Blinks of peaceful sleep had appeared sporadically between the nightmares and wide-awake madness of Olive's following two nights in the Capitol. Loud or deafening, disturbing or horrible, short or endless; none repeated. Each had a different torture prepared for her, awaiting her mind to let go of the last grasp of reality before attacking.
With time, closing her eyes felt like an open invitation for torture to pay another visit, something she couldn't fight against. Her eyelids always closed on their own without her permission, and her body felt too drowsy to move as she pleased. The sheets glued her to the mattress, her head drowning in the comfortable deadliness of the pillow as the television fed her all kinds of Capitol-related news. No sight of dawn made it bearable, much less on the third and last day of training.
'Day' was an overstatement. They would have hardly a few hours to train before dinner, and, after they were done eating, the individual assessments would begin. She had heard a handful of things others had done for their assessments in their own Games, but none convinced her. Perhaps during dinner she could think it over, since there would be no other chatter among the tributes at that point.
Contrary to the rest of the days left until they were thrown in the Arena, Olive looked up to meet Katniss at the training area. Their brief archery competitions were entertaining and distracting for more than just them both. There was always someone watching — usually Peeta or Finnick — and, depending on the time, others joined, like Johanna had done the day before only twenty minutes before dinner.
Despite whatever differences she could have with Katniss, Olive felt as if none of them mattered once they picked up the bows. It was like going back to the woods for a short while; hunting like their lives no longer depended on it, but their meals. Like their families would be waiting for them to get back with the trade and a new story to tell at the dinner table.
However, once they stepped out of the archery station, reality welcomed them back in the most painful way it could.
The time until dinner flew by in no time. Olive had only stepped out of the trident station with Finnick after some time battling together — much to their instructor's discomfort — when Katniss came to tell them the training was over. What began as a small group of three increased as they walked through the cafeteria's doors. Per usual, they were the last ones to get there, while Peeta sat surrounded by people like the social butterfly he was.
Joke after joke, everyone talked about the assessments and what they would like to do. Some suggested that they could all sing the same song to annoy the Gamemakers, dance to nothing, tell jokes — either good or purposely bad—, or strip. Finnick opted to tell his favourite ridiculous story, one about a sea turtle swimming off with his hat, which always made anybody who heard it crack up. Nevertheless, Olive and Johanna advised him against it. In their opinion, the Gamemakers didn't deserve to hear such a brilliant story for free.
"What about napping?" suggested Olive. "I'm exhausted. I could fall asleep anywhere."
"Well, that would surely be a first," said Johanna with a light chuckle, "but I still think we should strip. Picture this—"
"No." Olive shook her head. "Johanna, we have two very easily influenced teenagers among us. Don't start."
Katniss lowered her fork and stopped eating her stew, her eyebrows raising as she stared with a dead-panned expression at both of them. It was probably not meant as a joke, nor teasing, but neither could take it as any less. Johanna laughed, while Olive simply showed Katniss a side smile.
"Do you perhaps disagree, Katniss?" Olive asked.
"Maybe." Katniss lowered her eyes back to her food.
"You want to strip with Johanna, then?"
"I'll pass." Katniss's contribution to the conversation was apparently over, and Olive was ready to move on, when the girl looked up once again. "Napping is not a bad idea, though."
The smile wouldn't wash off Olive's face as she replied, "I know."
No obvious distinctions were formed at the dining table, yet Katniss chatted more often with Olive and Finnick than anybody else. Peeta, per usual, talked with whoever was willing to keep the conversation going, which resulted in half of the table engaging in his conversation and some loose jokes from Johanna and Finnick, or Olive's playful corrections.
They kept that structure for long minutes until Gloss's name was called for his individual assessment. He got up from the table, giving his sister an encouraging pat on her shoulder, and walked off through the same doors that led to the training area.
The brief silence that had appeared got taken down as quickly as the doors closed behind Gloss. Cashmere didn't engage as much in it as she had done up to that point. Her eyes would travel from the table to the doors and then up, as if counting the minutes until her name was called. There was no doubt that she seemed eager to get it over with as soon as possible.
"Can we trade places?" Olive asked Finnick, who glanced at her with an eyebrow raised as his lips curved into an involuntary smile.
"Why?" questioned Finnick.
"I don't know." Olive shrugged. "Fifteen minutes less of waiting sounds good."
"You say it like you'll have to wait a long time," scoffed Johanna, her hand pointing between Katniss and herself. "We're still hours away until we're called."
"Bad luck," Olive smirked. "But don't worry, after today, everything will go as quickly as a bike going down a hill."
