Finnick Odair | Victor of the 65th Hunger Games (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
fishermansweater) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
sixthiterationlogs2016-09-02 02:41 am
fishermansweater) wrote in sixthiterationlogs2016-09-02 02:41 am
ψ It's hard to have faith when faith is a crime
WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: Fountain park + outlying areas of the town
WHEN: September 2
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: References to violence, descriptions of anxiety.
STATUS: OPEN
FOUNTAIN PARK
There's water.
Not just a little water, but water on all sides, water waving through his hair and pulling on his clothes, with all the warm disorientation of being on the edge of drowning. At first the water simply sweeps over and around him, but he needs to breathe and the empty feeling in his chest drags his mind out of whatever haze it's been in.
There's water, water everywhere, so he swims, and somehow he's pointed upwards, gaining momentum faster than he should have been, and now his mind's working more clearly, it's beginning to race. There's light, light up above him, but everything's heavier than it should be, and he doesn't know where he is.
Why doesn't he remember getting in the water?
But when his head breaks the surface, it's not to the cool salt-smell of the beaches of District Four, it's to the river-rapid sound of a fountain gushing water into itself.
That's what makes his gut clench in sudden fear. That, and looking down to see he's wearing some sort of red garment he doesn't recognize. For a moment, he stops gulping air. He stops treading water in the impossible fountain.
He freezes, and he can't move again for too many agonizingly long moments.
"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
He'll never forget Snow's words, he's sure, and the way they'd rung dully in his head with the screams of the arena. That's what makes him fling himself forward to the edge of the fountain, covering the distance in a single strong stroke, and haul himself out of the water.
He lands on heavy-booted feet, and he's already looking around for the things he should see. Other tributes. Weapons. Supplies. The cornucopia. The slaughter of the bloodbath. He tenses to sprint, looking and looking, but there's no sign of the giant horn, just something that looks like parkland and a few buildings, like the middle of a town, but sullenly quiet.
His senses are screaming at him: where are they? and every muscle is taut with fight-or-flight tension.
OUTLYING HOUSES
It's much later that Finnick makes his way back to the town. He's been to the woods, gone through the backpack that had been on him when he pulled himself out of the fountain, and there are several things that he's missing. Water. Food. Any sort of weapon.
His immediate plan is to raid some of the outlying houses, see if he can find a knife, food, anything he can use. The lack of a cornucopia has made things difficult; maybe that's all part of the plan for how to make this Quell more interesting, but it means he doesn't have any way to fight. A knife, too, would help him to harvest some vines for a net, grass to weave for a shelter, so many of the things that he needs if he's going to be able to avoid town well enough to stay alive.
He's seen enough Hunger Games to know a location as enticing as this mostly-abandoned town is a trap, which is why he'll be watching very carefully as he approaches, ducking into what cover he can find. (He's ditched the red shirt: white isn't much better, but rubbing the tank top into the dirt had helped dampen the color a little.) So when he ducks into the first house he targets, it's quickly, quietly, in-and-out and without anything useful. It's already been ransacked.
What sort of a Hunger Games doesn't have any weapons?
WHERE: Fountain park + outlying areas of the town
WHEN: September 2
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: References to violence, descriptions of anxiety.
STATUS: OPEN
FOUNTAIN PARK
There's water.
Not just a little water, but water on all sides, water waving through his hair and pulling on his clothes, with all the warm disorientation of being on the edge of drowning. At first the water simply sweeps over and around him, but he needs to breathe and the empty feeling in his chest drags his mind out of whatever haze it's been in.
There's water, water everywhere, so he swims, and somehow he's pointed upwards, gaining momentum faster than he should have been, and now his mind's working more clearly, it's beginning to race. There's light, light up above him, but everything's heavier than it should be, and he doesn't know where he is.
Why doesn't he remember getting in the water?
But when his head breaks the surface, it's not to the cool salt-smell of the beaches of District Four, it's to the river-rapid sound of a fountain gushing water into itself.
That's what makes his gut clench in sudden fear. That, and looking down to see he's wearing some sort of red garment he doesn't recognize. For a moment, he stops gulping air. He stops treading water in the impossible fountain.
He freezes, and he can't move again for too many agonizingly long moments.
"On the 75th anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."
He'll never forget Snow's words, he's sure, and the way they'd rung dully in his head with the screams of the arena. That's what makes him fling himself forward to the edge of the fountain, covering the distance in a single strong stroke, and haul himself out of the water.
