Hunger Games publicity host - Thaddeus Flickerman
"Next up we have Fllora Hanzell," I said to the crowd, praying that she was nice and normal like the last person I'd spoken to, Cal. Fllora Hanzell was wearing a floor-length macrame-styled dress made completely out of rope, her dark brown hair braided up into a crown braid. She smiled directly at me and I shook her hand, which was a good sign, and then flashed a smile out to the audience.
She had a strong jawline and incredible bone structure, which complimented her smile out to them. She definitely fit the beauty standards for the Capitol, at least (even though she wasn't covered in full Capitol makeup, her makeup looked at least somewhat normal), and that could give her an advantage in getting donations.
"Fllora, it is a pleasure to meet you," I smiled at her as she sat down.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr Flinderman," she grinned.
"Flickerman," I corrected her. "Flickerman."
"Oh!" she said, giggling a little. "My bad! Sorry, Mr Flickernen."
"Flicker… never mind, it's alright," I said. She definitely wasn't the brightest of the bunch.
"How are you feeling about the games tomorrow, Fllora?" I asked her. She didn't stand a chance.
"Well, I actually have a very special tactic," she said.
"Oh?" I said inquisitively, raising an eyebrow at her.
"Yes, would you like to hear it?" she asked.
Oh, lord have mercy on this stupid girl, I thought to myself, but I nodded. If she wanted to give away her tactics, that was her problem.
"I'm thinking I'll skip the countdown," she said, smiling to herself. "Why does everyone just stand on their pedestals for the whole countdown? You could get ahead!"
I shouldn't have, but I laughed out loud at that. God, how stupid could a tribute possibly be?
"Fllora… girl…" I said, laughing.
"What is it?" she asked, looking at me with a tilted head.
"Nothing," I chuckle. "It was great speaking with you. I wish you the best of luck."
She smiled then walked off the stage, and, still laughing, I looked at the list of tributes to call out the next one.
"Jan… Janis Kurczak!"
The boy from Ten was dressed in a cowboy outfit, with a lightning bolt down the side of his boots. He had long dark hair, a black hat, and heavy eyeliner. Before he even shook my hand, he corrected me on the pronunciation of his name. Janusz.
"Well, Janusz, tell me, have you found a good alliance?" I asked him.
"Yeah, I'm with the Careers," he said, grinning widely.
"The Careers?" I repeated. "But you're in District 10?"
"Yeah, well, I was just too skilled for the people of District 10, they found me a little too intimidating so I get shipped away to some of the Career districts every now and then to do my Career training," he said.
"Who's idea was that?" I asked him.
"My dad's," he said. "He's actually a peacekeeper, and he's super rich so he pays for me to…"
He burst out laughing all of a sudden, and I raised an eyebrow, leaning forward in my seat.
"Nah, in all seriousness, though, my dad actually tried to kill me," he said, looking at me but not in the eyes, looking at my shoulder.
"Your dad what?"
"Tried to kill me, with my mum," he said, his tone changing slightly.
"Your… why?" I asked, unsure of what else to say.
"Because I was their sacrifice for their cult," he said bluntly.
"Oh! Well isn't that lovely?" I said, laughing a little.
"So, yeah, Mum… Dad… you didn't kill me! I'm here, thriving!" he yelled out to the cameras. "For the last few days, I've been living a life of luxury! Cool showers, better food than you're getting in stinky old District 10!"
He'd stood up to make his little speech to the camera, and when he sat down again he seemed… scared. Was he worried about the games? Or the whole thing about his parents?
"Are you nervous about tomorrow, Janusz?" I asked.
"What? No," he said, suddenly snapping back into a smile. "I'm extremely confident. I've got this in the bag."
"Well, good," I said, looking at my watch. "Unfortunately, our time is up, but I wish you the best of luck with the Careers."
"Thanks," Janusz grinned, shaking my hand and then running off the stage.
"Next up is May Vickford," I called out.
The girl from District 11 was tall, and slim, with a short black afro, wearing a sunset-coloured dress and fancy shoes. She had a big smile on her face as she sat down, which she directed at the audience and cameras.
"May, all the way from District 11," I said. I really needed to mix up my questions. "So tell me, what do you get up to back at home?"
"I guard crops, that's my job," said May, keeping her smile. "I'm incredibly good at it. Everyone else I work with is so lazy, but I'm very skilled at it. I stay up all night every night, which is a skill that gives me potential in these games. And add sponsors onto that, and I win. All of you who bet on me will become rich. Don't you want to be rich?"
"She's right, who doesn't want to be rich?" I said to the audience, who all cheered as if they weren't all already rich.
"So, you think that when it's night, you'll be able to stay awake and keep guard over your allies?" I asked her, and she nodded. "Impressive. Your allies are lucky to have you."
"They are," she said confidently, smiling brightly out to the audience. "See in our alliance we all know and own who we are, we all have our own roles in the alliance, and that's my role."
"That's good," I said. "Your alliance must be very organised."
"It is," she said. "We're obviously going to win."
"There is only one winner, you know that, right?" I asked.
"Yes of course, but I just know that everyone in our alliance will make it very far," she said. "And I have confidence in my own win because of my skills as I stated before. Hence why people should donate and bet on me."
"Well, you do have a fair point," I said. "But nevertheless, I wish you the best of luck, May. Our time is up, but it was great speaking with you."
She smiled, shaking my hand again before getting up and making her way off the stage.
