Interviews Part 1

MAXIMON VULCAN (17)

DISTRICT TWO MALE

Maximon didn't like his plan.

It felt too improvised, too naive, too reliant on factors outside of his control.

But such was the nature of the interviews, he had to hope for the best when it came to the audience's reactions.

Besides, he had no choice or say in the matter: it had all been a fabricated veil carefully constructed by Draco to keep up the appearance of a loyal, victory-hungry District. Draco had only just found out about Mia's decision to leave the Career pack and in the room right beside his in the Makeover Centre, he could vividly hear his screaming even through the thick, hardened walls.

He winced as the sound of glass shattering rippled through the cement, quickly followed by a strangled cry for help from Mia.

She didn't think this through, the plan wasn't foolproof enough.

He wondered why Mia would even have tried to attempt such a plan in broad daylight and right underneath Draco's nose. She probably would've had better odds had she simply run away from the Careers in the Bloodbath without anyone knowing.

Then again, she'd been close to getting away with it, since Draco never bothered to show up for training sessions. Yet, as always, word got around, this time, from a rather crafty tattletale who'd snitched on her. He didn't know who it was. It definitely wasn't Freya, who'd spent half the day grumbling in her room about Draco and hurling pillows at the avoxes in a fit of frustration. It probably wasn't their overzealous escort either, who'd looked scared to bits at the idea of even seeing Draco. Perhaps Quianna? She definitely seemed like the type to tear Mia apart from the very beginning. She had a distinct sinister vibe about her, one she masked perfectly well in public interviews with flirtatious smiles, so in his mind, she seemed like the perfect suspect.

Yet, he doubted even she would dare to interact with someone of Draco's calibre.

As much as Maximon disliked (and admittedly, was scared of) her rule as pack leader, he knew she was smart enough to avoid the snappy veteran Victor who had a grudge against her District.

He sighed, shaking his head as he clumsily strapped a bowtie on, trying to block out the loud banging coming from Mia's room. After a while, he found it easier to ignore Mia's pleading and Draco's verbal abuses, some of which were sexist to the core, to say the least. He focused on himself, and only himself.

After all, once I'm through with everyone, Mia's going to be dead on the ground, whether I like it or not.

"Maximon?" his young stylist, Evona meekly called out. "It's time to head out." She gave him a nervous smile, her eyes shining almost as brightly as the sparkling neon blue glitter on her forehead. She wasn't too bad of a person, he supposed, and she'd been trying to get her friends to send him sponsors, which was always a good thing.

"They all love you, think you're some sort of heaven-sent handsome freak, they'll be throwing out cash like there's no tomorrow!"

But at what cost? Maximon had wondered.

He was, after all, well aware of the price of Victory, something that Scipio MacAllister had warned the trainees about in advance before they competed to volunteer.

Hopefully, the blissful life of peace and quiet and the hordes of cash would be worth it.

He followed Evona out of the room. Briefly glancing back at the cacophony of noises blaring out from Mia's room, he clenched his jaw. Had it been any other mentor, the Peacekeepers would've stormed the room half an hour ago to save Mia.

But this was not any other mentor, this was Draco Hadley.

Maximon could only be grateful Mia's fiasco meant Draco was not around to bother him as much.

Evona led him backstage, where a couple of the other tributes had already gathered. The other Careers, the shivering pair from Three, the stony-faced pair from Five and surprisingly, the pair from Twelve, already picking their spot in a dark corner, huddling tightly together in their costumes. Fleur's eyes perked up as soon as she saw him and she flashed him a bright smile, waving cheerfully at him. Maximon liked her, she seemed nice enough, maybe a little too nice, but oh well, he couldn't be picky. Quianna stared him down, instantly microwaving half of Maximon's brain cells.

She could decide his fate in the pack in the blink of an eye.

He could feel his chest churning as Quianna continued to give him a quizzical look. There was no sign of any emotion on her face for a long while, but then she settled for a brilliant grin. "Looking good, Maximon," she told him.

"Thanks," he murmured, wanting to melt away from the iron-like grip of her gaze. He was vaguely aware that she'd just complimented him, but other than that, her words didn't quite register in his mind. He watched as she turned to chat with Fleur, the two girls laughing and joking like two old friends who'd known each other for a lifetime.

