Chapter 17: 75th Annual Hunger Games
Next to President Snow, Marcocia Duterre is the very last person with whom he'd want to spend the final few days of his life. So when they board the train, Jarvis and Elsie, their mentors, immediately sit down for a drink, Mags rests in a wingback chair, exhausted from the heat and emotion of the day, Marcocia attempts to wheel him to the sofa where she can sit and console him, and Finnick shrugs her off and bolts straight to his room.
If she hasn't paid for it, he's under no obligation to provide her his company.
He rests his back against the door, sighing as he runs a hand through his now-dishevelled hair. He can't remember being this devastated ten years ago at fourteen, even after his parents said their goodbyes and Fletcher bid him to die. But back then, he was excited to reach the Capitol, a land of dreams and lights and glamour.
Now, it's just a place his soul goes to die.
He uses the heel of his foot to push himself away from the door and spends a few minutes staring out the window, watching the sand and greenery of District 4 whiz by. Then, when he can no longer bear it, he goes to sit on his bed.
There's an electronic device resting on his nightstand. It resembles a remote control, like the ones used for operating a television, except there is only one circular button at the bottom and the rest seems to be a narrow screen.
Curiously, he picks it up as he sits. He's seen these contraptions before in the Capitol. People use them to communicate. They're like telephones, except you can view the person with whom you're speaking on the screen.
Without expectations, he presses the button.
He startles as a woman appears on the screen almost instantly, plump and middle-aged. She's distracted, wearing a headset yet speaking to someone beside her, and Finnick gets a good glimpse of the silver flowery tattoos in her cheeks. Without a doubt, she's from the Capitol.
There must be another button to turn off the device. Frantically, he lifts it over his head to search underneath. How can he get rid of her image? He brings it down on his lap again and repeatedly presses the same, lone button.
It only takes a few moments before she notices him there, and then a tight-lipped smile crosses her features. "Mr. Odair," she says, and he bristles at the sound of her voice. "We had a strong feeling it might be you."
"Who are you?" he asks, on his guard for the strange torture Snow has undoubtedly planned for him this time around. "What do you want from me?"
"No need to fret," she replies calmly. "Before we continue, I must ask you to please wear the headphones."
"Who are you?" he repeats.
"The headphones, Mr. Odair. They should be in the top drawer of your nightstand."
Confused beyond belief, he sets the device on his lap and retrieves the headphones. He plugs the cord into the remote and inserts the earbuds.
"Thank you for your cooperation," the woman says into her headset. "It's important that this conversation remain confidential, so although you are in your own private compartment, I would appreciate it if you kept your replies to a minimum."
Frustrated and, frankly, annoyed at being told what to do, he demands, "What is going on?"
The woman does not flinch at his tone. "What I'm about to tell you, Mr. Odair, is very dangerous information in the wrong hands. So you'll understand if I ask you a few preliminary questions. You may nod or shake your head in response. Are you wearing the bracelet?"
The gold bangle adorned with flames. How would she know about it unless she had given it to him? Gulping, he nods.
"Please hold it up to the screen."
He does so.
"Mr. Odair, as you may have noticed, there are two birds inlaid on the inside of the bracelet. Do you know what these birds are?"
Another nod.
"And do you understand what they have come to represent?"
The Girl on Fire. He nods.
"In wearing the bracelet, you understand that you have shown support for the aforementioned symbol and what it represents?"
He gives a final nod, slow and sure.
"Very well. Thank you for your cooperation," she says again. "Mr. Odair, my name is Fulvia Cardew. You may know me as assistant to the Head Gamemaker."
He doesn't recognize her at all, and the mention of her position in the Capitol puts him on edge.
"Mr. Plutarch Heavensbee has been assigned as successor to Mr. Seneca Crane," she continues. "And with your help, we plan to inspire a revolution."
He opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. Plutarch Heavensbee. All he knows is that suddenly, he feels lighter – as if he should have seen this coming.
"While our roles are critical in the Capitol, we are, more importantly, part of an underground conspiracy that seeks to overthrow the existing government of Panem. And until the victors of the 74th Hunger Games inspired such public dissatisfaction and outrage, we were unsure how to proceed.
"But now, it is clear. The girl is a mockingjay. While she lives, so does the rebellion."
A shiver races down his spine.
"Your strength and agility are precisely what is needed for this mission, Mr. Odair. For as you see, Miss Katniss Everdeen must be kept alive, even when thrown into an arena of death. While Plutarch is Head Gamemaker, there are only so many things he can control in the Arena. Your mission, should you agree to the terms, is to ensure her protection."
"Her protection," Finnick repeats, mumbling under his breath.
"Miss Everdeen will not be informed of our mission until she is pulled from the Arena, alive," Fulvia continues. "She, along with her district partner, will assume that every tribute is her enemy."
"Then how do I—"
"The bracelet, Mr. Odair," Fulvia interrupts him. "It will be your token in the Arena. It will encourage her to trust you."
