By Land or Sea

"Faster, dear."

She felt hands pulling on her hair, coat and arms. Pandora's first instinct was to thrash at them, to swat them away like flies…instead she winced. Her thoughts were still back in President Snow's office.

"You do realize you're late, don't you?"

Pandora was staring at the back of Caradoc's head. His mohawk was just a silhouette in the dim light of the corridor. Several of the beauticians were examining and undressing her as she walked close behind.

"I had an appointment, up until an hour ago I wasn't even aware that I was needed."

They had just reached a door when it automatically slid open.

Her feet paused. She could see lights flashing from the doorway. Slowly her eyes became as wide as saucers. Lights were set up, all of them streaming different filters and colors onto a small stage. There were cameras and teleprompters waiting nearby.

Technicians worked on long strands of wires while several other works consulted with the photographers. She could hear the buzz of light bulbs warming up.

Observantly Pandora glanced around the room. She was searching for him, he had to be close.

"Come along, no time to waste…" Caradoc crooned impatiently, grabbing her by the wrist.

He pulled Pandora into separate room full of red velvet seats and long bright mirrors. Shelves held various palettes, tools, and devices. Along the far eastern wall, near the door, was a rack of clothing. It was the dressing room.

By the time she was pushed into a seat, the beauticians had her down to her underwear. A chill shivered throughout her body.

Makeup artists and hairdressers were bantering between each other, staring at sketches along the walls. As Caradoc came back into view she noticed that a few of the stylists were looking at her.

"An appointment with who?"

Pandora blinked her eyes, she was overwhelmed and foggy. "What?"

"You said you had an appointment?"

Her lips hesitated, she didn't even want to say the name.

"Hm?"

"Snow—President Snow."

"Right, of course. Well I'm sure he told you all about your new talent."

Her head slowly nodded, she felt someone pulling on her hair, "A model."

"Not just any model, you'll be special."

Another beautician speedily moved to Pandora's front, immediately beginning the makeup.

"So I hear," she whispered after a time.

She could taste the balm as soon as the makeup artist brushed it on her lips.

Her brown eyes peered around. No sign of him at all. She wondered if President Snow was just egging her on. With as much casualness as she could muster she twitched her eyes to Caradoc, "I was told Finnick Odair was part of the campaign."

He was leafing through sketches, but his hands soon stopped at the mentioning of the name.

"Is there something you want to ask, Pandora?"

Suddenly she felt embarrassed. He had the strangest expression on his face, one that made Pandora feel queasy.

"No—I was—I was just wondering."

His eyes lingered on her, an amused smile was on his face, "Yes, yes Mr. Odair is here."

Her lips rubbed together nervously.

"In fact, it's just you two."

"What?"

"For the campaign—we only needed two models. I figured what's a better way to start off the 69th Hunger Games than a photography shoot with two young Victors."

"But there are several other more qualified Victors to choose from."

"President Snow thought we needed fresh faces, he insisted."

Her eyes narrowed. The only word to describe Pandora's emotions at that moment was trapped. It felt like there was an obscure joke going on that she had been left out of. Something odd was happening.

Her heart was racing, her palms were sweaty.

"By Land or Sea."

"What did you say?"

"That's what we're calling the campaign…By Land or Sea. Fitting isn't it?"

Her back pressed further into the chair. A clever pun for a campaign featuring Finnick Odair and Pandora Sullivan. One Victor from Panem's ocean District and the other from its forests. It felt contrived, almost stupidly humorous, but that was the Capitol. As soon as Pandora heard the name she knew the citizens would eat it up, love every minute of it.

Her fingers drummed against her thighs, "Yes, quite fitting."

What felt like hours was really only a few more minutes. The hairdresser had left Pandora's hair down. When she caught a glimpse of herself she noticed that it looked rather messy, with sparkling leaves and violet flowers gently placed among her dark hair. Her makeup was the most interesting, or rather dramatic, aspect. They had painted her eyelashes, making them thick and long. Sparkling emerald eye shadow coated her lower eyelids, with glimmers of bronze in the corner. Her lips were also an emerald green, something that had shocked Pandora instantly. As a finishing touch the makeup artist dusted a shimmer all over her naked body.

