Hola,I return... Mainly because I have all 24 tributes for the sequel; so your reward is a new chapter; written rather quickly...but it's the interview prep which means next chapter is the interviews. BOOM, then we have last night, the 60 second countdown and then people start dying: Rather morbid but tis the Hunger Games: 23 of 'em have got to die.
AND THE TITLE OF THE SEQUEL WILL BE: The 63rd Annual Hunger Games: Crushed Dreams and Broken Hope
I've noticed that these people haven't had a lot to say lately; especially Livvya and Asher... Plus we haven't technically heard from Autumn in a while, and I love writing her :-D
Livvya Howell, District 12.
Head held high, dress never comes above the ankle, smile constantly, don't cut across Ceasar, back straight, don't stumble when you walk...
Effie seriously gave me a lot to remember, all day today she has done nothing but talk about the importance of etiquette during this stage of the games, honestly she didn't stop talking all day and every time my prep team actually stop talking I swar I can hear a faint echo of what I have christened the 'Trinket Trill'. Her teachings are incredibly useful, the Capitol are more likely to sponsor someone who can present themselves in a 'truly ladylike manner' and after the Chariot Rides: Well, Effie says that we need to make the biggest impression possible, I just wish that making such a big impression didn't involve having to wear what resembles small skyscrapers on my feet.
Those 'heels' that Effie had me marching around for in hours have murdered my feet, quite literally,every time my feet touch the floor I feel like my feet will simply drop off. If I didn't know that our eccentric escort was doing nothing but trying to improve mine and Archie's chances in these games then I'd probably propose a conspiracy theory: Effie and her killer heels were trying to handicap me before the games. I giggle to myself, but then I regret it when I remember that poor Fiona girl with her poorly leg; right then I don't feel like smiling at all. Cortina must notice the dip in my mood for her pollen yellow face, with those maroon coloured eyes appear right before my own with her lime green eyebrow quirked questioningly.
"So, Livvy. What's up? You're going to look fabulous again tonight, why are you so down? Oh, turn that frown upside down." Amaratia with her turquoise hair and skin has also popped up and is nodding along with Cortina, I feel as if I'm face to face with two aliens and on that thought I start giggling. It's kind of impossible to be anything but bubbly and happy around these two they're so enthusiastic and childlike its infectious.
"Nothing, I'm just a little tired and my feet hurt; Effie had me walking in heels all day and it was my first time so..." I trail off, these two are so enarmoured with fashion and accesories that I'm sure they understand; I may have been lying, but I can't tell them that I think the Hunger Games are awful and that I'm petrified of dying. They may be sweet but they're from the Capitol: They aren't like the districts, they don't see these games as a deathfest because they've been so brain washed they see it as entertainment. Will they laugh and jeer? My smile falters yet again but this time they don't notice, after a few moments of making cooing sounds in what I assume was sympathy they started to talk about their own shoe collections; which I gather are rather extensive by the sound of it.
They are talking rapidly about vintage Jimmy Choo's and Louboutin's and I just nod along amiably. The door crashes open, Cortina and Amaratia's reaction is both comical and informative; by the way they've jumped in the air like children caught doing something wrong by Peacekeepers, there is no need to crane my neck as there is only one person it could be: Regina Rizetsky. The snooty leader of the prep team whose skin is a sickening shade of purple; thankfully, she isn't scowling as she was the first time she met me and somehow she has managed to hold back the tirade of insults. I say a silent prayer of thanks to whatever it is out there. Amaratia and Cortina scurry over to their 'work stations' as Regina walks into the room; I direct my eyes toward the white flooring, if I don't make eye contact maybe she'll pretend I'm not here.
