes out but she is silent in front of him. He feels like he's disappointed her and that only makes him cry harder. It must be several minutes before he's able to pry his hands away from his cheeks to face her again.
"What's going on?" This time, her voice is softer as she speaks to him. Aberro opens his mouth, not exactly sure what to tell her, and everything begins to roll out. He tells her how homesick he feels and how unprepared for the arena he knows that he is. He tells her about his fear and the comments that Evi's been making all day. Madina doesn't say a word until he's finished, but her expression sours when he mentions his district partner.
"Don't let her get to you," Madina says, ignoring the other issues that Aberro knows she can do nothing about. "Your survival isn't something she should be able to touch."
"I don't know what to do," Aberro whispers, ducking his head again but Madina quickly lifts it back up to face her.
"You're not dead yet," she says quickly, catching eye contact for only a moment before she looks away. "It doesn't matter what anyone else says or thinks. You are the only one that matters."
Aberro nods, wiping more makeup and tears from his cheeks. Even though he can tell that she isn't certain of her words, it feels good just to have someone even pretend to believe in him. Madina's right, Evi isn't the one who gets to say if he will live or die. He can't let her get to him the way he has been. Aberro sniffles one last time and blinks back the unshed tears. He's spent a lot of time letting other people be in control of his life, but that has to change now or they're going to swallow him whole.
Jory Danton, 17, District 9 Male
Jory pushes away the stylist that attempts to help him out of his outfit. He isn't in the mood for any of the niceties that the Capitol wants to throw at him, and he'd honestly rather they just toss him in the arena now to save him the humiliation. He's spent his life trying to be the best, trying to serve Panem in the way that his father did despite all the people who told him he was out of his mind. Even for all its flaws, he loves his nation and wants to protect people as a Peacekeeper, but in the end none of it even matters.
He has always felt so in control of what was happening around him. Jory has always been the type of person to see what he wants and go after it, to stop at nothing to accomplish the goals he has for himself. In one instant he's lost all of that and now he's being pushed around by people who couldn't give less of a shit about him. His life has been declared worthless despite all of the work he's been prepared to put into his future. He's being crafted into a tragic puppet that will dance for the audience until someone finally cuts his strings. That's almost a bigger crime than just killing him outright.
"Don't you take a hint?" Jory says flatly as the stylist reaches for his zipper. "Get lost."
The stylist backs away sheepishly and points to the chair where a pair of black pants and t-shirt are hanging. "Your clothes are there when you need them."
"Where are my other clothes?" Jory shouts after the man as he leaves, but the stylist doesn't even turn to acknowledge him. Jory throws his shirt, a dusty beige thing that feels more like a flour sac than clothing, down on the ground and doesn't care when he steps across it. He looks around but his father's old dress shirt and slacks are nowhere to be found. The clothes don't even mean that much to him, but they were the only thing he was allowed to bring from home and now even they have been taken from him. He throws on the plain clothes and is annoyed by how soft the fabric is. Why do they give him such nice things when they obviously want him to suffer?
"Do you think we'll get them back?"
Jory looks over to see his district partner, Sinead, slouched in the stylist chair, her own outfit only half undone. He shakes his head and she bites her lip, immediately looking down at the floor. All of the frustration melts away as he watches her. She's not upset or angry at their situation like he is, in fact Jory would be surprised if she even knew how to raise her voice. She looks genuinely upset and Jory has the urge to comfort her, even if it feels pretty pointless to even try.
"We can ask Sanai when she comes back," Jory offers and Sinead lifts her head with an unconvincing smile. He's grown to appreciate his district partner, even if she isn't the type of person that he usually hangs around. Sinead is as far away from Chloe as one can get, but she's also not a complete write off in his eyes. She has an intelligence about her that he can't quite place, not to mention that her softer demeanour is the only think preventing him from completely losing his mind right now.
"I guess," Sinead agrees. "She'll probably want to talk about training again."
Jory sighs but he can't argue with the statement. Everything their mentor has talked to them about so far has been perfectly constructed, giving them just enough information for them to act right but also keeping them in the dark about things she knows will make them reluctant to participate. When she told them about the commercials, she left out the part about being dressed up like old-time grain farmers probably knowing that Jory would have protested if he'd known. "I don't think I'm in the mood for more training talk."
"I don't know," Sinead counters. "We hardly know anything about it yet."
"We know it's happening tomorrow," Jory shrugs. That's about all he feels interested in knowing because any more information will probably just upset him further.
"Yeah, but what exactly are we learning? I figure that weapons will be part of it because none of us probably know anything about that. Are they going to teach us about finding food and swimming and how not to die of heat stroke? I mean I learned some about plants in school, but I've never even been in the river back home." The more that Sinead talks, the quicker her words come out and the more panicked she seems to get. Jory opens his mouth a couple times to interrupt her but she just speaks right over him without noticing.
Finally, he waves his arms to get her attention and she pauses long enough for him to get a word in. "Panem to Sinead, are you there?"
She laughs stiffly and offers an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I was probably rambling."
"Probably?" Jory asks, cracking a smile that feels more real than it should. She relaxes again into her chair and kicks off the black costume boots she's been untying. As she starts laughing, it's impossible not to join her. Before Jory knows it, they're both laughing so hard it's difficult to catch their breath.
"Not sure what you two find funny about today," Sanai says as she walks into the dressing room, her eyes moving between the two tributes. "We didn't get through everything so I don't have high expectations for sponsors. Nice job."
"Sorry we weren't good little farmers," Jory says in mock regret, crossing his arms over his chest.
"I'd appreciate some respect."
"So would we," Jory retorts.
Sanai pauses as they make eye contact, neither of them willing to be the first to break it. Finally, she blinks and looks over to Sinead, who ducks her head to avoid her. Jory smirks, knowing that even it was a stupid staring contest at least he won. There is nothing he can do about the fact that he's here now, but he will do everything he can to make these Capitolites just as miserable as he is. Jory notices the Capitol pin sticking up from his commercial outfit and stomps down on it until he hears it crack under his foot. He'll make them wish they had just killed him in District 9.
A/N: Hello all. Hopefully those of you new to my stories aren't completely lost, but commercials is something I've introduced as sort of a chariot ride precursor. As you can see, they are getting closer to what we know from canon with 'costumes' and being done in pairs. Hope you enjoyed the chapter and training will be next up (4 chapters total, count 'em). I hope you're hype to see some inter-district interactions soon because I know I am.
What do you think of these 4 tributes (Noemma, Chiara, Aberro, & Jory)?
I hope that everyone is keeping safe out there. Remember that just because stuff is open doesn't mean you need to risk it. Remember that masks can save lives and the six feet rule is still important. Remember that BLM and ACAB because there still have not been enough changes up in this bitch to stop saying this. Remember that your actions can bring about real change and it's important to keep going no matter how tired you might get.
~ Olive