Hiii, back so soon, I know. I have two weeks break, and I'm bored out of my mind. If you guys have any movie/series recommendation, please tell me. Also books. Anything to keep me occupied, cuz, I'm all out of ideas.

Anyway, hope you enjoy.

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X-X-Part 3-Chapter 20-X-X

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Dorian told him he tried his best when it came down to creating their outfits for the ride, but of course, there was so much he could have done. President Snow, he said, had told him to make some things very specific, and he had a good idea what that meant when he saw that the jacket had no buttons, and there was no shirt to wear beneath.

Dorian apologized, telling him how he tried to make it out of a material stiff enough, that it would at least keep itself folded over his body, but he was quick to tell him not to worry about it. Half the Capitol had seen him completely naked, showing off some abs to the rest of the nation wasn't going to wound his pride much further. He also realized that it was subtle. A good move from Snow, to have him feel naked, because that is what he'd feel once he'd be out there, but to not actually be naked.

He dreaded to see what Finnick was wearing. The Victor from four did have it worse.

Dorian had him go through a process that entailed getting all the hair on his chest, armpits, arms, and legs removed. It hurt, and he didn't want it to happen, but there was so much he could have done for that.

The jacket was of a silver color, and it was all sparkling. He knew it didn't matter how much he'd be reflecting the sun, the tributes from twelve would steal the show anyway, with their synthetic fire that was a sure thing to make a come back this year. The pants matched the jacket in every way, and then he was done. Or well, clothes-wise he was done. Dorian then spent more than half an hour fixing his hair. Making him look hotter if he could as well.

By the end, he was a doll. The Capitol's doll anyway. Groomed like never before, and well, out there.

He made his way to the chariots after he thanked Dorian, and got a 'good luck' from him.

He walked slowly, mulling over the events of the day so far.

He hadn't eaten breakfast or lunch, and his stomach was growling in hunger. He'd eaten a spare banana. He would need to eat a lot before going into that arena, as he knew that the Hunger Games, weren't called that if they didn't go hungry at least once in there. Especially this year, he guesses the food would be scarce and close to nothing, and to get it, to survive they were really going to need to work hard for it. Nothing less, otherwise they were already dead.

Then he'd gotten to the Capitol, smiled and all and Haymitch had given him the envelope and then he'd met with the game maker and with Finnick and he had agreed. He hadn't talked to Finnick, which he had regretted quickly because Finnick was his friend, but then they were in this together and they could help each other. He wanted to talk to Finnick, ask him how he was, how things had been and whether Snow had been as nice to him, as he had been with him, and there would be definite sarcasm there.

He also guessed, as he walked and thought about it, that Haymitch was part of it. The whole rebel plot. He'd been the one to give him the letter after all, and the reason why he was smiling, had not been because he knew what Snow forced him to do —which he did, no doubt there— but rather because he was extending an arm to someone who could help keep his two tributes alive. He hadn't even mentioned Snow, and he had been too quick to come to a conclusion. He put Haymitch on the side of the line where he was a good man.

On that same line stood Finnick, and that was about where it ended. He barely knew Beetee, knew the man helped the Capitol with his smart mind, but he had never really talked to him, except when he had been forced to. Yet, he was going to need to befriend him, after all, it was an alliance going on here no. A rebellion really, which started with them.

Then he'd talked to Snow, and gods above he had been ready to just kill the man, but every time he thought about it, he always asked himself, "and then what?". Then Gaea, who still controls the barrier to this place, comes and whisks him away anyway. To some underground dungeon where he was never going to see Annabeth again in which he was one day going to die. No, this was better. This was something he could do. Go in the games, and then escape to thirteen, which Snow didn't even know existed. It would work.

What had been bad about the talk, had not been the fact that Snow had almost seemed to know about the rebel plot amongst the victors and his own, personally chosen head game maker, but rather that he had an appointment tonight, with a Capitol woman. And he would have one the night after, and the one after. Every night, from now on to the end of the week, to the last night where he would be allowed proper sleep, he had an appointment.

At that, his anger, his rage had barely been restrained, but he had managed to keep it down, nod, and take his leave. It had not been easy, not in the slightest, but he knew the difference in doing what was right and doing what was easy. Easy was not doing it, and watching as Annabeth was killed. Right, in his own mind, was sacrificing himself, and letting Annabeth be alive. Gods knew she deserved to live a long long long life.

He continued though. The day had carried on with him visiting the doctor, so the doctor could check him up, and tell him he was as safe and sterile as any other male Victor with some good looks. Which was then followed by the shaving and the waxing and tweezing of his eyebrows and then dressing up as a playboy.

