Cannons by Kaiser Chiefs
They treat us like we're extras in an epic
They treat us like we're mud on their boots.
Commercials
Santana Belmont, 16, District Two
The door swings open and slaps loudly against the side of my bed. I am up a second later, shrieking in surprise as I stare back at the man I met last night. He looks almost as terrified as I feel, but I don't see a reason why he should. After all, I am the one that was just woken up out of a cold sleep to the sound of a strange man bursting into my room.
"Quick, get up we have things to do today," he says after he collects himself a bit.
"Did you ever consider knocking?" I say, still trying to calm my rapidly beating heart.
He looks at me like he doesn't expect my response. "No, not really."
"You really should."
"I'll note that," he says, waving off the idea. I'm sure I should expect the same lovely wakeup call from Pascal for the rest of my time here. It's not like I am particularly mad at him, he proved to be at the very least someone that knew what he was doing, but I had just found a comfortable enough position to sleep in. I couldn't have gotten more than a few sparse hours of sleep last night. I should be exhausted, yet I am oddly alright with the prospect of leaving this room.
"Our studio time starts in an hour and we haven't even begun to talk about what your angle is going to be or how we're going to present you." He looks almost as tired as I feel, but his voice is strong and awake even if his eyelids are drooping.
"Studio time? Present me?" These are just two of the questions that run through my head. I remember him mentioning a lot about public appearances last night, but my mind was far too cluttered to take in most of what he was telling me. Especially after he explained what the Hunger Games really are. Understandably, it was difficult to think of much else after that one.
"I'll explain on the way, we've got to go now," he says, rolling his eyes at my questions. Well what does he expect? "I should have sent a Peacekeeper in for you, would have taken less time."
"I'm glad you didn't," I mumble. I'm not much a fan of the white-outfitted guards, especially after yesterday. So far, Pascal isn't too bad but if he starts sending Peacekeepers after me I'm fairly certain it wouldn't take me long to change that opinion.
"I know," he says. "So come on, move it."
I stand and follow him out the door, fully counting on him to lead me around the bleak tunnels that look a lot like longer versions of the room I stayed the night in. I make mental notes that some of the doors are marked with a number and either an 'f' or and 'm'. Pascal explained last night that a male and a female have been taken from each of the districts, so I assume that those labels mark where each of them is being kept. I find myself wondering if I'll ever have to meet any of them and shudder at the thought. I'm not very good at meeting people, especially those that are supposed to be trying to kill me in a few days.
That thought still seems insane to me, but I brush it off as best I can. I've spent too much time already dwelling on it. If I'm going to get anywhere in this place I know I'll have to play by their rules, and that first means being present of mind enough to learn them.
Pascal opens a door and I am unsurprised to see the white walls and small dimensions as I enter in behind him. The only pieces of furniture in the room are a couple of comfy-looking white chairs and a large table. Pascal takes one of the chairs and I don't bother to ask before taking the seat across from him. He showed me last night that he isn't much one for formalities and neither am I.
"Alright," he says after as I am taking a seat. "Pretty much we're going to have two hours with a camera and a stylist to film a commercial-type promotion video that will be shown across Panem for the next few days. It's supposed to tell us some stuff about you, your past, and what people can expect from you in the arena."
"That seems a bit stupid," I say bluntly. Not only that, but it's also rather invasive. Who says I want a bunch of random people to know the details of my life?
Pascal sighs. "Just work with me, Santana. It's not optional. Also I think it'll be good for you to make an impression, I already explained how important that is last night so I won't repeat myself."
"Fine," I say simply if for no other reason than to avoid an extended argument with him. I've already seen how little respect myself and the others have been shown since even before we arrived here. I don't expect it would be a good outcome if I were to fight with him.
"I already have a few ideas based on the character I've moulded for you, but I need some finer details too," he continues. "Tell me something about yourself that people would remember."
I almost laugh out loud at the request. How he said it so simply as if I were just as eager to tell him about my life as the Peacekeepers were to handcuff me yesterday. I am not and never have been an open book, and I'm sure he's been able to tell as much just from meeting me. The idea that he thinks I will just open up for him at a second's notice is ridiculous.
I said I wasn't going to fight this, but maybe a little resistance won't hurt me too much.
Sampson Ellios, 15, District Eight
I see Aubin shaking his head from behind the camera before half the sentence is even out of my mouth. I stop and sigh, waiting for him to tell me what I'm doing wrong this time.