Unfortunately, she makes a beeline for me: well I'm taking back my earlier thanks. She grasps a strand of my hair and I chance a quick glance in her direction, I feel myself shrink further into my chair and when you're as small as I am that is not something easily achieved. The look in her eyes is a judgment, and with her lips pursed the way they are I don't think the judgment is a good one. She clears her throat and I sigh quietly to myself: Here comes the torrent of abuse, self esteem prepare yourself for round two. Amaratia and Cortine wear expressions of fear, awaiting the inevitable explosion with bated breath.
"Hmmm... Well done Livvya; your hair is well conditioned and your skin smooth. Your nails are still being chewed so I'll have Amaratia fix on some acrylics; Corinta will take care of your hair; I'll do your make up." I'm shocked, that was a compliment; a bit backhanded and more than a little patronizing but a compliment none the less. And it's not just me, Amaratia is standing with her mouth open and just staring at Regina as though she has grown an extra head whereas Cortina is looking around as if those weird camera men people are going to jump out from somewhere and say that everything was just a big joke. I smile up sweetly at Regina and if I'm not mistaken her thin lips curve at the edges, well today seems to be a day where miracles can happen. Maybe this is a sign that I'll perform a miracle and win the Hunger Games. Regina looks around, any trace of a smile gone as her trademark frown reappears, full force and she snaps her fingers impatently.
"You incompetent ninny's, I believe you were given instructions and I think it's time you decided to follow said instructions or you will lose your jobs quicker than Marc Jacobs' autumn collection flew off the shelves last year." I haven't a clue what Regina means but the effect of her words is instant, my preppy prep team burst to life in an instant; moving so quickly they seem to be coloured blurs. Next moment I'm thrown back into my chair; Amaratia is filing my nails while babbling mindlessly about everything from nail beds to rubber ducks. Cortina is running her finger through my hair and I close my eyes to the soothing motion; the gentle lull of their voices like a lullaby. I am just about to fall asleep when Regina's voice joins the din, my eyes spring open. If Regina caught me snoozing, she'd disembowel me with her tweezers and with the way she wields them like a deadly weapon I'd say it is a distinct possibility.
"So, Livvya are you prepared for the interviews?" In true Regina style, the question is delivered bluntly and blatantly expecting an answer. I blush, I don't know what to exactly say: I know that I've got my angle down: Sweet and humble, the 12 year old who did well in training and just wants to go home and it isn't necessarily difficult seeing that it is true and thanks to Effie's etiquette lessons I know all about presentation. So technically I am prepared as thoroughly as I can be but, tomorrow morning it all begins and however much to I would like to believe it is not true: I don't think I'm ready, it is like a clock ticking from inside my skull. Every tic and every toc is counting down the seconds until I die and however nice my prep team are, they will never know what this feels like. I feel tears well in my eyes, I need to keep it all together and now is the perfect time to start and try out my interview technique. I take a quick second to compose myself and then smile while shrugging my shoulders.
"I can only do my best, and hopefully it'll all work out. I just want my family to be proud of me." This causes an outburst of cooing on Cortina's and Amaratia is actually in tears as she paints my nails an earthy green; even Regina places her hand against her chest and her thin lips turn down. It seems my interview technique works, and if it can provoke a reaction in Regina then maybe I will get sponsors. That thought puts a smile on my face and the conversation turns once again to parties and pop culture so I just nod along. Is this what life is like in the Capitol? Getting pampered and just gossiping about anything and everything; is this my reward before I am brutally murdered? To experience, however momentarily, what it feels like to be a girl in the Capitol where the Hunger Games are nothing but a game.
Asher Blackwood, District 7.
Keeping a smile on your face is difficult when you're having every hair ripped from your body, but my smile is still a permanent fixture on my face: Sera is constantly reminding me that I look gormless, harmless and that she thinks I'm a secret serial killer since I'm the one person who can genuinely smile since 24 of us were dragged into the Hunger Games. But none of those are the reasons why I smile: I smile because an optimistic outlook makes everything seem better, I could easily be curled up in a corner crying about the fact that tomorrow but how would that help me? I can't be thinking about how I'll die because I need to go home, I need to see Ardis again and try and live a normal life. Plus, my chances at winning this are ok; winning the chance to live my life and the eternal glory which isn't that important but knowing there will always be a hot meal on the table for everyone is something worth fighting for. I have a 1 in 24 chance of being the winner and considering I scored 7 which is higher than most others, my chances continue to grow and grow: A reason to be a little optimistic if I've ever seen one.
