Something's Gotta Give by OneRepublic
And then you showed yourself
All the colors that you fear.
Conference Prep
Eileen Garreti, 17, District Eleven
"So, Miss Garreti if I may call you that." I roll my eyes at the dramatic voice Bette is using. "What would you say will be your greatest strength in the arena?"
I try and think of something clever to say, like Bette has been trying to get me to do for most of the morning, but once again my mind comes up blank. I shrug and she sighs, sinking down into the chair across from me.
"You've got to give me something, Eileen," she says and I almost feel guilty about it. It's true that she has been trying to help me get comfortable, everything from the silly voices and dramatic strutting across the room to resorting to calling herself Sir Interviewer the Great. I appreciate what she is trying to do, but I honestly don't think I'm ever going to be ready for this.
"I'm sorry, Bette, I'm really trying."
"Oh no don't say sorry," she shakes her head. "If I can't get you ready for the conference tonight it should be me that's apologizing."
"Not at all," I shrug as if it really doesn't matter how I do tonight. "I'm just not good at this structured stuff."
"But you will be," she smiles, grabbing my hand and looking at me sincerely. "By tonight."
"If you say so."
"Are you nervous maybe?" She wonders aloud. "There's not need to be, you're not on stage alone. All twenty-four of you will be there together, so I'm sure not everyone will be looking at you if that's what you're worried about."
"I'm not nervous," I interrupt, mostly to stop her rambling. Bette seems to take this too far to heart, me not doing well even with her practice questions. I wish I could do better but I really don't think I'm made for this sort of thing. I just don't have answers for her questions.
Well I do, but they're far too truthful. By what Bette has told me about the conference tonight, it's kind of a big deal. All twenty-four of us seated in front of a live audience, taking questions from call in viewers of audience members for two and a half hours. It's the last chance that we have to make a good impression or I guess, if what Bette has said about my current standing is true, keep it up. I really don't think I can afford to mess this up as badly as I am right now.
Bette has been very honest with me about not knowing what kind of effect the viewer rating's will have on the tributes, but I've come to the same conclusion as her that it's much better to be safe than sorry. So far she said I am sitting somewhere between second and fifth, but that is subject to change depending on what happens tonight.
Suddenly I remember what I asked her to find out for me last night. "Did you ever get a look at August's rating?"
"Yes!" She says excitedly, and then her face drops for a moment. "Shoot what was it again? I just looked at the boards this morning."
I let her think about it a bit, all the while trying not to be on the edge of my seat about it. I took an instant liking to August as soon as he told me that my hair looked like his sister's when it was done up like a rope. It made me laugh to hear him call a braid a 'rope', even with all the tension that training had brought upon me. We hung around together the entire time, basically just talking about how much we missed home, and just before we left he ran up to me and asked if this meant we were allies.
He definitely doesn't seem like the shiniest coin in the bank, but I'm glad to have someone who can make me laugh. I'm not used to things being so serious all the time.
"He was definitely in the top ten, but I can't remember where he was as of this morning," Bette says apologetically.
I let out an audible sigh of relief. That is all I needed to know, that both of us are currently on the favourable side of things. I don't like the idea that my performance tonight might make or break the Capitol's favour towards us as an alliance. At least if August is also up there in the ratings it means we have two chances. I also can't see him doing badly at something like this. He's so genuine and likable that I think he could go up there and tell the viewers just about anything and they would eat it up.
"You seem happy about that," Bette giggles. "He's a nice boy, eh?"
"Not like that," I say, a little more quickly than I meant to.
"Of course, of course," she says with a smug smile. "I don't condone an onscreen relationship, but if it's going to happen then I guess that's just how it is."
"It's not going to happen," I assure her. Even if I did like him in that way, which I don't, it wouldn't work out anyway. I don't know much about what the arena is going to be like but I am almost certain that it is not going to be a field of daisies for us to run through. I'm not going to throw that sort of complication into things, no matter what Bette thinks.
Connor Leland, 18, District Two
"What is your greatest ambition in life," Pascal reads off of the list. The complete lack of interest in his voice makes it difficult for me to find any sort of passion to throw into my voice. The first dozen or so questions he read well, gave me plenty of energy and intensity to put into my replies. Now I feel like this whole routine is getting a bit repetitive.
I consider the question for half of a second before answering. "I hope to have a family of my own one day, someday build myself a life where I am completely and consistently happy with all of the people I love."
Most of the answers I have given have been based solely on what Pascal has told me that the Capitol is looking for in them. This one rings a bit more true than most, but on his advice I added just a bit more fluff than I would have liked to. It was weird the first few times because it felt so fake, but Pascal assured me that people are expecting me to be larger than life. I hope he's right or I'm going to look like a pretty huge dumbass.
"Very good, though you could fix the little snark in your voice," Pascal says, his face finally changing from the bored expression to his usual half-smile.
"Didn't know I had any?" I say with a shrug.
He laughs. "Hardly any, I don't think anyone but me would notice. You're doing well."
"Thank you," I say and I mean it. Pascal claimed that I was a natural just minutes after we started, but I think he was just surprised by my performance after spending most of the morning practicing with Santana. As strong of a threat he has told me that he thinks that she will be, he has also confided in me that she has the appeal of a candle holder.
That's why I think we clicked so easily even after only spending a few hours with each other yesterday. We are similar enough in that both of us are strong spirits, but she is also pleased to let me be the spokesperson which is nice because I am definitely better at it. Add in Venice, the reserved boy from Four that Pascal arranged for us to meet, and I can't see anything not working with the three of us. We're all slightly different versions of the same person, with all of us accounting for something that the others might lack.
"Alright back to business," he says, glancing down at the printed list of questions on the table. "What is your opinion on the establishment of the Hunger Games?"
"I feel like whatever our President says needs to be done, must be done." This answer leaves a sour taste in my mouth, but I understand without being told that outwardly opposing the event would not help me whatsoever. Even so, I hope that I never have to be on camera with those words coming out of my mouth.
"Good answer," he mumbles and I nod. "What was your life like back in District Two?"
I don't even miss a beat before I answer. "I was very lucky, I had an amazing life. Two wonderful parents and a younger brother and sister. Lots of friends and just a good life. I have no complaints."
Pascal doesn't say anything but gives me an odd look when he looks up. I feel slightly more vulnerable, the dreamlike expression dissipating off of my face. I'm surprised at how much it hurts in my chest to think about my life. My old life. I blink back a sudden onset of tears that gather in my eyelids and hope that Pascal didn't have a chance to see them.
"Moving on," he says and I am instantly grateful, hoping that we will go back to the questions about my favourite foods and whether I preferred girls with long or short hair. Things that didn't actually matter to me. "What was the war like for you?"
My mouth goes dry and I'm afraid that I won't be able to answer the question at all for a second. I collect myself after what feels like a very long moment, doing my best to choose my words carefully without blatantly lying. "I was training to be a soldier for the last part of it, but I was never really in the thick of things."
"A soldier?" Pascal says, and if I didn't know any better I would think that some of the surprise on his face was actually genuine. "What was it like fighting for your Capitol?"
"I was a district soldier," I say immediately, not able to keep the pride from my voice. "Or almost was."
He sighs. "How did I know that?"
"Lucky guess? Or the fact that most of the Capitol soldiers weren't district kids."
"Okay," Pascal says, looking at me sternly from across the table. "We're going to have to lie a little. If this question is brought up tonight, I need you to say you were fighting for the Capitol. No one is going to know otherwise I can assure you."
As if that were my biggest concern about this. "I'm sorry but I can't lie about that."
Pascal stands from his chair and I match him, keeping our conversation at eye level. "This isn't about your pride. You are bargaining for first place in the viewer ratings tonight. This is about you making it out of this place and going back home in a couple weeks."
"I don't care." It's impossible to keep the intensity out of my voice. Pascal begins to say something else but I stop him. "Nothing will make me say that, I'm sorry."
"Connor, sit down," he says sternly. "I'm not going to argue with you on this. You are exactly where you need to be right now. Do not let your idiotic pride ruin it."
"Don't tell me what to do," I spit, anger beginning to creep into the edges of my vision and turning them red. Who does he think he is? I clench my fists on the table, the urge to punch him right in the jaw slowly becoming more than I can bring myself to resist.
Not seconds later the door bursts open and I am flanked on all sides by guards. I stare at Pascal, my gaze never wavering as they escort me out of the room and down the hallway.
Caprice Neviere, 16, District Four
I gasp again as I feel a tight yank on my hair.
"Sh, sit still," the woman says in a thick accent from behind me. I nod in reply and she forces my head back so that my eyes are at perfect level with the mirror. I close my eyes for a second, trying to block out the pain of the comb ripping through my hair.
"What do we want for her tonight?" The stylist asks. Fanchon leans down and examines me, her face so close to my skin that I can feel her warm breath on my ear. I resist the urge to back away, as she has already chided me about doing more than once just today alone. She says it makes me look cowardly, always shying away from anyone that comes close.
"Her hair is too short to do much with," Fanchon sighs. "Pity."
"We could boot around for some extensions, if you'd like," the woman replies, her fingernails combing through my hair and sending chills down my spine. Just the sensation of another person's touch is enough to make me want to take off and run. To where, well I'm not really sure. Ideally back to District Four, but I don't really know how I would find my way back.
