Dancing through a dream
Underneath the stars
Laughing till the morning comes
Everyone that leaves has a heavy heart
Oooh, won-derland I love
Rowan Castro
District 3, He/Him, 15
(Backstage)
...
My stylists surround me, and I grimace as I'm poked and prodded from all directions; personal space is non-existent to these people. Especially when it comes to us, the tributes, as they treat us like mannequins to show off their work. Mannequins don't have feelings, and, therefore, neither do we. A few days ago, maybe I would resist or at least make a joke to alleviate my discomfort, but now I simply don't have the energy. Once the stylists are done, they guide me towards a mirror, squealing praise and giving me a variety of patronising compliments.
They've dressed me in a black blazer and button-down shirt, even going as far as to make a black sling for my arm, paired with an electric blue bow tie that brings out the matching colour in my eyes. My slim-fitting trousers are also black and matched with black Oxford shoes. Admittedly, I look rather handsome with my dirty blonde hair gelled back and my acne covered with a variety of powders and creams.
"Ah, there you are!" Ashley (my escort) cries, rushing into the room and taking me by the shoulders. "Now, don't you look handsome? Say thank you to the lovely stylists." He says, and I mumble a 'thanks' as I pass. They gush about how great I'm going to do, but I block most of it out. They only want to show off their creation; they couldn't care less about how this interview goes for me. "Right then, you just wait for them to tell you it's your turn," Ashley says, leaving me standing in a line of tributes beside a dark wall.
Cybill is behind me and Ranger is in front; both ignore me, and I'm glad for it. The only people I could care to talk to right now are Connie and Kathryn, but Connie, being District Seven, is far behind me in the line, and Kathryn isn't allowed backstage. Kathryn has been a better mentor than Dawson ever was, giving Connie and me words of encouragement as we received our awful scores last night. The two of us are aware of the little hope we have, but it was comforting to know that, at the very least, Kathryn cares.
We're all hushed by a small man wearing a large top hat and black tuxedo; he seems to be the one running things backstage. "We're starting in 5 seconds. When Helena says your name, that's your cue to enter." He says, and, without delay, a screen in front of us shows Helena beginning to greet the crowd wearing a frilly pink dress. There are a few people before me, so I lean against the wall, trying to relax and watch the screen.
"Let's welcome Robert Smith from District One!" Helena cries, clapping along with the crowd as Robert enters in a black tuxedo encrusted with thousands of sparkling diamonds. He doesn't seem entirely enthusiastic about the interview, with a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. He greets Helena with a handshake and takes a seat on the velvet-cushioned armchair opposite her.
"So, Robert. You're a career, and... well, is there even an and?" Helena giggles, and the crowd roars with laughter. Robert blushes and is clearly embarrassed. Kathryn told me how Helena has always enjoyed picking her interviewees apart and that I should be prepared for anything she might throw at me.
"Why, Helena, I'm not sure how you missed my devilishly good looks," Robert replies, outstretching his hands. It's a great response that causes the crowd to go wild with applause, and a few Capitolites even scream their affection for him, turning the pink on his cheeks into a deep scarlet. Helena and him continue to talk about his reasons for volunteering and his life back home, but I lose interest, and, before long, he's exiting the stage.
Aisling is then called forward, and they walk onto the stage in a sparkling black and white dress. Like Robert, they seem a little uncomfortable in front of the audience, specifically with the white heels that they wear, which almost cause them to trip multiple times as they make their way over to Helena. They smile awkwardly at Helena before taking a seat on the armchair.
"Ah, Aisling. It looks lovely tonight. Although I can't help but notice the rather uncouth entrance," Helena says with a wink.
"I apologise, Helena; high heels have never been my thing." They say. "After all, they're not very convenient during training."
"Right you are, Aisling," Helena says, nodding in understanding.
The two go on to talk about Aisling's apparently high intelligence and how they received the lowest score of the Careers. Aisling's responses remain calm and organised throughout, but they don't exactly keep the crowd's attention, and they leave the stage with a little less applause than Robert.
"Now, starting off District Two, we have Felix Quintus!" Helena announces. Felix enters the stage in a blood-red suit, a black button-down shirt, and smart black trousers. The stylists also experimented a little with the makeup, giving him red eyeshadow and black eyeliner, which nicely complement his dark eyes. He stands out from the other careers as he walks onto the stage, flashing his white teeth and cheering with the crowd. Immediately, his stage presence is clear.
