Hello^^ I know, I'm late, but I moved to the Netherlands for an internship a month ago, it's a full time job, and living in a new city means my weekends are pretty much taken. It will be tough for me to maintain a weekly schedule especially since I can't rush through this part and give less than my best at Finnick.
Thank you to all those who reviewed,
Happy Hunger Games!
Finnick woke up with a jolt. He hadn't forgotten where he was.
And where he was soon about to be. His shoulders tightened, bracing themselves for a blow.
"Hurry now," Lawrence said, ushering him down towards a corridor. He briefly locked eyes with Delfina, lead in the other direction by Rose.
Be safe.
He and the stylist were quick to reach a tiny room, marked by the number 24. Clothes had been thrown over a chair and there was a circular plate on the floor.
"You have five minutes to dress," Lawrence said, "then you must enter the plate. The arena is above us."
Finnick was staring at Lawrence's hair, that impossible mass of black and white. They were so larger than life, these people, screaming 'look at me!' with every inch of their being.
"What time is it?" Finnick asked.
"Ten to two PM."
They'd put him asleep at ten. Four hours… They could be anywhere. They could be in Four.
Would his Ma see? Were Marina, Shale and the guys as scared as he was?
Finnick shut his eyes before the panic could take over. He pictured the ocean, the still shimmering waters of summer's low tides. He inhaled, picturing the sounds, letting the scene swallow him. When the air left his lungs, he listened to his heartbeat.
The illusion was burst by a soft voice. "Two minutes, Finnick."
Finnick jumped to his feet. He was as ready as he could be.
His shoes were comfortable. A grin split his lips. Sturdy shoes, black trousers and a dark blue button-up shirt was that was much too fancy for such a thing. Finnick had never worn shoes so comfortable, and that made them more precious than any knife.
He winced when the elevating plate reached the outside. Light poured in from all directions. The sun blazed hot against his arms and neck.
They were in a large garden, fifty feet away from each other, forming a semi-circle before a golden cornucopia.
Finnick shoved the visions of blood out of his mind. Mags' words rang loud in his ears.
You have sixty seconds, Finnick. Assess your surroundings and know where your allies stand before you leave that plate.
The grass was freshly cut and a first row of tall flowered hedges grew right behind the cornucopia. There were trees marking the limits of the huge garden, but this was not to be a forest Games. The translucent forcefield was more visible than it had ever been, less than a mile away.
Finnick chanced a look back and he saw the buildings, two were farther away but the central one was majestic. That's where the Games would be held. It looked… like a palace maybe, it could house twenty families and still have place to spare. There were three levels, and all of FLASH would fit in the ground floor. Finnick wondered if Pashmina would know the right words to explain what he saw.
A jolt of fear had him snap back towards the others. The countdown was ticking.
Allies.
Luck was on his side, Finnick was the leftmost tribute, and he counted four before he found Nero. Next to him, Delfina. Finnick allowed himself to breathe: no one would even try to attack them. Pashmina was flanked by the two from Seven. Lupa was just three platforms away: the two would be dead before they reached the Cornucopia, before they had the chance to find an ax.
Finnick stiffened when he saw Colt next Marten on the far right. He didn't regret talking to Colt, he couldn't regret it, but now, it made it all so personal.
'As it should be!' a voice fiercely said in Finnick's mind. "They're people, real people!"
Yes, as it should be. But he had to win.
Finnick sought out the nearest camera. A glint on the ground, and he smiled, cocky as you please, angling his chest and flexing his muscles to his best advantage. Without his life on the line, it would have felt wrong, instead, his eyes narrowed as the countdown fell into the single digits.
He didn't run. He counted six who didn't go for the cornucopia, two straight off the bat, the couple from District Five, the others had started sprinting towards it but soon they stopped and sped away, one after the other in a spur of panic.
Finnick carefully began to jog, until the first screams locked his muscles into place. They reached his ears, cut off and jagged, torn away from girls and guys who'd never stood a chance.
His heart slammed against his ribcage. Shale, they prepared you for this? Mags prepared you for this?
Mags was watching. She needed him to be the rebel, she needed him to stop the Capitol from winning over and over again.
Finnick swallowed back his cowardice. The faster the better, he had to get out before he went crazy and he had to choose now. A stone blocked his throat when he saw who was closest. How could the world become a better place because Finnick Odair killed a girl? District Three made them smart, but rarely did it make them fit. She was gasping for breath, her eyes on the ground as her legs refused to sustain her breakneck sprint. She hadn't seen him.
Paige. 'Caesar, clever people faced strong people with swords and died. That's why they invented guns. You want a show, give me a gun, a crappy one that doesn't shoot straight, but something I can use.'
She didn't have a gun. Her interview dress had been all shimmer silk, gold against her dusky skin.
A hiss escaped Finnick's lips. He had a mind full of secrets and gossip, a mind that remembered almost every detail on people he met and damn it, he wasn't ashamed to care!
But he also remembered Wiress, incoherent and screaming at the slightest sign of conflict. Paige was here, but in her District, there were so many that waited to be freed and Paige wouldn't be able to do that.
Paige screamed when he grabbed her arm.
"Oh no, Finnick," she said, her terror giving way to wide-eyed distress, "not you, you're just a kid, don't let them do this to you."
A chorus of voice rose in Finnick's mind. Why the hurry, why kill her? You're going to look like a monster, even to Capitol people. You're going to be a monster! What kind of sick bastard grabs a girl like that? Hurry up and kill her, doesn't a thing Mags said matter to you? Let her go!
SHUT UP!
