OF MONSTERS AND MEN | Finnick Odair

Chapter One

What makes a monster?

Diana asks herself this question every once in a while. Her thoughts wonder away as she completes her daily tasks, ranging from the mundane duty of cooking dinner for her family to the more extraordinary duties assigned to her at the Capitol. No matter their nature, Diana completes them all without question. She knows what will happen if she does not.

Her knife slices seamlessly through the onion in front of her.

A rock repeatedly comes down onto Lilith's skull.

Another slice.

A spear embeds itself in Nolan's chest.

Her knife executes one more cut.

Lana's head is impaled on her blade.

"What's for dinner?"

Diana nearly cuts the tip of her finger off at the sound, inhaling sharply as her mind returns to reality. She makes a sarcastic mental note to thank President Snow the next time she's at the Capitol; were it not for her extensive training, she would be missing a part of her finger.

"Hello to you, too," Diana is quick to retort as she turns around to look at her little brother. Well, not so little anymore.

"Hello," 15-year-old Jackson Ember walks into the kitchen, flinging himself into one of the chairs. "What's for dinner?"

"You'll find out once it's ready," Diana replies without missing a beat. "You know the drill."

"You know, it wouldn't kill you not to play those little mind games every once in a while," says Jackson, rolling his eyes even as his voice remains lighthearted.

"It might," the young woman responds and for a split second, the conversation grows tense. Both Embers know that this is no longer just teasing between siblings — but, as always, they shrug it off and carry on. "Either way, you're not finding out; unless you can finally use that nose for something other than sticking it in my business."

"Oh, come on!"

"Diana, honey, when's your train again?" the human hurricane that is Iphigenia Ember asks as she hurries into the kitchen, simultaneously grabbing her belongings from the dinner table and pressing a quick kiss to her youngest child's head.

"Tonight, why?" Diana responds as she turns around, watching her mother scurry arround the kitchen. As usual, she seems to be running late.

"Oh, nothing, my mind's just in a bit of a fumble," Iphigenia waves her hand dismissively as she grabs her favorite jacket from the hook on the wall.

"Did Mrs. Wiley agree to watch Jackson?" Diana asks, returning her eyes to the cutting board.

"Yes, yes, of course," the mother replies. "She's happy to, as always."

"How many times do I have to tell you that I don't need a babysitter anymore?" Jackson groans from his seat at the kitchen table. "I'm fifteen, not five."

"Could've fooled me," mutters Diana, purposefully making her voice just loud enough for her brother to hear.

"Hey!"

"Behave, children," Iphigenia scolds without any heat, her tone more fond than exasperated. "It's just for the night, Jax. I'll be back before you're up for school," she continues, looking at her youngest before turning to her daughter. "I hope you can be back by tomorrow afternoon, sweetheart. I could really use your help at the hub."

"I'll try. I should be back by mid-day, but that's assuming there won't be any hiccups," Diana says, glancing at her mother as the older woman arrived at her side. "You know how it is," the daughter mutters.

"I know, sweetheart," Iphigenia whispers, rubbing her daughter's arm softly but briefly. Diana has not been comfortable with prolonged touch for years now, even when it came from those closest to her. "I know."

But she does not know — not really. No one does. Diana has made sure of that.

Diana brings her focus back to the cutting board once again as Iphigenia gazes at her daughter sadly. As a mother, there is nothing she wishes to do more than take her baby's pain away. She wishes she could turn back the clock to all those years ago when Diana still held her innocence and hope for a brighter future. She wishes she could make Diana happy again.

"Alright, I'm off to work," Iphigenia says quietly instead, giving her daughter a small smile before stepping away from her side. She moves through the kitchen with practiced movements, pressing another kiss to her son's head and heading toward the front door. "Bye, babies!"

"Bye, Mom!" the Ember siblings reply in unison, hearing the door close and lock a few seconds later. Diana throws the onion onto her hot pan, partly still amazed that she can do this. She remembers so clearly never having enough money to purchase more than a few vegetables per week. Now, her entire kitchen is stocked full with every vegetable, fruit and grain that exists in District Five. It's moments of realization like this that make Diana think this all might be worth it. If she can provide for her family and keep a steady roof over their heads, it's all worth it. It has to be.

"Hey, Dee," Jackson speaks up, hesitance lacing his voice in a way it rarely does.

"Hmm?" Diana hums, stirring the onions mindlessly.

"Do you have to keep going back to the Capitol?" Jackson asks in a small voice and watches his sister's shoulders tense. "I mean, what do you even do there?"

"I have business to do on President Snow's behalf, Jax. You know this," Diana says, keeping her tone light even as her gaze narrows. A few seconds later, she forces her features to relax as she turns around to look at her brother, who has a look on his face that she rarely sees. She doesn't like it. "What's this really about?"

"You're gone all the time. I feel like I barely ever see you anymore," Jackson mutters, averting his gaze from Diana's and looking down at his hands.

"Oh Jax," Diana's voice comes out nearly breathless, her eyes softening. She quickly reaches behind her to turn off the stove, before making her way over to her brother. "I'm here. I'm here right now."

"No, you're not," Jackson replies, finally looking up at her. "Not really."

The young woman doesn't reply. She doesn't know what to say, because her brother is right. She's not really here. She has not really been here since she entered that arena.

"I miss you," Jackson continues, his voice so quiet even Diana's exceptional hearing can barely make out the words. His gaze returns to his fiddling fingers on the kitchen table. "That's all."

Once again, Diana does not say anything. She knows there is nothing she can say. Instead, she wraps her arms around her little brother's shoulders, threading the fingers of one hand through his hair and kissing his head. She does not acknowledge the tears that gather in her eyes when Jackson's trembling hands reach up to squeeze her forearm tightly.

That night, Diana's features remain expressionless as she pulls the strap of her dress back over her shoulder. There is dried blood under her fingernails. Hickeys and finger-shaped bruises mar her olive skin. Her heeled foot dips into a puddle of blood, her revealing dress ripped at the hem.

The Huntress glances at her target's unmoving form before brushing a strand of hair from her face. With the ease of many years' practice, she wipes the blood off her knife on her dress. There's a reason she always wears red on nights like these.