This chapter killed me sobs. The length and the dialogue for some of these were too much dsfoslfhdf mad respect for y'all who write Games with more than 24 tributes. I'll be putting the QQ at the bottom of the chapter like usual, so I hope you all enjoy the chapter! No idea when part two will be out, but hopefully it'll be easier to write since I've got a taste from part one!
29 - Interviews (Part I)
Altan Knight, 18, District 1
This is probably the most tedious part of the pre-Games ritual.
Everyone getting all dressed up, smiling for the cameras while some airhead gaggles and giggles at your every answer. So much crowd-pleasing. So much pandering. Only so many minutes to sum up endless amounts of emotions dedicated to the Games, to your District, to your determination.
Knight inhales deeply through his nose, trying not to let himself get too annoyed by it all. It's all just so different from what he's told at home and seen on TV. How many days has he been here? Four? On TV it always seems to go by quicker, in the blink of an eye; in actuality, it's a painstakingly slow process of being dressed up and scrutinised at every opportunity. Maybe he's just getting impatient. Maybe Knight just wants this all to be over with so he can make his family proud. (Though proving Atticus wrong along the way won't hurt much, either. The man's done nothing but kiss Capitolite behinds and bet all his money on Val and Cetronia.)
The sooner he gets out of this showy armour, he thinks as an afterthought, the better that will be as well. He's all for going along with the knightly regalia One's stylists latched onto after learning his name, but the armour they've provided is… Well. Knight wouldn't be caught dead in it once the tributes launched. Chainmail and pauldrons are good and all, but it's not the same if the majority of the armour is a flowy cape and meticulously designed gauntlets.
Most tributes are still getting ready, but Val and Knight had the hindsight to prepare early. She stands next to him, going through her breathing exercises and muttering over and over, "You've got this, Val."
A few others have emerged in the ten minutes it takes for the crowd to be seated. Most of them are members of his alliance—though, as Morganite approaches like a woman on a mission, Knight finds himself glad Wystan isn't out yet. The only thing keeping Wystan on their side during the bloodbath is the misplaced assumption that none of Knight's alliance will use their sabotage. With all the focus on what the popular C-Districts will do (miraculously, they're all outer-District tributes), Wystan hasn't stopped to consider the possibility that someone in the careers is trying to level out the playing field as well.
Morganite comes to a stop right beside Val, patting the older girl on the shoulder with a smile. "You're gonna be great, Val," she says softly. "You got a great score, a great partner, and you're absolutely gorgeous in that dress. They'll love you."
With a final whoosh from her breathing exercises, Val nods. "Damn right they will!" she agrees, boosting her confidence. Knight thinks that's one of her best assets—Val doesn't back down due to nerves, instead using the anxiousness to push her forward. Valentina Teagan doesn't get nervous. Valentina Teagan gets excited.
"Knight," Morganite adds, this time turning her attention to him. He nods, glancing warily behind her for any other tributes. They're all clear. "Head Gamemaker approved my sabotage. As long as it fits in the tube with me and doesn't make me fall onto the mines, we're good."
"Great," Knight says. He won't admit the slight sigh of relief he lets out as he says it. "The odds are pretty slim that we'll launch near each other, so try hold anyone that comes near you back until I'm there."
"Roger." And with that, Morganite moves away from the duo and settles in the vague area she'd be told to stand once interviews start. Things start to slowly fall into place for them after the conversation. District Two emerges, followed by a cluster of lower Districts. Adrianne from Four is one of the last few out, her outfit probably requiring more time to put on than her hair did styling, and the final tribute is wheeled out with the help of one Luxor Aricunai.
Knight won't deny that he pities Finnegan Styx right now. He'd been a healthy contender, even for someone from Six, and now he's bound to a wheelchair with the bare minimum amount of painkillers injected into his bloodstream. If the kids in Eleven and Twelve are underdogs, then Finnegan is a dead man walking.
Well. Dead man being wheeled about, more like.
When Lola Amos walks onstage, the lights dimming backstage suddenly, she's met with a crowd of cheers and whoops. Compared to her gaudy bird outfit during her reaping recaps, she's dressed down into something more refined. The lavender off-the-shoulder dress is sequined along its bodice and short sleeves, leaving the skirt to flow airily around her legs and give her an almost ethereal appearance. Were it not for the heels clicking against the floor beneath her, Knight would be able to imagine her walking on air in such an outfit.
At least this dress matches her hair, he thinks with approval. Those greens and yellows really never complimented the lavender locks she sports.
"Hel-lo, Panem!" Lola cheers as she takes a seat. "Welcome to the interviews for the Fourth Quarter Quell! We've truly had an interesting few days leading up to this point, wouldn't you agree?"
The crowd cheers again.
"Well, we're not done yet! Let's all welcome the tributes to the stage—starting with Miss Valentina Teagan, representing District One!"
Val practically bounces onstage. From the screen provided backstage, Knight watches the interview. Val's dress is wine-red, and the halter neck and plunging back make her look much more mature than she is. It compliments her figure and makes the crowd go wild as she gives them a twirl. Even Lola is clapping excitedly as Val takes a seat beside her.
"Stunning, Val!" Lola grasps Val's hands like they're long-time friends. Val at least giggles and thanks Lola with a big grin on her face. "I'm sure One is proud to have you representing them!"
"Well I'm proud to be presenting them with Knight, Lola." Val's smile seems to grow impossibly wider. She really is in her element tonight. "I couldn't ask for a better partner or a better stylist team! Did you know they made all that armour we wore just hours before we were sent out for the Parade?"
