A/N: I've used bits from the book and the movie in this Fanfic as there were bits I liked that were in the movie but not the book and vice versa.
The cool water felt good on her skin. Above her there is nothing but shimmery light; the place where she came from and will go back to when she's done.
Today was the reaping day and as she swam she thought of the amount of times her name had been put into that glass bowl. She felt a stab of fear in her chest but quickly pushed it away, fear was a weakness; Wren couldn't afford weakness, best not to feel, show no emotions, and show no weakness.
She rose above the surface of the water and began to swim back to the shore, it was almost time for the reaping and Wren still needed to sell the fish she had caught to the stall in the underground market.
She swam into a small cave, hidden just beneath the water, and climbed atop the rocks that circled the water, she pulled her clothes onto her still soaking body, picked up her bag of fish and then began hopping across the rocks. At the other side of the cave was a huge crack that led out into the district, nobody knew about this cave and Wren liked to keep it as her little secret.
She loved swimming in the ocean and this was the best hide away, the best way to get away from the world.
She ran to the abandoned warehouse on the other side of the harbour and stopped by a sewer grate, checking that there were no peacekeepers about, which there was not, she lifted the grate, hung her bag of fish over her shoulder and then climbed in carefully. The ladder leading down was old and rusty and creaked as she put her weight on it. Praying the ladder would hold she pulled the grate back into place and plunged herself into complete darkness. The sewer was the best place for the market because it hadn't been used for a decade.
She waited on the ladder for a moment while her eyes adjusted and then she jumped down from the ladder and landed in a crouch on the dry, dusty floor. Most people would bring some sort of light source down with them but Wren did not need to. She was not your regular run-of-the-mill human, she was a Werewolf, Lycanthrope, Loup-Garou call it what you will she was born as one and could not change what she was, and she had tried many times. She could see perfectly in the dark as long as there was light, no matter how little, her wounds healed faster than a humans, she was stronger than any sixteen year old should be and obviously there was her 'other form'. It was a secret she planned to take to her grave.
Wren rushed through the passages and eventually stopped in front of a large circular iron door. She knocked twice and immediately a slide at the top of the door opened, revealing two grey eyes. They looked at her suspiciously, squinted and then crinkled as the rest of the face that was hidden stretched into a wide smile "ah, Wren. We were wonderin' when you'd be making an appearance."
Wren smiled and nodded once and then the slide closed and the sound of metal sliding across metal began echoing through the tunnels. The door opened slowly, its old hinges groaning loudly.
An old man appeared from behind the door and huffed "bloody door," then he grinned at Wren and motioned with his hand for her to go in.
When she crossed the threshold she went straight to her favourite stall, dumped her fish in front of the stall vendor; Leo and looked at him expectantly. He sighed, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth, and began rearranging the fish in accordance to size and breed, most of them were average sized sea bass but there were some small tuna, a handful of shrimp and even a collection of sea shells.
Leo was a friendly enough man. He was as skinny as everyone else in the district. He wore a pair of dirty and ripped black dungarees. He had short, scruffy auburn hair and kind, brown eyes. He always gave Wren great offers on whatever she brought in.
She waited patiently for him to finish adding up an estimate and then watched as he began digging around in his stall, filling up her bag with all sorts of goodies. As he handed over the bag Wren gave him one of her rarest smiles and he grinned back. "Good luck today" he said and she nodded, giving him a smaller, slightly sad, smile.
When she got back to her hut it was cold and empty, like it had been for the last eleven years. She dumped her bag on her crooked table and snatched her prettiest dress off of the hook. It was a plain looking knee-length, pale blue summer dress with silver trim in the skirt. She dressed quickly and tied her hair in a plait then twisted it into a bun, finishing just as the alarm started to sound. She hid her bag under some loose floorboards and then left, shutting the door behind her. She followed the other district members to the town square where they always hosted the reaping.
