I have the great privilege of being stuck in the elevator with the now extinguished tributes of District Twelve. I tighten my grip on Nerio's trident, not that it would do me any good in the event of danger or anger. Still, the weapon comforts me. I find it a bit odd when I see fear on her face, but then I remember how tall I am. Oh, and the minor fact that I'm the big, bad Career tribute. Maybe the trident adds to the effect as well. I have some advantage over the girl on fire, or so it would seem. The boy, however, wears a mask of resolution painted over his pale blue eyes.
Upon my arrival, Nerio and I are immediately whisked off to eat. This time, I don't hesitate to take a little of everything laid out for us, and I find a liking for every morsel that enters my mouth. Once again, I deeply regret not eating on the train.
The table is silent, so I force myself to say something. "Finnick, you know I love you, but this food puts even yours to shame."
He snickers before saying, "If this puts my food to shame, what impression could it possibly leave on yours?"
That was offensive. "What, pray tell, could you possibly mean?"
"Well," he says, hiding his smile and taking on a Capitol accent, "let us compare food to fine art. This food is a masterpiece: perfect colors, amazing brushstrokes, and so on. My food is what you would see in an art class. So maybe it isn't perfect. In comparison to the masterpiece, it's a bit- well, very mundane, but it's still pretty great. Now, your food, my dear, is the artistic concept of a young toddler vomiting on a canvas. It has color, but it also has no definition and a really, truly nasty smell."
"Gee, Finn, I'm sorry. You never told me you wanted your food to smell nice and be edible! How was I supposed to guess?"
He leans over the table, getting a dirty look from Cassina, who already seems unhappy about the pseudo accent, and pats my hand. "There, there. I am still alive, and now you know."
"Yep. Got it. Vomit on canvas isn't edible. Next time, I should cook my paint instead." He starts laughing so hard that he chokes on his words. I look at the expression on his face, and soon, we are both practically in tears. Nobody understands what we're laughing at. I suppose our dialogue wasn't that amusing. Not to them, at least. I, however, have my head hidden in my arms because I can guarantee you it's bright red from laughing so hard. It takes a while for the laughter to stop, and then we finish our meals in silence with the occasional snort of laughter. The curl never completely works its way from my lips.
Cassina still seems confused and a bit peeved as she leads us to the sitting room to watch the recap of the ceremony. Nothing really stands out to me in the other tributes. I pay special attention to our chariot. Nerio actually looks intimidating with his trident and "muscles," and I look quite stunning. From a distance, the glass ball was invisible, so it seemed as though the ocean was curling around my bare fingers, as though I were commanding it with some mental force. It was an amazing effect. We aren't completely forgettable even after Twelve's fiery debut. Would it have been nice to get center stage for once? Yes, actually. I'm used to being forgotten in the action. However, I can't do much to change my impression until the Games themselves, and I fully intend on doing everything then.
Later in my room, I lie on my bed in a comfortable black bathrobe. I would hunt for pajamas, but I can't really bring myself to move, much less think of sleep. I just stare contentedly out the window at the colorful, bustling city. This is nothing like District Four. Usually, as soon as the clock hits four, you are free to do as you please. However, as soon as the sun sets, everyone but essential personnel dries off and heads home. Here, so long as they have an excuse, they're outside, dancing and having fun. It's so different. A small smile settles across my face. If it weren't for the obligations that are attached, I could really enjoy this.
A knock on my door pulls me out of my thoughts. I take a moment to tie my robe more tightly before I run to the door, and who should be waiting there but Finnick Odair? His lips curl in obvious amusement. "Hello, Miss Amadahy," he says in his deep, seductive voice.
I keep my demeanor professional, only because I see Marina down the hall. "What have I done to receive this honor?" I step aside, gesturing to my room, and he takes the invitation and steps in, shutting the door after himself.
"Missing anything?" he asks in his deep purr.
I open my mouth to tell him I didn't bring anything when I realize how big of a lie that would be. My fingers reach to the nightstand where I'd previously deposited my necklace, and upon further inspection, I realize it's missing the small sapphire flower that's always been there. He notices my realization, and hands over the blue stone with a chuckle. I quickly fasten the thing back in, scolding it silently for jumping off without my permission and making me look like a fool.
