I own nothing of The Hunger Games. R&R please.
A few days after the games end, Finnick falls ill. That is strange, seeing that he's as healthy as a bull and hasn't been sick since he was five. Now, he stumbles around, trying to eat, trying to keep his energy up. But whatever little that goes down comes straight up barely an hour later.
The celebrations have begun but these are definitely watered-down this year. The Victor's still recuperating, as the reports say, although they don't reveal that the injuries aren't surface wounds. Finnick of course, doesn't hear or think much of anything, since he's caught a bug. It becomes obvious that he needs rest, for he finds himself weak even when sitting to give interviews.
One of the Avoxes brings him back to his room, and he doesn't have the strength to refuse. He sleeps for hours at an end, and when he wakes, he wonders if she wants to be unbound. And then he reminds himself that she's too broken to know that her freedom's been taken away. Of course, past victors have found escapes too, like booze and drugs and things like that. But before that, the good-lookers were still put through what Finnick is determined to survive. Besides, insanity doesn't hurt as much as to put oneself down the path that Haymitch and a few others have chosen. Madness—now that is going well, if only on balance.
News of him falling sick gets around fast and before he knows it, President Snow is knocking paying him a personal visit. Has he already greeted the victor? Or has he skipped that even though he's visited the Game Center—surely Annie Cresta won't even recognize him? The thoughts are jumbled in Finnick's mind as he registers Snow's presence.
Why is it that there's always a smell of decay amidst the perfume? Whatever it is, Finnick is stirred even before he gets up to greet the President himself. Delirious with fever, he ends depositing his last meal at the man's feet.
Snow doesn't seem to mind—not that Finnick can tell, since he's swooning in a half-faint at the bed's foot, gripping the sheets.
He tries to explain, even though his voice comes out in stammers as he shivers. His mind is thick, as if it is made of wool, and he finds his words trapped. His eyes are stinging, and not for the first time, he's repulsed by how easily he tends to tear.
"Well, Finnick." Snow stands there, seeming almost benign. The awful, nauseating mess that Finnick has created does not affect him in the least. Are those roses so potent? Behind him, the bodyguards cast strange shadows into the room. "I came to congratulate our Victor, but I heard that you were ill and decided to visit you."
It's unfortunate that you've fallen sick." He stares and smiles slowly at Finnick, who's kneeling still. "I hope you weren't careless with yourself."
"I didn't—," Finnick is struggling to stand. Those nights of insomnia must have made his body weaker. He tried his best to sleep but ended up spending hours in darkness thinking of the Games and the girl strapped to the bed, sobbing silently with tears flowing down her cheeks. "It's j-just f-flu— I-I didn't- it's—,"
"Of course." Snow cuts him off, as if to allay Finnick's fears. It intensifies Finnick's terror though. "That can happen to the best of us, isn't that right?" He smiles gently. "It's inconvenient."
"I-It won't happen again—,"
"Of course not." Snow says, almost kindly, as if comforting Finnick. But they both know what Snow is getting at.
And in that soft, poisonous voice, Snow tells him that he will be shuttled back to the casino to recuperate. The patrons won't visit him for a while, but he's expected to recover fast.
He only nods, ill with the fever, cold with fear, and paler than he can recall.
He tries to get his strength back, because he doesn't want to test Snow's patience. In fact, he returns to the casino barely a day after the closing ceremony. He misses most of it even when someone offers to play him the recaps, because he spends his time trying to sleep off his flu.
It's funny, really. Thousands of years of progress in medicinal studies have passed, where all sorts of diseases can be cured in the Capitol. And yet, Finnick thinks, nothing can help his flu. He takes his medicine regularly, but he has troubled sleep. He dreams of dark spaces and when he wakes, his bones are aching as if he has spent hours curled up in cramped areas.
When he wakes, the air is always tight with fear and sweat, as if he has been transported back into the Games. It is a whole week before Finnick feels well enough to smile and joke and stride around. Even then, he feels hollower than ever and somehow he is distracted even when he sees no reason to be.
Of course, he assures himself that he will forget things if he puts his mind to it, and so he is up and about soon enough. To the best of his abilities, he tries not to think of Mags or the girl screaming silently in the Games Centre. So he throws himself into the motions of living, no matter how routine and utterly miserable it gets sometimes.
It's better than having Shelley's fate replicated for the others. By smiling and laughing, Finnick is the kind who gets by. Better to bite his tongue and take the injustices than to have anything happen to anyone else but him.
Yet, the thoughts eat away at him, and those make him feel trapped. Because of that, he develops the hunger to go exploring. Somehow, boredom seems more present than weariness and the disillusion that has long settled into him.
He struggles with himself for a few days. He is reluctant to get out and see the Capitol. When he passes by the drink bar and looks at the glasses, he hates to see a hundred replicas of his face stare back and mock him. What more about puddles on roads that splash and scold him?
"Whore!" He always hears it in his mind, even if people admire him openly. As bold as he is, Finnick has become afraid of the world outside the casino. Besides, it has a recently-installed aquarium, animal enclosure and swimming facilities. He tries to tell himself that he is fine as a bird in a cage.
But when he happens to catch an interview with Annie's father, who smiles reluctantly for the camera and thanks the Capitol for the honour, Finnick can't help thinking about the bound, mad girl. He becomes a bit bitter about how she has actually found an escape.
After that, Finnick finds the time and the motivation to wander around the outskirts of the Capitol.
Now he walks along the roads, grudgingly impressed at how well everything functions. But his admiration is always coloured by disgust. The Capitol is amazingly developed, at the Districts' expense.
"It's Finnick Odair!" Someone lowers a jeweled fan that she is fanning herself with.
Another gapes. "What's he doing here?"
