So I've been getting Catching Fire feels lately and who says Catching Fire feels means Finnick and Annie feels.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters shown below.
But there are enough victors who still have the wit and the nerve to come out fighting.
[...]
Beetee questions the legality of the Quell in his nervous, twitchy way, wondering if it's been fully examined by experts of late. Finnick recites a poem he wrote to his one true love in the Capitol and about a hundred people faint because they're sure he means them.
-Catching Fire, page 258-259
To My Lover
She was digging her toes in the sand and pinching the skin on her arms.
"Nervous for tomorrow?" He asked her. He could always tell. How could he always tell?
Annie nodded. She was pushing back the memories- the screams, the decapitation, the dam break… It was sending shivers crawling down every nerve of her body and making her arch her back and spasm.
He kissed her temple, the one spot that relaxed her. "Don't be."
How could he always tell when she needed a kiss?
Annie was standing to the right with the other female Victors. Her hands were folded over her belly.
No, scratch that. They were knotted into her dress. She was shaking. Her whole body was shaking slightly. If she'd been twirling her hair, gnawing her lips, grinding her teeth, pinching her arms, or rubbing her fingers he'd have come to the same conclusion. She was around too big a trigger and she was a hair away from having an attack.
Finnick looked at the mosaic covered ground of the village square and whistled quietly. There was a breed of fish, they had a real name but everyone called them Whistlers, who made that noise- sort of like whale calls.
Annie looked up at him, her face ashen. Finnick slapped himself mentally for that poor choice of words. Ash meant that something had been destroyed and now existed as a destroyed version of itself. That wasn't Annie. She was radiant.
Whatever, her face looked horrible and her hair was completely pulled out of her face- Finnick knew that that made her feel uncomfortable. Who knew why the stylist had insisted on her wearing that particular braid since Finnick had made that absolutely clear to him.
But she was looking at him and so he raised his pinkie. It was their secret code, the one that had helped them hide Annie's string of disorders and complications from the world outside District Four after playing off her reaction after her Games as a bad reaction to painkillers (at least most of the Capitol Citizens had bought it…) Anyways, if the right pinkie was up first it meant 'you okay?' The left pinkie raised first meant 'I'm okay' right off the bat- like, if she was at his arm when they walked into a party commemorating District Four's industrial success or whatever and she felt him flinch at the noise for her. If the right pinkie was raised after, it meant 'yes' and if it was the left it meant 'no'.
Annie smiled weakly, a coal in the ash, and raised her right pinkie.
A bowl of clam chowder was set in front of her with a spoon on the side. Usually Annie loved it. Today she didn't want to touch the spoon. She didn't want that stuff in her sight.
"Finnick told me to take care of you," Reef said. He'd made her move into his house after Finnick had been reaped. Her bags had been packed -she suspected Finnick behind it- and so she came over right away. "And until I know that you're taking care of yourself, that means that you're not getting out of my sight, Ann."
Annie didn't answer. Her stomach had disappeared, how did he want her to eat chowder? Her strength had left her, how was she to pick up the spoon?
She covered her mouth.
It was like after her Games, when she threw up everything. She couldn't just eat. Her stomach refused to take it, as if it wanted to cut her off and kill her.
Annie ran for the bathroom.
Finnick hadn't budged from the door. The crew had milled all around him and so had the mentors, and he still hadn't even considered moving. It was when Mags limped over to him that he opened his mouth.
"We didn't get to say goodbye." he finally said.
Mags patted his arm and leaned in towards him and spoke quietly. Of course, it was her usual mumbled speech but Finnick had made understanding it an art as her speech had deteriorated, right after the stroke- getting gradually used to the worsening mumbo-jumbo. He could write you a dictionary. "She wouldn't have been in any shape to say goodbye to you my dear boy, you saw her."
Finnick shook his head. He could only hope that Reef or maybe even Mariana had been able to handle her crisis, usually he and Mags did. But still... "No goodbye."
"There are ways," Mags said. "Letters… videos, pictures. Back in the Capitol the technology is endless."
"Don't I know it?" Finnick snapped. He immediately felt bad. Not because Mags had been his mentor, not because she was old. Because he'd basically just snapped at his grandmother and that just wasn't alright. "I'm sorry."
Mags simply pat his arm. "You're a clever boy. You'll figure it out."
"There's no way to talk to them when they're in the Capitol, is there?" Annie asked.
The seven remaining victors were at the beach- the one that had become their private beach. Reef and Fisher were shaving off a pile of sand that they were trying to turn into a castle before sunset. Chelle was braiding Annie's hair. Porter was chasing Marianna through the waves; they giggled like children. Ray was too old for running around much and he was just laying on the sand, clearly missing Mags who would have been right next to him.