"No!" Lola gasps. "I think that's a record for One's team! Although, Val," Lola goes on, quick to change the subject, "I heard you might be related to a now-retired arena designer. Is this true?"
Val gasps happily. "Yes! My grandfather, Vikram!" She breaks her sentence to wave to the cameras. "Hi, Grandpa!"
"Vikram Plume," Lola muses. "If I recall, he was Magnus Tweed's mentor way back when."
"Grandpa still likes to design arenas in his free time," Val adds. "I don't know if I'll be as good a designer as him, but I'd love to follow his footsteps one day."
Lola nods sagely. She looks as though Val's declaration has pleased her, though Knight can't imagine why.
"A young lady on her way to such a grand future, though… What made you volunteer?"
Val's grin becomes toothy and proud. It's a truly childish expression. "A Quell like this is an adventure of a lifetime for me," Val says simply. "As I am now, I think it's the best kind of adventure to go on and prepare myself for future ones!"
The buzzer goes off right as Val finishes her answer. She's farewelled by adoring fans and a very pleased Lola Amos, which leaves Knight to prepare for his turn. He tucks his helmet under his arm and takes a steeling breath. He's basically wearing the armour he'd been dressed up in for the Parade—midnight blue and adorned with a cape over one shoulder, looking every part the knight that his family donned the name of.
"Next up is Altan Knight from District One! Give him a round of applause, everyone!"
Knight strides onstage with his head held high. The cheers he's met with and the lights that flash as he makes his way over to Lola are enough to make his chest swell with pride. If it weren't so tedious, he'd enjoy it a little.
"Good evening, Lola," he greets once he's seated on the chair next to hers. Lola looks him up and down with wide, appraising eyes.
"Absolutely gorgeous!" she declares of his armour. "It's so much more beautiful and shiny up close!"
"My team did well with such a short amount of time," Knight says earnestly. He holds the helmet out to Lola. "They even went so far as to make the helmet function like the historical finds at the Capitol Museum."
Lola gawks at the helmet, then at the crowd. They're all eating it up, cheering for his stylists and for District One. Watch District Two compete with this, Knight thinks venomously as Atticus's words flash through his mind.
"Now, Altan," Lola starts.
"Please," Knight stops her, "call me Knight. Everyone else does."
"Well, Sir Knight," Lola starts again, exaggerating her tone, "I'm sure we'd all love to hear about your alliance! Can we expect a stellar career group this year?"
Ah. Straight to the point regarding his game plan. He can't help feeling he'd have an easier time just explaining how he scored a ten in his private session. "Considering this year's tributes," Knight says slowly, "I think it's safe to call my alliance a 'career' alliance. I will admit that I'm the only District tribute among them, though."
A collective gasp from the crowd. Knight goes on, "I discussed it with Val and we noticed that the rules of the Quell never specified just how many Capitolites had to be with you at the end of the Games, so we decided to try and win with as many of the Capitol's own as possible."
Lola's hand flies to her chest. She wipes at her eyes, though Knight can't help noting with a sour taste in his mouth that her eyes are barely even watering. "That's so noble, Knight," she fake-weeps. "I'm certain your allies' families will appreciate this for a long time to come. Can we get a little clue as to who some of your allies might be?"
"Well… One of them is a rather big fan of yours, actually." Knight can't help smiling at the thought of Florence bursting onstage once her name is called out. He wonders if she'll try hug Lola. He wonders if Lola will expect the outburst. "Florence is kind of like… Like the heart of the alliance. Keeps things from getting too grim."
"Oh, how sweet!"
"Wystan is also an excellent addition to our group," Knight goes on. "It's an honour to be fighting alongside one of the children of the Peacekeepers. Really makes you appreciate what these brave men and women do for us every day when trying to uphold the law."
Lola nods vigorously in agreement. "Well, Knight, I'm more than certain you're a shoe-in for victor this year. I suppose that teaches me for letting a first impression be my judgement," she adds with a laugh. "But that was quite the entrance you made at your reaping. Who was the boy who held you up?"
"Oh. His name is Klaus Lysandre." Knight shrugs. "We've been next to each other at reapings every year, but I wouldn't say we're friends."
"Oh?"
"We both had… ideals, I suppose. I personally found it easier to train with minimal bonds holding me back—and it's not like your childhood friends stay with you forever, so it mostly helped save a good deal of drama as well."
"I see, I see. So you're more like acquaintances with the same ideals?"
He nods.
"Well I think Klaus has high hopes for you, Knight. A plain old acquaintance wouldn't just hoist up someone they barely knew without a clue they'd volunteer, right?"
Knight opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out. The statement's honestly caught him off-guard, making him think more than he'd assumed necessary of the event. Does Klaus really have high hopes for Knight? Is that why he lifted him up as he'd volunteered? Why he'd helped Knight stand literally above everyone else in District One?
He's ready to agree—albeit reluctantly—when the buzzer goes off and startles him.
"It was lovely to have you, Knight," Lola tells him. Knight plasters on his most charming smile and thanks her for her time. As he walks offstage, though, he's plagued with questions over just how well he'd managed to avoid befriending anyone at home.
It doesn't take long for the next tribute to be called out, snapping Knight from his doubts like the crack of a whip. He wants to see how she'll handle being all by herself, especially with everyone flocking to Knight and viewing him as a saviour of Capitolite children.
"The beauty from Two herself: Cetronia Livius, everyone!"
