Disclaimer: I don't own The Hunger Games.

Note: Thanks to NaNoWriMo, we're almost to the Games! Remember to vote in the sponsor poll if you haven't already.

Interviews
The Serpent

Iliana James, 13
Friend of Ti Bulgur

She wished someone would do something.

Iliana shook her head as the older girl from Eight continued to cry. She'd barely gotten a word or two out before she'd burst into tears. Malchus was doing his best to comfort her, to tell her everything was going to be all right, but the words just sounded hollow. It wasn't going to be all right. Not for her, certainly. Not for thirty-four of them.

Suddenly, another figure darted onstage, quickly throwing his arms around Klaudia and holding on tightly. With his face away from the cameras, it took Iliana a moment to recognize the younger boy from her district. Barlen – that was his name. His turn was next, anyway, so maybe they didn't mind that he was interrupting.

Klaudia, for her part, pulled away a little. "Sorry," Barlen apologized, backing away. "You just looked sad. Are you okay?"

Klaudia looked surprised by the question. "I … No. Not really, no."

Barlen opened his arms wide. "Would you like a hug?"

For a moment, Klaudia didn't respond. Then, to Iliana's surprise, she threw her arms around the younger boy and held him tightly for a moment before turning and fleeing the stage. Barlen settled into her place in the chair across from Malchus.

Malchus actually looked a little relieved. "Thank you, Barlen."

A smile crossed Barlen's face. "Happy to help."

Malchus nodded. "Your ally seems to have the same attitude. I'd say you two are going to make a good team."

Barlen hesitated for a moment, but then glanced down at something on his arm. "Yeah, I think Leo and I are going to make a good team. He's very patient."

"Because of your memory problems?"

Barlen looked away for a moment, a little embarrassed. "I don't mean to forget things. It just happens."

"Is that why you wrote yourself notes on your arm?"

Barlen nodded. "Want to see?" He rolled back his sleeve to show that he'd written himself two notes. "You're in the Hunger Games" was written just above his wrist. A little farther down his arm were the words "Leo = Friend."

"Seems like you've got quite a bit of room left there," Malchus offered.

Barlen nodded. "Sure. Basil wants me to keep track of how many days I've been in the arena, how many tributes are still alive, where Leo and I are – that sort of thing. It's a good idea, as long as I remember to write things down."

That earned a few laughs from the audience. Barlen grinned. "See? I already remembered to tell a joke."

Iliana couldn't help smiling along. Barlen seemed like a nice enough kid. Which was a good thing in District Nine, where kind, decent people sometimes seemed to be in short supply. But in the Games, there were few things that were more certain to cause a tribute problems than being kind. People wouldn't forget the fact that he had gone out of his way to help Klaudia, and there were plenty of tributes who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of that kindness.

Iliana wrapped her arms around her knees, grateful that Ti apparently hadn't made the same mistake. She wasn't sure who he was working with, but she had no doubt that Barlen would have mentioned if they were allies. Or, at least, he would have written that on his arm, too. So who was Ti working with?

She wouldn't have to wait long to get her answer. Soon, Barlen's time was up, and Ti took his place, clapping the younger boy on the back as they passed. Iliana hoped Ti was just being friendly. She hoped that…

That what? That once they were in the Games, Ti would have what it took to realize that the younger boy was his competition? That he might have to kill someone like Barlen in order to come home? How could she wish that on her friend? But the alternative was worse. If he wasn't willing to kill, there was no way he would be coming back to District Nine. No way she would ever see him again.

"Quite a night, isn't it, Malchus?" Ti asked before the host could get a word out.

"It certainly has been," Malchus agreed. "What's been your favorite part so far?"

"I've really enjoyed learning about the other tributes tonight," Ti answered after taking a few seconds to think it over. "There have been quite a few interesting stories. Quite a lot of emotions."

"And do you have anything you'd like to share?"

Ti chuckled. "I'm not going to cry on your shoulder if that's what you're talking about. And I'm just fine without a hug, thank you."

The audience laughed, and Iliana chuckled along. Taking a few shots at the emotional tributes before him might earn him some points with the audience members who were getting tired of listening to the same sort of answers from one tribute after another. After nine districts – most of them with extra tributes – the audience had to be growing restless. She just hoped some of them were still paying attention.

Malchus smiled. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk about your allies for a moment. Care to share who you'll be working with in the arena?"

"David and Retro," Ti answered. "Maybe we're not the most intimidating bunch, but I wouldn't write us off just yet."

