Panem's Got Talent: Audition Week!

"My name's Vittoria and you will remember me. Tonight, I'm performing to "Acid Betty" by Saint Slaughter." Her gown bells out and sweeps the stage around her - she's an entertainer. 17 from District 2 and the fiercest thing around since Cricket brought her into the Haus of Antoinette. She's wearing an original! That old victor house hasn't gotten cleaned out in years, and she's been stealing bits and pieces ever since. 

She's in dire need of a million dollar wardrobe, really.

"Haha alright, show us what you've got!" 

"Oh, you'll see it!" Vittoria says with a pointed six inch nail. Her voice is primed and ready, two hours well spent in the front lobby doing vocal exercises. If they're looking for a star, well, they're looking at one now. She gears up by making her way to the back of the stage, the Saint starting to play over the auditorium. There's a pressure on her she tries not to focus on -- instead, she thinks of where stardom will take her career.

Maybe she'll have her own talk show, considered a legend and buys a penthouse in Executive Park. She keeps her eyes on the prize as she hikes her dress up for a high kick, stiletto to the sky. 

Saturn City here I come!

nilima:
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aloysius:
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saber:
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josiah:
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risky:
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I know I'm grounded. Like, not currently, technically - but I know the moment I get back home I will be. So by default I already am. I'm not at home under curfew and I took Sparkles out without asking, and -- aw shit, I'm breaking my grounding rules already aren't I? Guess that makes me doubly-grounded. Two whole months minimum. I can already see Mom on the porch, arms crossed and fuming. "Madelaine Brown!" I can hear her hollering across the neighbourhood, cheeks pink at the mere thought. "You're so grounded!"

"I'm so grounded" I tell Sparkles, half smiling and half grimacing. I'm so nervous I think I might puke, or maybe it's just the smell of all these dog treats that's making me woozy. Sparkles and I have been practicing our routine for two years now. They were just party tricks at first, a way to make a quick buck on the weekends busking in the town square, but now we could be on real live television!

"Me, famous! Madelaine Brown! Imagine it!" I beam, giddy and grinning stupid at my dog. He just boofs me in the side with his nose -- "And Sparkles too, obviously!"

This dog is so damn smart. "Alright Sparkles," a treat for good luck and a pat on the head as they cue us on. "This is our moment! We're going to be famous!"

Sparkles just woofs at me, his bling collar I bedazzled to match my shoes shining under the blinding lights as we walk on stage.

"Hi!" I grin, a little too forcefully. There's a hoop in one hand, a ball in the other, and treats stuffed in my pocket. Sparkles has a matching hoop gripped in his mouth - we look like a circus, but in the best way possible.

"I'm Maddie, and this is Sparkles. We're from District Four and we've got a bunch of neat tricks to show you today! Ready Sparkles?"

"Woof!"

[ ✰ ]

UGH! This day! Absolutely positively anything that could be going wrong is. Their makeup team, from the looks of it, got their start at children's birthday parties because I had to tell them, I had to tell them "Listen here, Mister, you better not come near my face with that clown white again! He heard rococo and must've thought that was some sort of clown movement because I had to wash my face and start over from scratch mere hours before my performance, and then they only did, like, three touch ups afterwards, and then some... district girl's dog tried to sabotage me by ruining my dress with its disgusting little mutt fur eugh. It took all of my restraint not to call the peacekeepers and have them removed, hmph.

But at long last, the judges are going to get a relief from the sea of mundanity before me. I take one last look in the mirror to make sure my hair loaf is still perfect, and as they introduce me, I glide onto the stage. I introduce myself, welcoming them for the lost time. I tell them, I say: "I am Mania Rogue and I'm here to model this look I made." They look confused or unimpressed or whatever. I don't care. Some funky marriage of classical string and pulsing runway music begins to play. I walk out onto the stage and twirl, showing off my beautiful very expensive gown, and I pose. I linger. I pose again. I linger. I turn. What comes next? You guessed it: Pose. Serve. My talent is being beautiful, and it is going to make me a lot of money some day.

The buzzers sound and it is so ugly. I scoff, pose but look angry because now I am. Pose like I'm gagging. Pose like they're stinky because they suck.

"You're welcome again," I say, posing by flipping them off.

Served.

[ ✰ ]

There's a thunder rumbling within the crowd and it sends a jolt of electricity coursing through my veins. The bright, flashing lights dancing across the stadium, the vastly-built stage lined with neon lights, and a panel of the Capitol's finest at my fingertips. Now this is what I was born for, what I've been chasing after my entire life. The applause and grandeur, it's a high I don't think I'll be able to come down from.

I can hear my name being announced from behind the curtains, "Eko!"

It's a call to war and my skin is armored steel and there's a silver blade gripped in my hand. I'm ready to cut down my enemies and step over their corpses to get to the top, to get what I rightfully deserve. I've dreamt of this moment before, the seconds behind the curtain before I step out onto the stage, the crowd of adoring fans roaring and screaming my name.

I was meant for this.

"Hello, Panem!" The mic is raised to my face, almost brushing by my lips, "I am Eko and this is The Insurgence."

The stage lights dim, the rustling crowd goes silent. I am no longer Eko. I have shed this skin and adopted a new persona. "My name is Tahir and the world ended twelve years ago, ravaged by a militaristic group called the Insurgence."

I am a one man show and the world is my stage.

