❦

𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸
ʙɪᴛᴛᴇʀɴᴇss ʙʀᴇᴇᴅs ᴀ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ

❦

The main room of the district seven victor's suite was empty as Cillian finally rolled from the elevator doors, dumping his suit jacket at the front. The quietness was almost deafening- the type of silence that came after a murder or at the end of the Games when only the sound of his own breath was left. Cillian paused and then slumped to the sitting area, throwing himself down on a lounge chair and pouring a drink from the crystal decanter that sat on the small table. Not even the avoxes were there with their almost soundless movements.

He must have nodded off- his head had certainly felt heavy enough to make it believable. It wasn't the light streaming through the glass walls that woke him either, rather the playful voice of a fellow victor.

"I didn't think you'd manage to get here so early."

In spite of his banging head, Cillian had to smile. From the smug look on her face, he was looking completely dishevelled. His shirt was half undone, pulled from his slim trousers and he didn't even want to know how many angles with which his hair stuck up. She herself looked fresh, her face bare of makeup and hair straight, natural aside from the red streak.

"What are you doing here, Johanna?" Cillian said as she sat down beside him, taking the drink from his hands as he let her kick her legs across his lap.

"They dragged me from the districts, I had to stay somewhere," she said with a shrug.

She turned her head to watch the changing screen that hung from the inner wall like a tapestry, forever changing into blurs of colours, forming images of blue waters and stretches of busy streets. It was hard to imagine that the concept of such a scene would have seemed impossible only three years ago. There was no ocean surrounding District Seven and nor was there a bustling city, enriched with colourful markets and lively people. The image switched to one of a forest- not a natural one with mossy bark and mottled, thriving grounds, but one of straight-lined trees, perfectly placed in ugly strips, the land killed by monoculture. If only the Capitol would take it as an example.

"Where's Eirlys?"

Johanna sighed and folded her arms. "Painting her face. I think the dye melted off under the lights last night," she said. Then, as she turned her head toward him, she laughed. "You look like you're going to start a war."

"Eiryls has a few things to explain after the interview with Caesar last night," he said, shaking his head, only making Johanna laugh more.

"Well, she won't take long. She has some very interesting information about the mentorship this year."

It was so easy to mock Eirlys with her high pitched voice and her distinct lack of grasp on the situation of the districts. Often, it would be argued whether it was stupidity and pure ignorance, or a blatant way of ignoring it all for her own enjoyment. Cillian would lean toward the first option: it wasn't too believable that she was smart enough to understand the indifference.

"I'm sure she says that to everyone on their first time mentoring."

Johanna stilled, pausing to think for a moment. "Why did they choose us? Why not someone with more experience?" She asked, knowing that Cillian could not give her an answer. "Who was it last year? Blight?"

"Blight was not able to participate in the mentorship programme this year."

Eirlys' flowery voice floated through the room until she stood in front of them, her widely-piled hair blocking the sea-view image on the tapestry. Her hands clasped together, her purple lips opening to introduce her own subject.

"Why not?" Cillian said swiftly, his chin rising to meet her eyes.

She blinked and readjusted herself. "I'm not sure. I would have liked to see him this year too. He spent all his time in the victor's village, unlike you, my dear," Eirlys said. "All I was told is that he was indisposed."

There was a moment of a shattering silence. Johanna took one look at the woman's smiling face and shot to her feet, throwing her hands out accusingly.

"And they call us the fucking savages!" She screeched, hands gripping at her head.

"Language! There is no need!"

She was incredulous- her voice lost in a wave of hysterics as her face burned as red as her hair. "No need!"

Cillian brought his hand to grip her arm, catching her in the act. "Just leave it, Johanna," he said softly, his eyes trained on her face. "You've got your answer."

Johanna scoffed. "What? So they've hammered you into being placid now, have they?"

"No. I just know how to pick my fights."

"There is no picking fights in the Capitol. They'll fuck you every fucking time!"

"Then what are you doing now, if you're not picking fights?" Cillian snapped, watching as she was brought down from a high, her jaw clenching.

"I'll riot. Tell them all that they're murderers."

"What and get yourself killed too? What good will that do?" Cillian stood, bringing his head in close so she could hear. "Be smart, Johanna. Think for once, will you?"

She shook her head and glanced to Eirlys before her eyes rested on him again. "I just want to know you're on my side."

"Of course I'm on your fucking side," he said with a smile.

