Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Interviews
The Innocent Flower

Longson Liu, 38
Father of Retro Liu

None of this had been part of the plan.

Longson drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he waited for Retro's turn. His son should have been safe. That was part of the beauty of the Career system, after all. He'd never been particularly enthusiastic about the Games himself, but they were a part of life in the districts. And if they had to exist – which they did – then it only made sense to send in the best-prepared tributes they could.

And Retro certainly didn't fit that description. Not only because of his age, but because he'd had no training whatsoever. He and May had never given it a second thought. Retro was their only child; they couldn't afford to take the chance of losing him to the Games. But now they had no say in the matter. In less than twenty-four hours, their son would be in the arena, and there was nothing either of them could do about it.

He wasn't used to that. As a successful businessman, he'd always been able to exert enough influence to make sure things turned out the way he wanted when they really mattered. But not this time. He had no power over the Capitol, over their sponsors, over the audience that might be the deciding factor in whether his son lived or died.

It wasn't fair.

Finally, Retro appeared onstage, wearing a white polo shirt, a violet blazer and slacks, and a red tie. Unlike the boy before him, Retro didn't bother smiling at the crowd. And unlike the second girl from Four, he apparently knew better than to play up the "cute little tribute" angle. The audience saw plenty of young tributes every year. Only a handful had made it through the Games, and they certainly hadn't done so because they were innocent and cuddly. The girl last year had been twelve, but she had been a fighter. And if Retro was going to have a chance at winning, he would have to prove that he was willing to do the same.

"Welcome, Retro!" Malchus grinned despite Retro's somewhat blank stare. "It's a pleasure to have you here."

"It's a pleasure to be here," Retro answered politely, but not too enthusiastically.

"Thrilled to hear it. What's been your favorite part about the Capitol so far?"

Retro seemed to hesitate a moment, as if deciding whether his answer would help him or not. Finally, he decided to go ahead. "I'd say my favorite part has been meeting all sorts of different people. Certainly a lot more people than I would meet back home."

Malchus chuckled. "Not a lot of people in District Five? It's one of the largest districts!"

Retro blushed a little. "That's not what I meant. I … My family … My parents socialize in a very specific circle. I don't get to meet a lot of different people. People who look different, act different, people who aren't so … traditional."

Longson raised an eyebrow. That would probably play well with the audience, considering how differently Capitolites acted in the first place. But what was Retro getting at? His son had never given the impression that he was anything but happy with the friends he had, the life that they had planned out for him. What more could he possibly want?

"I have a feeling there's a story there," Malchus pressed. "A secret, perhaps?"

Retro froze. But only for a second. "I know all of you saw the reaping. My father made a … bit of a scene."

Malchus chuckled. "Well, what parent wouldn't want to, I suppose?"

"But it wasn't about me being reaped," Retro continued. "It was about the fact that it was Jai who came to help bring me to the stage, since he and Harakuise are … you know."

"A couple?" Malchus finished. It wasn't exactly a secret. The pair of them had been living together since Harakuise had returned from his Games. They'd raised Camden together. They were a family – and certainly not a traditional one. Longson snorted. What was Malchus getting at? Everyone in District Five knew that. Surely everyone in the Capitol knew by now, too.

Retro nodded. "I guess I hadn't quite realized until then just how upset he would be if he knew. But maybe … maybe it doesn't matter now. I like boys, too. And girls. I like them both." He let out a deep breath. "There. I said it."

What?

Longson shook his head. It had to be a joke. An attempt to win the Capitolites' favor. There was no way he could be serious. No son of his could be … like that. He was just trying to win the approval of the Capitolites and their funny ways.

That was the only explanation.

Longson glanced over at May, who was shaking her head. She clearly didn't believe it, either. If Retro made it back, he was in for a long lecture about how some lies were unacceptable, no matter how good they made him look for the audience. How he simply couldn't sully their family name like that.

By the time Longson regained his composure, Retro was leaving the stage. The older boy who took his place was wearing a simple black suit and a dark grey tie. He sat down slowly in his seat, never taking his eyes off the audience. "Well, then, Vashti, it's been quite a night for revelations," Malchus began. "Anything you'd like to share with us?"

