✦ Chapter 7: Becoming a Target ✦
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SURPRISINGLY, THINGS BETWEEN Isla and Finnick were not awkward the following day at training, or the day after that. Even as the two now sat together, awaiting their turn to display their skills to the gamemakers, they sit close to one another without a hint of tension. Isla curls her fingers around his, a sign of support for him, but also a means of comfort for herself.
The victors occasionally whisper to one another quietly, although they are supposed to be quiet. Isla isn't able to find many words, as she can feel her heart beating irregularly fast in anticipation. Finnick talks to her, sometimes cracking jokes, allowing her to just listen in an attempt to calm her. But all she can think about is how she had avoided throwing knives during training for the past three days, and now, she must do something for the gamemakers. It's either that, or get a low score. A part of her wonders if a low score even matters, since she has fans in the Capitol who will love her no matter what number shows on the screen, but she also doesn't want to appear weak.
She can't help but feel angry, too. Why does she need to prove herself to them? Why don't they just score the victors based on their individual games? It's clear to Isla that that would be a bit inaccurate, though, as some of these tributes won decades ago. It wouldn't be a clear representation of their capabilities now, as many have let themselves go over the years. But for her, and Katniss and Peeta, it seems redundant to test them again.
Before she can register what is happening, Finnick's hand is sliding out from hers. He places a hand on her cheek before walking down the dark hallway, and into the room where a dozen gamemakers will be waiting on a balcony. All watching him to see if he can still throw a trident just as well as he could ten years ago. Isla smirks at the thought, Finnick has changed a lot between the ages of fourteen and twenty four. He'll blow them away with how strong he has become.
About fifteen minutes later, Isla hears the robotic voice speak her name. It's her turn. She gets up, and hears Katniss whispering to Peeta- "How are we going to kill these people?". It sets something off deep within Isla, and now her heart beats with adrenaline, not anxiety. She'd show the Girl on Fire that she, in fact, will not be killing these people, at least not Isla or Finnick, by getting a high score. The score will let Katniss know that she has overestimated her sense of invincibility that the night lock berries so clearly gave her.
The room is quiet, and the gamemakers seem much more solemn than they had two years before. There's no feast, instead, they all just sit in chairs, staring. Isla introduces herself, and the one in front informs her that she has ten minutes. It's Plutarch Heavensbee, the replacement for Seneca Crane as head gamemaker.
Isla takes a moment to take in her surroundings, and all that's available to her. Surely, Finnick showed how much he's improved in the years, and would be destined to get a high score. But, the gamemakers have seen Isla's skills just two years ago. The only one unaware of her abilities would be Plutarch, but she imagined he had still watched her games.
It dawns on Isla that she needs to make an impression. Not by simply being lethal, as Isla's knife throwing skills are old news, but by showing that she's just as impactful as Katniss. The people either love or hate Katniss, not because she can shoot arrows really well, but because of how she acts. She does whatever she can to survive, even outsmarting the Capitol and a game that has had the same, unwavering principal for the last seventy four years. Only one tribute wins. So, Isla will have to show the Capitol that she has a plan for this year's games, and will not be letting them have control over her life for a second time.
Isla gets to work, swiftly moving around the room and grabbing all of the supplies she may need. What she's about to do is dangerous, to herself and her loved ones, but how can the Capitol harm her or Finnick any farther? They're already going back into the games. And her father is no battering chip against her, she could care less what happens to him. So, she ignores the voice in her head that tells her this is too far, and she should stop. No, it's not too far, it's perfect.
After finger painting with the dyes, she begins to string up some of the dummies on display for the gamemakers. Then, she proceeds to send knives, swords, and spears flying into various parts of each dummy... all representing a fatal blow. She surprises herself that, despite the red dye resembling blood, she does not have a horrific flashback in the process. The people in purple cloaks all stare in shock, clearly unsettled by the scene, unsure of what to do or say in response. Her message is clear as the red dye drips onto the floor.
Hanging off of the ceiling rafters are twenty two dummies, all dead with large X's for eyes and red dye splattered around them, and some sort of weapon hanging out of their body. On each, a name is written in bold letters, each name belonging to a victor. A victor that, just hours ago, had been gathered in the small waiting room. Brutus, Johanna, Cecelia, Cashmere, Beetee, even Katniss and Peeta.
On the floor sits two, one with a knife driven deep into its abdomen while it clutches the handle. Isla's name is painted on the chest. The other has the name 'Finnick' written on it, and a makeshift crown on it's head, sitting opposite of the other. It's the only one that does not have bright red X's for eyes, or any bit of red dye staining the pure white material that it's made of.
