IC-Ponine

[CowMasterTrojan]

As you awake, you realize the day has finally come. It is the day for the reaping of the 73rd games. A day that has stood out in your memory as long as you can remember.

You rise and dress for the occasion, as does everyone throughout the district. The nice clothes is a formality of course, but the district tends to treat it like a celebration. Congratulations will be spread about, with forced smiles on their face. But the truth is; Everyone knows that someone is going to die. Not today, but because of the events of today. It's a sobering fact.

Just like all the other children of the district, you line up with the children of your age. 18 of course. Girls on one side, boys on another. Your blood sample is taken as peacekeepers check everyone in for the reaping. Not that it matters. The silence everyone has is maddening. Along with those false smiles.

The time for Tributes has come.

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Please post your character's general appearance and his/her mannerisms as the reaping takes place. How it goes down is completely up to you.

[RCgothic]

I sit up in bed for a long time before getting up. The day I've been dreading for three weeks has come. Miri, why'd you have to do this to me? I once again feel a pang of guilt for blaming my dead friend. Indeed she was more than a friend to me - more like a big sister. She'd looked out for me the whole way through the Career's Programme and I probably wouldn't have made it this far without her. It was bad enough that she'd probably have been dead inside three weeks anyway. But that had been expected. Prepared for. And there was always the possibility that this time next year she would have been Victor and Mentor to me in my own games. Now it is me that will be dead inside three weeks, life expectancy shortened by a factor of twenty. Probably.

No, this is all Enale's fault! What was he thinking? You always always pull your blows to the head. If not for him Miri would still be here and I woudn't have to take her place. I tell myself this again for the millionth time since the accident. It has practically become my mantra. This is all Enale's fault. Enale had struck Miri a blow to the head during a routine sparring session. She had seemed fine at the time, perhaps slightly dizzy. But the injury had been worse than it seemed and she never woke up the next day.

Just two weeks before the reaping. Just two week's notice that I'd be taking her place. That was another reason Enale should have been being more careful. Normally training winds down in the month before the reaping - picking up an injury that might handicap you in the games would be disastrous. It was disastrous.

I hear my mother calling me down for breakfast. She has to do it a few more times before I call back my acknowledgement. I try to stand, but my hands are scrunched tightly into the simple white sheets. It takes me a few seconds to work out how to release them. I'm distracted, unfocused. That's very not good, but I'm pretty sure I'll be able to pull myself together once the Reaping has taken place; once that point of no return has been reached.

I quickly strip out of my pyjamas and dress in my best clothes - already laid out on the dresser. Even these are relatively simple, the main distinction being that they're clean with no obvious patches of wear and tear which my regular clothes had an annoying tendency to pick up. One of the drawbacks of intense training is that clothing tends not to last. Plain white bra, panties and sleeveless top that shows off the tone in my arms and shoulders. To be honest I could probably manage without a bra - my body has always had such a low fat content that I've never really had anything in the way of assets. I complete the ensemble with a floaty silver skirt that drops just past knee level, a pair of white slip-ons, no socks, and apply a light covering of foundation, and a touch of eye-liner and mascara. Nothing too fancy and nothing impractical, but I have to look my best. From the moment I volunteer the cameras will be on me, and the quest for sponsors will start.

I grab my hairbrush and attempt to instil some sense of order as I head for the stairs. The scent of kipper and egg rise to greet me as I descend; mum and pa must have made a kedgeree for my last breakfast - a filling, fortifying meal that will set me up as best they can for the games. As I round the doorway into the kitchen mum is stood by the stove whilst dad leans on the back of one of the chairs, obviously too pent up to sit. They both turn to face me with nervous smiles as I enter, an obvious mix of pride and worry.

“Good morning Ponine! We thought you might like - oof!” my pa begins, but I interrupt him by flinging my arms around him in a desperate embrace, face pressed into his neck. He’s a big man, and I have to stand on tip toes to do so. I feel him stiften briefly - displays of affection aren’t common in our family - but he soon loosens up and embraces me back. I’m in a losing battle to hold back the tears that are soon falling freely down my father’s back. He rubs my own in sympathy. “There there. There there. We’re proud of you - both of us. The whole district is proud of you.”

My mother comes over holding a towel and places her own hand on my shoulder in a further gesture of comfort.

“It’s - it’s too soon! I’m not ready!” I manage to choke out between sobs.

My mum strokes my hair. “We know darling. It’s never easy and you’ve had it particularly hard. Just fight your hardest and come back to us. We’ll always love you, whatever… whatever happens. Come here.” She prises me off pa and dabs my tears with her towel. I notice her own eyes are shining now too. It’s a good thing pretty much all makeup in District 4 is waterproof. Before mum can break down in tears too she sits manoeuvres me into a chair and pa places a large dish of kedgeree in front of me. “You’ll feel better after you’ve had your breakfast. It’ll help keep you strong.”

Though my tears have stopped for now I feel ashen and drained as I begin to eat, just picking at first. But as usual, my mum is right and I soon perk up a bit, my appetite returning. I eat in silence as my mum and pa make light conversation about their day ahead after the Reaping. They try and engage me a few times, but I shake my head. I don’t want to talk any more. We said pretty much everything there was to say in a long conversation last night. But even with my renewed vigor, I eventually find myself pushing bits around my plate, merely toying with what’s left. It was a large portion so I don’t feel too bad about leaving some. I stare into space for a bit until I’m interrupted by a siren.

It’s time.

Oh no! The time! It’s later than I thought it was. All this moping has eaten into my time remaining until there was none left. I jump up from the table and the chair falls over behind me with a bang. I begin to search frantically for anything I might have forgotten, then quell that panic with a deep breath. You’ve not forgotten anything. You’re dressed, made up, and you’ve had breakfast. All that’s left is to go to the reaping.

My mum and pa both embrace me again before we all head for the door. I pause at the doorway with my hand on the frame, turning back for one last look. This could be the last time I ever see my home. Pa locks the door behind him and we walk to the main square overlooking the port where the reaping will take place in front of the District Hall. It’s the only place large enough to hold all of us. It’s a ten minute walk, but we pass it in a companionable silence that feels right somehow. Around us we start to get joined by others headed the same way, all wishing me luck and encouragement with what seems like boundless enthusiasm. I fix a fake smile on my face and pray it doesn’t look too much like a grimace.

