"Octavia Voss. Better known as The Siren...Capitol's 'It Girl,' the 'Party Girl.' The people there would kill just for a chance to spend an evening with her."
"So she's the Capitol's whore?"
"Easy, Tavia's more than just a face for Capitol entertain...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Arthur Voss was a kind and devoted man, always striving to give his family the things he never had growing up. He and Tabitha were soulmates, their love for each other evident in all they did.
The loss of her best friend would surely take a toll on Tabitha as she navigates life without him. While losing her father was devastating, it was not unexpected given that he had never been missing for this length of time before.
The rest of the night, Tabitha lay in bed, unable to quiet her mind and drift off to sleep under the soft covers. The events of the day weighed heavily on her - being chosen for the games, confirmation of her father's death, and dealing with the handsome but arrogant mentor assigned to her.
Octavia replays the words of the victorious tribute in her head over and over again, searching for any sign of deception. As much as she disliked him, Finnick was correct - she needed to be more than just pleasant if she wanted to gain sponsors and have a chance at winning the games.
Her stomach groans loudly due to the lack of food she had consumed once she arrived on the train.
She closes her eyes, taking a couple of slow deep breaths, and wills her body to remove herself out of the warm cocoon of blankets, Octavia slips on a blue satin robe, covering her matching satin pajamas shorts and tank top. Tying it securely around herself she slips past the door, making her way down the hallway to the train car that held a small kitchen.
The lights are all off on the train, except the glow from the moon shining through the windows. Once in the kitchen Octavia searches for something easy for her to grab. Seeing a shiny green apple she takes a seat on the counter.
Octavia's eyes were fixed on the blur of trees rushing past her window, completely unaware of the figure that had quietly slipped into the room until the sound of running water caught her attention.
Whipping her head to the side, she found herself locking eyes with the intruder- a boy with sandy blonde hair and piercing sea green eyes. His features were sharp and his smile was smug, giving off an air of confident arrogance.
"Nice pajamas," Finnick purred, his eyes lazily sweeping over her, as if evaluating her like some sort of prize.
Octavia felt the heat rise to her cheeks, much to her annoyance, as she bit into her apple, trying to appear unfazed. But his gaze lingered, settling where her robe had opened just enough to reveal a sliver of tanned skin. She instinctively tightened it, but the smirk on his face told her it was too late—he'd noticed.
Suddenly conscious of her own appearance, her eyes drifted downward, and that's when she noticed his state of undress—bare chest, tanned muscles on display, that smug confidence radiating off of him like he didn't have a care in the world.
Her face burned hotter, and she hated that he had that effect on her.
"And where are your clothes?" she snapped, eyes narrowing into fiery slits as she glared at him. "Or do you always just roll out of bed half-naked, expecting people to be impressed?"
Instead of backing down, Finnick's grin only grew wider, dimples deepening as he drained his glass and set it down with a clink that felt like a punctuation mark.
"So the princess is also a prude," he taunted, voice smooth as ever.
Octavia knew exactly what he was doing—deliberately trying to provoke her. But still, the sharp retort slipped out before she could stop herself. "I am not a prude," she shot back, crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.
The movement, unfortunately, pushed her breasts up slightly, drawing Finnick's gaze before he flicked his eyes back up to hers with a knowing smirk.
"Could've fooled me," he said, taking a step closer, his voice teasing. "Most people would kill for a look this good, but you—" He glanced at her robe again. "—seem determined to hide it all away."
"Or maybe I just have standards," she retorted, her eyes flashing with challenge. "Which is probably a foreign concept to you."
His smile didn't falter. Instead, he took another slow, calculated step closer, his tall frame looming over her now, trapping her against the counter. "Standards, huh?" he murmured, leaning in ever so slightly.
She didn't realize how much taller he was until now, when she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
The moonlight caught his eyes, a mix of green and light blue, sparkling like the ocean—just as dangerous and just as captivating.
Octavia swallowed, her pulse quickening, but she refused to back down. "Yes, standards," she repeated, voice steady despite her heart hammering in her chest.
"Like not falling for pretty boys who think a smile and a six-pack make up for their lack of actual personality."
Finnick's smirk grew sharper as he leaned in even closer, his breath hot against her ear. She could smell the faint scent of coconuts and seawater, intoxicating, wrapping around her senses.
"You think I'm pretty, princess?" he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, each word dripping with amusement.
Then, his tone shifted, the playful edge turning more pointed as he pulled back slightly to look her in the eye.
"Here's the thing," he said, a calculated glint in his gaze. "You're going to need more than that bitchy attitude of yours if you want to survive out there. You might think your skills will be enough, but trust me—sponsors don't just care about your will to kill or how fast you can run. They want allure. Charm."
Octavia's eyes narrowed, her pulse spiking in frustration now. "I'm not here to play games for their entertainment."
"No, you're here to survive," he shot back, his voice cool. "And part of surviving means playing the part. Winning them over. They like a fighter, sure, but they love a show."
He paused, eyes flicking over her again. "You've got to give them more. And right now..." His smirk returned, almost condescending. "You're coming off more bitchy than enticing."
Her breath hitched, anger surging in her chest. "So, what, you're saying I should flirt my way through this? Bat my eyelashes and play nice just to get a few extra gifts?"
He chuckled darkly, took another half step forward. "That's exactly what I'm saying, princess. You're going to need every advantage you can get, and sometimes that means playing the part they want to see. Being skilled is important, but making them want to keep you alive? That's how you win."
She crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "I'd rather rely on my abilities, thanks."
Finnick's eyes softened slightly, but the amusement never left his face. "You might not have a choice. Out there, charm can be just as much a weapon as a knife."
He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning in full force, his voice dripping with confidence.
"Out there, they're not just looking for survivors. They're looking for stars. And whether you like it or not, princess... you're going to have to shine."
She clenched her jaw, refusing to back down. But deep down, his words struck a nerve, planting the seed of doubt she hadn't expected. Finnick knew how the Capitol worked—how the games worked—and she hated that some part of her knew he was right.
