Our penultimate meal before the games is anything but cheery. My throat is sore from talking too loudly and occasionally cursing as Bessie's relentless training drove me to my limit. Jill's eyes are still vacant, but at least her head is a little higher, though she is still eating an unhealthily low amount. Tyson walks into the room, eyes tired, and takes his seat with an overly loud thump. Bessie has bags under her eyes and her arms are crossed, but she still has enough control left to not seem too annoyed at our lackluster preparation.
Jewel, Marius and memnia are still in good spirits. Our escort, energetically spooning lamb stew onto his plate, says, "I've lined up a few good sponsors for Dallas. Mostly people who are getting bored of the career districts. Gotta keep the games interesting I suppose. Though you can't believe just how many people want to chip in to help that girl from 12, Catnip I think she's called. That 11 in training was a big shocker!"
After the food, Marius rushes me into a side room to change. When he shows me my handsome interview suit, I have to tell myself twice that he hasn't put any surprise tricks into it or something. Inspecting it in and out reassures me that it won't cut into me, and I smell no unexpected aroma from it either. Hesitantly I begin to don it. Marius is twisting his hands around incessantly and tapping his foot impatiently upon the rug, but I decide to prolong the donning as long as I can to annoy him. His leg muscles are tensing to lunge towards me and finish the job when I fasten the final button and spin slowly around so that he can inspect the back of the suit as well.
"Very good," he says, his voice struggling to stay steady. "Now, check out the left pocket."
The left pocket is closed, so I unzip it to see what's inside. It looks like he has built in a small electronic panel into the pocket with a button I can push with my index finger. "Wait, wait," he says hastily, "you have to do it at the interview. You can't do it before. The surprise factor needs to be genuine. Plus there's only enough time for about 15 seconds of power before it dies."
"Um," I say doubtfully, "thanks. So does Jill have a matching outfit?"
"Yep," he says. "Except she's wearing a heavy blouse as compared to your suit. It has a similar button on it though. Now go out and impress the crowd for me so that I can continue to get the latest tech to make my costumes look great!"
The elevators drop us on the ground floor of the training center, and we head away from the gymnasium and into a greenroom before the outdoor stage. The tributes are all assembling there, and as I look around at the others, I realize we are woefully underprepared. The tributes from 12 look beautiful, with their hair done and flame accented jewels adorning their apparel. Even Stara manages to stand out, with a robe of soft, silvery fur that reminds me of a fox and a sash holding a circle of perfectly-balanced candles to represent her district. Rue's stylist has done a wonder with her gown, adding wings to the arms and fringing the back in vibrant colors so that it looks like bird plumage whenever she moves around. Marius's staid suit with its mysterious button pales in comparison to the competition.
A stage attendant calls for silence, and as the final chatter dies down, the curtains burst open with a flourish. A gust of cool, outside wind hits me, helping to counteract the heat of the many ceiling lights focused on us. Several balconies hold high-ranking groups of people, such as the game makers, mentors and stylists. A whole bank of cameras has been deployed so that the tributes can be photographed with a full 180-degree viewing area. Thousands of ordinary citizens throng the streets, craning their necks upward to view the many provided television screens. I can't believe it's really happening.
Raucous cheering, along with an exciting soundtrack, assault my ears for several minutes. As Caesar Flickerman, the host of the interviews, appears on the stage, the crowd slowly quiets down and the music fades out. He is wearing his customary twinkling suit, and this year he has decided to dye his hair blue. He welcomes everyone to the interview show, then tells some anecdotes that the crowd seems to find amusing. I, however, just want him to get to the interviews so I can go to sleep.
"Glimmer Topason," he calls, and the District 1 girl, clad in a transparent, gold gown, saunters up to the stage. I notice men in the back of the throng shoving other people out of their way to get a better look at the nearest screens. Her interview is devoid of substance; she just keeps making provocative comments until her three minutes have been spent. The buzzer sounds, and she pirouettes around once so that everyone can watch her garments flowing sensually before heading back to her seat.
Cato, the boy from 2, is wearing a shirt of fire-blackened scales and a horned helmet engraved with red dots. As he mounts the stage, a respectful, awed silence comes over the crowd. "Ah, Cato," Caesar says jovially, managing to stay unruffled in front of the boy dressed like a battle-ready warrior. "So, I assume, by your no-nonsense appearance, that you are ready for the games?"
"Yup," he says. "I'm gonna make those tributes eat their own blood. They'll stand against me and I will twist their necks with my bare hands. And if I can't do that, I'll be sure to have a nice sharp longsword ready!"
"Sounds like you know how you're going to come home from these games then. I also noticed that you got a very strong score of 10 in training. I believe I speak for all of us when I say that we expected great things from you, and you delivered impressively!"
"Ha!" Cato punches the table separating him from Caesar. It shudders against the force and some of Caesar's notecards slide off so that he has to bend over to retrieve them. The crowd laughs uneasily at this display, but Cato is still talking. "That girl! From 12. She somehow got a higher score. I'm saving my best kill for her. And I'm not going to tell you what it is because it's gotta be a surprise. But it's going to involve my sword, and it's going to involve my fists, and more. I won't let her get away with that stunt!"