Maximon turned to Ronan, who gave him an exasperated look. "Jolien told me to act like a chill dude and narrate some of my coolest shenanigans, not quite sure I can pull it off, though. It's hard staying chill with a crowd like that." He gestured to the door that led to the stage, the roars of the hundreds of Capitolites gathered outside echoing through it. "What are you planning to do?"

Maximon shrugged. "The usual District Two stuff, I suppose."

Soon, the interviews were underway. Fleur, as Maximon expected, set the bar high right from the get-go, opening the show by cartwheeling right up to Caesar Flickermann. Her stylist had given her leggings to wear underneath a short dress, quite unlike most of the long, flowing dresses that were typical of District One tributes, but this one fit her routine well. She joked around with Caesar for the whole five minutes, recounting a whole host of goofy experiences with her Victor aunt Crystal Montgomery. Maximon gritted his teeth. Considering how rigid Draco's script for him was, there was no way he could match Fleur's interview.

Maybe something more… in character with myself would do.

Alder was up next, and he played the cool kid vibe quite well, high-fiving Fleur while walking onto the stage and confidently answering Caesar's questions with a subtle swagger in his voice. He talked about his sister and her declining health, drawing a whole host of sympathetic sighs from the crowd. The tear brimming in his eye was more than enough to sell the package too, before he rounded it off by leaning into Caesar's ear and declaring that District One's Victors Village was far too empty, but things were going to change this year.

Then came Mia.

She had only shown up right before her interview and even then Maximon hadn't noticed her presence. At first, he didn't pay much attention to her interview, only vaguely noticing her perform a medley of folk songs with her guitar. It was a sweet gesture, but it wasn't getting her far.

Then she turned the guitar around, revealing the words, 'You better watch out'. All of a sudden, chaos erupted as Mia slammed the guitar onto the slashing, swinging and bashing it again and again like a deranged psychopath swinging a sledgehammer. A fiery blaze burned through her eyes, one Maximon had never seen before. Even Caesar looked scared. Maximon gaped at the screen.

Where the heck had this Mia been all along?

"No one here, not this audience, nor the mentors, or even the tributes, knows what's coming," she warned, her voice lowering as she spoke, a defiant gaze poised straight at the cameras. "I'll show you all, oh believe me, I will make you remember the name 'Mia'."

Maximon knew right there and then that he had to scrap Draco's plan for him.

ESMA CYPRUS (17)

DISTRICT SIX FEMALE

Esma didn't like her odds.

She had plenty to give. She also had plenty to lose.

This was her one, final chance at snagging more than her fair share of sponsors, she couldn't possibly afford to mess this chance up.

But seeing the sheer quality of interviews that had come before her, she wasn't too sure she could pull this off.

Snap out of this, you're Esma Cyprus, you can fly hovercrafts like it's a Tuesday morning exercise, this shouldn't be too much of a hassle!

She tried to recall Kimi's advice, which was a little hard considering he often slurred his words, half of which were nonsensical gibberish anyway given his worsening morphling addiction. But he did give out a few bits of really good advice here and there, which Esma desperately tried to catch.

What had Kimi said about her interviews?

Well apart from singing the ABCs song to the crowd, of course. That was Kimi on morphling. Sober Kimi, however, had told her to act natural and simply act like the crowd wasn't there, engaging Caesar in a normal conversation. Being a drinking buddy of Caesar, Kimi had told him about Esma's job as a test pilot and the times she punched bullies in the face, providing him with ample material to craft good interview questions for her.

Now, it was Esma's job to deliver on those good questions.

She watched, trying to sieve out some of the other tactics employed by the other tributes. Maximon, looking to one-up his District partner Mia, had spent his interview slowly pacing around Caesar, describing anatomically how he would kill the other tributes, every so often slowly smirking at the audience and asking for their input. Naturally, the crowd loved him. Esma, on the other hand, rolled her eyes as he sauntered backstage, a sly grin upon his chiselled face. This guy was the spitting image of many a bully back home in District Six, some of whom had done horrible things to random girls in the street. She didn't know if Maximon was like them, but he definitely had a similar vibe and that same horrible attitude.

That face deserves one almighty slap for good measure.

