Oliver

Once the scores were finished, Slade and Shado gave their tributes the rest of the night off. Tomorrow was a rare break day where they would be preparing for the next stage of the pre-Games events: the interviews. But considering how exhausting today had been, both physically and emotionally, both mentors had decided not to start on that work until tomorrow. All they instructed Oliver and Helena to do was think about what kind of character they wanted to play for the audience. The rest — such as the angle they would come from using their chosen character, their poise and manners, and the potential questions that might be lobbied towards them — all of that could be handled later.

Helena immediately went to her room, deep in thought, while Oliver went back to the dining table and asked for a second helping of dinner from the Avoxes. When he was done, he headed to his room and tried to watch some more television, but his heart wasn't in it and it wasn't long until he became restless again. After thinking it over, he grabbed a pack of playing cards his room had been stocked with and headed to the roof.

Just as he suspected, Laurel was present when he got there, toweling herself off from what seemed like another extracurricular training session. She was sitting on the edge of the building, her back toward the ledge and the drop below. Oliver watched her for a moment, trying to keep out of sight. "I know you're there," Laurel announced to the open air, not bothering to look up.

The District One tribute narrowed his eyes as he stalked out of his hiding place, crossing his arms when he was closer. "Aren't you afraid of falling?" he asked, gesturing towards his fellow tribute's precarious position.

Laurel arched an eyebrow at his supposed concern, before shaking her head. "Nope. Watch."

She reached out with one arm over the edge of the roof and dropped her towel. They both watched it fall, only for it to bounce off some invisible barrier and launch itself back into the air. Laurel grabbed it before it could fall again, and turned to Oliver expectantly. "Forcefield," she explained, "If I fall, it'll throw me back. Probably won't be painless or injury-free, but I'll still be alive."

"Convenient," Oliver noted.

"Very," Laurel agreed.

Neither of them bothered to state the obvious. The forcefield was likely installed to prevent any tributes from committing suicide to avoid suffering a slow, painful death in the arena. After all, tribute dying before any of the intended audience could watch wasn't good television. It explained why suicidal tributes these days killed themselves by running head-first into the bloodbath. Careers were always too high on bloodlust during those opening moments in the Games to draw out any of the deaths. They always saved the slower ones for the later days in the arena.

"So, why are you here?" Laurel asked after a moment. "Needed some air again?"

Oliver shrugged. "Kinda. I was bored and was hoping you were here. Want to play some cards?" He took the deck out of his pocket and waved it in the air for emphasis.

This, if anything, only confused Laurel further. "I'm surprised you'd want to spend any more time with me after the last couple of days."

"Eh. As… aggravating as you are, you've been the most interesting person here since I arrived at the Capitol," Oliver replied, ignoring the amusement on Laurel's face. "And I need the distraction. Besides, I don't plan on leaving this building until I get one up on you in something."

"Really?" Laurel blinked, pursing her lips. "I'm surprised you're not saving your annoyance for the arena."

A flicker of irritation flashed across Oliver's expression. "Not all of us are that bloodthirsty, you know," was his curt response.

He got only a hum in response but no rebuttal, and the irritation turned into a brief moment of victory. It was a small thing, but after getting his ass verbally handed to him for the past two days, Oliver would take what he could get. He tried not to smile too smugly when Laurel silently patted on the spot next to her, just enough space between them to play a card game.

When Oliver was safely settled, he pulled the deck of cards out of the box and placed it in the center. "What do you want to play?"

"Poker?"

Oliver winced. "Maybe something else? Like Go Fish?" he asked helplessly.

Laurel peered at him thoughtfully. "Ah. Don't know a lot of card games, do you?"

"It wasn't on the curriculum at school."

She shook her head at that. "Oliver, this isn't something you learn at school," Laurel said, with no small amount of amusement in her voice.

After cycling through several games, they found themselves settling on Blackjack, which Oliver found the simplest to get a hang of. Laurel, being the more knowledgeable of the two, took on the role of dealer, while Oliver was the sole player. Lacking anything that could act as a bet, they elected to keep playing until someone reached a winning score of five.

