Inhale

Finnick must use every second of the ten minutes before he suddenly changes topic and I know we're back to being watched. I stay in his room, sleeping in one of his training vests. Well, at points I sleep. I'm happy he's told me everything, even with his reservations. But to digest it is another matter.

Plutarch Heavensbee, a man I'd always thought of as some typical Capitol baboon was the source of all of this, the man making the plans. Everything had become so much more complex, Finnick didn't know exactly how but he did know that Beetee and Wiress were vital for our escape. That made sense- they outsmarted all of us easily. Katniss knew none of this, so they must have done their job extremely well for her to genuinely seem to want to ally with them. Which put Johanna in the perfect position and made my earlier threat seem somewhat logical. Katniss needed to be alive, and there was no chance of us escaping without the victors of District Three. Could Johanna manage to keep them alive herself?

If this was successful, and I allow that glimmer for a few minutes. If we won, got Katniss to District Thirteen and tore down the Capitol. Snow would have been tricked by one of his closest allies, the man running the very games that kept the country under his thumb. There was no better slap in the face. I could even see his fat lips fall into a scowl. He would deserve all that was coming to him. I let that soothe me, allow the twisted pleasure at his defeat push every other fear away. A personal vengeance would be sweet, for Luka.

I am back in District Four, at least in spirit. This is a much nicer way to spend the twilight hours. I pick at memories, bring them into the front of my mind. Luka's sixteenth birthday when Dad had brought him a camera and for the next six months every move was documented and stuck upon a wall. I had plenty of those pictures at home. I should have brought the pictures with me, they're some of the last of Dad.

Luka had spent his sixteenth birthday on the beach, a cake and plenty of his friends. Thom's had been a quieter affair, never one to make a fuss. His birthday was the first after Dad had gone missing, there was no hope, not at that stage yet nothing was official. We had eaten a nice meal, watched as the bottle our parents had kept from their wedding vanished into Mom's glass.

I'd spent my sixteenth birthday preparing for the second stop on my Victory Tour. About the same time President Snow much have been setting up the auction for my virginity. Snow deserved to die for what he has done to the people I loved. I'm back to twisted images, a victory that will likely never happen.

I curl into Finnick's back. There are a million more questions I cannot ask until tomorrow.

The night stretches.

Everyone is suitably tense this morning. And for a change, it is everyone. Those who have not attended either day of training must come for their presentations this afternoon. The room seems oddly full. We split again, Finnick yawning into his forearm as he saunters towards Katniss. They had decided to spend a couple of hours showing each other their top skills. Finnick would finally get his ill-formed wish to wield a bow. I wanted to stand and watch that but thought better of it. Now I knew what was happening I'd realised just how much time I was wasting.

I should speak to Beetee and Wiress. I couldn't say anything obvious, all conversation must always be heavily coded. I drag my eyes around, spotting them on the camouflage station. If anyone was paying attention it would look odd that I was going to that station for the second day in a row. More than likely a gamemaker would see it as me avoiding conflict, weaponry. That was fine by me. I still had no idea what I was doing later on so they could read into whatever they wanted.

I liked what Peeta and I had touched on the previous evening, you are always in the games. I'd been in them for five years, I'd been what they wanted in the arena, I was who Seneca wanted each summer and several times a year. I'd tried to train children who had died for their entertainment.
As far as they were aware, I was still playing their game. I drag myself over to the trainer who smiles but senses neither I nor the older couple wish to speak and vanishes to fiddle with some dyes. I sit beside Beetee, watching him drag charcoal over some thick paper. “What are you drawing?”

“Just doodling.” District Three has the most distinguishable accent, other than the Capitol, sharp with vowels that snap across their tongues. I don't think I've ever shared more than a few words with either of them before. “How are you Elenia?” Beetee asks, his eyes purposefully trained on the space between my eyebrows. It's a good trick, one Naloh taught me on my victory tour, it makes the person think you are looking them in the eyes. This makes me feel more comfortable instantly. “I'm not too bad. Tired.” I allow, “You?”

