I do not own The Hunger Games.
Finnick Odair is precious.
The Girl With The Green Eyes
The Blood Under The Roses
What Finnick has said is true.
Annie Cresta cannot go home, she cannot, not yet.
First she must face . . .
". . . the 70th Annual Hunger Games, . . ."
. . . The Master of Ceremonies himself.
". . . Caesar Flickerman!"
And legions upon legions of rapt fans that fill his studio.
". . . excited? Let me hear it!"
Finnick is there, backstage, helpful and attentive.
And carefully detached.
Mags.
Mags with her gentle touch, stroking Annie's long red hair.
And Annie-
". . . do this! I can't do this! It's too much, there's too many people out there, I can't!"
And Finnick and Mags exchange already discussed glances.
"Here. Take this."
And he holds up a tiny blue pill.
Annie's hair-hidden brow furrows.
"What's that?"
Finnick holds it out.
"It's to help you calm down."
Yes, calm down.
"Just enough to get through this."
Yes, just enough to get through this.
Stop her tears, stop her shaking, stop her begging.
Just enough to make her go and smile and talk nice.
Just for the amount of time she needs.
"Okay."
And she takes it.
And she . . .
"Well, Annie, I must say, I am so glad to see you again."
"Thank you, Caesar."
. . . goes.
And Finnick and Mag watch . . .
"You know, I hope you don't mind me saying so, Annie, . . ."
. . . on the monitors.
". . . I believe none of us really expected this. You have pleasantly surprised us all."
Caesar's smile is bright and toothy.
Annie's almost makes it to her mouth.
"I mean, here you are, a gentle, sweet girl from District 4. A breadmaker, along with your family, yes?"
And she almost nods.
"Yes. We make fishcakes."
"And what are fishcakes, my dear?"
She opens her mouth, once, twice, before any sounds can come out.
"They're cakes. In the shape of fish."
The crowd titters, enjoying the supposed joke.
Annie flinches, as if physically assaulted by the sound.
And Caesar smiles encouragingly to her, to the audience.
"I can imagine they are delicious. Though it was clear you had no time for such home-cooked delicacies in the arena, did you?"
And Annie manages to muster no response to this.
Her gentile host moves on.
"So, Annie, what can you share with us about your time in the arena?"
And this time there is a definite catch in her voice, a definite hitch in her response.
"It was, um, . . . it was, um . . ."
Her eyes go bright and glassy, Finnick sensing panic bubbling up from wherever the pill had stuffed it down into.
"I . . . I . . ."
And her hands come up, muffle the rest of the words seeming to twist themselves up into knots in her constricted throat.
"I'm sorry, Annie, what was that, . . ."
Shaking hands covering trembling mouth, the smile that inappropriately forms there, red, like a bloody gash.
". . . my dear?"
Failing, unfortunately to stifle the mad, strange sound that's half giggle, half strangled cry.
"Everybody died but me."
Caesar, ever the poised showman, . . .
"Ah yes, I know, I know."
. . . spins the response as only he can.
"Such an experience, such an experience. None of us present here tonight can truly understand what you have gone through."
Annie giggles again, eyes overbright and not entirely sane.
He pats her hand, the good Caesar does, pats her hand and addresses the now cautiously smiling crowd.
"Well, my dear darling District 4 Victor, I know it's time for you to continue on your way, so I won't keep you."
Then the big, bright shark teeth smile is back.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your victor of the 70th Annual Hunger Games!"
And the crowd applauds with enthusiasm.
Annie flinches again, giggles, tears just to the edge of spilling.
The lights go down.
And Finnick Odair comes.
"Okay, it's over now."
Takes her by the hand.
"It's over."
And they go.
"She's not doing okay."
And the older woman's eyes speak her words for her.
And it is easy for Finnick to infer her meaning.
None of us do at first.
Since her mouth cannot.
"But this is worse. I . . . I . . ."
Go on and say it, my boy.
"I think she's losing her mind."
Then we have to find it for her.
They parade her about the Capitol, all fanfare and blaring music and shouts and roars from the crowd.
Annie becomes rigid, slowly crushed under the weight of it all.
Blue eyes fearful and wide. Rictus of a smile locked onto her mouth.
Tears that still stream, nothing can stop them.
Finnick has heard of people who have their tear ducts lasered shut, removed entirely.
A helpful stylist brightly suggested it to Finnick, as they were preparing Annie for Caesar.
He'd waved her casually off.
Don't you touch her, don't you dare.
They give her another blue pill so she can face the solemnly black-suited, imposing President Snow.
Look him in his ice-chip blue eyes, allow him to stare unblinkingly into her fractured soul without wailing for mercy.
Smell his breath, the blood under the roses.
And stand firm as he places the gold Victor's crown upon her flame-red hair with grey gloved hands.
"Congratulations, Miss Cresta. You are quite the swimmer."
"Th-thank you."
And then . . .
"Can . . . can I . . . can I go home now?"
"Yes. We can go home."
. . . they take her home.
See here's the thing I never really thought of before writing this chapter and looking back on bits of The Hunger Games.
Every single tribute before Katniss and Peeta had to do all this alone, on the stage with Caesar, with Snow.
Facing everyone alone and by themselves, with no support to lean on whatsoever.
Which is why I think Caesar's approach and role is, complicated as it is, so important.
I'm sure some of them, like the Careers, were totally cool, belting out 'We Are The Champions' the whole time, or something.
But some of them had to be traumatized and terrified, you know?
And completely alone.
So in that respect, Katniss and Peeta had it easier because they were up there together.
Anyway, let me know what you think. :)