"Isn't it better," Finnick said, furious blinking rising tears out of his eyes. "If it's quick?"
Paige violently shook her head, trying to twist away, but she was much too weak to escape him. "There's no better, let me go!" She screamed.
Finnick had no idea how to kill her. Of course, her neck, her head, but it would hurt, and she was moving, and he really, really didn't want to do this and worst of all, her permission mattered.
He brought his lips to her ears. "I could help in Three. I could find your family, through people, without getting any attention on them. I could help them. I know a lot of people who like to help."
Paige stiffly looked back to the cornucopia where the last of the untrained tried to flee, behind them Nero and Marten, swallowing the distance up like bloodhounds. Paige's dark eyes dimmed as her hope of escape was crushed. She let the small supply bag slide through her fingers.
"Kiss me and kill me then," Paige whispered. "If I'm to die, it might as well be kissing a guy well out of my league."
Finnick hesitated, because she was brilliant, giving him an escape instead of making him look like the girl-killer he was. Worse, appreciating her morbid wit only make his panic more acute.
She grasped his shirt, tugging him towards her. Finnick's hands went to her windpipe, a slow choking hold. She was warm against him, the kiss was tentative, confused, reminding Finnick awkwardly of his first – Ikura had been prettier than Paige, and bold, but Finnick hadn't known her that much better - when he pulled back Paige had fainted. He gently put her down.
"Where's Finnick?" A voice called. "Oh–dair he is!"
Finnick raised his eyebrows at Delfina, she was pale, her bare arms a mess of grass and dirt and fresh blood and she was bouncing, with a smile only he could see was forced.
"I can't kill a girl," Finnick said, a desperate part of him wishing he could kill a guy.
Delfina pointed a stern finger at him. "You were snogging her. You get a pass because you're fourteen, but don't fool around no more."
"She asked, and I couldn't deny her her first kiss," Finnick exclaimed, hands on hips. He could act through this. He had to, he couldn't force Delfina to be strong for them both.
Delfina handed him a knife. "You promised Mags, and truly, it is a mercy that this girl will leave this world with only happy memories."
"I'm flattered you never thought for one second that I could be a poor kisser," Finnick said with a forced smile and a wink.
The knife was icy in his hand. He was weak, he was the reason the Capitol remained strong. He was dependent and needed to be saved by people who had the guts to do what was right, even when it was disgusting.
Anger, anger like nothing he'd ever experienced before flooded through Finnick. That's how the Capitol broke them, making them feel like monsters when by every right the arena shouldn't even exist.
Paige stirred in the grass, a moan escaping her lips.
"If you still need babysitting, I can do it," Delfina said, a shadow falling on her face. "But hurry now."
No, Finnick couldn't make her. Delfina had started out just like him, her hands clean. "Where do I cut?" he said, rage simmering behind his eyes.
Delfina set her fingers around Paige's lower neck, tracing an invisible line with her nail.
It was so easy. Paige drowned in her own blood, almost silently. His anger washed away, Finnick cleaned his knife on her shirt, his movements slow, as if in a dream, a nightmare.
You must win to change the world.
Murderer.
Panem, hundreds of thousands of people like Paige, need strong victors to prepare for war.
Murderer.
"You can be a brute or a gentleman, Finn, but refuse to kill in the Games," Delfina said, her lips trembling and her fingers digging into Finnicks' arms. "Dump it all on others, fancying yourself superior for that, and you don't deserve to be called a man."
"I'm sorry I kissed her without your permission," Finnick said, because really what he wanted to say had no place in front of cameras. "Your… your knife," he stammered, flipping it backwards.
He didn't know who moved first, but for a long minute, he just clung to Delfina, wishing they were home. He felt her let go, and he stepped back, wishing she knew how grateful he was. It made her so beautiful in his eyes, to be the one who brought hope, in a place like this.
"You need a weapon," Delfina said.
Her hand wrapped around his. It was warm.
Somehow, it was easier to breathe.
Finnick frowned and turned when he realized the other Careers staring at something right behind them.
In the non-Career mentors' room, it seemed everyone had forgotten to breathe. It was a parachute. A parachute as big as Finnick himself.
Mags' eyes narrowed. "What is that?" she asked Nori. The bloodbath hadn't even aired, and it was poor strategy not to wait until they saw what the ancient estate and its grounds hid.
Nori gave her a grin to dull the sun's shine.
Mags' jaw dropped at the same time as Finnick's.
Standing before a cornucopia that had held just some gear and blades, Finnick triumphantly grasped the gleaming trident.
"The prices are low this year," Mags said hoarsely, her eyes still red from Paige's death.
She'd made her nephew into this, a survivor, with all the darkness it entailed. He'd made it almost special, and Mags didn't doubt that Templesmith would have the gall to call it a mercy kill, but a trident? No such outrageous present had ever been made, and never at the beginning of the Games.
"It's not how the Games are played," Brutus began.
Mags' head snapped to the side. How could she have missed Brutus' and Lyme's presence? What were they doing in this room?
"But you may die of old age before we have another occasion to repay the debts," Lyme said with a smile.
Mags suddenly felt very small. Low prices… what a ridiculous thought. "You… the money came from you?"
"From all of us," Seeder said, her eyes sparkling with warmth.
"I think the middle tip is my money's worth," Haymitch said proudly, lifting his own middle finger straight up in front of the camera.
Mags took a shaky breath. She couldn't remember have been so touched. She wasn't sure how Snow would take it, united victors, united districts… But they'd done it, for Finnick, for her. They'd given it all, the ones who held teeth and claw to hope, the ones who really had a chance.
