4

Comfort

It was the night before we left for the arena. I was retreating to the flat with Marina shaking behind me and Garcia in the lead, chattering excitedly about what a success we were in the interview and how she's never had so many sponsors throw themselves at her feet. I could barely hear a word of it, I was too busy focusing on my feet and taking one step at a time.

We reached the flat and a decadent dinner was waiting for us on the table. Marina excused herself to get changed and I followed Mags to the table.

"Nervous for tomorrow?" she asked kindly, patting my hand. Tristan sat next to her and waved out his napkin, seeming completely unaffected by what was going on.

"Of course he is Mags," he seemed to laugh. I watched him put two helpings of potatoes on his plate and smother them in butter, "Have you learned any of their names, boy?"

The question shook me a little, "The Tributes' names?"

"Yeah, them."

I thought back. I knew most of them by face and body, but not by name. Whenever it was time to eat I sat by silently near to weaker kids so I wouldn't have to socialize. I knew Viper...and Brutus...and Sadie. I couldn't think of anyone else off the top of my head. Oh, and Rye and Goren.

How could I forget them?

"Some of them," I admitted, bowing my head in misery. This wasn't fun anymore. I no longer had to flirt or be charming, but now all I wanted to do was hide.

Tristan roughed my shoulder sympathetically, "That's rough. You should never learn their names, it just makes in harder."

Marina joined us after some time, looking pale and sick. When she sat I could feel her trembling even though we weren't touching. Tristan smiled at her encouragingly and put some buttered bread on her plate.

"No thanks," she whispered, "I don't think I can eat anything."

"Try," he demanded.

Her little shakes turned to an all out tremble and she ended up burying her face in her hands. Tristan pursed his lips and sat back in his chair with defeat. Mags stood and circled to table to where Marina sat, taking her gently by the arm.

"Come on, honey," she cooed, guiding Marina by the arm to her room. I followed, entranced but lingered only as far as the doorway. Mags sat down on the bed with her back propped up on the headboard, pulling Marina into her arms so she was lying against her. Tears were streaming down the young girl's face and she was clutching Mag's arm desperately. Mags rested her chin on the top of her head and stroked her hair comfortingly, like a grandmother would do to help a child sleep. I couldn't help but remember my own mother doing the same thing to me when I was younger and sick, and part of me wanted so badly for her to be here. Or my father to tell me how strong I was and give me fighting advice and remind me over and over I was his son and how Odairs don't quit.

Mags moved so her cheek was now resting on Marina's head and she quietly began singing a lullaby I recognized from back home.

Out on the sea my love

There's a gray ship of shining glass

A white dove is sitting, singing

On the crystal mass

And out on the sea my love

The ship is sailing fast

Back home to the shore

Home my love at last.

But 'til that day

The dove it comes it sails alone

Remembering the shore and land

How the breaking waves shone

It comes to sing its song

To tell us of its tale

The ship of glass is sailing fast

The wind is in its sail

So go to sleep and do not fear

For it glides on silver lining

The dove is coming for the shore

The ship it will be shining.

Marina had quieted but was still clinging to Mags arm, so the woman continued to hum and stroke her hair as I left, feeling a little number than before. Tristan had finished eating and was drinking something strong from a crystal cup by the fireplace. I turned to a servant in a red uniform and asked, "What's he drinking?"

She looked at me with wide eyes, seeming shocked that I asked her a question. Then I remembered, Avox.

"Never mind," I dismissed her with an apologetic wave. An avox, how sad.

But where would you rather be, in her shoes or yours?

Mine I guess, at least I have a chance at freedom. An avox is chained for the rest of their lives.

Tristan stood and walked straight up to me, the drink only slightly affecting his walking.

"Good luck in the games tomorrow kid," he said, grabbing my shoulder for assurance and probably balance, "I think you really have a shot at this. The people out there love you more than any tribute I've ever seen."

I shrugged, not able to meet his eyes, "Because of my looks, there's no other reason."

