The Half-Blood Games | Percabeth

Chapter 11: Interviews

"You got an eleven," Percy stated. "Congratulations."

"Thanks," I replied. "And congratulations on your ten."

He nodded, his eyes fixed on something in the distance.

We were sitting on the roof, staring at the Capitol, like we did every night. 

"Can you believe it?" Pery asked, his voice soft, almost like a whisper. "There's just two more nights after this one before we're forced into the arena."

His meaning was clear; only two more nights before we'll not be able to pretend that we can be friends. Just two more nights until we'll have to kill each other.

"No," I replied.

*** 

At breakfast, Minerva explains to us what we'll be doing that day. Malcolm and I will be spending four hours with her, practicing our etiquette, before going to Vulcan, and practicing content.

Before the four hours, I couldn't believe Minerva had enough to teach us to fill that time frame. Boy, was I wrong.

She puts me in a long dress and extremely tall high-heels, before making me walk around. I'd never worn high-heels before, and I wished I'd never wear them again. I wobbled around, almost breaking my ankles several times. And the dress keeps getting tangled up in my legs, which, of course, instinctively makes me hitch it up, but then Minerva swoops down on me, because I can't lift it 'above my heels'. Malcolm watches all of this with amusement. 

After I finally finish with walking, there's still sitting, posture, eye contact, hand gestures, and smiling. Yes, smiling. Smiling is apparently very important. Thankfully, Malcolm fails more than I do, and Minerva's attention isn't on me the entire time.

By the time the four hours is up, my muscles are sore. I had never been more happy to eat lunch in my life.

After lunch, Vulcan sits us down, and stares at us for awhile.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm trying to decide what to do with you two," He said. "You need an image."

Eventually, he decided that I should be cold and calculating, and Malcolm should be smart. He made us practice what we were going to say, how we were going to say it, and more. He told me that Loki is definitely going to ask me about Percy, and that I should be prepared for that. The Capitol was still in a buzz about the whole blow-and-catch kiss.

By the time we're finished, I was a nervous wreck. I scarfed down dinner, and plopped down on my bed. My dreams were filled with the failures I'd seen other tributes do during interviews; tripping, answering questions horribly, not speaking loud enough. Except it was me doing all these things.

In the morning, my prep team is hovering over me. Thankfully, my lessons with Minerva and Vulcan are over. Today, I belong to Blitzen.

My prep team works till the late afternoon. They turn my skin to glowing satin, stenciling patterns on my arms, painting wire designs on my twenty perfect nails. Then Helen goes to work on my hair, weaving strands of grey into a pattern that begins at my left ear, wraps around my head, and then falls in one braid down my right shoulder. They erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and draw my features back out. Huge dark eyes, full red lips, lashes that throw off bits of light when I blink. Finally, they cover my entire body in a powder that makes me shimmer in silver dust.

Then Blitzen arrives with my dress. They slide it on me, and have me step into heels that are, thankfully, at least two inches shorter than the ones Minerva had me practice in. They adjust it for a bit, before Atalanta leads me to a mirror.

I don't recognize myself.

I look like an alien. My skin is paler, and I glitter in the light like a disco ball. My dress swirls around, the metal in all different shades of gray, moving faster than they did in the Opening Ceremony. I don't look pretty, or beutiful. I am as radiant as the moon.

Everyone just stares at me.

"I forgot to ask you how this works," I tell Blitzen, unsure of how to say how grateful I am. He has made me into a goddess.

He laughs. "I will tell you, someday."

Soon, it's time to go. The interviews take place on a stage in front of the Training Center. Soon, I will be in front of the entire country, trying to make everyone think I'm someone I'm not.

We meet Malcolm and his crew at the elevators. He looks dashing, his suit moving just like mine.

When the door opens, half of the tribute are already there. We're arranged in an arc, each of us having our own chair. I'll be going up fifth.

I look at the stage. The audience is already there, some of them on balconies attached to surrounding buildings, most of them sitting on portable chairs on the ground. There has to be at least a thousand of them.

I see the cameras, circling the stage, trying to find good shots. I know every T.V across the country is on. I imagine my great-aunt, and all the orphans, sitting at home, watching the small, free T.V commissioned in every home, waiting. The thought gives me courage. I will do well. For them.

Loki, the interviewer, walks on stage. He's an attractive man, but the scary thing is the fact that he's been doing this for forty years and looks like a twenty-year-old. His black hair has been grown out this year, and he has it in a braid.

Loki tells a few jokes to warm up the crowd, before getting down to business. Hazel, the girl from District 1, looks stunning in an emerald-green dress covered in fake jewels. She somehow seems innocent and deadly at the same time.

Each interview only lasts three minutes. 12 minutes later, Frank Zhang is walking off stage, and I'm going up.

I try to calm myself, imagining Hestia at home, smiling while the orphans gasp at how beautiful my dress is.

I shake Loki's hand, and sit down across from him.

"So, Annabeth, the Capitol must be quite a change from District 3," Loki says, using the question he always starts with. "Tell me, what's impressed you the most since you got here?"

I remember what Vulcan told me to act like; cold. Calculating. Intelligent.

"The technology," I reply, trying to sound emotionless.

Loki smiles. "Ah, yes, we are quite tech-savvy, are we not?"

I nod. Cold. Calculating. Intelligent.

"Now, you made quite a splash at the Opening Ceremony," Loki said. "What did you think of your outfit?"

"I wanted to know how it worked," I replied. "How it moved. I still haven't figured it out, but I will. I want to mirror it when I get home, perhaps cover my walls in it, so I can have a moving mural, like a cartoon."

I'd seen a total of one cartoon in my life, and it had been yesterday, when Malcolm was browsing through the Capitol's T.V channels and found one about a talking duck.

"Now, what's going on between you and the charming Percy jackson?" Loki asked. "I'm sure I'm not the only one who remembers your interactions at the Opening Ceremony."

"Oh, nothing," I said, sounding untruthful on purpose. I need all the attention I can get. "That was just some fun."

Loki looked unconvinced. "Now, Annabeth, let's talk about your training score. El-ev-en. Give us a hint of what happened in there."

"Am I allowed too?" I asked. No one answered. "Well, you'll see in the Games."

Loki groaned, but it was comical. "Well, then, Annabeth, tell us about your family. How did they react when your name was called?"

"Well, my parents are dead," I said, trying to sound bored, cold. "But my great-aunt, who I've always thought of as my mom, was quite sad."

"I'm sorry about your parents," Loki said, not sounding sorry at all. "How did they die?"

"My mother died giving birth to me," I replied. "And my father died in the 52nd Hunger Games."

Mutters broke out around the audience. Good. Now, at least, people would remember me as the 'daughter of the dead tribute."

"Oh," Loki said. "Who was he?"

"Fredrick Chase," I replied. Loki didn't really have to ask that question, but I suppose people can't remember the name of the male tribute who didn't win from District 3 seventeen years ago off the top of their heads. "I won't make his mistakes."

"I'm sure he'd be very proud of you," Loki smiled just as the buzzer went off. "And we're out of time. I wish you the best of luck, Annabeth Chase, tribute from District 3."