As always, thanks for everyone who reviewed. We've come a long way. Book 5: now things are getting serious and Snow has better watch his back!^^
I give you Annie, and her Hunger Games.
Year 70, April, three weeks after Mags' stroke.
"It'll take a second Cataclysm to finish you," Brutus said with a rough chuckle, his eyes heavy with concern.
Laughter filtered through the windows; children playing outside. Victors' Village had never been so animated. Mags couldn't go in town so Finnick and Chelsea had brought the town to her. Ever since her right leg had started responding again, Mags dragged herself every morning into the rocking armchair. Even eating was a chore and she'd lost a frightening amount of weight, but she was alive, and recovering, and she refused to feel sorry for herself. Not at her age.
"Are you suitably pampered?" Lyme said, her lips set in a stern line. "I'll string up and spank anyone who's not doing their share."
"Get in line," Lorelei huffed from the corridor, pushing a cart of groceries with Finnick into the kitchen.
Mags stubbornly forced a smile on her stiff cheeks. She grasped both their hands, her hold as weak as a kitten's. Her incredible Plutarch had managed to keep his promise. The Twos had been the first victors cleared to visit and Mags was extremely glad to see them, if only because they were much too Career let pity into their eyes.
She saw how their gaze darted out the windows to the playing children, how they stopped on Lorelei, trying to reconcile the sight with the walled Village of Two, where no outsiders walked and mentor-tribute relationships was the most intimate bond there was; of them all, only Gunnar, victor of the twelfth Games, had married and had children.
The words wouldn't form, Mags tried every day, but they came out garbled and nonsense, worse, she'd caught herself answering in Spanish on occasion. Progress was so mind-numbingly, excruciatingly slow. Sign language was her lifeline, but with Lyme and Brutus, she was limited to smiles and stiff gestures, and it frustrated her to no end.
She was unspeakably lucky to have had the stroke in the Capitol, in front of people who'd immediately recognized the symptoms. Had it happened in Four…
Mags' smile broadened as Lyme made another threat. She was pampered indeed.
Gloss and Cashmere sauntered in five days later, wearing sun glasses and asking where they could find sunscreen.
"I'm so hitting the beach," Cashmere said, dramatically throwing her blonde locks backwards. She crouched next to Mags, worry entering her eyes. "Finn's going to have to mentor for real," she said softly. "Should we force him to stay with us or will he want to cozy up with the outliers? Who's going with him?"
Mags scribbled a Gilly on the paper before her. Nori was growing too old, and Chelsea could not handle Finnick if he set his mind on taking a bad decision.
Don't let him beg, she painstakingly wrote. Keep him with you.
All victors mingled to an extent, tributes died and nights were slow, and even during the day only a fraction of the time was spent in front of the large screens. The mentors all carried portable screens to sponsor events. Capitolites had stopped trying to grab those when taking a peak of the live broadcast had been punished with a fine high enough to bankrupt most of them.
"Don't worry, little boy's one of us," Gloss said, with a protectiveness that made Mags breathe more easily. "Can we really go swimming without risk?"
Mags hit the loud metal bell next to her chair. Gilly soon appeared and Mags gestured towards her.
"This is the occasion of a lifetime. We're going for a swim!" Gloss announced brightly, his arm around his sister's shoulders. "Have you swimsuits or shall we go naked?" He said with a cocky flirtatious smile.
"You're shameless," Gilly said with an eyeroll. "I'll grab Finn, he's reading that Capitol encyclopedia on strokes for the fifth time. He needs to see some sunlight."
Mags waved them away, wanting them to have some fun.
Year 70, Late April, Creneis Town.
Finnick stopped in his tracks when he saw the… the mob of young children in Victors' Village. It seemed every child between eight and eleven was there. His frown deepened when he saw some of his old school teachers among the crowd. Every child between eight and eleven was there.
They were there with wildflowers, putting them on every wall, along every path. A wonderful scent filled the air, and Finnick chuckled. His chuckles froze when he recognized the girl next to the wheelbarrow full of bunches of flowers, ordering the children about.
Annie Cresta smiled at him, as if the last time he'd seen her hadn't been three years ago, as if he hadn't vanished without a trace, fleeing her like the plague because he knew he'd see her die.
Finnick manned up and went to see her. "Your idea, Annie?"
"Convincing the teachers wasn't hard," she said, her smile broadening.
Finnick tried to return her smile, but his throat was too constricted for it to be genuine. She was so cute with her straight fringe and that little-girl long hair, so unnervingly delicate for a Career despite the power Finnick knew those swimming arms had. She had grown taller, but so had Finnick, and the top of her head barely reached his neck. Her wide pale green eyes weren't as dreamy as Finnick remembered, but they remained soft and sparkling with happiness at the merry chaos around her.
"They all like, Mags," Annie continued merrily, "and nobody dislikes picking pretty flowers."
"Where's Barnacle?" Finnick said, desperate for small talk.
Annie met his eyes, and suddenly they were harder. "Two months, then it's the Games. I'm not supposed to be out."
Finnick's eyes widened. Of course, how could he forget that? "You gave the Instructors the slip?"
Annie grabbed his wrist with both her hands. "Finnick, you're going to be mentoring us. Mags can't, and we need your help," she said, those pale eyes burning into his. "I can run and fight and snatch sleep in odd places probably better than you can, but you know the Capitol."
Finnick swallowed, the smell of flowers invading his lungs as he breathed. Mags would love them.
He couldn't look away from Annie's pleading eyes.
What would he even teach them, two months from the Games? They'd trained so much more than he had. He'd had Delfina and a purpose, and he didn't see how he could give them that.
"How did she do it?" Annie asked, flinty determination hardening her face. She took Finnick's hand and lead him away from the children, to the cliffs. "Delfina, how was she able to protect you that well? I'm scared, Finnick, but don't you ever tell Barnacle, he can't know."
"You want me to protect Barnacle as long as he's alive, and care for you second?" Finnick said, his mouth dry. He really wasn't ready for this conversation.
Annie looked down, her scowl deep. Finnick swallowed. Unlike Delfina, Annie couldn't look dangerous. Unless she went for dreamy and psychotic, then maybe – Finnick winced, what the hell was he thinking?
"I'm his partner, the older one," Annie finally said. "He saved my life and he's paying for it. So yes, maybe I'll be selfish in there, but if I am, and I save myself instead of him, it'll be my choice and my fault. Please respect that."
"I promise," Finnick said. He repeated it when he managed to look at her in the eye.
