Disclaimer: I do not own The Hunger Games. I only own my OCs.

Mrs. Odair has Munchausen by Proxy Syndrome (MBPS), a rare form of child abuse that involves the exaggeration or fabrication of illnesses or symptoms by a primary caretaker. In MBPS, an individual — usually a parent or caregiver— causes or fabricates symptoms in a child. The adult deliberately misleads others (particularly medical professionals), and may go as far as to actually cause symptoms in the child through poisoning, medication, or even suffocation. In most cases (85%), the mother is responsible for causing the illness or symptoms.

This first chapter is largely an intro chapter with some context and character background.

So when Finnick and Mallory talk about "Mom making you sick," it's that. The MPBS will not be a central theme in the fic, just mentioned.

The "Old Language" mentioned is Icelandic. Occsional words and phrases will be slipped into the fic, like in this chapter- Rostungur is walrus. Njord is the Norse god of the sea, particularly of seafaring. Niflheim is the Norse Hell or underworld.

The "child of pudding" insult is Turkish. In Turkish, it's "Muhallebi çocu u," and is used to describe someone who has had life too easy.

Swim

You gotta swim

And swim when it hurts

The whole world is watching

You haven't come this far

To fall off the Earth

-Jack's Mannequin "Swim"

"Oy! Mallory, I'm a walrus!"

I look up from my bowl of oyster and veggie soup and see my idiot brother with two spoons hanging out of his nose, giving the appearance of rostunger tusks. Our mother hollers at him to stop playing with the silverware, but I find it funny and snort loudly. Throughout the rest of dinner, Finnick and I make jokes and poke fun of people at school. Our merriment is cut short by the familiar feelings of nausea.

Great Njord Almighty, Mom. Not again!

My drinking glass falls and shatters on the floor when I bump the table on the way to the bathroom. I barely make it to the toilet to vomit, cursing my mother's soul to Niflheim the whole way. My knees give out just as the last heave runs its course. I'm prepared for my nose to collide with the toilet seat, but a pair of arms grabs me by the armpits just in time. I cough a few times before I stand up and look under the bathroom sink for the mint candies I buy by the hundreds, when I can, and pop a handful into my mouth.

Standing behind me is my brother, wearing a frown. "Mom made you sick again."

"How the hell do I know it wasn't you? You're the one that made dinner tonight, how do I know you're not the one that spiked my bowl with ipecac syrup?"

Finnick leans against the sink, exasperated. "You know I'd never. Mom used to make me sick too, remember?"

I do remember. Finnick and I were born just ten months and two days apart, so until we were old enough to know the difference in gender, we shared a bedroom in our cottage by the sea. Our father, a loving, gentle teddy-bear, is a deep-sea fisherman and spends a lot of time at sea, leaving us in the care of our mother. Mom makes us sick. At least, that's our best description of it. She's convinced doctors that we've had flus, fevers, and other ailments by giving us substances to induce the symptoms. Once, she even pushed my brother down the stairs so that he'd break an arm. We don't know why she does it, and nobody believes us when we tell them, so we learned to just shut up about it and keep each other as safe as we can.

My brother wraps his arms around my shoulders and gives a quick hug. "I'll make sure I'm the one that handles your dinner plates from now on. Mom's not going to mess you anymore as long as I'm here, Mal."

It's funny how long a memory can stay fresh in someone's mind. The memory from that night's dinner is still fresh, despite it occurring three years ago. I wish I could take it and tuck it away in the annals of my brain, but the mind doesn't work like that.

A cold breeze blows through the permanently-open window and my teeth chatter. I swear under my breath and clutch at my threadbare blanket. Tossing and turning on the mattress makes the springs squeak and creak, waking some of the children sleeping nearest me.

"Njord, Odair!"

"Shut up, you're waking everyone up!"

"Prissy child of pudding."

"Mal," whispers a fourth voice. "Come here."

Finnick, thank goodness. I grab my blanket and hop off of my bed and make my way to my brother's equally creaky and uncomfortable mound of springs. He presses himself up against the wall to make room for me, and we share both blankets. I'm glad that the Community Home doesn't separate boys and girls into different bedrooms, because otherwise, my brother and I would be separated.

