Post by Finnick Odair on Apr 13, 2017 21:38:30 GMT -7
Finnick's fingers ached for rope, and sometimes he could tell himself that was the worst part.
How much time had passed? How much had they taken from him? How much was left to give? Inside his cell, Finnick paced, even though his groin and left leg throbbed with the effort. He couldn't stay still though, and his fingers playing with the bottom hem of his shirt. As cells went, this wasn't the worst. The bed had a mattress and sheets, and wasn't wholly uncomfortable. He had a toilet and sink, even a little rack bolted into the ground with a few changes of clothes. And the mirror. The damned mirror was there, hanging over the sink, ready to mock him every time he washed his hands. He'd tried to smash it once, only to tear up his hand and leave the glass visibly untouched. Maybe someone thought that vain Finnick Odair would like to see his own face all the time. Or, more likely, someone knew that the sight of his own face every day would be its own sort of torture. That person understood more than they should.
Finnick did look in that mirror. He couldn't help it when it was always there. Sometimes he stared hard at the reflection, trying to understand what it told him about himself and what was real. His mind felt like it had been hacked to bits by a knife and rearranged, and he couldn't know for certain what had been taken and what left behind. He knew who he was. He was Finnick Odair, famous pretty boy and flirt, victor of the 65th Hunger Games. He had secrets, secrets not even Annie knew, and secrets that could make or break lives. Annie. When he thought about Annie, it was like trying to hold on to mist. He couldn't catch her, or Pyra, or Elodie, or Aless, or Caspian. They evaporated on the tips of his fingers and the edges of his mind.
He knew also that the things inside of his head could break so many people. There were names and dates and places that they wanted from him, and he used to think he didn't want to give them up. He used to think he would rather die, but he knew they wouldn't let him and maybe he should tell them. Maybe he already had told them. It was hard to know for sure. It was hard to know anything for sure.
The door to his cell opened abruptly and Finnick stopped pacing. A Peacekeeper leaned against the doorframe, clearly unafraid of this particular prisoner. Finnick recognized him instantly as the nameless Peacekeeper he'd decided to call Smiles - because that was just what he did. Smiles smiled at him slyly, like he knew some secret that lay ahead for his captive and was just waiting for Finnick to take the bait and ask him about it. He used to take the bait, but now Finnick imagined ripping his arms of instead. He knew why he hadn't though - he wouldn't get close enough, fast enough. Smiles had a long, slender stick in his left hand, a stick that was capable of dealing amounts of pain unrivaled by anything else Finnick had experienced.
"Time to get pretty, Odair," Smiles smiled, then gestured broadly with his stick out the door. Finnick had no choice but to follow.
---
"You were a part of them, weren't you?" a man in a pink wig said, leaning closer. "These... rebels in District 4. You helped them." He leaned his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers and looking so much like Caesar without really looking like him at all.
Finnick glanced over the man's shoulder at Smiles. They were in the studio again, practicing again. While Finnick knew they weren't live yet, that didn't mean the cameras weren't rolling. Snow was watching at least, as he always was, and had direct communication with Smiles. He'd been in this studio every day for a week for hours at a time, and they'd decided he was ready. They were set to do an interview later with Caesar Flickerman himself. They had given him the lines to learn and he was supposed to say them tonight to the whole of Panem.
"Yes," Finnick said, returning his gaze to the man in the pink wig. This man had introduced himself, but all Finnick could remember was that it was a type of bird - Canary? Parrot? Cardinal? Mockingjay? Ha. Mockingjay. That bird always reminded him of the two girls at the end of the 74th Hunger Games, one dying and the other probably wishing she was. He'd watched it until the end, even though his tributes had long since died, because who could look away? Who could stop watching a pair of 12-year-old girls who were too innocent and sweet to deal with the things they had to deal with? Who could watch that and not know there was something wrong with the world they lived in? Who didn't have that mockingjay song haunting them? He realized that Mockingjay was waiting for more of an answer. "I thought I could trust them, but they turned on me. I wasn't the first one they fooled and I won't be the last. These rebels are dangerous, Caesar, and they are feeding people lies. Without the Capitol, none of us would survive. The Capitol is the reason I'm still here."
"What would you say to the rebels now, if-"
"They've made me who I am," Finnick interrupted, leaning closer to Mockingjay. Little mockingjay, so innocent and yet it sings any song you feed it. "I'm a killer and I'm everyone's favorite bachelor. I do as I'm told and sleep with women I'd rather kill, but I can't even do that anymore, and you know why?" His hands were around Mockingjay's neck, and he didn't remember how they got there. He only squeezed as hard as he could. "The Capitol has taken--" The sharp sting of the stick exploded in Finnick's thigh and he screamed, writhing back into his chair. The man in the pink wig was gasping for breath and stumbling away, but all Finnick knew was the pain - both the physical pain of the stick and pain inside his head from the visions the stick brought with it. In those visions he saw everyone - everyone he'd killed, everyone he would kill, everyone who was his responsibility. The people who were always mist in his mind were tangible here, if only briefly. It didn't matter that he'd caught Annie finding comfort with someone else. It didn't matter that Pyra had really been a tool of the Capitol and had reported the whole plan, saving him - or nearly killing him? It didn't matter that Elodie had shot him twice and his whole team in the tunnels had turned on him and left him to die. What mattered was that they were all there, and so Finnick welcomed the pain like a friend and let it take him over.
