009. make sure they remember you

Emerald has always wished that somebody would love her, that her mother would love her the way a mother is supposed to love their daughter. It had been her biggest wish as a small child, the girl doing everything Jewel said in order to meet her approval and gain praise. Nine times out of ten it would end in tears, the older woman spewing out lines about how "disappointing" she was and that one day she wished to be rid of her.

The brunette cannot even imagine the pure elation that Jewel must have felt when the girl's name was pulled out for the 73rd Hunger Games. She would've celebrated in the comfort of her own home, shutting her door as if she was in mourning but in reality, she was drinking cups of cheap booze and smiling at the sky. Jewel wasn't fit to be a parent, she still isn't.

When Emerald returned home, well Jewel put on a happy persona for the audience and hugged her daughter like she never had before. The brunette thought things were going to be different, that she had finally made her mother proud and that they would finally have that strong relationship she always wanted. Of course, that isn't remotely close to what happened.

Jewel became more dependent on her daughter, using her money to buy things she wanted and sending her to do the errands she simply didn't want to. Things simply went back to the way they were before, sad and lonely.

These things haven't left her mind all day, the girl desperately trying to piece together what Caesar will ask her in her interview tonight. If they ask about her home life, her mother even, she will have to lie to his face whilst sporting a terribly fake smile. She's gotten good at putting a mask on, concealing all the things she's feeling and appearing as the smiley girl the Capitol wanted her to be.

"You look nervous," Silas speaks up from beside her, their conversation from the previous evening still present in her mind. It hadn't taken her too long to grow comfortable with him, and his endearing words last night only helped to seal her trust in him. She assumes, although she probably shouldn't, that he trusts her as well. If they have to go it alone in that arena, Emerald will have his back like she hopes he has her's.

"I always am for these. They ask way too many questions," Emerald responds, biting her lip softly. Silas understands it well enough, the boy having been through his fair share of Capitol interviews during his tenure as a victor. "There's only so many times you can fake being happy about being sent to your death, you know?"

"Yeah," Silas breathes lightly, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. Emerald looks up at him, their slight height difference allowing him to stare down at her. "We'll be okay. Just let Caesar do most of the talking, he's good at that. If the question is too hard, answer it as vaguely as you can manage,"

"And when he asks about how I feel about these games? Do I tell him the truth? That I hate them so much it makes my blood boil,"

"A more watered down version of that, yes. It's just another game, Emmy. You've played them plenty of times before,"

Leaning down to gently kiss her cheek, just as she'd done to him last night, he bids her goodbye in order to find his stylist. She stares after him for a few moments before shaking her head and deciding it's probably best to find her own stylist. Lenora is more than likely hanging around somewhere, getting ready to dress Emerald up as if she's a doll.

Her very first tribute interview, she'd been thrown into their hilariously ugly dress that was supposed to be 'fashionable'. It felt like Rhea had created a dress out of old scrap fabric and mix-matched the colours to make some type of pattern. There had been many giggles from other tributes as she walked by them, their elegant and beautiful gowns on display for all of Panem to see.

"There you are, darling," Tye claps her hands together enthusiastically as the female victor comes into view. The escort has been a little dimmer recently, the events catching up with her and causing a wave of sadness to wash through her. These were her victors, the tributes she had watched win and come home only for them to be sent back. It hurts her, it really does. "Lenora is waiting for you in your room,"

Emerald smiles and nods her head, breezing passed the woman without stopping to say a word. It gets harder, with each passing day, to find something to say to the people of the Capitol. Although she knows Tye isn't the reason she's here, there's a festering grudge against the people here. It's been building for a long time, she knows that. Even if she did want to tone it down, she simply couldn't. Emerald is much too far gone for that.

"Wonderful, you're here. We have about an hour to get you ready. That includes the dress, your hair, your makeup. All of it! Chop chop,"

Lenora is frantically rushing around the room, the prep team scrambling to help her as best as they can. One woman focuses on her makeup whilst the other curls her hair, spraying it slightly so that it stays that way. They're moving so quickly that Emerald almost can't keep up.

