My interview outfit perfectly matches the color of my eyes, as promised. Phineas spends an absurd amount of time shifting bits of my hair back and forth before declaring the effect perfect. When I look in the mirror, it looks to me no different from when I run a hand through it after waking up. The shirt is tight and partially unbuttoned in bright sea-green, with sea-shell buttons just like the ones on my 'cloak' in the parade.
The pants are too tight to do anything useful in, though I guess they'll survive an hour and a half on stage as long as I don't fidget too much. I'd hoped to wear my district token, back from approval by the Gamemakers, but Phineas complained that it was too 'busy' and would completely spoil the effect. He did find a necklace in suitable bronze with a similar crossed sword and spear icon to the pendant Torric gave me, set with a green gem. It looks silly to me, but since I asked for a necklace in the first place I can't really complain.
Anita wolf-whistles loudly as we meet at the elevator, though I'm not sure she can talk. Her dress is only held up by a thin strap over one shoulder and turns fairly see-through and flimsy well above her knees. In the heels she's as tall as I am, and takes my arm as we step into the lift.
"I feel like I'm about to turn my ankle in these bloody things," she whispers, wincing slightly as she wobbles a bit. "One or two inches I could deal with, but four?"
I grin at her and brace myself as she grabs my arm again. "I'd have thought a girl like you could handle four inches."
She raises both eyebrows and glares, though I can see her mouth twitching as she tries not to laugh.
"It's more than I bet you've got pretty boy," she replies as we step out, hurrying along the barricaded route to the backstage area. Harried looking production staff pull us into line with the other tributes, though I see we're not the last to arrive.
Maria blushes and waves, her swirling white dress fluttering with every movement. I nod back but don't try to talk to her. Her district partner, a nervous boy who so far has tried to stay out of everyone's way stares pointedly at the ground. Behind them Wheela and Solphis are talking softly. She looks like she's about to pass out.
The district Seven tributes aren't here yet. Neither, I notice when I look the other way are our allies from One. Several of the production staff are glancing at watches and having hurried discussions, gesturing to the empty places in the line. Eventually the kids from Seven show up, followed by Angelus who looks half annoyed, half amused.
Finally, nearly five minutes later, after much scurrying and short, sharp orders, Citrine arrives looking harried. As she passes I spot a strange ripple along her trailing dress. Off to the side her stylist and the head of the production crew are having a whispered argument. I catch "-stuck in the elevator door-" and realize what must have happened.
And since Citrine is up first, they couldn't just start and have us come on one at a time after. The anthem blares and we start the walk onto the stage, ushered along by the production crew. I watch carefully as Anita wobbles up the stairs in front of me, but she manages to get control once we get onto the stage and makes it to her seat without falling.
Caesar Flickerman, the host of the Games for as long as any of us can remember takes centre stage. He gets the crowd going with his usual opening remarks, then calls up Citrine. I guess someone told him about her dress because he doesn't ask her to twirl around or show it off. Instead he asks her about her strategy. She replies quietly and confidently that she's a fighter and good at surviving anything the arena can throw at her. She tries to flirt with the crowd a bit, and with Caesar, but she's not really attractive and is lacking the confidence to get away with it. Angelus does a bit better, and gets a louder cheer, but all he ends up talking about is how ready and keen he is to kill.
Carla at least makes herself interesting, dodging the question of what exactly scored her a ten (I think she just put on a good fight) and talks a bit about what sort of arena she is looking forward to. Marcellus says that he's ready to do his district proud and to regain their honor after last year (the boy from Two was the first death at the bloodbath).
The girl from Three mumbles something about being cleverer than everyone thinks, though clever only matters if they get away from the bloodbath. The boy Joulian doesn't say anything about the arena, and talks instead about helping his family repair stuff. Both of them probably know they're not getting far.
Anita tries to get the crowd going a bit, especially when she jokes about me being like her kid-brother. It seems to make her popular with the young girls in the crowd anyway, who cheer louder when she finishes than when she was introduced.
She grins at me as she returns to her seat and gives a little nod. I grin back, especially when I hear Caesar Flickerman's announcement being completely drowned out by the screaming crowd.
I step forward, waving freely and take Caesar's offered hand, shaking it firmly. He pretends to wince a little as he pulls his fingers free.
"Finnick Odair. We've seen so much of your handsome face over the last six days, but now we finally get the chance to talk."
The crowd cheers again and I set my best grin and another lazy wave in their direction. "It's nice to know that the lovely people of the Capitol want to get to know me. I hope I live up to expectations."
Be a little brash, Mags said, but not too cocky.
"Well," Caesar says, "with a score of nine and muscles like that I don't think you will be disappointing anybody."
"I always do my best, and I always like to keep people happy."
This sets off another round of cheers and whistles that takes Caesar a little while to calm.
"So Finnick, a volunteer at fourteen. I've got to know, what inspired you?"
Mags said he would ask something like that and gave me several ways to answer. In my mind there was only one thing to be said though.
