A/N: Last chapter on pre-Gameday stuff. That's good, because I'm running out of juice here for the emotional stuff…writer's block ahoy! Bonus points if you get the District 9 reference in this chapter.
Additionally, if you have any suggestions about what's gonna go down in the arena, lemme know – I have a general idea (as far as character progression,) but I'm more than open to input in that sort of form.
The waiting rooms beneath the Capitol City Music Hall lit Sam's figure with gold and rose hues. Her chest fluttered in and out in short breaths as music pumped like a primal beast from above on the stage. Her training the prior day had gone poorly – preoccupied with the score she'd received, she barely paid attention to Dallas and Cheyenne's attempts to drill interview tips into her. What would the audience care? They'd all seen that five. Sponsor points could amount to virtually nil.
What would she amount to on stage, anyway? Sam lacked any of the viciousness of the Careers, the physical brawn of someone like Laredo, or even the sly quickness of others. She was a fifteen year-old girl, straight and simple. Killing other kids in an arena would never be a part of who she was – so how on earth could she sincerely convey that on stage? No, no, that wouldn't be happening.
Words flowed back from her brief minutes before departing District 10, as Clay and Clara had professed their goodbyes.
"Sammy, you're perky, bright, they'll love you…" "She's right. Show them the girl inside. Get them to want you to win."
As much as she wanted to give her two closest friends credit, who was the girl inside her but a scared kid? Compared to a lifetime killer like Hadrian, she was nothing more than a sacrificial offering on the altar. Poor betting odds on that for scalpers in the Capitol.
At least Agrippa had come through, as the stylist sat quietly with his tribute. Her evening gown exemplified innocence and purity to the extreme – capitalizing with neutral whites, grays, and browns that used her parade dress as a basis to highlight her youth. Sam figured that the Capitol audience could do no less than see other girls such as Royal and Io as soldiers of this battle – but someone like her could win a sympathy vote with an outfit that showed the cruelty and savagery in Games that preyed on the bounty of the future.
"Laaaaaaadies and gentlemen," a voice crowed from above, as the music died down. "Your moment of truth – let's give a big hand for your master of ceremonies, Constantine Flickerman!"
A round of music and applause shot from above as Agrippa finally spoke up: "It's time Sam. Just be honest; Constantine will help you. It's his job."
"I don't have anything!" Sam protested. "All I have is a stupid five for a score. Nobody will like that."
Agrippa walked over and took her hand, pulling her up and gripping her arm. "Sam, that number is just that – a number. You're a person. You can make them see what you're fighting for tonight. Show them you're more than just the killer and victim that everyone else is."
"But what am I then?" Sam asked.
"You," her stylist gazed straight into her eyes, unblinking with deadly calm. "Are a champion. District 10's champion. Go out there and don't hold back."
A set of lifts brought all the tributes up to the stage, rising forth as a preview to what they would face in the arena. Bright lights overwhelmed Sam as she rose to the rear of the stage behind her seat, forcing her to blink away the spotlights on her and the other twenty-three tributes. Constantine's green hair lit up in the lights as ten thousand Capitol citizens in the crowd shouted with glee and giddiness. Sam looked to her left and right, finding the boy from nine looking confused and Laredo seemingly annoyed. Sam struggled to control her breathing as her pulse accelerated rapidly, frantically beating before all these probing, gazing eyes that could mean the difference between survival and an untimely death. A hundred television cameras capture every shot and every tribute – Sam felt a lens on her at all times. Nothing would be missed.
"Thank you, and a big welcome to the tributes of the 98th Games!" Constantine shouted through the applause, his voice boomed by three hundred speakers set throughout the hall. He let the crowd clap themselves dry before continuing, settling down in the tense silence – like predators waiting for the kill strike.
"All these young men and women behind me have me feeling old up here!" Caesar joked to lighten the mood, with a thousand laughs and denials coming from the audience. "Now I know how my father feels!"
"Funny you should say that, Constantine…"
In a twist of fate – or good television planning - old Caesar Flickerman stepped onto the stage, to Constantine's mock surprise and the audience's gasps and laughs. The man had not changed a wink, despite being elderly and in retirement – Capitol cosmetic surgery and alterations had kept his neon blue hair and highlights shining on a wrinkle-free face. As father and son shared commentary jokes and skits with one another to the audience's approval, Sam couldn't help but sink at the stupidity of it all. Here the tributes sat in a half-moon about the stage, a mere day away from potential death – yet here Caesar and Constantine laughed as if the whole thing was a reality show.
Well, it was a television show.
"You're hogging my stage, old man!" Constantine playfully pushed Caesar away from the spotlight to a round of laughs. "We're going to have to petition our president to pay you in feasts to stay away!"
"Here I was hoping that wouldn't show," Caesar fretted comically and rubbed his belly. "I dread treadmills!"
You all really don't get it, Sam thought. All this witty banter hides that half the others up here never ate properly. And now they're going to die while you eat your feasts.
Constantine and Caesar exchanged jokes for a few more minutes before Caesar left for a separate viewing platform to a roaring round of applause as Constantine began with the main program.
