During the second day of training, Lucas and I decided to part ways once more to gain more info about both the tributes and the arena; Cassia, Levin and Bonnie stuck to me the moment we were free to roam the stations, so I made sure to both entertain them and observe the rest of the tributes. I know that the more allies we recruit, the better our odds of surviving the professional tributes, but right now I'm going more for quality over quantity.
I see Max, the tribute from district seven, take place at the combat station and immediately decide to follow. Considering how many times I fell to the ground training with Finnick last night, it's safe to say I won't make the biggest impression or attract unwanted attention; with this in mind, Max, the boy from district nine and I listen carefully to the trainer and take positions on the mat that was settled for us.
Max is almost as tall as Finnick, strong-built and blatantly agile even when his height should make him clumsier. In the best way, I attentively watched how the trainer and Max circled one another, Max actively throwing punch after punch with a force that makes my teeth rattle; even when his strength gives him advantage, I can't help but notice how Max has the fatal flaw of putting his entire weight onto his left shoulder, always shouldering the right.
A past accident that left him hurt? I wait for the session to be over, stashing that information to share with Lucas afterwards. I follow Max, ignoring the boy from district nine, trying my best to think about what sort of conversation to bring up, but Tritus is faster than me. He grabs Max, quickly establishing a conversation with the boy and grinning at me when Max follows him where Gleale, Juni and Rita are awaiting.
Of course, the professionals are looking forward to expanding their own allies.
"It's a smart move." Horace murmurs next to me. I flinch, hating how he managed to sneak up on me and deciding to work on being more aware of my surroundings.
"Why would you think that?"
"Lumber district, good with an axe. If we manage to get thrown into a forest this year, Max will help them at getting wood for the bonfires or guarding the refugee."
"He has to know they will kill him the moment they get rid of the easy tributes." I didn't mean for it to come out that way, but it's a harsh reality to confront. If Levin and Cassia are with us, the main target for the careers are going to be the tributes from the remaining districts, weak and unable to form an active group.
"Maybe that's his strategy. Getting them from the inside." Horace mutters, staring at them and grimacing when Juni looks at us as if we were easy prey.
I shudder, turning around and looking for the poison plants station. Horace follows me, listening carefully when the trainer explains how there's certain especial traits many plants have to identify if they are safe to eat or not; assuming Lucas is right and the arena is a ruined town, food might not be easy to find.
Fighting against Max or Tritus isn't an option, but if we make sure they are hungry enough, serving them their own poison doesn't seem so bad. We are left alone to examine the various drawings and divisions of eatable and non-eatable plants, and I make sure to revisit their names and forms time and time again; I turn around once, making sure to localize Lucas, who's trying to show Bonnie how to make a bonfire using two sticks, even when the poor girl contents herself to stare at the high windows and smile at random things only she seems to see.
"Did you know her before?" I ask Horace, who was also staring at them with a fond look.
"Kind of. My sister is going to marry Bonnie's older brother, but my parents weren't exactly okay with it, and we haven't talked in a while. Guess we'll never talk again." His voice cracks at the last bit, resentment clear on his face. I don't want to dig too much into personal stuff, but the idea of going away to an arena without having spoken to Bailey for such a ridiculous reason is certainly painful.
"Why volunteering, Horace? You could've fix things back home."
He shakes his head, staring back at Bonnie "Children at home are always mocking her, murmuring behind her back or directly humiliating her because they know no one will do anything. When they called her name at the reaping… I don't know, the fact that even here she would be used as cannon fodder got the best of me. It was an impulsive decision, and it might seem stupid, but I want her to know she has at least one person on her side" Bonnie laughs at something Lucas said, and from the look on his face, it wasn't exactly funny "Did you know not even her parents came to say goodbye? They were just glad that at least their perfect son wasn't reaped his last year."
I feel sick to my stomach in ways I haven't in a long time. How could someone care so little about their own children? I'm certain that, had they been alive, mom and dad would've clawed their way to the stage once my name got called, a big spectacle to show how against the games they were.
"Do you want to make sure she wins, then? To prove something?"
Horace lets out a humorless laugh "What's the point of winning anyway? A nice house in a secluded village in your district? Pathetic parties in the Capitol so people can ogle at me like a zoo animal?" He spits on the ground with intent, looking at the cameras around the training center, as if daring them to come and sent someone to punish him "I don't care about becoming a victor or a murderer or about these stupid games, Annie. Not when the truth is hidden in plain sight."