"Oris Martin has been my brother in all but blood since he was born. He's a great guy, but he's a little small and scrawny for the Games. Besides I sort of promised him I had him covered if his name was ever called. I'd look pretty silly if I hadn't and he didn't come back."
In truth I'd only ever joked about volunteering for him if it mattered, but when I had the time to think about it last night I realized I never would have done anything else. He is my family. Not just a fill-in for the people I lost nearly five years ago, but a real part of me. Same as Greta, same as Ric. Same as Mags even.
Caesar gives me a few easy casts after this. What do I hope to see in the arena? (Plenty of water so I can go swimming), do I already have a strategy? (Of course, but I wouldn't want to spoil anything), what do I think of my allies? (It's been fun getting to know a group of strong competitive people and I'm looking forward to our time together. Especially Anita, since she's been just like a big sister to me). After every reply the crowd whoops and whistles, and I start to wonder if I just said random words whether they still would go on cheering. I think they probably would.
The last question is very predictable, "Do you have anyone special back home?"
"Nope," I say cheerfully. "Maybe someday though, after I get back. I've never had a proper girlfriend before, it sounds like fun."
Probably a little too cocky, but the crowd cheers anyway and I blow a quick kiss as the buzzer sounds and walk back to my seat. As the rest of the interviews go on, I notice the camera often cutting back to me in-between tributes, and make sure I'm smiling and sitting confidently, not fidgeting. When the shirt starts to itch across my collarbone towards the end of Ashlyn Cumber's timid mutter I give in and pop the next button down, smoothing the green silk flat. Someone in the crowd whistles loudly and as soon as the girl from Seven is done I see my face on the screen again. My chest is visible nearly to the solar plexus, and I internally wince but force myself to stretch my arms up behind my head, crossing my feet as I casually lean back. More whistles and several nasty looks from the other tributes make me smile. I can't help it if the Capitol loves me. All I can do is use it to my best advantage.
I stop playing around when Markus Weitz from Eight steps up to the stage. He's around my height and build, and walks like an athlete, though I've never heard of anyone from District Eight training or volunteering. Maybe he just likes sports. It becomes quickly obvious that he doesn't much like attention. He mumbles a bit and gets his words tangled when he talks about his sisters, but finishes strong saying that he is prepared to do whatever it takes to get home to them. He doesn't give away any hints about what scored him a 10. I glance around to my allies as Markus returns to his seat, and catch Marcellus and Citrine's nods. We know who we'll be targeting at the Cornucopia.
The pair from District Ten will also be high on that list. Ida is angry and determined, Tarris is cool and collected, and definitely strong enough to make a go of things. He's not too bad looking either, though I'd guess from the nasty look I get as he sits back down that I've ruined any plans of sponsorship from that. Rosie from Eleven stammers a bit—she seemed shy when I spoke to her in training—but when she says she isn't afraid of fighting she sounds stronger.
The crowd seems to be getting bored though, and I can hear a low hiss of whispers from the surrounding stands even as Caesar thanks her and calls up her district partner. The last three tributes made almost no impact at all during the parades and training. Fishbait, I've heard some of the others at the training school call them. They'll be dead in the first few days, if not the first few minutes.
We all stand for the anthem then join the throng of people heading back to the Training Centre. I end up in the same lift as Citrine and Angelus, who leave with a cheerful "see you tomorrow." Both of them look excited, and I realize I am a bit too. Not because I'm looking forward to fighting to the death, so much as that it all seems like an adventure. Something different to break the monotony of life.
When the doors close, I realize the tributes from Eleven are in as well, hidden behind two chatting stylists and an Escort with a shock of yellow hair and a high-pitched chirpy voice. They get out on the third floor, giving me a few seconds to smile and nod at Rosie Plane, who blushes but smiles back.
Mags is already waiting when I step inside the apartment. She sends me to clean off and to change into something more comfortable. I have another nice long soak in the shower, fiddling with the buttons to create all sorts of fun effects. As I'm being scrubbed with dark purple foam that smells fruity, I suddenly realize if things don't go well tomorrow this will be the last time I ever wash. It's a strange thought, and I dry off and slip on some silk shorts and head back out to the lounge, trying to keep my head away from that sort of thinking.
I hear the clack of knitting needles before I see her, and she looks up as I enter with a sad smile, as if she knew what I was thinking about minutes before. "Ready?" she asks.
I shrug. "As ready as I'll ever be," I reply. It's true.
She nods at the couch, and nudges a bowl of candy along the table.
"Try to get some sleep, but if it's not working, find something else to stay relaxed. Watch a show, sing a song. Tie knots in the spare belts in your wardrobe if you have to. Just try not to think or worry about tomorrow."
It's good advice. There's nothing else I can do now to make tomorrow any easier. The training is done, the alliance is organized. I won't know anything about the arena until I'm in it and I'll just have to go from there.