"Alright, up first, our highest scoring tribute and a truly regal young woman – from District 1, let's have a hand for Royal!"
The vixen from 1 beamed a wide smile as she sauntered up to the stage in a glittering dress that revealed far too much. The audience oohed over her style as she easily slipped into conversation like a leopard. Constantine rolled with the girl's slithering style without a hitch, playing on her natural seductiveness and arrogant attitude. Far too easy – the crowd loved her. She played them all like a snake reeling to strike.
Things progressed near to how Sam expected. Fresco, Hadrian, and Cascade all showed why they were Careers, with combat-minded interviews highlighting their kill-or-be-killed attitudes. None of the three showed any hesitation to slaughtering at will. Gannet reacted politely and stately; Sam couldn't help but smile at the way she held herself. Dignified, small yet composed – getting that four in training couldn't have been easy, but the little girl from the ocean district held her head high regardless. The next few did nothing spectacular – Troop came across as quiet and seemingly with his head somewhere else, while Ash maneuvered around answers to provide as simple explanations as possible. Kevlar barely held herself together at all as District 8's turn rolled about.
"Let's have a big hand for Koobus!" Constantine had barely made it through the District 9 boy's interview himself; it had certainly not been the best. Sam had kept her focus out on the audience, trying to get a feel and realizing she had no idea what she planned to do.
It had all come on too fast.
"Now we all saw her in that beautiful outfit during the opening ceremonies," Constantine began after Koobus from District 9 had sat down. "I have to say, I was blown away – quite literally, in fact! Ladies and gentlemen, from District 10, Samantha Parker!"
Spotlights tore Sam's composure from under her as she instinctively pulled the long formal dress up in stepping forward. Realizing her mistake, she let it flow out like the wind it meant to represent and did her best to fake a smile, approaching Constantine and lightly shaking his hand. The celebrity's grip felt dead in her palm – like some artificial creation deep from whatever underground lab the Capitol produced mutts in. Sam contained the shock at the feeling, doing her best to hold on despite that all eyes of Panem shone upon her at that moment.
"So, Samantha," Constantine sat Sam down and the crowd, on cue, fell quiet. "New to the Capitol; how are you finding things here? Fewer cows I presume?"
Constantine capped his introduction with a hackneyed laugh, grabbing a round of chuckles from the audience. Sam came away surprised at how easily he played the audience – and how, just in a single sentence, he'd managed to get the crowd feeling positive as she took her first breath to speak.
"I, uh," Sam stumbled – find some words! "That was going to be my first thought, actually."
The thought had come out sporadically and at random, yet it worked like a charm as Constantine ran with it. "You know, Samantha, that's really my fault. I'm so sorry you had to see Caesar up here."
The crowd roared with laughter as the camera flipped to Caesar Flickerman, who grabbed his belly with mock shock on his face and comically tilted his head to the camera. One quip about cattle, and already the audience found the tribute and commentator to be an entertaining pair. Sam could hardly believe her luck – Constantine gave her all she was worth and much more, rolling with the part of an entertainer for all he could.
"I'm feeling like I've already jinxed you," Constantine laughed, pushing on. "Anyway, several nights ago when you came out of the Remake Center and before the eyes of Panem for the first time – that had to be a new sensation; before millions and looking just so gorgeous. Tell us how that felt."
"Um, my stylist did a great job," Sam searched for the right phrase – the damn spotlights; making it hard to even think! The entire affair was…intoxicating. "I was a little intimidated."
Jeez, way to look weak, Sam. Hovercraft and chariots intimidate you? Honesty stinks.
"Well, I think we all would be with that light show the Gamesmakers put on this year," Constantine didn't miss a beat. "I have to say, I thought they were trying to bomb me. I'm not that bad, am I folks?"
Constantine gasped in comical horror as the crowd waved away the notion to cheers and laughs. Sam couldn't help but laugh along with him – how much the Capitol really did help you when their show was on the line! She wondered how the boring tributes hadn't been able to feel the energy up on the stage – as frightening as it was to her, she couldn't help but reach deep into the infections river of light that flowed about the interview. Constantine was a master magician of words, navigating the conversation like a skilled sea captain over rough terrain. Nothing fazed him; even Sam's hesitance and stumbling could do no harm.
"No, no," Constantine pleaded with a smile that could melt steel. "You are certainly a crowd-pleaser. Is this your secret strategy in the arena? Have the others laugh to death?"
He's leading you. Just follow what he's doing. "I dunno," Sam finally managed to line up a coherent answer, batting straight for the fences. "I'll have to team up with you at the Cornucopia for that, I think."
"Oh, you sly fox," Constantine laughed, with the crowd in unison. "And I knew the Gamesmakers were up to something tricky! I hope they at least have the decency to parachute me in."
That had done it. Constantine had capitalized on Sam's initiative, and the crowd had descended into a full-blown laughing tsunami. It had all come on so fast for Sam – just ninety seconds ago, she had been walking forward in tentative, scared steps to the stage. Now Constantine had elevated her to center court just with the power of words. She felt empowered, as if she finally belonged here – with the audience laughing alongside her, loving every word Constantine put forth for her, Sam felt her spirits soar. Her emotions had ridden a roller coaster ride of peaks and valleys over the past few days, but now with the start of the real show beginning in less than twenty-four hours, Sam sensed a wave of momentum swinging her way.