"Which truth? Each year you have districts that take pride in winning this thing. Do you think Gleale or Tritus or any of the other ones haven't dream of volunteering for the arena? My own district will throw a party at the main square if one of us wins." It's despicable, at best, horrendous at worst. I still remember the party when Finnick won, the celebrations that took place until the early hours of the morning, the desire to be near him, to ask him for advice.
Colin spent weeks breaking down every single one of his moves, explaining how Finnick had the perfect strategy to win and the ways it could be replicated to assure us a sixth victor. It wasn't until Finnick shut him down when Colin directly asked him about one of his killings that he started bad-mouthing him in the street.
No matter how terrifying the games are, we as districts have already made them our own. Whether to assure other districts of wealth or power, the idea of preparing a victor has somehow become a matter of joy. Killing isn't for survival anymore, not for the people outside rooting for your winning blow.
"They wouldn't if they truly realized how horrific the games can be." I stare at Horace in disbelief. Of course, the districts know that; the games are a mandatory watch and each year we are forced to see a victor rise, either by succumbing to violent urges or thanks to strategic hiding until they were the only one left. Horace seems to know what I'm thinking, because he leans in and pretends to be analyzing one of the plants "During our three days stay here, think about what they make of us. We're presented as superstars, joyful about the fight to begin and excited to bring pride to our district; we're not human beings, Annie, not anymore. They care about how entertaining we can be, about how much money and sponsors we can bring, and our deaths are count as non-important. The districts need to be reminded that we are children,theirchildren, and that this is not a simple entertainment anymore."
"Horace, what you're implying is…" Dangerous is too low a term for it. Insane, absolute madness.Treason, my mind supplies, full of the images the Capitol shows as propaganda from the dark days. "It's impossible."
"It will be hard, yes. But I don't intend to give them the show they're expecting."
Goosebumps creep my skin at his words. It's dangerous enough going into the arena, but making sure to target yourself seems ridiculous. The districts will not arise from a single boy going against the Capitol where the game makers have the power to take you down if you give them enough trouble.
"Just going to martyr yourself? Is that your master plan?"
Horace senses the peacekeeper that's coming our way, quickly standing up after pretending to gather enough information from the station. Before he turns around to leave, he whispers loud enough for me to hear it "All of us have been taught that the only way out is by being the last one standing. But what if there's another way out, one even the Capitol can't control."
I try to process his words, make sense of the statement he just made. Another way out? How could there be another way out? The arenas were impenetrable places, the only way in is through the tunnels at the start that surround the cornucopia each year; the Victor is always picked up by a hovercraft once the games are done, where in heaven would Horace find another exit?
I ruminate this throughout lunch, forcing myself to at least pretend to be interested in the conversation around me. Lucas seems to notice something is off, but he does his best to leave me alone to my thoughts, something I appreciate since I won't be able to lie convincingly to him about what Horace suggested.
The remaining training I spend it around the snare station, where alongside the tributes from district eight and nine we are learning effective ways to build a long-lasting trap. I pay attention to the material, putting myself to work in the construction of a net that can be impossible to break unless you carry a knife with you; it serves two purposes for me, really: 1. Hoping this will mean they will give us rope or an easy amenable material in the arena; 2. Crafting ways to ensure we will at least trap one or two tributes effectively.
Leaving them to starve or be easy preys for mutts won't make me their direct killer, I like to believe.
I'm in the middle of finishing the example of a snare that traps you from the neck when I hear the commotion at the climbing station; Juni, who's a brute guy with auburn hair that constantly looks dirty, is spewing insults at none other than Lucas. I'm instantly moving, not caring about my own survival.
A part of me remembers what Finnick warned me about not getting into dangerous situations on purpose, but I ignore this in favor of defending Lucas. Although, if I'm honest, my district partner is handling the situation better than I could've imagined.
"Want to say that again, you idiot?" Juni says, rage transforming his face into something ugly and terrifying.
Lucas, heads shorter than this guy, stands up straighter "Sorry, I should've known so many hits to the head would cause a permanent damage. Let me put it mightily: You pushedher, apologize." Bonnie is nursing a bruised arm, but even when she looks like a wounded bird, she still stares at Juni with deep anger.
