Interview Prep.

A Cannon in the Wind;

The Fifth Hunger Games.

Adeline Callard, 18;

District One Female.

"Okay, so here's how things are going to go." Jewell places her utensils to the table, wiping her mouth with a nearby towel. So elegant. So beautiful. Why can't I be like her? "Tonight are the Interviews, as you all know. You'll be showcasing yourself to the Capitol, making them love you, making them want to sponsor you. Obviously we can't have the two of you going onstage without any proper training, so Aquila and I are going to separately work with the both of you and basically make sure you know exactly what to say, how to say it, and what image you'll want the Capitol to associate you with. This should take about eight hours, so get ready for some intense training."

"I will be taking Vesper," Aquila chimes, sending my District Partner a wink. "I promise, you'll be the perfect gentleman by the time I'm done with you."

Vesper looks disgusted—but surprisingly, he doesn't say anything. And I think I know why. Tomorrow, we'll be in the Arena. Tomorrow, people are going to die. Tomorrow, we could die. He acts like he doesn't care, but stress and anxiety affects people in many different ways.

Just like how it's affecting me. The only thoughts I've been able to have while I try to sleep at night are bad ones. After seeing my training score yesterday, a blood red 5, it's cemented the fact that I'll never be good enough. My entire alliance got higher than me. Even Vesper with his 2; he'sobviously leagues above me when it comes to fighting and the like.

I want to be like them. Vesper, Jewell, Kostos, Echo, Terrance—why can't I be strong like them? It's not fair. It's not fair.

"After we're done teaching you all the tricks and tips to handling Aeliana, your stylists will then clean and dress you up." Jewell's friendly gaze quickly turns serious. "Careful. During the Chariots, you two had the obvious advantage. But now, the other tributes are getting dolled up to look just as good. Don't get cocky."

I smile. "Of course." Someone like me shouldn't get cocky in the first place.

I shake off the thought, chewing on a piece of bacon. I don't usually get like this—not around other people, at least. With people, I can forget about my insecurities and just try to be my cheerful self. It's when I'm alone that I can't stop doubting myself, comparing myself to everyone and realizing just how inferior I truly am.

But the Games are close. It's impossible not to let my thoughts wander when everyone around me will be fighting and killing come next morning.

I steal a glance at Aquila, who's happily whistling a tune to herself. Every once in a while, she'll look at Vesper, and then start giggling. Why doesn't she ever pay attention to me? Am I not worth her attention? What's so special about Vesper?!

For a second, there's the rage, threatening to eat me alive. Jealousy is a hard thing to control, but I've been living with it for almost my entire life. Almost as soon as I feel it, I push the anger back down, disgusted with myself. What's wrong with me?

Minutes later, Jewell finishes her breakfast and stands up from her seat. "Well, it's about time we start. There's a private room downstairs, just for us. Adeline, let's go."

I stand, nodding, the smile on my face feeling more and more forced with every second. "Yes ma'am." It's not that I'm nervous about being onstage tonight. Honestly, I'm excited! I want everyone to love me, to want me to win. I want to go onstage and be the teenage girl I am, laughing and flinging my hair.

I just want them to like me. And the thing that eats me away is the fact that I don't know if I can.

Jewell and I head onto the elevator, and just as fast, we're downstairs. Instead of being in the Training Center, though, we're in some sort of lobby. As tributes, we're not allowed to stop on this floor, so instantly I'm making sure to take in everything I can. The chandeliers, the portraits, even the people—they're all so beautiful, everything is so beautiful.

Being in the Capitol is truly a once in a lifetime chance. It's such a shame that us tributes are sheltered from the rest of the world, though.

"Is there a chance of us being able to go outside and sight-see?" I ask my Mentor. She doesn't even glance at me; instead, she motions for me to follow her down a rather dark hallway. I nod to myself, sticking close so I don't get lost. She just... She just must not have heard me. That's it, right?

Or rather, she's disappointed that she has to work with someone like you. She'd much rather work with Vesper, or even that little girl from District Six. Anyone over you.

There it is again, the jealousy. My insecurities. I try to squash it down—but this time, it's harder than usual. Jewell takes us both to a door with D1 Female written on it, but she turns around to look at me before she opens it. I barely have time to cover up the frown on my face.