As he reaches Helena, he takes her hand in his own and gives it a gentle kiss. She responds by putting her hand on her chest. "Why aren't you a gentleman?" She says this, fanning herself with her hand.
"Just how I was raised, ma'am. The honour of the Quintus family is in my hands, after all." He responds, smiling warmly into the camera. I can't help but be jealous; there's no way I'll be able to captivate the audience in such a way.
"A man with honour and love for his family, isn't that the dream?" Helena laughs, and the audience cheers. The two continue to talk about his family and the splitting of the career pack; he handles all the questions very well and goes as far as to say that he's confident in his ability to win. The crowd continues to cheer even once he's left the stage, causing Helena to have to quiet them down.
Once Ranger walks onto the stage, my nerves begin to grow. I have to swallow down a lump in my throat and have a sudden need for water as my mouth becomes dry. To distract myself, I try to focus on the screen. Ranger sits down with a small frown, not attempting to amuse the crowd in any way. They wear a skin-tight black jumpsuit with a matching black cape.
"Serious... I like it! Could this have anything to do with your...cyborgness?" Helena asks, leaning forward. The crowd gasps with shock, as do a few of the tributes. I've heard of cyborgs. People in Three have been attempting to make them for years, but nobody has ever been successful. Or, at least, so I thought. Ranger's face goes red with anger, or embarrassment, at the comment—I can't exactly tell.
"How do you know about that?" They say hands curled into fists.
"I have my sources," Helena says with a wink. The rest of the interview continues with Ranger answering in one-word responses, and the crowd becomes increasingly bored. Once Helena wraps up the interview, Ranger storms out with their cape flying in my face as they pass me. This distracts me from the screen, and Helena, who is now calling my name, the short man with the top hat, snaps at me to hurry up.
I stumble onto the stage, flashing white lights blinding me as I do. Helena's beady eyes follow me as I make my way towards her. The crowd is filled with more colour than I've ever seen in one place before, with hundreds of Capitolites giggling and smiling at me as I take my seat on the armchair. I have no idea how the tributes before me managed to stay composed and think about what they're saying; my mind is in a hundred different places, and my whole body shakes with the nerves of it all.
"Oh, Rowan! Are you a little nervous, darling?" Helena asks in mocking concern.
"Uhm, I'm fine," I mumble, looking from my feet and back out at the crowd who laugh at me. Come on, Rowan. What did Kathryn say? Try to entertain the crowd. "I've never exactly had this much attention before, but I must say, I'm starting to love it," I say, forcing out a laugh. Helena laughs along, placing her hand on my broken arm. I flinch, pulling back from her, and she pulls away quickly.
"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, dear. I forgot about your recent injury." She says this, placing her hand on her chest. It takes everything in me to not rush off the stage as the crowd 'awes' at me like I'm a lost puppy. "Do tell us how it happened." Taking a deep breath, I begin to recount the story of the peacekeeper grabbing Connie and myself defending her. Once finished, Helena's eyes are as large as saucers, and her bottom lip is pushed out into a pout.
"That must've been terrifying, Rowan. On behalf of The Capitol, I would like to apologise for how you were treated." She says this, and the crowd nods along. It's all bullshit, though; if they truly cared, then the Peacekeeper would've been punished accordingly. But no. I saw him yesterday, standing to the side and smiling at me as if he hadn't a care in the world. "Could your immediate response to help have to do with the death of your friend, Freddie Bolt?"
Everything in me becomes stiff at the sound of his name, the gunshot ringing in my ears as I recall the day when his life ended.
"How did you know about that?" I stutter.
"You don't think I do my research, Rowan? Why, I'm a little offended!" Helena says, feigning shock. Before I have time to respond, a bell rings around the stage. "Well, it looks like our time is up, Rowan," Helena says, smiling at me as I stand. "Rowan Castro, everybody!" She shouts, and the audience claps for me as I rush off of the stage.
Nicole Gatsby
District 5, She/Her, 17
(Backstage)
...
The boy from Three rushes past me and out of the exit. I don't blame him; the overwhelmingly pink Capitol woman on screen seems like the right bitch. She welcomes the next tribute, and the girl from Three, Cybill, walks onto the stage. She wears a frilly blue dress, and despite the matching high heels, she remains very short and stocky. Her short brown hair is tied into a bun, and her pale skin is slathered in makeup. She doesn't seem too happy about the ordeal, constantly scratching at her dress.