After I'm sure the flower is securely woven in, I look up and see Finnick focused on my fingers. Not moving his eyes, he says, "Has anyone told you you're a magnificent weaver?"
Wow. "Not the master himself." Not anyone, actually. Weaving is actually my job, but never once have I been commended for it.
"I don't weave." He's not being very accurate. He does weave, and he does so rather well. "I didn't really win because I could weave. I won the Games because I was spoiled rotten." He smiles and licks his lips in that "seductive" way. He lets his voice go deep again. "Apparently, gorgeous was my strategy." His voice goes back to normal. "So what's yours?"
"What about sarcastic?" He raises an eyebrow, but I'm serious. "It's something I'm good at," I point out. So good, in fact, that he was under the impression I was being sarcastic. It's a skill I'm rather practiced at.
He shakes his head. "No, that won't really work." He thinks for a moment. "How about mysterious?" He looks me over, and nods in approval. "Yep, that will work." I look at him, confused. Mysterious, I am not. Then again, he can read me like a book. He laughs at my expression. "We'll worry about it later." He stands up and stretches, as if the five minutes we've been here has exhausted him. "See ya, cousin dearest." He pats my head and walks out. I dramatically fall back on the bed, tossing my necklace back on the nightstand and taking advantage of the remote provided to turn off the lights.
Knots? I look incredulously after the two backs pinned Twelve, who are now headed to the knot-tying station. Knot-tying can't really be learned three days before the Games, not unless you already know the basics. Well, I suppose she could know the basics, but still. I sigh before saying, "Who learns knots before the Hunger Games?"
The question was intended to be rhetorical. Besides, I didn't think there was anyone who was listening, which was why it surprised me when I heard an answer. Right next to my ear, I hear, "Somebody who needs to know more about knots." I feel myself jump a few inches. I hear quiet laughter behind my head. "Skittish, are we?" I feel as if I was an irritated cat, puffed up in anger. I swear a small hiss slips through my teeth. This would be condoned were it to be Finnick, but this is certainly not Finnick.
I'm turning around to confront the person, but as I do, he says quickly, "Sorry! Bad start." I face the offending figure, and his eyes widen. He holds out a hand, half open, as though he's trying to hide something. I squint at it, and all I see are long, shining scars. I suppose one might be self conscious about them, but not me. I'm still hesitant, but I grab his hand. He shakes it once, then releases. "I'm Copper." He looks as if he wants to say more, but he refrains from doing so.
I take a moment to look him over. I remember him now. He's from District Three. His hair is neater than it was for the reaping, thanks to the stylists, but it's still a disheveled black mess. He looks somewhat boyish, but still rather attractive. I meet his eyes, and they're an odd gold-brown color. I've never seen eyes like that. It catches me off guard for a second. I squeeze my own eyes shut, not able to put a name to the color. I realize he awaits a response, so I slide my eyes open and say, "Lily." I turn around and head off, not sure what do and aching to test my skills. I remember Finnick telling me long ago that spear throwing was easy if you could throw a trident, and I wanted to test it.
As I walk away, I hear him follow. I stop at a station displaying a large rack of spears. He laughs. "You wouldn't be related to Finnick Odair, would you?" He laughs again, making it seem as if he believes his statement to be some big joke. All of Panem more likely than not knows that I am related to Finnick Odair by now! Must he have the audacity to joke about it? He adds alcohol to the wound by saying, "Doesn't he have a cousin? Lily Amadahy?"
"Okay. I'll play." I force a smile onto my features as he steps back a few steps, hands up in surrender. Does he not realize that murder is illegal? Whatever. "How about this? If I make this shot," I say, pointing to the bright red heart of a dummy, a spot that I can cover with my fingertip, "then I am indeed Lily Amadahy." With that, I spin on my heel, roll forward, and toss the thing. I really hope it makes it because I don't really know what I'd say my name was if I were to miss. But I don't. The shaft smoothly slides through the mannequin, right on target. Thank you, Finnick.
"Well, hello, Miss Amadahy," he says in awe. He mutters something else.
"Excuse me," I hiss. "I don't believe I heard that." He just laughs and walks off, leaving me to my own devices.