When they're finally finished, Emerald stares at herself in the mirror with shock painted over her face. Beautiful. She feels truly beautiful. The make up is light, but it's there, a simple dusting of lilac across her eyelids and a gentle curl of her eyelashes. The lipstick is also only very minimal, so much so that it can hardly be seen. And then there's the dress – a gorgeous, flowing purple with purple gems in the shape of emeralds. Emerald brunette locks of hair are simply styled in a very similar way to the tribute parade, nothing too fancy but nice nonetheless.

As Lenora silently threads some of the flowers through her hair, Emerald takes a moment to think about what's to come tonight. Her heart is already beating erratically, stage fright is not something that a tribute wants to have and yet here she is. The gentle shake of her hands seems to draw in her stylist's attention, the woman moving to stand in front of her and smiling softly.

"There's no need to worry. Just pretend it's just the two of you on stage, no audience and no other victors. You've done it before, you can do it again," Lenora assures, wiping away a stray tear that falls from Emerald's eye. "Now. Lets get you to the stage,"

Emerald looks at Lenora as she holds out her hand, before taking it in her own. It's a foreign feeling, holding hands with another human being. It's such a strange thing to think about as well, in her life time the act of holding hands has always been about comfort and never much else. The way Francisco had softly grabbed her hand in his when they went through the tribute parade, the same way Silas had only nights ago. She remembers Phoenix squeezing her hands whilst he helped her calm down from one of her many nightmares, his face screwed up in pain at her predicament.

But most of all, she remembers holding the hands of Francisco as he took his final few breaths in the arena. The boy from District Two had slashed his throat, yelling at Emerald that he'd be back for her later as she cried over her District Partner's body.

The gurgling sound is horrid, so dreadful that she wants to cup her hands over her ears and drown it out - Emerald knows she can't though. Francisco is dying, he is going to die in mere moments, and she refuses to let go of his sweaty, blood soaked hand.

Her tears are splashing against the skin of his cheeks, there's simply no way to stop it from happening. He's looking up at her, eyes staring straight into her own as he tries to speak to her.

"Shhhh," Emerald soothes, lightly stroking his hair away from his eyes in an attempt to calm him down. It's a struggle to keep herself calm as a pool of crimson begins to form around him. "Shhhh it's okay. I'm not going anywhere, okay?"

Francisco's free hand shakily lifts up, touching the skin of his neck that has now been sliced so deeply that it's a miracle he's still alive at the moment. Blood stains the tops of his fingers, a haunting reminder of their current predicament. The hand in his, the one he's holding onto like a lifeline, is what he seems to be aiming for as his trembling hand moves again. He allows the blood to form lines on her skin, something which she normally would've stopped, but she can't.

W I N.

Three letters, one simple word.

Leaning down, Emerald presses her forehead to his and cries. "Of course. Thank you for taking care of me, now it's my turn to take care of you,"

Francisco's breaths are stuttered against her cheek as she begins to hum one of the nursery rhymes from her childhood. His hand then goes limp in her's after one final squeeze of comfort, his breathing no longer audible.

Then the canon sounds and she screeches so loudly that it could attract so much attention. Yet, she can't seem to care, her friend dead in her arms. He was supposed to survive this, he was.

And now, now she's left to fend for herself in a world she no longer knows if she wants to survive.

Lenora squeezes her hand and manages to bring the girl out of her nightmare, the scene something she sees every time she closes her eyes at night. There's not a day that goes by where she doesn't wish Fransisco had won those games and went home to his family. He had people who cared about him so deeply, she didn't.

"Everybody else, the other Victors, they have families to come home to. They have people who will grieve them, miss them immensely. You don't have that darling, if you died nobody would feel a thing,"

Gulping slightly, Emerald shakes away her mother's words, knowing that this is the last thing that she needs right now.

