My first Hunger Games fanfiction! :) From what I've read on this website, Finnick is a favorite character with a lot of people, so I hope that I write all of the characters well and whatnot. Feel free to review! Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games or any of the associated characters. Enjoy reading!
Chapter One
Finnick
He came to slowly, blinking against a hard florescent light. The ceiling was white, paneled, the room narrow and spartan. Where am I?Everything hurt. Everything ached. His head was spinning unpleasantly.
"Finnick," The voice belonged unmistakably to Mags. He turned his eyes towards the ceiling and her face slid into focus: strong boned, clear-eyed. She looked worried. "You fainted, just after the ceremony—exhaustion, the nurses said.
She trailed off, her gaze wandering to the IV in his arm. Everything ached. Through the open doorway, Finnick could see grey-uniformed nurses moving past. He was distracted by a sudden sound—footfalls. A dark-haired Avox girl had entered and crossed the narrow room, bearing an envelope. Her eyes fell upon his prone form and she tensed, extending the envelope timidly.
"What's that?" Mags queried. "Fan-mail?"
The Avox girl thrust the envelope into his hands, backed away, dropping her gaze to the floor. She felt as though frightened. She had every right to be. As the victor, the youngest victor, Finnick was dangerous. Pretty, but dangerous.
"Oh, dear." Mags sounded suddenly terse. Finnick lifted the envelope and opened it with trembling fingers. There was no indication of the sender, only a stamp in the upper right corner. A bloodred rose. He experienced a sharp thrill of foreboding.
Finnick Odair—
Your presence is requested in the office of President Snow at five o'clock this evening. Your mentor is to leave you outside the building. Congratulations on your victory.
An official-looking seal curved across the bottom of the page.
"Finnick..." Mags's voice was deeply saddened. Endlessly so.
"What? Why does he want to see me?" Finnick experienced a brief moment of pure fear. "You were a victor—what does he want?"
"He—" Mags seemed about to speak, but then appeared to reconsider. "Maybe it will all be alright. I'm sure it will be, I'm sure..." She reached down and pressed a cool palm to his forehead, gently petting his shaggy hair. Finnick leaned against her soft touch, fear still hot in his chest.
Re-reading the note, he began to feel ill. He presence was 'requested'. There was no such thing as a 'request' in the Capitol, though. Only orders.
The President's office was enormous, richly decorated in red and grey. Every fixture seemed to be iron or steel, glinting the cold daylight. Finnick was ushered through the doors by a straight-backed, timid-eyed Avox woman; as he entered his bones ached and his head spun. Snow was seated behind a vast metallic desk—he was not alone, Finnick realized, his stomach lurching wildly.
A group of men and women had positioned themselves around the desk, and he recognized them from the TV screen, recognized their cruel faces and elegant clothing. The benefactors, the wealthiest supporters of the games. The Capitol's elite.
"The mentor is not here?" Snow questioned sharply, not bothering to address Mags by name. When Finnick shook his head mutely, Snow gestured to a simple chair before the desk. "Have a seat, then." It was not an offer, but an order.
Finnick sat. The assembled men and women watched him hungrily. That familiar feeling of dizzying illness rose again—the feeling that something was about to go very, very wrong.
"He's so...pretty." A young woman with high cheekbones and dozens of pale pink tattos smirked from the corner. "In real life, I mean. Up close."
Finnick was silent. Snow gave him a thin-lipped smile. "You recovered well from fainting, Finnick."
"The nurses said that it was exhaustion. I showed them the letter and they let me leave. M-mags brought here."
"Very good." Snow's pale eyes were cold. "You are fourteen, correct?"
"Y-yes." Finnick almost added sir but hesitated. "Yes. I am."
"Mm." A fat middle-aged man ran his tongue across painted lips. Finnick felt a thrill of terror and fought to keep his face smooth and unreadable.
"The youngest victor." Another stepped forward, this time a woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties . Her eyes, a striking golden color, glowed in the dim office. "He looks so innocent." She bent down slightly, examining Finnick's face. Her dress was obscenely low-cut, and Finnick found himself looking away from her nearly exposed breasts.
"Like what you see?" She whispered close to his ear, her voice sultry.
"Stop." A second woman's voice rang out, high and clear, in the silent office. "He's too young."
"Fourteen—" The tattoed girl's smirk evened out. "When I was that age, I was doing far worse."
