Tiffany Silk (18)- D1F
I'm sitting in the living room with my stylist and mentor, going over my interview strategy, when the escort comes to tell us that the training scores are starting to air. I pull my skirt over my knees and cross my legs, eager to see my score. It's going to determine what I'm going to say in my interview, which is my main focus now. It will determine everything about how I do in the arena. Once the sponsors see who i am- my competitiveness, my fairness, my beauty- they will want to sponsor me for sure.
"Hurry and tell Tiger!" I tell the escort excitedly. I feel jittery from anticipation. I've been waiting for this moment for years and years. Everyone in Panem is gathering around their television right now to see how ready I am for the Games. I try not to twirl my hair between my fingers, a nervous habit I'd picked up a while ago. My hair is meticulously done as usual, and I've changed from my training outfit to a Capitolite style blouse and shorts, with a unique One flair in my jewelry. The sapphire necklace I'll take into the arena is the centerpiece of the outfit, just as it will be for my interview outfit. I like to dress up to make a good impression on everyone in the Training Center. Letting myself go wouldn't help anyone.
I try not to turn my nose up when Tiger enters the room wearing a gray shirt and sweatpants, munching on an apple. His eyes light up when he sees the Hunger Games logo on the television, taking the final bite and throwing the core on the ground for an Avox to pick up. I move over slightly as he sits down next to me, making sure my skirt is still arranged nicely.
"Can't wait to see the look on your face when I score a twelve," he says to me.
"I hope you're joking, "I huff. "I'm taking this seriously, unlike you."
"I am serious. Just stuck up."
I roll my eyes and look at the TV. The scores will be shown any minute now.
"Happy Hunger Games!" Claudius Templesmith's voice booms through the TV. "May the odds be ever in your favor." The screen shows a District One crest, followed by Tiger's score.
"A nine?!" Tiger slams hisfist down onto the glass coffee table in front of us. "Are you kidding me?!"
I keep my mouth shut until the screen shows my score as well, alongside a beautiful picture of me in my training outfit. "Tiffany Silk, a nine."
"It's an admirable score," I tell him. "We both have good chances." I'm saying just as much for myself as for Tiger. Nines are great scores, but a Career can always hope for a ten or the incredibly rare eleven. Of course, our odds depend on the scores than everyone else receives, especially the other Careers. I tell myself it's not against the spirit of the Games to wish lower scores on my competitors. The odds are the most important part of what makes a tribute a victor.
"From District Two… Hadrian Cato with a score of ten."
My heart sinks, but I try to tell myself it's not that big of a deal. He's a large, bulky guy. That's probably why he got a different score than Tiger and I.
"Rufina Fastolf with a score of nine."
Looks like Rufina is in the same boat we are. Since Four is no longer in our alliance, and Willow is unlikely to receive a high score due to her lack of prior training, that makes Hadrian the strongest in our pack. I can imagine the sponsors lining up now.
I notice Tiger flexing his hands into fists and back out again, over and over. "That Hadrian just keeps taking from us, huh?" he comments darkly.
"Don't start this again," I say. "We have to stick together."
Tesla Sherman (16)- D3F
Pixel is shaking beside me, his legs jolting up and down anxiously. I can hear his teeth grinding together from here.
"Will you be quiet?" I ask with annoyance. "I'm trying to hear our scores."
"Sorry," he mumbles, his legs ceasing movement. I roll my eyes and focus on the television again. We've been talking for hours about my interview angle, and I'm sick of it. Who cares what these monsters think of me? I know sponsorships can mean life or death, but I've always taken care of myself just fine. If the Capitol wants to get to know me, then they have to work for it.
"Your scores are coming!" our escort shrieks suddenly, clapping her hands together. "Pay attention, everyone!"
Everyone's voice here is so grating. The escorts, Claudius Templesmith, the trainers, everyone. I'm tired of listening to their hissing snake voices. I would give anything to hear my father's voice again.
"From District Three… Pixel Mackaby with a score of four."
Pixel doesn't give any outward reaction to the announcement, his teeth still grinding endlessly, eyes wide.
"That's good, Pixel!" our mentor smacks him on the arm and he flinches. "With a score like that, you're in the running."
He nods, drawing in a large, stuttery breath. "Good luck, Tesla," he says, glancing over at me with undisguised fear. At least one of my competitors is afraid of me.