Juni, who's clearly not enjoying being humiliated publicly by a boy he doesn't consider important, especially at the expanse of laughter from his own career pack's mates, jumps at the opportunity to lay his hands on Lucas. I scream, attracting the unwanted attention of the peacekeepers meant to watch over us, as well as Atala, who wastes no time for slapping Juni so hard even I can feel his skin burning.
Gleale, who's the closest to him, grabs him by the neck like a misbehaving kitten and pushes him away before the peacekeepers decide to give him an electroshock for disobeying the rules carefully explained on our first day.
"He started this!" He yells, trying to force himself out of Gleale's hold.
I grab Lucas, who's smiling condescendingly at him "Mommy didn't teach you manners back home, Juni? Money can buy survival, but not decency. That one is earned."
"Lucas, stop it." I chastise him, but the damage is done.
Gleale looks at us with disdain barely hidden, her fists tight beside her "Watch it four, we'll solve this at the arena. You just wait when we hunt you down first."
Lucas remains smug, but I feel his trembling hands. He did it, he sealed an enemy we don't really want to deal with; in just one minute, we've lost whatever remaining allies we could have, because no one will want to be alongside the tributes with a target already hanging from their back. I've seen what Gleale does with an axe, and it's left me enough thoughts to want to remain as far from her as I can.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" Bonnie mutters, trying to reach for Lucas's hands.
Lucas accepts it, shushing down her whimpers "It's okay, it's okay. Really, Bonnie, I don't care. It's just a ridiculous statement, once we're inside the arena they will forget everything about it."
He's calming her down, obviously, and we both share a look that reflects what we truly think of this situation.
"I was just trying to help her." He mutters once we're inside the elevator, going up to our apartment floor after training is over "Annie, what will happen to me?"
"Nothing, Lucas, absolutely nothing." I hug him, trying to think of a logical way to stabilize the mess we've just gotten into "We need to get rid off them before they catch us. Weak spot, remember? And who knows, perhaps they will have other priorities once we're inside the arena."
It simply takes the elevator doors to open for us to encounter an angry Finnick Odair, who is staring at us with enough force that details just how much he's already found out. Lucas cowers behind me, but even that doesn't stop Finnick from madly scolding him like a furious father.
"What were you thinking? Picking fights with the professional tributes mere days before the games start? Do you even imagine what this will mean for you? Forher?" Lucas shrinks, letting out a yelp when Finnick yells in an even higher tone, "Do you not care what will happen anymore?"
"Finnick, he's a child"
He ignores me, fuming at Lucas "I've told you, time and time again, and the first thing you do is completely disregard my advice, as yourmentor, and put yourself as the target for the district two tribute"
"It was an accident."
Finnick lets out a humorless laugh "An accident? Lucas, there are no accidents anymore. It's your life on the line. Do you have such little regard for that, too?"
"Finnick, enough." I push him away from Lucas, who's trembling like a leaf and sobbing back in full force.
Mags came out at the sound of the commotion, running towards Lucas as fast as she could, taking him in her arms, making sure to shield him away from the ire our young mentor was about to throw upon him. It's hilarious, really, because everyone back at four assumed Finnick would be such an easygoing mentor, the one who would be ready to throw jokes and present the games as a commercial event; granted, no one had come back to give a full review of his lack of sympathy and ability to express his disappointment in less hurtful ways, but it always comes as a surprise.
"We can't fix this" He kept rambling, looking at Mags for validation "In all my years as mentor, this is the stupidest mistake we're dealing with."
"And we'll solve it." Mags shut him down, daring him to reply. Finnick tried, but one look kept him reigned in "I've been here longer than you, Finnick, so believe me when I tell you that whatever that girl threatened Lucas with isn't the end of the world. I've seen children getting violent outburst all the time, saying things they don't mean. This is one of those things." Lucas held onto her tighter. Mags rocked him back and forth, insisting him to go and rest.
Finnick and I stood in the middle of the hallway, looking at each other in uncomfortable silence. I'm waiting for him to start rambling again, but the fight seems to be directed only towards Lucas, leaving me out of it for at least a while; Finnick abruptly turns around, dragging me to the elevator and punching the basement floor button, fuming. I doubt it's appropriate for me to train with him considering his state and yet I avoid bringing the subject up.