"Now, at the Reaping in District 10," Constantine fell into a serious tone, shifting gears to try a new angle. "Obviously, that was an emotional time for you. Is there any special boy waiting for you back home after all this?"
Crap. Opening up about Clay would spell trouble – while it'd generate sympathy votes, it'd also reveal to every other tribute – Storm and Gannet included – that she had preoccupations of her own. Granted, every one of them did; however, she had tried her best to cement some semblance of Storm's alliance. Breaking those walls down just to gain one or two sponsors seemed a short-sighted move. In the extreme long term, naturally, that'd open up an awkward bag of worms with Clay, as well. She'd hoped to eventually light a fire between them, naturally (or more specifically, that he would notice and take the first step) – but doing so in front of Panem and Constantine Flickerman was far beneath what he deserved. On the other hand, what was the alternative?
The thought hit her. Clay wasn't the only one waiting for her back home. Maybe not attraction-wise, but love nonetheless waited.
"Yeah," Sam sniffed, battling conflicting emotions as she pieced together her answer. "My older brother, Jake. He came to talk to me."
"And what did you two say to each other at that final hour?" Constantine urged with understanding and sympathy.
Suddenly, the crowd was no longer there. She no longer was in the Capitol, under the harsh flare of spotlights and beneath an ugly orange sky. Stars dotted out from beneath a prairie night, smiling down on that wooden house that she'd grown up in, where Jake had taught her everything that had come up to this moment. Now, as her last night in safety closed in, Constantine had pushed just the right buttons to make Sam feel the impact of the situation – and all the things she might never have been able to do again. To speak to the ones she loved. To run through the tall grasses where the cattle and goats grazed, lapping up the dry sun.
Her brother's words spoke to her on the stage, harkening back from the Hall of Justice. "Hang on Sammy. You're gonna come back and we'll see each other again."
"He told me he'd be the first one to find me off the train back," Sam struggled with holding back a tide of surging emotions as she answered Constantine's question. The crowd had deadened to an absolute silence – all the laughter and comedy had drained out of the hall. "He told me to be strong."
"And strong you are," Constantine pressed her left hand between his, giving her an empathetic gaze before standing up, still holding her hand. "Ladies and gentlemen – from District 10, Samantha Parker."
Applause burst forth from the crowd as Sam whimpered a meek "thank you" as she turned back to her seat. Whatever those three minutes had done – it had gone so fast, and then slowed down into seemingly hours in front of Constantine – Sam had cast her final die before the arena. She could do no more until stepping foot in whatever the Capitol had planned.
Laredo passed by his interview with his trademark apathy, while Storm came across as positively hostile – yet Sam fell lost in her thoughts and feelings, wiping away tears and struggling to remain composed. For all that Constantine had done her good, she felt vulnerable once more as the tributes all stood at the end of the show – her face visible with red marks and puffy eyes as the camera passed her by.
She left the cameras much as she'd arrived – torn and feeling very small.
Hours later, sleep refused to come on the eve of the Games. Sam laid her head on a puffy white pillow and pulled a blanket up, tired yet unable to fall away to dreams. Raucous noises of parties on the streets below seeped through the thick window, infecting the sweet silence of the bedroom with the bloody urges of the Capitol audience. Sam felt disgusted, sick to her stomach – on what could have been her last night, her last opportunity to dream and find some semblance of peace, even while sleeping, the crowds indulged themselves in whatever hedonistic opportunity they could find. All this to see twenty-three kids kill each other – it'd almost be easier just to line up and be hanged off the Training Center roof.
One small dot of light pricked out from the orange urban sky as Sam squinted to decipher what it was. Its yellow-tinted hue barely cut through the light pollution – not a star, but Venus. Venus, the planet of love. She'd left love behind, alright – cut off from Jake as he'd been pulled out by the Peacekeeper. Cut off from Clay by her own fears and hesitance. Sam privately swore if she made it back to District 10, she'd correct those mistakes – she'd conquer those little fears and set right what she'd been unable to say.
"I'll come back," she sniffed into the pillow, burying her nose in its plush cover. "I have to come back. I can't just lie down."
Sam wondered how it was for tributes who had little to look forward to – those already having lost a sibling, or maybe a number of family and friends to poverty or hunger. The District 10 boy from two years prior had come from the community home; he had left nothing but painful memories behind as he died. While that sort of life was unenviable, Sam grudgingly admitted that he – and those like him – held an advantage. They truly had nothing to lose – they'd already lost it all.
She couldn't do that. She had people who still loved her – those who'd watched her on that stage tonight and wished they could have been there to get her through. Even if Clara, Clay, and Jake were the only people in District 10 who gave two breaths about whether she lived or died tomorrow, that was three people she could not let down without a final fight for survival.
As Venus sparkled above the Capitol and shined through her window, Sam gradually fell into the inky blackness of sleep – for possibly the last time.