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The next performer had only walked onto the stage with a brilliant smile and confident attitude when Mr Jin stepped down with an even greater grin than theirs. He stopped at Mrs Holub's side, congratulating her profusely for the 'rough diamond' she had found lying around the sand and rocks on the coast side. She showed him a flickering smile and put her hand on Dove's shoulder. Her sight fixated on 'Marco', who hadn't uttered another word after asking to have a private chat with 'Sophie' out of the blue.
"Marco, dear heavens! Is it really you, boy?" Mr Jin hugged Finnick with a strength powerful enough to snap him in two if he so desired. "Couldn't be bothered to show yourself every so often, could you? It's been months. People still come around here demanding you get back on stage. Told you, you're not just a pretty face."
"You sing?" The question slipped out, catching Dove off guard, her face growing a funny shade of red that matched her real hair. "Sorry, I didn't mean it in a bad way..."
Finnick pushed Mr Jin, who was all sunshine smiles, off of him to meet her wavering gaze, his voice still altered to fit his character. "Don't make me sing, or it'll rain. And I mean the worst thunderstorm you've ever seen. It's a miracle I'm half decent playing the guitar."
"Brilliant!" Mr Jin dashed to Dove and Finnick, his hands firmly gripping their shoulders, and his eyes shining as brightly as the stage lights. "You kids are going to make me rich!" Mrs Holub cleared her throat, forcing Mr Jin's raging imagination to dissipate so he could come back to the real world. "I mean, make us rich, the four of us, of course."
While Mrs Holub argued on behalf of the 'children', Dove slowly made her way towards Finnick, who observed, amused, as Mr Jin cowered in front of the woman cradling a baby. At the other end of the stage, the crowd roared with laughter, their footsteps and cheers matching the rhythm of the song. That made Mr Jin perk up, take out a notebook from his pocket, and scribble something at the bottom. When anybody else would have either walked away or settled the argument, he just went right back to cower at Mrs Holub's lengthy reproach, which didn't appear to be ending anytime soon.
"What's his problem?" Dove whispered to Finnick.
He leaned closer to her, his voice low and devoid of the fake effort from before. "You mean how obsessed he becomes when someone shows an ounce of talent? Or that he's the most power and money-hungry person I've ever met, yet rarely wastes it on himself?"
"Both are odd enough," she replied. "His son isn't like him at all, though. What are the odds?"
"Seems he takes after his other father," said Finnick, his sight darting upwards as if trying to piece some kind of puzzle together. "Good man, talented musician. Did Jin tell you yet that Evan's been playing the violin since he was four? A great deal of talent that kid has. Jin had to pay a year's worth of his wage for that violin."
Dove hadn't come across many instruments around the market. They were products outside of everyday life, branding them a luxury, yet their prices had never come across as exorbitant, far less reaching a year's worth of paychecks. "Isn't a violin relatively cheap?"
"For the child of a victor, maybe." Despite being nudged on the side, his smile only grew brighter. "I should give you some around-market classes. It's honestly long overdue. If you think a violin is cheap, you're in for a rude awakening."
Mr Jin brought the performer into a tight hug and a quick exchange of promises for the 'bright future ahead', then halted briefly by Finnick's side to whisper, "You're up, boy", and disappeared onto the stage. The crowd welcomed him with a round of applause, which was swiftly silenced by Mr Jin's powerful voice and exaggerated impression of Caesar Flickerman, the host of the Hunger Games, and the most well-known Capitol person to any of the districts outside of the president himself.
Finnick's face turned pale, striking Dove's curiosity. "How long's it been since you last performed?"
"Around half a year... more or less," he mumbled.
The name Marco resounded all throughout backstage, forcing Finnick to resign himself and borrow the guitar Dove was holding to go join Mr Jin. Dove pulled Mrs Holub to the edge of the crowd, where they could safely observe the long-awaited performance without being disturbed by the bustling and tipsy dancers.
In the centre of the stage, Finnick sat on a stool with the guitar, his leg bouncing involuntarily to a silent rhythm. Despite being drenched in cold sweat, nobody paid it any mind. His eyes scanned the crowd, briefly pausing at a few redheads and brunettes before landing on her. As their smiles grew, he began to play a melody that filled the room with a nostalgic feeling that she would have never expected.