He walks without hurrying, even though his instincts prompt him to run. There is a carnival festival today, and everybody's wearing a mask. He doesn't bother with one though—he won't pay for and wear those silly trinkets that could feed a family for a week. Besides, nothing could ever disguise his thoughts better than his perpetual smile and the confident arrogance that he's learnt to cloak himself with.
"Finnick, what are you doing here?"
He doesn't answer but blows a random kiss to whoever who called out to him. He's less resistant to the idea of being rented out now or being thought of as nothing more than a slab of meat. Besides, he's the sort of person who can't stand being bored. Normally, he's usually compelled to drag himself to accept invitations to fashion shows and things like that, so why not the rest of the Capitol?
It pays well if he's a guest at high-profile events, but it pays even better if he walks in those shows. The good-looking victors usually are invited, but he's always invited because he lives in the Capitol. He has been taking fashion assignments for some time and takes photographs to be put into glossy magazines and things like that. It helps him save money and pass it to Mags for the siblings back home, although they never write to thank him. Just as well; maybe Snow won't go after them that way.
Finnick doesn't really like the crazy fashions that the Capitol imposes on everyone there. Some designers and stylists beg Finnick to shorten his name to 'Finn' and to wear bronzer and powders on his face and eyes even when those shows end.
He always jokes it away. "What? Why? Do I need any?" And he struts and strikes poses that make them sigh in awe and take back what they suggest.
But when they suggest alterations, he protests vehemently, not even bothering to be good-natured about it. He already has this ridiculous peacock outfit that he is known for wearing on one show. It was featured for weeks and people were clamoring to go into the casino to meet him. Yet, to have tail-feathers inserted permanently into his ass seems too jokey even for Finnick.
Most of them have to take his flat rejections when they offer to style him, since part of his appeal is the naturalness of his face and form. What he finds himself grumbling over though, is how every fashion show that he is hired to walk in must be sea-themed. Like it hasn't been over-played enough. Like he isn't clearly supposed to be the Poseidon of the Capitol. Like everybody doesn't already know that he's the whore from District Four and that it even rhymes.
"Finnick! He's back from the Games already?" Someone else is looking at him. They have noticed him, but he acts like nothing is out of ordinary. He has just as much right to be here in the daylight as them, even if it is arguably closer to evening now. He doesn't need to be more of a creature of the night than he already is.
The truth is that for all their gawking, he doesn't mind walking around and whistling to keep himself cheerful. Nothing changes whether he is inside the casino or outside or on the runway. There are always cameras everywhere, and everybody is watching him. Even in the casino, Finnick is sure that some Avoxes are tasked by the casino owners to make sure that Finnick isn't up to anything funny or tries to run. Snow of course, is behind it. Not that Finnick would dare to run.
Outside, everybody recognizes him and they like to whip out cameras and take photographs of him and ask him to sign those. He usually declines to sign, although he'll always make sure to smile at them.
Sometimes, he pities himself. But other times, he pities them more. They don't know what he does. They don't know that Snow will have his end one day, and that it won't be a pretty one, if Finnick and a hundred others get their way.
"Finnick!" A woman with pointy-teeth snakes forward and actually grabs his arm. "You're back here? They say you caught ill—are you better now?"
"Of course." He smiles, sending the people who have gathered around him into spasms of delight. He lowers his voice and looks at her with half-lidded eyes. "I'm all better now."
Another woman is raking her eyes down his face and body. "You should have told me that you were ill. I'd have a special remedy for it."
He replies breathily. "I'll bet you do." If she has the money and the secrets that he wants, she'll know where to find him. He moves on as she swoons behind him. He isn't adverse to strolling around openly these days. The shame of having people point and whisper at his back has festered into his perpetually happy ways and how unruffled he is by what they say.
Everybody knows that he takes lovers everywhere and never takes them twice, even if nobody really knows that all of them are sent by Snow. But everybody loves him still, because he never throws his temper and is always jovial and merry. Everyone goes crazy when he arrives. They want to be his friend, and he isn't ever awkward about it. The clown; the court jester—that's Finnick Odair for you.
But he likes to explore on his own. He likes to go to the wholesale streets and look at the produce that comes in from the Districts; getting re-packed and quality-checked. He likes to look at these things before the Capitol takes it all completely.
There are always luxuries in all sorts of forms from District One and intriguing electronic combinations and toys from District Three. He never buys anything since the casino and everyone gives him what he needs. He just lopes around with his hands in his pockets, talking to distributors who want to talk to him about inconsequential, fickle things.
Some of these stall-vendors are actually District people without Capitol pedigrees, and they look at Finnick with awe, like he has made it somewhere. He wonders why they think so, but smiles jauntily anyway, making sure to look rich, well-fed, and happy. At least, Finnick thinks, they'll have something to dream about.
Time can fly if he puts his mind into killing it. Time doesn't have to fly only when he's enjoying himself— he's learnt how to get over and done with things and look like he's enjoying himself.
Like this evening. The masked Capitol people are gone, since it's getting a little cold with the night air. This is especially with how his midriff is exposed in a silly top that is cut midway to expose the lower of his torso.
He's always dressed to play the part of Finnick, the Capitol's golden boy. If he tries appearing in simple clothes, he's hauled back by the owners and told to dress properly. That means tight pants that cling to his flesh, and where possible, coats that don't button up properly so that his navel is always saying hello to the world.
"Aren't you cold?" The vendor asks. Finnick has already spent hours digging through the shells and things that have arrived from District Four, even as the evening grows colder. Some stalls are closing, but this one doesn't mind him sticking around, fingering the starfish necklaces and things like that.
"No," He replied. "Got used to it." He holds up a shell, looking admiringly at it.