"Alright, it looks like we're ready," Caradoc whispered to himself, glancing over Pandora's body.

She furrowed her brow, lowering her eyes, "Don't you think I'm missing something? Like clothes?"

"This is your costume."

"I'm not wearing anything," she couldn't help but notice a few of the beauticians laughing.

"No—you're not. Is that a problem?"

It took a moment for the reply to sink in. She lowered her eyes once more, "Of—of course not…" her lips parted, "Of course, this will be fine."

"Good. You can wear a robe until we get to the stage, got it?"

She grabbed the silk robe, uncomfortably starting towards the doors. The floor was cold against her bare feet. Panic suffocated her.

"Finally!" The photography exclaimed as they entered the cavernous room, "We've been waiting on you."

"Relax, Milo," Caradoc quickly spat out, "We're here now."

Pandora's mouth was suddenly dry. Her eyes cautiously moved around the room. She found herself counting how many people were there, how many people would see her naked. Her hands gripped the robe tightly.

"Well, come on then!" The photography grumble, pointing to the stage as he snapped a large lens onto his camera.

Her eyes moved towards the white platform, instantly her body tensed.

Finnick was already standing in place.

He had a towel around his waist, but if her costume was anything to go by she knew that it wouldn't be on for long.

When Finnick looked at her he seemed sad.

"Pandora," Caradoc was to her side, hissing in her ear, "Get a move on."

She felt her breathing hitch.

"I—I don't want to," she whispered back.

"What?"

Her eyes shifted to Caradoc, she sounded like a pleading child, "Please, I don't like this. I feel uncomfortable."

"Pandora—don't be dramatic. It's alright."

"No—please—"

She tried to take step back but Caradoc quickly pushed her forward. He murmured something to her just before she started to ascend the few steps of the stage.

The floor creaked underneath her feet.

Pandora couldn't bring herself to look at Finnick, her cheeks flushed in shame.

At the center of the stage the lights were so bright, for a moment she was blind, but slowly the shadows of the photographer came into view.

There was a designer near him with sketches and notes in his hand. He seemed to be directing the whole thing.

"Alright, get rid of the robe and towel," he said, rapidly approaching Finnick and Pandora with an eye of scrutiny.

Finnick's reaction was instant. He discarded the towel, keeping his feet a shoulder's width apart and returning his gaze to the design director. But Pandora didn't move. She dropped her eyes, nervously bowing her head to her chest. Maybe this was just another nightmare, maybe she would wake up and be back in District 7. Her breathing became uneven as she tried to talk herself into waking up from this ongoing night terror.

"C'mon, Miss Sullivan, I'll need the robe off."

"Right…" she managed, her green lips trembled, "Of course."

Slowly she unknotted the tie. Before she could fully shrug the robe off her arms the director snatched it away and tossed it into the shadows.

She was standing, naked and vulnerable. Shame so deeply felt and gut wrenching crashed inside her.

"Now what I want here is for Mr. Odair to be on the ground."

He grabbed Finnick, placing him against the sleek white stage.

"I want you to have a strong posture, yes?"

"Miss Sullivan, you sit against him, with your back pressed to his chest and torso."

Pandora was standing awkwardly. After a seconds hesitation the director lowered her to the floor himself.

Her muscles flexed involuntarily as she felt her legs, arms and back press against Finnick.

"Now lean into him."

Her eyes darted around.

"Yes, melt into him."

Her head leaned against his chest, her chin tilted up. Although her face seemed calm and relaxed she was petrified. She had never been naked in front of so many people, let alone with a man. It felt like her whole body was shaking, but she knew that it was all in her head.

"Brilliant!" He exclaimed, jumping off stage towards the photographer.

