Lear Macbeth, 82, Grandfather of Choux Macbet, District 1
Lear sits patiently in his office as the Capitol crew sets up around him. He was hesitant when they contacted him twelve hours ago to set up the interview. But he's heard the whispers of opinions about his granddaughter. The tactics she's using in the Games. The "accidents" from many years ago are resurfacing. A pity, the public can't see she's doing exactly what she was sent to do.
Of course, they couldn't know, though. Her siblings' deaths were mere accidents as far as the public is concerned. It'll stay like that if Lear has anything to say about it.
That's why he agreed to the interview. Not for his benefit, or glory, but for the family name. The only thing that matters to Lear. It's the one thing he's spent so long building up, the only thing he'll pass on to his granddaughter when she returns victorious.
Choux is doing her duty in the arena, now it's his duty to steer the course of public opinion. He simply doesn't have any other option.
Now he grits his teeth as someone powders his face again and he grits his teeth as they move around his own personal artifacts to make room for their obnoxious gear and waste his time even more.
Anything for Choux, he doesn't need to remind himself.
"Alright, I think we're ready. Mr. Macbeth?" Adrian Goldsmith waits for Lear's response. He gives a polite nod, then all the lights around him seem to brighten.
"Thank you for your time, Mr. Macbeth. We'll be quick." The camera and lights adjust one more time, and he assumes they're recording when the interviewer starts to ask questions.
"Can you tell us a little bit about Choux growing up? What was she like?"
"Choux was always drawn to the library. She loved to read and learn. She always wanted to hear what I had to say about a subject. She was clever. It didn't take her long to show me that," he says proudly.
"Now, when did you know she was going to volunteer? When we look at Academy records…she doesn't seem to have much of one?" Lear can't tell if it's a question or an accusation. He barely wants to entertain it, but she's depending on him.
"She has trained for this her entire life, alongside her late siblings. I'm sorry you couldn't find her file." He cocks his head to the side. "Not like you need it. Has she not proven her worth by making it this far? Farther than her District partner, certainly."
This earns him no response. Good. Maybe that will be the end of ridiculous questions.
"If you could give her any advice at this point in the Games, what would it be?" Lear is impressed by the redirect. He pretends to contemplate this one for a while, pretends to search for the perfect set of words when in reality, his words are no different than the last ones he said to her.
"Do whatever it takes to return." He forces a smile. He's not sure how convincing it is, but it's good enough for the simple-minded Capitol workers in front of him. Based on their reactions, he assumes it will be good enough for any Capitol citizen who watches it.
He remains seated as they pack up around him. He didn't think that gesture alone would make them believe they could continue speaking to him, let alone ask him more questions about his granddaughter, but ask away they do.
"What happened to her siblings? We've…heard all kinds of things."
"Such as?" Lear answers his question with a question, hoping his tone alone will deter him from further speaking.
It doesn't. "They say she electrocuted one…and…poisoned the other….y'know…like she did…in the…."
He can't even finish the sentence. Like the words alone will kill him.
"I assure you, what she's doing in the arena, and what she's ever done, were simply for her survival. Do not spread those falsities about her."
The crew member nods and quickens his gear collection in the Macbeth office.
Good. Lear feels an overwhelming amount of relief when they all vacate the room. It allows him to get back to work, knowing he's done his part of keeping the Macbeth name ahead.
Now, it's time for Choux to do the rest.
Adeodatus Zanetti, 48, Father of Amatus Zanetti, District 2
Adeodatus and Daria Zanetti sit side by side on the couch of their family home as the crew sets up around them. They've already allowed time for shots of Amatus' room, and all that remains is the interview itself.
(Adeodatus kept the other bedroom locked. He refused to open it when they asked.)
The one thing the interviewer notices before any real questions have been asked is how stoic and calm each of the Zanetti's seems. Every year, he inevitably interviews a couple of Career families. Some of them are calm and collected, sure, but by now the alliance has typically fallen, and inevitably that worries the families.
Not the Zanettis.
"Thank you for meeting with us today. We won't be long." The interviewer adjusts in his chair, and Adeodatus can sense his unease.
"Would you like water?" he asks. The last thing he wants is for their family to be portrayed any worse than they already have. He's seen the Games on TV. More importantly, he's seen the Capitol announcers talking about and judging Amatus. The things he says, the things he does.
(Like they have any idea who he is or what he's doing.
