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These Are The Names, Chapter 13 - The Phantom Librarian
Spewing out too many words since November 2003
These Are The Names, Chapter 13
All of the alliances have locked Finnick out, and he's starting to go a little strange. The Careers are planning an attack on him. Mags decides it's time to spend all the money, and sends him the trident.

Chapter Thirteen
Finnick picks up the trident and holds it loosely in his hands. It is about as tall as he is. The shaft is made of black metal. At the tip is a three-pronged fork, bright steel that seems almost white in the moonlight of the arena. Finnick closes his eyes for a minute, then opens them and looks at the trident again. He nods.

The coverage cuts back to the studio, where Claudius tells us breathlessly that he sent for experts on trident fishing as soon as the order went in. Most fishing tridents are barbed, but Finnick's isn't -- it would make it too easy for the weapon to become stuck. The experts -- Capitol men who fish our lake as a hobby -- are enthusiastic about how a fisherman like Finnick will use the tool.

While they're talking, Haymitch has re-trained our screen to Finnick's feed (Chicory is asleep, anyway). Finnick is scrambling along the cliff face, stripping off dried plants and seaweed. He finally seems to find what he's looking for -- a dried vine-like plant that comes off in long, rough strings. He pulls down an armful of the stuff, then sits down in the shadow and starts tying knots.

Beside me, Chaff swears under his breath.

Haymitch looks over. "What?"

Chaff scribbles something on a piece of paper and shoves it at Haymitch. The word I see -- "Retiarius" -- means nothing to me.

Haymitch doesn't seem to know it either, and looks blankly over at Chaff.

"Net man," Chaff says. "Net fighter. I would have thought you'd have read everything about gladiators."

"I don't read about the Games when I'm not here," Haymitch says.

Chaff shakes his head. "Seeder, hand me your shawl."

Seeder frowns, and takes off the net-like shawl she's thrown over her shoulders. "What for?"


I lean forward to watch and find out what Chaff is doing as he folds the shawl into a little square. Suddenly, his hand moves. The shawl flies out, and it's over my head. It's lightweight, and I can't think how it could possibly hurt me.

Until he pulls the corners tight. I try to move my arms, but I can't.

Chaff picks up a knife and holds it over me. "Try to fight," he says.

I can't even move my hands up to block the blow. Even when he lets go of the scarf, I've managed to twist it around myself in the struggle, and I can't get free of it until Haymitch deliberately unwraps it and hands it back to Seeder.

"The Gamemakers in Ancient Rome," Chaff says, "used to have fighters who killed by using fishing tools. People thought they were cowardly, because they ran away a lot instead of fighting blow for blow -- they didn't have any armor, and the other guys usually did -- but I wouldn't want to face one."

On screen, Finnick keeps knotting. He's got several vines coming down from one anchor, and he's making tight little diamond shapes. His face is utterly blank.

"That kid's going to be messed up if he makes it out," Jack says.

"As opposed to the models of good adjustment that the rest of us are?" Haymitch watches for a minute or so, then turns to me. "I'm going to get some sleep. Wake me up in three hours and then you get a few hours."

I nod, and he goes away.

There's really no reason for anyone to be awake and manning our phone. No one is calling us. Mags's lines are still going, and a few people are helping her answer them, but other than that, the Viewing Center is as still as most of the arena.

I strike up a conversation with Jack about his assistant, Linden, and learn what I can about District Seven. It seems like as good a thing to do as any.

By the time I'm supposed to wake Haymitch, Finnick has several rows of netting done, and I've been chatting with the District One escort about some trends we've seen for winter fashion. I'm exhausted, and glad it's time to get some rest.

I'm about halfway down the aisle of beds when I hear Haymitch's voice.

"You know I have no idea what you're talking about, Plutarch. Loyal citizen here."

"I'm clean!" another voice says. I assume it's Mr. Heavensbee's, though I haven't heard it enough to say for sure. "And I'm not trying to trap you. Just telling you… well, sorry I was gone so long. We were friends before."

"No, we weren't."

"Sure we were. And if you can trust your escort, you can trust me!"

I stop, frowning, and sink back into the shadows.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Haymitch asks, his voice low and dangerous.

"Just that she's been in Capitol Dreams, too. And you trust her."

"Effie's completely, totally, and unquestioningly loyal to the Capitol. Go away."

"I'm not trying to trap anyone. And if that's true, I'm surprised you do trust her."