Cetronia's dress makes her look even more mature than Val's had. It's black and only has one sleeve, which sits in an off-the-shoulder style and reaching her wrist; cracks of silver streak over the elbow of the sleeve and spreads over to her abdomen, drooping down to her hip before it stops. Knight notes with a nervous gulp that the crackles have no fabric between them, practically showing off more of Cetronia's skin as she walks onstage and stoically addresses the crowd. Add in the black headscarf, held in place by the silver clasp neatly over her scalp, and even Knight has to admit she's stunning.
He absolutely hates how lost for words he is as he looks her up and down. He absolutely hates the way she catches him off-guard for the first time since meeting her.
"I'm sorry, Cetronia, but I have to do this," Lola starts. She moves out of her chair, standing on Cetronia's other side as she reaches out to squeeze the girl's sleeveless bicep. Lola lets out a wheeze, absolutely gleeful as she gives it another prod.
"The secret is not shirking your work back home," Cetronia says as Lola continues to gush. "That, and having plenty of granite to carry around."
"I'm sure!" Lola scuttles back to her seat, flexing the hand she'd used to squeeze Cetronia's bicep. She has to be faking that disbelief, right? There's no way Cetronia's that impressive.
(She did get an eleven, though.)
"Speaking of home," Lola goes on, "why don't you tell us about what life was like for you in Two? It's hard to believe someone as beautiful and strong as you lived a boring life like the rest of us!"
Cetronia shrugs. "It's subjective," she says, and she sounds so detached from her words. Like she doesn't feel anything about her home. "I lived rather far from the more congested areas of Two. I actually had to leave two hours early just to make it to the Justice Building on time and prepare for the reaping."
"And your family?"
Another shrug. "My mother, my father, my grandmother. There's not much to say other than that I respect them immensely. If not for them, I wouldn't have my life or my accomplishments to speak of."
Lola lets out a soft, interested hum. "Well I, for one, am very thankful for the effort they put into raising you. If not for the twist, I think you'd very nearly be carrying the hype for this Quell!"
That makes Cetronia laugh softly. The smallest of smiles is on her face, a slight shake of her head as she glances out at the crowd. For all her charm in scores and appearance, Cetronia isn't too talkative in front of a crowd.
The rest of her interview is just idle conversation and short responses. The buzzer goes off, Cetronia leaves the stage without so much as a farewell, and Knight is left glaring after her as she leaves for a dressing room backstage.
"That felt short," Val whispers, suddenly by his side. There's a small tray of different flavoured slices in her hand. She offers it to Knight, and he takes what looks to be a vanilla slice.
"They can't seriously want to sponsor her after the whole mum shtick." He bites into the slice, only to gag when he gets assaulted with an artificial banana flavouring.
"Up next is one of the Capitol's own! Welcome Wystan Warwick, representative of District Two, out onto the stage, folks!"
Wystan emerges from backstage, clad in a blood-red suit with a clean white dress shirt underneath the jacket. Like Knight he wears a piece of armour—a shimmering, white pauldron on his left shoulder. His getup is completed by the obsidian tie tucked under his shirt collar.
Wystan takes a seat next to Lola, looking proud as the crowd's applause slowly dies down.
"Welcome, Wystan!" Lola greets him. Wystan nods in greeting, keeping up a humble appearance. "You're one of our two Peacekeeper tributes, if I recall."
"I am," Wystan confirms. "Although unlike Gossamer, my parents have been retired for a time."
"Do you think they're proud of you, being in the Fourth Quell?"
Wystan waves a hand, his smile falling. It's replaced by a neutral, almost trained expression—utterly professional and dignified. "It'd be foolish to assume," he recites. "Especially since I haven't even entered the arena yet."
He's met with a nod from Lola. She doesn't look like she understands entirely, though Knight thinks it's probably because she wanted to see some boasting from one of the tributes so far. "So you're in the career alliance, I hear!" Lola goes on, changing the subject. The crowd perks up at the mention, mutters breaking out. "I'm sure I'm not the only one wondering why you haven't stayed with Cetronia? Or why Cetronia isn't even part of that alliance?"
A dark look crosses Wystan's face. Knight can see the excitement spark in Lola's eyes, and it's now that he understands what she's been hanging out for. Lola wants drama. Lola doesn't want the tributes to stoke their own egos—she wants to add more fuel to the fire before the arena launch tomorrow morning.
Wystan crosses one leg over the other, looking a little miffed by the question. "It was a matter of opinion between Cetronia and I," he tells her. "We disagreed on our own personal ethics, and I simply allied myself with someone I deemed more honourable once the rift became apparent."
Mutters break out through the crowd again, this time concerning what the differing opinions could've been. Knight smirks at the sight of it all, at the way everyone hangs on Wystan's every word to try and delve deeper into the vague answers he gives.
By the time the interview ends Knight is more than confident that Cetronia's appeal has gone down a bit. They're for sure going to get all the sponsor goodies, even with Val's sabotage.
Wystan shakes Knight's hand as he comes backstage. He takes a slice from Val's tray and bites it with a smirk.
"We're killing it," Knight says. "At this rate we'll have control of the arena by the end of the first day."
"Providing our plan works," Wystan points out around his food. Val lets out a small snort of a laugh. "It all hinges on how close we all are when we launch."
"It'll work." Knight crosses his arms over his chest. "It has to."
The next District's tribute is welcomed out, Lola's voice yelling to the crowd, "Daphne Patheraph of District Three, everyone!"