Four months after that last ipecac syrup incident, our father's boat docked and he would be home for eight weeks. On his third night home, he witnessed my mother trying to suffocate me in my sleep and promptly grabbed her by the neck and pushed her against the wall, demanding that she explain herself. She tried to lie, but couldn't think fast enough. Finnick and I told him everything, told him exactly how many times she'd made us sick just to garner sympathy from people. Papa was furious and kicked her out of the house that night. The next day, Papa went to the justice building and ordered for a maðurvar to perform the matchka, a sort of ceremony confirming a divorce.

We haven't seen hide or hair of our mother since, and good riddance. For the first few months, Papa was able to care for my brother and me alone. But, as fishermen often must, he had to go back out to sea. He couldn't possibly ask his brother or either sister to care for us full-time, because they were also poor fishermen with families to raise. In Four, if a fisherman is a single parents, they can leave their children in a Community Home while at sea and take them back when they're docked. Our father had no choice but to take advantage of this option.

Throughout our lives, our father earned promotion after promotion, furthering his rank on the ship until, finally, he was promoted captain eight months after kicking Mom out. This meant more money, but also more time at sea. A portion of our father's wages is sent to us for spending purposes, and another portion goes to the Community Home for our care. I hate the Home, but at least we aren't here year-round.

~.*~.*~.*

"It's almost sunrise," Finn whispers. "You never fell asleep."

"Neither did you," I tell him pointedly.

"You always fall asleep when I let you sleep with me. Why didn't you sleep?"

I tell him to shut up and mind his own business, but he presses on and asks me if it's because of the reaping. "No!" I whisper with anger.

"You're lying," he says with one eye open. "Don't worry about it, sis. Your name is only in there twice."

"But yours isn't."

Even with the Community Home's (mediocre at best) care, our wages from working at the docks and on close-to-shore ships, and our father's monthly allowance, it still isn't enough. Finnick takes out tesserae each year and enters his name three extra times. At least, it's supposed to be only three extra. What some kids in the Community Home do is claiming other kids as their siblings so they can enter their name a few more times. That is exactly what my brother did; he was able to sneak four extra kids in on his tessera ticket, giving him a grand total of twenty-four slips. He refuses to let me take out tesserae, placing the burden squarely on his shoulders.

Finnick tells me not to worry, like he always does. "There's kids whose names are in more times. Plus, this is District 4, we're a Career District, 'member? Also, don't forget that I'm not just all sexy good looks. I'm top of the training academy. I can kick some ass."

He's right. Both Finnick and I spend a ton of our time training at the training academy under the tutelage of District 4's previous victors, as does the majority of District 4's youth…unless they live in the Home. Now that I think of it, that is another reason that Finn and I get called 'prissy pudding children.' Many children living in the Community Home don't care about training and never bother to show up, but there are a few handfuls of us that care. Finnick is exceptional with almost every weapon he touches, especially spears and tridents. They're nothing but deadly extensions of his arms. I don't doubt my brother's ability to win, if he were to be chosen, but the thought of him leaving fills me with trepidation. I have nobody except for him.

The first traces of sunlight appear in a coral pink and dusky purple sky filled with cotton clouds. Finnick taps my shoulder for me to get up and get dressed. We walk to our frænka Eyrún's house, like we do every reaping morning. Frænka Eyrún is our father's sister. Eyrún is six years younger than our father, but has four times as many children. I don't pay attention to most of them; they're kind of bothersome. Our aunt keeps some of our things at their house while we're in the Home, such as our reaping clothes.

Eyrún pays me little mind but fusses over Finnick's hair, chastising him (as usual) for not keeping up with it. That's how it usually is, wherever we go. Finn is fawned over and people tend to forget that Mallory Odair even exits, but that's all right. I like being in the background most of the time, it means I can observe things.

Once he's dressed, he puts my hair in a fishtail braid. We leave Eyrún's house with goodbyes and that is it. There may have been a time when extended family members would have a closer, more meaningful relationship, but these times certainly aren't like that.

Finnick stretches out his arms and yawns. "You know," he says. "The thing I hate about District 4 is waking up this early for the reaping."

