District 4

The morning after the Reading of the Card, Mags Flanagan called for what had come to be known in the Village as a "family outing."

Given that he owned the only boat that could hold everyone, Manannan Ulmo was tasked with captaining the voyage. The sun was still rising into the brilliant-blue sky when the eight Victors traipsed down the dock, boarding Manannan's schooner one at a time.

"I don't see the point in this, or why I had to come," Halibut Shore – 37 years old, but still acting like he was sixteen and fresh out of the arena – groused as he stomped down the gangway. A flash of whittled oak and he jerked forward, stumbling the rest of the way onboard. "OW! Damn it all, Mags!" Their senior-ranking Victor and his former mentor only gave him a sharp look. In a different time, she would have given him just as sharp a tongue-lashing to go with it. Those days were over, now – everyone in the Village seemed to mark time as either BTS or ATS: before the stroke, or after.

Manannan took the helm, his rugged face scanning down to take in each of his 'children', as he called them. "All present and accounted for?"

"Aye-aye, Captain," Briseis Barrington saluted.

"Lift anchor, then."

"Aye-aye, Captain." It took both her and Cerulea to do the job, and Manaannan gave a deft turn of the wheel.

"Man the halyards! Drop the main sail!" More Aye-Aye captains went up. They had just enough bodies to make a decent crew, Victors scrambling up and down the rigging or casting off lines. The schooner sliced the waves sharply as they sailed away from Victors' Island and towards open water. The sunlight caused the deep blue of the tide to sparkle. Just beneath the surface, Manannan could see rainbow carp swimming lazily by their hull.

A shadow passed against him, the heat of the sun's rays diminishing on his skin. The Victor of the 19th Hunger Games – 74 years old, but still looking like someone twenty-five years younger – didn't even have to turn his head. "What is it, Cerulea?"

Cerulea Larson, who actually was in her fifties, bit her lip, wringing her hands. Finally, she clutched at his muscled arm. "Why can't we just make a break for the horizon? Try and get away?"

Manannan just pointed ahead, nodding grimly. "That's why." About five knots ahead of them, a Panem Coast Guard cutter patrolled the waters at what was officially considered the edge of District 4 territory, beyond which lay international waters. The walkie-talkie mounted against the helm suddenly crackled to life.

"Ship 464952, identify yourself, please. Over."

Manannan lifted the walkie-talkie to his lips. "PCG-117, this is the Neptune's Spear. We are an unarmed schooner."

A brief pause over the line, and then:

"We register you in our records, Captain Ulmo, and you are cleared for sailing. Please do not pass our bow or come within two knots, otherwise we will be forced to engage and come aboard. Over."

"Thank you, Officer." Manannan dropped the walkie-talkie. "Coming about!"

He spun the helm and turned the schooner towards a gentle cove up against one of the barrier islands, off the coast of District 4.

Beside him, Cerulea's face had gone as white as a barnacle. Smiling sympathetically, Manannan patted her on the arm.

Down on deck, the schooner was abuzz with activity. Odysseus Wheeler, the boy who had won the year before last, perched in the crow's nest as the Neptune's Spear approached the cove.

"Rocks! Off the starboard bow!"

Manannan nodded and gave a deft turn of the ship's wheel.

Mags was staring serenely out at the waves. Beside her, Briseis was braiding the long, auburn strands of Annie Cresta. The younger woman appeared not to notice, locked in a gentle kiss as she was with Finnick Odair, her lover. Leaning against the staircase leading to the Captain's deck, Halibut stuck a finger up his mouth.

"Gag me with a spoon," he muttered at what he thought was under his breath.

Mags heard him anyway, and hefted her cane, scooting down the bench threateningly. Halibut sneered at her, though he satisfyingly also flinched.

Manannan frowned. "Take the wheel," he murmured to Cerulea, passing the spokes over to her command as he plodded down the steps, ready to break up a fight if need be.

Mags was just about ready to bring her cane down on Halibut's head again; quick as lightning, Manannan snatched it out of her hands, even as he admonished the younger man.

"Oh, come now, Halibut – don't be cruel!" And the old man thwapped Halibut upside the head with the cane anyway. Neither Finnick nor Annie even came up for air.

Cerulea masterfully docked as deep into the cove as she could reasonably allow without running aground. Scaling down the rigging from the crow's nest, Ody paused to drop anchor before seizing a trident and swan-diving overboard into the lagoon. The clearness of the water gave the others an unobstructed view of his lithe form, squirming beneath the surface as he speared carp and bass with the prongs.

