I am... deceased...
Anyway! This'll teach me for having the interviews in only two chapters, so next time it won't be as big a cluster (hopefully sdjnfkdsn). I hope you guys enjoy this half, though! QQ is at the bottom as usual!
30 - Interviews (Part II)
Adrianne Evans, 17, District 4
No matter how hard Adrianne tries to calm him down, Sim won't stop panicking. The moment they arrive at their room he dives for the nearest corner, curling in on himself and sobbing uncontrollably. She's not sure what to do here—when he'd had his first breakdown in front of her, it'd been much easier to bring him down to earth and distract him. But with the fright that came with seeing the crowd, mixed with Lola's (televised) mention of a skyline incident, Sim proves to be almost inconsolable.
She's at a loss. Four days of bonding and learning about each other, all down the drain after his score was revealed and his turn for the interview arrived. Adrianne wants to know what's wrong and why Sim is so affected by all this—outside of the obvious—but she's just… stuck.
Adrianne doesn't force him to stay in the room as he crawls in the direction of his bedroom. She just calls after him, telling him, "I'm here for you, okay?"
She's not sure if Sim leaving his door ajar is a sign that he acknowledges her offer, but an optimistic part of her hopes it's his way of telling her he knows.
Adrianne meanders about for a while, flitting from the kitchen to grab a snack and back to the hall to watch all the doors. None of them are opening, no one coming through to check on them, and it makes her wonder just how much time has passed since they'd left the interviews. It can't have been more than half an hour, she reasons; Melvin would be here asking them if they're up to go to the dinner later tonight.
Eventually, with her half-eaten orange in hand, Adrianne walks over to the living area. She switches on the TV, mindful of the sleeves of her dress as she gets herself comfy. There really isn't much to be done except see if everyone else in their alliance does okay. She knows Daphne survived her interview, but what about Cole and Cyber? She can't just ignore them because Sim is panicking—no, Adrianne needs to pay them all equal attention. It was her decision to do her best to help them, so she needs to see it through.
There had apparently been a break between interviews while Adrianne and Sim were in the elevator. It's taken longer than she's expected for District Five and Six to wrap up their interviews, leaving the first of her remaining two allies to look out for next.
Lola, it seems, acts as though nothing is wrong tonight and that Sim had never even run off. Adrianne frowns at the TV as she chews on her orange. How the hell can the Capitol just ignore the trauma these kids are going through, even without the Games going on? There are obviously issues they all have, but they just bury their heads in the sand and pretend like nothing is happening.
Morganite wheels her District partner offstage once his interview concludes. It's a much more helpful side Adrianne's seen of her this week—Morganite's usually been doing things on her own and ignoring everyone else but the careers, after all. She can't help wondering what's changed lately. Adrianne isn't given much time to ponder on it all. District Seven is up next, Lola hardly giving even the audience time to breathe.
"Let's welcome Miss Phyllis Hamilton from District Seven, folks!" Lola whoops. The crowd applauds as Ham emerges from backstage, looking just as out of place as Adrianne had felt when she'd first stepped out in her dress.
From what she can see, Ham's dress is toga-inspired and white; the bodice is asymmetrical, a single strap over her shoulder that's held in place by a silver leaf pin. The light material continues on, giving her an almost cape-like appearance behind her, while Ham strides to her chair in white flats held in place by ankle straps. As she takes a seat next to Lola, gelled hair pushed out of her face the way Jack would style his during meetings, Adrianne takes note of the way her silver-sequined belt glimmers under the lights.
It doesn't look like something the burly girl would wear every day. Then again, Adrianne never wears something like her fish dress every day either.
"Now," Lola starts, looking Ham up and down, "I've been told you have a nickname you prefer to go by?"
Ham nods. "Ham," she says, averting her gaze from Lola's face. Adrianne watches her carefully. Why does she do that? "From the Hamilton part."
"I see." Lola nods sagely. She shuffles in her seat, inching closer to the smaller girl. "And if I recall, you're not the first Hamilton we've had onstage before."
It's hard to miss the way Ham goes tense all of a sudden. Adrianne hears Lola mention the name Fern, but all her attention is on Ham as she clenches her fists above her knees and struggles to keep a straight face. Adrianne will have to ask Melvin about who Lola means later, if that's the reaction Ham gives after a simple drop of a name.
"Wasn't he in the same Games as—"
"I have people at home I wanna dedicate time to," Ham cuts in. Her knuckles are pale, her brow creasing more and more as she tries not to let her semi-calm expression fall. "Family. F—Friends."
Adrianne gives a small, approving shake of her fist to the TV. Way to shut her up, Ham! Take control of that interview!
"Oh?" Lola leans even closer. She doesn't look all that unhappy that she'd been interrupted. "Tell me about them! You must have a lot, to want to dedicate all your interview to them!"
That's a jab if Adrianne ever heard one. Maybe Lola really is upset over being interrupted.
Ham chews her lip and looks down at her hands. She relaxes them once she sees how hard they're shaking in her lap. "My dad… He's like the boss of one of the woodcutter shifts," she starts. "He actually wanted to get me into Maggie's shift if I wasn't reaped."
"Oh, smart man!" Lola nods along with her declaration. The crowd agrees, though not as vehemently. "Any siblings?"
"Thr—" Ham chokes on her own words. A pained look crosses her face, like her whole world is just barely being held together. Damn, was the Fern guy a sibling of hers? "Two. Two brothers."
"What're they like?"
