#bc if the capitol wants shark fin soup then they're gonna get it. not even mags can do anything about that

[solar-halos]

annie cresta week. day #1 - go fish

a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, and that includes committing a crime punishable by flogging. good thing annie is quick on her feet.

disney channel logic, 2k

Did you know approximately 50 sharks are killed every year? And that’s only shark fin soup Annie is talking about.

Shark fin soup is so messed up. It’s one thing to spear a shark and eat every part of it, but it gets entirely more heinous to carve out its fins and chuck it back into the water. How would you feel if someone tied you up and threw you into the churning sea? Annie bets that would qualify as a human rights violation. Maybe even a crime against humanity. 

Thankfully, a lot of people in District 4 can’t afford shark fin soup. Not-so-thankfully, though, Four is a hotspot for Capitol tourists. And, even more unthankfully, they’ve been getting a lot of tourists this year. Annie has Finnick Odair to thank (read: curse) for that. The only thing those people love more than animal cruelty is the victor of the 65th Hunger Games. 

Worry not, though. She has a plan to fix this. Armed with nothing but some binoculars and a heart full of rage, she spent weeks observing how the fishermen transport the sharks from their boats and onto the docks in these incredibly wide fish tanks. Big enough to let their fins move, but not nearly big enough for them to swim around. 

It’s fucked up. Annie would have just freed them right then and there, but Mr. Koh had yelled at her for infiltrating his workspace just the other day, so she had to lay low for a while. She had to watch and watch and watch as these beautiful, complex creatures got carted off to their imminent doom. Everyone says sharks are dangerous, but they’re not the ones sawing off human fingers and dragging them back to shore to bleed out. 

After conducting some serious research, Annie noticed that these fishermen are chatterboxes. There’s at least fifteen minutes where those sharks aren’t being supervised at all. Maybe even an entire hour if Mr. Koh and Mr. Burbot pair off. Yes, they’re still technically working, and there’s still an issue of sneaking past them, but this is exactly why Annie ran several experiments. The deeper they’re engaged in conversation, the closer Annie can sneak next to all those fish tanks. Especially if Mr. Koh and Mr. Burbot are there. Sometimes they even sneak off altogether. (Annie suspects they are lovers. She wonders how their wives feel about that.)

Well, guess what? Today is the day, baby. Shark liberation is upon everyone in District 4, and no one even seems to know it. (Which is good. Annie does not want anyone to narc on her.)

Since this is her first time ever doing anything like this, she plays it safe rather than sorry. Instead of counting on these fishermen to chat up a storm, she creates a diversion. If they didn’t want anyone to lob rocks at their buckets of bait, then maybe they shouldn’t leave them in such flingable spots. She doesn’t know the first thing about being a fisherman, but she’s pretty sure that stuff like bait shouldn’t be placed  right on the boardwalk. A slight breeze would probably send it flying. 

Using her DIY-ed slingshot and the power of gravity, Annie manages to tip it back into the water. Huh. That was easier than she thought—it probably wasn’t even filled up to the brim. 

The men on the docks jerk out of their conversation, blaming the commotion on the wind and the waves rocking the docks and did you seriously have to set it down there that’s another hour we’re never gonna get back dipshit.   

Annie watches in glee as they practically dive nose-first into the water in an attempt to salvage the remains. Since she knows that’s not gonna distract them forever, she darts forward armed with nothing but her speedy quick legs and a jug of canola oil.

The canola oil was very important. She unscrews the lid and tips it all upside down the second she gets to the docks. She’s stealthy, sure, but she’s not cocky. Her legs are strong for running—not for pushing two grown men into the water. 

“Hey! What’re you doing, kid?” 

Fuck! She’s been found out! And it wasn't even by the fishermen—just a bystander. 

That just motivates her to keep running faster. The men trying to gather up all the bait whirl around, but then promptly scramble on their feet and eat shit. Canola-coated floorboards will do that to you.

With those two out of the way, Annie makes a break for the sharks floating in those unethical freaking glass tanks. 

“Is that you, Annie Cresta?”

A chorus of shit and fuck and not this girl again chorus behind her, which really lets her know that she needs to pick up the pace. She already tied her hair back and flipped her hoodie up—how much more anonymous can she get?

She wipes her greasy fingers on her shirt and throws the empty jug of canola oil at the closest person that is slowly—but surely—gaining on her. She didn’t even get to oil the entire deck. If they manage to take five more steps forward, she’s toast. These sharks are toast.

Scratch that—these sharks are soup.  

She very skillfully pivots from analyzing her enemy’s progress to running toward the captured sea creatures chilling out in watery cages. Getting there was easy—figuring out how to personally release them was harder. Especially if she wanted to keep all her fingers.

“Get the fuck away from them, Annie! I’m serious!”

“Get Peacekeeper Dally over here!”

“The hell is he gonna—”

Oh, shoot. Annie doesn’t like Peacekeeper Dally. And Peacekeeper Dally doesn’t like her. She has the fading bruise on her cheek to prove it.

He had warned her that was strike one. Getting flogged was strike two.

Her hands start shaking, but she’s not so sure that’s from the adrenaline anymore. Now that she’s with the sharks, she’s starting to realize there’s one major flaw in her plan:

She didn’t think about how she was gonna escape. Honestly, that didn’t really seem like the hard part.

Well, guess what? Freeing the sharks was actually the easiest part. If these fishermen managed to shove them into these narrow tanks, then Annie could trust the sharks to wriggle their way out. The tops of their cages weren’t even sealed, so she knocks them all back into the water in a series of rushed, swift swipes.

