Hello there everyone...yes it is Batty...back from the dead(also known as the land of musicals and starting university two years early which is not an easy task, trying to get all the affairs in order). Anyway I am back with a new story about another one of my favorite literary couples. Finnick and Annie are my favorite characters out of the entire series so of course I will eventually be deviating from canon and giving them their HEA(happily ever after). For those of you still interested in my other story do not fear. For though I know it has been a disgracefully long time(over six months)I am going to continue the story and will even be as bold to say, have big plans for it. See you at the end :)
FPOV(Finnick's Point Of View)-
Shock. That is all I feel. I do not feel happy or triumphant or even relieved. No, as the ladder drops out of the sky and I clamber onto it all I can feel is shock. Shock that I am still alive, shock at what I have done to be here, and shock that I feel neither remorse nor pride. I have done no more than what was required for my survival, no more than anyone would do if they were in my place, right? I have killed. I have maimed. I have destroyed. And for what? Glory? Honor? No, it was all for the games.
The moment I step off of the ladder inside the hovercraft reality becomes blurred. I am drugged. I am sedated. I see and hear things, but I cannot comprehend them. The images are blurred and the sounds distorted. There are people in glaring white lab coats with garish hair and skin discussing enhancing me. Enhancing me how? I don't know, but I think I hear Mags telling the capitol doctors that under no circumstances are they to change a hair on my head. I am thankful to have Mags here to protect me. It is nice to have someone else doing the protecting, the fighting. All I want is peace.
I do not, however, find peace. Not even in the drug-induced state of sleep I spend most of my time in. I am unsure of how to judge how long of a time it has been, two days, three maybe. When I finally wake up from the ceaseless nightmare that shifts between scenes of capitol doctors with tubes and wires and district tributes with weapons and gore, I am unrestrained and free of tubes, wires, and weapons. I am dressed in a simple white shirt and linen pants, with warm socks to keep my toes cozy. I sit up gingerly and find that it does not cause dizziness or even the slightest discomfort, so I pad across the room to where a pair of shoes rests near a door and slip them on. The door is metal, intimidating, but unlocked. I slip through it and stride right into Mags' arms.
"Oh my boy," She says nothing else just those three words. I feel her warmth wash over me and for a moment I see the blue waves and green foam, the white sandy beaches. I smell the salty air and feel the breeze of the cooling wind on a hot day. For a moment, I am home. Of course, I am not home. I am here, in the capitol, a place so unlike home it would be frightening if I were capable of being frightened at this point. I am not sure that I am.
"Mags, how are you doing?" I ask. It feels like a silly question, but it was my first thought.
"I'm fine Finnick, fine." She says. She brushes my fair hair back from my forehead and places a kiss on my scar. I was ten when I got it. It was a silly accident; I tripped and fell on a patch of seaweed it the shallows and hit my head on a rock. Maybe it's odd, but I like the small scar the rock left just above my right eyebrow. It helped to remind me of my true self even when the crowds in the capitol were cheering my name during the chariot ceremony or the interviews with Caesar. The little imperfection of my beauty helps to ground me. I reach up to touch it and fell…nothing, just smooth, unmarred flesh.
"Total body resurfacing," Mags supplies before I can ask. "You won't find a scar, scratch, or even a bruise."
"Yeah, guess I have to look pretty so they can parade me around," I mumble under my breath. I know that my beauty saved me in the arena and it's not that I'm not happy to be alive, but it's hard to accept that I am no longer completely myself, but rather the capitol's new version of me.
"So what's next," I ask her.
"Next, well next the real games begin."
The recap of the games isn't pleasant. I hate watching myself spear all of those kids with my trident. I was one of the lucky ones with a useable skill from my childhood. Going out on the fishing boats from a young age prepared me well. I have stamina, strength, and agility. I can tie excellent knots, and above all I know my way with a trident. I've been spearing things out of the water since I could hold a trident upright, about four years old. But people are different. People are so, so very different.
Somehow I manage to finesse my way through the interview with Caesar that follows the recap and exit the stage with the crowd cheering my name. The interview may have been a success but I am still overflowing with relief at its termination.
After the interview I am allowed to seep with the promise of returning to my district the following morning.
When I wake I dress in a simple (by the capitol's standards) fisherman's style outfit. It has capitol influences-unnecessary leather lacing, fancy buttons- and would clearly never be suited for actual seafaring, but it is attractive and reminiscent of home. I want to look like myself when I return.
At the train station I say a heartfelt goodbye to the people of the capitol, after all I truly am emotional (happy to be leaving). They wave, cheer, and blow kisses, begging for my expedient return. Against my wishes their begging is not in vain, though it is unnecessary. Whether I like it or not I will be returning to the capitol in a few months for the victor's tour. And though I do not like it I will play my part perfectly. I will have the capitol eating out of the palm of my hand.
The only people that I encounter on the train are my escort Ceely Green, who is simply bubbling and cannot be confined to one part of the train, the male mentor for this year, Xander Likely, who thumps me on the back in congratulations and heads off to his own car, and Mags who sits down beside me on the plush bench seat and rubs small circles on my back. I relax a little. I may be strong, independent, and perfectly capable of taking care of myself, but denying that a mother's tough is comforting would be lying. I do not want to be weak or unmanly, but it calms me.
Not that Mags is my mother. Mags doesn't even have biological children. But for me she is the closest thing I will get to a mom. My own mother died giving birth to me. Even though I come from one of the more affluent districts death during child-birth is not uncommon. We are not nearly as favored by the capitol as district one or two. Children are born at home with midwifes. Still, district four has very few peacekeepers which I consider a great advantage over most of the other districts where peacekeeper brutality is common.
My father himself is friends with several peacekeepers, well perhaps not quite friends, but at least amicable acquaintances. He and my older brother Christopher know just about everybody, because they trade everywhere. Cristopher is twenty and he and my father run a very successful fishing business…that's where Mags comes in. She took care of me when they were gone-which was most of the time-and practically raised me. I guess I won't have to stay in her home in victor's village anymore…I'll have my own.
"Mags," I start.
"Yes Finnick," She replies with her smile that touches even her crinkled eyes.
"When we get home…what happens?"
"Well, first there will be lots of smiling for the camera, then after a couple days that will all be over with and you can rest for a few months. I think you deserve that, don't you?" She asks.
"Yes." I chuckle and smile in spite of myself. "But where will I live, I mean I guess I have a house now and-"
"Oh nonsense you'll still stay with me."
"But mags I'm not a little kid anymore. I can-" I protest
"Hush, you will still stay with me and that's that." Her tone says that her decision is final…and I can't find the strength to argue what is such a comforting thought.
Home. I breathe it in. All of the camera crews left yesterday and I am left to my own devices. As I sit in the surf, I take it all in, the smell, the taste, the feel. I am home.
know that this chapter is on the short side for me but this is where it felt natural to cut off the chapter. In the future chapters will most likely be between two and four thousand words unless, like this one, they need cut off sooner. See you soon
Love,
Batty