A Crowd of Twisted Things

Beyond the glass and far below, a crowd was starting to gather, swirling blotches under cover of darkness. Meera could hear their cheers and chants. From time to time firework explosions would light up their faces. Each time that it grew dark once more she wondered if they'd stop arriving, but there were always more—a river of people coming to see the main attraction of the evening. The annual pre-game interviews.

She winced as Genero grabbed a strand of hair and wrapped it around one his tools.

"Have you seen the crowds tonight? The Capitol is going to be in pandemonium, Benedict."

"Just this morning I heard Head Gamemaker Quint Laramie give Caesar an interview that you wouldn't believe."

"Quint Laramie…I still can't believe he's so young. Did you see his work during last year's games? The bit with the volcano eruption for the finale!? It was incredible. Beautiful work, simply beautiful."

Meera shrunk into a skeleton beneath her robe. She had been listening to them chatter for hours and it was beginning to wear on her intelligence. That very morning she abruptly awoke to see Benedict's giant eyes staring down at her, and the next thing Meera knew she was being rushed into the bathroom without fair warning or apologies. Even though she insisted that she could bathe herself they wouldn't hear of it. Apparently Alida and Linares had given them strict orders.

Bitterness strained her face as she held back a scream. Outside more fireworks exploded.

"Look up at me, Meera," Benedict grabbed her chin and pulled her face up to the light. "Relax your muscles."

"I'm trying," she growled through teeth.

He peered to Genero in surprise. "Perhaps the little dear is thirsty."

"I'm not a little dear."

Benedict didn't pick up on her aggression, and if he did he had chosen to ignore it. Instead he started to dab her skin with brushes and sponges. She gritted her teeth each time a wand or brush came at her eyes. It was hard enough to follow every order they gave, but to endure the constant touching was another thing entirely. Hugs and gentle touches were not things she was used to. She could barely remember her mother's hug. It didn't seem a normal thing. Now, thanks to her designer, Meera couldn't even take a bath without the help of these two fools.

"Where's Linares?" She asked.

"Ah, ah. No talking, you'll ruin my work. Smile…"

The gloss tingled as he brushed it on her lips. Behind Genero was humming. He was always humming. Sometimes Benedict would hum with him. That was almost as bad as the touching.

"Linares is coaching Faron."

Meera dropped her eyes and scowled. He had never tried coaching her—in fact she hadn't seen him all day. And there hadn't been a word from Glade. With the interviews almost here she felt nervous and confused. Shouldn't they be trying to help me? The only explanation Meera could rationally ascertain was that Linares had given up on trying to make her charming altogether. That in itself gave her some satisfaction. She only wished the satisfaction was enough to calm her twisted nerves.

"After that episode with the scores, we all know how much that boy needs it."

"Oh of course he does, Genero. I could have sworn he started to crying this morning at breakfast."

"Poor boy."

A wave of anger took hold of Meera quite suddenly, "It must be nice to feel sorry for a 13 year old kid when he's about to be thrown in with a bunch of killers."

"Well—I never—"

"Now, now, Genero. Our little dear is just anxious for the interviews. The claws are out. That's good. It will make for an interesting interview! She knows we meant no harm."

"So true, Benedict."

Half a heartbeat passed. She thought about sinking her claws into them further, but truthfully there was no point. There was no use fighting them…they were only annoyances not the real problems. She had to stay focused and alert. Charming the crowds didn't interest her, but the interviews gave her an opportunity to see how the other tributes acted under pressure. She resolved to keep her eyes open and remember any important details that might keep her alive during the arena. The night before Glade had shared a part of her life that Meera knew was hidden under layers of repression. It had opened her eyes. Survival was key now. The odds were not in her favor, but if she was going to die she would die fighting.

"Alright, I think—we're almost done."

Benedict chewed on the end of one of the makeup brushes and stepped back. He stared at a face the way a painter scrutinizes a canvas.

"Time's almost up," Genero said, "You know how Alida is about schedules. She should be arriving any minute."

"Yes. Schedules, schedules, schedules…I keep telling her you can't rush art."

"Don't I know it. Nonetheless we have to listen, or will never hear the end of it."

They giggled together with so much delight that Meera wanted to die.

"You would be so much more beautiful if you smiled, little dear."

"It takes too much effort," she whispered half-heartedly. Secretly his comment gave her pleasure. She had no intention of being beautiful. She was a person, not a piece of sculpture.

Maybe they'll like me better this way, she hoped, reserved and slow to laugh.

Past games were filled with tributes that changed themselves to gain favor with the crowd. It didn't seem right to lose yourself, to let the Capitol devour and spit you out as something different. These games were about to take her life and she wasn't going to die as liar and a fraud.