"Yeah!" I laugh nervously. The reapings are broadcast to the Capitol giving thirty minutes airtime to each. "Hey, Finn. When is Papa's ship docking next?"

"Four more days, Mal. You know that."

"Yeah, but I was just hoping we somehow skipped the rest of the days and that he'd be coming home today. We get to go back to our house, Finnick. Our house with windows that close, plenty of blankets, and our own bedrooms. I miss our house, don't you?"

He blinks his green eyes and shrugs. "I guess so. It's all the same to me, we're the children of a ship's captain either way. The only difference is where we sleep, is it not?"

"I'm convinced you're an eighty-year-old cynic trapped in a boy's body," I turn left towards the beach with the pier.

"Where are you going?"

"To the ocean, silly. I want to see if I can see any ships, are you coming or are you off to find the rest of your clique?" His clique being Anri Graham, Ronan Shen, and Mads Iwahara, the other top boys at the academy and his best friends.

"You go on to the beach. I'll see you at the reaping, and don't be late!"

"Suit yourself," I say, shoving my hands in the pockets of my dress and continuing toward Pier Beach.

~.*~.*~.*

We were five when our father set out for his first deep-sea trip. Finnick looked at Papa like he was a superhero with his toothless grin, clutching a wooden trident and cheering for him to "catch lots of fish," but I was begging him not to go.

'You has to stay and play with Mallory, Papa!' I protest.

Papa smiles and crouches down to my level. 'You know I'll come home, Mallory, it's just a few months at sea.'

'But Daddy!' I only call him Daddy when I'm very distressed, even at five.

'I have a present for you,' he says, reaching into his pocket. 'Close your eyes, Mallybear, it's a surprise.'

Obediently, I squeeze my eyes shut and don't even open them when his hands move near my neck. I hear my mother gasp right when Papa tells me I can open my eyes. On my neck dangling from a black string hangs a silver orca leaping out of the ocean with a sapphire between the water and the creature.

My mother grabs me hard by the shoulder and glares at Papa. 'Lachlan, that looks like it was expensive. You have to take it back.'

I'm about to cry again when Papa says, 'It was very expensive. It was expensive generations ago, when it first came into Odair family ownership. This necklace has been passed down from generation to generation in the Odair family for over one hundred years, Mally. It's yours now.'

I squeal cheerfully and admire the orca. 'Really, Papa?'

'Of course, firefly. It was your frænka Enid's as a child, but she gave it to me to give to you when you're ready.'

'I'm…I'm ready for it now?'

Papa picks me up and sets me on his knees, kissing my forehead. 'You can carry a little piece of the sea with you wherever you go. I want you to wear this necklace every day, firefly. Every day, you understand? As long as you have it, I'll never be too far away.'

'You mean you'll come back whenever I want?'

'No, not anything like that. I'll always be right here,' he taps my chest lightly. 'All right, Mally?'

'Okay, Papa. I'll wear it every single day!'

Eight years later, I still wear the same orca around my neck waking or sleeping. I can't remember the last time I took it off, even to shower. Long gone are the days when I thought that the orca gave me a magical land-to-sea connection with my father, but it has never lost its dearness to my heart. It still makes Papa happy that I wear it every day. Anything that pleases him pleases me. He works so hard for my brother and I, I owe it to him to make him smile.

If I stand at the end of the pier, I can see some of the fishing ships. The deep-sea vessels are starting to dock today and will finish docking on Friday, when Papa's ship, the Rosy Lou will dock. I'm so full of joy that I just have to let it out in mirthful laughter as I stand alone on the pier, waving to fisherman on ships who probably can't even see me.

I dread the day when my brother will age out of the reaping and must join my father at sea, but even thoughts like those can't crush my spirits during Docking Days. I think of all of the men and women on those ships, missing their families like my father misses his, and how everyone is being reunited. Docking Days are too happy to allow sadness.

Even when they also happen to fall on Reaping Day.

~.*~.*~.*

I spend a few more hours on the pier staring at ships.

I hear the clock tower chime twelve times for noon. The reaping start promptly at twelve fifteen every year.

