CHAPTER THREE

Powder Pink

Despite my earlier protest, I ended up changing anyway. I had time to get completely ready since most of the cameras and crowds were here for the Tributes — and Finnick — and not the tag along. Not too long after Finnick had left me, Davina had pulled me in and waxed what little hair I had grown over the few days and then placed me in the gold dress. She covered my face in white powder to hide the slight tan I had gotten, and then curled my hair quickly before settling by pinning it up. She was not a stylist, but she was a hurricane.

When I stepped back into Capitol I suddenly felt cold. There was so much wind, more so because the high, sky-scraping towers seemed to split each current into two. I could not feel the sun on my face the way I had nearly every moment of being on land in District Four. It was strange that I did not feel home, as much as I did felt overwhelmed.

"How is my mother?" I asked Davina as we waited outside for the car to come pick us up. Her eyes lingered over to me, eyelids slightly lowered. The same, as usual.

"Did she say anything about me?" I continued to ask. She shook her head. I turned and stared at the road. I didn't expect much. Being a mother wasn't priority in Capitol, and I wasn't bitter about it. My childhood was perfectly fine. I was well off — my father had made sure to remind me of it every single moment he was around. Look around, Mari, you have fresh air, clean water; you have an abundance of food, you have more clothing than you will ever need. There are children just like you who cannot breathe without choking, children that are only fed because their brothers and sisters fight for their lives and slaughter others every single year. Be grateful for your fortune, for the odds are so in your favour.

I didn't dare complain to my father about my mother. When he had been home for several months a year, I didn't speak once. I listened. I listened to his stories, his opinions, his teachings. And when he was gone, I would read. I would watch my classmates, I would try to apply the criticism my father had expressed so passionately and would see if he was right or not.

And he was. He always was.

And that, again, was why he was not here — nor will he ever be. Again.

A sleek, black car pulled up in front of me and another Avox who had been holding the umbrella over me quickly opened the door. I thanked her with a smile, and nod at Davina to follow me, saying loudly, "Come in." I hated how I had to blatantly express my every whim when it came to Davina. I hated how it was not simply natural for her to get in the car with me, but rather I had to make it clear each and every single time we were not alone.

But Davina did not mind. In the same way I was well off, she was as well. There were too many Avox spending their life in the bottom of endless amounts of garbage, Avox who were mistreated on the regular as they bounce from one reception to the other. Davina was stable. She had me to care for, and my mother to heed.

When we arrived to the glass and metal building, yet another muted man opened the door for me and shielded me from the sun — the sun, how odd when I wanted to embrace it the way I did in the districts — as we made our way to the main entrance. Metal doors slid open with a brief touch of the panel and I was escorted into the elevator with Davina following closely behind me. I took a deep breath, and prepared to meet my mother.

Marcia Thorne was a kind woman, or at least I would like to think so. She was an heiress to her father's company specialized in transportation. It was odd that she would marry my father, a scholar, and there had always whispers in my classroom about my father simply marrying her so that he would able to travel without expenses. But those were rumours of Capitol schools, and meant little to me when I was exposed to the universities and higher educational institutes my father frequently visited. It was a smaller fraction of Capitol that was known for its frivolousness, but it existed nonetheless.

My mother was born and raised wealthy and alone, she continued to live as such. She didn't listen when my father spoke about districts and their hidden bounties, she simply purred and whispered into his ear.

It was strange but there had always been a clear division that of Cassius Thorne, my father, and Cassius Throne, my mother's husband. The Cassius that loved a silver blonde, green-eyed woman with a voice in a constant giggle.

Correction. She was the woman with powder pink hair and violet eyes.

"Mari, darling!"

Well, the giggle remained.

"Mom," I say with a smile as she enveloped me in her tight embrace that was manoeuvred in such that I did not touch her hair or makeup She had always been careful that way. We were the same height despite the two decade difference - not that you could tell beneath all of her powders and lashes. Lashes. My mother loved her lashes - butterfly ones, feathery ones, glittery long spider leg ones…

"How was the sea, sweet one?" she asked warmly as she took a step back to look at me. Her gloved, pink hands remained on my arm as her purple eyes looked me down and then back up. "You look a tad brown."

I didn't comment on her latter statement. "It was fine - but I couldn't find anything. I was in the twilight zone by the time the Reaping started."

"Couldn't find anything?" she echoed, her voice sounding higher-pitch than I last remembered it. She was wearing a morganite gemstone, cut beautifully and shining brightfully, on her collar. It was one of the stones my father had uncovered several years before he went missing.