I say nothing, listening for the next announcement.
"Tesla Sherman, six."
A six. That's definitely passable. It's not too low for sponsors to take interest, but not so high that the higher-scoring tributes will see me as a threat. I can work with that during the interviews. Provide some intrigue and open-ended answers that leave them wanting more while still proving myself capable.
"From District Four… Andrew de Luce with a four."
A four from the blind guy? I was expecting him to get a two, or maybe even a one. He must have done something to impress them. I thought we had one less Career to worry about, but he might stand a chance after all. I glance at Pixel just slyly enough that he doesn't notice. He's blushing a little, not undeservedly. Scoring the same as a newly-blind idiot from Four can't feel good. And at least Drew has weapons training.
"Nicolette Anderson… ten."
Another ten. It's the second one so far, and we're not even halfway through yet. But she is a Career, though she might not be in the alliance anymore. I can only hope this means she won't be hunting down tributes. She and the Careers can kill each other off and then I can swoop him and claim the crown.
Caleb Odalric (18)- D5M
Amelia looks incredibly nervous, her cheeks puffed up like she's holding her breath. I want to try to comfort her, but I'm not sure how. A higher training score for either of us means more competition for the other, but also a higher chance of survival since we are allies. It's a tricky line to walk.
"Everything will be fine," I settle on, showing her my best smile.
She gives me half a smile in return, her blonde hair falling over her eyes in a way I think is purposeful. She hardly ever responds to anything I say, but I think it's more because she's too shy then because she doesn't like me. She readily agreed to my alliance, which is enough of an answer for me.
"From District Five…"
Amelia squeezes my hand tight.
"Caleb Odalric with a score of eight."
"An eight!" our escort says happily. "That's great, Caleb!"
"Thank you," I say politely. I was hoping for something higher, but an eight isn't too bad. It will get the attention of sponsors in a way I'm sure I won't be able to replicate in my interview. The mentors want me to be friendly and charming, saying it comes naturally to me, but I don't see it. I can be friendly and kind, but I'm far too shy to be charming. And most of the material I have revolves around my sister, which I would really hate to talk about to the audience that sent her to her death.
"And now for Amelia Waltraud, a six."
Amelia lets out a happy sigh next to me. It's one of the few times I've ever seen her genuinely smile. It's a pretty sight that reminds me of someone else that I know, but I can't quite remember who.
"That's a good score," I commend her. "I told you everything would be fine."
"I didn't say it wouldn't be," she says, her grin widening. I suppress a laugh and draw my attention back to the screen.
"From District Six… Jason Sparks with a score of nine."
Another nine. That can't be good. It seems our competition is steadily increasing. I catch Amelia worrying on her lip again with her teeth, but she stops when she sees me watching.
"And Antonia Montgomery with a score of five."
Not bad, but not an immediate threat either. Still, the picture of Attie that they show next to her score gives me the creeps, just like the real person that I saw in training. Too often I would catch her staring at someone with a strange dead look on her face only to erupt into a smile when they turned to look at her. Something about her makes me uneasy. I wonder if she's trying to downplay her skills, like Johanna Mason did a few years ago.
Jett pads over to me and places his head on my lap, his eyes wide and searching, perhaps sensing my inner turmoil.
"Thank you Jett," I whisper, patting the black fur on his head.
"You two will both do very well, I can feel it," our escort says, sounding pleased. I don't have the heart to tell her that it won't matter how "well" we do if we don't win. We'll be dead no matter what place we get, unless it's first.
Sebastian "Seb" Cassara (18)- D7M
Willow is popping grapes into her mouth, sucking on her fingers obnoxiously. When she sees me looking, she offers the bowl to me, asking, "You want some?"
"No thank you." I sneer. Turning back to the television. Despite our breaking apart alliance-wise, Willow's attitude towards me hasn't changed much, something I can't comprehend. Her joining the Careers- those killers- is unforgivable. She even had the audacity to make up names for Tag and Sock, like they weren't children that she was prepared to kill in cold blood.
"You still pressed about Sock-puppet and Tag-along?"
"Leave me alone."
"That's exactly what I'm doing, and you're pressed about it! God, it's like you can't make up your mind."
"At least I didn't sell out to a bunch of murderers," I hiss.
