Whoa! I got so many reviews! Thank you to X The mad girl back home X, MsMKT68, Just A Guest, Joe, and HogwartsDreamer113 for reviewing! :)

Rhea is pronounced ree-uh. I've never really heard it pronounced any other way :)

This chapter fast forwards (a lot - six months) to the 66th Hunger Games. Personally, I find that within that period of time, the only remotely interesting things that happen is Finnick and Rhea bonding more over the loss of their father. Other than that, it's basically just Finnick training the two girls. But hey, that's nothing that can't be explained briefly this chapter.

What you guys want will definitely happen in the future! :) Annie will come back, in the next chapter. Obviously, the two will make up but there will still be tensions.

Oh, and trust me, there will be plenty of twists and turns in the future ;)

XV. Mentor

For the past six months, there have been tensions within our family structure. There's an almost melancholy feeling when I walk into our Victor's house. Mother had refused to speak to us for the first few weeks and even now, she suffers more than Rhea and I. I assume it's because of how immature we really are that shows the difference. Mags, Amphitrite, Dylan Marsden and Joseph Aelous have attempted to prepare me for the 66th Hunger Games.

But I'm nowhere near prepared.

As Venala fishes around in the ladies' reaping bowl, my knee bounces up and down on its own accord, as do my fingers that tap rapidly against the edge of my seat. Inhaling a sharp breath, I bite my lip, expecting the worst: Rhea or Annie will be picked. Though the latter still irritates me with her lack of interaction with me, it would still kill me if she'd been chosen. .

"Charis Rey."

And I breathe out a sigh of relief.

The feeling of relief doesn't last long as the entire of District Four watch a incredibly well-built girl who strides down the pathway with an arrogant smirk and such grace that it looks as if she's gliding. She has the physical build of a man. In fact, she looks older than eighteen. Her arm muscles bulge immensely from the dress she wears. Her unsatisfactory height of four foot eleven and her stubby knees say otherwise, and make her seem like an absolute nuisance. She sends a flirtatious - or maybe, it's mocking - wink at me and Joseph Aelous, one of my other fellow victors chuckles and pats my knee. "Good luck with that one," he mutters in an amused tone.

I mumble obscenities under breath. For the past few months, I've returned to school to distract myself and to simply just do something. It must be the fact that I won that changed my reputation, because the guys have a new respect for me and girls seem to kneel down at my feet.

I'm flattered but I'm just not interested. There were plenty of pretty girls but one girl has caught my eye: Marlene Summers. She's the only person, with the exception of family, who hasn't treated me any differently. She's in my grade and I guess we could be classified as acquaintances, with the few projects we've done together for school. It's almost as if she has no emotion, or maybe she just isn't affected by Finnick Odair, the most recent Victor of the Hunger Games, and apparently the most popular as well. She's only an inch shorter than my five foot eleven frame, with jet black hair, blue eyes and a splash of freckles across her nose, which I find a little adorable.

"Maxwell Summers!"

I wince as Marlene's brother's name is called. He's a skinny twig, to say the least. I'm almost certain that I can snap his neck with my hands if I wanted to, and I barely had much muscle, like Joseph, as a fifteen year old. I'm a twig too. Maxwell, on the other hand, steps out from the group of fourteen year olds, with his staggering height six foot eight. He, quite literally, sways as he walks, like he's on the verge of toppling over. He'd be a lot more intimidating if he was at least, a little buffer.

Despite how brutally harsh it is, Maxwell Summers has no hope this year. Not even with a profound number of sponsors.

It'll be a miracle if he survives the bloodbath.

I find myself waiting in the Justice Building with Amphitrite, waiting for the two tributes to finish up with their visits. What I don't expect is for Marlene to storm up to me. The fiery-tempered girl grabs me by the collar and stands on her toes, so that we're the same height. Her eyes flare. "You'd better bring my brother home-"

"I don-"

"-Don't you dare say that he has no chance," she barks in my face, only two inches away from mine. "Because I know he has no chance, Odair."

I'm taken aback and irritated with how straightforward and blunt this acquaintance of mine is, despite having grown used to it - kind of. "Then why the heck did you bother-"

"Just because we're friends and you're the almighty Finnick Odair doesn't mean that I won't beat you up into a pulp if you don't even try for a second, to bring my brother back." Marlene Summers digs her nails into my chest as her grip around my shirt tightens even more, and her knuckles turn white. I wince at the action.