Annie smiled, a beautiful grateful smile, and Finnick swore he was going to train the crap out of Barnacle because there was no way she was doing this for nothing.
They just stood there, looking out at the ocean, letting the sun warm their skins. As the silence lengthened, Finnick stole a look at Annie.
She had an odd, wistful smile on her lips. "We used to talk to Mom," Annie said, her eyes on the rolling waves below. "I know now that it's ridiculous, she was dead, but I have these memories, of conversations, with Mom and Dad. I remember being so sure she was in the room." She chuckled faintly. "I'm sure that if we could contact Delfina and your Uncle Cereus, they'd have only good things to say."
Finnick's throat constricted. "They didn't really show it, in the Districts, but when Delfina and I neared the end, I asked them, for two victors. I'd really hoped -" It still burned. "She was strong and cheerful throughout. She stuck with my plans. It saved my life more than all my training."
He wondered if Annie could be that for Barnacle. But it hadn't just been Delfina, it had been Mags, giving him a reason to come back, promising he would make a difference in the world. And it had been the loyalty the victors had for Mags that had given him Victory's Herald.
He hadn't been in the Capitol since Mags had had her stroke. He desperately tried to be the person Mags needed this time, especially with Uncle Cereus –
Finnick clenched his fists.
Cereus, who'd always been stern, who'd forced him to be more than a pretty boy who got his way with big smiles back when even Mags spoiled him like the others. So many things Cereus could still have taught him, and now Finnick would never have those conversations again.
Annie put a hand on his arm. "They'll grant two victors one day."
Finnick lips twitched bitterly. "It'd take a miracle. Look, last year Wader was reaped with his friend's fiancée and everyone wanted them to have their happy ending, until she died, then she didn't matter anymore. It's like Obsidian from One, three years ago. " The first openly gay and flamboyant tribute ever and Gloss had been extremely keen on getting him out alive for reasons Finnick knew all too well. Finnick had helped as he could, mostly making Lyme and Brutus uncomfortable enough to sabotage their own sponsoring efforts.
"That twelve-year-old was amazing for a kid," Finnick said. "She was clever and stayed funny and she had the showmanship instinct of a Career. Obsidian made an excellent strategic decision by pairing up with her in the last six. They'd love a little kid to win, and even better if they could win and be innocent, to soften the blow, add a refreshing twist. But it doesn't happen."
Annie gave him a small smile. "It will happen," she said confidently. "Being good makes you feel good and Capitolites want to feel good. That's why they make themselves so pretty and they try so hard to have fun. You must be really popular, in the Capitol."
Finnick cringed. Yeah, he was popular. He was astounded Annie hadn't heard the rumors, unless she was being extremely tactful.
"Yes."
"That's good, that means they'll listen." Annie said, grasping her arm once more. "You could try and teach them, to be good."
Finnick bit back a weary sigh. His first reaction was to find her quite naive, but it was just her phrasing because she'd nailed a very profound truth. Capitolites wanted to feel good. They feared boredom, isolation, they craved approval and popularity, but it all stemmed from the same fundamental need: feel loved and useful. Except a third of the Capitol, and most socialites, had no job and too much money, so they followed the trends like sheep and then wondered why it wasn't enough. They'd not been taught to love or be good friends; they'd only been taught they deserved love. And then they wondered why they felt lonely…
"I don't know how to motivate them," Finnick admitted, swallowing back sarcasm. He'd gotten some things done, having an analyst volunteer in jails because she was depressed about her usual clients, getting a man to reconnect with his brother despite peer pressure, but it was so minor, in the grand scheme of things. "And I think trying to be good, accepting what good is would make them feel very guilty at first."
"Does a child feel guilty when their parent teaches them right from wrong?"
"Annie, they're adults, they should already know."
Annie shook her head. "They're children. They're blind and selfish. I outgrew pretty dresses. I used to cry when my clothes weren't nice. I still like pretty dresses, but I don't feel horrible without them anymore. And I don't feel horrible that I use to love them."
Finnick cracked a smile. "You didn't hurt anyone with your dresses."
Annie smiled, a small melancholic smile that made Finnick want to hug her. "Finnick, dresses don't buy themselves. That was money that Daddy couldn't spend on other stuff. He sacrificed himself because it was important for me. I did hurt him, even if he didn't mind."
Finnick winced. Insensitive idiot, he'd always been wealthy.
"If we figure it out, what they really want," Annie said forcefully, "maybe I can win with Barnacle."
A shiver ran up Finnick's spine. Maybe, and then Snow would kill them both for turning the Capitol against him.
"You need to make little things entertaining, to be lovable when you just feel miserable and scared. The Capitol loves the upbeat ones," Finnick said, his mouth drying as he remembered his own lessons and the masks he'd seen the Careers expertly wear over the years, "or the ones that are driven by powerful emotion, vengeance, purpose… But the Gamemakers also love to see those crash and they have so many ways to do it."
He took a deep breath. He couldn't walk away. "I'll help you, Annie. I'll help you both."
Year 70, June, ten weeks after Mags' stroke
Mags laughed. A wispy laugh that illuminated her whole face.
She had the strength to whack Woof with that book hard enough to have him playfully back off.
Crochet. He'd brought her a book on knitting.
"It's a great exercise for your fingers," Woof said with a straight face. "Old ladies do crochet and give wise advice. They don't run about on a motorcycle."
"You… came," Mags managed, amazed Eight had gotten permission.
She'd had a well-wishing letter from Beetee, signed by Wiress, Mercury and Aster, and a pile of unintentionally informative ones from Capitol acquaintances, but no visits in a month.
"You know that pearl cross of yours? We made a banner of fabrics with all the names of the victims, a different piece of cloth for each of them. Heard the Capitol's flags were down in mourning so we thought we'd make a flag of our own. Snow, for some reason," Woof said with a grimace, "thought our gesture was more self-serving and less genuine than Four's."
Mags snorted.
"But he said he preferred selfish collaborators to rebels and so we were allowed to come."
Mags pushed herself out of the chair, Woof hastily grabbed her arm, eyeing her in worry. "Mags, were's all that flesh gone? You need to put on weight, take supplements. Skinny's dangerous at our age."
Mags patted his cheek with a thin smile. She didn't want to discuss her health. She was slowly getting better, and that was all she allowed herself to focus on.
"We?" She said. Woof, hard of hearing with age, frowned before getting her meaning.