Just as Benedict and Genero started squawking again Meera's bedroom door swung open. Alida came fluttering in with her hands full of sewing supplies. A gown was slung over her narrow shoulders. She was dressed in a tailored leather suit with an exaggerated white collar. Her sly eyes shifted around.

"It's showtime," she breathless said, "I hope you're almost done over there. Interviews begin in 30 minutes. Kye already sent Faron down."

"We're just finishing up. Only a few final touches," Benedict sang back.

Meera was trying to catch a glimpse of the gown. It was hard to see completely. She noted several traits. It was black and rather long. The neckline looked deep, which terrified her.

Alida put a sewing needle in one mouth and walked over. Her eyes narrowed as she took in the sight of Meera, "Good, just as we had discussed, but make the side part deeper, Genero."

"Yes, Alida."

Meera felt him rework her hair.

"The makeup is spot on. Except I want a dab of pink in the corners, just there..."

Benedict shot her an insulted look, but quickly obeyed.

"Yes, that's good. Very good. Meera get up. C'mon…up, up. We don't have much time."

Alida swung her dark ponytail behind her shoulders. With the designer there was always a hint of command in her voice, always the shrewd look. If Meera didn't hate her so much she would have been scared.

"And take off that robe, you won't be wearing that for the interviews!"

Immediately she started to untie her silken kimono and follow Alida. It slipped off her shoulders and onto the floor before the designer got the gown off the rack.

"Benedict, get a mirror for Miss Eastwood. The long one."

A painful gasp blew out of Meera as she wiggled into the gown. The bodice was very tight. Luckily she had small breasts, if they were any larger the plunging neckline would have been provocative. It fell stopped just below her sternum creating a very sharp rectangle at the bottom. She could feel Alida stitching last minute touches here and there. Her cheeks expanded as she took in another strained breath.

"Isn't black a poor choice?" She winced as the designer fastened another button, "I thought the point was to stand out? Make a good impression."

Alida laughed, "Trust me, you'll stand out just fine. Let's just say this is a refined take on that dress of light bulbs you didn't wear the first time we met."

Meera furrowed her brow. She had no idea what that meant. Was it going to be like the opening ceremonies? Like liquid light flowing from her dress? She dropped her eyes to the gown. It didn't look like it was glowing. All she saw was black.

"Alright, turn around!" Benedict exclaimed.

First she curled her head around, then the rest of her turned with wide eyes. Shocked and speechless she stared at the person in the mirror. It was frightening how radiate they had made her. Her dark auburn hair was left down and parted to the side. A neon shade of cobalt and pink brightened her stormy blue eyes. Her skin looked like porcelain.

The dress was another speechless wonder. Black fabric clung to her bodice and hips but quickly trumpeted out into a long train. It wasn't until she saw the train that Meera understood what Alida had meant. Diamonds scattered down the train, sparkling in the light. It looked like the night sky back in District 5. Each diamond sparkled with a little life of its own. For a final touch the designer forced her into a pair of heels that made Meera feel taller than she ever had or would.

The journey to the elevators was a challenge.

"She's a mess in those heels," Genero whispered to Benedict.

"She's also not deaf," Alida quickly quipped, "You'll be fine, Meera. Just remember...heel, toe, heel, toe. Just like walking in boots."

Meera clutched the walls of the elevator and dropped her eyes. This wasn't like walking in boots. This was like walking on stilts. Because the train on the dress was so long she had to hold it as she moved, which only made the dilemma of walking more embarrassing.

"Stop shrugging like that!" Alida hissed.

Meera nervous straightened her back.

The elevator doors opened. While Benedict and Genero stayed behind, Alida led the way. They walked through a maze of corridors until finally they reached the annex that rested just off the stage.

"When your turn come don't hold the train. Let it glide behind you. And for god's sakes, if you're not going to smile at least give the audience something to bite on, got it?"

"Yes," Meera quietly replied. She felt like she was going to be sick.

"I'll be out there with the rest of them. Keep a nice posture. Don't ruin the look of the dress."

Words of comfort. Meera shook her head, rolling her shoulders a few times as she did so. The District 5 team really did have a way of easing their tributes into these disasters.

When the doors opened her fear intensified. The competitors were lining up. Screens in the annex showed Caesar Flickerman warming up the crowd with mindless jokes and laughter. A countdown above the row of curtains was running. Only 5 minutes till the stage. The show was about to start. Meera's thoughts quickly went to past preliminary interviews. Everyone had their own strategy going in. Whether it was being confident, humble, funny, or fierce, all the good tributes had a strategy. Not Meera. She chewed on her bottom lip and let one of the stage crewmembers usher her into the line.