"How will she know—"
"She'll know," Fulvia interjects again. "It will be a sign to her."
"And if I succeed?" Finnick asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
"If we succeed," Fulvia corrects, "the girl will be the most influential figure in all of Panem. And with her help, we will overthrow Coriolanus Snow and his dictatorship altogether."
There's a knock on Finnick's door. Marcocia calls his name.
Fulvia hears it, too. Stoic and unsurprised, she finishes, "Be assured that you will not be acting alone in the Arena. District 3 has already pledged its support, although they have their own task to complete. Please keep this remote amongst your belongings. We will next speak at midnight following the tribute parade. Until then, your task will be to make a positive impression on Katniss Everdeen."
"Finnick?" Marcocia asks as she raps on the door. "There are tarts and other treats set out for the tributes. You must be starving."
"Good day, Mr. Odair," says Fulvia.
Then her image fades from the screen. She's gone.
Bewildered, he pinches himself before he rejoins his team.
His prep team has changed from ten years ago, but his stylist has not. Despite the current circumstances of the Quarter Quell, Desmeretta is cool, calm, and devoted to her tribute playing up his best angle: his body.
The prep team gives him a fresh haircut, sprays his skin with bronzer though he's naturally tan, and decorates his eyes with subtle hints of make-up so that their sea green colour pops. All of this takes remarkably little time compared to what seems like hours bemoaning the state of his back and the tiny purple bruises speckled along his neck and collarbone. Finnick, for one, is happy for the scratches on his back from Annie's nails and the love marks on his skin from her kisses. It's comforting to know that even though she is so far away, she still exists, and his body is physical proof of that.
"Why does it matter?" he finally asks them, irritable from their fussing. "Who's going to see it?"
One of the members of the team calls Desmeretta in to answer the question.
"Because," she says casually, letting golden strings of fabric unfurl from her fists, "you'll be wearing this."
Finnick squints, as if he can barely see the material of the thing. It seems to be a golden codpiece that wraps around him in odd places. Otherwise, every inch of him will be bare.
With his nose wrinkled in disgust, he asks, "Is this necessary?"
"Yes," she answers. "You're the charming, athletic, sexy Finnick Odair. Trust me. It displays you perfectly."
When he puts it on, he refuses to examine himself in a mirror. He doesn't want to know. All he knows is that he feels more inhuman than the Capitol crowd, who gathers each year to cheer for the deaths of children.
There's a switch inside of him that can be flicked on and off. To be on means to adopt the charming smile, the seductive purr, the arrogant strut. To be off means to be himself. Other than brief moments with Mags or alone in his private quarters, he is certain that he will not be granted the luxury of being "off" for what remains of his short life.
He's "on" as the tributes meet for the first time, gathering in groups to reunite before the tribute parade, the official opening to the Games. This year, chariots guided by horses will pull them along the parade route as they flash their outlandish costumes to the flailing Capitol citizens.
Mags' stylist hasn't finished with her yet, so he approaches the reunion alone, well aware of how ridiculous he looks in his golden knot of a costume but unwilling to let it show. For this is what the Games are all about – never letting them see your fear and insecurities. Finding a way to stand tall despite being stripped of dignity.
His bones feel jittery, loose and clanking against one another. There's a kink in his neck from staring up at Desmeretta from upon a stool. His skin is scrubbed raw, and hit with cool air, it chills him. He begins to salivate, yearning for that sweet little pill that could so easily render him comfortable in his own skin, but he knows he can't fall into that trap. Not this time. Not even when he sees the state of Calix, his yellowish skin so loose, it hangs off his bones, but with eyes that are distant and peaceful.
He expects dirty glares from a number of the tributes. Theia from 9 and Gloss from 1 seem to be the most annoyed by his attire (or lack thereof), and that's not including Johanna, who openly mocks him the minute he greets her.
"So that's how you catch the fish back in 4," she snorts. "I've always been curious."
"Hello, my sweet," Finnick says, scrunching his nose and pinching her cheek with affection. Johanna shrugs him off. "Did you miss me?"
"About as much as I missed a thorn in my side," she retorts, and he can't help but smile in genuine – it's the most he'll get from her. Her stylist has dressed her as a tree: brown trunk, branches, and all. "Seriously, Odair, what are you supposed to be in that string? You look like a thinly-wrapped package."
He raises his eyebrows suggestively at her, deadpanning, "And you, my little sapling, would look much better chopped down and ground into paper."
With a sour glare, she lifts her leafy headdress ever so slightly to scratch underneath. Then she folds her arms across her chest amongst the branches and asks, "So, are you gonna let me win this year? You still owe me a victory since little Miss Annie walked free."
He ignores her mention of his beloved and grins, replying, "I hardly owe you a thing, my dear." A stable boy walks by with a bag of sugar cubes for the horses. Finnick stops him and grabs a handful despite the boy's odd expression. Turning back to Johanna, Finnick continues, "Though if you insist, I will gladly share with you a sugar cube."