I look around the room my prep team had evacuated, all the cosmetic products and the weird devices like the ones they used to curl my eyelashes; is this what it would be like if I managed to win? Would me and my loved ones want for nothing, would we have to resort to interesting ourselves like painting our faces all the colours of the rainbow. How amusing would it be to actually have the time to do stupid things like that? How pointless? Ideally, I'd win this, go home and marry Ardis and live a simple life as the lumberjack which is all I know how to be; but I'll accept simply getting to go home and hug all my friends and family. I lay back in the chair, my muscles relax; Physically, I won't face much opposition in these games: I am tall, muscular and incredibly strong but that won't win the games. I face some stiff competition, a lot of people scored high and I know a lot of them are more prepared and more willing to kill but all I can do is hope that my dillegence and optimism might be enough to help me survive and if not: I will know that I tried my hardest to get home to those I love.
"Thank God that you're co-operative than that Seraphine. Asher, you're pleasant and undestanding, a far cry from that stubborn little wart; Designer's dream Asher, that's what you are." I jump, I hadn't heard my stylist come in and thankfully I was wearing the robe put aside for me; I understand that Caggie has to see me naked but it is nice to have a little warning; I grin at her. A lot of people think the Capitol are all dimwitted, with their ridiculous attire and all of the confusing cosmetics but Caggie is nothing like that: She is an elderly lady, with a plume of silver hair and blue eyes that seem both intelligent and caring: She looks like a loving grandmother and fortunately she acts like one too. I roll my eyes good naturedly, Sera and her antics have been a sore spot for the Capitolites since we got here; although it has been shushed up quite thoroughly, she actually broke one of her prep teams jaws when they tried waxing her so I suppose I can understand why some people may be a little irked by my district partner.
"Caggie, as always it is a pleasure to see you but I've told you; Sera isn't half as bad as she seems, it's all a front and I 'm sure you understand why." Caggie nods her head quickly and waltzes over to me, age has done nothing to effect her sublime grace and she pinches my cheek, I try to squirm away but I can't keep the smile off of my face. She heads towards a cabinet and pulls out a garment bag and drapes it carefully over the back of the chair I had occupied earlier. She plucks some tweezers from the vanity table and hobbles over to me, pulling stray hairs from my body so quickly that I have no time to register the stinging pain I have come to associate with this particular method of hair removal.
"Asher, you 're probably right; she might be a nice young lady but she is one to watch. I've seen a few tributes like her in the past and as you can tell I've been around a while; they are usually dark horses but so are you Asher. You may not be as desensitized to violence and as brutal as the careers, or as smart as that Greer girl, or as much of a loose canon as Sera but that doesn't make you any less of a threat. There is an old saying and I think it applies to you, to kill with kindness." I nod along with Caggie, her words of encouragement are soothing and however arrogant it may sound it is nice to know that someone has that degree of confidence in me. A dark horse? Not the obvious choice for a Victor, but there is every possibility it could be me. But one thing she said doesn't make sense.
"Thank you but I don't really understand how I'm supposed to kill with kindness." Caggie looks conflicted, and she takes a step backwards circling me and for a moment I don't think she is going to elaborate on that bit of wisdom she had shared with me; I suppose I understand, Sera herself pointed it out: To get close to anyone involved with anyone involved in the Hunger Games can be perilous, its putting you in the firing line of pain and who would put themselves in that position willingly? Caggie comes to stand before me, she looks a little nervous.