When we reach the square it seems that it’s almost full already. Peacekeepers from the capital line the edges of the square, but to be honest their number seems woefully inadequate before the thousands and thousands of people before them. II turn to kiss mum and pa, having my hand squeezed by each in turn before I begin to make my way through the way to the front where the other children are waiting for the Reaping. Normally I’d have to fight my way to the front, but not this year. This year the crowd parts in front of me as people turn make way and wish me well, touching my arms and shoulders for luck. Most of them I don’t recognise, but there are a few of my parent’s friends I recognise and nod a greeting to. Several times I have to physically check with my fingertips to make sure my smile is still firmly in place.

As I approach the temporary stage, I can make out the figure of the Harbour Master General, the governor of District 4, and beside him the escort from the capital - a tall elf with long blonde hair in a garish golden suit and dark, kohl-like shapes patterned around his eyes. He has a smile plastered across his face as well, but somehow it doesn’t reach the rest of his expression. It’s pretty plain he despises all of us, being forced to mingle with us plebs in the districts. Also on stage are the two large glass bowls from which the names of the tributes will be drawn - largely irrelevant in District 4, though I know my name is in one of them eighteen times. My small family limits the number of Tesserae I can apply for. I know Joa, with her four siblings, is in there forty-two times. But as mentioned, that will be largely irrelevant. Off to one side our previous victors have gathered. I immediately spot Finnick O’Dair - who would spar with us careers whenever he got the chance to take a break from whatever work kept him in the capital so frequently. He wouldn’t say what that was. Next to him I recognised Annie staring off into space and making no attempt to hide how little she cared to be there. Five or six other victors also shared the stage, legacy of District 4’s successful Career’s Programme.

I reach the front and trudge towards the girls’ section. My friends Kaylee and Esha both hug me briefly as I pass the sixteen year olds, even Kaylee looking subdued today. An excited chatter quite at odds with my friends’ reaction passes through the nearby girls, but they don’t know my inner turmoil like my friends do. They’re clearly worried for me, and I redouble my efforts to put on a brave face. I take my place besides Joa with the other seventeen year olds and she squeezes my hand for support. A gaggle forms around me briefly as I have my blood taken before being swiftly broken up by nearby peacekeepers.

I spot Enale across from me with the male eighteen year olds. I’d glare daggers at him if I didn’t feel I had to maintain my mask of confident cheerfulness. Speaking of masks, I note Pyrom amongst the male sixteens still wearing his. I had wondered if he might remove it for today’s ceremony, but apparently he’s held on to that particular eccentricity. Danyal in the column behind him spots me looking over though, and waves a pained greeting. My smile becomes briefly more genuine and reassuring as I nod back. Any chance of anything ever happening there is another thing my missing year has stolen from me. But then I remind myself that that particular fantasy probably would have ended with us each slaughtering one another in the Seventy Fourth Hunger Games next year and my mood darkens once again.

All of a sudden the peacekeepers finish taking blood and a silence descends. It's ten am and time for the ceremony to begin. Each district's Reaping is staggered by a half hour so that they can all be watched in the capital. District 1 starts things off at eight thrity, so District four is an hour and a half later. The Harbour Master General steps forwards and begins a mercifully short speech, during which he welcomes us all to the reaping for the Seventy Third Hunger Games, expounds briefly on Panem and our district’s history, our previous victors, all of whom are forced to wave in turn, and the importance of prosperity and duty to the capital, and his fervent wish that the dark days should never return. He ends with a request for a minute’s silence in remembrance of my friend Mirriana Everfree, who was so sadly killed in a training exercise just weeks before the reaping. I notice that the elf’s expression darkens considerably at this, but he does nothing as we all bow our heads in communal mourning. And then once the minute is up the Harbour Master is elbowed abruptly aside as the Capital's Escort takes the microphone. The Reaping proper has begun.

[RCgothic]

“I’d like to begin with an excerpt from the Treaty of Treason. Ahem.” He clears his throat and looks even more insufferably smug than he had previously. I can feel the entire district behind me glowering at him, but I'm not too bothered myself. This part normally happens after the reaping, and if we can get away with only an except, then whatever.

“In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and a female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public "reaping". These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol. And then transferred to a public arena, where they will fight to the death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and forevermore this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games."

“I,” he begins with a barely controlled sneer, “am Isidorus Maesa and it is my absolute pleasure” - with no sincerity whatsoever - “to be here today as the Capital’s representative on this, the Reaping Day for the Seventy Third Annual Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favour. Gentlemen first.”

Wait, that's not right... It should be the girls first. Shouldn't the capital's representative know better than that? He reaches into the leftmost of the two bowls and withdraws a white slip sealed with a black tape. With much theatricality, Isidorus picks the tape open and unfolds the paper, holding it at practically arm’s length to read it.

“Enale Deakin! Enale, come on up!”

Oh. This will make things simpler. He won’t even have to volunteer. I think that’s a first, at least as far as I can -

An afronted murmer runs through the crowd. I crane my head to see what’s happened. It’s the kid with the mask - Pyrom - walking calmly forward to take Enale’s place.

What.

Why would he do that? Enale’s obviously the better choice as Tribute and I know there’s no love lost between the two. He must be trying to show up Enale, that’s the only explanation I can think of. I glance at Enale. The bastard actually has the gall to look relieved. Oh fantastic. Great job genius. I redirect my frustrated glare at Pyrom as he takes the stage. This isn’t following the script at all. The reaping winner is supposed to mount the stage and be introduced, answer a few questions and only then is there supposed to be a call for volunteers. Pyrom has committed an enormous faux pas, not just by usurping the district’s pre-ordained tribute, but in skipping the proper protocol.

It certainly seems to have confused Isidorus, who seems stunned, and I allow myself to feel some measure of amusement at his discomfort. Completely forgetting to ask Pyrom the usual questions, (or, as I'm beginning to suspect, neglecting to do so deliberately) he selects a fresh slip from the female bowl. It’s time. It’s time and I don’t want to. I really don’t want to. I should wait for the proper protocol to be followed, but after what happened with Enale I don’t even have that breathing time. I’ll need to do the same as Pyrom before anyone less equipped to be in the games than me does anything foolish. I have to do my part for the district so that everyone who’s left can enjoy a better level of prosperity and comfort. Nobody else will stand as much chance of surviving as me. I don’t want to go!

“Maura Kyss!” A name I don’t recognise. I see heads turning in the direction of a dumpy eighteen year old. My knees feel weak.

“I volunteer!” I step forward and a cheer goes up from the crowd behind me. I start walking towards the steps onto the stage. Even if I’m ignoring the protocol, this is at least back on script and they don’t seem at all to mind the shortening of the ceremony. Everywhere I look people are cheering my name and Maura seems practically hysterical with gratitude.