“Starting to feel the nerves kick in.” He smiled, pushing his glasses further up his nose. Before my games they’d corrected my eyesight to near perfection so I’d never understood why he hadn't. “Me too. I don't like being down here again. “ He smiles a little and Wiress echoes it, leaning around him so she can see me better. If Beetee's eyes are fixed hers do not stop moving, roaming over my face. “It can be very...” She trails off, loses her words as she does. She had earned them the nickname Nuts and Volts. She was Nuts due to this very trait. Sometimes I wondered if I had a similar nickname behind my back, but then I wasn't as bad as her. I lost myself, but not so often, not so obviously. Or at least, I hoped.

“Claustrophobic.” Beetee finishes. “You were on this station yesterday, with Peeta.”

I don't disagree and just plough forward, “I just thought it was a shame we hadn't spoken before we all go in.” Wiress nods but speaks so swiftly the words blend and all I can is copy her movement politely. Betee and her share an amused look and he repeats much more clearly, “That's nice of you, we probably haven't spoken to people as much as we should have.” I can echo this with no hesitation of a lie, and we fall into silence. Wiress is smudging chalk on pink card, the lines form ripples in one corner. I cannot work it out. “Art isn't either of our strong points.” Beetee comments, following my eye line. “I suppose we should have asked Peeta for tips. He's very talented.”

“You saw that programme.” He tells me he had done. Katniss had shown off her fashion designs, I remember thinking she had a good eye, and Peeta presented his portraits. He did have a natural gift, but it wouldn't save him, not twice. “You used to draw didn't you?” I have no idea how he knows this, I'm far from Peeta's level but used to enjoy pencil sketches. They were a good distraction and took up all of my concentration when I was struggling to stay afloat. I hadn't drawn anything in months.

“You two should compare styles when you get the chance. It's always interesting to discuss something so close to the heart with another who understands.” There has to be more in this comment, it's so unnatural and odd. “If there's any downtime in the arena maybe I'll get a chance.”

His mouth twitches, but he controls it well. I haven't declared an alliance but there is no way he isn't going to catch on. “We were speaking to Katniss when she helped us start a fire.” He nudges Wiress who springs back into the conversation, “About talents.” She blurts, retreats into herself and waits for Beetee to continue, “She had some interesting thoughts, certainly a conversation we too would like to finish.”

Beetee and Wiress were intending to end up in our little alliance. That fit perfectly with the pieces Johanna had laid out. I just hope they didn't think they would join Katniss straight away, imagine their disappointment to be stuck for a few hours with Johanna.

I'm ahead of myself again, we have to survive the cornucopia before anything of this comes in to play. Johanna has to keep them alive whilst Finnick and I ensure we do the same with District Twelve. More than that, we need to earn their trust so they don't try and murder us in our sleep that first night. It would make more sense for us to start in a larger group, all meet up after the initial bloodbath. I seem to be the only one who thinks this, no doubt part of a larger puzzle I am not privy too.

A chill strikes me again and Beetee drops our conversation, murmuring to Wiress who is scrawling more erratically now. I watch the room, as I am so good at, watching and not partaking. Finnick and Katniss had agreed to share their expertise, and he was painstakingly walking her through some moves with a trident. She won't touch one in the arena, if there is a bow then she is sorted. There will be, I imagine each weapon anyone here has shown any skill with will be available. It would be a waste otherwise. The Capitol know people's strengths, what they used to be anyway, and will play to these for the best show possible.

The arena will have been planned years ago, but there are always little tweaks made right up until the countdown, Seneca had taught me that.

Lunch comes surprisingly quickly, we'd all scrubbed up and changed beforehand. Everyone wears what they want for training, but for the presentations, we're in matching gear, dark material with long sleeves. Finnick seems to find the shoulder pads on me hilarious and prods them several times. Unfortunately, this encourages Chaff and I know I'm bright red by the time his teasing has finished. I eat little, which is normal, but my stomach is churning yet again.

What the hell should I do?

I run through what I'm actually good at, and that could squeak me a decent score but at the same time, I'm caught still in last night. I want them to know I'm done with it all. Would that put my brother at risk? It shouldn't -they should be well hidden away by now. That thought does settle my stomach a little and I join in some conversation.