…Adeodatus wouldn't admit it, but he could say the same in regards to his son. His son is…)
"No, thank you. Are we rolling? Okay." He pauses, then asks, "Can you tell us what Amatus was like as a child?"
"Oh, Amatus was always an ambitious boy," Daria answers. "He knew he wanted to train very early on, and we always encouraged him. He was the top of his class for so long, it was no surprise they chose him this year."
"He's made us very proud," Adeodatus adds.
The interviewer nods. Adeodatus can tell he's choosing his next words…very carefully.
(Not carefully enough.)
"Some in the Capitol have expressed concern about his actions. He has demonstrated…a short fuse, for lack of a better term. What would you say to that?"
"I'd say those people are idiots," Adeodatus says, irritated at the accusation. "I'd say, put them in the Games. See how they act."
He hears a light gasp behind the camera. The interviewer's face turns a light shade of red.
"Amatus has always had a lot of emotions. We've always encouraged him to express them. It's what he's used to," Daria says, giving her husband a moment to breathe.
"Thank you." The interviewer clears his throat before asking, "If you could give Amatus any piece of advice right now, what would it be?"
"Keep your head clear," Adeodatus says a little too quickly. He pauses a moment to recover, then adds on, "You will not win these Games with only your luck. You have to be smart. Think about your actions, think about your enemies. You've practiced this for years. Show the world what you're made of."
(What Adeodatus doesn't say is what he's really thinking about- Renatus. His brother's son, a boy with so much potential the Zanetti's truly expected him to enter the Games first.
How would Adeodatus know he would be a traitor like his own brother was?
Except Renatus wasn't a traitor.)
Adeodatus shakes the untrue thought out of his head. The Zanetti's aren't always perfect, but he knows they're as close to perfection as Two could get. A perfect family whose name was almost dragged through the mud because of the stupid actions of a few people. Amatus told them over and over again how grateful they should be he rooted out the traitor before it was too late.
(How stupid he made them feel for trying to help their nephew when he needed it most.)
Generosity has always been a hard concept for the Zanetti's to grasp, and those around them fear they will never.
Amatus and the truth he revealed ensured that.
(Maybe one day Adeodatus and Daria will learn the truth about their son.
Maybe, they already know it and are too afraid to accept it.)
Only time will tell.
"Any more questions, sir?" Adeodatus asks. His mind is moving too fast. This interview was a mistake- he should have never let a stranger into his house.
This is the last one. Adeodatus promises himself. When Amatus comes home, no one will be allowed in.
That's something the entire family can agree upon.
TW implied child abuse
Lian Karpathos, 26, brother of Caliadne Karpathos, District 4
If he could, he'd punch his parents in their smug faces.
He's more than happy to be interviewed for Cali's sake. As the days pass Lian sleeps less and less, the fear of waking up to his sister dead is too scary to get any meaningful rest. The interview was easy enough, even sleep-deprived, as the questions were hardly anything to ponder.
"How was Cali growing up?"
"Has she always been so lethal with a sword?"
"How do you think she's doing, without her District partner by her side?"
By the time the questioning was over, Lian felt solid about his answers. He knows Cali has had rougher moments, but she's remaining strong. She just has to make it home.
He promised to do the interviews in place of any of the other Karpathos. Lian didn't expect Jordan to do it, and Lian refused to have their parents speak on her behalf.
They lost that right when they failed to parent all three of them. When they chased them all away and relished their newfound freedom. When they prided themselves on Cali's success in the Games thus far.
Like they did anything to support her.
So really, it's no surprise that he's livid when he sees the camera crew gathering outside their house.
"What are you doing?" He approaches the interviewer, the one he knows he told to stay away from their parents.
"We're conducting our interviews, sir. Official Capitol business." If it wasn't a guaranteed death sentence, he'd punch the smug asshole in the face.
(When he finally looks at the two people who dare ever call themselves his parents, he still just might.)
He pushes past the Capitol crew, and a few arms reach out in a weak attempt to stop him. He stops a few feet in front of them, desperate to keep a few feet of distance between him and those monsters.
"You have no right," he says. His fingers form a fist and he thinks someone wraps their hand around his wrist to stop him from punching, but he's not sure with how locked in on his targets he is.
"We're her parents. We have just as much a right as you," his mother responds.
