Flashes of light and the shuttering of cameras filled Rose's senses. That and the racous voices of the crowd mixing together into a chaotic symphony she couldn't decipher. Capitol press stood stationed outside the palace, microphones in hand, cameras poised on Rose and her family. Waiting for someone to break down and sob or for one of them to shrug and admit they're just kidding, that this is just a joke. But none of that happens.
The Snow family remained ice cold, their expressions that of statues, marblesque. Even little Celestia doesn't cry, at least not openly. She lets her tears drip silently down her cheeks, clutching onto Agrippina who, for once, didn't push her away.
Snow stood on stage with a black leather suitcase, standing before Rose who was dressed in a sleek white dress. Her family wouldn't be coming with her to Four, it was too dangerous. She'd have a batallion-worth of guards to keep her safe, but it'd be too risky and costly to send her entire family. So instead they would be doing a very public goodbye outside the station, before the train which would take her to Four.
In a very graceful manner, he handed the suitcase to Rose who took it and hugged him. He kissed her on the cheek and the crowd outside the train station errupted into applause, the press shoiting their questions over the noise. It was for that reason Rose didn't smell the metallic scent of blood on his lips.
"What if Rhoswen gets reaped?"
"Should Capitol children be put into the games?"
"Will you be putting your other grandchildren in?"
Snow chuckled and raised a hand, both greeting and silencing the crowd with that single gesture.
"Thank you everyone for coming to see my daughter off." He folded his hands together, his voie ringing out amongst the now-silent space. "It's with a heavy heart I send Rhoswen to Four, but I am reassured by the fact that we are doing what is right. I hear your wishes and have taken them to heart. For my daughter is my heart. But while I love her, I also know what the price of war is, and not even we are exempt from it."
Rose sucked in a breath and swallowed down the aching in her throat. She'd see him again. She'd see him and Celestia, and even freaking Aggripina. She wouldn't get reaped. She wouldn't.
"Wish my daughter well. May the odds be ever in her favor." He reached his arms out once more and Rose rigidly stepped into them, aware that there were thousands of eyes on us. People from Four were probably watching, probably rejoicing.
"Your name won't be in the bowl, Rhoswen." Snow's lips brushed against the shell of her ear and she went to pull away but his hands held her tighter. "Act as if you don't know. Tell no one. Act normal." With that, he pulled away and Rose forced herself to turn on her heel, keeping her spine ramrod straight as she walked into the sleek train.
She shot her sisters one more look. And regretted it as soon as she did. Celestia's resolve had crumbled and her face had withered into one of raw pain. Agrippina had maintained her facade, but Rose could see the white-knuckled fist she held at her side, and the rigid way she held onto Celestia.
She would see them again. Her name wasn't even in the bowl.
She didn't know how her father managed that one. No, she did. He was President Snow, member of the thirtreen Patriachal families. There was no quelling his power. Other things were fickle to him. War could break out in the districts and he'd hardly bat an eye, but touching his family...
The doors to the train flicked close with a whooshing noise and then Rose was alone. Entirely alone. The windows were unfortunately not tinted, so she kept her smile on as she sat down and folded her legs, hoping the glare off the glass hid the tears welling in her eyes.
Here she was going off into the districts, going back "home" as everyone was calling it. Making it an entire debacle, a show. And it wasn't even true. Her name wasn't even in the goddamn bowl.
Her hands clenched in her lap, nails digging into her palms so harhsly they drew blood. Her smile never faltered, even as an anger so harsh it stole the breath from her flooded through her system. She wasn't a member of the districts. She was Capitol through and through. This lie, this facade, just put another widget between the two. And she couldn't even do anything about it.
She had been petrified about entering the reaping ceremony, of the chance of being put into the games, but now...now all she had to do was pretend to be terrified. Then she'd happily go back to her gilded cape where she'd be poked and prodded until she couldn't tell where she ended and the fucking marble walls began. Because that's what she'd be, what she was becoming, nothing more than a statue. A pretty picture for the Capitol to look at when they wanted.
The engine purred to life beneath her feet, nothing more than a slight vibration. The world outside her jerked and then slowly started to move. She raised a hand, waving to the crowd. She caught sight of her sisters and felt a sticky, itching subtance spread over her skin. They had cried tears over her departure. And none of it was real.
Then there was her father, staring at her solemnly as she passed. There was a single nod of his head. Then...nothing.
