Lost at Sea || Finnick Odair x OC (DISCONTINUED)

Forty-Five: nonono these bitches WILD

KATNISS

°•. ✿ .•°

I delay going down to breakfast as long as possible the next morning because I really don't want to discuss our training strategy. What's to discuss? Every victor already knows what everybody else can do. Or used to be able to do, anyway. So Peeta and I will continue to act in love and that's that. Somehow I'm just not up to talking about it, especially with Darius- my old Peacekeeper friend- standing mutely by. I take a long shower, dress slowly in the outfit Cinna has left for training, and order food from the menu in my room by speaking into a mouthpiece. In a minute, sausage, eggs, potatoes, bread, juice, and hot chocolate appear. I eat my fill, trying to drag out the minutes until ten o'clock, when we have to go down to the Training Center. By nine-thirty, Haymitch is pounding on my door, obviously fed up with me, ordering me to the dining room NOW! Still, I brush my teeth before meandering down the hall, effectively killing another five minutes.

The dining room's empty except for Peeta and Haymitch, whose face is flushed with drink and anger. On his wrist he wears a solid-gold bangle with a pattern of flames- this must be his concession to Effie's matching-token plan- that he twists unhappily. It's a very handsome bangle, really- slightly wasted on a man like Haymitch- but the movement makes it seem like something confining, a shackle, rather than a piece of jewelry.

"You're late." he snarls at me.

"Sorry. I slept in after the mutilated-tongue nightmares kept me up half the night." I mean to sound hostile, but my voice catches at the end of the sentence.

Haymitch gives me a scowl, then relents. "All right, never mind. Today, in training, you've got two jobs. One, stay in love."

"Obviously." I say.

"And two, make some friends." says Haymitch.

"No." I say. With Daphne playing with my hair and her very out there buttcheeks, and Chaff kissing me right on my lips, I'm absolutely terrified of these Victors. I think most of them have gone crazy, which I suppose is the average effect the Games have on a person. "I don't trust any of them, I can't stand most of them, and I'd rather operate with just the two of us."

"That's what I said at first, but—" Peeta begins.

"But it won't be enough," Haymitch insists. "You're going to need more allies this time around."

I know that he's right. Where the Games are involved, he's typically right. I suppose watching 23 years of your tributes die from various techniques makes a mark on a person. Still, I don't know how I can possibly survive this by playing allies.

"Your competitors have known each other for years." Haymitch says. "Seeder has been around for thirty years. Cashmere and Gloss are siblings. And God knows what the hell is going on with Finnick and Daphne."

They actually seem to be truly in love from what I've seen, unlike Peeta and I. But it's funny, because they aren't kissy and lovey and star-crossed the way Peeta and I have been made to be. Daphne and Finnick are absolutely demented, and I suppose filled with rage. I am, too, but it must be especially worse for someone who's been dealing with this for eight or nine years only to be thrown right back in.

"Nothing we're going to do is going to override any old friendship." I say. "So why bother?"

"Because you can fight. You're popular with the crowd. That could still make you desirable allies. But only if you let the others know you're willing to team up with them." says Haymitch.