I hate that they have to take blood samples. Honestly, pricking our fingers is one of the most inconvenient things they do. It doesn't hurt, no, but that's a blemish on my perfect hands that I just can't afford. And it isn't like I have even the smallest chance to prevent it. They should take hair samples, or something else like that instead. Skin samples, take pictures of our ears- because no two people have the same ears-, fingerprints... the list of things they could do without leaving a mark on my otherwise flawless skin is practically endless. But, no, they insist on doing the one thing that screws up my poor finger.
It is then that it occurs to me that I made a really stupid move in wearing a sweater. The reaping days around here are some of the hottest of the year. It's significantly colder than in some of the other districts, due to the ocean breeze, but that's not enough to cool down our day, and I'm already starting to sweat. As soon as I head over to the area for the boys- I swear it's like we're animals getting prepared for the slaughter, which is, in hindsight, exactly what's happening-, I take it off, and I'm pretty sure some of the girls start squealing. That's somewhat pathetic, but I wink at them anyway as I look around for any sight of Caspian.
"Hello, Finnick," a voice sounds in my ear, and I jump, squeaking slightly, before whacking my best friend with my sweater, glaring. Caspian, however, just laughs. "Oh, you should have seen your face. Priceless. And what was that scream? You're such a loser, Finn."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," I mutter, and Caspian playfully nudges me with his shoulder. Just as Caspian expects, I perk up sooner rather than later, and pretty soon we're joking and laughing and having a good time like we always do. We don't shut up until Winnow Elphinstone, the escort for our District, hits the microphone a few times. Winnow's in her early or mid twenties, and likely one of the wealthier people in the Capitol- which isn't a surprise, because District 4 is one of the hardest districts to get a job based around. And she always has very... eccentric outfits. Today it seems her scheme is ... purple. She has a very frilly sleeveless purple dress, and on top a white blazer with the weirdest sleeves I've ever seen. She's wearing extremely tall, bright purple platform heels, fingerless white leather gloves, and her skin is a sickly shade of purple. Her nails are too long, probably fake, and painted intricately, and her hair is, well, unique, bright purple and cut oddly, and there's a huge, lime green bow thrown in. Her lips are a matching lime green, as are her eyelashes, and I've never seen so much purple eyeshadow in one place before. "She looks... interesting," I murmur to Caspian, and he gives a slow nod in agreement.
"Welcome, welcome, welcome!" She shouts in her high-pitched Capitol accent. I almost want to cover my ears, but I don't. "I expect you're all excited for the 65th Hunger Games!" Some people cheer. Most people don't. "To start things off, let's look to our video from the Capitol!" Caspian and I find ourselves whispering and cracking jokes all through the video, and Winnow lets out a laugh as the clip draws to a close. "Alright, you boys look very eager- we'll start with you this year, shall we?" Some girls protest, but Winnow's already headed towards the glass bowl. I didn't notice until afterwards, but I was holding my breath, watching her obnoxiously purple fingernails as they dug through the papers, before drawing the name of the boy about to be teased with death.
I was right when I said it wouldn't be me.
"Caspian Currents!" She calls into the microphone, and my first thought is that Caspian's name sounds terrible in a Capitol accent. Then I'm hit by the fact that she read his name, that he was reaped. And I forget about all the eighteen-year-olds ready to kill, the silence lasting far too long for my liking. "Caspian?" She repeats, and it's too much. He goes to move, and all I'm thinking is that my best friend is about to die.
"I volunteer as tribute!" Someone shouts, and I'm flooded with relief. We're fine. Then something else clicks. The people around me are staring at me with incredulity.
"The hell was that for, Finn?" Caspian questions as if I'm insane as he pushes me towards the aisle.
It wasn't 'someone' who volunteered. It was me.
"Aren't you an adorable little thing?" Winnow asks as I step onto the stage. I swear Caspian's laughing as I swipe my hair out of my face, glaring slightly at her. "How old are you?"
"Fourteen," I mutter. She must think I'm twelve or something, based on the way she's talking to me like I'm three. I realise my sweater is still draped over my arm, so I pull it on. I then notice that the colour 'matches' her lime green, but I pretend I don't.
"And what's your name, sweetheart?" She inquires with a giggle, and it's all I can do to not roll my eyes. She's shoving the microphone into my face.
"Finnick Odair," I answer flatly.
"Pleasure to meet you, Finnick! Now is Caspian your cousin? Friend?" She asks. I don't see why she cares. "Or are you just excited to be in the Games?"
I take a moment before answering, deciding that honesty is the best policy. And that sprucing up the truth is even better. "Well, Casper's my best friend, but I think I've already got what it takes to win the Games, and if I wait any longer, I'll end up beating the crap out of everybody day one. This way they've got a shot to try and beat me, and I've got a challenge." That was likely more bluffing than it was telling the truth, but at least I sounded confident, and I suppose I said something right, as Winnow grins at me.
"Well, well, well, at any rate, Finnick, it's the girls' turn!" She exclaims cheerfully. I know it won't matter who gets drawn; it never does. So when a young girl named Marina Fisher with curly red hair begins to nervously make her way to the stage, it's no surprise when she's interrupted by a strong, confident female voice, volunteering in her place. The girl who joins me on stage is probably eighteen, and she has tan skin, dark hair, and coffee eyes that look at me like I'm a meal. I have a feeling she's in it to win it. "And your name?" Winnow questions.
"Althea Jardine," she answers, pushing some hair behind her ear.
"And here we are, your tributes from District 4!" Winnow finally calls out. Some people clap. Most don't. Althea, still glowering at me, offers her hand for a shake like we're 'supposed' to do, and I take it somewhat nervously, somewhat afraid that she'll try and eat me alive. After a moment, the fat-beyond-reason mayor begins to read the Treaty of Treason, which I tune out like I have since my first year with the other eleven to eighteen year old kids. Caspian and I have joked about this every year. But not this time. Not this time. As he finishes reading it off, the national anthem begins playing, and I realize that the next time I hear it, I'll be in the Capitol, all dressed up in preparation for my death. That's sort of how it works, the Hunger Games. You spend a month preparing for some fancy execution with twenty-three other kids. Except, one doesn't die. They save a person so they can break them, make them wish they were dead. That's what I've heard being a victor's like. I don't really want to know for sure, but now I might have to. I will have to, if I don't die. I don't know which I prefer, if I'm to be completely honest.
But I can see the hunger, the determination in Althea's eyes, and I know which one she'd prefer. I make a mental note to get away from her as early as possible- she looks vicious, like a killer, like she could kill me in a single blow with her bare hands.
And then there's me. Finnick Odair. Small, weak, scared.