"You mother us so much that sometimes you forget." Aster's expression could only be described as smug.
Mags stood up, feeling faint, and planted a kiss on Brutus' cheek. Then Lyme, and Gloss, and Cashmere, Wiress and Aster until Haymitch turned his head and stole and kiss, and Mags slapped him, making him and Chaff roar with laughter and them all chuckle.
A tear ran down Mags' cheek as she grinned with them. She cherished to see them cheerful and to think it had been for her… Mags turned to the screen, feeling inhabited by a strength she'd thought lost with age.
"The estate and its grounds are old, older than Panem, older than the cataclysm," she said. "It has been partially restored, to be habitable, but I wonder what lies within."
On screen the Careers were staring at the trident, almost drooling.
"It's too good for you," Pashmina said, twirling her own knives –really kitchen knives - disgruntledly.
"Then I'll have to get good enough for it," Finnick said, he turned to the cameras and gave the screen a solemn smile. "For Victory's Herald."
"You're naming your trident Victory's Herald?" Delfina's straight face was a thing of beauty. "After the statue?"
The statue before the Presidential building, to be precise. It was arrogant move, but also brilliant, because flattery remained the Capitol's greatest weakness.
"In the honor of those who forged it," Finnick replied, for a brief instant turning solemnly towards the camera. "A weapon so fine should not go without a name."
"Stop brownnosing, lad," Haymitch grunted rolling his eyes. "District Two makes weapons, not the goddamn Capitol."
Mags smiled. She was so weary and yet so happy. She reached for Wiress' hand and squeezed it, her heart going out to Paige's family. But nothing could erase the smile on Mags' face. Nine dead, and yet the mentors were there for her.
"I can't believe it," she said, taking shallow breaths. Circe, she was going to cry.
"Don't kiss us again," Lyme warned, her lips quirking.
Delfina staunchly stood by Finnick behind the cameras. Mags felt a rush of affection while guilt, that guilt she had learned to live with, tightened her insides. Delfina had come so attention starved, she'd worked so hard already at twelve, so much harder than the rest of them. It had been no question in Delfina's mind: she'd come to volunteer and as a volunteer, she was never ignored. There had been a time where Mags had wondered 'Can we fix her? Get rid of this feeling of worthlessness that makes her willing to die to impress me? That makes her so sure that it's either victory or else life is not worth living?'.
Mags clamped her hands together. Her palms were sweaty. Every year, she groomed and sent them to slaughter in this neverending war they waged against the Capitol.
She desperately hoped it was the right way, the way to freedom and justice. Otherwise, what did it make her?
Finnick couldn't stop thinking about how the clothes absorbed blood stains. Lupa's nails were red with blood, but her, and the others', general appearance was clean. He was grateful, because blood made everything worse, but also disturbed, because it shouldn't be so easy to erase the traces of what they all had done.
"Pashmina, I think you a better vocabulary than me to explain where we are," he said when they entered the large building through the open side door.
Pashmina straightened self-importantly, and with the shirts being cut low for girls, Finnick had an excellent view of her breasts. He quickly averted his eyes, no matter how sexy, sexual even, he couldn't believe he was letting her distract him.
"Tit for tat," she replied with a saucy smile. "What's that smell?"
Finnick turned to Delfina, it was familiar, pungent and dry against his throat, but he couldn't name it.
"Disinfectant spray," Delfina said. "In Lycorias they use it once a month to clean the fish sorting factory. It kills everything that tries to grow in the cracks. They probably want us to come down with a two-hundred-years-old plague. "
"Two hundred?" Finnick whispered. Suddenly it all looked much more brittle, the cracked walls, the water stained ceilings, as if it would collapse and bury them alive.
"This estate is old," Pashmina said, "the wings will be organized in living spaces and then larger rooms for reception or partying. We have one such place in District One, it's rented for weddings by those who can afford it. If this belonged to a single family then they would have needed many servants to keep it clean."
So it represented wealth and parties, scandal maybe... Finnick was desperate to know what kind of entertainment the Capitol had planned. It looked to tame, too quiet…
The ground floor had endless corridors of rooms and bathrooms and storerooms. Nero and Lupa had found paper and were making an inventory and a crude map. They weren't talkative, but the methodic way they dissected the estate kept Finnick's nerves on edge.
"Don't open any of the taps," Delfina told him. "You don't know what's been growing in there and even if it was cleaned, the water tank is long gone."
"Unless you see a beautiful shower with glass panes, then, get naked, trust the water and play with the steam," Pashmina said, licking her full lips.
Finnick flushed, increasingly angry at both himself and her for her effect on his body. His mind flicked to Paige, and suddenly Pashmina lost all allure.
Whenever Nero opened a door, he slammed it open so loudly the windows rattled. Finnick foolishly thought angle at first, or an unspoken rules that you didn't kill again right after the bloodbath and so the other tributes should be warned of their passing, but it became soon apparent that Nero slammed the doors because the rooms were full of clutter, and sometimes, between the books, or in a pot resting on a shaky shelf, something moved, crawling out and disappearing, or there was a puff of colored dust, when it wasn't the whole shelf itself crashing to the floor.
They reached the kitchens, and they were huge, with a dozen stoves at least. There was neither electricity nor knives and forks, but the rest was all there. Lupa tucked a dozen of plates in her bag, and when Nero did the same, Finnick began feeling nervous. Should he hoard random stuff too?
Marten had gone to the store rooms and pulled out conserves with an unmistakable look of triumph. Finnick wouldn't touch the murky stuff inside for anything in the world.