Signing in was as depressing as it was every year. Wren held out her hand and barely felt the pain as the needle pierced her skin, she had been so frightened the first time, scared that they would detect her werewolf blood but fortunately she was ushered passed with no trouble.
She lined up with the rest of the teenagers her age and waited, pushing down the fear when it tried to resurface, she stood impassive as the film about the dark days began.
The crowd all gave a silent sigh of relief once the short film had finish and then a short man with white-blonde hair and a curly moustache stood in front of the microphone. "Happy hunger games and may the odds be forever in your favour," the man smiled grimly at the crowd and then cleared his throat "I am Scott Orson. I will be your escort for the next few years." He looked over the crowd and his face suggested he would rather be anywhere else.
"Now then let's pick our tributes for the seventy-forth hunger games!" Wren heard a sharp intake of breath beside her and turned her head slightly to look at the girl standing on her left. "How many times has your name been put in?" Wren asked gently and the blonde head swivelled to look at her. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she found her voice. "Fifteen, I think" she mumbled and Wren smiled gently "then don't worry, my name is more likely to be chosen. I've had to put my name in there over forty times." The girl's eyes widened but she did look a little bit relieved.
Wren turned back to look at Orson in time to see a boy around the age of twelve or thirteen walking up the steps and onto the stage, she had missed his name, and now Orson was rummaging around in the glass bowl of girls names.
He pulled out a slip of paper, flattened it out, and read the name "Wren Ellwood." It took a moment for her to realize and when she did she began to sweat. She numbly walked up to the stage, looking around in the hopes that somebody would volunteer themselves in her place.
Nobody did.
The first thought that came to her shocked mind was; 'the food I just bought is going to spoil.'
Orson took her hand and patted her on the back when she got on stage. Absent-mindedly she shook the other tributes hand and before she knew it she was sitting in a comfortable chair, watching the scenery whizz by from the window of the train whilst only half listening to the droning of Orson's voice as he explained what was expected of them when they got to the capitol.
Wren hid a yawn behind her hand and turned to Orson, about to ask if she could sleep for the rest of the journey, when the door at the end of the carriage slid open and a tall, handsome man with tan skin, bronze hair and green eyes, that reminded her of the seaweed back home, walked in. He noticed her staring and winked. He sat next to the other tribute, Wren still hadn't caught his name, and reached across the table for a scone. He spread some cream on it before taking a big bite, he wiped some cream off of his lip and then grinned at his audience.
Orson glared at him and the golden man sighed before finishing off his scone. "This Is Finnick Odair, your mentor. He will tell you how to get sponsors, give you tips for the arena and prepare you for your appearance on Caesar Flickerman's show."
Finnick gave a short wave and then sipped at the tea he had poured himself. Orson groaned in irritation and then stood. "I'll leave you to talk" he said before stomping out the door that Finnick had come in from.
All was quiet for a moment and then Finnick cleared his throat. Wren had a niggling feeling that those two didn't get along.
"His corset must be too tight" he mumbled and then he looked from Wren to the other tribute and then back. "So, what's your name honey?" he asked in a seductive purr. Wren gave him a blank look. "Wren Ellwood" she said quietly and then turned her head to watch the scenery again, but she kept one ear on the conversation Finnick was having with Dylan. She had finally heard the other tribute introduce himself.
Wren didn't really talk unless she had to. Watching your family be killed by peacekeepers and then having to live alone for eleven years would do that to a five year old. But she had been strong; she had the blood of a werewolf, her ancestors' memories had been a huge help as well. The memories had taught her how to make a fire, the most effective way to fish, and so much more. Wren owed her very life to her ancestors'.
She sat quietly, listening to most of the conversation until Finnick confessed that he had no idea how to get sponsors. "What!?" Dylan yelled, standing from his seat in a fit of outrage "you're our mentor aren't you supposed to know these things?"