"Now, my duty as a stylist is to simply dress you but I believe in going above and beyond my duty; its a very old fashioned way of thinking but thank the powers that be that I'm old fashioned; killing with kindness isn't something I can explain exactly but you'll see it for yourself, now remember you're a good person: Hardworking, kind and full of life and you may be expected to do horrific things but remember that you're not only a good person but a deserving Victor." To say I'm confused would be the biggest understatement in the whole of Panem's history, is Caggie telling me that I should turn into a killing machine? What kind of weapon is kindness in comparison to a sword? I'm sure my expression mirrors my inner bewilderment. I want to ask her what she means, I don't understand how Caggie's definition of going above and beyond will help me anyway but I thank her for advice. I can tell Caggie can tell that I am trying to comprehend what she had just said by that twinkle in her blue eyes.
"How about we give your brain a rest and get you dressed, so what's your interview angle?" I am thankful she decided to change the subject even though I know it's inevitable that I'll ponder those words yet again, if I live long enough that is. And as for her joke, even though it was at my expense was good to alleviate the tension that was becoming to begin overwhelming. I stand there until Caggie looks at me with her silver eyebrow arched, I feel like treading on my own foot; I don't want to appear as ignorant. I try to answer and it comes out as one giant splutter, I feel a bright blush creeping up my neck as Caggie begins to laugh at what I can only call my complete lack of eloquence.
"I'm sorry, Blight said I should go for proud but humble; as in proud of where I've come from and humbled by the generoisty of the Capitol and so on." Caggie nods approvingly, and I grin: Sera and I are exceptionally lucky that we've been given interview angles that aren't that far from reality, me being kind and hard working whereas she is fierce and sarcastic; although she has had to practice reigning in her blatant dislike for the Capitol and smiling as though the expression isn't causing her pain. Caggie grasps the bag and opens it allowing me to see a flash of red checks and I can't help but smile: Seems as though Caggie has decided to sustain the idea of representing the tributes district, today I will truly be myself on that stage; the kind, hardworking lumberjack.
"Thank you" The words are simple but I hope Caggie grasps the sincerity: I never wanted to become somebody I wasn't throughout the games, and somehow my elderly stylist has managed to help with that problem too. She smiles and pats me on the cheek like an affectionate grandmother, however stupid it seems this woman I've known for three days has become my family here in the Capitol: A source of comfort amongst the chaos and however inappropiate it may be I pull the petite woman in my arms and give her a hug, picturing Ardis and my family here with us. She returns my hug fleetingly before stepping back and unless I'm mistaken there are tears shining in her blue eyes. She hands me the garment bag and gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek, before waltzing over to the door and looking back an attempt at a smile graces her refined features.
"Asher, you're a big boy and I'm sure I can trust you to get yourself dressed... I have a few things I need to take care of; I'm sure you'll charm everyone as easily as you have me. Never forget who you are Asher, now good luck and I'll see you in the morning but remember, I retire this year and it really would be the icing on the cake to retire knowing I had styled another Victor." She leaves quickly but I'm sure I hear a broken sob as the door closes. I strip myself and pull the clothes from the satin bag, it seems as though Caggie is another person I'll have to fight feircely to return to and fight feircely I shall: The lumberjack chops down whatever is before him, and I'm a lumberjack through and through and however gruesome it may sound; I'll have to cut down my opposition as I would the trees that surround my home, District 7.
Autumn Thorn, District 5.
