Ch. 1: ROLLING HITCH

Finnick let out a weary sigh as the alarm went off. Like most nights, he had barely slept. Like most mornings, he would have loved nothing more than to curl back up and pull the blanket over his head to block out the rest of the world. However, he had a strict schedule to keep today.

It was that time again; Finnick would be sent off to the Capitol to cater to the sexual desires of its select citizens, as President Snow bid him. He'd been at this for years now, but he wasn't sure if it had gotten any easier. On one hand, he had fallen into a bit of a routine with it, so he knew what to expect and what to do. On the other, with every appointment spent in the throes of 'passion' with a Capitolite, Finnick felt hollower, more distant. But it was too early in the morning to dwell on that. He had to pack up and head for the train station. Finnick sat up in bed and rubbed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his hair in an attempt to get it some kind of order. He would shower, shave, and properly get ready once he arrived in the Capitol, so that would have to do for now. Besides, it was so early he wouldn't run into anyone; at least, not anyone he felt the need to look nice for.

Within fifteen minutes, Finnick was ready and walking out the front door of his Victor's Village home. He looked out over the little neighborhood: a dozen bungalows, more or less identical, set in two rows facing one another, perched on a cliff. If you didn't think about what it took to make it, it was a great location to live. The cliff overlooked the ocean, but was up out of the way enough to be safe from the tides and storms. There was a path through fragrant natural gardens of lavender, moss roses, yarrow, and verbena leading down to a beautiful beach. Finnick spent a lot of time at the beach; sitting in the sand and tying knots over and over, or swimming out to the nearby cove, or fishing, or free-diving for mussels and oysters. It was on days like today he wanted to be down there more than anything, but he knew he couldn't duck out of going to the Capitol, or even risk being late. The consequences did not bear thinking about.

Finnick was locking his door, taking a moment to make sure he had everything, when he heard another door closing. He turned and peered out over the Victor's Village, searching for the sound's source. His gaze ultimately settled on a house diagonal from his, on the side closest to the cliff face. There, he saw a young woman with long, dark hair making her way to the path down to the beach. Finnick's eyebrows furrowed as he watched her. He'd seen Annie Cresta here and there around the Village since she had come back from her Games and Victory Tour a few years ago. He hadn't helped her on the tour, though he had mentored her some for her Games; she had only wanted Mags to go with her. Finnick could sympathize with that. He could also sympathize with being on the damaged side after surviving the Games, but he hadn't known any other victor to be quite as touched as Annie supposedly was. He guessed that was why she was up so early: unable to sleep due to some episode. It was nearly sun-up, so he figured she was heading to the beach to watch the sun rise. He could also sympathize with that; he had plenty experience finding himself unable to sleep in the wee hours of the morning, and watching the sun rise over the water was one of few things that gave him peace. Finnick watched Annie meander down the zig-zagging pathway until she was out of sight before leaving for the train station.

As he boarded the train, a porter handed Finnick a slip of paper containing his schedule of appointments, sent down the line from President Snow himself. Finnick noticed this was to be a shorter visit than usual: five days instead of a full week. It was a double-edged sword; fewer days in the Capitol, but more appointments per day.

Finnick took a look around the train car: a table with breakfast foods and drinks, some couches and chairs. A really unnecessary pair of chandeliers. He decided to eat before looking the plan over thoroughly. It was important, he'd learned, to really learn the schedule, since he needed to fit time after each client to prepare for the next. Reading it over in advance also told him who he'd be seeing, which helped him ready himself for whatever performances he'd have to put on during his stay. Still, the porter had told him they'd be stopping through District Two and then Seven before making their way to the Capitol, so he knew he had time.

Finnick sat at the table and ate at a leisurely pace, idly sipping coffee and doing his best to eat a healthy amount. He didn't really feel like eating – he never did under these circumstances – but he knew he'd need the energy and that Mags would give him what-for if she found out he didn't eat during his Capitol trips. He had just finished and settled on a couch with his second mug of coffee when the train pulled into the station in Two. They did not linger; they were only picking one person up, and as soon as she was on board they were off. Finnick looked to the door as it slid open and the second passenger joined him.

Everything about Enobaria was dark. Her hair, her eyes, her tan skin, her personality, even her humor when she showed any sense of it. Still, Finnick liked her well enough, he supposed. She was certainly a bit too warlike, but teeth aside, she was an alright companion with whom to commiserate about being whored out by Snow. Enobaria made eye contact with him for a moment before grabbing an apple off the table and unceremoniously flopping down onto a chair, adjacent to the couch Finnick was sitting on.

"Hey." Enobaria sighed.

"Hey." Finnick murmured back, sipping his coffee. They sat in silence for a while before he asked, "Do you know who we're picking up in Seven?"

Enobaria shrugged, sinking her sharp teeth into the apple, "Blight, I think is what the porter said."

Finnick nodded, relieved. If they were making a stop in Seven for another victor for a Capitol visit, it would have to be Blight or Johanna. As much as Finnick got along with Johanna, he didn't think he had the energy for her this time around. Blight kept much more to himself.

"Got your appointment schedule?" Finnick asked. Silence always made these trips feel worse.

Enobaria held up her sheet of paper. "You?"

Finnick held up his. "How's your week look?"

She shrugged again, "Usual. Yours? Anyone special?" She asked with a wry smirk.

Finnick smiled ruefully, "A little busier than normal." He sighed and glanced over the schedule, "Nona Clovar... Elpis Lombard; she's the one with the purple spots… oh! Hippolyta Creech."