Caesar, righting himself, manages to rejoin, "I think you already have. We all saw that 11!" The crowd howls with laughter, and the buzzer sounds, dismissing Cato. He marches back to his place, trying to hide the fury that is all too evident in his jerky movements.
Most of the other interviews blur together into a monotony of cheering, meaningless talking, occasional laughing and a final dismissive buzzing. I do note a few standouts here and there, such as Stara, who manages to duck and weave all the way to Caesar without anyone in the audience noticing. He jumps as if startled, and they spend the three minutes discussing trickery and elusiveness. The girl from district 8 doesn't say anything the whole time, staring right into a camera lens near the left of the camera bank. She doesn't realize that the buzzer indicates that time is up, so one of the escorts has to guide her back to her place.
"Jill Pailor!" Jill takes a step forward. Her shoulders are hunched down and her breathing is rapid. Both hands are clenched into fists at her sides. At least she looks presentable; the prep team spent a lot of time disentangling her hair and putting some light makeup on her face, but some of it is smeared and blotchy.
"What a beautiful girl," Caesar says, pointedly ignoring the tearstains on her makeup. "How was the trip to the Capitol? What surprised you most as you were driving down there?"
"I... I... " her voice is so faint that I can barely hear it. Some people lean forward as if that will help them hear her better.
"It's ok," says Caesar comfortingly, giving her his warmest smile. "No one will hurt you here." This has the exact opposite effect of what Caesar had hoped. Jill bursts into sobs, Her sides shaking, tears falling from both eyes and her nose. My eyes begin to burn in anger and shame as I notice that the TV crews didn't even have the grace to pause the cameras, or even simply focus on something else besides the crying girl. Human dignity again, and all the districts are here to see her lose whatever she had left. I imagine her parents, turning away from the screen, lowering the volume so they won't have to hear the strangled breaths and sobs or Caesar's fruitless attempts to comfort her or the unmistakable titters of the crowd who has seen this happen all too often.
The buzzer sounds, and Jill flees the stage, to a few protracted claps here and there. Stara contrives to move her chair so that it and her body shields the cameras from zooming in on Jill's face, if that were to happen. And then it's my turn, and I order myself to calm down as I sit down across from Caesar.
"Welcome to the Capitol, Dallas," Caesar says jovially. "What's impressed you most since you've arrived?"
Sardonic. "I really liked Cato's horned helmet," I say. "The horn looks like a cow. Complements his body." The crowd chuckles a little, and I can just imagine Cato's fists clenching and his eyes smoldering. It gives me the confidence to continue.
"Yes," Caesar agrees. "He probably weighs more than some of the cattle in your district. Are you missing anyone at home right now?"
"Yeah," I say, surprising myself with my honesty. "I miss the cows. I've always loved to exercise them. Sometimes I've spent four or five hours walking or running with them."
"Well, just win the games, and you can go right back," says Caesar with an encouraging smile. "Speaking of the games, you got a strong score of 7. Can you give us some info on how you happened to get that score?"
"I can't be revealing information like that. You never know when that could be used against you. Though come to think of it I'm not overly worried. Most of these pushovers will be so paralyzed by fear they won't be able to remember anything."
"Well I wouldn't underestimate my competition," warns Caesar. "These tributes aren't a herd of like-minded cows."
"Nah," I agree, "But when I hear them talking they do sound a lot like the cattle at home. Just bellowing and mooing and stomping the ground when they're mad." The crowd roars with laughter, and the buzzer goes off. Stara nods at me in approval as I endure the final four interviews.
Rue, clad in her winged gown, flaps primly to Caesar, and the crowd leans forward eagerly to see her. She says that she's really hard to catch, so we shouldn't count her out. Thresh's interview mostly consists of Caesar talking, while Thresh wears his fiercest glare and answers Caesar's questions with a single word.
"So, the games are only a half a day away. Do you feel ready?"
"Yes."
"You certainly seem well-prepared. I see you got an impressive 10 in training, on par with Killer Cato back there."
"And?"
"Um, that's good," Caesar says, then quickly changes the subject. Katniss is all giggles, spinning around in her beautiful flame dress. She does get slightly more serious when she talks about why she volunteered for her sister, but before the interview can get really interesting, the buzzer sounds. It's a shame that she spent so much time acting silly.
Pita, her partner, is a natural at presentations, joking around with Caesar for a full minute before he gets down to business. Unlike most of the others, he seems reluctant in some odd way. He doesn't smile when Caesar seems impressed at his strong training score, and his expression becomes pained when Caesar asks him if he has a girlfriend back home. Caesar encourages him to win the games for her, but he says that it probably won't help.
As Caesar asks him why, I notice that everyone has focused on him. No one's talking. And then pita tells everyone that his girlfriend is none other than Katniss. I notice katniss, staring open-mouthed at him. It must have come as a genuine shock to her. Very well-played. This will definitely up the sponsor count for District 12, providing its tributes with a better chance at winning. As the crowd unleashes its pain and emotions, the implications of the situation hit me. Pita and Katniss in love, and going into the arena. This has never happened before, not publicly at least. The crowd is conflicted about the decision, and since the Hunger Games must satisfy the crowd, they are failing now. The power dynamic is changing, I realize, as the interview show comes to a close and we head back into the training center to sleep.