The last day was easily the worst, because Peeta woke up with excitement. Like a child with a crush, like he always had been in school when he knew he'd see Katniss. He covered his face with a groan. This was not good, it was beyond not good. This was the last day he'd get to know Kallan before they all got separately coached for interviews, got interviewed, then got thrown into an arena to kill each other. What could he do to make it count... while simultaneously making it look like he didn't care? His goal was beyond saving Katniss now. It was getting as many people out of that arena as he could, that included Kallan and Finnick. There had to be a way to do it.
"You've spent close to three days without practicing any kind of combat," Katniss pointed out to him at breakfast.
"I'm getting to it," he insisted. He had been lifting, he'd been painting, he had practiced his snare traps, but she was right. He hadn't practiced much else. Today was a shorter training session, they had their evaluations in the afternoon. He would have to train in combat at some point. So it was a miracle that when halfway through their abridged training session, he saw the Odairs sparring with their chosen weapons. Finnick had a spear, in place of a trident, and Kallan had knives, two to be exact. Her hair was different today, it was in two braids, or, not exactly braids, but Peeta didn't know the difference. It looked similar to a tribute from his Games. That girl from one. It was falling out a bit as she fought her brother, with no clear intention to hurt him.
Peeta didn't mean to stare, but the fight was impressive. Finnick, being bigger and taller than his sister, ended the fight by pinning her against the wall with the spear. Kallan huffed at him angrily, but he had a triumphant smirk on his face that mirrored hers from the day before almost exactly. Peeta turned over his shoulder, seeing Katniss watching them too, and he raised his eyebrows at her, telling her his idea, then he began walking over to where the Odairs were probably gonna start again.
"Mind if I cut in?" Peeta asked, as if he were asking her to dance, which she seemed to find funny. The slight smile he got from her made him feel good about it, until her brother was narrowing his eyes at the boy.
"Not at all," Kallan said, seemingly eager to fight Peeta, but her answer was drowned out by Finnick's:
"Actually, I do mind-" Finnick said.
"Too bad he wasn't asking you," Kallan said to Finnick who turned and looked at her.
"How do you know?" he asked, tilting his head, and Kallan glanced from Finnick to Peeta, who was starting to shake. He swallowed, her look making him nervous. This would not serve him well in the Games.
"I know," she told him, then gave Finnick's arm a shove. He dramatically headed off the mat, spinning his spear as he did, and giving Peeta an unwavering big brother look. But, undeterred, Peeta headed up to the mat with Kallan. Two birds with one stone, more time with Kallan, and combat practice. "Weapon of choice?" she asked him, but he presented nothing but his hands.
"None," he said, and she tilted her head at him. God, he hated when she did that.
"Hand to hand?" she questioned, and he nodded, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. "Okay," she paused before she spoke again. "I will admit that I need to practice that as well," she confessed. Peeta fought to keep the shock off his face. He'd known her three days, and every day she opened up just a little bit more to him. She shouldn't have admitted to another tribute that she needed practice in hand-to-hand combat, but she trusted Peeta enough that he wouldn't hold it against her.
Peeta stood facing her, not knowing which one of them should be making the first strike. He didn't have to think about it for long, because she came swinging at him. Peeta forced himself to focus, avoiding a few of her strikes. He knew she couldn't hurt him, tributes had to be careful about that. If they hurt each other, peacemakers stepped in very quickly. She was strategic in her hits, and he was strategic in his quick dodges, and low effort attempts to strike back. She managed to get around him, pinning an arm to his back, but he shook her off, ending with both her wrists, that fit easily in his hands, pinned at her sides and she stood face to face with him, clearly not pleased about it. He was a bit shocked that he could get her that easily, but Haymitch had said that she was more skilled in combat from afar. But, she was smart. Because her left foot hooked around his right ankle and pulled it out from under him. All of his weight got shifted to his left leg, his prosthetic leg. There was no way she could've known it was a prosthetic. He fell in an instant, groaning as his back hit the floor.