It's a bit more sombre and before too long we're in the waiting room, used for this occasion, as they set up the training sector. It's pretty tense, and the only people who seem at all comfortable are Brutus, Enobaria and Finnick. He sits sideways on the bench so he's facing me and keeps up a steady line of nonsense talk. I know some of it is to keep me grounded, keep me present so I don't mind too much. I just fiddle with my hair and make the occasional comment back until Gloss is called. You only get fifteen minutes and although those periods seem to drag, before too long Finnick pats near my knee and vanishes. The room is in near silence without him and I start feeling twitchy. No distraction and I still have no idea what I want to do.

The ball of my right foot is bouncing on the ground and I'm fighting against the urge to start biting my nails. Instead, I look around, make note of the people who have just shown for today and smile a bit when I catch Peeta's eyes and he throws me a thumbs up. I don't miss Katniss' look afterwards but a couple of agitation full minutes later my name echoes above us and I stand. My body feels bound and my heart is in my stomach. I don't remember what I did in my first games, not fully. But then my score wasn't great, that was part of the point.

There is always an ulterior motive. Behind everything, intertwined with all.

Plutarch Heavensbee is sat at the front of the balcony and tells me I have fifteen minutes. I can see the programme of orange figures is still being shut down, Finnick had clearly done exactly as he had said. Trident and knives, shown them how deadly he is. I am not deadly. I am not particularly smart, or talented. All I have ever been good at is doing what I'm told in an attempt to keep me and my brothers alive. I'd already half failed there.

“Miss Volute,” Plutarch reminds me, “You have fifteen minutes to show us your preferred skills.” I run over the mass of options. I could paint something, camouflage myself poorly. Use the weapons I was half comfortable with, get that decent score I'd dreamt about earlier in the day. Instead, I don't move, not for a couple of minutes until Plutarch clears his throat.

I always do what they want, they want me to try and impress them. It's the tiniest rebellion I can muster, born equally of disgust and fear. I move to the side of the room, feel their eyes on me and drag over a stool, placing it dead in the centre of the space. I sit on it, staring at them. I don't move a muscle until he finally dismisses me, having given up asking I do something about ten minutes in.

I'm not going to even get a score with that display. I've probably made things a whole lot harder but feel myself smiling all the way back up to the apartment. I had done nothing, what could they make of that? Oh, they'd argue for sure, maybe some would see it as the act of defiance it was, maybe they would see it as weakness. But they'd sure be debating what to give me. Causing them a little distress lifts the ball in my gut. Luka would find it funny.

Finnick is waiting by the sliding door, looking as anxious as I'd expect to feel. I smile widely at him and he covers up the look of shock smoothly.

“Alright?” I nod at him. “You look a lot happier than I expected.” He admits readily.

“Just went better than I thought, and it's done now so...”

His gaze burns but for the time being he drops it, “Good.” I can't see anyone else in the large space, excluding the familiar avox so don't hesitate before I wrap him quickly in a hug. I hadn't realised how quickly my heart was beating until it echoes deep in my chest. I catch the look on his face in my peripheral vision. He looks about as confused as I've ever seen him. “I'm fine, honestly.” I assure him, “How come no-one else is here?” Mags is in the lounge, a familiar place I am somewhat glad I will never have to visit again. It's the peak of trying to gain sponsors, screens showing several cameras worth of live arena footage encircle seating. I grasp at his hand, it was more than that for Finnick, it was where the orders came, always dressed up beautifully, for his time. “Naloh down there as well?” He shrugs, which is about the strongest I often feels towards Naloh. Any time he wasn't around lately was a plus.

“So we've got the place to ourselves?”

“Until dinner.” There's a far better look on his face now. “So...” I grin, tugging myself away and trying to put some seductive swing in my step, still riding the high of my tiny rebellion. “I'm going to have a bath, wanna come?”

Dinner is as expected, and although I'm thoroughly pressed about what I had shown the gamemakers a few half-hearted remarks get them off my back. I'm starting to feel stupid, gut clenching.

It may have seemed like the best move at the moment, but what a stupid time to be impulsive.

My score could be anything, they might hate it, put me down the lowest of the group. Or, like I'd already thought, they may see some fight, some rebellion and put me high. It doesn't matter, my score will not change Finnick's plan. And once you're in the arena, scores mean little, to the tributes at least. Of course, they will play their part with sponsors. But, everyone is already known to the public, each has their own reputation. Scores could be of almost no relevance.