"I don't think so, sweetie," Chelle said picking up another piece of Annie's hair and weaving it into her braid.
"There has to be," Annie said. "There has to be a way to get the message through."
"Maybe," Chelle said. She was just being nice to Annie because she'd had three attacks today alone. They both knew that Finnick and Mags had slipped from their fingers and away.
Finnick threw his pen across the room.
No, he was not clever.
No, he was not figuring it out.
He always started the letter with Dear Annie, and then got all self-conscious. Would that trigger her now that he was on his way to a bloodbath? Would that alert the Capitol furthermore that she was the target for him? Was it too impersonal?
Whatever, he crossed out the 'Dear Annie' time and time again and couldn't think of anything else so he just always went back to it.
Then he couldn't think of the you'd unfold the papers lying crumpled around his room, most of them would have a 'Dear Annie' hovering at the top of the page and barely anything –if anything- else.
Frustrating? Oh yeah.
"Maybe I could send him something and say that he left his token home," Annie said during dinner. "I could put a note in the package too, hidden. I could write it in code or something."
Reef shook his head at her and swallowed the rest of the crab cake before saying:
"Annie, he wears that piece of coral you found him on his ankle at all times. Everyone knows that there's nothing else he'd take in. It wouldn't get through."
"Back to the drawing board, then." Annie said.
Reef shook his head. Annie wanted a communication with Finnick. Just one more, was that too much? Either from him to her, or from her to him... She wanted one last sign.
Nobody else thought that it was a good idea.
"'Dear Annie'," Mags read off one of the drafts. "Well that's a fine beginning, my boy."
"But it's not enough," he said. "This is… This is my goodbye to Annie. If I don't die now, then I die once the you-know-what happens. It has to be… This has to be... big. It has to be… huge. Bold. Brave. Special. Unique. Just like her."
Mags patted his shoulder and repeated his least favourite phrase.
"You'll figure it out."
Annie sat on the balcony. She knew that if any of the remaining victors caught her there, they'd panic and come after her and tell her not to jump; but Annie wasn't there to do any of that. She just looked at the stars.
Finnick was seeing those too. It made her feel better. He hadn't completely slipped away.
The tributes had stayed in the dining hall so long after supper just chatting up a storm; most of the Training Center staff had left them alone, bored out of their minds.
It was funny how quickly the conversation snapped into a new subject as soon as the Capitol workers left. Granted, the room would be bugged, but they had bigger problems than being rapped on the knuckles for being (or at least planning on being) sassy to Caesar Flickerman.
Beetee explained how during his interview, he was going to try and protest the legality of the Quarter Quell. Nobody was convinced that the dyed and pimped up airheads on the other side of the screen would find it of importance, but they encouraged him. After all, you didn't jeopardise the brains of your operation.
Gloss and Cashmere were going to amplify their family relation in the interview, and thank the Capitol citizens for being oh-so kind (when they weren't betting on their deaths, that was).
Johanna was being bold, and was going to directly plea to President Snow to cancel the Games. She grinned wickedly as she explained how weak he'd look and how mad the Capitol's people would be once their oh-so-great leader fell through with the inevitable, taking their prized little toys away from the citizens.
Mags was just going to act weak.
Chaff had talked to Haymitch, and apparently Peeta had a plan of his own. Right now he and Katniss were off… better not think about it. Chaff himself had figured out how he was going to screw over the whole government during the interviews too.
That's when Finnick realised what he was going to do.
Annie had had several attacks in the day just working herself up, knowing that the interviews were tonight. But she felt calmer now. She'd washed her hair, that always helped, and she'd been out by the beach, which also helped.
The plan for the night was to avoid the square where everyone would be. They were all to go to Chelle's for supper, Chelle being the one who knew how to cook and enjoyed feeding the masses. Annie took her time getting dressed and putting on her earrings and brushing her hair and she went to the bathroom about five times to stall.
The door was facing the ocean, so just like on any given day only the screen door remained closed, and Annie knew that they were arguing even before she made out the words.
"Traumatising…"
"Could she really?"
"Her last chance."
"But the consequences…"
"I think the consequences would be worst if we interfered."
"Interference saved her life more than once."
"Not yours."
She got the gist of it from bits of the conversation like those. Marianna, Chelle and Reef didn't want her watching the interviews. Ray, Porter and Fisher seemed to think she had to.
Annie opened the door and let it slam behind her. She walked up to the kitchen with her chin up high.
"Though I don't doubt that dinner will be excellent, I'm looking forward to the interviews," Annie announced to them pointedly. "You?"
The three boys on her side grinned.
"I think they'll be great," Fisher said with too much enthusiasm.