For the most part, things were quiet outside the sound of cards being slapped onto the concrete ledge and the occasional "stay" and "hit" from Oliver. They went through about three rounds of Blackjack before Oliver ventured into another attempt at conversation. "You're quiet tonight," he said.

Laurel hummed again. "Not a lot to say. And you?"

"Same as you." He hesitated for a moment, then, "Worried about sponsors?"

A pause. "Maybe," she slowly admitted. "A seven is good and all, but, well…"

"Don't be — it's still a decent score," Oliver stated firmly. "Combined with the splash you made at the parade, you should be fine as long as you don't bungle up your interview. Nail that, and you'll have sponsors lining up the block."

That got him a look of surprise, and Oliver reveled in another small victory. Finally, he was getting to her, even if it was through praise instead of some kind of verbal jab like he originally intended. "Are you seriously trying to cheer me up?" Laurel asked, her surprise giving way to disbelief. "You do realize we're both going into the arena in a few days, and only one of us is going home, right? For all we know, it won't be either of us — that girl from Two scored pretty high."

"Not surprising when you consider who her father is," Oliver grumbled, and that got a grunt in agreement. A little louder, he said, "But to answer your question, Laurel, if it's not going to be me, I'd rather it be you. Like I said — you're infuriating, but you're interesting."

Laurel blinked. "Huh. What about your district partner, though? Wouldn't you want her to win?"

"Helena?" Oliver thought it over, then shrugged. "She's my second choice, though more out of district loyalty than anything else. We get along well enough but I don't like her all that much and I think the feeling's mutual. She's got a real nasty side to her."

His companion gave him a flat look in response to that but didn't say anything more on the matter. They played a couple more rounds, and they were up four to four when the last round came out with both of them getting a blackjack. "Oh, seriously?" Oliver groaned.

"We can play another round," Laurel offered.

"Nah," Oliver decided after a moment, rubbing one of his temples. "Let's just call it a draw."

She didn't protest that decision, so it seemed she was getting tired of playing as well. Together, they gathered up all the cards and straightened them out before putting the deck back into the box. Oliver then placed the box back into his pocket, leaving Laurel and him on their lonesome once again.

Another silence fell upon them both, both their gazes directed at the street below. Even this late into the night, the citizens of the Capitol were reveling in the Games. Whether it was placing bets or indulging in various Hunger Games-themed paraphilia, no inch of the city was untouched by the ongoing festivities. For them, this truly was the best time of the year.

It made Oliver's stomach roil for some reason, though he didn't know why. This was what he wanted. He had trained his entire life just so he could be here and become a Victor. He had no reason to complain.

"Why did you choose to become a Career Tribute?"

Oliver paused at the unexpected question. "Why do you want to know?"

Laurel shrugged. "I just do. I might die in a few days, you know? And if that happens… well, I'd rather die with no regrets. Even if it's for something as small as this."

Sound enough reasoning, considering the circumstances. Oliver bit his lip. Should he answer?

When a minute passed without him saying anything, Laurel turned around and looked up to watch the night sky, her legs dangling over the ledge. After another moment of agonizing debate in his head, Oliver spoke. "It was pressure, mostly," he admitted. "From my parents, my little sister…I guess everyone, really."

He was looking down at his lap, trying to gather his thoughts. He heard some movement next to him; he had caught Laurel's attention again. "I'm the son of two Victors — the only child of two Victors in living memory. Everyone expected greatness from me at a young age, and when you're district, there's only one path to that. And me… I guess I didn't know how to get out of it. Or what I'd do if I did. Because the Games… they've been my entire life, you know?"

It was a shockingly candid admission, words he had never said to anyone. Not to Shado or Slade, to Thea or Raisa, and certainly not to his parents. Oliver wasn't sure why he was saying it to a girl he had only met a few days ago, especially one he was supposed to kill soon, but for some reason, it just came easily when it was Laurel he was speaking to.