"Look at him." The woman continued, and Finnick saw that she was older, her pale hair swept into a regal bun. "He's just a boy."
"Some of us like them young," The golden-eyed woman trailed long fingernails across his arm, down his thigh. Finnick shuddered at her touch. Slow realization dawned, and his stomach clenched. They wanted him. They wantedhim. He now understood Mag's dark gaze, the sadness that she had regarded him with. She knew. She had seen this happen before, he knew. She could not stop it.
"Enough, now." Snow did not sound angered in the slightest. He gave Finnick an appraising glance.
"Wait a few years, at least." The pale-haired woman said. She lowered her voice and spoke directly to President Snow. "Do you want his first...experienceto be under such circumstances?"
"I have no opinion on the matter." Snow's lips curled into an icy smile. "I know only that Allotia will have paid dearly for this night."
The golden-eyed young woman ran her tongue across her lips slowly. "I have, Snow. I have."
"Then I need no longer be here." The pale-haired woman swept through the door, casting a pitying glance in Finnick's direction. The others followed her one by one, all of them saying their goodbyes to Snow and promising to see Finnick in a few year's time, when he was old enough. The very thought made him sick. The fat man left last.
Only the golden-eyed girl remained, standing before Snow's desk. She spoke in low, rushed tones.
"Your debt," She murmured, "You have paid it off."
"Very good." Snow suddenly seemed very preoccupied. He began to sort through papers on his desk. "In that case, you may take the boy and leave." He could not seem to look at Finnick.
"I will, Snow." She turned on her heels and crossed the office; Finnick rose to his feet, anger hot in his chest.
"I won't do this."
Snow glanced up; his eyes flashed. "Go with her, Finnick Odair."
"You can't—I'm not of age yet. You can't..." The words sell me hung unspoken in the air. Snow pressed those thin cruel lips together, eyeing Finnick sharply.
"Go." Snow barked. Who was Finnick to refuse an order from the President? Cold fear gripped his insides as his thoughts flew to the armed Peacekeepers around the building. To refuse would be highly unwise. Feeling sick and fearful and stupid, he followed the golden-eyed girl from the president's office.
She lived downtown. The hover-taxi sped through a twist of narrow streets and broad avenues, never faltering or halting until it reached a gleaming white high-rise. Finnick sat in the backseat, hands folded in his lap, silent with fear. The golden-eyed girl was pretty, no doubt, with a thin face and attractive figure—that tight dress flaunted curves that proved she had enough to eat—but her eyes were so...freakishly shining, so sparkling, so golden. She wore minimal makeup, at least, but still...those eyes. She was watching Finnick in the manner that a hungry cat does a chased mouse.
They exited the hover-taxi, moved into a spotless lobby. Finnick heard whispers as they entered the elevator, and he feared for a moment that the other residents would see them, would realize what he was doing, but they turned away and the girl kept her distance until they stepped into the elevator.
It was not glass-walled like those in the Training Center, but instead dimly-lit. Wood, maybe, or metal. He could not tell. The golden-eyed girl turned to him, smiling almost sideways. Before Finnick could react, before he could flinch away, her mouth was pressed to his, her tongue sliding against his own.
Perhaps she felt him seize up beneath her hands, because she pulled away.
"You've never kissed a girl, have you?"
"I have." This was not a lie. Before leaving, he had kissed Rosie Singer in the alleyway behind the fishery. But that had been different—Rosie had been the one against the wall, and everything had been awkward and timid. Finnick felt sick.
"Allotia." She said. "That's my name."
Snow had owed her something, he thought. That was why he was here. Something to pay off the debt with, that was all. A bargaining chip in Snow's game.
When she kissed him again, he did not protest. If Allotia felt his shoulders stiffen beneath her hands, she made no notice. Her heavily lidded eyes were half-closed with the pleasure of it. She all but dragged him down the hallway and into her spacious apartment. The lights were dim. Finnick found himself pressed to the wall, her hands plunged into the waistband of his pants. She groaned. He could not breath. The world was spinning very fast around him and Mags was somewhere out there in the city, probably thinking of him and worrying. She had every right to.
He closed his eyes and breathed in the heady odor of her sickly perfume.
A/N: So...what do you all think? Good? Bad? Okay? Feel free to leave a review or send me a PM with comments or criticism! :)