The Flying Fish (Exocoetidae)|| Finnick Odair X Fem!OC

Tumble

"Ready for training Cress?" Finnick leans over Cress as she sits on the couch, eating her parfait. "We get to see the tributes in action for once. I'm looking forward to seeing Katniss."

"Isn't everyone? I'm more curious about Peeta," she muses, absentmindedly giving him a spoonful of her parfait. "He hasn't really done much yet, no feats of strength or.. well, anything really. I wonder what he's got up his sleeve."

"Cressie, it's really not polite to talk about a man's biceps like that," Finnick teases, causing her to roll her eyes and stand up.

"You're such an ass, seriously, how do I even put up with you?" she sighs. "But let's talk allies." Finnick plonks down beside her, putting his chin in his hands as he thinks.

"Johanna," Cress says, and Finnick nods in agreement.

"Of course, we really need Jo if we're going to win. I'd also suggest Katniss and Peeta." Cress raises her eyebrows when he suggests that, seemingly hesitant to agree.

"Really? The newbies? They're crowd favourites for sure, but they don't really fit in with the victors just yet if you ask me. I think that we'd be driving away any potential allies if we chose to join them," Cress reasons.

"I see your point," Finnick mumbles, his hand tearing through his hair as he thinks. Cress, seeing the time, grabs his arm and starts dragging him towards the door.

"Come on, we've got to get to training," she says, prompting him to roll his eyes.

"Yes ma'am, will do." They walk down to the arena, joining the other tributes that were already there. Among the early crowd were Katniss and Peeta, who were watching them carefully, and Johanna, who immediately came over to them.

"Bunch of boring dingbats, hm?" Johanna muses, looking out around the room. "Look at them, old and decrepit. Addicts. Alcoholics. Fat."

"Johanna, be nice," Cress scolds, hitting her arm. Johanna rolls her eyes but relents, waiting to be let into the room. Once the doors open, Finnick and Cress split up and observe the other tributes. Both Cashmere and Gloss are adept with knives, Cress noticed, the siblings fighting in sync. The bonus of a blood relation, she supposed. Then there were Brutus and Enobaria. Brutus was big, bald, and rude as hell.

Cress didn't have the highest appreciation for Brutus. After scoping out the tributes for a while, she finally started on her own training. She found a platform with a catch bar that spanned over the whole of the arena, causing a big grin to break out on her face. As quickly as she could, she scaled the ladder and arrived at the top, enjoying the view. Everyone looked small up here.

There was Katniss, sitting at the ropes and snares area. She could see Finnick walking towards Katniss, probably about to ambush her or something ridiculous along those lines. Peeta was over at the painting station, why that had that station, Cress wasn't sure. Wiress and Beetee, from District 3, were trying to light a fire. They were failing, miserably. She could feel both Brutus and Enobaria's eyes trained on her as she gripped the catch bar tightly.

She took a deep breath, and leaped.

Cress soared high above the tributes, some looking up to spot her flying through the air. She went through her usual warmup routine, hanging by her legs, doing flips and leaps that left a few tributes gasping, and of course stretching out her limbs. As she was doing this, she didn't see Brutus and Gloss talking and glancing up at her out of the corner of her eye, but she paid them no mind. Cress was too focused on her trapeze, of course.

Finnick watched as Cress swung around on her trapeze, the way she arced through the air elegant and crisp in a way. Clean is likely the better word for it. Her body cut through the air like butter, in smooth motions that made it seem like time just.. stopped. He'd also noticed Brutus and Gloss, but he didn't think they'd be stupid enough to try something. He was right there, after all.

The next thing Cress knew, Brutus had launched a spear at the ropes that were suspending her catch bar. It almost seemed to go in slow motion, the image of the spearhead ripping through the intricately braided rope and unravelling it. Cress didn't feel scared, she'd fallen too many times to count when she was first learning the trapeze. She let herself fall, knowing exactly how she would land to prevent injury and hopefully to keep herself relatively unscathed.

He'd fucking thrown it! Brutus had thrown the fucking spear! Fuck! Finnick felt like he was frozen on the spot, watching Cress fall frame by frame. She looked beautiful, at least. Her bronze hair was splayed out around her, her eyes open and uncaring as she plummeted downwards, towards the rapidly approaching ground. Finnick regained mobility in his body, forcing himself to move when he remembered the looming possibility of Cress dying.

That was a possibility that he refused to accept. He started slow, then that walk turned to a jog, that jog turned into a run, and that run turned into a full blown sprint as he raced towards Cress, hoping, praying, that he would make it in time. She was so close to the ground, so close to death, oh god, oh god, Cress, no Cress!

He didn't make it.

Finnick Odair hadn't managed to save her, save his Cress.

But Peeta did.

There was Peeta, panting and out of breath, but holding a very much alive Cress in his arms. "That was quite a tumble, you okay?" Peeta asks her, and a quiet laugh emerges from Cress' lips.

"Not the first time that's happened to me," she mumbles. "Thanks for catching me, Peeta, truly."

"Just a regular Tuesday for me, you know, saving girls from falling to their deaths."

"Oh, I'm sure." Finnick immediately scoops Cress up and out of Peeta's arms, hugging her so tightly it might've cut off her air supply.

"I thought you were going to die," he whispers into her hair, burying his face in her shoulder.

"Well I didn't," she says quietly. "No thanks to Brutus apparently. God, what a dick." Finnick's expression of relief hardens into one of rage, his eyes locking onto Brutus.

While Brutus may be big, Finnick was still in his prime. Brutus, in comparison, was around forty and clearly on his way out. She could feel his arms tense around her, see the way his ocean like eyes narrowed in Brutus direction, promising pain.

"Finnick, no," she says softly. "He's not worth it."

"But you are."