For her part, Laurel had taken on an expression of sympathy. There was sadness and pity in her eyes, and Oliver didn't quite know what to make of it. "It doesn't sound like you want to be here," she observed.

Oliver shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I want anymore. I'm already here, and I need to do whatever it takes to win. That's all that matters."

A simple truth. Laurel didn't disagree, but she did reach over to take his hand and squeeze it. Oliver, despite his shock at the gesture, didn't pull away. They looked at each other, exchanging small smiles.

"You're not so bad," she said, "you know, for a Career."

An unexpected compliment coming from an unexpected person. Oliver was stunned and found himself adopting a genuine smile. Laurel stiffened at the sight, a bright flush crossing her face. It was the first time he had seen her with her guard down, and he found it… comforting.

"Well, you're not too bad either," he said back. "Much prettier when you don't act like you've got a stick up your ass."

Laurel smacked him on the arm, and Oliver laughed.

Sara

School, unfortunately, did not cease with the Games, not even when your older sister had been reaped as one of the tributes. Sara's teachers were sympathetic and she was given longer deadlines than everyone else to accommodate for her "circumstances". She, as grateful as she was for their consideration, still wasn't sure if she would need it or not. It felt like she was torn in two. There were some days when Sara felt like she couldn't focus on anything at all, and some days when she was searching for some kind of distraction from what was going on with Laurel. It was weird.

It only got worse the closer and closer they got to when it was time for Laurel to enter the arena. The day of the interviews, literally the last day before everything went to hell, saw Sara return home from school with her nerves on edge. Tonight was the last chance Laurel had to win over more of the Capitol audience — or lose them, should worse come to worse.

The reality was, she wouldn't be the first strong tribute to screw over her chances thanks to her interview. So many promising potential Victors had been hampered by nervousness or blandness, unlikable personalities that failed to make those drama-addicted Capitolites fall in love with them. One in particular that stood out was Adam Donner, the male tribute from the year of Laurel's first reaping. High training score and passable good looks, only for the interview to fail him when he came off as boorish and slimy instead of suave. All joining that year's Career Pack did for him was delay the inevitable. There was no way the Capitol would accept him as their Victor.

That was why Sara was so worried. If there was one thing that Vanch had a leg up on Laurel, it was this. The Capitol loved tributes with character, and while very few good things could be said about Cyrus Vanch, he was definitely a character.

Everyone else in the district knew it too. She had gotten pitying looks ever since Laurel had been reaped, and it was just making the situation even more disorienting. They weren't exactly popular, being the illegitimate daughters of a Peacekeeper Captain. Weren't hated either, at least not as everyone in their age groups got older and stopped caring about that sort of thing, but nobody was inviting them over for sleepovers any time soon.

Even so, they all had the decency to feel sorry for them when Laurel was reaped. Especially since she got reaped with Vanch, arguably the most hated and feared person in District Eight. And while Sara appreciated their sympathy, she couldn't help but be annoyed by it too. They were acting like Laurel was already dead. It made sense, since none of them knew about their training with Uncle Ted or Sandra, but still — would it kill them to have a little more faith?

In the end, Sara learned to ignore it. They could all think whatever they wanted to think. As long as Laurel made it back to their family alive, in one piece, and not in a box, that was all that mattered.

When Sara arrived home, she found her mother was already back from work and in the kitchen, baking some tesserae bread and boiling water for them to drink. Dinah looked up from the sound of the door opening and gave her younger daughter a tired smile. "Hi, baby. How was school?"

Sara shrugged listlessly, slinging her backpack onto one of the dining table chairs. "Same old, same old. How was work?"

"Same old, same old," Dinah echoed. "Your father will join us soon, by the way. He needs to finish one last round of patrol first."

