Death is Patient

Am I Pretty?

The interviews come fast once we've gotten our initial points from the game designers. Surprisingly enough, I don't feel too nervous. It'll feel more like being a zoo animal than anything. I know it's important to make a good impression, considering the sponsors and stuff like that, but I know that Fedya will make a good one, so it's not so bad if I'm mediocre.

When the day arrives, Tigris has put me in a dress that I actually find very pretty. It's a light, sage green. She likes putting me in green. I'd hoped for pink, and I'd mentioned it, and she'd called it a bad idea, that it'd clash with my hair. I wasn't sure what that meant, but I let it drop. She seemed happy enough when I was done. The skirt was flowy and reached me mid-calf, the sleeves long and poofy with a golden cuff holding them to my wrists. There was a slit in the sleeves from my shoulders to my hands, making the sleeves more like a draped curtain than an actual sleeve, but I liked it. I did actually feel pretty. And she'd given me flats so I wouldn't fall over. They were green to match the dress, laced with satin ribbon all the way up to my knees. My makeup is golden all over. She's used it as eyeshadow, blush, and contour. It looks a bit weird, but I suppose gold works. Better than like, blue.

Fedya almost seems jealous. His stylist has put him in a pink suit with a ridiculously big fur fox sewn onto the lapels like a boa. He's got no shirt under it, just a huge golden chain, and he looks more like what Koltander would call a 'pimp' than anything. I only knew what a pimp was because he had talked about them at dinner yesterday. Said he'd met one once when he'd visited district one. I wasn't sure if he was lying or not, he seemed to like making up fun stories moreso for the entertainment value than anything.

The waiting room is cold and quiet compared to the stage we can see on the monitor. It feels more like I'm waiting to identify a person at a morgue than like I'm about to be interviewed before thousands of people. I zone out while I wait. What's happening on the monitor doesn't feel like something I'm involved in. It's more like how it used to be at home. We never watched TV unless it was the Hunger Games. We didn't actually want to watch it, but it was obligatory unless you were working, peacekeepers patrolling the streets when it was being streamed to make sure we did watch. We used to huddle in the same old armchair, Fedya and I, covered by a small blanket. Father would be passed out on the wooden sofa beside us, and we'd only stand up to rouse him if we heard the sounds of peacekeepers approaching,and he'd stay awake long enough for them to look through the window, and then he'd fall back asleep.

"Freya. Yeya", Fedya rouses me back to reality. I look over at him, blinking. "It's my turn", he says. I'll see you", he says. We hold each other's hands for a moment. "Good luck", we tell each other at the same time, and then he disappears.

I don't listen much. Maybe I should, but now that I'm aware of the room again, the nerves hit at last. Fedya's interview isn't very long, but at least the audience seems to like him, and then it's my turn.

I get ushered out onto the stage by several people with different headsets on. I barely have time to gather myself before I'm walking out into the spotlight to get my fifteen minutes of fame. The crowd roars. I plaster on my winning smile and realize I can't actually see them, the lights are too strong, making me squint against the disembodied mass of onlookers.

Caesar Flickerman is an odd man. His veneers are iridescent this year, his hair recently changed from red to blue. It's parted down the middle, but he honestly isn't that bad-looking. He's got the Capitol vibe, but it's more about his ridiculous smile than anything.

"Freya, Freya, Freya", he says, and the crowd goes quiet. "How I've waited to talk to you. We just spoke to your brother, and I have to say he is quite charming!" He says. His voice is unnecessarily upbeat, but then again, isn't everyones in this place?

"Hi, Caesar, thank you", I tell him, trying not to stutter. You can hear my voice wavering, though. I swallow and try to take a deep breath. Caesar's smile doesn't fade. "He is. He's always been."

Caesar turns serious, nodding along like I've told him something very deep. It's all very theatrical. He shifts in his chair. "It was quite the shocking scene, to see you two get reaped at the same time. What an unfortunate twist of fate. It makes my eyes water, just thinking about it. I assume it must have been much worse for you", he says. I see no tears in his eyes. I think about our reaping, the way it all felt like a blur in my memory. I don't know how to reply. Of course it was much worse for me.

"It was", I just tell him. I try to smile, but it doesn't fit in my face. I move in my chair, looking out toward the emptiness of the hall that I know hides way too many pairs of eyes. "It felt like the world opened beneath my feet", I say, unprompted. The room is quiet. I can hear someone crying in the audience.

"I can imagine", Caesar says. No he can't. "I hope at least one of you make it out alive. Fedya seemed intent on protecting you, his sister. Are you the younger one?" He asks.

"And I'll protect him", I tell Caesar, quieting down. How could he ask about our age now? I hesitate with answering, but I do. "Yes. Fifteen minutes", I tell him. It feels wrong. Who cares who of us is older?

"And Tigris has done magnificent work as per usual with your dress!" He says suddenly, flipping the switch completely. It takes me off guard.

I look down on myself. I suppose it's magnificent, but weren't we just talking about one of us making it out alive? "Yes, she has", I agree. I'm not a very good interview object, I realize, speaking in such short sentences, but I'm sure they'll find more. "I hope it makes me look pretty, Caesar", I say instead. It's like the words are ripped from my mouth, spoken from some deep part of me needing the Capitol's approval. It makes no sense, to ask someone to call you pretty in a situation like this, and I still do.

Caesar gives one of his practised guffaws. I'm afraid he'll tell me I'm wrong. Instead he turns to the audience. "Pretty? Dare I say, ladies and gentlemen, That Freya even looks beautiful?" He asks, and the audience breaks out into applause. I feel my cheeks grow red and I smile a little, before Caesar turns back to me to shake my hand - and that's that.

Without further ado, I've briefly touched on being in the Hunger Games with my own twin, and then asked the Capitol if I'm pretty.