"Put it to your ear," The vendor urges. "You can hear the sea."
Like he doesn't already know. He obliges, and he does hear the sea. The shell is greenish, and the vendor tells him that it looks like his eyes. Of course, it's a common colour in District Four, as he is tempted to remind the vendor. He looks at the shell, its smoothness and its tones.
Somehow, Finnick thinks of the patient still stuck in the Games Center. The last he remembers before he came back to the casino, she was totally still. She'd stopped shaking and hitting out—she seemed to have become too tired to fight anymore. He left before he could see or hear of what would happen to her. She's probably still there. Or not. Her father didn't mention her when interviewed. It's been a few months now. Maybe she's been neutralized. For once, there wasn't much fanfare about a victor. Not that he would know—he fell ill.
He really shouldn't worry, unlike Mags. Mags can worry all she likes; Finnick doesn't care. Of course, he did worry a little at first. He did feel pity for the lunatic. But he likes to tell himself that he got bored of it all. Besides, he couldn't not come back to the casino.
"So do you want it?"
The vendor breaks into his thoughts.
He is tempted to buy the small conch, because it reminds him of what was littered everywhere on the shores that he used to run on. But it's a waste of money to buy something that he can find anywhere in District Four. Not that he's going back there, of course. Just that if he did, he'd probably throw a stone and hit a hundred of these kinds of conches.
And so he hands the shell back, shaking his head. "It's too common." And then he decides to go, but not before blowing a kiss to the vendor.
When he gets back to the casino, the dizzying lights are trailing shadows on the floor there is the too-cheerful-for-anyone's-good music is going on. A quick scan of the packed place tells him that the owners aren't in today. In that case, it's usually up to the head bartender to run the business. The head bartender also leaves some food out for Finnick whenever he comes back in the evening, since Finnick is often too busy entertaining to eat when the guests do.
"Finnick, my boy!"
Someone throws him a perfumed flower. He feels faint as he is forced to take it and sniff it appreciatively. Why do they have to enhance something that is already so fragrant and beautiful in its natural state?
"Oh, it's Finnick!"
"You're late, Finnick!" Someone squeals.
Now that Finnick has been spotted by some guests who've seen him enter, they grab him, laughing loudly, calling to him.
He blows kisses everywhere, trying to swim his way forward through the crowds. Games are going on at various tables and in other rooms, all sorts of cards are being flung everywhere. Food and wine of course, is overflowing.
The guests are everywhere, doing their usual rubbish in the casino. The dancers are everywhere with their feathers and sequins and the music is blasting away as usual. But there's some discussion going on in some corner, even though the larger circles of guests haven't noticed it yet.
In his corner, Mickey, the head bartender is gesturing comically and his hands are flying over his head. Not that anything can be heard, of course. Out of curiosity, Finnick hurries over. The head bartender is still yelling, even though his voice is drowned out by the noise around them.
"What's going on?" Finnick peers over the bar counter to see what he's yelling and kicking.
An Avox is crouching, her hair tucked and hidden behind the smart little beret that's part of the casino Avox uniform. She is kneeling on the ground, sweeping up things with her bare hands. There's glass in the mix, and she already seems to have cut herself.
"She dropped a whole tray." Mickey snarls. "How the hell did I get lumped with an Avox that's as dumb as her?"
Finnick laughs once, not bothering to cross behind the bartender's counter. It's cramped enough behind, and he'd rather stick around here and watch unhelpfully. "Don't get so worked up now. It's just one of those things."
The other Avoxes are either serving drinks elsewhere or busy. This one though, has messed up. She's broken one of those crystal glasses that guests sip booze from. It's unusual that there's this going on behind the bar counter—the Avoxes are usually slow to make mistakes. Nobody notices since Finnick is blocking the view by standing with half his body hunched over the bar. Besides, guests are talking to each other and doing all sorts of other things.
But this girl, Finnick sees, is making another mistake. She has finished clearing things but her fingers keep dripping blood, and that ruins the carpet.
"Stupid bint!" The head bartender yells again, storming off to find some first-aid kit. His complaints are drowned by the music of course, and nobody notices anything, since this is all going below and behind the drinks shelves.
In any case, Finnick's curiosity is satisfied, and he straightens up. But as he does, and because he has always been tall, he can still see as the Avox looks up.
And when she does, he sees that it is mad little Annie. Her face is ashen even when her lips are stained berry and her eyes are as pretty as he remembers. She is muttering wordlessly, her fingers bleeding. She seems to be looking at him, but there is no light of recognition; she may as well be looking through him.
For some reason, he feels terrible shame. He swallows, her name in his mind, and then he turns and flees.
The rope's in a horrific state of knots. Those though, come undone as quickly as his fingers tied those.
It's been two weeks since Annie's arrived and he's made and undone at least a hundred knots by now. He has taken to practicing knotting with a length of rope that he got a hold of, and he keeps it with him whenever he is feeling tense.
Sometimes, he makes nooses with the rope, and just for fun, he puts them around his neck and gags to make the bartenders and casino musicians laugh. They don't know that Finnick laughs at himself too, and wishes that he could tighten the noose.
In the days that come, Mags sends him a message. She tells him that Annie's been sent to his casino. Like Finnick doesn't already know.
She asks him to keep an eye for her because Mags has to go back to District Four—nobody wants an old woman to stay around in the Capitol where's she outlived her entertainment value. Annie Cresta's been turned out of the Game Center—they don't want her around.
He doesn't have to ponder hard to know why Annie can't be sent back to District Four. Like Finnick, Annie doesn't belong there anymore. From Mags' note, Finnick knows that her father has somehow drowned at sea. The old man didn't want the spanking new house that the Capitol gave him. Come to think of it, neither did Finnick's siblings. Not that it's all bad—Finnick is sure that they'd be watched if they'd lived in a house that the Capitol built for them.
