Writing one Finnick/Annie story and then jumping to another concept and producing a drabble. You know how it is. The Catching Fire movie will be the end of me, I swear. Until then, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't have anything to do with The Hunger Game as far as owning goes.

Decibels

Haymitch wanted to be sick at the sight of it. Or more at the sound of it.

He recognised the screams going through the arena as the cameras shifted to each remaining tribute and showed the twisted looks on their faces. Katniss was hearing Prim, and though he'd been very drunk when he'd heard her scream at the 74th reaping, he remembered the tone of her voice when it hitched that high.

Meanwhile Finnick was hearing Annie, which he recognised because her screams had been on national television at various times for an entire week during her Games, and then for however long the recaps had lasted.

Sick.

Sick, sick, sick.

These people were vile.

Suddenly he was glad that he hadn't been in that arena. He knew who he'd have heard, and he'd be taking it even worse than these two idiots were.

"As the clock strikes four, folks, we can finally see what effects the hour's announcements are having on our tributes," Caesar Flickerman announced to the camera.

His face was on every single screen Panem had to offer and his voice in everyone's ears.

"The cries of loved ones are being reproduced by jabberjays, each individual tribute hearing their own different cry."

"You really have to raise your hat to the Gamemakers this year, don't you?" His co-host said.

"Absolutely. Katniss Everdeen, reacting badly," Flickerman said as that particular video came onscreen. "You've got to wonder if the hormones are kicking in at this point, don't you Plimy?"

His co-host nodding. "Absolutely. I, for one, am thankful that Cecelia isn't there, hearing her kids anymore. You know it'd be the kids, Caesar."

"Oh, absolutely."

The camera cut to Finnick Odair.

"Now here's an interesting one," Plimy said leaning back in his chair. "Who is he hearing?"

Women were lined down the sides of an all too familiar stage where Tributes were usually last seen alive. But now it was filled with women of all kinds; a long line streamed down the steps leading to the stage.

A microphone was placed right next to Caesar. Each woman walked up to the microphone, chatted with Caesar and tried to emphasis how true and genuine their connection and relationship to District Four's tribute had been, and then they screamed into the microphone. A screen above the stage displayed a climbing barometer that identified how close the scream was to the ones Finnick had heard in the arena.

The closest score they'd gotten was a 69%.

Nobody knew who this mystery woman was.