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It was astounding to witness such a scene. Dove fell prey of the sight in front of herāthe fine specimen that reminded her of all the victors' suffering. Finnick was fifteen, had been for no more than a couple of months, and yet, somehow, for some reason, he had been forced into a deal. Part of his family had died for it, too. Just like her mother's siblings had, or Mags' granddaughter, or Muscida's husband. All for a sole person's greed, or worse, entertainment.
Amazed by the warm smile that Finnick showcased with no doubt, Dove could only phantom one question worth asking. "Are you alright?"
Finnick shrugged it off quickly, as if everything that had to be running to his mind was only the remains of a bad dream. "I have my days. You could say that place was my own special place, too. That's where I go to talk to them."
"Then I guess I could share it with you." Dove brought a finger to her lips and winked at Finnick in the same way she had seen him do countless times through the cameras. "Our little secret, if you will. No one else can know."
Through a decently kept Capitol chuckle, Finnick accepted with a nod. "It's a great honour to share a secret with an Ogilvy." His eyes widened for a fleeting moment, though it was much slower than what a cheeky smirk had taken to appear on his face. "By the way, since we're being so open to one another, would you be as kind as to tell me why everyone in the Capitol thinks you're in love with me?"
Dove bit down on her lip to refrain from wincing, but it was to no avail. "I should say I'm not surprised and yetā¦ ugh, damn it."
"So, is it true?" Finnick asked.
"Do you think that if I had a crush on you I'd be standing here this calm?" Dove said, an eyebrow arched, but her light tone still very much present on her voice. "No, they must have taken something I said or did out of contextā¦ or not."
"Or notā¦" Finnick repeated, expectant for the continuation of what had the prospects to be a very interesting story.
"I might have cried in front of the cameras during the interviews for the last eight in the Arena," said Dove, her voice soft and low, all the while her cheeks had taken jealousy of her flowing red hair and decided to copy its beautiful colour. "It's not because of what you're thinking! I didn't cry becauseā¦ well, it's just that I got really mad at them, and it was crying my way out of the interview or cursing. I thought that choosing the former would be betterā¦ Maybe I should have just told them to sod off in less polite manners."
There was an attempt to stifle a laugh, about as successful as Dove's decision to cry her way out of the interview. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Finnick took a breath in, then out, and attempted to give some sort of answer that wouldn't sound to his new and highly embarrassed friend as direct mockery. "So what did they say? What got you so angry?"
Dove's hands engulfed her cheeks, the warmth and colour spreading through them short after. "I guess it's just what you would expect from Capitol people. They had me sit through a pretty long and intense interview when all I cared about was listening in for updates. Because I could have ended up losing a brother that day, but nobody cares about that, what matters is the fun fact that my hair is not easy to put into braids, or that I look nothing like either of my siblings, or that I'm about as cute and fragile as a bird." When Finnick had thought that would be where the subject would end, Dove sniggered and lowered her hands. "They also asked me, 'How is living so close to one of the handsomest young lads in Panem, Finnick Odair? Have you fallen madly in love with him?' You could say that, when you hear that in the context it was asked, the urge to curse justā¦ appears."
"It does, doesn't it?" Finnick nodded with a smile, way more familiar with the sensation than he would like to admit. "It's disappointing, though. You're not madly in love with me? I wonder how we should break the news to the Capitol."
Dove chuckled, though she covered it behind her hand. "Cocky much?"
"Excuse you, Freckles, but I'm not cocky," said Finnick.
"Come on, you're a total peacock." With her eyebrows raised as if to prove a point, Dove folded her hands and smirked. "Besides, Freckles? Really, Blondie? That's the best you can come up with?"
"You might not have been the first person to call me 'peacock'," replied Finnick. "But, even then, it doesn't prove anything. Besides, Freckles is a much better nickname than Blondie."
Dove laughed and shook her head. "Whatever you say, Blondie."
Morning dawned on them upon reaching the eerie peacefulness of Victors Village. They attempted many times to end the conversation and go each to their own homes. However, something at the back of their minds stopped them. Dove felt it all too clear, a constraining fear had taken her body prisoner, sealing her mouth shut from any possible goodbyes she could utter. She didn't want to go back to her home. It was very much clear to her what awaited there, and she wanted no partake in it. She had lied for long enough, pretended for years that nothing was wrong despite wanting nothing more than to lash out, and then, when she sought to cause the less trouble possible, she got to know how her mere existence would be used against her brother.
