Oris punches me as soon as he steps in the door. "You idiot! Now you're going to die and it's all my fault!"
I grab his arm before the next swing and twist, shoving him into the nearest chair as Greta and Ric follow him in. Ric walks around behind the chair and plants his hands firmly on Oris shoulders, stopping his son from getting back up. Greta reaches up and touches the stinging side of my face where the fist connected.
"Either way I'm losing a son," she says softly as she pulls me into a tight hug. I hug her back, since she's not usually this way and she's been as good a mother to me as my own was. I pretend not to notice the sob and pull back, forcing a smile. As a volunteer, even a young one, I should be ok for the pack as long as I don't look weak. If I start crying now I'll be in trouble.
"Yeah," I say as cheerfully as I can, "But this son has five years of training not eight months, and if I need anything I'll just blow a kiss to the cameras. I'll be back before you know it and then we can all live in the Victor's Village together."
Now I look Oris in the eyes because I need him to understand. "And if I don't make it I expect you to find a pretty girl and name your first born son after me and tell him stories about my magnificence."
Oris snorts and swats at me gently. Jokingly I step back. "Hey, you've already marred my pretty face. I'm going to need that to look good for the sponsors, and you'd better stay looking good too so when they come interview you, you can charm all the Capitol ladies as well."
He smiles and leaps out of the seat to tousle my hair and straighten my shirt, before pulling me into a bear hug. "You know I will Finn. And thank you."
He wipes his eyes on the back of his sleeve as we pull apart and I know he will probably not cry again. He will be strong for me, and stay strong if I don't make it. Ric comes over next and gives me a brief hug as well. We've never been as close as I was to Oris or Greta, but he's still the closest thing I have left to a father.
"Remember Finn, don't let them see you scared. If you're afraid they'll sense it and they will hunt you down like a pack of sharks on an injured swimmer. Be brave, be strong and above all, be smart."
"Of course," I tell him with another grin. "I wouldn't know how to be anything else."
They all laugh, and we spend the minutes until the Peacekeepers come devising a district token from various people's jewellery. Usually a volunteer would tell their family in advance, and their loved ones would have a token ready, generally a necklace or bracelet with bits from everyone. Ric has a bit of fishing line in his pocket, and we tie to it one of Greta's shark-tooth earrings and two of the carved shell beads from Oris' hair. I'll ask anyone else that stops in for objects too, and should have a decent token once I'm done. Pernelle Darcy, whose family owns most of the oyster racks stops in to snap a quick photo as she does every year of the tribute's family, and gives me a little pearl bead from her hair comb.
Brant and a couple of boys from school come in next, mostly to wish me luck, though Brant says that at least a dozen girls are claiming to be my girlfriend outside. I'm not close with any of the girls at school so I tell the peacekeepers not to let any of them in. Instead, my next visitors are two of the fight trainers. Torric just claps me on the shoulder and tells me to do my best and to make sure I get my hands on a spear and some nets. He was the one who taught me 'fisherman's fighting', and knows I'm pretty good at it.
Marcia has quite a different opinion and actually yells at me for wasting my potential by volunteering far too young.
"So I should have just left Oris standing up there to die?" I snap back, and her face softens momentarily before falling back to its customary scowl.
"If you're playing from the heart you will die Finnick. If you want to come out alive you have to only think about what's best for you from now on. No more acts of mercy or sacrifice. Got it?"
I nod, because she is right. And I remember she lost her twin sister in the Games about nine years back, a volunteer who let revenge get in the way of good sense. We watched the replays of all the old Games with some of the trainers so they could point out where our tributes went wrong. Marcia talked about her sister's mistakes like they were no different to any of the others, and if anyone understood about hardening their heart and pushing those sorts of feelings aside it would be her.
My last visitor is old Corrly Webster, who used to work on our boat. He was one of the others that survived the storm, though they had to cut off his foot after it was crushed. I never knew him that well for all I worked beside him, and he doesn't seem to know what to say. Eventually he claps my shoulder and tells me I've lived through worse than this and that my parents would be proud that I stepped in for Oris. I shake his hand and watch him shuffle out, his wooden foot clacking along in counterpoint with the thump of his cane until his scrawny frame is replaced by a pair of peacekeepers, who gesture for me to follow.
I finish tying off the crossed sword and trident pendant that Torric gave me for my token and head out, making sure my hair is properly ruffled for the cameras. I had hoped that Mags, who had always been something of a surrogate grandmother to me would come to see me off, and maybe give me some useful advice. I figure she got caught up with reporters, what with Oris getting reaped and just didn't have time.