I stare down at my own dress, which causes similar itches over my body; its black frills tickle me all over. It's short, only covering my undergarments, with puffed-out sleeves at the shoulders. When Marcus saw me, he told me I looked beautiful. I couldn't disagree more. Everything from the red lipstick smacked against my lips to the dark stiletto pumps pushed onto my feet disgusts me, reminding me of those privileged enough to never have to work for their riches.
"So, what pushed you to volunteer, Cybill?" Helena asks, causing me to flick my eyes back to the screen out of curiosity.
"My family. When I win, I can finally get away from them all." She spits, her eyes furrowing with such deep anger that it looks unnatural on her youthful face. I almost chuckled at her answer to the question. She's lucky enough to have a family, yet she chooses to let them go. Cybill's family might be terrible, but her choice to volunteer only shows her irrationality. I'm sure her parents haven't stopped crying since she left.
A few minutes later, Cybill has a rather unceremonious exit, tripping and falling while leaving the stage. Her face goes red with embarrassment, and she flicks the heels off before storming away. Meanwhile, the next tribute is introduced.
"Please welcome, Quincy Abraham!" Helena announces this, causing Quincy to run onto the stage and throw his hands in the air. He roars along with the crowd, standing up in front of them for a few extra seconds before taking his seat next to Helena. His tuxedo is shining silver with a black bow tie and white button-down shirt, along with a pair of smart black trousers and winkle-picker shoes. "So, Quincy. I'm sure we're all very interested in this question. What drives you forward? Is it the fame, money, and pride?"
"Well, Helena. It's my brother." Quincy says, gaining a few 'awes' from the crowd. "No, no, not like that. He's always been the favourite—the one who gets all the attention. Not anymore! When I get home, everyone will look at me." He roars, leaving the crowd in stunned silence, but, before long, they start cheering his name. He continues the rest of the interview with a similar sense of pride and confidence, mixed in with a little anger, and leaves the stage with the crowd screaming his name.
I watch as he whispers something to Scylla, receiving a glare from her in return.
Unlike both Aisling and Cybill, Scylla walks in her heels with a natural confidence. Her sleek, teal dress flows like a river as she twirls for the audience, her dark hair flying freely behind her. The crowd ate it up, chanting her name and clapping without restraint. Helena manages to quiet them down by tapping her microphone, but even then, she's made quite an entrance, and I can't help but be jealous. She's a skilled fighter, like myself, but winning the games is more than that. Especially when sponsors are involved. Hopefully, none of this will matter anyway, as long as Marcus' plan works.
"We've all heard about your feud with Quincy; tell us a little more about it." Helena smiles.
"Oh, well, I wouldn't even call it a feud!" Scylla laughs. "There's a key difference between Quincy and me; he's unsure of himself, and I'm not. At the end of the day, one of us will survive, and I think the audience knows who." The crowd cheers in response, seemingly having lost their previous loyalties to Quincy already. "It's funny, he told me as he walked off of this stage to 'beat that', well, Quincy, I think I have." She says, this time staring directly into the camera. Suddenly, a door slams open behind me, and I turn to watch Quincy storm out through the exit.
As Scylla leaves, I squeeze Marcus' arm, causing him to turn. "Give them hell," I whisper, and he smiles in response. The two of us decided it was our best bet to at least try and get a few potential sponsors, just in case we were forced to play their game.
"Now, starting off District 5, it's Marcus Russell!" Helena cries, and Marcus takes his cue, strolling onto the stage in his dark tuxedo. His outfit doesn't stand out among the rest on its own; it's simply a black tuxedo with matching trousers and shoes, but it's a tight fit and shows off his muscular arms. Furthermore, the buttons of his black shirt remain unattached, which shows off his impressive physique. Intimidation and ruthlessness are what Kara recommended as our angles, and Marcus pridefully exerts both of those things as he steps out towards the crowd. "Lovely to have you here today, Marcus. Tell me, What has your experience been like so far?"
"Certainly different from what I'm used to, Helena. Although there will be time for that in the arena," He says this, maintaining a neutral expression and staring out at the crowd.
"Ah, and what do you mean by that? Are you referring to killing?" Helena asks, leaning forward with her eyes wide. I anxiously wait for Marcus' response. There is little the Capitol can do to prosecute us for our crimes now, but would he really sell out the Ice Devils so easily? As much as I know how ruthless Marcus is, I find it hard to believe he'll be able to throw his family to the wolves so easily.
