HUNGER GAMES INTERVIEWS

“Just that I chose not to highlight any traditional skills, because I don’t think they’re a good indicator of who will win. People with high training scores lose all the time, and people with low training scores have won.” Was she critiquing too much? She didn’t mean to sound overly critical of the Games overall, but she wanted the audience to think outside the box with her. “I think I can really surprise people out there,” Avenue beamed. “I probably shouldn’t tell you everything that will help me get to the end, Calix, but I think brain over brawn might sun it up pretty well.”

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“We love determined tributes who have nothing to prove and just know their worth!” he cheered, though, generally, they did like it better when those things were proven beforehand. Still, Avenue was relatable to their Capitol audience, and likeable, and clever, so there was no point in gently scolding her for it. This was not some act of rebellion, just regular laziness, which his glamorous spectators could very much relate to. Calix cleared out his throat before standing up and escorting Avenue off the stage, just a few steps towards the stairs, in thunderous applause. “Best of luck, Avenue, my dear!” he wished her as she was getting off the stage.

Cecil met Calix’s smile with his own, trying to keep the contempt out of it as he did so. What a shit show. Even if it was bound to come out eventually, Cecil never imagined having to explain himself in front of all of Panem. He couldn’t tell if anything he’d said played well with the crowd, but he couldn’t dare to look at any of them with the shame and guilt so clearly drawn on his face. If he managed to get out of the interview with his reputation still in tact, maybe he still might stand to gain a few sponsors. “I’m willing to do anything to win, Calix. I mean it,” he said as confidently as he could.  “I’ve had to watch my own back my entire life and I know myself better than anyone.”

Then, he glanced off-stage. Cecil breathed a sigh when he couldn’t find Hestia or Moxie or even Sera waiting in the wings. It would make what he would say next a whole lot easier if he didn’t have to see the look on their faces. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve been pulled in a million different directions. It’s been hard. I was even almost convinced that the Capitol is wrong. That this is all bad and that it shouldn’t exist. But, I just don’t agree, Calix. How am I supposed to believe that? You’ve welcomed me with open arms. I know myself and this is where I want to be,” he lied, trying to come off as sincere as possible. 

Cecil was used to screwing people over and it was one of the many reasons why everyone had it out for him in Twelve. And even though he hadn’t named Slate or Moxie, a part of him felt sorry for throwing them under the bus. The feeling wouldn’t pass even when he looked at Calix with his answer.

“And I’m willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that happens.”

First, the crowd gasped. How could they not, when there was a tribute on stage claiming that everything they were celebrating, waiting months for, spending money on, was wrong? But Cecil pulled the audience back in, before Calix even had to placate them. Cordially, he nodded along. This entire speech had been bold, and Calix intended to soften it down as much as he could. “Of course, of course, Cecil. It’s been our pleasure to spend this time with you, right?” Applause and cheers rang from the crowd as Calix turned to them. “And we, definitely, hope for much more. Best of luck to Cecil Faust from District Twelve!”

Would she? Would Lumba be proud of her? Or would she be stern, telling Pepper not to be so reckless, not to be a fool? But Lumba wasn’t here, and Pepper had no choice. She had to do this, and she was doing it for Lumba. She met Calix’s gaze with a demure smile. “Well, um, tell you all about it, of course,” she said, adding in a giggle at her own, though forced, joke. “Also dinner. I’ll, um, find somewhere beautiful and have, um…steak and ice cream. And I’ll, uh, I’ll toast…to those who came before me.” She wasn’t sure who she meant she’d be toasting to, in that moment. Aspen, Lumba, and Hazel? Any tribute ever? The 130th tributes? But it didn’t matter that she didn’t know. What mattered is that she seemed to know, and that the audience believed her, or, more importantly, believed in her.

“That sounds like a wonderful plan, Pepper, and dare I say, it’s something rather noble. I’m sure many people will raise a glass or two to you tonight as well.” He placed a hand over his heart, seemingly heartbroken to have to say goodbye already. “It was charming to meet you. Give it up for this sweetheart from District Seven, Pepper Jacques!”

“I’ve learned a lot!” Avenue beamed. She’d tried, at least, to learn quite a few of the things the Training Center had to offer. Whether she’d mastered any of them was up for debate. “Don’t let my training score fool you. I don’t think you can ever tell who will win by training score alone, and I took a bit of an unorthodox approach in there, but I’ve been working very hard.” She didn’t know if she needed to justify any of what she said or did, but she didn’t want sponsors to shy away from her because of a low number. “Of course, Calix. There’s nothing I love more than talking about the Games, and mentoring is all talking about the Games. It would be a pleasure to mentor, but I’ll have to win first.”