Its done. I am the tribute for District 4. I didn't falter. I volunteered just as I should have. With every step towards the stage I feel my confidence returning. What’s done is done, no getting out of it now. All I can do now is give them the fight of my life and hope to come out again on the other side. Suddenly I find my smile is genuine. I wave to the crowd and pump my fist at the camera as I mount the steps; the response is nearly deafening. I walk straight up to Isidorus and hold out my hand for him to shake, practically daring him to snub me. He doesn't fall for it, though he doesn't quite manage to erase the sneer from his face.

“Congratulations,” he says in a flat voice that conveys none of that whatsoever. I amuse myself by imagining how poorly his performance must be going down in the capital. This idiot's got it coming. “And your name is?”

“My name is Ponine Wilder, and it is my honour to represent District 4!” This leads to redoubled cheers. I can see all my friends beaming at me, and I put a hand over my heart before pointing back at each of them, message conveyed. I can’t make out my parents in the sea of faces, but I know I’ll have a chance to see them again later.

“Yes. Very well done. Pyrom and Ponine everyone.” I had wondered if he’d ask me about Miri, but for some reason that seems to be a subject he doesn’t want bringing up. He gestures for me and Pyrom to shake hands and then we all head backstage as the anthem of Panem plays.

[CowMasterTrojan]

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Fantastic posts you have RC. It's actually very hard to follow-up because of how detailed you made it.

The cheers of the district follow Ponine as she walks off stage, following Isidorus. Here in district 4, the peacekeepers give the two volunteers a wide distance. A luxury she's never considered.

Isidorus herds the two of you out of the cheering crowd, and inside into separate waiting rooms. Ponine knows what will come now. Her family will arrive soon, and then she will get to say her goodbyes. Perhaps for the last time. As she sits alone, it is only then that this occurs to her.

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As I've said, you have complete control over what your family does. So feel free to post whatever goodbyes you have, and then we will move onto the train.

[RCgothic]

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The actions (if not the thoughts) of the interaction between Ponine and Pyrom were developed in conjunction with Hamste. There's a chance there may be a small additional piece of dialogue before we're ushered away, just need to wait for the reply PM. I doubt it will matter much to the scene that follows.

As soon as we're behind the curtain, there are no I'm sure there are no nearby cameras I round on Pyrom.

"You'e done yourself no favours you realise. Enale was by far the better choice for Tribute and the whole District knows it. Bastard didn't even seem disappointed." I sigh and stare at the roof. I'm still conflicted. On the one hand, I won't have to fight Enale at least, which was something I hadn't been looking forward to. I'm good, but he'd had a year's more training and experience. In a direct confrontation I'm not sure I could have triumphed. Not like Pyrom. I can take him if it comes to it. I feel a pang of guilt that I'm thinking about him in such terms already. And Enale doesn't get to take the easy way out. He'll have to live forever with what he did to Miri. I hope it destroys him.

"I got that feeling as well, very odd, surely he must have been at least a bit annoyed. He lost his chance at honor and memory to me. Instead it almost seemed as if he didn't want it. Either way, I like to view it as this, if I lose it doesn't matter if people thought him a better candidate then me. If I win then obviously I was an ok candidate. Either way no one remembers him and I am remembered for the rest of my life or until the next major upset that angers people more than what I did, whichever is longer. It seems I have finally beaten him once and for all." Pyrom said in one long breath with out pauses. He slowly gasped for a couple of seconds before going back to being stoic. He looked up to see if there was anything interesting on the roof that he had missed.

On the other hand, I'm now cheated out of any chance of avenging myself. Avenging myself for my lost year, and Miri for never having her chance to shine. I'm fast, silent, clever. I could have caught Enale in an unguarded moment. The other districts would have loved that, I think bitterly. But Pyrom has taken that chance from me. I clench and unclench my fists.

"They might remember it when it comes time to sponsor you." I mutter under my breath.

I pause awkwardly, not sure what more to say or even if I meant to so much. If I can get over myself, Pyrom could be a useful ally. Try harder not to offend him.

Though the Peacekeepers keep a respectful distance, it isn't long before Isidorus decides we've stalled too long and herds us in the direction of our respective waiting rooms where I'm left to wait alone. The room is richly fashioned, with gold fittings and a couch and a couple of chairs upholstered in a wonderfully soft material I don't recognise. I pick a spot on the couch, where I bounce my legs nervously as I wait for my expected visitors.

It's only a few minutes before the door opens and my first visitors enter. I bounce up to greet them, arms outstretched. "Mum! Pa!" I find myself quickly folded into their embrace. The displays of affection sure are flowing freely today! "We're so, so proud of you darling. You did magnificently! You've got the whole district is behind you. Hasn't she, Hans?"

I pull back slightly, embarrassed by the praise. It had all just seemed to come naturally in the moment. My dad has a thoughtful expression on his face as he answers.
"That she does Ann, that she does. What was that with Pyrom though? I don't think it's ever happened before that someone's usurped the chosen tribute like that."

I wriggle out of their embrace and flick a hand dismissively. "Urgh! It's just part of this feud Enale and Pyrom've got. I figure Pyrom's badly miscalculated this one, though he doesn't see it yet. It's probably fortunate for me overall. I don't think I could have allied myself with Enale after what happened - the joint appearances would have been unbearable! - and if it comes right down to it the odds are now more in my favour."

I make a face that indicates I don't really want to talk tactics and that we should change the subject. We sit and make small talk for a while, sharing a few treasured memories like the time a lobster got loose in the bottom of his boat and Pa and I ran around trying to catch it until we knocked poor Dillon overboard. We'd fallen about ourselves laughing and the lobster had scuttled free in the confusion. Dillon never had any luck! That memory brought smiles to all our faces. Or the time when I was seven and I'd painted mum's face with an extract I'd made myself with ground wildflowers from the coastal cliffs. Happy memories.