"She's a decent human being, which puts her way above me and you and most of the other people I know."

"But she's not… one of your friends. I seem to remember you pushing someone else away -- that actress -- because of Capitol Dreams, and you're sure pushing me away at light speed, but -- "

There's a scuffle and suddenly Mr. Heavensbee is shoved out into the aisle. Haymitch is holding the front of his shirt. "You listen. And whoever's listening can listen. I'm not pushing Effie Trinket anywhere. She's a great escort, and I'm glad to have her -- "

"It's not bugged…"

" -- and I don't give a rat's ass about anything else."

Haymitch glares at Mr. Heavensbee, then gives him a light shove. He scurries away into the dark. Haymitch looks toward me, then smiles and rolls his eyes. "Good timing."

I come out of the shadows. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop. You said to wake you up."

"Plutarch got here first," he says, coming over. "That wasn't a show for your benefit. I really mean it. I don't care what your politics are."

"What's going on, Haymitch? Why does Mr. Heavensbee think you can't trust me?"

He shrugs. "He doesn't. The Capitol thinks I'm involved in a rebellion. I think he's trying to get me to say something incriminating."

"Are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Involved in a rebellion? They gave me a file on you when I came. They said you burned down the Peacekeepers' office in Twelve."

"It was well deserved."

"So… are you?"

He looks at me steadily for a long time, then says, "I'm not going to tell you lies, Effie. But don't ask me that."

I nod. "So, you were telling them that I'm not a rebel."

"Why? Are you?"


"Why not? I know you hate watching the kids die every year."

"I do. But Haymitch, how many more would die if there were a war? You told me that you read history books. You know what wars are like."

"Yeah. But…" He rubs his head. "Is this peace, Effie? Really?"

The question makes me uneasy. It should be simple. We're not at war. There are no battles. Nothing is blowing up. We're enjoying the peace of the Capitol.

But Trill and Babra.

Hecky and Mercy.

Donkid and Windy.

Kelman and Dotty.

Berry and Ronka.

Nasseh and Sunny.

Treeza. Most likely Chicory.

But it's not war.

"I don't know," I say. "But I know I don't want bombs to start falling."

"I don't either. Not really." He takes a deep breath, and reaches over to hold my hand. "Anyway, it doesn't matter. I'm not going to let anyone start targeting you. I kind of need you."

"What did you mean about not pushing me away?"

"Exactly what I said. I don't care what you believe about the Capitol, or peace, or bombings. I care that you help the kids when we bring them here. I care that you keep me from going off the deep end, so I can help them. I'm not going to walk away from you just because you're… well, because we might not agree on everything. I did that once, and I regret it." He smiles a little bit. "Don't tell Mimi I said that. She'll get maudlin."

"I won't," I say. "And for the record, you can trust me with your confidences. I wouldn't have told her anyway."

"You could trust me with yours, if you ever gave me any."

I laugh. "I wish I had a secret to tell you at the moment, just so I could trust you with it. I mean, other than the fact that just now, I have a wild desire to kiss my boss until he can't breathe."

"You have truly terrible taste. Unless you're talking about Caesar, I guess. He's decent." He grins at me, and for a second, I think it's really going to happen, that he really means to let it happen. Then he just presses his lips to my cheek. It's friendly, and maybe it lingers a little more than it should, but that's all. "You should get some sleep," he says. "Tomorrow's going to be bad."

It turns out to be beyond bad.

One of the runners wakes me up at dawn, because the battles have begun. When I get out to the District Twelve table, Haymitch and the others are staring at the screen in horror.

The inner district kids, thinking that they've found easy prey, go to the area where Finnick was last night. They're trapped against the cliff face. Finnick drops rocks on them, stunning them, then starts to use the two weighted nets he made. He traps them and spears them through the neck. Their blood rushes out, and he pulls out the spear without even looking, moving on to the next in his trap.

At the end of it, he's covered with blood. His green eyes gleam out from the reddened mask of his face. The cannon goes off four times. Eloise Tate has been foraging nearby, but he doesn't see her. He sits down on a rock and waits for the claw to lift the bodies away.

Eloise rushes back to her camp.

"Finnick Odair's gone crazy," she announces to Chicory and Batten. "We have to get away. He just killed all of the other Careers."

"No way," Batten says. "It's not possible."

"Someone sent him a weapon. He's good with it."

"What kind of weapon?" Chicory asks. "We can guard."