"Something wrong?"

"Nope! Just excited to start, ma'am!" I grin, placing my hands behind my back. I clench my own fingers, trying desperately to hide the deceit and hurt out of my voice. "Is this my room? I bet it looks lovely inside, doesn't it? I can't wait to see what accomodies the Capitol has lent me!"

Jewell looks a me a bit longer than usual, but just shrugs a second later. "Yeah, it's pretty fancy. I'm used to it by now, but I've taken three other girls here and they seemed to have liked it enough..."

She looks sad for a moment, but I don't understand why. Maybe because she can't really see how beautiful the Capitol is anymore, since she's been here for about five years now. I hope I don't become like that. This city is something else, something different from District One.

Jewell opens the door and walks in, and I go in right behind her. Instantly, I gasp. The carpets are deep and thick, a royal blue color. There are two red couches in the center of the room, both of them looking extremely comfortable. The lightbulb at the top is design I've never seen before, with pointy spikes instead of just being circular–but it's nice as well. And then I see the closet. The door is slightly ajar, letting me see the corner of a frilly blue dress. And don't even get me started on the heels at the bottom!

It's all so very lovely.

For a moment, I forget about the Games—and just like that, old sweet and cheery Adeline is back. Not the jealous, insecure Adeline. Not the dependent, weak Adeline. But just Adeline. The Adeline that I hope everyone falls in love with tonight.

"It's amazing!" I manage to prevent myself from running straight towards the closet. I have a job to do, kinda, and I don't want Jewell to see me as an annoying stereotype. "So what are we going to do first? How am I supposed to get the crowd to love me?"

The older woman sits down on one of the couches, a long sigh coming out of her lips. She's been acting really...depressing for some reason. Why is that? Is it... Is it because she really doesn't want to help me?

"Adeline," she says, her voice like a knife stabbing into my soul. Here it is. The rejection I never wanted to hear, especially from my idol. "Before we begin, I'd like to tell you something important. For starters, there have been three other girls standing right where you're standing. And they're all dead. I've had the misfortune of getting to know them, becoming friends with them, and then watching them die horrible deaths in the Arena. After seeing Lola writhing in pain last year, a knife stuck in her back, I promised myself not to get attached anymore. I promised myself to focus only on getting you out alive. But it's not just my responsibility. If you want to make it out alive, you're going to have to want it, work for it. You can't play any games—"

"I won't!" I interrupt, the desperation overwhelming my thoughts. "I promise, Jewell! I-I'll do everything I can..."

But will that even be enough? I did everything I could to get a good training score. I worked harder than I ever worked in my eighteen years of living. And all that amounted to was a 5.

"Are you sure, Adeline?" She leans in. And somehow, through the makeup, I can see the lines growing across her face. I can see the tears shining in her eyes. "Because I don't want to get hurt again. If you're going to die, please warn me..."

I bite my lip, hesitating. I want to be able to kid myself, but the optimism is drained out of me. Physically, I'm weak. Emotionally, I'm weak. All my life, I've been given the very best, never having to hear the word no. The hardest thing I've ever had to do was choose which dress looked best on me. How can someone like me just be violently snatched out of my comfortable lifestyle and then be expected to shove a knife through someone's eye?

I just can't. I know I can't...

But you're not alone. I open my mouth to speak. Kostos definitely won't let something bad happen to you. Even Terrance isn't that kind of person. As long as you're not alone, you...you have a shot.

That's true. I know how to use my looks to my advantage. I know how to manipulate people. Even though I don't like the thought of actually tricking people, the idea of dying is even more distressing. If I try, I can get the audience to adore me. If I try, I can have Kostos wrapped around my finger. If I try, I...

"I can survive." I gulp, forcing down the tears. All of this is just stressing me out, and I want nothing more right now than to just go home and act like none of this ever happened. But I can't do that. I can't give up. If not for me, then for Jewell.

I don't want her to cry over my death.

All I want is for her to like me.

All I want is for everyone to like me.

For the first time, I just want to be the very best.

Michael Riverbee, 13;

District Five Male.