He lands on heavy-booted feet, and he's already looking around for the things he should see. Other tributes. Weapons. Supplies. The cornucopia. The slaughter of the bloodbath. He tenses to sprint, looking and looking, but there's no sign of the giant horn, just something that looks like parkland and a few buildings, like the middle of a town, but sullenly quiet.
His senses are screaming at him: where are they? and every muscle is taut with fight-or-flight tension.
OUTLYING HOUSES
It's much later that Finnick makes his way back to the town. He's been to the woods, gone through the backpack that had been on him when he pulled himself out of the fountain, and there are several things that he's missing. Water. Food. Any sort of weapon.
His immediate plan is to raid some of the outlying houses, see if he can find a knife, food, anything he can use. The lack of a cornucopia has made things difficult; maybe that's all part of the plan for how to make this Quell more interesting, but it means he doesn't have any way to fight. A knife, too, would help him to harvest some vines for a net, grass to weave for a shelter, so many of the things that he needs if he's going to be able to avoid town well enough to stay alive.
He's seen enough Hunger Games to know a location as enticing as this mostly-abandoned town is a trap, which is why he'll be watching very carefully as he approaches, ducking into what cover he can find. (He's ditched the red shirt: white isn't much better, but rubbing the tank top into the dirt had helped dampen the color a little.) So when he ducks into the first house he targets, it's quickly, quietly, in-and-out and without anything useful. It's already been ransacked.
What sort of a Hunger Games doesn't have any weapons?
no subject
It's a good skill, knowing when you're being watched, like an extra danger sense that can be life or death in the arena.
"Do they actually taste any good?"
Not that it matters. When you need to eat, you need to eat, and pride is a very secondary consideration to survival.
The comment about the 'new face' is just as unsettling and unfamiliar as some of the other things Finnick's seen since he dragged himself out of the fountain. People greeting him, making conversation, telling him impossible things. It sets off a feeling of wrongness deep under his skin, a tension he can't ease because it's so pervasive.
He doesn't let that show, though.
"Thought we were all new here. Sounds like you're not."
no subject
But an educated guess tells him he's not the one feeling threatened here.
The corner of his mouth lifts in the faint beginnings of a smile. "It's an acquired taste, but you get used to it," he says. As he takes the other's measure, he recognizes that the older man is taking his. For Jess not to have him added to his mental catalogue of residents, he must be fairly new, or else incredibly good at keeping his nose to the ground. The handsome features could easily have landed him a job on the stage back home, but the muscular build and the way he's darkened his shirt to blend in tell a different story. Finnick could just as easily belong to the High Garda with that level of stealth.
"For a relative definition of 'new'. Been here about five weeks myself, all total. It's a small group; when new people join the fold, they tend to stand out, no offense. I'm Jess. If it's food you're looking for, we've got... well, not a lot, but enough."
But at the rate they're bringing in strong men who need protein in their diets, who knows how long that'll stay true. Still, he's not in the habit of withholding rations should Finnick have arrived on an empty stomach.
no subject
But Finnick knows in himself that he can't attack a kid. Not unless he's attacked first. Maybe not even then. Not now he's already got so much death on his conscience.
Not that he's about to relax, but he's started the conversation now.
"By that measure, I'm new. Just got here." The description Jess gives raises a lot of questions that Finnick isn't quite sure how to even ask: the Games doesn't last five weeks. The Gamemakers would have unleashed some disaster or swarm of mutts to force the tributes to engage.
Finnick's head tilts a little to one side, because there's one more thing Jess says that's completely contrary to the Hunger Games.
"You have enough food here?"
It's repetition, but it's a question he needs to ask.
no subject
Standing up to join Finnick on his feet, he quirks an acknowledging smile, not minding that Finnick fails to give an introduction. "I figured. You're still drying from your warm welcome unless you went swimming in your clothes. It's a giveaway. Too bad about the color." He gestures at Finnick's pants, meaning the red. Growing up on the wrong side of the Garda, red's one of those colors he doesn't think looks good on anyone.
"You mean do we have enough to live off of without a handy corner store around to get our groceries? It won't be winning any culinary awards, but we're getting by. Have you already seen the inn? It's the big squat building to the east of the park. It's where I'm taking this. You'll get a hot meal there and all the information we've pulled together on this place so far."