Annie's father forcefully deposited the winnings with Mags. Somehow, Annie's father wheeled himself to Mag's place, put the winnings there and managed to take a leaky old boat out to sea. That's why there's no point even if Annie Cresta goes back. Nobody can give her medical attention if she suddenly relapses. That's why Mags thinks it's better if she stays in the Capitol, where doctors can tend to her if she needs it.
From what he's collected, she's been taken as an Avox. One gamemaker brought her over with instructions that she was to stay in the casino and be trained as an Avox. Mags says that she could relapse if she stays in the Game Center, and that at least Finnick will be around to keep an eye on her in the casino.
As he reads the letter, Finnick wonders how Mags got so idealistic. There is no way that the lunatic will get treatment even if she can afford it. But he can't say that to Mags, who requests that Finnick talk to Annie as much as he can.
He puts the letter away, feeling slightly perturbed. This is the girl who was brought back so broken that she couldn't form sentences to give interviews. Not that anyone does—Finnick himself hammed it up for the cameras instead of breaking down when Claudius asked him to describe his experiences. Most don't go mad only because they hide the truth from themselves to some extent.
He thinks about Annie. She seemed mostly calm whenever he ran into her. Maybe they've found that taking her away from anything that reminds her of the Games makes her normal-ish. The owners don't seem to know that Annie still has her tongue. But she does, and Finnick is fairly sure of that. Why go through the costs of an operation when she already can't speak?
He finishes undoing the knots, and then lobs aside the rope. Then he fetches his things to go have a shower.
As scrubs almost viciously, he thinks about the newest Avox in the casino.
There's this saying that if it ain't broke, one doesn't fix it. He's heard of a better one; if it's broken, it's not worth fixing.
It isn't clear to Finnick why the Capitol bothers with her at all. Hell, he doesn't even know why Mags thinks that staying in the Capitol will give her a better chance of recovery. It is true that the Capitol has medics that are more accessible than in District Four, but for sure, nothing will help her much. The aesthetic clean-ups and scar removals are done and there's nothing else that they can do.
He thinks that it's pointless trying to heal her beneath the surface. They've written off Annie Cresta by saying that she was always a loony before she got into the Games. Frankly, even to Finnick, it's convincing enough. It's easy to forget that she could actually speak in coherent sentences before the Games.
The water is cold, as he always prefers. He freezes himself in it, then gets back to scrubbing.
He thinks about Mags's message and her request. It seems to Finnick that Annie doesn't just have Mags' heart—one of the Gamemakers had suggested that she be trained as an Avox in the first place. Clearly, she must have regained some semblance of ability to obey, or at least retained some charm.
If Finnick guesses correctly, the Gamekeeper is the same one who brought the official away from Annie when she'd been pinned to a pillar in the Game Center's garden. Senecca Crane, if Finnick remembers the name rightly. Mags, back in District Four, must be glad that Annie is where she can be looked after—if not by this Gamekeeper, then Finnick at least.
But she's wrong. Finnick doesn't want to have anything to do with the mad girl. He tells himself that she's just lucky to have survived and that whatever that's gnawing at him when he remembers how her fingers were bleeding is just his nerves.
She shouldn't be here. She's definitely not prepared to serve as an Avox. She'll just mess things up. She should have been neutralized.
He begins to scrub again, even though he's done it thrice. Once more can't hurt. But as he does, he thinks of Annie's pale face, and those searching, lost eyes. Somehow, he thinks of her as a child, and she seems even more innocent than before.
Over the next few weeks, he observes her.
She seems to settle into the place quite quickly in the way that people who don't belong anywhere often blend into the background. Maybe the food here is better than what she's had so far—she gains a little weight that fills out the distressing thinness of her cheeks and fingers.
Annie Cresta takes instructions from the head bartender, who takes his instructions from the casino owners in turn. She is first tasked with serving drinks, but then she keeps dropping things and the Avoxes seem to avoid her when they are working.
She is like Finnick in some ways— ignored and tolerated to a large extent. The other Avoxes, while apparently fond of her, don't want her hanging around them the way they don't like Finnick to offer to help out with chores. Not that Finnick's bad at chores—it's just that he can sense that they aren't keen to have him around, and he keeps away.
After some time, Annie gets relegated to looking after the animals, since overall, she is pretty useless. She gets startled easily, breaks things all the time, and never seems to go without two or three plasters on her fingers. But undeniably, she is good at mending blankets and cloth and looking after the sea creatures in the casino's aquarium section. To Finnick at least, it's exceedingly clear that she grew up in District Four.
Mags sends him another message, inquiring about Annie's settling in. He assures her that she is fine, leaving out the details of the scrapes that Annie gets into. Surely, Mags already expects it—they are dealing with a crazy person here.
Mags replies and says that she entrusts Annie to him.
Not that Finnick needs to do very much, since she gets along quite well with the other Avoxes. The other Avoxes seem to love her and pay her attention when they can, for she is but fourteen and one of the youngest around still. She tends to forget when to eat because she's always hanging around the enclosures, so they bring food for her when they can.
Unlike the Avoxes, Finnick doesn't pay attention to her beyond what Mags has requested. Something about her has always made him nervous, even if she has changed drastically in some ways.
But one evening and only a few hours before the casino opens, he finds her playing with something. She sits in a corner, cross-legged, looking tinier than she really is. Usually, she moves off to the enclosures when the casino opens, but for some reason, she is hanging around today.
Finnick squats next to her. Out of curiosity, he speaks to her for the first time since she's come here. "Can I see that?"