"If you're not going to smile at least give the audience something to bite on."

She may have hated Alida but the designer was right. She needed an angle. There wasn't a charming bone in her body. She wasn't exceedingly funny or bubbly. On paper she met none of the requirements for a successful interview.

By her side Faron practiced his smiling. His interview outfit had a similar theme to Meera's. It was a black suit, diamonds accented the lapels of his jacket. Just like her dress, the suit had transformed Faron into something beautiful, but all Meera saw when she looked at him now was the way his face had dropped when his score had been announced. She remembered the pained sobs echo through the room as he ran away. It hurt just to think about.

"Okay, we're on in 10 seconds," a crewmember rushed by the line and shouted.

Suddenly her mouth went dry. Had it already been 5 minutes?

The urge to run hit her like a ton of bricks, but before Meera knew it she was walking.

Heel, toe, heel, toe, she silently thought, letting the dress's train fall from her hands.

Applause coursed through the air and shook the ground. As all the tributes filed out they started to wave or nod.

At first the lights were blinding. Meera had to concentrate on keeping her expression composed and calm. It was hard to manage. So many things were going on at once…the audience, the stage…if she didn't focus on the head of the District 4 female in front of her she would have collapsed.

The velvet cushion sank at she took her seat. She remembered Alida's comment about posture and tried to simulate the most lady-like stance she could think of.

Caesar Flickerman was on his feet with a microphone. His hair was a vibrant shade of lapis lazuli—and his eyes sparkled with the same color. For years he had been the host of the interviews and he still looked just as young as the day he started. A trick of the Capitol's. They hated wrinkles and aging. Meera concealed a grimace, realizing that she would probably never know what it felt like to age.

Cameras along the stage swung around. They weren't just focused on Caesar, a few skimmed the row of tributes. Meera wondered if her friends at the orphanage were watching her at that very moment. She silently hoped they weren't.

Slowly the interviews began. Each time a tribute rose the crowd erupted in a wave of terrifying excitement.

District 1's Dawn Wallace confidently bantered with Caesar, winking at the cameras and audience every chance she got. Meera found it nauseating but the crowd love every minute of it.

Berris Adams took a different approach. He stayed serious. His eyes burned with such intensity that it horrified Meera.

"I'm a triple threat," Berris said, "I know I have the strength, agility, and speed to win these games. Anyone who gets in my way better look out."

Meera hands clawed into the chain when she heard that. She had no intention of getting in anyone's way.

When Rillian Lewis's turn came he unbutton his suit jacket and waved to the crowd. Much to Meera's surprise he smiled. It was almost impressive how real that smile looked considering how contrived it was. His angle seemed to be working very well. He never mention his strength or speed, which he easily could have. Instead he made witty remarks and humbly nodded. Caesar brought up Rillian's score of 10.

"Well I don't know if I deserved a perfect score…I think it might have been all luck."

The crowd cooed playful "no's" at that comment and applaud his modesty. At that he glanced to the audience and bowed his head courteously.

It was intimidating how good the Careers were at heating up this crowd. It took Meera years to make friends and these tributes were romancing the Capitol as if there were nothing to it.

Districts 3 and 4 flashed by before she could blink. Rapid breaths shook her chest. She wished she could slow time, or at the very least ease her growing queasiness. At the rate her heart was beating she was sure to collapse onto the stage.

The buzzer sounded.

This is it, she thought, No more time for thinking. Just get through this.

"Now onto the next. District 5's very own Meera Eastwood. Meera why don't you come down here!"

The train dragged behind her as she made her way down the steps towards center stage. Caesar's eyes widened in excitement and camera's swung around to capture the dresses presences. When Meera reached out and shook Caesar's hand she was uncomfortably aware of how sweaty her palms had become.

"Meera Eastwood!"

The audience rose in a clamor of applause. They were loving the dress. Meera could see why. In the bedroom the diamonds had sparkled but the stage lights had magnified them ten times over. The train of her dress was the night sky, following her into the interview with promise.

"Well, well. I'd ask you to spin for us, but I don't think you can in an outfit like that."

"I can barely walk in it, let alone spin."

The audience and Caesar suddenly broke into laughter. Her blue eyes darted to the crowd in shock. She hadn't meant it to be funny.

"The Capitol must be a change for you…"

"Yes—I—" it felt like she was swallowing razors, this wasn't the time to choke up. "District 5 is very different."

"Oh? Such as?"

Was he serious? Meera held back a skeptical look.

"Well for one there are no sandstorms here."

Again the crowd laughed and Caesar chuckled with them. He even slapped his leg, as if to convey the depths of honesty in his amusement. Without a smile Meera peered around in disbelief. It seemed that they had mistaken her candidness for dry wit.