"Well, not exactly," Marcus says, his lips curling slightly into a small smile. "Surviving. That's what my life has been about, and that's what I plan to bring to the arena. Perhaps, if I make it out, I'll have a little time for living." The crowd loves his response, applauding and cheering without holding back. I find myself somewhat stunned; this is the most vulnerable I've ever seen Marcus, and it's strange, in a way, to have that moment shared with millions across Panem.
"Wonderfully said, Marcus! However, I'm afraid our time is up; we look forward to seeing you in the arena." Helena announces, and Marcus makes his way off of the stage, offering me a nod of encouragement as he passes.
"Alright, everyone, please welcome Nicole Gatsby!" Helena says, and I walk onto the stage. I attempt to mirror Marcus with my shoulders rolled back, head high, and expression neutral and serious. All I can do is hope I'm exerting a similar amount of confidence and intimidation as I reach the armchair next to Helena, the beating lights causing me to sweat under the mess of fabric labelled a dress. "Wonderful to see you, Nicole. Tell me, What's with the serious demeanour of yourself and Marcus?"
Luckily, I prepared for this question with Kara last night and have a response ready.
"We want to win and hope to show The Capitol that we're serious about these games. No bullshitting." I say, looking out at the audience and making eye contact with certain individuals to make them feel special.
"Ah, I see," Helena says, nodding. "And Marcus and you—you're more than just allies, right?"
"I would be worried if we weren't, considering the kiss at the reaping," I say, and the audience goes wild with laughter, catching me off guard. I hadn't meant it as a joke; it would be weird for a random guy to walk up on stage and make out with me.
"So, how do you feel about Marcus? Is it love?" Helena asks, placing her hands on her heart. The audience 'oohs' and I feel all eyes on me, and my face begins to heat up.
"Last time I checked, this is my interview and not Marcus'," I respond, shutting down the question. Helena sighs, and the audience groans. I can tell I made the wrong choice with my reply. I'm about to retract my answer, but a bell rings, signalling the end of my interview.
"Well, Nicole, it's been a pleasure," Helena says with a grin.
Wells "Weft" Bobbin
District 8, He/Him, 17
(Backstage)
...
As Nicole leaves the stage, I'm hit with a stroke of nausea and clutch tightly to my stomach in an attempt to stop my dinner from coming back out of my mouth. There are only four more tributes ahead of me, meaning my time to take the stage is fast approaching, and all I can do is focus my attention on the screen where Ephron walks out into the flashing lights to stop the war of thoughts within my head.
It's difficult to say whether Ephron's outfit is a stylistic choice or simply his stylists messing up. His shining, golden blaze is a few sizes too big and hangs loosely off his body, and his black trousers are baggy and drag across the floor. There are a few 'awes' from the audience, but it's mostly chuckles as he awkwardly greets Helena.
"Hello, Ephron, dear, take a seat." She says, and he does, pulling up the baggy trousers over his waist. "I must say this is quite the outfit."
"Definitely not what I would usually choose to wear, Helena." He says this, blushing. "My stylist said it would help me stand out. Although he was probably lying to cover up a mistake," At this, the audience laughs, and Ephron sits up a little straighter. He continues to talk to Helena about his family back home, specifically his two sisters, whom he claims are the most important people to him in the world. By the end, he seems to have made up for his stylist's strange clothing choices, and the audience cheers him loudly as he exits the stage.
"Well, now that we've heard from Ephron, let's welcome his district partner, Sky Mastroianni!"
Sky pats down the skirt of her pink gown as she walks onto the stage, a neutral expression trained on her face as she looks out at the audience. Glittering silver eye shadow and contour enhance her previously unnoticeable pretty features. The crowd goes wild as she takes her seat opposite Helena, shouting all sorts of things at her and begging for her to simply look at them. She looks rather overwhelmed by the whole ordeal, her eyes wide as she looks out at the crowd.
A burst of anger sparks in me as I watch the crowd goggle at her as if she's some sort of animal. Despite the warm bed and the food on the table every night, I know I can never fit in here. The citizens of the Capitol are an entirely different species of human compared to those of District Eight, with such little empathy and understanding of others. If I were to stay long enough in this city of colour and luxury, it would probably break me. Although it's a horrifying truth, I find some comfort in my sudden sense of longing for home. I'd never felt like District Eight was truly my home until now, never finding much purpose in that same old routine of working, eating, and sleeping, but now my only wish is to go back to that routine. Back to Warp and my parents
"And is there a reason you agreed to align with Ephron?" Helena asks, causing me to realise I've missed most of the interview while in my head.