If I found anywhere near water, a lake, a pond, a stream, I don't care, I would be happy. I miss the openness of my parent's house, and even more the freedom that the boathouse allowed me. I hate being trapped in such a small room for most hours of the day. Though I would choose my prison cell over being where I am right now, every single time.
I'm not used to having people around anymore. It had been months since I last had contact with anyone before I was Reaped. The experience of being pulled up on stage in front of all of District Four was one of the worst things I have ever gone through. The train ride here was like paradise after that. My little room like a safe haven in comparison to having so many people staring at me with eyes that felt sharper than a butcher's knife.
The memory of that morning still makes me shiver, but the feeling is almost nothing when I think about what Fanchon has told me about tonight's event. A group interview with a hundred cameras recording everything I say and do, to be broadcasted to everyone in Panem. Just the thought makes me feel sick. I try to swallow the feeling, knowing how much grief I will get from Fanchon if I throw up in front of her again.
I shake myself out of my thoughts and back to the present. Fanchon and the stylist, I keep forgetting her name, have left my side and are chattering excitedly about something I can't see.
"Let's make sure it fits," Fanchon says, more cheer in her voice than I thought I would ever hear in my presence. I have seen her interviews from the television in my room, and she always seems much happier there than she does with me. If I had only seen her on screen and not in person I might have made the mistake that she is someone I'd like to meet.
The stylist woman grabs my arm and heaves me up from the chair, tossing a big piece of fabric over my shoulder. She pushes me towards a screen that is set up on one edge of the room. "Put it on, then come show out and show us."
I say nothing but nod, fairly certain that she wasn't looking for an answer anyways. I unfold the dress and take a look, surprised at how little fabric there is. It looks about the size that I might have worn when I was ten or eleven. I don't have high hopes for it being big enough, which is a shame because it is beautiful.
I toss the dress on and, not surprisingly, it hardly comes five inches below my hips. I pull it down as far as I can and peek out from behind the screen. "It feels a bit small."
"Not possible," the stylist says with a raise of her eyebrow. "I took her measurements myself."
"Just show us," Fanchon says impatiently.
I step out from the screen, still holding the bottom of the dress so that I make sure I'm somewhat covered.
Fanchon's eyes light up as soon as she sees me, her mouth even curling into a small smile. "It's even better than I thought, Hilna. I'm impressed."
Hilna, that was her name. She comes over and slaps my hands away from the hemline, causing the dress to scrunch up another inch and a half towards my hips. I can't stop my face from heating up as both of them continue to stare at me. I force my eye to the ground, wishing that they would let me go back and change.
"Why would you say it's too small?" Hilna shakes her head. "It fits beautifully, just like I envisioned."
"The audience is going to love you," Fanchon beams. "As long as your mouth doesn't mess this one up, you could very well be on your way to the top of the ratings."
I hardly even register the last half of her backhanded compliment, my mind stuck on one word. "A-audience?"
"Of course?" Fanchon says. "Tickets have been sold out since before you even arrived here. I'm glad I have a reserved ticket or I wouldn't have been able to get my hands on one. They only sold twenty-five hundred, such an exclusive event."
My legs wobble at just the number. There is no way that many people could fit anywhere. No possible way. My vision blurs for a second before refocusing on the confused look on Hilna's face. Darkness closes over my eyes and I feel a vague punch of pain on the left side of my head. Then, just like that, it's gone.
Song: Something's Gotta Give by OneRepublic.
A/N: Alright look at that, another update. I think I'm doing pretty well at getting these out in good time. Only two more left until the arena, that is insane. These have gone by so quick like I actually might miss writing the Capitol chapters. They have been oddly interesting.
So I gave quite a few hints at what the next chapter will be, but I'll say a bit more. The interviews are being replaced with something a little bit different. I'm envisioning it as something like a giant press conference, where questions are asked randomly. It might be a bit chaotic but hey that's kind of the point.
I've created a poll where you can vote on who you want to survive the Bloodbath, which is coming up in three chapters I might add. Basically I am going to keep it open until I publish the final Capitol chapter, so go and vote on that!
I'm really appreciative of the reviews I got for last chapter, I think there was almost double what I've usually been getting for a chapter (8 as opposed to 4). It'd be very cool if this continued! As always, I'll leave a couple of questions here to get the comments flowing.
Have your opinions of Eileen, Connor, or Caprice changed since their last POV?
What did you generally think of the chapter? Of the conference idea for next chapter?
That is basically it, don't forget to review and vote on the poll! We're in the home stretch, so close to the Games with only two more Capitol chapters. Hopefully another update will come soon, but until then bye.