Isla looks at the men and women, who all gasp, studying the scene. She has shown that no matter what, she will not be playing by their rules. She will kill for them, every last one of the victors if she must, but she will not give them the satisfaction of a battle to the absolute death. No, she will kill herself to ensure that Finnick wins. He is already their predetermined winner for this year's games.
And if Finnick dies, Isla will still kill the others until she is the last one left. Then, they won't get a victor at all. There won't be a stunt with berries, or a slow countdown to her suicide. Isla is fully aware of how to kill someone, including herself, in a second. And she'll do just that. It's either Finnick wins, or no one does. They can clearly see that that is her plan.
"Thank you, Ms. Dunne. You are... dismissed." Plutarch studies her, pausing mid sentence as if wanting to say more, but deciding against it. Isla half curtsies, then leaves the room out of the door she had entered through.
She's in the elevator alone, ascending to the fourth floor. She wonders if they'll purposely try to kill her, or Finnick, now. In a last attempt to save the games from being ruined by Isla's plans. They'd be able to do it, relatively easy really. All it would take is one calculated natural disaster, or releasing a few mutts under their feet. Isla just shakes her head, that wouldn't be fun for them, though. To take out two of the physically strongest competitors, leaving the arena full of a bunch of middle-aged drunks and drug addicts.
Finnick and the others are all sitting at the table, awaiting Isla's return to begin eating dinner. She joins them silently, all of them staring at her in curiosity. She assumes Finnick has already shared what he did to showcase his skills, and they're all expecting her to do the same. But she can't. She can't tell Finnick her plan, or he'll find a way to ruin it.
"It'll be very interesting to see this year's scores," Fleur smiles, scooping a small portion of mashed potatoes onto her plate. "To see where some of the victors stand in comparison to their last games." Isla knows that the escort is alluding to Isla's high score just two years ago. Will she match it, or do much worse?
"Yes, it will." Is all she says in response, taking a large bite of the tender meat in front of her.
"I just did what I did ten years ago, showed them I haven't let myself go like the others. That I spent the years improving." Finnick chimes in, with a hint of a smile. Isla feels he's proud of himself, rightfully so, considering he's a great example of a victor. Unlike, say, the Morphlings.
"Oh, I'm sure you'll get a great score, dear. You're a favourite among the Capitol." Fleur chirps, giving Finnick an approving nod. "What about you, Isla? What did you show the gamemakers? I'm sure many of them remembered you." It's clear she's trying to be helpful, let Isla know that if she did completely bomb her session, they'd likely take into account how well she did two years ago.
"Just showed them what I plan to do in the arena." She answers, earning a curious glance from Fleur. However, she takes a moment to think about it before nodding, happy with the response. Finnick on the other hand, just stares at Isla with a look that says he knows she didn't just throw some knives or start a fire.
They eat the rest of their meal in silence, and Isla goes to clean up before the scores are released. She takes a nice, long shower, being sure to scrub the remaining red dye from under her finger nails. Then, she walks into her room, surprised to see Finnick sitting on the edge of her bed. Isla wraps her towel around herself tightly.
"Please tell me you didn't do anything reckless." He frowns, standing up from the bed.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Isla shakes her head, trying to get passed him and to her dresser drawers filled with clothes.
Finnick grabs her, wrapping his large body around her smaller one. "I saw the dye on your fingers. Why would you need dye?" He asks, turning her around to look straight into her eyes.
"Dramatics." Isla responds, wriggling in his grip.
"You didn't give away your vendetta against Twelve, did you?" Finnick asks her, now gripping her biceps tightly.
"What? No? Why would it matter?" She's surprised by the hint of urgency in his voice. Why would he care if she made it clear to the gamemakers that she doesn't like Katniss? If anything, they should like that.
"It doesn't, not really." Finnick eases up, loosening his grip. "If you did, they'd just try to keep pushing the two of you together. It- It would make it harder for you to get the upper-hand." He explains quickly. Isla can't help but feel like he's just fed her a made up excuse.
"Hm." Is all she feels like saying. She's a bit irritated with Finnick, considering he seems to keep jumping to Katniss' defence every time Isla threatens her existence.
"They're going to show the scores soon, you should get dressed." He can read the unhappy expression across Isla's face, and leaves the room.
Isla gets dressed, and goes to the living room to join the others. Even Lucius, and Finnick's new stylist Estelle, are sitting on the couch in front of the television. Isla sits in a chair, not wanting to sit next to Finnick right now. If her actions in front of the gamemakers somehow earns her a low score, she wouldn't want him to start pestering her about it.
The screen lights up on its own, with Caesar sitting at a desk, a small microphone in front of him. There's a pile of cards laid out, likely listing each tribute and their score. "As we get closer to the games, we receive a score based off of each individual victor's skills, assessed by the gamemakers. Tonight, I will be presenting you all with these scores." His voice is serious, as it often is when delivering news about the games. He's mostly only flamboyant during interviews or recaps.