"Don't open it," Lupa snapped. "If it's not mummified, it's poison."
Marten shot her a patronizing glance. "It's not the food. There are dates, everything was labeled back then. 2193. This has been sitting here for centuries."
"Your family is in historical luxury back in One?" Finnick asked.
Marten's lips quirked. "You could say that." He really looked thrilled. "And if this place is genuine, and was abandoned in a rush during the Cataclysm, we may find some real jewels. We should go upstairs, where the richer parts are."
Finnick found himself nodding, suddenly on edge again. Only hours before there had been so much blood and now they were exploring carefully an ancient estate. He wasn't safe, he wasn't in immediate danger, and his body drove itself insane trying to both relax and pay attention to it all.
"Real jewels, like a diary?" Delfina mused. "It would be fascinating to learn of the people who lived here."
"Let's move," Lupa said.
The stairs were rotten, but the six had ropes in their supply bags. They returned outside, there was no-one else in sight. Nero threw five of the plates at the first floor window until it smashed. They threw the grappling hook, Delfina and Pashmina, being the lightest, climbed first.
Pashmina looked inside the room and squealed. "I should leave you down and keep it all to myself," she said, leaning sensually over the rail.
Finnick found himself staring at her breasts again. Instead of answering, he climbed next, awkwardly hugging Victory's Herald with his legs.
What a stupid pompous name. But just because it was, it should work.
The carpets were faded, the statues cracked and the mirrors darkened from time, but Finnick still took a sharp breath at the absurd luxury of the room. Marble and crystal… the Capitol hadn't been the first to be eager to show how much money they could throw around then.
Contrary to Pashmina, Lupa and Nero were much more interested in the side rooms. "Weapons," Lupa said, unsmiling but pleased.
Finnick stared when he realized it was a music room. Weapons? Those?
"I dare you to attack someone with that massive violin," Delfina said, grasping one of the longer silvery flutes and swishing it around like a sword.
Finnick smiled. He didn't care if it was angle, but her cheer saved his sanity.
"It's a Cello you ignorant brute," Pashmina said, "give me the bow." She huffed when Delfina looked confusedly at the ten available ones. "The third one from the top."
"How accomplished you are, Pashmina," Nero said as she settled in the ball room. His massive built turned the slight mockery into a threat.
"You Two," Pashmina replied with a dismissive gesture. "Killing is such a small portion of our time here. You do it very well, but I'm afraid you're to be boring when there is no prey to hunt."
Nero's face was a mask of stone.
Pashmina tuned the instrument, and Finnick found himself wincing at first, but soon, a deep rich sound came from the cords, filling the ball room. She played well, the melody dug under his skin, giving a voice to the feelings that clawed at him since he'd chosen to play.
Paige's almond black eyes, her dusky skin and cool lips. The blood… Finnick forced himself to think about Mags instead, about Nana Esperanza and the first talk on rebels they'd had. She mattered, of course Paige had mattered, but she didn't matter above all else.
It was less than a minute when Pashmina let the bow fall. A second music had topped hers.
Finnick brandished his trident before him, and they all whirred in panic, all too aware that something had to be lurking inside, waiting for the right time.
Nothing happened. Just music.
It was a chorus of instruments and it was beautiful, Finnick had never heard anything like it, anything so… noble. Finnick slowly breathed again.
"A noise detector, we made enough noise to wake it," Nero said, impassive once more. "It is a ball room after all."
Noise detector? Finnick had to take his word for it. The Hunger Games were Nero's and Lupa's world, he'd just thrown himself headfirst in it.
Pashmina and Marten improvised a twirling dance, taking over the floor. Their feet moved with synchronized grace, carried by the music, and Finnick found himself a little jealous.
"The things people do for angle," Delfina muttered with an eyeroll. Finnick chuckled, but he understood the warning. Those two weren't fooling around, they were crafting their characters and were out there to win.
Something snagged at his mind until he put his finger on it. "The music. It's... it's what it should be in a ball room. If there's food, it's not going to be in kitchens, it'll be in the dining room."
From the way the others stared at him, Finnick suspected he'd said something stupid. Then Nero nodded.
"Usually, the food is brought to us," Delfina explained. "But we're far from the Capitol this year, so we should have expected something different."
It was quite different. It was a banquet, even more extravagant than the food from the train rides, it stood there, enough to feed a village, but it was also mostly stale. There was still enough to burst their stomachs, but it was all fresh, and in two days at most, it would be poison.
Finnick allowed himself to feel proud despite – No, push those thoughts away until the end of the Games, when they can fix you.
He blew a kiss at the cameras before taking the first bite, just because.
"We'd have to separate if we sleep in the rooms," Pashmina said. "Shall we take some mattresses and bunk up?" Somehow, she managed to make it sound naughty.
"We'll sleep here," Lupa said, her voice sharp and commanding. "Nero and I will get mattresses and covers, you help us get them through the window. We'll then destroy the stairs to avoid being surprised."
Finnick saluted, and he bit back a grin when he realized Delfina had done the same.
Lupa all but rolled her eyes.
There were nine cannons that night. Districts Twelve, Three and Seven had lost both their tributes, and Finnick found himself crying and feeling like a hypocrite for it. None of the others said anything, Delfina just sat next to him, her knee brushing against his leg.
When night had fallen, revealing a sea of stars in the sky, Finnick realized that no matter how exhausted, he could never sleep tonight. Paige, the promise he'd made to Mags, the danger… It mixed in his mind, clawed at his insides, and he was grateful he had managed to swallow anything down.