Well, the one pro to this whole 'styling' business is that it makes the whole crying on cue routine rather easy: All I have to do is remember the pain as those heavy handed morons tugging that hairbrush through my knotted hair, or the burning sensation as they use hot wax to remove any surplus hair from my body and I can feel tears well up; and is that doesn't work I'll just have to try and remember the awful lecture I was givenregarding 'personal maintenance' or some other gibberish that these Capitolites seem to spout with religious fevour. I mean are they really as stupid as they lead us to believe? Do they really think that the Hunger Games are some form of fashion celebration? Their ignorance is what brings me to tears: tears of anger and frustration. How in Panem am I meant to 'regulate and enforce a personal maintenance programme' when I don't know if I'll be alive in 24 hours time, I don't know if my father's health will hold out until I return home with the medicine he requires plus I'm having to maintain this tedious facade of the weakling, destined to die in the bloodbath so please forgive me if I don't have the time to cleanse, tone and moisturise every hour on the hour. Not that you'd tell I hadn't been pampering myself continously if you could see me now, ready to go and be interviewed or more accurately spoken at as I cry and beg for my life; I inwardly cringe at the thought of the public humiliation I'm willingly exposing myself to, if it weren't for my father's rapidly deteriorating health then I would be at home pitying the 24 tributes but no I am here looking at the Hunger Games, which I once thought was a barbaric display of savagery, as an opportunity to try and make my life at home somehow resemble the normality I knew as a younger girl.
Right now, my prep team and stylist have done all they can, in about half an hour I'm about to be interviewed and I would be lying if I said I wasn't nervous; but I know I can do this. I know my angle and my stylist has done more than help illuminate that angle: Dainty, fragile and downright weak. The white dress, symbolic of my innocence; for now at least, seeing as I doubt anyone would call me innocent when they see me slit the other tributes throat as they sleep but right now that is irrelevant. I still have my charade to maintain, it was a risky move telling the Gamemakers about my scheme but I couldn't risk them being angered if they discovered and ensuring my death by the hands of another tribute, one of their lethal traps or the jaws of a horrific mutation; I need to win this for Papa, Mama and Twila. I pull myself to my full height, eyeing myself critically in the full length mirror: The chiffon dress falls to my knees but it doesn't cling to my figure, it hangs from my slim frame in such a way it disguises my feminine curves making my figure seem boyish; I look a lot younger than my 17 years wearing this dress, with the white ballet bumps and my auburn hair falling in loose curls to the middle of my back. I lean further forwards and study my face: The porcelain skin appearing smooth, the nude gloss that coats my lips and then my green eyes with the tiniest lashing of mascara. I should applaude my stylist really, she has effectively given me the weapons I need for this stage of my plan.
"You look well Autumn, very weak and fragile which is exactly what you want I presume?" I swing around to face my stylist, Rouge, with her bone white skin and maroon hair and eyes but what is most discomforting thing is they way her lips curl into a vicious grin and her eyes shine with a knowing glint. How? I've maintained this facade perfectly, I was crying so much as she fitted my dress that she had to reapply my mascara twice; she raises her eyebrow, expecting an answer but I'm frozen and speech right now seems like a foreign concept as I lock my gaze with a woman who could potentially hold my life in her hands. I was taking a risk with telling the Gamemakers, but having my stylist know is a totally different playing field.
"Cat got your tongue? Don't worry, I know you're thankful. I think your idea is genius, when my sister told me I just knew I had to help you out. I thought I'd been handed some pathetic tribute who'd die as soon as that gong rang but then I find out you've got a game plan: Drama, love it. I can feel it now, I'm going to be styling for the girl who makes these games the most memorable ever. So I'm here to help out, even if I am irked you didn't tell me: I mean I thought girls and their stylists are meant to be the best of friends." She pouted but her eyes glinted with that calcualting edge that I saw yesterday; their really is a fabulous resemblane between her and the Gamemaker I spoke too. She hands me a tube and I'm completely nonplussed, what is it? I look at her, my steely gaze demanding an answer; she knows I'm not the weepy little girl so I won't waste time simpering and crying in order to get an answer. She sighs, she unstops the lid and holds the weird substance under my eyes which begin to water instantly. I cringe backwards and she grins, the bitch has tried to blind me; I'll kill her.