Ithaca had also chosen a more intellectual approach, holding a debate with Caesar over a whole host of topics, each time leaving him well in the dust and utterly flabbergasted, a rarity it seemed because the crowd was hollering and on their feet in applause. She then went on to slam a book on his lap titled '10000 reasons to sponsor Ithaca Emory', before marching off with a huge smirk on her face.

Maybe I could try that, be a little more sassy and engage the crowd a little.

Coda's interview wasn't nearly as interesting. He kept on twitching in his seat, adjusting his suit every ten seconds or so. Esma understood the feeling. She'd done the same thing when she'd first donned a test pilot suit. Only here, the stakes were much higher. The cameras would've definitely picked up on his fidgety nature, which contrasted with the five confident tributes who'd gone before him, didn't bode too well for his odds. Apart from that though, he spoke bluntly, deflecting more than a few questions with short, curt responses, refusing to heed the crowd at all costs. In a way, Esma could respect Coda. The kid was putting on a brave front and was definitely being natural. He held his chin high and left the stage with an indignant stare, which was always Esma's favourite form of dramatic exit.

"Oh, Esma, your dress looks lovely!"

Esma turned and her eyes lit up as Omega came into view.

Oh, for the love of sweet turbines, she looked stunning.

The pair had gotten to know each other much better over the last couple of days and Esma no longer felt the same butterflies fluttering in her stomach every time Omega laughed. Some resilient flustered looks still lingered here and there, but she was beginning to appreciate Omega as more of a friend than a potential romantic interest.

Besides, romance almost always ends in disaster anyway. Especially here.

Tonight, she was glad the flutters were nowhere to be found, even as Omega stood there right in front of her, dressed in bright red dress that was snug on the waist but unfurled into a long, mesmerising trail of ruffles all the way down to the ankles. The sleeves of her dress were long and at the wrist were another blossom of ruffles. She wore her hair in a neat bun, draped with a red shawl to match her dress. All in all, she reminded Esma of a Capitolite dancer that had once come over to District Six a couple of years ago to perform for the demoralised Peacekeepers amidst a minor insurgency in the East side of the District. Esma could remember that dancer girl, gosh she looked so pretty and her graceful moves, well, Esma could get lost in them for days.

Omega conveyed a similar effect, although Esma didn't think she could dance nearly as well. "Like it?" she asked, flashing Esma a bright grin.

"Huh, not bad, Centhers. Doubt you'll need to smash a guitar to steal the show with an outfit like that," Esma said, raising an amused eyebrow.

Omega chuckled. "Oh, don't worry, I'll try not to destroy anything, except maybe the crowd's sanity once I'm through with them!"

Esma patted her on the shoulder. "They're in for a treat, I'm sure of it."

"Thanks, I'm sure they'll be hyped up for you too!"

Esma smiled and nodded politely, chucking her inner doubts deep inside her chest. She wasn't going to vent out her worries, not here where the other tributes were keeping a close eye on them, especially that shady boy from Seven and Coda. No, here, she was going to act strong as ever, bottling up every single emotion that weighed her down.

This was, after all, how she'd survived the rough streets of District Six.

She turned her attention back to the screens, taking a deep breath to refocus herself.

"So, I hear your family loves Capitolite fashion, how-" Caesar was asking Quianna, but she cut him off.

"Oh, I'm sure I have bigger problems than mere clothing, Caesar," she quipped, weaving her fingers through her turquoise dress. "But I have to say, it takes an acquired taste to comprehend the sheer efforts of the fashion lovers here. I commend the way they've put aside their precious money for such beauty standards. The people of Four could never!"

Was that snark?

Caesar laughed. "Oh, definitely! And how about the lovely people, how have you been enjoying our welcome?"

Quianna flipped her hair and gave the camera a cheeky wink, one that almost made Esma's heart melt before she realised that this was Quianna Rafferty and not just some pretty girl on the street. "Well, we've gotten quite the welcome over here, I do especially love the cameras! They're all over the place!"

Hang on, Esma thought. Was she talking about the cameras in her room?

Suddenly, a whole new dimension of Quianna unfolded right before her eyes and all of a sudden, the rebel girl that was Quianna Rafferty was unleashed to the world.

Esma gulped. A queasy feeling washed over her, as if she were a hovercraft facing heavy turbulence. But it wasn't over yet.