She doesn't even look at him.
Suddenly irritated, he takes it from her. Without realizing what he's doing, he shoves her when she struggles to take it back. He holds it up in amazement, but she flies into a rage and scratches his cheek, still trying to take it back.
He is too stunned, mostly because he didn't expect her to react, and also because he didn't expect her to have a conch shell on her. It's the common kind that District Four's shores are lined with—and this isn't even a particularly good specimen.
He must have yelled in his surprise, since one of the casino owners, Rok Luokei appears. Like children, they squat from where they are on the floor, and he looms over them.
Luokei happens to be around on this evening and he's seen this Avox step out of line and strike the main attraction in his casino. Finnick is the star of this place—it doesn't do to leave marks on him.
And while he isn't as tall as Finnick, he is a monstrous, lumbering sort of man who's always in a suit and little bow tie. Luokei isn't a man that Finnick likes, but they got along well enough since Finnick is polite and cheerful around him and Finnick brings in the dough. He takes one look at Finnick, who's still clutching the shell, and bellows, "What happened to your face?"
But of course, Luokei knows. Annie is pulled to her feet by her long, tangled hair and receives a blow that happens before Finnick can say anything. The blow is so strong that Annie is sent to her feet. Then glaring at Annie still, he grabs the delicate shell from Finnick and crushes it into powder under his heel.
"Rok—," Finnick is stunned. Possibly more stunned than Annie, even though he's seen Rok Luokei using violence against particularly drunk and disruptive casino guests.
Annie doesn't seem to feel pain, even when tears have sprung into her eyes from the impact. She only stares mutely as the shell is crushed into powder under Luokei's heel.
Finnick stares too. He doesn't know why, but that seems worse than the blow that Annie took directly. Luokei isn't the kind to be provoked—he's as good as one of those bouncers in here.
"Listen well, Annie Cresta." The former peacemaker is spitting his words. "I run this casino for good money, and I don't want idiots who don't even make good Avoxes messing it up. I took you in as an Avox because the Gamemakers asked me too—you better not make me regret it. And you take one, long, good look at Finnick Odair here—," He jabs a finger in Finnick's direction. "He's worth ten of you, you little bint. Don't touch him. Now get up and clean this mess up."
Annie stares from where she is on the floor. There is blankness, even though her lips are beginning to tremble. There is an ugly welt on her face that's blooming. And somehow, Finnick comes to his senses at the sight of the sudden violence. He intervenes, telling the owner that some cold cream will be good enough.
"She doesn't understand you—she's mad." He tells Luokei. He is now on his feet, somehow shielding Annie. She doesn't even know how to cower—she doesn't know any better than to clean enclosures and to mend curtains and other things. "I'm fine, really."
The owner realizes just as much, but reaches behind Finnick, hauls Annie up, and then slaps her again for good measure. On her other cheek. Like his previous blow, it comes so fast and so unexpectedly that Finnick is entirely helpless.
"She's got to learn." Rok Luokei says steely. He tells the girl to get lost and signals to another Avox to clean up the powder of the broken shell.
She only stares blankly, and Finnick has to get her to her feet and push her out before the owner gets livid.
Later, even though his better judgment says otherwise, he finds a way to escape the smoky, crowded gambling dens. He steals away, and then gets an Avox to bring him cold cream.
That night, he finds Annie and sits her down by the dolphin pool. He finds her curled up in a tent that some kind Avox has helped her set up next to the enclosure, and he takes her hand and pulls her out.
She doesn't resist, and he likes to think that there's trust in that still countenance. All the same, he may have been the vilest creature on earth, Finnick thinks, and she wouldn't know how to defend herself.
She doesn't seem to feel anything even now—not how the wind thrills against their skin in the night air, the stinging slaps, the cold cream, or how sorry he is that he took her shell from her.
Her hand feels small and soft in his larger one. When he holds her head still with his other hand, Finnick is glad that Annie doesn't even look at him. When he's done with putting the cream on her cheeks, he leaves the rest there and goes away, afraid that he feels close to crying.
Various assignments make Finnick shuttle from place to place within the Capitol, and the same stylists from the Games those years ago come with him. They visit him once a week in the casino to make sure that he is looking good, but his tolerance of them is always stretched when he must travel for weeks with them. He isn't fond of them, for they only care for his appearance, and he is always glad to shake them off when he can.
Like his admirers and lovers, the casino owners pander to him. One is gruff and prone to fits of violence, but Finnick knows that Rok Luokei doesn't mind him because he appears so confident and good-natured at every point. The other owner, Gantore Mantique, is slyer and the real brains of the casino—he's the one who has even more reason to joke back when Finnick plays the jester; he's the one who always has a smile and gifts for Finnick.
And Finnick accepts their laughs and smiles and tolerance with his own. But he has come to prefer the silence and steady calmness of the Avoxes in the casino. At least, they don't pander to him, even if it's not really a matter of choice where their silence is concerned. Annie too, doesn't stop to look or pay attention to him when he hangs around the aquarium area, and it makes him more comfortable to be there in his free time.
If he guesses correctly, she doesn't sleep in the Avox quarters. She sleeps as near to the dolphin enclosures as possible, in that tent of hers. But Annie seems happy enough, pattering around silently and signing to be understood by the other Avoxes, who can at least write. They don't let her do much work. For one, she'd mess up. For another, they are still aware of the difference between them the Avoxes and the former victors, even if it's a mad girl and a boy who laughs and jokes too much to be taken seriously.
He knows that they like her though. They treat her like a younger sibling and comb her hair when she seems rattled—all just to calm her. For most part, she seems subdued unless her mind lapses. When her mind slips, she bites at her hands and curls up in the nearest space that she can find with her eyes wild.