"Now! Mr. Odair if you could place your arms around her chest and cover her breasts with your forearm, hold her…"

A gasp escaped her as Finnick followed the director's instructions.

"Yes, yes like that!"

Suddenly the camera started flashing.

She could feel his heart racing, feel the same humiliation in his touch that was in hers.

"Part your lips more, Miss Sullivan!"

"Fix your arm!"

"Put your hand in his hair! No not like that! Like this!"

She furrowed her brow, trying to obey the orders being barked at her. Everything became so mechanical, even the smallest gesture or movement became important. They rarely said things to Finnick, Pandora figured it was because he was used to this.

Her breathing deepened as more and more lights flashed.

They were photographed for an hour with only a few breaks to readjust the poses. At the end of it all Pandora finally found her robe and pulled it on.

When she lifted her eyes she caught Finnick watching her. Slowly her hand lifted in a stagnant wave, her eyes softened.

He gave her the best smile he could muster, but it looked painful.

"That was superbly done," Caradoc's voice pulled her attention away.

She whirled around. Her eyes hardened once more.

"You should see the prints, the Capitol isn't going to know what hit them. Vibia will want a signed photo, you know how she is. "

"I'm sure," she harshly replied, pulling a loose leaf out of her wild hair.

"Smile, Pandora, this is a big deal, and you've done well."

The leaf twirled between her fingers, her jaw clenched. Sudden and violent contempt rushed through her.

"Forgive me if I don't smile, Caradoc."

"What's got into you?"

"President Snow showed me the photographs."

There was a beat of silence, one that confirmed Pandora's hateful disdain.

"What?"

Her brown eyes narrowed, "Tell me—was it you that was spying on me? Or did you have one of you lackeys do it? Maybe one of the camera crew?"

He tried to smile, "Pandora, dear, let's not get off topic."

"Oh," a dark laugh blew past her bitter lips, "Right. We wouldn't want to get off topic. That would be wrong."

"Look here, Pandora—"

He reached for her arm but she quickly pushed him away.

Suddenly her narrowed eyes filled with overwhelming ire. Her teeth gritted as she leaned towards him.

"I'm not a little girl, Caradoc, and I'm no fool. Do not test me."

She took a defiant step towards him. The overpowering urge to defend herself was flooding from her. She couldn't stop what happened next.

"You better watch yourself."

Caradoc's face looked sharp and severe, "Is that a threat?"

"I suggest you tread lightly."

"Pandora?! Are you okay?" The tenor voice made her snap out of it. Finnick was to her side, touching her shoulder. Immediately her posture shifted from tense to passive. She blinked her eyes away from Caradoc.

"I'm—I'm fine."

"Are—" Finnick peered to Caradoc and frowned, "Are you sure?"

In an instant Pandora felt weak. Her eyes closed, her hand reached for her brow. It wasn't until she looked back to Caradoc that she realized how callous she had been. Pandora was more than sure Caradoc would relay this back to Snow, sure that in some way she would pay for this slip of the tongue.

However, much to her surprise, Caradoc simply glowered.

He proudly titled his chin up, his judging eyes were staring down at her, "Everything is just fine, Mr. Odair. We were just discussing the fine art of photography. Weren't we, dear?"

Pandora's breath shuddered. Fingers curled into fists. "Yes," she breathlessly lied, "Yes, we were."

With only a final look to Finnick and Pandora, Caradoc nodded. He seemed to laugh to himself a little before he slowly walked off.

She stared after him, her lips curled as she bit back the hate and reached for a bottle of water.

Pandora had only taken a few sips before she noticed Finnick was staring at her.

"Yes?" Her eyebrow arched.

He smiled with a laugh, it almost sounded embarrassed.

"It's nothing. I just—it feels like a while since we last saw each other, and then all this—"

Her eyes dropped, heat rose to her cheeks as she recalled the photo shoot that had just happened.

"I mean, what are you even doing in the Capitol?"

"I had—" Her lips parted with a sigh, she was struggling to come up with an explanation, "I had an appointment."