"That was a beautiful entrance you made for the opening ceremonies. Now I know I say this a lot, but Meera, you were literally glowing. How did it feel to be out there?"

She braided her fingers in her lap. The questions weren't hard, but every answer that came to mind wasn't appropriate. If she chose to be blunt all of Panem would see it and know how dead she was. She didn't have the strength to back up arrogance, and she could barely manage a smirk let alone a smile. This was going to be complicated.

"Nervous, I suppose. It's something else to be in the spotlight. Back in District 5 I never was one for the crowds."

"But you're so beautiful. Of course the spotlight was on you."

"Frankly the dress did all the work," Meera was surprised to here a few "no's" rumble throughout the crowd. Even with her terrible interview skills the Capitol was fully engaged, "I just stood there."

"Aha—she's a modest one," Caesar leaned towards the crowd, pretending to whisper, "Everyone give her a clap."

The audience obeyed with a unified laugh.

"It was beautiful, Meera. Beautiful."

"Well, thanks," she nodded to the crowd as well without a smile, "That's very nice."

Just beyond Caesar she could see the other competitors watching. The golden tributes from District 1 were staring at her with edgy concentration. Livia, Disitrict 2, was hiding a cruel smirk behind a sheen of brown hair. Rillian Lewis had his arms crossed. He noticed her eye shift to him and immediately looked away.

Suddenly the urge to try was overwhelming. Her breath caught in her throat just before she spoke.

"I did enjoy all the fruit you guys have here."

Caesar's lips broke into a large toothy grin. He hadn't expected it.

"Fruit?!"

"Well, I was just thinking about how different my District is from the Capitol. We don't have all these diverse fruits."

"Oh really?"

"Yes—um—just last night I had my very first orange."

"And what did you think?"

"It was—strange."

The crowded hooted and clapped. Apparently all Meera had to do was say facts and it would send the entire audience into a frenzy. Not once had she told a joke, and yet they were laughing nonstop. She couldn't complain. It was a good thing they were mistaking her mirthless words for jokes, the alternative would have been uncomfortable. Of course she couldn't give all the credit to the public's stupidity. Caesar Flickerman knew what he was doing. He had a way of twisting these interviews into lighthearted conversations. It didn't matter if she smiled or not when she was sitting next to a person who could blind you with his teeth.

"So Meera, what do you bring to the arena?"

Fine, she thought, they want jokes. I'll give them jokes.

"Well if I told you that now it wouldn't be very sporting would it?"

"C'mon, just between you and me, what tricks are up your sleeve?"

"Well let's just say my plans are full proof…just as long as there are oranges."

Huge laughs. Caesar put his hand on his stomach, "You heard it hear first, people!"

"I know. Breaking news."

Her deadpan delivery made them even more amused. She swallowed hard, hoping they couldn't notice the way her fingers were trembling.

"Now on a more serious note. Back in your District—you're an orphan?"

The crowd gave a faint "aww" to that. She silently cursed them. The pity wasn't necessary, in fact it was exceedingly humiliating. Her cheeks flushed with crimson.

"Yes."

"Do you think that will be a hindrance or a motivator during the games?"

Meera was astonished. The question threw her for a loop. Mild insult read in her eyes.

"Well I have just as much to fight for as the others. I may not have my parents anymore but there are people I care about, people I'll fight to see again. I know more than most what it takes to survive."

"Yes, District 5 is renowned for their quick tributes. I believe your mentor is one of them."

"A trait I hope to show during the games."

The buzzer sounded.

"There goes the time. Meera…" he shook her hand once more, "It was a pleasure. Meera Eastwood everyone!"

The cheers continued well after she had taken her seat again. Adrenaline rushed through her veins. She was having an out of body experience. Her limbs and head felt like they were lifting into the air. All the other interviews melted away. From time to time she'd see herself on the big screens and straighten her back, but other than that she was gone. Far away in her own thoughts and fears Meera stayed.

All preliminaries were finished.

There was only one thing left. The hardest part of all.

She struggled to envision herself on a cold metal plate gazing out at the arena. No matter how hard she tried all she saw was the sea of faces that had stared at her during the reaping back in District 5. They would be watching tomorrow. They would be waiting.

Applause erupted as the interviews came to a close.

Her blood thickened with sobered woe as she bowed her head to the cheering crowd and departed. The tributes of the 43rd Hunger Game moved in a procession, disappearing into the shadows and out of the limelight. The next time Panem saw them they would be covered in blood, sweat, and fear.

She closed her eyes as a breeze poured through the City Circle and kissed her skin. Tomorrow, was all Meera could think, tomorrow.