"They haven't murdered anyone yet," Willow says, unconcerned. The casual way she says it hits me like a truck and I'm suddenly struck with the image of my father's lifeless body huddled beneath me on the kitchen floor, a bloody knife in my hand. I shudder and try to pull myself out of it before anyone notices.
"And from District Seven… Sebastian Cassara with a score of ten."
I'm suddenly snapped back into reality, more adrenaline being pumped into my veins.
"Holy shit, a ten?" Willow exclaims. "Well, I guess Twine and whatever her name is will get to sit back and let you do all the work.."
"Everything you just said was wrong," I say distastefully.
"A ten will earn you sponsors, Seb," Johanna says from her chair a few feet away. I'm surprised she's still able to talk. She's been drinking all day in preparation for the interviews tomorrow. "You must have impressed them. What did you do?"
"Just showed them what I'm capable of," I say, leaning back and crossing my legs.
"Ugh," Willow says, popping another grape into her mouth. "Whatever. It's not a twelve, Mr. Macho."
"And for Willow Whitebeam, an eight."
"An eight!" Willow pumps her fist into the air several times. "That's what I'm talking about!"
"An eight is nothing," I say, rolling my eyes.
"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't jizz all over the Gamemakers' faces like you apparently did," she says sarcastically, gesturing toward the way I'm sitting. "I just have actual talent. And not arrogance."
Memories of our first fight on the train ride to the Capitol start to come back, and I bristle. I should have known this was never going to work out.
"And now for District Eight… Tag Nylon with a score of eight."
I burst out laughing, unable to help myself. Wiping tears from my eyes, I look over to see Willow keeping her face completely neutral. "Good to know talent gets you an eight!" I choke out. "Looks like Tag-along will be pulling his own weight in the arena."
"Whatever, he's still twelve," Willow says, obviously unhappy.
"For Sock Northsilk, a seven."
A seven isn't bad either. Looks like I chose my allies wisely. I knew from watching them in training that they were serious opponents, but I didn't realize just how well they were doing in the eyes of the Gamemakers. Now all that's left is for them to accept my proposal, which they certainly will. Together we'd make an unstoppable team.
"Willow…" I say softly, the image of my father still fresh in my mind. "You don't have to go with the Careers. We'll take you back if you want. An alliance of four with our scores will have no problem facing off with the others."
"Don't be stupid, jizzmaster," Willow says, curling in on herself. "I've made my decision. Time you accepted it."
Albert "Triple A" Anderson (13)- D9M
I miss Eryn. Zel is too hard to talk to since she's apparently taken a vow not to speak to anyone who isn't her ally. And from what I've seen, she hasn't been successful in her search. It's too bad. She might have been Reaped, but her baby wasn't .
"You know, I would go with Nathaniel or Clara for a name," I say quietly, gesturing toward her belly.
She huffs and looks away. "She already has a name. Reina."
"Oh," I say with surprise. "That's pretty. I want a daughter named Clara, so I just thought I'd give you some choices."
"You want children?" Zel asks me, sounding surprised.
"Of course. Who doesn't?"
Zel looks down at her stomach, her hand rubbing over it. "Well, we're both here. Our parents chose to bring us into this world and now they'll outlive at least one of us."
"That's a chance that we have to take, though," I say. "What would anyone's life be like without their family?"
Zel looks up at me, her eyes a little glazed. "Thank you, Triple A," she says softly.
"From District Nine… Albert Anderson with a score of seven."
A seven! That's not bad at all. In fact, it's incredible for a thirteen-year old. The pair from Eight also had high scores, but I can't focus on what everyone else got. My chances will speak for themselves.
"And Grizelda Weaver with a five."
"A five…" Zel murmurs under her breath, her hand still moving slowly across her stomach.
"That's a good score!" I encourage her. "Enough to draw attention to you without being a threat. People will see you have potential."
"It doesn't matter," she says, sounding disgusted. "I'm going to win no matter what score or how many sponsors I have. I can do this on my own."
"I'm not saying you can't," I assure her. No one would like to get on her bad side in the arena. She might have a chance regardless of her odds.
"From District Ten… Denver O'Casey, with a score of two."
Finally a really low score. The lowest so far. It's a shame for Denver, but makes the rest of us look better. The poor kid must not have much going for him. We can only hope his death is quick.
"And Filly Marcoffe with an eight."