She curls her lip in distaste, watching him pop a cube into his mouth and visibly relax with something to chew on. She doesn't have time for another sarcastic comment before Cashmere saunters past, dressed from head to toe in glittering jewels. Flaunting her curves and her impossibly blonde hair, she shrugs a shoulder and says, "Hi, Finnick," as she passes.
"Hello, beautiful," he nods in her direction, but he stays with Johanna. Normally, the brother and sister from 1 are the first to flash him wary glances, although they're the ones in the tribute pool most like him: used sexual objects of the Capitol. Though he's intrigued by Cashmere's sudden interest in him, he senses that Johanna has another biting remark and wants to be around to hear it.
He's right. With her arms still folded, she's standing with one leg extended now, her foot tapping irritably on the ground. "If I didn't have to wait until we were in the Arena, I'd kill you right now," she threatens. "You're just too sickening to endure."
With a forced smile, he can't hide the sadness in his eyes as he asks, "Could you really kill me, Jo?"
"Yes," she says bluntly. "That's the beauty of being free."
"Do you feel free right now?"
"Of course not. But I intend to."
"When is that? When you kill us all?"
"No," she says, her eyes boring into his. "You and I both know that's not the objective of these Games."
With a slight, suspicious frown, he returns, "And what is?"
The corners of her lips turn up, and she glances to her side to make sure no ears are too close. In a whisper, she replies, "To free the mockingjay."
The mockingjay. Katniss Everdeen. Johanna knows.
"Heavensbee said 4 was in on it," she continues, and Finnick is relieved that there is so much chatter, hustle and bustle in the arena. "He said he made you Chief of Mockingjay Security."
"And what are you?" he asks in a low, challenging voice.
Unflinchingly, Johanna replies, "Your understudy."
He gulps. Plutarch and Fulvia have thought of everything – even his imminent death.
"The show must go on, sweetheart," she says, mocking his dulcet purr.
With a grim expression, Finnick glances around the room at the victors, wondering which of them – if any, aside from Districts 3 and 7 – have been selected by Plutarch Heavensbee to break Katniss out of the Arena. None of the victors glance his way, but he notices the mockingjay herself alone by her chariot, patting her horse in an attempt to go unnoticed.
"I think the show just entered," he says to Johanna out of the corner of his lips.
"Well, then. On with it, Captain Goldenrod," Johanna replies to a shake of his head. She gives him a nudge in Katniss' direction. "She has to trust one of us, and I don't have your puppy eyes or disgusting lack of self-respect. Go and make nice."
He can't resist a roll of his eyes.
"And don't let anyone untie those knots around your shoulders," are Johanna's last words of advice. "The girl's mind would explode at the sight of a naked man."
He chuckles as he heads across the floor of the Remake Center, recalling Katniss' aversion of her eyes when Peeta was so severely wounded and had to strip bare in the Arena. She's untainted, that's for sure, and her awkwardness is one of the only things he can laugh about these days.
He saunters up behind her and leans in close, saying smoothly, "Hello, Katniss." As she turns to greet him, his eyes dance with delight. Up close, she's smaller than he expected, but the raw stubbornness in her grey eyes is just the same as on camera.
Though they've never met, she seems to know him on instinct. With only a brief second's glance, she returns to caressing her horse's nose and returns, "Hello, Finnick."
He raises his eyebrows but does not comment – he senses it's taking all her nerve to appear uninterested. Popping a cube into his mouth, he holds his hand out to her. "Want a sugar cube?" After she scrunches her nose, he adds, "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares? They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I… well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it up quick."
He gives her a wink that's anything but subtle, and nearly bursts into laughter as she visibly shudders. Still, he keeps a straight face and leans against the horse, folding his arms across his chest in that sultry manner to which he's so accustomed.
"No, thanks," she answers, shrugging uncomfortably at his proximity to her. It only takes another raise of his eyebrows for her to gather her wits and bite back, "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though."
Unashamed, he grins. She's a clever girl, that Katniss Everdeen. Not nearly as witty as Johanna, but she has the same fight in her.
"You're absolutely terrifying me in that getup. What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?"
"I outgrew them," she says with a hint of defiance.
His fingers run along her collar as he tests her, seeing just how far she'll let him go. How competitive is the Girl on Fire?
"It's too bad about this Quell thing," he says with nonchalance, eyes on the collar of her costume. Her eyes flicker downwards too, following his fingers with caution. "You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."
At the expense of your soul, he fails to add.
Katniss' stiff grey eyes are icy as she says in a crisp tone, "I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need." Before he can salute her on her integrity, she counters, "What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?"
A wry smile crosses his lips. As tough an act as she's putting on, he can't bear to tarnish her innocence. He answers simply, "Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years."
"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?"
Softly, distantly, he replies, "With secrets."
And then he can't reason within himself why he admitted it aloud. But if she has to trust him, then she must be able to see some truth hidden behind his dancing eyes and curved lips.
