Disclaimer: Nope.

Late I know; But I wanted to give you guys enough time to review and things :).

Okay, you guys have got to quit picking on my girl Callista. She becomes very important after Annie wins. No more picking on her. Sorry I'm being strict, but there is a hint of sarcasm in there :D. Alright, I won't keep you waiting anymore. This chapter we get a visit from a hot District Four Victor!

Virtual Finnicks Go To:

97

Death..

Chapter Four: We Call it a Game

Stepping out into the early summer air, with a slight breeze running through the train station; it seemed like a beautiful day.

***A KEY WORD***

seemed

Camera lights flashed, microphones were shoved in our faces, begging for our voices to fly across the country. No doubt this was live television, it is every year. One Peacekeeper who'd followed us out as a protection detail (in case one reporter came too close) hurried us along. Fillipa recoiled at his touch, saying, "Really, it's not like we're dead. You can't man-handle me. All they want is a couple pictures. Let them do what they wish." It's not like we're dead. Not yet, Fillipa, dear. Not yet. Finally, we reached the train, and as we stepped aboard, I caught a slight glimpse of my friends, held back by barriers. They were crying. Callista wasn't there. Once on the train, the doors closed, the train lurched, and Fillipa showed us to our rooms. As Nearland and I walked behind her, she was clucking, saying how the rooms could be a bit better, but the new model the designers had suggested was denied. Before I could ask what that meant, Fillipa opened a door, and all but shoved me in there. "Annie, this is your room. Dinner is in an hour; Don't be late." The door closed. And the tears ran free. Collapsing on the bed, I thought about everyone I've ever come in contact with. Alex, Dad, Mom, Juniper, Abbey, Pearl, Nearland, Callista…. Callista. She said she was going to volunteer, that she was made for the Games. That she is. This was her last year. So why am I here? I should be back in my district, supporting my friends, telling them that Callista would return in no time. But secretly, I would be screaming at Callista from the inside. Yelling at her that she left us. She left us. She. Left. Us. I left them. Sitting straight up in bed, I chastised myself. What was I thinking? Why the hell should I be crying? I'm a Career, right? I should be happy, overjoyed maybe. Anything but crying and upset. If I'm supposed to be happy…

Why am I still crying?

I sat there for possibly forty minutes; just thinking. Then I realize I have twenty minutes to get ready. Popping up from the bed, I open what I think is the bathroom door. It is. And boy, is it huge. But I have no time to stand around and gape. Moving quickly to mirror, I examine my face. A bit red, but I could easily fix that. I notice that a drawer under the sink is slightly open. I pull it open the rest of the way, and it glides out smoothly. Inside there is some makeup. At least, I think it's makeup. The only thing I really recognize is a cherry lip gloss and something called foundation my mom had once upon a time. I'd seen her apply it once, and I usually have a very good memory, so I wash off the makeup I had on for the Reaping, making for everything is off. The redness is now blotchy. I pull out the foundation, and using my finger, I apply it gently, making my skin even. It was strange that it was my exact skin tone, but when I look at the container, it's a pasty white. Just another miracle of the Capitol, I suppose. I look back up at my reflection. My eyes, surprisingly, look white. Really white; making the green pop out. The redness is now gone, replaced by a bronze tone. I leave the other makeup in the drawer, and figure that's enough for now. I really don't need makeup. Stepping back into the room, I go over to a smaller door. It's a closet, filled with amazing fashions I've seen Victors or other important people wearing on television. I pull out a one-shoulder green shirt, with a silver design on the front. Laying it down on the bed carefully, I reach for a pair of form-fitting slacks. I get changed, admiring the airy quality of the shirt. It's loose, but in a flattering way. On the bottom of the closet lays an array of shoes; everything from flats to high-heels, in every shape and size. I pull out a pair of flats that look about my size. They feel like walking on a cloud. I nearly ran in them, this room definitely was big enough to, but these were not running shoes. I settle for walking a couple steps. They were perfect.

I go back into the bathroom, grabbing a brush that was in the same drawer as the makeup. Pulling them through my curls, they actually look tame. Putting the brush back, I check the clock that is up against the wall. I got ready in fifteen minutes. Going back into the room rather slowly, I sit down on the bed and take a deep breath. I'm a Career now. I have to be happy. Happy. I nearly laugh, it was that ridiculous. I allow myself to imagine what it was like back home. Were my friends crying? Alex? Callista? The next thing I know, Fillipa's knocking on my door, telling me it was time for dinner. I take another deep breath, before following another one of Alex's lessons. Smile. Don't ever frown. Make yourself look confident. Act mysterious when asked about your talents. Don't tell them you don't train, don't tell them that you do, either. I adorn a tiny smile on my face, opening the door, and having Fillipa lead me out of the bedroom car and into the dining car. It was a bit smaller than the one we just left, but not by much. There was a large dining table, with plates and food set out, ready to eat. I nearly fall over, but it's not because I saw Finnick Odair, but because of the food. This was easily enough to fill every stomach of every child in District Four. Chicken, fish, soups, muffins, anything you could think of, even those I don't have a name for.