"I can't take this anymore." Alexandra gets up from her seat, glaring at Drusas. "Through my entire time here, you've been nothing but an ass to both me and Michael. And I'm done with it. I'm done with you, this stuffy room, and everyone else in this entire city!"

Our Escort's eyes narrow into slits. "Young lady—!" But it's too late. Without even listening to what Drusas has to say, my District Partner storms out of the room and slams the door. I stay quiet, not really the kind of person to get involved in their daily arguments.

I like them both, so how am I supposed to pick a side? Alexandra is my District Partner, the girl who was supposed to be with me through thick and thin. I really wanted to smile with her, laugh with her—but she's been so persistent in pushing me away. And then there's Drusas; he's mean at times, yeah, but he really does a good job in helping us. In his own twisted way, he really does care.

There's still the ningling resentment lodged in the back of my head, though—something I've never, ever had before. Why am I feeling this way towards the people of the Capitol? Is it...

Is it because they're sending me off to die?

"Shouldn't we go after her?" I ask, swatting that horrible thought away. Drusas just gives me a look. "What if she doesn't know how to get back to our floor? What if she ends up getting in some trouble?"

"That's her own problem then," he replies, trying to look dignified and studious after that little incident. "She's said time and time again how she has photographic memory. Let's see if that's true. Besides, the Peacekeepers will deal with her the moment she leaves this restricted area."

"Oh." I look to the floor, trying to find a little hope that maybe—just maybe—she'll stay safe and out of trouble. She has to, right? I'd like to believe that even though she's constantly being scolded by Drusas, she'll be fine when all of this is done with.

That's all I can hope for, really. Safety. Peace. These Hunger Games can't seriously happen, right? I mean, of course not! Even though I've seen a few on TV, those had to have been silly tricks or something.

Kids wouldn't seriously kill kids. The Capitol wouldn't seriously make us do that.

I don't know what really happens to the Reaped kids, but they aren't dead. They can't be dead...

Because if they are, that means I'll be dead come tomorrow morning. And that's just something I can't accept. My optimism won't allow me. As long as I believe that the Games will be cancelled, or that they aren't even real to begin with, then I can still go around with a smile on my face. The opposite will destroy me.

"Anyway, let's continue our session. I think it's impossible to make you district children truly look great onstage, but we can go through some of the questions Ms. Devrine will ask and you can at least try to answer it appropriately," Drusas says, suddenly sitting up straight, trying to mirror how Aeliana will look. Instead of the usual deadpan expression he wears, it's replaced with a cheerful grin. "So, Mr. Riverbee. How are you enjoying the Capitol?"

I blink, trying to hurry and get myself in the right train of thought. Drusas hates when I say something wrong, so I rack my brain for the right response. Honestly, the Capitol hasn't been too bad. I miss my mom and dad, yeah, and so do I miss Ria and Finley. But I met Ceres here, and I've seen so many things here that I'd never have seen back in District Five.

"Um, it's been nice," I say, not really knowing how to put my thoughts into words. It's strangely embarrassing. "I miss District Five, but the Capitol has been really nice..."

Drusas cuts the happy facade to roll his eyes. "Bland. Of course the Capitol is nice. You need to be more rememberable, Michael, because the odds are against you enough and you'll have absolutely no chance without sponsors. You need to be funny, charming, strong. Not meek and awkward and boring."

"I am funny, charming and strong," I tell him, forcing a smirk on my face. "What do you want me to do? Start dancing onstage or something?"

"Don't get snarky," he snaps, narrowing his eyes. I frown, leaning back in my seat—but a sharp glare has me sitting right back up. Ugh, I can't deal with this. I'm really not ready for these interviews.

I'm really not ready for anything.

"Listen, I'm trying to help you. I am. Alexandra doesn't understand it, but I do want one of you to win." He leans in, staring at me with sparkly eyes. "Is it likely? No. Odds are, you're going to be the first one dead. And Alexandra will end up starving without sponsors, something she'll definitely lack. But if you two somehow do get a chance to survive, then we're going to take it. Understand?"

I nod, biting my lip. He thinks I'll be the first one to die. Is that right? Am I seriously that weak?