"My sister, Maria. Ephron told me he had sisters, and I knew that, if he were Maria, I would've wanted someone to look out for her." She says this, looking directly into the camera with tears shimmering in her dark eyes. "If you can hear me, Maria, I'm going to come home soon. I love you."
"Thank you, Sky," Helena said, her voice soft and her hand pressed against her heart. "I think I speak for all of us when I say that we appreciate you leaving your sister to come here." The audience cheers in response and says their farewells to Sky as she leaves the stage.
I don't even notice as she passes me, anger pulsing through my veins. They appreciated her leaving her sister. As if it were some kind of choice? My fists curl with the utter rage that Helena lights inside of me. Then, as Enver leaves the line and Conifer and I inch forward, I force myself out of my head and back into reality. Having this overwhelming range of emotions inside of me during my interview will lead to nothing good.
Relaxing my fists and taking a few deep breaths, I turn my attention back to the screen. Enver is dressed in a forest green blazer and tie, along with a black dress shirt and a pair of formal black trousers. It's almost an exact replica of my own outfit, but I'm dressed in dark red rather than green. He wears significantly less make-up than I do too, his face lacking the layers of foundation that most of us are caked in, which allows the freckles that cover his face to be seen.
"Hello, Helena!" He cries, giving her a big smile and a wave as he approaches. The crowd ate up his joyful presence, screaming his name as they waved at him. He giggles a little and waves back, causing them to go wild with delight.
"Hi, Enver. How are you this evening?" Helena asks.
"Brilliant. Shit, this is a lot of people!" He exclaims. "Shit, sorry, Dad. Ugh, I did it again!" The crowd laughs harder than they have all night, and the rest of the interview carries on in the same fashion, with Enver saying things out of the blue and the crowd loving it. He doesn't have the best social skills, like myself, but, unlike me, he has an infectious attitude and view on life. I wish more than anything that I could so easily put on a smile and act like everything's okay, but I know how fake it would look. I've never been one to hide how I'm feeling.
Conifer is also wearing forest green, although, in the form of a tight-fitting dress, it doesn't look as good on her as it did on Enver. The golden highlights in her dark brown hair completely clash with the green, and the black eyeliner looks ridiculous above her pale blue eyes. It looks as if the stylist was dressing an entirely different person. I mean, I've never really been into fashion, but even I could do better than that.
She's awkward as she walks towards Helena, stumbling in her black high heels, and her furrowed eyebrows suggest how she feels about her outfit. A few minutes later, she's sitting on the armchair and not being very cooperative as Helena asks her questions.
"What drives you, Conifer? Why are you going to win?" Helena asks, grasping at straws to gain a response. This question, however, awakens something in Conifer. Her previously dazed eyes are now on high alert, looking directly at Helena.
"Willow, my baby, Willow." She murmurs, not loud enough for the crowd to hear. Although Helena takes care of that,
"The baby?" She asks with a gasp, and the crowd seems similarly shocked. I suppose they don't get many parents at this stage. "Well, Conifer, it's been lovely talking to you," Helena says, seemingly still a little shaken up by the revelation. "Conifer Smith, everyone!" As Connie leaves, I close my eyes and wait for Helena's shrill voice to announce my entrance.
You'll do fine. I tell myself, steadying my breathing.
"It's...Wells Bobbin!" Helena cries, and, without thinking, I walk through the curtains. The first thing that hits me is the light, beating down on me with a vicious intensity. Then, I'm looking out at the rainbow of colours that is the audience. A variety of unnatural pairs of eyes follow me as I push myself forward towards Helena, my heart racing at a speed I'd never known to be possible before now.
"Hello, Wells!" Helena says it cheerily, smiling up at me. I look towards the crowd and then back to Helena, all of them waiting for my response.
"Hi." I squeak and, knowing it is hardly audible, clear my throat. "Hi," I say, trying again; this time my voice comes out clearer, and I take my seat on the plush armchair.
"A little nervous, Wells?"
"A little," I say, staring blankly at the crowd. "You can call me Weft, by the way," I tell her, remembering Onyx telling me that letting them use a nickname for me will make me more relatable.
"Okay, Weft. I must say, that's quite a nickname; where did it come from?" Helena asks, The name that my family uses for me feels wrong coming out of her mouth, and I grimace slightly.
"It's a thread for weaving that my parents joked described me as a baby. My twin brother, Wade, is Warp, and I'm Weft." I say, my heart aching as I speak Warp's name for the first time in a while.