"I don't believe a word of it, Sampson," he says. "Not a single word."
"I don't know what else to do," I insist. We have to have been going at this for at least a good half an hour, and according to him we don't have even one good line to put in the commercial. I don't think it was possible to miss that little room, but I do. At least I was being hidden away in there instead of paraded on camera as if I am supposed to be happy about being taken away from my life.
He motions me over to the table behind the camera and takes a seat across from me. "These lines are terrible, you're not feeling them. We need something that you mean."
I shrug. I don't think it really matters what they make me say. Aubin says the point of this is to convince people to like me and vote on me in the polls that will be happening the night before the Hunger Games really begin. I don't see how telling them about me is going to make them like me. "Does it really matter if this turns out well?"
"More than you could imagine," he sighs. "This is a television show, and I imagine they'll be making a point to keep around the favourite characters. We just need an angle for you, Sampson. Something that will make you stick in their minds as they watch your progress this week."
"I'm sorry I'm not more interesting then," I say quietly.
"Stop," he tells me, putting the notes he took earlier on the table. "These statements we came up with this morning are good. You just have to think they're good too, or no one will even think twice about you."
"I know they're good," I lie.
"Okay, trying something new. Think about your family, the people back home for you. Pretend you're talking to them, it'll help you feel more natural about it than just knowing you're talking to the camera."
"If I was talking to my family they wouldn't even be listening," I say quietly. "It wouldn't feel natural to even try to talk to them like this."
He sits back in his chair and looks at me for a second. I recognize the look on his face, and it only makes me wish for that little room even more. I don't want his pity. I don't need him to feel bad for me or tell me that he's sorry I feel that way. I've heard it before when I tried talking to Tater a long while ago. Pity isn't anything I desire or need. I should have just gone along with what he said and not said anything about it.
"Then here's what we do," he says finally. "You're going to do exactly what I said and talk to your family with these statements. And you're going to pretend that, for maybe the first time, they have no choice but to listen to every single word you're about to say."
I think about that for a moment then nod. The idea sounds almost crazy enough that it would work. I stand back up and go towards the panel with the District Eight seal hanging down behind me. He starts up the camera and I take a few seconds to picture Tyson standing in place of Aubin. His eyes locked on me just like Aubin's.
"My name is Sampson, and I am the male tribute from District Eight for the 1st Annual Hunger Games."
I am surprised at how steady my voice feels, and in front of me Tyson smiles. For the first time since we started filming, no one calls out to tell me to stop and start again. The next line comes out just as easily, as if it was something I would say naturally. Then the next, and the next. Still Aubin doesn't stop me. Every new line makes me feel even better about it, and before long I am saying the final line and the one Aubin was most proud of.
"Nothing has stopped me so far, and I honestly don't see that changing anytime soon."
The body high after I have finished talking is like nothing I have ever experienced before. I thought the lines were pretentious to say the least when Aubin showed me what he came up with, but I can almost start to believe I'm as unstoppable as I just finished saying I am.
I hear a slow clapping and I look over to see that Tyson has vanished and instead it is Aubin that smiles back at me, his hands coming together in slow rhythm. I can't help but smile when I see the look of surprised satisfaction on his face. I hope that means I've done well enough. It felt better than any of the other times, I was kind of even enjoying myself a little.
"That's what I mean," Aubin grins. "I couldn't have done it better unless I said the lines for you."
"Thanks," I beam.
"It's a good thing, too," he goes on. "Our time is up in two minutes, they're bringing in the girl from Four next and I'd hate to make Fanchon wait. She wouldn't be too happy with me if I did."
He motions for me to follow him and I sigh and step towards him. Just before I close the door to the studio behind me I take one more look at the camera. I'll miss the thing. It was nice to feel like someone was really listening to me.
Danican Tobin, 16, District Three
"I should bring an Avox in here to massage his shoulders," I hear Alaire saying to the stylist that's been helping her work on me all day. "Maybe then he would relax."
The stylist says nothing and shrugs. I have hardly heard the old woman say a word all day. I would think she was mute except for when I asked her the time and she replied. She seems to be a lot kinder than Alaire, at least from what I can tell. Maybe that's just because all my mentor has been doing since she came and got me this morning is yell at me.
I sigh and try to make my shoulders relax but it seems impossible. I can't help that I'm on edge. So much has happened since yesterday morning. Before then I had never even been in half of District Three, and now I've traveled by train across the country and have ended up in the Capitol. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be feeling about all the sudden changes, but I don't think calm is supposed to be it.
"Honey," Alaire says and when I look up I realize that she is speaking to me again. I am still standing in front of the District Three seal with a few scrap pieces of paper in my hands. I tried for a little bit to memorize them like she asked me to, but I had to give up after a few tries. Her writing is so much different than anything I've seen before, all frilly and connected. I can't read it very well.
"Yes?" I say quietly.
"Do you think we can try that first line again?" She asks sweetly and then turns back to the stylist. "Maybe the twelfth time is the charm?"
I shrink back at the comment. I want to do what she asks and just get out of here, but it's impossible to even pretend to be comfortable here. "I can try."
"Perfect," she says. "Try to relax this time, it'll make you seem more natural on film."
"I'll try," I whisper.
She walks in front of the camera and stops strangely close to me, making me take a subconscious step backwards and nearly knocking into the screen. She looks me up and down as if she were seeing me for the very first time. "Why so nervous?"
I shrug, not exactly sure how I am supposed to answer the question. I personally feel like I have sufficient reason to be nervous. After what Alaire told me about the Hunger Games last night, I think it's fair of me to feel scared. I've been trying to get a hold on my emotions, especially after spending much of yesterday in a blank, shut down state.
I jump when she snaps her fingers in front of my face. I stare at her with wide eyes. "Did you hear my question?"
I blush, realizing that I forgot what she had even asked. Something about nerves? "I don't know."
She brings her hand up to rub at her temples as she stares back at me, saying nothing for a few seconds. "I don't know what to tell you."
"I'm sorry," I reply, though I'm not exactly sure what I am apologizing for.
"This is new, I know this. But you have to get comfortable, at least somewhat. The people we are going to show this commercial to don't care that you're nervous or scared or whatever you are. This is television, we have to make you a character that they are going to root for. Do you understand?"
I consider what she's saying and nod. She went over this last night. I remember her telling me that she and the other mentors are likely going to be the only ones to try and know us as people. The rest of the nation, especially the Capitolites, is going to be made to see us as characters. She told me some of what she plans to do to create my character sketch, but if I'm already failing at my first task do I really stand a chance at earning any favour?
I sigh as she returns to stand behind the camera and I take one more look at the script she had written up before I was even awake this morning. The line is simple enough, just basically saying my name and district. Why is it so difficult for me to talk about myself?
Maybe it's because I don't want them to know about me. I've already been taken away from my home and my family, told that there is a very good chance that I am never going to see a familiar face again in my lifetime. They're not allowed to have any more than that. It just isn't fair of them to try and take myself away when they have already, maybe unknowingly even, taken so much.
"Okay, whenever you're ready," Alaire says again, but even the look on her face tells me that she doesn't expect this performance to be any different from the last dozen. I consider telling her exactly what I'm thinking, with the cameras going and everything. I don't want her to take this moment and display it across the nation like she plans to. I don't want people that I don't know or people that took me away from everything I've ever known to pretend that they have a reason to hope that I live. They don't even know me. Most of them likely don't care to either.
I consider saying all of this, but I know I wouldn't be able to. As cowardly as it may seem, I know that I have to get serious about doing what I'm told. My life has allowed me to only be present in the worlds I want to be present in, but this is different. If I disappear from this world it isn't like one of my dreams. If I let myself leave the present... well, I might not ever come back.
Song: Cannons by Kaiser Chiefs.
A/N: I'm expecting a bit of mixed feelings about this chapter, so I'll explain a bit about how I came up with this. I wanted something different that would more closely match the theme I am going for with this story. The Capitol people, for the most part, do not want to have anything to do with the district people so I don't think many would be eager to go see them in a parade.
Basically, people are still getting used to the idea of the Hunger Games and the commercials are a way of the government sort of shoving it down their throats. They'll be played all over Panem all during the week, along with other related broadcasts. It's meant to get people used to seeing and recognizing the tributes before the Games actually begin.
So yeah, that's my basic thought process. If y'all have any other questions about it I'd be happy to discuss it with you. I just figured the above was enough to put in an author's note.
Anyways, I'd be super happy if you would consider leaving a review (unfortunately they seem to be going down in numbers every chapter which is sort of disappointing). Just something short to answer the below questions and maybe just give a general review about how you think the writing was this chapter.
Have your opinions changed about Santana, Sampson, or Danican since their Pre-Reapings?
What do you think of the commercials setup (please be honest)?
That is all for this chapter, see you all in a few days with the next one. Bye.