Vashti's gaze grew even harsher for a moment. He clearly didn't want to share anything, but, just as clearly, he knew that he wasn't going to get away with keeping secrets. "As if you aren't going to tell them if I refuse," Vashti scoffed. "As if you're going to keep my secret. You know there's a reason I scored so low – and unlike some people, it has nothing to do with breaking the rules."

"Indeed," Malchus agreed. "I certainly wouldn't say it's your fault."

Vashti let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, no, of course not. Nothing is ever anyone's fault. Things just happen. Pesky little things like clotting disorders."

Malchus raised an eyebrow, as if he was surprised. As if anything a tribute might say tonight would come as a surprise to him. "Clotting disorders?"

"Hemophilia, specifically." Vashti shrugged. "I guess the Gamemakers figured the same thing I did at the reaping – that it's only a matter of time before the inevitable happens. Tributes get injured all the time, after all. Most of the time, cuts and bruises are just part of the Games. But for me … well, that's a different story."

"Unless you get some help," Malchus prompted. He was trying to give Vashti an opening, allowing him to suggest that with a little help from the sponsors, he might stand a better chance.

But Vashti was having none of it. "Help? Right. There are thirty-five tributes going into the arena tomorrow. As if anyone's really going to waste their precious sponsor gifts on someone like me. No, I'm as good as dead already. But you know what? I'm going to take as many tributes down with me as I can."

That got some cheers from the audience. Vashti raised an eyebrow, as if he hadn't expected that. As if he hadn't expected them to like him. Maybe he hadn't. Or maybe he'd been coached well. Harakuise was his mentor, after all. Whatever else Longson thought of him, he had to admit that the bastard was smart. This was probably exactly how he'd planned to spin this.

Longson shook his head as Vashti left the stage. The boy was right; he was as good as dead already. But at least he was planning to put up a fight. Longson just hoped his own son wouldn't get caught in the crossfire.

Macauley was beaming as she took Vashti's place, wearing a golden-brown blouse and a black knee-length skirt. Her hair was pulled back in a bun, which gave a little bounce as she took a seat across from Malchus. "Sorry, Malchus," she apologized before he could say a word. "I don't have any juicy secrets to spill."

Malchus chuckled. "That was quick."

"Just figured I'd get it out of the way," Macauley offered. "No point in digging, really. I'm an open book."

"Well, just from glancing at the cover, I'd say you're quite excited for tomorrow," Malchus observed. "Feeling prepared?"

"Absolutely," Macauley agreed immediately. "This is what I've wanted my whole life."

"That's quite refreshing to hear tonight," Malchus pointed out. "Quite the stroke of luck, getting picked when you would have loved to volunteer anyway."

"Well, I suppose I could have volunteered next year," Macauley reasoned. "But being part of a Quarter Quell – that's even better. How many people can say that?" She chuckled a little. "Well, I suppose thirty-six tributes from last time, but how many people can say they've won one? Only one so far."

"So tell us why you think you have what it takes to be the second Victor to emerge from a Quarter Quell."

Macauley grinned. "Well, just look at who won the last one. If a kid from District Twelve can win one, I've practically got it in the bag, wouldn't you say?"

Longson rolled his eyes. Sure, Brennan had won twenty-five years ago. He remembered that quite well. Mercury, one of the girls from Five, had come in second, after all, so he'd been paying attention right up to the very end. There had been Careers that year, as well. Not as many as a normal year, perhaps, but enough to make a pack. And they had failed. They were dead, and Brennan had survived.

Soon, Macauley's time was up. On her way off the stage, she traded a high five with the next boy, Elliot. Elliot grinned as he sprinted to a seat across from Malchus, wearing a bright blue suit, silver tie, and black shoes. "Welcome, Elliot," Malchus chuckled. "It seems like Macauley isn't the only one who's excited for tomorrow. I've heard the two of you will be working together."

