Finnick Odair--Nothing But a Hood

Oxymorons

"Do either of you have any skills that aren't breaking into houses and stealing bread?" Trotter asks, sipping his whiskey at 8 o'clock in the morning.

"We need something to base you two off of." Carolina says.

"I can use a whip." I say, Dallas shoots me a look as he eats his pancakes. "What? I did work on a farm for the first twelve years of my life." I say, "before I herded sheep, I did cattle. Plus, a whip is a good weapon!"

"But not common in the games." Trotter corrects. "You'd have to run into the cornucopia for that, and that's the last thing I want you to do. That's a death sentence there."

"Knives are pretty self explanatory." Dallas says. "We use switches all the time."

"There's something." Carolina says, "you know how to start fires, carve weapons, and the correct way to stab things with it?" She asks.

"We can start fires." I nod, drinking orange juice. I turn to Trotter, "why is the cornucopia a death sentence? Isn't that where we're going to get all our things?"

Trotter sets his whiskey down, narrowing his eyes at me. "Because that's where everyone else is going to get their things, too. All those tributes from the Career districts? They train their whole lives for the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. They'll be faster, stronger, and better armed before you can even take a step."

I blink, feeling the weight of his words. "So, we're supposed to run away with nothing? How're we supposed to survive if we don't have anything?"

Carolina leans forward, hands clasped together. "You survive by outsmarting them. The Cornucopia's a gamble. You want to go in, fine—but it better be for something worth the risk. Otherwise, you're better off finding shelter, staying out of sight, and letting the Careers thin out the herd."

Dallas is still shoveling pancakes into his mouth like none of this is even fazing him. He glances over at me and shrugs. "We don't need fancy weapons, Pep. We're good with our hands. You, me, we've worked the land. We know how to make do with scraps."

"I'm fast, though." I say. "What if someone takes my whip?"

"Number one: A whip probably won't be there. Number two: if it is, no one is taking it." Trotter says, "and if you're so fast, save your energy for when you're getting chased down by careers in the last days of the games when you're starving and half dead."

I stare back at him, slowly placing a strawberry in my mouth, he looks back at me. "...alright."

"When we go down there today, what do we do?"

"Don't show any skills." Carolina says. "Save that for the assessments."

"So...what do we do?"

"Just begin with learning simple tricks. Things that other district kids may know how to do but you don't. Maybe talk. Make some buddies." Trotter says, "learn to tie a fishhook or do some knots, or some stitches or learn to climb. Do something."

"So just stay low? Like—blend in?"

"Exactly." Carolina says, clapping her hands. "The careers will be sizing everyone up. Let them underestimate you two. Play dumb. Like really dumb."

"Oh, Dal' that's easy for you." I smirk, and he kicks my chair.

Trotter clears his throat, giving us a sharp look. "You two need to understand that in there, every move you make counts. It's not just about being strong or fast. It's about knowing when to act and when to hold back. The tributes who rush to show off? They don't last long."

Dallas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, finally looking up. "So what? We pretend we're just dumb farm kids?"

"You are a dumb farm kid." I mutter under my breath.