Once, the guests were arriving, but she refused to come out of a drinks closet in the middle of the main poker room. Finnick, the only one who was strong enough at that time, was asked to pull her out by a nearly desperate bartender. He couldn't pull her out without her trying to bite and scratch, and so he physically lifted the entire cupboard and brought it out to the aquarium. She didn't come out of there for a whole night, so they had to take out the drinks and leave her there.
Other than those rare occasions, she seems perfectly normal at times. But she is always in her own world and she doesn't do much except feed the sea creatures when it is time to. Admittedly, she cares for them wonderfully.
When he sees her and the animals, Finnick feels a bit pained. They are behind glass the way he was once trapped for entertainment and for people to watch on screens. Annie too, looks trapped here, like the other creatures.
None of them belong here, but none of them belong elsewhere. There's nothing left there for him when he can't stand to face his siblings or anyone in that place; because he's cemented his reputation as the Capitol's golden boy. Golden boy alright. The whole thing sickens him, but it could be worse.
At least he has control over the casino in many ways. If he expresses a need for anything, the owners give in to him. They know that he attracts the crowds. Loads of people come to the casino if only to get a glimpse of Finnick. There are stylists and fashion designers who come as casino guests and then end up prostrating themselves at Finnick's feet, begging him to let them hire him as their model or muse or whatever.
Snow probably doesn't mind that Finnick's taking on other work outside the usual, but that's only because Finnick's getting more exposure that way. He works hard and with that awful cheerfulness, because the money that he's saving will go to Mags and then his siblings, even if they don't want it. He saves a little for himself too, because he might be able to afford his own place one day and to leave the casino. Once he starts growing fat and old and ugly, of course.
For now, he likes to make people laugh still. He thinks that people can be understood by the way that they laugh. Some have affected laughs, silly sounds that sound more like hiccups than anything else. Some have frightened, braying laughs like donkey cries. Some laugh like hyenas, and some laugh like fighting geese. It amuses him to hear people laugh at what he tells them and the jokes that he makes; they allow him to laugh at them.
Not with the Avoxes though. He has gotten past pitying them to enjoying their silent, steady company, but sometimes the silence is awful. Not that they know what he's thinking, of course. The Avoxes usually don't mind him when they aren't working, although they don't let him help out until he insists. If wouldn't be good if the casino owners were around and caught the Avoxes having others help them out.
He likes to hang around them when he can, working in mucking-out clothes that he forcefully borrows from one particular Avox who can't quite protest. And throughout it, he often tells jokes for the Avoxes and Annie while scrubbing, doing all sorts of funny accents for them.
Sometimes, he thinks that he is being cruel by telling jokes that can only garner silent smiles and sad eyes at the very most. The Avoxes though, don't seem to hate his insensitivity—they know that he doesn't mean to be cruel. They listen while working, some of them with their young, wondering eyes, and he is afraid to stop joking because a complete silence would be worse.
But each time he tells a joke out of habit and hears only silence, he is filled with self-loathing.
These Avoxes who will never laugh again. Even Annie, whose laugh he has never heard. Not that he cares. She's too unstable and too weird, as he tells himself. Still, he can't help noticing that the Avoxes, as neutral and silent as they are, all seem to love her.
He doesn't want to care. He actually hates her for being smarter than him. He hates her for not knowing what's going on around her. That's why he doesn't like to run into her too much. He doesn't like feeling that sense of loss when he sees her clapping her hands at the dolphins.
He'd much prefer to laugh his days away.
Some time later, Haymitch visits the casino. Finnick isn't that fond of Haymitch, who calls him sweetheart all the time, but Haymitch visits District Four sometimes and sends word from Mags to Finnick.
The empty glass bottles are spinning between them. At the rate that they are going, the last crate won't last and Finnick won't have the energy to go on tomorrow. Their laughter is echoing messily into the night air, and there are birds quarrelling somewhere in the distance that mixes with their voices. They are being a bit noisy—all of them.
For now though, they don't give a damn.
"You've been spending time with her like you've been told to, haven't you?" Haymitch growls. He slumps forward, successfully going into his intoxicated state. Not bad, considering that he managed to fulfill Mags request before getting stoned. Now, if only he'll be careful not to roll around on the bits of glass and impale himself.
Finnick laughs derisively, pouring the last bit of liquor down his throat, letting it burn down into his entrails. "Which one are you talking about?"
"Annie Cresta." Haymitch says. "I'm talking about Mags' instructions."
Luckily, Haymitch hasn't started vomiting yet. Finnick would hate to have to clean up.
He breathes heavily, thinking about what Mags has asked of him. Somehow, Finnick hasn't gone into the haze that he was hoping to be taken into. Maybe with another bottle, he'll be on his way there. "I do look after her when I can."
This is somewhat true, since Finnick does like to visit the sea creature enclosures within the casino in his free time. Not that he speaks to her or looks out for her like the Avoxes.
"The first victor who's ended up as an Avox," Haymitch considers. His voice is getting slurred, and he belches his laugh. "More screwed-up than usual, eh?"
Finnick laughs. It strikes him that he has perfected sounding happy.
"She's mad. You can't get more screwed-up than that." Finnick laughs callously.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" Haymitch is too drunk to spare Finnick some sensitivity. "I can think of something more screwed-up than Annie Cresta."
"You're looking at the something." Finnick mutters.
Haymitch doesn't hear his answer but then, Haymitch didn't need to hear it and Finnick didn't have to provide it. They continue to drink, telling rowdy jokes that have no real punch lines, even though they come close to punching each other.
"She didn't watch the Games this year." Finnick says. "I made sure of that."
