A/N: In which Sil is roped into a hen party that she wasn't expecting.
Purplestan: Glad you enjoyed it! I am having so much fun with this sequel honesty
xenocanaan: Like I said: all fluff! See, this is me giving you guys the happy ending that I promised during that long haul of angst lol!
Bharm: That Tommy idea hit me one day and I couldn't let it go...I have no idea how it's going to play out yet. Johanna is such a badass and Tommy doesn't seem like her type, but that's sort of why I'm so obsessed with trying to make it work. Either Johanna will beat him up or he'll wear her down and she'll grudgingly agree not to kill him. ;) I really want to give her a happy ending too though. I wasn't a huge fan of how the books ended for most of the characters to be honest
LoveFiction2019: Thanks! :)
FriendlyNeighborhoodHufflepuff: Hope you ended up enjoying last chapter! Now that everyone is back together, we're in for some crazy moments!
hella-sirius: First, your reviews always make me laugh weirdly to myself so thanks for making me look insane to everyone around me. Second, I honestly didn't know what to expect from people regarding the whole Johanna/Tommy idea, so I'm glad you don't hate it! I still don't know if I'm going to go through with it entirely, or if Johanna will end up kicking Tommy out to sea at some point but we shall see ;)
There are Mama Mia vibes in this chapter, or at least that was my muse. Sil is in for a crazy night of drunken sailors and District 4 shenanigans! The wedding is in the next chapter and I wanted to ask if people want me to go into the wedding night or not. Leave a review if you want to read that, otherwise I'll post what I've already written, which cuts that scene off before it gets too detailed.
Chapter Four | Think now a thought of me
The ocean incident aside, the rest of the evening kicks off with a bang. If Sil had thought that she'd be able to get a nice, long rest on the eve of her wedding, she quickly realizes that she is very wrong. Apparently, she must have missed the memo, because when Finnick and her trudge back onto the beach, drenched with salt water and sand, Annie is quick to scoop up her arm and tug her away from him. Well, as quick as a very pregnant woman can be, in any case.
"What's going on now?" Sil complains, and looks back at Finnick as with disappointed eyes. He just winks at her though, crossing his arms and allowing Annie to drag her off to join Johanna, Katniss, and a group of other women nearby. He seem to know something that she doesn't, which she isn't sure she appreciates overmuch.
Sil recognizes most of the women, but not all. District 4 is a big place and she's still getting to know everyone. Luckily, they all know her well enough, and they don't hesitate in clapping her on the back and laughing at her soaked clothes.
"What do you think?" Della barks with a snort, slapping Sil's shoulder in what she probably thinks it a gentle pat, but actually sends her reeling a bit with the force of it.
Sil still looks confused, so Annie chuckles, "It's the eve of your wedding, Sil. The last night that you're an unmarried woman. These are your last hours of freedom."
There's a pause, and then Sil starts to point out, "But I'm already technically married – "
"That's besides the point," Annie cuts in, even though it really isn't, and shrugs, "Besides, hen parties are taken very seriously around here."
Sil's eyebrows shoot straight into her hairline. The words 'hen party' have a strange effect on her. She's half excited, half remorseful. She'd rather like to go take a shower and try to salvage her shirt (it's one of her favorites), and yet she's never been to a proper hen party before, especially not one that's held in her honor.
It's at this point that she realizes that the beach has split up into two groups, and that all the men are lingering together. From the middle of said group, Finnick calls, "Don't let them convince you to hire a stripper, sugar! I will hear of it!"
The entire beach explodes into laughter, with some additional shouts from both the men and the women. ("I'll volunteer for the lady!" one of the men guffaws. "Hey, don't be rude to the bride," another man retorts. "We don't need a stripper to have fun!" a woman shouts back, followed by a wave of laughter from their counterparts.)
Sil's mouth flaps open and closed a few times in shock before she frowns over at Finnick, puts her hands on her hips, and yells, "The same goes for you, Finnick Odair, or I will veto our wedding night!"
She can vaguely see Finnick cringe dramatically from the group of men, which immediately break out into hollering jeers, mostly directed at the groom's potential lack of action on said night, and Sil crosses her arms staunchly.
"Honestly. These traditions are going to drive me mad," Sil mutters, much to Annie's amusement.