The girl from Three doesn't look fourteen. Knight thinks she looks like a twelve-year-old, but her dress at least takes away from that fact and draws more attention to its design than its wearer. It's simple in design, not overtly outstanding and appearing rather modest; but the colour—or, rather, colours—it showcases definitely catches everyone's eye. As Daphne moves along the stage, the fabric of her dress changes colours over and over. Reds, greens, blues, purples—each shift and step causes the fabric to shimmer like fish scales and change in hue.
It's impressive. Certainly not something Knight expected to see on such a plain girl.
She settles herself into the chair beside Lola's, already squeaking away as she looks out over the crowd. Knight wonders if she'll crack under the pressure.
"Oh my," Lola giggles amidst the squeaks. "Are you alright, Daphne?"
Daphne nods, her arm twitching under the grip of her other hand. "There's a lot of—" She squeaks. "—people."
"There's a neat little trick that Mr. Flickerman taught me when I first started out," Lola tells her. She reaches out a bit for Daphne's hair, pulling a thick lock out from behind the girl's ear and placing it in her peripheral. "Subtly block out the crowd so you can focus on the person in front of you—makes it feel a little more personal."
Daphne squeaks again, but it's quieter than her last one. She smiles up at Lola and thanks her.
"I hope it's not too much to ask," Lola goes on, "but they don't hurt, do they? The tics?"
Daphne shakes her head. "They usually only hurt if you force them to not happen. It's kind of like… Like getting a mosquito bite. The tic is like swatting the mosquito, but if you force yourself not to then the mosquito bite hurts more." She finishes the tangent with an affirmative squeak.
Lola nods and is quick to change the subject, almost eager to dive into Daphne's home life. "Tell us about your family, dear! I believe I've seen the name Petharaph somewhere before."
A nervous smile. Daphne shifts in her chair, and her dress fades from bright purple to wine red. "Well, my mom does—" Her arm flicks out. The dress's sleeve turns white, the rest of the fabric soon following. "—Does graphic art. She's a comic artist, I mean. Maybe some of her work made it to the Capitol?"
She looks out at the crowd then, almost as though directing it to everyone else. It proves to be a mistake, Knight thinks, as Daphne breaks into a fit of nervous squeaks and fidgets.
At least Lola doesn't draw attention to it. Instead, she asks, "So do you wanna be a comic artist like her?"
Daphne, to her best ability, shakes her head and stifles a squeak. He can see what she'd meant about it hurting—the pain flashes across her face with every tic she forces back down.
"I—I kinda want to study in the Capitol," Daphne chokes out. "I'm really good at chemistry, and it'd be cool to see what the Capitol has to offer with coding and technology that Three doesn't have."
"I see!" Lola leans forward, closer to Daphne. They continue to talk about Daphne's passion, and Knight can't help marvelling at how easily Daphne comes out of her shell once they do. Her squeaks even subside along with her anxiety, until finally the buzzer sounds off and she's scuttling offstage to the sound of applause.
A shame she's a District tribute. Even Knight has to agree that her shyness and excitement over chemistry will be endearing.
Knight sucks in a deep breath as the second threat of the night is called onstage. The Croissamer alliance hasn't exactly given the career group much peace of mind alongside their plan to eliminate Cetronia, and it seems Val and Wystan are more then aware of this as well.
"This ought to be interesting," Wystan mutters up to Knight. Knight hums in agreement, plucking another slice off of Val's tray. The taste of cherry is just a tad overwhelming for him.
Lola hypes up the crowd as she yells out, "Please welcome Nikostratos Farrington, representing District Three!" And suddenly half of the audience is out of their seats, whistling at the tall teen coming out from behind the curtains.
His suit is a glistening silver, accompanied by an equally silver tie and a black dress shirt beneath the dazzling jacket. As he moves under the lights of the stage Knight notes the dusting of silver even in his hair, almost highlighting the dyed blues, purples and greens of his locks. Even the closely shaven black hair beneath the undercut has glitter in it, and for a second Knight wonders if Gossamer—the almost literal golden boy—will be threatened by the subtle flair.
Once Croix is seated and his thick black glasses aren't completely obscuring his face, Knight even takes note of the black eyeliner and accompanying makeup that really helps his face glow and stand out compared to Lola's.
"Do you think the audience has been waiting for you, Croix?" Lola jokes. The look Croix shoots the crowd—so sly and smug, so knowing—it makes Knight want to walk out there and punch him in the nose.
Croix takes his time with his interview, calmly talking about his aspirations for the future like he has little care in the world. When Lola asks him if he has anyone he wants to give a shout out to, Croix smiles sweetly and admits that not many people aside from his doting parents would care for one from him. When Lola asks what he'd hoped to be once he finished schooling, Croix chuckles lowly—a swoon from the crowd, the bastard—and lists off the many, many places he'd be eligible to work in.
When Lola asks him to narrow it down to one, he pretends to cave and admits to the crowd, "Ms. Nero's job is a nice goal to reach for."
Not only does he list off the same kind of job as Val, but Croix one ups her and lists the best of the Gamemaker jobs. No one will care that Val has family in the Gamemaker business, nor that she wants to follow their footsteps. All the talk will be of Croix now, and it makes Knight's blood boil. Two Districts later, and the attention is gone from them. It'll all rest on Florence reminding everyone about her alliance, which Knight knows damn well she won't do. She'll gush over Lola too much to bother.
"So, Croix," Lola asks, "what is it most you're looking forward to in the Quell? I hear there's a lovely little farewell party in honour of the Capitol tributes and their partners after this."