"Along with the rest of the Careers," Elliot confirmed. "There are quite a few of us this time around, but strength in numbers and all that, I suppose. That's how the Career systems started, after all."

"Indeed," Malchus agreed. "But sometimes the greatest threats to the Career pack end up coming from within."

Elliot nodded. "I said I was working with them, not turning my back on them. My time at the academy was enough to teach me that, at least."

Malchus nodded. "Yes, I'd heard you spent some time there. That makes two tributes from District Five with a fair amount of training. Not a bad bit of luck, really. And a pair of eights in training – that's pretty impressive."

"Now, luck had nothing to do with that," Elliot pointed out with a grin. "I earned that eight just like the rest of them. Turns out, I impressed the Gamemakers just as much as a fourteen-year-old from Two. That's something, right?"

That got a laugh from the audience. Longson shook his head. Despite Elliot's jovial attitude, an eight certainly meant that he was a threat. Retro had only scored a three, after all. Maybe that wasn't surprising for a twelve-year-old, but the only ones who had scored lower were a hemophiliac, a girl who had fainted at the reaping, a boy who hadn't been able to find his way to the stage, and a pair of tributes who had admitted to breaking the rules. That certainly didn't bode well for Retro.

Longson drummed his fingers on his leg. Retro had to make it back, now more than ever. He had to survive. It was the only way he could tell the Capitol that he hadn't really meant it. That he had been lying. That he wasn't going to sully the Liu family name with his claims. Longson clenched his fists tightly. His son had to make it back. But what if he didn't?

What was he going to do then?

Lana Khatri, 16
Sister of Lena Khatri

She wasn't sure whether to be angry or proud.

Lana leaned forward as the boy from Five left the stage. Now that it was Lena's turn, maybe she would finally get to find out what it was that her sister had done. Breaking the rules had never really been Lena's style, but maybe her sister had learned something from her, after all.

Just in time for it to get her killed.

Stop it. She couldn't start thinking like that. Sure, the Gamemakers had given her a low training score, but maybe they would consider that punishment enough. Maybe they wouldn't take it out on her once the Games began. Tributes with low training scores had won before. Two years ago, the boy from Nine had only gotten a two, and he'd still won. Maybe there was still a chance.

Lena's smile looked forced as she took the stage, wearing a light blue dress dotted with red flowers. "Hello there, Lena," Malchus nodded as she took a seat across from him. "It seems you and your ally – excuse me, former ally – did something that might be considered a bit out of bounds. Care to share your take on the matter?"

Lena looked down at her hands. Then back at Malchus. Then at the audience. What was she waiting for? All she had to do was the same thing that the boy from Three had done. All she had to do was blame him, instead, for whatever it was. Surely that was what everyone was expecting. He'd called off the alliance, after all. She had no reason to try to protect him.

Instead, Lena took a deep breath. "I'm afraid it was my fault, Malchus."

Malchus leaned forward. Clearly, that wasn't the response he'd been expecting. "What do you mean?"

"I mean it was my fault. I panicked. It happened when he came out of his training session. He looked so frazzled, I wasn't thinking. I asked what had happened. I just wanted some hint about what was coming. He didn't want to tell me, but I pressed him, and … well, he told me what to expect. What the Gamemakers had planned for the private sessions."

"I see."

Lena kept going. "When I came out of my session, I … I guess I just felt guilty for having an edge going in. I didn't think I should get a high score when I knew what was coming and everyone else didn't. So … I told them."

Lana nearly burst out laughing. That was it? That was what she'd done? Of course that would be Lena's idea of breaking the rules. Leveling the playing field, sharing what she'd learned. Of course that would be what her sister would get in trouble for.

Malchus nodded understandingly. "I think a lot of things can happen in a moment of panic. That certainly explains your training score, but I don't think there's any need for one mistake to color your time in the Games … as long as something like this isn't likely to happen again."

Lana clenched her fists. He was giving Lena a chance to admit she was wrong. To beg for the Capitol's forgiveness, throw herself at their mercy. But the Capitol didn't have any mercy. Fifty years of the Hunger Games had taught the districts that. The Capitol's retribution for the tributes' rebellion in the Hunger Games nine years ago had reinforced that. What had happened to Lena's own mentor should have been enough to convince her that the Capitol wouldn't simply forgive her.