Enobaria crinkled her nose and let out a sympathetic scoff, "Isn't she the one with-?" She held up her hands, tensing her fingers to resemble claws.

"Yeah, the five-inch nails."

"And always wears a tiara?"

"Yup…" Finnick sighed, running his hand through his hair. "And let's see…Gallus Hedrick. Eudocia Granger; she's not as bad. Mostly just wants to be told people like her. Uhh…oh," He grimaced, "Caesar Flickerman."

Enobaria groaned, "He's disgusting."

"Yeah…" Finnick shrugged, not wanting to dwell on Caesar Flickerman, whom he loathed entirely. "What about you? Who's buying the pleasure of your company this time?"

Finnick knew that the sorts of people who sought out each victor were different. He mostly got women, and some men, who were middle-aged or a little older, looking to feel young and attractive again. A lot of unhappy, bored house-spouses seeking to unload their emotional issues and rekindle their libido via a living sculpture like himself. He knew that Blight got a lot of clients who weren't looking to be romanced, but rather to be taken wildly; Blight's standoffish demeanor and lumberjack looks appealed to that. Cashmere's takers were generally younger and male; the sort whose personality was too lacking to gain any ground in a real relationship. The really sick clients took Cashmere and her brother, Gloss, together. Finnick knew that Enobaria got clients who were into particularly kinky sex. Leather, bondage, whips, being subjected to some serious pain – the whole package. He supposed it was her black temperament that made her an appealing dominatrix. The teeth couldn't hurt, either.

"Florus Hearn, Agathon Pratt…" Enobaria read aloud, "Myrrine Trask. Ah, Formido Calvert, he's awful. He's enormous and he's got dyed red skin and these awful facial mods." She bit harshly into her apple, "Oh, that couple, the Driscolls. Kallikrates and Iovita."

"Oh, yeah, I've got them down too. When are you supposed to see them?"

"Mm…day three, 21:00."

"Hey, yeah, same." Finnick shook his head, meeting Enobaria's eyes with a wincing smirk, "Looks like they've got an orgy planned again."

Enobaria rolled her eyes, "Must be a special occasion."

It wasn't long before they arrived in District Seven. Just as with Enobaria, as soon as Blight stepped on, they were moving again. And, just as with Enobaria, Blight came into the car with his own sheet of paper. Such was the routine.

Finnick noticed that Blight looked even more haggard than usual. His hair was a mess, he hadn't trimmed his beard in a while, and he looked like he hadn't slept in days. Not that many victors slept well, of course.

Blight just stood in the doorway for a little while, his eyes downcast, as though he were in some sort of haze. His left hand twitched slightly, his thumb making a small stroking motion over the handle of a nonexistent axe. After a time, he raised his head and glanced over Finnick and Enobaria. If Blight could emote much anymore, one would be able to note that he considered his companions for this trip acceptable. His gaze settled on the breakfast table, laden with its fruits and pastries and cereals and drinks, and Finnick could see on his face that the same thought process – I don't feel like eating, but I guess I should – was going through Blight's mind, as it had gone through his, and Enobaria's. Blight eventually settled on a piece of toast with raspberry jam, and coffee.

Enobaria, from her chair by the couch, eyed Blight, the slick crunch of her teeth piercing her apple breaking up the silence. The horrible, crushing silence that only gave them time to think about what was ahead of them. The less you thought about it, the better. Finally, "The hell is up with you?"

Blight, from his chair at the table, looked up at her with an incredulous expression, as if that were the stupidest, most obvious question someone had ever asked. Crunch.

Knowing that he wouldn't respond further, Finnick then inquired, awkwardly, "So, uh, Blight, we uh…both me and Enobaria have this appointment with the Driscolls on day three…are you on there too?"

Blight gazed, weary, at Finnick for a brief moment before letting out a long sigh as he looked over his schedule. Crunch. He then looked up, wearier, and nodded.

Enobaria scoffed, "It must be costing them a fortune to have all three of us there at once." Crunch.

Finnick gave a noncommittal expression and shrug. He could foresee that this trip, with Enobaria being more hostile and Blight being more withdrawn than usual, was going to be especially rough. When victors made these Capitol visits, they had to stay together in one of the apartments that were, during Hunger Games time, typically used to house tributes and their mentors during training. Finnick figured Snow housed them there because they could be constantly watched, and to keep them thinking about the Games, and how badly they had damaged each of them. To remind the victors that despite their prowess in the arena, that he and he alone had power. That they couldn't escape. Finnick also figured it was to prevent the victors from becoming too fond of one another by forcing them to constantly deal with one another; it's hard to make friends when you're a killer trapped with other killers. The apartment was just another arena. Crunch.

Finnick felt the muscles in his shoulders tighten. Tension in the train car increased as silence fell heavily on their ears. Blight, Enobaria and Finnick sat in that silence for the remainder of the train ride. Finally, after what felt like forever, they pulled into the Capitol train station. The doors all opened and a small escort of Peacekeepers waited on the platform, but the three victors sat for a few moments, silent and still, none of them wanting to leave the train. Getting off the train meant getting in a car. Getting out of the car meant getting to the apartment. Getting to the apartment meant getting cleaned up and ready. Getting cleaned up and ready meant getting to their appointments. Getting to their appointments meant getting to hate themselves more and more, getting ripped apart and crushed like they never did in the arena. Crunch.