He's probably right. There's no way I could kill somebody. No way at all. The best I can do is run, but I'm pretty sure all of these eighteen-year-olds are faster than me. My training score of 3 just proves how totally hopeless this all is.

The dread I felt during the Reaping suddenly comes back, hitting harder than ever. I cried, because deep down, I knew the Hunger Games were real. I knew the Hunger Games weren't going to get cancelled. I knew, right then, that I was going to die.

My mom cried, because she knew it was hopeless. My dad looked on with a stony expression, because he knew I was a goner. Even all of my friends cried during the Goodbyes, because they knew that they'd never, ever see me again. It's practically written in stone, isn't it?

Michael Riverbee, deceased tribute in the Fifth Hunger Games.

Deceased. But I don't... I don't want to die...

"Are you..?" Drusas blinks, before groaning. "Honestly, Michael. This is no time to be crying. If you're that weak, then you might as well give up now. Jump off your pedestal. Just don't cry."

I jump out of my seat and run out the door, ignoring his protests. I hate him. I hate his patronizing tone. I hate the Capitol. I hate how they took me away from my family and are sending me to my death. I hate the Hunger Games. I hate, hate, hate the Hunger Games!

Tears blinding my vision, I run down the hall, not even knowing where I am or where I'm going. Most of all, though, I hate how the Capitol can make me feel these feelings. I've never hated anyone before. I've never felt the exhausting weight of resentment lodged deep inside my heart. But now that I'm here, it's like the emotions I've tried so hard to ignore are finally surfacing.

"This is how I truly feel about the Capitol!" I yell, kicking the wall next to me with as much force as I can. If I wasn't running on my emotions alone, it'd really hurt. But right now, I can't even feel it. "I hate it! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! I wanna go home! I wanna go home!"

I fall to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. This isn't me. This isn't my personality. I don't hate people. I don't scream and kick walls. I don't cry. I'm playful. I'm cheerful. Energetic and innocent. Who is this guy on the floor, crying and frustrated? I don't know him. This... This isn't...

After awhile, I stop my crying. I just stare at the wall, completely numb. I'm done for. By this time tomorrow, I'm going to be on a train heading back to District Five—but this time, it'll be in a wooden coffin. I can only hope that my friends and family back home don't cry too much.

When the Peacekeepers finally come to escort me back to my room, Alexandra handcuffed next to them, I don't struggle. I don't say or do anything. Because I'm dead. I'm dead.

No more smiling. No more jokes and no more games.

How am I enjoying the Capitol? I'm not enjoying the Capitol. I'm not even in the Arena yet, and I'm already broken. This is the real world, the world I've been trying so hard to ignore.

They've already broke me.

London Tienna, 18;

District Ten Female.

I feel like Ria.

That's the only thing I can think of as Rufus escorts Ricky and I to our stylists. Petunia, my Head Stylist, grins as I walk inside the room. The other three Capitolites are off to the side, rearranging the grooming equipment for probably the umpteenth time. I smile at them all.

This must definitely be how my little sister feels all day. Manipulating people to do her bidding, not having to move a muscle to live a good life.

Not that I'm manipulating anyone. I'm truly not. It's just that, seeing Rufus trying so hard to help me, and seeing my stylists trying so hard to make me look beautiful for tonight... I don't know, it just feels weird. I thought that I'd gotten use to the extravagant Capitol lifestyle, but apparently not. Not yet, at least.

"Well then, London. How are you feeling?" Petunia asks, leading me to my other stylists. "By tonight, we'll have you looking like a beauty queen."

I start stripping off my clothes, already knowing the drill and not really caring that these people can see me naked. I'm confident enough in myself to not fret over pointless things like that. Besides, they've already seen it already. The first time might've been a bit surprising, but now I'm just adapting to the weird Capitol culture.

"Aren't I already a beauty queen?" I ask her jokingly, to which they all laugh. I lay down on the metal table—and just like that, everyone gets to work. "Seriously, though, it's almost a bit overwhelming. I'm excited, but kinda scared."

There's a constant chill running through my body, from both the excitement and the nerves. The thought of twirling around in a frilly dress is a good one, but I've never done anything like this before—and even though I've watched previous interviews, I'm still not entirely sure what to expect.