Although he loathed himself and the idea of a Victor in a way, there was a bond between them that could not be found with family or friends. An understanding was a better term- only Johanna could know and feel the things he truly felt. Only she could comprehend the things he'd done for the sake of his life and that of his family, both in and out of the arena. She had done them too after all.

It was almost an insult, for Johanna to hold so little faith that he would be on her side. She was as good as his sister. In her veins ran the same District Seven blood: thick and durable, darkened like wood and rich with pride and angst.

Eirlys cleared her throat and shifted her weight against her heels, her hands graced together. Her eyes slid toward the breakfast table and it was only then that Johanna shoved past, sitting at the head.

"Finnick Odair," he said as they were all sat, engulfed within the piles of Capitol food. "Why would Caesar suggest his name to me?"

The woman seem to fluster as if she's seen the question coming but didn't want him to know her answer. Her expression danced around her words before her purple lips could even open.

"Oh, Cillian, you mustn't worry about that, really. There are no two ways about it. You are the most desirable out of the two of you," she said, speaking as if it was a compliment.

"Most desirable?"

"It's just a silly little competition, dear. You know, to create anticipation for the games this year since you're both mentoring."

"That's why I've been more visible these past weeks."

"Precisely."

Johanna snorted out a chuckle as she dropped her cutlery down on an empty plate. "What a joke."

"Come, let's eat," Eirlys said quickly, brushing them away with a swift movement of her hand, addressing the prepared food that lined the centre. "We must talk about the mentorship. The opening party is only a week away and we need to make a big impression if we're to do well with sponsorships. We were severely lacking last year, but thankfully we didn't need them but who knows who we'll get this year."

Johanna rolled her eyes but stayed quiet as she reached for a bun.

"So here is how things will go: during the opening party, the mentors will all be present. This is where you need to start talking to the lovely Capitol people about sponsoring your district. It'll be hard of course without knowing who the tributes are but we must try," Eirlys said as she buttered her own bread, speaking as if from a memorised script, her voice flowery with accents. "You'll get a day before the reaping to visit home and then you'll be on the train waiting for the tributes. They'll arrive and you'll have a day and a half to prep them before they're styled and taken to the parade ceremony."

It had been two months since he'd last seen his family. Two months spent within the claws of the Capitol. A month longer than he'd promised his younger sister Willa that he'd be away for. It was pointless to fret about such things- his parents knew better than to do so.

"I'm sure you can imagine the rest from there. It really is simple."

"All we have to do is try to keep them alive," Johanna said mockingly, a smirk on her face.

Cillian let out a dry laugh. "Simple."

❦

Even the loud booming of the music couldn't seem to drown out the fermenting sound of Cillian's anger. With Johanna at his side, he navigated through the unending corridors of the venue, using the white-trimmed edgings of the glass roof to show his way. It was like a maze, each twist bringing them to a dead end. His hands were too hot to guide- he feared the walls might shatter under the pressure of his burning fingertips.

It was Johanna, however, that Cillian worried about. Not a word had passed her lips in the few times he'd seen her in the past week, and the time he had spent with her had been insufferable, suffocated with her silence. Her rage was like a plague and the longer he spent with her, the more infected he felt himself getting. His symptoms were mounting up by the day: first the sweating, then the uncontrollable shaking, and lastly the inability to even look at Eirlys without scowling.

The quick comings of the beginning of the Games didn't help. The opening party was far more obnoxious than any other, with fireworks coordinated along with the thrumming bass and clanging beat of the music that echoed through the hollow greenhouses of which built this year's setting. Memories would roll back at the oddest hours, being triggered by the most random of things. It was the dark cherry-coloured wine spilt against himself that reminded him of the blood that stained his hands and it was Johanna's closed fists that reminded him of the bruises that'd coloured his knuckles for months.

It was another ten minutes before they fell back into the main area of which the people of the Capitol did not bother to leave. The glass walls shook as the speakers blared from an unknown location, the bright outfits weaving amongst each other with the absence of grace, ridiculous and senseless. But if those who controlled him were fools then he was the court jester, parading himself in clown makeup and a colourful costume.

"I've never wanted to murder someone more than I do now."

Cillian glanced at Johanna from the corner of his eye. She was glaring again, her arms crossed tightly across the red spikes of her dress, fingers digging so deep into her forearm that her skin boiled pink. He let out a laugh, a lopsided grin forming on his face.

"Toning it down a little might be a good idea," he said, capturing her attention for the first time in a while.

"Oh yeah?"

"That's if you value your life, that is. Otherwise, go for it."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise, but her voice taunted him. "That's not you condoning my actions, is it Cillian?"

