Fudge. It's been a while.
I'm sorry. I love you all. Have some Odesta :)
Also, before I forget, I did a little 'outtake' drabble, so to speak. I posted it on my Tumblr a while ago. I used it to get me back into the swing of THG and Odesta so that I could write this chapter. You may wish to read it before you go on It's not crucial- this chapter will make sense without it. I just thought those of you who haven't might want to read it :)
:/ / slightlymaybe . tumblr post / 84030792114 / im - just - going-to- leave-this- here- i-was-trying-to
Take the spaces out, it should hopefully work :)
She fiddled with one of the buttons on her trench coat.
The elevator was fairly packed, and Annie had found herself wedged between the boy from 1 and the girl from 7.
The former was shouting across the tiny box of a room at his District partner. Annie tried her hardest to block him out. Thankfully, they were the first to exit the lift, as their lodgings were on the first floor up.
Annie looked over at the girl from 7 and smiled in a manner that she hoped might be at least a little kindly.
The girl returned the gesture with a pleasant smile of her own, ducking her head almost immediately so that her red hair might hide her face from view.
Annie liked her, she decided; this other girl seemed to feel just as shy as she did.
The next floor was her own, and Finnick put his arm around her shoulders so as to lead her out of the elevator.
She squirmed until he removed said arm, and resisted the urge to stomp on his toes. She was still rather angry at him.
Morris caught up with them. He and Annie merely had to look at each-other in order to trigger another laughing fit.
"Am I missing something?" Finnick asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.
Annie managed to shake her head.
"The odds," Morris struggled to force out between giggles. "They're in our favour."
"They aren't." Thalia trilled brightly, waddling past them in her heels in the direction of the lounge. "You haven't even started training yet."
Her comment killed the carefree atmosphere almost instantly. Both Annie and Morris fell silent, looking at the ground sheepishly.
"Don't look so glum." Finnick said brightly, nudging Morris playfully. "The odds will be in your favour soon enough. Mags and I will make sure of it."
The pair of teenagers were shown to their separate rooms, side-by-side and directly opposite those of the two previous victors with them.
Annie was not sure where to put her pirate costume as she was unable to find a designated wash-bag or wash-bin, so she left it in a pile by her bedroom's door and headed into the ensuite bathroom.
The shower was more complicated than the one that she was used to back; different buttons seemed to give the water different scents, and the pictures said buttons bared did not seem to relate to those scents at all. She eventually settled upon vanilla (the button for which depicted some sort of squirrel with an acorn). Her mother always baked cakes with vanilla extract 'for flavour' on Annie and Julien's birthdays. It reminded her of candles and balloons and her dear older brother.
It reminded her of home.
Annie stood in the shower beneath that torrent of vanilla-scented water for a long while, her eyes firmly closed as she remembered her last birthday. How long ago it seemed! The idea of never having another day like that, never tasting her mother's vanilla cakes, never getting to throw the paper torn off of her presents at her brother and laughing when he threw it back, brought her to tears.
She grabbed a bottle of shower gel from the rack attached to the wall, intending to distract herself.
The label said that it smelt like 'magnolia and jojoba oil'. She had never heard of either before, but she thought it had a pleasant scent. She used it generously.
The shampoo was white and coconut-scented. She had tried coconut once, years ago, and didn't much like it. Still, she was too tired and too cold now to bother searching for a different one. She worked it into her long, dark hair and rinsed.
Back in her bedroom, she found a pair of fluffy red pyjamas. She pulled them on without hesitation. They were ever so slightly too big, which only served to make them all the more snugly.
All dressed for bed, she left her bedroom so that she might see if dinner was going to be long. She'd had a busy day, after all; she was tired.
Hearing that the TV was on, she snuck past the lounge and crept into the dining room. There, a girl with curly black hair, which seemed to frame her face like a lion's mane or an angel's halo, was busy setting out the cutlery.
"Would you like some help?" Annie asked.
The other girl jumped at the sound of her voice, turning to face her with wide brown eyes. She shook her head, her curls dancing with the motion.
"It'd be no trouble." Annie assured her. "I have nothing else to be getting on with. You'd actually be doing me a favour if you gave me something to do. And I really do want to be helpful. I like feeling useful, you know?"
She was rambling now, and she knew it. She always rambled when she was nervous. Annie was quite sure that it was part of the reason she always failed at making new friends; she always scared them off by saying too much or saying nothing at all. There was no in-between with her when it came to conversing with strangers.
Embarrassed, she fell silent and dipped her head down, focused her gaze upon the floor.
The dark-haired girl's footsteps were silent; Annie didn't realise she'd moved at all until there was a gentle tapping on her shoulder. She glanced up and the remaining pieces of cutlery were pressed carefully into her hands.
Her fingers clasped around them and she smiled gratefully.
"Thank you," She said, and she meant it.
The dark-haired girl smiled back, pointing towards the kitchen and then back at the table. Annie nodded, not entirely sure what message she was trying to convey. Apparently her consent was what was needed, however, because the dark-haired girl bobbed in a slight curtsy before heading into the kitchen.