---
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," a somber Caesar tells the camera. "Tonight's interview isn't our usual happy affair. We have with us tonight our beloved Finnick Odair, who is in a lot of pain but agreed to give us a few words. Thanks for being here, Finnick."
"Thanks for having me, Caesar," Finnick responded. His voice was raspy, his bottom lip swollen. After the way practice had gone, Smiles and Snow seemed to have decided a different way to show Finnick Odair to Panem. Earlier today, he'd been well made up, his injuries hidden under makeup and cloth. The Finnick that sat in the chair now was a far different one. He was still smartly dressed, but his hair was intentionally disheveled. The bruises on his cheek were new, but faded to make them look older. While the thick casting that started at his hips and ended above his left knee had become almost a stylish accent of his own suit, it was clearly visible.
"You were involved in the recent riot in District 4?"
"Yes," Finnick said.
"Tell me what happened. Take your time."
There was so much empathy in Caesar's face, and Finnick could see it. He could almost feel it, just like he could feel Elodie's bullets cutting into him again. And again. They'd given him new answers to these new questions, but he almost didn't need them. "They told me we were taking back District 4, even let me help plan it. But it was all a lie. They wanted to hurt the Capitol and Panem by taking away Four's resources and victors. They used me to get in, and then they shot me and left me to die." Finnick spoke first to Caesar, then had turned his eyes to the camera. "These rebels are dangerous, Caesar, and they are feeding people lies. Without the Capitol, none of us would survive. The Capitol is the reason I'm still here."
Caesar nodded, and placed a gentle hand on Finnick's right knee. "Thank you for your honesty, Finnick. I wish you a quick recovery." He leaned back and looked back at the camera. "That's all the time we have tonight. Please, citizens of Panem, I implore you to report any suspicious behavior so that this doesn't happen to your loved ones. Stay safe out there." He smiled, but not his bright, cheery smile. "We'll check in with Finnick again this time next week. Thank you, and good night."
The red light on the camera blinked off and Caesar gave Finnick one last pat on the knee before standing up. Finnick watched him go, his retreating back replaced by Smiles' grin. Finnick stood without a word and walked ahead of his jailor back to his own cell.
WC: 1629
Notes: I had some Finnick muse and just wanted to work through what he's going through. Also, Caesar used here with Sara's permission, and I hopefully didn't entirely butcher him!
How much time had passed? How much had they taken from him? How much was left to give? Inside his cell, Finnick paced, even though his groin and left leg throbbed with the effort. He couldn't stay still though, and his fingers playing with the bottom hem of his shirt. As cells went, this wasn't the worst. The bed had a mattress and sheets, and wasn't wholly uncomfortable. He had a toilet and sink, even a little rack bolted into the ground with a few changes of clothes. And the mirror. The damned mirror was there, hanging over the sink, ready to mock him every time he washed his hands. He'd tried to smash it once, only to tear up his hand and leave the glass visibly untouched. Maybe someone thought that vain Finnick Odair would like to see his own face all the time. Or, more likely, someone knew that the sight of his own face every day would be its own sort of torture. That person understood more than they should.
Finnick did look in that mirror. He couldn't help it when it was always there. Sometimes he stared hard at the reflection, trying to understand what it told him about himself and what was real. His mind felt like it had been hacked to bits by a knife and rearranged, and he couldn't know for certain what had been taken and what left behind. He knew who he was. He was Finnick Odair, famous pretty boy and flirt, victor of the 65th Hunger Games. He had secrets, secrets not even Annie knew, and secrets that could make or break lives. Annie. When he thought about Annie, it was like trying to hold on to mist. He couldn't catch her, or Pyra, or Elodie, or Aless, or Caspian. They evaporated on the tips of his fingers and the edges of his mind.
He knew also that the things inside of his head could break so many people. There were names and dates and places that they wanted from him, and he used to think he didn't want to give them up. He used to think he would rather die, but he knew they wouldn't let him and maybe he should tell them. Maybe he already had told them. It was hard to know for sure. It was hard to know anything for sure.
The door to his cell opened abruptly and Finnick stopped pacing. A Peacekeeper leaned against the doorframe, clearly unafraid of this particular prisoner. Finnick recognized him instantly as the nameless Peacekeeper he'd decided to call Smiles - because that was just what he did. Smiles smiled at him slyly, like he knew some secret that lay ahead for his captive and was just waiting for Finnick to take the bait and ask him about it. He used to take the bait, but now Finnick imagined ripping his arms of instead. He knew why he hadn't though - he wouldn't get close enough, fast enough. Smiles had a long, slender stick in his left hand, a stick that was capable of dealing amounts of pain unrivaled by anything else Finnick had experienced.
"Time to get pretty, Odair," Smiles smiled, then gestured broadly with his stick out the door. Finnick had no choice but to follow.