He found himself in the underground, where all the chariots were, he made his way to his, two black horses haltered there. Attached to the chariot. He still, after so many years, did not understand how the horses moved on their own, knowing exactly where to go. He heard their voices in his head, twenty-four horses, all speaking at once. Which each other, with him, trying to get his attention.

He put his hand on the neck of one and smiled at him sadly. They always reminded him of Blackjack, his own pegasus. Who knows whether he was even still alive? Whether he remembered him or the years had been enough to erase him from his memory. He wouldn't be too surprised if they were. He then heard Finnick's voice coming through and he turned, to see him walking towards his own chariot, which was the one in front of him. He had a robe draped over his body, it was open, but he didn't see why.

He started walking towards him. Perhaps now they could have the small chat he'd wanted to have earlier. "Finnick!" he called, and then the male from four turned around and Percy quickly grasped the why he was wearing a robe. He was naked. Well not completely, but very much so. His stylist had made his outfit out of a net which specifically obscured his private areas so he wasn't completely naked, but he…was. "What the fuck," he said as he looked at him.

Finnick kept his charming smile up, although he knew he didn't need to for him. He said something to Mags he didn't catch and then walked towards him. He laughed. "I know," he said. "There was little I could do, though. Snow's orders."

Percy hugged him again. "I'm sorry."

"What? For the outfit?" Finnick asked, still a big smile on his face. "Don't be. It's refreshing in this weather. Gets air to places where it usually doesn't reach."

He was trying to make light of the situation, and as Percy looked him over he saw they were almost the opposite. Still out there to please the Capitol, but where Percy had been dressed in class, almost to cover up the fact that he did what he did, with smoothened out hair and an open suit, like he still tried to hide it. Finnick was put out there as though he liked it, as though he couldn't wait for more. His hair was messy too, just refreshing, and well, he was almost naked. His whole body was out there.

"No, not for the outfit," he said. Although, well, also, he wanted to add he didn't. They'd agreed on their first year, there would be no pity from one or the other about what they did. None at all. Only understanding and silence about it. "For being here. And well…Mags."

Finnick smirked. "Nothing that happens this year will be in vain, Percy," he said. "But once we enter that arena we're still gonna need to kill. Not everyone is our ally, there will still be people trying to kill us. All we gotta do is be better than them."

He shrugged. "That shouldn't be too hard," he said. Then he looked at Finnick seriously, and he knew the male from four knew his question before he asked. "Do you also have them?" No need to specify, Finnick knew what he was talking about.

He nodded. "Every night," he said and somehow he still managed to keep the smile up. "So does Gloss, and well, everyone else. Not the last night. They say, having sex before a battle makes the man weaker. So it isn't recommended. I doubt Snow wants his favorite Victors tired and weak and dying before it gets interesting."

"Ah, and here I was, thinking he cared about us getting a good sleep before the bloodbath," he said, and they could almost joke about it. But they didn't go further than that. Never did unless either of them was really drunk, then they'd laugh.

"Anyway, here comes Annabeth," Finnick said and Percy's head snapped around quickly. He smiled, but he didn't run towards her as he had sometimes. He simply waited for her to close the distance, and then she was in his arms, planting a soft kiss on his lips and then looking at Finnick.

She made a sound as her eyes trailed over his body, a very amused Finnick. "Oh, there I was thinking Snow would leave you alone for the time being," she said to his face. He smiled, amused. But he wasn't really. After all, it was all an act, not for them, but for every other person in the same underground room as them. There were at least fifty people, between peacekeepers, stylists, mentors, sponsors, and tributes. He needed to keep up his attitude for them.

"Don't worry about me, Princess," he said and Percy laughed softly, earning a look from Annabeth. "I've got it covered, and—oh, there's Katniss, I'm gonna go and pop a hello to her," he said as he started walking away backward. "Freak her out a little," he added to them and then he turned around, calling out her name loud enough that the girl from twelve turned to him.

Percy didn't care about them. He cared about Annabeth, who was finally in his arms again. He leaned down and they kissed. Better, deeper than they had the other time. A long kiss, broken only when both of them needed to get more air in, and then they were leaning against the chariot, he was looking at her, and she at him, except she was disapproving.

"Snow's disgusting," she said after a moment of silence. "I mean Finnick is basically naked under that net, and then you…you're all open, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out it's to show your body."

He looked at her with love. "I don't care who sees my abs, Annabeth," he told her. "The whole world could for all I care. It doesn't change the fact that you're the only person I care about. Who I love. All the others can go to hell for all I care. I swear."

"But I care," she said, and he didn't understand until he explained it to him. "You're mine, Percy. No one else's and I don't want all these people, hell the whole nation seeing you. I don't know how his girl will manage it, to be honest. I'd be so…jealous."

"It's just my chest."

"Exactly," she said. "It's your chest, not theirs."