But the pain subsided the second he felt her hands pinning his wrists to the floor, her knees pressing down on at least the thigh he could feel, probably both of them realistically. He looked up, seeing Kallan Odair's face way too close to his, her braids and the various pieces of gold hair that had fallen out of them framing her face, nearly brushing his. He swallowed hard, looking at her victory smile. She had that familiar mischievous look in her eye he'd seen so many times in just a few days. It was a look that said im better than you but this one didn't look forced, didn't look put on, it was almost... flirty.
"You going easy on me cause, what, you think I'm pretty?" she asked, and that didn't help the way his heart was pounding. He had to keep it cool, not just to save his own reputation, but he couldn't have her thinking that he liked her. Even if he did.
"Who says I think you're pretty?" he let the lie fall from his lips. He'd all but said it out loud, from the way he was constantly glancing over, the way he'd let her in on the plan the first second he could, every conversation they'd had, though there hadn't been enough.
"You didn't have to say it," she smirked, and he fought with everything he had, not to get up, but to keep his expression still. "Everytime you're not looking at your fiance like you should be, you're looking over here." And she noticed. Of course she noticed. If she'd noticed, how many others had, too? How many people thought the boy from district 12 had a crush on Capitol Sweetheart Kallan Odair?
Peeta used his good leg to get out from under her knee, hooking around her and using his weight to push her, rolling onto the floor, and pinning her with only his hands on her wrists. He tried not to look so proud of it, but he kinda liked her from this angle. She'd probably notice the smirk on his face. But he noticed a few things too. The way her triumph was wiped off her face, the way her chest now heaved with her breaths, they were heavy. Maybe it wasn't all in his head. But what good would it do? The games were in two days. Though why shouldn't they take advantage of the time they had?
"Fine," Kallan groaned, unable to get her wrists out from under his hands. "You win," she couldn't have sounded more upset about it. Peeta beamed, letting go of her wrists and pushing himself to stand. He squatted down a little, looking at her looking very displeased on the floor. He just wordlessly put out his hand, and she reluctantly took it, so he lifted her with ease off the floor. Maybe too much ease, because she landed face to face with him, the shock returning to her expression. It was Peeta's turn to be overly calm, maybe a little cocky.
"You definitely need the practice more than I do," he said, watching her fight a frown.
"I'm better with knives."
"Then let's go again." He released her hand and got ready to hopefully get pinned to the floor again.
Kallan sat with her brother before the evaluations. She'd be the 8th to go. She knew what she was doing, it was the same thing she did when she was 15. She'd throw some knives, she'd throw some spears, what did it matter? They knew what she could do. They'd seen her do it before. Finnick must've been saying something, but she'd accidentally tuned him out. Something about him being nervous? For what?
"Sorry?" Kallan looked at him.
"You weren't listening to a word I said?" he asked, and she took a breath, shaking her head.
"Thinking about what I'll do in there," she told him, and he raised an eyebrow, tilting his head.
"They've seen you win an entire Games, doesn't matter what you do in there," he said, which she supposed was true. It'd been on her mind anyway.
"District One, Gloss Nicholo. Report for individual assessment," the dull roar of the voice came over the speaker. Kallan jumped when it happened, before she felt her brother's hand on her shoulder. She just nodded, letting him know she was okay. She tried to keep making conversation with him, because it didn't matter, he was right, so she tried not to harp on it. Turns out that keeping her mind off it didn't help, because she flinched again when she heard that voice.
"District Four, Finnick Odair. Report for individual assessment," she looked at Finnick. How had she missed six other people go in? Finnick squeezed Kallan's shoulder reassuringly, and he got up. Without him, Kallan struggled to keep herself calm. In her slight panic, she glanced over her shoulder. Immediately, she registered a calm, steady look on the boy from district 12's face. His lips pressed up into a very slight smile, and Kallan felt it eat at her immediately. She hated that. She hated that she was reassured by him. She'd known him three days. She faced forward, she looked at her hands, her thumbs tucked into the holes in the sleeves of the jacket. But it was constricting, she knew she'd probably take it off in there, she couldn't throw accurately in such a tight garment.
How long had it been? Why wasn't Finnick back yet?
Just as she thought it, the doors opened, and her brother strutted through, the way he did. He gave her a reassuring nod as he walked out, straight back to their quarters like he was supposed to. Kallan steadied herself with a deep breath, like Finnick would tell her. She hated that his advice always worked.
