90th Tribute Interviews
Feb 24, 2022 18:00:20 GMT -5
Post by gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽♂️kaitlin. on Feb 24, 2022 18:00:20 GMT -5
Sailor Shaw fluffs up the shoulders on your dress, tells you that you're worth more to them with a smile on your face. You roll your shoulders in response, crack your neck. Slowly, you blink at her. That is all the response she gets.
She just huffs and throws up her arms, spins you around. You're willing to let her manhandle you just a little bit, think she's earned as much standing in front of you and realizing that there was no way in hell you were going to let her dress you as anything other than something beautifully awful. You'd loved what she came up with for the opening ceremonies, loved being a neon demon. She's earned being able to put her hands on your shoulders and spin you around; her assistant hasn't, and she smacks you on the ass and tells you to break a leg up there. Her voice is high and awful and has been grating on you since you met her, and she has cat eyes where her own pupils belong, but you barely pay attention to either when you lash out and grab her arm.
You snap her wrist without thinking about it.
"Don't touch me again." Sailor's jaw drops, and you just blink at her again. Head tilted, you look her up and down before saying "You should get some better help."
Turning away, the lights are almost blinding.
Caesar Flickerman looks old in a plastic sort of way, that's the first thing that you notice. You walk out on the stage smoothly, a ghost floating in front of the bright lights. The crowd cheers, but you do little to interact with them. He extends a hand to you and you take it carefully, feel him press his lips to the back of your knuckles before you snatch it away quickly.
"PARKER LACHLAN EVERYONE!" he shouts, grin too wide, cracking his face in half. Settling into your seats, he moves on. "I have to start with that incredible ensemble out of Sailor and Harlem for the opening ceremony this games. Truly. How did you feel up there, glowing like that?"
"Invigorated," you reply, deadpan, and you can feel the break in the conversation already, the uncomfortable teetering on the edge of a void you're too comfortable existing inside of. A void no one else has love for.
"The fish that fish," he says, fake grin stills ruining his cheeks, unwrinkled where wrinkles long should have settled. There's a strange sort of excitement in his voice when he goes on. "A rather ghoulish concept. Almost ghastly."
Off-putting girl, you finally smile.
"You want to know something fun?" It's conspiratorial, almost a whisper, as if she's sharing a secret with the stage, and the crowd leans in curiously.
"Go on, please! By all means, we run on secrets around here."
"Did you know angler fish males are basically just parasites? The males become totally reliant on the females, rely on them for blood and life. Talk about pathetic dead weight." You look backstage at Talon, wink. Your grin is shit eating now. "Guess I oughta wish my district partner some serious luck, huh?"
Caesar doesn't quite get it, you think.
"I ain't carrying his ass anywhere. No matter how much he needs me."
Caesar laughs, sees Talon in the wings as well.
"I suppose he better not need you then. And with that training score... I mean when was the last time we saw a twelve? I'm sure he'll be missing your aid."
She shrugs, knows the answer, doesn't care to give it.
"I wasn't in it for the score," and it's the truth. You weren't. You were in it to show that you could, you suppose. If anything. "Caring what someone thinks of my skills has never been something I'm good at." Eyebrows raised, Caesar cares about that one. No one turns their nose up at the GM's. No one.
And yet.
"Pissed off a lot of my teachers." She just shrugs. "Hard to hate a student just because they're as smart as you are though. It's not my fault I got a perfect score. It's theirs." Wolf-grin breaking across your cheeks, you know you're pushing boundaries and you simply don't care. "Or maybe it was in spite of them. Who's to say I couldn't do even better when I am out from under their thumb?"
Something about that makes the crowd murmur, and you look to the GM's viewing box. If Maryn's feathers aren't ruffled, you've said something wrong.
"I suppose with that line of thinking the other tributes haven't seemed much threat to you then."
She leans in, mouth quirked. "You know what Caesar," she begins, looks out to the crowd conspiratorially. "I have to admit, they're all rather boring." Eyes up, Fatima Al-Amin stands right behind Talon and something stirs in your chest. Granddaughter of the dead rebellion, she's someone interesting.
She doesn't deserve to know that though.
Caesar laughs again; always laughing that one. It almost looks like a sneer these days.
"And your family. Sensitive subject, I'm sure, but... could you tell us about them?"
You frown, not feeling sensitively about it. "A part of me thinks that my brother Zeke would love nothing more than for me to sit up here and regale you all with tales of his trials and tribulations in the career academy. He could burn down the world without blinking, and I'd probably let him." Caesar lifts his brows again, curious and curiouser by the moment, skin sapped of color against the fire red of his hair and suit. Ghastly himself, you look at him curiously right back. "We dealt with the death of our mother differently, I think." An explanation, you suppose. That gets some echoes of sadness and sympathy from the crowd, but you don't care much that she's gone. Not anymore. Haven't in a long time. "I love him though," you say, matter of fact.
You're surprised to mean it.
"How about the person who voluntold you? Any story?" he continues, but you're useless now, uninterested in him and far more interested in the emotion you have just expressed. You're not sure when the last time you said that out loud was.
"There's no love lost there," you say bluntly. "He was heartbroken and trying to punish me. I might have done the same if I felt how he did." You pause. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to put a knife in him when I get home. If Zeke hasn't already."
You hope it is.
"Is that what you're fighting for then? Revenge?"