"I didn't see all of it. It's some kind of spear. And a net."

Chicory snorts. "Sounds terrifying."

"It's a spear and a net more than we have," Eloise points out.

"So what do you want to do?"

"Make an alliance with him."

"Make an alliance with the crazy guy?" Batten says. "That doesn’t sound like a good plan."

"He wanted an alliance. If we're with him, maybe he won't kill us."

"I think it's beyond that," Jack says. "We have to tell them no. Haymitch, what do we have? What can we send them?"

Haymitch shakes his head, not looking away from the screen. "I've got nothing. I think their best bet is to get away from where they are. Someplace where they can run easily, and he can't drop that net. The north part… the bare land above the cave where Finnick hid. The wind will catch the net, and he can't trap them against the stones."

"But they'll be in plain sight," Cecelia points out.

"So will Finnick." Haymitch bites his lip. "I can't think how to send them there. They already decided not to stay there. But maybe… Finnick listens to Mags. He asked for her. He tried to work with his district partner. Maybe he'll listen to Eloise. But not if she can't get his mind off killing them."

"It's the Games, Haymitch," Jack says. "And he's started to hunt. I don't think he's going to stop thinking about it until the trumpets go off."

Haymitch nods. There's nothing else to say.

Finnick continues to hunt, his nets tucked into his belt, his trident held at his shoulder. He spies Chicory's alliance just before noon. Chicory and Eloise are sitting side by side -- the worst possible way to guard against a net -- when he finds them. He traps them both before they see him coming, and they're gone in seconds. Batten manages to fight a little, but doesn't last much longer. Finnick has killed eight people in five hours. Claudius assures the viewing audience that this is a Games record. Combined with his earlier kills, he's tied the total kill count record for an individual tribute already -- ten -- and is in a position to "smash" that record before the Games end.

All three mentors go to call the families. I feel queasy. I barely make it to the bathroom before I throw up. I think of Finnick sitting calmly in the Remake Center, waiting for Mags, speaking to me so politely. I can't square it with what I'm seeing in the arena.

I try to go home, but the streets are full of merrymakers, many of them cheerfully playing at being net-men, miming Finnick's kills. A young woman makes a lewd suggestion about how she'd like to get her hands on his spear. The man she's with laughs and asks if he can watch.

I run back inside. The mentors, at least, aren't having a party.

Finnick continues to hunt. There are two pairs of allies left -- Orabelle Erbe from Ten and Chester Henry from Nine are still together. Swather's alliance of three is down to two -- he's still working with D'Arcy Hoff, from Five. Other than that, Rollin Yazzie is wandering around the island's tail, talking to someone who isn't there, and Sidiki Lattimer is hiding in her little lair not far from the Cornucopia. Finnick finds her shortly before sunset.

"Why are you still here?"

I look up. Haymitch is standing beside me. I realize that he's been away from the table for hours, and has started drinking. He's not especially drunk yet, but his eyes are red and his speech is starting to slur. "I don't want to go home," I say.

"Fair enough. Mind if I do?"

I shake my head. "I'll check on you tomorrow."

"You do that."

He disappears.

I stay up at the table alone, watching the tributes navigating the arena. Finnick isn't asleep, but he looks like he's in some kind of trance, sitting in Sidiki's lair and recharging. The telephone rings.

It isn't one of the outer lines. It's the Gamemakers' line, which almost never rings, and shouldn't ring at all once a mentor's tributes are dead.

I pick it up. "District Twelve."

There's a pause. "Is this Miss Trinket?"


"Plutarch Heavensbee. I need to meet with Haymitch at my place. About… about next year. Something we're thinking about, and I want his opinion."

"He's gone. He's back at the apartment."

"I tried calling there. I thought that's where he'd be."

I suspect Haymitch routinely ignores any phone that's not on the table in the Viewing Center, but it seems the better part of valor not to mention it. "He's… well, he's not feeling well."


"Not feeling well. We lost our tribute today."

"I know. I'm sorry. But tell him to meet me at my place tomorrow morning." He gives me an address. "It's very important."

I hang up and head across the plaza to the Training Center. I take the elevator up to the District Twelve apartment.

Haymitch is sitting on the couch, drinking straight from the bottle and watching the Games. At the moment, Claudius is giving the history of the now-deposed record-holder for most individual kills, a boy named Divine Carew, who slashed and hacked his way through ten tributes during the fifth Games, bringing District One the first of its many victories. There was a joke for a long time that those Games should be known as "Divine's Retribution." Man-on-the-street interviews look for a nickname for these Games. "Beauty Bests the Beasts" seems a popular theme, though some want to riff on the "Odair"/"I dare" sounds.