That was good. Having Dad here and watching the Games with them was such a relief. Surprisingly, despite his overprotective nature, he was the only one who was able to keep his head straight the other day when the training scores went up. Sara still remembered the horrible shock she felt when she saw Laurel's score of seven. Relatively good for a normal outlier, but shockingly low for what Sara knew her sister was capable of. At that moment, a thousand worries entered her mind: had Laurel gotten nervous and bungled her session with the Gamemakers? Or were the Careers so skilled that they hadn't found Laurel's own display unimpressive?

Dinah had expressed similar fears, especially since Vanch, the bastard, had gotten a nine, right up there with the Careers. It was Quentin who had soothed their worries. "She probably scored lower on purpose," he grunted, with all the confidence of a born Capitolite who had watched the Hunger Games for entertainment and sport (and now with a heavy dose of regret) for all his life.

"But why?" Sara asked, confused and bereft.

"She's playing it safe," her father explained. "Your sister made a big splash at the parade, honey. The biggest in years. She's already a standout, with a growing fanbase. Instant popularity like that will make her a target. By getting a lower score than what she's capable of, while at the same time getting one that is relatively high — she's making herself look less of a threat to the other tributes, while at the same time showing the Capitol that she's still capable of taking care of herself and surviving for a few days. Maintaining her popularity while making her opponents underestimate her."

Sara blinked, her eyes wide. Quentin shrugged. "She's not the first to use that kind of strategy. Either way, it's the smart way to go about it. Otherwise, the Careers will just go right after her when the bloodbath starts."

That was a good point. It certainly lightened Sara's heart, and she had an easier time going to bed that night. Just like she had said earlier, before her sister had to go to the Capitol — Laurel was smart, and she knew how to use that. Her strategy showed her intelligence, and if she kept on thinking along those lines, she'd be home before no time.

Or at least, Sara hoped.

Dad arrived home about an hour later, heading over to Mom's room so he could change out of his Peacekeeper uniform and into the spare change of clothes he kept there for the few nights he stayed over. When he was done and left the room, Mom offered him a beer. To both his lover's and daughter's surprise, he refused. "Don't want a hangover for tomorrow," was his blunt response, and Sara winced.

Right. The arena was tomorrow. She wouldn't want to be hungover for that either. If the worst happened, he'd be plenty drunk soon enough.

They settled onto the couch with their usual fare and turned on the holo-projector. The Hunger Games channel, the only channel the projector had been on these past several days, immediately flickered into view, showing a recap of last year's interviews and focusing on one in particular: Ronnie Raymond's from District Twelve. The Victor of last year's Games.

An outlier Victor, and an ideal one. Handsome, witty, irreverent in that charming way that the Capitol loved. Offensive, but not so offensive to anger those living in their ivory towers. The maverick.

Sara wasn't sure if that was the angle Laurel would go for. Laurel could be witty but she wasn't one to ride that fine line when it came to speaking her mind. If something offended her, either she made it loud and clear, or she held it in to avoid getting into trouble. That was how careful she was. How careful she had to be, that they all had to be.

The recap ended and finally, the program started. There was some catchy tune playing, some pretty graphics, and then the announcer introduced the host for tonight, the main host of the Hunger Games overall: Jack Ryder.

He was seated on a revolving chair, and when came into view, he had his iconic, beaming smile on. True to Capitol fashion, he had dyed his skin a golden hue in contrast to his dark green hair, and the nauseating powder blue suit that he was wearing. Just looking at him made Sara's eyes hurt.

As Ryder played to the crowd, she did her best to remember the rules about the interviews. Like the training scores, the interviews were conducted numerically, from one to twelve. However, it was the girls who went first, instead of the boys. The tributes would be all dressed to the nines, and they would each be given three minutes with Ryder (no more, no less) to sell themselves to the audience. To his credit, Ryder always did his best to make sure every tribute shined during their interview, though his efforts only worked if the tribute did their best to work with him. So if you had a crippling amount of stage fright, you were pretty much dead.

Sara had no idea whether or not her sister had stage fright. There weren't a lot of opportunities to test for that sort of thing, and this wasn't the ideal stage to try. But then again, it's not like they had much of a choice at this point.