"Certainly not," Malchus agreed. "I look forward to seeing what the three of you have in store for us."

"Thank you, Malchus," Ti answered politely. "I promise we won't let you down."

Iliana cocked her head a little. There was something in Ti's voice that seemed a bit … off. A bit strained. Was there something going on in his alliance?

Maybe. Or maybe she was just imagining things. Iliana shook the thought from her head as Ti left the stage. He knew what he was doing. He had to. He was the one who was going to be in the Games, after all. She would just have to trust that he knew what he was getting into.

Aven smiled warmly as she took his place onstage, settling into a seat across from Malchus. "Hello, Aven," Malchus grinned. "How are you enjoying your time in the Capitol so far?"

"It's wonderful," Aven answered immediately. "I think I speak for all of us tributes when I say I wish we didn't have to leave it." She flashed the audience a smile, and got a few laughs from the ones who were still paying attention.

"Three days isn't much time to prepare for the Games," Malchus agreed. "Do you feel like you're ready?"

Aven shrugged. "As ready as I'm ever going to be, I suppose. And as far as the other tributes … well, I don't think I'll ever get better odds than this. Careers who are less prepared than usual. Two good allies. I'd say I'm good to go."

"And your allies – the pair from District Seven, yes?"

"That's right. Nephelle and Thomas."

"I suppose that's a good alliance to have if there ends up being a lot of vegetation in the arena. Trees, bushes, flowers – that sort of thing. Tributes from Seven are usually pretty familiar with plant life."

Aven leaned forward a little. "Is that a hint?" She grinned playfully.

Malchus chuckled. "Speculation – nothing more. They haven't even told me what the arena is."

Aven gasped dramatically. "Really?"

Malchus nodded. "I'll find out when you do – tomorrow morning."

Tomorrow morning. Iliana let the words sink in. There wasn't a lot of time left. One more night, and the next morning Ti would be in the arena. In the Games. By this time tomorrow, he would be fighting for his life … or he would be dead.

She wasn't ready for that.

Cameron Tate, 13
Sister of Skyton Tate

She wasn't ready for this.

Cameron twirled her hair as the girl from Nine left the stage. It was almost Skyton's turn. But despite the fact that he was one of the last tributes who would take the stage, she still wasn't ready to see him. She didn't want to see this, because seeing him onstage with Malchus would mean it was real. This was really happening. Her older brother was going to be in the Games tomorrow, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

But as much as she wasn't ready for it, she knew Skyton must be even more nervous. He'd never liked crowds, never liked attention. In fact, she wouldn't be entirely surprised if he simply burst into tears like the girl from Eight. It was hard to blame her; at least she realized just how hopeless the situation was. At least she had some sense.

Skyton's district partner, Connor, on the other hand, was practically beaming as he took the stage, wearing a pair of blue jeans and a simple white shirt. He took a seat next to Malchus, still smiling. Trying to appear confident.

Apparently, it was working well enough for the audience's liking. There was some applause as he gave them a wave. "Hello, Connor," Malchus began. "Good to see some enthusiasm from District Ten."

"It's my pleasure to be here," Connor insisted. He was lying, of course. No one from District Ten was pleased to be in the Games. But at least he was doing a good job of pretending. "The Capitol is every bit as amazing as I imagined."

"Why, thank you," Malchus chuckled. "I'm sure District Ten is quite nice, too."

Connor shrugged. "It may not be much by Capitol standards, but it's home. I never really wanted anything more than a simple life in my district, but I guess fate had other plans. I just hope I'm able to make them proud."

"I'm sure you will," Malchus assured him. "And I hear you've got yourself quite the sizable alliance."

Connor nodded. "Well, there's me and my district partner Skyton. Then there's Arabel from Four and Klaudia from Eight."

Cameron raised an eyebrow. He was working with Skyton? That came as a bit of a surprise. And Klaudia? The girl from Eight who hadn't been able to stop crying during her interview? That was certainly an odd choice. Maybe he was counting on her getting some sympathy from the sponsors, but that would only last so long.

Or maybe he was simply assuming that there was safety in numbers, no matter who those numbers were. And maybe there was some truth to that. Surrounding himself with targets who were easier to pick off wasn't an unreasonable strategy. Cameron shook her head, hoping that Skyton wouldn't be one of those easier targets.

When he'd been reaped, she might have assumed that he would be. But his training score had caught her by surprise. It wasn't unheard of for an outer-district tribute to earn a seven, but she hadn't expected him to. And that made his score the highest in their alliance. Something he'd done had impressed the Gamemakers.