"I do have one thing left to say before our lovely time runs out, though." She stared deep into the cameras, her cold, calculating eyes masked behind an ever-so-flirtatious look. A cute, almost innocent laugh escaped her lips. "There are two among you female tributes who I have observed. Oh, I've observed you very, very closely. And when the time comes, I do hope we will cross paths again. It will be so much fun."

Esma's knuckles turned white.

Was she talking about her?

PERSEY FAYRE (16)

DISTRICT FIVE MALE

Persey didn't like having to wait.

He sauntered around the backstage area, fiddling with a small crayon he'd taken from Marie that morning in an attempt to distract his mind from the impending doom that awaited him. Every so often, he glanced around him, making sure that the other tributes were at least an arm's length away from him. Scanning their grave, hollow faces, all staring blankly ahead like a horde of zombies, he half-expected one of them to lunge straight at him and claw for his throat.

Of course, no such thing happened. They simply watched the screen unblinkingly, the heavy ma-scare-a on the girls' faces only adding to the undead effect.

Sitting with these guys is only gonna lead me to a dead end.

He regarded all of them, bar maybe Ithaca and Alea, as potential threats, tributes who would be out to kill him as soon as they'd gotten the opportunity to do so. Even when Elris had tried to engage him in conversation, Persey had simply exchanged a simple joke with him before excusing himself to go to the bathroom.

That kid could well be a malicious mass murderer underneath his innocently beaming face.

It wasn't uncommon for younger tributes to morph into violent beasts in the arena after a week of playing the cute little kid card. The Games were like a logic puzzle, if he wasn't sure about Elris, he couldn't risk putting him down as a fixed answer.

As Persey continued to pace around the place, he idly watched Ronan's interview, in which he recounted his numerous cliff-diving adventures with his friends and how he loved to surf on warm, sunny mornings. The crowd endeared to him, their ears hooked on his every word like he was some sort of divine preacher.

Ronan's really seas-ing this opportunity.

As Ronan waved to the crowd, Persey glanced to his left, where Alea stood in silence, a grim expression adorned on her face. The pair weren't exactly best buddies, but ever since Persey's prank on her, they'd at least been on speaking terms. She'd managed to loosen up since then, to he point where she was finding Persey's puns funny. He never told anyone, but receiving such a laugh meant the world to him. It gave him a small, tiny fragment of a reminder that people could like him for who he really was.

It made him smile, genuinely smile, and Persey appreciated her for that.

She had however woken him up that morning by spraying some sort of pungent chemical onto his pillow, along with a note saying, 'Don't mess with me, amateur'.

Yeah, he kinda did deserve that,

Persey bit his lip. This wasn't something he usually did for anyone, except Stacey of course, but he couldn't just sit here and let her deal with her nerves herself. Jamming a nervous hand in his pocket, he walked up to her. "Hey, good luck out there," he told her. He pulled out a tiny, unopened packet of yoghurt he'd snuck into his pocket from that morning's breakfast, just in case he got hungry. "Yoghurt this. Get it? You got and youghurt?"

Alea chuckled dryly. "Oh, shut up Persey." One look at the calm smile slowly settling upon her face though, and Persey knew she appreciated his efforts.

"Alea? Come with me, please," a Capitolite woman urged, gesturing to the door that led to the stage.

Alea sighed. "Well, I guess this is me. Hope you don't flubber your lines later on, Persey. Tell 'em some good puns for once, will you?" With that, she yanked the yoghurt packet out of his hands, to which Persey yelped in protest and marched out the door, her head held high in regal confidence.

Persey grumbled, well aware that his source of sustenance had been whisked away from him by his annoying District partner. Still, he was glad she seemed confident about her interview. If he couldn't win the Games, he figured a District Five Victory from Alea would be nice, especially for his family and friends who'd get better wages for the coming year as a Victory reward for their District.

Alea's interview went quite the opposite of what he'd expected. She seemed way too bubbly, laughing at all the wrong moments and timidly giggling every time someone in the crowd shouted her name. "Oh, Caesar, you're toooo kind!" she wheezed after Caesar complimented her dress.

This wasn't the Alea he'd just talked to less than a minute ago.

