sucker.

Dorian had just left Valor and Rosie once they were settled in the Tower. Since Valor had been away for a few days for The Reaping, Rosie had missed her daddy and wanted to spend some time with him. So once he was sure the two of them were settled and Rosie was assured Dorian was only going to be gone for a few hours, Dorian set off for the Tower lobby. He had gone out to find his Tributes to make sure they were finding their way around okay, now that he could give them his full attention instead of also having to keep an eye on Rosie on the train. 

He was just about to round the corner to the lobby when he was met with a familiar face– Ripley Coda, one of his Tributes. As if on cue. Dorian stopped short to avoid running into her, offering a smile back to her, “Wandering away from the crowd?” he asked, stepping back a bit to give her a little more space, “I don’t blame you. It’s easy to get overwhelmed in there.”

“Always. I’m not good with people,” she said crisply. “If my sister had done what she’d always promised she’d do, you would’ve had a social tribute who could handle all the Capitol people, but she didn’t, so you’re stuck with me. Sorry about your luck.” She paused. It wasn’t Dorian’s fault she was here. And truly, it wasn’t even Rowena’s. 

It was this stupid system that had the Games even exist at all. 

“Overwhelming is probably a kinder term for it. Any tips you have for dealing with all of this,” she waved a hand back toward the noisy lobby, “-would be very much welcome.”

Solar needed to breathe. So he managed to find a quiet spot away from everyone after mingling with a couple other tributes and even getting his arms groped by some Capitolites. That part was the weirder one. It was as if he wasn’t even a person to them and that made his skin crawl. So he pulled his legs up onto the sofa in a crossed style while he lounged back against the back, arms crossed, staring off out of the window into the beautiful city. 

Then, he heard muttering and he looked up to see someone standing there. A girl. She definitely looked like she didn’t belong here either and he frowned. Probably another tribute, like him. It made his stomach tie in knots, because he was taught to be polite but conservative. He was already struggling to keep his secrets to himself. He smiled kindly to the girl. 

“You’re okay,” Solar said with a small laugh through his nose. “I’m just getting away from wandering hands. Don’t mind me.”

“It’s exhausting, right?” she asked with an exasperated sigh. Ripley settled down on the couch next to him, thankful for a little space away from all the Capitol people. “All these damn people acting like they know us. It’s a pain in my ass. Like, you don’t know me. Please shut up and stop acting like I’m your long lost cousin.” She shook her head, finally directing her attention to the boy sitting next to her. 

There was a wall in the hallway off the lobby that displayed famous moments in the Games. It was fascinating. Enobaria ripping a kid’s throat out was on the far left side, right on top of Glitter Rosseau and her lion. Finnick Odair speared a kid with his trident in one photo, with Ares Carnahan facing off against a wolf nearby. Magnolia Reyes and her dinosaur, Lincoln Conway clutching the body of the small girl from One, Pixel Delaroux holding onto her ally as the other girl dangled over the edge of the balcony. 

She supposed these Games might have some interesting addition to this wall. Delta might be shown this time next year. Maybe not, but probably. The girls from One and Two also seemed well-trained, but if Delta could shoot them from afar they wouldn’t be an issue. 

Delta was pulled out of her thoughts by the sound of a girl’s voice near her and turned. It was a girl smaller than her, but who looked about her age. District Three. Coda. That was her last name. 

“Me too,” she answered flatly. “You’re smiling but you don’t look happy.”

The wall of photos caught Ripley’s eye just before the other girl did. She could only picture Rowena on the wall, not herself. Rowena, tackling a lion to the ground. Rowena, with her victory crown. God, this was all so stupid. 

“Yeah, I’m not,” she replied. Thank goodness for someone she didn’t have to be fake around. People just wanted positive attitudes here, and Ripley could not provide that. She softened a little at the girl’s presence. She was tall, her red hair was pretty. But this was the Hunger Games, not some kind of Capitol Matchmaker, and this was a terrible time to be distracted by a pretty girl. “My sister, she promised years ago that if I got picked, she’d volunteer for me. You can see she kept that promise, clearly.” Ripley rolled her eyes. 

It had been a process throughout her life, accepting that she was not the favourite child. And that there was a possibility her parents would not miss her.

“Oh, Ripley, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t go-”

“What kind of fake-sibling-love bullshit-” Ripley muttered, storming off around the corner to find a place to sulk in private. As she rounded a corner to try and get away from the lobby, she noticed another person there and smiled, stopping her quiet rant in its tracks. “Hello, just exploring,” she greeted, trying to cover her tracks of just wanting to escape from all those people in the lobby. 

She didn’t have the energy for a fake smile. // @ttwstarters​

The Ottern house is quiet for a long time after Finley’s cannon fires. 