Unlike Finnick and Mags, Annie isn't a Mentor. That would be impossible, even if overall, she has improved. Considering that in the early days, she was a wild animal scratching and hitting out at everything, what she is now is almost miraculous. Those lapses are becoming less and less common over the months of her return from the Games, although the doctors did declare her irreversibly insane.
Annie might have watched the Games and her mind might have lapsed again, so Mags took on looking after the Tributes while they went into the Arena, and had Finnick shuttle back to the casino. Mags asked Finnick to keep her busy. While Finnick doesn't really care, he cares enough about Mags to want to do something for her.
So he instructed Annie to mend his blankets. She mended them well and properly each time, laboring over those in her tiny quarters. But he ripped them up every night of the Games even if his patrons didn't, and stopped only when the airing of the final recaps stopped.
Next year, if Annie's still around, Finnick will probably do the same to keep her from going wild. At least, Mags will make him. Mags must love the child more than she loves him. It makes him slightly envious. He ceased to be a child for a long time, but Annie will always be one.
She's got a bit of luck even with all that insanity, that's for sure.
One afternoon, he plays cards by himself. He builds card-castles.
He isn't good at cards, despite hanging around these playing dens for three years already. He can play decently, but he doesn't have the luck or flair for it. While Finnick does have quite a bit of money at any one point, if there's any extra tipping that goes around, he saves it. He's seen enough to never want to put anything on the tables. Winnings are rare, but an addict is born every day.
Half of the live band has arrived to start tuning. This is tuning hour, before the casino is opened in the evening and things get crazy in here until the wee hours of morning. For now, they sound like a mess in the room opposite this one. There's a tuba somewhere there. It sounds a bit like a whale in distress.
The other Avoxes are doing things, busy with their tasks and preparing for the night ahead. One Avox is taking stock of the liquors, the other sorting out the chips, so on and so forth.
Usually, Finnick helps out as best as he can, but they usually signal that he shouldn't be hanging around. Instead, they signal to him that he should be getting ready to greet casino guests, which means slicking his hair back and all that nonsense that his stylists usually impose on him. He's not sure if the Avoxes are secretly scornful of him, because he uses his words carelessly and to play with people and their emotions.
One musician pops his head over to ask the Avox for some water, and the Avox hurries to get it, brushing past Finnick without even throwing him a glance. It's like he's the poltergeist of this place, chained to it without really being an owner, a mascot without any claim of mastership.
This is a cesspool.
He tries to build another card castle, but decides against it. It would take too long to sort the cards back into their Districts—he means, houses. Yes. Houses. He moves on to the billet table. The billet sticks are like giant toothpicks and he takes one, twirling it like a baton.
One Avox passes by, sweeping busily. Finnick calls to him, asking the Avox if he can help, but he ignores Finnick, sweeping faster and furiously, as if keen to get away from Finnick.
"Well, if you don't want help," Finnick chirps. "Can you play billets with me?"
The Avox doesn't look up but sweeps himself away very promptly.
"It's not as if I have any incurable disease, you know!" Finnick calls. His joke wears thin even on himself as he watches the retreating back of the Avox. Nobody is coming into this billet room, even if Finnick has left the doors wide open.
Now that there's an Avox that has already handled the general sweeping, Finnick is sure that he's the only speck of dirt left in it.
Beyond it and in the other room, the musicians are still tuning. They sound awful when uncoordinated—like random bits of burps and people passing air. Some of his patrons accidentally do things like that while in bed with Finnick, and it amuses him to see how embarrassed they can get. It makes him feel superior when they find a reason cringe at themselves.
Sullenly, Finnick wonders why this place is still called a casino if it's like a circus, zoo and aquarium all in one. Of course, there are supposedly state-of-the-art facilities and star features like the dolphins and ponies and crap like that. Finnick doesn't care much for intelligent animals doing dumb human tricks.
Caught up with his sudden melancholy, he eases into his routine jesting. He begins to spin the billet stick above his head. He begins pretending to do a tap dance with it. He works out how to hold it, and begins to activate his feet.
He builds up rhythm.
He even throws an imaginary hat into the air. Beyond this room, the sounds of glasses clinking and cloths being slushed into water continuing at a frantic pace—the Avoxes are tasked with getting this place ready even as the owners of the casino sleep in until evening.
Then he suddenly sees that Annie is watching him.
He is startled by her, although his body is still in rhythmic movement.
He doesn't know much about her—he'd like to keep it that way, he thinks. He doesn't know if she grew up in the slight richer part of District Four which his siblings are aspiring to become part of with their efforts to set up a cold-storage business. Or maybe she from a dirt-poor fisherman family like his.
At that thought, his dancing slows down, his feet going into a jog rather than continuing with the frantic tapping.
She stands near the doorway, half-hidden, a bit of that dark brown hair peeking out and her enormous eyes staring at him. He can't see if she's smiling or actually watching him.
What is her appeal, Finnick wonders, that the Avoxes and others love her so much? That gruff, old gamemaker had suggested that neutralizing her wouldn't be good for the Games' spirit.
Finnick, doing a moshing kind of dance now, wonders how killing her off wouldn't be in line with the Games's spirit. Will she be here for the rest of her life as a ready-made Avox that can't do much work? She's spent close to a year in this place already. Does she know that her time is trickling away?
At least she's still alive, he tells himself. Just like him. His feet begin to pick up again, drumming a defiant kind of denial.
He ignores her for most part when they are not alone at the enclosures. Somehow, his instincts tell him to. But he doesn't when she makes mistakes in front of the casino guests. When she drops things or mixes up orders in the casino, he laughs openly at her and leads the other guests to do so. He doesn't mean to be cruel, contrary to what most people think.