"District Four, Kallan Odair. Report for individual assessment." This was it. Kallan stood on annoyingly shaky legs, and she let them lead her forward. Why, why, was she nervous? She'd done this before. She was older now, she knew what she was doing. But when she saw all the men at the table, she remembered why. The same men had been watching her for days. And many of those men were faces she knew too well. It didn't bother her so much when there were 23 other tributes in the room, but when it was just her, everything was different. Taking off the jacket was harder, but she knew she had to do it. So she unzipped it, and let it fall. The number of eyes doubled. She could feel it.
It was fine. She marched straight over to the rack holding all the weapons. She grabbed some knives, more than the four that she usually had on her, and a silver spear. She opted for the simulation, her fingers starting it without her permission. But her body was moving faster than her brain. Because it was just her, the yellow-pixel-people ran rampant in the room, from all directions. She expected as much. So she began throwing. First the knives, until she ran out. She had to grab more in the middle of it all, but it hardly slowed her down. She grabbed another set, and she started throwing those. Most of her hits were in the chest, the bigger target made it easier. With the pause to grab more knives, one of the pixelated tributes ran at her. At first the trident he was holding jarred her, but she quickly ducked and rolled out of the way, then hit him in the back with her knife. They weren't going in order like she thought. The last one was the one with the ax, and as it raised it and ran at her, it was met with a spear to the chest.
Kallan's chest heaved as she caught her breath. She could feel the hairs that wouldn't fit into her ponytail sticking to her neck. Slowly, her breath started to steady, as she turned to look at the judges, the gamemakers. Suddenly it was hard to breathe again. Their faces too familiar, their looks hungry as always. So many of their faces rang a bell in her head. She didn't let her face waver. In fact, she felt herself start to smirk. Her eyes narrowed at the men. All men.
"But that's not what you want to see," she told them, making their faces briefly go confused. "Is it?" she asked.
A few of the men murmured amongst each other. Only the men that didn't already know her. Plutarch was in the center, looking more confused than anything. But he had different intentions, she knew that. She was part of his plan. The men that did know her, the overwhelming number in the crowd, still looked at her intently.
Kallan's hands reached for the bottom of the tight tank top that was usually hidden by the jacket. She tucked her thumbs into the hem, and she pulled it up. What a good thing she wasn't wearing a bra, because she showed these men exactly what they wanted to see. A few gasps slipped from the men who were foreign to her tits, but dropped jaws and glasses that shattered when they met the floor were what greeted her from the men who weren't. Kallan scanned the eyes of the men, letting them all have a good look, on her terms. Then she lowered her shirt, and raised her hand, waving politely at them.
"Thanks so much," she grinned, then dropped her hand, and strutted, in classic Odair style, out of the room, only stopping to get her jacket on the way. She tuned out everything else. The only thing that managed to cut through it was a-
"How'd it go?" she looked to her left, astonished that her eyes found the voice in a room that still housed 16 tributes. But Kallan felt a real expression return to her face when she saw that Peeta was asking.
"Good," she said, which she meant, before she gave him a short smile, and rushed back up to her quarters, with a mixture of guilt and pride in her chest.
Kallan didn't say anything to Finnick for a while, she was a little afraid of what he'd say when he knew what she'd done in her assessment. She was, admittedly, kind of proud of it. It was her first, and probably only opportunity, to show those people her body, on her terms. She saw that chance and she seized it. Finnick could understand that.
She heard the Panem theme from her room after her shower, and she sighed. Throwing down the towel she was using to dry her hair, she walked out to the main room. Finnick was already on the couch, Mags on the other side.
"Come on, come on!" he called, and Kallan trudged a bit faster into the room, and onto the couch. She sat herself down between Finnick and Mags, and grabbed a pillow, pulling it to her chest. She stared at the screen as Caesar appeared on it. She hadn't even thought about Caesar much this time. She hadn't thought about what she'd say to him in her interview, but she had a day to figure it out. Finnick probably already knew what he wanted to say, or he'd make it up on the spot and it would be great.
