Roots of Destruction 𓅫 Finnick Odair X OC

☆1☆

"Ember, what am I wearing today?" Briar questions as she walks towards her mother, fresh out of the bath and wrapped in a towel. She had avoided washing her hair, not wanting it to be dripping wet when they arrived at the square, and so, at the moment, it is tied up into a small bun at the nape of her neck.

"Your sister has arranged for a dress to be provided," her mother smiles in response.

"If you're going to talk about me, at least do it to my face," perfectly timed, her sister enters the room holding a dress bag. "Please tell me you're not wearing your hair like that, Briar. Your hair is too short for a bun to look good."

"I'm not. I'm going to wear it down like I always do," the girl laughs, taking the elastic out of her hair, letting the shoulder-length strands fall naturally into her middle parting, "so, what fabulous dress do you have for me this year?" Briar asks sarcastically.

"Okay I admit last year's dress was awful, but I promise this one is nice," Briar's sister quickly hangs the bag up on the door and unzips it, revealing a light grey dress that looks like it will end at the top of Briar's knees. It's nothing special, it's actually particularly simple, but that's because Briar refused to accept any luxuries from her sister. "See, it's actually nice."

"I'll give you it, I like this one," Briar smiles, carefully removing the dress from its hanger, "your twin-tuition did you well with this one."

"Right, Briar sweetie you need to change now. And you missy–" Briar's mum places her hands on her sister's shoulders, "need to get going. We'll see you at the square alright?"

"Okay, mum. I'll see you guys soon," she says before leaving the house.

Briar changes into the dress, with assistance from her mum, and looks in the mirror with a frown. She had never liked Reaping day, nobody did, but Briar has hated it even more the last few years. The girl could only be thankful that she only had to survive this year, and the next, then she would no longer be eligible for the Games and could live her life in peace, working as a lumberjack just like her father. Ever since she was a young girl Briar has been out in the woods, holding an axe, chopping down trees, and helping her father collect wood, and she wouldn't have it any other way. Despite being a true daddy's girl at heart, Briar adored both her parents, the people that had done anything they could to protect her and her twin, and she would do anything for them.

"Are you ready, Little Bird?" Briar's father, Ash, asked as he walked into the room. The nickname 'Little Bird' had come from Briar's love to hum the tunes the birds sing in the woods, and how easily she could repeat the tunes back at home on their old, rickety piano. "Wow, you look beautiful, Briar," the man smiles, pulling his daughter into a hug.

"Thanks, dad," she returns the smile he gave her, looking at him silently for a moment before asking, "are we all ready to go?"

"Yes. Come on," he smiles, leading her to where her mother is waiting. Once they collect Ember, the trio head towards the square in the middle of District 7.

As they arrive, both her parents place gentle kisses on Briar's head and make their way to the viewing area whilst Briar joins the queue of children waiting to be checked in. Having the time to reflect, Briar quickly becomes appreciative of the fact that her family have never had to take tesserae. Coming from a slightly wealthier family, they've always had enough food to get by, at least as much as you can when you live in a District, so her name is only in there six times, once for each year since she turned twelve. She has friends at school whose names are in their designated bowl over fifteen times, and the mere thought of that makes every hair on Briar's body stand up straight.

"Next, please," one of the Peacekeepers speaks, causing Briar to realise she's next in line, and so she quickly steps up to the table. Wasting no time, Briar holds out her left hand with her index finger out straight, ready to be pricked for her check in. The Peacekeeper holds her wrist and uses a small device to prick a needle into the flesh of the girl's finger tip, then twists her arm gently, pressing the blood that has pooled onto the page. The man releases the girl's wrist and scans the fresh blood on the paper. "You're done. Next, please."