"Cecelia's right outside with Charles and the baby girl, giving them a tour of the Village. Rumors are still going rampant over who the father is; or if it's fathers. Plutarch hinted she may have a Capitol lover. He's good at deflecting even if he remains one of the prime suspects. Usual drama," Woof said with a smile. "She's been on a show destined for single mothers, but you were right, she's being given no trouble as long as she allows them to fuss over her and broadcast her life in the whole Capitol."
Mags didn't have to wait long before a stocky three-year-old with wavy dark-brown hair and his mother's gray eyes walked in, craning his neck to get a good look at everything.
"It's so green," little Charles said, his eyes wide in awe. "I want birds and cats at home too," he said, looking at his mother with undisguised hope.
"Want to get closer to the ocean, Champ?" Woof said.
Charles shook his head. "It's scary. It's scary!" He repeated, louder, when Woof frowned.
Charles shot his mother a questioning look, biting his lips in excitement. "We practiced, want to hear them now?" He asked Mags with adorable decorum.
Mags smiled, her eyebrows rising in question.
"As you've been increasingly interested in traditional songs in the last years, I thought to spare you the awkward condolences and you are so brave, Mags speeches," Cecelia said with a grin, a month old newborn strapped to her chest. "I taught myself and Charles all the nice songs I could find."
Mags grinned, inviting them to sit down with a sweeping gesture.
"Both beautiful," Mags said, a flash of annoyance crossing her eyes at how the full sentence in her mind had been chopped despite her efforts at enunciation.
And Cecelia was, but not in the striking way of her youth. She was a woman now, a mother of two, and unlike the ageless beauties from One, Cecelia had aged, but in a natural and wholesome way that made Mags want to pinch her cheeks and congratulate her once more.
Soon Woof couldn't resist and joined Charles and Cecelia in his loud, off-key voice. Baby Victoria began to wail. Woof looked horribly offended, and Mags hadn't laughed so much since Cereus had passed away.
Maybe the stroke hadn't been such a curse. Her first reaction had been panic: her body had given up on her, she wouldn't mentor, maybe never again. What use would she be now? During those first weeks, Mags had battled against creeping depression, struggling to follow the doctor's instructions, to go easy on herself.
But as Mags was forced to be a watcher, dependent, she listened like she had never before, allowing people to take care of her, and often was pleasantly surprised by how they handled everything. And while this disability angered her so much at times, while the fear her recovery would stop one day and she'd realize it was the best she would get, it wasn't the little death she had feared it would be.
Year 70, June, three months after Mags' stroke.
"Do I tell her?" Gilly said from the kitchen.
"You should," Lorelei said, "Seeder is not in danger, it's not blackmail. If Mama hates the idea of Capitolites seeing her like this too much, she'll refuse."
Mags had wanted to surprise Gilly by walking to her house. She was still a good twenty pounds lighter than she'd been before Cereus' death, but she'd been shapely then, and she felt much stronger than she had in days.
She knocked on the open window, making the two conspiring women jump.
Tell me what? Her arched eyebrows said.
An expression of utmost horror descended on Gilly's face, "Mags, you can't be out unsupervised –"
"Anda ya! » Mags snapped, biting her lips when she realized the words had slipped out in Spanish.
"That's an irritated 'Come on,'" Lorelei translated with a wry smile.
Gilly forced the window completely open and climbed outside with an agility Mags envied.
She grabbed Mags' shoulders and sighed. "You can stand and walk around… Maybe we can cut out 'yes' 'no' and 'it's more complicated than that' cards you can use for the interview.
Mags poked Gilly. What interview?
Lorelei had made it around the house. "We received a letter from Seeder, saying she's allowed to visit but only with a Capitol journalist. The doctors want your written consent though and they'll be sending a doctor along for a progress checkup. It seems Plutarch has managed to get the Capitol fierce about your well-being."
"The price of the shares on Four's goods must have plummeted after that stroke," Gilly said with a smirk.
Mags' lips twitched. 'Why were you hesitating?' She signed slowly. Her right arm was still less responsive than the left, but at least everything moved roughly as it should. She was well enough for an interview.
"Because they want Finnick to go back with Seeder. Obviously, he's going back to the Capitol, but we were thinking we could keep him away from the lion's den a few weeks longer."
'He's been mentoring', Mags signed, still cross. Finnick was torturing himself over Annie, and Mags wasn't sure it was hurting him less than the Capitol.
Mags, I'll help them, it's just angle training. They want to win together, but that'll get them killed quickly or get us in trouble. What do I tell Annie? 'No, you just talk to Instructors, people who never set foot in the Capitol, until you get reaped, it'll be just fine?' I'll need to order peacekeepers to restrain her, because she'll just knock on my door until I accept. As she should, it's her life!
Annie had a lovely figure, she was sweet, she accepted not knowing things about Finnick, and if she had kept that knack for making him feel useful… Dread weighed on Mags' stomach. This was such a bad idea.
"The moment Finnick sees you'll be happy to see Seeder, he'll agree," Gilly said with a grimace. "We're not sure it's fair. But for the same reason, it's not fair to you."
Mags nodded. "Tell him," she whispered, the words as heavy to push out as the decision she was making. Finnick had proven he could handle the Capitol. Mags wasn't sure he could handle Annie Cresta, but she was too weak to force him to listen.
She allowed herself a smile at the thought of seeing Seeder. Maybe Lorelei could even drive her to the beach.
Year 70, Mid-July, Creneis Town.
Finnick yawned as the train pulled in Creneis Station. The sun had set hours ago, and he never slept enough in the Capitol.
The single lamppost cast yellow light on a petite female figure. Finnick's eyebrows shot up as he recognized Annie's long reddish-brown hair.
Finnick winced, a wry chuckle escaping his lips. Annie had no idea how connotated girl-under-lamppost-at-night was in the Capitol. His expression darkened. The betting had already started, on the arena type, the tributes, the angle the volunteers would play this year…
The parties had seemed just as crowded, maybe a little younger, people dressed a touch more cheaply as the locales tried to fill the numbers despite the final tally of two-hundred dead. Finnick would miss precious few of them, and he had cheered for Cashmere when he had seen a couple of the names. Justice.
He'd paid special attention to the year's hit shows, the bestselling novels, the fashions, aware this often inspired the Gamemakers. The previous year astronomy had been all the rage, and the moon arena was in hindsight no surprise… But the crash in the Gamemakers' Tower had seemed to dampen the Capitol's creative spirit, and Finnick hadn't found any solid leads.