"Oh, I'm very aware; I've done some weaving myself. However, isn't it right that weft is the longer and thinner thread? It seems ironic seeing as you don't look that way now." Helena laughs, and the crowd, as usual, follows her lead. I wait for it to die down before I respond.
"Yes, I suppose it's become quite the misnomer," I say, knowing I should attempt a smile but not having the heart to do it.
"And your brother, Warp, are the two of you close?"
"Very much so; we always have each other's backs."
"Always is a strong word. After all, he can't have your back in the arena, can he?" Helena asks, grinning mischievously. Suddenly, I have the urge to slap some sense into her. Somehow, I manage to hold myself back and take a couple of deep breaths.
"No. He can't." I say it bluntly. Helena must know that I'm not going to be giving her much else after that, as she announces me to the crowd and gives me my cue to leave. I stormed out through the curtains and the doors outside, taking in some much-needed fresh air. Tears begin to form in my eyes as I kneel down on the floor. If Warp were here right now, he would know how to make me feel better. But he's not.
And everyone knows Weft is useless without its warp.
Ossian Rasmus
District 10, He/They, 14
(Backstage)
...
It's been around two hours since the start of the interviews, and my legs are aching from all the standing. Plus, it doesn't help that I climbed all day yesterday, so my legs have already been pushed past their limits. As Wells exits the stage, I've finally had enough and slide down the wall I was leaning against until I'm sitting and giving my legs a well-earned break. It only lasts about thirty seconds.
"Get up! No sitting; we have a show to run!" The stage manager, a short man in a top hat, snaps at me. I roll my eyes, forcing my legs to pull me up.
When I turn my attention back to the screen, Saxony has taken her seat opposite Helena and is a natural in front of the camera. Her laced dress is deep burgundy and accentuates her slender frame. She tosses her curly, dark hair to the side as she laughs at something Helena says and charmingly winks at the crowd. It's clear that her mentor gave her some advice, and I can't help but be jealous. Miguel has been little to no help with his mouth and is so preoccupied with drinking.
"So, how has the Capitol been for you so far?" Helena asks.
"Oh, just wonderful, Helena. The lavishness of it all is every little girl's dream." She cries, and the audience cheers in response, eating up the compliment. Saxony finishes up her interview and leaves the stage with a thunderous round of applause, waving goodbye and blowing kisses to the audience.
Adam is up next, his royal blue crewneck and tan chinos sticking out among the array of suits. However, it still looks rather bland and doesn't do anything to enhance his handsome features or muscled build. He confidently walks towards Helena, his face serious and a little red under the luminous spotlight. He greets her with a kiss on the hand before taking his seat, crossing his left leg over his right as if he's chilling out at home.
"Quite the gentleman!" Helena says, and Adam smiles in return. "So, Adam, we're all dying to know. Why exactly did you volunteer?"
"You all met my sister, Gena, last year. We didn't always get along, and I regret that. At the goodbyes, she told me that she wished it was me being sent into the games. So, this is my way of honouring her memory." Adam says, and the crowd immediately goes wild, devouring his story. He continues to talk about his sister and how he plans to win the games through sheer determination. When he leaves the stage, I begin to bounce on my feet in anticipation. One more interview until it's myself, and I'm starting to feel a little more prepared after watching everyone else and taking a few mental notes.
As Kaylee, in front of me, pushes through the curtains, I turn my attention back to the screen. She wears a pink baby doll dress that only emphasises her youth and innocence. Fortunately, her stylist hasn't forced heels on her, and she wears matching pink slippers that make little noise as she timidly takes her seat on the armchair. Pretty much the entire interview is filled with 'awes' from the audience as Kaylee talks about her parents and her life back home. Kaylee and I are around the same age, but there is a key difference between her and me: she has a life to go back to. Sure, I have Kiki and the butcher shop, but that's nothing compared to her life of loving parents, hopes, and dreams. Her innocence has yet to be destroyed, and yet the very people who applaud it will soon be ending it.
Watching Kaylee kick her small feet and smile sheepishly at the crowd only fills me with doubt. Do I deserve to live with someone like her? Is there even anything for me to go back to if I do?
"And what about Adam? The two of you are allies, yes."Helena questions.
"Oh, yes. He's been very good to me; I think we will be able to help each other in the games." Kaylee replies, and the audience claps.
"Wonderful. I'm sure we're all excited to see you in action. Kaylee Vy everyone!"
Kaylee leaves the stage with a little hop to her step, and I begin to fiddle with my fingers as I anxiously await my name.
