"I can't stand in these for a lot longer. They're killing my calves."
Eila holds Johanna's shoulder with one hand and uses the other to massage the pain in her legs. The heeled boots she's stuffed her feet into are suffocating, sending throbbing pain upwards through her muscles.
Johanna smirks at Eila, shaking her head. "If you think you're sore now, just wait until you get back to the apartment tonight. I was sure I was gonna fall over at the Cornucopia and get killed the next day."
"You're not very motivating right now."
"Here's some motivation for you, the Capitol can do whatever they want, and if you don't play nice tonight, they'll make your life hell in the arena. Try to look happy."
Eila scrunches up her face. "Okay," she says. She lets her face drop. "I can do this."
"Yes, you can." Johanna taps the hair guy, Justus, on the shoulder and gestures at Eila's head. "Don't you want to show the white streak more? It's her branding, no?"
He grumbles a bit but moves her hair around, weaving the white parts across her head to make it look like it's circling up to the bun on her head. Her mouth tilts upwards. She fights to keep her face neutral. It's like seeing herself for the first time. Her dress is a beige, floor-length dress; layers of fabric wrapped sporadically, like the soft inside of a tree when you rip its bark off. The sleeves are long. They hang over her wrists, enveloping her hands. It's not practical, but she trusts Justus' vision.
They don't use makeup in Seven much. The mayor wears it at the Reaping some years, and her mother likes to put on a bit of greasy lipstick when she and Pa go out, but other than that, no one sees much use for it. It doesn't make lifting logs any easier.
Looking at herself in the mirror, her chest swells with something like pride. Dark green looks good on her, and the preps and stylist are going all out for her. Her eyeshadow and lipstick are forest green, and her face has been painted sharp and angular. She's aged about ten years under Magnus' (the makeup guy) steady hands. The contouring looks like the late afternoon shadows coming through the foliage back home.
She puts her hand on Justus' arm. "Thank you, all of you, for putting so much effort into this. It's gorgeous." She looks each of the preps in the eyes.
"It's no problem, my dear. It's what we're here to do."
"You look great. You look ready to take on the world," Johanna says from the side. She's got her arms folded, watching Eila with a sort of fondness.
"I feel great. I reckon I can do this."
Johanna cocks her head. "Do what? The interviews or the games?"
"The interviews. I'm not ready to think about the games yet."
Johanna raises an eyebrow.
"I know it's tomorrow," Eila justifies. "I'm just trying to get through tonight first."
"Mhm."
Justus finishes applying false eyelashes (one long, thick-ish eyelash coming out of the outer corner of her eyes, like a pine needle), and the look is finished.
"I have to leave now. The mentors sit together." Johanna says. She embraces Eila. "But I'll see you after the show, and just remember, you've got this. You won't be able to see me in the crowd, but I'm there."
Johanna leaves. Justus helps Eila into a pair of heeled boots, and then together they go to the interview stage. The interviews are set up in front of the training center, a temporary stage built on one of the main streets. It's huge; big enough to fit all the tributes and Ceasar Flickerman. In the center of the stage, two seats have been erected. One for Ceasar, the other for the cycle of tributes. On the left of the stage (the audience's right), twenty-six chairs sit empty. Seeing the line puts into perspective how long the night will be. Each tribute is allotted three minutes to impress the audience. Just over an hour to get through every competitor, and as Ceasar calls over the tributes from the outer districts, the more and more boring the program gets. Most people check out once the District 5 girl is called up. There's not a lot of time for media training anywhere else but the Career districts.
Eila walks over to her allies. She realizes she's one of the last tributes to arrive. She compliments them on their outfits, though Thatcher and Chip's are quite basic. Makari's well put together, with a beige vest complimenting his golden clothing. Yash has been made quite gothic, and Visia has some type of red and gold pantsuit. To Eila, it looks like pajamas.
One of the stage crew orders them into a line by district and gender, then leads them to their seats. The air buzzes with excitement from the thousands of Capitolites on the streets. On the television, the size of the assembly seems big, sure. But from the perspective of the stage, she realizes the camera doesn't quite pick up how far back the crowd stretches back. Most, if not all, of them have a face of anticipation. Their eyes rake over the tributes as they walk onto the stage, drinking them in. Eila fights the urge to walk back off the stage. It's hard not to feel like a prized pig, strutted around by the mentors for the best bets. She wonders how many Capitolites have put money on her dying. She wonders if anyone thinks she could win.