Although, of course, if she thought about it, apart from Finnick's story being similar to her mother's for the sea part, there was something else they shared. The entire family hadn't died. In her mother's case it had been her three siblings, but her parents were still alive. In Finnick's case, though she didn't truly know to a full extent, he still had his mother still alive. In fact, weren't the victors without families the ones that visited the Capitol far less than the others? Mags, Rhett, and Theo spent hardly a few days every year for their mandatory visits, while Muscida, Ron, and her mother had records of staying up to two weeks. That meant that, while a Victor's family was thrown into jeopardy upon their loved one surviving, not all of them were. There had to be at least one left to bargaināsomeone to keep until the last moment, when everything else was lost. In Melo's case, that would almost certainly be his timid and cute little sister that had yet years until desperation, years of freedom for President Snow to gamble her life however he so desired.
Heat rushed to her face immediately. How foolish, Dove kept on telling herself, how foolish she had been to think there could have been any other way out. Angel could have never been spared, the odds would have never let her. In all honesty, she didn't know why exactly she had hoped they would, they had never been in favour. They couldn't either. The odds were rigged.
"Finnick," she called, turning her newly friend's attention to her flushed cheeks, "have youānoā¦ No, I'm sorry. It's nothing."
Finnick was not convinced, though. "Dove, would you like to meet up again? I mean, we could spend some time at the beach like today. Justā¦ talk things out more freely."
She nodded. "That would be nice."
The rest of the day turned into a blur of images and sounds. Most were soft and distant, others were more violent and present. She picked up what seemed like her brother trashing around his room during a nightmare, but, despite her thoughts yelling at her to get up, her body could not move from the bed. It didn't matter either. No sooner had she managed to pull herself up than Angel was soothing Melo into waking up. She stayed quiet and still, listening to every word like it was all a bad dream she had also to wake up from.
Unfortunately, she never woke up from it. The trips to the beach became all Dove would look up to all day. There wasn't much else she could do. Her brother had taken upon himself to perfect Angel's lacking close-up combat, classes she was 'not yet old enough' to attend.
That didn't mean she had no training at all. District Four provided their children from twelve to eighteen with an opportunity to train for the Hunger Games during school hours. Dove had never partaken in it outside of survival tips, but, that year, without telling her family, she had picked up the few weapons available for the 'under fifteen-year-old' section. It was a good thing they were separated by ages, since she was positive if Angel were to see her with a spear in her hands her sister would pass out. But, of course, to nobody's surpriseādefinitely not her ownāshe didn't excel with any weapon in any way. Most were too heavy or too complicated. She had made a fool of herself in archery lessons, having the first ever zero hits out of twenty four attempts.
Finnick was her confident when it came to her training. He didn't help her beyond tricks and tips, though. For some reason, much like Melo and Angel, he didn't want her to use up all her energy on weapons she had no idea how to manage.
Time turned to prove his point, since by the time Victor's Tour's eve rushed into District Four's calm winter, Dove had only managed to grip onto a spear long enough to drop it onto a dummy's stomach. She explained it to Finnick in detail, yet there more she thought of it, the worse she felt. The training should have helped her get better at fighting, give her some sort of confidence, tell her that she could indeed hold her ground against whoever came her way. But, at the end of the day, it just proved she was the frail little bird everyone expected her to be.
"Don't be too hard on yourself," said Finnick, his hand drawing circles on Dove's back. "You're still too young. Maybe when you're fifteen or sixteen it will be easier."
"You're not the best person to be saying that, Mr I could swung a trident like it was nothing at fourteen," Dove replied, her head hidden between her arms. "I don't know what I expected. Me being good with weapons? Yeah, like that would ever happen."
"OK, now you're being too harsh." Finnick took his hand of her back to pull her shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of her long since decayed eyes. "Not everyone is good with weapons, Dove. You just have other qualities."
Dove raised her head just enough to lock eyes with him. "Yeah? Like what?"
Finnick took a minute to think, not for his lack of options, but for the possible reactions they could have on her. "You're smart."
"Sure, like that ever helps," Dove said and dropped her head back to her arms. "Besides, that's just the polite way of saying that I'm weak."