Wren stared at Finnick with apprehensive eyes. She was sure that Dylan would get sympathy votes for being so young but doubted the Capitol would do the same for her.
Finnick grinned at Dylan. "When you look this good," he gestured to himself "you don't need to work for sponsors." Dylan growled angrily before storming out of the carriage, much like Orson had.
Wren turned back to Finnick to find him staring at her with a look of deep concentration on his face. Wren knew what he was looking at.
She knew how weird she looked weird for someone from district four, with their light hair and tanned skin, so she just stared back at him, letting him get his fill of her dark hair, pale skin and, weirdest of all, golden eyes.
She looked away but could still feel his curious gaze burning holes in the side of her head. She was rescued from the continuous stare moments later when Orson came back into the carriage and huffily announced that lunch was being served in the dining carriage.
Orson led Wren and Dylan through the many carriages, Finnick trailing behind, until they entered a brightly lit one with many tables and a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The tables were prettily decorated with white table cloths, purple napkins and the shiniest cutlery that Wren had ever seen.
Wren sat next to Dylan and kept her eyes fixed on her plate as the food was served. Nobody talked to her, probably thinking that she was still in shock from being chosen.
When they arrived at the Capitol they smiled and waved because Orson told them to and then they were dragged off to separate prep rooms.
Some colourfully decorated women were waiting for her just inside the room. They quickly stripped her out of her dress and rinsed her body with a hose. Wren saw one of the women drop her dress into a bin, a look of repulsion on her face, and felt a swell of anger; it had taken a lot of work for her to make that dress.
As they were scrubbing soap into her skin they came across her birthmark and commented that it was a cute tattoo. Wren thought of correcting them, she wouldn't have been able to afford such an extravagant thing even if she saved all her savings for four years, but thought better of it. They probably wouldn't have listened anyway.
The paw print was a mark of her hereditary werewolf blood. It only showed in one child per generation and Wren was lucky enough to be that child. Obviously her family hadn't known because before Wren the wolf blood had skipped a few generations, eight to be exact.
Wren only knew all of this because when she had turned fourteen the wolf blood had activated and shown her visions of her family's history, like it had to all of her ancestors who had had the blood before her.
The women began to wax off all her body hair, a painful process that Wren didn't like one bit, and then shaped her eyebrows. They filed her nails and trimmed her dark hair, after washing it twice, and then they gave her a mint green paper dress to wear. They left quickly after that, mumbling about needing a shower themselves after all the dirt they had washed off of Wren.
Her stylist, she found, was a flashy man. He wore a suit of violet silk and had bright green hair that was pulled back into a ponytail. There was so much gel on the top of his head that it made his hair look slimy. He wore hardly any makeup, which surprised Wren after almost every other man she had seen in the capitol wore as much makeup as the woman, if not more.
He stood for a while, his hand on his chin, just staring at Wren and then, as if he'd made up his mind, he beckoned her, with a crook of his finger, to follow him. She shuffled off of the bed and followed as he led her into a room that was bare except for a full sized mirror with an attractive spiral gold frame.
"So... fishing," the green haired stylist started "I was thinking pearls and blue silk, although I was expecting you to have blonde hair..." he paused for a moment and glanced at Wren's dark hair "but no matter, we can make this work!" he exclaimed excitedly and then picked up a toga of some silvery blue material that shimmered when it caught the light. It reminded Wren of the ocean waves back home in district four.
After a gruelling hour and a half of being poked and prodded and then having multiple strange things done with her hair and face Wren found herself in a hall with black chariots and horses and the tributes from the other districts. Wren played with her pearl headdress nervously and had her hands slapped away by one of the stylist. She gave Wren an irritated look and then readjusted the heavy metal thing on her head.
Soon enough they were told to get on their chariots. While they waited for district one, two and three to go the stylist made a few last checks on their outfits and then they were following them out, the other districts soon following as well.