Another low chuckle, and then Croix's looking over his shoulder and backstage. Knight sucks in a deep breath. He better not…
"In truth," Croix tells Lola, turning back around to face both her and the audience, "I'm rather excited to see what Gossamer and I can get up to in the arena."
And then the bastard has to audacity to wink just as the buzzer sounds off.
Croix knows he's won over the crowd for the first half of interviews. The smug smile on his face as he yanks a slice from Val's tray and strides past the careers is more than enough to confirm this. If Knight weren't wearing his gauntlets, he can say for sure he'd have painful, red half-moons on his palms from how tightly he clenches his fists by his side.
Six out of twenty-four down, and they're already losing the crowd.
Morganite Gardierre, 14, C-District 6
The crowd really isn't focusing on their group as much as Knight said they would. Morganite chews her lip as she shifts back and forth on her feet, starting to become anxious in the line to the stage. At the rate they're going, they'll probably have to resort to pandering to sponsors at the dinner tonight.
Morganite wants to believe they're going to be okay. Val's hijacked some sponsorship goodies and Morganite negotiated a weapon to be launched into the arena with her, but everything happening tomorrow morning might not matter if no one backs them. Morganite peeks ahead at the next tribute set to go out onstage, almost too conscious of the theme her outfit entails. Adrianne's got a cute fish theme going on with her ensemble—bright blue mini dress made from a scale-like material, laced miko-style sleeves of the same colour, fishnet stockings… Her heels are even made of sturdy glass, which shocks Morganite to no end. Adrianne hasn't done a lot to stand out compared to the other careers, yet she's managed to snag such a great stylist team and interview outfit.
Morganite has to do better than the next batch of tributes. The alliance is riding on it.
"Please welcome to the stage: Adrianne Evans of District Four!" Lola gestures to backstage with a grand sweep of her arms, and Adrianne wastes no time responding. The plucky girl walks onstage, lights shining down on her—and it's only now that Morganite can see the glitter dusted over her cheeks and the dampness to Adrianne's long, loose hair.
Despite the smile on her face, there's something tense about Adrianne's posture and movements. Morganite can't help wondering if it has something to do with the Capitol; Adrianne's alliance has hardly any Capitol tributes in it, after all. (The cyborg doesn't count, Morganite thinks. He's told everyone that he was born in Three. Compared to everyone else he doesn't count.)
"Thanks for having me, Lola," Adrianne greets sweetly. It's very different from the informal, lax Four girl Morganite's watched over the past few days. It has to be all the Capitolites watching her. She can't have stage fright now!
"Pleasure's all mine, dear!" Lola giggles back at her. "I love your dress, by the way. Four's aesthetic really suits you!"
A blush and a soft chuckle, and Adrianne's scratching the back of her neck. "I feel kinda like a fish out of water."
The audience chuckles at her pun, and from there Lola segueys them into a calm conversation about life in Four. Emphasis is put on Adrianne having never attended the Academy, and the question of why she volunteered comes up eventually.
Adrianne's reasoning?
"Couldn't send him to his death, y'know? I've had friends go in and—I mean, I'm happy Shell came back but… The Games take more than just limbs from you, and it leaves behind more than just scars."
She learns more things that can help in the arena: Adrianne is a spearfisher, which means she can hunt underwater and probably hold her breath for long periods of time; Adrianne can tell certain fish apart, which means she'll survive if she has to catch game; Adrianne was adopted by a man who runs a business that delivers Four products to the Capitol, and other places in Panem, which means the name Evans might be beloved by some families. Morganite isn't sure if Knight notices this—he's too busy watching lazily from the other side of the stage, muttering to Val every so often—so she makes a mental note to report everything after her interview is up.
"Is there anyone special back home, Adrianne?" Lola asks suddenly. Adrianne blinks, surprised by the question. "Anyone you'd want to spend your life with?"
There's another chuckle, but Adrianne looks more at peace with the answer she wants to give compared to her first question. "I don't have anyone yet but…" She scrunches up her face as she tries to find the right words. "But I wouldn't mind having kids. It's sorta funny. I hate girly things—I mean, this dress is the most over-the-top thing I've ever worn—but I really, really like the idea of being a mom. It feels… Me?"
The buzzer goes off, but Lola is still very intrigued by the answer. She mutters something to Adrianne as the teen walks offstage, and then Morganite is holding her breath as Adrianne's partner is called out.
Ever since Val came running to Six's door earlier tonight, screaming that Sim wasn't to be targeted under any circumstances, Morganite's been wary. Val won't go into details about what he'd said exactly, but the words, "Whoever kills him will die," are ominous enough to warrant following. As far as Morganite knows the careers are the only ones aware of this sabotage. She has to wonder who will wind up taking the brunt of it, and just how they'll kick the bucket.
"Simoleon Serif!" Lola cheers. The anxious teen stumbles onstage, eyes wide in fear and hands clutched tightly to his chest. "Come over here, hon!"
Sim's dressed up in a flowery gauze shirt and grey slacks, looking every part the soft, harmonious aesthetic with his flower crown and necklaces around his throat. It's very different from his stressed, concerned appearance.
But he doesn't quite make it all the way onstage, to Lola's side. Sim looks out at the crowd, eyes blown wide and expression falling into that of despair, before he stumbles backwards and chokes on his own words. "I—I—"
"What's wrong, sweetie?" Lola waves him over again, rising from her chair to embrace him. "Come on!"