After the pleasantries were over, Ryder went ahead with introducing the first tribute: Helena Bertinelli, the female tribute of District One. He threw his arm outward as a pretty girl with dark hair stepped onto the stage. Her long locks were done up in a wavy bun, and she was wearing a flattering, violet-hued dress that left very little to the imagination.

Any attraction Sara might've felt for Helena was killed by the reminder that the girl in the projection was a Career that wanted her sister dead. Instead, the attractive picture she painted was intimidating, and Sara did her best to remind herself that Laurel was going to look even more gorgeous when it was her turn. If her costume at the parade was any indication, Sara's sister was going to blow that Helena girl out of the water.

Ryder started off Helena's interview with a few questions inquiring into the girl's past. It's clear he had some kind of background info on the tribute already because he was able to quickly direct Helena into revealing that she was the daughter of a dead mob boss. Quentin immediately hissed at that, while both Sara and Dinah grimaced.

As the interview went on, it became clear that the apple did not fall far from the tree. Helena Bertinelli was a real firecracker, a sadist who was proud of her heritage. "I'm a crack shot with my crossbow," she boasted, "None of the prissy girls here hold a candle to me."

"Oh?" Ryder said, arching an eyebrow. "I imagine quite a few of them have a few things to say about that."

Helena waved him off. "They might, but I'll be sure to show it off in the arena. Just wait and see."

The buzzer sounded soon after that. Ryder showed Helena off to the crowd again, lifting her arm as if she were the Victor already. On Sara's left, her dad grumbled. "As if Vanch weren't enough already," he bemoaned.

"We still have the rest of the Career Pack," Dinah reminded them both, rather reluctantly.

That got a groan from Sara and Quentin both.

After Helena was her district partner, Oliver Queen. Sara, of course, already knew plenty about him, though that could be said about everyone in Panem at this point. The son of the legendary Robert Queen and Moira Dearden, and one of the two biggest favorites to win this year's Games, right after Nyssa al Ghul from District Two. He'd been one of the main topics of discussion ever since this year's Hunger Games had started.

Looking at him now, Sara could see why. He was hot. Combined with the legacy he carried, it was no wonder the Capitol was so enamored with him. Sara might have been too, if he weren't a brutal killer trained to murder children and was probably aiming to kill her sister. As it was, seeing him just made her scowl.

Unsurprisingly, Oliver went for the "lovable, charming bad boy" character, aided by his positively roguish smile that instantly captured the hearts of every woman in the live audience. He and Ryder hit it off right from the get-go, playing off each other with ease and having a few jokes at his parents' expense before moving on to Oliver's chances in the Games.

The Career boasted about his skills with a sword and especially bows and arrows. It seemed that the latter was an ongoing theme this year for District One, something that didn't make Sara particularly happy. Distance weapons were where Laurel was at a disadvantage. Their training was geared toward close-quarters combat, not projectile weaponry. It's not like they could get things like bows and arrows in District Eight, at least not without being accused of fomenting rebellion.

"So, Oliver, tell me — got a girl back home?" Ryder asked once they were done. "Handsome boy like you, there's got to be someone."

Oliver's smirk widened, and Sara could hear some of the Capitol women swoon. She rolled her eyes.

"A few," he replied, causing scandalized, excited gasps to escape from the audience. Hearing that caused Sara to scoff, and she wasn't the only one.

Ryder laughed. "Really?"

The smirk dropped, to Sara's surprise, and Oliver adopted a more genuine expression. "Actually, there isn't. Bit too focused on other things to have a girlfriend, though I do have to admit I've seen a lot of pretty women these past couple of days."

He winked at the audience for good measure. Many of them screamed in delight.

"Oh? Mind naming a few?"

"Well, that girl from District Eight is gorgeous if I do say so myself."

As one, Laurel's entire family stiffened. On the projection, Ryder gave another chuckle. "Is that so? Are you trying to tell me you have a bit of a crush, Mr. Queen?" he teased.