"Okay, okay!" I exclaim, raising my arms up. "I'll try but I can't guarantee he'll come back. He looks like a stick compared to the usual tributes so I doubt he has a chance."

Stupid mouth! I curse at myself as I watch her shoulders slump and the determined spark leaves her eyes, as they're replaced with the emotion of resent and sadness.

"I know," she grumbles. "Just… try."

I resist the urge to run up to her and ensure her that Maxwell will come back, but Amphitrite pulls me back by the collar. "Jesus, what's with girls pulling on my collar today?"

The older woman grins at me. "Maybe because we demand your attention."

I'm about to make a witty remark but she slaps the back of my head lightly and drags me towards the train. "Come on, we have to wait for them, not the other way around. Manners."

Sighing dejectedly, I trudge to the dining area of the train, plopping myself in the exact seat that Mags had sat in. It has already been a year since I had sat in the chair across the table next to Maya. Old times.

And now, I feel like an old man - a grandfather at that - reminiscing over his previous memories that he had collected over the past few decades.

Next thing I know, I'll probably wake up with wrinkly skin and white hair.

"What are we going to do?" I ask.

Amphitrite taps her fingers on the table and says, "What Mags and Shelley did last year. Go through the districts and their specialties. Talk tactics and also interrogate them. The girl will probably join the Careers without hesitation. I'm guessing you're taking the boy, right?"

"Right," I confirm.

Charis almost bounds up to us with her arrogant smirk and sits down in the chair. She slouches back, with her chair only on two legs and spreads her own legs in a disrespectful manner. I raise an eyebrow at her but don't question it as Venala reprimands her for her lack of feminine behaviour.

"That is no way to sit, young lady!" she scolds. "Cross your legs or at least put them together."

I stifle a laugh at her attitude towards Charis and watch as Maxwell sits down in his own chair across from mine, shakily. It is no doubt that he's spent the past half hour sobbing his eyes out. It's almost heartbreaking.

Charis smiles sweetly at me for the entire duration of our conversation.

"District Three - Have you ever watched Wiress and Beetee's games?" Amphitrite question.

The girl tribute scoffs in disdain. "They weren't warriors. They were geeks who won by chance."

The nerve of this girl is amazing. Thank God, Maxwell hasn't uttered a word yet.

"No," my partnering mentor forces out through gritted teeth. "They did not win by chance. Beetee electrocuted the last four tributes, one of whom were your aunt, if you don't mind me saying, and Wiress managed to trap people. If anything, they deserved to win more than the others."

I place my right hand on her arm in hopes of calming her down but to no avail, so I decide to continue for her. "District Three win through brains and technology. Maybe one of their tributes have a plan of creating an atomic bomb to blast off in the arena," I taunt her.

She flinches and Maxwell pales. "Th-They wouldn't do that. That'd kill them as well."

"Yeah, well, they're District Three. They'll figure out a way to not kill themselves," I bark at her.

I smile in satisfaction as she opens and closes her mouth repetitively like a fish, without a reply.

"I look like a fish."

"You are a fish."

"Please don't remind me," comes Maxwell's reply.

I send him a grin as he picks at his costume, which is a glittering suit that clings to his body. It's all credits to the new prep team and stylist, of course.

"At least, you look better than Charis."

He laughs as he sneaks a glance at the aggressive girl who looks as if she's on the verge of tearing her hair out. As opposed to what I had initially thought, Maxwell is actually a pretty cool guy - just a little innocent. Just like me last year.

I watch as Amphitrite rolls her eyes at her whining tribute and pushes her towards the latter's potential allies - two intimidating pairs from both Districts One and Two.

"Alright, when you're on the chariot, smile and wave. Charis will most likely stay still with a poker face so do the opposite of that. Her height will make her look like a joke to the Capitol so you have to act nice."

Blunt and straightforward is the way to go.

The younger boy nods. "Alliances?"

"Stay away from the Careers," I state without a millisecond of hesitation. "They'll rip your throat out the moment you reach the bloodbath, even if you do have skills with daggers."