"Oh don't worry, Sil. It'll be fun, trust me." Then, leaning closer to whisper in her ear, Annie adds, "Plus, if you really want to leave early, I can help you escape." At Sil's questioning look, Annie smirks and pats her rounded belly. "Being pregnant does have its advantages."
Sil chuckles at her, but doesn't get a chance to respond before Della is shouting, "Let the hen party commence! If you fellows ruin it, we will be waging war!"
The men seem more amused by this than not, and Annie explains why a moment later when she tells her, "It's part of the tradition. The men always try to crash the hen party."
Sil's mouth drops open in outrage. She shoots a narrowed look over at Finnick, but his back is turned towards her and she can't see his face. With a humph, Sil mutters, "Gracious!", and Annie laughs.
Sil doesn't know what to expect from the party that she hadn't planned. Despite her more laid-back way of living these days, these sudden turn of events leaves her reeling. Lately, she's been letting go of her old perfectionist ways (at least, little by little), and so this uncontrollable sensation of letting the night play out as it will takes her rather off guard. That, and she is a bit tired. Not that any of the other women will accept this as an excuse, of course.
"To the bride! May she have many an all night in!" someone shouts, and the group of born and bred District 4 women cheer as they raise their glasses for yet another toast.
Annie, who has taken Sil under her wing for the night, giggles and leans in to explain, "An all night in is a sailor's term for no night watch. Basically, they're wishing for many sleepless nights between you and Finn."
Sil chokes a bit on the whiskey she's been given and blushes at this. On her other side, Effie clucks, "That is definitely not like Katniss's wedding. At all."
The woman attached herself to Sil's side some time ago, no doubt feeling out of her element in this boisterous crowd. This wedding is different from Katniss's, though. It's more than just casual – it's wild to its core. A sophisticated woman like Effie Trinket is surely reeling from it all. Sil would know, because she's reeling, too.
With a shrugging laugh, Sil responds, "Yes, well, this is District 4, darling."
Despite Effie's muttered words, though, she doesn't seem to mind the caustic energy of the hen party. The smile she sends Sil is a bit uncomfortable, but only a little bit. "Quite true, my dear," Effie sighs, leaning back in her chair as she nurses a full glass of sailor's swill, fixing her designer jacket with fluttering fingers. The sight is so strange that Sil can't help but chuckle.
Another woman at the back of the bar calls lewdly, "May her body be the deck and her husband be the hands!"
The women burst into laughter. Effie raises her eyebrows and makes an amused sound in the back of her throat. Nearby, Johanna's barking laughter can be heard, no doubt at Sil's expense, and Katniss rubs her mouth to hide her grin. As for Sil…well, Annie takes one look at her bright red face and snorts into her glass of water as laughter catches her chest. Sil throws her a look, but can't find it in herself to be upset despite the embarrassment she feels at the racy well-wishers. It is a hen party, after all. These things are to be expected, right? Regardless, Annie looks very happy to be in the center of it all, even though she's very much pregnant.
"I almost wish the men would interrupt," Sil mutters, rubbing her forehead as Della throws herself into the chair beside her and thrusts a full glass of whiskey into her hands. Before Sil can protest, Della has already taken her nearly empty glass and is shoving it into another woman's hands to be refilled, and then turning back to urge Sil to drink. Sil, not wanting to be rude, concedes by taking a small sip.
To be honest, her head is already spinning. She's not used to overindulging in such a way. Though she's been to countless Capitol parties, where overindulgence is commonplace, she's never allowed herself to get drunk. As the Sterling Nightingale, too much was at stake back then for her to make such a sloppy error. She's got a high tolerance for those swanky Capitol drinks, but this stuff is definitely not anything close to those sorts of mixed cocktails.
"Oh aye, they'll show their ugly mugs soon enough," Della tells her, having overheard Sil's muttered words. She throws her a wink and adds, "It's part of the – "
"Tradition," Sil finishes dryly, much to Della's amusement. The older woman throws her head back with a loud, full-bellied laugh.
The bar that they've taken over (for lack of a better word) is bursting at the seams with women from the district. Half of them Sil doesn't know, but it hardly makes a difference. Finnick had told her once that this place is a community, and she understands that even more than ever before as she sits in the middle of it all. It hardly matters that she doesn't know them all by name; they know her well enough, and she's soon to be a member of their district, which makes her one of their own – and all the more reason to celebrate. Not that they necessarily need a reason.