Another eight. Filly has proven herself to be strong, so this doesn't surprise me. She's been sticking with her district partner for most of the training, so I can't help but wonder if she's regretting that choice now. He obviously doesn't have anything to bring to the alliance.
Now I only have to watch for Eryn's score. I know she will probably score somewhere in the middle like me and Zel, but it's going to matter exactly where. She's older than me, so she'll probably do better; at least that's what I've been telling myself. Besides, she's so beautiful the Gamemakers might just give her a twelve based on that alone. With her wavy blonde hair and pretty hazel eyes, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.
Tomas Fields (15)- D11M
"From District Eleven… Tomas Fields with a score of six."
"Wow, Tomas, good job!" Jo congratulates me with a pat on the shoulder. "That's a great score."
"Oh, bite me," I say, matching her sweet tone. I know she's just trying to play the typical Capitol girl and get on everyone's good side. She's been doing ever since her mentoring session this morning with Seeder. The Capitolites don't usually respond well to begging or pleas for sympathy during the interviews; common opinion says they're ungrateful and unpatriotic. But playing up the Capitol aspect of her identity will make the sponsors arrive at the same conclusion: that Jo doesn't deserve to die since she's Capitolite.
It's a shame considering how most of the time is dedicated to finding Jo sponsors than thinking about my own. I can't blame Seeder since they were friends before the Games, but even my own mentor has little interest in me. Jo is older, more sympathetic to the Capitol, and not as problematic. Who wants to mentor the guy that destroyed the Reaping ball? I bet the Capitol is ready to see my insides cut out by a bloodthirsty Career. Interview be damned.
"Marjoram Paella with a score of seven."
"A seven!" Jo squeals, for a second her real persona shining through as she stands and jumps up and down. "That's on the upper end of the scores!"
"We'll see what Twelve gets," I mutter. I guess I'll be overshadowed by Jo in every way, even by her Training Score. The only chance I have is Drew. Even though he's blind, he has weapons training that he can teach me in the arena. He knows how Careers think and how they respond to certain situations. He has the brain and I have the eyes, and together we'll make an unstoppable team. I can just feel it.
"From District Twelve, Rooker Holm with a score of four."
So it turns out Drew has the same score as several of the younger tributes. It's incredibly reassuring; I thought he was going to get a two or maybe even a one. But instead he has the same chance as a younger tribute that can still see.
"And Eryn Winters with a four."
Another four. It's not a bad score, but not particularly good either. Most of the tributes are average, it seems. Only one two and no threes. There are no real outliers except for Denver, who scored the lowest. The Sevens scored high, which I expected. The Eights also did surprisingly well, but it's probably due to their cleverness than actual skill. They're too small to do any real damage. As for the Peacekeeper from Six, a high nine. The girl from Ten and guy from Five also did well. The competition is starting to take shape, and I don't want to be left out of that shape.
"Alright, everyone," Seeder says, clapping her hands together. "Let's get to bed, preparations for the interviews will start first thing in the morning."
"Good night, Seeder!" Jo chirps, and I could be hearing things but she might be doing a slight Capitol accent. Rolling my eyes in disgust, I leave for my room without a word.
Antonia "Attie" Montgomery (16)- D6F
I knew as soon as I was Reaped that this would be my least favorite part of the Games. Except for the actual Games, of course… but I'm starting to think this is worse.
Matching my stylists' energy is an incredibly exhausting affair. Luckily doing it to Jason would be pointless considering he already knew who I was, or I would feel like this all the time. But I know that getting the stylist to like me will increase my chances of getting a better outfit, and any favors that I might want.
It's a strategy that will hopefully get rid of the ridiculous giant bow my she's placed at my right shoulder.
"Really, I think it will be too tacky," I plead as I watch her stitch the decoration onto my dress. "It's too distracting!"
"It's all the rage in the Capitol, don't worry," she says in her strange accent. "Everyone will love you!"
I sigh heavily, turning back to the mirror. The light baby-blue dress im wearing is actually quite pretty when you take away the satin flowers that stitched all over the fabric. There's a large slit up the left side that shows enough leg to entice viewers without being obvious. The color matches my eyes, and my bright red hair is more noticable. It looks like something Davina would wear before she got involved with the Ring.
"I don't think this goes with what I'm going to show the Capitol!" I say, trying to sound chipper. "I just want o be authentic!"