The next tribute was the boy from eleven, who was one of the shortest tributes, with a dark buzzcut, dressed in a green suit with a white shirt underneath. He had a confident air about him, despite how small and young he was.
"Buster Melrose!" I beamed at him, and he smiled back. "It's great to meet you! How are you feeling?"
"Good as I can be feeling, I suppose," he said. "I'm going to win. I know I might not seem like the kind of tribute who will win, since I'm from District 11, and I'm one of the younger tributes, but trust me when I say, I am not going to be another statistic of a Hunger Games death from District 11 like it has been these past twenty-four years. I have confidence in myself, and you should too."
"Tell your potential sponsors, why should they have confidence in you?" I asked. "The odds really are against you."
"Well, I have beliefs," he said. "I believe there's a divine spirit in me, and that spirit determines my destiny. I've been listening to it since I got reaped. I already know I am the Victor of these games."
"A spiritual destiny?" I repeated. "Interesting…"
"I can also survive in harsh conditions," he said. "I've proven time and time ever since I was abandoned by my parents as a baby. My friends and I are strong, we work in the orchards and we protect each other. My allies and I would be like that in the games because I have experience in tough situations working with other people."
"Right, well… your allies, are you happy with them?" I asked.
Buster grimaced - very slightly, no one any further from him would've noticed - before saying, "Yes. My allies are cool."
I raised an eyebrow, but he didn't say anything else. "Well, I'm glad your allies are cool. But, our time is up. May the odds be ever in your favour."
"Thanks," said Buster, before getting up and leaving.
"Next up we have Fox Harlow," I called out, and the girl from Twelve came onto the stage. She was the smallest tribute so far, probably the smallest out of all of them. And being the female from District 12… poor girl wouldn't last a minute. Her hair was black and wavy, the same colour as her dress, which had translucent outer layers with black glitter to represent coal dust. "Fox, it's great to meet you… you are the youngest tribute, I believe?"
"Yes, I am," she said. "But don't think for a second that that's going to stop me from winning this thing. I may be small, but I'm strong. In fact, I already have a kill up my sleeve."
I choked, my eyes widening. A kill up her sleeve? This little, innocent girl? No way.
"Yeah…" she said in response to my silence.
"Sorry, Fox, I'm just… who? How?" I asked, still trying to process it.
"My sister's ex-boyfriend," she said. "Turned out he was… well, he wasn't a very good boyfriend to her. So don't any of you doubt that I'll be able to kill tributes because I will. I'm stronger than I look."
"Wow, Fox I am shocked, to say the least," I said, nodding with my eyes still wide. "So I take it you're feeling confident for tomorrow, then?"
She nodded. "I think I have the potential to win, and all you sponsors and betters should think the same. If you want your bets to go somewhere, make that happen by donating to me. Imagine that, everyone thinks you're crazy, betting on the girl from Twelve, supposedly the weakest of the litter and proving everyone wrong when I win. Remember fifteen years ago? The girl from Twelve won, and all those people who had donated to her proved they were right all along."
"Fifteen years ago, yes… the tenth Hunger Games," I said. I was fairly young at the time, I hardly remembered it, let alone know who the Victor was. "You weren't even alive then, how do you know about it?"
"People talk about it back home," she said. "Incredibly impressive time for District Twelve.
"Yes, well… unfortunately, Fox, your time is up. It was good speaking with you," I said. She smiled and shook my hand. Thank god. Only one left.
"Next up… last, but not least… we have Zevran Karras," I called out. I was so ready to go home and pour myself a glass of something very, very strong. I didn't even know what yet.
The boy from Twelve was tall, and stood with an excellent posture, especially for someone from such a poor district. His hair was ashy brown, and he was dressed in a grey jacket, a blazer over his shoulder, and a golden bow tie. I only noticed as he sat down that he was barefoot.
"Nice shoes, Zevran," I said, raising an eyebrow at him. I wondered if he'd taken them off or if they'd been a statement from his stylist about him being poor.
"Yeah, it got a little hot," he said bluntly.
"Oh," I said, unsure of what else to say. He really was not making a good first impression. "Have you managed to find any allies?"
"What, you think I'm unable to find allies because I don't wear shoes to my interview?" he asked, his voice cold. Yes, that was exactly what I thought.
"Well, have you?"
"I work alone," he said. Well, he definitely wasn't the chirpiest of the lot. Better than the ones from Five and Six, perhaps.
"Well, I see you were tied in first place for the highest training score?" I said, taken aback when I looked at his score that I'd written down. "A ten? How do you feel about that?"
"Unsurprised," he said. "I know my strengths and skills. And now, by this number, so do any potential sponsors and betters. Give your money to someone like me, who you know obviously has the skill needed to win this thing."
"That is true, so you are feeling confident for your big day tomorrow?" I asked, and he nodded. "You know exactly what you're going to be doing?"
"I have it all planned out, don't you worry," he said.
"Good," I said. "I wish you the very best of luck. But, that is the end of our interviews!"
Zevran made his way off of the stage so I could give my final speech.
"Tomorrow morning! Be ready, because the 25th annual Hunger Games and our very first Quarter Quell will begin!" I cried, and the audience cheered. "Place your bets, place your bets, because the initial round of betting closes at midnight! I'll see you all tomorrow, goodnight!"
The stage cut to black, and I looked over to the wing of the stage, where all the tributes were clumped up. All twenty-four of them were staring at me. One of them was even crying, I wasn't even sure who. God, these games were sick…
One more chapter before the games!