Johanna and Katniss are sitting nearby. Every so often, the sound of Johanna's laughter can be heard through the uproarious toasts and raunchy wedding night suggestions. Katniss looks distinctly out of her element, and has commandeered a chair nearby. Sil is rather jealous of the fact that Katniss has been sipping at her one glass of whiskey all night long without anyone shoving more drinks her way. Apparently, a District 4 hen party means that the bride has to get piss drunk in order for the other women to be satisfied.
Sil is definitely on her way to it. A few women in the corner have taken out some fiddles and are sawing away some jigs, and the fast beat tune is making her head spin even more than the drink. Still, despite all of this, she is actually having a good time. She'd definitely rather be snuggled up next to Finnick in their bedroom at the cottage, but this isn't so bad. It is fun watching the women let loose, even though some of their suggestions make her blush harder than she thinks she ever has.
"Aye, love, and if ye want yer weddin' night to be proper, don't let 'im breach ye till yer good an' ready," a woman drunkenly informs her, only for another to nudge her out of the way and declare, "As if the bride doesn't know that already! Here's some advice: make sure you've got whiskey!"
The whole of the bar erupts with cheers at this, much to Sil's amusement.
Della laughs loudly and shouts, "May your nights be full sail for many years to come!"
A clinking of glass can be heard all around the room as yet another toast is given, and Sil laughs with a sigh as everyone leans in to make sure they knock their glasses against hers.
As more toasts are shouted throughout the crowd, Annie edges in to say above the noise, "Have we scared you off yet, Sil? We're a noisy bunch."
Sil catches Annie's eye and smiles widely. It's true, the people here are noisy. They're hard souls; fighters to the last. She rather loves it.
Instead of answering Annie's question directly, Sil stands up, swaggering a little because her head is spinning even more now, and loudly says, "Thank you all for celebrating with me tonight!"
Her words have a startlingly beautiful effect on the people who hear them. There's a soft pause, which lasts only a few seconds, before Della grins down at Sil and swings her arm over her shoulder. Then, raising her glass, the older woman calls, "To the bride!"
The room is quick to respond, "To the bride!" Then there's another pause as glasses are tipped back and more whiskey is handed around. This pause doesn't last long either, though, before someone is snarking, "What're we doing in here, eh? Let's go hunt down the groom and make sure he's behavin' himself."
The entire room immediately choruses with rounds of, 'aye', and before Sil knows what's going on, she's being swept out of the door and into the night, still clutching her glass of whiskey as the women chatter around her, coming up with an alarming list of ways that her groom might be 'misbehaving'.
"Don't worry," Annie tells her, dragging her aside for a moment before they can get separated. "I'm sure Finn and the men are down by the docks. I think I'll head home though. My feet are aching."
Annie, being pregnant, is probably the only person in this large group who is not piss drunk. Even Sil is leaning that way, and immediately whines, "Don't leave – you promised you'd save me!"
Annie chuckles at her and pats her hand, which has darted out to grab onto Annie's shoulder as if she means to pin her down right here, forever, lest she abandon her in her time of need. Only it isn't really her time of need, which Annie is quick to point out when she says, "Everyone's drunk enough that I doubt they'd notice if you left. Besides, you're the Sterling Nightingale. I would've thought you'd be able to save yourself."
Sil glowers at her and petulantly responds, "…I wasn't dealing with the entirety of District 4 back then."
Aye, now that's a force to be reckoned with, if ever there was one.
"Are you coming?" Johanna suddenly demands, and pulls Sil along with her as she joins the group. Effie teeters behind them in her stilettos, holding onto Katniss's arm for dear life as they get shuttled off by the large group. Annie just waves happily at them as they are swallowed up by the others, chuckling to herself and watching the pure chaos that this evening has brought. Honestly, whiskey induced hazes and raunchy toasts are just all a part of the tradition, but – Annie's got a feeling that Sil doesn't mind said traditions as much as she outwardly claims, if the grin on her face is any indication.