There's another knock at he door and then it opens to reveal Esha, Kaylee and Joa. "Girls!" I jump up to greet them and they meet me half way, hugs all round. "I'm so glad you guys came. I -" I stop and look around with a hopeful expression that gradually falls. Joa catches on first.
"Sorry, I don't know where Danyal is. I'm sure he'll be here!" she reassures, but I shake it off.
"It's all right. It's fine. I'm just so glad you guys are here!"
"Well we wouldn't let you go without saying farewell." Esha.
"And we had to give you this." Kaylee produces a bracelet made from loops of fishing line and a chunk of iridescent shell polished to a shine. All the shell edges have been polished smooth of course - my friends know not to provide anything that could be seen as a weapon by the games organisers. It's not much, but the fact they've made if specially for me makes it very precious to me.
"I... I don't know what to say. Thanks guys, it's wonderful!" I slip the bracelet onto my wrist and hold it up to watch the shell shimmer in the reflected light of the room's electric lamps. Then I hold it out towards my parents for their inspection. "Mum, Pa! Look what the girls made me!"

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My mum holds my arm for a closer inspection, whilst Pa looks on approvingly. They both congratulate my friends and thank them for the gift. I had wondered what I'd choose for my token in the arena and now I'm sure I know.

We sit and chat a while longer about nothing much in particular. Kaylee tries to lighten the mood, whilst Esha wants to talk tactics. The others are happy just to dwell in happy memories. I occasionally glance at the door but the knock that eventually comes is a peacekeeper to inform me my hour is up.

We stand to make our farewells. Esha signs "Die Well." Joa and Kaylee both offer hugs and "Good luck." Pa pulls me close and I see tears in his normally stoic eyes. A simple "Love ya." is all he manages.
"I love you too Pa," I return.

And then there's just mum. We embrace and she kisses my cheek under the peacekeeper's polite yet impatient scrutiny. "We love you Ponine. Make the district proud - prouder. Fight hard and come back to us." I hug her tight.
"I will mum, I promise. I love you too.
And then it's time to go and with a single backwards glance I'm escorted from the waiting room towards the train station. It's not far, so we walk, me boxed in at a respectful distance by four peacekeepers.

Cheering crowds line the route, held back by lines of security barriers and peacekeepers in white body armour and we make good time. I wonder why Danyal didn't come. Then I wonder if I would have if our positions were reversed, if I could bare that last painful meeting before having to watch the one I cared about die live on screen. I'm not sure I could.

We arrive at the train station. Pyrom is already there. The train is amazing - one of the flashy high-speed capital models. We stand in the doorway and pose for the cameras. I put on my best smile of confidence and wave to the crowd and the cameras enthusiastically. Just as the doors are closing I spot Danyal in the crowd ten rows or so back. The stricken look on his face breaks my heart. He places his hand over his heart and then reaches out to me. It's too late for that; too late for us. The doors snap shut and the train starts moving immediately. I place my palm against the glass and hold his gaze until the train whisks us rapidly apart and I lose his face in the crowd.

My confident facade had shattered, and all of Panem was watching.

[RCgothic]

A voice right next to me startles me out of my funk. "Something wrong with out? You seemed a bit off back there...I generally don't notice that sort of thing and even I saw it. Quite the crowd out there, eh." Pyrom said before huffing as though he were out of breath.

I allow my fingers slowly to slide down the glass of the carriage door, until I realise I have tears in my eyes and withdraw my hand to dab them away with the back of my hand.
"You and all of Panem," I mutter. I make an effort to pull myself together. It won't do to show weakness in front of another tribute. "It's - it's nothing. Won't affect me in the arena." I glance around for Isidorus, wondering what happens now.

[SamBurke]

What happens now, it seems, is for your glory to be eclipsed by the next district, and the district after that, and the one after that. They quietly shuttle you to the train. Despite having seen it from afar practically every year, the "glory" of it in person is something quite different. The monolithic pillars of the track, the almost single-bodied sleek steel of its construction make it look like a primal creature instead of a creation of the Capitol.

Pyrom is pushed onto the train before you, as Isidorus pulls you away from the others for a second. "Good job, girl, putting things back on track. Pyrom's an odd one, mask and all, and if he gets too much attention, it could go badly. I think you've got a real chance, no matter the reasons you've gotten here." That's the closest he gets to mentioning the accident in training, but his hands make an oddly surgical motion across his head, exactly the way Miri got hit. "May the odds be in your favor, young Ponine."

Isidorus chuckles, and pushes you onto the train, into the middle of the most important decision pre-Games.

Mentors.

Maggs has Pyrom by the hand, but he hasn't chosen yet, and Finnick seems to be quite interested in this other Tribute, too... until you walk in. "Helllllllo, there."

[RCgothic]

I take a steadying breath as I enter the dining compartment. I'd been a little blindsided by Isidorus - I had thought he despised us in the districts, but perhaps for some reason I'm not included in that distaste? I find myself re-evaluating the haughty elf.

The train is amazing - opulent, advanced... I can't help gazing round in wonder. I've never been in anything quite so... futuristic before.

And the mentors are waiting. I know both of them of course - both have been involved at various stages of the Career's training programme at some point or other.

Mags is an elderly woman who won the ninth hunger games - old enough to remember the Dark Days, though she never speaks of such. Kindly and resourceful, able to make do and turn just about anything to an advantage.

Finnick on the other hand is an Adonis, charisma and lethality personified. I'll need both if I'm to win. I was just nine when he won the sixty-fifth games. I'm not ashamed to admit that for the longest time I had a crush on him. Just about all the career girls did. Ok, he might be a little lecherous on occasion, but I can handle that. And who can object when it's coming from Finnick? Danyal might, my traitorous thoughts supply. I quickly quiet them. In any case, this is not a difficult decision for me. I need Finnick to be my mentor. I beam a greeting in return.

"Finnick, it's good to see you again! And you too Maggs." I smile at them both before skipping up to Finnick with my biggest puppy dog eyes. "Have you chosen who you're going to mentor yet? I'd really like it if you could be mine." I grimace slightly at the accidental euphemism. There's no way he could have missed that, so I switch to an embarrassed grin as quickly as I can manage and attempt to brazen it out.

[SamBurke]

Finnick flips back his golden hair and grins wider. "A lady has asked for my hand, Maggs! What are you going to do about it?" He turned to her, trying to egg her on a little. She ignores his antics, so he turns back to you. "Well, let's see what we have... Ponine, is it? Sad accident with Miri, but I don't know that I'm objecting too strongly." He looks you over with a VERY long and VERY clingy gaze. Pyrom has already been led away by Maggs by the time he's done, and there's the odd feeling of being almost violated by his thorough blue eyes.

Maybe Danyal was right about him.

"Well, now, Ponine, speak up! Let's hear about you, your thoughts, your skills, your life until now and whether or not you like sugar cubes!" He slides one off the table, and just like his trademark, bites it in half with a wry smile.