"Who knows ghost stories? I know loads of good ghost stories," Delfina said cheerfully. "How many people do you think lived here? How many died?"
"I intend to sleep until my shift," Nero replied coolly.
"I'm in," Marten said, flashing Delfina a small smile. "Always loved a good story. Pashmina?"
Pashmina twirled her golden-brown locks, biting her lip hesitantly. "Oh fine, but only if we get under the covers first and don't make them too gross."
Finnick almost choked. Too gross? After today? He hadn't seen what had happened in the Cornucopia, he hadn't looked back and Nero and Marten had caught the stragglers, but he hadn't needed to.
Finnick woke up in dark mood. He was warm, it was past midday, they'd let them sleep but that angered him. Now it was evening again and Finnick was going to explode.
He'd waited for the house to come alive, to reveal its threat, he'd expected to chase down the other tributes, but instead they were playing a dull and deadly game of hide and seek.
"Okay, theoretically speaking, why don't we block the exits and set fire to the first floor of each building?" Finnick said. "Then we'll just have to find those who were outside."
"You can't do that, it's hundreds of years old!" Marten spluttered.
"Come off it," Delfina said. "There are thousands like it, but there's only one of each of us."
"Hungry for blood, Kid?" Nero said with arched eyebrows.
"You'd rather be here than in the Capitol?" Finnick replied angrily, his grip tight on his trident. "What are you waiting for? For the weaker tributes to become beasts before you gut them? They don't have the muscle, but right now they have a clear mind and dignity. Let's at least give them the chance to show that."
All the Games Finnick had seen were slow in the couple of days after the bloodbath. There was maybe a reason, but Finnick couldn't stand slow. Time would gnaw at his mind and body, it would tear at his resolve. He couldn't afford it and he knew his Ma wouldn't sleep, and Mags wouldn't rest, until he was out. Time was everyone's enemy.
"The arena is small. If the fire spreads, we are all roasting within the forcefield's boundaries," Lupa said, her tone obvious indication of what she thought of his suggestion.
"True, we must find something else then," Finnick said. "We don't need to learn the layout of the arena by heart before we do something."
"By all means, Finnick," Nero said in dangerous tones. "Don't follow us incompetents, you know better, do go out to score kills."
That shut Finnick up, but inside he was fuming.
As they explored the richly furnished third floor's master chambers, Finnick felt the cramp before it happened. Pashmina chuckled when he stumbled, gritting his teeth. He forced his calf muscle to stretch, using his trident as a crutch. Within minutes he could walk again, it was barely an ache, just tightness. He should have drunk more water, but they couldn't afford to.
His body had betrayed him. In the tiniest way, but it was the beginning. He didn't have any time to waste.
Delfina had spent a day teaching him the signs and she saw Finnick's signal, it took all her training not to gawk.
Mags let those around her breathe in her expensive Immortelle perfume. She paraded through the crowd in a straight Elysia purple dress made of gaze and pearls. It had taken but a cursory glance at the clothes designed for seniors' haute-couture that Elysia's dresses were the only ones she could stomach to wear.
She held Roman Majeski's arm, and how proud he looked. His brother was one of their best allies in the Capitol, but Roman was the wealthy one, the one with a powerful name who enjoyed to be seen in good company with victors.
It wasn't the first year that Mags became a walking brand for Capitol firms, but usually it was more subtle, foulards or shoes. She'd participated to a scripted anti-drugs conference with Nori on the 33rd and used the money for Seeder, and Gilly had been saved by her short-term partnership with a pharmaceutical company.
And for Finnick, Mags' best efforts had paid for half the trident before the Games, and she had made almost as much in the last couple of days. Popularity attracted more popularity, and Mags had more money to spend for him than she made in a year. She dared not feel too confident, the price of gifts were rigged and Finnick was restless. Her chest tight, she silently begged him to be careful.
She reset her useless Rogue sunglasses as they threatened to slide off her forehead.
Compared to prostitution, it seemed such a small price to pay, but Mags knew that it was how the chipped at their individuality, turning them into fashion advertisements, into courtesans.
Mags came more expensive than many, she was exclusive, she turned down sponsoring offers that almost any other mentor would have begged for and that reputation of incorruptibility and dignity made her a high prized target.
When Mags saw an old man with a silver twirling mustache staring at her, Mags gently turned Roman towards him.
"Ah, of course, this is Lucian Gemini, patron of the Historical Museum, he helped design the arena, I was told," despite his offhand voice, Roman sounded quite proud at having been told.
"I would sponsor Marten from One," Lucian mused,"if only because we do share the same sensibilities, but your great nephew…"
"As rude as always, and ridiculously alive," Mags replied, her eyes pausing on the gorgeous woman by his side. She was maybe forty-five, which made her half his age. "You my dear, are stunning," she said with a smile.
"Good genes and a healthy life," Lucian replied with a smirk, "and love of course," he added, somewhat sarcastically.
The smirk the woman returned made Mags suspect that maybe, just maybe, Lucian had found someone who could genuinely like him.
"You two are well acquainted," Roman said, puzzled by their familiarity.
"This enchanting, but undeniably clever man," Mags allowed, "was Four's escort up to the first quarter quell."
"I didn't know," Roman exclaimed with a smile, "how exciting."
Lucian bowed his head, before turning back to her. "Mags, if Finnick does make it, I would bring Cereus to One with you during the victory tour. I happen to have the same doctor as a former Colonel you're fond of."