Katniss' rough expression morphs into one of confusion. He cocks his head suggestively, revamping their repartee in asking, "What about you, Girl on Fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"
The rouge creeping up her neck is unsatisfying to Finnick – rather, he regrets his sexual innuendo. She's so unexposed to the Capitol that his forwardness has clearly unsettled her.
Still, the Girl on Fire will not be humiliated. "No, I'm an open book. Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself."
He remembers why he struck up a conversation in the first place: to gain her trust, rather than to provoke her. With a stab of regret, he smiles sadly and says, "Unfortunately, I think that's true." From the corner of his eye, he sees a head of blond hair approaching with eyes narrowed in suspicion, and he knows his time is up. "Peeta is coming," he says to Katniss. He takes a step backward, pausing to add as an afterthought in a voice that is unusually void of sexuality, "Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you."
Then he takes his leave, meandering to his chariot where Mags is waiting. Perhaps he should have read Katniss better from the beginning – like Johanna, she is uncharacteristically immune to his charms. She couldn't think less of him, at this point. Perhaps she'll never know that his last words were sincere.
After all, she's not the only one who had to cancel a wedding.
Finnick, who has informed Mags of the underground conspiracy, anticipates his second meeting with the tattooed Fulvia Cardew. While Mags retreats to her own room after the tribute parade so as not to arouse suspicion, Finnick retrieves the remote from his duffel and waits inside the shower of his suite for Fulvia to make her appearance onscreen.
There is a plan to break them out, she informs him. Not just the mockingjay, but all of them. While she can't disclose where they will be taken, she can now reveal the full list of districts involved in the plot. 3, 4, 7, 8, and 11, she says – as well as Haymitch, Katniss and Peeta's mentor, who will encourage his tributes to align with Finnick.
"I want District 6 involved," Finnick says, and when Fulvia protests, he swears to her that Calix is not only trustworthy, but kind, compassionate, and willing to sacrifice whatever he has left in order to bring about Snow's demise. He's not sure what prompts him to take such a strong stance for a tribute he's barely ever spoken to, but what he hasn't said to Calix in words, he's seen in the morphling's heavy eyes.
The assistant to the Head Gamemaker explains how they will communicate to the tributes in the Arena. Bread – a supposed gift from sponsors. The district from which the bread originates indicates the day of the breakout; the number of rolls, the time.
"Plutarch will ensure there's a trident amongst the weapons in the Cornucopia," Fulvia assures him. "Be sure to grab it. The girl, no doubt, will make a beeline for the bow and arrows. Do not get them for her, even if you have the opportunity – it will be more difficult for her to trust you if she suspects you aim to steal her weapon."
With a trident for himself and a bow for Katniss, they'll be likely to survive the Bloodbath and get the boy – Peeta – out alive.
"I thought I was only in charge of the mockingjay," he protests. The boy seems rather helpless to him – more of a hassle; a detriment to his and Katniss' survival than anything else.
"She'll never cooperate if she doesn't have the boy with her," Fulvia insists. "Otherwise, she'll prefer to be solo. If you can offer protection to the boy, you'll have her trust."
Finnick groans. From what he remembers, it's difficult enough just to keep one's self alive in the Arena – let alone two others. And he can't forget about Mags.
Fulvia repeats to him the districts which are involved. "Everyone else cannot be trusted," she says, her voice low and solemn. "So when you get the chance… kill them."
Kill them. Kill them. Kill them.
The two words twirl in figure-eights around his mind until he's sure they're being screamed at him. Kill them! How can he, when they're all pathetic pawns of Snow, just like him?
"They're victors, too," Mags reminds him. "They won their Games with as much intention as you. And don't forget – as friendly as they seem today, another instinct takes over in the Arena."
She's right. He's seen it, year after year: sweet, friendly, good-natured tributes turning into cat-eyed, teeth-baring animals during the Games. The Arena changes everyone.
It certainly changed him. And for the first time in a very long time, he thinks of Saskia and her wide, open eyes before his trident impaled her chest.
Keeping this in mind, he arrives at the Training Center on the first day of training prepared to pick up new skills. He trusts that Plutarch will stash a trident for him in the Cornucopia, but he won't take any chances – he'll learn a little bit of everything, just in case. Swords. Bows. Knives. Spears. For so long, he's relied on good looks, charm and a childhood spent more at sea than on land, but no longer.
It's surprising to him that only half of the tributes bothered to show up to the training session. Atala, the Head Trainer, goes ahead and starts without the rest. Mags, for one, decided to take her sweet time, and he recalls that Johanna and her partner had a meeting with Fulvia – still, he wonders if the others aren't prepared to put up a good fight.
He goes to the sword station first, but is only there a little over an hour. Katniss Everdeen is on his radar, and she appears to be struggling with a complicated knot at the knot-tying station. Approaching her from behind, he snakes his arms around and wordlessly finishes the knot for her. Katniss is not startled by his appearance – rather, she looks over her shoulder in boredom and merely rolls her eyes when he quickly fashions a noose and pretends to hang himself.