Persey frowned, wrinkles of confusion forming across his face as Alea played the 'pea-brained idiot' card throughout her interview. She blew kisses to the crowd at awkward moments, heck she even twirled around in her dress, a dress which Persey had heard her telling Marie she absolutely hated. In the audience, Persey could see Marie, Alea's mentor, quietly scribbling something in her small notebook, a calm, collected expression on her face as her tribute proceeded to act like a total idiot.

"I love you guys, I can't wait to win this and come back here to see you again!" she hollered once the interview ended, grinning like a psychotic lunatic as she skipped out of the stage.

"Alea, what the heck…" Persey murmured, scratching his head wildly.

What was she playing at? Did she want to end up as cannon fodder?

"Persey Fayre, you're up next," the Capitolite lady called out.

Persey took a deep breath. Well, at least the bar had been lowered for him. If he could time his jokes perfectly, he might be able to make a much better impression than Alea the Absolute Weirdo had.

He jammed his hands in his pockets. Daring a nervous glance at the other tributes, most of whom payed him no mind, bar the boy from Twelve who gave him a short nod, he clamoured towards the door, inhaling and exhaling in a futile attempt to calm the raging storm that thundered through his nervous heart.

Dressed in a white linen embroidered shirt, a dark red vest dotted with lunar patterns, ankle-length trousers and a whole host of silver accessories including buttons, shoe buckles and belt buckles, he wasn't exactly dressed in a typical male tribute interview outfit. But hey, it was unique, a piece of the puzzle that caught the eye easily. And in Persey's eye, that mattered more than looking smart in some random suit bought from the nearest boutique available.

As he made his way to the stage, Alea brushed past him, still in her alien-like bubbly mood. "Hello there, Persey!" she chirped, flashing him a bright grin.

"Uhh, hi?" he stuttered, raising a confused eyebrow. What the heck was he supposed to say after that?

Suddenly, Alea's face morphed, transfiguring into a whole new figure, the real Alea. Her eyes hardened and she gave him a steely look, even if just for a brief moment. "Good luck," she whispered curtly.

Persey blinked but before he could say anything, she was gone and he was left stumbling up to the stage with ten million questions whizzing through his head.

Instantly, he was struck with a hurricane of bright lights.

Persey squinted his eyes, trying to adjust his vision from the darker corridor he'd just emerged from. All around him, cameras clicked and flashed. Capitolites screamed his name, chanting, "Persey! Persey!" in jubilantly shrill voices. How their voices hadn't turned raspy yet, Persey didn't know. Suddenly, he found himself in the eye of a raging storm of Hunger Games superfans, all wielding numerous posters and fan merchandise, including what he dearly hoped weren't matching Alea and Persey plush toys.

He could feel his breathing quicken. A dull ache emerged in his chest. His head swirled a little, as the colours of the sea of citizens began to churn in his eyes, colliding into a medley of whimsical hues that only worsened his nerves.

A firm hand grabbed his shoulder. Persey looked up, right into the comforting gaze of Caesar Flickermann himself, that trademark wide grin of his forever plastered on his face. "Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the man of the moment, all the way from District Five, Persey Fayre!"

As the crowd's cheers ballooned into deafening screams, Persey could vaguely feel Caesar's hand guiding him to his seat. The chair was warm and somehow managed to give off the comforting scent of freshly-made homemade cheese fondue, one of Persey's all-time favourite comfort foods, but one he scarcely got the chance to enjoy. The oozing aroma of cheese filled his lungs, soothing his blurred vision into a calm, focused gaze.

Was there some sort of mechanism in the chair?

Before he could think too much about the various contraptions potentially hidden in this seemingly innocent velvet seat, the round of questioning began. "Persey, we've heard plenty from your lovely mentor Switch about you, but what can you tell us about yourself? Spill the tea, what goes on in the mind of Persey Fayre?"

Persey blinked.

Darn it, these were supposed to be easy!

His mind drew a complete blank. What did define him as a person? His complete inability to interact with others? His social awkwardness? His terrible puns? Gosh, none of those seemed like worthy things to blurt out in such a high-stakes interview.

"Don't think too much about it, just say whatever comes to mind!"

Switch had told him to act natural, but Persey knew he couldn't act too natural. Now, that would be a recipe for Capitolite infamy. He took a deep breath, cleared his throat and began to speak off the top of his head.

