Twenty Four Shades of Blood [A Hunger Games Fanfic]

Interviews: Districts Seven-Twelve

"Dalton West of District Seven has earned himself a training score of...7!"

This earns Dalton a warm round of applause. Anything less and people would probably have been disappointed in him; he might not be bulky but the most feel that he carries himself with enough confidence that he must be good at something. He reckons this was probably the Gamemakers' thinking too, remembering how they'd seemed bored by him in the assessment.

He may as well carry on that way, and makes sure to grip the Capitol youth's hand too tightly for comfort, sneering slightly at him. He's heard the other tributes say that Lancelot - Lance, to some of them - is a nice guy, but this close up he's sweating and is obviously a bit fidgety and nervous, despite Tile fluttering around him. And he's not even the one preparing to go and fight to the death.

"So, ah...Dalton!" Lancelot begins, "How are you feeling?"

"Not half as nervous as you, by the look of it!" Dalton retorts gleefully. For a moment he thinks he's got Lancelot cornered, but Tile leans across to gain his attention with that slightly vacant smile to ask if he thinks his family are nervous for him. "Nari won't be," is his reply, "Nari is too young. She won't even...she won't even remember."

He won't let himself cry. He can't. He remembers that feeling he'd had up on the stage in the fog; that he would volunteer himself for this as many times as it took to keep her safe. He'll be strong for her, for his little cousin. He doesn't have a choice.

He imagines her watching this, older, her hair long and glossy but her face still the face of a baby, looking at his face on the Tree and remembering the vaguely bear-like impression of the big cousin she never really knew. And he knows he can't let that happen to her. For the rest of the interview, he sits straighter, looking the cameras dead in the eye, and talking to Nari. Whether it does him any good, he doesn’t know and doesn’t care.

In the crowd, a few people start paying attention to him.

"Jolie De'Luwa - I did pronounce that right, didn't I? Good! - of District Seven, tribute score...6!"

Jolie bounds up to the seat, the bangs that her stylist gave up on flopping around her forehead. Thankfully she's not in heels; she feels shaky enough as it is. There are so many people, and all of them looking at her, analysing her every move. She clasps her hands in front of her to hide the trembling as she flops into the seat. Her palms feel cold.

To her surprise, Tile starts off. "I love your hair!" she chirps, and Jolie can tell she's being genuine and can't help a smile flitting across her face. Tile doesn't wait for an answer and continues, "I wish I had short hair! Do you think I should cut it all off?" Although this is addressed to Jolie, the crowd all call up different suggestions, irritated at being ignored for about five minutes. Jolie blinks; she wasn't expecting to be asked for hairdressing tips. What is she supposed to say? What if she gets it wrong? But she can't be quiet for too long, so she hazards a guess at, "What does Lancelot think?" This prompts whistles from the crowd, and only Jolie can see Lancelot's heavily powdered cheeks flush slightly.

"I think you look perfect!" he exclaims. As the crowd coos, Jolie nods her head in agreement, earning herself a pat on the hand from Tile. She knows this interview is supposed to be about her but she can’t help but feel relieved that Tile and Lancelot are taking the limelight. With any luck, the Careers who Dalton seems so keen on won’t notice her this way.

“I think I’ve embarrassed him, don’t you?” Tile giggles, and for the rest of the interview, Jolie is relieved to find that all she has to do is nod and agree as the effervescent blonde chatters about hair stylists in the Capitol. She can’t help but think that Tile will be in trouble - the interviews are meant to be about the tributes, after all - but she doesn’t care.