Bored with mocking Finnick and Annie, Halibut found himself a pole and plopped down on the bow, casting a line over the side and patiently fishing the old-fashioned way. Briseis finally finished braiding Annie's hair and nudged her lightly, prompting the stunning young woman and Finnick to break apart.

Touching her hair, Annie smiled in thanks, crawling into Finnick's lap. Gazing out into the distance, she began to sing a little song.

"Up where we walk, up where we run, up where we stay all day in the sun…. Wandering free…. Wish I could be…. part of that world…" Finnick watched her, enraptured.

"I'm going for a swim!" Briseis called out.

"Put on a life vest!" Manannan admonished in response.

She rolled her eyes at him. "I'm not gonna drown…." But she did as he asked, pointing to the basket resting against the spare lifeboat. "There's drinks and sandwiches in there if anyone wants them!"

Perfect. On an ordinary day, docked in an isolated cove with fresh sun, the wind in your sails and a picnic lunch might be to Manannan heaven on earth. And he tried to pretend that it was, sunbathing on the captain's deck for the next couple of hours.

Except this wasn't an ordinary day, and when he opened his eyes after a catnap to check that the sun was at high noon, Manannan knew he couldn't put off the inevitable – the real purpose of this voyage – any longer. He stood from the deck, surveying the scene. Briseis was back onboard, a towel wrapped around her shoulders and huddled with Cerulea and Mags in deep conversation. Somewhere along the line, Halibut had given up getting any bites from his line and gone in for a swim with Odysseus. Finnick was dozing with his head in Annie's lap, as she read aloud to him from a book.

Clopping down to the main deck, Manannan strolled out to the bow, calling to where the two distant figures of Hal and Ody were splashing near the edge of shore. "Swim back in, boys! Come back!"

The younger men obeyed, scaling the hull via the rope ladder and chortling, nudging and ribbing each other, dripping wet.

Once everyone was gathered, Manannan called for order.

"All right, Victors, huddle up: now you must know, given last night's events, why Mags and I called everyone out to the bay today. I believe, and Mags agrees with me, that we should decide now amongst ourselves, who is going to go back into the arena…"

A piercing scream split the air and Annie was now on her knees, rocking back and forth with her hands over her ears. Finnick tucked her into his side, speaking soft words along her earlobe until she finally lowered her palms. The dashing young man glowered at Manannan witheringly.

"Did you have to say that word? It's a trigger!"

Manannan gave Finnick his most apologetic grin. "We're better off than most of the other districts. Only One and Two have more comfortable pools to choose from, and even then, One's is not much bigger than ours. Where we have a distinct advantage, though, and I checked the charts last night to be certain: we are the only district with a pool of Victors evenly distributed across gender lines."

Silence from the other seven. Manannan looked at each face in turn. "Four boys, four girls. We can afford to choose our best candidate from each gender category."

Everyone looked at each other. Finnick had turned pale as he studied Annie with debilitating concern.

"Annie's off the list," he piped up, voice hoarse with panic.

"Finnick…." Odysseus sighed.

"I'm telling you, she's not going back in! Not if I have anything to say about it!"

Briseis and Cerulea glanced at one another. Both of them had won in the 30s, only three years apart. Briseis was just shy of 60, and with Cerulea not far behind her, they were not exactly in the prime of their lives. And the thought of Mags going back in – only the fourth Victor to reach the milestone of eighty years – was unthinkable.

Manannan wondered briefly what Seaward would have thought about this, were he still alive. Or…. Thisbe….. He and Mags shared a meaningful look, his mentor clearly also thinking of the poor, mad girl who had turned her Victory Banquet in the Capitol into a massacre after she won the 21st. Some people in the district whispered of how Annie Cresta was Thisbe Everett reincarnated – a theory to which Finnick took rabid offense. He would fight, and likely kill, anyone who dared criticize or mock his precious Annie.

"Let's set aside the girls for now," Manannan stated delicately. "What about the boys?"

"You might as well cross yourself off the list too, Manny," Halibut chuckled. "You're too old."

"You wound me, boy," Manannan half-facetiously clutched at his heart. "I certainly may be older, but I still have a spring in my step. But I will take your suggestion under consideration." He smiled. "Under the assumption that I am out of contention, who amongst the three of you will return to…. to tribute status?" He said it sotte voce and very carefully, uncertain whether words like 'tributes' or 'Games' would set Annie off again.

