"I took a problem, recently forgotten. I know who I had been before I slipped." — Foster the People, Miss You

The parade goes amazingly well. The crowd seem to like us, and appreciate our costumes. I mentally thank Finnegan's stylist.

I completely ignore Finnegan during the parade, as everyone else does with their partners. We do this because your partner is your opponent, after all, which means they have a chance of actually killing you, being the reason you fade from the world. And I have to admit, that does scare me.

As soon as the parade's over, our teams rush over and coo over our clothes, and 'how well, we did. Really all we did was stand there for an hour.

Finnick doesn't make a fuss, he knows I wouldn't like that. The girl who before hung off his arm is gone now, I notice.

Another thing I notice is that my stylist seems to have disappeared again.

'Where's my stylist?'

'He didn't come,' Coco says quickly.

'Why not?'

'He wanted to leave, he's extremely busy.'

What? Everyone in the Capitol clamours to be a part of the Hunger Games' preparation, or to be invited to one of the Games related parties. This guy must be extremely busy if he gives that up.

'Why?'

Coco chuckles and rolls her eyes. 'Oh dear Absidee. Your stylist just happens to be one of the most well known designers in the Capitol.'

Finnegan's stylist nods enthusically. 'It's been an honour to work with him,' she adds.

'And?' I slip out, and immediately feel awkward. I must seem so strange to these Capitol people. Their designers are like gods to them. Oh well, they seem extremely strange to me, too.

'Absidee, he asked especially to work with you. You should be very honoured, like Dinella said just then.' I assume Dinella is Finnegan's stylist, and I nod slowly.

'Why would he want to work with me?'

Coco lets out a laugh. 'Why wouldn't he?! Your cousin over there,' she gestures to Finnick, 'is so popular in the Capitol, that people were practically falling over themselves to be able to design for his cousin, you.'

It makes sense, I suppose. Everyone in the Capitol likes me because I'm Finnick's cousin. Right.

Well, hopefully that means that when I die, they'll be sympathetic towards my family.

Wait. Who am I kidding. Of course they won't be.

But I'll play along as Finnick Odair's likeable cousin for now. See how far it gets me.

'So where are we going to go?' I ask Finnegan as he guides me out of our room and to the elevator opposite our room's door.

We walk into the elevator and he presses the number 12 on the row of buttons inside. 'The top,' he says.

We're both changed out of our parade outfits now, and our faces are scrubbed clean of make up, which I'm glad of. The make up made me feel a bit dirty. I'm dressed in a plain white dress with slip on shoes, whereas Finnegan is wearing a crisp white t shirt with grey joggers. He's opted not to wear shoes, which I find odd.

'We're going to visit 12's tributes?' I ask with confusion. I certainly hope not.

'Of course not,' he replies, and I give a sigh of relief.

'So where are we going then? 12's apartment is the highest we can go.'

'Oh, no it's not.'

I'm extremely confused now. Of course it is.

The elevator doors ping and slide open, and we both step out. Finnegan leads the way, going up the stairs to our right.

'Close your eyes,' he says, and for a moment the idea that he might try to kill me now flits across my mind. But that's extremely unlikely, and illegal in the Games' rules.

So I trust him, and my eyelids close over my eyes. He takes me by hand and walks forward. I feel very tempted to open one eye, even if it's just a tiny bit.

'Trust me,' Finnegan says, and just for this hour, I can't help but do so.

I keep my eyes closed as Finnegan leads the way. I can hear a door slowly creak open, and moments later realise we must be out in the open.

'You can open your eyes now.'

'Wow,' is all I can say. There's an entire garden, full of the most beautiful flowers and hanging baskets. Some of the flowers are vivid in colour, others possess a more mild tone. It's amazing.

There's a bench placed in the middle of this garden, so we sit there.

From up here we can see the bright lights of the city, and hear the drunken laughter.

We must be up on the roof. Well, it makes sense now. But are we even allowed up here?

'Are we even allowed up here?' I ask.

'If we weren't they would've locked the doors.'

'But isn't there the risk of tributes jumping?'

Finnegan ponders this for a moment. 'I suppose not. There must be some sort of forcefield or something like that. Something stopping you from falling.'

'Seems logical enough.' I say, and Finnegan smiles at this.

'So, what did you want to talk about?' I ask, and Finnegan looks embarrassed, but he still answers.

'You. About you.'

This makes me wonder if Finnegan's planning on winning at all. It'd be a lot harder to kill someone, the more you know about them.

'Well,' I begin, somewhat dumbstruck. 'My name is Absidee Meghan Odair. I am 17 years old, born on the 15th of September. I have two siblings, an older brother, Coby, and a younger sister, Edrie. And I love the sea.' I stop there and look up at him to find him looking straight into my eyes, which I find awkward. 'What about you?'

He draws a breath and begins. 'My name is Finnegan Maximilian Goldsmith. I am also 17 years old, and my birthday is the 22nd October. I have one older sister, Tammy, who's 22. I don't love anything.'

My jaw drops. 'Not even the sea?'

'Not even the sea.'

'What about your girlfriend?' I ask casually. I'm sure he has a girlfriend back at home, but he just laughs.

'What, the non existent one?'

'Alright, alright,' I groan with embarrassment. 'How're you finding the Capitol?'

Finnegan shrugs. 'OK. If I were judging just the food though, I'd say great. They have amazing food here.'

I stifle a laugh. 'How about your team?'

'Well, my mentor, Selene, isn't all she seems. Sweet exterior, but absolutely mental really. A complete killing machine.'

'I expected as much,' I grumble in reply, but I have to say that Finnegan's description of his mentor scares me.

