Chrystie was in a stylist room again. Backstage, it was crowded and rowdy, all the tributes crammed into a small backstage area. With all the noise, it wasn’t unlikely that the crowd could hear them. Apparently her stylists had loved her parade, as they decided to keep it similar to the design her parade had given. A tight white blouse with loose sleeves wound in twine with a leather corset had been wrapped around her, a front-open skirt bound with a belt under it. Parachute pants and simple black heels brought a distinct air of ‘district’ along with a small crown of turning gears on her head. Just as her stylists had clipped on studded diamond earrings and shoved an indigo fan with silver trim into her hands, she heard a bright voice puncture through the constant din, a bright flash that didn’t fit in with the browns and reds of the tributes’ outfits. /That’s probably the interviewer./ Chrystie thought. /I suppose you have to be sociable to qualify for this job. Getting even the most closed off tributes to talk./ As she was shoved in line, she bumped into Silk, a young cat from her district. Silk stammered a “hi”, almost unrecognizable amid the makeup and dark outfit. She didn’t have time to say anything before they were both herded towards the stage. Bit by bit, the line inched forward. Chrystie almost sat on her skirt a couple times, but her stylists always hurried over and scolded her for getting her costume dirty. Mostly, all she heard from onstage was applause and cheers, maybe a few boos. The Capitol cats revealed their opinions in the form of openly gossiping about them and shouting their complaints, sometimes throwing things onstage. Now, at the front of the line, she could see their eager faces, in anticipation of the next tribute. A fluffy, spotted cream and brown cat sat on stage, beaming. Above her head, a rainbow halo hovered, contrasting her warm-toned natural fur colors with bright, eye-catching neon. “Next, let’s welcome Chrysanthemum “Chrystie” Iver of District 8!” Her portrait flashed on screen, larger than life. A young, cute cat with large eyes and tan fur, wearing a slight mischievous expression, stared at the crowd, her real-life counterpart padding onstage, a smattering of applause welcoming her. Smiling gently, Ellema patted the plush velvet seat next to her, inviting Chrystie over. Gracefully, her skirt almost touching the floor, she began to make her way towards it, sitting down slowly and politely, sitting up straight, just how her stylists had told her to do. “So, Chrystie, now that we’ve started, why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself and your home district?” She tilted her head, a gesture that made many in the crowd lean forward. How many times had she rehearsed this backstage? Obviously it was an opener. Taking a breath, she played with her fan, opening and closing it several times. “As you know, I’m from District 8.” she smiled. “I grew up as an only child on the poorer side of the district, but we always got by. Before I was chosen, I recently had started helping in the factories, usually by sorting materials and spinning raw thread, or helping fix old machines.” She wondered what her parents thought of that version, watching the required show back home.
Ellema beamed, the crowd cheering enthusiastically. “Now that we know what your life in the districts is like, how do you think the Capitol compares?” /Another basic question./ “It’s certainly more advanced in technology. Back home, most machines were rusted. And the fashion is so /creative/ and architecture stunning! The artists here, like the stylists, made my parade possible. I’ve tried so many things that I hadn’t before, and I’m sure there’s lots more to see!” /At least the part about the parade is true./ Ellema pressed a button on a clicker that seemed to come from nowhere, showing an image of her waving through clouds of steam. The crowd marveled at the high-quality image, a shot taken from one of the Capitol cameras she passed by. “Speaking of your parade, I’m sure most people here know about how spectacular it was. But we’re all dying to know, how did you come up with such a thing?” This question was harder. Chrystie rested her paw holding the fan on the armrest, placing the fan on her left ear. As she thought, the murmurs intensified, a sharp ringing piercing through her ears. Some Career fans in the back of the auditorium even shouted a loud “boooo”, intensifying the aggressive sound. Thinking quickly, she answered, “It’s all thanks to my stylists. I saw the costume and steam, and thought it would be a good idea to have some fresh air after the stuffy train car. And when I saw you all cheering for me, I decided to tell you all how grateful I am. Even now, I still have them to thank for this interview set, which I think is inspired by and just as good as my parade outfit.” The ringing stopped. Glancing quickly, she saw the Gamemakers in their tech booth. Imperceptibly, she narrowed her eyes and brought her attention back to Ellema, drawing her closed fan through her hand. Ellema clicked away to another image, one of an exceedingly young Chrystie weaving a braid with weeds. Her blood ran cold, but the collective “aww” of the crowd seemed to suggest they didn’t notice the breach of privacy. /What...?/ /How do they even know about that??/ “Looks like your weaving skills started when you were very young, hm?” Ellema smiled. “How is training going, and how will you plan to use your skills learned in the arena?” “In training, I’ve noticed many tributes, all with different skills. I’m working on diversifying, going to stations other tributes might not want to visit, like foraging or survival. I think I’ve learned a lot, and as for my arena strategy...” she winked. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see. But I personally live by the code that brain beats brawn, don’t you think?” Cheers followed, mixed with a couple murmurs of assent. It didn’t matter. She had managed to sway most of the Capitol anyway. Ellema glanced at a brass pocket watch. “Oh dear, seems we’re almost out of time,” the announcer said, frowning slightly. “Oh well. Last question! What’s motivating you to get back home? Anyone special, people, things?” Chrystie’s eyes widened. This question couldn’t be taken lightly. If she answered an object, it would contradict what she said about the Capitol. If she said a person, they would be singled out and in danger. If she was too vague without reason, the Capitol would gossip and it would decrease her sponsor chances. Her paws sweated and the corset felt much too tight. Another piercing ring sounded through her ear. /Please, not again.../ the thought barely cut through the shrieking whine. Answering hesitantly, she said, “I suppose...though the Capitol is the best place I’ve ever seen, there’s no place like home, no matter how fancy.” She said. “My family is what makes District 8 home, and I’d rather have them here with me than be here alone.” Ellema’s eyes sparkled. “Well, I think that just about concludes our interview! Thank you, Chrystie, for being here tonight and thanks to all of you” she gestured to the audience, “for supporting all the lovely tributes here in the 13th annual Hunger Games!” The crowd exploded, not wanting to miss this final chance. Roses, flowers, and even the occasional box of chocolate rained down on the stage, many cats giving her a standing ovation. Catching a rose in her paw, she paused for the camera, flashing in the corner, before being whisked offstage and all the gifts swept aside, scattered on the floor. Like her dreams of ever going back. -------------------------------------------------------------- (versailles fan language)
