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grundyscribblingAuthor: Grundy
Rating: FR13
Summary: Finnick hears things. Sometimes it's just gossip. Sometimes it's more. And sometimes it's hard to tell. (Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes book compliant.)
Word Count: 3310
Finnick knew there was something about the District 12 girl from the second the cameras found her face.
It wasn’t anything about her that gave it away – though he did think given the spirit she was showing, she might be worth an alliance – so much as the sharp intake of breath from Mags. Mags, the oldest living Victor, who’s been around long enough to have a good deal in that head of hers that isn’t in the official Capitol-approved histories.
Something about the girl - Katniss Everdeen, she’s just said her name, and that she’s the sister of the girl who was actually drawn – sure as hell got Mags’ attention.
He raises an eyebrow at her as Haymitch plays out an obvious diversion – well, obvious to him. It probably looks genuine enough to most of Panem. But Mags’ eyes are glued to the screens. And he can sort of see why. Haymitch is trying so damn hard to keep the cameras on stage or at least on him – that can only mean things are bad in the crowd. Is 12 actually rioting?
Like so many of their conversations, talking to Mags about this will have to be done carefully. It’s not like he can ask outright who Katniss Everdeen is that she’s so important to her district or why Mags would recognize her.
He glances at her out of the corner of his eye, and gets the almost imperceptible shake of the head that means ‘not now’.
To be fair, he was sensible enough by now to know that the train was not the place or time. But he filed away that it hadn’t been one of the reactions that meant ‘no’ or ‘none of your business’.
When they reach the Capitol, there’s the usual nonsense. His latest assignment (not the one that will be public, just the first of the private assignations) is old as Mags. Vipsania Ravinstill gets him because she’s not only loaded but an old crony of the President. He’s surprised she still wants anything in bed instead of just someone dancing attendance on her and acting as though this latest round of work really does make her look twenty-five again. (It does not.)
And then, while she was playing the coquette after, tickling his chest as though anything they’ve just done is genuine and she doesn’t know on some level that he wants to go scour himself in the nearest shower, she let a fascinating little tidbit drop.
“That girl from 12 should make things interesting! Certainly give a few people déjà vu. Can’t think the last time I’ve actually looked forward to the Games.”
She chuckled wickedly but did not elaborate before it was time for him to get dressed and take the waiting car back to the Training Center.
Mags finds him there, running through tapes of old Games, ostensibly looking for hints but really looking for why Katniss Everdeen should give anyone déjà vu, much less in a way that old viper thought would be entertaining.
“You need some fresh air,” she announced.
He followed her dutifully up to the roof. He’s unsurprised to find Beetee up there before them. The nod means he’s checked, and there’s no new bugs they don’t know about. Which means if they stick close to the windchimes and keep it quiet, Mags may be able to share what’s on her mind.
Not for the first time he wishes he had skills more like Beetee’s. Beetee may have to whore himself intellectually, but it’s not quite the same as having to get it up on command for women old enough to be his grandmother.
“Stay away from 12,” Mags said flatly. “That girl won’t last long, but she’s trouble as long as she’s breathing.”
He waited in complete surprise. Maybe she had found time to talk to Haymitch while he was off doing his good little boy thing?
“It’s a safe bet Miss Everdeen has the President’s undivided attention.”
Finnick suppressed a shudder. No one deserved that.
“But why?” he demanded as urgently as he could in a whisper.
“She’s far too like the victor from the 10th Games for comfort,” Mags muttered. “Could even be a descendant.”
If that were true, Katniss volunteering wasn’t likely to save her sister. Finnick racked his brains. He couldn’t even come up with a name for the winner of the 10th Games, only that it had been a girl from 12.
Oh.
They’ve stumbled onto one of those holes in the record that mean Snow has erased things.
“What happened in the 10th Games?”
They both look around before Mags answers, as if they’re going to be able to see the miniscule listening device that would be their downfall if it’s actually there. Besides, if Beetee couldn’t find it…
“That was the first year there were mentors,” Mags explains quietly. “Not former Victors. There weren’t enough of us yet. They used up and coming Capitol kids. It was supposed to show us the Capitol cared.”