Acanthus holds us for a second in the foyer while a Games official snaps our headshots, then we bundle into the car for the brief drive to the train station.
Anita grins at me once we get moving. "Hey Finn. Glad it's you and not the Martin kid. At least I won't have to look out for you much."
"I can look after myself," I tell her with a wink and she rolls her eyes exaggeratedly in reply.
"Well," she says as she settles back into the seat, "At least the pack won't be going short on sponsors. Don't worry, I'll point that out if the others miss it and don't want to bring in a kid as young as you."
She reaches over and pats my head, and I remember Marcia's words about not playing from the heart. Anita probably thinks she can use my good looks and charm to set herself up, and that I'll follow her lead and do whatever she wants as long as she's looking out for me. I figure it won't hurt to play along for now, but I won't let her friendly gestures stop me from doing what I have to.
Acanthus has us pose outside the train for a final round of photos, and I notice even though I'm three inches taller than Anita he subtly pushes me to the front. Into the limelight so the Capitol can see my beauty. I smile and wave, and even blow a kiss towards one younger woman. From the corner of my eye I see Anita scowl slightly, though at our Escort, not me. She knows exactly what he's doing too.
When we do finally get to board the train, I get another surprise. Gabriela waves Anita over for a brief chat, and I turn resignedly to where I assume Wade is sitting, but he isn't there. Instead Mags, her knitting needles already out and clacking, smiles up at me.
"I certainly wasn't going to let that idiot Anderson get you killed after you volunteered for my grandson," she says, as blunt as ever.
"Wade didn't argue?" I ask as I take the seat beside her.
"Of course he did," she replies. "You can see how well that went for him."
The fact that he tried to argue with Mags, whose stubbornness is legendary in our district actually makes me respect him a little more.
"Now," she says as her fingers delicately twist the wool on her needles, "why don't you go get cleaned up before lunch. Find something nice in the drawers, blue or green if you can. And don't be too long or we'll eat the lot without you."
I know better than to argue, and hurry back down to the room I was shown.
~xXx~
After a hearty lunch, I spend the afternoon with Mags starting to plot out my strategy for the Games. She knows from many conversations over Sunday lunches what my fighting style is, and agrees that it's probably my best bet for combat. She also knows that my experience adrift as a child, surrounded by the bodies of my family means I can handle the mental side of things. I've seen death, I've been surrounded by it and faced it alone and scared in the dark. I doubt anything in the Arena could be worse.
Finally she sighs and looks out the window for a minute in silence. I'm about to jump in with a funny comment when she turns back to me and sighs again.
"You have to know, before you get in over your head. It's a shame you're so good looking."
This takes me back. Everyone knows that the better looking tributes always get more sponsors and I've never seen anyone consider it a disadvantage.
"You'll have sponsors lined up around the street, and some of them will be throwing money because they like you, because you're pretty or charming or whatever. Others will see it as an...investment."
I snort. "What, they think if they sponsor me I'll...I dunno, go out on a date with them after or something?"
"Yes," she says bluntly, and goes back to scowling out the window. "In fact a date is about the best you can hope for. Some of them will want more than just dinner and flirting."
"And what if I don't like them? What if it's someone old or nasty?"
"That," she says with a sigh, "would be your problem, not theirs. It never used to be so bad, but over the years certain...factors in the Capitol have started using victors to gain support more and more. Factors with a great deal of power who will not be defied in these matters."
"So what, if an ugly old lady with a lot of money says she wants me to...you know...and I say no, someone from the government will come after me?"
"Worse" she says, her lip curling unconsciously. "They'll go after your family, your friends. Anyone you care about. Your tributes even."
I think back two years ago, when Gabriela's tribute was the favourite to win until she suddenly started getting random muttation attacks. Nothing that directly killed her, but the bite from one of the bats left her pretty sick and she died early when the pack went melee. Or the year before, Wade's first tribute who fell when a rope bridge he was crossing snapped. Of course the victor that year had gone around weakening all the ropes she could find, but I was sure that that particular bridge hadn't been one of them. The fall broke Persy's back and his allies offed him as a mercy kill on the spot.
The sort of tricks the Gamemakers use to keep the Games going, to keep things interesting. Usually they don't target volunteers who are part of the pack actively hunting down other tributes though, which is probably why they stuck in my head.
"I imagine," Mags says, startling me from my thoughts, "the first thing they would do is reap Oris again."
Of course this is all speculation until after I actually get through these Games.
"So you don't want me to play up to the sponsors then?" I ask and she purses her lips in thought.