"At this point, I don't care," he said, shrugging as he looked back over the crowd of people.

Johanna began to walk away, turning on her heel so she still faced him as she spoke. "Join me in causing chaos, if you like. Might be the only inch of fun we get ever."

By the time he'd worked up the nerve to follow, she'd disappeared into the hordes that were beginning to gather by the balcony stage that wrapped around the front of the room. This years game maker Augustus Agrippa already stood with his apprentice Seneca Crane, along with a few other officials that Cillian could have named, had he been somewhat sober. Eirlys and a few other familiar district escorts stood toward the front of the crowd along with the favoured stylists. Cillian found his way through, spotting Johanna only as the lights began to go down.

"I'd like to welcome you all, Capitol ladies and gentlemen and victors alike, to the annual Hunger Games opening ceremony."

A cheer thrummed through the room in thunderous applause as President Snow emerged onto the stage, wearing a crisp black suit, the white rose stark against the darkness of the fabric. He smiled- a predatory sort of smile, like a lion's snarl, one that could only be recognised by its prey.

"You're staying here for the speech?" Cillian asked as he reached Johanna.

She didn't turn to look at him. Instead, her eyes were glued to Snow. "I thought you said to tone down? To be smart?"

"It's not smart to listen to this propaganda," he said lowly, holding back the snap behind his tone.

Johanna nodded and followed him, shoving her shoulders through the crowd, earning a few gasps and mumbles of disapproval. He avoided the opening of the mazelike glasshouse and instead slid through the back door, twisting around a short corridor that was occupied by only two others. With eyes glued to the last door that lead outside, Cillian strode forward, shoulder briefly colliding with that of another.

It was only as his name left the lips of the person, that he lowered his gaze to look.

In all proudness, Finnick turned back to look at him, sea-green eyes digging beneath his skin. He grinned- that dazzling, toothy grin, set with perfect white teeth- and tilted his head in acknowledgement. Even in passing, Cillian could smell the salt that lingered on his skin and see the glimmer at the highest points of his structured cheekbones. He was the optimum image of his district, just as they wanted him to be. Cillian was reminded that Finnick had all the same reasons to be severe, to hold bitterness in his expression, but he walked with a purposefulness and easiness as if he was the centre of all attention at all times, thriving beneath it.

One could not hate Finnick Odair. Cillian certainly didn't. Perhaps, however, his plain coolness toward the boy was his self-loathing manifesting in an outward form. They were no different to each other: the brutal, favoured winnings of the games, the presence within the Capitol, and the role their bodies took within higher society as darlings of the city. It was for that very fact, that it was so easy to feel such apathy toward him.

"Finnick," he said slowly, the name feeling foreign on his tongue.

"Good look with the game," he said, his eyebrows raising tauntingly as he turned back around. "Nice hair, Johanna."

She paused, eyes watching as he disappeared behind the door they'd come from, a puzzled expression covering her face.

As they reached outside, breathing in the thick air of the Capitol, they didn't speak of him. The minor interaction with Finnick Odair fell into the past. It was best that it did. With the Hunger Games steadily approaching, the last thing he needed to think of was the tricky competition that the Capitol citizens had created between them.

Johanna tugged at her dress, willing it to pull tighter around her half-exposed chest. She let out a grunt and shoved a hand beneath the neckline, pulling out a wrapped sweet, rolling it between her fingers. The movement caught Cillian's eye.

"Hungry?"

Johanna glared at him, but a moment later, she nodded her head reluctantly, unwrapped the yellow striped sweet, and placed it in between her teeth. Her eyes closed, teeth clenching. Cillian frowned- Johanna would have rather starved than eaten from Snow's table. Her walls were crumbling.

Stepping forward, Cillian surprised himself as he wrapped a single arm around her shoulders. She froze, her breath halting before she placed her hands on his back, head dropping to his chest below his chin.

Her voice was a whisper. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully. "But I'll figure it out."

The speech was finished as they found their way back to the hall. Selena caught them in the middle, meandering through the crowd, leading them to Eirlys who took him by the arm as she saw him.

"Darling, I hear Lucius is desperate to meet with you," she said quickly, pausing to wave across the room. "Will you look for him?"

Cillian let out a sigh, readying himself to use the word he'd been savouring to spend. "No."

"What? Sorry?" Eirlys spluttered, brows furrowing.

"No," he repeated himself clearly.

"No? Oh." Eirlys stopped, her eyes staring at the floor as if she'd glitched.

❦