Interesting, Finnick thinks. So very rarely does he have to be the pursuer. Some women like to be seduced, of course, but they've paid for it, and he knows he has them even before they meet. Katniss Everdeen, on the other hand, requires some effort – and he doesn't have a lot of time.
He joins Brutus, the middle-aged but vicious tribute from District 2, at the spear-throwing station. Amidst their grunting and groaning from exertion, they make gruff small-talk. Brutus, he gathers, would be open to an alliance. That probably just includes him – he can't imagine the man would have any patience for Mags.
It's true that allying with the Careers is much safer than not, but he doubts that even his charms will be able to convince them to take on Katniss and Peeta, too. No, they'll be prime targets from the get-go.
When Mags arrives, Finnick joins her at the archery station. Her fingers shake and she can't manage to shoot the arrow very far, but what she lacks in strength and skill, Finnick more than makes up for. Though he hasn't had much experience with archery – almost none, in fact, as there's little use for it in District 4 – he's able to get within a couple of inches of the target after a couple of hours.
All the while, he keeps an eye on Katniss through peripheral vision. She and Peeta seem determined to combine their skills and speak to as many of the tributes as possible, so they spend the day separately with different tributes at different stations. Finnick notices her with Beetee and Wiress at the fire making station and leaves them be. Perhaps the tributes from 3 will be more successful in gaining her trust, though he's not sure how useful they'll be when it comes to defending her life.
After lunch, in which Katniss and Peeta sit close together and speak in hushed tones, Finnick knows he has to try again. But this time, he has an unlikely secret weapon: Mags. She's the mother to all the victors; the endearing old woman not intimidated by anything. If Finnick knows anything about Katniss – and from watching her with the twelve-year-old in last year's Arena and her sister, he thinks he does – she won't be offended by Mags.
He's right. Though Katniss seems annoyed by his approaching her again, he introduces her to Mags and leaves them be for a few minutes. When he returns, he's pleased that Katniss appears fascinated with Mags' skill of making fish hooks.
The girl is strange, no doubt – Enobaria from 2 can rip open a human's throat with her teeth, and Brutus can snap a neck with a simple twist of his bare hands, but fish hooks are what have Katniss impressed. She's either odd or foolish beyond comparison – and he's willing to bet it's not the latter.
The more he studies her, the more Finnick thinks he kind of likes her.
At the knife-throwing station, Finnick meets up with Chaff from 11. The two of them exchange few words, and he senses that, like so many of the victors, Chaff has never been his biggest fan. Still, there is an unspoken understanding between the two of them. They are, somehow, working toward the same goal.
Gloss from 1 joins them after a while, his white-blond hair dishevelled after coming from the hand-to-hand combat station. The brother-sister duo have never been particularly friendly with him – in fact, he's always assumed them jealous of his long waitlist of patrons, though neither of them are far behind – but today, Gloss makes a decent effort to befriend him. Others, like Theia from 9 and the male from 10, look upon him with fear, for from observing him throughout the day, they've learned that he's a threat. But the Careers only seem pleased, extending their hands of friendship in the hopes that they can get him close enough to kill him.
Oh, and how Gloss and Cashmere would delight in his death! Finally, they would be the most desired in all of Panem. A lofty goal, Finnick muses with a roll of his eyes.
Gloss is just about ready to discuss alliance details when Finnick brushes him off rather rudely, something else calling his attention. From across the enormous training room, Katniss Everdeen has ventured to the archery station. She is there by herself with the trainer, and after he decides that stationary targets are too easy, he begins to throw fake birds into the air for her to hit.
Finnick leaves his station and approaches archery with caution, not wanting to disturb the Girl on Fire. And Girl on Fire she is – she hits a target every time; sometimes more than one. Other tributes begin to notice, too, and pause what they're doing to observe.
When Katniss takes out five birds in one round, there's silence throughout the room. Tributes and trainers alike stare in amazement, in awe, envy, fear, loathing.
Finnick stares in admiration. He grins at Katniss when she looks his way.
Though she's embarrassed by the attention, he's certain he catches the slightest curl of her lips – almost as if, against her own will, she was grinning back.
Katniss wears her wedding dress on the night of the interviews. For a girl on fire, she looks awkward and uncomfortable, and Finnick is reminded of just how young she really is. Ablaze or not, she's only a little girl – far too young to be put on such disgusting display. He sees some of the other tributes staring daggers and his heart goes out to her. They don't understand, not like he does. Finnick suspects that, like him, Katniss never feels more lost and alone than when she's in a crowd.
"Poor girl," Mags says from beside him as they wait in a line by district number to be called onstage for their interview. "In so much trouble simply because she lived."
Finnick knows there's more to it than that, but in essence, she's right.
They watch from backstage as the tributes from the first three districts take the stage. There's a different mood to these Games, that's for sure – even Cashmere and Gloss remark vaguely on the time they've enjoyed as victors, especially in their visits to the Capitol where they felt truly respected and loved by its citizens. The tributes from 3, Beetee and Wiress, examine the Quell from a legal standpoint and cut a little deeper. Tiny Mags sits onstage and bemoans the loss of her dearest friends – the victors have all grown so close over the years. Of course, Finnick is certain that he's the only one who understands every word. Even Caesar Flickerman has to strain to catch her garbled speech.