The stage crewmember gestures for them to sit. She then goes down the line, double-checking the pronunciations of everyone's names. Apparently, one of the commentators was saying the girl from Ten's name wrong, and Ceasar wants to make sure he doesn't make that mistake.
She feels insecure. Sitting in front of thousands and having her interview televised to the entire nation threatens to project lunch onto the stage. It doesn't matter how gorgeous she is.
Yash, stationed on her right, sees how queasy she looks and pats her on the shoulder reassuringly, "It won't be so bad. What did Johanna tell you to do?"
"She said I should just be myself, but-"
"That's good then!" He says. "There's no pressure for you to perform."
The corners of her lips tilt upwards. "Where have I heard that before."
He grins sheepishly.
It's easy to 'be yourself' when you're just a tribute. The Capitol's been on her arse since she organized that stupid meeting in the school hall. If she slips up, a lot of people could be punished for her mistakes.
Just because the interviews don't matter as much for the sponsors, it doesn't change the fact that you're speaking in front of the country. A spike of anxiety jolts throughout her chest as she remembers that tomorrow morning she'll be on a hovercraft, zooming towards the arena. She could be dead in less than twenty-four hours. The gamemakers will probably make sure of it. Suddenly the interviews don't seem as daunting.
The crewmember counts them in, and when the countdown hits zero, the stage lights up, and the anthem blares into Eila's ear drums.
Caesar Flickerman (a strange man even by Capitol standards) bounces across the stage, waving and shouting at the screaming audience. He dyes his hair, lips, and eyelids a different color for each year's games. Last year was powder blue; this year a rather pretty lavender. It accentuates his tanned skin attractively. The blue dye made him look freaky.
He spends a few minutes warming up the audience, spotlighting last year's winner, Katniss Everdeen. He segues to the last Quarter Quell winner, Haymitch Abernathy, also from District 12. The cameras go to the pair, who are shoulder to shoulder, sitting with the other mentors. Haymitch gives a good-natured wave. Katniss forces a tight smile. He talks of the history of the games, why they started, and why they're still necessary. Astera Plinth, the victor of the first Quell, gets a spotlight as well. Even the first victor gets a moment to shine; District 7's very own Wilder Clemens. He's been dead fifty years after committing suicide, but here in the Capitol, they seem to think fondly of him. She wonders if they know he killed himself because he couldn't handle the pedestal they put him on.
"With the third Quarter Quell, we bring a close to the third generation of the Hunger Games. Seventy-four pillars of everything the districts aspire to be, about to become seventy-five."
The roar of the audience is impressive.
"Now, it's the moment you've all been waiting for! Let's meet this year's tributes; Amaryllis, Glitz, Beatrice, Adriano, Visia, Chip, Brita, Thames, Martina, Ellis, Coralie, Yash, Eila, Makari, Ruta, Cillian, Anona, Aslan, Violette, Hyde, Clementine, Thatcher, Agatha, Bertil, Ricarda, and Zarah!"
Eila takes a breath and prepares herself for the next hour. She tries to actually pay attention to the other tributes. Anything they may suggest that could give her a leg up in the arena. Amaryllis starts the show off well, charismatically bantering with Ceasar. She flirts playfully as if the girl from One hasn't done that every year since they were born. He leans into it, pretending to be flustered by this girl when he's as gay as they come.
Though Eila's hatred for Amaryllis is ever-burning, she has to give the girl props. Because every tribute after her is a trainwreck. The boy from One and the pair from District 2 are painfully awkward. They just try to act tough, and it comes off as very one-dimensional. Boring. These tributes act like this every year, and it just comes back to bite them in the arse when they die awfully. The girl from District 2 boasts that she's one of the best spear users Two has seen in years. I'd rather not see her prove it, Eila thinks.
Visia and Chip are painful to watch. They're the smartest people Eila has ever met, but social interaction isn't their gig. There are a few times she has to look at her shoes to handle the secondhand embarrassment coursing through her. She wonders what life is like in District 3 for both of them to be so difficult to talk to. Caesar is a professional in his field and manages to squeeze out dregs of information from them. He steers Visia onto her studies, where she explains her research back in Three. It's kind of impossible to understand, but Eila catches that she had a scholarship lined up after school to work on lazers. Chip opens up about his two younger brothers and his mentor, Wiress, who invented a music chip the size of a flake of glitter. He idolizes the woman. The camera pans to a meek-looking lady who has the same ashen skin as both of the kids from District 3.
The boy from Four is the first tribute in a while who isn't agonizing to watch. He's one of the best dressed of the night, and he acts very humble under Ceasar's praise. He's likable. There hasn't been a likeable Career for a long time, at least not that Eila can remember.