"Ewan is, uh… He's the eldest. He runs a carpentry store with his wife—Willow. She's actually about four months pregnant. Gave me her old engagement ring to take with me." Ham runs a hand over one of her fingers. There isn't a ring there from what Adrianne can see. Was it taken off earlier? "Ash—he's… Older by two years. He's really good at mending clothes and stuff. Ewan gets him to do the more delicate stuff for furniture."
"So your father, your sister-in-law, and your two brothers," Lola lists. "No mother?"
Ham shakes her head. "She's gone," she says simply. It looks as though the topic of her mother is easier to talk about than Fern. "Big C. Happens sometimes with how much we're outdoors in Seven."
Lola nods along, understanding. "Anyone else you want to mention? Friends? A special someone?"
That must mean Ham's time is almost up. The girl seems to mull over the question, considering her answers; before Lola asks if she wants to conclude the interview, Ham looks straight into the nearest camera and holds her ground.
"Myrtle," she says, voice strong and confident. "I'd love to go get something to eat with you when this is all over."
Adrianne gawks at the screen. There's a million questions racing through her mind—who's Myrtle? What does she mean by 'get something to eat'? Is Myrtle from Seven?—but they don't get answered as Ham is applauded offstage. The Capitol is lapping up her statement, whistling and cheering.
Lola goes so far as to dub her the resident "warrior of love". Adrianne doesn't miss the disgusted expression on Ham's face just as she disappears offstage.
She leans forward in her seat as she prepares for the next tribute to be introduced. Adrianne desperately hopes he goes okay on his own now, especially in front of so many people. From what she's heard even small groups of people have a hard time seeing Cyber as more than his sturdier form—how badly will the whole nation react?
Not too badly, she finds out. Cyber has a few people cheering for him, calling him a surefire victor as he walks out onstage to Lola's, "Cyber Tronovsky, everyone!"
He's dressed up in a metallic red, long-sleeved shirt that's accompanied by a simple pair of black slacks and leather shoes. Compared to most of the tributes so far, Adrianne finds he looks a lot more casual and uncomplicated. Then again, she thinks, with an appearance like his what more can you do to spruce it up?
Despite his size the chair lets out a loud creak under his weight. Lola has the audacity to chuckle at the sound. "Bit heavy, are you?"
Cyber's glowing cyan eyes flicker up to Lola's face. "Most of my body is made from heavy materials," he says simply. Adrianne lets out a short breath of relief. He's not nervous, at least. "It's a little sturdier too."
"Oh?" Lola reaches out to touch Cyber's hair. She runs her fingers over the fine blue and blonde locks, visibly paling at the feel of them. Adrianne knows the feeling of his hair well—it's hard to believe Cyber's dad had done so well to make it realistic with such materials. "How much of you is… organic?"
Cyber takes a moment to consider the question. He looks down at himself, his usual wide-eyed expression weighing his answer. "Most of my internal organs are the same," he decides. "My heart was bad in my old body, so this one is artificial. My brain is the same too. It's got some chips in it, though—so my body functions and my organs don't reject it."
"You're like a walking example of machine and flesh co-existing!" Lola marvels. Cyber looks as though he's going to say something—disagree, Adrianne wonders?—but Lola cuts him off fairly quickly. "So who built the body for you?"
"My dad," Cyber answers automatically. He pauses for a second, as though waiting for Lola to ask a follow-up question, but she remains curiously silent. "He made it to save my life. I was dying. The body functions like a normal one—eating and sleeping and stuff—but I can't feel things anymore."
A hand flies to Lola's ear. She's half-listening as Cyber goes on with his explanation. "When Dad was killed, I was put to sleep for a while. I don't know what happened, but now I can't feel anything. I think it makes Madam Maddie sad that I can't—"
And then the screen cuts to black.
Adrianne jumps out of her seat with a start. What happened? Where'd they go? She clicks button after button on the remote, switching between channels, but nothing is coming up when she returns to the interview broadcast.
"No," she mutters, her voice raising with every breath, "no, no, no, no, NO!"
To her surprise (and relief) Sim comes crawling out from his room with a sniff. "Adrianne?" he chokes. He's been crying, but she can't bring herself to turn and run to his side, to calm him. Too much is happening at once. What the hell is going on onstage?
"The feed cut off," she grunts. Adrianne finally gives up trying to restore the image onscreen, instead opting to throw the remote onto the floor. It snaps in half, but the TV stays on. The blank screen just stares back at her like a foreboding void. "I can't— Cyber was just—"
She collapses onto the couch again just as sound returns. There's a grainy voice, definitely Lola's saying something about giving someone a hand, before the vision flickers back on and Adrianne sees Cyber disappear on the other side of the stage.
"His interview got cut off," Adrianne gasps. "Does the station normally…?"
"No," Sim whispers. He's right behind her now, peeking over the edge of the couch. His tear-stained face is puffy and red, but he looks as though he's not concerned over his own problem anymore. Sim is just as worried about what this means as Adrianne. "Our signals were perfected to resist even the worst of weather or interruptions—if the manual connection was severed, it would've automatically switched to a wireless broadcast."
Adrianne shakes her head. She collapses back onto the couch with a heavy sigh. "Why the hell did it cut off?"
They must not know what happened back on the stage. Lola just calls out the next name on the list of tributes with a large smile on her face. "Chambray Hemingway from District Eight! Come on out, sweetie!"
Chambray has quite possible the most grand dress of them all, Adrianne thinks. The first thing that comes to mind is a wedding dress—extravagant and floor-length—with every step towards Lola the girl takes. There isn't just a skirt with a layer of sheer white fabric over the top, there's little diamonds scattered about the sheer cover like stars in a sky; there's even a belt of diamonds that separate the bodice and skirt entirely, and the soft material of the bodice holds a delicate sweetheart neckline. On her face is silver makeup—lipstick and sequins along her cheekbones. It's just… stunning.