Valerian? Mags' face fell. He was unwell? She shouldn't be so surprised, but the words were painful to hear. She would bring Cereus then, they'd play the family card, the crowds would lap it up and Snow would jump on the occasion to have Cereus under camera surveillance for two weeks.
"Peacekeepers from the Districts have healthcare benefits?" Roman said, taken aback.
"When they rank Colonel or General, they do. It used to be Major too under President Achlys," Lucian said. "Keeping the army happy is important."
"Of course," Roman agreed. "Will you introduce us to your lady friend?"
"Of course: Angerona, financial lawyer," Lucian said with a predatory smile, "working directly for Justice Blueblood."
Angerona gave them a tight lipped smile. She was well aware of the frightening power the Minister's name held and seemed to relish in it.
Mags was mildly enjoying watching Roman both stiffen and seize the chance to weave stronger bonds with a potentially invaluable ally, when the sight of Seeder made her blanch.
Seeder never came to sponsor events. She had a fiery righteousness to her, and she preferred to save her family than risk insulting a Capitolite to save a tribute. And as she was from Eleven, there were many who were eager to provoke her. Mags was hardly a model of sacrifice when it came to finding sponsors, she just had it much easier because she mentored Careers, she would never judge Seeder.
"Finnick turned on the Careers," Seeder said breathlessly.
Mags' heart skipped a beat. On the second night?
Lucian sighed. "Fine, I'll sponsor Finnick." His lips twitched. "Roman, we are privileged, not a word before the airing, or the Gamemakers will be upset."
"Excuse me." Mags rushed back to the mentors' tower.
Finnick lay on his back, perfectly still, his eyes closed.
Sleep wouldn't come. He'd watched them fall, Lupa, Pashmina, Marten, turning their brains off as if it was nothing. Delfina and Nero remained wide awake, but only because it was their guard turn.
He silently lifted his hand to his hair, who still fell 'just so' - as Rose fancied saying -, thanks to expensive Capitol gel.
For a minute, he thought Delfina would ignore him and he wouldn't be surprised because surely, he was mad, but then she spoke.
"Did you hear that?" She whispered nervously, standing up. "Like an echo, it was odd."
Nero stood up and followed her gaze, still a mere yard from them, but his back was now to Finnick.
Victory's Herald was in his hand. Finnick rose in one fluid movement, embedding the glistening weapon in flesh and kidneys. The shock took away Nero's ability to scream, as Finnick knew it would, but the noise had already woken the others.
Delfina's knife was in Lupa's chest before she could breathe. Lupa rolled to the ground, breaking for the door, too wounded to fight back, but very much alive.
Bone twisted and snapped as Finnick janked his trident out. He didn't bother to turn yet, instead he slammed the hilt in Pashmina's face, tightening his hold on the shaft as he felt bone shatter. He swiftly whirred around and kicked the knife out of a disoriented Pashmina's hand. He lunged and the three double-edged prongs pierced through her ribcage.
Desperate to end her chafing screams, Finnick pushed with all his might. Pashmina's chest exploded, skin turning inside out and as her ribs and shot out. Finnick dropped the trident in horror, jumping backwards.
No, no no no no!
A sickening crack had him whirl. He stopped when he saw only Delfina standing, clutching the door.
She'd thrown all her weight against the heavy wooden door, crashing the edge into Lupa's head and leaving her broken on the floor.
Finnick turned again when he remembered there was a fourth.
"Too late, I'm well awake," Marten said, backed away against the wall with knives in both hands. "The moment's gone. We're allies still, we must be."
Finnick balled his empty fists. Terror was the only thing keeping him focused, overtaking the urge to flee or to be ill as every fiber of his being rebelled.
Pashmina, he was a butcher. He'd seen better looking carcasses. What had he done?
"I can kill any one of you," Marten said, his voice unexpectedly level. "I wouldn't manage to kill you both and even if I did, I'd be doubtless wounded and without an ally on the third day. It's suicide." He lowered his knives when Finnick remained rooted on the spot. "Happy Hunger Games," Marten said with a dark smile. "I don't expect loyalty nor will I mourn them." Marten gestured at Delfina. "Look at her, Finnick."
Delfina had slunk on the floor behind the door, her face in her knees. She was sobbing uncontrollably.
Finnick swallowed in bitter fear. A weak Delfina came as a blow, it wasn't possible, he didn't know what to do. He suddenly whirred back, realizing he'd just turned his back to Marten long enough to be dead thrice over and with Delfina so upset - Marten was just looking at them both.
"It's not just death. She killed at the cornucopia, her mind is strong and she kept her cheer this far. If it's not Lupa, it's something with the door." Something fierce entered Marten's eyes. "You're her friend, act like it."
Reality shifted, the stench of blood, the ringing echo of Pashmina's screams and the horrible vision of her mutilated body, the slime of death coating his hands and soul, they were brushed away as Finnick watched Delfina slowly dry her tears, her black eyes swirling with emotions usually veiled by the angle. She was alive, she mattered so much more than the dead or his own churning feelings. It was his turn to be strong, and he wouldn't fail her.
Finnick retrieved his trident and their packs. He took Delfina's hand and helped her up.
"You turn my messy impulsive plans into well executed plot twists. You are brilliant," he said forcefully. "Let's leave."
"The food had gone bad anyway…" Marten muttered as they abandoned the corpses in the dining room.
"I can walk," Delfina said.
Finnick hadn't let go of her hand. He didn't want to. "So can I," he replied.
Delfina spared a fearful look at Marten. He was so very rational, to accept how unpersonal their betrayal was, to ask for a truce rather than risking a wound. He would ride on their emotional fragility, confident they would not kill again so soon.
