90th Capitol Votes: Day 1

h e r n a n i .

The television was always fucking on during the Games.

Last year, Hernani received a polite but firm letter from the Ministry for Media that his television had been turned off or muted for too many hours; actually, it had exceeded what was expected of Capitolites during this time of the year. If it were to continue, fines would accrue, and if it persisted for too long he could expect imprisonment for a certain duration. Likewise, participation in online discussion was expected.

The way they had worded the letter, they made it sound like he was conspiring against the freaking government. No he bloody well wasn't! If he were a conspirator, he'd look up how to make a pipe-bomb or something! Really, Hernani just wanted to bloody work. Sit at his digital easel, make some nice landscapes, fill his commissions, pay his rent -- you know, the usual. He needed silence in order to focus. With the television blaring twenty-four/seven, his eyes kept straying up to the flashing lights, sometimes he would just stop working all together and stare at his easel as he vaguely listened to the announcers chatter, not comprehending anything, only aware of the noise they made. What work he did manage to finish was rubbish. The lines were too jagged and thick, the colors too abrasive, the strokes too sudden, impatient, impulsive. It wasn't so much that they were unmarketable, but they were just ugly to him. Like a betrayal. He scrapped whatever he could and only sold them if a deadline pressured him.

Really, it would be easier to slump over to his sofa and let himself meld into it as the television's lights danced in his eyes. But that would mean not getting any work done, which would mean his career would go down the tube, which would mean he'd lose his apartment, which would mean......

And now he had to participate in this gimmicky poll thing. What does it matter who he wants to win the Games? His favorites never win anyway.

Sighing through his nose, he pulled up the app on his digital canvas. Paused to stare at the poll for a while, mindlessly, letting his brain feel mushy as he attempted pondering it. Then he shrugged. "Eh, yeah, her." He tapped on Esther Carter's name.

Oh, great. The website redirected to him that stupid Hunger Games discussion forum that everyone was socially obligated to post on. Now he had to justify his vote. In the form of responding to Risky Washington's jabberings about the Games.

Ripred. Sometimes living in the Capitol was like playing twenty questions.

"I don't know, man. Esther took quite a beating from Parker and she still managed to get out of there. That's pretty hard-core."

There. Little spit in Risky's eyes after she kept shoving the careers down their throats. Hernani always hated the blood-thirsty tributes. If he couldn't imagine himself feeling safe alone in a room with a tribute, then there was just no sense in rooting for them.