It's not like there was much of a choice anyway.

"Well Caesar," he half-stammered, half-confidently exclaimed. "I'd say I may not be the Victor people want, but I'm the Victor people need."

What the heck was that supposed to mean?

Persey bit his tongue in frustration at his terrible improvisation, but to his surprise, his words drew intrigued gasps from the crowd. Now everyone was watching him with close intent.

"After all, take a look at all the other tributes. They may have all the big muscles and charismatic voices, but I'll bet half my money that they have brains smaller than a teaspoon. You think those idiots are going to survive a day with no concrete game plan? Pfft, I'd like to see how smashing a guitar will turn out once the supplies run low. I can easily fashion the wood and strings into a masterpiece of a trap! Heck, even if you throw me into a frozen hellhole, I'll just drill a hole and start kicking people in the ice-hole!" The crowd hollered, wheezing in glee at that last bit. A smile trickled across his face. He wasn't sure his District Five accent would be able to convey the similarities of icehole and asshole, nor was he convinced the pun was even funny to begin with, but hey, people were laughing, he'd gotten the crowd going, he figured he might as well throw in a few more.

"Brilliant!" Caesar chortled. "We love to see it! I hear you love sci-fi movies, which one's your favourite, I need some good recommendations for movie night or Iris will have my head!"

Persey chuckled nervously. "I loved 'Secrets Within', the subplot about the two cloned doctors was brilliant, they couldn't be together because of a time pair-o-docs and that was super cool to see!"

Once again, the crowd laughed at his pun.

This is already going better than last year's school talent show.

"Ooh, I heard that was a wonderful film and Iris has been begging for us to watch it together, only because she's scared of watching it alone! Tell me Persey, is there anyone you love to watch movies with?"

Persey nodded, his heartbeat getting calmer by the second as the chair began to warm up a little. He was sure he was imagining things, but he could've sworn it had a massage function too. His shoulders felt amazing, at any rate.

"I've got my friend, Stacey, she's really cool to have around."

There was a small smattering of oohs from the crowd, along with a shout of, "Is love in the air?"

Persey rolled his eyes. Clucking his tongue, he murmured, "Always with the romance, huh? I'm ace, I'm not looking for that sort of stuff. And besides, we've got a good thing going platonically, a term I'm sure you haven't heard of yet. Spent too much time chasing others, perhaps?"

Instantly, he clamped his mouth shut but it was too late.

Shit, I shouldn't have said that.

Damn it.

Damn it.

Damn it!

He was sure the crowd would turn on him.

He was sure he would get flagged for disrespect.

He was sure he'd single-handedly killed the mood.

So why was everyone guffawing on the floor?

Persey watched as the poor heckler was left red-faced, the people around him nudging and teasing him to seemingly no end.

"Nice one, Persey!"

"We love you, Persey!"

He couldn't help but laugh.

This was going well.

This was actually going well.

As the puns began to flow and the crowd's reactions grew more ecstatic, Persey could feel his heart soar into cloud nine.

He was on top of the world.

And nothing could bring him down.

OMEGA CENTHERS (16)

DISTRICT SEVEN FEMALE

Omega didn't like having to sit here for this long.

She sat on the edge of her seat, nervously fiddling with the curls of her hair as she gazed at the screen, trying to recite a few possible lines she could use in her head.

"Why hello there, Caesar! Good to be here in the Capitol!"

No, that sounded forced.

"Oh my gosh, hi there everyone! It's great to-"

No, that didn't flow very well.

"Good evening, Panem!"

No, that sounded like she was trying to steal Caesar's job.

She slumped in her seat, a bead of sweat trickling down her chin.

Think positive, Omega, think positive! You're gonna ace this!

But as the clock trickled down and the tributes came and went, she could feel even the most optimistic bits of her soul slowly begin to ebb into a dull misery. The more she thought about her impending interview, the more she could feel herself slip into an anxious shell of herself.

"Not so strong after all, eh?"

The voice of her wretched father crept into her ears, a ringing monotone that lurked deep within her mind, always there, always tormenting her.

"Look at that girl's guitar. That's gonna be you in the Bloodbath. Broken up by someone who's actually worthy of being alive. Someone who isn't a pathetic. Little. Wimp."