He begins to list off the scores, with the two from One getting tens, and the two from Two getting elevens. Not surprising. Beetee and Wiress get low to medium scores. Then, it's Finnick. "Now, for District Four... Finnick Odair, with a score of eleven." Caesar smiles. Finnick's a favourite amongst the Capitol citizens, Caesar included.
"And Isla Dunne. She has a score of..." He pauses, lifting his brows in surprise. "Twelve." He finishes, giving a look to the camera. Isla can feel all eyes on her, Finnick's especially, who seem to be boring a hole into her left cheek. She ignores them, listening to the remaining scores.
It seems a score of twelve isn't as illusive as it has been in previous years, having never being given out before, because both Katniss and Peeta each receive one, too. Isla refrains from rolling her eyes. She wasn't sure what they did for the gamemakers, but she felt their score had been given for the same reason as her own. To paint a large, red bullseye on their backs in the arena.
Isla knew that getting a high score to intimidate the competition would have that affect. It would make her a target as soon as they all jump off of their pedestals. However, she needed to be sure she put some fear into Katniss, to make sure the girl evaded her rather than trying to hunt her down. This would let Isla find her first.
The screen goes black, right after Caesar reminds the viewers that tomorrow will be the tribute interviews. Then, the next morning, they'll all be flown to the arena for the games to finally start. Just a day away, it still doesn't feel quite real. Soon, all of them will be dead, all of them except Finnick.
Isla doesn't wait to be questioned, she just gets up and walks back to her room. No one says anything as they watch her go. Once in her room, she gets comfortable in her bed, and closes her eyes to sleep. Tomorrow, she'll be so busy getting ready for the interviews that the others won't have time to press her about it. And Lucius won't, no matter how many hours they spend together getting her ready. That's one thing Isla loves about the older gentleman, he never pushes her.
Her door opens and closes once more, but the familiar set of tanned arms do not wrap around her as they did before. Her bed doesn't even sink with his weight. She rolls over to see Finnick standing, arms crossed, staring down at her. She raises her brows, as if to ask what he's doing here if not to sleep. Telling him to start the conversation if he wants, but that he won't get anywhere.
A sigh escapes his lips, as he clearly understands this is a losing battle for him. "You do realize what you've done, at least, right?" He sits on the edge of her bed.
"Yes." Isla responds simply.
"They'll all come after you."
"You got an eleven, how different is it, really?" Isla counters, unsure why the one point seems to be the end-all be-all.
Finnick stares at her blankly, "People get elevens every year, Isla. No one has ever gotten a twelve, and you were one of three."
Isla lets out a snort, "Yeah, I think they were just handing them out this year. As if Peeta was able to do anything that could possibly make him that intimidating. Enobaria would eat his head off."
"No, they did it because they want those two dead. So, why do the gamemakers want you dead, too? You didn't start a rebellion last year, as far as I'm concerned." Finnick raises his eyebrows now, expectantly.
"I don't know. Maybe they don't like us young ones." She's being sarcastic, and she knows he hates it. He's being very serious right now, unlike his usual self.
"Isla, this isn't the time for jokes. Why do they want you dead?" He presses, and Isla matches his glare.
"I made it clear that I have no intentions of playing these games by their rules. They can't just throw us back in there and expect us to be happy about it." It's a warped version of the truth. But, Finnick seems to consider her answer.
"You have to be more careful about what you do and say, what about your family?" He asks, concern in his tone as he reaches for her hand. She yanks it back, furrowing her eyebrows.
"YOU are you family. And Mags. That's it. And they can't do much more to you, they've already put you back into the games. And they won't touch Mags, its pointless. They don't even realize how important she is to me, because they don't pay attention to her long enough to understand a word she says now that she's had a stroke. Not to mention they know she's important to you, and if they touch her, you'll become a bigger problem than I could ever be."
Finnick stares at Isla for a moment, then gives her an understanding nod. "Fair enough." He replies, going to stand up. "I guess I'll go, I'll see you tomorrow for interview prep?" He forms it as a question as he turns back to look at her.
Isla tries to fight the urge to ask him to stay. She's still a bit irritated with him, but the indescribable need to be near him is still evident within her. Would he even stay? He seems just as upset with her as she is with him. All they've done since she got back from her private session is bicker.
"Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow." She finally responds. She can see a flicker of disappointment across his face. So, he did want to stay. However, Isla feels its for the best if they have some time apart. At least until they both get their heads back on straight. "Goodnight." She adds, unable to let him walk out without saying it.
"Goodnight, sweetheart." Finnick's response is followed by the click of her door closing.