unlike most tributes, your age or younger, you weren't scared to attend the 73rd hunger games. you weren't a shaking mess that either froze up or burst into tears when you were reaped, no. you were - mostly - just pissed off.

the reaping had to be rigged. you did the math - over 4000 girls that were old enough to get reaped lived in that district. yet, somehow, you were the one. but honestly, it wasn't the most surprising. you had been trouble for the peacekeepers, constantly bending the rules and getting arrested for a few days at a time. you were a sweet girl, truly. but not the most pliable one.

your anger and frustration for the games didn't end when you met your mentor - the 22-year old capitol darling, the charming, tanned greek god of a victor. obviously you saw the appeal - the man was gorgeous - but it only seemed to annoy you more, for reasons unknown.

you weren't too easy on him - refusing to take his word for what alliances were worthy, pushing him away instead of trusting and talking to him, and rolling your eyes and walking away when he tried to coax you into conversation. yet he was patient - he was trying to be, at least.

you were just finishing up a set of training with a trident. it was finnick's weapon of choice, and it drove you mad how he insisted you to try it instead of sticking to what you were good at - which was throwing knives. as you fought against the orange holograms of tributes, he spoke up from behind you. "i booked you a private session. right here, in the training hall. no distractions." he says, observing your form that he had endless comments on. "right now, you're my biggest distraction, finnick." you huffed and let out a soft grunt, piercing another running tribute. "you should be grateful." finnick noted. "this is a special privilege, don't take it for granted."