Maybe we both need to punch something right now.
Finnick and I spent a good thirty minutes beating each other, and I can proudly say that I'm at least lasting longer than yesterday. I'm not a fighter but I can pinpoint weak points Finnick tries his best to hide: He always trips lightly before taking a punch and leaves microseconds before attacking, as if thinking and replaying his odds. Someone else might never notice, but I've grown accustomed to it.
We sat cross-legged on the floor after practice, Finnick gave me a bar of chocolate he certainly pulled from the dining room, and I imagine he did it before we came up from the gymnasium, since he missed breakfast this morning. I stare at him, not missing the bite pecking from the top of his collar, the one he keeps fidgeting with.
Who is the girl that keeps Finnick away during his visits to the Capitol? Could it be Gineth? Perhaps not, perhaps she is a wealthy young girl who has maintained his attention enough to keep him from time to time.
Back at four, I never had the time nor the energy to think about love. I have the responsibility to keep Bailey away from danger, to ensure he has food at the table and a roof over his head; the games also forbid me to even look at a boy twice. What if he ends up being reaped? What if both of us are forced to come here? It was too much to bear, so I decided that being alone was a better fit. I wonder if now, after going into that arena, if I somehow manage to get out, things would be different.
Could I love someone at four? Would anyone want to be with me if they see what I'm willing to do to survive? Or would I just look for Capitol citizens as Finnick does?
"Tomorrow is the private session" Finnick brings me out of my thoughts, which serves me right. Dangerous thoughts are best kept away, "Lucas mentioned once that you're good at fishing. Nets or spears?"
"Both, but I prefer nets. I'm good at making traps."
This calls his attention "I don't need to remind you, but this is the moment in which you must showcase this people why they need to bet on you. The moment you step onto the arena, you're just a number, but if you're remarkable enough, you remind them why they would want to keep you out."
A number. So far, everywhere we go, I'm just the female tribute from district four. Nobody here cares about Annie Cresta, not even the charismatic Caesar Flickerman. He will joke with me as easily as he will comment on the many ways the arena is designed to destroy me.
"I can make a net with anything; a trap isn't far behind." I tell Finnick what I've learned today at the snare station, seeing him smile at the ideas I've gotten about how to hunt down the other tributes when the time comes.
"The both of you are the smartest people I've met so far." He mutters, looking down at his hands.
He's just one year older than me, the youngest victor ever. I can't imagine how helpless he must feel each year, seeing the tributes he has to mentor die every time; I judged him harder than I should've at the train that first time, even I would turn cold at the desperation someone else is throwing onto my shoulders of keeping them alive. Even when he's blunt and harsh, Finnick's been doing his best to help Lucas and me.
"You do know you have to talk to Lucas, right?" I'm aware Finnick will take him for a private session later, but the idea of him being mean to Lucas when it's just the two of them makes me ill "Finnick, he's a child and he's terrified right now."
Finnick looks at me, his eyes reflecting how devastated he feels "He's the youngest I've had to mentored. Ever since I won, my tributes were at least fourteen, most of the time sixteen-year-olds, ridiculous and childish, yes, but older. Lucas is ababy; all these nights the only thing creeping to my mind is howyoungandgoodhe is, how they are doing his best to ruin him."
"You've shown the entire country there are chances to get out even when you're young. That has given Lucas hope to remain a victor."
"There are no victors, Annie. Never. No one leaves that arena unscathed; you're always changed; it's like something messes with your head and there's no way of going back to how it was." Finnick laughs, although it sounds awfully like a sob "The Lucas Blair you've met, or any other tribute you've had a chance of interacting with during the last three days, all of them will be gone before the canon goes off for the last time, and I'm not taking about dying. These games make sure to strip you from anything close to resemble humanity."
I remember Horace's words, how absolutely against given them content to explode he is. Here and now, mister Blair's words sound louder than any canon; did he watch his own brother do unspeakable things? Did he hear how the Capitol people were clamoring for a victor, not caring what we have to do to get there? Will I go that far once the moment comes?
"We're not people to them." I whisper, aware that someone might be watching us even here.