When Finnick is called onstage, he rolls the sleeves of his dress shirt past his elbows, adjusts his tie and takes a breath, turning on the Capitol switch inside his brain. He receives a standing ovation simply for appearing. No matter how deep is Snow's hatred, he's never fallen out of favour with the Capitol folk. He waves and blows kisses to the crowd, smiling brightly though inside, he's ashen and grey.
Caesar shakes his hand and they take their seats. "Mr. Finnick Odair," Caesar says slowly, and the crowd cheers again. "It's been so long since you sat up here with me as a tribute."
"Ten years," Finnick affirms with a nod.
"You were just fourteen then, is that right?"
"That's right," he says. "Just a stupid boy."
Caesar asks, "And what are you now?"
"A stupid man."
Laughter bellows from the audience.
"Well, I doubt our audience thinks so," Caesar says, and to prove his point, he gestures for a round of applause.
Finnick blows them another sickening kiss, as if to say, You're too much.
"Now, Finnick," Caesar continues, "each year you've returned to the Games as mentor, and you've made quite the impression on the Capitol – especially on the female population."
Another uproar of hoots and hollers. Finnick grins and winks at the audience.
"And each year, I've watched your female tributes fall absolutely in love with you," Caesar goes on. "Is that going to be your strategy during this Quarter Quell? To seduce your enemies in the Arena?"
"It could be," Finnick says with a laugh. His smile fades quickly. "But they're not my enemies."
Snow is my enemy.
"Of course not," Caesar says, completely misinterpreting his comment. "For who wouldn't fall in love with that golden smile?" He pauses a moment to allow the crowd to cheer. "Tell me, Finnick, will there be a special woman on your mind tomorrow when you enter the Arena?"
"No," he replies in earnest. "I'll be trying my hardest not to bring her into the Arena with me at all. It's not where she belongs."
"Ah, but there is a special woman," Caesar says, winking to the crowd.
"Yes," Finnick answers, refusing to elaborate further. He pulls a piece of parchment, covered in haphazard scribbles, from the pocket of his shirt.
"And what's that?" asks Caesar, gesturing to the paper.
"If you don't mind," says Finnick, unfolding the paper, "I'd like to read something. It's a poem I wrote for my one, true love – all the things I couldn't say when it was time for goodbyes."
There are gasps and 'aww's' from the crowd, murmurings of who she might be: the girl loved by Finnick Odair, the boy who flits from woman to woman like it's nothing at all.
Caesar looks surprised, but he has to go with the mood of the crowd. "By all means."
"I have to apologize," Finnick says demurely, a flush creeping up his neck. He has never borne his heart so openly in the Capitol, but now is the time for bravery. "I'm not much of a poet."
And then he leans over, resting his elbows on his knees as he reads aloud the words he never got the chance to say in person.
Be still, my love, don't make a sound
Leave the weeping to the rain.
For if the tides should take me away,
Know that I'll feel no pain.
If a blade should strike my heart,
Or an arrow pierce my skin,
I'll be dreaming of your salty kiss
Over and over again.
The knots, they bind me tighter now
And time is a loaded gun,
Remember, my love: we're worlds apart
Yet our hearts beat in time as one.
The walls close in and the waves ride high
And everything's choked in grey.
But your smile shines on me like the sun
And I won't let them take that away.
Your whisper lingers in my ear
As I feel you with me now
You tremble, but you need not fear
For darling, this is my vow:
If my heart should cease to beat
I'll still be carried out to sea
And I'll float away to that special place
Like a dream, where one day, I'll again see your face.
When he finishes, there is silence in the crowd. Finnick straightens his back and stares at Caesar, waiting for his reaction.
He doesn't have to wait long. The crowd bursts into a mixture of applause, of tears, of mass hysterical displays of grief and woe.
"Who is this vixen who has so ensnared your heart?" Caesar manages to ask over the audience.
Finnick shrugs. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me."
Finnick can only give him a devious smile.
"Just between you and me," Caesar says, whispering into the microphone as if the audience can't hear. "Our little secret."
And the bronze-haired victor leans forward, his eyes clouded over with the darkness the Capitol has embedded within his soul. "Caesar," he says in his seductive purr, "this is a secret I'd die to keep."
"Well," replies the host, "let's hope it doesn't come to that."
The audience is an absolute weeping, shrieking, gasping mess by the time twenty-four tributes have been interviewed, and much of this pandemonium is caused by Peeta Mellark, Katniss' district partner, who has once again proved that they save the best for last. Revealing to Panem that Katniss is pregnant was a move so cunning, Finnick had to applaud him. While half of the districts prepared to enter the Arena to keep the mockingjay and her boy safe, the boy was playing a ferocious game all his own.