"It's that time again," Caesar was saying, and Kallan's grip tightened on the pillow. "As you know, our tributes are rated on a scale of one to twelve. After three days of careful evaluation. The Gamemakers would like to acknowledge that it was an exceptional round of assessment from all the tributes, this year especially," Caesar said, and Kallan fought a scoff. She was sure her performance was exceptional. "With that, let's begin."
First was Gloss, with a 10, followed by Cashmere, also a 10. Brutus and Enobaria landed a 9 and a 10. Beetee and Wiress, two sevens. That wasn't really fair, they had a lot of talent that was hard to show in those rooms.
"From District Four, Finnick Odair, with a score of...ten," he said, and Finnick breathed out. Kallan smiled a little, patting her brother on the back.
"Not bad," he said, and Kallan pushed him slightly.
"Finnick, that's great," she said. He offered her a nervous smile as they both looked back at the screen.
"From District Four, Kallan Odair, with a score of... eleven."
Both jaws of both Odairs dropped completely. Mags probably looked shocked but Kallan couldn't see her, she couldn't get over her own stupor. Finnick turned to look at her, and she felt herself going red, the tips of her ears first like they always did.
"An eleven? Kallie what did you do?!" Finnick asked, and Kallan tried with all her might to play it cool.
"Oh, you know," she shrugged, putting the pillow aside. "Threw some knives, a spear," she muttered, looking down at her feet instead of listening to Caesar talk about the district 5 scores.
"You got an eleven by throwing knives?" he asked her. Kallan bit down on her lip, scrunching up her face a little, bracing herself to say it.
"Oh, the eleven? No that's probably because I flashed the judges," she said, sitting back slightly.
"You what?" Finnick asked, grabbing her by the arm, and she smacked him off.
"Flashed the judges, Finnick!" she said, shrugging dramatically. "I flashed the fucking judges, they weren't paying attention to my skill anyway, and clearly they enjoyed it," she said, leaning back on the couch. Finnick groaned quietly, covering his face. "You said yourself, nothing they haven't seen before."
"That doesn't mean you flash the judges," he groaned. She stood, frustrated by his response more than she thought she'd be. She thought she'd be embarrassed, but she was backing her choice.
"Got me a good score, didn't it?" she asked. Finnick just sighed, running his hand down his face. "And you know what? It's better than our parade outfits, better than all those people looking at us half naked, you know why? Because I made that choice," she told him, and watched his expression soften. She'd never said something like that. She never talked about this with him. They both had gone through this, they'd both been paraded around for all eyes since they were 16. He looked up at her, and he nodded slowly.
"Can't argue with that," he told her, and she softened next, reading his face, making sure he meant it and wasn't upset with her. She nodded, and sat back down. Mags set a hand on her knee, and Kallan looked over at her, offering a small smile. They all turned their attention back to the screen, hearing Johanna's 9 which was good, but they were waiting for the end. And when they got there, both jaws dropped again. Both district 12 tributes got perfect 12s.
"No way," Kallan muttered.
"They're dead," Finnick said, and he was right. There was no good reason for them to get 12s other than the gamemakers wanted them dead. They wanted them targeted, they wanted the other tributes to knock them out of the game as quickly as possible. But they had a 10 and 11 on their side already, and whoever else Haymitch, Peeta, and Plutarch decided to have in on their plan. And Kallan knew in that second, after three days with that boy, she was prepared to protect that score of twelve as best she could.
This dress would've been her favorite if not for her victory dress. It started at a light teal at her shoulders and, with netting at her chest, as expected, it slowly faded to a deep blue. It had two slits in the front, so her legs could poke out if she wanted. She looked down at it, quite enjoying the way that it fit her now.
"It's beautiful," Kallan said, smiling oh-so-slightly at Saffreen.
"You like it?" Saffreen confirmed, and Kallan just nodded wordlessly. Her brother, in some all-too-casual pants, and a white linen shirt, complimented by his seaglass necklace, appeared too soon. The only thing that stood out was his belt, that took up most of his waist, made of shimmery netting. But he seemed fairly pleased, at least this time her dress covered most of her chest.
"More than the parade outfit," she jabbed at Saffreen who gave her a look.