Wren put on her best smile and waved at the crowd, winking and blowing kisses at whomever she had caught the attention of, she thought she was doing well enough until something behind her caught the whole crowds attention and had them screaming their approval.
Wren turned her body slightly to look behind her and a few chariots back she saw the two tributes from district twelve. She was slightly shocked to see them on fire but after a careful look saw that they were not in danger.
She felt a stab of envy for the district twelve tributes. They obviously had a stylist that wanted to show them off.
Wren looked down at her plain blue toga and then glanced at Dylan who had the same sort of look on his face. He caught her looking and gave her a 'what can you do' sort of smile, she huffed and then continued to wave and smile, even if no one was paying attention to her.
President Snow gave a short speech but Wren wasn't paying attention, she was looking around her at the other tributes; they would all die except for one and if Wren could bet she'd bet on the boy from district two. He was huge and Wren knew that he had volunteered to be a tribute.
The horses started to lead them towards the training centre after one last parade around the circle and when the doors shut behind them Wren noticed all the other tributes giving the district twelve tributes the dirtiest of looks.
Finnick ran up to their chariot and helped Wren down by grabbing her hips and setting her gently on the ground, leaving Dylan to climb down himself. "You looked so cute out there" he said in a sing-song voice and then took off the pearl headpiece, shoving it into the hands of the nearest stylist.
The training centre had a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams. It would be where they would be living until the actual games began. Each district had a whole floor to themselves and there were twelve floors in total, Finnick pressed the number four and up they went.
As soon as the doors opened again Wren was being pushed through the main room and then through a long hallway, into another room and then into a shower. She was left to shower with a stern 'get yourself clean' and the stylist left a set of clothes for her to change into; a simple blue tank top that was made of some soft material, a pair of black trousers and some house slippers.
Wren stripped out of the toga and hung it neatly on the hook on the door, stepped into the shower stall and frowned; on the wall in front of her was a panel with more than a hundred options you could choose, regulating water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils and massaging sponges. Wren scoffed, all she had at home was a large bucket and she had to collect and heat the water herself.
She chose to put the water at a medium temperature and selected some soap with the scent of raspberries and rubbed the sweet smell into her skin and then she chose lemongrass for her shampoo and sighed at the calming effect it had on her, she recognised the scent from somewhere but she couldn't remember where. Blurry images floated by her minds eyes but she couldn't make any of them out.
She finished her shower and stepped out to look for a towel when some heaters came on and blow dried her. She finished dressing just as a quiet 'dinner is ready' came through the door.
She joined everybody else at the table and sat quietly as she ate, listening to the conversations going on around her. "So Wren, you're being very quiet?" Finnick asked as he cut into his steak. Wren looked up quickly and decided whether or not to answer him when he asked another question "you don't talk much, do you?" she shook her head and Finnick smiled "why not?" Wren looked around; everyone was looking at her now, wanting to know the answer as much as Finnick.
"My parents were killed when I was six, eleven years with no one to talk to can do worse things to a person." Wren poked at her meat with her fork, avoiding all eyes because she didn't want to see the pity she knew would be there.
"That must have been hard for you" Finnick said quietly. Wren glanced up at him and shrugged "I managed" she wiped her mouth with her bright purple napkin and pushed her chair out "excuse me" she mumbled and left, she didn't like talking about her past, didn't like talking at all.
She escaped to her room but found it too confining, so she went and stood on the balcony. The cold air hit her in the face when she opened the door and she breathed in deeply, inhaling the fresh city air. She stood for a while, looking up at the star-filled sky and listening to the inhabitants of the city as they partied.
She stayed up there until she began shivering uncontrollably. She wrapped her arms tightly about herself and sighed. Tomorrow was the first day of training; Wren wasn't looking forward to it at all. It meant one less day until she was put into the arena.
Wren shook herself from her discouraging thoughts and shuffled back down to her room. She climbed into her warm bed but the shivers didn't subside for a while and it was an even longer still until sleep finally took her.