Finnick doesn’t bother snorting in derision. The Capitol just wanted a good show.
“A lot of powerful Capitols got their start that year,” Mags continued. “Including the President.”
“Snow was a mentor?” he spluttered – thankfully he remembered to keep his voice low enough.
“To the District 12 girl,” Mags smirked.
Finnick’s jaw dropped.
“Keep well away from her,” Mags warned. “Warn our girl. And mind your p’s and q’s. It’s a fair bet Snow won’t be the only one in a mood. Don’t get caught in the fallout.”
If Snow was upset, he’d take it out on everyone around him, which meant all the power players in the Capitol would be on edge too.
As he watched the opening ceremonies that evening, Finnick saw no reason to doubt that was the case. Snow spent most of his time with his eyes glued to Katniss Everdeen, as though worried she was there to kill him rather than her fellow tributes. (12 mostly played to the crowd, but he also spotted Miss Everdeen watching the President a time or two as well. Did she know?)
It made him wonder just what had happened with the mysterious victor from 12 that Mags wouldn’t even give up a name for, even though she must know.
Discrete questioning of their tributes after the first day of training produced the information that Katniss wasn’t there to make friends and didn’t appear to have any particular skills. That might be true, or might just be a strategy to keep her off anyone’s target list. But if Snow had it in for her, it was only a matter of time, even if she was smart enough to make tracks away from the Cornucopia as fast as she could.
He put it out of his head as he tried to figure out the angle on 4’s girl this year. Pearl was smaller than the 17 year olds generally were, but made up for it by being quick both mentally and physically. He hoped it would be enough to get her in with the usual pack – this year’s District 2 tributes were both strong contenders, and from what he’d heard so far, only agreed to a pack so they could keep their most serious competitors in sight at all times. (Including each other.) District 1 wasn’t far behind, and Glimmer in particular was dangerous.
He had some serious talks with Pearl about not trusting anyone in the arena, and how to gauge when it was time for her to cut and run. The pack could be agreed on before the start of the Games, but once the gong sounded, you were on your own and it was up to you how to play it. Sooner or later all packs disintegrated, because there could only be one winner. Pearl wasn’t big enough or vicious enough to take Cato or Clove one on one. (Those two were smart enough, or at least coached well enough, that it would be two on one to get Pearl out of the way before they turned on each other.)
Her strategy should be to gather what she could in the way of supplies and weapons from the Cornucopia haul before she struck out on her own. That was assuming she survived the initial slaughter. And, of course, unless they got lucky and it was an arena that gave 4 an advantage. He doubted that was going to happen, though. He hadn’t been able to wrangle any hints so far this round, but Annie had won because events tilted circumstances in 4’s favor, and that was still fairly recent. The Gamesmakers generally tried to spread out that kind of ‘good luck’ to avoid the appearance of picking the winner.
Then again, 2 was coming off of back to back victories, so the Gamesmakers might be looking to make sure things didn’t go all 2’s way this round.
He wasn’t counting Pearl out, but she wasn’t the strongest contender. Among other limitations, she didn’t have the looks that made a Tribute a sponsor magnet. He’d had to be upfront with her about that. He regretted it – nothing like heaping some insult on the prospect of imminent fatal injury, and it probably was worse coming from him. But he didn’t believe in lying to his tributes.
“I’ll do my best for you. I’m pretty good at charming Capitols. But 1 and 9 are the ones who will get picked by people going strictly on appearance.”
Glimmer would come to regret that if she survived the Games – Finnick knew the tastes of the crowd backing her. (There was a reason Enobaria had had her teeth filed into points, and unlike the rest of them, it wasn’t to rub anything in her face.) But that was Cashmere and Gloss’s lookout.
“9 still looks like a kid!” Pearl protested indignantly.
“Major sponsors know how to adjust for age,” Finnick replied patiently. “She’s the look they prefer, and her stylist played into it perfectly.”
It was a crapshoot whether a district got competent stylists or not. 9’s team wasn’t great, but they did know how to accentuate what the Capitol liked as long as it was there in the first place. The team for 9’s girl had set off her face and covered up her lack of chest. (Discerning sponsors knew that could always be corrected after the Games anyway.)