And just as Chambray reaches her chair, she stops and does a twirl on the spot. The skirt of her dress lights up, emphasising the shine of the diamonds on the sheer coating. Even Sim gasps at the sight.
"Wow…" Lola marvels. She actually gets up and walks a circle around Chambray, jaw practically on the floor. "I think it's safe to say you've stolen the show."
"Thank you," Chambray says earnestly, and Adrianne cringes once the girl's rasp is thrown in her face. She'd forgotten that Chambray has one like Cole.
"Well at least you won't have to worry if your interview isn't as stellar as the others!" Lola giggles and sinks back into her chair. There's a knowing look on her face, like she's got some bombshell that'll prove her remark wrong. Adrianne is apprehensive just watching the expression settle on Lola's face. "I was actually hoping to ask you about something, if you don't mind."
Chambray looks Lola up and down once. "Of course," she says smoothly. "That's what the interview's for, isn't it?"
The audience laughs. Lola flushes red, looking out of the corner of her eye to the crowd in a panic. Adrianne just sinks into the couch and reaches a hand behind her, letting it fall on Sim's reassuringly.
"The girls have really been grilling her since we left," she says proudly. Sim lets out a soft huff of a laugh. He doesn't move his hand, which lifts some of the weight off of Adrianne's shoulders.
"I doubt our audience may know it, but I believe you used to work at the Embarcadero factory?" At the puzzled expression on Chambray's face, Lola explains, "I do research on tributes every year to make sure they have something they can talk about in their interviews. Start a discussion. I saw your name—and your brother's name—on the list of former employees in the factory."
Chambray actually stutters when she says, "Y—Yeah, I did. Now I work at the Argentaurum factory."
A ripple of murmurs comes from the crowd, and suddenly Sim's tensing up. He sinks behind the couch, removing the TV from his sight; his hand stays under Adrianne's, though.
"I know what she's going to ask," Sim mutters.
"What—"
"Did you know anyone," Lola cuts in, "who died in the fire?"
There are many things that Adrianne notices in the seconds that follow. The first is that Lola is very pleased by her question, eyes glued to Chambray's face the entire time. The second is that the crowd, previously quiet, lets out the loudest of gasps and pitying sounds. The third, final thing Adrianne notices is how so many expressions flit across Chambray's face in the span of two seconds.
The confusion, the pondering, the perseverance. Furrowed brows. The recognition, the realisation, the fear. Jaw dropping ever so slowly. The horror, the regret, the trauma.
Chambray is just starting to cry as she sits there, unable to look away from Lola; her expression doesn't change and she doesn't hiccup with each tear that falls, but she's definitely not in the interview anymore. Adrianne stares at the TV in horror. Chambray has, if she has to guess, been thrown back in time to the events of her old workplace.
"Wh…" Adrianne jumps to her feet, suddenly livid. She knows that Chambray and Octavia were given threat scores, that Melvin wants them far from the girls in the Games. But to bring up what had to have been repressed memories on live TV like this is… "What the hell is wrong with you!? Why would you even ask that!?"
Sim mumbles something from behind the couch. Adrianne whirls around on her feet, suddenly concerned; he's not struggling again, is he?
With a bit more force, Sim says, "You mustn't watch a lot of Games. She does it every year—picks two or three tributes to make big drama focus for viewers. Not every Hunger Games has tributes rivalling publicly enough to last until the Games start."
She can hear Lola onscreen calling for Chambray to come back, acting alarmed at whatever reaction the girl must've had. Adrianne can't bring herself to look, even as the sound of Luxor Aricunai coming onstage reaches her ears.
"I'm Luxor," he rushes, voice booming, "you all know who I am, and I'm appalled at how heartless you sick pieces of trash are! You make me sick!" he adds as his voice starts to vanish offstage.
And then Lola is calling after Luxor as he, in turn, calls after Chambray.
District Eight's interviews are probably more of a mess than their own. Adrianne sucks in a deep breath and drops onto the couch again.
"I'm glad someone said it," she tries to joke. It falls flatter than Chambray's interview had.
"I just want the night to be over," Sim chokes out, and it's only now that she notices he's crying again. Adrianne covers her face with her hands and silently scorns herself. Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could she just ignore such an important thing like that! "I want it all to be over."
"Think we could sneak into the training centre? Swim in the pool?"
He sniffs. "Pro'lly not."
She hums. They've cut to another commercial break, from the sounds of it. There's no doubt Luxor's scene left a lot of time to fill. "Anything you wanna do?"
There's only silence for an agonising few seconds. Adrianne wants to think he's taking his time thinking of what he wants, but soon she realises he just doesn't want to answer. She pushes herself up on her arms and peeks over the edge of the couch. Sim's just curled up into a ball on the floor, glassy eyes watching the wall with intense concentration.
Had she not moved closer to check on him, she would've missed it: "I want my brother."
Adrianne doesn't know what to do. She just sucks in a deep breath and faceplants the cushion closest to her. The TV announces something about a cereal brand sponsored by the Games, but she isn't listening wholeheartedly. Everything feels like one giant mess and she just doesn't know what to do. She's never known anyone to react the way Sim does, and she herself doesn't even struggle so much with whatever he's going through. Adrianne just feels useless.
She rolls onto her side and heaves out a sigh, doing her best not to make it sound like it's directed at Sim. She's not upset with him—she's upset with herself. She promised to help him out no matter what and yet here she is, twiddling her thumbs while he curls in on himself on the floor.