Splash. Splash. Splash.  

“No!” If Annie didn’t know any better, she’d think he sounded way more stressed than angry. Good thing she does know better. “No! So fucking help me, Annie Cresta, when I catch you—”

Annie loves sharks, but that does not mean she wants to swim with them. Which is unfortunate, because the only way she’d dodge the trio of men coming toward her is if she made a swim for it. 

The sharks are already thrashing out of their enclosures. She’s fast, but she’s not that fast.

You know what, though? This wasn’t about her. This was about the dozens of sharks that are slaughtered every year. District 4 delicacies her ass. 

That still doesn’t mean she goes down without a fight. She empties out her pockets and throws all her loose change and stray receipts at them. Then, when they finally approach her, she thrashes as intensely as all those sharks. And, finally, when someone clasps their hands around her wrist, she does not hesitate to lunge forward and take a bite.

“Ow! Fuck, Annie!”

Fuck Annie indeed. The death grip on her hands loosens up just enough for her to pull free from it. The gathering crowd seems more nosy than enraged, so she pushes past them with minimal effort. The adrenaline has returned at full force. She is not getting flogged for this. She’s only fourteen, you know. Even Peacekeeper Gally acknowledged that he’d only be able to get a few hits in before things got fatal.

Maybe this wasn’t the best—

No. No. She refuses to finish that thought. Those sharks deserved a full, natural life full of fishy friends and even fishier food. The Capitol, on the other hand, won’t die if they can’t order a bowl of stringy cartilage at whatever tourist-y restaurant they wind up in.

Going home is not an option. She has too many witnesses. Her girlfriend was gonna be her alibi at first (where do you think she got the canola oil?), but she’s gonna need someone richer. Someone that even the Peacekeepers have to listen to.

Annie tears through the town to get to the Victor’s Village. That wasn’t too hard—everyone was so far along in this shark fin soup process that they moved to the richer, tourist-y parts of Four out of convenience. And, as luck has it, the Victor’s Village is located right in the heart of that. 

“Help me!”

Annie doesn’t even know who she’s talking to. Just that she rams body-first into some victor’s closed door. At least it's unlocked. Her hand scrambles at the door knob until she finally manages to open it. 

"I think she went this way!"

Ack! She unzips her jacket as quickly as she can, flinging it to the side and kicking it under someone’s coffee table. The first thing her mind registers is all the colors—crocheted doilies, knitted blankets, embroidered flowers framed up on the wall—and she thanks every deity that she can think of that she stumbled into Mags Flannagan’s house. The grandma of all grandmas. If there was one victor she could trust not to shank her on the spot, it would be her. 

Then, she actually sees her. Mags Flannagan, she means. She’s sitting at the kitchen table in all her gray, curly-haired glory, her eyebrows raised in a casual question like Annie didn't just break into her house. The guy sitting next to her— Finnick Odair, wavy hair and freckled face and all—is staring at her with appropriately parted lips and extremely wrinkled eyebrows. They’re both holding a deck of cards.

“That’s perfect!” Annie practically sprints into the kitchen, taking a seat so that she’s facing the door, and they let her. “Deal me some cards! I need to make it look like I’ve been here a while, or else the authorities are gonna flog me!”

Finnick Odair does not move a muscle. She thought he was supposed to have fast reflexes, but all he does is glance over at Mags. 

“You heard her,” Mags says simply, which makes Annie heave the biggest sigh of relief. “Give her some cards. We’re playing Go Fish, honey.”

Good to know. By the time Annie lies to Finnick (she did have eights, but she had three of them, so there was no freaking way she was giving them up), Peacekeeper Dally announces his presence at the door. Annie attempts to explain the situation, but Mags promptly cuts her off.

“As far as I know, we’ve been keeping an eye on you all day. Any other information is irrelevant, so I don’t need to know it.”

Annie could cry. Even when Peacekeeper Dally fills her in on the situation, Mags’ posture stays perfectly relaxed and her voice remains perfectly calm. Finnick leans toward Annie.

“I wanna know what you did,” he whispers to her.

“It’s kinda your fault,” she says, because it is. She wouldn’t have even needed to do all this if he wasn’t having some sort of party tonight. “I set a bunch of sharks free so that you guys can’t use them for shark fin soup.”

His eyes practically pop out of his sockets before she even finishes speaking. Thank goodness he wasn’t the one who opened the door.  

“That’s a felony,” he informs her. Like she doesn’t know. “Sharks are property of the Capitol.”

Annie rolls her eyes before he’s finished speaking. “What-freakin’-ever. The ocean is its own entity.”

Finnick stares at her. She stares back. Spineless loser.

Annie looks back over at Mags. She’s still locked into a pretty intense conversation with Peacekeeper Dally, so when she finally shuts the door in his face, Annie slumps over her cards in relief. She's not gonna get flogged. 

“He chose to believe the story I told him,” Mags says, which is all Annie could ever ask for. “But he’s no fool. Stupid, sure—” Annie grins. So true! “—but he’s made up his mind about you. I’d be careful around him if I were you, Annie.”

“How do you know my name?”

“It was the first thing he said to me.”

“Rude,” Annie replies, because it is. She may be a felon, but she still has manners. “Hasn’t he ever heard of hello?”

Finnick doesn’t laugh. Mags does. And she doesn’t even lecture Annie about anything, either. She just sits back down and picks up her deck of cards.

“Got any fives?”