CHAPTER TWO: FINNICK
We wait in the Justice Building while this year's two say their goodbyes. I hate being in here. Not because I remember my own – I barely do. But because the only times we victors have to come in here is when we're preparing for the games. It means going back there. My life in District Four is over for another year. Time to turn off the feelings and turn on the mask.
Not only have I got to try and keep two strangers alive but I've got to do everything they ask of me – everything – to keep alive a family that doesn't want me.
I hate this place.
The mayor puts on a lunch in the hall and we mingle. Well. They mingle. Discuss plans. Strategies. And that's before we've even sized the two of them up properly.
I reply if they talk to me. Smile and joke. But I must give off some kind of vibe because I pretty much get left alone to sulk.
I watch as rowdy gang of boys leave Dante McMaster's room. I practically sense their excitement, their pride, their jealousy. Careers, all of them. They wish they were him but their relieved that they're not. At least for one more year.
His laughter follows them out of the room as the peacekeepers escort them out, and his father in. Just his father. I wonder if he has any siblings. I wonder where his mother is. If she's alive. Then I curse myself for wanting to find out anything irrelevant about these two. Only the facts. Only the strengths and weaknesses. That's all I need to know.
Old Mags comes and sits next to me, perching on the edge of the plush velvet couch but leaning heavily onto her cane. She must be going on eighty by now, but she still is forced to attend every games. I try not think of what that means for my own future. The years ahead seem endless. And not in a good way.
She doesn't say anything, just puts her curled, gnarled hand over mine. That's one of the reasons I like her. She knows me. She knows not to fill the silence with meaningless words. I have to do that enough of the time. She's long since gone beyond the expectations of a mentor. Those ended five years ago when I came out of there alive.
But it didn't stop her. I've never asked why she's been alone as long as I've known her. She's old – it could be that she's just outlived her family. But I don't think so.
"What do you think Odair?" A loud voice interrupts our amicable silence. Keane Greaves, a barrel-bellied victor from about fifteen years ago approaches. I sigh, and in the instant I look up break into a cocky grin.
"Potential." I answer, complacently. "I can work with it."
He guffawed. "I should hope so, what with this being your year. You turn to deal with the brats this time round."
I don't need the reminder. This year I won't be able to take a back seat, offer a few words of advice, schmooze a few sponsors here and there while I go off and do the other business the Capitol asks of me. It's a mixed blessing. On one hand, the Capitol surely can't ask me to keep up the same number of clients as last year. But on the other hand, I have to try and mould some winners.
I laugh, airily. "On your way Greaves, or I'll start to think you're trying to psych me out." Everyone knew that, since the victors shared the two roles of being direct mentors year by year, there was an unspoken competition of who could produce the most winners. This being my first year, the pressure's on.
I watch as Dante McMaster's father marches out, unemotional and brushing his hands on his trousers as if he's just left a business meeting. Before the door closes I catch a glimpse of the boy himself reclining on the couch. He has the confidence, that's evident. Having Career tributes always increases our chances, and confidence to boot was a pretty good sign.
The girl, though. From a fishing family, you can tell from the look of her. Not to mention the fact that her hair was still wet from whatever fishing or diving duties she'd had that day. Not enough muscle. Sure, she'd be strong enough; used to hard work but too tall and slim to do any real damage. And her attempt to hide her fear up on stage had been weak at best. We could make her attractive enough. Not curvy enough to go for the whole temptress look but she had a pretty enough face.
It's important. I, of all people, know that. Just like I know that someone shouldn't be disregarded just because they were from a fishing family.
It just happened that only one District Four victor since the very first Games had been from a fishing family.
A bell sounds. Their time is up. McMaster joins the peacekeepers almost lazily and goes to the car without difficulty. The peacekeepers open the other door and summon out the girl's family.
The father supports the mother. She looks frail. I recognise the toll that worry over too many children has had on her. Now that worry has be proven true. The boys are younger replicas of their father, ranging from the eldest who looks about my age down to a lanky thirteen year old who doesn't yet look comfortable with his height.
The eldest turns back toward the doorway, angst breaking through his attempts to hide it. "Remember you promised, ok? Do not give up. You promised."
A peacekeeper stands between him and the door, making him back away. Another holds an arm against the door as the girl stands, as if she's going to make a run for it. Instead she stands there, hopelessness in her stance and expression.
"Leo I can't -" Unlike when she was on the stage, her eyes are dry. But this only adds to her hopelessness.
"You don't know that." His expression gives it away. He knows as well as I do that his sister is going to die. "Remember you promised us. We won't watch you give up."
She swallows. Nods. Allows the peacekeepers to close the door in her face.
He stares at the doors for another couple of seconds as they take his arm to remove him. He doesn't seem to notice the rest of the victors around the room, having seen it all before, watching with varying degrees of
disinterest. Except me.
For a second his eyes meet mine. They are dark. A dark, sea green like his sister's. In that second I feel like he's asking something of me. That I should assure him. Maybe I should promise him too. That I won't give up on her.
But I don't. You should never make those kinds of promises. Especially when the odds are certainly not in her favour.
"Finnick!" Alexia Summerby's voice trills through the door. "They're calling for dinner in ten minutes. You haven't even greeted the tributes yet!"