Tristan looked thoughtful and shook his head, "I wouldn't say that. There's something else about you that draws them in."

"Like what?"

"I don't know," he shrugged, stumbling back from me, "Some kind of determination in you. You just have this air like there's a lot more to you than most." He started laughing and I couldn't help but worry for his sanity. "But how would I know?" he chuckled, taking another drink, "I've killed five children in my life, how can you trust me? I don't see anything." He was laughing again and sat down on the couch, facing the fire. "Did you know I was colorblind before I won the games and they fixed it? Ever since I was a kid. All that blood looked black to me."

I didn't want to listen anymore and retreated to my room, wondering if I could turn out like him. He was so friendly and almost happy-go-lucky in the light when I'd seen him with Marina. But he wasn't that now. If I got out, would I have to drink my problems away at night? I would have to help train the new tributes, that's for sure. Could I even tolerate that? Watching new kids cycle out year after year and training them to kill?

But there was Mags. She was still a decent human being, better than most actually, and at one point in life she had won the games. Maybe I could turn out like her.

Sleep came in waves, but I was never able to fully fall into it. My sheets were twisted around my body to the point I could barely move. I slammed my face into the pillow over and over again, but surprisingly enough that didn't help sleep come any faster. Eventually my body decided it was pointless and I wandered out into the living room again. Tristan was gone and there wasn't a sound save for the low hum of the fire. I sat in front of the couch and wrapped a soft blue blanket around my shoulders, trying to stop myself from shaking.

"You should be sleeping Finnick."

Mags sat down on the couch behind me with a cup of hot chocolate in each hand. She handed one off to me which I accepted. Even though I couldn't taste it, the warmth felt good.

"I want to go home, Mags."

She sighed and I heard her put down her mug. "I know honey."

She gently started playing with my hair, brushing it out with her creased fingers. The effect was immediate and my whole body seemed to start to melt.

"Maybe I will," I whispered, fighting the sleepiness.

"Maybe you will."

Next thing I knew I was waking up in my own bed from a deep and completely dreamless sleep.

Mags must have slipped something in that hot chocolate.

My prep team came bursting in to scrub and buff me once more. I emerged afterwards and squinted at the light flooding in through the windows. What an ironically sunny day. Marina was already dressed and ready, waiting outside the elevator door. Tristan was instructing her in a low voice on something, no signs of his drunken night before. Marina glanced at me quickly and then back to Tristan. Even after being bathed and polished, I could still see the evidence of her rough night in her eyes.

"Okay, we have to say good-bye to you now," Garcia announced on behalf of herself and the mentors. I looked at Mags with terror and she smiled back.

"Stay alive, and be strong. Find water. Don't overestimate yourself. We'll be watching," she told me in a tight hug. I wrapped my arms around her and was afraid to let go. Tristan gave Marina similar advice and a brief embrace, shook my hand and departed into the next room. Mags kissed Marina's forehead, waved good-bye, and then followed Tristan into the next room.

Before anything else was said we were whisked away into separate train cars and brought to the rooms underneath the arena. A doctor in a lab coat injected a tracking device into my arm, which quite honestly gave me the creeps. I was then ushered into my room and trapped when the door locked shut behind me. My stylists were waiting there with weird smiles, no doubt excited to get me out of my clothes.

"Do your worst," I told them, holding out my arms. I was stripped then dressed in gray cargo pants, sturdy but lightweight black boots, a long sleeve dark gray shirt, and a belt wrought with pegs and hoops, though nothing hung on them.

"Those are climbing boots, expect some steep, rocky terrain," Ophie observed.

I nodded and thanked them, when a peacekeeper came in and forced me into the clear cylinder. It closed behind me and I broke out in a sweat.

Alright Finnick, from this point out you're confident. Strong. Alluring. Determined. Head in the game.

The platform rose and I stopped trying to run. And then a rush of air came over me and I was blinded light.