Eveline lays with her head in Alastair’s lap, still quietly sobbing. His face is stoic, horrified for what had happened to his daughter, so quickly, so soon. Riley and Sparrow lean against each other with tear-stained cheeks, each stroking the fur of one of Finley’s bunnies. Thaddeus locked himself in his room, and Milo stands outside the door, trying to coax the youngest Ottern out. 

Nobody speaks. There’s nothing left to say. And in the silence, everyone can hear the dissent beginning to build up outside. 

It’s Riley who moves first, goes to check outside the window of the Otterns’ apartment above the shop. “Guys?” she says, her voice breaking a little. “You’re gonna want to see this.” 

dreamsbornofgrain‌:

As they emerged from the jungle thicket, Aspen stopped dead in her tracks. It was supposed to be an animal they were hunting, but it wasn’t. No, it was the little girl from District Ten, the one she had shared pictures with. Finley. Her mouth formed an O as she stood there shocked at the scene before her.

Aspen knew she wasn’t supposed to cry, this was the Hunger Games, but she couldn’t help the tears that threatened to spill over at the sight of Finley on the ground. She was so little there with her stuffed toy.

Instinctively she wanted to help, but she knew there wasn’t any helping the girl. Instead, Aspen looked at Joule for guidance. @joulexshapiro​

Joule’s heart sunk into her stomach as the cry of pain emerged from the girl she’d accidentally shot. 

Frankly, she didn’t know how to feel. She stood there, numb, right hand still on the crossbow as her arm dropped to her side. Logically, this was good, right? One less obstacle towards getting her back home. But… it didn’t feel good. Of course it didn’t feel good, but she knew intrinsically that it was a necessary evil towards getting home. 

But as much as she knew the facts and inevitability of what would happen, Joule Shapiro still felt that rolling nausea of horror sitting in her stomach.

“Oh… I…” she could barely get out, trying to say something to the girl. Finley. District Ten. “I didn’t…”

Joule’s words were stuck in her throat, and she shut her mouth, worried that if any more came out, they wouldn’t be the only thing coming up. She turned to Aspen, who had tears rolling down her face, and tried not to look at the little dying girl in front of her that she’d effectively murdered. The cannon hadn’t gone off, but Joule knew enough that it wouldn’t be a surprise when it did. // @finleyottern​

Finley’s breath began to draw more rapid, more frantic, as she looked up to the girls. The tears broke, spilling over her cheeks and mixing with the blood she was coughing up. So briefly, the pain took her mind off of her shyness, or perhaps gave her a boost in confidence, in adrenaline. Her fingers grew weak around the parrot as the pain took over, and she choked out another cry. “Wh-hy?” Finn whispered, breath ragged. These girls had been kind to her in training. Aspen had shared her drawings and Joule had looked so beautiful in her dress. Why would she shoot her? Why? 

“W-want my m-om,” Finley whispered, almost undetectably. “Want... to go home.” To Birch! What was Birch going to do? What was he going to think if she couldn’t come home? And what about... “Bunnies,” she whispered, another wave of tears coming as she panicked. She took another heaving breath, one last one. A shuddering stop, a helpless look, a feeble hug of the parrot. A still body. 

The tale of Finley Ottern was not a long one. She did not have the time or space to extend any more chapters or pages. Fate is often cruel in that way. And, yes, as the cannon fired, this was the end of Finley Ottern’s story. But as stories end, new ones begin. And perhaps Finley’s death, unlike many of the other children who died year after year, would change the world.

Joule tightened her grip on her crossbow, waiting to see if it was an animal or something that would pass by without disturbing them. 

“Maybe it could be food,” she muttered, barely audible. “A… a turkey or groosling or something. They have those in arenas that I’ve seen.”

But it was quiet for the moment, and Joule turned back to Aspen and nodded. Clearly, just from the new sounds that were appearing, the two of them needed to be on the move. New mutts or dangers would be appearing any minute now, or crazy new things that could only come from the Gamemakers’ minds. She remembered the fireballs that went after the girl from Twelve in the 74th Games, or the bats and zombie that chased after Ampere. 

“The lagoon is good,” she answered again. 

But the sound returned. The rustling and cracking of branches. There was something- or someone- coming, and Joule knew there was only one way to keep her and her ally safe. 

Turning around, Joule shot a crossbow bolt into the the thick greenery of the jungle, just as a small figure began to emerge from it.

@finleyottern​

It was in the stars for Finley Ottern to step on some kind of tree branch. Years before, Arlo Ottern snapped one in half with his foot, by mistake, and it caused his death. So Finley was careful as she made her way to the lagoon, knowing that there was a possibility of meeting the same fate. 

But sometimes, you can’t outrun fate. And as careful as you are, a branch may still break. 

