Ocean Eyes - Finnick Odair

Eleven

Finnick and Marissa do not sleep that night. They lie awake, holding each other close. Finnick must have styled Marissa's hair into about twelve different plaits throughout the night as she absentmindedly fiddled with the shell charm around his neck. The morning is the hardest. Their stylists arrive to separate them and, as strong as Marissa is trying to be, she sobs into Chambray's shoulder for a good five minutes before they go up to the roof to mount the hovercraft waiting for them.

"We didn't get to say goodbye to Sterling," Marissa suddenly remembers. The escort for District Four was sent home last night along with the rest of the team from the Capitol. The stylists are only here to dress them before the Games.

"Don't worry, I'll tell her," Chambray promises the victor, helping her step onto the ladder. Marissa is frozen in place by an electrical current and is not allowed to move again until a Capitol doctor injects a tracker in her left forearm. She sits next to Chambray on the hovercraft, fiddling with the lump in her arm that is her tracker, wondering what the best way to cut them out is. Chambray swats her leg, and she realises that her behaviour must look suspicious, so she sighs, leaving her arm alone and getting herself a glass of water. "I'm going to try a different hairstyle this year."

"That's fine," Marissa shrugs, unbothered by what her hair looks like as long as it is out of her way. The journey to the launch room is much shorter than she remembers and, soon she is stepping in the shower for what could well be the very last time before Chambray presents her with a fitted blue jumpsuit. The material is sheer and zips up at the front and the outfit is complete with a fifteen-centimetre-wide padded belt which is covered in shiny purple plastic as well as nylon shoes with rubber soles. "Do you think the arena has something to do with water?"

"I'd guess so," Chambray nods. She pulls the sleeve, so it sits over Mira's bracelet around Marissa's wrist. "If you don't have it covered, it might get broken."

"Thank you."

Chambray styles her hair next, tying it in double Dutch fishtail braids which end in pigtails. It is different to the pigtails she wore in her first Games and, Marissa thinks the braid aspect has something to do with Katniss' now iconic braid.

"Ten seconds till launch," a robotic voice announces through the room, signalling that it is time for Marissa to step onto the metal launch plate. Chambray wraps Marissa up in a tight embrace.

"Make me proud, Marissa," Chambray whispers in her ear before assisting her onto the metal plate. The glass cylinder seals around Marissa and, she waits for it to begin its ascent, but ten seconds have passed now, and the platform is not rising. Her eyebrows knit together, and she looks up at Chambray who looks just as perplexed as she is. Then, the launch room's doors are barged open and, three Peacekeepers spring into the room. Two of them seize Chambray, shoving her roughly against the glass of the launch tube, her nose smashing against it, and cuff her and, the third hits her with a blow to the temple so hard that she momentarily loses consciousness. They do not stop there, delivering blow after blow with metal studded gloves as Marissa slams her fists against the glass cylinder, trying her hardest to break through the thick glass and stop them. The redhead is crying, screams leaving her lips and hands bruising from the force she hits the glass with, but she does not stop, not even when they drag Chambray's limp body from the room and leave nothing but her blood on the floor.

The plate begins to rise, and it is a wonder Marissa does not topple right off of her pedestal when it finally stops. Her fists tremble at her sides and, she is still struggling to calm her sobs, but it seems the only thing that stops them is anger. Blinding anger that clouds all of her thoughts because this is President Snow's doing and President Snow is going to pay for it.

She is so distressed that she does not even notice she is surrounded by water until Claudius Templesmith's voice booms through the arena, announcing the countdown of the Seventy-fifth Hunger Games.