Omega seethed. She chewed on her lip, thankful that she hadn't been given any lipstick to wear. Her lip sent a shockwave of pain in protest, seemingly about to release a trickle of blood into her mouth.

Maybe that might actually work out well for me.

But no, she knew that this wasn't the answer. She relaxed a little and tried her best to look at the screen and focus. Esma was having her interview and by all accounts, she was doing just fine, maintaining a lighthearted conversation with Caesar about all the awesome things she'd seen while flying her hovercraft and that one time she punched a guy for being a jerk to some girl he liked.

I should take some pointers from how she's doing, Omega noted. Esma, at first glance, looked fairly chill and relaxed, yet Omega didn't miss the drumming of her fingers, the nervous glances towards her mentor Kimi in the audience, the subtle wrinkling of her nose every now and then.

She's terrified.

"Well, you know, it's safe to say this little flight of mine to the Capitol has been nothing but plane," Esma said with a chuckle.

Omega was about to giggle at her pun when she realised that, to her horror, no one else was laughing. The audience, who'd been so enraptured with peals of ecstasy during Persey's interview, were now completely silent. Some were even glancing at one another, murmuring softly. Omega couldn't hear them, but she could read some of their lips.

No one got her pun.

Esma's face contorted into an awkward grimace.

Oh no.

Omega could feel the secondhand embarrassment radiating like a fiery heatwave. Esma, her ally, maybe even her friend, had screwed up in her interview.

She can still save this, though.

"I see the audience was so amazed by me, they forgot to clap," Esma noted, trying her best to don a sassy tone, but even Omega had to admit it sounded awfully serious and off-putting.

There was a tiny smattering of applause, but for the most part, everyone remained perfectly still.

She had a good line but she'd messed up the execution.

Suddenly, it dawned on Omega that if Esma, confident as she was, couldn't pull off her lines, what chance did Omega have? She wasn't exactly the physical or spiritual embodiment of anything that would make her stand out and the qualities she did have to leverage on might be diluted by her nerves.

Oh gosh.

As Esma scampered off the stage, shaking her head in dismay, Omega wished she could reach out to her and give her a hug. Partly because she wanted to comfort her, but mostly because she could use some comfort herself. Still, the look on Esma's face as she sank deep into her chair beside Kimi struck an agonising blow to Omega's heart.

Chin up, Esma, just forget about it, she wanted desperately to tell her.

As Ashton made his way up to the stage for his interview, waving his arms around like a rock star, Omega's gaze couldn't help but continue to wander to Esma, eager to check on her facial expressions for any cues of stress or perhaps even relief that her turn was over. Sadly, Esma looked grim as a reaper.

Ashton, on the other hand, was doing amazingly well. He engaged Caesar in plenty of friendly banter, even playfully punching his arm when Caesar admitted he'd developed a little too much of a craving for candy lately. "I can tell, it's time to hit the gym, Caesar!" Ashton exclaimed.

But the bulk of Ashton's interview was spent discussing his role within District Six's politics. Omega had known bits and pieces from what Esma had told her, but she hadn't known the sheer scale of Ashton's involvement.

How the heck did he manage to rally an entire District together for his cause?

It sounded borderline rebellious, the way he'd gone around doing it, which was why Omega wasn't surprised when he said he'd been interrogated by the Peacekeepers more than a couple of times. But still, the fact that he'd done so much to slowly peel apart the social divide within a District, Omega could only wish she'd had as much of an impact on others, not that being stuck in her stupid household was of much help.

"When I grow up, I'm going to be Six's mayor," Ashton declared. "And when that happens, there won't be any more social classes within our proud District. We'll stand together, united, and in no time, with our manpower and industries, we'll be as rich as Four or Five! And of course, when all's said and done, I wanna thank all of you guys for letting me come up here and have a voice that all of Panem can hear. Thank you, and have a good night Capitolites!"

It wasn't so much an interview as it was an election speech, one that was wildly successful and had gotten the crowd roaring on their feet in support of this young future politician. Omega tapped her palms together in a polite clap, but she knew very well what the end of Ashton's interview signalled for her.

"Omega Centhers, you're up next."

Omega jerked to her feet, nearly knocking her chair over.