The applause for Mags was a little weaker than they'd been for the rest of the tributes up until now. Nobody was much energised by the little old woman who had –purposely, Finnick could tell- only replied "What? Talk louder sonny!" to any of Caesar's questions (God bless Mag). Finnick felt defensive and clapped from backstage.
His mentor turned towards him and fixed up his collar at the last second. He was wearing a suit, his designer said that he may as well look crisp and classic. However his District was very present. The cuffs and buttons were shaped like sand dollars. The back of his jacket was made entirely of the same netting he'd worn at the parade, showing off the muscles on his back. His ankles were showing, designed like most pants in District Four, and a cut he'd gotten from a hook as a toddler stuck out.
The applause spiked, the screaming started and Finnick realised that they must have announced his name. His mentor shoved him, and he jogged onstage smiling and raising a hand. He could nearly hear her: If you're going to smile like that, all fake-like and such, you may as well not smile at all, Finn.
He hoped that she'd forgive him. He'd make sure to smile like she liked (like the cameras hated) once before leaving the arena at least. Maybe even raise his pinkie- the sign they'd developed for her to tell him that she was breaking down and needed an out before she collapsed after her games, during social events and such.
Whatever, he shook Caesar's hand before ripping his away and opening his arms for a hug. Caesar shrugged, made a face to the scandalised and thrilled audience, and then hugged him. Caesar calmed the audience down seconds after they'd sat down.
"Finnick," he said. "Long time no see."
"Yeah, eh?" Finnick said. "I was strangely okay with it. No offence."
The host laughed and the audience did too.
"None taken, none taken," Caesar said waving his hand. "But you can't be feeling that bad about your chances, can you? I mean, what were your training scores? Eleven? Again?"
The audience cheered and Finnick raised a hand before leaning back in his seat. "Yeah, well, apparently. Still, I wouldn't count any of these tributes out. They were all victors, right? Besides, some of these people are brilliant dinner conservationists."
More laughed.
Caesar said. "You've been a mentor for so long now, standing behind the kids going into the arena nowadays... How strange is it going to be to get back into an arena?"
"Very," Finnick said. "Completely bizarre. I mean, my life's been so great… I've been so fortunate to spend time out here and back home... I'll just be dazed and missing everything for as long as I'm in there. Maybe longer."
Anxious whispering shot through the audience. Clearly he was one of the china doll that the Capitol citizens didn't want getting scratched. He wondered if he should have Katniss shoot him to piss off the masses. Nothing big, just an arrow in the hand. He was pretty sure that the girl could be convinced to do it.
"What's the one thing that you'll be missing the most?" Caesar said.
Finnick saw the opening. His stomach folded itself into a painful knot. His throat clogged. "Actually Caesar, it'll be a someone. Not a something."
Excited whispering tore the audience apart.
"A someone," Caesar said suggestively. "A lady perhaps?"
"Yeah," Finnick said without hesitating. "My one true love."
There were a few gasps.
"Can we get a name?" Caesar said, jumping at the gossip like a frog.
"No, but you can get a clue," Finnick said. "See, when you get reaped, you don't have the time to say goodbye to all the people you want to and this year… well, I didn't get to anyone."
"What's our clue?" Caesar said leaning towards Finnick. Finnick chewed on his lip and got up, brushing off his shirt. He walked to the front of the stage, so that the camera could really see him. See his face.
He smiled the clumsy, camera-awkward smile that Annie loved and that his publicity folks didn't.
He took a deep breath.
"Anytime Finnick," Caesar said. He probably should have said something witty like 'don't rush me Caesar, this is art'. But he really was nervous. Brutal death was on the agenda yet he was still concerned about proclamations.
No, actually. He was concerned with goodbyes.
He started before his brain could tell his mouth to stop.
"I've spent so much time with my eyes on the sea
So many hours given to the waves and their rolling
Expectantly I'd be used to things creeping on me
But darling, thanks to you my heart is always surprising
If the world's your oyster
I'm sorry that you couldn't have one better.
But darling, if you need to find comfort whatsoever,
Please remember that you glimmer.
You glimmer like hope, like a sinner's last chance,
Like a jewel laying where the sun cares to dance,
You glimmer when you smile, or at least when you try
Darling you don't even have to do a thing, it's in your eye.
As a string of pearls rests around your throat
A noose starts surrounding mine
The miles between us like a moat
But darling, even across time I'd see you shine
Now that I've seen firelight jump to your face,
Crawl up your chin and cheeks where there's already such grace
Now that I've seen the purest stars reflected in your sight
It's alright if the world takes me, I've gotten all my light."
He heard the audience going wacko. Women flipping out, convinced that the poem was specifically written for them even though he'd never spoken to them.
But just to make sure that the one true love knew who he was talking to…
He scratched his nose with his uplifted pinkie.