walk slowly along the tightrope. beck interview

Count 'em up- Sardonyx taps her nails intimidatingly on the arms of her director's chair. She recalls the scripts of questions laid out for her, the same questions from every damn year at this point; twenty years. From beginner to professional, it's all just the same old shit. 

Twenty-One. 

Somehow, the older she's gotten, the less control of her career she's retained. It's all just in the smokes, sitting exquisitely in a beautifully decorated stage, delivers someone else's provocative lines and questions and blah blah blah, Sardonyx has been drinking since she's gotten to set. Beck has his own crew, and Sardonyx is just a doll at this point. All the attention is on him, and that's fine, keeps the audience from watching her sway while sitting. It's goddamn fine, a drop of wine stains the front page of her unopened script. Isn't that why she has her stagehands hired? To feed her lines and to feed- "can I get some damn bread around here?"

"Coming, Ms. Crowe," you better. She's turned to an empty hand in her later years, Samson married and moved in with their partners, her own house filled with nothing more than rusted gold. It'd break in her mouth, everything of value- it means nothing, truly. The younger kids in her work will replace her one day, whether it be Bambi or someone even younger, and when she's unemployed then what? What meaning is there of dying alone? 

These victors, they just have it easier. Hmm. 

She takes her wine on stage with her, the crowd stands on their feet clapping. It echoes her heels, bouncing, practically, between the floor and her jawline. Never quite reaching her ears. They got the set wrong, it's been nothing but mistakes recently. It's always been cliche to mimic the arena when interviewing these victors, and hell, they still reuse every winter decoration when it comes to stapling a photo of Mace somewhere.

It must be torture for Beck, leaving the jungle behind but always having it in the backgrounds. Wouldn't that be great, if he cried on stage, maybe if he destroyed the decorations it'd bring some life back to this show. Everybody knows you save your emotions for the after party. Sardonyx plays into her role for another day, the set resembles that of the braided rivers. They all remember it well, surely, blood sinking into the river for nothing but cheers from predator eyes.

She pretends to stumble on the stepping stones, weighing herself on a moss rock for the auditorium above her to watch. The rapids roar just as rough as they did on television, "whew, good thing I had my Crowe Brand Gravity-Align Studded Belt on!" A few laughs, she carries on with the plug before making her way to the hammocks center stage. Her own neon camo practically radiating, remind me to fire whoever designed this outfit. 

"Well, hello there everybody!" Projection, what was the victor's last name? The wire in her ear plays nothing but feedback, the only interview for the night. Big questions, everything we've wanted answered - two hours of content. "For tonight's show here on The Roost, I want you all to picture just one scene: 

It's you, one leg, dehydrated to your wits end with a life time of glory right out of your one hand's reach. Now imagine, you're wearing your own Crowe Neon Print Jungle set, perfectly tailored just for your size! Yes, that's right, we are talking seam-perfection here, isn't that just something to die for?" The crowd cheers, "at the end of the show, this is reality for one of you lucky audience members!"

"An outfit so bold, so bright and resistant to all elements, you'll feel like a victor every time you look in the mirror!" Almost an echo, drive it home Sardonyx, blah blah, she scratches her ear- she turns down the wire. What a shame, where's my fuckin- oh. 

She takes a sip of wine before continuing. 

"Now, the pictures still in everyone's head right? Well, we have a real treat for you all tonight! There's only one, bold and brilliant beacon on stage right now, but in mere minutes we'll be greeted with the Capitol's brand new charmer! That's right, District Four's own..." fuck, what's his last name? They say that hearing's the first to go, she tries to turn the wire back up. 

"Beck! Give him a round of cheers, everybody!" 

It goes without the command, they scream before his name even left her lips. Thank god, she adjusts in the palm hammock. 

Let's get this bad boy started.