I do not own The Hunger Games.

Finnick Odair is precious.

The Girl With The Green Eyes

Providing


". . . riveting Hunger Games so far, I can tell you that."

It sure has been.

"Despite an absolutely ruthless beginning, we still have both tributes from Districts 1 and 2, one from district 3 and 4, respectively, we've got . . ."

Annie is still alive.

". . . arena this year is a beautiful, lush Northwest Pacific-inspired forest."

And since Annie is still alive . . .

"Full of freshwater streams, edible vegetation, . . ."

. . . Finnick Odair . . .

". . . , and of course, wildlife. Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes this year face not only muttations such as trackerjackers, but Nature's challenges as well. Fire ants, poisonous snakes . . ."

. . . needs to get to work.


"Well, Finnick Odair, District 4 certainly seems to have the odds against them again this year."

That is correct. In the five years since he won his Hunger Games, there has not been another District 4 victor.

Finnick has tried. Mags has tried.

Calvert and Bothroy have tried.

And, of course, . . .

"That is true, Madam DeLauriant."

. . . the tributes have tried.

Not to die.

And failed.

Still, that's no reason to be morose about the whole thing.

Finnick puts on his most confident, most charming smile.

With all his straight, bright teeth the Capitol once forced upon him so long ago.

The braces, oh, the braces. And the headgear, ugh.

Only six months, they said.

And it was awful.

"Well, that could all change with your support."

The old lady's unnaturally tight, neon-painted skin appears to be in danger of splitting completely off her skull as she smiles and surreshes back to him.

"Oh it could, could it? Well, isn't that a . . . deliciously interesting offer."

So focused is Finnick on his goal of finding a sponsor for Annie that he barely registers the shiver of revulsion that chokes at the back of his throat.

"Shall we find ourselves to a more private setting to discuss it then?"

"In just a moment, darling. I believe a tribute from District 1 is strangling a District 12 to death . . . alright, we can go now."


It isn't that he likes whoring himself out for survival blankets.

It's that Annie doesn't have any discernible skills or attributes he can sell to potential sponsors.

And the rules strictly prohibit mentors from sponsoring tributes.

He can only send what the good people of Capitol choose to provide; he cannot provide himself.

Except that he can provide himself.

To them.

Not her.

Them.

In fact, President Snow encourages it, insists upon it.

For his enjoyment, his amusement.

President Snow's.

Finnick's never found it amusing at all.

Well, perhaps, after soul died, darkly so.

So he, the slickest boy at the ball, sells the only hedonism they of the Capitol desire more than copious amounts of rich, decadent food or entertainment in the form of death and dismemberment.

"Come here, Finnick Odair and earn your tribute's life."

Himself.


Stay warm. -F

So Annie gets her survival blanket.

Along with berries she has foraged for herself and furtive drinks from the freshwater spring near her hiding place.

And Finnick gets a cup of calming tea from Mags upon his arrival back in the District 4 apartment in Tribute Tower.

"How is she?"

The woman who has always been a gentle, kind steadfast to him, shrugs.

Twisting a wrinkled hand in a so-so motion.

And points.

The projector is on, of course, never able to be turned off in the main rooms of any Panem abode for the entire duration of the Hunger Games.

". . . cannon for District 8. That was Curtliss Greengrove, felled by Drick Finn from District 6 . . ."

Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are both there, small in the right corner, a running list of remaining living tributes and their odds above them.

The arena filling the rest of the projection.

". . . remind you, our brave tributes are shivering in close to freezing temperatures tonight-"

Annie's numbers still very low, despite all Finnick's efforts.

"And, of course, a fire, as warm and comforting as that might be for a fleeting moment, would only alert potential adversaries to their positions."

As liberal with their hairstyles and wardrobe choices as they are, the denizens of the Capitol are also, to a person, quite capitalistic in their sponsorship of Tributes.

"Right you are, Claudius, right you are . . ."

They do not waste sponsorship on delicate, gentle-natured, breadmaking girls that cry helplessly, silently, in dark, secret places . . .

". . . dense underbrush Annie Cresta from District 4 is in, now this is a very safe position for anyone not apt at climbing trees. As long as she stays still and quiet, a tribute could pass within a few feet of her and have no idea at all."

And though she's covered in the insulation blanket, which seals in her body heat, thus rendering her most likely warm and dry as toast, it is apparent that she is still . . .

". . . shaking. Do you think she's hurt or perhaps suffering some sort of mental trauma? I mean, she did catch another tribute's head in her hands less than five minutes into The Games this year."

"Very astute observation, Claudius. You know, that is always another challenge of the Hunger Games. The challenge to the mind, to overcome less than ideal circumstances such as these."

Green eyes staring vacantly out of tear-stained face.

"Tributes who isolate themselves, such as this brave young lady from District 4, must face every danger and trap by themselves without any ally or support, save what they receive from their sponsors."

So green.

So haunted.

"So the questions remains, which is the more savvy approach, alliances which we all know are temporary at best? Or isolation and self-reliance from the beginning?"

Alone.

"It is a question our brave warriors wrestle with every year, Caesar."

And . . .

"And there is never an easy answer."

. . . very, very afraid.


Thanks to DinahRay for previously reviewing!