She is pretty, isn't she?
Well, I suppose there are different definitions of "pretty" wherever you go. In District 4, it's all physical, all muscle tone and hair color and exactly how do you swim like that, Finnick, my dear? In 11 and 12 and all the hardy districts, it's more emotional from what I hear. Intestinal fortitude, internal strength, a coalfire that you aren't supposed to let anyone else see, something along those lines. In the Capitol…well, who knew what beauty was or meant in the Capitol. Must be one of those eye of the beholder things. They always seemed to like me fine, in any case.
It's hard to place Katniss Everdeen firmly in any of those categories, though. Her ruggedness is what the Gamemakers see, her iron spine and diamond eyes are what Caesar Flickerman sees, and whatever miracle Cinna has bequeathed upon her this year will be what the Capitol sees in a few minutes. But what I see, standing twenty feet away in the holding pens at the beginning of the parade route, is a dark-haired, surprisingly short teenage girl. Not bad-looking by any stretch of the imagination, but in the dim light of the pen and in that skintight black leotard, not particularly dazzling either. I remember this sort of look on all the District 12 tributes I've seen pass through this staging area over the years: there's less fear in the one Katniss wears, of course, but they all share their wide-eyed innocence, their complete bafflement at what is expected of them here.
She's doing a better job of hiding it this year. But it's not hard to see if you know to look for it. I can't help but wonder what secrets hide behind those diamond eyes. Good ones, I bet. Like how she really feels about that boy she's always snuggling up with on television. Peeta. There's something there that's not scripted; it'd be impossible to pull off the circus act they go through for every camera in the Capitol otherwise. But whatever feelings they have for each other are not as pure and wholesome as they'd like for the world to believe. And this is what intrigues me about her: she has that District 12 innocence, but so much less of it than what I'm used to. Even last year, she radiated a subtle kind of knowledge, although I doubt she's ever realized it. She was frightened, of course, and desperate not to show it, but even then I could see the spark that every victor always has. The recognition of being the prey, and the will to turn the tables and become the predator. Something she could never have learned in a normal District 12 life.
This is her secret. This is what I will find out.
I grab a handful of sugar cubes from a feed bag near my chariot and start crunching one between my teeth. The cubes will serve as a conversation starter, and the crunching will let her hear me coming. That's good, as far as my goals are concerned. I always prefer for people to have that split-second of warning before I arrive. Makes the emotions on their face so much easier to read. It's something I've learned over the years. One of many things I've learned.
I reach her before she's able to turn around, and position my face right next to hers. "Hello, Katniss," I say. Well, there's one tick for the beauty column. Say what you will about her personality, but those are some stunning eyes she's got.
"Hello, Finnick," she replies politely, her eyes flicking downwards for just a shade of a moment. She's distracted by my outfit, although she doesn't want to be. That would be the District 12 part of her. I'm not too interested in that, but it'll help me get where I need to go.
"Want a sugar cube?" I ask, holding out the collection in my hand. I know she won't accept, but I'm curious all the same. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but who cares?" I continue a moment later. "They've got years to eat sugar, whereas you and I…well, if we see something sweet, we better grab it quick."
"No, thanks," she answers. Polite, too. Didn't expect that, quite honestly. "I'd love to borrow your outfit sometime, though."
I can't tell for sure whether she's being sarcastic or intentionally flattering, but I have a pretty good idea. "You're absolutely terrifying in that getup," I shoot back. "What happened to the pretty little-girl dresses?"
Oh, that's going to piss her off. Now maybe we'll see some of the real Katniss.
"I outgrew them," she says tersely. I decide to push things a little farther. It's not just curiosity driving the decision now.
"It's too bad about this Quell thing," I say as I slide my fingers across her collar. "You could have made out like a bandit in the Capitol. Jewels, money, anything you wanted."
Why am I testing her like this?, I find myself wondering. Why am I torturing her like this?
Why might be moot at this point. Whatever the reason, it's not working. "I don't like jewels, and I have more money than I need," she answers. She might as well have stayed silent, for all her face gives away. Then again, that's a giveaway in itself, isn't it? " What do you spend all yours on, anyway, Finnick?" she asks next.
This is another component of Katniss that baffles me: when she pries back, I can't resist the urge to be honest with her. "Oh, I haven't dealt in anything as common as money for years."
"Then how do they pay you for the pleasure of your company?"
Heh. I'm beginning to like Katniss Everdeen.
"With secrets," I whisper. Here comes my head, right in next to hers. I can feel her breath draw in and then slip out again. Brushing by my own lips. Caressing them. "What about you, girl on fire? Do you have any secrets worth my time?"
This is strange. For the first time in a long time, I think I care about the answer. Even if it's no. Which it is.
"No, I'm an open book," she whispers back. "Everybody seems to know my secrets before I know them myself." She's trying to remain stoic, but a flash of heat creeps into her cheeks all the same. So she is human, though she won't even let herself admit it. No wonder she won the Games. No one who's happy with themselves does.
I can't help but smile. She has no idea how alike we all are.
"Unfortunately, I think that's true," I manage to say before another body enters the pen. I can see him in the corner of my vision: Peeta. Right on time. For a moment, I can't figure out why this makes me angry.
"Peeta is coming," I continue as he notices me and the gears begin to turn in his head. "Sorry you have to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you." I've turned around before I see her expression, another sugar cube melting away on my tongue.
I do glance around once I've reached Mags again, though, just long enough to see her face draw in close to Peeta. But not touching. Close, but not touching. Somewhere in my chest, a shark smiles with content.
What would Annie think of this? Do I dare think about that? Do I dare to even think that I'll ever see her again, that this plan, this rebellion, this lunacy will work?
I don't seem to think so. Maybe that's what draws me to Katniss. She reminds me so much of her. So much of the girl she used to be, still is sometimes. She and I may never truly be together again, but if I die in these Games…I'll get to be with Katniss. Who pretends to love Peeta. Who pretends to love that other boy too, the one Haymitch talked about once. Gale. Who does she really love, I wonder? Is it just the attention? No, she's too much like Annie. Too innocent. Too horrified by the fact that she survived her last visit to this place. Take away the difference in years and a few vials of morphine, and they're the same person.
Maybe that's where this pull in my stomach is coming from. From her similarity. From her magnetism. From her beauty.
No. I can't do this. Won't do this. Even if she's gone to me, Annie does not deserve any infidelity from me. Not today. Not ever.
But still. Such temptation.
For the record, I'm not really a Finnick/Katniss person. But all things considered, this was fun to write. Merry Christmas, Rachel.