Even so, and with that chant ringing, I'm coiled when we finally start to watch the show. Caesar appears, and I curl into one arm of a love seat. Finnick sits beside me, close enough for comfort without touch.

We start. One and Two unsurprisingly get high scores, and Finnick matches them when his picture appears. He shoots me a quick grin, one side of his mouth flitting upwards. I wait for my name and image, taken this morning. It's a nine, and I feel my eyebrows lift, only a tiny bit offended when Naloh looks equally surprised. Finnick lets out a low whistle, and his hand squeezes mine.

Silly, when it doesn't really mean anything.

The only other surprises come when the number twelve appears not once, which is unprecedented as Naloh huffs several times, but twice. Katniss and Peeta both receive the highest mark. Luine's eyes pop from her skull as she wonders aloud what they could possibly have done to earn it. Mags and Finnick share what seems to be a very pointed look and by the time Luine and Marck finally leave it's late.

She hugs me tight, the smell of wine heavy on her breath.“You two have to be careful.” She smiles and I nod. “And I'll see you tomorrow afternoon to work on your...interview presence.” Her teeth look red in the weak lighting. Naloh stands as well, grumbling about how he needs to see Effie. He mentions, half storming to the elevator that it's just Luine I will deal with tomorrow, Finnick doesn't need any help with interviews – of course not. There is some small saving grace in this, an afternoon with Naloh is something I always want to avoid. The first had been painful enough. “We'll speak in the morning,” He concludes, tapping his foot impatiently as Marck half drags an increasingly incoherent Luine into the elevator. Eventually, it closes and there's a high ping as they vanish from view.

“So,” Finnick starts, he hasn't touched his own celebratory drink, “Katniss and Peeta have just made things very difficult.”

“Twelves' will mean everyone wants them, even more so than now.” I reflect, missing a point which Mags, through stumbled and broken words makes clear. “It means everyone will want them dead quick.”

I sit back down heavily, a now familiar ache forming in the back of my skull. “What if... what if they're completely against alliances, I mean, last year she was by herself...”

“Haymitch is pretty determined.”

“But we can't make them.” I counter, frigid as he pulls me into his side.

“Don't worry.” He says softly, fingers moving to catch in my hair. That's a load of crap and I tell him so, but Mags says she will go and speak to Haymitch, for all the good that will do. Haymitch will have half of the mentors knocking down his bedroom door. “You sure Mags?” She nods, and again I wonder how she and the others even communicate that well. Sometimes I struggle a little, and I've known her for years. When she leaves, Finnick deflates, and a little of the bravado vanishes.

Two more days, three nights and we're in the arena. Tomorrow is traditionally set to prepare for the interview, they follow the next evening. After that, it's all done, nothing more can be arranged, nothing more swayed for the Capitol citizens. You're supposed to go to bed, wake up and go straight to the Hunger Games.

I can't really remember how I felt before when I had my last score and worked out the time. There is just a lick of fear. I can certainly remember being sat on a very similar couch with Finnick, although with far less proximity.

“What do you want to do?” I offer after a few minutes. He shifts, and I beat him to it, “I mean now,” Freeing myself from his clasp, up on my knees to face him. “You want to go to bed or wait for Mags...”

He's upright so quick it makes me dizzy, and his face is only inches from my own. He laughs at how I've jumped, “I can think of a few things I'd like to be doing.” I want to come back with some smart remark, but I can feel heat pooling in my face. “Finnick...” I start, “What if Nal-” He says something extremely rude, and counters the foul language with the ever so sweet gesture of kissing me. I lose myself, lose the day and the horrors of everything else.

Does Finnick wonder just how many chances left he'll have left to kiss me as I do?

There's the low rumble of someone clearing their throat and I tear myself away, nearly tripping over his feet. “Oh, erm, sorry Mags.” I stutter, tugging up my top. She looks highly amused, and Finnick is little better. I can feel myself flushing with embarrassment this time.

“How'd you get on?” Finnick asks, straightening himself out and acting almost as if nothing has happened. That was all it had been, not intentionally, and not in spite, it was a distraction from what we should be focusing on.