It's time.

She took a deep breath.

"Good luck, Omega," Kieran called out, and for the tiniest of moments, she could've sworn she saw him give her a faint, tiny smile.

It was all she needed to get up there with a newfound confidence.

She flashed Kieran a double thumbs-up and a wide grin, before bounding out of the room.

It wasn't much, but Kieran's three words had given her a new ray of hope.

If this solitary, quiet boy, had spoken up in a room full of tributes and stylists and Peacekeepers just to wish her luck, well, Omega was not going to let him down.

Oh, she was ready for this.

"And now, she's got a smile that could melt the coldest of hearts, it's Omega Centhers!" Caesar announced, triumphantly ushering Omega forth like she'd just won the lottery.

Come on Omega, give 'em what they came here for.

She donned a look of innocent amusement, flashing the brightest smile she could eke out to the crowd as she waved frantically, suppressing with all her might the slight churning in her gut.

These people trap us in our Districts like animals in cages, and now they're cheering on our gruesome murders, she reminded herself, using that thought to tether herself to reality as she spun around dramatically on stage, letting out a chirpy little giggle for good measure.

"Hello there everyone!" she sang out, raising her arms in the air as the crowd began to chant her name. A few people threw their brightly-coloured wigs in the air and hollered loudly, perhaps some sort of weird ritualistic cheer that she'd never heard of.

Gosh, they really are freaks,

She plopped down on her seat next to Caesar. The chair, comfy as it was, felt a little off-putting. She'd seen its frame being built in person, after all. A couple of years ago, the Capitol had sent an order to Seven to mass-produce frames for these chairs in exact proportions, brutally executing anyone who'd made even the slightest of mistakes during the production process. Such executions were so common, when the clock struck twelve at midnight, there would be a chorus of orchestral music from the towns and villages, in hopes of drowning out the inevitable shots of gunfire.

The sheer gore had driven her father closer to the brink of insanity.

He'd started hitting her, lunging at her, screaming at her way more often since then, his mind having been twisted by the horrors he'd seen in the lumber mills and woodcutting factories.

Yet, something else caught her attention.

The sweet smell of the pine forests of Seven.

She wrinkled her nose, wondering how on earth such a smell could be present here of all places.

Was it coming from the chair?

It was such a soothing scent, yet she couldn't bear the thought of all those people who'd been shot in the pine forests just to make the perfect chair for the perfect interview.

Disgusting.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Caesar. "So, Omega, tell us, how's Olive been? Still up to her usual tricks?"

Omega bobbed her head up and down. "Ooh, yes, she's been a delight to have around! We've had so much fun playing the flute together and our nightly band sessions with whatever we think can make nice sounds are super cool!"

The conversation went like this for a while, Caesar asking her about how she'd gotten along with her mentors, the escort and of course, the other tributes, in particular, Esma.

"Oh, Esma? Well, when the Careers came up to harass us, she told them to, ah, I can't say it here, but they got real mad and stormed off, so hey, that worked! She's a fighter, believe me, Ashton and I used all four of our hands to try to beat her in an arm wrestle, she beat us in exactly seven seconds!"

She made it a point to emphasise just how amazing Esma was, trying her best to drive up the Esma hype train among the Capitolites as much as possible. She knew Esma hadn't had the best of interviews, but hopefully this could compensate for it.

Then Caesar brought it up.

"So, Omega, I've heard quite a lot about your time here in the Capitol, but what about back home? Tell us, what are your parents like?"

Oh, shit.

He gave her a knowing look and Omega knew exactly what he wanted her to say.

Spill the beans, Omega.

"Of course, they can't be here with you right now, but I'm sure you wanna tell the whole nation what they're like!" he pressed on.

Omega knew where this was going.

Her grip on the cursed chair tightened.

She took a deep breath.

Her bright smile faded, replaced with a steely, hardened glare, one that made a few audience members back into one another, alarmed by the sudden change of her demeanour.

"Well, Caesar, they're fucking abusive. Now, since you asked, I'll list down everything they've done to me, all of which, I'm sure, is against Panemian law and is worthy of heavy punishment."

And with that, she began to let the cat out of the bag.

Oh, she dearly hoped they were watching back home.

A/N: What did you think of these interviews?