"It's hard it takes this long for many of us to realize that." Finnick mutters. He helps me stand up, starting the walk towards the elevator to return to our apartment. While walking, Finnick starts giving me basic advice for the last day before the arena officially begins "Tomorrow, make sure to shown them the traps, allow them a brief peek at what you're about to offer. Lucinda, ever the angel, has already crafted some sketch to present you publicly at the interviews with Caesar, we'll put our energy to work on that."
"She's focusing on Bailey, isn't she?" Of course she would. Tragedy really sells in this place, as if me talking about my poor brother who's about to be completely left alone to fend for himself is crueler than sending twenty-three children to die. Who understands these people?
"Sympathy sells. Most of the tributes will go for the usual narrative of being excited for the games to begin or flattering themselves in television to attract attention. Most of the people in the public are parents, siblings, uncles or aunts, a bit of a tear jerk reaction, if you ask me."
"Did you go that route in your own interview?"
Finnick smirks, leaning against the wall of the elevator, smug and radiant "I made sure to let them know exactly what I wanted" He smiles, bursting with excitement "There's a good thing about growing up with my father in the Mushrooms, you know, and it's the insight it gives you about what people truly crave. And Capitol citizens are the easiest bunch."
"And what exactly were they craving?"
"Believing, in their hearts and souls, that they had done everything to save this poor boy with such a brilliant future ahead of him" Finnick says, coyly "Shame is a funny thing, and it works better than fear. They thought I was playing their games, but the moment they sent me the trident at the arena is when they should've realized they were playing mine."
Finnick's games were the second time I was eligible for a reaping and barely a year since my father passed; the stress of the orphanage, taking care of Bailey and adjusting to rough working schedules had made my life a living hell; it's a blur, really, what happened that year. I remember some bits and pieces here and there, like he volunteered or his shiny merman dress at the parade. I know we watched his interview and games at Colin's house, and the collective euphoria when he was proclaimed the victor. I remember some of his killings, haunting down the tributes like they were mere obstacles to a furious predator. I know Finnick Odair is impressive, but it's here that I realize how manipulative he could be and the smartest way he played the Capitol to force them to win the games for him.
Finnick made them look stupid at their own house.
"Get some sleep, shower, relax and eat something, not exactly in that order" Finnick says, escorting me to my room just like he did yesterday "Share your thoughts with Mags, she's good at making fishhooks, I'm sure she'll love to give you some points on what to show the game makers tomorrow."
I tap his hand lightly, waiting for him to allow me to fully hold it. Once Finnick gives me a tentative squeeze, I grab it and check that the biting nails are healing the way they should. It amazes me to see Finnick, who probably has more intimate stories in bed and lovers waiting for him, to blush red at such innocent antics, but I refrain from laughing or commenting on it, both for his sake and mine. Once I make sure everything is fine, I let go of his hand. What I didn't expect was from him to grab it back almost instantly and the look on his face clearly states neither did he.
"Be kind to Lucas." I whisper, refusing to be the one letting go first this time "Not your usual stern self, Finnick."
"You're the dotting and adoring mother and I have to be the strict father" He jokes and now it's my turn to blush at such implication.
"Well, there are times to be dotting and others to be stern. You just need to balance them better." If he could see me mothering Bailey back at home, he would surely call me out on this, accusing me of being strict or even worse. But what Finnick doesn't know can't hurt him "Him messing up at the interview with Caesar, be strict. Him getting terrified by a potential killer, be dotting. Easy, right?"
"It's easy for you to say it. You grew up surrounded by children and have a brother, I was normally fending off for myself. No one can blame me for not developing a fatherly sense right away." I laugh, ready to discuss he already shows great dedication to his tributes, just lacking some manners. Finnick reluctantly lets go of my hand, looking down with that faint blush still visible "I'll do my best, if Lucas isn't ready to bite my head off. That kid certainly has an attitude."
"Most of them do. But I'll think you'll be alright, you've done well so far."
Finnick looks at me, those deep green eyes full of something I can't describe "You mean a lot to me." He seems to find it odd, quickly adding "You both do, as annoying as you can be, but not only for being my tributes. I really wished we had met on different circumstances."