[ ✰ ]

If that little girl with her flea-ridden mutt could get in, I definitely could. After all, this wasn’t some pathetic puppy I had. No it was an exotic animal, a big cat from distant lands. A caracal. My family bred and sold them to the Capitolites, that was the whole point of doing this other than the fame. It was direct marketing to our most common customers. Rich people with way too much money who don’t realise what they’re getting into.

I made sure to keep the beast close to me, it was staring hungrily at the dog the girl owned. Or maybe it just wanted to eat the girl? Either way, it ripping something to pieces so soon wouldn’t be a good look. I had it on a leash attached to a harness. It was easier to control this way, harder for the animal to escape, and more comfortable to it than just a collar. I wasn’t nervous that a mutt expert was here. That just meant he understood what this thing was capable of.

When it was time to go I started getting to my serious tone of voice quick, the beast needed to make sure it knew who was in charge now. They were intelligent and prideful animals. They could tell if you were weak, and they needed to feel something was in for it then too. This caracal was a female one who we had been calling Empress. She was a couple years old and I had worked with her quite a bit. She knew she’d be getting a good meal after this.

“Up. Now walk with me… slower… perfect.”

I had her walk next to me and detached the leash once we walked onto the stage. Maybe this was a risk. She could lash out and attack anyone in this room. I’d surely be arrested and my family’s entire business would be shut down. But I had confidence in my ability as a handler. I knew what I was doing, “Athena Madaki here. And this is Empress, a beast from a far away land, an ancient animal known as a caracal. She can jump 12 feet in the air, kill prey in a single bite, and run at 50 miles per hour. But being the trainer that I am, she obeys my every word.”

And so the show begins. These weren’t simple tricks. It was her catching a fast moving bird in mid air, her taking down a large stuffed-mutt in a single pounce, and actually useful skills. Unlike that disgusting dog the judges were forced to suffer through earlier. I cannot believe someone as esteemed as Saber Bancroft would sit through that!

ucVi58LAL|1-10

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[ ✰ ]

One thing about me: not everybody is going to know me and not everybody is going to like me — and I've made peace with that. In fact, I don't want everyone to like me. I don't ever want to be heralded as some heroine in a pink wig who saved some sorry teenager's life with a really meaningful and inspirational song about believing in yourself and knowing your true worth. That's just not me... why the fuck would I want to write about fluffy shit like that when my credit is good and I have a fat ass?

There's a million and one things I could write about that would be more interesting than soppy shit like that. The dust on my grandma's fucking skirting boards is a better topic for a song than that, like damn — yet all these labels ever want me to do is write that pretty, wholesome, airy-fairy crap. They approach me every few months with a new deal, desperately hoping I'll finally sign on their dotted line but it's never good enough for me. A contract seems far too much of a commitment for a girl who has an obsession with lines that aren't dotted.

So, my independence brings me here. Panem's Got Talent. I'm not trying to fucking win this thing because I don't want them to edit some sob story VT for me that tells the world about how I'm a squatter in an old crack house. I'm doing this because millions of people are going to be watching this and it's a platform. Any stage is better than a gay bar's sticky floor.

"Schylar le Blank, and this is a song I wrote about myself."

Ahem. I look to the music man at the side of the stage and nod my head. He presses a button and the bass starts booming through the floor and into my chest. I groove to the beat a little bit before taking the microphone off the stand and getting real into it.

"SHE'S GOT A MODEL FACE WITH A WIG TO THE HIP,

AND WHEN SHE HITS 'EM WITH A LOOK QUICK, BITCH THEY QUIT-

QUIT TALKING ALL THEIR GOSSIP, SHE HOLDS THEIR TONGUES ALL HOSTAGE

'CAUSE SHE'S THE HOTTEST TOPIC AND THEY'RE OBSESSED, PSYCHOTIC!"

I bust a move.

"NOW SHE'S BLOCKIN' ALL THE HATE 'CAUSE SHE'S SICK OF THE BANTER

FEELING SUPER FLY, GO AND CALL HER LUFTHANSA

LEGS SO SPREAD, YOU CAN CALL HER SAMANTHA

AND HER PUSSY SO PINK, MIGHT THINK SHE'S A PANTHER!" 

Meow.

"SHE SELLS VIDS ON THE LOW TO YOUR BRAND NEW BEAU

WITH HER BANDEAU DOWN, MAKE HER TWINS DO A SHOW

NOW THEY BOUNCING AROUND, THEY GOT GOOD TEMPO

MAKES YOUR MAN SING LOUD, I THINK HE HIT A WHISTLE NOTE!"

I lean into the judges.

"LIKE DAMN, BITCH,  SHE'S THE GIRL YOU'RE HATING ON?

CHARGING MEN SO MUCH THAT THEY WISH THEY HAD A COUPON

YOU'D KNOW HE'D JUST HAVE PORN ON, GIRL ON GIRL, NOW COME ON!

BUT SHE CAN DO THAT TOO WHICH IS WHY I CALL HER BLACK SWAN!"

Uh, yuh.

"SHE'S GOT IT BAD, YEAH SHE'S GOT IT REAL BAD!

SHE SHOOTS HER SHOT WHILST HER GLOCKS IN THE BAG!

ONE OF THE PROS AND NOW EVERYONE KNOWS

SHE GOT SELF-DIAGNOSED BAD BITCH SYNDROME!!!!!!"

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