Of Victors and Tributes

Chapter 8: The Interview

Today, my hours won't be spent with Koi having secret conversations or with my mentors trying to keep me from failing my interview. No, they will be spent with my obnoxious prep team and Farah, who isn't as obnoxious but can rub me the wrong way.

Farah is wearing a long dress that drags on the ground behind her, silver as her hair and eyes. Her heels click loudly on the ground, and I want to reach up to cover my ears. The rest of my prep team seems a bit quieter, but excited nonetheless. They all give me a hug, and I hate how Venus lingers. I remember how she treated me the first time we met, and that if I make it out of the Games somehow, all of Panem will be treating me that way. Is this how my brother felt? Paraded around, looks just like mine, playing to the fact that he was a bit better looking than everybody else in District 8?

It's been a while since I've seen Angora, Satine, and Venus. They visited during training, but only once or twice. They're dressed in very nice outfits, but not extravagant and massive. The outfits are elegant but form-fitting, making them look attractive but much younger than they are. It disturbs me. If you make it to old age in District 8, you're lucky. Most people get eaten by the machines or starve to death. But here in the Capitol, you can't try hard enough to look younger.

"So, we unfortunately can't have you be half naked in the interview," Venus begins. I fight the instinct to snarl at her.

"Though it worked perfectly last time," Satine finishes for her. They strip me naked and push me into a bath.

"We're thinking of something that still shows off your body but keeps you a little more covered. Simple, but distinguished. Refined, sophisticated, dignified. . . All of that," Angora says, cutting off her coworkers. So I won't be naked. That's a relief. I never want to be showed off in front of Panem ever again.

Once again, I endure all the scrubbing and annoying conversation. Venus complains endlessly about her maid, who quit to work for the stylist of the District 7 tributes. Satine pities her, saying that it's such an awful thing and how could that maid be so unthankful! Angora doesn't have much to say about it, neither do I. These three wouldn't survive a day in the districts, even District 1 or District 2. I'd love to see them take a visit to District 8 or 12.

Farah appears after a few moments of hiding away in another room. I've been escorted out of the bath, and my skin is beginning to return from its bright red to its usual white. She touches my face a few times in silence, then plays with my hair, then takes a few steps away from me to either admire or judge. I'd rather have her be judging than admiring.

"The outfit is genius, really," she tells me, having no problem with bragging about her skills. "The Capitol loves your looks, especially your body. We can't send you out there in just your underwear though, so you'll be wearing something a little different."

"That's fine with me," I say.

"I wish it didn't have to be so proper," sighs Venus. I swear to Snow, I'm two seconds away from decking her.

"Shut up!" cries Satine playfully, slapping Venus's arm. The two giggle together.

"Let's get this boy dressed," Angora interrupts.

I'm pulled into a tornado of clothing. They want me to keep my eyes closed, but I don't trust them at all. I cover my eyes with my hand, but periodically peek out to make sure that they're actually putting clothes on me and they aren't just being creepy. I mean, they are being creepy. They always are. How do the girl victors make it through this, especially the ones with men as their stylists and prep team? I make a mental note to ask Cecelia about it after the interview.

The clothing. It's comfortable, soft and deep and tight but not in a painful way. I wear a thin sweater that clings to my body with a high collar that creeps up my neck. I'm glad to have a shirt on. The pants are the same style and color of the sweater, close to my legs and just flexible enough for me to move around in it. They wrap a belt of shiny magenta fabric around my waist and it flows elegantly along my thigh. On top of my sweater is a little vest of the matching material around my waist, except for the fact that it's a deep blue. The final touch is a golden scarf that piles around my neck a thousand times and flows all the way down to my feet, which are covered in gold shoes that remind me of a dancer's.