"Well, aren't you cheeky today?" Johanna folded her arms, leaning against the back of her chair with a smug grin. "Something good happened to you in this hellhole? So lucky."
Olive's eyes glanced down at her hand, which wore no ring whatsoever, but she needed none to remember the day of the Reaping with a fonder feeling than what she probably should. "You could say it was something I was looking up to for some time." She looked up at her friend, who widened her eyes slightly in surprise, and glanced from Finnick to her. "You know better than I do that in this hell-hole it's better to have something good to hold on to than nothing at all."
Johanna offered no reply other than an audible snigger and an unintentional side glance at Twelve's couple, who remained unfazed at the odd behaviour of most tributes talking to them. To Olive, though, it was impossible to ignore. She knew most of the people around to a degree, and those she knew best would not go out of their way to be noticed by the couple for no reason. There was something more, and she could only try to figure it out before it was too late.
The chatter resumed, the assessment subject being stretched out for as long as they could. Wiress had just been called when Peeta decided to divert his attention and interact with the small group more than with the others. He reached his hand out over the table, grabbing Katniss's hand and caressing it as he joked with Finnick and Johanna.
"Not all of us can bake a cake to make the Gamemakers like us more, Peeta," said Olive in a playful tone.
Finnick turned to look at her, a smirk playing across his face. "That's 'cause you can't bake at all, honey."
"I—"
"District Four, Finnick Odair."
"Saved by the Gamemakers," Olive said, watching as Finnick got up from his seat. "Better run once I'm done."
"I'll have fifteen minutes to find a good hiding place, then." He laughed softly and fought the urge to kiss her head as he walked past Olive and Peeta to the door.
"It doesn't matter where you hide, Odair, I'll always find you."
"And I'll be looking forward to it, Cresta."
Between the lively chatter, and Peeta's constant analysing stare, fifteen minutes passed by surprisingly fast. Johanna was just about to say the punchline of her wrestling joke when Olive's name was called, forcing her to get up and walk back into the training area. The Gamemakers were waiting for her, sat or standing up in their elevated room, far from being scratched by any angry tribute.
"Miss Cresta," said the Head Gamemaker, "you have fifteen minutes to present your chosen skill."
Olive had no coherent plan for what to do. She could use her archery skills to show off, or even knowledge of poisonous berries and plants. But weren't those things the Gamemakers already knew about her from watching her Games? Although, of course, she could have forgotten it all after so many years.
Ever since her Games, ever since some Gamemaker decided that killing tributes — children — with extremely venomous scorpions, her worst nightmare had formed right before her unaware eyes. It was almost impossible to know exactly how many times she had forgotten; her diary was long, but not enough to have everyday entries.
Could she have forgotten more than she knew about? Probably.
Would she ever know about them? No, and it was all the Gamemakers' fault.
Amid the inner chaos, her mind found enough lucidity to send a message to her entire body. Something that had been engraved in her memory ever since she had found the entry in her diary.
'Tree girl will probably be in danger. Protect her. And dandelion boy, too.'
Alright. Olive thought, bringing the paint to the centre of the room, where she sat on the floor, back facing the Gamemakers.
Her fingers moved quickly, writing all the names with black paint before picking up the red one. It took her no more than five minutes to be done, yet she remained sitting for two more, checking that everything was correct and properly spelt. With a satisfied hum, she finally got up and took a step to the side, letting the Gamemakers read the names of that year's twenty-four tributes with their respective Games won under their names.
A single phrase, written in capital letters, stuck out in the tidy pattern Olive had created on the floor.
𝐖𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐄𝐍𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇.
The Head Gamemaker had no time to dismiss her as she left the paint in its place, copied the mocking bow that Katniss had told her about from the previous year, and stormed out to the lifts.
She didn't allow herself to go over what she had done on the way. It wouldn't change the past, no matter how many times she thought of it. From that point on, there was only the present to deal with and the future to fear. Nothing less, nothing more.
Olive disregarded completely checking Four's floor, and instead took the lift straight to the rooftop. Contrary to the stairs, the lift left her directly on the garden side of the rooftop, which had been expanded over the years. At least, compared to the few she could remember, when she would come up with Annie, Ron, or Finnick, whoever was around as mentors with her.
As if he had been waiting patiently for her, Finnick sat under a tree idly. He carried a jacket in his hands, something that he always did, but never told her why. Olive had an idea, though. The spare jacket always ended up over her shoulders at one point or another, and her poor memory never reminded her of grabbing her own, even if she stubbornly claimed that she had left it behind on purpose.
"How did it go?" asked Olive, while sitting down next to him.
