stuck in your head; d1f interview

[charade]

It’s magical.

The Capitol I mean. I can’t wait to live here and spend literally the rest of my life partying. I’m chewing a stick of gum that’s flavored like a mint julep and why—

Why don’t we have these things in district one? We’re supposed to be the luxury district for gawd’s sake. Just the tip of the iceberg. It’s been a whirlwind thus far and I’m about to be interviewed by Risky Pope of all people. The first interview of the night. First out of all twenty-four. Up to me to set the tone for the rest of the tributes.

I glance down the line for a moment, scoping out the competition. The real competition. My fellow careers, cause one of us is going to be wearing the crown at the end of this month. It’s disgusting really, that the last two victors were from six and nine.

I shoot my district partner a playful wink and then look past him. Basty’s got the swagger, but he lacks intelligence. Great bod though, like the hotness from two, and no, I don’t mean mister quiet. Elizabeth is one I’m going to have to keep my eye on, like the guy from four. Anarchy. Rumor has it he did hard time.

Which—

Is hot.

He’s hot. Guitars and permanent bedhead?

Hawt.

Less hot is knowing that he might already have a body count. Shouldn’t he get like, a handicap or something? Tie one of his hands behind his back in the bloodbath, he’ll be fine. That leaves Nixie and I don’t know, she doesn’t really scream career to me, you know? After her I kind of tune out the rest of the lineup. They’ve got names, and sure I might even be able to remember a few but—

They don’t matter except as numbers to pad my stats with.

Anyways, on with the show! The Capitol won’t know what hit them. Thank you for the outfit, Sampson dear. White and gold with a splash of purple? I’m royalty bitch. I hear them call for me and I begin the walk. My walk, lazily spinning a tassel in one hand with my shoulders down, neck long, and a look on my face halfway between flirty and murderous.

Can’t forget the hip sway. They love that.

They love me.

Any decent career knows they need to have presence and charisma in front of the camera. The best careers know that the key word is presentation. As I take my seat, I blow a perfect bubble with the gum and let the loud pop of me biting it echo across the stage with a loud pop.

“Good evening Panem! Tonight, I, your host, the one, the only, Nylon Gingham will be interviewing Risky Pope and getting her thoughts on the upcoming games!" I cross my legs one knee over the other and lean back in the chair, smiling at the cameras. Own it. That’s something Damask made quite clear to me growing up. Own yourself, own the stage and then live rent-free in their heads.

“Oh, did someone get our cue cards wrong?” I say with mock concern, holding a hand up to my mouth and pressing my fingertips to my lips like I’m embarrassed of a sudden faux pas.

I’m not, of course, this is all a part of the show.

Image is everything.

“They must know I’m going to have my own show after I win.”

Wink at the crowd, blow some rando a kiss and watch them eat it up, be bold, be better, and for the love of gawd, be the sexiest thing in the room. There’s nothing worse than boring people, boring to listen to, boring to look at, boring in general.

Smile wide and wave.

I don’t know how these poor bastards in the audience coped before I came along.

[Deleted]

"Okay purple! Purr," Risky could always get behind a girl in some royal shades. Nylon Gingham kicks things off this year hot just like how the Pope likes it. A games is only as good as its district one female, haven't you heard?! Cynthia, Dru, Pillar, Emerson - I mean, need I continue.

It's the pop princess's show as Nylon hosts the show for her, accompanied with a stage left finger wag from Miss Washington. "Interviewing who? Oh-" Risky points between herself and the crowd as district one crosses her long legs, ugh. The real host fans her face as Nylon plays the audience, "oh, did someone get my cue cards wrong?"

Point one -- yum.

"They must know I'm going to have my own show after I win.

"HA- oh my god, this girl," she tries waving her cackle off, "there you have it y'all, season's over, Bay! Bring out the crown!" Risky shouts off stage, enjoying the little moment. "T.V. host, victor, the nerve- everybody meet Nylon Gingham!" District One could use another win and the Pope is already living the fantasy. 

She crosses her legs and leans in her chair towards her first tribute while the crowd cheers, making sure to show a little extra thigh for the camera. Nylon looks like a District One Candy, blonde hair and big eyes, a smile that bites the lighting dressed like proper royalty. 

In the Capitol, we call that a total package!

"This moment and the volunteering bit with your sister, pleeease tell me you just live like this," messy 24/7, she's already imagining the arena clips from this girl. Risky talks with her hands as she continues, "so I'm gonna start this off with saying you are so stunning! Whenever I see gorgeous careers like yourself, I always wonder how much that must help in the Games."

"Not just to sponsors either!" Risky snaps to the audience as she says it, "I'm talking the tributes here too. Girl to girl, who do you have your eye on?" She winks, caring not if the camera picks it up or not. 

[charade]

Yeah, I’ve made a good impression on the host so, that’s another box checked. The crowd’s just eating it up, and they should—gawd knows I’ve put the work in to be a snack.