And right was he. Delfina's mind was so far from the Games she could barely think.
Jetson, stupid and screaming, a mess of drool and filth who'll never learn better. It drove a knife in her stomach every time Delfina saw him. He'd been cute and smiling and perfect until the day he ran behind a door, a door Delfina, barely a year older, slammed open. Jetson hit his head so hard he didn't wake for days. They'd been bickering over something stupid and Delfina had meant to hurt him.
Delfina stumbled and had it not been for Finnick's hand she would have tripped over the carpet.
"Don't rush. We're not abandoning you," Finnick said. "Marten, open the way, but please stay in sight."
Jetson who took everything they had and never gave anything back, not even a smile. Delfina would have been so happy just to have a tenth of the attention their parents gave her broken brother. She knew why they had no time for her: she'd killed Jetson, the real Jetson. Murderers didn't deserve loving parents.
Delfina tried so hard to make up for it, to be quiet and calm and responsible.
'You're great help, Delfi.' They said it often enough, but with shaky smiles that betrayed that they secretely hated her. She did everything they asked. She hid her feelings. She never bothered them with questions. She didn't want to add to the trouble. They had trouble enough.
Delfina had tried to be perfect at school, and the teachers had smiled and said proud words and made her glow like a hearthfire. The other kids had teased her for it, but worse, most of them just didn't care.
"Why did you volunteer?" Finnick whispered as they locked themselves into a sitting room and opened the window for fresh air.
'Why did you train?' Delfina heard.
Marten had gone for the books on the other side of the room, one hand still clutching a knife. He had two supply bags. They wouldn't have to make a return trip.
"Were you a… troublemaker?" He asked.
Delfina laughed. A brittle chuckle. Such irony! but how could Finnick Odair of all people ever understand?
She'd run away, at nine, to see how it would go. Trouble got you in trouble, but it got you attention, it had parents ask why and sit you down and have a talk.
After four hours in the dark, walking streets she barely knew, she'd been caught by peacekeepers. The peacekeepers knocking on the door had woken Jetson, who'd started screaming and screaming. Her parents, exhausted themselves as they tried to soothe Jetson with loving words only shook their heads at her.
'You're such a well-behaved girl, Delfi, I don't know what got into you. Don't ever lead a peacekeeper to this house again. Life's hard enough as it is.'
And it was her fault. Her parents barely looked at her. They didn't hug her. Delfina barely remembered how that felt.
She became quiet and perfect again. Her parents' smiles came back. Those fleeting smiles that on the best days came with a pat on the head or the shoulder.
Her mother fell pregnant again. Three children minimum, that was the rule. Or you paid the tax. She lost the baby, twice. Those days were awful. Delfina didn't know what to do. She tried to be no bother. Then, when Delfina was seven, Anemone was born. Anemone was perfect. Anemone got all the attention that could be spared. Anemone was scared of Delfina, and Delfina was scared too. It hadn't been her fault! But she couldn't help it. She didn't want to hurt Anemone by accident.
Delfina was trapped in this world she was invisible. School got worse. She wanted so hard to please, to have friends, but the others could see that she was pitiful. They knew what she'd done. That she was a monster. People barely talked to her, and often to taunt. She desperately wished to fit in, but she didn't even know where to start, what to say. She couldn't remember the last time she'd held an actual conversation with anybody.
She was ten the first time she hurt herself. Such an odd feeling, like a jolt through her whole body. A reminder she was alive. She didn't stop. She soon got caught, her upper leg a mess. "Why do you do this to us?" Her father shouted. "We can barely afford food, why do you make us pay for the doctor?"
Delfina just couldn't get anything right. She felt sick all the time. School started to go badly. Soon Delfina started to wonder, if the world wouldn't be better without her in it.
"No. I was no troublemaker," Delfina finally told Finnick. "I was the perfect little girl so long that I became invisible."
Finnick nodded, so handsome and attentive, but Delfina wondered if Finnick Odair could ever grasp what it was to be ignored.
"You're certain none of yours could take her in? She's out of control," her mother had whispered one night, thinking Delfina couldn't hear.
"No, you... you don't know what you're saying... I'll get her to behave." The exhaustion in Dad's voice hurt more than a blade.
Usually grandparents, great-uncles or aunts took care of children while people her parents' age worked, but some families just didn't have anybody suitable. On mom's side they hadn't been many to begin with, and they were dead. On dad's side, they were... bad. Dad refused to speak of them.
And yet Mom had been thinking to make Delfina go with them.
"I met Mags in Lycorias when I was eleven," Delfina added. "It changed everything."
There had been this big peacekeeper, tall and angry, his hand raised at a boy barely older than her. Delfina had shrunk into the wall to disappear.
'You little bastard,' he snarled. 'I knew it'd be only a matter of time until I caught you. You made it all too easy.'
'Stand down, Soldier. We've got this.'
The voice was calm and yet so strong. It came from a woman, a shapely, fresh-faced old woman with long white hair and a flowing dress like none Delfina had ever seen for real. Her breath hitched as she recognized victor Mags.
'He's one of mine now, officer. He's headed for FLASH,' Mags said.
'Ah, so the little bastard's weaseling his way out?' The peacekeeper said, with the evil sneer of those who didn't care about anyone or anything. 'You thought you'd say a little goodbye by defacing my wall?'
'He's a twelve-year-old offered a new chance at life,' Mags said. 'We enforce our rules and when they come out, they serve Panem. District Two is hardly a stranger to the concept.'
