Reputation (Finnick Odair)

Chapter 11

     The next two days of training are as boring as ever, the only notable part being the hour Atlas spends teaching Katniss how to sword-fight. Atlas has no idea what makes Katniss suddenly want to spend time with her but Atlas almost wishes Katniss had not changed her mind because almost the entire hour is spent with Atlas trying to teach Katniss just how to hold the sword. By the time Katniss walks away, Atlas wants nothing more but to go back and sleep. Instead, Atlas ploughs through the rest of the day, nothing but determination carrying her through the rest of that day and the next one. Her determination comes to a stop though, when it comes time to present their special skill to the game makers.

     Personally, Atlas thought this was really stupid. The game makers had seen them all in their games. If that wasn't enough, they had been watching them non-stop for the past three days. But Atlas had been trying to ignore them, they creeped her out.  Beside, most of the victors that had retained skills had basically mastered them. Those who didn't retain their skills would most likely do nothing anyway.

     "What am I supposed to do, swing a sword around a bit and walk out? I'll look stupid," Atlas complains to Mars as they sit in the little waiting room with all the other victors.

     "At least you actually have a skill. My only skill is being strong," Mars grumbles grumpily, "And maybe endurance drinking."

     Atlas snorts. Maybe she'd do some knife throwing. She'd gotten really accurate over the years and it looked a lot better than swinging some dumb sword around. Just as she decides on the knives, a strong arm throws itself over her shoulder. She turns to her side and looks Finnick in the eyes. He just smirks at her, bringing her in closer. He smells like the sea. Atlas can't help but enjoy it.

     "Haven't seen you around much Attie. You avoiding me?" Finnick tilts his head to the side, frowning sarcastically.

     Atlas snorts, pushing him off her as a smile peaks through her annoyed expression. After talking to Olympia a few days earlier, Atlas felt a lot happier generally which extended towards her feeling about being around Finnick. Although, she did still prefer to not be around him just to benefit her own mental well-being.

     "Definitely avoiding you."

     Finnick laughs, leaning back in his seat and putting his arm on the chair behind her back, "I'm hurt. Really."

     "Good," Atlas looks straight ahead and watches Gloss enter the room where the game makers were waiting. Her stomach twists but she ignores it, leaning her head on Finnicks shoulder. She hears Mars start a conversation with the District 6 tributes, the morphlings, about something mundane, most likely addiction related, and she turns her head to start a conversation with Finnick. The two sit like that for a while, talking about nothing and everything until Finnick is called up.

"Good luck," Altas says as his arm unwraps from around her. Atlas would never admit it but she misses his touch the second he stands up.

     He smirks cockily at Atlas, "Thanks. Even if I don't need luck."

     "Go, you dork," Atlas pushes him away from her and he stumbles dramatically before righting himself and bounding into the dark room, the door closing behind him. Atlas' gaze lingers on the door for a few seconds before she turns to Mags who is left in the chair next to Finnick's abandoned one.

     Atlas makes conversation with Mags for a while. Although most of Mags' words are jumbled or mumbled, if you talk to her enough you can understand most of what she says. Throughout the conversation, Atlas's thoughts were instead on Finnick in the room, presenting some skill for a bunch of stupid people. Atlas recalls him saying he was gonna throw a trident. It would probably get him a high score considering he'd been doing it all his life.

     Atlas is snapped out of her thoughts as the door swings open and Mags' name is called, signalling the end of Finnicks session and the conversation between Atlas and the older woman. Atlas wishes her luck as she goes in but Mags just replies that she's gonna take a nap. Atlas chuckles, turning back to Mars who would be called next.

     "What are you gonna do?"

     Mars turns his head towards her and shrugs, "Throw some stuff. Release some anger. Lord knows I need it."

     Atlas snorts, "Amen."

     The two sit in a comfortable silence until the door opens once again and Mars's name is called. As he stands, he ruffles Atlas' hair before striding into the room, his toned muscles clear on display and a confident feeling in his walk.

Once he's gone, Atlas is truly left in silence. The morphlings sit a few chairs down from her but they weren't exactly the best for conversation. Despite her usual confidence, Atlas can't help the anxiety that creeps into her stomach as she sits impatiently. Every minute feels like it lasts 10 years and by the time Atlas' name is called she feels like she's already lived a full lifetime. Which depending on how the games went, that might be true for several people.

"Atlas Fox," the voice feels foreboding, cryptic. It lures Atlas into the dim room and the doors close behind her, effectively trapping her inside.

No voice calls out from above to signal the start of the session. Instead, the eyes above watch in bated breath, as if anticipating a bomb to be dropped and blow up their precious city. They didn't need to worry though, Atlas wasn't preparing to be that bomb. She knew the District 12 kids would be explosive enough already.

As the game makers watch like snakes stalking their prey, Atlas walks smoothly over to the knife-throwing station. Her hands glide over the smooth handles, picking one up from the left side of the table. She glances up and sees confusion written over the game makers's faces. How could Atlas Fox, famous for her deadly Ivory sword, choose knife-throwing for her skill? Atlas just reasoned that everybody had been full of surprises recently, why not her as well?

Locking eyes with Plutarch Heavensbee, Atlas throws the knife ahead at the target. She doesn't even need to turn her head to know the knife hit dead-center. But she does, and smiles as she sees she couldn't have been more accurate if she tried. Atlas thought that maybe it was worth it to pick up a new skill after the games. She never thought she'd have to use it but here it was coming in handy.

The next fifteen minutes are spent with much of the same. Atlas throws bullseye after bullseye, her accuracy never faltering. The knives fly languidly from her tanned hands, flowing through the air as smooth as water. She only comes to a halt when Plutarch calls her name and dismisses her from the room. Atlas steps into the center of the room and bows lightly, one of the knives still clasped tightly in her hand behind her back.

As she starts to walk out of the room, she throws the knife and hears it embed itself in one of the targets. She doesn't even have to look to know it hit the bullseye.

A/N
Uploading this now cuz I'm about to go on vacation ☀️
- Sunny