With interest, Calix leaned forward in his seat, prompting the crowd to shuffle forward the slightest bit as well, as though they wanted to listen in on a secret. “Unorthodox approach, you say? Mind elaborating?” Whatever happened behind closed doors for skills assessments was always a curiosity inducing subject. The two times the audience had been allowed to watch, the Capitol citizens had been speaking of it for weeks to follow. “What’s your strategy towards victory, Avenue? Come on, we’re all friends here, aren’t we?” The crowd cheered at his words. 

Shiloh wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, since it was a direct reference to that which he’d worked so hard not to think about. “Calix, do you really think it’ll come to that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, avoiding the question. “If it does, you’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”

He grinned indulgently, and clapped his hands. “We shall wait and see, impatiently. Right folks?” Calix turned to the audience, as if asking for their approval. The crowd gave a small cheer. “Until then, we wish you the best of luck. A round of applause for Shiloh Garner, District Nine!”

“Depends on which folk you ask.” Once again, he answered without missing a beat, without much thought or consideration of how his words might reflect on himself. “For me? I’d just be glad to be alive. Same goes for my family, they’d just be relieved to have me home, wouldn’t even care about the victor title or whatever. The rest of Thirteen, though?” Radia Thorn, Jeanine, and likely everyone in all of the military branches bar his closest friends would no doubt be disappointed. They were all rooting for Knox. They had to be. “They’d probably be shocked. Which would totally be understandable.”

Calix gave a slow nod, to drive home the heaviness of future plans when they were so uncertain, such an unfamiliar concept for District Thirteen. “I wish you the best of luck, Konner, as does everyone else here,” he responded, sincerity laid on thick in his tone. Then, he stood up, beckoning the crowd into applause. “Give it up for the one and only, Konner Bohr!”

Summer didn’t answer for a moment. What was there to say, except repeating herself? What could they expect from a victorious sibling duo such as herself and Gatlin, that wasn’t just… staying alive and finally being together as a family? “Lots of more victories for Ten,” she finally decided to say. “That’s an important bit, right? The mentoring thing. And for the other stuff, I think just living sounds good right now.” 

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Calix clapped, pleased with the answer, and the audience followed. “District Ten should definitely be lucky to get you for a mentor, Summer,” he delicately retorted, voice meaningful and solemn as if truly rooting for the Victor’s sister. “And just living definitely does sound good, especially in the comfort the Capitol would provide you. Well... what else can I say other than, I’m looking forward to seeing you crowned soon enough!” But not so soon, as the people of the Capitol did hope for a show. 

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She tried to not let the flash of anger show in her face, but her jaw did clench. Everyone was so fucking obsessed with prying open her father’s death, the way it rooted inside of her chest, examining it like a fucking mortician. And the mention of Hunter only made her fingers clench tight into the fabric of her dress now, dimpling it around her lap. 

“Why would I do that?” she asked coldly, trying very, very hard to not say worse. To not think about the poison. The stench of it on her. Her hearing felt a little fuzzy– he didn’t smell it, right? It would be coincidence that he was asking. Then, she forced out the words: “It’s just the Games. I don’t hold it against him. Can you ask me about something not related to my family?” 

Generously, his hand painted a wide gesture at her request. Calix knew to respect tributes’ wished when they were sincere, and this was, by all appearances, a rather delicate matter. “Right, right. Well then, dear Indiana, do you have plans for a life as a victor? What do you have in store for us?”

“Shiloh, if he doesn’t annoy me to death first.” Shiloh, whose loyalty to her may shatter the moment they placed a knife between Hunter Twill’s ribs. Which was thicker, the blood of family or blood of revenge? “And I’d have said I was open to alliances with anyone, but apparently I pissed off the girls from Seven by existing, so they’re off the table.” The talking part, at least, was coming a lot more easily than she’d feared, even if this was way off base from the scripts she’d half listened to from her team. None of this mattered anyways, she just needed to have an interview that was middle of the road, unsuspicious.

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Calix laughed sonorously, in good faith, alongside the rest of the audience. “Of course, we’re excited to see the two of you working together!” For what came next, the host took a better seat, with trained nonchalance, eyeing his guest with a deep look on his face. “It’s not a secret that our double victor left you two without a father... Tell us, if you’d like, did you make amends with Hunter Twill?”