He pulled her in and kissed her again. He didn't know how he was going to be able to keep it in him, not telling her about any of it, that he was part of a rebel plot. A rebellion she had seen coming for a year now. He always thought she was smart, but that was another level of it. He loved her, and he tried to show that in the kiss they shared.

Then they were called to their chariots, and she had to leave. Finnick passed, sending a wink his way and then got on top of his own chariot in front of him. Genevieve joined him as they both stepped up on their chariot, and then the horses were moving.

-.-

That first night was awful, in some ways that he had never thought it would be. His client had told him she wanted something special rather than the usual, because yes, it hadn't been the first time. Instead of a simple fuck, a little bit of for and after play, the woman wanted to play it hardcore. As in using ropes, hardcore. He didn't go into detail, but he did stay in the shower for hours, helplessly looking at his wrists, and at the angry red that covered them.

The scars from before were wearing off, but he wasn't afraid or embarrassed by anyone seeing those. These were new and it would take no genius to figure out what had happened during the night. What he'd been doing. So he then spent the next half an hour, with Elizabeth in her room, as she searched for makeup to cover it up as smoothly as she could. Obviously, the color was off, as his was a tanned olive skin and hers was much paler, but it did help with removing the red harsh marks around his wrists.

The outfit for their training was a simple sleeveless black shirt with blue hems, and then tight leggings, both for men and for women. Men's went all the way down to the ankles, while women's stopped at mid-calf. Then simple sneakers. He hated how they all looked the same, but at the same time, it was almost symbolic. Because they were one. They were the same race here in the Capitol. Victors.

He made his way to the gym on his own. He still hadn't uttered a single word towards Genevieve, and if Elizabeth figured that out on her own or not, she didn't say anything to him. They were short conversations at dinner, and mostly the Capitol escort talked, sometimes either he or she answered, but they never talked to each other. He didn't understand her reason not to talk to him, but until she would and perhaps —he didn't know— apologized for being such a douchebag about it, he would have.

He saw Gloss, at the knife throwing range, and Cashmere was there with him, and they were the perfect image. Two siblings, murderers for the good of the Capitol. Both jewels to it obviously, and none too friendly to others apart from each other. When he met Gloss's eyes, he knew that his night, had not gone any better than his own, and at that, he could only wonder for Finnick.

Then there was Enobaria, she was fighting barbarically against one of the trainers, while her fellow tribute from district one was throwing spears accurately at the hologram. Sometimes getting two of them at the same time even. Sure as hell formed a scary outcome to the rest of the tributes. Careers always did. They always stuck together, and they were always the best at what they did. Finnick had been a career in his games, but in these games, he would be the farthest thing from. Vowing to take care of Mags, and helping the rebellion. He was with the odd bunch.

Then there was Johanna, fighting invisible men with her ax, and the male from her district, Blight, was also there around her, but instead of fighting invisible opponents, he was fighting one of the trainers. He too was good with an ax but didn't look nearly as ferocious as Johanna did. So he guessed, seven was in the bunch, but it was Johanna more than it was Blight. Ferocious woman, that one.

He saw both tributes from three together, and they weren't doing anything to do with weapons, because it hadn't been their brutality that had killed the other tributes in their games. But rather, it had been their minds, and right then, when he watched them, it was their minds they were training, not their muscles. Sampling flowers and berries and figuring out which was poison and which wasn't. Going off to try to make fire with a stick.

Mags was making fishing hooks, and she looked content doing that. He didn't look for too long, anything too much sea-related, if not in the right context with the right mood of his mind would turn his mood further down. It reminded him of his father, and his father was never happy thoughts. Every time he thought about his father, he thought about whether he was okay, whether he'd gotten freed or maybe, even worse, whether they'd killed him. Then his mind would wander to other things, such as how things were out there, but he usually managed to stop himself before things got too out of hand. When they did, he would end up crying.

He walked over to the knot tying station and found himself working his fingers around the knots. Following what the video in front of him was saying, but also, his hands moved on his own, knowing what to do before the video showed it. At one point, in his long five minutes, the girl from twelve, Katniss, showed up. He didn't pay her much attention, he knew, that if she wanted something from him she would not dare request, but at the moment he didn't need anything from her. Well, he actually did, he needed to make her his ally before they got into the arena, but that was beyond the point. He could approach that problem through the boy. Peeta.

She was tying a particularly tricky knot, when Finnick appeared, startled her too, from the way he got in behind her and…he minded his own business. Sitting down and keeping on working the rope through his fingers to make knots he remembered he'd done when he'd been on the Argo II. He absently listened to their conversation, caught sight of the noose Finnick made, and then played with, very quick to scare her away.