And he does, in fact, have an unbelievable and completely unexpected talent with daggers. Last night in my room, in what I call the Justice Building of the Capitol, I had marked a spot on the wall for him to throw a knife at. It was spot on. At first, I'd thought it had been a fluke. That was only until he repeated the action with a perfect stance and flick of the hand as he casted each dagger to the opposite wall, and also until he told me about his private training with his father.

Now, that didn't explain his unnatural thinness, did it?

I'd questioned him about that. Apparently, he's anorexic. But I have no idea what that means.

"You conniving bastard!"

Charis comes storming up to Amphitrite and I, with Maxwell tagging along behind her. Then, she points an accusing finger at me and pokes me in the chest. "You ruined the night for me."

I raise an amused eyebrow at her, and cross my arms across my chest. "And how did I do that?"

"You told him," she spins around to point yet another accusing finger at my tribute. "To wave and smile. What the fuck was I supposed to do? I looked like a lunatic."

"Yeah, maybe because you are a lunatic," I state. I curse myself for having such a blabbering mouth. The tributes and mentors from District Seven watch us in amusement as we step out of the elevator and into our designated storey.

"Excuse me?"

I smirk at her. Despite the fact that I should be serious at a time like this and I should be helping her, I find it amusing to make her frustrated and angry. Even Amphitrite and Maxwell linger behind us, stifling their laughs. "You're excused," I reply, mocking the action of a typical gentleman by bowing and allowing her to walk into the room first.

My gesture only causes her scowl to deepen and she raises herself up onto her tip-toes, even though we're both well aware of the fact that I easily tower over her short, pudgy frame.

"I will win this year's Games, Odair. I refuse to let you get in the way of that," she hisses before taking off in her ridiculous attire.

It's silent for a few moments before I decide to clap my hands. "Well, wasn't that fun?"

Amphitrite leads me to the 'mentors room'. It's buzzing with energy - nervous energy, aside from Brutus' booming laughter and arrogance over his nephew participating in the Games this year.

For the first time, I hope that Charis can slaughter him, just for the sake of Brutus to shut up. As sadistic as it sounds, I have no regret thinking this, even though I'm one hundred percent sure that I will in the end.

Surprisingly, Charis had received only an eight, while Maxwell managed to score himself a nine.

"Finnick!" Cashmere bounds up to me, capturing me in a tight embrace. "I missed you!"

"Right back at ya, Cash," I reply, laughing. Gloss slaps me on the back with enough strength to make me stumble forward before he stalks off to his station.

"I'll talk to you soon. We can get sponsors at the same time, yeah?" Cashmere suggests, and I return a nod in her direction.

At District Four's section of the room, it's set out exactly the same as the others. There are five screens. The middle one shows what's displayed out to the rest of Panem, and the two on its left and right are for Maxwell and Charis. The two outer screens are what I assume to be the process of sending sponsor gifts to their respective tributes.

Amphitrite and I sit down in our chairs, plugging our headphones in. "It's touchscreen. You'll find it really easy to use, trust me. Use to fingers and spread them out to enlarge your screen, and do the opposite to minimise. The sponsor's screen is fairly straightforward. If you need any help, just ask me." She shoots me a smile before concentrating on her screen.

"Sixteen down in the bloodbath, I'm betting you," Brutus gloats. "With Nero in the Games, no one can get past him."

Gloss and Chaff from Eleven snort, while Haymitch sways in his own drunken manner.

We all watch in silence as the tributes arise from their platforms and we take our first glimpses of the arena. It's completely dark and it's only from our screens that the mentors are able to notice the eerie graveyard the tributes are situated in. "Night vision glasses," Amphitrite mutters under her breath. The tributes look around blindly and shout at each other. "What do we do?!" and "What the hell?" is all we hear.

I hear several other mentors curse, undoubtedly from their lack of sponsor money. As I scour through the available sponsor gifts, I'm actually grateful for winning last year just so that I can help another tribute. Clicking 'send', I watch the parachute fall right on Maxwell's head, as the timer reaches to twenty seconds. He almost stumbles off the platform, which causes me to sit on the edge of the seat and dig my nails into the armrests. He fumbles around blindly and the gong rings. Like last year, nobody leaves the platform.