"That's understandable," the guy doing my hair says in a soft voice. "I'm sure they don't have many pageants in District Ten, huh?"

I giggle. "Unfortunately." I tense as I feel the cold sheet of wax being placed on my leg. Oh no, I tried to brace myself for this again, but just the thought of getting my leg hair violently pulled out is a chilling one.

"Don't worry, dear. This'll be over fairly quickly," the Capitol lady with the waxing paper says. I nod, closing my eyes—and just like that, she pulls the sheet off my leg. I wince, but I don't yell out in pain like the first time. Hey, I'm getting stronger!

"That didn't hurt as much as before!" I say, excited, feeling the chill running through my veins get stronger. I almost feel invincible now. "The first step is the darned waxing paper. The next step will be the Hunger Games!"

They all laugh again, finding my confidence hilarious. The lady waxing my legs shakes her head, a smile growing bigger and bigger. "Well, considering we waxed it a few days ago, it's not supposed to hurt as much. But yeah, I guess you can look at it your way."

That's how I plan to look at it, I start to say, but then I realize just how...disconnected they are. I just joked about winning the Hunger Games, meaning twenty-three other teenagers would have to be dead...and yet, they just chuckle like I'm talking about food or something. For the first time since coming here, I'm starting to see that maybe these colorful people aren't as jolly as I thought.

Maybe they just don't care—about me, or about death, or about anything in general. I think back to the sight of them arranging and rearranging the supplies. Well, they care a lot for how I look. That has to amount to something, right?

I want to believe so. As long as I stay cheerful and optimistic, I can ignore where I am, what these people do, and where I'm soon to be going.

After the lady finishes waxing my legs, another man comes and starts scrubbing away at my skin with a sponge. My hair is still being done up, though, in what I guess is some intricate design because it's taking longer than last time. Through the window to the next room, I can see Petunia working on something, her brows creased. Is she the one doing my dress? That must be it.

"So have you made any allies, London?" The man scrubbing at my skin asks me, his voice all high and totally unexpected. I bite back a laugh, instead choosing to smile like an idiot. But I do that a lot anyway.

"Yep! The girl from District Nine, Toren Ingalls." I close my eyes, still smiling. "We're going to give the other tributes hell, or at least die trying." But I'm not going to die. Toren might have to, eventually, and my vocabulary isn't even big enough to explain how much that kills me inside. But I'm not going to die. I...can't even imagine it.

My stylists all hum in appreciation. Apparently, her score of 5 matched with my score of 6 is good enough to gain us a few sponsors based on that alone. But it's tonight that will determine everything. Rufus told Ricky and I that our very lives depend on the interview tonight. I'm already a fan-favorite. If I can charm the Capitol just a little bit more, then I'll be set.

And I can charm the Capitol. I know I can. I might have a few butterflies in my stomach right now—but when I walk on that stage tonight, I'll be going purely off of instinct. And I'm known to do pretty well when going off my instincts.

We all talk a bit more. They ask about my relationship with Toren, which I reply in which she reminds me of my little sister—except Toren isn't a lazy, manipulative brat. They ask me about my training score, and I tell them all about how I marvelously swung a large machete around and hoped for the best. They even ask me about Ricky, to which I call him a cutie, though it is sad that I won't be allying with him in the Arena.

By the time I'm done talking, they're finished cleaning me up. I'm given a robe to wear, and then they take me to the next room, where Petunia is...nowhere to be seen. Um, where is she? And what about my dre—?

"Close your eyes!" I hear a voice exclaim from behind. Petunia. "And take off that nasty robe!" Before I can turn around and question her, gentle hands are suddenly covering my eyes. A grin finds its way onto my face as I feel the robe sliding off my body and another material sliding on.

A moment passes. My eyes are still closed. In the room, it's completely silent. Are they so stricken with shock at my beauty, or are they disgusted into silence? I'm guessing the former, because Petunia and the other members of my group literally squeals.

"Oh my goodness, London! It's beautiful!" One of them says above all the other chatter. "Ooh, Ritaya is going to be so jealous when this wins best dress!"

"Can I open my eyes?"