No, don't think about that, Mari. Not now.

"No, unfortunately not."

"Well, darling, why didn't you use some of grandpa's sonar?" She tilted her head, her rose-coloured lashes blinking slowly and dramatically. "You didn't actually went out there like fisherman, did you? Is that why you sound so angry?"

Angry? I stared at her for a moment too long and realized that my intonation was off. I sounded dull in comparison to my mother's - and less than a week ago, my own - flamboyant accent. "Um, dad always spoke about swimming down himself so I thought…"

"You swam? In that dirty water?" My mom's face twisted into a grimace. "Oh dear. Davina, go fetch Mari the deep conditioner - the one with that oil, you know what I'm talking about. And scrub! Imagine all of those bacteria on your skin. Sugar scrub? Whichever - the foliating one. Get off those infected skin cells. That won't do...no, not at all. Hm. Should I call the doctor, make sure you're fine? Oh, and the smell of the sea..well we have plenty of perfume here, sweetie, don't you worry...we'll have you cleaned up in no time...the smell of salt, how repulsive...rose would be just fine, maybe lavendar...well mango is in season right now so maybe that would be a better scent...mango and aloe...maybe hibiscus…" She continued talking as she walked around the apartment, calling for this and that and I just stared at her.

She was over the top, yes, but she was my mother and God, I did love her.

. …

When night fell, the city came alive again. I was thrown into a world where the very same skies as any other district were pitch black but it was stabbed with glittering, silver buildings and the occasional explosion of a fireworks.

It was the first day of the Hunger Games, and everyone was out to play.

My mother had gone ahead with one of her friends so that she could watch the parade the moment the tributes arrived. I could feel the excitement in the air. I had only taken a step outside my home when I was surrounded with people all on their way to go see the tributes of the 69th Hunger Games. The very same way one could breathe and inhale an odd sense, I simply had to look around to realize I was several trends behind. I was only gone for six days, but already there were confused eyes looking at me in a metallic gold dress, wrapped tight in the bodice with an overflowing bow tied at my neck. I was...wrong. The trend seemed to be matte, with statement jewels.

One pair of eyes lingered. "Isn't that Cassuis' daughter? She's back?"

Nope, I wasn't going to do this.

"Davina," I say quickly as I turned back around. She nodded and touched the panel, opening the door and scurried back inside the loft. We shot up back to the penthouse suite and I let out a breath. When I arrived inside the apartment, I put on an earpiece and began tugging at the bow. "Read message," I say into the tiny mic. The mention of my father brought back the childhood anxiety of waiting for his usual voice through the earpiece and I...

A lovely voice replied. "Reading. Seven. Messages." A lovely, emotionless, robotic tone, that was.

I pull out the band from my hair and shake it of the gel that made my brown hair slick back as the system went through a variety of messages - about weekly net income, my mother's expenses, her friend's call, and so on. By the time Davina was stripping me of the golden dress, I was on the last message. I suddenly went cold.

No, not from from the stripping. The voice.

"Marcia," a voice of silk and steel said. A tone both smooth and pleasant as it was gruff and very, very masculine. Very distinct. A voice that could not be mistaken for any other. A voice that immediately paired up with a face in my mind.

Finnick.

"It's Finnick Odair. I'll be sending my things up when the parade is over, later tonight. Put on something pretty, I'll be there just after midnight."

And just like that the message was over.

It felt like a very long time before there was a click of the disconnect but it couldn't have been more than two seconds. "All messages opened. Would you like to start another action?" the voice asked but I could not answer. I was staring straight at Davina who was frowning at me, confused as she held up a simpler white and navy dress. I was naked, I realized in a sort of third-perspective way. I could feel the air on my shoulder and my bare back and chest and stomach and arms and legs but I felt a different kind of shiver working its way over my body.

"No," I said quietly. "No further action. Thank you."

Davina smiled. I always thanked a machine, and it amused her but it was a habit I learned from my father and could not shake off. I recalled dozens of that smile throughout my life and I usually laugh with her — for her — but this time, I still was staring strickenly at the dress.

Snap out of it, Marcella.

"Davina," I began as I put the dress on. It was just as short, and the navy skirt portion had the same bow aspect tied around my waist but the white on the top was more breathable. "Is my mom expecting...guest tonight?"

Her eyes told me yes. I began to panic. Hands on my waist and slightly hunched over, I concentrate on my breathing. He's coming. He's coming tonight. To meet with my mom. Oh God. Distantly I heard the sounds coming from the television in the common area several yards away. I walked past the corner and look on the screen as children with tight smiles on their face wave as they parade towards the City Circle. There was a chanting of hunger, hunger and for the first time ever — I saw what my father had saw.