Finally, the station was behind her and she
dropped her hand, her cheeks releasing their smile.
She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, closing her eyes. She must've drifted off because she was awoken by the feeling of a hand brushing her arm. Rose opened her eyes to see a woman with lavender hair and makeup to match smiling down at her.
"Ms. Snow, we have a room ready if you'd like to rest there."
Rose ran a hand through her hair, looking out the window. Night had fallen and exhaustion hung heavy on her bones. She couldn't remember the last time she had slept. Dreams kept her awake most nights. Dreams about the districts, about the citizens surrounding her, faces warped as they screamed at her. Sometimes they tied her wrists to a wooden board and hang her in front of their justice building, setting fire to the hay surrounding her feet. She'd awaken screaming, coughing smoke out of her lungs that didn't exist.
Rose resisted the urge to yawn and stretch, knowing it was improper. Instead she rose fluidly and followed the woman into her quarters. They were quaint, holding one bed, a nightstand, and a bathroom. Well, maybe not quaint, but smaller than her room in the Presidental Palace.
"Anything I can get you? A hot towel? More soap?"
A drink, Rose thought. But she didn't say that. Instead she smiled and shook her head. "No, thank you. I think I'm just going to go to bed."
The woman nodded and slipped out of the room, the door sliding shut behind her.
Rose slipped out of her dress, not even bothering to change into pajamas before sliding into her sheets. She closed her eyes, praying sleep would take her, but it didn't. Instead her eyes kept springing open, the sound of her father's whispers echoing in her ears.
She sat up and blindly reached for the remote, hoping some mindless television would lull her brain to sleep. But instead, the image she saw on the screen sent her brain into overdrive. She let out a strange squeaking noise, shoving the sheets over her head.
It couldn't be. No, it couldn't be him.
Slowly, so very slowly, Rose lowered the sheets. And he was still there. Without any probing from her, her thumb moved of its own accord, turning up the volume until his voice filled the room, eliminating any and all chance of sleeping tonight.
"And have you seen it?" Caesar Flickerman asked. Rose wasn't surprised to see her Godfather there. He was on Capitol television every night. But Finnick Odair? He tended to stay out of the limelight. Only really resurfacing to mentor tributes from Four. Paparasi loved him, and he was constantly being covered in magazines and newspaper articles, but never interviews with Caesar Flickerman.
"The protests?" Finnick asked, raising his brows. Rose pressed her fingers to her lips, hardly even breathing.
"No, the sky falling. Yes, Finnick, the protests!" Caesar joked, pressing a hand to Finnick's arm. The man laughed, but the gesture was off. His shoulders were too stiff, and it didn't reach his eyes.
"Well, yes, I have," Finnick said, rubbing a hand along his jaw. "I think that..." His hands fiddled with a chain around his neck. "I think that Snow and his daughter are doing the right thing. That they've heard the word's of the people and are doing right by them."
Rose narrowed her eyes. It sounded almost identical to Snow's speech at the station.
"But what about an inside perspective, hmm?" Caesar asked, raising a brow. "Tell me, Finnick, you were in the games. Do you think Rhoswen has a chance at winning if she's reaped?' Ceaser's words were scripted, she could tell. A lot of his work was improv, it was how he kept things so organic during interviews. But this...this was stiffer. Different. Rose could tell from all the years she had known him that this wasn't natural. He was being fed lines, just as she assumed Finnick was. Her father probably put this together. Throwing the districts their golden boy to give them hope.
Finnick laughed, shifting in his seat, flashing the camera his pearly white teeth. "Well, I don't know, Caesar. I've never met the girl."
Her wounded heart throbbed. He didn't remember. She had thought about that night every single day for five years. And he didn't even remember.
"But if you had to guess?" Caesar asked.
Finnick's brows furrowed and he looked down for a moment, tugging again at his necklace. "Well, I think it'd be stupid to doubt her."
"Oh really?" Caesar looked surprised, genuinely surprised. Had that not been a part of the script?
Rose leaned closer to the tv till she was nearly falling off the bed.
"That girl has been raised amongst the elite. Or well, who we think to be the elite. Men and women who have been raised on these games, accustomed to their bloodthirsty, savage ways. Who encourage it really."
His eyes flickered to the camera and it felt as if Finnick was in the room with her, those green eyes staring right through hers. "She's mingled with the gamemakers, with victors. She's been raised on these games as if they were morning cartoons.