Sim shakes his head again. "Th—th—th—" He's just hiccuping and clawing at his shirt. Why is he panicking so much? Is this what happened in his private session, Morganite wonders? Is this why he got a one? "N—n—"
All colour drains from Sim's face. He stumbles back further, finally tripping over his own feet and crashing into the Five kids. Movement on the other side of the stage catches Morganite's eye—Adrianne, hurriedly ascending the stage and running past Lola as best as she can in her glass heels. Sim shoves away from Tooru and Quatra, almost crashing into the outer District kids further down the line as he scrambles back towards the stylist rooms. Adrianne is hopping along stage as she yanks off and throws away her shoes (one of them shatters when it lands onstage, adding fuel to the dramatic fire), calling after Sim.
Their mentor emerges from the other side of the stage to apologise to Lola.
"Might I ask about how he's doing?" Lola asks, half-ignoring the crowd. It's almost like she's forgotten the microphone on her dress's neckline is on, her whispers broadcast to the world. "I heard about the skyline incident, but I didn't think—"
And then Melvin is putting a hand to her chest, muffling the microphone. Despite the audience's gasp, Lola doesn't react negatively to it. More like she appreciates the reminder as she replaces his hand with her own.
They cut to a quick "commercial break" to clean the stage and make sure Sim is okay—unheard of in previous Games, as they've all been uninterrupted live broadcasts. The most popular broadcasting station in Panem is HungerTV, for crying out loud! But the break commences, past Quell highlights played on the screen behind the stage, and Morganite is left standing awkwardly beside Finn's wheelchair as she looks up and down the line.
Cetronia and the Croissamer duo weren't the only ones Knight had concerns about. Hell, everyone in the group was concerned about the two girls conversing with each other Finn and Morganite, Octavia having left her place with a sneer to Gossamer in favour of Ham's spot. After the girls' demonstration on day one of training, no one's wanted to be around them. Even Cetronia had kept her distance after talking to them once, which Morganite can see as a brighter side to the dilemma. At least it's two strong outer tributes and a lone career, rather than a rival, modernised career group opposing them.
Octavia swirls the water in her glass with a scrunched up expression, hardly aware that the girl in front of them is listening intently to their conversation. Not that it's an important conversation—they seem to just be shooting the shit, rather than strategising like most would in their situation.
"This is a shitshow," Ham grumbles. "How the hell did Fern even put up with all this bullshit?"
"Mm," Octavia hums around her glass. She swallows a sip of water, then goes back to swishing it. "At this point something dramatic happening before the time runs out is looking mandatory."
"Maybe they'll let me punch Synthia onstage."
Octavia snorts with a small grin.
Lola comes back onstage and the stage lights up again, and suddenly things are back to normal. No drama, no word on Sim, no acknowledgement that there had even been an interruption. "Nothing is wrong," her face and posture proclaim.
"Up next is District Five," Lola announces, "and I think we can all admit we've been anxious to see this particular interview! Everyone give Quatra X a warm welcome!"
Quatra X—the spy Morganite still can't believe she'd been sitting next to, too hungover to notice at their reaping—emerges from backstage with a wave to the crowd and a reserved smile. She's dressed up in a strapless, orange sparkling dress that reaches her mid-thigh, the neckline a neat sweetheart style that works with her figure. Her boots—tall and black, heels not quite three inches but definitely not two—click against the floor while the diamond earrings and necklace she wears reflect light against her skin.
Morganite just stares, disinterested, at the girl. It's a pretty basic colour scheme, and orange is pretty tough to pull off on most people.
"Quatra X," Lola repeats, this time sounding somewhat floored. "I can't believe this Quell gave us the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to let us peek at one of the most faceless families in Panem's history. You're basically a celebrity, dear."
"That's a bit much…" Quatra shifts in her chair.
"I think it's an understatement! Your family is so shrouded in mystery, and the fact that Panem can see you—beautiful, wonderful you!—is on par with witnessing a monster eclipse!" Lola starts to gush at Quatra, revising her statement. "No, this is more like Pando. Never in Panem—no, former North America's history has such a phenomenon occured again. Surely you can see why we're so excited now?"
The teen looks down at her tattooed wrist while her other hand reaches up to fiddle with her short hair. Morganite can't quite tell if she's embarrassed by the statement or exasperated, but Quatra definitely isn't reacting as joyfully as Lola had expected. The crowd is still applauding her though—like watching a dolphin swim around at a marine park in the most mundane way possible.
Attention moves away from the fact that, oh my! A spy identity out in the open, so prolific! and instead shifts to Quatra's more subtle features. The fact that her hair looks like it'd been dyed ("It was dyed kinda chestnutty before I came back to the Capitol, and then blonde. I'm naturally blonde, though.), and the sun-kissed glow of her tanned skin ("It was really sunny where I was stationed. Actually, all the places I've been to are sunnier than most…"). When Lola points down to the tattoo Quatra glances at, the girl opens up a little and lifts her wrist.
The screen behind them lights up again, this time showing a zoomed in view of the tattoo from a nearby camera. Morganite doesn't get to hear much of the explanation for it—though she can assume the bracelet of fours are a play on her name—as behind her, almost radiating pure rage, comes a myriad of sounds from Octavia.
First is the glass in Octavia's hand shatters. That gets Tooru and Morganite to whirl around, while Finn glances lazily over at her. Then the heavy, livid breathing through her nose fills the stunned silence in the line. Morganite's never seen so much unadulterated rage in someone's expression before. Finally, despite the small cut on her finger and Ham's hurried attempts to get Octavia to find a crew member for a band-aid, Octavia growls out through her teeth, "I was right."
"Wh—" Ham's shaking her head in confusion. She whispers angrily, "Get the damn thing fixed! Who cares what she's doing!"
At least Octavia doesn't argue with her. The taller girl just storms down to the back of the line, cursing under her breath as some unfortunate crew member takes notice of her. She still has time before her interview, Morganite thinks. With any luck, whatever bothered her about Quatra won't be brought up thanks to Capitol medication working its magic.
She looks down at Finn—and suddenly Capitol meds don't feel like magic anymore. For all the good emergency surgery had done for him, shortening the recuperation period from six weeks to one, Finn is still hopeless without the full and proper use of both his legs. He won't be given a cane at the arena launch (Morganite checked as a hypothetical when she spoke to Malvolia, pitying Finn) and more than likely he'll be abandoned by his allies if the morphling doesn't make him fall forwards off his platform.
Barb had been very cruel about his position. "Serves him right," she'd said. "Finds its way back to you after you enable someone else."
Morganite is honestly scared to ask what Barb had meant.
Quatra's interview ends after some awkward attempts to goad information about the X family out of her, and she doesn't waste her time walking offstage. Morganite sucks in a deep breath as Tooru gets ready to be called out. She'll be next once he's done.
"We have her stunning District partner next, folks! A round of applause for Tooru Ikeda!" Lola waves for Tooru to come out, and she looks rather happy to see him emerge.
He's dressed in a simple and clean black suit, his tie standing out nicely against his white dress shirt. There seems to be a bit of confidence to his walk, his smile more surefire and certain. When he takes a seat next to Lola, it becomes very apparent why.
"I'm so proud of you, Tooru!" Lola cheers. "Doesn't he look handsome, everyone?"
The crowd applauds. Tooru's face lights up even brighter than before, and he thanks them all as loudly as he can.
"This is probably a bit personal for an interview," Lola adds, "but Larius told me about how you were struggling before the Parade."
Tooru's ears turn red, and he's quick to let his smile fall and look away. Lola doesn't let him wallow in shame for very long, though. She reaches out and takes on his hands hands with a big smile.
"My brother-in-law was right to call you an amazing and brave young man. Look at you—you're standing here now and telling the world that you are Tooru Ikeda. And I know your family and friends are proud of you as well."
His interview is probably the most excited and open Morganite's seen him after that. He talks animatedly about his friend Nell and his dad, even going into detail about the little fabric puppets he'd made during training after he was advised to avoid combat training. Lola actually calls for one to be brought onstage, and Tooru is visibly shocked to see one of his teru teru bōzu being preserved.
"When you hang them outside it's like a prayer for sunny weather," Tooru explains as other identical dolls, all made by him in training, are passed around through the audience. "Hanging them upside down does the opposite and you wind up asking for rain. I don't know the chant you're supposed to do with it—I mean, my Japanese isn't as good as my dad's—but I like to think they work if you put your heart into them anyway."
The crowd basically falls in love with him and his happiness, and when his interview ends Lola actually pauses before announcing Morganite.
She holds up the palm-sized, white cloth doll and smiles fondly at it. To the audience, she declares, "How about we hang this at the entrance of the training centre doors for good weather in the Games?"
It's Morganite's turn to take back attention for the career pack, and she feels confident enough to do so when Lola calls her out. She sucks in a deep breath to puff out her chest and struts onstage. The white pant suit would be striking enough by the colour alone, but Morganite's is special. Her father had sent in diamonds by the crate-load for her stylists to decorate the jacket in, leaving Morganite with more of a dazzling entrance than Quatra's earrings and necklace could hope to achieve. But she doesn't stop there. That won't be what gets attention back onto the pack. Morganite's jacket is wide open, the bare skin of her stomach and chest already feeling the heat of the overhead lights while her unmentionables are politely covered by a lacey, intricate black bra.
When she sits down next to Lola she kicks out one of her feet, slowly tucking it over her other leg to show off the strappy black heels she wears. Attention is most definitely on her now, she thinks as a few wolf whistles ring out. I'm fourteen, she wants to scream at the adults watching her from the crowd. And I'm not a District prostitute!
"Talk about an entrance," Lola jokes, gesturing to Morganite's outfit. "That looks amazing, Morganite. Are those real diamonds?"
"They are," she declares. Morganite lifts an arm, letting the light refract off of the diamonds on her sleeve and onto Lola's face. "They're actually from my dad's business. He handles all sorts of gemstones and jewellery."
"Thus the name." Lola grins. "You wouldn't happen to wear your namesake, would you?"
Morganite shakes her head. She reaches for the finger her father's ring sits on, lifting it to the nearest camera. "No, but I wear his namesake as my token. Alexandrite's traditionally thought to bring good luck, and I think that'd be a lot better to take with me into the arena than a gem that opens the heart. Y'know?"
Lola laughs at the reasoning, nodding in agreement. "For sure, for sure," she says lightly. "So what do you get up to at home? You don't strike me as the kind of girl to sit around all day and do nothing."
I'll bet, she thinks as a chill hits her stomach. That's probably Lola attempting to be nice about insinuating that Morganite has the partygoer's life—which she does, of course. But it's still rude to assume based on her getup.
"My friends and I go to parties a lot," she boasts, hardly faltering. "I want to be an escort when I'm old enough, so I use them as a way to get my name out through personal meetings and word of mouth. Not the best business approach, but it still works."
"An escort! Any District you had your eye on?"
Morganite giggles. "With a name like mine, I think District One is the only fit for me."