"Mr. Heavensbee wants to see you tomorrow morning," I say after a while.

"No," Haymitch says. "I'm done for the year." He is clearly much drunker than he was earlier. His words bleed into each other. He almost drops the bottle, and has to fumble for it with both hands. "Hasn't he been watching his own Games? I'm… done."

"He says he wants to run something by you for next year."

"No he doesn't. They can't run Games things by mentors. He wants to get me to say treason." He laughs and says, "Treason! Hey, Plutarch, you hear it? Treason!"

"But he said it's about next year's Games. It could be important. Or maybe useful, anyway. Maybe you could pick up a clue."

"You go. Find out what he wants."

"I think he wants to see you."

"Anything the Gamemakers say to me they can say to you. I'm not doing anything against the law. You hear me?" He looks wildly up at the ceiling.

"You should sober up, or you'll still be hung over --"

"You go," he says again. "I'm done, Sweetheart. Duties dutifully discharged."

I sigh. "All right. I'll find out what he wants. You should go to bed. Do you need help?"

He looks at me crossly, then seems to surrender, and nods. I help him up and put his arm over my shoulder. He's sober enough to hold his own weight, but I have to steer. In the morning, I doubt he'll remember that there is a meeting.

I put him down on the bed and toss a blanket over him. He catches my wrist and kisses my hand. "Want to stay?" he asks. "I want you to stay."

"Ask me when you're sober."

He smiles. "I know better when I'm sober."

"That's kind of my point." I pull myself away from him -- a feat that's more difficult some years than others, and this is the worst it's been -- and go back out to the living room. I watch the Games coverage for a while, then, once everyone is definitively asleep, they cut to an old movie about the founding of District Four.

I wake up a little bit after dawn. The television is still on. They're interviewing Mags about Finnick, but it's been interrupted by D'Arcy Hoff, fishing on the smaller beach, the one away from the Cornucopia. She's managed to stick a large fish with a sharpened stick, but in the studio, Mags is yelling at her not to eat it.

"It's lethal," Mags says, looking at Claudius, wide-eyed. "She can't…"

But D'Arcy hasn't had anything proper to eat for days. She rips the raw flesh from the fish and swallows it while it's practically still quivering.

The convulsions start five minutes later. The cannon takes another half an hour. By the time she dies, her ally, Swather, has found her, and he holds her as she shakes her life out on the sand. I look over my shoulder and see Haymitch standing at his bedroom door, watching. When she dies, he goes to the bathroom, and I hear him start to retch.

I ask if he needs anything. He tells me that he needs me to go to Mr. Heavensbee's meeting. I'm surprised he remembers it.

I go home to change my clothes and put on a new wig, then head out to the address Mr. Heavensbee gave me. It's not far from my place, actually -- another one of the gleaming glass apartment complexes on the lakeshore. Mr. Heavensbee's building is a delicate shade of yellow.

The doorman rings me up -- just saying "District Twelve is here" -- and when I get there, the door is ajar.

"There you are," Mr. Heavensbee says. "I was about to call and cancel. My shift at the simulators starts in -- " He turns and sees me. "Miss Trinket. I was expecting Haymitch."

"He's… he says you can tell me whatever you meant to tell him."

"It's not a matter of telling." He shakes his head. "I wanted to talk to him about the mines. It's been a long time since there's been an arena particularly friendly to District Twelve. I can't say everything, of course, but I wanted his opinion on, um…" He frowns, agitated. "I wanted to ask him how the miners see when it's dark underground. And what animals might live in mines. We often ask victors about their districts, you know."

"Animals in the mines," I repeat. "I… don't know."

"Which is why we wanted to speak to Haymitch," a woman says, coming out of Mr. Heavensbee's kitchen. She looks cross. I've seen her before. The last few years, she's been something of a hanger-on at Capitol Dreams functions. There are always a few. She shows up in fashions two seasons out of date, her hair messy and her expression dogged and determined. Capitol Dreams events welcome everyone who comes, but I doubt she was ever directly invited to one. "I'm sorry, Miss Trinket, but you don't have his expertise."

"Haymitch never worked in the mines either," I point out. "In Twelve, no one goes to work until they're eighteen… at least not in the mines."

"His parents were miners," the woman says brusquely. "Surely, he's heard something. We needed to see him."

"Are you a Gamemaker?" I ask.

"This is Fulvia Cardew," Mr. Heavensbee says. "My partner. She was helping me with some ideas. We were hoping Haymitch would have some insight."

"I don't think he'd want to help design an arena," I say. "Besides, that wouldn't be fair to other districts."

Mr. Heavensbee snorts. "Haymitch would love to try his hand at making an arena. He just won't admit it."

I decide not to engage this. It's not entirely untrue. "And wouldn't an underground arena have bigger problems than what animals there are? Like clean water? And how would you drop the parachutes?"

"Obviously, there would need to be a different delivery system," Fulvia says dismissively. "That's not what we needed to discuss. Haymitch wouldn't know about that, at any rate."

I have a feeling that Haymitch would be thinking -- despite himself -- of half a dozen ways to deliver sponsor gifts underground, but I believe Fulvia that they didn't call him here to talk about it.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Get him sobered up and send him over," Mr. Heavensbee suggests.

"He won't come."

"Of course he will."

"No. He… well, he says he's done for the year."

"Plutarch can order him to show up," Fulvia says.

"That would hardly be helpful." Mr. Heavensbee sighs. "I hope he'll reconsider. We were friends a long time ago. I was on his Victory Tour with him. I -- " He shakes his head. "Miss Trinket, would you tell him that I mean him no harm at all? I've always been fond of him, and I just hoped we could strike up our friendship again. That's all. And here," he says, rummaging around on a table, and coming up with a piece of paper. "It's a bread recipe for his friend. Tell him it's from the Capitol. He never did collect one here."

He hands me the paper. It's a recipe for a fancy kind of bread -- half a cake, really -- that's often served at overnight parties. For some reason, he's edged the paper with exquisite, hand-drawn feathers. "I don't think he and the baker are friends anymore," I say.

"Give it to him, anyway."

I nod and take it. "I'm sorry I couldn't help."

"Quite all right. I'm sure Haymitch thought he was doing the right thing. I'm sorry he troubled you with it."

He turns away, and that's that. I leave the apartment and go back to the Training Center. Haymitch has started drinking vodka-spiked orange juice. I give him the bread recipe.

He stares at it with a lot more attention than I think it probably deserves, then puts it carefully into a briefcase. He dumps the spiked juice and switches to water. He hadn't gotten very far in the day's drinking, and he's sober again in an hour.

"Well," he says, "I guess Plutarch really does need to see me. About animals in the mines." He rolls his eyes. "Does he even know how toxic the water can be down there?" With that, he leaves.

I turn on the television. Swather has taken D'Arcy's death hard, according to Claudius. He's been preparing for a hunt of his own. He manages to find Chester and Orabelle. None of the three of them are armed, but Swather is huge, and the arena is strewn with rocks. He dispatches them easily, and the field is down to three: Swather, Finnick, and Rollin Yazzie, who is still wandering madly around the end of the island.

Finnick has his net out again, and is stalking along the Cliffside at the north end of the island. He and Swather spot each other, but they're separated by a deep bay.

Swather jumps in the water. Claudius is very excited about sharks, but it never comes to that. He's caught in a current that drags him out.

Finnick sets down his trident and moves to dive.

"Ah," Claudius says. "Is Finnick Odair finally making an error? In District Four, of course, it would be habit to save a drowning man. Finnick will have been raised on this from early childhood. Will he risk being caught in the riptide himself? Could Rollin Yazzie outlast both of his final competitors?"

Finnick has stripped down to his shorts and shed his shoes, but he suddenly stops.

He stands up. Picks up his trident.

And watches Swather Brooks drown.

The cannon sounds.

The rest of the day is the same as the end of any other Games: Two tributes, both nearly feral, circling one another warily. Rollin is outwardly crazier than Finnick, talking to himself and answering someone or something that isn't there, but Finnick seems completely withdrawn. (Commentators refer to this as "the concentration of the alpha predator.")

They finally come to blows at sunset on the beach. The blows don't last long. Rollin all but surrenders. Finnick throws the net over him -- a formality -- then spears him in the throat like the others.

He kneels down beside the body, hand still on his trident.