He'd met Plutarch's eyes at the announcement of the sponsoring season. The man had looked so grave. Finnick hadn't seen him again and he hated the fear that look had sparked. What would it mean, for Annie and Barnacle?
Annie smiled in greeting. Finnick's heart clenched. He'd left for two weeks a month before the Hunger Games, didn't she have a resentful bone in her?
She had put on muscle since he'd started mentoring her. In isolation, the volunteers' diets changed, they were to be preoccupied by the Hunger Games day and night, strategy, physical training, squashing out the last of remorse and regret, until it twisted their minds enough to get through that month of lies and murder.
Finnick could see the rage mounting in her. The rage beneath the Four friendliness, burning less hot than the Ones' or Twos' but still present, the rage that would allow them to kill.
"Did you drug the Instructors again?" Finnick said. He'd been shocked the first time she'd told him.
"They won't even notice, not at this time of night," Annie said with an impish smile. "It's fun to imagine distractions with Barnacle when I want to leave during the day." She shrugged. "They understand that I hate being caged, they don't get too cross."
"Thanks for being my welcoming committee." He hadn't wanted Lorelei to bother this late. He knew the way. "How did you know?"
"I pay a stalker," Annie revealed smugly. She briefly squeezed Finnick's arm. "Do you want to tell me, about the Capitol?" She gave him a hopeful smile. She shrugged when he didn't answer. "I can understand you'd rather protect me. It's no fun, feeling helpless. I lie to Barnacle all the time," she said, looking unhappy but unabashed.
"Friends are equals," Finnick whispered. "You should tell him."
He'd done like Mags had said, and now there were a few guys he happily shared drinks with in the Capitol. Dominicus was a waiter, father of four, who was ridiculously refined but also refreshingly compassionate and up to date on all manners of gossip. Hannibal, a gruff bouncer, hated socialites on principle and had a wonderfully cutting sense of humor, and the last, the only one Finnick's age, was a high-end escort, an effeminate man who sold himself to enjoy a lavish lifestyle as he financed his medical studies. Antoninus Finnick liked less as a person but he admired him for his intellect and uncanny ability to explain people's behaviors. He was a walking encyclopedia on why the Capitol was so dysfunctional, and therefore invaluable.
They weren't equals at all. Finnick didn't even know why he was being hard on Annie. Maybe because he'd been at the receiving end of such protection, and despite his everlasting gratitude to Delfina, there would always remain a shadow of resentment and shame he could not shake off.
Annie frowned. "I'm not very good at friends," she admitted. She then grabbed his arm. "Come, I want to see how they smuggle the things out on the deep sea vessels like they did to feed Galene. There's one at the dock. I never got advanced sailor classes and you never know, they could have made a ghost ship arena."
Finnick stared at her, bewildered. It was past midnight, they'd have to break in and -.
"I have electric torches and picks for the locks. I won't break anything, and we should leave a note so they don't get scared if they noticed stuff was moved in the morning."
Finnick chuckled, soon grinning like a child. "Sure, let's go." He felt like one of the story rebels, who snuck in the shadows. He'd never seen the inside of the larger vessels either, and going to explore with Annie sounded ridiculously exciting. It was fun, with no stakes at all, and Finnick couldn't remember the last time that had happened.
He just took a moment to tell a peacekeeper, or Mags would send a patrol after him when he didn't come home.
They walked to the beach hand in hand. They had to, it was pitch dark, full of semi-domestic stray cats that seemed intent on tripping them, and he didn't know the town as well as he used to, but as he held onto Annie's soft fingers, Finnick was acutely conscious it was the first time in years he'd held the hand of a girl he wasn't about to sleep with.
His mouth had gone dry, and his treacherous brain suddenly wondered if this was a date. He hated himself for it, seeing ulterior motives even here. This was Annie, he'd known her since she was eleven. He was her mentor and if she came here with him it was because she had no one else, because she wanted to live before she had to pay back in blood that medicine the Capitol had granted her three years ago. But as Finnick watched her gracefully lead him to the docks, jogging through streets she knew by heart, the wind whipping her hair away from her face, he couldn't help wondering what it'd be like. A pretty, nice girl his age, a girl from home, that he could say no to, who had never pushed for answers and who always seemed happy to see him.
The sudden image of Mags' pained glare if she learned of his thoughts had him force them away.
Finnick spotted the large ship, a looming shape blacker than the night. He smiled. He needed to do weird, fun things more often. It was like being a kid again.
"After you, Milady," he said with a half-bow.
Annie giggled, removing her shoes and entering the lukewarm water.
Finnick had been in ships, at FLASH, on El Cambio, he'd inspected some with Mags as a kid, but this was a big ship. Bigger than even the whaling crafts his parents had worked on.
He sucked in a tense breath. Swallowed in the darkness, he could well imagine an arena like this. The barrels and crates, ropes, almost everything could be turned into a weapon, or hide an enemy.
"Come on," Annie said excitedly. Finnick smiled despite himself.
"There's nothing hollow," Annie said with a last knock at the wood, waving the torchlight in dismay.
"Well if we could find it, shrewd Capitol inspectors might too, right?" Finnick said, a little frustrated himself. He'd been sure the forecastle would have held a secret compartment. "It'd take just one snitch among the shipwrights…"
"Hey look," Annie said, now pointing the torch at her feet. She was rubbing her bare foot on the floor. "That's odd, it's like the wood there is more worn. There's an edge." She crouched, tracing her fingers along a line Finnick couldn't see. "Finnick," she said triumphantly, "it's a touch deeper, a quarter inch maybe, and two inches across. Check above."
Finnick ran his hand on the overhead beams, and finally found it. Annie was right, it was subtle, but there was a long strip of wood that looked made to slide something in it, right above the one on the floor.
He whistled. That was brilliant. They'd never have noticed had Annie not been barefoot. "So they just slide the fake wall in, all the parts are already at the shipwrights, they'd need twenty minutes, just pretend repairs, and then load. And then when they're done, they remove the wall and nobody notices."
Annie sat down and sighed. Her content smile turned wry. "It always ruins it a bit, when you finally learn the trick."
Her forlorn expression was so cute. Finnick smiled without even trying. He sat next to her and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry. There are still lots of mysteries to solve out there."
He choked back a laugh when he saw snatch a candle that was almost completely melted out of a lantern and pocket it. "You still collect things? You must have a huge collection now. Where do you keep them?"
