cal rose ; interview

I'm well suited to this place. It's a vapid attempt at the illusion of hospitality. Pretty enough not to betray it's hollow chest. I think I'd have preferred a cage to these white walls so sterile and inoffensive. Maybe they mean to drive us mad, luckily I'm used to this kind of well-dressed isolation. My father's moods are fickle, this is hardly the first time I've been sent to bed for dinner.

Sleep is a such a wonderful way to hide from yourself.

I'm still a bit bleary when they come fetch me. "Sorry, sorry." I rake my fingers through the coarse strands of my hair gone tangled from restless sleep. A sheen of sweat clings to my body and frankly, I feel disgusting. "You wouldn't have a brush, would you?" If I were to guess, Capitolites want worship, so I do my best to simper. To embody the small boy hugging himself for comfort - disoriented and scared and so very pleasant.

"I wouldn't want to make a bad impression." And that's honest, at least, even if the rest of me isn't.

They let me clean myself up before they take me to the stage and I clasp their hands in both of mine in utter reverence. The bones in their wrist look fragile, I bet even I could break them if I squeezed hard enough.

I've lived a lot of my life feeling like a puppet on a stage, though this is the first time it's ever been literally true. The chair is comfy where I settled into it, a bit too big so my I've got to scoot forward onto it's edge or let my feet dangle. I'm not sure which would make a better impression, so I err on the side of my pride.

The audience is settled comfortable out of the spotlight, so I don't think I'm meant to pay them much mind. Instead I fold my hands in my lap and regard Mr. Godfrey with a polite smile. Is the table between us decoration, or protection? Does he feel safer with an obstacle between us? He's so much bigger than me, I don't think I could hurt him much anyway. Might be able to gouge an eye out if I'm quick enough.

"That's quite the name you've got there, Technicality. Was it your father's choice?"

This false smile grows fond and it makes me nauseous. "He's an... eccentric man. I think he wanted to encourage those traits in me." And because I can't help myself I add, "but I prefer Cal, if you don't mind. Less of a mouthful."

"Speaking of, your father is business mogul Malachi Rose. Is he something of a celebrity back in 3?"

I could ruin him. The whisper scratches at the back of my mind. The anger that's been incubating for as long as I can remember. From the first time my father struck me, from the first time he made me read a failed assignment aloud at the dinner table.

Desperately, my lips wrap around those words. I search for something, anything, to say that might sully the Capitol to my father's legacy.

But - "He's well known, yeah. It's really cool to see the way his inventions have improved our local community. I'm sure there's a few that could even help you guys all the way out here!" love an loyalty are not voluntary.

I hate myself.

Rage builds.

"Do you worry that if any of the other tributes catch wind of who he is- of his status and by extension, your potential- that it might put a target on your back?"

"Oh jeez, I hope not!" The thought hadn't occurred to me, they likely hoped it hadn't. I laugh a little nervous, breathy because my heartrate has picked up suddenly. Figures my father would have a hand in my death - I don't think he'd want it any other way. "I'll just have to live up to my potential, then, then a target won't matter very much will it?"

It registers that I'm promising slaughter and that doesn't really both me. So when he asks,

"Pardon my forwardness, but I wonder: Are you willing to do anything it takes to survive?"

The answer is simple, "Yes."

"Any parting words?"

"Root for me out there! I'll do my best."

I mean it, too.