"What are you talking about?" the stylist laughs, her weird cat-eyes slimming when she does so. It's creepy and unsettling, but I try to keep my pouty smile. "You're lovely! It matches your personality perfect."
I sigh again. Sometimes my plans backfire on me. The stylist leaves for a few minutes after the flower is affixed to my shoulder. I take a seat on the plush cushion beside the mirror and take a bite of my gourmet pasta. I'd never had pasta before coming to the Capitol, but I've taken a liking to it. The escort said we shouldn't eat all day before going on the stage in order to look slimmer, but I couldn't care less. I've never eaten so richly than I have in the past few days. I'm going to miss it in the arena, but once I get out, I'll be able to eat whatever I want.
My dressing room is possibly the most luxurious place I've been per square inch. Despite its small size, the walls are covered with pure gold decorations, cherry-wood tables covered in glass vases filled with dyed flowers that release a sickly-sweet scent into the room. The chandelier above us looks like its made of real crystal.
After a while, the stylist is back to add finishing touches to my makeup, which is minimal with some light blue eyeshadow and highlighting. Truthfully, if it weren't for the bow flower on my shoulder I would feel like a rich person from Six instead of a Capitolite. They do exist, no matter how rare.
I'm taken into the hallway, where the rest of the tributes are waiting in their costumes. These aren't supposed to be costumes, but most of them are too ridiculous to be a glamorous outfit. I'm one of the first girls that are ready, due to the simplicity of my dress. The guys are pretty much all lined up in the hallway, awaiting their chance to speak to the famed Caesar Flickerman. Luckily, Tesla is there as well. I walk up to her with a purposeful blank expression.
"Hey," I say quietly.
She turns to look at me. If she's surprised to see me, her face doesn't show it. She's wearing a birth yellow dress that's made of the same material as a fancy raincoat, her black hair pulled into a ponytail with shorter parts curled around her face in ringlets. She's actually quite pretty, but I know she wouldn't want me to tell her that.
"Hey, Attie," she intones. That's the most I get, which is fine with me. I chose my ally well.
Nicolette "Nikki" Anderson (18)- D4F
I'm sitting in my dressing room, practicing my laugh in the mirror when the door opens. "I told you, I don't want a different necklace. This one was my brother's."
"Was it?"
My neck whips around so quickly I feel it crack. Jason is the one standing there in the doorway, not my stylist. He's wearing a dark blue velvet suit that matches his eyes over a black turtleneck, and a bright smile.
"Hey, Jason," I say, trying to sound unconcerned. I turn back to my reflection and move a stray hair back into place. It's in a large bun atop my head, leaving more of my tanned skin bare for the Capitol to see. My dress is a long sea-green one with some frills that remind me of the ocean's waves. It makes me oddly homesick.
"Hey, Nikki." The door closes behind him with a soft click. "You look beautiful."
Something tightens in my chest. "Thank you. So do you."
"My stylist wanted to use eyeliner on me but I put my foot down. I had to use my Peacekeeper voice."
I chuckle a little, rummaging through the makeup bag that my stylist left with me. I haven't done my makeup in a long time, and the painted face I'm wearing now seems foreign to me. I don't look like myself. I take some of the magical Capitol wipes and erase some of the darker lines.
"You said that necklace was your brother's."
My eyes fixate on the gold chain that dangles from my neck in the mirror. Luckily the gold matches my dress well, but my stylist thought I would look better with a large green jewel instead.
"It was," I say, redoing some of my contouring. I'm already starting to look softer. My angle for the interview is to be an absolute beauty with a deadly side, but that doesn't mean I can't look like myself at least a little.
"What happened to him?" Jason asks.
I sigh. He must know I don't want to talk about this, but his curiosity gets the better of him. I've discovered that very quickly. "He placed second in the Seventy-Third Hunger Games."
"He did?"
I can hear the gears turning in his head as he tries to remember the runner-up from four years ago. He probably won't be able to. Most people from non-Career districts don't keep track of the placements; they only remember the winners.
"I'm very sorry," he says finally. "That must have been horrible."
"It was," I say with a sigh. I've told Jason all about my parents; how they forced me to train and volunteer, how I would give anything to be away from here just like him, but I couldn't bare to tell him why. Marcus is just too difficult to talk about.