"I already have more sponsors for you than I've ever had for a tribute," Mags says abruptly. "If you do end up needing anything, I should be able to help. If you get injured, there are some fantastic medicines that are usually too expensive. If you get separated from the others for whatever reason I can supply you. It would be better if you could do it on your own, but I have your back Finnick."
She hesitates, both in talking and knitting, which makes me pay attention.
"You're as much a grandson to me as Oris is in my heart. I don't want to lose you any more than him, especially not from something stupid. Keep your head. Think about what you say and do. Don't let the Games control you. Don't make me go home and tell my daughter and grandson why I couldn't save you."
I push myself up and walk over, kneeling beside her chair, and wrap my arms around her. She hugs me back, and I tell her "You four are all the family I have left. Just because we're not related by blood doesn't mean I won't be trying my hardest to get back to you all. I can do this Mags. I'm not afraid."
She hugs me tighter, then pushes me gently away. "You're a good boy, Finnick. We'll be waiting for you on the other side. No matter what."
I grin at her and it doesn't feel too shaky. I'm not afraid, not really. If I die then I die, just like my parents. If I live, then I'll be able to repay some of the huge debt I owe to Greta and Ric. Even if I die, a part the debt will be repaid since Oris will still be alive. I hope he starts training seriously if I don't make it back. There's no reason why they won't reap him again in a few years time.
I wander back down to my room and sprawl on the bed, hoping for sleep, but not really surprised when it doesn't come. I try a few exercises, but that just makes me even more awake. The TV is showing recaps of the interviews, with expert analysis on which of us has the best attitude and underlying strength to make it to victory. According to one woman, my beautiful features hide a gentle soul and I won't have the strength to kill. Another claims that beauty is only a mask and that at heart I'm a vicious killer who can't wait to take apart the other tributes. She seems way too eager about this and I turn it off as she starts another rant.
Finally I turn to the wardrobe for entertainment, sifting through the contents until I find a cord belt. It's too thick to tie proper knots, but it's better than nothing and I lie back on the bed, eyes closed and think of home while my fingers shape familiar forms.
~xXx~
The belt is still in my hands when Phineas wakes me. He tosses me a plain white shirt and shorts, which I quickly slip on, and beckons me to follow him to the lifts. We get out on the twelfth floor and take the stairs to the roof. A hovercraft is already waiting. I start climbing the ladder and gasp when I find my body immobilized. I'm reeled in like a fish caught in a net, and a man at the top greets me with a smile as he jabs something into my arm.
"Just placing your tracker Finnick. We don't want to lose your handsome self in the arena."
Of course. As soon as it's in the tingling releases and I roll aside, checking instinctively for any damage. Everything seems to be working fine; I doubt they would do anything likely to harm the tributes in the hours before the Games begin.
Phineas is brought up and we follow the smell of breakfast into the next room. I tuck in, trying to get as much energy stored as I can while my mentor watches out the windows. Early light trickles out from the direction we came, suggesting we are headed west towards the coast. I hope it means a water or island-based arena. There hasn't been one since Wade's Games five years back.
The sky is fully light and I can see a glimpse of the ocean way off in the distance when the windows suddenly black out. I guess they don't want any of us getting an advantage. I start stretching, loosening my muscles and working out the slight twinge in my neck. This was one of the first things we learned at training; we can do as much damage to ourselves as anyone else we are fighting. Phineas watches, looking somewhat bemused, but doesn't say anything.
Finally the hovercraft slows and the ladder lowers directly into the Launch Rooms below the arena. I do get at least one more shower before changing into the clothes provided. Plain comfortable underwear, brown shorts with pockets, a thin but strong black synthetic belt, a thin gray sleeveless vest that buttons up the front. All lightweight material that should dry quickly. My hopes for a tropical island soar. The shoes are sturdy sandals with buckled straps that wrap across the top of my feet and above my ankles. Not quite as easy to run in as bare feet, but better for walking on sharp rocks. Little bleeding cuts might mean a whole lot more out here where it's life and death.
I tie on my district token, ignoring Phineas' derisive sniff and go through a few more exercise routines, getting used to the clothes and shoes. There's some simple food available, but I don't want to eat now right before I'll have to fight. I do have some water though. If it's going to be hot, hydration will matter. It should be fine for us since we'll have the majority of the supplies at the Cornucopia, but I'd rather not risk it.
After what feels like hours the call finally comes to prepare for launch. Phineas holds out his hand to shake and says "I do hope you win. I could make entire fashion lines based on just the color of your eyes."
"I'll do my best," I say, barely refraining from rolling my eyes at his self-centred interest.
I step into the tube and wince slightly as the glass cylinder lowers, sealing me in. I can hear my pulse pounding in my ears, and belying my claims of not being nervous. It's just like riding out a storm or leaping from the cliff near the Victor's Village into the water below, I tell myself. Adrenaline. A little bit of fear and anticipation is good.
The tube seals and starts to rise, and after a few seconds of uncomfortable darkness there is a blinding flash of light and the wonderfully familiar scent of salt water.