I step into the dazzling light of the large room where interviews were held, blinking wildly and trying to regain my vision. Seriously, they had like ten million little light posts scattered around the place, all centered around the tributes and the main stage. You couldn't look anywhere without being blinded constantly. I stare out into the audience; I could only see black blobs, with no shape or form. I blame it on the lights. Even then, though, I could see there were a lot of people out there. A lot. Hopefully rich people who wanted to help me live.
I wipe my sweaty palms on the blue jeans they gave me to wear. I'd thrown a fit about wearing that stupid dress, the one that looked like someone stitched up a tent and painted it in cow colors. No District Ten girl would wear a stupid dress like that. I mean, really? My designers sucked. So anyway, I flat-out refused to wear the dress, or any dress, so they gave me these really nice blue jeans and a black v-neck; relatively normal dress but oh so different from what they gave us to wear in District Ten. At least I knew I wasn't going to have to shovel up cow crap or milk cows or do anything remotely related to cows.
I sit on the chair reserved for me, a plush, comfortable thing. I almost didn't want to get up. I just sit there and listen, as the girl from District One flutters up and talks in her stupid little-girl voice, about how good the Capitol was to her and other crap. The boy went along the same spiel as her, although a little less obnoxiously.
District Two. The female's obviously going for sexy, though falling short. I watch as she gives a breathy little laugh at one of Caesar's comments about food—it isn't very funny, but everyone else seems to enjoy it. She tosses her black hair back and stands, hand on her hip as she gazes at the audience. "Thank you very much for all you've done for me," she says, giving a small curtsy. I catch a name—Stormy. Caesar mentions something about her eyes matching her name and I wondered vaguely if they're gray.
District Three. Girl named Holly. She's twelve, though looks older, fairly tall and built for running. She doesn't really have an angle, or really much of a personality. I notice how she keeps glancing back at the male tribute, blushes, and turns back to the interview—losing everything they'd been talking about in the process. It obvious she's got a thing for him—Logan, that's his name—but when he goes up for the interview I can tell it's a one-sided thing. Logan seems to be a bit of a wimp, always casting anxious glances around, not really saying anything remotely interesting. I imagine he'll die early.
District Four turns out some interesting characters, one a girl named Adrianna, who seemed like a fighter, the other a boy named Saturn who said nothing the whole time. Adrianna's angle was one of excitement—that one you didn't see much in the games. People would like that, though, someone who didn't see being drawn as a death sentence but more of as a vacation. Interesting. Saturn sits there and stares the audience down. He says nothing.
Annalise is the District Five tribute—I'd met her in training. We were a team; her, me, and the girl from District Seven. Annalise is another fighter, one who regards the Capitol with open hostility throughout the entire interview. She's not going to get very many sponsors; that much I could tell. The boy is another twelve-year old. Pasty faced and small, this kid isn't going to get very far at all.
District Six brings the strange girl, Aphra, I think. She was often seen walking around with a bemused expression, almost as if she wasn't exactly sure what was going on. Her interview comprised of roundabout questions and answers, and when she was done, I was about as confused as everyone else in the room. Who was this girl? No one knew. She was an odd one. Jupiter was the boy—a tall, athletic kid who got a nine in trials. No one knows what to make of him.
Seven brings out my other ally—Mist Hawthorne, a small girl with white-blonde hair and the coldest blue eyes I'd ever seen. She's like me; a fighter, not taking anything from anyone and fighting with full force. She was a killer, and her angle was one of confidence and arrogance. We planned that together—everyone would think we would be trying to kill each other off. They'd be surprised to hear we were allies already. And then it was Ash. There's so many weakling males in this thing, surprisingly enough. Usually the males won.
Danae and Darien, the District Eight tributes, work together to bring sympathy to the table. There's quite a lot of love simmering throughout this competition. It was so sugary sweet I felt the need to brush my teeth a couple hundred time. It was obvious Darien had most of the love in this relationship, while Danae was more in it for friendship and maybe some sponsors. Sponsors were into that kind of lovey-dovey crap. Nothing better than watching that kind of heartbreak on live television.
District Nine brought an oddity—a girl named Gloometh who appeared to have undergone massive surgery. Either that or her mom mated with a cat, which, even for this day-and-age, was a little out there. She had cat-slit eyes and fangs, cat ears and a tail, and was so well-muscled it was bordering on unfair. They let this girl into the competition? I'm so busy trying to wrap my mind around her odd appearance I don't listen to her interview. She's got so many scars there wasn't much skin left, other than that which was covered in black tattoos. She's frightening. I'd run from her. The male, Edric, is a little more normal. He's got that indifferent I-don't-care-about-anything attitude, and seems fairly normal.
And then it was Ten. Me. "Daine!" Caesar calls, and I saunter up to the hot seat. "So I understand you volunteered," he says, and I nod. "We don't generally see people from the lower Districts volunteer. Can you tell me why?" I smile; this was the tough part.
"I think that there has been too much unfairness in these games," I say, raking my eyes over the Career Districts. 'If One, Two, and Four can turn out competent victors, why can't, say, Ten?" I catch the audience's stare and grin. "I figure I can beat any of these people with my eyes shut and my hands behind my back." The buzzer rings and he dismisses me, shaking his head and smiling.
"Got a real fighter there," he says. "Watch out for that one!"
Kale's interview flies by, followed by District Eleven. Thank god it's almost over. The next girl was someone named Catherine, nicknamed Lightfoot. They talked about her nickname for a while, cause there was nothing remotely 'light' about her. Turns out she was a runner. A fast runner, one who could outpace anyone, apparently. She obviously hadn't tested it. Dean, the male, was uninteresting and beneath my attention.
Twelve! Finally! Jessica's the tribute who could climb trees. And that's really all she had going for her. Not very interesting, her angle was one of modesty. Really. That was all they could find for her. The boy was all arrogance, all flashy and pretty. Odd for a tribute for twelve. He was also unremarkable—and then, finally, it was all over.
As bad as it sounds, I'm ready to go kill these people.