I take Annie's advice and try everything that I possibly can. I am good at direct combat, especially sword fighting. I was only good at wrestling because I outsmarted the trainer. I'm all right with a mace, various sharp objects, and punching heavy sandbags, not that it's easy to be bad at that. I am miserable with a bow and arrow, as well as with weight lifting, axe throwing, building freestanding structures using only sticks and leaves, and camouflage. There is now a large red stain across my forearm that I can't get off. Apparently, berry juice is permanent.
I'm about to head off to find something else to do when an agonizingly loud lunch bell rings. I pause and wipe my face off on my shirt. It surprises me that I've done enough to get sweaty. "So I see you actually exert yourself," a voice says behind my ear. This time, I don't jump, but I do let a sigh slip out of my lips. This Copper figure appears to be quite persistent. Or he has a death wish. "You know, you have to talk to me eventually," he says.
"What do you want to know?" That wasn't my first choice of response. No, my first thought had been something along the lines of, You keep thinking that. I instead decided to be nice. However, he doesn't respond, and I turn around to see not him, but a girl.
"Hey," she says with a smile. I notice that it seems a bit forced. I see Copper sulking in the background, and I'm sorely tempted to laugh. "My name is Clove. District Two." I head off to get food, and she follows. "You're Lily Odair, right?" I note that her friendliness is as real as her smile.
"Amadahy," I say just loud enough for her to hear.
"Shame that Everdeen girl had to take away your spotlight," she says. I hear a grin in her voice. I don't doubt she's goading me. "You could have been the big thing of this year's Games." I've thought that a few times. Maybe I was intended to make the Games interesting this year. Relative of Finnick Odair! Eek! That could have been fun. Nice to know I'm not the only one who has noticed her intrusion. I realize that Katniss Everdeen is really starting to irritate me, and I've never even talked to her.
I respond in the best way I can think of, considering she's a Career. "We'll just have to kill her first, then, won't we?" I flash a smile over my shoulder, and I see her satisfied smirk. She likes my attitude, and she doesn't like Katniss. Of course. She doesn't like competition. She only likes me to help her get rid of it, but I may as well play along.
"So, technically this already applies, but would you join us?" I continue walking, and she takes it as me not understanding her. "At the Career table?" she clarifies.
I continue getting food. It isn't like I can say no to them if I don't want them to hunt me down later. Besides, Annie's advice has helped me so far. Still, they make me uncomfortable, these Careers. I would do better by myself. They don't give me much of a choice, though. The girl from One grabs my wrist and pulls me to their table, pushing her hair over a shoulder. She introduces everyone to me. "So, you already know Clove," she says, gesturing to the small girl. "I'm Glimmer, and this is Marvel." She points to the bulky blond boy from Two. "That's Cato. And for anyone who doesn't know, this is Lily Amadahy."
Everyone gives a somewhat welcoming grunt before fading back into their conversations. Cato tells a fascinating story of how he did something or other concerning someone who did something on the day of his reaping. By fascinating, I mean completely and totally dreary. After the first few minutes, I shrink back into my own mind, a place with things that fascinate me much more than how someone tried to break Cato's nose, amusing as that may be.
"So what's your favorite color?" Arg! Where does he come from? Why is it so amusing to him when he catches me by surprise? I don't find anything funny, but he is practically rolling on the floor laughing.
"You could at least say something before you attack me," I say, hurt by Copper's amusement. Well, not really. I don't even know the guy. If he's so easily amused, I'm not completely sure I want to know him. I really don't know what I said, but he laughs harder. I turn away and stuff a bite of chicken into my mouth as he grabs a chair offensively close to the Careers.
"But seriously, you asked what I wanted to know, so I asked you a question. What's your favorite color?"
I'm not sure I want to talk to him, since he seems to find everything I do hilarious, but I did give him permission to ask the question, so I may as well answer it. "Purple." I look down at my shirt with the odd sweat stain. "It's a rare color in our district. Not very many rich colors, you know?"
He nods in understanding. No laughter. That's a start. "I actually just figured out my favorite color." He looks me straight in the eyes, completely serious. "Mine is blue green…sea color, actually." He looks down, muttering, "Not that I'd know sea color." He lifts his fork, his cheeks going pink. What does that even-oh. I get it now. I take a deep breath as I feel my face burn. My eyes are influencing people now. I wonder if this is a sign of mind control.