Oliver shrugged, his grin sly and he lifted his hand and squinted his fingers around a small space. "Just a smidge."

The buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the interview. Oliver stood up and basked in the audience's applause as Quentin growled and shot daggers at the younger man's image. "What's he playing at? That little bastard has no right to have my daughter's name in his mouth."

Dinah sighed. "Who knows, dear? Maybe he was just using her to win over more of the audience."

Quentin clicked his teeth. "Got no shame, then. None at all."

On that, Sara couldn't help but agree.

The infamous Nyssa al Ghul was next, and Sara had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from openly gaping. Fucking hell, she thought to herself as her eyes ran over the projection of the older girl's image. Clad in a form-fitting black and red dress that emphasized the muscular curves of her body almost as much as it did her overall deadliness, Sara found it impossible to look away. Nyssa moved with a grace that was as captivating as it was terrifying. She was undoubtedly the most dangerous tribute in this year's Hunger Games.

If the figure she cut weren't scary enough, her interview would silence any doubters. Right from the beginning, Nyssa commanded the entire room. She spoke with authority, her voice powerful but with the right amount of seductiveness to keep the audience under her thrall. "My father is a great man indeed, and I do hope to follow in his footsteps," she said when asked about her family, "much like my sister many years ago. But while I aspire to their achievements, I am not so arrogant to believe I will surpass them. I would love to if I could, but what they did was extraordinary."

"You don't believe you're as good as them?" Ryder asked, probing.

Nyssa's responding smile was sharp. "I believe there is no way to know until it is time to enter the arena. That is where we shall see."

A diplomatic response, and a proud one — but not so proud to offend. It seemed the youngest al Ghul wasn't some sadistic braggart like that Helena girl from One. She was skilled and she knew it, but she was self-aware of her limits. That was, perhaps, the worst kind of tribute. There was no inherent flaw to take advantage of there.

The interview continued, with Nyssa answering every question promptly and confidently, with only a touch of wit. And yet, Sara didn't have to see the crowd to know that she had them all spellbound. The most dangerous tribute this year, and the greatest threat to Laurel when the Games properly started. She could only hope that all those years of training her sister had undergone would be enough to stand against an al Ghul.

Yet, as bad as Nyssa was, the next tribute turned out to be worse. The male tribute for District Two, Adrian Chase, did his best to be as suave and charming as Oliver Queen, but unlike the onscreen audience, Sara disliked him right from the get-go. There was just something off about him, so much so that she couldn't help but mention it to her parents. While her mother didn't seem to know what Sara was talking about, her father was a different matter. "You've got good instincts, Sara," Quentin noted with an approving grunt. He eyed the projector speculatively. "You remember that serial killer I caught a few years ago? Barton Mathis?"

A swallow. "I do," Sara said haltingly. There was no way she could forget. Even with the likes of Vanch running around, Mathis had been a sick bastard.

"I knew Mathis was the killer right from the moment I met him," Quentin declared. "He acted all pleasant, but he had this glint in his eye, the kind that showed that he didn't believe a single word he was spewing, that he was putting on some kind of show for an audience. Just like this bastard here."

The younger (Drake)-Lance swallowed. "So what does this mean for Chase?" she asked, only paying half-attention to the tribute's interview.

Quentin narrowed his eyes. "I'm not sure yet. But something tells me that brat's sicker and more ruthless than even the standard Career. We'll see it when he's in the arena tomorrow, mark my words."

God fucking dammit. Sara had been hoping it wouldn't be that. "Hopefully, Laurel figures that out soon too."

"She will," Dinah affirmed, speaking up for the first time since the conversation started. She was pale after hearing her lover's words but rallied herself quickly. "Your sister is smart, Sara. She knows better than to underestimate any Career, least of all those from District Two."

That was true. But that did nothing for the worry Sara still felt.