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I'm not liking the visibility on his text... Wheat is a very "Finnick"-y color, but it's got issues. Would you like a change on it?

Also, this is your chance to try and put whatever you want before him. He'll be interrogating you, more or less.

[RCgothic]

Ok, so where to begin? My mentor is there to help me win, so there's no point holding anything back. Even so, I'm not sure how much time we have. I decide to be brief but thorough. I look around to make sure we won't be overheard before taking a seat at the table.

"Well, ok, here's the executive summary. My name is Ponine Wilder, and I've been training for this since I was five. My father is the captain of a lobster boat, and my mum repairs nets in the market. Almost all my friends were also training to be a career like me.

I was expecting to have another year, for the reasons you know, but I suppose I'm as ready as I can be given the short notice. I can handle just about any weapon - so I'm not going to struggle if I can't find a particular one - and I'm exceptionally quick - both in reaction and over a straight line. I'm alert, stealthy, and an excellent swimmer. I suppose I'll be able to make decent traps out of simple objects. Most importantly, I think tactically and fight smart. I make friends pretty easily so I'm hoping I'll be able to gather some allies - and I'll be loyal until we part ways; if I have to kill a friend it won't be by betrayal.

Most importantly, I'm in this to win."

[SamBurke]

He smiles, noticing that you avoided the question of the sugar cube. "Very professional, and on such short notice, too! I like it. Good with weapons, most terrain... A good fighter, not a horrible person... Yeah, I can make something of you, I think. But I do have to ask: what was on the schedule for this year? If you're sped up, there's got to be something miss, right?" He gives a wink, obviously accompanied by the requisite grin.

He thinks for a little while after you finish your answer. "Not too bad. I think we can handle most of that quickly... some parts'll be more difficult, of course. My question is about your person. See, people don't know how key it is to have sponsors, and that, of course, requires superhuman good looks." He gestures with one hand towards his face. "Yours aren't bad, of course... but we need a selling point past that, you know. Tell me, then... who are you? And why should I be in love?"

[RCgothic]

To the first question my answer is swift: "I didn't miss anything in particular, just a year's worth of extra polish and age. I'm not as fast, not as strong, not as practiced as I could be, but I'm just going to have to make do."

I incline my head at the second question. "That's... that's not an easy question. You're asking what special quality I have that will endear me to the capital audience, that have them spending money to sway the odds in my favour?" This is not a question of fact. It's an assesment of an esoteric quality that will be judged against against the preferences of a group I have no familiarity with. I struggle, but I do my best to answer anyway.

"I... I'm not sure. What would the capital people like? I want them to admire me - I mean as a person, someone they can relate to despite our different backgrounds. They'll see how deadly, and once the stylists have had me, how beautiful I can be, but I need to be more than that, don't I? And less. Let them see that I'm a real person who thinks, has feelings just like them. How I didn't have to volunteer, but I did so anyway. That even though I've been training for this for as long as I can remember I'm still utterly terrified, but I don't let that fear control me. That I have the most amazing friends. That I... I love too... just like them..."

I fade into silence as I think of Danyal, balling a fist subconsciously over my heart. I hope my answer has been enough.

[SamBurke]

He nods. "Not bad. Not bad... But here's the thing, sugar cube." He leans in with a fake smile and places a hand on your shoulder, gripping a little. "The Capitol people aren't that smart. And, you aren't gonna have that kind of time. You can't show them that you're loving, and brave, and loyal, and strong, all at once. You can only show them that you are one thing. So my question is: what.

"You say you don't know the Capitol folk, but you do. They're just normal people, but dumber, sillier, and more flighty. You've gotta boil it down to just one thing, one reason. You only get one, and you can only play based on that. I'll help, of course..." His hand moves from your shoulder, and twirls a piece of your hair, before he regains his focus. "But you've gotta be able to play that part, Ponine."

[RCgothic]

I pull back slightly, wrapping my arms around myself. I'm disappointed my answer wasn't good enough. "I'll play any part I have to to get through this. What would you do in my place?"

[SamBurke]

His face spins instantly into one of comfort. "Oh, 'Ponine, it's not like that. You, YOU, are just what the Capitol is looking for. But we need to make you perfect, understand? Because you need to survive, right? And only the people the Capitol thinks are perfect survive. But what about you is so perfect?" He slides alongside and draws you into a hug, and you get the sense that it's not entirely fake. He might actually have real emotions, somewhere inside there.

"There's something I can tell about you already, you know. Hm... hm..." He thinks, and then leans back with a wide grin. "You are a hero. That is it! You are all of those things, and that love, honor, and loyalty are the marks of a "hero." So that's what we show you as."

Spoiler

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You have no idea how hard it is not to make a Les Mis reference in practically every post. "A Little Fall of Rain" would have gone so well here. Well, minus the death-scene... but definitely with the latent sexual tension.

[RCgothic]

I'm touched by the genuine sentiment in the hug, and for once his contact is not unwelcome. I lean my head on his shoulder as he muses and then start at his pronouncement.

"A hero? You think I can..." I start uncertainly - then with more conviction as a warm smile begins to spread, becoming a wide grin - "I can do that! I can be a hero! I'll show them all just how heroic I can be!"

I begin to pace, working through the implications. "That probably means I can't ally with the other careers though, excepting maybe Pyrom. That would be seen as cynical and bullying - not the sort of thing a hero does. I'd need to look to the other districts, with a particular eye to protecting the weaker tributes."

"I don't know how the hero image could survive the final stages if I'm too successful. It would look bad if I had to turn on my former charges. Although I suppose if I get that far that'd be a good problem to have."

I stop pacing and turn back to Finnick.

"Yes, I think that idea sounds good. If you don't mind, I think I need to watch the other reapings now. We'll be able to develop this more once We've seen the other tributes."

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Aw, that song's one of my favourites. I'm glad someone got the Les Mis reference.

[SamBurke]

He thinks for a second. "That'd be tough as **** to pull off, you know. You'd have to find the under-appreciated tributes in every district. Or... or... perhaps you could just find the other stories, and hitch a ride. Say that Isadora and Patyr group. They're siblings, right, but they've been training, I bet. Story, emotion, heroism: but practicality. Because let's face it. You need to survive, and you'll have to have a way to do it." He nods, pulling back his arm to stroke his chin.

"The endgame, though. You're right. That... I..." He just shakes his head and smiles. "You big **** hero. That's your problem. Let's just watch the Reapings, then? Forget Claud and Cee, they're just there to distract you, unless they're doing a Rules Check." He settles in alongside you, turns up the volume with the flick of his wrist, and looks intently.