Again there was nothing harsh about Mags' voice, just words said in a clear tone, but something changed in the man's face. He cuffed the boy and stepped back. Delfina gaped. She couldn't understand back then. Peacekeepers never stepped back, especially when they were in the right. The boy had been wrecking stuff, and not for the first time.
There had been other women behind Mags, victors, and they seemed to orbit around Mags, as if they would make no sense if she wasn't there to lead them.
"Everyone seemed drawn to her. I envied her so much it hurt," Delfina whispered. Finnick's green eyes didn't stray off her face. He didn't press or show signs of impatience. No wonder people confided it him. It was so easy to protect him, when his gratefulness burned you to the core.
Delfina hadn't been able to name the feeling of panic and wonder that took her when Mags turned to her instead of just walking past. It was just a 'Hello, what's your name?', but it hit her like a shock.
She'd blurted the words out, hurrying before Mags would realize she had much better to do than waste her time with her. 'Delfina Reeves, I'm eleven. That was amazing, how you protected him.'
Mags smiled. There was no exhaustion. No hesitation.
'It is a strange hour to go to the market, Delfina Reeves,' Mags said, her eyes flickering to Delfina's empty bags.
She noticed, she asked, and Delfina would have said anything to keep the attention on her. 'It's... I go to the lagoon. The sailors dump the fish waste in the deep waters, currents wash some fish up and I feed the cats.' Some of the stray cats let themselves be petted. It felt nice, the soft fur. 'I... I'm trying to make them less feral. I...'
She'd been cutting school. Just last year, it'd have been unthinkable, but now just the thought of going made Delfina want to throw up. Now Mags would tell her off.
'That's clever. You know, some people in the Capitol keep pets. You could make an industry out of it. What else do you like doing, Delfina?' Mags said, gesturing her along as they started walking again. 'Listen, Clifford,' she told the boy she'd rescued from the peacekeeper, 'memory is an important thing to cultivate and every person you'll meet has something interesting to share.'
"I had four pairs of eyes on me, four people, three victors, and hanging to my every word," Delfina smiled at the memory. The awe hadn't faded during the years. "I thought my heart would burst."
Of course, Delfina knew now that Mags' words about the pet industry had just been a kindness, an encouragement to get her to talk. Something in Delfina had triggered Mags' instinct to probe.
The day after she'd met Mags, Delfina went back to school. She had one question. Who goes to FLASH?
By the time she was twelve, she'd made herself good enough. Her parents hadn't been happy. "You've got work to do here! How ungrateful, after everything we've sacrificed because of you!" Always angry, always complaining, never asking after her. Delfina had known she hated her life. After meeting Mags, she'd realized she could do better. When her father hit her, Delfina threatened to write Mags. She finally understood, what power meant, when it worked. She still had that letter. The letter Mags had written back saying she promised to come when Delfina was twelve to see her.
Mags didn't let her parents keep her. Delfina probably would have killed herself if Mags had.
Mags gave Delfina to Instructor Lowbridge. He was nosy, questioning her actions and motives like no-one ever had before. Forcing her to talk, to listen to her own feelings. Delfina loved him and silently thanked Mags every morning and every night, for giving her a chance to matter.
"So you're helping me, because you feel you owe Mags," Finnick said, there was a ghost of disappointment in his tone, but mostly guilt.
Idiot boy, Delfina thought affectionately. She felt better now, enough to notice Marten had slipped something from the book shelves under his clothes.
"Finnick, someone has to volunteer. I... I'm saving people, I'm important. I," she took a shaky breath, "I don't care to live if it's to be pathetic."
"You wouldn't be pathetic if you won. You'd not have been pathetic even if you'd not volunteered."
Delfina imagined their gaze sliding over her if she returned in Finnick's stead. She'd rather die.
"But I am the volunteer." Delfina had to bite her lip to keep sudden anger from making her too loud. "I'm choosing this," she whispered furiously. He didn't get to take it away. "There were many times I could have slowed down and they'd have chosen somebody else. I didn't. I'm going to make you win, because you're going to make it mean something." Year after year, at FLASH, she'd been so scared of failing, of being cast away. Of being nobody again. Now, Mags, the most powerful person in Four, trusted her to save Finnick.
Delfina leaned into him, taking comfort from his warmth. "You have to trust me."
Finnick's eyes were hard as steel. He wasn't a man yet, but Delfina knew he was the kind of person she wanted to see with power.
Mags heard every word. At this hour, with the arena so quiet, it was just her and Seeder. She didn't dare go in the Career mentors' room before the morning.
"Do you know why he attacked them so soon?" Seeder hesitantly asked. "It's against every code."
"Finnick doesn't know the codes," Mags whispered. "He wants it to be over."
Against every code, and on the first watch… they had been sleeping a little too deeply, dead because they'd needed that handful of extra seconds to gather their wits and realize Finnick and Delfina had done the unthinkable.
"You aren't surprised."
"By what Delfina said? No, I know her." She knew them all. "She is gifted, but she finds her self-worth exclusively in the eyes of others." Mags swallowed painfully. "I'm surprised Finnick kills so surely, but I am not sure I would have been any worse at his age." Just less good with a trident.
But Mags had lived a war, she'd been touched by death before she could write, the values of the rebellion had been drilled into her before she understood what half those words had meant. Life had been cheaper then.
"I think it runs in the family," Seeder whispered.
Mags turned to her. "What?"
"Indomitable will."
So there you are, the first part of Finnick's Games. I won't deny young Finnick is a difficult character to write.
Please review^^