"I think...I think, honestly Ceaser, if we have anyone to fear in the seventieth Hunger Games...It's Rhoswen Snow."
The tv flickered and then filled with static, a warning flashing about a lost signal. But Rose knew what that meant. She had seen her father flip the switch to shut off various telvision broadcasts that had portrayed him or the Capitol in a bad light.
Her insides twisted like noodles on a fork. Did that mean Finnick went off script? Was he not supposed to have said what he did about her? Did that mean there'd be consequences? Would her father...? No, no, he wouldn't hurt Finnick. The Capitol loved Finnick Odair.
She pressed her forehead against her knees, breathing in for eight seconds and out for four. Somehow it was supposed to calm her, but it didn't seem to be doing a damn thing for her now.
Finnick Odair, the victor of the sixty-fifth Hunger Games. The youngest one. The boy who had smiled at her, who had winked at her, who had looked at her as if she was more than just some pretty rose behind glass. The only one who ever had...didn't even remember her. Now he probably believed she was just as wretched as the rest of his district four citizens did. Hell, he probably only went to the interview for a damn paycheck.
Rose ran her hands through her hair, collapsing against her pillow. Finnick's words echoed through her head. Something to fear. It was almost laughable. She was nothing if not weak. Her golden spoon would choke her in the games. She didn't even know how to make pasta, nevermind kill someone. Finnick Odair was either blind or just plain stupid.
Rose tossed and turned for what felt like hours, catching a few minutes of sleep between nightmares. She dreamed of Finnick. Except instead of Caesar, she was sitting across from him in that chair. And he was yelling at her, calling her a liar, saying she didn't deserve to come back to Four.
In another, he held her under water until the salty ocean dragged down her lungs and into her bloodstream, weighing her down till she hit the ocean floor. Faces joined his above the surface. Caesar, Ying, Augustus, her sisters, her father. All laughing at her.
The next nightmare was the very worst. In that one, she was the tribute standing across from a fourteen-year old Finnick. Her legs were glued in place, her entire body frozen as she watched him adjust his grip on his trident. The trident she gifted him.
"Finnick-" she started, but he merely shook his head.
"You're just like him," he whispered, his green eyes swirling with disgust. Then she watched his arm fly forward. She didn't even have the time to scream before the trident pierced her right through the middle.
She woke up screaming, her hand pressed to her chest, half-expecting to see blood flowing from the wound. But it was entirely dry, untouched. She sucked in desperate lungfuls of air, feeling her ribs heave underneath her palm.
She was fine. Absolutely fine. Her name wasn't even in the bowl. She'd be home by tomorrow, with her sisters, safe in the Capitol.
Rose pressed her hands against her face, rubbing at her damp eyes. She could do this. All she had to do was show up, represent her father, the Capitol...in a district full of people who hated her. Should go off without a hitch.
Groaning, Rose pulled herself out of bed and reluctantly padded over to the shower. She set the water to the hottest setting, hoping to burn off the feeling of fear crawling over her skin, and the dream-like memory of warm blood soaking through her shirt and jacket, sticking to her chest.
She walked out of the bathroom to see a dark teal dress laid out on her freshly-made bed. She walked over and pinched the fabric between her fingers. Authentic silk. She would dress as if she belonged in Four, but in reality, she was still pure Capitol, through and through.
Rose pulled on the dress, a simple long-sleeve piece that went down to her knees. Nothing too flashy, though she didn't understand why. She could be dressed in a potato sack and people still would stare.
An avox came in to do her hair and makeup. Nothing too special either, nothing more than concealer and mascara. They kept her hair down, letting it frame her face. She looked good, innocent, unassuming. Someone who'd be hard to hate. Though she was sure the district would try.
She was led out of the train into the station. From there, a sleek black car was waiting for them. Guards sat on either side of her as they drove through Four. The windows were tinted, but she caught flashes of colorful buildings and swaying grass. No one was outside, no children playing hopscotch or jumping rope, they were all at the ceremony.
The car stopped and Rose's breath hitched, the inner-linings of her palms growing damp. The doors opened and she filed out, aware of the sound of camera's flashing.
Peacekeepers in full armor led her through the crowd of pale-faced children, whose wide eyes clung to her like glue. She wanted to smile at them, but she couldn't seem to get her lips to work.
She was led to a spot in the first row, near the right, closest to the exit. Her guards left her side but didn't go far. One moved nearest to the door and the others stationed themselves at points around her. She was sure there were others bordering the area, but the space was filling up too quickly for her to see them.
