ＷＩＴＳ | ＭＡＲＶＥＬ ＨＵＮＧＥＲ ＧＡＭＥＳ ✅

ｆｏｕｒｔｅｅｎ

Interviews. Rybbon barely talked to people to begin with. And the idea of talking in front of hundreds of people makes her even sicker. She hated it. However, she knew she had to. The whole day Adema and Wealer taught her how to walk in heels and how to speak like, quote un quote, "How a proper woman should." Rye could only roll her eyes, finding this whole thing to be demeaning.

And then for a while, she speaks with Beetee and Wiress. Well, more of Beetee as Wiress adds in a comment or two, fumbling with a copper wire as she sits across Rye. He comes up with different ways to express herself during the interview and out in the arena. "Here are the main three: the powerful one, the stubborn one, or the feeble one." Despite how simple it sounds, Rybbon still raises a brow, wanting him to go further. "The powerful ones are the ones that are the strongest or most skilled. That's more for the career tributes," he sighs, moving on. "The stubborn ones are the ones who have someone to go back to. The ones who don't want to but can and will do anything to return to the person they love." His words strike her, and he takes notice. "I'm guessing you do?"

"My brother. Cook." Her throat feels dry for no particular reason. However, it makes it harder to speak, the words leaving her scratching her throat on their way out. "He can't survive without me."

"Prock," Wiress says, gaining both Rye and Beetee's attention. Beetee simply rubs her shoulder, a look of sadness and guilt on his face.

"Prock was Beetee's sister." Rye can feel her throat tighten. "Wiress got back to her. However, Prock died a few years later to a disease we weren't able to cure yet." Despite the woman saying little to no words, Rybbon feels remorse. Maybe Prock's death is what made her grow silent. Her father, despite how terrible of a person he was, made her become silent. She barely spoke for months, only doing so when Cookie needed her.

"I'm sorry," she says. She places her hand on top of Wiress', forcing her to stop playing with the wire. Despite the hitch in the older woman's breath, Rye can see the slight relief as her tense shoulders relax, looking up to see Rye eye to eye.

"Prock would've liked you," she mumbles so fast that Rybbon almost doesn't hear her. But she does, and it makes her heart warm, a soft smile on her lips.

"Excuse me for cutting in," Beetee clears his throat, gaining both of their attention, "however I believe that will be your shtick." The last word makes Rye raise both her brows. "It's a gimmick of sorts. Something that you will be known for to sponsors and the Capitol. For me, it was my intelligence, especially since wearing glasses equivalates to intelligence here." He pushes his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, letting out a quiet cough. "And due to the fact that you were very tough during training, this type of persona would match up with how you will be in the arena."

"If I don't die," she grumbles beneath her breath.

"You have more of a chance than I did," Beetee states. "And I lived." Rybbon looks up at him, eyeing him for a moment.

"What was your motivation?" He hums at her, hoping she would repeat herself. "What made you keep going during yours? What was your motivation?" she repeats. His eyes lower to the ground for a few seconds before looking back at Rye.

"I just wanted to live to see the sunlight–the real sun–one more time. That's all. Your motivation is your brother. Remember that."