cassian levisay, capitol / trainer - finished

Fame is a bitch. By all means, take offense to that.

It's a fucked up, unfair system. It's the reason addiction is such a problem in my neighborhood. It's honestly the best thing you could ever have, until you don't, so that's why I hate it now. And can you blame me? Sure you could, but you're not going to. I'm just that charming. Fifteen seasons of a show dedicated around my life, so many trophies and interviews and episode premieres right before the Games — and then I turn thirty-five, and suddenly I'm not good enough for these people anymore? Hold up.

Let's rewind. I've been a Capitol darling since before I could walk. These other guys like to play the long game, pay attention in school and design some scary creature and then get asked to be a Gamemaker, but that was never my gig. I knew what I wanted before my brain had even finished developing, and I got it. That's how incredible I am. Sure, it helps that my parents were already in the spotlight, but that's just a little screw in the big machine. It was my face on all the posters, my witty one-liners written across all the gossip tabloids.

I was the star, and I hate having to speak in past-tense now. Do you know how it horrible it is to wake up to news of your show being cancelled? Yes, it's so sad, but it's nothing compared to your agent pulling you aside after your own birthday party and saying, "It's time you looked into other career paths." Yes, I cried. I threw things, smashed things, screamed not-so-kind things in my front yard. I am an actor, now and always, so you have to excuse me for being theatrical. My fans gave up on me, so I caused a scene.

And I made the evening news. A crashed convertible and a fire hydrant spewing water all over Style Street, my smiling face on all the front pages worth looking at. Mission accomplished, I'm still a public name — but that's just phase one. Come on, I might be lazy and entitled, used to having everything I could ever want handed to me, but I'm a hard worker in my own way. A unique way, sure, but that's just how it works in this business. If you're going to play the game, then you get to help define the rules. And here's mine: you can't get rid of me.

I'm calling every spotlight-loving socialite I can think of, even the more adventurous bachelors. Love stories always catch the Capitol's attention for a few months, and I'm not above pretending to be smitten with someone I could care less about. Did you even watch season three of my show? Sardonyx Crowe had me as a guest for three of her episodes in just one month, so don't sit there and mistake me as someone who just, 'needs to get over it.' Bambi Salcedo is a washed up nobody, and she had no room to say what she said.

Still, that made me cry. I caused another scene.

But it's not all that bad, sometimes you can crash your car in the most opportune places. Like a brick wall, with a sign up sheet asking for trainers. Now hear me out, I'd rather claw out my eyes than spend my life in the districts, let alone surrounded by ill-fated nobodies, but a job is a job. And that grand prize? Becoming the Head Trainer for the Games? Oh, now that's delightful. Enough to prove that I'm what this business likes to call, 'a marketable adult.' I'm just going through a little setback, that's all.

Now I've found something to get me back up on my feet. Have you seen my body? If you've opened any magazine in the last decade, or tuned in to even a single episode of my show, then surely you have. Maybe I'm not as skilled and educated as the people who go to the gym like their life depends on it, but you don't end up looking like me without having at least some physical talent. Trust me, I'm not lacking in that department at all. I've been on the shortlist for 'Most Handsome Man in the Capitol' for the better half of my life. I've got this.

Duh, I signed up. I called my agent and told him to give me one last chance. He just snorted and laughed and said it'd be an interesting story, either way. And that's the fun part. I don't care about being a laughing stock, the has-been that's reaching for anything that can keep him in place — because I don't want to fade away. I mean, that's obvious, you don't need to hear that sob story. Of course I want to keep my fame. It's only human nature to want to be loved. This isn't shameful. It's how all of us in this profession end up.

But, just to be clear, I'm totally down to do an interview about it.

I can cry on cue.