My peace is over. I'd spent the first couple of hours on the train lying flat on my back on my narrow bed. It was my last chance to shut the outside world away with just a click of a lock on my compartment door.
I stand, stare at the face looking soberly back at me in the small mirror above the tiny sink. It looks tired. A tired Finnick Odair isn't one the Capitol should see. I think about splashing water on my face, or even having a shave, but stop myself. We're not there yet. I don't have to make myself pretty for these two.
"Finnick?" Apparently Alexia isn't leaving without me.
I open the door. She starts a little. It's funny – no one remembers I slaughtered an arena full of children when I'm Finnick Odair, Capitol's plaything. As soon as I forget to dress up, cover up the flaws or play nicely they become a little jumpy around me.
"Oh, Finnick," Her expression softens, "This is a tough year for you. Your first shot. You don't have to worry about a thing. I know you'll do wonderfully. And I'll help you."
It would be nice if it weren't coming from a woman with silver hair piled up so high on her hair that it wobbles precariously, sending glitter spiralling to the floor in her wake. Patronising. But nice.
A relief, anyway. To let her think that the pressure was getting to me.
Rather that than have everyone know it's not the pressure; it's what I know waits for me in the Capitol. The loss of privacy, dignity, identity.
We walk toward the rear end of the train, where the lounge area is. I hadn't been in that part of the train since my own Games and Victory Tour. The other victors get to stick to their own compartments, or use the front lounge. Away from the two reminders of why we're really here. Not for the first time, I wish I was back at the other end of the train, alone.
I pause in the doorway. It looks exactly the same.
Alexia immediately joins Dante where he's sat at the dining table with Loren, the other key mentor this year, discussing his prowess at the academy. Loren looks up and nods briefly, in greeting. Before her Games, four years before mine, her mentor had tried to get her to sell the sexy eighteen year old thing. In response, she'd shaved her head and kept it that way since. Even now she looks as menacing as she had in her Games, blonde bristles glinting in the light, eyes hard and mouth permanently downturned.
She resents me, I know that. I'm everything they tried to make her. I was the one that won because of looks. She thinks I have no worthwhile input to give and is irritated to be teamed with me. We'd barely spoken twenty words directly to one another in the five years since I'd won, and none of them were particularly heart-warming.
It looks like Dante had a similar opinion. He looks up at me and frowns. "What's wrong with your face? You don't look like you do on TV." He concludes, derisively, gaining a chuckle from Loren.
"Neither will you, by the time the prep teams have finished with you." I respond, and can't help but be amused by the offence he clearly took even from an offhand comment. Definitely Loren's protégé. "If you're lucky." I add, just to add fuel to the flames.
He scrapes back his chair and stands up, scowling and I can read the second he decides to pick up the empty plate from the dining table and hurl it at me like a discus.
In the instant it takes to reach me I decide to go for the catch, rather than the easy deflection. Greater risk, but more impressive.
It pays off. I catch it in one hand from the space beside my head – where it was going to miss by a foot or so.
"Work on your aim." I tell him with a genuine grin, and toss the plate back into its place.
"Really, Dante." Alexia rearranges the place setting with precision. "Why would you attack the very person that's going to work to get you sponsors?"
Dante doesn't deem that worth a response, and turns his attention to the Avoxs, bringing in platter after platter of food. His eyes widened. Even at the academy they've never seen food like this before. Annie Cresta certainly won't have seen anything even close...
I realise she's not at the table. She's sat on a cushioned window seat along the length of the compartment, her back against the arches that follow the window and her side resting against the glass. She's staring out at the countryside streaming by. I remember how fascinating it was to travel at this speed the first time you do it.
It's only when I approach her that I see that she's not really seeing it at all. She's not seeing anything. I recognise the look of someone that's not in this world at that moment. Her eyes are glazed and fixed on a point in the distance. Her arms hug her knees and she doesn't even notice me standing there. She hasn't even noticed the mouth-watering smell of the food that's been brought in.
"Dinner's ready." I say softly, trying not to make her jump.
She only flinches for a second. Her eyes meet mine, just like her brother's did. Except these aren't asking me to help. They're not asking me anything. She looks past me to the table, then back out of the window.
"I'm not hungry."
Her complete disinterest in me is uncommon. Her lack of hunger in the face of almost certain death is not.
"You should still eat. While you still can." I smile reassuringly and nod my head mockingly at Dante, shovelling bread and pate into his mouth. "You've got some catching up to do."
She looks back at the table and for a second smiles at the – pretty bad – joke. Then it fades and she meets my eyes again. This time somewhat defiantly. "Is this where you start dictating everything I do and then I die anyway?"
It's blunt. Honest. A bit startling. I don't have anything to say for a second. When someone says something like that there's not much that can make them feel better.
But sometimes it's not about making them feel better. It's reminding them that they've got something to fight for.
"Giving up already?" I ask, still not letting the smile slip.
She frowns for a second. I don't know if she saw me within hearing distance at her last goodbye with her brother, but it rings true all the same, just as I intended.
"No." She says, in that same defiant tone she used on stage, the one where I'd had to disguise my laughter as a coughing fit so's not to offend Alexia any further.
"You want a chance to live?"
She glowers at me. It makes me grin harder. It's what I would have done if someone had spoken to me like this.
"Then yes," I say. "Now's where you start doing everything I say."
