The Rebel Victor | I [THG]

Chapter Thirteen | Scores Don't Mean Anything

"Are you, are you coming to the tree? Where dead man called out for his love to flee. Strange things did happen here, no stranger would it be if we met at midnight in the hanging tree..."

The song was simple, she remembered her mom singing it to her and her sister before they died. Quinn had always liked it, it wasn't calming or anything-- she just liked the story that seemed to come with it. Now she liked to think it was about someone who got out of the fences in one of the districts. The melody of the song was just as catchy-- it was half the reason it was stuck in her head. It was a better thing to listen to the constant sound of the music that played as people prepared for Caesar Flickerman. Even though Quinn had locked herself away in her room, she could still hear it.

Quinn's voice faded into a hum as she thought through the lyrics to the song. She knew that the Capitol didn't like it, so it was probably from District Thirteen. When she was in school and they learned about the Thirteen and it's rebellion, they learned that Thirteen actually had a handful of songs that they had and the rebels in all the Districts passed it along. Quinn assumed it was like the mockingjay pin-- if someone even just knew the melody, they were on the rebels side.

The song itself was about rebeling. About sneaking away and being free-- or maybe Quinn was just thinking to far into it. She was positive she could make anything seem like a metaphor for freedom or make it something that is against the Capitol or Snow himself...

Quinn felt another wave of satisfaction fill her up at the thought of being against Snow and the Capitol. Like the drifters that went along doing their own business while still trying to recruit rebels in the Districts. The thought of something-- someone ending the games, making equality among the districts...it was almost too good to pass up trying for. Sure throwing a spear at a target with President Snow written on it would bring down his power and end the games-- but it made a statement, didn't it?

"Quinn Maverick!"

Quinn's humming stopped abruptly at the sound of Finnick shouting her name. She quickly shoved the golden pin under her pillow and pushed herself up into a sitting position as there was a rapid knocking on her door.

"It's open." Quinn replied, and instantly Finnick pushed the door open. In his hand he held the news that had been released as soon as District Twelve was finished.

"Really? This was what you thought to do!?" he asked, Quinn stared at him. She had never seen him actually angry. "Kill a target named President Snow!?"

Quinn sighed, "You told me to do something they would remember me for. I doubt they'll forget it--"

"Neither will President Snow!" he pointed out, "Quinn, Snow won't take this lightly or think of it just as some...some memorable thing a tribute did--"

"Good." Quinn retorted and shrugged. "I meant it. The gamemakers are responsible for twenty-three kids dying every year. Snow is responsible for the gamemakers..." she sighed, "Don't act like you don't hate him, Finnick."

Finnick frowned, "I don't like him, but-- Quinn, don't you see how dangerous this could potentially be for you?" he asked, "Or Jenson? Annie? Ciruss? Even me! He could like I advised you to do that!"

Quinn thought for a moment, "So? Maybe it'll get the point across. I'm going to be in the games anyway, Finnick. There isn't a point in just sitting back and letting this sort of thing keep happening." she explained, "There's people out there that would love to see someone test Snow and the Capitol-- people who want the games to be over. I assumed you were one of them, Finnick."

Finnick was about to say something, but the sound of the anthem began on the television in the other room. Finnick sighed heavily and gave Quinn a disapproving look as he turned on his heal and waved a hand for her to follow him.

"I guess we'll find out what the gamemakers thought of your little stunt now..."

Quinn sighed and quickly stood up and followed Finnick out of the room. She had never seen him so frustrated, he had been frustrated with a few of the kids while he was trying to teach them a thing or two back home, but he had never been that frustrated. The two of them rounded the corner and saw that everyone had already seated themselves. But there was a spot between Ciruss and Remilda for Quinn. So Quinn sat herself down. Finnick sat on the leather chair, and on the otherside of Remilda was Arkon, his stylist, and then Mags.

"As you all know, the tributes recieved a score between one and twelve after three days of intense observation." Caesar Flickerman explained, his hair was bright green. His makeup matched perfectly. "From District One, miss Fiona Hanson, recieved a score of..."

Quinn remained leaning back on the couch, her eyes glued on the small image of Fiona in the corner I of the screen next to Caesar. In a way, she hoped that Fiona had done horrible-- that way she wouldn't be a threat in the arena.

"Ten." Caesar said, "Max Jones from District One recieved am impressive score of eleven!" he smiled brightly.

"From District Two, Leanne Wintor recieved a score of...nine."

Quinn felt her frown grow, so far, her allies were more of a threat than a reassurance. She should have listened and just been allies with Arkon and Twelve. She only half listened to the next scores. Thomas recieved a nine, Gennie a eight...then it was District Four.

An amusement that had been on Caesar's face melted away as Quinn's face appeared beside his.

"From District Four, Quinn Maverick-- recieved a score of..." he paused, "Five."

Finnick groaned in disappointment, "When I said don't let them forget you-- I didn't mean make them hate you." he frowned.

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, "They wanted a performance, I gave them one--"

"By shaming Snow?! Yeah, brilliant idea, Quinn--" Finnick said sharply, clearly just as disappointed with her score as she was.

But Ciruss quickly cleared his throat, "The score doesn't mean anything." he stated, pointing a finger at Finnick for a moment as if to silence him. "Really, it doesn't, Quinn." he assured her.

Quinn sighed, her arms were still crossed tightly over her chest. She knew that a low score could possible help her in the arena-- they could think she was defenseless. But there was something about what Finnick had said about what she had done being potentially dangerous...he was right. Labeling a hit target President Snow couldn't help her in any way, shape, or form.