"I've said I was sorry," she said, fixing Kallan's hair over her shoulder. It was nothing fancy, her hair. Just curled neatly into one cohesive piece that fell to her right side. With one more spritz of hairspray Saffreen looked at her. "Okay," she sighed. "You're done."
Kallan turned to look at herself in the mirror, tilting her head. Her and Finnick looked cohesive. That was, she wasn't over the top like usual. The dress was a bit much but still less than what she was normally in. Her hair and makeup were fairly simple. She did like it, because Saffreen knew what she liked. And apparently she was advocating for it.
She didn't get to look at herself for long, Dewda was coming in to usher them to the holding room, and they had no choice but to comply. It wasn't all that different a setting from the holding room before the assessments. The room itself was different, dark, it was the backstage of the theater after all. There were mirrors here and there, the full roar of the audience could be heard through the walls. All the tributes were with their partners, most of their stylists putting finishing touches on them. Kallan couldn't help but feel grateful that hers was leaving her alone, that the look was simple enough. She stood beside Finnick, looking down at herself. She moved the fabric of the skirt aside, poking her leg out of the slit, admiring the shoes. They were strappy and gold, digging into her feet, but tolerable for the next few hours. She glanced down at her leg, her right leg, then tucked it back in quickly. She could feel Finnick eyeing her skeptically, but she just tried to look around the room, be as inconspicuous as she could.
Her heart skipped when the district 12 tributes entered. Katniss was in a very big very dramatic... wedding gown. Which meant Peeta was in a tux. It was all white, very pristine looking. His hair was pushed back just right. He carried himself like a real groom.
"What a lovely tree you make," she heard Finnick say, which sounded bizarre enough to catch her attention and make her look at him to find that he was of course talking to Johanna. And he was right. She was once again dressed in a lumber-adjacent dress, and her district partner looked about the same.
"At least I'm not underdressed," Johanna snapped back to Finnick, but he just laughed. Johanna had a point, Finnick's outfit looked like something he'd wear anyway. At least the Capitol was nice to him. Kallan looked back over her shoulder at Peeta, finding his eyes exactly where she'd wanted—and expected—them to be.
She was jarred out of her gaze when trumpets began blaring, and light flooded the space. The doors to the stage, just a bit ways off from where they were, opened and let Caesar Flickerman through. Kallan's heart began pounding when she heard the audience scream, and Caesar begin talking. They were one step closer to the games, the games that started tomorrow. And all she was doing was exchanging longing glances with Peeta?
"DISTRICT ONE, you have one minute!" The show runner, or tribute handler, called to the room. Cashmere and Gloss exchanged a look, then started over to the true back of the stage, waiting for the doors to open and the audience to welcome them. Kallan thought it was kind of stupid, but they were making the sibling pairs go out together.
"Excuse me," she told her brother, and put all her confidence into her walk, strutting over to Peeta. She didn't have his eye this time, he was watching Caesar on the monitor talking about how exciting tonight was, how it was the tributes last chance to share their thoughts, and the audience's last chance to say goodbye to all...but one. Not if they had anything to do with it. Even though he wasn't looking at her she still couldn't see anyone else as she walked over. Peeta's eyes found her right before she reached him. He looked a bit startled, but then he settled. Kallan looked him up and down, not too concerned about Katniss, not that she ever was. But she was being fussed over by Cinna.
"You look," Kallan began, trying to go over the top flirty just so everyone around her would think she was being her usual arrogant self. She took his lapels, pretending to dust something off them. "Matrimonial," she said, with a fake smile. She watched Peeta shake his head, almost laughing but not quite. He looked up at the dark ceiling that was almost hard to find, before his eyes found hers again.
"Kallan," he said, and even though she felt herself falling in love with the way he said her name, she just raised her eyebrows, challenging him to speak. When he did, his voice was so low she thought she'd made it up. "You look beautiful."
Her breath hitched. Had she heard him right? The look in his eye told her that yes, she did. Her proud, arrogant, I'm-better-than-you smirk was gone in an instant. She didn't know if she'd ever heard so much sincerity. She blinked at him, watching him start to smirk now. This boy was so proud of himself. And why shouldn't he be? He was able to take down the Capitol Sweetheart with three words.
"Um," Kallan finally managed. "Thank you," she said quietly. Peeta nodded, trying to get rid of his smirk.