It's only so that mad little Annie's will get off without punishment when Finnick laughs openly at her, in front of the casino guests. Most people get infected by the sound of his laugh, and they clap their hands like him at the little clown that's Annie and laugh along with him. Of course, they think that he is making fun of her and that she is but another form of entertainment.
They don't know that he laughs to dismiss her mistake even if in that silly, careless, somewhat condescending way. It's precisely so that nobody will punish her for it. She makes plenty of mistakes when she isn't caring for the sea creatures; if she was punished each time for it, she wouldn't be here by now.
Maybe she doesn't understand why he leads people to laugh when she makes mistakes like dropping drinks and serving wrong orders— she might think that he is mocking her. But he isn't there to laugh at her at all. He's really there to laugh at himself and to ask himself why he, with his full mental capacity, hadn't considered the option of going mad to escape the aftermath of victory.
It amuses him to no end at times.
Beyond that, Finnick realizes now, he laughs so that he can see her smile. Granted, as she stands there, being laughed at by everyone, a tiny, unsure smile tends to creep up on her face. She gets confused and she looks lost, and her defence is to smile. When he laughs, she smiles.
She's still mostly hidden behind that door.
He taps some more, moving his hips in a hybrid of a jig and a belly-dance he once watched dancers do with huge pythons coiled around them. He sings wildly and merrily in a fishing tune that he once learnt as a kid, but with gibberish that's somehow familiar. Where is he getting all these nonsense syllables from, as if they are real lyrics to the tune?
He dances, stepping forward, doing a bit of a foxtrot now. His imaginary hat goes up in the air and he catches it expertly with the billet pole, as if he has been doing this for all his life. Well technically, he has been fishing for most of his life.
He shakes his hips fast, turning his feet in a circle, imagining that there are snakes doing a belly-dance with him. He thrusts happily, bouncing everywhere, clicking his heels crazily in interruption of what would have been a belly-dance until it morphed into a jig.
"Kahn amiyah," He whoops. "Kahn—,"
He moves closer to the doorway all this time, clapping his hands like those Flamenco performers that were invited over last month. He tiptoes, en pointe, even though it is difficult with his height and general weight, and then he goes back to the silent, furious dance with the pole swinging laterally in front of his chin.
"Nani yaoh solete imalieh, aita inanii, sole, sole—,"
Annie is definitely watching. Does she recognize the nonsense syllables that haunted him and became real words to the point that he can dredge them up now? Does she remember?
Suddenly, he wants to see her face. He wants to take her face in his hands and try to read her expression. He wants to touch those soft, white cheeks that were struck so hard before. He wants to put his lips against the skin, just so that he might see if roses bloom underneath.
He continues to leap even faster than before, doing a handstand at some point, just to prove he can. Then he does a series of cartwheels on impulse, and then snatches up two billet sticks this time, going back to the vigorous running jig while his hands juggle those beautifully.
He moves nearer and nearer to the doorway, to the exit of the billet room. He is going faster and louder now, and his singing is becoming hoarse and mad. He feels crazy, but there's blood pumping through his veins and he's alive, even if that's not always good.
And because he suddenly feels so miserable, he throws those sticks aside and grabs the moppet of a girl at the doorway that he's gotten near to.
"Annie!" He whoops. He smiles at her, still jigging his feet. "Annie! Annie!"
Stunned, she doesn't react when he whips her into his arms and begins to do a waltz at a speed that's sacrilegious to the stately rhythm of the dance. She's gained weight, that's undeniable, but she's still very light. He could flip her over his shoulder if he wanted to.
Her breathing is fast and ragged like this as he whirls her around. He is laughing, laughing hard, singing and alternating between gasps for breath. He sees that she has begun to smile. She is smiling widely now, somehow understanding the joy that's re-entered him as suddenly as the misery came flooding into him.
And he ends it with a flourish, holding her hand up in his like they are champions that have won gold medals. Well, technically—
But he doesn't think of the irony of that at first, for he sweeps them both into a bow before the imaginary curtain closes down on them. Breathless, they pant, and he begins to laugh. The sound of his voice bursts out, loud and ringing. It swells above the still-tuning musicians' instruments.
One of the club musicians comes into sight. He is holding his trumpet in a way that suggests he is close to dropping it "You're mad, the both of you."
Finnick grins. Suddenly, he likes that. He wiggles his hips suggestively at the club musician, cheerful again. "Oh yeah!"
"Mad." The musician mutters again, moving out of sight as he scoots off to the practice room. But even if the man is put off by Finnick's apparent lack of control and the brazenness of Finnick's final movement, Finnick becomes aware of something else.
Where she has squatted in a corner to catch her breath, Annie has lowered her face. Her hair has come lose in those soft waves that hang past her shoulders and at her back, the uniform's beret somewhere on the floor. But of what he can see, she has not stopped smiling.
His own breaths becoming quieter, he turns around to look at her. In the growing silence of this room, it is becoming clear what the sounds are, since her hands are near her lips as if trapping something.
She has begun to laugh, even if softly and weakly.
He stares, his voice dying. In return, he hears hers grow for a second. Then suddenly, it's silence again. He doesn't know if he had imagined it. He isn't sure if it was a viol that was being tuned. He doesn't know if it's real.
But his heart is beating fast again like he is dancing once more, and he wonders if something is changing about her.
They are beginning to share a secret, even if she may not be conscious of it.
"Annie—," He looks at her and she doesn't look away from him. Her eyes look surprised too, and for a second, he isn't sure if she's all that mad. She knows something.
So does he.
She is beginning to find her voice.
A/N: Well there we have it! I am officially obsessed with these characters, even though those who have read Mockingjay knows how unsatisfying it can get at times. Nonetheless, I hope you've enjoyed this, since there will be more coming! :)