The 2nd Writer Games: Valentines

Interview Response (Males)

District 1 - Indy Valentine (KingOfLimbs)

This is what I was made for.

I strut onstage as my name is called, glad that I managed to convince my stylists to let me wear a suit as the cameras and the spotlights follow my every move. It’s even better than my usual one, with crisp black fabric tailored perfectly to my body; though my family are rich, we can’t match up to the wealth of the capitol. The suit isn’t even garish in the typical capitol fashion, for which I am eternally grateful. Being rich doesn’t stop them throwing sequins and clashing colours around like it’s going out of fashion (which it certainly should do).

Case study for today: Sparkle Milena. He’s lounging in his plush leather chair as I come to meet him, grinning with surgically straight teeth that almost blind me, and his clothes and hair only add to the effect. Fiery oranges, flaming hot reds, dazzling yellows and jet black all clash in a jumble of disorganised madness, a crime to fashion only made worse by the plethora of diamonds plastering his body. The only upside that I can see is that he might drown in diamonds by the end of the night, or at least cut himself in half.

Looking round, I think it likely that the stage was designed by the same team; a hot pink loveseat, the backrest in the shape of a heart, sits in centre stage, surrounded by a sickening mix of hearts and roses and fluffy-wuffy teddy bears that serve only to make me want to tear my eyes out. Sparkle rises to greet me, shaking my hand and muttering a few hellos under his breath before gesturing to the empty seat, which is now bathed in a warm orange glow. He wants me to sit. On that.

I put in an effort to show my disdain, and only when I have made it clear with scrunched up faces and repeated gagging do I acquiesce. Some of the crowd have taken to me already, the retching reflecting their own opinions on the set, but others, particularly the ones with unnaturally bright hair of pink and blue and green, seem less amused. Let them hate me; this is no popularity contest. Besides, my rapturous reception doesn’t subside for a long time, indicating that, were this popularity contest, I would still be in the running. It could be how I look; it could be my training score; it could simply be that I’m first up to be interviewed. Whatever the cause, the cheers are deafening.

“Wow!” Sparkle shouts, his voice projecting through the arena over the crowd and prompting them to calm down. “Wow! What a reception! Tell me, Indy, how do you feel about all of this? About being here, in the Capitol, being watched by millions?” He gestures out to the audience, sweeping his arm from side to side, as if I’d thought we were alone out here.

“Impatient.” That shuts them up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that all of this, this pomp and ceremony, is a waste of time. I want to get out there, win my games, and go home rich. I do not want to talk to you, drowning in roses, while playing to the people. I don’t care about the people. I care about me.”

Sparkle raises his eyebrows, prompting some hushed laughter, before glancing at his papers and continuing. “I guess this isn’t the best time to ask you your favourite part of living in the Capitol, then?”

I laugh at this one. He might be wasting my time, but he has undeniable wit. “You guess correctly.”

“Right, we’ll move onto the games then. You might actually answer my questions there.” The crowd laugh again, but I can see that Sparkle isn’t happy. This is his first interview, and his first interviewee isn’t cooperating. He may just as well speak to himself. “This might seem stupid, far too obvious, but it has to be asked. How far do you hope to get?”

“I’m going to win. There’s no hope involved.”

“Confident. I like it. So what’s your master plan, then?”