"You're not! You did nothing for her or for any of us." He turns to look at the Capitol crew, who he assumes are recording the entire thing. "You guys are just as bad as they are."
He looks at his parents. He can't believe he ever wasted a breath on them.
"When she comes back, you won't get anything else from her." With nothing else to say, and no desire to hear their comeback, Lian Karpathos storms away from the scene. Maybe someone calls out for him, maybe they don't. It wouldn't matter either way.
This District and its slimy inhabitants will be the death of him if he lets them. They had already driven Cali away. They already killed Ronan and his brothers, who knows where those poor boys are after Ronan's pre-Games interview.
(Maybe Lian should check on them. Maybe he too is a part of the problem.)
He's so lost in his own head that he almost walks straight into his own brother.
"Jordan! What the hell-" he exclaims after tripping over his own two feet to stop from barreling ahead. Jordan hardly reacts, so Lian breaks the silence by asking what the hell he's doing here.
"I live here." He gestures to a house not too far down the road.
"Right. I knew that." Lian doesn't even try to sound convincing.
(Lian left home and he made the effort to see Cali when he could. Jordan left home and the Karpathos lost a brother.)
"They coming to you for an interview?" Lian asks. Jordan shakes his head.
"Someone showed up to my door to ask. I told them to go away." Jordan shifts.
"Right. Why would you do anything for her, after all." Lian doesn't mean to say the words he says, but he doesn't exactly stop them from pouring out.
Except, Jordan doesn't retaliate like Lian expects. Jordan doesn't say anything. His eyes find the ground and Lian can't stop himself.
"They're interviewing our fucking parents, dude. That's who they resorted to." He lowers his voice before adding, "You don't even care."
"Of course I care!" Jordan's eyes shoot up from the ground. "What…can I do about it?"
(The question Lian has been plagued with his entire life.
Maybe if he faced it instead of avoiding it, he could've stopped the cycle. Maybe Jordan and Cali wouldn't have suffered like he did if he was just better.)
I tried so hard. It was too late.
"Nothing," Lian answers after some time.
The time for the Karpathos to stand together, stronger, has passed, and now they're left digging out of the fallout. All Lian can do now is hope it's not too late for Caliadne.
Emmett Behrens, 51, father of Exa Behrens, District 6
Emmett's eyes aren't dried by the time the cameras start packing up. He thought he would be able to hold it together but…any mention of his little girl further breaks his already shattered heart.
(Losing one child wasn't enough. Watching one child fade away into a shell of their former self almost killed Emmett. When he heard his daughter's name as the one called at the reaping…
He still hasn't recovered.)
He doesn't move from his seat as the crew finishes packing up. Quincy and Elio have already gotten up and left, he can hear them playing in one of the bedrooms. Delia excuses herself, saying she has to study. That just leaves Liza, Julien, and his wife.
Elisabetta wipes away tears of her own on a napkin. Emmett puts a hand on her shoulder.
"I barely got through that," she admits as more tears form.
"Can I go play?" Julien asks. Emmett nods, and the little boy hops off his chair and finds Elio and Quincy in the other room. On a normal day, Emmett would remind them to keep the noise volume down and be careful playing inside, but today his thoughts only land on Exa.
(He sees the spider bite on her arm and he sees her skin growing more and more pale and if he stares too long it's no longer Exa on the screen but it's Anton.
Emmett isn't coping well with that.)
Emmett moves his hand from his wife's shoulder to her hand.
"Do you think we helped her, at all?" Emmett asks.
(They weren't able to do anything to help Anton.)
"I think so. The little ones were sweet." Elisabetta smiles. Her eyes fall to the last of their kids that stay seated - Liza.
"I think they were obnoxious," Liza says once she realizes her mother's looking for words of comfort.
"Liza. Your sister is counting on us," Emmett says.
"She's in over her head like she always is. We tried to keep her out of trouble in the District and we failed. What makes you think we can do a single thing to help her when she's thousands of miles away from us?"
The Behrens are used to Liza thinking and talking like this. Emmett, once again, is a fool to underestimate his children.
"She's just trying to do what she thinks is right," Emmett says. It's what he's always said in defense of Exa. Even Elisabetta sometimes agrees that Exa takes things a little too far, but Emmett never wants to sow doubt into his daughter's mind.
Her mind is greater than most, Emmett told her that time and time again. Her ideas, her ambition to achieve everything she sets her mind to always made him proud.