She just wished she knew what.

Apparently, the audience was wondering the same thing. Connor and Skyton got a round of applause as they traded places. Skyton waved shyly as he took a seat across from Malchus, wearing a plain white shirt, overalls, and a straw hat. Cameron couldn't help a chuckle. Their stylists were apparently having fun, and the audience seemed to enjoy it.

"Welcome, Skyton," Malchus began. "You're looking quite … comfortable."

Skyton took a piece of straw from the hat and stuck it in his mouth. "Thank you, Malchus. It's wonderful to be here."

"Good to hear it. Connor was just telling us about your alliance."

"He didn't tell you everything, I hope."

Malchus grinned. "No, not everything. Certainly not what you did to earn yourself a seven. Pretty impressive for a kid from District Ten."

Skyton blushed. "Thank you, Malchus. Honestly, I just went in and did my best and hoped the Gamemakers would see what I was capable of."

"And I suppose they did just that," Malchus agreed. "I know we're all looking forward to what you'll have to show us tomorrow."

"I wish I knew what I was going to show you tomorrow," Skyton admitted. "But there's really no way to know beforehand, I suppose. So much of what happens tomorrow depends on what happens at the start. What the arena is like. How the bloodbath plays out."

"Any big plans for the start of the Games, then?"

Skyton shrugged. "I guess you'll just have to wait and see."

"I guess we will," Malchus agreed reluctantly. "I can't wait!"

Cameron shook her head. She could wait. In fact, she wished she could wait a lot longer than one more day before the Games began. Part of her wanted it to be over with, one way or another, but the other part wanted to hold onto every moment. To soak up every image she could of her brother before…

Before tomorrow. Before the Games. Before one of two things would happen. Either he would be killed, or he would eventually end up having to kill someone else. She wasn't sure which of those options Skyton would consider to be worse.

No. No, that wasn't quite right, either. She was sure. She just didn't want to admit it to herself. Try as she might, she couldn't imagine Skyton being able to kill another tribute. Another person. Another kid who just wanted the same thing he did: to come home. She couldn't picture it, and she was certain he wouldn't be able to imagine doing it, either.

But she had been surprised before. There had been tributes in the last few years who she had been certain didn't have it in them to kill. And certainly none of them had wanted to, but when push had come to shove, they'd chosen to put their own life first. Maybe Skyton could do the same. Maybe.

If only for a little while.

Devan Romane, 13
Brother of Kilian Romane

He would only have to wait a little longer.

Devan rocked back and forth a little as he watched the screen. It was almost his brother's turn. On the one hand, that was good because he would get to see Kilian's interview. On the other hand, it meant there were only two districts left to go. Only five more tributes. Then the interviews would be over, and then…

Then, in the morning, the Games would begin. Devan shivered. It seemed so close now. Only five more tributes to go.

The younger boy from Eleven took the stage next, wearing loose, white, linen pants and a blue tunic. He was grinning broadly despite the fact that he'd had to wait so long for his turn. "Good to finally be up here," he commented as he joined Malchus onstage. "But I guess we have to save the best for last. Well, near last."

Malchus chuckled along. "Maybe. I did suggest that it might do us some good to shuffle up the order of the districts during the interviews, but apparently that would be a bit confusing," he finished with a wink at the cameras.

"Oh, I don't know." Wes shrugged. "I think people would be able to follow along. But I suppose it's a bit late to try it out this year."

"Maybe next year?" Malchus offered.

Wes chuckled. "Maybe, but I'm not ready to think about next year just yet. I just want to get through this year first. If I manage to do that, you can do the interviews in whatever order you like next year."

"Well, thank you for your permission," Malchus grinned.

"You're quite welcome."

"Now, Wes, can I be honest about something?"

"If you must."

"A three in training – not the most impressive achievement. Care to say a word or two about that?"

Wes chuckled. "No secrets to spill here, I'm afraid. I didn't break any rules, but I guess someone has to score on the low end. Besides, it's not like I have to worry about being booted out of my alliance for a low score or anything – not like the Careers. One of my allies got a three, and the others got a four and a five." He grinned. "But once we're in the Games tomorrow, I think you'll agree that scores aren't everything."

Devan shook his head. Maybe scores weren't everything, but he was still quite proud that Kilian had gotten a seven. And his allies – Shanali and Ronan – had gotten an eight and a nine. Not too shabby at all.

Finally, Wes' time was up, and Kilian took the stage, wearing a plain dark blue suit, light blue shirt, and a black tie. Malchus was beaming as Kilian took a seat across from him. "Hello, Kilian. I hope the wait backstage wasn't too uncomfortable."