For a moment, it felt like home. Not for the pungent odour of alcohol that took over the surroundings, or the sight of half-drunk adults drinking their sorrows away until they passed out somewhere on the sofas scattered around the outskirts, but for the melody itself. The music brought back simpler times of many years ago, turning time and space to leave her warmly wrapped up in a place where no Capitol or President Snow could ever meddle. Safe to squeeze into her sister's arms without having to fear ever losing them, and to gobble down her brother's cooking away from prying and obscene eyes that meant to harm him. Somewhere she could not haveβsomewhere she lost with the last chords of the song.
The couples who preferred slow dancing over the more upbeat kind insisted that 'Marco' stay and play something else. For a moment, Dove considered asking him to do so. The idea of escaping her own thoughts, even if only for three more minutes, seemed much more appealing than having to confront them again. However, Finnick's exhausted eyes, unwilling to look away from her, left her with no choice but to remain silent and offer him an encouraging smile.
With the next person coming up after him, Finnick left backstage with his hands in his pockets and Mr Jin right beside him, carrying the guitar with a pleading look. Something about a deal, or so she heard. It took one of Mrs Holub's extensive reproaches to get Mr Jin to backtrack, but only to switch targets. He was soon shuffling away to a girl who could sing as well as she threw tridents across the school's training grounds. Dove had seen her before, often paying more attention to the likes of Edric Dawson rather than her own training. A pity, really. She could do better.
When a drunk man came dangerously close to spilling a glass of the most potent alcohol Dove had ever encountered all over Mrs Holub's baby, it became evident that it was time to leave. Mrs Holub grasped Dove's hand and guided her away from the prying and inappropriate gazes of onlookers. She was not the only one attracting attention, as 'Marco' also had his fair share of admirers.
The late-night breeze flew from the woods surrounding District Four to depart somewhere beyond the horizon at the brink of the sea's end. It was as if no time had passed from the moment they had stepped foot inside. The moon kept on towering high above their heads, enlightening the Central Keeper's remaining windows under a cloud of thick dust. Though the faint baby cries were a new addition.
"It's alright, Thalia." Mrs Holub cradled the baby, wide awake, with great care. "Did my baby have a nightmare? It's nothing, sweetie. Come the break of dawn, you'll be home, safe and sound."
Jealousy. Dove had to gulp it down the moment it crept into her mind. The sight of a mother holding, loving her almost newborn, felt overwhelmingly bitter. Could she have once been there, in someone's loving arms? Abandoned at the ripe age of three, she doubted it. She was lucky to have met an ounce of motherly love at all. Librae Ogilvy wasn't the most affectionate mother, but it was only a matter of understanding her way of showing it.
"That's a beautiful name, worthy of her most overlooked strength." Dove sported a warm smile that was only slightly forced.
Mrs Holub reciprocated it, though hers wasn't in the least forced. "She was born the day that poor little girl, Athaliah, died. Figured it would only be right to give her a second chance at life."
The mention of last year's female tribute completely took both children aback. Her name hadn't been uttered once after Melo's return. Like many tributes from the same districts as the victors, she lay forgotten in the background, a few people alone mourning her death, while everyone else celebrated another child's survival.
"That's very kind of you," said Finnick. "We should probably get going. It's late, you've got Thalia to take care of, and Sophie's clearly a kid, so if her family wakes up, she'll be in trouble."
Her house at Victor's Village stood in front of her before Dove could gather her thoughts. They had walked Mrs Holub up to her front door, where she had them waiting with Thalia, who played with Finnick's hair, to come back minutes later with two small pouches of homemade cookies. She had hugged them tight enough to break, and perhaps they did once it was time to walk away.
"I guess it's our turn to go to our respective houses," mumbled Finnick, looking up at the top right window, which any other day would be dimly lit, courtesy of Melo's forgetfulness to turn off his own small bedside lamp. "We'll see each other tomorrow, right?"
Dove nodded. "Right. See you tomorrow."
A faint coldness spread through her bed covers when she crawled in, her warm skin irking at the touch, but her mind unbothered. The melody from Finnick's song remained fresh in her mind, replaying in a loop with no wish to restrain it. Likely the first time in months she had gone to sleep with a smile on her face. Although it wasn't for long.