Adrianne thinks to apologise, to let him know it's not his fault she's frustrated, but she never gets the chance to. She hears him stand up, shuddering out a steeling breath, before he hobbles down the hall and back to the bedroom. The door doesn't close behind him—in fact, he doesn't even stay in there. Sim comes back out, dragging something at his feet, and comes to a nervous halt at Adrianne's feet. She looks down at him, at the large duvet clenched in his hands. Sim looks like he wants to say something but for the remainder of the break he simply chews his lip and shuffles on his feet.
As though it'll make anything better, Adrianne pushes herself back into the very frame of the couch and leaves enough space for Sim to sit down.
An ad for toothpaste appears onscreen. Sim scoots onto the couch and snuggles next to Adrianne, blanket wrapped tightly around him. Despite being taller than her, he resigns himself to being spooned as they watch the TV in silence. His breathing calms down at least, a sign that maybe tonight won't be a total loss for the both of them.
Lola returns again after five minutes of ads. She has with her the girl from Nine, who is already onstage when the broadcast resumes, and for a moment Adrianne debates turning off the TV before the interviews even end. The two of them are too tired to even leave the couch, let alone the room for dinner, and Lola's voice in their ears doesn't make things easier. It's like she's sapping the life out of them with her words alone, her hair turning more and more purple with every ounce of emotional stability she steps on.
"I have with me Oryza Belfast from District Nine," Lola announces, "and we're going to be doing something special for this interview."
Adrianne ignores the explanation that Lola will have a translator relaying everything Bel says to her, instead focusing on the small girl with as much energy as she can muster. Her dress is pretty—knee-length and short-sleeved, a lovely green that compliments her eyes. The darker green tie she wears with it just adds to her natural look, as do the headband of golden leaves and black ankle boots. Bel looks adorable. She wishes she'd gone to the Nine duo and asked to collaborate when she had the chance.
First Lola asks about her home life, and the trainer next to Bel—wasn't she the one from the edible plants station?—reports, "Bel used to work cleaning out silos. During the weekdays she'd go to school with her brother."
Bel's hands move around more, and the trainer adds, "When she had free time she'd climb the trees near her house a lot."
"How quaint!" Lola claps her hands together. "Now, were you born deaf or…?"
To Lola's surprise, Bel lets out a mispronounced, "No," and resumes signing.
"Bel had an illness when she was younger," the trainer translates. She pauses as Bel continues to explain. "It took her hearing when she was about a year old."
"And you read lips rather well, I see," Lola adds. "Is it easier to sign?"
Bel nods. "She says it's uncomfortable using long sentences," the trainer explains. The crowd lets out a cooing sound, sympathising with the girl. They must really like her. "One or two words every so often is fine, but not full sentences."
"How does your relationship with your allies fare with this?" Lola looks past Bel—most likely over at Church, her Capitol partner. He's the only one who stays by her side, Adrianne notes. Like herself and Sim, but no one else wants anything to do with them.
Bel's hands move in a flurry, a big smile on her face as she looks between the trainer and Lola.
"Church has been very supportive of her," the trainer says, and Adrianne notes the pride in her voice when she says this. "They've gotten to know each other very well and have even made plans for when the Games are over—"
"Plans!" Lola yells. Even Bel jumps, mostly at the look on Lola's face and the way she jumps out of her seat. "Share, dear! What are you going to do?"
Bel hesitates, looks back over her shoulder at Church. Time ticks by, the short silence leaving Adrianne to wonder if the signal—or even just the sound—has cut out again. But the timer goes off, and then Bel is being told by the trainer that they have to leave the stage.
Up next is her Capitol partner, and Adrianne can't help wondering if it'll be a mess like the last two. She wouldn't be surprised if something goes wrong with Church's time in the spotlight.
"Let's welcome her partner, Epsilon Church!" Lola shouts, and the man of the hour walks out with his head held high. Much like some of the other boys he'd dressed simply—red tux and pants with a black dress shirt and tie. He pays no mind to Lola's excited bouncing, probably unfazed by her attitude by now.
When he sits down, he's met with an immediate, "What plans have you and Bel made?"
Church's brow quirks. Maybe he's not entirely unfazed, Adrianne wonders.
"I plan to move to Nine with Bel and live in the Victors' Village," he replies cooly. "My sister will join us."
Lola nods. "Your… hospitalised sister?"
His jaw shifts and his lips tug downwards. Adrianne just presses her face into the cushion again as she waits for this to turn into another mess.
"Yes," Church growls out. "Sarah."
"How is she doing these days, dear? You both dropped out of the news after the accident."
He must be collecting himself, judging by the pause. "No improvement. She's… She's still comatose."
There's a pain in his voice that Adrianne—and Sim—picks up on. A sort of regret, like he's done the worst possible thing but doesn't know how to fix it.
"He blames himself," Sim mumbles. Adrianne hums in agreement. This is the face of a boy whose mistakes have put an immense weight on his shoulders and left him with nowhere to go.
Church clears his throat while the crowd lets out a chorus of "aww". It doesn't take him too long to continue on with his tangent. "There's every chance that she may not wake up with the money used so far to fund her treatment. Before it runs out, I mean. That's why," Church announces, his voice raised so all can hear, "I ask that any funds put towards my sponsorship instead be transferred to Sarah, which should hopefully support her until she recovers. I've spoken with the Head Gamemaker and she has allowed this."
The crowd begins to stir, chattering and gasping and wondering why Church would sabotage himself like this. Only the other tributes would know why and how he'd achieve such a feat.