"God, does anyone actually believe this?" Katniss was saying, which finally broke Kallan out of her gaze. She looked at where Katniss was looking, at Cashmere crying on the screen. Haymitch whispered something to her and gestured to Effie and the styling team. Katniss started looking over her shoulder so Kallan stepped back from Peeta.
"These Victors are angry, Katniss," Haymitch was telling her. "They'll do anything to stop the games, I suggest you do the same."
There it was again, Haymitch suggesting that it was possible to stop the games. It made Kallan's shoulders tense, as she looked back at Peeta.
"Congrats on your score," he said to her, and she felt herself snort. It was accidental, but it was a funny thing to be congratulated on. She cleared her throat.
"You too," she said quickly. He laughed like he didn't mean it. Like he hated the score, and like he knew what it meant for him. But he brushed it off. Peeta looked slightly nervous for whatever he was going to say next. Kallan eyed him skeptically.
"Clever way to get it," Peeta remarked, which didn't help Kallan's red face at all. It got worse.
"How did you-"
"Haymitch," Peeta answered quickly. Kallan scoffed very very quietly. In a way that made Peeta look like he regretted bringing it up. But she just took a breath, rolled back her shoulders, and remembered why she did it.
"Thanks. Proud of that," she said, and the look on Peeta's face told her that he knew she meant it, and that he wasn't put off by it. Did everything he do have to be so endearing?
"What are you thinking of saying?" Peeta changed the subject far too quickly, and Kallan cleared her throat.
"Um," Kallan looked at herself, shrugging. She'd talked about it with Finnick, but now that it was happening she doubted she could even do it. There was no way she'd be able to make them pity her enough to stop the games. "Talk about my brother," she said. "It doesn't feel like enough."
Peeta was looking at her so thoughtfully, like he was listening to her every word she was saying. It was almost making her more nervous than the interview. How could a stupid boy make her more nervous than trying to bargain for her life in front of hundreds, thousands of people? She took in a sharp breath, shaking her head.
"I'll see you," she said quickly, no longer sure how to proceed in the conversation now that Peeta knocked one of her walls down, again. Kallan turned, feeling Peeta's hand brush her arm briefly, but she couldn't stay. Her heart was pounding too hard, between the interview and this stupid blond boy.
"Kallan," Peeta whispered. She glanced over her shoulder at him, but she kept going, all the way back over to Finnick, who was still talking to Johanna.
"DISTRICT TWO, Brutus Gunn, one minute!" the wrangler said again, making Kallan jump, but Finnick's hand landed on her shoulder.
"Where were you?" Johanna asked, and Kallan shook her head without a word. But Johanna just... laughed. Like she knew exactly where Kallan had been. Kallan willed the red off her face, it had been there for too many minutes. "You are so screwed," Johanna said.
"I know," Kallan said, her teeth fully gritted. Finnick looked between the two, before his slow brain finally caught on to what was happening.
"Ohhhhh the--yeah," he agreed, then resolved to give Peeta and big brother don't-fuck-with-her look, but Kallan shoved his arm off her to get his attention.
"Finnick," she scolded.
"Cut the kid a break, he's probably gonna die tomorrow," Johanna said, which made Kallan look at her. She wished Johanna never said that. She swallowed, and then gave Johanna a cold smile. "Unless, of course," Johanna stepped closer to Kallan, whose smile disappeared and her look turned skeptical. "He and Katniss make it out, just. Like. They. Want."
Kallan rolled her shoulders back.
"They told you," she whispered. She had a suspicion, but never confirmed it.
"Mhm," Johanna said, her face very very close to Kallan's.
"They told you?" Kallan asked.
"You don't think I'm trustworthy?" Johanna tugged at her collar.
"Not even a little," Kallan replied, getting her smirk back on her face. Johanna smiled at her, stepping back."Blight too?"
"Obviously," Johanna said with a fake smile and a tilted head. "Anyway," she said. "Shame you guys have to go together, good luck!" Johanna turned, and she left. Kallan cursed silently. She had nothing more to say, not to Johanna, not to Finnick, or Peeta, definitely not Peeta. So she resigned to just wait until their name was called.