The icing on the proverbial cake has to be when the tributes join hands and take a bow for all of Panem as a reminder that they will be entering the Arena as friends, not enemies – and that makes it all the more horrific.
It's their final act of defiance, and Finnick knows they've done wrong when the lights are cut and everyone must stagger blindly back into the Training Center.
He'd be content to spend his final free hours reflecting alone in his room, but after the show staged by the boy from 12, he knows he has to try for Katniss' trust one last time. It may even be better to target Peeta this time rather than Katniss. Once he has the boy's trust, it's up to Peeta to convince the mockingjay – and Peeta, it seems, has a clever way with words.
"They're playing their own game now," Johanna whispers into his ear, somehow finding him amongst the tributes in the darkness. "We need to tell them."
It's as if she can read his mind.
"Let's go," is all he says in reply. The two push through tributes and mentors, struggling to make their way to the front of the crowd, where Peeta and Katniss are just stepping onto an elevator to ascend to the twelfth floor.
Finnick and Johanna are just behind them, but before they can board the elevator, a burly peacekeeper sticks out his arm and shakes his head.
"Please," Finnick pleads, but he already knows the answer.
The doors to the elevator slide to a close with Katniss gazing curiously at the unlikely duo.
Johanna curses under her breath, but as they step away from the elevator and mix in with the remaining tributes once again, she sighs, "That's it, then. We're just going to have to be convincing in the Arena."
She's right. And for a couple who see past his charms and play by their own rules, he has his work cut out for him.
Grimly, he replies to his feisty companion, "Then you'd better learn to smile, sweetheart."
"Everything is in place, Mr. Odair," Fulvia confirms with him through the remote. The next day, he'll go into the Arena. "Each participating tribute knows their role, though not all are as informed as you. I repeat, the involved districts are 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, and 11. No one else is to be trusted."
"And how long do I have to protect the girl before the break-in?"
In a clipped tone, Fulvia responds, "As discussed, we will communicate this to you via sponsor gifts in the Arena. You recall the process."
"You can't give me any hints?" he asks, exasperated.
Fulvia ignores him. "I cannot stress enough the secrecy of this mission," she says, "nor the exorbitant amount of confidence we've placed in you."
He grumbles, annoyed by her avoidance of his question.
"If the revolution is to be carried out at this point with even a remote chance of success, it is imperative that the girl stays alive."
"I know," he mutters.
"For Snow to be thrown from power," Fulvia continues, her voice lowering, "means a drastic upheaval of the current structure of our world. Imagine a nation not ruled by revenge and lust for power. Sovereign districts thriving on the fruits of their own productivity rather than suffering under the brutal hands of the regime. A narrowing of the gap between the rich and the poor."
He can only nod. It all means nothing to him until Fulvia adds, "A world without the Hunger Games."
Of course, nothing – not even a land ruled in peace and harmony where citizens live without fear – can fix what's already been broken. As long as she lives, Annie will be haunted by the Games. And as long as he lives, however narrow a time span that may be, he will be a broken man.
But for all the new children waiting to be born – and for Fletcher's children, curious Bellamy and little Ivy – to live without the threat of Reaping Day… it's something for which he would fight to the death.
"Rebellion does not come without a cost, Mr. Odair," Fulvia says, her tone grim. "Lives will be taken. Villages will be destroyed. But despite the bitter bloodshed, we must not allow ourselves to lose the most extraordinary of human capabilities: hope."
The mockingjay is hope.
"And so I must ask you: do you agree that Katniss Everdeen is the best candidate to inspire the revolution?"
"I do," he replies.
"Do you agree that her survival is of utmost importance?"
"I do."
"Will you ensure to the best of your capabilities that she survives in the Arena?"
"I will."
"And, if the fates may be, will you give your life to save her?"
Finnick gulps. With a strong, even voice, he answers, "I will."
Fulvia gives him a curt nod. "Very well, Mr. Odair. Panem will one day thank you for your selfless service."
The remote clicks off for the very last time.
Alone in his room, Finnick climbs into bed, very much awake. He believes in what he said – he believes with everything in him that Katniss Everdeen, the undersized young archer from 12, will change the world.
He's just sorry he won't be there to see what it looks like on the other side.
Desmeretta waits with him in the Launch Room. Both are fairly silent after she determines he does not require any last-minute touches. She asks why the gold bangle is his token.
"Because it means something to me," is all he can reply. He can't endanger others with even the slightest hint of the impending Arena rebellion. He's thankful that he never said a word of it to Annie, not even voicing his suspicions. For if the plan falls to pieces and everything is shot to hell, he still needs to know she will be safe.
Annie. In these last few minutes alone, she's what circles his mind in a roundabout. He allows her long, dark hair and soft sea green eyes to swirl in his memory until the countdown begins. Then, painfully, he pushes her from his thoughts and keeps her safely contained only in his heart.
"We'll see you on the other side," Desmeretta says after embracing him.
He doesn't respond.
She backs away, allowing him to enter the glass cylinder alone. "I love ya, kid," are her final words.