"Stop floundering around, its just glycerine. I know what its like to have to cry on cue and this helps, I had to be the crying daughter to get what I want: Crimson was always the smartest, the prettiest ..." She continued to rant, I was relieved that I wasn't going to be permanently blind and in a way this would save me a lot of unnecessary pain seeing as constantly crying always gave me a hell of a migraine. So between these two sisters, my path to victory is getting clearer and clearer and I am thankful for that so I decided to nod along with Rouge's seemingly endless rant about Crimson's blatant superiority, trying my hardest to look attentive and I must be an amazing actress as she won't shut up. That is until she sees the clock and grabs my arm, radiating panic.
"Waterworks? Check. Now lets go, we're going to be late. It's almost show time."
Let us leave it there for now... Next chapter equals INTERVIEWS! Give me a HELL YEAH, or a review either way I'm not fussy :-D
But here are some new tributes, sorry we haven't seen many in a while :-S But meet a teenage alcoholic, a sociopath, a Cultured Career, an outspoken feminist and the freespirited sailor.
Breeja Tullius (16) District 10 (androidilenya): A girl not concerned with what is happening around her but more so about what her next drink is and where she will come from, living in her own little bubble where her only companion is alcohol. Emotionally volatile at times, crude and aware that her whole life seems to be crumbling down around her; her father turns a blind eye to his troubled daughter's downward spiral into chaos. Will this emotionally vulnerable girl be able to pull herself together in order to survive through the turmoil of the Hunger Games, will she be able to put down the bottle long enough to make an alliance that she knows is crucial to her survival?
Argent Grahm (18) District 2 (Audmirable): A Career obsessed with the honour and glory that could be his if he were to win the Hunger Games; hoping his status as a Victor will make people over look the fact he isn't the handsome Career expected to compete in this paegant of valour and strength. Focussed and tactically minded with extensive training and a true appreciation of art and music. But Argent is prone to what some may call 'hyper focus' with his single minded determination to win, would this Cultured Career even notice if someone slipped a knife in his back? Or will his pursuit of honour lead him to the victory he so ardently craves?
Bethnia Suttridge (17) District 8 (Retromother): This girl is viciously tenacious, she sets her eyes on what she wants and she will tread on friend, foe or family to get it and she knows what she wants: To be famous, to marry a rich Capitolite and grace the cover of Panem Weekly or Capitol Today and with her beauty she knows she can get it. But an obstacle called the Hunger Games stands in her way, but this sociopath will tear into the competition with her claws, her acidic tongue and any weapon she can get her hands on. So the other tributes had better watch out, this uber bitch has come to win and she'll be damned if she lets someone snatch her girly fantasies from her. Will this ambitious Queen Bee be able to taste the sweet honey of victory? Or will her dreams of fame vanish from before her very eyes?
Cian MacNamara (18) District 4 (Dinashadow): The cheeky chappy, the Career who parties hard but trains harder. A freespirit who's mind is prone to wonder, a boy who likes to play by his own rules and try new things but as he grows weary of his Mother berating him to 'grow up' and 'be a man'; somehow his philosophical desire to 'himself' has pushed him into volunteering for the Hunger Games but will he be able to keep his freespirited attitude when he has to fight for his life against 23 other desperate children? Will he be able to win when he enters the arena with the only girl who has ever caught her attention, the only person he could ever call true friend? Will this boy ever 'find himself' or will he die a lost boy?
Breanna Riley Erwin (14) District 6 (amo-scribere): A feminist tomboy, with a vicious temper and a tendency for picking fights; loud mouthed and headstrong she makes sure her opinion on every little thing is known. She sees the world for what it is, she refuses to sugar coat anything and is prone to telling things as they are; strong willed and short tempered, Breanne is not the social type: She dislikes arrogance and any one who thinks they should get the world handed to them on a plate for being 'pretty' or 'intelligent'. Will this loudmouth have her voice silenced in the arena? Or will she live another day to make sure her opinions are heard and people are told how it is?