A little late for a disclaimer, but since I have actual quotes from Catching Fire in this segment, I'll go ahead and tell you that Suzanne Collins owns the series, not me.
Also, this project is the one thing getting me through this semester.
Calm Before The Storm
I wake up with a positive outlook for things to come. The sun is shining brightly over the large buildings of the Capitol, causing a rainbow to appear from the refraction of the colors. What a perfect day for the interviews! My mother is jauntily dancing around the kitchen, cleaning the floor.
"Good morning, darling. Isn't today just gorgeous?" she asks merrily.
"We should go on a picnic!" I suggest.
"What a splendid idea! Of course, we'll need napkins, a table cloth, dishes, food," she begins, "Dare I say a parasol?"
My father strolls into the kitchen with joy. He comments on how lovely the weather outside looks. My mother tells him about my picnic idea, and he responds with enthusiasm. I rouse Alfie, much to his dismay, and force him to venture on our escapade. Within thirty minutes of my initial suggestion, our family heads for a remote part of the Capitol, away from the buildings.
We set up our picnic in the common square. The square is a place for citizens to gather about on luscious days such as this and rejoice in frivolity. Tables, swing-sets, gazebos, and trails fill the square with entertainment. Some come here to just relax and look at the sky.
"Look at those people," gawks my mother.
A group of four stands in the west gazebo filming a movie. The star, or main speaker from what I can tell, wears an expensive dress that seems to consist of nothing but bubbles. Her hair includes a deep magenta undertone, but primarily shines golden. In short, she is stunning.
"What do you think they're doing?" Alfie wonders as he pays special attention to the star.
"Is the Hunger Games ritual?" I question my father excitedly.
"It could be. She may be a stylist, getting inspiration for the interview costume if she is making one. She could be a mentor, or an escort, just getting some fresh air. The Training Center is fairly close by, you know," comments my father.
He points to a structure not too far in the distance. The windows repel any light that comes its way, almost as if the surface were a mirror. It shines as golden as the woman's hair.
"What happens in there?" Alfie points at the Training Center.
"The tributes live and train there until they depart for the Games. Usually, they stay with their mentor from their district, their assigned escort, and a few Avoxes," replies my father.
"Avoxes. Hideous creatures," sneers my mother.
"Avoxes?" I question with a hint of surprise in my voice.
"They're servants or traitors who have committed a crime against the Capitol. They lose their tongues as punishment for their heinous actions," explains my father.
Alfie and I share a glance of discomfort. My mother seems to scowl at the Training Center, the image of Avoxes circulating her conscious. What sort of crimes would one commit against the Capitol?
The woman with the fabulous apparel emits a laugh that echoes about the gazebo. A spunky young man featuring dark green hair picks up the woman and twirls her around. This man. What a glorious, fierce creature. He seemed to contain all the splendor of the Capitol in his person.
"Caesar Flickerman!" shouts my mother simultaneously with my father who in turn states his name in a dignified manner.
"Who?" asks Alfie and me.
"He's the interviewer for the Games," explains my father, evidently losing interest in Caesar Flickerman.
"He's only the best-looking man in Panem! Minus your father, of course," my mother adds quickly.
A closer look at Caesar Flickerman shows eyes with a bright verve and lids that seemed to shake off magic at every blink. His lips grinned into a full, sincere smile. It differed from the normal, uptight smile so commonly seen through the Capitol.
Our picnic concluded with a spontaneous battle against some golden squirrels for the remaining pieces of my birthday cake. Defeated, we return to our home to watch the live interviews. Along the way, my father insists that his friends should come over. Reluctantly, my mother concedes.
Come nightfall, my family and father's friends sit around the parlor. The announcers take careful note to announce the prep teams, stylists, escorts, mentors, and finally, tributes. Caesar Flickerman appears in a sparkling blue suit, his eyes wide with excitement. Make-up emphasizes his already fabulous features, immortalizing him for Panem's sake.
We learned a lot about the tributes from the interviews. Some were fearless in their pursuit of victory. Some expressed fears. One girl from 8 cried. My father, the scholarly drunk by this point, took sloppy notes on his Career picks. My mother stared at Caesar Flickerman intently. Alfie fell asleep by the time the females from District 3 sat down.
The interviews proved informative and interesting. However, I held my undivided attention for one interview in particular. Haymitch. He sat in the very last seat on the stage, which had to be enlarged due to the gross number of tributes. Wearing a handsome suit apparently made of coal dust, as the audience finds out, he strides to the stage with a smirk on his face.
"Haymitch Abernathy! The final tribute chosen in our second ever Quarter Quell! How are you feeling?" booms Caesar Flickerman.
"I could care less," responds Haymitch appearing bored.
"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" Caesar displays perfect presentation, posing for the camera and giving Haymitch a decent amount of respect.
"I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."
May the odds be ever in your favor. Haymitch nods as I think of these words and the audience loses it. They cheer, clap, hoot, and holler for Haymitch. My father shoots me an approving look.
They continue a banter that resembles mockery and lecturing. Halfway through the interview, Caesar asks if he has a girl back home in 12. He responds "What it to you?", but by the half smile the camera catches, I know the answer is yes. Something deep inside me burns for a second, and my face turns red. Alfie shoots me a ridiculing glance from across the room.
"Snarky fellow, isn't he?" sneers one of my father's friends.
"Well, thank you, Haymitch," Caesar places a hand on his back, "And good luck to you!"
Haymitch offers a half wave to the enthusiastic audience, shakes Caesar's hand, and returns to his seat. The anthem plays and the television program moves into the post-interview commentary.