They took a break. The interviews had been going on for only just half an hour but so much had happened. They had to; Martina's voice was starting to croak and tensions between Dark and Amber were getting to the point where they were having a heated argument in whispered voices. Meridan was starting to sulk because Misty's sign language wasn't good enough to tell him what was happening every time something deviated from the normal, which was surprisingly often, and Misty was getting frustrated. The tributes who hadn't been yet were torn between nerves, fear and boredom. Everyone needed a little break, a chance to relax as much as possible and to not think about the cameras.
The tributes sat around the green room in silence; every so often one of the mentors would poke their head around the door and assure their tributes that they'd done well, or to remind them of something important. Stylists occasionally whirled into the room to rearrange a curl or smarten a collar, before zooming out again in a flurry of colour. Then the break had to be extended because nobody could find Fiona. She turned out to be curled up in a little ball under her chair, having cried herself to sleep. There was a brief discussion between the organisers but Enzo, still in a foul mood, insisted that they made her last night a peaceful one - in the hearing of the rest of the tributes - and the matter was settled.
Still, Enzo's words echoed in the mind of all the tributes as they filed back out onto the stage, to slightly less enthusiastic cheers.
Pataya swept to the chair. She wasn't normally the sort to sweep anywhere, unless it was the floor back in her little house, but her dress swayed gently with movement and gave her the appearance of walking gracefully. Her stylist had the sense to put her in flats, and had clearly wanted to stay true to her district instead of going wild. She was wearing a grass-green dress with tiny brown leaves stitched into it every so often, and a brown belt clinging to her waist and accentuating it gently. Her hair rested down her back, tied loosely with a green ribbon, and like with Dark, hints of gold had been added, although in her case they blended perfectly with the auburn. Nobody would have called her stunning, but nobody would have denied that she looked beautiful.
"Hi," she muttered to Martina. Martina, fresh from a drink of something shot with a tiny amount of alcohol, shook her hand warmly. "Hello there, Pataya. Beautiful name, by the way...is there anything you would like to say?" She regretted not trying this approach earlier; it felt like someone was rubbing a crab on the back of her throat.
"Sorta," replied Pataya, quiet but also confident, "I want to apologise to my family. I know they need me at home but I couldn't let Atti come up here. She's too young, not strong enough...Georgie and Calum, I'm so sorry for putting you through this." She looked straight down the blinking red camera, straight into the eyes of the people watching on the screens. The cameraman gave her an encouraging thumbs-up, which she missed. She was in her own space now, the same space she had been in when she'd made her little speech at the reaping. It had impressed people then. She could do it again now.
"Like I said, although you've probably forgotten, I know I'm not the best. I know I've got my weaknesses. But I've got my reasons, and I personally believe that my reasons, my motivations, are stronger than anyone else's. And in the end, it could come down to who wants it more. And nobody wants to win this more than me," she finished, smiling weakly at Martina, her knees wobbling. She'd never thought there would be so many people.
A couple of people in the crowd cheered. She'd not raised her voice, or glared angrily or done anything to grab their attention but speak. But she'd spoken with such understated confidence, such clear but restrained love, that people felt themselves warming to her even if they'd already decided on their favourite.
"Wow, honey," said Martina, "Well said. I'm sure your family are very proud of you."
"I hope they are. I hope they can forgive me, and I hope that everyone else in the district will pull together and help them through. No, I know they will. I'm lucky to have been born in Seven, to have met the people I have. And I know they won't let me down, just like I won't let them down."
YOU ARE READING
Nothing Personal
Fanfiction[Old and unedited] Twelve districts. Twenty four children. Two weeks. Twenty three murders. One winner. Welcome to Panem, home of the Hunger Games.