This is wrong.

This is so, so wrong.

…

Finnick

…

He had always thought he would get use to the uproar of Capitol but obviously, he was wrong. He was not even the centre of attention and yet simply watching the colourful, hideously intriguing people howl out in excitement — some calling his name simply because District 4 tributes were out — made him cringe. Not that he would show it.

Although Finnick's attention was towards his tributes, he was speaking all the while. Making calls. Setting up sponsors. It was never difficult for him to call in several favours, but with what he was working with this time…

They're children, he thought bitterly as he tapped on a holographic screen in front of him. They're just children. But they don't see them as children. Jules is twelve...she's not pretty enough...and Reed is only fourteen. True, Finnick had been the same age as Reed when he won the Hunger Games but it was different for him. He looked like a man nearly grown whereas Reed looked as young as Jules. But there was potential in the boy's blue eyes — maybe they would see it. Maybe they would see it, and want to see more, and help him survive.

But he doubted it.

The call clicked through. "It's Finnick Odair," he heard himself saying as he crossed his arms. His hand hovered over his mouth as he continued smoothly, "I'll be sending my things up when the parade is over, later tonight." He paused and looked down at the name. Marcie. He tried to recall her face, but came up with nothing but a colorful woman. Weren't they all, he thought with a smile playing on his mouth. "Put on something pretty, I'll be there just after midnight."

He swiped the screen away, tapped in a new number — bitterly looked at the five names Snow gave him — and waited for the answer again.

"It's Finnick Odair," he began, "I'll be visiting…"

And again.

And again.

And again.

…

Marcella

...

Things never got quieter in Capitol, but it did get less crowded. Groups of people moved towards mansions that replaced the streets as the party. It could not be past ten when Davina and I step back outside to make our way to the archives and I welcomed the sparsity with open arms. There was an option of going by shuttle but a part of me missed being in an urban setting, walking afoot. The volume I did not like, but the nightlife was always captivating the way every single colour shined so brightly against the black night. A part of my mind conjured back images of sitting atop a rocky cliff overlooking greenish blue waters reflecting a pale white moon above it, the wind smelling of salt and faintly fish and the silence...God, the silence…

But this was nice too in a familiar way. This was home. District 4 — and hopefully the other districts I would visit — was an oasis. A vacation, a break.

The wind in the city was without the warmth of the sea district so I had a navy cloak over my shoulders, a slightly oversize hood over my head but it did not quite stop my hair from flying over my face distractingly. Thankfully the walk to the archives was a short one.

I had to scan my finger and eye to be allowed entrance into the archives but the moment I walk in, I was greeted with a pearly white smile. "Mari!" a booming voice called out. "Let me see you!" I run towards the counter, laughing for the first time in a while, and leaned over the book-covered counter to throw my arms around the man. He was relatively short, and plump, and balding and his glasses were crooked and his nose a sharp hook — but I admired him so much that had he been tall and handsome, it would not have alter my respect at all.

"Varius," I say as I leaned back with a teasing smile grow on my face. "I think you got taller."

His brown eyes gleamed at me. "District 4 brought the brat out in you, huh?" he challenged with a raise of his grey eyebrow. "How are you going to behave when you get down to District 12?"

Just like that, my mood sharply plummeted but I refused to let it show. I laugh anyway. "I think all the coal dust you breathed down there blackened your heart too, gramps." Although I called him gramps, in truth, he was a long time colleague of my father. If my father had been the archetype of a teacher in my memory, then Varius had been an interpreter. My father was expressive, he spoke to me like an adult and there were one too many times that I could not understand. It was Varius that dumbed it down to me, the one who gave me examples. You see, the districts serve us the way we serve the president. Maybe they don't want to the same way we don't want to work...but we know that it's the right thing to do to so that society functions and moves properly...

"Believe me, Mari, I had no intention of going into any mines. No, I admit that I wipe my hands of the dust and had the samples sent before me in a very cozy house but I found some interesting thing in those mines." He paused for a moment and he was so old that for a moment I thought he was done talking or he had lost his train of thought but there was that ever-present intelligent glint to his eye that said otherwise. "On your next exhibition, you should accompany me." His tone was different and as much as I wanted to avoid it, the conversation touched an area that I wanted to avoid.

"I don't think I'm ready yet," I said quietly looking down at my feet. Behind me Davina put a hand on my shoulder. Varius didn't comment, he didn't even glance at her gesture — he knew the situation too well for it to perturb him. Just as same, he knew the situation with District 12 all too well.