She shrugs, “Spoke to him.” She croaked, her fingers point deep into her aged neck and push out, “Tried.” She's struggling, words quivering more than usual so I go to find an avox and order her some warm, spiced milk. She sips it gratefully and manages to explain that Haymitch, indeed, had been indebted with other mentors. When Finnick asks if Haymitch is willing to fight for us she nods.

That's as much as we can hope for at the moment. But my earlier concerns are still present. We cannot force them to ally with us, and things change so swiftly in the arena. No matter of sweet-talking matters when there's the overwhelming need to keep yourself alive.

We all go to bed soon after, little more can be said or done at this stage. Without question, Finnick links our fingers and pulls me into his room. He lets me go, long enough to get myself changed and cleaned up before I return. We have missed that time slot of free speech but neither of us mention anything.

Luine makes me practise sitting down eighteen times. She's drafted up something similar to the dress I will be wearing tomorrow evening. I am strapped into what are surely the highest heels imaginable which certainly hasn't been helping. “So, I'm actually wearing these shoes tomorrow?” She nods again, I tower over her now and she cannot help herself from fussing so keeps darting on her tiptoes to move my hair or adjust my chin. “Posture,” is muttered disdainfully again and she retreats to the couch, instructing me for the nineteenth time.

“That will do,” She sighs, “Much better than an hour ago.” I stay sat as she wanted, ensuring my back was straight enough, my head at an angle she called endearing whilst making sure my hair did not cover any of my face. She makes a few adjustments, it's been a very long time since she's had to coach me in social situations. I can practically see her going through the first time, Naloh had been running the day as he should. I was fairly sure I'd cried three times from how he had spoken to me. Luine was the softer side, the nicer one.

Finnick assured me I had come across well in the interview so she had done something right.

“Do you know what you're going to say?” She asks, finally drawing away and sitting herself down far less gracefully. “Not really,” I admit, resisting that familiar urge to chew on my lip or the inside of my cheek. She'd scold me for it. “Caesar always helps if anyone gets stuck so it will be fine.” I paraphrase Finnick and lay it on even heavier when her face doesn't loosen. Luine is almost getting on my nerves with her upset, the amount she seems to care. It would be easier if she were like Naloh, we are just meat to him.

“You're going into the interview in a good position.” She starts again when she is helping me slip the shoes off, my toes cramping. “You're in the top seven for scores, which is just... phenomenal.” Her smile is demonic, “And you and Finnick will have plenty of sponsors, Mags will see to that, and I know I shouldn't but I've been dropping a few hints to friends.” She definitely shouldn't be doing this, stylists are supposed to take no part in anything other than making us look our best. The risk for her, compared to everything I am looking at doing, is minimal but I am equally irritated at the flash of worry that strikes me in the stomach.

Luine has not picked up on this, “So, sponsors, a good score and...” The room is empty aside from an avox but she lowers her words accordingly, “You are planning on an alliance with Twelve still.” I confirm this, and she glares at the avox until he turns away.

“He's hardly going to tell anyone.” I snap, unable to minimize the tension in my words. Her face falls, lips almost down to her chin. I spend the next five minutes apologising, and she accepts rather graciously, putting it down to the stress of the day. I'll let her have that, training is done now so after today and tomorrow I am in the arena. She points this out almost cruelly as a jab back at me. I am done with her, anything of use has passed and she has a point. I need to have some idea as to what I will say in my interview, how Caesar may start the flow of conversation.

That's one element Finnick has admitted he doesn't worry about at all. He could sit there and talk rubbish and it would be irresistible. The Capitol adores his every move. He is planning something though, I woke up this morning to him scribbling on a pad he then refused to show me. Suspicion had prickled until Luine arrived and tore me away.

“I'll be here about two tomorrow. Your prep team should be here around eleven. Make sure you get plenty of sleep so your face isn't puffy, and watch eating anything that might bloat you.” She keeps this up until the elevator. I do the movements she needs, the nods and grins and exclamations of excitement.

As she reaches the door she stares at me again, how she had when dressing me for the opening ceremony and she had Seneca's earrings.

Whatever it is that earns that look I don't get to hear it.