Cecil gritted his teeth, letting the panic wash over his face only for a moment before regaining his composure. No one was supposed to know about that. Not in the Capitol, at least. The skeletons in his closet should not have followed him now that he was miles away from home. It was a lifetime ago, and yet he was still haunted by it. Because even though Cecil did not feel shame in a lot of things he’d done, the man buried deep in the tunnels of Twelve was by far the worst of it. He would have to be heartless if he said that it didn’t kept him up on some nights. Cecil was not innocent, far from it, but the miner who had died under his watch was something else entirely. 

To add insult to injury, it didn’t do well to play the part of the powerless tribute from Twelve if they knew the truth. To know that he had in fact leveraged his position to trap somebody in the mines just to get him out of his hair. The man had put Cecil’s job, the one good thing he had going for him, on the line when he threatened to tell officials about the way he had bullied and berated his employees. Cecil believed that anyone would have done the same if he was pushed to the breaking point as far as he had been. But to the Capitolites who never lifted a finger a day in their lives? No, that didn’t fit into the narrative at all. How could be possibly spin this in his favour? By doing what he did best, of course—lying.

“It was an accident,” he murmured, somehow finding the confidence to keep his head held high. “I was a foreman before I came here. It was a difficult job, at best. I made a mistake and one that I’m still paying for to this day. But, I’m a different person now, one that’s still learning. And if there’s a lesson to be had in all this, I know the Hunger Games has been—no, will be—a valuable teacher.”

It was bullshit. He practically abandoned everything he believed just to say it, but he ended with a tentative look aimed towards Calix to go on. 

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Calix nodded solemnly, his face grave and sensible (to take death of a working man seriously, as one should) until his mouth tweaked into a small smile, one that radiated confidence and faith in the tribute in front of him, the same way he appreciated everybody else, too. “Well, Cecil, it’s touching to see such a humble, strong and intelligent young man. Now, if I may, since we got this close in our short time together, I can’t help but ask... How are you planning on becoming victor? Just between you and me, what’s the ace up your sleeve?”

“They’re just…um, mean and stuff,” Pepper explained. She had to keep it simple so there wasn’t a thread for someone to follow to find iut she was lying. “They havent tried to hurt us or anything. That’s, um, not allowed in training. But it’s been, um…implied? That we aren’t allies in the Arena, I mean.” She gave a small shrug, as if a bit dejected.

“Declare?” Pepper asked. She wasn’t sure. She knew she had to nail this, had to make it believable. But now that she was in the middle of selling the act, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to pull it off. “Um, may the best tribute win,” she said, and then added, “and I will.” Even though it felt gross to exploit her sister’s death for sympathy, Pepper knew she couldn’t leave out Lumba. She had to make her essential to thw story. “I’m not…I know I’m not as popular as Lumba, but I also know I have what it takes. I’m prepared to…to win. I have to. For her.” She said it with conviction, though she wasn’t looking at the camera, or even at the crowd, just a spot on the wall that she could try and pretend believed in her.

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A proud smile spread over Calix’s lips, and the audience seemed to experience the same soft awe for the young tribute, too. “We cannot wait, Pepper, to be with you on this unique journey, and for you to return and tell us all about it,” he radiantly concluded, voice musical and courteous. “And your sister would, of course, be so proud.” As in for the last question, Calix inquired, in an enigmatic tone: “What are you going to do, first thing after victory?”

Hope irrevocably blossomed in her chest. It was a little dangerous, but Summer had no chance to stop and consider this. Her gaze flickered from Calix, to the crow, back at Calix. “It was… crazy,” Summer let out a laugh, realizing that she sounded more like a broken record than much of anything else. “I mean, I didn’t know he’d won. I’m so happy he got out of the Arena alive. But.. I’d missed him so much,” she’d hardly even told Galtin that, and here she was, baring their meeting story to the entire nation. What could she say to her family now? Her eyes found the camera he’d gestured to, earlier. “Uh,” she swallowed heavily. There wasn’t much. The rest, she could tell them once she was back out of the Arena. If she made it out of there. “I’m sorry, for everything,” her voice gained a hoarse quality. “When I’m back, I’ll find all of you. I’ll find you all, and we’ll be together again. I promise.”