"You look ridiculous in that makeup, you know."

A subtle smile formed on her lips, "I think I look charming."

He gave her laugh, his eyes briefly glancing around. Finnick was already back in his clothing. His lips faltered, as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

Pandora stared at him, observing the subtle and uncomfortable shifts in his posture. His bronze skin seemed to glow in the studio's light, but not as brightly as it should have, in fact he looked a little pale.

"Is something wrong?"

"What?"

She smiled, "You seem nervous, Finnick."

"Miss Sullivan!?"

The beauticians were calling her name. It was time to get out of makeup. She peered over her shoulder, nodding to a chubby woman with red tattoos.

Urgently she turned back around to face him, "How long are you in the Capitol?"

"I'm mentoring. I'll be here for a while and then back in District 4 for the Reaping."

"So…"

"Until the Games are over."

At the mentioning of the Hunger Games the air became thick and solemn.

"Another Games," Pandora quietly whispered, "It seems like just yesterday that—"Miss Sullivan!"

She blinked her eyes to the side, "I—I'm sorry, I should go…they're waiting for me."

"I'd like to see you."

"Well if you wait, it will only be a few minutes."

"No, not now," he seemed to hesitate, "I have a…well, an appointment."

Pandora wondered if he was going to talk to President Snow. She scanned over his face and body. As he said the word appointment his whole being seemed to convulse in disgust.

"Alright then."

"Tomorrow?" He asked through a gloomy grin.

She nodded quietly, "See you then."

She was about to turn around when she felt him move closer.

"I'm sorry."

Shock swept over her. Her eyes widened. "Sorry for what?"

"I didn't want this to be how we…"

His green eyes briefly peered down at her body. Suddenly Pandora was aware that she only in a robe.

"…how we met each other again."

"Finnick, it's fine. I'm fine. It's all for fun."

"You get better and better at that, you know?"

"At what?"

He drew closer to her, smiling slightly, "Lying, pretending, whatever it is that you do."

Her eyes darkened. He didn't mean it as a criticism, he was making a joke, but it made her tense, it made her feel bad.

Finnick noticed this right away and leaned away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

"No," her lips sadly twitched, "It's okay. It was a joke."

"Then why aren't you laughing?"

"Miss Sullivan, this is the last time I'm going to ask nicely!"

"Finnick, I have to go…"

"Right, yea," he rubbed the back of his neck, "Me too."

"I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Meet me in the City Circle at noon."

She silently nodded, giving him one final glance before turning around. Although Pandora never looked back she could hear every footstep he took. It wasn't until she heard the door shut that she allowed herself to peer around with a pause in her steps.

"Finally…" the beautician scoffed, shuffling towards Pandora, "What are you looking at?"

Pandora stared at the exit, her mind was on Finnick. "Nothing, I just….it's nothing."

As the beauticians took off her makeup and helped her back into her street clothes she couldn't shake a feeling in her gut. It felt like her stomach was in knots and she couldn't explain why.

By the time they had finished it was midafternoon. The photography studio was dark and dim, and there was no one left but her and a few others.

She took the same passages and doors that she came in through, stopping from time to time to make sure she was going the right way.

The air was cool as she pushed through the doors, her feet pattered against the sidewalk. The car was waiting just near the curve in the road.

When she climbed into the back seat and shut the door the driver gave her a quick nod before revving up the engine.

Her finger slowly rubbed together as a jolt shook through the car and they started off. At first Pandora didn't think anything of it, but it wasn't long before she realized they were going in the opposite direction they had come from.

"Excuse me," she leaned forward, "Excuse me, sir?"

The driver peered at her in the mirror.

"Shouldn't we be going that way? Back to my apartment?"

"No, ma'am. We have one more stop."

"One more stop?"

"Yes, ma'am, we do."

He clicked his tongue, turning the steering wheel to a sharp right. With wide eyes Pandora grabbed the seat, trying to keep from smashing into window.