I scream, running from the pier and off of the beach. Town square is fairly close by, but unless I sprint the whole way…Nobody knows what happens when children miss the reaping ceremony. Nobody has ever dared miss it, and Mallory Annette Odair won't be the first idiot to try.

My sandals have fallen off somewhere in the streets by the time I make it to town square- with six minutes to spare. I go to the check-in table, wince as my finger is pricked, and run around looking for some of my classmates, or better yet, my brother. I run smack into another person, knocking us both to the ground.

The boy shouts, but not at me. He shouts to someone else. "Eh-yo, Odair! Found your sister!"

I blush tomato. The boy I tackled is none other than Anri Graham, eighteen-year-old, second-rank male at the academy, and one of Finnick's best friends. Anri is handsome, but that's not why I'm blushing. Finn and his friends are practically royalty to every teenager here, and tackling Anri Graham just looks bad. Not that I have an image to maintain or anything -the Odairs aren't the kind of people to care what other people think- it's just embarrassing to tackle your brother's friend in public.

Anri laughs at me as he drags me over to where Finnick is standing with his other friends, seventeen-year-old Mads Iwahara and eighteen-year-old Ronan Shen. The guys greet me with bro-hugs and claps on the back as if I'm one of the guys. I wish I could find some of my friends, but with the reaping starting in two minutes, there's no time, so I settle for standing with the guys.

The crowd falls silent when Mayor Seaburgh stands at the microphone and reads The Treaty of Treason in his droning monotone. Thngs finally get interesting when our District's escort, Phili Gregorovic, mounts the stage, making a point to flirt with the mayor's wife and two of the female victors.

"He's so flamboyantly gay," Anri smirks.

"Nothing wrong with liking the D of course," says Finn. "But don't pretend like you don't."

"Shut up!" I hiss. "I'm trying to pay attention." Mads and Ronan smile at me and wink, putting their fingers to their lips to show that they're silent. I appreciate that.

"Welcome!" Phili outstretches his arms, his shiny, eggplant purple lips stretching into a grin, revealing his unnaturally white teeth. His neon blue, green, and pink nails are almost reflecting in the sunlight, and his bleached white hair makes the neon orange stripe on each side of his face stand out even more.

Phili grabs the microphone from its stand and shouts, "Who's ready to get this started!"

A loud cheer erupts from the audience. The District is split about 60/40 in favor of the Games; Four's tributes are usually members of the Career pack, and we train like One and Two, making us a generally 'Career' District. The Odair family has, historically, been dedicated to training, but an opponent of the Games themselves.

Phili seems pleased with this response and continues. "Welcome to the reaping ceremony for the sixty-fifth annual Hunger Games! As always, we will start with our ladies!"

I close my eyes and wait in darkness for him to shout out a name. "Kaluka Manihera!"

From the other side of the crowd, a girl with long black curls and olive skin steps onstage. Unlike the other Career Districts, District 4 candidates are polite and wait from the escort to ask for volunteers after each tribute is chosen before we go screaming. When Phili asks if there are any volunteers, there is one girl who screams that she is up for it.

Nina Kapadia, of course. Nina is sixteen and is the number one female in the academy. Currently, I rank sixth, but am moving up. Nina is good with long range weapons and hand-to-hand combat; I know from sparring with her. I also know that her weakness is- ironically- spears and tridents, and that while she is excellent with close combat knife fights, her forte is wrestling. She could win the Games with that. If she wrestled a tribute and rendered them immobile long enough to slit their throat- Boom! goes the canon.

"Now," shrieks Phili. "For our gentlemen!" His arm dives in the reaping ball and pulls out an envelope.

My heart stops and everything falls silent as the world stops around me. He's a good thirty feet in front of me before I register what is happening. He's the male tribute. It's him. It can't be him, he can't go, he can't leave!

I charge forward, screaming. "Finnick. Finnick, no! Finn, come back! What are you doing, come back! You can't go, you can't-"

Two Peacekeepers move forward to threaten me, but Finnick's friends beat them to me. Anri steps in front of me to block my brother from my sight and the others step in between Anri and I and hold onto me so that I can't move. Phili's request for volunteers goes unanswered.

District 4's male tribute is Finnick Odair.