Had Zrum not had a team of designers at his back making him look his best, he would wear something more akin to a three piece suit. Not this-- whatever this constituted. Apparel more suited for a day off, in Zrum's own flawed opinion. After all, the team knew far more than he did. Unable to decide between pushing the long maroon sleeves up to his elbows or tugging them down below his fingers, he relentlessly switched between the two waiting in the wings to actually get to his interview.
Caesar Flickerman, golden tongue of the amalgamation of that was the divine beast of the games. Zrum hadn't even had to speak a single word at this point and yet, a myriad of them somehow clogged his throat. A quick ah-hem, the clapping of the crowd, a signal to step on stage and the wipe of a sweaty hand across khakis seemed to do the trick.
"Zrum Cauterline!" Caesar gestured wildly, his enthusiasm an absolute epidemic. "And how is our dear tribute?"
Zrum gave a smile unfitting his long face, no matter it's genuine roots, "It all still feels like a dream. Admittedly, it's a near divine experience, you know?"
Given the way Caesar's eyebrows shot up, no it was not something he knew. Perhaps working so close to the games had blinded him of the glory that the games presented. "Oh-ho, what's given you such a divine time here?"
Zrum's smile lost its sincerity to tightness, "Just," he gesticulates about, gesturing to the room and searching for words, "it all. It's all-- the-- the games? Are a package, there is no one aspect that can be separated. Perhaps--" Zrum clicked his tongue and goes quiet, the words not having formed fast enough.
A pregnant pause is quite enough for Caesar, who continued before silence is enough of a cause to abort the entire discussion, "Perhaps what? A hot new strategy you've got coming up real time? You aren't a loud type as far as I've heard."
A shake of his head was Zrum's initial response, and then with a shrug of his shoulders he elaborated, "Perhaps it's connection to death bring it closer to the divine. The games are the ultimate arbiters of judgement. They are, after all, wholly impartial. You do not get placed into the games from spite or malice, one is thrown into the games by fate itself. Whether that fate is by a slow hand or one's own self pushing the hand of fate it is not by any human's design. And I suppose that is why many contestants have faith, many may cite themselves and their own abilities-- wrongly so." He leaned into the arm of the chair, worrying his fingers together, "I have faith in fate, and acknowledging that is my strongest strategy, Mr. Flickerman."
To that, dear Mr. Flickerman let out a low whistle, "Such a poet this boy! I don't think I've had any other contestants chat up the stage quite like that. A new type of," his shoulders gave a jaunty wiggle, "spunk!"
The statement didn't seem like one to warrant a response, so Zrum left the stage to Caesar.
"Speaking of other contestants," Caesar started in a tone of scandal, "anything to say about any of your peers? About your district partner?"
Another negative, Zrum shook his head, "At this point, it is as if my district partner does not even exist. Not of spite or malice, but of inner concentration. In this, my time of preparedness, how much can it help to focus efforts outwards?"
"Ah! The good ol' I've got my own back, a classic." Caesar moved as if playfully elbowing his guest, but space between them made it far from a reality.
Yet it made Zrum chuckle, "It's less of a strategy and more of an I wouldn't know where to start here, to carry the attitude of training into games may be a flaw, but that entirely depends on how one spends their hours beforehand."
"Poignant! Unfortunately, I just don't have the time to keep picking that brain!" He pulled an exaggerated frown, ripped straight off a sad clown and pasted on the man, "We'll just have to see if any other tributes take the same route!"