Yash is one of the tributes the audience seems most eager to hear from. He earns shouts of delight as he struts over to Ceasar. Eila's hands start to get clammy as she realizes there are only three minutes until she's on national television. Ceasar jumps the gun and probes Yash about his Aunt the moment he sits in the chair. Yash is vague when he answers, and Eila gets the impression that he doesn't actually like his Aunt all that much. Eila can't remember seeing her on television (the kids from Six barely make it far enough for the mentors to be interviewed), much less what she's like. Yash is a good judge of character, though; he probably has good reason to dislike her.
Yash's interview goes way too quickly. The majority of Ceasar's questions are about the Games and what being related to a victor is like back in District 6. His mood gets worse the longer the interview goes. Soon enough, he's sitting back down next to her, and Ceasar Flickerman is calling Eila Groves to the stage.
She inhales slowly through her nostrils and glides over to the seat across from Ceasar. She's careful with how she walks. Falling on your arse in front of the entire country is not something she particularly wants to experience. The trip to the chair feels eternal.
Caesar stands as Eila draws close and offers his arm. She takes it, and he guides her over to the seat across from his. She can feel the stage lights burning into her skin with surprising heat. It's funny that amidst the impressive developments of the Capitol, it's the stage lights that seem the most impressive. Thousands of pairs of eyes stare from the crowd. Maybe the burning sensation isn't just from the lights.
She swallows back her anxiety.
"How are you this evening?" Caesar asks, flashing his blinding teeth. "You look positively stunning; your stylist is a talent."
Justus is an amazing evening gown designer, but the tributes from Seven have been dressed as trees for as long as Eila can remember. She's worried Ceasar may bring that up for comedic effect if she tries to praise Justus, but she can't talk down on her stylist's work, no matter how low his lows go.
"I'm well, thank you. I feel amazing. We don't have much opportunity to dress up back home. Except maybe for weddings."
For some reason, several dozen people in the audience cheer for her. She ignores them.
"What would you do with the money if you win the games? Maybe some nice dresses for back home? " He wiggles his lavender eyebrows.
"It'd definitely be nice. I'd love to buy my parents some nice clothes. Maybe get my mother's hair done professionally. She loved to practice hairstyles on me and my sisters when we were kids."
"Oh, that would be wonderful! I'm sure she'd love that." Eila fights the urge to grimace. Can you get diabetes from hearing someone talk? "Speaking of hair, it's a question the nation has desperately wanted answers to: is your hair natural?"
The crowd cheers and whoops loudly. Eila chortles quietly through her nose. She should have known this question was coming.
"It is! But I have to be honest, Caesar; I have no clue why my hair has the streaks. Apparently, the midwife was worried when I was born; sometimes, people with a condition like this can be unwell." The cheeriness is foreign in her mouth, but she's gotta lay it on thick. "Back in Seven, my family doesn't have much money, so we don't go to a doctor unless we really need to. My parents kept an eye on me, but it hasn't affected my health."
"Well, Eila, I've spoken with some doctors here in the Capitol, and they believe you have a condition called vitiligo. It's generally harmless, but you may find yourself losing more pigmentation as time passes."
She'd heard that word thrown around when she was a child. She's thinking that it's good the symptoms aren't dangerous, but even if they were, who knows if she'd be around long enough for them to do any damage. She flits her eyes around for a clock, anything to signify how much time has passed. There's nothing. She cannot wait for this stupid interview to be done.
Caesar leans forward a little and clasps his hands. He wears a solemn look on his face. Eila doesn't have enough seconds to prepare herself for the other question she should have known was coming.
"Your sister, Karita Groves, was a tribute in the seventy-second Hunger Games," Caesar asks. "How do you feel, sitting in her place three years later?"
It's hard to speak. Her lungs feel like the air has been sucked from them, and they're desperately longing for air. The hum of the city quiets to a murmur as if a blanket has enveloped them all. The world suddenly feels like a much darker place. There's no question she wants to answer less, but she plays nice.
"It's a little surreal, to be honest," She says. She makes sure to look into the audience. "For my family to have two children randomly picked to go into the games seems astronomically rare. I plan on fighting with every fiber of my being; my parents can't lose two children. I won't allow it. I'll be carrying my sister with me in the arena, and I'll make her proud."
The screen shows that the cameramen have moved to Amaryllis' brother. Then Amaryllis. She has a stupid, smug smirk on her face, and Eila gets the urge to run over there and bodyslam her to the ground. She's grateful for the moment of privacy, though, and she allows the grief to move up from her chest and spasm across her face. Caesar puts a comforting hand on her knee, and she looks at him, confused. He gives a reassuring pat.