"Oh, not at all," Kilian assure him. "To be honest, I wouldn't mind waiting back there for the rest of the Games."

Malchus chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I'm sure once I'm actually in the arena, I'll get the hang of things pretty quickly. It just takes some getting used to – the idea that I'm going to be away from District Eleven for a while. Away from my family."

"You have a younger brother, yes?"

"And an older sister," Kilian agreed. "But she moved out a while ago. It's just the three of us now – my father, my brother Devan, and me. I'd do anything to get back to them."

"That's always good to hear," Malchus assured him. "Some tributes are a bit squeamish at first about what they'll have to do in order to get back. But not you?"

"I can't afford to be. They need me. And I know you hear that a lot," he admitted with a glance at the audience. "Everybody has someone that they want to get back to. Fifty years, and I'm sure not many of your tributes have sat up here and said that there's no one at home who needs them. No one who's waiting for them. But … well, they do need me. And my family is waiting for me. And I'll do whatever it takes to make it back to District Eleven."

Whatever it takes. Devan did his best to ignore the churning in his stomach. What Kilian meant – and what he was trying to avoid saying – was that, when it came down to it, he was willing to kill in order to get back to them. He was willing to go out there and fight tributes who were no older than Devan, maybe even to kill them, in order to come home.

Not that Devan blamed him for that. How could he? He would do the same thing in Kilian's position. Well, if he could, at least. Kilian was certainly better suited to the Games than he was, but that didn't mean much when there were plenty of older, stronger tributes in the arena.

But not Careers. Well, not many of them, at least. They seemed to have found enough to form a pack, but he'd gotten the impression they were stretching the definition of 'trained' in order to add more people to their group. That was encouraging, at least. In a normal year, Kilian would probably have been somewhere around the middle of the group of tributes. Older, but not overly strong. Capable, but maybe not all that impressive.

But this year, without as many Careers, the tributes from the outer districts had more of a chance than they normally would. Kilian had more of a chance than he would have otherwise. And maybe he should be grateful for that.

Right. Grateful. His brother had been taken away to the Capitol, and they might never see each other again. And he was supposed to be grateful that it had happened this year rather than in a normal year with the usual number of Careers. Grateful that there was a slightly more level playing field than was typical, that his brother had a slightly better chance than in an average year.

Before long, Kilian's time was up, and he traded places with his ally and district partner, Shanali. She smiled politely as she took a seat across from Malchus, wearing a long black skirt and a grey shirt with a little lace around the collar and the sleeves. "Hello, Shanali," Malchus began. "You're looking quite lovely tonight."

"Thank you, Malchus. The Capitol's stylists do good work."

"Excellent. I'm sure they're always glad to know that their work is appreciated."

"It certainly is. Just imagine – all that work put in for just a few nights out of the year, except for the stylist from one lucky district who gets to work on the after-Games side of things." She smiled sweetly. "I hope our district is the lucky one this year."

"I'm sure your stylists are hoping for the same thing," Malchus teased. "Got any plans for how to make certain that's the case?"

"I don't think there is such a thing as 'certain' in the Games," Shanali observed. "Every year, there seem to be tributes who are certain about how things are going to go once they're in the arena, certain about some sort of plan they've come up with. And they're usually some of the first to die, because they're too stubborn to change their tactics when things don't go according to their plan."

"So your plan is … to not have a plan."

"That's right."

Malchus shrugged. "Works for me."

That got a few laughs from the audience, but Devan nodded along. In a way, it made sense. Other than the fact that only one tribute came out alive, there weren't a lot of things that were the same from year to year when it came to the Games. The arena was different. The mutts were different. The other tributes were different. So trying to base a strategy on what had happened in previous years did seem a bit silly.

Still, he hoped Kilian had at least some sort of plan and wasn't going to try to wing it the whole time. That was all well and good back in District Eleven, where things were pretty similar from day to day. In the Games, one wrong move could mean the difference between life and death. So even if they didn't have every move planned out in advance, Devan hoped that Kilian and his allies would at least think things through before acting.

Because that was the only way he had any hope of seeing his brother again.

Reynold Mykonos, 47
Father of Orphelia Mykonos

He hoped the audience was still paying attention.

Reynold stretched a little as the girl from Eleven left the stage. The cameras were focused on the stage, but every so often, he caught a glimpse of the audience, and their attention had begun to dwindle about halfway through. They were used to the Career districts being the most exciting, and apparently that expectation had carried over even though most of the tributes from the usual districts weren't even Careers. Now, people were yawning. Stretching. Shifting in their chairs. They'd been sitting still too long, and the end was in sight.