"My parents want me to make up for Marcus' failure," I explain, finishing my touch-ups. Now I look like I came straight from the beach, with my tan skin and nude makeup. "They even made me volunteer a year earlier than most Careers do so that I could be even more impressive."
"Marcus wasn't a failure, he was your brother."
I turn around to look at him. His eyes are so much softer than anyone I've ever met. The world can't lose his kindness. If I lose, Jason has to win. With my ten and his nine, one of us will win.
Eryn Winters (15)- D12F
My stylist is an angel, and I can't help but thank him for everything that he's done for me. In the Parade, Rooker and I stood out in our flowy charcoal dresses, and today he's done it again. My sweater dress is comfortable and reminds me of home, like something that Jylly would make for herself, then pass down to me when she grew out of it. The color reminds of of the sky just after dawn, a pretty light blue color that is echoed in my makeup.
"I love it," I tell my stylist softly. I was worried he was going to put me in an over-the-top ball gown that so many of the other girls, or a skimpy one if the Capitol finds me attractive. I shouldn't have worried.
The stylist leads me out to where the rest of the tributes are waiting. I avoid their eyes, keeping mine on the ground and my pretty brown boots. Rooker and I are at the end of the line since we will be going last. I don't know if that's better or worse for us; the idea of waiting sounds terrible and I almost wish I could get it over with as soon as possible.
My nerves are starting to set in, but I soothe myself with the knowledge that I can't be any worse than Rooker. The show's closer is shaking from head to toe like a leaf, his eyes wide and unfocused. His tall, lanky posture makes him stand out even more, his long limbs trembling.
"It will be alright," I tell him, brushing a hand down his arm. Though he's taller than me, I am two years older and feel a strange responsibility to comfort him. He only nods curtly, maybe not even processing my words.
"Eryn!" I turn to see Triple A grinning from ear to ear at me. I can't help but laugh a little at his outfit. He looks like a little boy in some kind of uniform, the green and brown suit complete with a little hat. He's walking towards me with a smile, seemingly not offended by my laughter.
"What did they do to you?" I ask, trying to suppress my glee.
"The stylist said it draws inspiration from a nature group for children here in the Capitol," he says with a grin, adjusting his brown sash. "When we get to the arena, nature is going to be our main help." His smile is brighter than the sun. "What do you think?"
"It fits you," I say. "I think you could pull anything off if you wanted."
I pretend I can't see the light blush on his cheeks. "Thanks," he says softly, returning back to his usual shy self. "You look very pretty."
I wonder what he's going to show the Capitol. Will he tell them about the Voice of the Woods? Will he try to be clever and funny, or stay sullen and shy?
"You have to talk about you training score," I tell him. "A seven is impressive for a thirteen-year old. Everyone will want to know how you did it."
"I know. But we're not allowed to reveal anything, which is probably for the best," he says. "No one will know our strengths."
"They watched us in training, Triple A," I say with a laugh. "Do you have a secret talent you haven't told me about?"
"It's called being fast and smart."
I snort. "Well, you have way better odds than me. A four isn't going to win me sponsors."
"You never know," he says, a twinkle in his blue eyes. "Tonight is the night to change that. Charm them all, okay?"
I smile and lower my head. "Okay."
Spool Nylon (12)- D8M
Our interviews outfits aren't as shockingly terrible as our Parade ones, for which I'm grateful. Our stylists seem to have ditched the itchy wool theme for a sparkly material that is just as uncomfortable but in a different way. The plastic-like material sticks to my skin even if it isn't sweaty, making horrible squeaking sounds and pinching every part of my body. But at least it looks somewhat good.
My suit coat is a deep purple, along with my shoes. My pants and tie are a silver that shine in the florescent lights above us. The entire outfit shimmers like a jewel, making me look like a pop star that is about to take the stage. Sock is in a similar state, but her dress glows a cyan blue that hurts my eyes. The sparking gown doesn't match her angle very well, but I have a feeling that it may have been intentional. No one here takes us very seriously, insisting that we play up the age thing and act adorable for the cameras. When Sock's stylist offered her a princess crown to match her dress, Sock almost bit her hand clean off.
Now Sock is getting into her headspace for the interview, leaning against the wall, facing it while murmuring to herself under her breath. Luckily I don't need to give myself a pep talk to be charming. I've spent half my life on the streets selling products to gullible adults. Now I just have to sell myself, the best product of all.