But what choice did she have? Lena turned to the audience, a few tears in her eyes. "It won't happen again. I promise. I made a mistake; that's all there is to it. I'm ready to play the Games now … even if it means I'll be playing alone."

Lana nodded a little. Lena's little stunt had cost her an ally. It had cost her a better training score. But maybe it didn't have to cost her her life. Not yet.

Soon, Lena's time was up, and the older girl, Charu, took her place, wearing a short-sleeved red dress that hung just below her knees. It was overlaid with black lace and a black ribbon around her waist, and she wore matching black pumps. The tattoos that had covered her hands at the reaping had been redone, and a design had been added to the left side of her face. Her hair was pulled back neatly in a bun, and she was grinning from ear to ear.

Malchus was clearly relieved to have a tribute who seemed happy to be there. "Well, Charu, you certainly seem to be enjoying yourself. What is it about the Games that makes someone from District Six so excited?"

Charu giggled. "Is it really that unusual?"

"A bit, perhaps," Malchus admitted. "I don't think I've seen a tribute from Six this eager to be in the Games since … well, since your mentor."

"Then I guess that's something we have in common," Charu agreed. "He wanted to be in the Games to take on his rival. I'm happy to be here to escape something just as bad."

"And what would that be?"

"A marriage."

Malchus gasped dramatically, feigning surprise. "A marriage? How awful."

Charu laughed along with him. "I guess it doesn't sound so bad, when you put it like that. But it was an arranged marriage, to someone I didn't love. To someone I couldn't love, even if he wasn't such a stuck-up snob."

"And why would that be?" Malchus prodded in a tone that left no doubt that he already knew.

Charu blushed a little. "I just don't like boys. Never have."

"Girls, then?"

Charu nodded. "I've gone along with the arrangement for a year now, hoping that something would happen to interrupt it. And then … well, the Games happened. And no matter what happens now, I'll always be grateful for that. Because even if I die in the Games, that's better than having to live a lie for the rest of my life."

Lana scoffed. Sure, she said that now. But once she was actually in the arena, once death actually found her, she would be begging for her cozy life as a rich boy's wife. She had no idea what she was getting into. What Vernon had gotten her into. What had he been thinking? Did he really think that sending her into the Games would be a better option?

No. No, he hadn't been thinking. Just like he hadn't been thinking when he'd confused her and Lena. So far, he'd had a pretty good track record of choosing tributes that no one was likely to miss, but maybe this was the year he would finally upset someone who had the power to do something about it. Charu's family was pretty powerful in District Six…

Lana drummed her fingers on her leg as Charu kept grinning and giggling like an idiot. If she was lucky, she would never realize just how wrong she was to think that life in District Six – even a life she didn't necessarily want – could be worse than the Games.

If she was lucky, someone would kill her first.

Keithira Sorena, 47
Mother of Nephelle Sorena

She couldn't imagine keeping that sort of secret.

Keithira shook her head as she watched the older girl from Six leave the stage. She was the second tribute so far who seemed worried about what their family would think if they knew who they liked. Who they loved. She couldn't imagine Nephelle keeping that sort of thing a secret from her. Surely she knew that she wouldn't have to.

Keithira shook the thought from her head. The interviewer was just trying to create drama, to spice things up for the Capitol. But all the same, it was rare that a host would try to stir up drama where there was none at all. There had to be something to stir up, some hint of truth in the exaggerations in order to make the story believable. An arranged marriage wasn't something that he would have brought up if there hadn't been one.

Keithira held her breath as Nephelle took the stage, wearing a short, silky, leaf green skirt and a green top that flowed from a lighter green at the top to a darker one at the bottom. She wore green high heels and emerald earrings. Nephelle nodded politely at the audience as she took a seat. Not too excited, not too reluctant. Everything in balance; that was what Keithira had always taught her daughters.