(As he watches her plans fail in the arena, he can't help but partly blame himself. Maybe he shouldn't have contradicted Elisabetta's attempts to subdue her more extravagant ideas. Maybe he shouldn't have scolded Liza so hard when she was harping on Exa.)
(Unfortunately, Emmett knows too well that should have and shouldn't have don't mean anything if you don't change.)
"She's going to get herself killed," Liza says before finally pushing out of her chair. Emmett wants to stop her, to comfort her despite being sixteen and way past the age of wanting comfort from her parents.
"Let her," Elisabetta whispers. "This is…not personal."
"She's angry at me. For enabling Exa for so long," Emmett says softly. His wife looks at him for a few seconds. Her next words take him off guard.
"She blames herself for not volunteering. Especially when she sees the boy from Nine on screen. The one who volunteered for his younger brother."
The words cut deeper than Emmett expects.
"That's no fault of hers. We…we never expect our kids to volunteer for each other. Why does she…" Emmett doesn't expect an answer, but Elisabetta gives one anyway.
"She thinks Exa is our favorite."
(Emmett Behrens has never once had a favorite child. He loves how unique each of them are. But once Anton got sick…
He can see how they gave that impression. And with him constantly encouraging Exa to pursue her dreams…)
Emmett Behrens isn't a perfect man, and nowhere close to a perfect father. His family is all he has. They are depending on him.
He's been inadequate as a father for too long. He promises himself, from here on out, he will do whatever he can to make them all feel heard.
It's his duty. He cannot fail them anymore.
(And he won't.)
TW: implied child abuse
Mr. Moquette, 55, father of Oswaldo Moquette, District 8
"Thank you for agreeing to meet with us," one of the film crew says as they continue to set up in the large space that is Mr. Moquette's office. He nods, as he did with the last four times the same crew member expressed the same sentiment.
Your composure is breaking, is what he wants to say. The first of the 'thank yous' and gestures of appreciation were solid and strong, if not totally unnecessary.
But now? Now they're showing weakness.
Mr. Moquette isn't bothered, of course. He would be glad to offer advice, but he finds those in the Capitol less…receptive to feedback.
Something they and his children have in common. Mr. Moquette finds it rather annoying at the timing of Oswaldo's reaping. He had just resecured his grip on his daughter, and he was certain his son would follow shortly.
Mr. Moquette hadn't anticipated this roadblock. No matter. It has been a stroke of good luck, after all. Together, his children are wiley pests he struggles to keep under wraps. Separately, it's much easier for him to get them to do what they need to do.
Oswaldo has surprised him by surviving this far. Perhaps Mr. Moquette's training is beneficial after all.
He's not holding his breath for an apology if Oswaldo does happen to return.
"Are you ready, sir?" A different crew member asks this question. Mr. Moquette politely nods.
The crew calls out a few nonsensical words that Mr. Moquette assumes are part of their strange, ill important jobs. Then, the interview turns to him.
"Thank you for your time. Oswaldo has piqued the Capitol's interest, with the allegations of his crimes back here in Eight and his decisions during the Games. Can you start with telling us a little bit about what he was like as a child?"
"I think he was born with a streak of trouble. I tried to teach it out of him, but he was never cooperative. I thought enrolling him in hobbies to dispel some of this energy would help, especially alongside his sister, but, well, you can only help your kids if they'll let you."
(Each word is calculated, and carefully said with the right inflection. Mr. Moquette has spent too many hours putting out the fires Oswaldo set underneath him.
The patriarch of the Moquette family never fails.)
"His sister- Scarlet? Would we be able to interview her after you?"
He leans back in his chair. He expected this question. He's prepared for it, even.
"I can certainly ask her. I can't guarantee she'll agree. Both my kids inherited that stubborn trait, I'm afraid," he says the last part with a smile and a shrug like he's so used to it nothing could possibly surprise him anymore.
"Of course. We'd be most appreciative if you could ask. First, could you tell us what you think of Oswaldo's decisions so far? Do you think his…impulsive decisions, for lack of a better word, will help him pull through to a victory?"
"No," he responds a little too quickly.
Now's not the time to get sloppy.
"I always taught him the most important thing to do under pressure was think. Plan and prepare before making the next move. I see my teachings have landed him nowhere."
"He's made it into the final eight," someone whispers from behind a camera. Mr. Moquette raises his head.