"So, Miss Amadahy, tell me about yourself." I look up, and he appears to have gotten over his momentary embarrassment.
"You really want to hear the story? It isn't completely…well, there isn't a happy ending."
He snorts rather unattractively. "Does anybody have one? We live until we die. No smiles there."
Well, if I'm condemning myself, I may as well do it thoroughly. Telling my life story to a stranger is a decent way to start. "I was born on the sea." He laughs, perhaps taking it literally. "Well, on a boat on the sea. Mother went for a ride. Daddy said it wasn't a smart idea, but maybe that's where I got my determination from." As an afterthought, I mutter, "And why I don't listen."
He conceals a laugh as a cough-very badly, I might add. In my normal voice, I say, "Anyway, the boat was three miles out when she went into labor, and poof. There was a little baby Lily." I pause for a moment, considering whether or not I should talk about the dark edge of my life or not. Well, he asked for it. I may as well give it all. "Well, I never was one to wait. I lived a happy little eight years." I see the numbers rolling through his mind. I decide to relieve him of the thought.
"When I was eight, my cousin, who may as well have been my brother- he'd always liked my parents more that his- was reaped for District Four. He was an immediate hit, which scared my mother. Everyone knew he'd be an instant target." I laugh unhappily. "He was. He was just better than them. Just watching him do what he had to…well, it killed off the competition, but you could say it had the unintentional effect of killing her. He came back. Mom didn't." I pause for a second to push my food around.
"I weave." He looks confused at the subject change, but I go on. "Metal cages, by the way, in case you were wondering. Not a pleasant job." I hold out my hand, shiny scars, both new and old, stand out against my skin like old, familiar friends. I don't pause to evaluate his reaction. "Do I have to? No. I live with a victor. I do it just to get out of the house. Daddy's dead. Boat accident, seven years ago. Finnick usually swims or…well, other things. Mom was always alone, which was how she seemed to like it. I got to baby her through the day." I pause and take a deep breath. "Last year, she went on a boat. No one had an issue with it. We thought she was finally back to normal. As if. She accidentally fell out. At least, that's what they say. Finn and I know better. Now, I live with him, and with his dad when he isn't home. They're my only family, what with no dad and no mom, even though his parents are harder to reach than the sun. So…the end."
I look around the table, and to my utter dismay, I see twelve eyes turned to me. I feel my cheeks burn, and I stare at my hands. I didn't exactly want the whole table to know all of that. I practically just told them everything I am, everything that they can use against me. He could have said something!
"Bravo," I hear a voice say. I look up hesitantly, and the boy from Two is smiling. The expression is oddly feral. I can already tell that he'll be the leader, so to speak. He doesn't look afraid to kill. Not at all. I look around the table. The silence is oppressing. I stare at an odd green spot on the table. A moment later, Cato says, with a huge smile that exposes all of his teeth, "So what's life like with Finnick Odair?"
Hmm. The inevitable question has come. How to phrase this. "Let's see… Finnick is amazing, but you get sick of stuck-up Capitol men, obsessive Capitol women, and, for the most part, you get sick of the Capitol."
They all laugh and say things like, "uh huh, you must!" One, however, silences the others with his statement.
"Well, one of us will soon be with the, ahem, 'stuck up' Capitol men." I recognize the speaker, Marvel, the boy from One. The one who I never liked to begin with. He certainly hasn't changed my mind. Yep, if he wins, which he won't- I'll see to that- then he'll fit in perfectly. He seems very satisfied with himself, but he won't meet my eyes.
Well, since they all probably have a plot to kill me, I may as well get a head start. I carefully listen to their stories, the way they talk, the way they think. I carefully observe them all, and this is what I find.
The tributes from District One aren't the smartest. Marvel cares a lot about himself, and that might just be the death of him. He seems to think a lot about how everything will affect his life, and only really volunteered for the Games to become more famous than his brother, who did something or other concerning designing some kind of fabric for the Capitol. He wants to win so he can hunt his brother, who is now a Capitol stylist, down.