"Hello, Nephelle," Malchus began, returning her smile. "It's hard to believe we're halfway through the districts already, isn't it."

"And more than halfway through the tributes," Nephelle added, "considering how many extras there are this year from the Career districts."

"But only two from Seven," Malchus agreed. "That must be something of a relief."

"For whoever else would have been picked, I suppose," Nephelle agreed. "Doesn't make much of a difference to me or Thomas whether there were two of us or three or even four. Except for dividing our mentors' attention, I suppose, but that's one of the benefits of working together as a district."

"Ah, so the two of you are allies, then?"

Nephelle nodded. "And Aven from District Nine. I think we'll make a good team. For a while, at least."

"That's always the catch, isn't it. 'For a while.' Nothing lasts forever in the Games."

"Nothing lasts forever anywhere," Nephelle pointed out. "I'm a tree-planter back in District Seven, and we all know when we plant those trees that they'll eventually be cut down. All that hard work, seemingly for nothing. Except it isn't for nothing, because those trees are what let us build furniture and make books and carve all sorts of lovely things. Even these chairs we're sitting in right now. See the patterns in the wood? Someone carved that, and the wood probably came from District Seven. That tree didn't last forever, but some part of it is still here, reminding us that it existed. Reminding us of its beauty."

Keithira couldn't help a smile. Even the audience seemed to appreciate the analogy, or at least the fact that Nephelle liked their artwork. Maybe she wasn't as obvious in her attempts to flatter the audience as some of the tributes had been so far, but she wasn't being openly hostile, either.

Everything in balance.

Soon, Nephelle's time was up, and Thomas took her place, wearing a dark green suit and a black tie. He nodded to Nephelle as they passed each other, then settled into his seat across from Malchus. "It seems you've found yourself a good alliance, Thomas," Malchus remarked.

Thomas nodded. "Like she said, working with your district partner is a good idea if you can. It means your mentors can help both of you at once."

"Of course, there are times when that might not work out so well," Malchus pointed out.

Thomas shrugged. "Sure, if there's a bigger age difference or something. Not every eighteen-year-old would want to work with a twelve-year-old. But Nephelle and I are pretty evenly matched, I'd say, and we both have the same attitude towards the Games."

"Which is?"

"I'd say it's a rather pragmatic one. We both realize that only one of us is getting out of here alive. Like you said, nothing lasts forever. But at the same time, it doesn't hurt to have someone watching your back for a while."

For a while. There were those words again. No matter how well they might work together, the fact was that their alliance couldn't last forever. And unlike the tree that Nephelle had been talking about, once their alliance was over with, there wouldn't be anything left of it to remind people of how beautiful it had once been. Only one person survived the Games, and once they did, it didn't really matter who their allies had been, because they were dead. They were gone. That was all there was to it.

Wasn't it?

Maybe. Both of District Seven's Victors were still on good terms with their former allies' families. Hazel had been allies with the boy from her district, which was the only reason a twelve-year-old had made it to the end of the Games in the first place. And Casper had practically been adopted by Lydia's family. But that was the exception, not the rule.

Keithira shook her head. She couldn't imagine being that generous, if her daughter wasn't the one to come home. If Thomas came home instead of Nephelle, would she be able to treat him the same way? Or would she blame him for something he had no control over – that, in the end, it was either Nephelle's life or his?

Keithira shook her head as she turned back to the screen. There was nothing wrong with Thomas. He seemed like a perfectly nice boy. But in order for Nephelle to make it home, quite a few perfectly nice boys and girls would have to die. And maybe some of them weren't quite so nice, but the fact was that most of the kids going into the arena simply didn't deserve it. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. But it was the way things were.

And there was nothing she could do about it.

Austen Gordon, 84
Father of Klaudia Almasy

There wasn't anything he could do but watch.

Austen shook his head as he leaned back on the couch, holding his daughter Eniko and granddaughter Daria close. Maybe he was lucky to be able to watch, considering what he'd tried to do at the reaping. He hadn't been thinking. He had been desperate. Klaudia wouldn't last long in the Games; he'd known that the second she'd been reaped. After everything she'd already been through, it wasn't fair to send her into the Games, too.