"Did some knots. Showed some tricks with the trident," replied Finnick, not showing any interest in the assessment as he took out a piece of rope from his pocket. "I think I'll do good. What about you?"
"I made them mad. I think—I hope so," she said, taking the jacket from him so his knot-tying regular exercise would have no bothersome objects near. "Wrote all of our names and then 'we suffered enough' under them. Capital letters."
"It won't change anything."
"Maybe not, but it made me feel better."
Finnick raised his eyes, his hands not stopping tying the rope into a complicated knot as he stared at her and chuckled. "I hope you still feel like that when the scores are announced tonight."
"Well, we'll still have your perfect and immaculate score, won't we, Mister Crescentia?" Olive patted Finnick's leg with a smirk, breaking eye contact as she glanced down at the knot, which ended up back into a straight line as quickly as he pulled on one end.
"You keep mispronouncing my last name," said Finnick. "It's Mister Odair Cresta, honey. You'd think that my wife would remember that."
"Your wife has a terrible memory."
Minutes passed before Piscia appeared, hands on her hips, and yelled at them for having, in her opinion, no consideration. She let out most of her thoughts on the way to Four's floor, where Mags' constant comforting mumbles accomplished to calm her down somewhat. She kept rambling about their disappearance, and the lack of information about their assessments.
Olive complied right away, explaining with a side smile what she had written on the training area's floor. To her surprise, the information didn't bother her mentors, nor Piscia, in the slightest. Apparently, it had taken more than usual for the next tribute behind her to arrive at the lifts, which made it clear that something was wrong.
Chatter began among them as quickly as Rhett, who didn't feel like keeping the Capitol subject for long, dropped the assessment discussion. His fingers caressed a silver locket as many times as seconds passed, and nobody asked him about it. Any talk of home would only tear down the little fighting spirit they had left, and while Ron, Rhett, and Mags could afford to lose it, Finnick and Olive didn't.
So they talked about anything that fired their spirits — anything that made them want to start the revolution right away — and waited for Caesar to be shown on the television after supper. A ten appeared under Finnick's name, which was of no surprise to anybody. However, Olive's twelve was undoubtedly unexpected, even for those who knew on which side Plutarch Heavensbee was.
"Wow, I guess I really make them mad," said Olive with a little pride showing through her shocked tone. "They want me dead quickly."
"Why do you sound so happy with this?" asked Rhett, with a mocking chuckle. "Anybody who's after you will also be after Finnick."
"And that's why we can't trust you when Clem's not around," mumbled Ron, pinching the bridge of his nose as he let out a long sigh. "Rhett, think before you talk next time."
Despite the heavy atmosphere, Olive shook her head with a soft laugh and leaned back on the sofa. She didn't mind Rhett's words at all. No matter how far from his husband Rhett was, he would never say such things in a normal situation. The elder man could be blunt at times, but not to that point when two people he cared about, like his own grandchildren, were mere days away from their deaths.
"He's right, though," said Olive, turning to look at Finnick. "So, what's our strategy?"
Finnick stared at her with a straight face, his eyes tracing a pattern from hers to her smile. "We stick to the plan." A cocky smile played across his face, trying to hide the knowing look in his eyes. "Ally with the current Capitol favourites and survive the first few days with them. After that, we'll see."
"Alright, sounds good."
Midnight made its presence earlier than expected, but didn't bother Olive as much as the previous days. She lay in bed, eyes closed and ready to sleep, while listening to Finnick's paused breathing. There was nothing in the world better than that sound; knowing he was still alive and unharmed by her side was all the comfort she needed. No weird plans which she still couldn't fully comprehend would dim her resolve.
Plan or no plan, Finnick would not lose his life for others to win the Games if she could do something about it. As long as he survived, any riot or revolt would be perfectly welcome. And she was sure he had something in mind as well, only not for himself. Whatever deal he had done would be like any other until that day; to keep their loved ones alive.
The idea that everything somehow revolved around Katniss and Peeta, though they seemed as clueless about it as possible, was strangely on point with her diary's entry. It made sense, in a way. Katniss and Peeta's survival had become the spark that lit the riot's fire. The reason people were even daring to protest.
A light lit in her own mind, providing her with a gift that hadn't been granted to her in months; a memory.
"Dad," said a much younger version of Theo's voice, "did mum have nightmares?"
Two other phrases were exchanged, but she couldn't quite catch what they said. Only the last bit of information was clear enough to make it through the messiness of her mind.
"War, loss, rebellion… many bad things we better hope never happen."
It happened. Olive realised, her eyes snapping open to check her surroundings, as if anybody would have access to her thoughts. Mum's nightmares will come true. There will be a rebellion.