"I just want to talk with my sister again," Church adds, and the crack in his voice destroys Adrianne. This is killing him, she thinks. Even Lola can see that—she asks if he wants his interview to end early, and Church just sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head. He continues his interview, talking about less… troubling topics. It feels like it drags on forever before the timer goes off, and Adrianne only just now realises that she'd been holding her breath during his interview.
She reaches over Sim for the remote, still broken and in need of a fix; it still works, she finds, as the TV flickers off at the press of a button.
"Tomorrow," she sighs. Sim hums once, flat and tired.
"Are you going to the dinner?"
She shakes her head. "Nah. I broke my shoes, anyway."
Adrianne gets a chuckle out of Sim at that. He curls even more into himself and shakes his head. "I can't believe you threw your shoes so hard."
"They were pinching my toes. How the hell was I s'posed to catch up with you in them?"
"That's fair," he laughs.
Adrianne lets out a relieved breath. At least he's doing a little better now. "I think I'm just gonna stay right here," she decides. And Sim hums again, satisfied with the decision. The world won't end if they don't watch the last six interviews.
Jareth Vilna, 14, District 11
Sticking it out on his own is proving to be a rather good choice by this point. If it's not other tributes starting beef with each other, it's tributes with so much baggage that they may as well have brought the emotional kitchen sink with them to the Games.
Jareth wants to go back to his room. He doesn't want to go in front of all these cameras, talk to a woman who will most likely try to air his dirty laundry for all of Panem to see. It's bad enough that he's treated like dirt in his own District—his own home—for what his parents did with the purest of intentions. He doesn't need everyone else to hate him too.
It's not just the Capitol Jareth is struggling with, either. All the tributes are so volatile and sneaky, and the ones who aren't are just straight up helpless. Barley had high hopes that Jareth and Avita would ally and go under the radar, but Avita's made it very clear that "gross outer Districts" are beyond her care. She'd been very pissed at the idea of even representing Eleven. What hope was there that she'd bother to care about Jareth?
He crosses his arms in front of him and surveys the rest of the line. Only six to go, and then it's a mess of a dinner next.
The kids from Ten are getting ready to head out, but one of them keeps glancing over his shoulder at the duo directly behind. Jareth can't help sneering every time he does, the way those smug-ass eyes size the smaller duo up.
After sixteen—sixteen—inspections, the golden-haired teen says smoothly, "Enjoying yourself so far?"
"Piss off." Jareth holds himself tighter, making it obvious that he doesn't want Gossamer to talk to him. Gossamer's brows rise, entertained by the reaction, before he moves his gaze to Avita. Avita just stares back, unfazed, and then finally Gossamer turns back around and focuses on Octavia.
"You should be more respectful to the Capitolites," Avita mumbles next to Jareth. Jareth snorts. Look who's saying that.
He shakes his head and sighs, "Why even bother?" He doesn't want to go into detail about how the Capitol is the scummiest of the scum, because Avita will obviously try to retaliate and defend her status as a Capitolite. She's too proud not to.
She doesn't get much of a chance to continue the conversation anyway, the interviews picking up again as Church leaves the stage with an applause seeing him off. Now is about the time people start to lose interest in other tributes, Jareth recalls; it'll be easy to stay under the radar if it remains true for this year's interviews.
"Let's give a warm welcome to Octavia Faye from District Ten!" Lola yells to the crowd. Avita snaps to attention, gaze locking onto the girl in front of her as Octavia walks onstage.
She wears a long, sparkling black dress that has a slit along its leg reaching so high that Jareth wonders how her unmentionables aren't visible. There's only one sleeve holding it up, peasant-styled and thin, while the neckline of her bodice sits in a heart shape over her chest. She's made almost as tall as Gossamer by the black platform heels she wears with this.
As soon as Octavia sits down, Lola rubs her hands greedily and smiles at her. "So much to ask, so little time."
Despite the fact that Octavia is smiling, even Jareth can see that she wants nothing more to run offstage and avoid whatever Lola has planned.
Instead of voicing it, though, she says through her teeth, "Oh?"
"Well, there's your score," Lola lists, "and then your alliance, and that's not even touching your home life!"
And the look of wanting to leave intensifies threefold. Octavia shifts in her seat uncomfortably while Lola debates what to start with.
"Let's start with your home life," Lola decides. God, if Octavia's deepest darkest secrets are about to be revealed on live TV, Jareth is going to run before Lola can do his. "Anyone special back in Ten waiting for you?"
Two key expressions pass Octavia's face: Realisation and disgust. Clearly the question isn't her cup of tea.
"Not anymore," Octavia drawls. The smile on her face is dropping quicker than Jareth can keep track of it. "I only care about seeing my dad and my brother again."
"Not anymore?"
"I dumped him." She seems to reconsider saying this, but ultimately adds, "On the reaping day."
The crowd lets out a loud, sympathetic sound. Jareth isn't sure if it's directed at Octavia or the ex-boyfriend back in Ten.
"I'm so sorry," Lola says, and for a moment she sounds genuinely sorry.
Octavia barely misses a beat. "I'm not."
And then the crowd is howling.
Whatever gossip Lola was going to bring up on Octavia, it's lost now. She's more interested in finding out all about Octavia's love life, whether or not she'll ever "find love" again. Octavia handles it like a champ, in Jareth's opinion.
"You never know where you'll find them!" Lola insists towards the end of the interview. "Why don't we wrap up with a little something to let the world know what you're into?"
Octavia shrugs. She considers her answer carefully, bringing a hand up to stroke at her chin, before finally she seems satisfied with what she'll say.