Maybe it would have done some good, if volunteers had been allowed. It was rare for outer-district tributes to volunteer, but it wasn't completely unheard of. The year Carolina had won, her district partner had volunteered. There had been a handful since then, including the rebels who had caused so much trouble nine years ago. Which had certainly made the Capitol suspicious of outer-district volunteers, but maybe it could have happened.

Maybe. But volunteers weren't allowed this year. In less than twenty-four hours, Klaudia would be in the Games. In the arena. It wasn't fair, but it was the way things were. And the best thing he could do right now was keep quiet, stay in his place, and not interfere.

That was what he kept telling himself. What he kept telling Eniko. That if they did anything – tried anything – Klaudia was as good as dead. Neither of them wanted to admit that her chances were slim as they were. That she would be lucky to make it away from the bloodbath, to say nothing of actually being expected to fight the other tributes.

Austen watched silently as Klaudia's district partner, Mariska, took the stage, wearing a black and silver dress that was glittering in the lights. Mariska's expression, however, was anything but sparkling. It wasn't the same glare that some of the tributes had given Malchus, but it was clear that she didn't want to be there.

Not that he could really blame her for that. None of the tributes wanted to be there. "Hello there, Mariska," Malchus beamed anyway. "I've heard a lot about you."

Mariska raised an eyebrow. "Do tell."

"It seems you knew one of our tributes from last year. Willa Lane, I believe."

Mariska's expression flickered for a moment, but then she nodded. "Yes."

"You were friends, I believe?"

"Yes."

"More than friends?"

Mariska hesitated a moment, but then answered. "Not that it's any business of yours, but yes."

"That must have been terrible for you last year, watching her fight for her life. And she came so close, too. Do you remember that?"

Mariska reached down to fiddle with something around her wrist – a bracelet of some sort, made of buttons. "Yes."

"Care to give us any more details?"

"No," Mariska answered flatly.

"Pardon?"

"No. You saw the Games last year. You know what happened. So if you want me to sit here and tell you, the answer is no. And if you want to know how I felt … the answer is still no. She's dead. The Games took her from me, from her parents, from our district. You got to watch her fight for her life for nineteen days. You got to watch her die. But you don't get to know what I felt. That's mine, and mine alone." She shook her head. "And I'll take it to my grave."

Austen felt a smile creeping across his face. The girl certainly had spirit; he had to give her that. The host was giving her a chance to win the audience's favor with her story, but it was more important to her not to use the tragedy of the previous Games to win their approval. Her friend deserved better than that.

He remembered the girl from the previous year. Willa had made it farther than most people had initially assumed she would. She'd been sweet, but she'd also been willing to fight. But nineteen days in, she'd been overpowered by one of the few remaining Careers, her body left in pieces with a bone saw. The thought made his stomach churn; he could only imagine what that must have been like for someone who had actually known her.

It wasn't long before Mariska's time was up, and she looked relieved that it was over with. As she left the stage, Austen leaned forward, looking for any sign of Klaudia. It was a moment before he saw her, just behind the curtain, trembling. Malchus motioned to her, but she shook her head. It wasn't until Carolina took her hand and led her halfway onstage that she was finally convinced there was no getting out of this.

"Well, well, it looks like someone's got a little stage fright," Malchus remarked sympathetically. "No worries, Klaudia. We're all friends here."

Klaudia opened her mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. "I…"

But she didn't get any farther than that. Before she could get another word out, tears began streaming down her cheeks. Austen realized he was crying, as well. She was only doing what so many of the tributes probably wished they could. Most of them were better at pretending. Most of them realized that they only stood a chance if they convinced the audience that they were ready to play the Games.

Klaudia knew better. She didn't have a chance. Not really. And she was too honest, too innocent, to sit there and lie to them – or to herself. Austen wrapped his arms around Eniko and Daria. It wasn't fair. None of this was right.

But there was nothing they could do.

"Your face, my thane, is as a book where men may read strange matters. To beguile the time, look like the time; bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower."