Chapter Text
Walking along the stone-paved roads towards his home, Finnick quietly side-stepped into an open doorway, hiding his spear from the oncoming Peacekeepers, marching along the street to remind everyone that they had to be in the square in an hour. As if any of them could ever forget, he certainly couldn’t. Once they’d passed, he stepped out once more, glancing around for any other peacekeepers that may come his way, before heading off for home again.
He'd always felt the worst part of reaping day was the anticipation: he envied District 1, who had to wait the least amount of time, and felt sorry for District 12, who’d be the last district to have their reaping. It was only made worse by the fact that District 4 apparently ran on very different timeframes to the Capitol: for them, being ready to watch the first reapings at 10 o’clock was practically a punishment, whereas Finnick had already been awake for five hours before the first name was pulled anywhere in Panem. The troubles of fishing.
He would have woken up early any normal day too, but for the past two years, it had been a tradition for him and his friends to go spear fishing before the reaping, to hopefully catch something they could eat with their families that night in celebration, and to distract themselves from the horror that loomed over them. So far, no-one in their class had been reaped for the Hunger Games, but they all knew it was only a matter of time before they recognised the name called out as if it were their own. They were all fisherman’s sons: the chances of the name they recognised being their own was not insignificant either.
“Do you know if anyone’s planning to volunteer this year?” Davey had asked while Finnick had kept watch for peacekeepers. Spear fishing itself wasn’t illegal, not technically, but fishing in waters you didn’t own, and wielding weapons, were, and all the waters were owned by someone in the District. The extra food was worth the risk, if you were smart enough to not get caught.
“My brother heard a rumour that Crasher was wanting to,” Adrian had answered. There had been rumours of the sort for the past three years, as the boys tried to reassure themselves that they wouldn’t have to go to the Games if they were reaped. In truth, it was as much a lottery as the reaping itself whether someone would volunteer, and it seemed that the more time passed since District 4 had had a new victor, the less likely someone was to volunteer. No-one had won in the past ten years. Of the past twenty tributes, only nine had volunteered, and not a single one had returned, except in a simple wooden coffin.
Finnick arrived back to his home, hearing the sounds of his family bustling to and fro with a smile. It was a small shack, and a tight squeeze inside, but cosy and welcoming always. As he shut the door behind him, his mother’s face looked up from the stove, a smile crossing it, pained with her worry.
“Good morning?” She asked, wiping her hands on a towel as Finnick pulled the fish he’d speared out from inside his bag, laying it out on the table, and going to clean off his spear before the saltwater and blood damaged the metal. “Thanks, Finny. You didn’t run into any trouble, did you?”
“Nah, just the Peacekeepers walking around to remind us to go to the reaping,” he shrugged. His mother visibly cringed, picking up the fish and setting about gutting it. “Is Dad and Uncle Ray back yet?”
“Not yet, but I saw their boat pull past the marina a few hours ago, they shouldn’t be long,” she assured him. All the boats had to dock no later than nine on Reaping Day, regardless of if they had children on board or not. He’d been invited along on the boat when it had left a few days prior, but he’d chosen to stay on land this time, so as to not miss his yearly ritual with his friends. “You should go get cleaned up, we’ll have to leave soon.”
Finnick flinched, but nodded, turning towards his bedroom when he heard crashing coming from within. He tentatively pushed the door open, and stared slack-mouthed at the carnage inside. They’d just tidied it yesterday, how had his brothers managed to wreck it so quickly?
“What is going on in here?” He asked, as Drake, Marlin and Kip leapt to their feet in shock. The floor was soaking wet, common after a storm, sure, but they hadn’t had rain in a week, and their few toys were currently floating on top of the impromptu pool in the middle of their shared bedroom. “Wh-How?”
“It was Kip’s fault!” Drake immediately yelled, pointing at his younger brother, who looked absolutely scandalised at the accusation.
“Was not!”
“I didn’t ask who did this, I asked how,” Finnick insisted. Merry was currently sat on his bed, as far from the water as she could get, and was laughing at the look of distress on Finnick’s face. She was far too young to understand how the water would damage the floorboards, too young to understand most of what today entailed, really, and Finnick waded through the puddle to pick her up and take her out of the room, to her protests. “Later, Merry, I need to get changed.”
He waded back through the puddle to reach the clothes cupboard, pulling out his relatively new clothes. He’d grown so much the past year, his old clothes no longer fit, stored safely somewhere in his parents’ room, ready for Drake to use next year, when he will be old enough to join the reaping. These clothes were nothing too spectacular, smart shirt and trousers, traded as second hand clothes in exchange for a bit of tesserae grain. The thought made Finnick’s skin crawl: the cost of the clothes had been some of the food he’d bought with the risk of his own death.
His brothers were deathly silent now, as he buttoned up his shirt, trying to make it sit neat. No-one else was in the reaping this year in the house, Drake had managed to be born the wrong side of the deadline, giving him an extra year before he had to worry about the Reaping. Finnick hadn’t been so lucky.
“How many times is your name in the reaping today?” Drake asked. Finnick flinched, thankful he wasn’t looking at them right now, and tried to keep his voice as upbeat as possible.
“Don’t worry about that,” he shrugged, trying to make the shirt’s collar sit properly. It didn’t seem to want to do what he wanted, though. “Davey’s name is in more than mine is, and there’s lots of names in that reaping bowl.” He quietly cursed the shirt collar, it just didn’t seem to sit right at all, and threw his hands up in resignation.
“You’re not going to go, are you Finnick?” Marlin asked. Finnick gave him the best smile he could.
“Not if I can help it. Come on, it’s going to be okay,” he assured them, as Marlin’s lower lip starting quivering and Finnick pulled him into a hug. “You should see the fish I caught today; we’ll go to the reaping, we’ll see who gets drawn, and then we’ll have a nice meal tonight. Nothing to worry about.”
Finnick untangled himself from Marlin’s arms, turning to where Kip and drake were watching him with their own looks of concern. “There’s thousands of kids in that reaping, and lots of them have their name in that bowl more than I do.”
“And what if your name is drawn?” Drake asked quietly. Finnick felt his smile falter, but he tried to quickly cover it, running his fingers through his hair to try and neaten it.
“Then you’ll become the oldest brother and get first choice of beds. Pretty sweet deal,” Finnick joked, but Drake didn’t smile. “Come on, we’ve had this discussion every year for the past two years. You always get yourselves all worked up, and then you make yourselves sick. And I’m not cleaning that up, I’d rather volunteer for the Games.”
“Finnick…” Kip whined, but the sound of the front door opening gave Finnick the perfect excuse to stop the conversation. Dad and Ray were home. Without another word to his brothers, he stepped out to greet them.
Two weeks at sea had left them battered and exhausted, but at the sound of the bedroom door opening, they both turned to look at Finnick, identical smiles crossing their near-identical faces. His mother looked up from where she was currently dealing with a fussing Merry, handing her off to Dad as she crossed the space between them, grabbing Finnick’s collar with her usual fuss.
“You look great,” she whispered, fixing his collar and smoothing it out and tidying his hair up further, before grabbing his head between her hands and pulling him down for a kiss. Usually, the gesture would be met with a lot of teasing from his brothers, but today, they were silent. “It fits you better than I had hoped.”
In truth, the shirt was a little big for him, but that just meant there’d be more time before they needed to replace it. She held him close for another minute, before Uncle Ray bustled her out of the way.
“Looking good, feeling okay?” He asked. Finnick nodded. “Good.”
“How was the fishing?” Finnick asked, desperate to hear about anything that wasn’t related to the Reaping.
“Fair. Had a brief storm last week, scared off some of the fish and we lost a few nets, but the pay from the haul should keep us fed until the next trip,” his father assured him. He was leaning over one of the dining room chairs, watching Finnick from afar. “If only the storms last month hadn’t- “
“Stop,” Mom insisted. “Not today.”
There were always storms around the time children signed up for tesserae. Storms where ships couldn’t go out, fish couldn’t be caught, resulting in mouths that couldn’t be fed. It had become a sore point in nearly all the fishing families in their neighbourhood: good catches always came just too late to prevent them needing to sign up for the grain to tide them over.
“Then we’ll be needing to make some more nets tomorrow?” Finnick asked brightly. He liked making nets, liked sitting with the fishers, hearing their stories and dreaming about when he’d next be out at sea.
“I’ll buy the materials tomorrow, Finny. We could always do with your help,” Dad smiled, and Finnick smiled back.
“We should be heading off soon,” Ray muttered, grabbing Finnick’s collar and bending it out of shape, to which Finnick laughed and pushed him away. “We want a good spot so we can head home faster, hmm?”
Finnick exhaled deeply, and nodded his agreement. Ray lay a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Remember, don’t forget to smile,” he grinned, and Finnick smiled back, trying to stop his hands from shaking by holding his arms instead.
The street outside was steadily filling with other families, all making their annual slog down to the Justice Building, and the square waiting just outside it. Parents and younger siblings trying to fight off the looks of worry on their faces, everyone of reaping age trying to look as indifferent as possible, when they felt as terrified as Finnick did. Two people weren’t walking home tonight, two families wouldn’t be celebrating another year without losing a child. Finnick glanced around the crowd as he walked: by this time next month, at least one person reaped today in District 4 would be dead. Likely both of them. Two homes would never feel as warm as they did last night ever again.