Before the tube closes and begins its ascension, Finnick stares blankly at his stylist, replying darkly, "I wouldn't, if I were you."
Because, for a boy who has sworn not to love anyone but Annie, there is suddenly an abundance of people to care for. So many who may die due to his failure to protect them.
The tube locks him in and begins to rise. Finnick turns his back to Desmeretta and shuts his eyes to the blinding sunlight above, taking one last deep breath. This is the last moment I am human, he says to himself. Soon I will be programmed to kill.
He keeps his eyes closed, holding these last few seconds to himself. It's only when the tube rescinds around him and he hears the sloshing of water that he opens his eyes to waves.
Waves. The golden Cornucopia is on an island, elevated by spokes that extend about forty yards to the tributes' platforms. He's certain that Plutarch designed it this way to give him a distinct advantage. There would be very few tributes who know how to swim.
The Cornucopia is stocked, as always. Finnick catches a glint of silver in the sunlight and realizes that a trident has been placed suspiciously close to him, just outside the opening of the gold metal horn. Within mere minutes, the trident will be stained with blood.
As the clock counts down the seconds, Finnick surveys his competition. He curses to himself as he glances left and right, realizing that Katniss must be hidden from him behind the Cornucopia. Rebel conspirator or not, Heavensbee wouldn't have made it that easy. There are two tributes between each set of spokes, and Finnick is settled right next to Theia from 9, whose eyes haven't yet adjusted to the glaring sun. Peeta is within the adjacent spoke.
His throat is tight with anticipation as he sees Johanna several spokes to his left, her eyes darting wildly as she struggles to strategize. It's the first time he's ever seen her terrified, and he cringes. The water surrounds all of the platforms – there's no way out but to swim through the violent waves. She'll have to figure this one out on her own.
This is it, then. They are the best of the best, and now the Capitol will watch them all fall down.
As the clock begins to count down from ten, Finnick shuts out the other tributes and tunes his senses to high alert. He gets into position, leaning forward on his haunches and stretching his fingers by his sides before balling his hands into fists. He stares straight ahead and hardens his eyes.
He has a mission now, and even if it takes his own life, he will not fail the Girl on Fire.
This is for District 4. For Roscoe and Dixie and Leander. For Fletcher and his family. For Annie.
Three… two… one…
… sorry for the cliffhanger. At the same time, I think most of you know that I've attempted to be fairly true to canon, so if you've read Catching Fire, it really isn't much of a cliffhanger at all.
I apologize TENFOLD for the length of this note. I've tried so hard not to write mile-long notes up until now, but this time I just can't hold back.
First of all, happy birthday to Bruno :) I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you to ALL my anonymous reviewers, I wish there was a button to reply to you all individually because I so appreciate the time you've taken to read and review!
Three things about this chapter: first, I intended to end the story on the last chapter. Up until about chapter 10 it was written to end at the point where Finnick is reaped for the Quarter Quell. I was so afraid of being bogged down by the happenings in the book that I wanted it to conclude at a "safe place". But after thinking about it… and after some of your reviews… I knew I couldn't leave it at that. It just wouldn't feel complete. And obviously, I've been writing the last five or so chapters for a story that is moving forward, because the previous chapter certainly didn't end conclusively.
Second, and in conjunction with that last point, a lot of what happened in this chapter was fleshed out, outlined or briefly mentioned in Catching Fire. I don't foresee the rest of this story being like that; I just found it a really interesting task to write the prelude to the Games in Finnick's perspective this time around. While I plan to use the books as a guide going forward, I have my own ideas too :)
Third, and lastly, I am definitely not a poet by any means. It honestly terrifies me. For the longest time, I was planning to bypass Finnick's interview or just say something stupid along the lines of "And then he read his poem to the crowd. They cried. It was magical." But then, one day I stopped being such a coward and realized, "Wait a minute. Finnick is no poet, either. So even if I completely butcher his ode to Annie, I can still pass it off as his." So. I admit I know nothing about poetry. I admit I don't practice it at all. All I tried to do was put a little Finnick into the poem – and I think he would have enjoyed his trickery, reading his poem aloud to a Capitol audience in which every woman believes it's about her, when so many mentions of District 4 are included that it can't possibly be about anyone but Annie. I know the cadence is off and the structure is not uniform, but be easy on me! (And Finnick).
*I also have to include that The Fray's "Be Still" inspired the first two words of the poem. The first two words were the hardest. I listen to that entire album on repeat to and from work every day and it's inspired well over half of this story.
*ALSO! I feel like I should mention that many of the happenings in this chapter were pulled straight from Catching Fire. The dialogue was all I copied word for word, but clearly the events had a major influence on my writing.
If you've made it this far... while I love updating every Sunday and having a goal really keeps me motivated during the week, I'm not entirely convinced I'll be able to write a full chapter in the next seven days. May is our busiest month at work, and they have us working longer hours :( I will try my darndest, but please know that if I can't update next Sunday, it will be the ONLY Sunday I don't update!