Tear It Apart⇸Finnick Odair [2]

02

Pricking and prodding at her skin was something she was fairly used to after so long in the Capitol, appearances meaning everything, and as they waxed and washed and tugged at her hair Terra worked hard not to move - counting the seconds that turned to minutes until they finished with her and began to dry and spin and tug some more before shoving her into a very plain white and simplistic sun dress with dazzling flats. It was comfortable and played well with the image of innocence that she had once portrayed that it was nostalgic almost when paired with twin buns tied up with sparkling elastics that twinkled when she moved.

She looked very clean, very Capitol, and it nearly made her sick.

She followed as they lead her through the corridors until they reached a side entrance away from public eye intended for the help or peacekeepers to come and go from and she was urged into a regulation vehicle with a guard seated on each side.

Traveling through the Capitol, seeing all the unconcerned faces of the citizens and carefree children sent a spike of anger through her heart. How they were allowed such an easy life while the rest of the nation was forced to hard labour with little opportunity for food, having to watch their loved ones die from hunger, was beyond her - and as they drove by a poster with her face standing out clearly, blood smeared and looking to be fresh out of the Quell, words of blame towards the rebellion written in bold, she didn't push away the sense of self-loathing that she felt. This was her life now and there was no saving herself.

Her gaze stayed locked to the dark flooring of the truck until it stopped.

They rushed her inside, a hand pressed firmly to the small of her spin and Terra realised that this could have been one of the men that she knew, one of the peacekeepers that Snow had offered her to for the night for work well done on their behalf. She could have known any of these men that hid their faces behind the dark screens of her masks and the urge to smash the viser to pieces and use it to slice his throat was overwhelming, bubbling up in her chest and threatening to burst from her with an angry snarl.

The sight of one of the brightly dressed attendants waving her way drew her attention enough to distract and Terra made her way over, half-listening as she rambled on about what to say and how to act only to have the woman stop with a giggle and comment about how Terra knew how to interview without any help, that people loved it when she was unscripted and genuine.

It must have been planned to have her arrive just in time for everyone to be ready because the woman guided her to the seats and disappeared immediately to have Caesar take the other seat and face the cameras without hesitation just as the music started.

She watched as he did his signature move, looking away and turning at a certain note only this time he didn't smile and was dreadfully serious.

"Good evening ladies and gentlemen. Tonight we have been graced with another very special guest, our very own Terra Combe," he greets, lacking his enthusiasm and she takes note of it, judging the mood instantly and tries to mentally plan for it.

The cameras pan to her and Terra can see her own image on the screens behind them, looking better, brighter, healthier than she ever hs before. This would be the first image that they had of her in this fucked up war.

"Hello, Caesar. Thank you for having me," she replies, speaking softly, timidly.

"No, thank you for coming to see us," he saysb not missing a beat. "We are all aware that you are recovering. I trust that you're not longer hurt?"

She blinks, looking towards her lap as she searches for the words. Blame it back on the Games, tell them of the mental pain it was to face the betrayal of her friends.