Odesta One Shots

When the Day Met the Night

I suggest listening to "When the Day Met the Night" by Panic! At the Disco while reading this, but it is not required.

Annie didn't know why everyone cried when they were reaped. Well, the ones who didn't volunteer at least. The Careers who volunteered were always more than excited for their reapings and sometimes fights broke out over who volunteered first.

However, even though she was from District Four, a Career District, Annie did not volunteer. She was picked from the glass bowl among the thousands of names on the slips of paper where she only had one. But Annie wasn't scared. If she was going to die, she was going to die. But damn was she going to die trying.

She sits on the train next to her district partner, Aiden. He's a scrawny boy of 17 and he hasn't said anything to her the whole ride. All of a sudden her turns to her. "Do you think we'll get him as our mentor?"

She knew exactly who he meant without him even having to say a name. He meant Finnick Odair, the youngest living Victor in Panem; the living legend. He didn't mentor for Four very often, but when he did, the tributes always seemed to have the best chances. She was about to answer that she wouldn't count on it, when the automatic doors on the train opened.

In walked Mags Cohen, the oldest Victor of District Four, and quite possibly any district. She was small and had long gray hair, and smiled at them. An avox brought them a pot of tea, and Mags poured herself a cup. Annie, starting to feel a bit nervous in the presence of her mentor, poured herself a cup. She took a large gulp and flinched because of the temperature. "Careful, that's hot," a voice practically purred from behind her.

Finnick Odair pulls one of the cushioned chairs from the table behind them and drags it across the floor and to the end of the table. He sits down and pours out some tea and opens up the sugar pot. He plunks in sugar cube after sugar cube as Annie counts each one. Four, five, six... At the seventh, Mags gives him a look and he stops himself from grabbing an eight. He looks down as if he was a child scolded by his mother and stirs his tea.

"So, whaddya got to tell us?" Aiden asks excitedly.

"Enjoy this," Finnick says stretching his arms and gesturing to everything in the train car. "This is probably going to be the last time you see the inside of the train."

Mags glares at him and Finnick finishes his tea. He gets up and disappears through the door he came through. Annie's blood was boiling even after he left and she knew it wasn't her place to follow him, but she felt like it was the only thing she could do. She excused herself from the table and went through the door, hoping she would be able to find him easily.

He was in the lounge area with his feet up, watching coverage of the reapings on the television. He had his feet up on the coffee table and his arms folded behind him. Annie sat next to him, and when he paid her no mind, she stood up and stood directly between his line of vision of the TV screen. "What was that for?" she scolds, looking at him.

"Would you move, Love? You're blocking the carnage. I need to see which ones are likely to get slaughtered first so I know who to place bets on."

"You're a Mentor. You can't bet."

"I give my money to other people and they bet it for me. What else do you expect me to do for fun around here?"

"I figured your string of Capitol lovers would be enough."

He switched off the TV and stood up. "Well, aren't you smart?" he says. "Listen, Sweetheart. Save it for the Arena. You're going to need all the help you can get."

He goes to disappear through another door but she calls after him. "You're supposed to help us!"

He turns around. "There's nothing I can do for you." She looks at him and suddenly his entire demeanor is changed. He no longer looks confident; he looks tired and sad and broken. And then she remembers that he's still only nineteen; still only a year older than her and for him to have to watch children die year after year; for him to have killed all those children when he was only fourteen, it must have taken a toll on him. Finnick Odair is barely hanging on. She can see it in his eyes. The way they're practically sunk into his face and a dull, muted green. She could hear it in his voice. The way he stressed the word "nothing" like he had rehearsed it; like he had said it time and time again to kids much younger and more afraid than her. She knew there wasn't much he could do for her. But if a twelve year old was reaped and had the great Finnick Odair tell them that there was nothing he could do for them, it was like engraving their tombstone right in front of their eyes. Five years of that, plus all the lovers he was assigned to in the Capitol and she would be coming apart too.

She walked up to him. She didn't know where she got her confidence, but maybe it's because she was going to die in a few days and she would never see her family or another human again. Maybe it's because she was here with him and there was something about him that turned her stomach into knots. She kissed him on the cheek. "But maybe there's something I can do for you."