𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝑭𝒊𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝑶𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒓

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄.

Fishy Finnick

Greta Jones was built like a drain pipe.

She stood at the same height as Zavir in her ridiculous heels. But, while she was tall, she was about as thick as paper. Rosie truly believed there was an angle you could look at the girl from which would make her disappear. Great looked a little like she'd blow away in the wind.

With an amused smile, Kit repeated advice he gave last year—eat until you die. He really thought he was funny.

Both of the Tributes took it to heart. Elio began to eat his weight in charcuterie. Chutneys, meats, cheeses, crackers and a heaped serving of dried fruits were piled on his plate. The sight of the food made Rosie's stomach churn, she couldn't even think about eating.

Greta was allergic to gluten. It was also revealed the girl got pneumonia as a child and had scarred lungs, meaning she could hardly run without needing to hack a lung up.

Rosie's first set of Tributes consisted of: Her best friend's brother, who was mostly deaf and had one arm; and a girl allergic to gluten—how she survived in District 9 was beyond Rosie—and essentially also allergic to running.

They were doomed. She couldn't even pretend that they stood a chance. They were laughably fucked.

So, Rosie did what she was told to do. She sat that night and talked to Elio and Greta, explaining everything she knew; what would happen to them and what to expect. Then, the next day, she had made a list of things she'd remembered during that night, and told them all that advice. But she ensured any information Greta told Rosie was thrown out—she smiled when Great spoke, nodded, and asked the occasional question, but she didn't let herself feel. She couldn't get attached to someone who couldn't even eat the foods you mostly got in the Arena.

Time ticked by.

Rosie found comfort in watching District 4's Reaping. She ignored the two Tributes—who both stood tall, confident in their stocky builds—and instead focused on the Victors, Mags and, of course, Finnick.

They were allowed to be seen off to the side.

She assumed that the reason she wasn't also afforded the opportunity was due to Kit, who was a messy drunk. Stumbling, fumbling and mumbling. Not that she minded, she much preferred for no one to ever see her.

When she could, she spent time with Elio. The similarities he shared with Toby weren't something she noticed until he sat in the chair Toby once did, eating the foods her dead friend loved. They were both warm and kind. They both knew they were heading to their deaths. They were both at peace.

Her heart would occasionally tighten to the point she would've sworn it had ceased working. It felt similar to the feeling she had when she had to convince her mind to plunge the knife into Toby's heart.

She could still remember that as if it happened yesterday. The way her heart felt almost non-existent from stress; but also from a lack of hope. The loss of the only thing that brought her comfort was devastating.

Memories still taunted her, they tore her back to the worst moments of her life.

"I need to ask one more thing," he whispered.

"What?"

"I need you to kill me." Toby knew that if his words weren't confident and his face showed any degree of uncertainty she would never do it, so he was stoic.

Rosie took a step back, shocked at the request. "No! I— no," she shook her head, sure she'd never be able to do that.

"It's either you kill me, the infection does, or someone else does. I die every way. I'm in pain, Rosie and I'm slowing you down." His eyes scanned her face and saw that the blood had drained from it, she clearly hadn't thought through where the conversation would go. "I can turn around, just please do it for me."