"I like someone who's headstrong and sensitive," Octavia lists. "Maybe a little funny. Definitely reliable and someone I can trust to have my back. I don't really need protecting, but someone who's willing to protect me is a huge plus. Oh!" Octavia suddenly clicks her fingers. "Someone smaller, too. I like being the tall one."
Jareth just stares at her, unable to comprehend how quickly her interview has turned into a dating profile. Somewhere in the crowd a pair of teenagers scream that they love Octavia—("Are they the Head Gamemaker's daughters?" Lola says as she squints out at the crowd.)—before finally the lady of the hour walks offstage.
In front of him, Gossamer lets out a low rumble of a chuckle. "Making me work for it," Gossamer mutters with a smile. Jareth watches him carefully. That smile isn't innocent by any means. It reminds him of the look Heather would give him before she got him in trouble with Constance.
Unwillingly, Jareth inches back away from Gossamer.
"Let's say hello to her Capitol partner!" Lola announces once Octavia is offstage. "Gossamer Wormwood!"
Gossamer swaggers out. He commands absolute attention with his spun gold suit, accentuated by his dark grey dress shirt. Even his face shines gold with the eyeliner applied, hooped earrings bouncing against his jaw where his hair cannot.
Gossamer makes himself comfortable before Lola so much as even asks him anything, almost as though she's catering to his pace rather than her own. Jareth has to wonder if it's because Gossamer is one of the Peacekeeper kids. It has to be.
"Good evening, Lola," Gossamer says with a smile. He looks utterly relaxed, like he doesn't have a care in the world. Smug asshole probably doesn't. "Before we start, can I just say something quickly?"
"Go ahead." Lola nods, eager to hear his piece.
Gossamer smiles, then leans back—he's looking backstage, to where Octavia had left. "Octavia, sweetie," he drawls, "just say you're attracted to Ham and get it over with. Croix and I don't mind competition."
If the crowd was riled before, they're absolutely losing their minds now. Jareth just scowls at the spectacle, at the way Gossamer revels in the attention and drama in front of him. He's genuinely enjoying himself right now.
"Juicy!" Lola squeals. "Does this mean the 'special meaning' behind Croix's parting words are true?"
"Of course." Gossamer nods, still looking completely relaxed. "Unlike a certain other duo, we'd prefer to be open about our relationship."
Another holler from the crowd. Jareth wants to throw himself off the nearest table.
"But I'm sure you'll all see us in the arena together," Gossamer adds, quick to change the subject. "For now let's focus on me, yes?"
And so they do. Gossamer is asked about his aspirations for the future, what he wants to be if not a Peacekeeper. He has this smirk on his face when he says, "I wouldn't mind your job. How's the pay?"
Despite it being a joke, Jareth can't help but feel the tension that comes with it. Lola clams up, laughing it off but looking Gossamer dead in the eyes—not in your life, her gaze says—while the golden boy smirks and silently promises to live up to it.
"All jokes aside," Gossamer goes on, pulling attention back to himself again, "I'm probably best suited for Peacekeeping. It's in my blood, after all. I'm genre-savvy enough to recognise writing tropes in media, but heaven forbid if I try pursue it."
"Not your forte?"
"Not my interest." He raises his brows innocently. "I rather prefer to analyse the characters and plot threads. Makes it much easier to appreciate it all."
"How do you think you'll fare against the other tributes?" Lola asks. His interview must be coming to a close.
Gossamer shrugs. "Do I see the others as a threat?" he rephrases. With a scrunched up expression, he concedes, "Monkeys and typewriters, I suppose."
And he's seen offstage to the howling laughter of the crowd. Jareth wants to punch the guy in the face—though that's probably everyone's sole desire right now too. He can't stand how smug Gossamer is and how effortless he makes his interview look. Like being an asshole is easy somehow.
(It probably is. That must be why Heather is one all the time.)
The night is almost over, though. Just two more Districts and then Jareth can have some apple pie again. Meredith had promised him a whole dish of it.
"Come on out, Avita Clements-McMillan!" Lola calls. Avita, who's been silent the whole time, begins her entrance with a dazzling smile. It really helps paint a friendly image with her layered, light purple dress.
Compared to the last few interviews, Avita is less of a mess and more of a typical Capitol kid.
"Lovely to see you here, Avita," Lola says. She points up at the girl's afro, at the poodle hair clip pinned in place. "And that's quite an adorable clip!"
"Thank you!" Avita reaches up and pokes it with a smile. Jareth is still surprised it passed regulations, but he's not fussed over it. It's not like a hair clip could kill anyone, much less a novelty poodle one.
Lola moves quickly onto Avita's rather prominent mothers, Florentina McMillan and Varinia Clements, and the interview becomes relatively peaceful. "Your mother—Flor—I believe she's currently competing in a dog show? How do you think she'll go?"
"Mom's gonna blow them away," Avita boasts. "Her dye jobs are always perfect and the styles she gives the poodles look almost natural. We Clements-McMillans are winners," she adds proudly.
"Varinia believes so as well! It was hard to miss her cheering you on at the reaping." Lola giggles. "I can see the tabloids now: 'My Baby, The Newest Victor'."
Avita laughs and blushes. Jareth furrows his brow at the exchange. So one of her mothers is in dog shows, and the other is in… News? Something to do with news. With the way Avita acts—all spoiled and uppity—he can really see both sides of those worlds shine through her personality.
"I can't help but be a little worried about your score, though," Lola goes on. "It's not the most confident kind of result."
When Avita flushes again, it's not for pride. She's embarrassed that Lola's begun ragging on her now. "W—Well… Scores don't always define a winner. L—Look at my mentor!"