"It's...Ossian Rasmus!" Helena calls, and, pushing the nerves out of my mind, I step on stage. It's immediately overwhelming. The noise of the crowd pounding in my eardrums and the heat caused by the blinding lights are dry, and I already feel myself starting to sweat. It doesn't help that I'm wearing an all-black tuxedo, which, as a result, absorbs that heat and begins to stick to my skin.
Putting everything else aside, I force a smile on my face and wave out at the crowd. It's the entrance I've been planning for the last couple of hours, but now that I'm here, it's a lot harder to be as enthusiastic and charming as I had rehearsed in my mind. As the applause of the crowd dies down, I take my seat on the velvet armchair and bounce on it excitedly.
"Oh, it's bouncy!" I cry, garnering some laughter from the audience. A little weight is lifted off of my shoulders; as long as I can continue like this, then this will go just fine.
"Bouncy armchairs, yes, quite the luxury in the Capitol." Helena chuckles. "You are used to luxury, though, aren't you Odalis? Last time I checked, you're worth quite a bit for such a young boy."
I blush in embarrassment. I had hoped that I could avoid talking about home, but it seems there's no way of getting around it.
"Uh, yeah. My parents left me some money." I say, my smile is becoming weak.
"Is that right? And what happened to your parents?" Helena asks, her eyes shimmering with false sympathy.
"They were attacked. They didn't make it." I stutter, attempting to swallow the sob that lodges itself in my throat. This is the first time I've spoken about my parents since it happened. I waited weeks for somebody to show up at the door—maybe a friend of theirs—but nobody did. I was left alone and have been ever since. Even now, in the games, I've isolated myself from the rest, and I can't help but feel that I don't fit in. Anywhere.
"Oh, dear Ossian, I'm very sorry to hear that," Helena says, and I sniff in response. "So, how do you plan to win the Games?"
I know I should respond; I know it's the smart thing to do. But the energy is quickly sucked out of me by the thought of my parents and by the excuse of the life I have had.
Suddenly, I feel there isn't much point to any of this.
Smithsonian "Smith" Caldera
District 12, He/Him, 18
(Backstage)
...
"Oh, I'm going to be sick." Marya squeaks from behind me for what feels like the hundredth time, and I allow my eyes to roll to the back of my head before I turn to her. Admittedly, she looks rather pretty tonight with a carmine, strapless dress and matching blood-red gloves. I never really took the time to even think about her appearance with everything going on, and it's a slight shock to realise how short she is, making me seem like a giant, being a foot taller.
"They covered up your freckles," I state, narrowing my eyes as I notice the small change on her face. Her already scarlet face turns a deeper red at that.
"Yes, they did." She says it hesitantly. "I didn't think you'd notice."
"I notice everything." I snap back, suddenly feeling defensive, and turn back around. The boy from Ten bursts through the curtains as I do, quickly walking past and wiping tears from his eyes. Annoyance sparks through me as I realise I have missed his entire interview and possibly some valuable information. Most of it is targeted at Marya, whom I've taken to ignoring as she murmurs her worries.
Dahlia strides onto the stage, picking up her teal blouson dress to stop her from tripping over it. They're more confident than most outlying tributes, with a neutral expression on her face and hands by her sides. She and Helena discuss her life back home, telling the audience about how she lives with her family on a farm. They also discuss their alliance with Adam and Kaylee, one of which I've taken note of but not flagged as much of a concern. Adam is likely the only real threat.
"So, what do you like to do in your spare time, Dahlia?" Helena asks.
"Well, this might sound a little strange, but I, uhm, talk to people." Dahlia stutters, her legs beginning to bounce.
"Like a therapist?"
"Something like that." Dahlia murmurs, their previous confidence seeming to dissipate. Strange. The bell rings, saving Dahlia from any more awkward interactions with Helena. The audience applauds her appropriately, and she promptly leaves, leaving two more interviews before my own. My patience is starting to wear thin as I await my entrance. It's been a couple of hours now, and listening to these people speak for that long is gratifying.
Odalis enters next, wearing an onyx buttoned-down shirt without a blazer along with a pair of jeans. It's much more casual compared to everybody else, with my own dark tuxedo and the eyeliner that marks my face looking dramatic next to him. Like most, he's anxious and looks around cautiously as he wanders to the armchair at the front of the stage. For most of his interview, he is jittery and finds it hard to keep a conversation with Helena going. I'm certain he'll find it tough to get sponsors in the arena.
"Any hopes, Odalis? Dreams?" Helena asks, clearly stalling as she waits for the bell to ring.
"Reincarnation." He says this, looking down at his kicking feet.
"Reincarnation?" Helena asks, her eyebrows furrowing.
"I don't want to die." He squeaks, and the audience claps for the first time during his interview, with someone even shouting out, 'You got this, Odalis!'
The end of his interviews leaves him with a couple more fans, I suppose, but hardly enough to bother targeting him. He leaves without another word, his walk turning into a full-on sprint as he reaches backstage. Finally, there's just one more interview before me.
Malory's sparkling green dress is tight on her slender figure. Her orange hair is tied up into a messy bun, and her freckles, like Marya's, are covered up with layers upon layers of foundation that make her look very pale in the intense light. She has a small smile on her face and shyly waves out at the crowd. Her interview, like Odalis', is fairly boring, and I tune the majority of it out. Something about her girlfriend and a field in District Eleven Seriously, who the hell cares?
"How do you plan to win the Games, Malory?" Helena asks.
"With my allies. I'll work better with others than alone, and I want to be there with them at the end." She says, and I would agree, except that I'm not sure if I can put up with my own allies for that long. As Malory departs from the stage, I clear my throat and my head to prepare myself.
"Please welcome, Smithsonian Caldera!" Helena cries, and I enter the stage, throwing my hands in the air and cheering along with the crowd. I watch as they blow kisses at me and scream their affection. I mouth thank-yous to as many Capitolites as I can before sitting down. I dramatically sprawl myself along it, resting my head on the right armrest and placing my legs over the left one in a rather uncouth position. "Certainly an interesting way of sitting, Smithsonian."
"Oh, please, call me Smith." I laugh. "What can I say? I have a love for the dramatics."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, yes. I'm a performer for a living, after all." I say, winking at the crowd.
"And what do you perform?" She asks, leaning forward with her eyebrows raised. I can't tell the truth; of course, I doubt the Capitol will find a conman to be very easy to root for.
"I'll leave that up to the imagination if I may, Miss Helena," I say with a grin, and the audience breaks out into laughter. "I do think it'll help me in the games, though, at least in giving you all a show."
"Oh, I'm sure we're all looking forward to that." Helena giggles. "And do you think you will be able to win?"
"Without a doubt. I'm ready to do whatever it takes." I say, and, as if on cue, the bell rings, signalling the end of my interview.
"Well, Smith, it was lovely having you. Smith Caldera, everyone!" Helena announces, and I stand up, waving goodbye to the crowd and catching their kisses in my hands. They love me, and I know it; it couldn't have gone more perfectly.
Marya stands, eyes wide with fear, alone when I exit through the curtains. She holds her stomach, looking as if she's about to be sick, and I know that if I don't say something, she'll probably throw up all over Helena's hot pink dress. I can't have my ally be such an embarrassment; that would be terrible for the reputation that I've just worked so hard to build up. Without thinking, I grab her by the shoulders and look into her deep, brown eyes.
"Don't let them make a fool of you, Marya. You aren't one." I whisper, and she nods, looking a little more confident. As her name is called, I let go of her shoulders and make way for her to make her entrance. As soon as she breaks through the curtains, I rush back to be able to look up at the screen, which shows her smiling face. Surprisingly, she's a natural. Waving at the crowd, giggling, and shouting her thanks.
"Hello, Helena!" She exclaims. "Oh my, you look wonderful."
"Why thank you, Marya, so do you." Helena smiles. "You're our last tribute of the night. Has it been hard waiting so long to get up on stage?"
"Just a little! I've been itching to come up here and see you all." Marya laughs, and the audience follows her lead. I'm in utter shock at how well she is able to command the crowd after being so terrified just minutes ago. "I've had Smith with me, though."
"Well, that's very kind of you. Do you and Smith get along well?"
"Brilliantly, we've formed such a bond that it's going to be tough to let go of. When I win, of course." She says this, winking at the crowd.
"Confident, I like it! How do you plan to win?"
"It may be hard to believe, but I've got some grit, and I'm pretty damn stubborn. I won't be leaving that arena until the job is done." She says, and with that, her interview finishes up. As she returns backstage, I stare at her with my mouth agape.
"Where the hell did that come from?" I ask in disbelief.
"I have no fucking clue."
A/N: God, this was a long one. I'm sorry if I wasn't very consistent throughout; these get tiresome very easily, and I quickly got bored, but I've pushed through to get it out as soon as possible for you all. One more chapter until the games—scary stuff!
- Neb