She doesn't know what to make of it. Caesar loves the Games, or at least he acts like he does. Every year he gallivants around the stage, relishing the event. But the small gesture changes her perception. Her shoulders relax.
She makes sure to stare into the crowd. To hold them accountable for ruining her family's lives. The audience's sympathetic murmuring switches to confused chatter.
"Forgive me for any ignorance, but did you say you'll carry your sister with you into the arena?" Caesar asks. "How is that possible?"
"Her spirit lives on in me, and I'll use her strength to propel me to the end of the games."
Ceasar's composure doesn't necessarily break, but he does seem confused. His lips twitch, searching for something to say.
"I must say, District 7 certainly seems different from the Capitol!" He lands on. "Now that you mention it, I remember footage of past games where the tributes from your district have mentioned something similar. Is that a belief you share?"
Eila senses trouble. A lot of people in Seven practice faith in privacy, and she just aired a glimpse into it on national television. It's too late to back-pedal, and she racks her brain frantically to save it.
"It's just a little superstition," she says a bit too quickly. "When we grieve the loss of a loved one, we like to think our love and loss gives us strength. It's a way of handling it, I suppose."
"Ahhhh," Caesar says. "That makes sense. It's a lovely sentiment, I must say."
The audience croons in agreement, and Eila flushes with relief. The idiots seemed to buy it.
"It's very interesting to hear small insights into district life every year." Caesar smiles when he says this, but Eila feels it's backhanded. Her affinity for Ceasar fades as quickly as it begun. The way he said 'district' makes them sound backward.
"And with that, we thank Eila Groves and wish her luck for tomorrow. Many here in the Capitol are rooting for you to avenge your sister."
The buzzer signifying the end of her allotted time sounds. She waves a 'thanks' to the audience. She passes Makari on the way back to her seat. He looks terrified. She settles into her seat, closes her eyes, and takes small breaths to calm her pounding heart. She can't believe she just spoke on television. She gets her nerves under control and tunes back into the interviews.
Makari is timid, but unlike the pair from the Three, it works for him. He comes off to Ceasar as humble and earnest. Eila wonders if Blight worked on this angle with him, but she doubts it. It seems completely natural for him. On his way back, she gives him a thumbs up.
Clem is thoughtful. Everything she says during her three minutes has a purpose, and she comes off eloquently. Caesar mentions that she knows the male tribute from Eleven, who competed last year. Her answer is odd, like she's trying to be vague, but really just comes off as suspicious.
Thatcher tries to be confident, but he sounds annoying and cocky. Especially when compared to the hulking boy from his district last year, it's sort of embarrassing. Caesar pretends to be impressed by him, which is a feat in itself. The weedy kid was never a threat in Eila's mind.
They stand for the anthem once Ceasar's finished with the unimpressive pair from District 13. The stage crew leads them back to the lobby. Makari and Yash hold each of Eila's hands back to the elevator, helping her stagger in on her wobbly heels. No one speaks the entire way back. The elevators can only carry four people, so the tributes are put on in district pairs. Being from consecutive districts, Makari and Eila are put on with Yash and his district partner. Eila's stomach turns with anxiety for tomorrow. Yash gives them an awkward sigh when the lift stops at his floor.
"Well," he says. "I'll see you guys tomorrow?"
"For sure," Eila says.
Next time they see him, they'll be scrambling away from the Cornucopia. He could be cut down by a Career before she even lays her on him. She could be cut down. Eila's got a feeling their big group won't have all its members alive tomorrow night. The girl from Six gives them a small nod before she follows Yash.
Dinner is waiting for them when they get inside the apartment. Johanna and Jack make them take their plates to the television room and watch the recap of the interviews. Eila's a little disappointed that she comes off as awkward and unsure of herself, but at least she looks stunning. She hopes her family is proud of her.
Makari looks happy with his performance. He looks a lot more good-natured now that she can see television quality instead of the back of his head twenty feet away. After dinner, Johanna sends them both to bed. They dawdle in the hallway. Makari's room is closest to the living room, and as he steps into his quarters, he turns to face Eila.
"See you tomorrow?"
Eila gives a small smile and softly punches his shoulder. "Not much of a choice, is there?"
Eila desperately tries to fall asleep, but she feels bile gestating around her throat. The games are in mere hours. On the streets below, the Capitolites parade and party across the roads, celebrating as another year of their lives marches on by. Another year of twenty-five dead district kids.