"That's a secret," Annie said with a small smile. Her smile broadened. "You were quite the collector too when we were kids. Is the Capitol like FLASH, do you have them tell you all their secrets?"
Finnick shook his head ruefully before stopping dead. "How would it even work?" He muttered, putting his face his hands.
He already made them talk, carelessly revealing things they should not, but to do it upfront… It would erase the need for money, he'd have access to a wider range of people… They'd love to tell him their secrets, if there was a prize. But he wanted interesting secrets without Snow figuring out what interested him. And what of the Capitolites who would feel offended he did not deem their secrets worthy of his affections? They would just lie to get his interest, unless they didn't dare to lie, but how could he enforce that?
And Snow wouldn't be happy, if the Capitol stopped getting money for him…
"Finnick?"
"I think you just gave me an idea," Finnick said, the cogs in his brain whirring furiously. Paid it secrets. But how?
Year 70, August, Reaping Day.
Finnick let go of the second breath he'd held today. Two twelve-year-olds had stepped on that stage, their heads high, the girl twirling her dress to show it off, but Annie and Barnacle had both volunteered without a moment's hesitation.
Donna looked pale, Finnick shot her a concerned glance. She smiled tightly.
"We can still have Nori come," Finnick told Gilly as they walked towards the train. Gilly looked even more tense than Donna.
Gilly smiled at him. "I'm fine, Finnick. I hate them all. I have trouble with people, real people. They're Capitolites."
"Even Donna?"
"I don't have trouble with victors," Gilly replied with a strained smile.
Mags had told him Gilly was irrationally afraid of seeing people die, so she shied away from even the slightest connection. Gilly had had gotten too close to her last ally, and she'd had to kill him in the last two. Finnick desperately hoped no victor would ever go through that again.
"Annie", he said, stopping her before they would be under the camera's constant glare. "Annie, whatever you say, don't make it seem like there's anything, not even mentoring between us. You're Gilly's okay," he stressed. "I don't know if they'd be jealous, but I don't want to risk it."
Annie nodded, her eyes hard. "No even mentoring? You mean there's more than mentoring?" She said with a faint smile.
Finnick squeezed her hand. "Of course, you're closer to a friend."
Annie smiled, the hardness in her expression vanishing for an instant. "Be brave, Finnick. I'll be too."
Finnick found Gilly looking at them and saw pity in her eyes. He looked away.
How does Mags do it? She knew them, damn it, she knew them all!
Finnick and Donna shared a horrified look.
Twelve-year-olds. Twenty-four twelve-year-olds had been reaped, and seventeen were entering the arena because a sixteen-year-old from Eight had stepped in the boy's place.
"Why?" Annie whispered.
"Guys, you now have that much more of a chance at winning," Gilly said with a tight smile. "But if you want to come out feeling proud of yourselves, we're going to have to review those strategies. Eyes on the Careers, everybody's going to be scrambling."
"There's going to be no pretense," Donna said, her lips tight. "This is vengeance."
"This isn't right. What really happened last year?" Barnacle demanded. There was no trace of the stutter that had plagued his early teens.
Finnick looked down. He had no idea what he was allowed to share. The Districts had been told Wader had assaulted and killed the doctor and nurses looking after him and then jumped out of a window, falling to his death.
A heated hiss escaped Barnacle's lips as they remained silent. "It's crystal clear," Barnacle said, shaking his head as he stepped away from the screen. "The Capitol allowed the Districts to win, the whole arena was against Careers last year, and something must have happened, so now they're not going to even pretend to give the Districts a chance."
"At least after this, people will be satisfied," Finnick said.
"They'd have given us orders if they'd wanted us to shut up, Finn," Gilly said.
So Finnick told them the truth about Wader, and they paled.
"That cross of pearls, how well received was it?" Gilly said.
"Very well," Donna said with a sigh. "This isn't against Four, Two or One."
But come on, they expected the Careers to butcher twelve-year olds and then turn upon each other?
"Maybe the arena will be so tough it's going to be just survival, and they don't expect any of the kids to have a chance," Finnick said, hating that the idea made him sound hopeful.
At least it would save the victor's sanity.
"Protective won't work. We can't say they're innocent… Can we preach for peace? Saying we're older and that we should help people get better instead of just punishing them?" Annie groaned. "How is that credible in the Hunger Games?"
"The may fight each other," Barnacle said. "Twelve isn't too young to be a killer, they'll just be bad at it. There needs to be just a couple of scary ones in that bunch to get the others to play like any regular year. The Games were rigged, how rigged? Was it just random twelve-year-olds?"
Annie and Barnacle sat close, always touching casually. Now more than ever Finnick was struck at how much like siblings they behaved. He had no trouble seeing why Annie wanted to protect Barnacle, and Barnacle was kind, sharp and determined. It made things a little easier to accept, but it didn't take the edge off the rising anguish.
"They don't look selected," Gilly said, biting her lower lip. "They're not the Mayor's relations, at worst they're kids whose names the peacekeepers suggested. Maybe they have no same-sex siblings, to limit volunteers. They're not especially cute, but hardly ugly. I think they're just here because they're twelve."
"It's a warning. Two hundred people died, guys," Donna said darkly, "and if Mags hadn't called, it would have been three times that number."
"Mags called?" Annie said.
They looked lost, grimly determined but still so lost and Finnick wanted to throw up. But he was the mentor, he had to be the strong one, the one with answers.
They really needed Mags.
Victors' Village, Creneis Town.
Mags, with Nori and Chelsea hovering about but never truly watching, had a receiver next to the couch and a portable screen on her knees. The latter showed the same live footage every mentor saw. The Capitol doctor who had come to evaluate her recovery had smuggled it in. Mags smiled faintly at the memory despite the chill in her bones.
The Capitol wanted the Districts to pay, but the victor would be a villain. Unless the Careers were stopped and these Games played like the second and third, where all the tributes had refused to kill.
Mags was both unsurprised and relieved when the phone rang. She gave Chelsea the paper she had written.
"I was assured the communication records will be deleted. We have three minutes," Finnick said. "Can I put the speaker on for Annie and Barnacle? Gilly and Donna are keeping watch."
"Yes," Mags said, handing the phone to Chelsea.
"Those twelve-year-olds must to form a single, large alliance," Chelsea read. "They must not attack, they must not kill, and Annie and Barnacle must not kill them unless they know exactly what they're doing! The arena must win these Games. That will only happen if the Gamemakers are certain that they cannot make you fight. The Capitol wants both vengeance and a villain. If Annie or Barnacle come out with the blood of twelve-year olds up to their elbows, it'll undermine Four's victors as a whole. Same with Two and One, it'll have the Capitol look down on all Careers as their lapdog executioners. Worse, it'll confirm the outlying Districts' belief that Career Districts should be destroyed along with the Capitol."