Jareth really wants to fling himself off a table now. She went a whole week ignoring Barley and thinking he was irrelevant, to suddenly praising him? She called him a fluke!
"That's true. Maybe you'll get lucky, eh?" Lola winks at her. Avita is as red as a tomato as her interview ends, her lips pushed out in a pout as she glances at the crowd. Jareth lets out a long, tired breath. This night won't end soon enough.
Lola's reassuring the crowd that she's sure everyone will do their best, probably trying to placate the ripples of doubt beginning to show. It's not really going to work all that well, Jareth thinks, when she's the one planting the doubt in their minds.
She moves on, glancing backstage at Jareth, and throws her arms wildly about as she shouts, "Jareth Vilna, come on out!"
He feels tense in this outfit. The tight grey pants, the white shirt with the ruffled collar, the brown leather jacket that sits heavily on his shoulders. Even the brown leather boots feel foreign to him, like something made for an entirely different being.
But he perseveres and walks to the chair, and suddenly he's faced with a sea of bored and expectant gazes.
"Snazzy," Lola coos. "It fits, I think."
He disagrees.
"Thanks," he says shortly.
"Now, speaking of parents," Lola starts, "I hear yours were rather infamous for—"
Jareth heaves out a loud, angry sigh that cuts Lola off abruptly. She stares wide-eyed at him. "They tried to remove my name from the reaping roster so I'd never be in danger of going into the Games," he growls. "It's not my fault and they only had the best of intentions. Not that it worked out," he mutters darkly.
Lola glances once out to the crowd, then back to Jareth. "So you've come to terms with—?"
"God, no. I never will—they were executed right in front of me, Lola." Jareth sneers at her. "No one gets over that. I'm suffering from the fact. That's why I can talk about it so easily."
Genuine confusion flickers across Lola's face. Oh, so she didn't look into Constance? "What do you mean?"
Jareth can't stop the smile that breaks out across his face. He can ruin Constance—get back at her for the abuse she put him through! Nothing can stop him!
And so he lets it out.
"They put me in a community centre after they killed my parents," he says. "My life has been hell. You know Barley? My mentor? He was there too. Why do you think he has a stutter?"
Lola gawks at him.
"Constance does nothing but abuse and belittle us and use us to feed her own desires. My name was in the bowl fifty-nine times this year. Fifty-nine! I'm fourteen, Lola! Do you know how much of the grains we get from that I eat? Barely a handful a week. There's twenty-six of us, and Constance makes us all claim that number of tessera each year, but we get none of it. If I hadn't been reaped, I would've literally gotten nothing for God knows how long because of something I didn't even do."
He points at his face. "See this scab on my cheek? She did this. She's ruined all our lives and we're so exhausted and bitter that no one wants us. More for her, right?"
Jareth should've been holding a microphone. He could've dropped it and watched the crowd stare back at him in horror. Now they have no excuse for not knowing how bad the Districts can be. Despite all the pride he feels, though, there's something in his chest that nags at him. A sort of bittersweet realisation.
"If Barley hadn't shown up for a visit," Jareth adds, softer this time, "I don't think I'd have lived to see fifteen."
That sends the crowd over the edge. Jareth watches as they all gasp in horror and murmur amongst themselves, vocally condoning such "horrific living conditions for children" and the extortion of tessera in such a way. For a moment Jareth is proud again, but the truth behind his parting words weighs heavily on him. He really would've died before he turned fifteen if Barley hadn't met him. If Barley hadn't been so kind.
Jareth leaves the stage when the timer goes off, more numb than he thought possible. He's not too fond of his newfound realisation of his mortality.
At least he isn't left to dwell on the information for long. Lola, eager to fix the grim atmosphere, calls out the next tribute with a booming voice to rival Caesar Flickerman's.
"Let's welcome Florence Fontana, shall we?"
When Florence bounces onstage, it's in a long skirt decorated with brown and black and white streaks and feathers; her sleeves are less sleeves and more wings, accompanied by a raised hood with the little owl horns. At least she got the aesthetic she wanted, Jareth thinks offhandedly.
Florence is basically hyperventilating as she tackles Lola into a hug. Lola's hands fly above her head, her eyes bulging wide while she tries to figure out just what is going on right now. The tributes around Jareth snicker. After the drama she's trudged up tonight, catching her off guard is a welcome retaliation. (Even if Florence only means well.)
Lola can't even get a single word in to introduce the girl. Florence just bounces on the spot, squealing, as she babbles about how much she loves Lola.
"This is a dream come true!" Florence gushes. "You here—I hugged you—You're so pretty! And taller than I realised. Are you sure you're five-seven? No, no, it's not important. This is so much fun! First I get to see Luxor and now I get to see you and then next I get to see the President at our dinner! AND I get to see an owl in the arena! Do you like owls? They're my favourite—my stylists even made me a dress like one." And then she hoots, mimicking the specific brand of owl she's apparently dressed as. "Normally I'd wear the hat my mom made me, but they said I couldn't wear it out here and it was really terrible! But I like the dress and the hood, and it really matches Cole's outfit too!"
Lola, finally extracting herself from Florence, just smiles uncomfortably at the girl. Jareth isn't the only one enjoying her discomfort. Behind him Gossamer chuckles, "Wimp."
"That's… nice…" Lola tries to push Florence towards her chair, but Florence just latches onto her arm and hugs her again.
Florence looks like she's on cloud nine. "Thanks, Mom!"