I hear heavy footsteps behind me, footsteps I have gotten accustomed to hearing sneak up on us. I turn before Seb can make himself known, crossing my arms and giving him my best irritated look. He looks like he's ready for a casual Capitol party in a long tan and black tuxedo and brown boots.
"Hey, Tag," Seb says with a sigh. "I just want to talk to you and Sock. Can we go somewhere more private?"
I glance at Sock, who is now giving Seb her practiced warrior face. "Fine, "she declares, stepping into a side-hallway where the lights are darker. "Make this quick."
"I will," Seb says, taking a deep breath. "I know that you think you know what you are up to here, but let me tell you something; you do not. You think you know what killing means. You do not. Take the worst thing you ever did, the worst nightmare you ever had, multiply it by a thousand and you're not even close. I don't want this for you. I want to protect you in here, I want to protect your innocence. I want to let it flourish... I am not a fool. I know that you probably will have to kill in the Games, but maybe... just maybe… I can shoulder enough of your guilt and shame that, even if one of you survives and goes home, your good nights' sleep is not ruined forever."
He lets out a long breath, turning away from us. "That's all I have to say. That and congrats on your training scores."
He leaves without another word. I turn to Sock to see her watching him with her mouth agape. "What was that?" she asks.
"A trick," I spit out.
"Not a trick, Tag," Sock says coldly, and I can taste her disappointment. "It's something that's very rare in the Capitol."
"And what is that?"
"Truth."
Denver O'Casey (14)- D10M
I nervously run my hand over my slicked-back hair. It feels weird, like a hard piece of plastic rather than my hair. It's never been this straight before, always having hung over my face in curls. The stylist let me keep my glasses as well, something I'm grateful for. She said it made me look wise beyond my years, which I hope is true. I have to show the Capitolites something worthwhile. So far the only material I have is about my pets, and I'm not sure how well that will go over. From what I've seen the Capitol loves cute things, but they also love blood and death. I don't know how they will react.
I straighten the black jacket of my suit and nervously glance over at Filly, biting my nails anxiously. It's obvious the stylists had a tough time deciding what to do with Filly; her tomboy style isn't exactly common in the Capitol, especially for tributes. It's practically unheard of for a female tribute not to wear a dress for her interview, but Filly managed to negotiate with the stylists and meet them halfway. Her pants are baggy and flowy enough that they seem like a dress at first glance, but are actually apart of her jumpsuit that covers her body. I can tell the pink and orange color scheme wasn't her decision, but the rest seems Filly enough.
"I like your suit," she says, feeling over the breathable material of her outfit. I take my fingers away from my face long enough to give her a hesitant smile.
"Thank you." The tuxedo is pure black down to my shoes, with the only splashes of color being my baby-blue bowtie and ginger hair. It's not something I would think would work for someone like me, but the stylists assured me I looked very handsome. "I like yours."
"I like it too, for the most part." Her smile seems forced. "I just wish it wasn't necessary."
"We need this to make a good impression!" I say eagerly, falling silent when I realize that I need a chance to impress the crowd, but Filly doesn't. With a score of eight, she's bound to get sponsors no matter how she does in her interview. Every angle will seem worthy of sponsoring.
For me, with the lowest score in the Games, there's no chance. Unless I can really make use of this opportunity.
The rest of the tributes are finally starting to trickle in, everyone being lined up according to district number. I wish I went before Filly instead of after; it will be hard to follow her surely impressive interview. Everyone who speaks to her loves her, and I doubt Caesar Flickerman will be any different.
The reality of my situation is starting to set in. In about an hour, it will be my turn to walk on stage in front of the entire country and a roaring crowd. I'll be sitting next to one of Panem's most famous celebrities. My body starts to shake and my breath comes quickly. I need to get control of myself.
I feel something wet touch my shoulder and I jump, turning to see the guy from Two walk past with a smirk. "Good luck, bloodbath," he taunts, his strong shoulders looking awfully menacing as he saunters past us. His district partner looks troubled, but still shoots me a deadly glare before following him.
Though he's wearing a suit very similar to mine- navy blue and fitted to his muscular body- he looks a lot more imposing than I do. How will I be able to make an impression when someone like this exists in the same Games? The Capitol always goes for the tough, arrogant types.