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Calix gently tapped the space under his eyes, as if touched to the point of tears and trying to preserve his make-up. “Thank you for this, Summer. I do hope you all find each other soon, for a traditional Capitol happy-ending!” The cheerfulness in his voice hid all the irony behind his words. Instead, he turned to Summer, very personally, and the cameras zoomed on her liquid eyes, too. “So when you are back, what is the plan? What can we expect from this victorious sibling duo that you and our dearest Gatlin will be?”

Konner frowned. “Enemies? No, nothing like that.” Should he have been making enemies? Jeanine and Everett had said nothing to that effect. Or maybe he should be pretending to have made enemies, maybe that was what they were looking for. Well, too late now. “I’m not the enemies type, honestly. As for allies, I think I’m sticking with Knox,” he added with a shrug. He probably could not have pulled off a lie anyway. “Coming from the same place and all, we gotta look out for each other, y’know?”

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“We love to see a united front on District Thirteen,” Calix confessed, cocking his head to the side. “And so tell me, Konner, what would you do if you were to be your district’s first victor on the first ever try? What would that mean for you and your folk?”

The applause felt a little forced, but he wasn’t here for applause. He wasn’t here for this interview at all, really. His goal was different, it was to begin only moments after he left this stage. He frankly wanted it over as quickly as possible. “Ah, well, Indy for sure,” he said with a nod, not elaborating.

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“Well, of course,” Calix hummed in understanding, for this was predictable and, at the same time, exciting to watch for the people back home. “And should you, two tributes from District Nine, be the last two standing, what can we expect to happen next? Would you sacrifice for her, or fight to see which one of you two makes your father prouder?” It was a vile question, but with Calix’s soft delivery, almost in the sense of telling a suspenseful tale, there was an odd charm to it, and the audience was mostly breathless waiting for Shiloh’s answer.

Knox thought about a message home and really, she didn’t know what to say and definitely didn’t want to get upset in front of all of Panem. With slight hesitation, the girl took in a deep breath but kept her eyes down. “I’d just like to tell my parents. They may not understand why I did what I did, and maybe a lot of people don’t… But I just want them to trust that I know what I am doing.. And if I make it out of this alive, I will be stronger than ever.”

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It was a glorious take on the Games, delivered unexpectedly early and pleasantly from a tribute from District Thirteen. Calix nodded solemnly through the declaration of strength and determination, moved by the girl’s words. “... and we cannot wait to meet you stronger than ever, Knox! Imagine how outstanding it would be for Thirteen to get a victor on first try!”

It was time to go. Not go, not yet, but it was time to leave the stage. She thought she would be grateful for it, but now she was stuck staring at her hands, frozen as she wondered what her last words would be. Would it matter? These weren’t her last words, not really. The nation would see her last words one day. Maybe tomorrow. She never thought death would paralyze her this way, she thought she’d welcome it. She stood stiffly, and then very abruptly added, “We normally dig deeper than six feet on fresh earth. Leaves room for more. Goodnight, thank you.”

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The strange note to end the interview on left suspense into the air, especially considering how abrupt the tribute stopped talking. However, it left Calix all the more reason to clap thunderously, followed by the audience. “My friends from all over Panem, this was Banshee Grove of District Eleven for us all! How charming!” he exclaimed, leaving a chuckle to linger, too.

She reeked of poison. It was under her nails, the slick concoction of the plants she’d stolen from the training center, mashed and drained and coaxed into a few ounces of distilled death. She’d scrubbed the ivory soap in her bathroom over her hands until they were pink and raw, and her stylists thought she should smell like a field of daisies (could Panem smell her through the screen?!) but even the putrid, floral perfume couldn’t cut the acrid burn of poison in her nose and the back of her throat. It presently lie in wait in a decanter on the Eighth floor. All she could picture were its crystalline edges as she sat in front of Calix, something of a poison in a diamond-cut container himself. Asking her about her father, right away. Indy bared her teeth in what she hoped could be interpreted as a smile, folded her hands in her lap to stuff her fingertips into the velvet, away from the cameras. There was nothing to see, but they felt as good as bloodstained to her.

“How wouldn’t it have a lasting impact on me? I stand where my dead father stood, how the f– how would you feel about that?” She had to bite back some more choice words, but she kept up the smile. She had to seem normal. Or, at least, normal for Indy.

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Calix smiled with indulgence, not needing to make the mental exercise of placing himself in their shoes in order to look empathic and nod vigorously in understanding. “It must feel epic, to be able to win what your father could not!” Always the silver lining, underlined with grace for the Capitolite audience. “Do you have any exciting alliances in store for us?”