As the broadcast goes on, you can see a change on Finnick's face. Without even looking at you, without losing his concentration, he's softened. Relaxed. He does feel a lot more real this way.

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If you want, we can make things a whole lot more Victor Hugo-y. I personally would not mind *at all* to go full Les Mis on this storyline. :bigsmile: Maybe I'm remembering this wrong, but I did recall you saying that you were trying to more-or-less recreate Eponine? If so, we can totally do that. Though I have no clue who Marius should be... (Unless you're a big Finnick fan, in which case )

[RCgothic]

"They are quite distracting!" I giggle. Despite the horrible situation I find myself in and the fact Claudius and Caesar are narrating it, the two men have been a fixture of my entire life, and I find their antics familiar and strangely reassuring.

I settle in for the long show and the even longer trip to the capital. I allow myself to be served a light lunch at my seat, never leaving my seat except for a short toilet break around mid afternoon. Every now and then I or Finnick would make a comment about a tribute the hosts may have missed in their commentary.

By the time the show finished and we had rewinded through coverage of the earlier districts it was time for dinner. I endure it quietly, thoughtful about the things I learned earlier and I manage not to overindulge on the sweets laid out with the magnificent banquet. Finally I retire to my cabin for the night, eager to arrive fresh at the capital the next day.

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No, wasn't trying to recreate Eponine, just borrowed the name as an homage to one of my favourite characters. I didn't even intend the Danyal thing, that just sort of happened! I'm not even sure she'd stay faithful if something came up - being in the games is emotional and she and him are doomed even if she survives. Then again it's also not a good time to be thinking of such things. I had no plans really! Ponine's her own person and I'm happy with things as they are. :-)

Hope you don't mind me moving things along, but I don't want to hold the others up too much. I do love the character interaction, it's not that I want to skip over it. There's some conversation with pyrom overnight - Ponine can translate for him if that helps - I'll post that here later. Capital arrival and styling next? Hamste and I think a sea gods theme might work.

[RCgothic]

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Repost of private conversation with Pyrom. PM message was 3rd person impersonal, so this has been rewritten from Ponine's point of view to fit with her narrative here.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Despite retiring , or possibly because of it, I struggle to get much sleep. The day has been such a lot to take in, and I can't stop my mind racing at what feels like a hundred metres a second. The bed is two comfortable as well, and I toss and turn, fine cotton sheets offering little resistance to the silk pyjamas provided. The main thing on my mind is allies - and I realise I've been remiss about discussing such with Pyrom. It's become late - the only lights the various luminous displays on capital gadgets scattered about the room, outside the blackest night due to overcast skies and a moon yet to rise. A digital clock on my side table tells me it's not long past midnight. I sit and bounce my legs off the side of the bed for a few moments before making up my mind to settle things properly.

I pad down the passage to the car that contains Pyrom's cabin, supporting myself with a hand against the wall as the train rounds a corner. Finding his door, I double check I've got the right one before knocking twice. There's no asnwer, so I knock again, this time calling softly through the door: "Pyrom, I need to speak to you."

The door opens, and I smile nervously as and Pyrom nods for me to enter. He turns back to sit on the bed and I follow, perching at the foot. Recalling now that Pyrom prefers to sign than speak, I begin gesturing to convey the reason for my visit. Luckily it's just bright enough in the dark room to follow.

<I'm sorry about the time - couldn't sleep. I meant to talk to you sooner, but it's all been a little overwhelming. We need to know where each other stand.>

I take a short break to run a hand through my hair, taking a deep breath to gather my wits even though it won't be needed for speaking.

<Look, I still don't know if I approve of what you did with Enale - in all honesty I'm not sure if I'd even prefer if he was here or not - but we're both going to need all the allies we can get, and where better to start than with each other?. I mean you can count on me not to betray my allies in the arena. If a time comes for the alliance to be dissolved, I'll make it obvious first. After that, well... I'll do what I must. But until then, you wouldn't have anything to fear from me.>

Pyrom stares at me for a few seconds. At least, I assume he's staring. it's difficult to tell under that mask. Then he starts signing back animatedly.
<Why wouldn't we be allies? We both want district 4 to win so that our people may prosper and therefore we are near guaranteed allies until the end as that at which point we play rock paper scissors or something similar to decide who gets the honor to commit suicide so that the other will win. Of course, that assumes both of us are alive at that point.>

I fix Pyrom with a long, appraising gaze. I have trouble convincing myself that's really what he thinks, but there doesn't appear to be any guile there. The mask makes telling anything about him extremely difficult.

<Didn't hurt to check,> I hazard.

<Any ways, did any of the other candidates seem to be good options for allies to you? The half-orc from district 3 seemed interesting, though the female seemed a bit off. It could just have been shock from being called but it doesn't bode well. Also, what do you think about that comment on the number of Gifted? It seems somewhat worrisome, they can be huge wild cards in a fight. The fact they said the magic is almost as strong as the muscles seems to hint that at least nine of the candidates are magical probably even ten or eleven assuming they meant muscle as in non-gifted. It couldn't be 8 as then the mundanes would outnumber the gifted by a large amount and it can't be twelve as then they gifted would equal the mundanes. This means worst case scenario there are going to be eleven gifted and there is a possibility that each one can murder us easily with out even having to reach the cornucopia. I was probably included in the count of magic users so that is one identified but that leaves at worst ten unidentified casters of unknown power. District 5 is known for their magic so chances are good that those two are spell casters and good ones at that. Assuming they are we need to watch out for the other six to eight spell casters in training so we can be prepared for when the games start. Hopefully most of them are minor spell casters but that sounds a bit optimistic.>

I look down at my hands briefly. So that went well. We're working together now? Ok then. I share my thoughts on the other tributes so far.

<We'll have to watch out for the other careers. That half-elf, Kalistrate, in particular has a cold-blooded look about her to my mind. I know it's traditional to ally ourselves with them, but that may not be so great an idea. We're both younger and less experienced than we should be. They'll be ruthless and determined, and may see us as weaker but still a threat. We'd be a high priority to eliminate. It may be better to try to ally ourselves some of the others - they'd also see us as a threat, but would still rate their chances of survival with us around higher than without.
The half orc from district three, Parison, I agree looks interesting. The brother and sister from sister from District five - they have a strong incentive to keep each other alive and allying with others would help that. The others I think I'll probably have to meet before passing judgement.>

With the relief at having secured my first ally, I finally feel a wave of fatigue overtaking me. It's been a very long day!