The trumpets sound, and there is a new victor.
17 comments or Leave a comment
From: (Anonymous) Date: June 11th, 2014 06:07 am (UTC) (Link)


All I can say is wow, poor Finnick! Thanks Fern for your writing, it gives us so much background and enriches the backstory so much!
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: June 11th, 2014 06:32 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Wow

I'm enjoying writing it. As much as one can enjoy this kind of trauma, I guess.
From: (Anonymous) Date: June 11th, 2014 06:20 am (UTC) (Link)
This is just wonderful, Fern. I always feel like I ought to have more to say than that, but I am rendered incoherent.

Poor Finnick. I'm never sure whether to feel sorrier for the kids who die or the one who lives.

And, god, Plutarch and Fulvia are pains in the ass. Fulvia and Effie really ought to be allies--the behind-the-scenes women who get things done but get treated as negligible ought to stick together--but it's totally believable that Fulvia would behave just as high-handedly toward Effie the folks who want access to Plutarch behave toward Fulvia herself.

Anyway, still reading, still loving. (Still checking your page with embarassing frequency on days when updates are likely....)

fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: June 11th, 2014 06:34 am (UTC) (Link)
For me, the scene that just knocked Fulvia's character neatly into a hat for me was the scene after the prep team was released. First, she hadn't checked on them since having them kidnapped, and second, she dismisses Katniss's warning that the same thing could happen to any of them by snipping that it was hardly appropriate to compare someone as important as Plutarch to mere "beauticians."
From: (Anonymous) Date: June 11th, 2014 11:30 am (UTC) (Link)

Finnick killed the Careers FIRST???

Has that happened _ever_, in any other Game?
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: June 11th, 2014 04:24 pm (UTC) (Link)

Re: Finnick killed the Careers FIRST???

I guess it would depend on who they were crazy enough to attack first!
From: (Anonymous) Date: June 11th, 2014 07:20 pm (UTC) (Link)
"The cannon goes off five times"

Hadn't Finnick already killed one of the Careers? Or did they have an extra alliance member I missed?

Either way, the psychologists are going to have the usual challenge unknotting Finnick for the ceremonies. Unless he starts the cheerful playboy facade here to keep it hidden.
snorkackcatcher From: snorkackcatcher Date: June 11th, 2014 07:22 pm (UTC) (Link)
Er, sorry, that was me.
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: June 12th, 2014 02:40 am (UTC) (Link)
:facepalm: Yes, I forgot about that one.

I think Finnick will bounce back -- his natural personality is pretty buoyant -- but yeah. He'll have to compartmentalize a lot. And I'm definitely willing to bet that he's hiding some of it. Let's be honest -- he killed a huge chunk of the field in the same way Marvel killed Rue. He's a decent person. He has to be doing something to compensate for that.
beceh From: beceh Date: June 11th, 2014 10:22 pm (UTC) (Link)
Ah, poor Finnick.

fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: June 12th, 2014 02:41 am (UTC) (Link)
Yeah. And poor other kids, too, but the Games don't exactly leave the victor in one piece, either.
From: (Anonymous) Date: June 11th, 2014 11:19 pm (UTC) (Link)

I Thought....

That was a quite clever way of Plutarch to get Haymitch's attention (the trust will have to come a bit later, obviously), by giving him the bread recipe with the feathers.

Very glad that Finnick is going to have two years worth of a chance to get his head put straight from the Arena before the further trauma of being pimped out. It really is amazing that the Victors never killed any of their "sponsors" afterwards. I wouldn't want someone who killed more than ten people like that to touch me...

Sara Libby
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: June 12th, 2014 02:42 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: I Thought....

The people who patronize Finnick have to be either very brave or VERY stupid. I'm inclined toward the latter, though it's probably stressed to any victor inclined toward retribution that any crimes committed will be taken out on loved ones.

I think the thing with Plutarch wasn't just that he was using an old symbol Haymitch would know, but that it enumerates the Capitol rebels... meaning that they trust him enough to let him know how many there are.

Edited at 2014-06-12 02:44 am (UTC)
From: queen_bellatrix Date: June 12th, 2014 04:32 am (UTC) (Link)


and shoves it Haymitch Some words are missing between it and Haymitch.

got a several vines Think there's an extra a.