"Fuck you, Odair!" bellows Blight, from District Seven, as we watch Maxwell put his glasses on and instantly race towards the Cornucopia. It's much like last year's 'bloodbath', I realise. Only the male from Four reaches the Cornucopia. But by now, Gloss' tribute has also received the same sponsor's gift.

I have the urge to laugh in Brutus' face as he turns red from the lack of support his nephew has received. It isn't surprising though; his interview had been so brutal - too brutal for the Capitol.

Mentors scream at their tributes to make a run for it, though it doesn't help much. My heart pounds in my chest and I'm almost certain that I'm sweating through my shirt, as I watch Maxwell pull on a backpack, secure on a belt of daggers around his waist, much like I did, and grab a sword. The weapon looks ridiculous in his hands but I have no reason to oppose as he makes his way towards his more imposing target - the boy from Two, or Nero as Brutus calls him.

As the boy blindly stumbles around aimlessly, Maxwell silently creeps up around him and behind. Despite his lack of skill with a sword, I'm sure he knows how to cut something with it. My thought is proven when he raises his arms for a swipe, and the ominous blade lands its mark as it cleaves into Nero's torso. The victimised boy releases a gargled moan and collapses to the ground, as Maxwell raises the sword up for another blow.

At this point, Gloss' tribute has made his way to the Cornucopia. "Allies?" he offers. It's either that or he dies, since he's weaponless.

My tribute nods and they take their stances, back to back, after the boy from One grabs another sword. Light slowly starts to make its way into the arena and the two are forced to take off their night vision glasses to dim the blinding light. On a perfect count of three, they lunge out for the incoming tributes. While District One's male tribute has his talent, Maxwell relies on instinct when using his sword, as seen by how sloppy his moves are. Evidently realising his issue, he brings up a dagger and stabs Charis right in the neck, in the process. He twists the knife without emotion and releases.

Maxwell killed his own district partner.

It's only now that I realise how similar we are.

The girl glares up at him, ineffectively and crumples to the ground, as blood foams around her lips. Amphitrite's screen turns black.

She blinks. "I was actually expecting quite the opposite…"

"Me too," I reply, without taking my eyes off of my screen.

The pair of girls manage to escape unscathed with weapons, when they realise the joint forces between Maxwell and the boy from One. I would too.

And like Brutus had predicted earlier, sixteen were dead within the next twenty minutes. Maxwell, the pair from One, the girl from Two, and five lesser tributes are left.

I breathe out a sigh of relief as Maxwell sits down with the boy, whose name I find out to be Evan. Amphitrite insists on helping me while Maxwell is still alive and I don't bother protesting, mainly because Brutus has grabbed me by the collar, roughly and lifted me up with his brute strength, up to his height.

My feet dangle below me and I force the lump in my throat back down. "Hi?" I offered. By now, the rest of the mentors are watching us.

The six foot nine monstrosity glares at me furiously, in utter hatred. "You will pay for this," he growls at me, then quite literally, throws me against the wall across us. A few skid back and scream, while others - the drunk ones - decide to laugh. I'm about to reply, "Gee, I'm glad my pain amuses you," but I moan as I feel the solid wall contact my back.

Amphitrite and Cashmere rush over immediately as Brutus storms out of the room, slamming the door behind him. It's not the most excruciating pain I've felt, but I'd prefer it if I was sitting in my designated chair. "Are you okay?" the blonde asks in concern.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I manage to reply as I stagger up to my feet. "I'm just… gonna get sponsors. Yeah, that sounds good."

"I'm coming with you!"

A/N: Here's an early(ish) chapter because I probably won't be able to update on the weekend. This chapter is fast-paced because Maxwell and Charis aren't really anything. It's just Finnick's mentoring experience. BUT, I can tell you that starting from the 68th Hunger Games, things will get… interesting for Finnick (not the part of becoming of prostitute). You also see a different side of Finnick after his games. I mean, it's been a year; he's changed but maybe this is just only one small portion of his personality? To be an arrogant jerk? (Not really, I just decided that we needed a character other than Snow, that Finnick hated).

Any guesses on which district will win the 66th Hunger Games? :) What do you guys think of Marlene?