She'd won the audience's affection three years ago by talking about how much she loved her big brother, and how her entire goal was to get back to him. Every word of it had been true, but it might not work this time. Finnick was going into the arena with her, there was no getting him back this time. Not to the capitol, not to the people who were making them go in there. Either he lived or she did. If she told them again that he was all that she had, would they take enough pity on her? They weren't stopping the games, they were cruel. They watched this game for fun. It wouldn't be enough. Maybe Peeta had a better idea.
"DISTRICT FOUR, Odairs, one minute," the tribute handler called, snapping Kallan out of her thoughts. No more time to practice, no more time to think about it. Also real nice of her to not even call the siblings by name. Kallan felt a cold, spiteful, laugh escape her, looking at Finnick. He pursed his lips and tilted his head in a what can you do gesture. They had no choice but to start on their way to the stage. Caesar was clear as day from behind the doors. Kallan stood there with shaking hands, wanting more than anything to just keep her cool. Finnick's hand quickly rested in hers, bringing her a bit of peace, if just for a moment.
"Now! We have our other sibling pair, can you believe how lucky we are to have two? You've loved them for years! The victors of the 65th and 72nd Hunger Games, Finnick and Kallan Odair!"
With that, the doors opened, but Finnick didn't drop his sister's hand. They both put on the smiles these people knew so well and they took to the stage. Kallan swore the cheering should've given her hearing damage. They both used their free hand to wave to the audience, walking right up to the front where Caesar was standing. The smiled their signature smiles and waved to the audience for far too long, but they wouldn't stop cheering. After what felt like hours, the crowd quieted down, and Caesar looked at the pair. Finnick finally dropped Kallan's hand, but gave her a soft pat on the back so she knew he was there.
"It is good to see you two! Been so long since we've had you on this stage," Caesar said into his mic, passing it to them for a response.
"Not that long," Kallan said, through her almost painful smile. It had been only three years, most other victors went lifetimes without ever stepping foot onto that stage again. Caesar just laughed at her comment, as though she'd been kidding.
"Finnick!" Caesar turned the attention to her brother. "I understand you have a message for someone... a special someone." Ah yes, they'd practiced this. Kallan stepped back, just a little, looking at Finnick. He was smiling to himself, looking down like he was embarrassed. "Can we hear it?" Caesar tilted his mic towards Finnick, who looked directly into the camera. He took a breath before he spoke.
"My love," he began, making the women in the audience scream as if he were talking to them. Kallan knew exactly who he was talking to. It was the reason she was here. "You have my heart. For all eternity. And if I die in that arena, my last thought will be of your lips."
Once again the women in the audience lost their minds. Many of them probably did think he was talking to them, and many of them would be wrong. It simultaneously made Kallan want to gag and cry. How could he volunteer to be here with her when he had that? He had Annie back home. He couldn't not walk out, he couldn't not return to her.
"And you, Kallan, do you have anyone special you have a message for?"
She stared at Caesar, for some reason not expecting the question. It made her sad, her smile faltered. Not enough for anyone but her brother to notice. But it fell out of her eyes. The answer was no, she didn't have anyone special. She was 18 years old, and she'd never been in a romantic relationship, she'd barely even had prospects. She'd never known love like that, like Finnick and Annie. She bucked herself up and put her smile back on, shaking her head.
"No, no, no one special. No one but my brother," she said, wrapping her arms around his and leaning on him affectionately, winning an "awww" from the audience. Finnick smiled, resting his head on hers befirely. "Some things never change, you know? He's always been all I had, and honestly," she stood up straight, "I don't know what I'm gonna do if only one of us comes out of that arena," she admitted, and Caesar just nodded sadly. Kallan mostly let go of Finnick, save for his hand, because he wouldn't let her. Kallan didn't hear the next thing Caesar said, she just felt Finnick leading her up the stairs to where they'd have to stand for the next 16 interviews, next to Beetee and Wiress. They gave the Odairs a knowing nod. It could've meant nothing, it could've been a nod in solidarity, but Kallan was pretty sure it meant what she thought it meant, they were in on it too. Damn they'd gotten around.