"Y-YES! London, open your eyes!"

And so I do. Thankfully, there's a mirror right in front of me—and as I stare at my reflection, the chill running through my body grows with strength. My messy blonde hair is nowhere to be seen. Instead, they've actually managed to straighten it out, letting it fall to my back and curl up at the ends. There isn't a single freckle on my face; instead, it's hidden behind makeup that makes it seem like I have perfectly smooth skin. My eyes have dark mascara around them, and my lips are colored a luscious red. I look absolutely gorgeous, more than I've ever looked in my eighteen years of living.

And then there's the dress. It's a light blue, squeezing at my body to give the illusion of curves. It stops right above the knee and right above my cleavage, giving much room for sex appeal. Blue crystals are placed randomly around my dress— and whenever they catch a glimpse of light, they sparkle. With the whole image put together, I realize that I don't just look gorgeous.

I look stunning. Absolutely electrifying.

"I... I love it," I tell them, and I mean it. I love it so, so much. "Thank you, Petunia, everyone. Thank you so much. It's the most beautiful thing I've laid my eyes on."

My prep team all look extremely emotional right now. They're at a loss for words. And for the first time, so am I. There's no way the Capitol won't love you now, I tell myself, a grin unintentionally finding its way on my lips. Even if they loved you already, they'll adore you now.

And that's good. Because sooner or later, I'm going to have to face reality. Tomorrow, I'm going into the Hunger Games. It's not a party. I'm not going to be cuddling under a tree with Lucas. I'm going to be fighting for my life—and killing. The thought makes me sick to my stomach, but if I'm going to win...

I shake my head. No ifs.

I'm going to win.

So far, the odds have made my experience in the Capitol more than lovely. I have a strong ally. I got a 6 for my training score. The Capitol loves me—and will love me even more, considering what I do tonight. But starting tomorrow, I can't be so nonchalant. I can't be so air-headed.

I'm going to win the Hunger Games.

I have everything to win—and as far as I need to be concerned, nothing to lose.

Author's Notes: I forgot to mention last chapter. Considering this is an early Games, Antonius is working alone. Like, seriously, he calls all the shots. President Kronin doesn't realize that the mental capabilities to work the Games alone are much too great for anyone to really handle, and that's also why Antonius is slowly cracking with guilt and stress. If you didn't notice, he was the only one watching the tributes during training, and he was the only one there to grade them. So yeah, other than the engineers who actually build the Arena, he's the one who comes up with everything and plans for everything and presses the button to kill the tributes whenever the time calls for it.

Also, as you can see, some development is already showing inside some of the tributes. I feel like "nice and cheerful" tributes aren't going to be "nice and cheerful" the entire time. They're being forced to fight to the death. I imagine some of the tributes to fall into depression and do things against their personality. And considering they're going into to Games tomorrow, yeah, I just don't really see most of the cheery tributes skipping around like there's nothing wrong. Except maybe London, because she's an airhead xD BUT EVEN SHE'S DEVELOPING, AS YOU CAN SEE!

So yeah, sorry for that little information dump. But I dread the day when a submitter messages me telling me that I'm getting their tribute or something wrong. I know what I'm doing. So yeah. ANYWAY, this was Interview Preparation! Next chapter will be the Interviews! I know a lot of SYOT writers dislike the Interviews (like the Reapings), so we'll see how I do and feel about them.

What are your thoughts on each of these tributes? Which POV was your favorite and why? Which POV was your least favorite and why?

The Interviews have started. In just a few measly minutes, you'll be onstage convincing the Capitol to sponsor you. What is your Interview Strategy? Do you honestly think that you can get the Capitol to like you?

Okay, so this chapter is a wrap! Also, if you'd go on my profile and scroll down, you will see my Tumblr and DeviantART accounts! If you go on my DeviantART, I have a BUNCH of cool pictures of the multiple SYOTs I've had the fortune of reading. Go check it out and tell me what you think! If you ask, odds are, I'll end up doing a picture for one of your tributes. :)

Remember, reviews are heavenly. The more you review, the happier I get! And don't you want poor old Jalen Kun to be happy? ;-;

I'll try to update soon!

Bai!