District Three, compared to the previous two districts, was a disappointment — which, considering the situation, Sara supposed was a good thing. The girl, Felicity Smoak, was pretty enough, but her interview had been a disaster. She was a complete wreck on stage, scared out of her wits and babbling out her answers in a rushed way that made it clear to everyone that she didn't want to be there. And there was no indication that any of it was an act. Although this terrible performance only served to benefit Laurel in the long run, Sara couldn't help but feel a touch of pity. There was always at least one tribute like Felicity every year, one that knew they had no chance and despite their best efforts, were too terrified to keep it together and try anyway. It was always sad to see.

By comparison, the boy, Francisco Ramon (or Cisco, as he insisted he'd be called) did a stellar job. He wasn't devastatingly handsome like Queen or Chase, but he was still kind of cute, and he had a lot of personality, including a great sense of humor. Ryder and him got on like a house on fire, playing off each other like they had been best friends all their lives. Even though he hadn't been able to completely hide his nervousness, it didn't seem to have mattered. By the end of his interview, he had won over most of the audience. Certainly, he would've won over Sara under different circumstances.

When the buzzer sounded, Dinah couldn't help but sigh as she watched Cisco leave the stage. "It's a shame. He seems like a nice boy."

"Yeah," Quentin agreed, his voice unusually soft. "If it were any other year, I wouldn't mind him winning."

"Same," Sara concurred.

Following Cisco were the District Four tributes, and if Sara had to be honest, she didn't find them nearly as interesting as their fellow Careers. The boy, Ricardo Diaz, was the typical Career brute, while the girl, Emiko Adachi, wasn't all that bad. She played up some of the mystique surrounding how she's younger than the typical volunteer from her district and claimed that she was full of surprises that she couldn't wait for everyone to see in the arena. It wasn't much, but it was something, and for some reason, it was giving Sara a vibe that she couldn't quite discern. It was almost like Chase, except… different.

She shook it off, figuring it was one of those things that would show itself in the arena. Following District Four was District Five, and these were probably the most uninteresting of the lot thus far. The girl, Leslie Willis, had a foul mouth on her and kept boasting about how she was going to "kick ass", but reading between the lines there wasn't a lot of substance to her "tough girl" act. Her district partner Farooq Gibran, meanwhile, bungled a lot of his answers and didn't have a lot of confidence when speaking, which was a downer considering the decent score he had from training.

District Six was when things started getting interesting again, for a given definition of "interesting". While Eliza Harmon was normal and milquetoast, Hunter Zolomon was a different matter. Huge, muscular, and handsome, he had the Capitol eating out of the palm of his hand from the first word out of his mouth, his superficial charm enough to earn their love. And it was all Sara needed to tell he was just like Chase, in his own way. There was something wrong with Zolomon, and she said as much to her father. He grimaced in agreement. "Your sister is going to have work cut out for her," he stated ominously.

What followed after Zolomon was District Seven, and they were just sad. Those two kids, Evelyn Sharpe and Rory Reagan, tried their best, they really did, but anyone with a pair of eyes could tell they were terrified. That they know they don't stand a chance tomorrow, because twelve-year-olds never do. Nobody was smiling throughout those two interviews, and when it was all over, all Sara could do was shake her head. Hopefully, when the gong sounded, they'd go quickly.

When Ryder started his introduction for Laurel, the entire family sat up with their full attention. The host made a flourishing gesture to the side of the stage to welcome Sara's sister, and after a short pause, there she appeared. As Laurel crossed the stage, Sara released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. To her relief, Laurel was gorgeous tonight, the most gorgeous girl yet in Sara's admittedly biased opinion. She was wearing a shimmering black dress that was tight and fitting in all the right spots and had a slit on the side that showed off some of her long, silky-smooth legs. Her hair was wavy, done up in a tasteful elaborate ponytail that accentuated the graceful curve of her neck. All in all, it was a stunning appearance, one that filled Sara with hope. The best-looking tributes always got the most sponsors, and Laurel had to be the best-looking of them all.

"So," Ryder started with, resting his chin in his hand.