"So do I." It's weird, because a few days ago I couldn't give a damn about this golden boy and now I can't help but want him close. It's one thing to hear the stories about the youngest victor and the other to truly live with his mood swings and bad temper, his sweet cravings and bad habits. Finnick isn't my mentor, not really, he feels more like a friend.
I quickly closed my door, not bearing seeing him walk away like yesterday. It's one of the greatest pains I'm dealing with so far, the thought of wanting the many different scenarios in which we could've had more time to simply exist; maybe we would've gotten along at school, meeting in the yard and playing around, maybe we would've been closer like Colin and me.
But this is the real world, and sadly Finnick and I only have the hours ticking down to the impeding sound of the games starting.
The rest of the evening, I actually follow his advice, although sleeping is what I do before anything else; I take a shower to wash away the grime and ache in my muscles, savoring the different soaps and shampoos that were carefully placed, growing fond of the strawberry one. Once I'm dressed, Mags and I spend the evening practicing some intricate knots and ideas for my test tomorrow.
"I'm glad to finally have someone to share this with" She mutters, her hands faster than what a woman her age should be able to do "I tried to teach Finnick time and time again, but he's as good as a fish learning to walk."
"Finnick can't make a net?"
Mags laughs "A net? My dear, he wouldn't be able to tie a knot to save his life. He was fortunate during his games, that's for sure, that none of the other tributes were fast enough to get the bad attempt at a net he made off them before he could kill them."
"He used to fish; I saw him sometimes at the beach near where I worked. How did he do it then?" Finnick was employed by many people, from what I remember. Most of the time he was working, failing class after class at school. His father was called many times, but neither he nor any of our teachers truly cared that he suddenly stopped showing up altogether to school.
"Spears or his trident; he can be pretty resourceful when he intends to." Mags says fondly. She must be proud of the boy she managed to get out of the arena and from what I've seen, he's like a son to her. Even with the scoldings and difference of opinions on how to mentor us, Finnick respects her judgment with reverence; honestly, so do I.
"Do you think…" I don't want to spill what Horace told me at the training center in front of the many cameras that are keeping constant watch of us, but I need to know Mags's take on this "Do you think there's an easy way to gothroughthe games? An exit?"
Mags stares at me and something akin to recognition hits her gaze "Find a refugee, for sure; stay away from the mutts, of course. Other than that, I wouldn't recommend." She passes me the fishhook she made, squeezing my hand with force "We already have a strategy, Annie, let's follow it."
The message is loud and clear: Whatever insane thing Horace might be looking for, staying away and focusing on surviving is the goal.
Once Lucas and Finnick are back, we sit together to eat dinner and hear Lucinda yapping about what she intends to do for our interviews. For Lucas, her eye is focused on the glory seeking tribute; she managed to get her hands on footage of Seamus, Lucas's uncle, games and she intended for Caesar to comment on them during the brief respite between interviews.
"It's the start of a new decade for the games; everyone here is so excited. Lucas wanting to win to bring honor to the sacrifices made by his uncle, especially considering he was one of the three finalists, will be epic!"
"He was a finalist?" Lucas asks.
Lucinda nods, happily sharing with the entire table how Seamus remained a fan favorite to win during his own games; his arena, an archipelago surrounded by vicious crocodiles and flesh-eating parrots, only lasted 4 days.
"It wasn't that entertaining, if you ask me, many tributes died thanks to dehydration and the views weren't that high. Your uncle was sent a bottle of water, not shocking since he had the best odds." Lucinda says, looking towards Mags for confirmation that never comes since the old lady refuses to comment. This doesn't deter Lucinda "It was him, Elenora Cradle from district one and a poor girl from eight. It's a shame, really, I firmly believe he would've won if he hadn't wanted to play hero and save the girl from eight; against Elenora, there wasn't much to do."
Lucas stares at her blankly "He died protecting someone innocent. He won."
Lucinda laughs "Well, dear, he was sent back in a coffin and Elenora has the best dresses at parties around here, so it could be discussed. But that isn't the matter, I already told Caesar thanks to a goodtipto make you look like the young boy who will repair past mistakes and honor the family name."
Lucas seems motivated enough to shut her up, but Finnick quickly steps on his toes and thanks Lucinda for her good work and input. This, of course, helps her move on with the strategy set up for me and that Finnick had already told me about in advance. The sympathy card we're playing consists of convincing the Capitol how everything I do at the arena is in the hopes of guaranteeing my lovely brother a better life in district four.