<I should probably try and get some sleep. I think we're due in the capital early tomorrow and we'll have a full day ahead. Sorry for waking you, but I'm glad we had this chat.> I ease myself up off the bed and make my way towards the door. I pause just before leaving to see if Pyrom has anything further to add, but it appears not.

<Goodnight Pyrom.>

With that I close the door gently behind me and make my way back to bed.

---------------------------------------------------------

[SamBurke]

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So, I'm not actually sure where to go from here. Do you want to skip to the parade?

[RCgothic]

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Arrival at the capital, stylists, build up to the parade.

Pyrom and Ponine's theme is sea gods (the mask works with it). Ponine's outfit is a bit like this:


I'll post in the Parade thread as well as CMT is getting impatient.

[SamBurke]

The speeding train catches your attention as it suddenly begins to slow. For the last hour the train has been speeding along mountains and shooting through tunnels. Finally it comes out of a final tunnel and the sun shines down upon it. With it now slowing, the train track curves to the side and allows you to see in the distance the capital.

A gigantic metropolis, it is comprised of countless metal buildings that stretch into the sky towards the clouds. Never in your life have you seen such tall buildings. Scattered along the skyline are floating ships that hang in the sky.

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The train continues to slow, and eventually closes into the city. People line the track, waving to you as the train enters the capital. The capital citizens are an odd bunch, all dressed in bright colors with bizarre hairstyles and some even have odd grafts on their bodies. The sheer number of them decorating the pristine streets is mind boggling to you.

_______________________-

Once the train stops, your chaperone takes you to a nearby building. There a team of highly trained capital employees take over cleaning you. They scrub you clean on a level you've never felt before, removing a layer of skin from your body, thoroughly washing your hair, waxing body hair, and picking any specks of dirt that may be under your nails.

[RCgothic]

I press my face against the windows as the train slows, amazed by The Capital's towering monoliths of stone and glass, glittering canals and sweeping bridges. It's quite the most amazing thing I've ever seen! The sky craft are nothing short of magical, and I suppress a brief pang of jealousy of those born into this world rather than the hardship of the districts.

The crowds too are amazing - I mean I'd been expecting them, there are crowds every year - but it's something else when you're the one everyone is there to cheer for. I smile and wave at the crowds as a troop of white-armoured peacekeepers escort us across the station plaza to a nearby building. I did my best with a brush this morning, and I'm wearing the white top and silver skirt I found in my cabin - an expy of the clothes I wore to the reaping but in a finer Capital style. On my right wrist is the seashell bracelet that Kaylee, Esha and Joa gave me. It shines, iridescent in the mountain sun. I hope I look passably pretty - maybe even a little heroic!

It's not a long walk, and before long the crowds have been left behind, we walk through a white lobby and Pyrom and I are ushered into different rooms on the other side - small with only one door, full length mirrors in the walls. Two peacekeepers step in either side of me, one pressing a button by the door as it swishes shut. I don't understand, and I'm about to ask when the floor shifts unexpectedly beneath my feet and I have to steady myself against one of the peacekeepers. Luckily he doesn't seem to object!

A moment later the door opens once more and I understand it must be some sort of mobile room - I later learn it's called an elevator. We step out into a corridor with twelve doors leading off it. We walk past a few, each with a district and name printed on it - 'District 6 - Liss', 'District 5 - Isadora' - until we come to mine: 'District 4 - Ponine'. None of the names were male, so this must be a floor just for the female tributes' prep.

The peacekeepers invite me to enter and then turn to leave. Apparently I'm trusted enough not to attempt escape, though it may also be because the surveillance systems are good enough to make any such attempt futile. I step cautiously into the room - a small grey cubical with no windows - and I'm immediately set upon by a pair of stylists. My clothes are rapidly stripped off, and I'm left standing entirely naked, cheeks aflame with embarrassment yet stoicly determined to endure. My clothes are bagged for disposal, but my bracelet is saved and put to one side when I protest.

Then followed the most uncomfortable hour of my life. Every inch of my skin is roughly scrubbed, my nails and pubic hair trimmed. My legs are waxed - agonisingly - and my armpits shaved. My eyebrows are tweesed and my hair washed, trimmed, dried, and induced into bouncy golden waves. Nothing is left out of place. This, I'm told, is beauty base zero. It's only then that the head stylist comes to see me. Again I'm left standing naked as she completes a full 360 inspection. She seems relieved, and I'm told that I'll do that this she can work with.

A dress is brought - turquoise and blue, tight over my hips and thighs and loose and flowing around my ankles as though recreating a water nymph stood in gentle ocean breakers. Makeup is applied - lotion, foundation, eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, a bareset hint of eyeliner. A tiara made from coral is produced, and a golden trident. My bracelet is re-bound to my wrist, and I'm amazed that it matches the ensemble perfectly. A full-length mirror is brought in and I'm struck dumb by the result - I look incredible, the beauty of the ocean embodied in a tribute.0

"Thank you, it's perfect!" I gush at the stylist, but she merely smiles before reminding me to stand tall, smile and wave graciously in the chariot parade. Then she claps her hands and leads the two assistants out. Two peacekeepers escort me back down the elevator to what must be parking level - the other tributes are gathered there, and I join Pyrom in boarding our chariot. A few minutes later everyone has gathered and the procession through the streets begins.

The sights are incredible - people line the streets cheering, and I smile and wave, doing my best to project an air of confidence, not just for myself but for Pyrom next to me, who I know is far less assured in crowds. Luckily his mask and sea god outfit mask any nervousness he may be displaying. I raise my trident in a display designed to entice the crowd and am rewarded with an enthusiastic cheer. By the time we reach the arena I'm wearing a delighted grin - I've done my best, and I'm sure it was enough to impress.

[RCgothic]

Spoiler

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Climb: (1d20+9)[24]

[RCgothic]

Spoiler

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Fort:(1d20+7)[19]

[RCgothic]

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Reflex: (1d20+5)[11]
Knowledge Nature: (1d20+5)[20]
Survival: (1d20+6)[14]

Will: (1d20+1)[8]

[RCgothic]

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Perception vs Kaine: (1d20+6)[9]
Spellcraft: (1d20+5)[16]

[RCgothic]

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Will edit in narrative after seeing rolls.

