The Interviews.

WHO| ALL TRIBUTES
WHAT| Tribute Interviews With Caesar Flickerman!
WHEN| The break between the closing of Arena 02 and the opening of Arena 03
WHERE| A stage set up in the South Wing of the Training Center
NOTES| Interviews are done by district, in descending order (12-1; saving Max for the finale.) Just look for the thread that has been specifically made for you, and show the nation of Panem what a star you are! This is the companion post to last week's backstage post, which should be considered to be taking place at the same time, in-game. There is also an Intermission thread in the middle of all the individual threads, for everyone to tag around in; watch and react and have fun.
MORE NOTES| New tributes (if we get any) will be added as they are accepted.

This is it. Your time to shine.

The red curtain rises and the lights shine bright; warm on your face and halfway blinding. The music plays, blaring in your ears, mingling with the roar of the candy coloured crowd just beyond the stage. You can see your face projected on what seems to be a dozen screens as tall as houses and there's even a small undercurrent in the noise that sounds suspiciously like half a thousand strangers screaming your name.

The stage is simple. Glossy black, reflecting the stage lights and the shine of your shoes. At the center you find two plush red chairs, tall-backed and velvet, but one of them is empty. Waiting for you. In the other sits a man in a midnight blue suit and a straight white grin. His hair is a vivid aquamarine with eyebrows to match, and he stands just as someone backstage queues you to take your step out into the spotlight.

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Maybe if she hoped long and hard enough, the ground would open and swallow her up. Except she never got what she wanted.

She wasn't nervous, per se; Emily Prentiss was never nervous. She'd just rather be anywhere else right now. Despite years of schmoozing and fake smiling and feigning interest at her mother's political soirees, this was the situation of nightmares for Emily.

She was not charming. She was not personable. She was not known for her winning personality. She was sarcastic, self-deprecating, dark, and oh-so utterly socially awkward...at least, when she wasn't discussing psychological profiles (and even then, she dreaded the assignments to lecture new Academy recruits).

The most she could possibly hope for at this moment was not immediately stick her foot in her mouth as she slid into her seat and tried not to let her utter dread appear on her face.

Caesar has had years of practice spotting those with a bit of stage fright. It's actually a rare sort of person who doesn't experience it to some degree or another.

"Noisy, aren't they?" Caesar points out as though she is the only one who can hear him. The crowd laughs and continues to cheer, but Caesar just smiles at her, a seemingly genuine smile and places his hand on the seat of her chair, not touching her, but just close enough to let her know he's there. "Don't worry. None of them are actually in their underwear."

Emily has no idea how to respond to that, aside from the awkward half-smile she flashes. She bunches her hands up in the fabric of her dress - not only does it look like the skin of a strawberry, but it feels like it's made of it as well - and it sticks to her palms as she fights the urge to bite her nails.

"I'll take your word for it..." She bit her lip coyly. "I wore mine. In case you were wondering. Just don't ask to see them - they said not to do that."

Caesar chuckles and it's a warm and easy sound. "That would be quite the show though," he teases as he leans back into his chair.

"So Emily, tell me, you seem to be a very fit woman. What other sort of advantages do you bring to the arena? Any special skills or talents we have yet to see?"

"Advantages?" She purses her lips a little, crinkling her brow. "I'm pretty sure my only 'skill', if you can call it that, that's been coming in handy is dying. Since I'm pretty sure I won't be getting my hands on a Glock anytime soon..."

She frowned, sorely missing the holster on her hip.

Caesar doesn't believe that for a second, really, and his smile says exactly that. "I don't know if I would agree there. You've lasted quite a while in both rounds and handled yourself quite impressively."

"Would you say things got easier from Arena 01 to Arena 02?"

"Depends what you mean by 'easier'..." The perfect diplomatic answer, seeing as she didn't exactly think it wise to say they both sucked balls. "The company was better."

"I suppose that is a start," that's a fair enough answer he thinks. Humorous as well. She has a subtle sense of humour, but it's there. The audiences bubbles with the sounds of soft amusement which is a good place to be.

"If there was a particular arena setting that could play to your strengths, what would that be? We've know you've seen rugged mountain terrains and arid abandoned cities... what setting would you thrive in, Emily?"

She bit her lip in thought. "I've lived just about anywhere you could think of... The mountains of France were my favorite. But I'm a city girl - hunting killers through the streets of suburbia is my job."

"An urban setting?" Caesar seems pleased with that idea. "It's certainly not an unheard of scenario. I hope the odds are in your favour there, Emily."

"But enough of all this arena talk. We get enough of that as it is. We're here to talk about you. Get to know you. Do you have anything in particular you would like the crowd to know about you. Special interests of hobbies that make you stand out from the rest of your fellow tributes?"

Ugh. This was quite possibly the worst torture ever. Talking about herself was her least favorite subject.

"I'm really not that interesting." She shrugged. "An FBI agent who works upwards of eighty hours a week, lives alone - though I'm rarely in town enough to be at home, the closest thing I have to a romantic relationship is my cat Sergio, no spare time to sleep let alone have hobbies."

"Clearly you're a diligent and dedicated worker then," Caesar offers. "This might shock you, but I can actually relate to that quite a bit. My cat's name is Mercutio, though. Little grey tabby, always hungry."

The audience laughs again, and Caesar throws up his hands in a mock sort of defense as he laughs, "Obviously I'm not an FBI agent, either. I suppose there's that difference. And you're hair isn't nearly as blue as mine."

"You know, I have heard from other tributes lately that Capitol fashion is something of a...well, how did one of them put it? Ah yes. A bit bizarre. Have you had any trouble adjusting to your new wardrobe at all, or do you wear something similar back home?"

"My wardrobe is almost exclusively pantsuits and turtlenecks...so completely different. But if my friend Garcia from home were to dress me, I imagine it would look something like this, so it reminds me of home a little."

She mashes her lips together afterwards; she wasn't supposed to mention Garcia - or anyone else back home - in case they could selectively obtain new tributes.

"Well, you certainly look lovely tonight, even if it's not your usual ensemble," he insists, and the crowd bubbles with the sound of agreement and approval.

"And a reminder of home is never a bad thing. I'm sure it's been quite difficult being away for so long. What do you miss most?"

With two fingers, she presses hard against her left temple, starting to feel a little headache-y.

"Would it be sad if I said work?" She frowned. Was that really the first thing that came to mind? Ugh. Her life was sadder than she'd thought. Not wanting to sound like a total loser, she rushed to explain, "I'm not close to my family and I don't have any friends outside of work - and the one I'm closest to is Derek, since he's my partner - I'm pretty sure most of them are still mad at me anyway. Really, the most fulfilling thing in my life is my cat. Wow, that is sad."

"Not sad," Caesar says with the shake of his head and gives her a small, quick pat on the knee as they sit there side by side. "Some of us live and breathe our careers, there's nothing sad about that."

"Growing up, did you always want to be an FBI agent?"

"I just wanted to be something that would piss off my mother." She grinned. "She wanted me to follow in her footsteps and be some career-driven political bitch like her. But I hate politics. I went CIA because knew she'd have a fit when I told her I wanted to run around with a gun all day like my dad...but for reasons I had to get out of that. FBI was the logical next step even if it is a little less exciting."

Just off stage, a red light blinks, signifying that the interview is drawing to an end. The light is meant for Caesar alone, and it is doubtful that anyone else who was not looking for it could see it at all.

To Emily's replay, Caesar nods, actually quite understanding. "I know that feeling. My father hadn't exactly been thrilled about me going into the entertainment business," he offers a small chuckle. "Though I dare say I am not sure what a CIA is..."

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The Interviews.

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