"Two of his allies are dead to show for it. Hopefully, the Nine boy wises up before he meets the same fate."
Silence fills the air and Mr. Moquette can tell the interviewer is running out of meaningful questions. He speaks up, "Shall I see if Scarlet is available?" He's met with an overwhelmingly positive response, so he stands from his chair and leaves them behind in his office.
As he moves from one room to another, he makes sure no stragglers have decided to follow him. He refuses to give Scarlet an outlet to an outsider. Oswaldo has already done too much damage.
(When Oswaldo was first reaped, he was angry. He was finally closing in on getting his two kids back. It wasn't until he was in the arena that Mr. Moquette realized that, dying or winning, Oswaldo would provide him benefit. If he died, it was one less factor that could go wrong in Mr. Moquette's operations. If he won, he would bring home a fortune.)
Mr. Moquette reaches the locked door and reaches for the key. He unlocks the door and gently pushes it open.
Scarlet is sitting on her bed, legs pulled up to her chest. Her cheek rests on her knees, her eyes piercing him like daggers. She still hasn't eaten the plate of food he left her hours ago.
"Is he still alive?" she asks. It's the only thing she'll say to him when he visits.
"He is. He made it to the top eight. They're interviewing us now," he says. She gently lifts her head up, and Mr. Moquette thinks she might finally say something new.
(He doesn't want to give her the chance.)
"I'll tell them you're not feeling well. Eat up. You need your strength." He shuts and locks the door before she can say anything.
(Soon enough, she'll be back fighting for him in the pits. He only needs a little more time.)
Ermias Euroka, 13, brother of Roman Euroka, District 9
Ermias shifts uncomfortably in the chair he's trapped in as the crew sets up around him. He knows he's not physically trapped. There are no restraints or any person holding him down.
He can't leave. As much as his brain is begging him to get out of there, to get back to his room and his book, he can't. He has to stay and talk about Roman.
(Before Ermias was reaped, all he did was think about and talk about Roman. Now, the memories only bring him sadness.)
It doesn't help that his parents have somehow only found ways to work longer hours. They grumble about money, lacking Roman's income from his job, leaving their thirteen-year-old, eleven-year-old, ten-year-old, and seven-year-old home alone.
(Ermias isn't strong like Roman. He can't take care of his siblings like Roman did. He so desperately needs Roman to come home.)
"Are you guys ready?" the nice interviewer man asks all four of the Euroka kids. Ermias looks down at the floor as he nods. He can see Moss kicking his feet out of his peripheral.
"When is Roman coming back?" Colette asks for the fourth time today.
"We're not sure," the interviewer responds. The same response Ermias has told her, as have their parents (in the limited minutes she sees her parents, granted.)
Ermias is the only one actively watching the Games. Every hour, he has to tune in and get a glimpse of his brother before his heart returns to a normal tempo. Every time he checks, he's still with the strange boy from Eight. Ozzy, Ermias has heard other people call him.
(Every hour, Ermias sees the spark fade from Roman's eyes. His encouraging smile vanished with his boat. Ermias had the pleasure of watching that live. When the cannon fired…
He assumed the worst. He has yet to see if the real Roman is still in there, thrashing around like Roman would to get back to his brother.
Ermias can't accept anything else. It's too sad.)
"I want to ask each of you something. What is your first memory of your older brother?"
Ermias knows this. It's a memory that's nestled deep in his brain, one he still pulls out to enjoy when he gets sad.
"The day he walked me to school for the first time. I was only five," Ermias says.
I was so scared, is what he doesn't say. And Roman encouraged me. He told me about all the new books I'd be able to read. He walked me all the way to my seat. And then, at the end of the day, he picked me up and I got to tell him all about the book I read that day.
"When we chased each other on the street! He couldn't keep up with me, I was too fast!" Moss kicks his feet even higher as if he were running right now.
"I miss him. He doesn't leave us for this long. He's not like mom and dad," Colette cries quietly.
"I miss helping him. I hope he comes home soon," Piper chimes in, her eyes falling on the mess that has built up around the house since Roman left.
"What would you say to him, if you saw him again?"
Ermias doesn't answer this one. Moss chimes in with something about hugging him and begging him not to leave again, but Ermias can't process anything with his heart beating in his skull.
If. If you saw him again.
There is no 'when' in his words. Ermias knows what the 'if' implies.