"No, you may need them. And most will sponsor you whether you play up to them or not. Just remember that there are consequences."
She gives me another of those sad smiles. "I thought you would rather know."
I would. I grin at her. "Thanks Mags. At least I know I won't be going hungry, and as long as I'm feeding my allies they'll keep me around for a bit. I'll worry about the rest once I get out the other side."
She reaches over and tousles my hair, just like Greta does. "That's my boy. Now, why don't you go get some rest until dinner."
~xXx~
After dinner we all squish onto the couches to watch the reaping replays, and Anita throws a companionable arm around my shoulders.
"Don't worry Finn, I'll protect you from the scary tributes," she says with a grin. I shove the arm aside with a smile.
"Funny, I was about to say the same thing to you."
Her laugh is cut off by the anthem as Acanthus nudges up the volume and we settle in to see our competition.
The boy from One, Angelus has a smug smirk that suggests arrogance as he waves to the crowd. He's alright looking, golden curls to his shoulders and all that, but not as pretty as me. The girl is unusually dark for their district. As tanned as anyone from Four with dark auburn hair cropped short. Not the prettiest girl around, and a genuine looking smile, so I figure it will be easy enough to get her on side.
The pair from Two look typically strong. The boy, Marcellus looks around my height, though he's stockier. The girl, Carla is around the same build as Anita and doesn't flinch one bit when she and her district partner shake hands. Neither of them are attractive enough that they would have been counting on their looks for sponsors, so my place in the pack should be pretty set.
Nothing interesting from District Three, then the screen turns to our reaping. Mags rolls her eyes hugely when Claudius Templesmith says he can't wait to see Oris in action. Both he and Caesar comment favourably on Anita, and I catch her smiling out of the corner of my eye. Then it's my turn, and I'm happy to see they cut out the delay in my volunteering. Both commentators gasp when they see me and spend the rest of that segment and most of the District Five reaping discussing the last time they had someone with my good looks in the Games.
Mags and Gabriela snort almost in unison and Anita pretends to gag into her cushion. I try very hard not to think about my conversation with Mags earlier and focus on the faces of the tributes from District Six. The boy, Solphis is the biggest tribute so far, and even without training, not someone I'd want to pick a fight with. The boy from Eight and the girl from Ten look pretty tough too.
Mags lets out a gasp when the boy from Ten is called, and she and Gabriela share a pointed look as Tarris Smith makes his way to the stage. Claudius seems uninterested, but Caesar in the cut-away box holds one hand to his ear and nods before giving his trademark grin.
"Exiting news folks! Tarris here is the nephew of one of our previous victors, Pelline Smith. That's right people, last year's winning mentor will now be working with her own kin. Can she go back to back for her district? Should be exciting!"
I think back to last year's Games, the big burly boy from Ten who clearly wasn't right in the head even from the start. As soon as the gong rang he ran to the Cornucopia and grabbed one of the giant spiky maces there and flattened anyone who came near. Of course most of the volunteer pack went in, and if the usual haul had been there I'm sure one of them would have taken him out. Instead the only weapons were more heavy maces, and by the time they figured it out Oryx had brained half of them.
The rest followed, and we spent nine days watching a boy turn into an animal, actually howling at the moon and snarling and growling as he smashed his foes to a pulp. Three weeks after his Games ended, his mentor Pelline ended up giving the final interview for him, and he only said one sentence at each stop on the victory tour, as though he had somehow forgotten how to talk.
I wonder if the reaping is punishment of some sort for not getting him right. Judging by Mags and Gabriela's reactions, I'm guessing they think so.
The girl from Eleven looks like she could put up a fight, but the reaping ends, as usual with a whimper in the poorer districts.
Acanthus nudges the volume back down and pulls out a gaudy gem-encrusted watch from his vest pocket.
"Two more hours, I expect," he says in that nasal Capitol accent. "You might all wish to go freshen up before we arrive."
Mags laughs. "Time was we didn't get into the Capitol until morning. I know there was all sorts of trouble when the old train tracks got damaged a few years back, but I for one am thankful."
"How did they get damaged?" Anita asks as she stands and stretches her clasped fingers to the ceiling.
Acanthus clears his throat and throws Mags a brief, pointed glare before replying.
"Oh, you know. Old age. Things tend to get a bit worn down over time and need replacing."
Mags smiles dangerously at him, but chooses not to reply. I'm sure there's more to the story, but for now it's not something to be worrying about. I go back to my room and watch the world flash past out the window while I tie knots in one of the soft leather belts from the cupboard, letting my mind drift away from any thoughts of the days to come.