She didn't ask any more questions after that, mainly because she didn't want to know the answer, but her eyes stayed open. She scanned the streets they passed, occasionally peering up at the colossal buildings.

It had just started to rain when the driver finally did stop the car. Her eyes focused on the building he had pulled close to. It was made of gleaming silver steel, although there were quite a few windows on the bottom half of the building, they slowly lessened towards the top. The affect this had on Pandora's eyes was strange. Her hand moved to the handle, just before opening she saw someone heading towards the vehicle.

The person reached Pandora just as she was climbing out.

"Hello, there."

"Hello."

"I'm here to escort you, Miss Sullivan."

It was a man in white lab coat.

Silently she followed him. Her eyes frantically peered around as they entered the facility. As with all the other buildings, it had the same modernity to it, however something was different about this one.

"Just this way," The man said, pressing his hand against a screen before the door opened.

"Where am I?"

The man didn't slow down.

"You're in PSO Facilities, don't worry…we're almost there."

The name meant nothing to her, but judging by the amount of white lab coats in the building she had an idea of what kind of place this was. Her eyes noted several details: the sterile quality to every corridor they passed through, the high level of security, and finally the syringe in her escorts coat pocket. It was some sort of medical facility. Something inside her prickled sharply. She was afraid.

They came to another palm identification screen, by Pandora's count this was around the 5th one.

"What do you have back there? A gold mine?" She managed to joke through the anxiety.

The man peered behind him and laughed, "No…it's just a precaution."

With a loud beep and clang the door opened.

Her mouth dropped open as they entered through the doorway. A long hall stretched ahead of them, with windows lining the sides. She slowed her steps, gazing through the windows in amazement. Each one looked into a different lab. She passed one filled with scientists doing tests on radiation, another with a hive of tracker jackers, and there were more obscure ones, ones with no identifiable experiments.

She was fascinated and equally disturbed.

They continued on for only a few more minutes.

The scientist led her to a small room with a couch and two chairs. Medical journals and anatomy books lined the bookshelves. On a coffee table in the center was a set of strange black and white prints that she couldn't quite discern.

"Take a seat…he'll be with you shortly."

She spun around, "Who will be—"

The door shut before she could finish.

Pandora paced from left to right, unable to sit. From time to time her eyes would move to a dusty clock near the window. Why the mystery? That man could have told her what was going on but he didn't. She started biting her nails. From the moment she had rolled into the Capitol's train station it was a chaotic web of unknowns. As the hours continued on it was becoming worse.

In frustration she glanced to the door. Still no one.

A sigh escaped her. She was pacing faster now.

Her chest felt tight, like her muscles were squeezing her ribcage.

"Pandora?"

The accent was distinctly Capitol.

Her brow furrowed, she turned towards the door. She had barely heard it open.

Standing in front of her was a man. He had grey wiry hair and clear blue eyes. He wore a white coat like the others, but underneath he had a sloppy appearance to the way he dressed. A bulbous nose protruded from the planes of his face.

"Do I know you?"

He placed a folder on the coffee table and smiled.

"Officially? No. We met a year ago, when you were fresh out of the arena."

She took a step back and squinted her eyes, trying to recall.

"I understand if you can't remember, after all you were strapped to a gurney and beaten rather badly."

Slowly her eyes widened. Realization overtook her. Memories flashed. The faint recollection of a doctor leaning over her, the first few moments when she was out of the arena, when she was on the brink of death. He had been clean-shaven then, now he wore a small beard.

"I—" her eyes closed for a minute as the painful memories continued.

"Are you alright?"

She staggered, gasping as the man grabbed her.

When she looked up at him she was taken back in time, "You—You said you'd fix me."

Disguised by a beard was a whisper of a smile, he was surprised she had remembered that. "Yes, I did."

"Who are you?"

The doctor stepped back, it was then that Pandora noticed he had a limp in his walk.

"I'm Dr. Mironov…but please, call me Viktor."