It was on my father's exhibition to the last district that there was a sudden charge taken against him. It was then that they declared him a criminal, and it was there in District 12 that he disappeared.

I didn't know what he found there, what he uncovered amidst all the coal dust or why Capitol suddenly turned against him — all I knew was that I had idolized my father as this cultivated, passionate hero and the thousand feet descent from heroism to state criminal terrified me to silence.

And if it came to it, submission.

…

I return to the loft in a worse mood than when I had left it. Varius' invitation to District 12 kept on repeating in my head and I could not get out that look of hesitance in his eyes when he offered. Does he know something? Maybe...maybe he knew what my father was doing. Maybe he knew...

Oh God, what if my father was still there? What if, after eight years, my father was still in District 12?

Simply the idea of it warped me back to the frightened eight year old girl of my past —

I had been going home from school, two textbooks tucked to my chest tightly with crossed arms. It was the first leatherbound book I had ever been given. The teachers had always preferred the tablet, but I loved the way my fingers could run through the uneven pages and feel the paper move when I flipped a page. Davina had been behind me, holding my bag. Mom had dress me in a baby blue dress and curled my brown hair down my shoulder. I had a barrette - one with a sapphire stones.

By the end of arrest, only one sapphire remained on the clip.

They had seized me and Davina suddenly, striking her down immediately and carrying me up. I remember gloved, leather hands slipping beneath my arms, lifting me. Something had covered and tightened over my eyes and I remember trying to scream but not being able to suck in even a second of air. A scene played out before my head of me walking down a busy road when men in grey jumped out of a shuttle and dragged me inside but my mother told me that I imagined it...that they only told me their names, and told me to come with them. I remembered that too. Everything was confused, shifting from the memory I saw, and the memory I heard. But in both one thing remained. I had shouted it out then, and I was shouting it out now.

"Mom!"

But it was not my mother who responded. It was the worst possible person to answer. I froze at my spot.

You have to be kidding me.

"You…"

He was in my loft. He was in my loft. Hewasinmyloft.

"...are not Marcia."

Finnick Odair was in my loft, standing behind the kitchen counter, his hands spread out in front of him as he leaned forward. He was watching me with amused, green eyes — prominent even when no light shined directly at them — with a smile on his face, one corner higher than the other. And I was speechless. I could not tell if a mountain had suddenly erupted from beneath my foot and held me up for the entire world to see and criticize or if it had been him that was lifted up beyond everything else. I wasn't even covered up in all the makeup and products but I was ashamed of the distinction between us — of Capitol from District.

But just as quick the arrogance disappeared. His eyes dimmed, his smile faltered. My breathing raced and I could hear my blood pumping through my heated ears and a horrible sense of deja vu washed over me.

And he knew it too.

He knew exactly what I was thinking, what I was remembering.

"It was you." His eyes widened and he looked so desperately like the Finnick I had seen several years ago that my mind blanked out and this moment could have been very well the first time I had seen him.

I thought the moment would last forever but just as quickly as his expression had changed, it flipped again. He was smiling, handsome and not at all vulnerable. His eyes had dulled but eyes like that would never lose its intensity. He even laughed, a broken, darkly amused sounding laugh that echoed in my still achingly hot ears.

"You're Marcella," he said quietly. I had read so many novels in my lifetime where the protagonist had narrated a shiver at the sound of their names and I had always wondered why that was so — but here I was, trembling just under his gaze, the whisper of his voice saying my name. I felt my cheeks distinctly come alive with heat. "Marcella Thorne, Girl Tangled with Peacekeepers," he echoed, both his eyebrows raised as if feigning sarcasm. And he was being sarcastic.

Because he knew exactly who I was. I could tell from those eyes that he was lying. But he was lying anyway. He was lying because he did not want to bring up the truth and I was more than fine with that. So I lied. I lied and shoved away the thought I knew we both had into a dark, little corner where the scared, sixteen year old boy with sea green eyes had found home.

"You can call me Mari," I heard myself say although I could not say why.

"Mari," he echoed. He took a moment, thinking about it. "Mari," he said again but a smile spreading across his lips this time. A mocking smile.

If I had been quivering before, then it was nothing compared to the shaking now because I was sure that at least three of my organs were now out of its place, and my skin burnt off completely.

But then I realized something. It was not embarrassment that reduced me to ashes. It was not even fear. It was not even intimidation, not really.

It was pity.

It has been a while (nearly two months?) but thank you so much for reading! Reviews would be lovely, and criticism is encouraged :)