Her eyes opened to welcome the sixty-sixth Arena back to existence. The Cornucopia stood nothing more than a few metres away, behind a short and bloodied figure. Athaliah threw something across the grass as if it were a bowling ball. When it reached her, Finnick's once sea-green eyes shot up at her with crimson red tears still present on the horrified look of his last moments alive. Athaliah laughed at her so loudly it echoed through the Arena, louder than Finnick's cannon, and forcefully brought Melo to kneel down, his head looking up, eyes locked with his little sister, who was too shocked, too scared, to do anything to help him.
Athaliah dashed across with a sword, and Melo's head rolled off his shoulders with an absurd ease. This time it didn't land near her, but at President Snow's feet. He stood, calm and smiling, next to a pile of bodies. She hadn't the time to process when he lit up a match and set the entire pile on fire. There were people still alive in it, some of them screaming, crying, or even begging for their lives. Angel was a part of them. Her older sister cried louder than their mother, Mags, Ron, or any of the other victors. Angel was crying out for her alone. In fact, all she could hear, all there was to listen to for hours on end, wasβ"Dove! Save me, Dove! I don't want to die!".
Dove bolted out of bed, drenched in cold sweat, her mind racing to check on her sister, making sure she was still there, breathing. Her nightmares haunted her in glimpses. What was Angel sleeping peacefully became the bloodied and aflame sight of the nightmare the moment she turned away. She could still hear her begging, buried deep within the walls, far enough to be unreachable, but close enough to never escape it.
The bottles of wine kept in the kitchen's top drawer felt unbearably appealing. Yet she fought the urge by taking a rope she had once meant to use for a necklace and tied knots. She never got to the untying part of the equation, leaving her with an even greater frustration at a tangled knot that her fingers seemed to never find the way to untie. After throwing the rope across her room, and seeing as everything else she had done failed, Dove ran off to find some peace.
She knocked on Finnick's door, hardly keeping herself from banging at it the second and a half he took to answer. Her breathing had picked up to surpass her constant sobs, the tears she hadn't dared to acknowledge blurring her sight. "Everything failed... so I came to find you."
"First, come in." Finnick reached out to hold her hand, but she flinched and stepped back. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you... Hereβ" he stepped back to let her walk in, at her own shaky pace, past the front doorβ"All alright... What do you need? I'm sure I've got tea somewhere. Take any blanket you want. There's one with a heater upstairs. I'll go get it for you if you want. Just sit on the sofa, say the word, and I'll bring whatever you need."
Dove's sight darted to the side, lost in the small pile of ropes lying at a table by the sofa, just across from the television, broadcasting its latest news from the Capitol. "How do you live with it?"
"Live with what?" Finnick asked, draping a blanket that had been previously lying around the back of the sofa over her shoulders.
The blanket hugged her tightly with increasing warmth. Sobs she had choked up on before became easier to breathe through, though the tears overflowing in her eyes kept on streaming down to meet the blanket's soft material. "Killing. To murder people, children...How can I cope with that?"
"You can't." The answer appeared way less complicated than it should in Finnick's opinion. "I drag myself out of nightmares every day. There's not much relief at waking up either. Just the empty feeling between what I wish never had happened and what will keep on happening..." With a careful approach, he brought his hand to her cheek, wiping off the ongoing tears with his thumb. "It's better not to give into it. Takes ten times as long to put yourself back together as it does to fall apart."
"I've ever only fallen apart," she whispered, her shivering hands gripping the blanket as she leaned into his touch. "I don't know if I can be pulled back together anymore."
"You can," he said. "One step at a time."
Within thirty minutes, Dove sat beside him on the couch, watching Caesar Flickerman's show with dry eyes and steady breaths. More often than not, his jokes would go overlooked. Her lips were tied into a thin line that appeared unwavering throughout the following hour.
Dove's head gently drooped onto Finnick's shoulder, her long bushy hair covering the peaceful look on her face from view at a simple glance. He tried to move, and have her lay down, but that almost woke her up several times, forcing Finnick to lie back with her. As Caesar Flickerman's voice faded into the background, both of them drifted off to sleep, their hands resting just centimetres from one another.