The bottom of her dress drags across the floor and people have to move out of the way in order to avoid it. She doesn't greet any of the other tributes as she walks by them, too in her own head to even muster up any kind of communication. Instead, she looks ahead and takes her place in line once Lenora leaves her be.

"You look beautiful,"

The quiet voice in her ear makes her jump slightly, Silas moving his hands to help keep her steady. "Thank you. You look very handsome,"

The conversation doesn't last any longer, the two of them quickly drawn into watching Johanna Mason curse at the Capitol and everybody who lives there. An amused giggle can be heard coming from Emerald as Silas bites his lip to stop his own laugh. Blight, the man from District Seven, is next and his interview is over way too quickly for her liking because then they're calling for her.

With a deep breath, and a gentle squeeze on the shoulder from Silas, the brunette steps out onto the stage gracefully as her name is called. The noise is deafening, her being one of the more recent victors making it so they all seem to know her. Caesar is smiling in front of her, so bright and welcoming that in that moment it's hard to dislike him.

"Emerald! You look absolutely fabulous!" Caesar exclaims as she sits down across from him.

"Oh, thank you Caesar. It's wonderful to see you again,"

Lie. Lie. Lie.

"We've missed you here in the Capitol, it's been much too long. How have you been?" Caesar questions.

"Quite well. I've just been spending lots of time with my family back home. It's been rather nice," Emerald is lying through her teeth, heart thumping in her chest.

"That's brilliant. Tell me, what are your thoughts on these Games, hmm? We've had some... interesting reactions tonight,"

Emerald laughs, so fake. She's so fake.

"You mean Johanna? Yes, I think she taught me some words I've never heard before but it's a little understandable. I think all of us were shocked by this stipulation," Emerald's tone softens at the end, her lips pulling into a frown.

"Yes, it must be difficult to face this again. Tell me, do you think you're going home after this?"

No, there isn't the slightest chance I'll be seeing District Eight ever again.

"Well, I'd be silly to say no, wouldn't I? I might be small and no as experienced as some of these tributes but I'm a victor too. I won my games, and perhaps I can win these ones too," Emerald smiles at the crowd who cheer in response, clapping loudly and calling her name.

It's amazing how dense the people here are, that they can't see through what she's saying. There hasn't been an ounce of truth to anything she's said tonight, why would she tell these people the truth? They cheer for her now, but in a weeks time they'll be celebrating the victor who would be after she meets her demise. They don't care about her — they only care about the tag of victor.

"I like that confidence! You've certainly gotten more since I last interviewed you!" Caesar laughs gleefully. "Ladies and gentlemen, Emerald Colter of District Eight!"

Emerald gets to her feet and does a small curtsey, blowing a kiss to the crowd before turning around and sighing. The smile is quick to fall from her face when they can no longer see her expression, being fake is difficult. Climbing up to the top of the stage, the brunette stands beside a clearly bored Blight.

Silas steps out onto the stage to the roar of the crowd, his usual stoic expression back on his face once again. He answers the exact same questions that Emerald had, his responses short and uninterested which causes Caesar to pick up the slack. She's sure that Snow prefers Silas' reaction to Johanna's, at least he isn't yelling out profanity on live television.

When he joins her one the pedestal like structure, she is the one who slips her hand into his this time. Silas looks down at their interlocked hands before returning his attention back to the current interviews. Most pass by without anything of interest, Katniss' at least provides the beauty of her wedding dress which transformed into a Mockingjay after spinning.

It's Peeta's interview that sends ripples across the building and, subsequently, Panem. "If it weren't for the baby,"

There's almost instant uproar, the crowd calling for the Games to be canceled. It's a long shot, one that Snow probably won't give in to but nobody on this stage wants to be back here.

Emerald jumps when Blight grabs onto her free hand, the other still clasping Silas' rather tightly. The group of Victors lift their arms up in unity, showing the Capitol that this isn't what they want.

Unfortunately, Emerald knows that when the Games truly begin tomorrow, the hand holding will simply be a thing of the past — all unity will simply fade with the first trickle of blood.