"Excuse me." He pushes off of his seat and runs out the back door before anyone is quick enough to stop him.
Tears are already hitting the ground by the time he reaches the grass outside. Fortunately, no one follows him.
He's allowed this one moment to grieve the brother he may or may not ever see again. The crew doubts he'll return. He can tell by their tone.
(Deep down, Ermias fears the Roman he's watching on screen is too different than the Roman he knew growing up. Ermias fears the Roman he loves and couldn't live without, he fears that Roman died on the boat.
Maybe Ermias has been grieving for days and this is the first time he accepts it.)
Maybe the real Roman will prove me wrong.
Ermias knows, that no matter what happens in these next few days, his brother's death will haunt him forever.
(As relieved he is to not be in the fight, the guilt of his brother volunteering will never leave him.)
Jonquil Brune, 48, father of Vetiver Brune, District 10
Jon fidgets as he stands in front of their tiny hut of a house while the crew around him sets up. He's never liked crowds, never liked strangers.
He despises the idea of a camera.
He can't escape it, and he wouldn't try. He barely escaped jail with his life after failing to attend the reaping.
(It took them days for him to find out Vetiver was the one reaped. When they first told him, he couldn't breathe. His son was going to die and he was going to die and he didn't even get to say his last goodbyes.)
He didn't recognize Ellis Winslet as one of Ten's few Victors right away. He doesn't know what the man said to the Peacekeepers, all he knows is he's indebted to Ellis for the rest of his life.
(Ellis insists no thanks were needed, but Jon doesn't feel right accepting a good deed with no reward. It's just...how do you thank someone for keeping you alive? For keeping your son alive?
Jonquil hasn't found that answer yet.)
"Are you ready?" The interviewer asks him. He shrugs, feeling his posture stiffen immediately. Skipper nudges at his ankles, and he's more than happy to kneel down to give her some pets.
"When is she due?" The interviewer asks.
"Any day." Jon continues to pet the pup at his feet. He finds the action more comforting than looking the crew members in the eyes.
"How big will the litter be?" he asks again. Jon can only shrug.
Maybe three or four, he could say, but the words find no place on his tongue.
It's moments like this he really misses his son. No one understands him like his son. Words aren't necessary between the two of them. Jon always found more could be said without the burden of words. Speaking, processing, and understanding; these all take up precious seconds that could be spent hunting.
Like this interview, Jonquil doesn't dare mitigate how important this is for his son, not at this point in the Games. Everyone is watching the final eight, and subsequently their family interviews, before making their final bets.
(Jonquil couldn't say goodbye to his son, so he has to get through this without making a fool of the Brune family.)
Skipper smiles at him with her tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth and Jon smiles at her.
You'll stay by my side throughout the entire interview? He wishes he could ask her.
A wag of her tail gives him his answer.
The crew asks if he's ready and he gives a polite nod. They say a few words and Jonquil feels as ready as he'll be when the interviewer turns to him.
(He sees the lights around him and the red light on the camera and he can feel the thousands of Capitol eyes landing on him already even though this won't be played until tonight.)
"-about Vetiver as a child?" Jon snaps back to reality at the end of the question. He tries to ask for the interviewer to repeat it but the words get stuck in his mouth.
Skipper rubs against his hand again and he finds his breath again.
"Vet…was always a quieter kid. But we were good here. Our home is small…that's how we like it. The dogs, the hunting, that's our life."
(Get me out of here.
Stay. For Vetiver.)
"Vetiver has been a surprise for most in the Capitol! His odds were not high compared to many others, yet still he survived! What do you think is his strongest trait? Is it luck, or something more?"
"He's…familiar with woods and survival. We sleep outside more than we do inside. He knows how to see and avoid trouble. I think he's very prepared." Jonquil barely makes it through his sentences without stumbling and the interviewer seems pleased.
Jonquil stands in the square as the Games are projected on the two monitors by the Justice building. The Brunes don't own a television, so if he wants to see his son he has to make the trip to the square. It's always more crowded than he'd prefer and people always glance at him, his resemblance to Vetiver obvious to those who have never met him.
So he stands in the back of the square as he always does as the mountain collapses, the shots of Vetiver and the small boy from Eleven - Chaffinch - run through the tunnels together. People around him are gasping and tense as Capitol cameras become obscured by the rocks.