Glimmer is somewhat nice and slightly less self centered than her male counterpart, although she is incredibly vain, especially about her hair. She knows she's attractive, and she tends to hide behind Marvel and Nerio. She has a tenancy to rub up on Cato, but she stops as soon as Clove comes into view. She does have common sense, but she also has a nasty temper when insulted. I have noticed that she has a tenancy to be rational when everyone else in the group is agitated. She has positively no talent with any weapon, but she is nice to talk to on occasion.
Cato and Clove are the masterminds of the operation. Cato wows people with stories of his strength. They seem a bit shallow and pointless, but there's a plan in his eyes. He monitors who is intimidated, I think, and by association, he already knows how things are going to work out. I don't doubt that he already has his kill list in order, and he has the brute force to execute it. Clove doesn't talk much, but you can see on her face that she is taking in everything everyone says. She carefully looks over every tribute she sees in the other districts as well, and how they react to the immediate threat of the Careers. Anyone who has seen her with a knife will know that she is more than a decent match, despite her small stature. She doesn't bother to hide it. She and Cato seem to go together like clockwork. I almost wonder if they had a bond prior to the Games, but I have no plans to ask.
Nerio, judging by how he acts, will be dead the first day. Honestly, if I come across him after the gong rings, I'll kill him myself. It seems heartless and cruel, but when I have a spear clutched in my hand and have doubts coursing through my veins, I can think about every single little thing that he has said that has exposed his true ignorance. I can see in my mind him jumping to volunteer, pushing aside Kai Mornan, who may have had a chance. He sacrificed himself for no apparent reason, so I plan on taking advantage of it. Not that he needs to know that.
I stay with the Careers until the last day of training. On that day, Clove claims she has something to do with Cato, and we all decide to just separate for the day. I can't help myself. I head to the knot-tying station. Yes, I know. Why do it if you know it? Ask anyone. If you know something, hone your skill while you can. It is actually very comforting. My fake nails are constantly catching on the thin metal, and the wire awakens my cuts, but I really don't mind as much as I should. Gabriel might, but I really could care less about what he thinks. He has some fancy concealer for that. He has a life to live. I don't. For me, the familiar sting of pain is almost comforting.
An hour later, I walk away from an extravagant net. It hangs from a clump of fake trees, a delicate trigger system dangling down from it. I am satisfied with my work, but certainly not any more than the woman manning the station. She is stunned that I have done this. The only guidance I had from her was the trigger system, which I never would have done on my own.
I am only a few steps away when I hear his voice. I turn and see a pair of copper eyes between squares of metal. I roll my eyes. Of course he'd be the one to ignore the obvious net hovering above him. He fumbles around, attempting to get out, but no luck. The net is built to cause pain with every move, and the genius proves not to be so smart in this area. I refrain from laughing. Man versus net…net wins every time. I can't help the quiet laughs that slip past my tightly sealed lips as I gently lift the net from his tense body. The net itself isn't very substantial. The pain keeps one from moving. Usually.
I don't want to laugh in his face, because that might come across as rude. As soon as the net is safely in a pile in the corner, I start to walk away, put my hand to my mouth, and let out the huge laugh that had been pent up there. I hear footsteps behind me, so I turn around and face him. He fingers at a particularly deep cut, a grimace on his face. I can't help but take advantage of the situation. "I'd say sorry, but for once, I'm not the idiot here."
"Geez." He walks forward, and I automatically step back. "You didn't seem to mention that you manufacture devices of torture." He puts emphasis on torture, making me sound worse than I really am.
"I'm not that bad. Or good. Take your pick." I'm still walking backwards, mostly to monitor his reactions. Who knows what he thinks of the odd girl with the rust colored hair? Surely not me. Perhaps not him yet. So I watch.
He appears to think for a while. He seems to be a thinker. He has that look in his eye, the one people get when they dwell particularly hard on a thought that has been going through one's mind again and again. I can't help but wonder what. I wonder a lot about this Copper figure. What does he think of? What makes him happy? What does he have to go home to? I want to ask, but I'm afraid to get too close to anyone. I don't want to be friends to have it backfire in the arena. Still, talking never hurt anyone.
It's a while before his eyes are clear again. He looks around, and suddenly, his eyes widen. His eyes are rather pretty, I note. The color is really unlike anything I've seen before. It seems to be flecked with…well, molten copper. I can't seem to stop looking, and then…
I'm on the floor.