Is that what we'll become?
Humans with only thing on our minds, that being survival. And survival means sacrifices.
What those sacrifices involve, whether it be our favourite things, or even ourselves, who knows?

'My prep team are mental, absolutely brainless, heads full of fluff, but my stylist is OK I guess. What about you?' Finnegan continues, pulling me out of my train of thought.

'Well, my mentor is obviously decent,' I sigh. 'My prep team... well, I have to admit I was too involved in my own thought to listen to them. But my stylist is a creep.'

'Oh yeah,' Finnegan nods. 'I heard Coco talking to you about him. He's meant to be some kind of Capitol fashion genius, right?'

'Well that's not hard, is it?' I mutter under my breath.

'But he chose you, Absidee.'

'It's only because of Finnick. Without him I wouldn't even register on these Capitol citizens' radar.'

'That's only partly true.'

'Really?' I feel as if Finnegan's attempting to flatter me. And it's working, if he is.

'Honestly. You've intrigued them already.'

'But how? All I've done is stand on that chariot.'

'They expect you'd be more showy, I suppose.'

'Right,' I say. 'Are you saying Finnick's showy, then?'

Finnegan thinks for a few moments. 'Not quite.'

'Not quite?'

'He does try to charm the crowd, doesn't he? In fact, that's probably what helped him win his Games.'

I'm irritated, at Finnegan's words. Showy? Is that really what people think of Finnick, and expect me to be? They really have no idea, do they?

I don't say anything.

'You can't say it's not true, Absidee.'

'OK,' is all I think to say in reply.

We sit in silence for a few minutes when something floats into my thoughts. Something I never actually realised before hits me coldly.

'No one volunteered for us at the reaping,' I say quietly.

'That has to be the first time in years.'

'Does it mean they want us to die?' I ask.

'Of course not!' Finnegan says immediately, but he doesn't sound so sure himself.

'Why did no one volunteer, then?'

Finnegan pauses, trying to search for a plausible answer in his brain. 'The rumours, perhaps.'

Of course. The rumours.
This brings fresh fear back into my system. If I was scared before, I'm terrified now. I glance around us looking for cameras which could be recording our conversation.

'Well,' I gulp. 'That makes sense.'

Finnegan laughs nervously. 'Yes. They were pretty horrific, those rumours were.'

These rumours were rumours involving the arena. Rumours that the arena was meant to be extremely awful this year.
Some of the ideas circulating were of an arena which is packed with holograms, so you'd have no idea what is real, and what is not real. Others included a post apocalyptic city type arena, reminiscent of how North America was found before Panem was formed. And then there was that rumour which was less talked about, at least in our district, the one where the arena would be an underground maze system, the only torches being at the cornucopia.
Of course, all these rumours involved the arenas having particularly horrible things around every corner.

What these horrible things could be, no one knew. Just the thought itself made me shudder.

'Don't worry,' Finnegan says and rubs my arm. I must've been staring into space for some time.

But what a thing to say. 'Don't worry'?
He does realise that we're to enter the Hunger Games soon, right?

'Don't worry?' I say with an raised eyebrow.

'I take it back. Worry a lot.' Finnegan says, accompanying his words with a cheeky smile.

'Well I'm glad you can have a nice joke before the Hunger Games,' I say rather bitterly.

'Maybe I wasn't joking?'

'If you're being serious try not to say it with a smile like that, Finnegan,' I say, but end up giggling at the expression on Finnegan's face. I can tell it's the first time he's been outsmarted by a girl his age, if I do say so myself.

He ends up laughing too, and we stay like that for five minutes until we eventually calm down and seem to sober up.

'So,' he begins. 'These Games everyone in the Capitol raves about... who do you think'll win this year?'

'That Finnegan Goldsmith, I reckon,' I say lightly, my voice barely carrying over the heavy winds which cover up our words.

He cocks his head to one side. 'Really?'

'Of course.'

He leans in close to me. At first I begin to panic, what the hell is he doing?
But then I calm, and just let the flow take me in.

He leans in so close to me that I could kill him within in a second. 'I disagree,' he whispers right into my left ear in a low voice. 'Absidee Odair is a great player in this year's Games.'

He leans back, but hovers in front of me, his eyes burning into mine. This is when I notice his eyes for the first time.
What a beautiful colour they are. Green, but tainted with flecks of gold.

And for that moment, I have a desire to kiss him. But of course I don't. My head keeps on top of my heart and my feelings. I can't let that happen. It was only a quick impulse, though, I think.

Footsteps sound behind us and I quickly back away from Finnegan. I don't want anyone thinking anything happened, no.

'What are you two kids up to, eh?' A familiar voice infuriatingly asks. It's Finnick.

'Finnick, how many times, I'm only a year younger than you!'

It may be less than a week until I die, but it's about time Finnick realised he's not actually much older than me.

'Young'un, you need to calm,' says a drunken voice. Wait, drunken? Is this even legal, what's happening right now?

'Haymitch Abernathy?' I ask, and turn to see it is indeed him.

'Yes, dear. I was just having a loovely catch up with your cousin here,' he slings an arm around Finnick's shoulder. 'But I should probably be off anyway.'

And then he staggers off, leaving only me, Finnick and Finnegan.

'He drinks more during the Games,' Finnick says quickly, as if this explains all.

'What about his tributes?' Finnegan pipes up.

'They're hopeless, most years. If they show a spark though, Haymitch will stay sober and try to help them,' Finnick pauses. 'Until they die.'

'Haymitch isn't a cruel man. I'd hate for you to believe that. He just suffers a lot from the Games. Drinking is his escape,' Finnick continues, and I feel for this drunkard. How must it feel to mentor two young people year upon year, only to have them both die? Awful. Just awful.

Now I knew what my choice would be.