Sil doesn't know how many hours go by. She's reached her limit a while ago when it comes to the whiskey, and has long since retreated off to the side in hopes that she can beg exhaustion should any more of the alcohol come her way. She feels that she ought to be more accustomed to liquor, but it isn't just the liquor, really. It's the energy of the night, the loud laughter and happy shouts, the wild way the world spins around her and the district tumbles through her vision like falling pebbles.
Their hunt for the groom has long ago been put on hold, and now the women are just idling in the market square, exchanging stories of days gone by. Many of these stories have something to do with their spouses and family. Sil listens in rapture, finding herself to be rather enjoying this part of the evening. Her head is spinning like a tornado, and she only soaks in so much of the words, but she likes the toned-down hush that the group has taken on.
Well, until the women's goal ends up coming true, but through no attempt on their part: the groom, apparently, has arrived.
"What's this? This ain't a party!" Rory's voice shouts into the square, and everything suddenly goes a bit haywire.
Della snorts at the sound of her husband's voice and nudges Sil. "Told you they'd show themselves. Can't keep away from us womenfolk, can they? Nosy old fools."
"Fools we might be, sweet Della, but us fools have brought rum!" Rory announces, and the place goes crazy with laughter and cheering.
"Where'd you get that?" Della demands, hands on her hips and looking perfectly sober despite having had quite a few drinks by now. She's either good at pretending, or just has an incredibly high tolerance, because she doesn't even sway as she marches up to her husband to look at the bottle he's holding, inspecting it to see if it really is rum.
Rory starts spinning an exaggerated and very roundabout tale about how they stumbled 'by chance, ya hear' across several crates of rum, which 'came outta nowhere' and fell into their very fortunate hands. As he does, Sil peers through the crowd to find Finnick, swaying a bit on her feet as her drink gets sloshed around her glass from the movement. She doesn't see him at first, and her current state doesn't help matters much, but after a short while…
"Woah, sugar. Are you feeling okay?" a voice asks off to the side, followed by a chuckle as a warm arm wraps around her waist to steady her.
"Finnick," Sil beams, and throws her arms around him. The action makes her spill half her drink. She'd forgotten she was still holding it to begin with, which only tells Finnick what he already knows: his very posh, upscale lover is extremely drunk.
He makes a face as some of the whiskey gets spilled on his shirt, but doesn't seem very upset by it. He looks a little worse for wear too, to be honest. His hair is going in every direction and his clothes are wrinkled and still damp from their jaunt into the ocean. He smells like rum and the sea. When Sil presses her face against him, it's an oddly pleasing scent. She really must be drunk.
"I'm perfectly fine," she tells him, though it doesn't do her much good. In his arms, she sways like a hurricane, and Finnick can't help but snicker at bit at the sight of his elegant lover looking so out of sorts.
Holding her tightly to ensure that she doesn't fall, he reaches around to take her glass and shoves it into the nearest person's hands. By some stroke of luck (or not), said person happens to be Johanna, who shoots Finnick a raised eyebrow and a hard stare at the move, but ultimately doesn't mind overmuch and merely commandeers the drink for herself.
"Whiskey isn't your thing, sugar," Finnick tells his bride, and laughingly adds, "District 4 has done a number on you."
Sil lifts her head to pout up at him, taking one look at his clear eyes before staunchly demanding, "Why aren't you drunk? You look perfectly wonderful!"
Finnick's response to this is a smirking shrug and a drawled, "Because I was basically raised on this stuff. I'm practically immune to it by now."
He watches Sil's pout turn several shades more childish, and chuckles fondly at her. District 4 really has done a number on Silver Lamprey Cornelius. He doesn't think he's ever seen her in such a state. The only time that comes close to it in his memory was when she was unwillingly hyped up on the drugs that Felix had snuck into her drink without her knowledge, way back at that Capitol party, but – well, any thought of that man is definitely not allowed on a night like tonight, and Finnick forcefully pushes that out of his mind before it can ruin his mood.
"I've been indoctrinated," Sil bemoans dramatically, still swaying, and the crowd jeers when they hear her words, which are far louder than she probably means them to be.
"Aye, she's one of us now!" someone shouts, and the whole crowd of both men and women cheer as if this is the finest news they've ever heard.