On top of that, Orphelia had the distinction of being the last tribute they would see. Her district partner took the stage first, wearing a simple grey button-down shirt, black pants, and polished black shoes. Despite the audience's increasingly bored look, David was still smiling as he took a seat across from Malchus. "Almost done, right?" David offered, grinning.

"Just two of you left," Malchus confirmed. "It's been quite a night."

"I suppose it has," David agreed. "But I think Wes was right about saving the best for last. That seems to be how it worked out last year, after all."

Smart. It probably wasn't a bad idea to remind the audience that District Twelve, despite its rather lowly position at the end of the interviews, had won the previous Games. And they had the distinction of being the only district that already had a Quell Victor.

Malchus obviously hadn't forgotten that, either. "It certainly did. And twenty-five years ago, at that. Quite an achievement. Back-to-back victories would certainly be something to write home about, wouldn't you say?"

David nodded. "It certainly would. But to be honest, I'd rather not write home. I'd rather go home and tell them myself after I win."

Malchus smiled warmly. "I'm sure you would. Who is it you miss the most from home, David?"

David thought for a moment. "I miss them all, of course. My family. My friends. But I think the person I miss the most is my grandma, Mary-Louise. I'm sure she's watching right now, along with the others." He waved to the cameras. "Hi, grandma! I can't wait to see you again."

Reynold leaned back in his chair. The boy was sweet; there was no doubt about that. But sweet didn't get tributes very far once the Games actually began. Sure, the audience loved a tribute with a good sense of humor, but that meant nothing if they weren't willing to do what had to be done once they were actually in the arena. And David simply didn't look like he had it in him.

Reynold shook his head. He'd been wrong before. Last year, he'd been convinced their scrawny little tributes would die in the bloodbath. But Kyra had proven him – and much of the Capitol – wrong. If she could do that…

Then Orphelia certainly had a chance. Reynold smiled a little as his daughter took the stage, wearing a sea green dress and a silver necklace. She smiled sweetly as she took a seat across from Malchus. "Well, Orphelia, that must have been quite a wait backstage," Malchus chuckled. "But you're finally here."

Orphelia nodded. "Let's hope it was worth the wait – for all of us."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be. Now, I hear you've found yourself an ally."

Reynold leaned forward a little. None of the other tributes had mentioned having Orphelia as an ally. Then again, not all of them had decided to talk about their alliances. An ally. Did that mean she'd only found one? That wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Quality over quantity, after all.

"I have indeed, Malchus," Orphelia agreed. "Dinah, from District Three. I think it's safe to say we have some surprises in store once tomorrow comes."

Malchus grinned. "I'm looking forward to it."

"So am I." It was a lie, of course. Most of them didn't want to be there. Certainly Orphelia wasn't actually looking forward to the Games. But it was a lie the audience was accustomed to hearing by now. They didn't really care whether the tributes were actually excited about the Games. They just wanted a good show, one way or another. As long as they got that, they didn't really seem to care whether they were being lied to.

Which could work in Orphelia's favor. "I'm certainly looking forward to seeing what the Gamemakers have in store for us," she continued. "Although I think the last Quarter Quell is going to be hard to top. They'll have to work hard to deliver something more impressive than a space station, but if there's anyone who's up to the challenge, it's our Gamemakers."

Flattery. Not the worst route to go. The audience applauded politely once Orphelia's time was up. After a few more words from Malchus, the screen went dark, and that was it. The interviews were over.

Just like that.

Reynold glanced over at his wife Lucia and their son, Quinton. The silence was tense, but what was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to reassure them that everything would be all right? That Orphelia would be coming home in a few weeks? In almost fifty years of the Games, District Twelve had been able to say that exactly twice. They only had two Victors. Did Orphelia really have what it would take to be the third?

They would find out in the morning. Or, at least, they would find out whether she had what it took to get through the bloodbath. To get away from the bloodbath, really, was more likely. He had a hard time picturing his daughter charging headlong into a fight. And her ally hadn't seemed like the most likely to jump right in and start fighting, either.

But they would have to eventually. Eventually, the Games boiled down to a simple choice. Fight or die. Kill or be killed. There was no way around it, no clever trick that would allow Orphelia to avoid killing forever. Eventually, she would have to do what all the tributes had been put in the arena to do.

He just hoped she would have what it took.

"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, but be the serpent under't."