Whispers surrounded her and the fine hairs on the back of her neck rose with the keen feeling of being watched. It wasn't like she wasn't used to it, but this was more intense than anything she had ever felt before.
Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she took in her surroundings to distract herself. It was a dull, gloomy day outside, which did little to make the gray, concrete building around them seem any less drab.
Four's district building was made out of concrete, a stone stage set before it. A microphone was set front and center, along with two stands containing large glass bowls full of slips of paper.
Rose's stomach churned as she remembered the distinct absence in that bowl.
A row of children passed her, each one staring up at her with large eyes. She tried to stare ahead, and was mostly successful when suddenly there was a grunt and she looked down to see a boy stumbling forward, about to fall.
She reached down and grabbed him before he could, hefting him upright. "You okay?" she asked.
He was young, hardly even twelve. He had sandy blonde hair and large brown eyes, like a doe's, with a splattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. He sort of reminded her of Celestia.
He nodded. "Sorry I uh..." He looked down at his shoes and Rose followed his gaze to see that they were...much too large for his own feet. They looked probably four sizes too big. But he wasn't wearing threadbare clothes and he looked fairly clean. He obviously wasn't poor, so why didn't he have proper shoes?
"Thanks for catching me, miss." He gave her a crooked, weak smile before limping off in the direction of the rest of the kids. Rose stared at him as he went. She'd probably never speak to him again, would never understand the meaning of his shoes. Hell, she might never be in Four again if her father had it his way.
Rose twined her fingers together, feeling sweat gather in her hairline. Her heart thrummed so heavily she felt as though it would break through her ribs.
In an area so heavily populated with people, one would think that the voices would swell and one wouldn't even be able to hear themselves think, but that wasn't the case. It was so quiet Rose could hear every breath that scraped past her throat. There was someone weeping quietly behind her, the girl next to her wouldn't stop fidgeting, and there was someone close by humming something under their breath. It sounded familiar, something children in school used to sing on the playground. The Hanging Tree, maybe?
Rose didn't have much time to figure it out though because then there was the sound of the Panem anthem squeaking out through the speaker, spreading in a static wave over the crowd. Any shuffling or whispering quieted as everyone's eyes moved to the stage where a woman in a hot pink velvet gown and wig to match came on stage.
Then...someone else walked onto stage. Rose felt her breath leave her lungs in one long whoosh.
Finnick Odair stood in all his glory on that stage. He was dressed in a tan dress shirt and slacks, a silver chain glinting at his throat. His hair was unruly, as was usual, but it really only added to his charm.
What was he doing here? It wasn't usual for mentors to be on stage during the reaping. Maybe it was to reassure the citizens now that Rose was here. District Four loved Finnick. What would be a better balm to ease the pain of her arrival than their favorite victor?
"Welcome, District Four, to the seventieth Hunger Games!" The woman's shrill voice grated against Rose's eardrums and she tried not to wince, knowing that even if people weren't watching her, the cameras were.
"I am Madeline and this is well...you don't need an introduction for him." Madeline gestured to Finnick who waved to the crowd, his classic grin gracing his lips.
"It's a pleasure to be here with you, district four. May the odds be ever in your favor." His voice was like razor blades streaking across all the vulnerable parts of her.
"Alright well, enough about us, let's have a few words from our Capitol!" Madeline clapped her hands together before gesturing grandly to the large screen to the left of her.
The screen flickered to life, showing images of tear-stricken children, bloody injuries, rubble, buildings burning, ashes...
Rose tore her eyes from the screen, swallowing hard. Instead she focused on Finnick. He was staring down at his shoes, his fingers at his necklace. His head picked up, as if sensing her gaze, and she felt as if she had been struck with ice water as his eyes flickered to hers. Rose jerked her head down, her cheeks warm.
A monotone voice spoke about how the Hunger Games reminded everyone of the world they left behind, and how the Games were a remembrance of those times so that history didn't repeat itself.
The TV, thankfully, went off and the woman returned to the microphone, tapping it with a pink manicured fingernail. "Now, for the female tribute then," she said, flashing everyone a dazzling smile as if she wasn't about to send a child to death.
Her hand hovered over the bowl, fingers flicking over the paper that contained someone's fate. The end of their life resided in that bowl.
The crowd held their breath, waiting, waiting.
A paper was plucked and raised slowly, so slowly.