Mags shivered upon hearing Chelsea recite her own words.
This was Carrie all over again. Plutarch had told Fustel's unfortunate daughter to be as boring as possible, to make sure the idea of legacy tributes was stomped out before it could take root.
"If you see a Career who's on the same page as you, go for it. Split the pack, make it a pack fight, a showoff between Careers, capture some kids and have them be your slaves, fan your feet, whatever, but don't make it a butchery."
Mags chuckled dryly at Chelsea's increasingly pronounced frown. Chelsea kept shooting her those looks. But Mags meant every word. They couldn't let the script Snow had in mind play out.
She didn't need to be there to imagine the look in the other's victors eyes. Mags grit her teeth, hating that she wasn't there, hating that Snow had no scruples about plunging a hot knife in their stomachs and twisting. She would have an execution, but nothing more.
Year 70, 70th Hunger Games, Training days.
Annie and Barnacle sat straight, their fingers loosely linked. Finnick couldn't believe the words about to leave his mouth. "If that volunteer, Ikat, is pushing them to fight, Barnacle, you need to draw him out, call him selfish, make the kids certain he's using them," he said heavily. "If you can turn him into a rival, good, otherwise, he needs to go down at the bloodbath."
Barnacle and Annie shared a glance, they both nodded with only the barest trace of hesitation.
"Celeste from One and her partner Malachite are refusing to ally," Barnacle announced at the end of the second day of training. His lips twisted. "Some of their insults were vicious. Twos are backing Malachite because Celeste started it, so we should join her if we want to feed the drama. And we have the kids convinced that Ikat will get them killed, they won't listen to him now." A brief grim grin flashed on his face. "And he hates me."
"I've been telling them stories, about the civilised world the Capitol wants Panem to grown into, and why the sacrifices are worth it," Annie said, her soft smile weary. "They really like the stories, not much the sacrifices. I helped train those who listened; it won't do them much good."
"The Fives became the leaders as soon as they realized they could be. We got to them. They're not saying a word before the arena, but there are seventeen kids in that alliance," Barnacle wrote down, before using the sheet to make a sketch, crossing the words out completely.
Finnick could only nod, overwhelmed. They were so much better Careers than he had been.
Year 70, 70th Hunger Games, Interview night.
Caesar was dressed in a sparkling black suit. He never wore black. A chill ran up Mags' spine.
The Interviews went smoothly at first, Celeste from One played a rivalry with her sexist jerk of a District partner, and Mags hoped it was angle, because those lecherous smiles were scarily real. "Come on, sure she had a nine, but she's going to be sponsored because she's pretty, not for anything else," Malachite said, dripping scorn.
Mags scowled.
The Twos reaffirmed their loyalty to the Capitol, and politely but pointedly said the Fours had to make a choice.
The Threes were skipped, and that's when Mags feared her gut instinct was right.
Annie was adorable, earnest in making the lesson stick, posturing as a teacher, voicing her hope that people could change for the better.
Barnacle spoke of the accident that had stolen the life of his childhood best friend, the selfishness of a sailor who wanted to make his captain look bad. Barnacle said he understood their grief, that he understood their anger, and that he was glad, that unlike him, they had the strength to bring justice. There had never been a best friend, of course. It was all angle, and Barnacle connected to them, too mild to be a favorite, but no one would begrudge him his victory.
A bench was brought out after Barnacle and the twelve-year-olds were brought all together. They hadn't been prepped. Cleaned yes, their hair styled, but in district fashion, and they were dressed like Mags would have expected the Mayor of each respective district to be during the Victory Tour.
"Interesting, that the Hunger Games always begin seeming a little harsh in times of calm," Caesar began, towering over the terrified seated tributes. "And then we give you a touch of freedom, and we remember why, the Hunger Games are such a small price to pay for peace." Caesar smiled grimly. "Today you will all learn the truth. Light the screens."
It was a room, full of grim Capitol children, aged eight to twelve. Fifty of them, boiling with resentment as they stared at the camera. Mags' heart clenched.
"There was no doctor, no nurse. Last year," Caesar announced, nothing jovial or friendly in his expression anymore, "each of these children lost a close family member when Wader crashed the Hovercraft into that building."
There was a weighted silence, and a picture on the screen, the golden Gamemakers' Tower in flames.
"There were no peacekeepers in there, not the President or any of his closest advisors, not me," Caesar said with a blinding perverse smile, "no, just civilians. I'm sure even the Districts don't mind sacrificing their twelve-year-olds for two hundred Capitol citizen. I'm sure they even think it's a sweet deal, over five-to-one." Caesar's smile thinned. "We are being very restrained."
"But it's not like we knew Wader or told him to do anything!" The girl from Six protested, her voice strangled as she gasped for air.
"You never played games, let's kill the Capitolites?" Caesar said, his soft voice dripping with menace. "Let's pretend we're big bad rebels?"
The child paled. "No, no, no," she stammered.
She was such a bad liar that Mags winced. It was horrifying. She'd thought there would at least be a pretense. The Capitol was so good at those.
"I see," Caesar said patronizingly. "Maybe we should ask your teachers to educate you a little more on the Districts' actions during the Dark Days. It's adorable that you hold onto the belief of having been the good guys."
Mags felt the urge to spit at the screen. The Dark Days had revealed the worst of humanity, there had been no soldiers and civilians, only violence, no truly united Districts despite the general desire to destroy the Capitol and its allies. Every peacemaking attempt had been sabotaged by Capitol and Districts alike, and every week of conflict had its share of horror stories. But the Districts were more barbaric than the Capitol in the same way the outliers were crueler than the Careers: the Capitol had had weapons, solid infrastructures to lock prisoners in, a trained army with an organized chain of command. Had the Districts fought fair, fought honorably, those undisciplined rebels with their lesser weapons, they'd never had stood a chance. It was barbarism, certainly, but born of inequality and desperation.
"What's stopping us from jumping off the platforms?" The tiny boy from Ten said, his lips quivering but his chin raised in defiance.
Caesar smiled thinly. "Go for it, boy. You have the luxury to choose the very quick, painless way out. More choice than Wader gave any of his victims, again. But be very sure, choices have consequences."
