Sit Still, Look Pretty | Finnick Odair

Prologue

'Katniss Everdeen is a terrible actress', I thought, staring at the hologram. Panem's star-crossed lovers from District 12 were on the screen, giving speeches in District 10; the second stop in their Victory Tour. Katniss was attempting to sound grateful, reading out the words on the cards she was holding, but she sounded as though she was reciting her times-tables instead. I understood that though, as the words given to me by my escort when I spoke during my victory tour tasted like tar on my tongue. Having to repeat something along the lines of I'm sorry your children are dead, but isn't the capital wonderful? in front of the entire population of Panem was no easy feat.

At least Katniss was lucky to have that boy with her, Peeta. He had enough charisma that he could sell a book to a blind man, but had enough heart to never try to. Peeta was often able to make Katniss' emotionless-ness come off as overly so - that she was feeling so much that she wasn't able to express. It was probably the only thing saving them from the wrath of the Capital; they were lucky to have each other. Every other victor had to do it alone; including myself.

I dreaded going through this every year, even before I won the 68th Hunger Games. Once I became a victor and a mentor, the suffering increased with every passing game; reliving my own experiences and putting other children though it was the utmost hell. To look into the tributes' eyes and try to teach them how to live past adolescence even though it was practically hopeless - tributes from District 9 never win. I was the first victor our district had in years, and it was just because I managed to sneak up on the remaining 3 tributes and cut their throats in their sleep. Even though I didn't have to anymore, I physically couldn't help out in the fields after my games - every time I used a sickle to harvest the grain, I felt warm blood run down my hands.

I knocked back the rest of my drink and stood up to get another one. All of Panem believed that the games were the hardest part to get through, that once you did, you were free. I held back a scoff as I poured more liquor into my glass, bitterness sweeping through me. Once you won, you were officially under the ownership of the Capitol, having to follow every instruction, read every line, be used in whatever way they wished. There were some nights when I wished I had died in the games. Those were the nights when I crawled out of a stranger's bed, collected payments and showered for hours afterwards in an attempt to wash the shame off my body. Those were the nights when I hear that children in my district, already weak from starvation, were beaten to death by peacekeepers when they were found attempting to steal grain. Those were nights like these, where I watched holograms of victors celebrating their achievements, unbeknownst to them of the trials which still lay ahead of them, and drowned myself in alcohol.

Just as I was about to sit back down, there was a quiet knock at the door. Confused, I placed my drink down and tied my nightgown a little tighter before going to the door, a sickle within a moment's reach just in case. However, there was just a little girl on the other side. Thin and dirty, her blond hair tangled and streaked with mud, holding a clean white letter in her thin fingers. The children from town never come to visit, either by their own accord or because they were told by their parents - I was practically seen as an angel of death, once the children are sent to me, they never come back. I had invited her in but I wasn't surprised when she declined, so I just gathered any food and water I had to spare in a small basket to give to her. Her eyes lit up at the sight, but she seemed nervous to accept the bundle. I insisted, taking the letter and placing the basket in her arms instead. Before she could leave, I held her hand, looked her in the eyes and told her not to deliver anything else to me - if someone wants to contact me, they can do it themselves, understand?  She nodded quickly and left even faster.

The letter had nothing on the envelope except for my name, Avena Garner, written in cursive with black ink. Anything from the Capitol would have a red wax seal or other symbols on it, so I could rule out any message from the president or any 'employers'. Inside there were just 3 sentences.

End of Victory Tour, at Snow's Mansion in the Capitol. Under the chandelier in the main ballroom, at 11pm. Celebrate the latest victors of the Games.

Silently, I crossed the room and threw the message in the fire, the sounds of murmuring from the hologram were muted as I watched the dangerous note burn. Then I dialed the phone with shaky hands and called my stylist, apologized for the lateness, and requested for my team to create a new look. I had a party to prepare for.