The sound of her unfolding it, her eyes scanning, then:
"Annie Cresta!" Silence, then a sigh of relief. Girl's shoulders slumped forward, hands wiped brows, arms went around one another's shoulders. Another year without worry, another year free.
Rose hadn't understood that before, but here, standing amongst those that lived through that every year...she finally did.
But then she saw Finnick's face. The color had all but drained out of him. She wasn't sure she had ever seen him look so gray. He seemed to sway on his feet, like a slight breeze could knock him flat. He was staring out into the crowd, eyes wide with horror. It was hard to see from her distance from the stage, but Rose could see that his mouth was moving in a continual way. Mouthing something.
No. He was mouthing "no."
Then a shrill scream erupted.
Rose's head jerked to the left to see a girl with bright red hair pressing her hands to her mouth, tears shining against her cheeks. She was trembling so hard she was practically vibrating. Another girl, smaller than her, clutched herself to her waist.
"Don't go, Annie," she wailed. "Please, don't go."
"It's okay," Annie murmured, pressing a kiss to her head. It didn't sound okay. It sounded anything but okay.
Guards in white stalked towards Annie, and Rose saw her face pale, her wiry arms going around her sister. She wouldn't survive in the arena. But she would survive in Four. This entire time she had been doing more than surviving, Rose could tell from the way that girl held onto her. Annie mattered here. She had people who needed her. Girls were crying next to Rose, people were shaking their heads, eyes welling with tears. This community needed Annie Cresta. Finnick needed Annie Cresta.
"No." The words were just a breath, carried away by the wind as soon as they were out of Rose's lips. She watched as the peacekeepers grabbed Annie's sister, gripping her by the shirt, trying to yank her off.
Finnick pressed his hands to his mouth, sweat glimmering at his temple. He was shaking now too.
"No." Some girls that stood next to her glared at her, but it still wasn't loud enough.
The guards reached for Annie's sister's hair, grabbing a fistful of the amber locks as if to pull her off by the hair.
Rose stumbled forward. "I volunteer!" The words were a shout, solid and clear, unmistakable in the eerily quiet space. "I volunteer in her place!"
Eyes shot to her and though it was eerily bright in the courtyard, Rose felt as though a spotlight shined down on her. She sucked in a breath, squaring her shoulders. "I volunteer as tribute."
If everyone was scared from Annie's display earlier, they were downright terrified now. One boy laughed, though he clamped a hand around his mouth as soon as he did.
The guards slowly released Annie and her sister and instead walked over to her. Rose raised a hand, putting as much authority into the gesture as she could. She vaguely registered that her hand wasn't shaking. She was quite sure she was in shock.
The guards stood behind her as she made her way up to the stage. Madeline stared at her as she did, forgetting momentarily that she was being broadcasted. In a split second, she had a blinding smile on.
She reached out for Rose, grabbing her hand and pulling her to her side. "Our female tribute, Rhoswen Snow!"
Not a single person clapped. They were too busy staring, mouths agape. Rose probably should've been feeling something by now.
"Now for the male tribute." Madeline meandered in her sky-high heels over to the second bowl. Her hand shook as she grabbed the paper, and her voice rang out in a similar manner as she said: "Callum Witt."
Rose watched as heads turned to look at the male tribute, but she couldn't see him over all the other boys. She couldn't see him until he was walking up the steps to the cement stage. He stumbled as he did, catching his knee on the top step. He didn't even wince.
Rose felt her stomach drop as she caught sight of his blonde hair and too big shoes. She wanted to sink to her knees, to beg for anyone else to come forward. This was a career district. Why wasn't anyone volunteering? Someone had to, there was still time.
The boy stood at Madeline's other side. She smiled down at him, then looked vaguely in Rose's direction, as if she was too scared to look her in the eye. She then grabbed both their hands and joined them together. The boy's was slick with sweat.
"Your male and female tributes of the seventieth hunger games!"
There was a stiff, sad applause. Rose's eyes jerked to the left and she almost immediately wished she hadn't looked. If Finnick looked scared before, he looked absolutely horrified now. He caught her eye and she didn't look away this time. And their eyes stayed locked as district four applauded the coming of her death
Andd Rose is now a tribute! And Finnick is her mentor😏 Thank u so much for reading! That chapter was oddly fun to write. But I can reassure you things will get lighter and more romantic in the next few chapters! See ya'll next time:)!