I mean, sure. Winning the games and obtaining a house and money for the rest of my lifetime will surely lift many of the burdens that accost me at night when I go to sleep; with a sustainable income, no one would bother me about taking Bailey from the orphanage and I could ensure to keep him safe and content, ensuring him a happier life than what we've endured so far.
Compared to Lucas, at least I won't be lying so much.
Lucas and I went to my room, as we had been doing these past few days. Lucas shivered for a while, not from the cold, but from the remaining fury at Lucinda's words; he tossed and turned, his thoughts racing furiously.
"You know it's not true, Lucas. We're just keeping ourselves alive, it doesn't matter what you say at that interview." I try to console him, but my words have the reverse effect.
"Everyone at home will watch that. My father will watch me talk shit about his brother, saying ridiculous things about wanting glory and fame." Lucas huffs, turning around in bed to look at me "Did you hear what Lucinda said? She called him an idiot for saving a girl, for showing basic decency at refusing to let her be killed cold-blooded. I don't get this people."
"Trying to understand the Capitol citizens is a never-ending struggle, Lucas. You're putting too much thought into it."
"It's not just the Capitol. It's everyone." He sits abruptly in bed, furiously gesticulating to emphasize his opinion "It's Gleale and Tritus and Juni and Rita who believe this thing to be the greatest achievement of their lives, going through the mechanics of killing people like going to the supermarket. It's the other tributes, who are simply staying there and acting like the perfect lambs to the slaughtered; it's the mentors, and I really appreciate Finnick and Mags, but they simply give advice to us about how to become better killing machines in there. And worst of all, the people of the districts are going to jump in happiness or cry when one of us dies, probably betting alongside Capitol people on who the victor will be. It's sickening."
He's not that far from what Horace complained to me about at the Gymnasium, and even when these thoughts have hit me too, I don't think it's the best moment to complain. Not after Mags confirmed my suspicions that trying to escape the arena is an impossible task.
"Lucas, I know this experience is a horrifying mess, but there isn't much we could do about it. They don't live the arena, not the way we're about to."
"That's the problem." He shuts me up "The people at the districts have forgotten this was a punishment and the people in the Capitol have forgotten that we're human, not brandishing toys. Tell me, Annie, do you think in a year people will remember your name or mine if we're not the victor? Do you remember Finnick Odair district partner's name? Because I don't and it scares me to realize I was part of the problem."
I scoot over, sitting beside him in this dark room and hearing his breathing getting ragged "Lucas, you're not part of the problem. You were what? Seven years old when Finnick played?"
"Did you know my father forbid my sister and I to watch the games? I know they're mandatory, he just gives us details that we can share around so no one suspects" He whispers, laughing, "I always sneaked out to my friend's house so I could watch them and I even had favorites and heroes and dreamed of what it would be like to win; not right now, of course, but when I was older. Maybe I could convince my dad to send me to the academy or work myself to pay for a few lessons and practice to become a victor. And then my name got called and I watched what this is really like, the only thing I can think of now is howstupidI was and how naïve my friends back home still are."
I think of Colin, who frantically studies each tribute and sits beside me to rant about who he considers should be the victor. How his parents and brothers chant and cheer when their favorite continues to be alive, how they protest when their favorite is killed unfairly by their standards; I never truly participated in their conversations, but even at school the topic of conversation after the games are over is how any of us could've done things different to survive.
The Hunger Games at district four are a way to obtain money for the poorest children and a powerful dreamlike illusion for the privileged ones. What both Lucas and Horace said is true, the games evolved from a punishment to something darker.
"How about this? We sneak things into our interviews with Caesar to let them know where we stand, nothing too blunt to avoid getting targeted at the arena, but enough to ensure they will remember we weren't okay with this." It's the easiest promise we can make, and it calms Lucas enough for him to go to sleep after such a tiring day.
I had some dreamless sleep, which rapidly changed when I was bolted awake when someone put their hand on my mouth to avoid my screams to alert someone else. I'm immobilized from the shock of fear and when I'm about to try and punch my attacker, a too familiar voice whispers something that gives me shivers.
"Annie, we need to talk." Horace says, low and severe enough to let me know this isn't a question.