She listened as the tributes all tried to say something emotional or smart to try to get themselves out of this. Why did any of them think it would work? The capitol could do whatever they wanted to them. Johanna was the only one who wasn't pleading or bargaining, instead she was swearing at the Capitol, and Kallan couldn't help but laugh. Finnick nudged her with his elbow but she rolled her eyes. Who cared about how she behaved? She was being sentenced to death tomorrow. Johanna stormed off the stage and not to where she needed to be standing, which was typical.
District after district, Kallan's feet were starting to hurt. She didn't know many of the victors the way Finnick did, she'd only had 2 years worth of games to get to know them, and Johanna was the closest in age to her, so that was mostly where it stopped. She would have easily been a target like Katniss and Peeta if it weren't for Johanna and Finnick. Thanks to her brother, no one else really fucked with her. It was smart of them, unless of course they had a death wish, specifically at the hand of Finnick Odair.
Finally, Katniss took the stage. The audience was losing their mind, as expected. Her wedding dress shifted as she walked, it looked a bit like it was swallowing her whole. Kallan didn't care much for what Katniss was saying, it was the boy who would go after her that she was concerned about. Though one thing did catch her attention, when Katniss told Caesar that Snow thought they might want to see her in her wedding dress. That was what Kallan had been expecting. But Caesar saying "President Snow, as usual, was right," is what made Kallan's skin crawl. She felt the frown that she wished she could stop. Johanna, who had finally joined them, looked over her shoulder at Kallan and Finnick from below them. She saw the looks on both their faces, knowing what they were thinking.
Yeah, President Snow was totally right when he forced 16 year olds into prostitution. Nothing wrong with that. But as she was in her own thoughts she almost missed Katniss spinning in her wedding gown... that caught fire. That was expected, but what wasn't was the way pieces of the fabric burned away. They flew off the gown and it started to change color until it was a dark blueish gray, parts of it black. And it had wings. As Caesar tried to figure it out, most of the tributes knew exactly what it was, and Katniss put it to words. A mockingjay.
If Kallan wanted to think about it, she didn't have the time to. Katniss came to join the rest of the tributes, and Peeta took to the stage. Kallan hated the way her heart jolted when he entered her eyesight. He wouldn't be able to see her for a while, so why was she jittery anyway? She'd already forgotten about the dress, about what Caesar said, she was listening intently to what Peeta was saying.
"The wedding, never to be?" Caesar looked quite broken up about it, not that he meant it.
"Actually we got married," Peeta's words made her stomach twist. Why? You know it's fake. "In secret."
"A secret wedding," Caesar gasped. "Do tell!"
"We wanted our love to be eternal," he said, with what sounded like fake sincerity, and Kallan felt like she could tell the difference.
"Of course," Caesar agreed.
"We've been luckier than most," Peeta said. "I wouldn't have any regrets at all if..." he paused. "If it..." what was he getting so nervous about? Or was it just part of the game they had to play? If it was, he was playing it well. "If it weren't..."
"If it weren't for what? What?" Caesar pressed, putting the mic back in Peeta's face. Peeta paused, but Kallan couldn't see his face.
"If it weren't for the baby."
The gasps that filled the audience were rippling by the hundred. Well played, Peeta Mellark. Kallan could see the remnants of a smirk on his face. The audience was going crazy, they were yelling left and right. The only thing Kallan heard was cancel the games. She laughed bitterly when it hit her ears. They couldn't, they wouldn't. She looked down at her feet, listening to Caesar flounder for a solution to this. She glanced up as Caesar whispered something to Peeta, and he started up to his place beside Katniss. He went in for a hug, the traces of his smirk still there, as he glanced over her shoulder at... Kallan. That didn't help things. She looked forward as quickly as she could.
Her vision was quickly flooded by the victors in front of her taking each others hands. That was new. It migrated from the first row of victors to the second. Beetee looked at her, probably seeing the skepticism. But she took his hand anyway. And without looking, she took her brother's. When she did look at him, he looked like he wanted to cry. Then both her hands were rising to the sky with the rest of the victors. She had to choke back tears. She'd never felt so much solidarity, so much pride, so much understanding of please don't put us back in there. But then, as they always did, the Capitol silenced them, turning the lights off.