Finnick grins boyishly and threads his fingers through Sil's hair. They get caught on the tangled waves, which are still laden with salt water, now long dried but still making a mess of her normally perfect image. No, tonight she does not look perfect – at least, not in any way that her alter ego would accept. Tonight, she is reckless, like a tall wave that crashes onto the shore mercilessly. Tonight she is a wild siren who's walked straight out of the sea and into his heart, which pumps fiercely in his chest whenever he looks down at her.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat as he guides her over to the nearest chair, heaving her into his lap as the rest of the district distributes their latest catch. The rum had hardly 'fallen from the sky', as Rory is still claiming several yards away. Actually, it's from District 1, curtesy of one Gemma Cornelius, who is even more mischievous than even Finnick had thought. He doesn't tell Sil this, though. She's quite out of it and probably wouldn't hear the words even if he did say them aloud. Besides that, Finnick is rather enjoying the way she's nuzzling into him without any of her usual inhibitions, apparently too far gone to care.
When she starts fiddling with the buttons of his shirt with inebriated fingers, Finnick gently scoops her hands into his and brings them to his mouth to kiss. Against them, he murmurs, "Control yourself, sugar," in a joking, lighthearted voice.
Sil moans disagreeably and mumbles, "It's the strangest thing…but I don't want to…"
He grins crookedly and informs her, "Yeah, whiskey is really not your drink. It turns you into a crazy siren. I'll have to remember that." He laughs at the way she immediately groans, and pulls her closer to whisper, "We've got tomorrow night for that. You'll just have to be patient."
She sighs mournfully and he grins wider, rather enjoying the disappointment that is clearly etched into that shard of sound.
"I want you now," she drunkenly tells him, and he shushes her lest anyone else overhear. The teasing would be horrendously loud. Still, he can't help the pleased way he hums upon hearing her declaration, and merely sits up with a glance at the other partiers.
"I think what you really need is a good night's sleep," he murmurs, standing up and wrangling her into his arms. It's a bit of a struggle at first, because she isn't too keen on it, but after a moment she settles against him with a tired heave and a mumbled, "…Need to wash the salt out of my hair…", as if it's the single-most important thing on her to-do list.
He bursts into laughter. The fop of the Capitol apparently still holds some sway over Silver Lamprey Cornelius – at least when it comes to her prized hair.
"Alright, sugar, let's go wash the salt out of your hair," he placates, even though he doesn't intend on doing anything of the sort in the state she's currently in. What she needs is a glass of water and a good night's sleep. With another chuckle, he looks over at Johanna with a nod. When her attention is captured, he tells the other Victor, "I'm taking her back to the cottage. Make some sort of excuse for us if they ask, would you?"
Johanna's eyes flash upon this request, and Finnick is left with the distinct impression that whatever excuse Johanna Mason will come up with, it won't be one for polite company.
"Sure thing, pretty boy," she tells him with a wide smirk, which only grows wider when Finnick rolls his eyes at the nickname that she's clearly gotten from Della, who calls him that almost exclusively.
Still, he doesn't linger. He's a bit more preoccupied with getting Sil to bed. She's already half asleep in his arms, her head tucked against his shoulder and the crevice of his neck, idly clutching the collar of his shirt as she breathes deeply. Come morning, her head is going to be spinning with the worst hangover she's ever had, and he's quite sure that she'll be thoroughly upset at having had so much to drink. For now, though…
"C'mon sugar," he whispers to her, and the edge of his mouth flutters up when she mumbles back, "The salt, Finnick, it'll kill me…". She's probably not even conscious that she's saying the words aloud.
He just chuckles softly and weaves through the crowd until he gets to the outskirts of it, glad that no one seems to even notice them leaving. Everyone is too wrapped up in their celebration to pay them much mind, and it certainly helps that most of them are piss drunk by now.
"Mmm…the salt," he murmurs back to her, and purses his mouth to stop the laugh that wants to spring into existence.
Sil just holds him tighter, not appearing to hear him, and sighs against his chest. As for Finnick…well.
There is something surreal to this moment that he cannot describe. The ocean sounds in the background, followed closely by the subtle clinking of glass and the now-softer noises of fiddles and laughter coming from the town square. It is a simple moment, really, made up of all the things he loves, and yet –
A most remarkable feeling rises up within his chest as he carries Sil back to the cottage. Finnick Odair doesn't have much experience when it comes to happiness, but as he makes his way through the darkened streets, he's filled with so much of it that he can hardly breathe.