Annie had just finished setting down the final fork when she was attacked.
A pair of arms wrapped around her, squeezing her tightly. She felt a nose nuzzle into her hair.
Wriggling frantically, Annie struggled to get away from her attacker. Unfortunately, this only led to them both falling to the floor.
With her attacker momentarily stunned after impact with the hardwood floorboards, she was able to roll away and leap up onto her feet.
It was Finnick. She should've guessed.
She held out a hand to help him up, which he accepted whilst grumbling about having a bruise on his bottom and shooting an underwear advert tomorrow and how would he be able to do that if he was black and blue?
Annie merely shrugged. It served him right. He should never have touched her.
"I'm sorry," Finnick apologised sheepishly. "You're the one who decided to wear fluffy pyjamas. I couldn't help myself. I had to."
Annie shot him her iciest glare and sat down at the table.
Much to her dismay, Finnick chose to sit in the seat beside her.
The drinks were served (water for Annie, apple juice for Morris, and red wine for everyone else).
Annie took a sip of hers. The water was freezing cold; it must've been kept refrigerated. She took another mouthful.
Finnick leaned over her so as to reach the chicken drumsticks, which had been placed almost directly in front of her.
"Your hair smells nice." He whispered, drumstick in hand, as he settled back down in his seat and tucked into his meal.
Annie almost choked on her water.
Momentarily, she wasn't sure whether she'd imagined it, but one glance at his smug face confirmed that she had not.
Under the table, where no-one could see, she poked his thigh by way of vengeance. Hard.
"Hey!" He cried out before he could stop himself.
Three pairs of eyes turned to face him, and he looked down at his plate shamefaced.
Annie continued to pick at her salad, fighting the grin that threatened to spread across her face but failing miserably.
"Finnick!" Thalia scolded. "You just interrupted!"
"I'm sorry." Finnick mumbled.
Thalia huffed and delicately nibbled at the piece of fish skewered upon the end of her fork.
Mags met Annie's eye, smirked in the most unnerving manner, and returned her attention to Thalia and her previously interrupted speech upon the rising prices of heels in a particular shop she liked that Annie hadn't quite caught the name of.
Mags doesn't bother knocking on Finnick's bedroom door. She just lets herself in.
Finnick hastily scrabbles to cover himself with his blanket. He'd found it easier, what with being summoned by Snow to various places at any random time of day, to sleep in his underwear and avoid investing in pyjamas. It made getting dressed much quicker, meant he was rarely late for appointments now.
It also made situations like these rather awkward for him, though.
"Relax." Mags said, sitting down on the edge of his bed beside his feet. "I've seen it all before. I had a fiancé once, you know."
Finnick wrinkled his nose up.
"What?" The elderly woman asked defensively. "Can't see me with a man?"
"I don't want to think of you with a man." Finnick stressed.
Mags slapped him lightly on the leg, which was hidden beneath the cover but the shape of which was still visible. It stung slightly. For an old lady, she was surprisingly strong.
"Why are you here, anyway?" Finnick grumbled. "I need my beauty sleep."
Mags rolled her eyes at the second part, but made no comment. "We need to discuss which of us is mentoring which tribute."
"I want Annie." He said. It was only once the words had left his mouth that he realised the potential double meaning, wincing.
"I know you do." Mags' tone of voice indicated that she, too, had heard the double meaning and was following it up with one of her own.
Finnick wanted nothing more than to retreat into a cave in that moment, and never leave it.
"However," Mags continued. "I thought that the fact you know each-other already might prove... Distracting."
He said nothing, although he did sit up and glare at her defensively.
"I'm not sure it would be fair." Mags concluded softly.
"The tributes from 1 and 2 have been training for this since they could walk." He snapped. "How is that fair? The whole idea of these Games is that they aren't fair. If you're from one of the outlying districts, you're pretty much screwed right from the start."
"I didn't mean it would be unfair on the tributes, Finnick." Mags assured him, a sad if knowing smile twisting the corners of her lips upward. "I meant it would be unfair on you. Training starts tomorrow. Get some sleep- Morris won't appreciate it if you're grouchy in the morning.
Finnick groaned and lay back down, burying his face in his pillow.
The mattress moved as Mags stood up. He heard her soft slippers make their way to the door, heard said door slide open and then shut again. He heard her enter her own room, beside his.
No, Annie Cresta's reaping was not fair. The way his stomach leapt when he saw her; the way he wanted so badly to impress her for some unknown reason yet always seemed to mess up when he was around her, grow nervous where once the feeling had been foreign; the fact that he wanted so badly to just hold her close- none of that was fair, either.
Maybe Mags was onto something, not that he'd ever tell her, of course.
She could get ever so cocky.
Idk if Finnick seems a bit OOC in this chapter. He's just more chummy with Annie at the moment than she is with him. She's still angry with him over the whole running thing. And the whole Marisol thing too, of course.