"So what made you want to pursue the field?" Lola shuffles closer, suddenly intrigued. It's like she hadn't expected anything worthwhile from Morganite, or at the very least only expect some rebellious party girl talk. "It's very tough to get into when there's only ever twelve positions at a time."
She shrugs. "Mom used to be one. Jourisme—"
"Jourisme!" Lola lets out a squeal and leans back into her chair. "Oh, how could I not know of Jourisme? She had the most extravagant outfits during the reapings."
"Yeah! I know she wants me to be the whole proper young lady thing, but I'd love to experience the kind of life she had before me. There's so much more to escorting than just picking out a random name and looking pretty for the camera." Morganite smiles—genuinely smiles—as she speaks. "I know it can be a lot of work, but I'm ready to do my best and tackle it all for the sake of becoming one."
The buzzer goes off not long after, and Morganite is feeling pretty confident about her role in the pack as she looks beyond Lola to see her allies' approving smiles. Morganite rises from her chair, casting a quick glance at the line waiting behind her—
And then she pauses, rooted to the spot as she sees Finn's tired gaze glued to his leg. How has no one realised that there isn't a ramp for him to wheel himself up? Didn't the crew provide something for him to use? Morganite's chest aches as she turns on her heel and moves back towards him.
"Morganite!" Lola calls. "You're supposed to go the other way—"
Morganite pushes between Ham and Finn and sets to work helping the teen up the three steps, grunting with every push and lift she has to do. Light hits Finn's face from the stage, and it doesn't take a genius to know that the smile he's wearing is forced as he sees Lola watching him.
Death game be damned, Morganite can't just leave him to suffer like this. He should have at least some dignity by the time that timer goes off. They can't just leave him to roll around pitifully on the floor while everyone else throws metaphorical peanuts at him.
She wheels him up to the chair, breaking away only to move it backwards and make room for him, and then she wheels Finn next to Lola and lets out a deep breath.
"You good?" she mutters, and only Lola and Finn seem to hear her. Finn nods slightly, smiling that awful smile as he turns to look at Lola.
Knight is all but disapproving when she joins them backstage. He glares at her, doesn't speak to her, and Morganite just sneers back. "What?" she snaps.
They don't fight, but things will definitely be tense come tomorrow morning. Morganite hasn't even entered the arena yet and she's already emotionally drained, practically going through the five stages of grief over the idea of and actually being in the Games.
She's so tired.
Finn may be sluggish in order to keep his pain to a minimum, but he's handling his interview well. He looks nice and dapper in his blue tuxedo jacket and black bow tie, and if he'd been standing he'd have had people gushing over him. He talks about how he's a fan of Lola's, and Lola gives him a great big hug—something she claims to do with many of her fans, and Morganite's seen the photos to back up the claim.
"Does that mean you're a Games fan?" Lola asks as she pulls back from Finn. Finn laughs softly and shakes his head.
"No, I…" He blinks and sucks in a deep breath. "Couldn't stomach it. Don't like seeing… seeing all the death."
Lola clicks her tongue and lets out a coo. "I know," she reassures him. "It's necessary, but not everyone over here likes the blood either. Are you going to be okay tomorrow morning, though? Reluctance to fight and kill is one thing, but a broken leg…"
That hideous smile grows. Morganite wants to throw up—but keeps in it as the horrific reaping day flashbacks assault her.
"I'll be fine," Finn says sweetly, and it's the most blatant goddamn lie Morganite's ever heard. She wants to go back out and scream at him, tell him to stop being so nice about it and just scream his stress out while he has the chance. He can blame someone for this, he can tell the Capitol to kiss his ass, he can deliver the hard truth everyone in the crowd denies about his situation. But he doesn't. Finn just goes on to say, "I really hope I don't hold back Luxor and Cham."
His interview concludes without any mishaps, and this time a crew member comes out to wheel him offstage. Morganite's fists are shaking as she keeps them clenched at her sides. She doesn't know what she wants to do right now; yell, scream, cry, laugh? She's never experienced so much… so much everything like this before. Consequences never bothered her before tonight, and she sure as hell was ready to discard Finn as a human meat shield if the careers didn't work out. Barb gave her all the tips and tricks, and Finn's been willing to play someone's hero since day one.
Now it's all a blur. Her diamond jacket isn't glamorous and stunning; it's heavy and pulling in too much heat, suffocating her as she walks instinctively over to Knight and Val again. When had she wandered away? She can't have tried to leave during Finn's interview, did she? There's supposed to be a dinner party after this—she can't just wander off like that without realising it and correcting herself.
Morganite may as well be on autopilot, though. She doesn't even stop herself as she grabs Knight's collar and drags his face to meet hers. She must be angry, she thinks, but her face doesn't tug in the right ways for it to happen. It's a mask of nothingness as her voice, equally empty, slips out of her throat with hushed tones.
"Target him in the bloodbath," Morganite says slowly, "and I fuck up your plan to take down Cetronia."
The amount of anger in Knight's eyes are confirmation enough that the message has been heard loud and clear. With only twelve more interviews to go, she's glad she said it sooner instead of later.
Chambray and Luxor better not abandon Finn in that bloodbath. There'll be hell to pay if they do.
And there's our chapter! Fun fact, morganite (the stone) is considered a protection from taking on others' suffering, which I found pretty ironic while writing Morganite's pov!
QQ #24: Whose interview stood out most to you?
We're only three chapters away from the Games! Gosh, this is getting exciting... Next time we come back, we'll be seeing the interviews via Adrianne and Jareth! Till then!