looting the legacies | day 6 [open]

[frankel]

FLYNN GARNER

Flynn leaves behind the interview, content with his answers. The drawstrings haven’t been pulled tight on Nessa’s sponsorship money pouch yet. It is overflowing. With thanks to his name first and then her performance. He keeps being asked if he is surprised by how well his littlest sister has done but if one person out of the Garner trio had to be picked as a likely survivor of the games, it would be her. Flynn is just an anomaly. The weakling that got lucky. Meanwhile Nessa is surviving. And damn, yes, he is proud, but he is not bathing himself in hope.

Flynn Garner has already suffered enough from the side-effects of hope.

Day Six is awakening and there is more of a buzz in the air of the hotel’s viewing suite. The place has been re-decorated, adorned in the same sparkling gold in the glass that gets topped up on Flynn’s table. ”No, I don’t think I will be drinking today.” The waiter, who is mid-pour stops like some deer caught in headlights. ”There is no alcohol in this bottle Mr Garner. Courtesy of an anonymous sponsor.” A Capitol official says across from the table, their silhouette is miraged by the glaring screen behind them that broadcasts the activity in the training center. ”Fine, for the sponsorship deal…” Flynn reluctantly sips the glass, he has not being lied too, there’ll be no taste of regret later on his lips. He sinks into his chair, swirling the liquid in the glass as he follows the broadcast.

Nessa is alone now, just as he was before he came face to face with Lorraine on that fateful bridge. There is no ideal opponent for her left in the arena but there is one that he internally begs for her not to face. Flynn has yet to share a word with the District Ten entourage, besides of course the many words he has had with Andal.

"You've got to be kidding me,"

A close-up shot of Nessa is broadcast on the screens, all that can be seen is her face. A perfectly filmed live piece that leaves the audience guessing.

"Our mentors are going to fucking love this,"

The camera pans to a wide shot, the focus is on the new subject, Emerson Emberstatt.

The crumbling victor gently places his half-empty glass back onto the table as he pushes himself out of the seat. He pats down his tailored trousers and quietly heads towards the exit of the viewing suite. This isn’t an outburst. Just a swift retreat but it doesn’t matter how subtly he tries to escape; they all have their eyes on him and the victors from District Ten.

”Where are you going, Garner?” It is the same Peacekeeper that has been on his case all week.
”Out of here, I don’t need to watch this.” The Peacekeeper stops Flynn’s hand before he can call for the elevator. ”No. You will go back in there and watch every second of it!”

”And if I don’t?”

”It won’t just be Emberstatt that you will have to worry about in that arena.”

And so, they do it again, use his family to push him back into line, soon they will be running out of fruits to pick from his family tree. They’ll be digging up the roots, scurrying for someone they can find to hurt him.

Flynn abides by the orders and blends in with a group of sponsors, leaning against barstools. He is not left empty handed for long, another glass is forced on him. His eyes dance between the screens and the District Tens in the room.

This is him trying not to let himself be torn apart. They both have someone to protect. He can’t let himself become helpless. He can’t lose everything he has. But he can’t face this day alone.

If he approaches them now, what is he meant to say?

Good luck.
I hope my sister goes easy on your grandson.
Your grandson better stay off of my fucking sister!

There is nothing civil he can conjure up. He is a fool to even walk across the suite towards them. He stops mid-way, glass in hand and takes a deep breath. He is shaking. He needs to sit down. Maybe someone will meet him half-way. From Ten or anywhere, someone just to catch him. To help him face this day without being alone.

ELEGANT

[frankel]

FLYNN GARNER

”Sit with us, Flynn!” Capitolites at the table he nearly stumbles into offer Flynn a space. Somewhere to catch his breath and rethink what exactly he is doing while his sister is hacking her machete at District Ten’s golden boy on the television screens.

Flynn surrenders to the wooden chair that is pulled out for him and refuses every glass pushed into his face. Instead, he fills his face with his hands. And no, he is not watching orchestrated death match through his fingers. He is blocking it out. It is not happening. Not in his mind.

He is back home. It is before his games. Everyone is settled around the table in his childhood home that looks identical to all the others on the street. Nessa is six, just discovering the world. Dorothy is occupied with a book. His parents show affection, it looks real. He has a date with all his friends after dinner, they’re all together. Tommy is still alive. Quinn is still alive. Jimmy is still alive. He hasn’t met Aurora. He hasn’t met Johnny. He hasn’t met Andal…

Eight years have gone by, and the pile of joyful memories is so much smaller than the trauma he has stored up in his mind. He must dig into his childhood and cling onto that naïve little boy.

”Congratulations Flynn, this fight will be a memorable one!” A hand pats his back. Flynn’s elbows are resting on the table, his face still cradled in both of his hands.

”Final four, you must be proud of your sister!” Another voice praises.

He doesn’t join their celebrations. A pop of a champagne bottle makes him jump in his seat. He doesn’t look in their direction, where the District Ten party are.

Flynn’s palms are wet, and his eyes are red. The victor shakes in his seat, he pulls his hands from his face just to exhale but his sobs are revealed to everyone at the table. He can’t handle this. None of it. It is too close. This hope is drowning him. He can’t look at what they’ve made his sister do. How will Andal react, can he keep their promise?

”Don’t be upset Flynn, take my handkerchief. Those tears are not a good look for you.” The woman next to him waves her maroon hanky in his face.

”No Flynn, take mine! It is soft silk.” Another woman across the table reaches out with her own.

”Oh, but mine is one of a kind!” Another, a green one.

All he can see is fabric being waved in his face, they’re fighting each other just to be the one to wipe the victor’s tears. They don’t even care why. They’re not even looking back at the screens where his sister stands. Now a killer.

”No!” Flynn pushes himself against the edge of the table and up onto his feet. ”I don’t need your fucking help.” He points towards the nearest screen. ”She does though, wave your hankies at her.”

ELEGANT