Next to him, Laurel arched an inquisitive eyebrow. "So?" she prompted.

"The parade," he continued, and the tribute blushed, "I've never seen a performance quite like that before, in all my years of hosting the Games. Tell me, what prompted that display?"

"Well, I couldn't help myself, Jack," Laurel explained, trying her best to act all demure. Sara was pretty sure not all of it was an act. "As people back home will tell you, I'm a very reserved person. Not much of a social butterfly. But when I got on that chariot with that costume hidden under my jacket, something inside me just… woke up, and refused to be hidden again. So the only answer I had to that was to show it off to the rest of the world, and see what they thought about it."

Ryder chuckled. "Well, I can tell you they enjoyed it very much. Ain't that right everyone? They can't get enough of you!" he turned to the audience and gestured to them for good measure, and shouts and cheers were given in return.

Laurel laughed and blew a few kisses to the crowd. "I can't get enough of you either!" she called out to her adoring fans. "You've all been so kind to me! It's been a dream, being here with all of you!"

That just made them cheer louder. Jack let them go for a moment before asking them to quiet down so he could continue with the interview. "Now, I know you said it's been a dream being here, but I bet part of you is feeling a little homesick. Tell me — what's the thing you miss most about District Eight?"

"My sister," Laurel answered instantaneously, and Sara's heart stopped. From behind her, she could feel both of her parents putting their hands on her shoulders.

"Sara, right? The one who tried to volunteer for you at the Reaping Ceremony?"

Laurel nodded. "She's younger than me by three years, and I can't think of a single day where we've been apart. Even when I got her that silly stuffed shark for the Winter Festival when she was ten that she insisted on sleeping with until she was fourteen."

She paused and then cracked a grin. "I'm going to catch hell for telling you all that if I make it home."

The audience laughed. Laurel, encouraged, decided to continue telling embarrassing stories about her sister, with the disclaimer that she was digging a deeper and deeper hole the more she told them. Sara, after a moment of thought, decided she'd let it go if Laurel did make it home.

The minutes passed. In the closing seconds of the interview, Ryder had one more question for Laurel to tie things up. "Alright, Laurel, before we let you go, I just have to know: are there any boys waiting for you back home?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, Jack," the tribute replied sheepishly, "I'm not what you'd call popular with the boys in District Eight."

Sara supposed that was true. While the boys here weren't afraid to look at the sisters, they were certainly afraid to touch them. One of the benefits of having a Peacekeeper for a father.

Not that Ryder knew that. "What, no way!" the host gasped out. "I don't believe it. Pretty girl like you has got to be turning a few heads at least."

Laurel shrugged. "Maybe, but if I am, they're too afraid to take their shot."

"Well, even if it is true, I know there's at least one boy here who's taken a liking to you."

The room fell silent. On the projection, Laurel blinked, genuinely surprised. "Really? Who?" she asked.

The audience began shouting at her, but before Ryder could respond, the buzzer sounded. "Oops! Looks like we're all out of time!" he announced, much to the crowd's disappointment. He offered his hand to Laurel, who accepted it gracefully and helped her up from her seat. "Ladies and gentlemen, Laurel Drake!"

An eruption of applause exploded from the crowd, as loud as the reactions that Oliver Queen and Nyssa al Ghul got. As Laurel waved goodbye to the audience, the Lance-Drake family slumped in their seats in relief. "They loved her," Sara said, with no small amount of awe.

"They did," Dinah agreed, equally overjoyed. "She knocked it out of the park."

Quentin reached over and took both of his girls' hands. "She looked like a star out there," he declared. "She can do this. She can win."

He squeezed their hands, and they squeezed back.

Got the chapter out on time this time! I hope you enjoyed it. I had a lot of fun crafting together everyone's interviews. Next chapter we'll finish up with the interviews and get some last minute insights with everyone before the tributes enter the arena. That should be fun.

Next Chapter: The Eve of the Seventieth Annual Hunger Games.