"I guess she doesn't," he told him, regarding his question to her as to whether she wanted to bring him on a walk. Finnick removed the noose from his neck and then worked on undoing the knots. He gestured at him, at his hands. "Looks like you had fun."

Percy didn't jerk his hands away. He remained there, tying and untying, his hands working quickly. "I bet you did as well," he replied, with the same level of sarcasm.

"Why'd you fight it though?" Finnick asked him, and there was so much that he wanted to tell him, but he couldn't. First, because it wasn't the right time or the right place, and second, it would only make things worse in the arena if he knew. He trusted him, but what if the same thing that happened with Genevieve happened with him. "Like, usually, you just lay there and let it be done with. I told you, separate mind from body, it's the only way to get through it."

His fingers messed up the knot, and he worked with erratic franticness to fix it. His limbs feeling weaker at the subject they were talking about. Then he dropped the rope in frustration. He was done with the ropes. He looked at Finnick. "You saw the scars on my back," he said. "I said something along the lines of my father whipped me." Worst thing to say about his father, hell he missed his father. He was worried about the man. "Well, I sure as hell didn't stand there and let him. He tied me to different ends. And yesterday night…well, I didn't have good memories, so I fought it."

"Oh," Finnick said, sounding a bit apologetic, but also like, in the end, it didn't matter why it had happened, just that it shouldn't have. "Shit father you grew up with, and even shittier life now, eh? I guess luck isn't really on your side, is it, Percy."

"But here we both are," he told the male from four. "I'd say the odds aren't in your favor either."

Finnick flashes a grin. "You have no idea," he said. Then… "We need to get close to those two," he pointed at Katniss and Peeta. "I'm not gonna do all the work thank you very much, so if you could try it as well, that'd be fantastic."

He tried to match his grin. "I will don't worry," he said. "Although instead of Katniss, who's built like a fortress, I'll try with Peeta, he's more like just a simple hut. You see, less to go through before I reach him." He pointed to his head. "It's called tactics, Finnick. It would do good to learn some before we walk in there in a week." So he stood up from his seat and started making his way towards Peeta, his eyes scanning the room to see if Annabeth was anywhere to be seen, but she still wasn't. He wondered why.

Peeta wasn't fighting, he instead was at the camouflage station, and he was reminded of how in his games the year before he'd been able to camouflage his whole body on the ground to hide. Screw the morphing he'd read about from six, his art skills were far better than that, and although camouflaging wasn't going to be the best of help now, in an arena full of victors it was still a skill.

He approached him, and whether the man saw him or not, he wasn't aware, but then he looked up from trying to paint over one of his legs. Not his prosthetic one the Capitol had given to him the year before. But he looked up, and then tried for a smile. Peeta at least seemed to want allies, unlike Katniss. "Hi," he said, and he didn't sound intimidated, which was good, because he wanted an alliance.

"Hi," he said, just as normally as he took a seat next to him and picked up the paints. Almost like two people during a recess at school becoming acquainted. He had never talked to the tribute from twelve, neither of them, but he knew, that if in the arena they were going to be something, he needed to in these days. Create a basis of, 'hey, I'm not as bad as the careers, please trust me. Your whole nation depends on it'. He gestured at his leg. "That's pretty cool, if perhaps you show me some of how you do that, I could uh, show you a few tricks with the sword? I saw you using one last year."

Peeta seemed taken aback, still hunched over his legs, holding a bowl of paint in one hand, and a brush in the other. "Ok, yeah, sure," he said, starting off slow, and then eating one word after the other. He chuckled slightly, but then looked at him as Peeta started off by talking about texture, and other things like that.

After about half an hour of Peeta talking, he was none the wiser about painting as he had been before, but he thanked Peeta for it and then suggested they move to the fighting areas, precisely where there were lifeless dummies against which they could hack. Tributes weren't allowed to fight against each other, and so he would never be able to do that and properly teach him the tricks, but he could do with the dummies.

They both picked up a sword, and then there came cocky Percy, talking about how to stand when you were fighting. Left foot in front, at twelve, and right foot at three, pointing to the side for better balance. Left-arm, bare of the sword, further in front, but the right hand back, ready to arch around and strike. He demonstrated the effectiveness of this stance by first hacking at the dummy without it, and then with, showing the difference in the strength behind the blows.

He spent the next hour or so, telling Peeta where to aim for, the hardest places to get to, but also how to overpass them. He figured about halfway through that he was telling him exactly how to kill him, but he figured, that if a real fight started between them, Peeta was still way less experienced and he would still come out on top.

They were off to lunch, and he still hadn't seen Annabeth.

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I'll be honest, I'm not too fond of this chapter...

So I'll update another one right after this.

Because I have it, and why not. Either way, I hope you enjoyed.

Hunter