The audience gasps—and so do the tributes and Lola. "Oh. My. God," Croix gasps loudly. Beside him, Gossamer is struggling to keep his laughter quiet.
"W—What?" Lola says helplessly. Florence immediately jumps off her, face turning red.
"I—I mean—!" Florence sinks into her chair, much to Lola's relief, but the shame is obvious to even a blind person. "You're not really my mom but I like to pretend what life would be like if you were."
"What about your actual mother?" Lola tries. Florence's face stays red, her gaze dropping to the floor quicker than one of her tangents.
"...'ot 're…"
"Person?"
"She's not here anymore." Florence sniffs. Is she going to cry, Jareth wonders? "She got sick and she wasn't able to get better."
You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. She's been all over the place emotionally tonight, but Jareth thinks her interview might end on the same low note if Lola doesn't tread carefully. She's from the Capitol, so maybe Lola will put in some effort to cheer her up.
"Maybe…" Lola doesn't know where to look. "Maybe instead of a mom, I can be a—"
Florence's whole face lights up and even Jareth can feel the emotional whiplash that strikes the room. "A sister!" Florence cheers. "You can be a big sister! You and me and Ember can hang out and go to the aviary and do sister stuff!"
Lola grimaces into a smile. "Absolutely!"
"Can we bring Cole, too?" Florence is back to bouncing on her chair, the wing-sleeves flapping about (to everyone's amusement). "He's never seen an owl before or what a canary looks like up close."
"First you'll both have to come out of the arena together," Lola points out. "Think you can do that?"
Florence nods so hard that her hood drops off her head.
The timer goes off. Lola visibly relaxes as Florence is told that it's Cole's turn to come onstage. Florence doesn't look upset by the order, instead beckoning Cole out before Lola can even call his name. The pair exchange a hug onstage before Florence skips off, leaving Lola to awkwardly introduce Cole as he gets comfy in the chair.
"C—Cole Aish, everyone!"
He's a tiny thing, tinier than Jareth, and his suit doesn't make him look any older or mature. The black blazer and pants, with its birdcage pattern, leaves the white shirt and bright yellow vest to stand out like a target on Cole's chest. At least the yellow bow tie he's wearing makes him look a little dapper.
"Hello, Cole," Lola greats softly. Cole waves back to her, mumbling a hello back. "You and Florence seem to be very close."
"She's an owl," Cole says simply. "I'm a canary."
"So it would seem! What did a canary like you get up to back home, then?"
Cole sits up straight, like he's doing his best to look like he's a reliable, hard worker. "I go into the mines and smell the air!" he announces. "Nirav and Hartson say I'm really good at it, but Mrs. Wyland gets into arguments with Hartson over it."
A nod from Lola. "Do you like Nirav and Hartson?"
"Yeah! They're really nice and they don't bully me. Did you know Nirav can juggle?"
She chuckles and shakes her head. Lola relaxes into her seat, as though Cole's innocent observation is a sign that his interview won't be a disaster. Considering how much Lola's wanted to start drama in the interviews, Jareth almost wishes Cole will go out with a bang.
"So Cole," Lola goes on. "You're an orphan, right?" Cole nods. "Have you ever wanted parents?"
Cole shrugs. "Parents sound nice," he muses. "They buy you things and tuck you in at night and cook nice meals. I'm probably too old for some of the people who want kids, though."
"I wouldn't say that." Lola snaps her fingers, and then someone is shuffling out from backstage. They bump into Jareth as he scrambles to step aside, and he just barely sees one of the words on the paper they carry: Hartson.
When the paper is in Lola's hands, she passes it to Cole. "You'll be under your registered name for the rest of the Games," she says, "but you've got a parent waiting back home for you."
Cole's eyes stare at the paper. They go up, then down, then up again. Jareth watches him read the worlds to himself, lips moving with each sentence, before finally he looks up at Lola with wide, stunned eyes.
"Hartson adopted me?"
Lola nods. The largest of smiles breaks out on Cole's face, and damn it all, it warms Jareth's heart to see. This is what he wishes he could be, deep down inside. Happy to be free of the system, to be with someone who would love him like his own parents did.
Cole jumps to his feet and holds the form out for the crowd to see. "Hartson adopted me!" he shouts. "I have a dad!"
Seems like the tributes aren't the only ones (mostly) warmed by the reaction. The audience is cheering for Cole, congratulating him. Even the girls who'd screamed for Octavia are cheering for Cole. It's kind of sweet, in a "forgot-we're-going-to-die-tomorrow" way.
"Does this mean I'm Cole Flare now?" Cole asks Lola.
She shrugs, very clearly pleased with his reaction. "That's up to you and your dad, kiddo. Are you okay with being Cole Aish until you get home, though?"
Cole nods, his head whipping up and down like it's about to fly off.
"Then best of luck tomorrow, Cole!" Lola tells him. The timer goes off, and Cole's running offstage as best he can with his limp to reunite with Florence. Jareth watches him crash into the girl with a grin, his paperwork shoved into her face while she congratulates him.
When Jareth looks back out at Lola, she's already addressing the crowd and bidding them a good night.
"Our tributes have a lovely dinner with President Snow tonight!" she announces. "Drive safe, all of you, and remember to gamble responsibly!"
Jareth heaves a sigh and sinks into the background of the small crowd backstage. Interviews are over, but who knows what kind of mess is waiting at dinner?
As usual the DramaTM is front and centre lmao. Here's our QQ!
QQ #25: Whose interview from this batch stood out most to you? If you can't pick, then what in general stood out?
I'll see you guys next time! We'll be at the dinner with Celestia, from the POVs of Avita, Finn and Daphne!