The veiled threat to their loved ones sucked out of spirit out of the assembled kid. An invisible hand bowed their hands and they dropped their clenched fists, staring dully at the ground.
"Guilty," Caesar announced in final tones, his condemning voice ringing in the silent theater.
"I wish I had been born in Four or One. I wouldn't be here then."
The whisper had come from the girl from Three, undisguised envy in her deep brown eyes. She was the first to leave.
Ikat from Eight came last.
"You and every watching sibling or friend had a choice, Ikat. You had the power to save your loved ones," Caesar said, his face devoid of emotion. Mags had never seen him like that and wondered now, if he'd lost someone in that tower. "Those mourning the victims were never granted that power. You volunteered to save, not to win."
Ikat's jaw clenched. "I will still fight."
"Oh, there still will be a victor," Caesar said brightly. "Why did you volunteer?"
"That was my step father's boy. He took me in after Ma died, and they weren't even still together then. I owe him everything. Caddis is a good kid."
"And therefore he was saved," Caesar said with a soft smile. "The flag of mourning proved there is a bit of decency in Eight, I'm glad to see it confirmed. You may go, Ikat."
Ikat stiffly left, his bright purple and blue clothes shimmering under the light.
"What is wrong with them?" Lorelei exclaimed, horror and disbelief warring on her face. "How can they call this justice?"
Vengeance is very human, Mags thought somberly. She squeezed her daughter's hand.
Year 70, 70th Hunger Games.
The arena was small, a jagged, rocky landscape shaped like an inverted bell and covered by a thick layer of ashes. There was nowhere to hide except the cutting rocks, no water or food. Barbed wire, gleaming and golden, hugged the landing platforms, leaving the tributes no choice but rush for the Cornucopia. The Cornucopia, also golden, held no knives or swords. Only six axes, and grenades.
A furious hiss escaped Mags' lips.
Why not grenades in the shape of small hovercrafts while they were at it?
Mags cursed in Spanish, the words breaking through the wall between her brain and her mouth often enough to get Chelsea and Nori out of the room.
As Mags helplessly watched Ikat tackle Barnacle to the ground and wrestle successfully the ax out of Barnacle's hands. She hoped he hadn't been one of Paylor's. There was no wrestling centers in Eight. Decent stepfather aside, Ikat was either a criminal, or trained by rebels.
She painfully shut her eyes when the ax cut deep into Barnacle's neck and shoulder. The stubborn kernel of hope that lodged itself in her heart every year exploded in a hundred splintering shards. Her heart bled, for Finnick, for poor Annie. When she opened him again, the cameras were on his severed head.
Spatters of Barnacle's blood on her face, Annie screamed.
She kept screaming, falling on her knees next to the piled grenades, she screamed so loudly, a heart-rending cry of pain and horror that the Careers, drenched in children's blood, broke ranks and let the remaining twelves escape.
Mags knew then they had lost her. Annie Cresta, who'd thrived on loyalty rather than rage. Who'd put all her self-worth in that boy who'd needed her. The first person who'd ever needed her.
She'd have pulled through, but not like this, not beheaded before her eyes before they'd even taken a good look at the arena.
The fleeing Ikat fell to Stryker from Two, who with true Career nonchalance, threw the large axe like a knife. Celeste and her district partner had frozen, their rival posturing momentarily forgotten as they gaped at Annie, shock and dismay washing away their angles.
Annie hiccuped. She stood up, her horror-stricken eyes widening further upon seeing Ikat's dead form. Apologies flew out of her mouth as she sprinted off, as if she left the cataclysm in her wake.
And she did. Mags put the screen down on her knees, not trusting herself to hold it. Annie had pulled the pin to at least one grenade, a swift desperate gesture before her screams had even ended.
But she didn't throw it, she left it on the pile, in panic or consciously – Mags couldn't breathe.
Stryker noticed first, a mere second after Annie had taken off. All color fled his face. "Run!" He breathed.
It was already too late.
The shrapnel and fire of twenty explosives tore through the Cornucopia, swallowing up the short lead Annie had gained and throwing her to the ground. She rolled in the ashes, screaming like a wounded animal. The Careers who'd had the misfortune to survive were left to agonize, their bodies torn and burnt. They died of blood loss before the hour was over.
Mags couldn't stop her hands from shaking. She'd seen so many things, terrible things, but – Alone the explosive were ugly but not lethal. But all of them at once?
The strategist in Mags was grimly relieved. The Careers were gone. There would be no more butchery of children. Snow couldn't use these Games to fuel the hatred between the Districts or shatter the image of integrity the Career victors held onto.
Mags wept silently for Finnick and his friend. Annie Cresta, that foolish little girl, who'd thought the sea would never hurt her.
Annie's uniform was torn, her legs red, raw and bleeding, and she looked like she could barely move. She crawled into fetal position and started weeping, her hands over her ears.
Mags called Donna, the official line. "Finnick?" Mags demanded.
"In his rooms, locked himself in. I'm thinking we should leave him there, Mags," Donna said, exhaustion thick in her tone. "At worst he'll break some furniture."
Mags' throat constricted painfully at the thought of Finnick blaming himself, but Donna was right, Finnick wasn't suicidal and he wouldn't shout at the cameras, no matter how upset he was. "Yes," she therefore said. "Hug Gilly."
Even had Mags managed to say more than simple sentences, no words could mend what the Capitol had allowed.
On the morning of the second day, the pair from Five went to Annie. She hadn't moved since the day before.
"Are you okay?" The boy said, crouching a yard away from her.
"Was he your friend?" The girl echoed, her voice raw from thirst.
Annie sniffed, staring in the distance. "Just meant Ikat," she said hoarsely. "He killed Barnacle, I just meant Ikat, not Celeste, not them all, not like this. Light it, throw it, but then he was already dead and I didn't know what to do anymore."
The children converged around her, whispering, some clutching their stomachs.
"What now?" One said.
"Stick together, grab rocks," the boy from Five ordered. "They might send mutts."
Hunger and thirst didn't have the children turn onto each other, they only huddled closer.
"The first who kills is going to have so many sponsors," the girl from Five said with a giggle thick with hysteria.
Her district partner began to snicker and soon every kid was laughing and crying, some threatening the others weakly with a rock, another cracking a joke about eating the scrawny boy from Ten, but none sneaked away to get the axes, none had murder in their eyes.
The first mutt was a Lion, symbol of justice. Mags didn't have to watch, the sounds alone told her the child died slowly, painfully and gruesomely. Had they expected him to hold his throat out nicely?