What are you fighting for? You're not sure that you know, and the question almost trips you up. You just know you've been fighting your entire life, and that you're good at it. That it's what you're the best at.
"Call it revenge, if you must." A pause. "But I prefer retribution."
She just huffs and throws up her arms, spins you around. You're willing to let her manhandle you just a little bit, think she's earned as much standing in front of you and realizing that there was no way in hell you were going to let her dress you as anything other than something beautifully awful. You'd loved what she came up with for the opening ceremonies, loved being a neon demon. She's earned being able to put her hands on your shoulders and spin you around; her assistant hasn't, and she smacks you on the ass and tells you to break a leg up there. Her voice is high and awful and has been grating on you since you met her, and she has cat eyes where her own pupils belong, but you barely pay attention to either when you lash out and grab her arm.
You snap her wrist without thinking about it.
"Don't touch me again." Sailor's jaw drops, and you just blink at her again. Head tilted, you look her up and down before saying "You should get some better help."
Turning away, the lights are almost blinding.
Caesar Flickerman looks old in a plastic sort of way, that's the first thing that you notice. You walk out on the stage smoothly, a ghost floating in front of the bright lights. The crowd cheers, but you do little to interact with them. He extends a hand to you and you take it carefully, feel him press his lips to the back of your knuckles before you snatch it away quickly.
"PARKER LACHLAN EVERYONE!" he shouts, grin too wide, cracking his face in half. Settling into your seats, he moves on. "I have to start with that incredible ensemble out of Sailor and Harlem for the opening ceremony this games. Truly. How did you feel up there, glowing like that?"
"Invigorated," you reply, deadpan, and you can feel the break in the conversation already, the uncomfortable teetering on the edge of a void you're too comfortable existing inside of. A void no one else has love for.
"The fish that fish," he says, fake grin stills ruining his cheeks, unwrinkled where wrinkles long should have settled. There's a strange sort of excitement in his voice when he goes on. "A rather ghoulish concept. Almost ghastly."
Off-putting girl, you finally smile.
"You want to know something fun?" It's conspiratorial, almost a whisper, as if she's sharing a secret with the stage, and the crowd leans in curiously.
"Go on, please! By all means, we run on secrets around here."
"Did you know angler fish males are basically just parasites? The males become totally reliant on the females, rely on them for blood and life. Talk about pathetic dead weight." You look backstage at Talon, wink. Your grin is shit eating now. "Guess I oughta wish my district partner some serious luck, huh?"
Caesar doesn't quite get it, you think.
"I ain't carrying his ass anywhere. No matter how much he needs me."
Caesar laughs, sees Talon in the wings as well.
"I suppose he better not need you then. And with that training score... I mean when was the last time we saw a twelve? I'm sure he'll be missing your aid."
She shrugs, knows the answer, doesn't care to give it.
"I wasn't in it for the score," and it's the truth. You weren't. You were in it to show that you could, you suppose. If anything. "Caring what someone thinks of my skills has never been something I'm good at." Eyebrows raised, Caesar cares about that one. No one turns their nose up at the GM's. No one.
And yet.
"Pissed off a lot of my teachers." She just shrugs. "Hard to hate a student just because they're as smart as you are though. It's not my fault I got a perfect score. It's theirs." Wolf-grin breaking across your cheeks, you know you're pushing boundaries and you simply don't care. "Or maybe it was in spite of them. Who's to say I couldn't do even better when I am out from under their thumb?"
Something about that makes the crowd murmur, and you look to the GM's viewing box. If Maryn's feathers aren't ruffled, you've said something wrong.
"I suppose with that line of thinking the other tributes haven't seemed much threat to you then."
She leans in, mouth quirked. "You know what Caesar," she begins, looks out to the crowd conspiratorially. "I have to admit, they're all rather boring." Eyes up, Fatima Al-Amin stands right behind Talon and something stirs in your chest. Granddaughter of the dead rebellion, she's someone interesting.
She doesn't deserve to know that though.
Caesar laughs again; always laughing that one. It almost looks like a sneer these days.
"And your family. Sensitive subject, I'm sure, but... could you tell us about them?"
You frown, not feeling sensitively about it. "A part of me thinks that my brother Zeke would love nothing more than for me to sit up here and regale you all with tales of his trials and tribulations in the career academy. He could burn down the world without blinking, and I'd probably let him." Caesar lifts his brows again, curious and curiouser by the moment, skin sapped of color against the fire red of his hair and suit. Ghastly himself, you look at him curiously right back. "We dealt with the death of our mother differently, I think." An explanation, you suppose. That gets some echoes of sadness and sympathy from the crowd, but you don't care much that she's gone. Not anymore. Haven't in a long time. "I love him though," you say, matter of fact.
You're surprised to mean it.
"How about the person who voluntold you? Any story?" he continues, but you're useless now, uninterested in him and far more interested in the emotion you have just expressed. You're not sure when the last time you said that out loud was.
"There's no love lost there," you say bluntly. "He was heartbroken and trying to punish me. I might have done the same if I felt how he did." You pause. "Doesn't mean I'm not going to put a knife in him when I get home. If Zeke hasn't already."
You hope it is.
"Is that what you're fighting for then? Revenge?"
What are you fighting for? You're not sure that you know, and the question almost trips you up. You just know you've been fighting your entire life, and that you're good at it. That it's what you're the best at.
"Call it revenge, if you must." A pause. "But I prefer retribution."
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