She mentions me volunteering for Satin and I grin. Drama is everything, it keeps life interesting and if you ever let yourself get boring, there’s no coming back from it. I’m never going to let that happen to me.

Live fast, die famous.

“Oh me? I like to play the field, Risky. I do the fun thing!” I lean forward conspiratorially. “There’s nothing fun about commitment,” I say with a wink. “But who doesn’t like a bad boy? There’s my district partner who bruises easy, and of course, Anarchy is super mysterious with a dark past.” I mime fanning the air by my neck.

It’s a trap really because if I say too much it might take the spotlight off of me or she might try to trip me up. I can’t be sure. Panem’s only had one interviewer since like, ancient times, so during training I got kind of used to his style and prepared to one-day deal with it.

Risky is a great improvement over him though.

“I might have to ask Whiskey for a sip, too.” I say that in a stage whisper that gets the crowd laughing.

Gawd this is easy. I don’t understand why we haven’t had a victor since Ridley. Do people not actually try? “What’s a hunger games without a little spice?” I cock my head to one side and smile wide first at the host and then at the crowd.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but it gets a little boring watching tributes mope around making friends.” I take one of the tassels off the belt Sampson gave me and crack it through the air. The microphone picks up the sound and I cross my legs the other way.

“If anyone out there wants to see something really fun, sponsor me a whip.” I giggle without meaning it. “After I win, I might even let you have it.”

[Deleted]

"There's nothing fun about commitment," can I get that on a t-shirt? 

"Ain't that the truth," Risky says, sipping her fresh margarita as Nylon continues on about the career boys. The crowd whistles when she brings up Anarchy and Whiskey, because who doesn't love a flirt. Pretty girl from one with eyelashes that could kill, Risky can't help but be enamored a little. Legend in the making and all that, maybe it's the just the marg talking but she can't help but get a little star struck. 

Nylon's the first taste of the 89th Hunger Games, and she's hooked. 

"I might have to ask Whiskey for a sip, too."

"Oooh, alright! Bad boys and lumberjacks, I see you Miss Gingham," do what you've gotta do, girl. Risky takes the back seat as Nylon steals the show again, stripping herself of her belt and cracking it quick enough to get the host to clutch her pearls. Nylon Gingham is selling sex harder than Poria Rain with an Antoinette bra and Risky's buying it, gagged on the left side of the stage. 

Bitch, talk about a moment. "Okay, hot! You look like you'd use a whip - I forgot we even had those!" She's playing with Nylon before turning to the crowd; when was the last time a whip killed someone in the games? "Tell you what, you kill somebody with a whip and I personally will sponsor you that damn crown. I mean it!" There's a certain je nais se quois a district one female needs, hit or miss but Nylon lands every swing she takes. 

And that's star power, baby! 

For a second they just enjoy the sound of the crowd, soaking up the whistles and cheers Nylon's sex appeal garnered. Risky takes one more sip before moving on with the interview, "do careers even still get trained on whips? Give us that tea, you're stunning but tell us, can she kill!" She says, tongue on her canine tooth after she speaks. 

"What all experience do you have going into this?"

[charade]

I’ve got them hooked now. Omigawd, this buzz is like—like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Like there’s this energy when I’m stage and performing and It’s like—like a warm glow. It’s like drinking bourbon mixed with warm apple cider. Except I feel it in my whole body. Like a high that never ends. All eyes on me. It’s weird you know? Mom always said that one day all eyes would be on me and my siblings but like—

In that house, with like seven other kids it felt really hard to do so. Too many competitive personalities.

Everyone talking and no one listening.

Here? Here they’re hanging on my every word.

By the end of this interview they’ll believe God is a woman.

I smile dazzlingly as Risky continues.

She’s right, most people forget whips are even a weapon. The gamemakers tend not to put them in the cornucopia and most arena themes don’t lend themselves well to it. Most past tributes seem to enjoy swords for the cool factor or spiked blunt things for the utility and damage output.

I mean, it’s a lot more intimidating when the tribute running at you has a spiky warhammer instead of a knife.

But any weapon is deadly in the right hands.

It’s easy to over-exaggerate my next hand motion, pretending to think deeply about her statement for a moment. Then I act like a light bulb went off, even though it’s been my plan since my first reaping.

“Okay, Risky, I’ll make sure to wrap my whip around second place’s neck and pull.”

Am I a killer? I never really thought about it that hard. I can do it, I know that. People die boring pointless deaths every day. The least I can do is add some spice to the passing of a few tributes.

As for experience?

“Well, I’ve been training in hand to hand for ages." I hold them both up and tilt my head to each of them, one at a time. “I call this one pain. This one pleasure.” A little wink for the viewers at home.

“The whips started as a little experiment. I’ll let the audience decide which hand I hold them with.”

Cue  thunderous appreciation. If they like me now, just wait until I have that crown.