"Don't worry about him, Denver," Filly says, brushing his spit from my shoulder with her bare hand. "I'll protect you."
I nod, but I can't help but wonder how long she will be able to keep her word.
Rufina Fastolf (18)- D2F
I hike my dress up to my waist in a rather unladylike way, struggling to keep up with Hadrian's wide-stepped gait as we make our way to the front of the line.
"This dress is itchy," I complain. The sequins on my bright red sparkling gown are already rubbing my legs raw, no matter how beautiful it is. As the pair from One comes into view, I relish the fact that I look better than Tiffany. Her silver dress is long and rather conservative, matching her personality perfect and making her look beautiful, but it's not particularly notable. My dress is brighter, sesxier, and I wear it better. The off shoulder left sleeve gives it a nice teasing touch, as well as the length that ends just above the knee. Just enough to be intriguing, and my witty banter with Caesar will seal the deal.
"How's it going?" Hadrian asks them as we approach.
"Excited," Tiffany says, and she looks it. Her long blonde hair has been straightened and then given texture to look like it's constantly being blown back in the wind. Tiger is wearing a suit that is colored with weird shades of brown and tan, making him look like he's made of wood.
"What is that supposed to be?" I ask with an eyebrow raised, nodding toward his outfit.
"It's the color of a tiger gem," he says impatiently. "Emeralds for the Parade and tiger gems for the interview."
"Well, it would be a good idea if tiger gems weren't ugly."
"It's not ugly," Tiger growls, but looks down at his suit regardless. At least the sleeves are short to show his muscles, and the suit is fitted to his body to make him look attractive. Not that I would tell him any of that.
"I'm ready to move on from this," Hadrian says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "It's about time we got to the good stuff."
"Every part of the Hunger Games are worthwhile," Tiffany says with a frown. "Otherwise it wouldn't exist."
"I didn't say it wasn't worthwhile, I'm just ready to be done with it," Hadrian sighs, rolling his eyes. "Not all of us live for pageantry and appearances."
"Tell me about it," Tiger quips, his arms crossed confrontationally.
"Damn, are you still going on about that?" Hadrian asks incredulously. "That's the Games, dude! Why did you volunteer if you don't like how they're played?"
"The Games are about honor!"
"And sacrifice," Hadrian reminds him.
Tiger glares at Hadrian, and for a terrifying moment almost looks like he might punch him, but then stalks away. Tiffany lets out a huge sigh.
"He needs some medication," I say eventually.
"He needs some proper training," Hadrian says darkly. "Cassius won fair and square. If he doesn't like it he shouldn't be here."
"She was his cousin, you guys," I say. I don't really know why I'm defending him. I've spent too long in the Capitol, and Hadrian spitting on that District Ten boy has me feeling rather unstable.
"So you think he's justified?" Hadrian asks me incredulously.
"That's not what I said." I roll my eyes. "I'll go talke to him, okay?"
I pull my dress up again and tiptoe away, hearing Hadrian grumble unhappily behind me. Tiger had disappeared into one a dark hallway, to our left, but I don't know where he went from there. I go as far as I can until I see a dressing room labeled as "District One Male". It's slightly ajar, so I push it open all the way to peer inside.
Tiger is sitting alone at his vanity with his face in his hands, making strange soft noises. It takes me a little while to realize what they are.
"Are you crying?" I ask, shocked.
He spins around in his chair, the tear tracks on his face answering my question. "Go away," he mutters.
"It's okay," I say, stepping in and closing the door behind me. "I understand. It all becomes a little too much at times."
He nods slowly, averting his gaze from mine. "Rufina... " he starts. "I feel like I'm not myself here."
"Me neither," I sigh, taking a seat next to him. "This place takes something from you. It will be better in the arena."
"I hope so." His eyes harden again. "We were trained to kill. I think it's time the Games began."
Hey everyone! I figured out how to put a line in between the story and my notes! I also think this is the longest chapter I've written for this story... I hope the content does the length justice.
We're only two chapters away from the bloodbath! The next chapter will have all of the interviews, so it will be very long and jam-packed full of drama and intrigue and will take a long time to write. I hope to have it up within a week or so, possibly longer. After that there will be only one more chapter before the Games start.
For now, whose score surprised/impressed you? Whose interview are you looking forward to the most?
Thank you to everyone who is sticking with this story. It means a lot!