A shocked squeal and a loud yowl grabbed Finnick’s attention, turning to see Chum sat on a wall, swiping at kids as they passed by. District 4 was filled with cats, almost as many cats as there were fish, and any village home to fishermen were overloaded with them. Chum was no exception, a big, old, mean tom cat, pitch black in colour with startlingly green eyes, and a penchant for attacking passers-by. Adrian had once teased Finnick by saying that he had the same eyes as the miserable old moggy, and Finnick thought about it now every time he passed by the cat. That and how he’d pushed Adrian into the sea for the comment.
Chum took one look at Finnick approaching, their eyes meeting for the briefest moment, before Chum got up and walked away, his butt firmly aimed at Finnick’s face. Finnick’s mouth ran dry, and Uncle Ray must’ve seen it too, for he quickly yelled Chum back, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a plastic wrapped parcel, throwing some of the contents between them and the cat, which brought Chum careening back towards them, along with a few other cats who’d been trying to beg food off of the crowd. Finnick glanced back to Ray, who simply shoved the plastic back in his pocket. “Sometimes, you have to make your own luck.”
As they reached the square, Finnick’s family split off from him, with final pats and hugs for good luck, while he registered and entered the area with the other fourteen-year-olds, quickly finding his friends and standing with them. Riggs silently teased him over the new shirt, and Finnick responded by pulling his shirt out from where he’d tucked it into his trousers. A hush fell over the crowd as people started to file out of the Justice Building, signalling that the Reaping was about to start.
Capitol officials came out first, with extra Peacekeepers to ensure that whoever got reaped didn’t flee, and then victors from previous years. District 4 had a good number of them, and Finnick recognised them all from the previous Reapings. No-one new, no-one lost. Even the old lady was still going strong, although she was first to take her seat. And then came Giada Jewel.
She bounced across the stage like an excited child, beaming ear to sparkling ear, the escort for District 4, and had been for the past 3 years, since the previous one had retired. She was the only person smiling today. She took up her seat at the end of the Victors, although even at this distance Finnick could see their discomfort at her presence among them. All of the children stood waiting to hear their fate were dressed smartly, all the parents hugging the edges too. The victors were dressed almost sombrely, in fancy but respectful clothes. And then there was Giada, who wore the most horrific shimmering fabric in all sorts of colours that did nothing but strain everyone’s eyes, bouncing in her seat like an excited child.
The mayor stepped forward to give the yearly speech, to remind them all of why the Hunger Games were needed, as if they could ever forget, as if the Capitol didn’t enjoy pelting into everyone in the district just how badly they had lost the uprising. Finnick zoned out, finding it easier to think instead about the crashing waves this morning as they’d gone fishing than to listen to the monotonous man in charge repeat the same speech he used every year. He zoned back in as the speech was finished, and everyone slowly applauded, while the mayor sat down, and Giada leapt up with glee. This was it.
“Happy Hunger Games everyone!” She called out as she reached the microphone, waving at them all. No-one waved back. “And might I say what a pleasure it is to be the escort for District 4. Now, let’s see who the lucky tributes will be this year.”
Finnick clenched his fists to stop himself from fidgeting. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her, flouncing across the stage to the first reaping bowl like a fish making a desperate bid for the water. She rifled around the bowl, before grabbing one with a look of excitement, and prancing back to the microphone.
“Ladies first,” she declared, opening the slip of paper with a flourish, clearing her throat. “Cordelia Ralee!”
He knew that name. In passing only, but he knew it. The crowd turned towards where Cordelia stood, among her fellow eighteen-year-olds, looking like a fish trapped in a net. She had the stocky build of someone who worked a shop, used to carrying and hauling for long hours, not the swimmer’s body seen on most people in District 4. Her face seemed to fall naturally into a scowl, but the way she shivered as she walked told Finnick it wasn’t because she was trying to look intimidating. Maybe she just looked that way.
She slowly made her way up to the steps, every step seeming shaky and uncertain, and Finnick felt sorry for her. Her father owned the boat that Davey and Riggs’ fathers worked on, which meant her family had passive income and a slightly more comfortable life than some others in the district but offered her little in the way of protection from bad odds. Maybe her family had used some of that extra money to fund extra training sessions in case she was reaped, but from how she was trembling on that stage, Finnick doubted it.
Giada asked if there would be any volunteers, and the crowd maintained their silence. After a few moments, Giada piped up, “No? Well, then, congratulations Cordelia! And now, for the gentleman who’ll be coming with you.”
Finnick swallowed hard, and felt Riggs’ hand tap against his, a small sign of comfort, all they would allow themselves when the cameras were watching every movement like a dockyard cat waiting for the fish wives to leave a single fish unattended. Finnick in turn knocked his hand against Adrian’s, who knocked against Davey’s. Giada was fishing around the bowl, mixing in the names from the edges of the bowl. It always felt like she took longer to pick out a boy’s name than a girls, and this year was no exception.
But then she grabbed one and was flouncing her way back over to the microphone. Riggs knocked Finnick’s hand again, sending another bump down the line as she opened the slip of paper, clearing her throat.
“Finnick Odair!”