4’s current stylists were useless. The bastards hadn’t even attempted to tailor the costumes this year to fit the actual tributes instead of the young stud and goddess they’d been clearly hoping for. The only saving grace had been that pearls had featured prominently, which helped with Pearl’s name recognition. (Poor Zeke was out in the cold, but he didn’t stand much chance anyway. There’d been a cock-up in protocol at the Reaping, leaving 4 with a 13 year old boy instead of the usual well-prepared contender. He might make it into the pack, but odds were the initial fight at the cornucopia would take him out.)
The next day Finnick and Mags were invited to lunch. The group of women who had invited them were all upper class Capitols. To Finnick, they were a bunch of dangerous old biddies. To Mags, they were something almost like friends – she’d known most of them since her own Games.
Finnick knew he was only there to look pretty and be cooed over like a pampered pet or a grandchild old enough to not need overly much attention. Thankfully, these women were the look but don’t touch types.
“Fifty years ago, maybe,” Lysistrata Crane had said bluntly the first time Mags had brought him along to one of these luncheons. “God knows you’re pretty enough. But I’ve never seen the appeal of cradle robbing. Boys your age were trial enough when I was your age.”
To his surprise, she was pouring the wine quite freely today.
“Drink up,” she ordered. “And smile, I’ve given you the good stuff. Us grownups are going to talk, and with my granddaughter out and about, I have nothing else to keep you amused.”
“Yes ma’am,” he agreed pleasantly, heeding Mags’ subtle sign to bit his tongue, not that he needed it.
He could see well enough that Mrs. Crane didn’t particularly want him there today. It was Mags she wanted to talk to.
“Lyssie,” Mrs. Flickerman hissed. “For goodness’ sake.”
“What? I expected Lucia would be here, and I thought the poor boy might enjoy something his own age for a change,” Lysistrata snorted. “They’d both have had their fun. Though I suppose Coryo would have stuck his hand out, whether the clothes came off or not.”
Mrs. Flickerman’s face had gone a very interesting shade.
“Oh, stop your fussing,” Mrs. Crane sighed. “It’s not as if the boy’s stupid enough to turn babblemouth now. Even if he did, from what I hear, he’s too good an earner. Can’t get rid of the golden boy, now, can he?”
“But Lyssie, you said you wanted to talk about…”
Mrs. Flickerman looked genuinely distressed.
“Yes, I do. Just as well Livia’s not around to do cleanup duty anymore,” Mrs. Crane snorted. “Though she’d be mostly doing it for herself, not for him. Such an embarrassment!”
Finnick accepted his second glass of wine with a grin, privately wondering if anyone would notice if he dumped it in one of the pot plants. From the sounds of it, whatever gossip they were about to spill was good and he’d quite like to remember it.
“Why should it be any bother to Mrs. Snow?” Mags asked, careful to keep her voice polite. Victor or not, in the grand scheme of things, she was disposable to these women. One or two of them might miss her, but not enough that they wouldn’t quietly get rid of her if they thought her a threat.
“Lyssie! They don’t look that alike. And it was only ever a rumor. You know what happened to-”
Finnick’s mind was racing. He’d heard quite a few nighttime confessions about their good President, and there were any number of names that would fit at the end of Mrs. Flickerman’s sentence.
Happily, Mrs. Crane was not having any of the reminders to be discreet.
“A rumor that has teeth, as you well know. It wouldn’t surprise me at all to hear they’d been lovers even before his stint in District 12. It’s not as if he’d be the only one who took advantage.”
There was a round of mock scandalized gasps. For one split second, Mags looked genuinely startled before she schooled her features back into neutrality. Fortunately, the Capitol ladies were too busy tittering among themselves to notice it.
“It isn’t as if several of them weren’t quite good looking. Or as if anyone was going to tell!”
“Did you, Lyssie?” Mrs. Flickerman demanded.
“No, and not because I turned up my nose, either. He had a girl at home he expected to go back to. But I know for a fact at least one female mentor did.”
