Sea Salt and Murder (Finnick Odair x OC)

Chapter 3 - The Strategy

My room is huge. Dad and I come from the poorer part of district four, but this is extravagant. Ridiculously so. This one room would've been sold for more money than we would make in both of our lifetimes. The clothes are rich, the carpets are luxurious, the bed feels like a cloud. I wish Dad could see this place. He probably wouldn't enjoy it though. He'd say 'who needs all this when people are starving'. He'd be right, I feel like I don't belong in this room. I prefer a tent on the beach in my favorite little alcove, or the shack-looking cabin that Dad and I live in so happily anyday.

The bathroom is as big as two of my rooms, and the shower alone is almost one. The colorful buttons on the shower are interesting, and confusing, but I don't see any soap anywhere so I bet that's what they're for. I've grabbed a nice comfortable outfit to sleep in and taken off my bracelet to set on the enormous bedside table for safe keeping.

I hop in the shower and turn on the water, coming out at a nice warm temperature. I decide to press the pale purple key, my favorite color. It froths out of the faucet, a smell that I've smelled on the rich girls back home permeating the air. Lavender and lemongrass. It's pleasant and sweet but with a calming spice. All I ever smell like is fish and a hint of aquatic sea holly I find by the seashore that smells pretty nice.

I wonder if Finnick was lying to me about having a big advantage. I know I can take down some people but what chance do I really have against careers. Even he was scared of them in his games and he was more prepared with that expensive trident, no doubt. Maybe he is telling the truth. At least if I get a handle on knife throwing by the time I go in I'll have options.

When my shower is done I shut off the water and dry off with the fan button next to the shower door. The warm air passes through my hair and over my body, drying me and my now silky caramel strands. I still smell the salt on me, but less than I did before. In a way I hope it doesn't go away, it's one thing I don't mind keeping from district four. The smell of the ocean is everywhere back at home. I rake my fingers through my hair in the mirror. It's beautiful. The cheap soap from the market back home always made my hair frizzy and rough. I always braided or tied back because it bugged me. But now, my curls are soft and smooth. They've been transformed and I never want to tie it back again. No wonder Finnick's hair looks so fluffy. I slip on black underwear, comfortable gray sweatpants, and a light but well-made t-shirt in a dark blue-green tone.

Always themed with the Capital, isn't it. No doubt every district has a different T-shirt pigment that aligns with their export.

I know I won't be able to sleep just yet. It hasn't been as tiring a day as usual. Normally, I would've gone out swimming or fishing again, but not today. The most I've got to make me tired is a food coma.

I tread out of my room with soft steps, careful not to catch anyone's attention if possible. I just want to sit down on the couch in the living area and watch the reapings. I want to know who I'm up against. Earlier, Athyla showed us the remote to the TV and what channel would be showing the reapings in full. I just repeat what she demonstrated and turn the volume down. I don't need to hear, just see and maybe catch their names.

I watch as a girl with a stocky build from district one volunteers, followed by a guy who isn't very big but looks strong. My best guess is they're both about Maddock's size. District two is scarier. The girl is small but muscular, I assume she's a knife-thrower. The boy is tall and buff, with eyes that scream he's prepared and eager to kill twenty-three others. Psychopath.

The two from three seem upset but are smart about their impressions, walking up with a straight face, just like myself, showing up on the screen next. Then Maddock. The tributes from five and six look scared out of their minds. The girl from six is crying when she goes up on stage. None of them can be older than fifteen. The boy and girl from seven both look scared but are also both muscular in the arms. From axes, I'd guess. District eight's girl is tiny but stone faced as she walks up the stairs holding her head high like she volunteered for this. The boy is a taller, broader one, but his nerves show. I don't know if he could kill if he tried. Maybe once and never again. He and Maddock are the same.

District nine is overlookable, but you won't completely count them out. Both look malnourished but bigger. I'd guess they're around sixteen. District ten's tributes are an interesting pair. The boy is stocky and older, probably from working with livestock for so many years, and the girl is not the least bit malnourished looking, and much younger than the boy. She looks more angry at being picked than sad. Probably a rich kid, around fourteen years old.

Eleven has a small boy, no older than thirteen, and a tall, stocky girl who looks like she's been lifting weights since she was four, probably on the older side, maybe sixteen. Twelve is almost sad to watch. There's no way either of them will survive. They both look like they've already been starving in the arena for weeks, and will no doubt get zero sponsors–especially with the way their sponsor stumbled onstage drunk out of his mind. What was his name again? Haymitch?

As the reapings finish up and the evaluation by Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith starts, I feel eyes on me. Turning my head towards the door behind me, I catch the eye of Finnick. He no longer had his signature smirk, but when he realizes you've spotted him, it artificially lights up his face again. It's not comforting. I know it's a lie.

"Already looking forward to your arena time? I was going to go over them with you and Maddock tomorrow, but it looks like you've beaten me to it."

"You know you can drop the smile. I'm taking this seriously and I know you're not as happy as you're acting. If it's a ruse to make me feel better, it's not working. Just quit it, Finnick," I state, honestly. His smile falls a bit. I knew it.

"It's not all to make you feel better, some of it's real. It's also a force of habit, so I apologize. I know you're taking this seriously...you wouldn't be out here watching this if you weren't," he motions toward the screen, Caesar and Claudius still rambling away about the most interesting tributes.

"Well, thanks, I guess," I pause. "Hey, can I ask you a question?" Finnick nods. His face has an expression I only ever saw before the games. A soft smile. No ego, no smirk to it. Just contentment. "If Maddock still won't try and get along with me, what the hell do I do? I can't go allyless. I'm not dangerous enough for that, and I don't know what to think. All of the tributes look hopeless or like they'll stab me in the back the second I'm not useful."

"You're probably right. That's usually how it is. I was hoping you two got on well, this isn't a great thing. District mates are your most reliable allies. However, I understand why you wouldn't want to be with him. He seems to not like you all that much anyway," Finnick states. He's not tackling my ally problem, though.

"What should I even look out for in training. Do you think I should approach the careers, or is that a bad idea?" I ask. Maybe he has advice, maybe not. Otherwise I'll just wing it.

"You could, but I'd say not this year. My advice, do what I did. Find some people in training that you think aren't going to turn on you. Even if they might be weaker, even if that means it's hard to part with them," he pauses and gulps, "it's worth it in the end most of the time."

Most of the time. I remember watching Finnick's games.. You remember the look on his face when his only real ally, a little girl from district nine was run through on a career's sword. He looked devastated for a second and then went back to a killing machine and proceeded to win. I remember how they became friends. He taught her to make the nets that they used to ensnare tributes and kill them, and she helped cook the food and collect edible berries. I bet that was harder to go through than he makes it seem.

"Yeah, okay, I'll give it a shot," you respond.

"You know you're pretty light on your feet, I barely heard you come out here. That'll be good in the arena," he says, more upbeat. He's changing the subject. I nod, it's better to let it go. It's only been three years. I'm sure the wound is still fresh. My eyes flickering back to the screen in front of me. I gesture to the seat with a questioning look and he sits down next to me. We watch as Caesar continues comments, even including a note about me looking like a 'promising competitor'. I knew it was coming, but it's not a good sign if–and when–I don't ally with the careers.

For now, I'm going to absorb as much as I can and maybe, just maybe, I can get a leg up on the daunting competition set before me.

⚓︎