Finley froze as she heard the rustle of the leaves. Before she could even figure out what to do, pain shot through her body, a crossbow bolt embedding itself into her lower chest. She gasped, looking down at where the weapon had hurt her.

Couscous had never eaten a peach before. It was soft and juicy, and not terrible. It wasn’t a pastry, but it was better than nothing. He sucked the juice from his fingers before chasing it down with a piece of his bread.

“Alright. I’ll stay here and guard the camp,” he promised. “Just do one box for now. We can always go back for more if we need it later.”

He crossed his legs and adjusted the way Couscous jnr. (his plastic skull) sat in the sand beside him. He then reached for Rafaele-Dwight and nudged the stuffed parrot towards Finley. “You should take back-up,” he suggested jokingly.

Finley nodded, taking the little parrot into her arms happily. She slung the parachute over her shoulder, the box bumping against her behind. She had her backup, she was ready to go on her water-finding mission. With a final note to Couscous, she headed into the jungle.

The last thing Finley Ottern wrote in her notebook was simple. It was utterly unremarkable, the kind of last words that are least expected. 

Be right back. 

“That’s quite a variety,” he commented. Couscous wasn’t surprised that Finley was popular amongst the Capitolites. She’d won him over too, after all, and he suspected without even trying. He’d never had a sister, but he hoped that if he did she would be like Finley.

He reached out to take the box addressed to him. The note was from Nayeli, and he smiled as he opened it to find a fresh loaf of bread- not warm, but not yet stale either. “Would you like some?” he asked, reaching into the box to break the loaf into sections so that it would be easier to ration.

Finley peered over Couscous’ shoulder, reading the note along with him. His mentor sounded very nice, too. She nodded eagerly as he offered to share, and took a piece of bread from the box. They didn’t have a knife, but the peach was nice and soft, and with a few presses of her fingernails and a twist, she was able to get it in half, passing half to Couscous. 

The peach was sweet and delicious, the flavour like nothing Finley had tasted before. And the bread was crusty and soft, not like the rolls they often traded for in Ten. Finley’s hands were full, so it was hard to write her feelings, but she smiled at Couscous between bites as if to say this is so good. 

When she finished her food, Finley sighed a little in contentment. I think I’m going to be thirsty soon, she wrote, but we can fill up one of these boxes with water and use it like a really big cup! The parachute boxes were a good size to tote some of the clear, sparkling lagoon water in to bring back to their camp. She stood up, brushing the sand from her pants. I might go get some. It’s real close anyways. Do you want some? 

Couscous swatted at Finley’s pen halfheartedly, still half-asleep. “I’m awake, I’m awake,” he mumbled, sitting up and reaching a hand up to push the hair out of his eyes. Finley was holding her notebook out to him, and he blinked the sleep from his eyes before leaning over to get a closer look.

“A pen! Someone’s really looking out for you, Finn!” His eyes trailed to the neat little pile of opened boxes behind her. “Like, really looking out for you. How many sponsors did you get last night?”

Finley nodded eagerly. Someone was looking out for her. Lots of someones. She sat Rafaele-Dwight (naming her parrot something like Dwafaele would’ve really been easier to write, she thought) next to her on the sand and held up four fingers to his question. Carefully, she showed him the other gifts: the pair of socks from Allegra, the cat ears from Kaelin, and the fresh fruit from Vesper (some peaches, which were new to her but looked delightful). 

But when she took the last package out of the pile, she handed it to Couscous. This one’s yours, she wrote. I peeked at it. We can have breakfast together. She held up a peach, ready to share it with her friend. 

And Birch’s was just what she needed. A pen! She pulled out her notebook excitedly, with a task at hand. She wanted to draw out the arena, for real, not just the picture she’d tried in the sand. She drew out the dock, and the coastline going up to where she and Couscous had spent the last day exploring and finding the lagoon for fresh water.  She added the lagoon in, too. And then she drew a little picture of her parrot, who she’d affectionately named R.D. (or Rafaele-Dwight) after the District Six mentors that had shown her kindness.

Flipping to the next page, Finley scribbled down a few words before poking Couscous awake. We got presents, Couscous! I got a pen! She waved it excitedly as he read her words. // @couscous-dale

The next package was small, too, and Finley wondered if it was another pen (or perhaps some paints?) but it was something that made her smile just as wide as she picked up the camouflage cat ears. She placed them on top of her pirate hat, and let out the softest giggle as she took off the hat to admire how they perched on top. 

Finley carefully opened the capsule after untangling it from a nearby tree. The pen gleamed out at her, a shiny Capitol pen, fancy and pretty. Her eyes lit up. Finally, she could communicate! She wrote in small letters on the blank page of her notebook, Thank you, Birch!