Mr. Heavenbee's There's a missing S in the name.

gave me file Think there should be an a before file.

have wild desire Think there should be an a before wild.

bare part over the cave I think there may be some missing words here, but can't quite tell; were you maybe trying to say the bare part near the caves?

mind of killing Think the of should be off.

alliance has gone down to just D'Arcy Just a suggestion, but maybe clarify here that it's gone down to him and D'Arcy? I realized it later in the chapter, but when there's that large a list, it can sometimes get confusing.

an arena particular I think particular should be particularly. And I'm not sure if you meant to include anything after particularly and before friendly; if it was maybe supposed to look something like: an arena that was particularly; something struck me as off about that sentence but I can't pinpoint it.

My God, that was brilliant. I feel as though I'm completely knocked flat. Finn's tapping into the primal instinct that let him survive the field at his age was brilliant, and left me being greatful his parents can give him very tight hugs soon. When he just watched Swather drown...how he's not a completely broken mess or a psychopath continues to amaze me; I can't even imagine doing something like that to survive. Though, I liked that he kept his humanity by giving everyone quick deaths, or as quick as he could.

I loved seeing Chaff's intelligence/breadth of interests here! Your portrayal of their friendship is the most fleshed out and believable I've seen in fandom, and it's largely due to details like this; men who're that smart in their various ways'd inevitably be drawn to one another, along with all the other bonds they share. And what an utterly chilling demonstration of net fighting.

You really showed victor humanity while in an inhumane situation with Mags and D'Arcy through Mags' horror at her death,, even though she's a rival to her own tribute; and I loved your continuing explorations of chivalry/decency by the tributes themselves, both with Swather's staying with D'Arcy and Finn's near-rescue of him .

The entire exchange between Plutarch and Haymitch regarding Effie; if it were an object, I'd be hugging it. Everything he's doing here is so characteristic, especially the way he'll try, to the limits of endurance, to craft a facade of toeing the law when he has someone he's invested in keeping out of Snow's sites. And oh, Haymitch; there wasn't a damn thing he could've done for Mimi, trying to counter CD's influence from that much of a distance, and anything he said would've been like putting Snow on speakerphone and letting him observe his life. And his declaration that he won't push Effie away, when we know what his attitude is in GM; especially when you wrapped Finn's games up with five chapters left in this part is ominous.

And Plutarch; there were moments in this where I felt sorry for him, especially trying to regain trust after he had such an arduous internal struggle to come back to himself; putting in all that work and then still being seen as a leppor would be hard. And then, he would do something, and be himself again, and I just wanted to punch him. Especially with the way he and Fulvia treated Effie.

The balance Haymitch and Effie are walking, not only with their sexual tension, but now with the rebellion. I feel like I'm watching a tightrope artist, utterly breathless for fear they'll slip. I don't know if I've really said before, but the way you write the push/pull between them is fabulous. It wouldn't be a month after he gave into his feelings that he'd have a new escort and she'd be entirely trapped in CD, and imho, she knows it, even if it's subconscious. But,of course the feelings don't simply vanish, and they're trapped, trying to build the best friendship they can around it.

And I loved that Effie was smart enough to see wholes in Plutarch's pretense for having Haymitch over; I'm enjoying so much how Effie's trying to flourish, and how her friendship with Haymitch is making her think and want to learn things; it's what Caesar envisioned for her.

fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: June 12th, 2014 06:07 am (UTC) (Link)

Re: Review/Catches

Got the catches. I meant the part at the north of the arena, where the land is bare -- Finnick found the cave under it. I rephrased. :D

Given the way the other Careers were behaving, you're right -- Finnick's quick strikes were probably more merciful, though I doubt he's feeling much better about them.

Reading up the retiarius, I have a feeling that Collins read up on them, too. Their fighting style is Finnick's -- they were also thought of by the public as feminized and were the only gladiators whose faces were visible, which was used for cheap thrills.

There's a whole 'nother Games coming up after this, too, so yeah... a lot can go wrong.

Caesar was definitely right that Haymitch wouldn't have any patience with a dumb blond act from Effie, and she's better for it.
redrikki From: redrikki Date: June 12th, 2014 01:58 pm (UTC) (Link)
For all that Effie is complicit in the Games, she's still a far better human being than either Plutarch and Fluvia. The sheer arrogance and self-centerness of their approach to Haymitch and their treatment of Effie is staggering. Not to mention their casual disregard over the lives lost.

I liked the historical details regarding the retiarius.
fernwithy From: fernwithy Date: June 13th, 2014 03:59 am (UTC) (Link)
Fulvia and Plutarch put my teeth on edge. They're on the right side, but they're so... so.... GAAAAH.
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