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."
Clarence whooped for her, shouting "Go Seven!" Almost everyone, including Pataya, turned to stare at him. He seemed nothing like the stroppy boy who'd not even bothered with the handshake at the reaping. He was leant back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, basically looking like he owned the place. Pataya was completely taken aback; even in training he'd been restrained and shy. She'd underestimated him, big time.
"Thanks, Clarence," she said with a small smile, turning back to Martina, then straight to the camera, "I hope that you all look after Clarence's...uh...family. They need it too."
Martina noted her hesitation over the word family.
"That's very kind of you, Pataya," she said with a smile. The girl smiled back shyly and Martina realised that, despite her speech being good and clear, she was shy and uncertain. She'd probably memorised her lines. "Thank you," she replied, "I just want to make sure that people know that, even though I'm going to have to do some dreadful things, I'm a nice person. It's just what I've got to do. And I'm sorry to the families of everyone up here, even though it's not my fault."
Now Martina was sure that she was reciting lines. She hoped that Clarence wouldn't do the same, although she had to admit that it didn't seem like he would.
"How sweet!" she exclaimed, urging the audience into a response. She got it; some people clapped, the sound spread out like tiny little ripples. Pataya did her little smile again.
"Well, I'm afraid that's your time up!" Martina informed her. Pataya stood gracefully, shook her hand, and ambled back to her seat, subtly wiping her forehead when she was sat down. Clarence bounded forwards with a grin. Everyone did an immediate doubletake.
He'd been almost forgotten after the reaping. He'd been silent, not even taking his hands out of his pockets, glaring glumly at the escort and generally looking miserable. Even in training he'd spent hours sat in a corner, glaring at everything that moved and quite a lot that didn't. It was almost impossible to believe that this was the same boy. "Martina, hi!" he exclaimed, "Hi there, everyone!"
Startled, it took people a while to mumble back a response.
"Oh, that was rubbish!" he retorted with a beaming grin, "Try again. Hi there, everyone!"
This time, people cheered so loudly he almost wished he'd never said anything.
He'd had a plan. The reaping had been so shocking, so unexpected, that he hadn't thought about what he was doing. Then he'd realised that he could work that to his advantage. They'd seen him strong and silent, now they could see him like a Career. He'd always been a confident speaker so all it had taken was a bit of analysing previous interviews, and now he reckoned he'd nailed it.
Well, he'd clearly taken Martina by surprise, at least. Her mouth was hanging open comically. The other tributes' reactions were quite something too. Pataya, who would never like to admit to being surprised anyway, was just staring in his general direction and frowning slightly. Dark and Amber and the pair from Two were watching him carefully, heads tipped back, sizing him up as an ally. Everyone else seemed vaguely startled, except the girl from Three. She was staring at the back of the square, fiddling with one of the ruffles on her ridiculous dress.
Luckily, his stylists had sense. He was wearing a comfortable and simple black suit, with a green tie that matched the pattern on Pataya's dress. His hair had been gently waxed until it was naturally scruffy but not overdone, framing his head and most of his neck in a dark brown mane that looked barely tamed.
So far Martina hadn't said anything. That was just how he wanted it.
"Well, my name is Clarence Darrow and I'm just your average, everyday ass-kicker," he grinned. He hadn't had the chance to properly introduce himself anyway. The crowd cheered again and he gave Amber and Tile a quick wink. Amber frowned at him; Tile giggled and blushed, flicking the strand of hair in front of her eyes. "But don't think I'm just a pretty face," he advised, prompting whistles, "There's a brain in here somewhere, and I know where it is if I ever need it."
Martina finally got involved. "Well, Clarence, you've certainly taken us by surprise!"
"Have I? Damn, I was hoping to save that for in the arena!" he joked. Such a direct mention of the arena took most of the tributes by surprise, clubbing several of them hard around the head. Taylor reached for Austin's hand. Cherry, almost forgotten, began to chew on her thumb.
The crowd, however, burst out laughing. A couple of them noticed for the first time that Fiona's seat was empty, and a few more caught Raylum sneaking another glance at Court, who was frowning at her dress as if it was the most disgusting thing she'd ever set eyes on.
"Oh well," Clarence continued, "It's a good job I've got a few more tricks up my sleeve." He waved his arm, to make the point, and carried on, "Not literally, of course. That'd be stupid. But there's a lot more of me that you lot haven't even thought of."
A girl in the crowd wolf-whistled bawdily, and people laughed. "No thank you, miss, I'm only thirteen!" Clarence exclaimed. The girl blushed and her friends gathered around to tease her mercilessly.
"You just keep on surprising me!" chirped Martina, "I would have sworn you were at least sixteen!" He bowed, which was difficult to do sat down. "Why thank you," he replied.
"That makes you one of the youngest in this tournament," Martina warned him. He waved it off casually.
"Does it? That doesn't matter. Age is just your chances of being reaped, not your chances of winning. It's certainly not going to stop me! It's all about mental attitude, believing in yourself. If you think your age gives you any kind of advantage at all, you've got no chance."
This was directed straight at the Careers, almost always eighteen years old, and it hit the mark perfectly. Only Tile was unaffected; she was sixteen and didn't care about age. It had never stopped her flirting with certain guys before.
"Thank you for that, Clarence, you've just made me feel so much better about myself!" Martina cheered, patting him on the back. He pretended to be shocked, exclaiming "But you can't be more than twenty-three!"
With that expertly planned piece of flattery, the buzzer went off, quickly followed by resounding cheers. Nobody had expected that from Clarence; even the boy himself was surprised by the noise. He grinned genuinely at them and bowed, revelling in it, adding "Thank you, Capitol, you've been great! I'll be back soon!"
As he turned back to his seat, he noticed with pride that Klaus and Dark were looking at him with something verging on respect.
Feeling a lot less stressed, Martina moved it on to District Eight.