The Capitol's Shark | Hunger Games

01 | Birthday

Every victor's story starts with a reaping.

But not Marina Moore's story. Her story started the day prior, July 3rd, when the air was hot enough to make her clothes stick to her sweaty skin. She stood in cool water, waist-high, the waves splashing her chest and the spray of the sea air edged with a tang of salt. Her eyes were glued to a shadow swimming skillfully around her feet, and she tightened her grip on her spear instinctively.

"You won't be able to catch it," A voice called out, his tone sharp but strikingly soft at the same time. Marina didn't have to turn around to know who it was. "The sharks have gotten smart."

Marina didn't respond. She remained focused, ignoring the other fish darting between her feet, ignoring the feeling of wet sand squished between her toes. She's been like this for what's felt like hours — and it's certainly been awhile, she realized, because the sun had already begun to sink lower.

Patience.

Marina was like a statue. No, correction, she was a statue. The dark form of the creature got closer and closer, until she could feel the rough brush of its skin against her legs as it darted to grab a colorful fish.

Just like that, she made her move, striking as swiftly as a snake. The spear did as it's intended to, moving with quick precision and sending itself right through the animal's head. It twitched and seized momentarily, before going limp. Marina reached down to lift it, placing her hands beneath a rough scaled-stomach, and pulling out a four foot atlantic blacktip shark. It took a moment for Marina to find her balance, and the familiar face on the shore let out an excited shout and ran over.

"Holy shit!" Leine exclaimed, extending his arms to help carry the mammal. "I didn't think you'd be able to get it! Do you know how much this could sell for?"

"A lot, hopefully." Marina shrugged, signaling to him to set the shark down on the sand with a small nod of her head. She crouched down to pull the spear from its head, running her fingertip against the metal blade. It was a simple design — one prong, unlike fighting tridents, which typically have three. It's easier to make a precise kill with simply one blade, that way no meat is wasted, whereas in battle you don't have to be concerned about the condition the body is left in.

Unless you were starving.

Sharks themselves were hard to come by, much rarer over the years. They tended to sell for a fortune for their fins and teeth that were especially popular within the capital. Marina believed fish were smarter than they gave them credit — eventually they had simply learned to stay away from the coasts where fishermen would typically linger. Hence why the brunette had a tendency to remain just off the bay, where peacekeepers on their off-days would lounge. There were no peacekeepers around that afternoon, though. They must've been getting an inspection for the event that was set to take place the following day.

The reaping for the 72nd annual Hunger Games.

Marina chose not to think about that, though. Not with the luck of such a catch. As they dragged it back towards the town square, which was bustling with energy, the young woman ignored the prodding gazes that lingered on the shark as they hauled it up onto the wooden countertop of a stall. Above the stall was a small awning and a sign labeled, butcher.

In district four, they weren't a fan of buildings taking up their precious beach and ocean space, so they opted to have smaller shops in a marketplace-like situation. Trade was the most popular form of currency, however given the district's wealth, it wasn't uncommon for actual money to be offered instead. In this case, though, they didn't need much of an excuse.