"It's not," Finnick retorted.
"It is," Dove replied.
No chatter seemed to keep on forever that night. The Victor's Tour lurked far too close to their blurred sense of reality to ignore it. It hadn't been more than a few days since personal letters had been delivered from the Capitol, signalling which victor would accompany the new one on their tour. In Librae's case, she had been personally invited by President Snow himself under the excuse that the Capitol would adore to see mother and son together on the tour. And, of course, as everything, to keep it balanced, Ron Stafford would join in. That left the three eldest and least powerful victors back at District Four to protect both Angel and Dove, though Dove knew the one who would in fact get their full and undying attention would be her and not her 'obviously strong and capable' sister.
Melo had been of no helpāhe had suggested for Dove and Angel to not only spend the week in Mags' house, but also for the elder victor to accompany to school. That thankfully seemed like crossing the line for more than one person, and, in Librae's opinion, highly suspicious from a Peacekeeper's perspective. In the end it was left at his first suggestions, Dove and Angel would spend the week at Mags' home.
Just in time for the break of dawn, Dove and Finnick were back at her home's doorstep. When usually they would leave it at that, both knew that could very well be the last time they saw each otherāthat somehow something could happen that would lead President Snow to give up his new toy to satisfy his constant pursue for spilt blood. It took Dove to take the first step and wrap her arms around him for them to stay there, silent and hugging, for as long as their sense of reality could be kept at bay.
It wasn't easy to say goodbye. Finnick had his hand tangled in Dove's hair, and while that could have been the perfect moment for Dove to make some joke or tease him, neither could muster anything beyond a smile. She helped him free his hand from her hair and the moment she turned around Dove had to quiet down her hope for that not being her last interaction with her first-ever friend.
Hours later, Dove pretended to wake up the moment the noise became unbearable. Her mother's and brother's prep teams had been quick to swarm their house early in the morning, and yet, for some reason, she had hoped they would at the very least speak quietly while people slept. Of course they did not. One of the stylist went as far as to cry due to that year being his last as District Four's stylist. Dove got to hear all about when she went down to eat breakfast. The stylist's voice was loud enough to be overheard from the kitchen, where she attempted to go unnoticed from the Capitol people's sight.
Thankfully, the prep teams were in enough distress to ignore her presence for the most part. She watched it all happen from the kitchen. They were running up and down, getting her brother and mother prepared for the cameras all the while gossiping about whatever came to their minds. It wasn't until Angel gracefully walk down the stairs in her bright new dress that there was the Capitol's approach to a satisfying silence.
It died out in no time. District Four's escort made sure everyone got back to their work, no matter what could happen. Though Dove had never paid attention to the woman's name, she was sure she had heard her nag a thousand times throughout the years.
"Dove," Angel whispered as she leaned over the kitchen table, covering her from prying eyes, "you better go get changed. These Capitol people won't be as nice if you're not getting interviewed in ten minutes."
Dove glanced down at her attire, not in any way passable for a Capitol's standard. She would have loved to say she would rather stay down and let everyone nag her, that at least would take some of the labels off her imposed title. Despite that, five minutes later she found herself changed into the fanciest dress she owned and watching Angel be interviewed near the same spot the camera crew had placed them for the interviews during the last eight in the Arena.
"Oh, darling!" A chill ran through Dove's spine as a woman's high-pitched voice reached her ears. The escort's sight was on her, and, thankfully, she seemed pleased. "Aren't you the most adorable thing! Mind you, you might end up being today's star! Everyone in the Capitol adores a cute little sister!"
A flare burned bright in Dove's heart, making her blood boil. She had quite the complaints against the woman right in front of her face, yet she had to bite down her lip. It was as frustrating as it was exhausting. Fortunately, the camera crew called for her right away. Her interview was unsurprisingly light-hearted, leading her to play her 'cute little sister' part at its fullest to get out of it as soon as possible.
"Attention everyone!" exclaimed the escort, rather excited for someone who had known no more than nagging for hours. "We're about to do the first outdoor shot, where the victors greets his mentors at the beginning of their fantastic trip!"
"Delia, we get it," said Dove's mother. "No need to leave us deaf."