Jonquil hasn't taken a breath in seconds, as if a single breath will change the course of the Games. It's hard to tell what's happening.
"He's alive. He'll be okay," a passerby snaps Jon out of his breathless freeze.
Jon didn't know what to say to the stranger, but they were right. The rocks have stopped falling and both Vetiver and Chaffinch are alive. Separated- but alive.
Despite all the odds against the Brune family, they are both still alive.
He has Vetiver to thank for that.
Aurora Esmalte, 25, Capitol Producer in District 11
"What do you mean there's no address on file?" Aurora glares at the Capitol crew that surrounds her. The ones that are supposed to do their homework on the final eight before they end up in the District with limited time to film.
"We searched everywhere. He doesn't have a family. He doesn't have a home," her useless crew member says.
"Well, genius, where do homeless kids go?"
"We checked with the orphanage. He never lived there."
"You're telling me this kid just spawned out of nowhere? With no one caring for him?" Aurora rubs the sides of her temple.
"I…I'm sorry," the useless crew stutters.
"Screw it. We're going to the orphanage anyway. Find me someone to interview."
…
Dakari Ngozi, 60, Headcaretaker of District 11 Orphanage
Hours later, the crew shoved Dakari Ngozi, head caretaker, in front of the camera. She hasn't taken it well but with the promise of some extra funding, who would she be to say no?
"Okay Dakari, this is what we're doing." Aurora sighs, still in disbelief this is the situation they're stuck with. "You say whatever you want about the orphanage, and about Chaffinch living here. Make it up. Say he was a recluse. I don't care."
Kari nods. How hard could it be to make up stuff about the boy who doesn't speak?
"Okay. And…rolling." Aurora steps back and lets the interviewer do his job.
"Ms Ngozi, thank you for agreeing to meet with us today. We'd like to ask you about Chaffinch Canasto…and his time in the orphanage."
"Yes. Chaffinch…he never really interacted with the staff or the other kids. He kept to himself, playing outside a lot of the time." Kari is careful with her words, knowing one slip-up will forfeit the money her orphanage so desperately needs.
"Did he always have an affinity for the outdoors?"
"Yes. I believe there were many nights he spent outside, away from his bed here. Yes, I do in fact recall that. We don't like our kids to spend the night in other places. With so many kids, we want to keep them all as safe as possible. It becomes harder to track the stragglers," Kari says.
(At least now she can't be called a complete liar, if anyone would even be bothered to call her out.)
"Ms Ngozi!" A small voice distracts the crew and Kari from the interview. Kari kneels down as Lucian - one of her seven-year-olds - rushes at her for a hug.
"Hey, kiddo. What's going on?"
"Look what I found!" Lucian pulls something out of his back pocket, shaking it around in Kari's face so fast she can hardly see it. When she does, she can only smile.
"It's a beautiful feather. Thank you. You can leave it on my desk, okay? I'll be inside shortly."
"Who are these people?" he asks, looking at the Capitol crew like its the first time he's seen them.
"They're conducting an interview. Don't worry, I'll be done soon." She stands up and tries to move him, but he doesn't budge.
"What are they asking about?"
"We're asking about Chaffinch Canasto. Did you know him?"
Shit. This is what Kari wanted to avoid.
Lucian shakes his head. "I saw him once! He climbed to the top of a tall tree and he was dropping things down. A few of the older kids were scared and thought birds were attacking them!" Lucian giggles. "But I saw him. I haven't seen him in a while. Where did he go?"
"He's…playing with some other kids in another place, far from this one."
"When will he be back?" Lucian twirls the feather between his fingers, and Kari notices the patterns on it for the first time. The long black diagonal stripe on top of an otherwise pure white feather.
(Kari isn't an expert on bird feathers, but, well, it seems she's been surrounded by chaffinches lately.)
"Soon, I hope. Now go play." Kari again gestures for Lucian go elsewhere, and this time he takes the bait. She watches him run towards another group of children, feather held high up in the air.
When she turns her attention back to the Capitol crew, she can see the smiles on their faces. The red light on the camera tells her more than she needs to know.
(Maybe Kari isn't a good person, agreeing to lie in front of thousands of Capitol viewers. But she didn't do it for them.
She did it for Lucian and Chaffinch and others their age who aren't blessed with loving parents.
It's just that simple.)
omg I'm back!
sorry this one took me so long ;heart;
back to our regularly scheduled murder games next chapter :3