---
"You were a part of them, weren't you?" a man in a pink wig said, leaning closer. "These... rebels in District 4. You helped them." He leaned his elbows on his knees, steepling his fingers and looking so much like Caesar without really looking like him at all.
Finnick glanced over the man's shoulder at Smiles. They were in the studio again, practicing again. While Finnick knew they weren't live yet, that didn't mean the cameras weren't rolling. Snow was watching at least, as he always was, and had direct communication with Smiles. He'd been in this studio every day for a week for hours at a time, and they'd decided he was ready. They were set to do an interview later with Caesar Flickerman himself. They had given him the lines to learn and he was supposed to say them tonight to the whole of Panem.
"Yes," Finnick said, returning his gaze to the man in the pink wig. This man had introduced himself, but all Finnick could remember was that it was a type of bird - Canary? Parrot? Cardinal? Mockingjay? Ha. Mockingjay. That bird always reminded him of the two girls at the end of the 74th Hunger Games, one dying and the other probably wishing she was. He'd watched it until the end, even though his tributes had long since died, because who could look away? Who could stop watching a pair of 12-year-old girls who were too innocent and sweet to deal with the things they had to deal with? Who could watch that and not know there was something wrong with the world they lived in? Who didn't have that mockingjay song haunting them? He realized that Mockingjay was waiting for more of an answer. "I thought I could trust them, but they turned on me. I wasn't the first one they fooled and I won't be the last. These rebels are dangerous, Caesar, and they are feeding people lies. Without the Capitol, none of us would survive. The Capitol is the reason I'm still here."
"What would you say to the rebels now, if-"
"They've made me who I am," Finnick interrupted, leaning closer to Mockingjay. Little mockingjay, so innocent and yet it sings any song you feed it. "I'm a killer and I'm everyone's favorite bachelor. I do as I'm told and sleep with women I'd rather kill, but I can't even do that anymore, and you know why?" His hands were around Mockingjay's neck, and he didn't remember how they got there. He only squeezed as hard as he could. "The Capitol has taken--" The sharp sting of the stick exploded in Finnick's thigh and he screamed, writhing back into his chair. The man in the pink wig was gasping for breath and stumbling away, but all Finnick knew was the pain - both the physical pain of the stick and pain inside his head from the visions the stick brought with it. In those visions he saw everyone - everyone he'd killed, everyone he would kill, everyone who was his responsibility. The people who were always mist in his mind were tangible here, if only briefly. It didn't matter that he'd caught Annie finding comfort with someone else. It didn't matter that Pyra had really been a tool of the Capitol and had reported the whole plan, saving him - or nearly killing him? It didn't matter that Elodie had shot him twice and his whole team in the tunnels had turned on him and left him to die. What mattered was that they were all there, and so Finnick welcomed the pain like a friend and let it take him over.
---
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," a somber Caesar tells the camera. "Tonight's interview isn't our usual happy affair. We have with us tonight our beloved Finnick Odair, who is in a lot of pain but agreed to give us a few words. Thanks for being here, Finnick."
"Thanks for having me, Caesar," Finnick responded. His voice was raspy, his bottom lip swollen. After the way practice had gone, Smiles and Snow seemed to have decided a different way to show Finnick Odair to Panem. Earlier today, he'd been well made up, his injuries hidden under makeup and cloth. The Finnick that sat in the chair now was a far different one. He was still smartly dressed, but his hair was intentionally disheveled. The bruises on his cheek were new, but faded to make them look older. While the thick casting that started at his hips and ended above his left knee had become almost a stylish accent of his own suit, it was clearly visible.
"You were involved in the recent riot in District 4?"
"Yes," Finnick said.
"Tell me what happened. Take your time."
There was so much empathy in Caesar's face, and Finnick could see it. He could almost feel it, just like he could feel Elodie's bullets cutting into him again. And again. They'd given him new answers to these new questions, but he almost didn't need them. "They told me we were taking back District 4, even let me help plan it. But it was all a lie. They wanted to hurt the Capitol and Panem by taking away Four's resources and victors. They used me to get in, and then they shot me and left me to die." Finnick spoke first to Caesar, then had turned his eyes to the camera. "These rebels are dangerous, Caesar, and they are feeding people lies. Without the Capitol, none of us would survive. The Capitol is the reason I'm still here."
Caesar nodded, and placed a gentle hand on Finnick's right knee. "Thank you for your honesty, Finnick. I wish you a quick recovery." He leaned back and looked back at the camera. "That's all the time we have tonight. Please, citizens of Panem, I implore you to report any suspicious behavior so that this doesn't happen to your loved ones. Stay safe out there." He smiled, but not his bright, cheery smile. "We'll check in with Finnick again this time next week. Thank you, and good night."
The red light on the camera blinked off and Caesar gave Finnick one last pat on the knee before standing up. Finnick watched him go, his retreating back replaced by Smiles' grin. Finnick stood without a word and walked ahead of his jailor back to his own cell.
WC: 1629
Notes: I had some Finnick muse and just wanted to work through what he's going through. Also, Caesar used here with Sara's permission, and I hopefully didn't entirely butcher him!