Mags' heart went out to Plutarch, who didn't even have the luxury to display his disgust.
Seneca Crane must have reconsidered the wisdom of being a child dismemberer, because when dawn rose on the third day a huge wave crashed into the arena.
Annie cried out in pain when her burned legs touched the water, but it seemed to shake her out of her trance. She expertly stayed afloat, pausing to swallow for it was drinkable, and quickly swimming to the outskirts of the arena in case a whirlpool formed in the center. Mags saw her hesitate and then turn away from the children's desperate cries for help.
Finnick, Annie's cracked lips mouthed in despair when one of the small bird-cameras hovering over the water stopped before her face.
Annie stayed afloat, and the others silently drowned. The cleverer ones floated on their backs until, four hours later, new currents forced them to paddle for their lives. It was mid-afternoon when the hovercraft came above the water, a rope of five yards dangling down. Annie finally noticed it, and she swam. She slid on her first attempt on rope, her hands burning, her muscles weak from effort and hunger. She fell back into the water, spluttering and coughing. She failed a second time, and a third and the guards made no move to help her.
Mags knew they wouldn't let her drown, but she seethed at seeing such senseless cruelty.
A cry of rage left Annie's lips, her pale eyes narrowing in a burst of lucidity, her lips making the same promise she had during the Test, when she had seen Barnacle die for the first time. I will survive now. She did not look frightening, not Annie Cresta, but in that moment Mags knew she would make it out on her own.
Annie crawled her way on the Hovercraft, soaked and shivering, and Panem had a victor.
It was as underwhelming a victory as Mags had ever seen. A small smile lit her lips. She was glad it was Annie, glad Snow's plan had failed, but she wondered, her chest painfully constricted, how they would possibly put the girl back together.
Finnick hadn't coped. He hadn't coped at all.
He'd had it all planned out, a mental list of the sponsors who'd looked interested during the training days, of the times at which he was more likely to get money out of them, what to say to make them want Annie and Barnacle to live...
It all came crashing down when Barnacle died and Annie huddled in the ash, her bare bloodied legs staring right at him.
He locked himself in his quarters, barring the door with the couch, and waited, crouched on the bed. He didn't know what for, them to break it down, an announcement of Annie's death… He didn't know. He just waited, staring into nothing, wondering where he'd gone wrong.
Everything, the twelve year olds, Ikat, Barnacle… He wanted to scrub that explosion out of his eyes, those burned bodies. Was they what they'd intended for the kids? That was Capitol justice?
Was that how the Capitolites had died, slow and agonizing, their bodies aflame and full of shrapnel? Finnick had been glad when that Tower had burned and now only utter disgust filled every pore of his body.
He was deaf to the shouts, until the door was forced open.
It was Brutus and Lyme and Cashmere and Gloss, and Finnick wondered for a moment if they'd come to kill him.
He blinked when he saw Gilly and Donna behind them, jolted back to reality. A sense of burning shame filled him.
"Leave me alone," he whispered. He hadn't even tried. He'd fled when he'd seen her broken and crying. Maybe he could have gotten a sponsor gift, sent her token, put some strength back in her eyes.
He hadn't even tried.
"Annie won," Lyme announced. "She called for you in the arena, you know. Now move your ass, put on that smile of yours, charm your way into the hospital and be there when she wakes up."
Finnick slowly stood up. She won? Annie won? "Snow's not upset?"
His heart thundered in his chest. How? There had been ten twelve-year-olds left. A surge of fear filled his chest. Annie, how did you win?
"I had the 'how did you let such a weakling volunteer' speech. I told him to get more stable explosives next time."
"Seriously?" Cashmere said with a small smile. She walked up to Finnick, wrapping her arms around him, her chest pressed against his back. "There was a flood, that cute little thing didn't kill anyone else. She outswam them," she whispered in his ear.
"Subtext, wrapped in a lot of 'Yes, Mr. President, so sorry Mr. President.'" Gilly said with a grimace, her eyes narrowing at seeing Cashmere draped all over Finnick. "He wants Annie to be an invisible victor, forgotten by the Capitol. Suits everyone fine. Now, like Lyme so elegantly said, get your hindquarters to that hospital. "
There was a flood.
A broad incredulous smile broke Finnick's lips. He chuckled weakly, turning around to pull Cashmere into a tight hug.
Annie was alive.
Year 70, August, one day after Annie's victory.
She woke up gasping, pushing the covers off in frantic gestures.
"Annie, it's okay, I'm here."
Annie froze. Finnick thought those pale fearful eyes were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
She was alive!
Annie suddenly had her hands all over Finnick's face, running her fingers through his hair, making sure he was real.
Finnick blushed faintly. "You made it," he said softly. "You're safe now."
Annie made a choked noise with her throat. "I didn't make it," she said, horror flooding her eyes. "I failed! Barnacle –"
Something clanged in the corridor.
Annie screamed, her hands flying to her ears. She wouldn't stop.
Finnick helplessly watched them sedate her.
He stepped out in the corridor, finding the culprit, an empty metal jar fallen out of a tray. The careless nurse stepped back, fear filling her eyes as she saw Finnick's expression.
"Keep the noise down around her," Finnick hissed furiously.
When Annie woke up again, Finnick asked her how she wanted her new house.
A incredulous gasp escaped Annie's lips. "Lots of pretty dresses," she whispered with a weak giggle.
"Lots of pretty dresses, and space for everything you've collected over the years, and to get some more," Finnick said with a grin.
"Are you still my friend, Finnick?" Annie whispered, the ghosts of the arena casting a shadow over her soft features.
Finnick gave a weak chuckle, his heart twisting. "Annie, I'm your family now," he said, sitting next to her.
She hugged him so tightly, Finnick just stroked her hair, struggling to keep himself together and waiting until she fell asleep. Even then, he felt guilty when prying her clenched fingers off his crumpled clothes.
I had always been bugged by the idea of Gamemakers flooding an arena because the tributes were "boring". Katniss was 12 during Annie's Games, I'll suppose she was too busy hunting to pay true attention, and anyway peacekeepers in Twelve are slouches.
I hope this meets expectations.
The "24 reaped 12 year olds Games" idea was taken with permission from Lorata. Check out her story Fixed to a Star, from the POV of the Career (and victor) mentored by Lyme. It's outstanding and not very long.
I posted by the way a new oneshot called "The Career" that covers Vicuna's story (the 1st Career victor, remember?) and her legacy.
Please review!^^