Odysseus leaned against the guardrail. He was 19, just past the normal Reaping age, and with only a year of shadowed mentoring under his belt. Despite being in his mid-thirties and a bit of a wiseass, Halibut was still in relatively decent shape to be a contender. He had always been a real fighter – that had come through in how he had scratched and clawed his way to the crown twenty-one years ago.

Annie tucked into his arm, Finnick had grown grim.

"They'll want me," he half-whispered, resigned. Annie squirned against him, whimpering, and he kissed the top of her head. "Why, I bet all four slips of paper in the bowl will have my name on it."

Rigged Reapings – whether hard or soft – had happened before, even in ordinary years. Emrys Avery from 5 still swore up and down that his Reaping nearly half a century earlier had been fixed to send him in. At least he had the comfort of knowing his neighbors hadn't voted him in, like everyone had been made to do for the inaugural Quell a year prior to his win.

"Too effing bad, Odair. The President didn't say anything in his speech about volunteering being forbidden," Halibut snorted.

Manannan eyed Hal hard. He knew how much his former apprentice was craving the opportunity to be back in the spotlight, just as much as Ody might be shying away from it after only just getting out of it. But to the older man's mind, Halibut didn't have it in him to be a team player. To do what would need to be done, had to be done, if they didn't want any more Coast Guard ships patrolling Four's waters. If they didn't want the Capitol seizing all the best catches for itself during fishing season any longer. If they wanted to be free….

The tributes from Twelve would need their protection – and despite graciously taking everyone's compliments of how well he aged, Manannan knew that he wouldn't be up to the job. He was too old to stave off his fellow Careers, and liked the thought of having to turn them down for an alliance even less. Gleam was a friend, as were Granyte and Boudicca. Finnick wouldn't have any qualms about thumbing his nose at the rest of the Pack, especially if worst came to worst and he had to also protect Annie.

Manannan nodded gravely. "Very well. I motion that we send Finnick back in." Annie let out a gasp of horror, her green eyes pleading; Manannan had to force himself to look her in the eye. "All in favor?"

Everyone's hands but Annie, Halibut and Mags went up. Halibut didn't look happy about it.

"5 to 3. Majority rules. As for the girls…." Manannnan stroked the light beard on his chin. "We'll decide that once we dock back in port." He sighed. "All right. Prepare to lift anchor and set sail."

Everyone dispersed. As they did, however, Manannan took Briseis and Cerulea aside.

"I need one of you ladies to step forward and go back in."

They both looked stricken, but Manannan wouldn't budge.

"This is not up for debate. Finnick is right – it's inhumane for someone so fragile like Annie to be sent back to her death, and allowing Mags to go to the chopping block is even worse. It has to be one of you. They'll be others of your peers in there, guaranteed – Beeetee, for instance. Seeder as well. Maybe even Elena Perez, because the thought of Bovina making the run again leaves me sick to my stomach. Don't tell her I said that." Their chuckles were forced. "You gals might be worrying about grey hairs, but you can still make a go of it; I believe in you. And someone is going to have to assist Finnick and make sure he watches his back." The subtext rang through loud and clear, and Briseis and Cerulea nodded grimly.

Manannan nodded back. "I mean it. I expect one of you to step up. I don't care which one it is, but one of you has to step up, for the good of the Village."


Neither Briseis nor Cerulea did step up, the morning of the Reaping.

When Annie's name was called, she burst into tears and screamed as hysterically as Manannan thought she might. But as the Peacekeepers were stepping forward to manhandle Annie into place, and Manannan looked to the pair of fifty-something women desperately, neither of them made a move, much less made a sound.

Then Mags was raising her hand frantically in the air, hopping up and down like she had to go to the bathroom. An officer thankfully saw her, and was considerate enough to not make Mags have to say the words "I volunteer as tribute," as would have been customary. The eighty-year-old toddled forward with her cane with magnificent dignity, and Manannan steamed. Tears pricked at his eyes.

Then the escort crossed over to the bowl for the men. "Finnick Odair!"

He knew it. And so had the boy.

Halibut looked like he was starting to open his mouth; Manannan stamped on his foot. Hal's jaw snapped shut with a wince, so as to avoid crying out in pain.

Finnick smiled good-naturedly, and crossed to join Mags, kissing her hair. As the entourage was led back into the Justice Building, Manannan glared at Briseis and Cerulea, who at least had the good sense to look ashamed. Cowards. The both of them.

Stepping into their personal space, the old man hissed:

"I have never been so disappointed in you."