“As well you didn’t, you’d have ended up with a disease,” Mrs. Flickerman sniffed. “And I can’t imagine any of the boys…”
“I can,” Mrs. Heavensbee cut in. “But that still doesn’t mean there’s any connection. I’m not saying he wouldn’t have. But he was always careful, even back then. He wouldn’t have just left it!”
“I’m certain he did,” Mrs. Crane said firmly. “Besides, I was at the Reaping Gala. I saw his face when he first saw the girl. He thinks she’s his.”
“If that was true, he’d hardly send her into the arena!”
“If she’s from a District bastard he didn’t even know about? I know you’re an optimist, Domitia, and I do adore you for it. But really! He has legitimate heirs. And if you think he’s about to admit to any of it publicly, much less risk the success of his Games…”
“Does it really matter? She won’t win anyway!”
“Really? I’d say it’s even odds.”
“Not if he wants her gone. And even if I don’t agree that she’s his, she’s definitely hers, and he won’t appreciate the reminder!”
The surprisingly fierce back and forth that ensued about the odds of Katniss Everdeen (and the likelihood of her being a descendant of Coriolanus Snow and/or the maddeningly unnamed female Victor of the 10th Games) alluded to several more rumors Finnick hadn’t heard before and two very interesting bits of dirty laundry he would never have suspected but filed away in case they became useful.
“Well, I for one will be backing the star-crossed lovers of District 12,” Mrs. Crane announced testily as the debate wound up. “Apologies, of course, Margaret. I’m sure your district’s tributes are delightful as always, and I wish them luck. But I simply can’t resist.”
“Can’t resist making trouble,” Mrs. Flickerman sniffed, sounding as prickly as Finnick had ever heard her. “You won’t be helping anyone, not even yourself.”
“I’m old enough that helping myself isn’t much of a worry these days,” Mrs. Crane shot back. “Even Coryo’s pet lab rats haven’t been able to find a way to make anyone immortal, and not for want of trying.”
“Well, you do have an advantage most of the audience don’t,” Mags said diplomatically as the other women fumbled for a comeback.
“True, not that I expect Seneca will want to hear his grandmama’s take on anything. But I’m sure a love story would go down well with audience. If nothing else, it would be something different! You should mention it to Abernathy. He may already be thinking along those lines, but with all that drinking he does, it’s difficult to tell.”
Finnick managed to stifle a laugh, and considered whether he might have overindulged himself if he was far enough gone to come so close to losing it.
“You’ll lean on Plutarch as well, Io?” Mrs. Crane added pointedly.
“Plutarch’s not nearly as softhearted as Hilarius was,” Mrs. Heavensbee replied. “I doubt he’ll go along with it, if he even listens. Besides, Seneca isn’t likely to take advice from him – he’s looking to make his mark as the youngest Head Gamesmaker.”
“Seneca has the sense to recognize good ideas when he hears them, no matter where they come from,” Mrs Crane said loftily, and the group were straight back to poking at each other again, this time through the proxies of their children and grandchildren.
Finnick has seen enough of them not to be surprised. He’d initially thought this brand of fighting was bloodless until he’d started hearing some of the juicier secrets whispered over sweaty sheets. (Always shared safe in the knowledge there was no one he could tell.) He knew by now that though the Capitol killed fewer of its own, it did still kill them.
These ones were high status enough and knew where enough bodies were buried that the President wouldn’t pick fights with them as long as they stayed within reasonable bounds. Which was why he and Mags were the outlets for their gossip. They can’t tell other Capitols not already in the know any of these things the President doesn’t want talked about. That would be a declaration of war.
He stores the knowledge away all the same. One of these days, there might be an actual war, and at that point, knowing all this might matter. At least, some of it.
Live or die, he really doubted Katniss Everdeen wanted or needed to hear she may be Snow’s granddaughter. (Or more likely great-granddaughter. The Capitol ladies have as usual forgotten to allow for the difference between life here and life in the districts, particularly the poorer ones like 12.) If she lives, maybe he’ll tell her about the District 12 girl from the 10th Games. But the bit about Snow…that can die with him.