Without minding Librae's comment, Delia grabbed a hold of Melo's shoulders and pushed him to the door, where he got the 'final touches' just in time for the scheduled shot to begin. Angel and Dove watched from the living room's windows, quiet and expecting. That morning was their districts coldest day yet, the wind lashed away at its full power, nevertheless, Melo made it seem unimportant as he greeted his mentors and companions for the trip; Muscida, Finnick, Ron, and the siblings' mother, Librae.
Before Dove had the chance to pull herself back to reality, three days had gone by. Melo found himself in District Seven, where his breakdown had been broadcasted to all Panem. She and Angel were eating peacefully in the school's cafeteria when they watched it happen, only to have the broadcast cut shortly after that without any explanations.
The day would prove to not end with just that. One their way back to Mags' home, Angel and Dove were quick to spot two Peacekeepers standing outside their house's front door. They were tempted to turn back around and come back later in hopes that the Peacekeepers would have left, but they were aware of how ineffective that would be, without mentioning the amount of risk they would submit the victors to.
They couldn't go seek help from Mags, it would look suspicious, and the Peacekeepers weren't known for thinking twice before pulling the trigger. One could go alert Mags while the other distracted Peacekeepers, but that would only condemn the later to become the target of suspicion. The best solution was not to stir up trouble. They would go together and pray the Peacekeepers had had a good day.
"Hello," said Angel, decided not to back down in front of the armed people in front of them, "may I help you?"
A Peacekeeper moved to his right, leaving the path to the front door clear, and motioned them to go inside. They followed through and walked into the house, the Peacekeepers standing close behind them as they left their things near the doorway.
"Miss Dove Ogilvy," the taller Peacekeeper turned to them, motioning with his hand over to the far end of the hallway, "this way, please."
Dove felt tempted to ask if going to the beach at night was illegal, but, whether it was or not, she chose not to incriminate herself right away and wait. With her thoughts ragging, telling every little mistake she had committed that could be worth getting flogged or hanged, the Peacekeepers lead her to her house's study.
"Go right in," said one of them, opening the door for her.
The itching scent of roses and blood flashed through the air the moment she walked in. A small, white-haired man stood there reading a book. He hadn't reached too far into it, yet his attention didn't seem to be on it for long enough to have been a read deserving of his standing. Once the door had closed, he turned to face her, pale and shivering, the ability to breathe long gone from her system.
"Greetings, Miss Ogilvy. I think we'll make this whole situation a lot simple by agreeing not to lie to each other." President Snow's eyes were piercing her skin, tearing her apart to study what she was made of, her breaking point and her strength. "What do you think?"
"I'd say there would be no point in me denying the offer," Dove replied.
His lips pulled into a thin line resembling what Dove could only guess was a smile. "It has come to my attention that there's a matter about the relationship between the Capitol and the victors that you are aware of. As you must know, given the fact that you have told no one, you were not supposed to have that information."
"Am I going to die?" she asked.
"Publicly? For what crime?" replied President Snow, pulling a white rose from his coat to twirl it between his fingers. "What crime could a victor's child possibly commit?"
"Then, an accident," Dove suggested, unsure why she would be the one to suggest her own demise far more than the person that wanted her gone.
"I don't think you're aware of your importance back in the Capitol, Miss Ogilvy," President Snow said. "You're more than a victor's child, you're the adored younger sister of our newest victor. And, to add up, there's that rumour about your everlasting love for one of our youngest victors, Finnick Odair. I fear that if you had a terrible accident, people in the Capitol would beā¦ sad."
Dove tugged down on her sleeves, her eyes lost somewhere in the pattern of tiles. She couldn't imagine the Capitol being sad over somebody's death, someone who wasn't a victor at that. The most they knew about her was what little they could see from the interviews, and then whatever her mother and Melo could talk about her.
"Let's sit, shall we?" suggested President Snow, taking a seat first to encourage Dove to do the same. "I believe there's something you're desperate for. Something I can help you with. Let's say, your sister's survival."
"What can I do?" If her desperation hadn't been clear before in her voice, there was no ignoring it then. "We wouldn't be having this conversation if there was nothing I could do."
"I have a question for you, Miss Ogilvy." President Snow laughed, a breathy sort of sound that triggered Dove's desire to run away. He then twirled the rose once more in his hand, only to hand it over to her. "What do you suppose the Hunger Games are for?"