Spoiler: Training Rolls

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Melee Demonstration:
Weapon: Greatsword
Initial range, 70ft.
Inc favoured enemy bonus (Humanoid dummies)
Initiative: (1d20+8)[17]
Charge 70ft: (1d20+9)[11] Damage:(2d6+4)[12]
Attack: (1d20+7)[12] Damage: (2d6+4)[11]
Attack: (1d20+7)[12] Damage: (2d6+4)[12]

Trap Demonstration:
Craft Caltrops: (1d20+5)[20]
Craft Rope Snares: (1d20+5)[11]
Camouflage trap (Stealth): (1d20+7)[12]

Ranged Demonstration
Weapon: Composite Longbow, Range 110ft
Initiative: (1d20+8)[11]
Rapid shot at target inc Favoured Enemy Bonus (Humanoid targets):
Rapid shot at target:
Attack: (1d20+4)[11] Damage: (1d8+3)[4]
Attack: (1d20+4)[10] Damage: (1d8+3)[5]
Rapid shot at target:
Attack: (1d20+4)[17] Damage: (1d8+3)[11]
Attack: (1d20+4)[19] Damage: (1d8+3)[8]
Rapid shot at target:
Attack: (1d20+4)[18] Damage: (1d8+3)[5]
Attack: (1d20+4)[18] Damage: (1d8+3)[11]

[RCgothic]

I wait in the holding room with some trepidation. After all, it feels as though my entire life 'til now has been focused on this moment. If I don't impress now, what hope do I have? I'm not as tough or strong as the other careers. I don't have fancy magic like Cass and Durass, or self-enhancing potions like Pyrom. I haven't even been able to put a half-decent alliance together. If I can't impress at this test, what hope do I have for sponsors?

I'm sixth of the twenty-four, so at least there isn't long to wait - the three I dread most coming up against, Corvis, the unfortunate from District 2, and Pyrom. I wish Pyrom luck as he goes in with a smile before going back to waiting with a nervous bounce. Fifteen minutes later they call me in and a dozen strangers look down at me with interest. I guess it's early enough in the day that they haven't yet succumbed to boredom and as a career I can be expected to put on a solid demonstration. I walk up in front of them and come to a sort of attention.

"Ponine Wilder, District Four!" I announce.

I step up to the weapon rack and select a greatsword, an ideal weapon for me in the arena. I swish it back and forth, getting used to the balance of this particular weapon, and then take up a position a reasonable distance from the training dummies. This demonstration will hopefully serve a triple purpose - to impress with my reflexes, speed and melee abilities. I raise the sword in salute to the examiners and await a signal I'd arranged earlier.

Three...Two...One...

A sharp blast of a whistle and I'm off! I burst forward, covering an impressive distance in a heartbeat. I make a lunging strike that impales the mannequin through the shoulder, doing a disappointingly low amount of damage. I perform a nimble sidestep as though dodging a counter attack, and try an upward diagonal slice, which again connects solidly. The mannequin is definitely hanging brokenly now, but those blows should have been more effective than that. Switching up my technique, I make a final strike that takes the target in the head, opening its face from temple to temple. I turn back to the observers and salute before walking back to place the weapon back on the rack. I see some of them slow clapping, others talking amongst themselves, but I didn't feel like I'd really done myself justice in that exercise. I hadn't taken account of the resilience of the target, and it had cost me.

I make a tour of various stations collecting supplies for my next trick which I expect to take most of the remainder of the session. I start out by rapidly whittling a number of caltrops from sticks. Not enough to form a proper trap, but enough to demonstrate proof of concept. Lethally spikey and beautifully crafted, I scatter five of them onto the floor in front of the skybox. This next part will be both trickier and easier at the same time. Five minutes down.

I take a long length of rope and tie a simple slipknot to form a lasso, which I place around the caltrops. The free end I loop gently around a heavy table with a temporary clove hitch. I take a second length of rope and wrap it around the table, which will act as a counterweight. I knot the rope with a tumble hitch. A sharp tug on one end of the rope will thus act as a trigger. Seven minutes.

I take the free length of the load bearing line end and quickly clamber up into the climbing frame that lines the roof, looping the rope over a stanchion above where the trap is being formed. I brace myself and with a little bit of effort manage to heave the hundred, hundred fifty, two hundred odd pounds of the table aloft and secure it with a double clove hitch. I cut the extra length free for use as a tripwire, and pass the lasso line over another member before tying it securely onto the table with a bowline. Ten minutes up. I know I don't have long.

Hopping down from the rafters, I tie a tripwire in front of the trap and quickly scatter some leaf litter from the camouflage station to disguise the workings. It's hasty, and I know I could do better if I had more time but there's not much I can do about that now. It's attempt in the time, but there's still something off if you look closely. "With a little more time..." I make apology for the hasty work. Twelve minutes up.

I signal that I'm ready, and a hologram is released. It runs up to the trap, easily jumping the obvious tripwire, but this just leads it to land solidly on the hidden caltrops. A sharp tug on the trigger leaves the hologram dangling upside down from the rafters, the table crashing heavily back down to earth.

I smile triumphantly - the Caltrops had been masterful, and the ropework, whilst simple, was cunningly employed. If I was weak at the camouflage it was obviously due to lack of time.

I don't have time to check how my trap went down, because I need to grab a bow and jog to the other end of the target range. I square up to the targets at more than a hundred feet. This is it - this has to go well to cap off my demonstration. I hold the bow at an easy position, again awaiting a pre-arranged signal. At the whistle I snap the bow up to point of aim, my first two shots hitting squarely and finding the range. Two more slam heavily into the target's centre of mass, and the final two are placed accurately squarely between the eyes. Fifty six points in under eighteen seconds. I'd like to see the other tributes top that!

Stunned silence emanates from the box before enthusiastic applause. I salute the examiners with my bow, and then it's being taken from me by white-armoured peacekeepers and I'm being ushered from the room again.

[SamBurke]

"Phew! What an interview, viewers. That's got to be one of the more interesting ones, am I right?" The audience shouted that he was, indeed. "Oh, good. Glad to know I still got it. Wouldn't want a mid-life crisis right on stage, would I? Though we have another life crisis to talk about: the dangerous decision of our next interviewee, District 4's beautiful offering of Ponine Wilder!" The crowd, now well relieved of the previous awkward tension, gives a hearty welcome to Ponine.

The two sit down, chat a little bit as the applause dies down, and Caesar throws out the first question. "So, I know you're a career tribute, and you've got a lot of training... I mean, just look at the muscles on her!" Crowd laugh. "And she still manages to look quite lovely, I should add." Crowd adoration. "But there's something about your face, something fierce. Where do you get your determination from, Ponine?"