Fillipa seats herself next to Mags, the old mentor that won a long time ago, before I was born. "Sit down please, Annie." Mags says. I do so, sitting down next to Fillipa. There was one chair between me and Finnick Odair. Then Nearland enters, and staying true to his solemn form, takes the seat between Finnick and me without a word. Capitol attendants come in, carrying plates of food. My only thought: There's more? One of them, a girl who looks about Callista's age, sets down a bowl with pink soup and some kind of brown nuts that look like grain sprinkled over it.

We all begin to eat, and I expect one of them to say what the next dish is, but they don't speak. I notice, being the observer I am, that they swallow strangely, like they don't have…. Don't have a tongue. Alex told me about these servants—Avoxes, he called them—and that they did something against the Capitol. The Capitol caught them and tortured them, doing something to their tongues so they could never speak again. And then made them serve on the future tributes of the Hunger Games. Studying the girl that served me out of the corner of my eye, I see that she isn't like Callista's age at all. She looks my age. Fourteen. Maybe fifteen. What could she have done to deserve this fate? I imagine me being in her position, forced to serve people who're going to die, most likely. Not able to speak, protest against this cruel thing we call a festivity. We call it a Game.

So when Finnick says, in his infamous purr, "So, how old are you two again?" Nearland answers first, in the same manner he spoke it at the Reaping. Finnick nods in acknowledgement. And when he turns to me, I don't think. I just act. Smirking, I say, "Fourteen." That was Finnick's age when he won the Games. He responds with a half-smile. "Talents?" He asks. Nearland goes, again, first. "Knives." He answers. Finnick just turns to me. "What about you, Annie?" Here we go. Attempting to hold back fake laughter I say, "Well, you're just going to have to wait and see. You honestly think I'm going to reveal what my strengths are right in front of him?" I dart my eyes over to Nearland and then back to Finnick's dark green ones. Finnick just laughs. Then he turns to Mags. "We've got a Career here, Mags." Mags opens her mouth to respond, when Nearland interrupts. "We both know you don't train, Annie." He has a small smirk on his face, and even laughs a bit. I glare at him. "Correction: You haven't seen me train. You don't follow me around 24/7, do you? You like younger girls, right? I wouldn't be surprised if you do, going out with Holland Gevers last year." "Who?" Mags asks. "Oh, she's thirteen. Nearland here is known as a real ladies' man. He's going out with a girl five years younger than him. Isn't that illegal?" The air around us has gotten tense, but all Finnick does is lean back in his seat, hands behind his head, and grins at us. "So, which one of you wants to be a Career?" This time I answer first, before Nearland even has a chance to get his mouth open. "I'm born for these Games, Finnick. Obviously, I'm going to need allies." Nearland restrains from whatever he was going to say, and his jaw tightens before he says, "I'd rather go alone." Mags raises her eyebrows and says, "Are you sure? I mean, the Careers are the most likely to win-." "I'm sure." He answers gruffly, before getting up and leaving the car. I watch him go, before turning around and staring at the pink soup, appetite lost. I don't know why, but I kind of feel sorry for Nearland. I know for a fact that he doesn't have very many friends besides Alex, so possibly it's because Alex is more attached to his sister than to his best friend. But that makes sense, right? Family before friends? Whatever Nearland's reason for leaving so abruptly, I have a feeling it was linked to me. "Annie," Finnick says, suddenly serious. It's different, because I've never seen him serious before. Only snarky, arrogant, and incredibly sarcastic. "Annie, what did you do?" "What do you mean?" I ask, taking a sip of the soup to hide my anxiety. "I mean, about Nearland. Why would you say that?" Suddenly, I am on the offensive. "Well, he started it. And besides, I didn't expect him to take it so seriously. It's over, right? One, or most likely both, of us are going to die, so why worry about Holland when-?" "You know that's not what I mean." It's not a statement that's up for arguing. It's a fact. "Well," Fillipa says shakily, as if to ease the conversation. "Shall we watch the recaps of the Reapings?" "But what about Nearland?" Mags asks. "Let him go. He needs rest to face tomorrow. We'll arrive in the Capitol early." With that said, we head off to the T.V. car.

So this is what it's like, being a Tribute in these Games. These festivities. And at the end we all die. It happens every year though, nothing new. Some of us actually like it.

We call it a Game.

All the best,

Guardian2Be