A/N: There's a little bit of a Scarlet Pimpernel plot twist in this chapter. If none of you have watched the 1982 version, it's my favorite and I'm basing this story off of both that movie version as well as the book itself. Let me know what you all think! Reviews = inspiration and probably faster updates ;)
Chapter Six | Might catch a ship
"Why she wished to get closer to him, she could not have said. Perhaps she was impelled by an all-powerful fatality, which so often seems to rule the destinies of men." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Finnick's apartment is as different from hers as night is from day. Where Sil's is gaudy and overly luxurious, Finnick's style is subdued and almost soulless, as if anyone could have lived there. The last time she's been here had been weeks ago, and she had been in such a hurry to get out of it that Sil hadn't taken much time to look around. But now that is all she can do, because it feels too awkward to look anywhere near Finnick.
He lets her inside and tosses his keys onto a nearby table. Sil watches him for as long as his back is turned and then averts her eyes the moment they meet his. She's uncomfortable, both because she's never been inside another Victor's apartment, and also because of the manner in which she has been invited. She doesn't need Finnick's protection from Felix, but she can't deny that she likes having it, regardless of how deep his concern actually goes.
"You know where everything is," Finnick says with a quirked smile, like he's dryly amused. She nods and smiles back, but it's fleeting and awkward and quickly falls from her face. She knows that his words are his way of telling her to make herself at home, but Sil doesn't know where to begin. She stands there in the center of the hallway, surrounded by all his subtle décor, and clears her throat.
This is highly unlike her. Or at least her Capitol persona. The Sil that Finnick knows should be bouncing up and down and smiling at all times, but he doesn't seem concerned at her lack of upbeat laughter. He only smiles at her softly and walks over into his kitchen, which veers off from the hallway and tapers together like two puzzle pieces.
"Want a drink?" he asks, despite the fact that she's already had quite a few tonight. But something in the air seems to call for it, and when she nods Finnick doesn't see a problem with pouring her another.
"I've got wine, brandy, tequila…huh, I must've finished the tequila, sorry. Wine or brandy?" he asks, riffling through a low cabinet. His voice is slightly muffled as he leans down to assess the state of his liquor. His head is partially hidden from view and Sil studies the rest of his body, because he's probably the most interesting thing in the room and definitely not subtle like the rest of it.
"…Brandy," she tells him after a short moment of consideration. The wine would be easier on her already buzzing head, but she longs for something stronger. Something that might dull both the awkwardness between them and the desperation that seeing Felix brings.
He doesn't question her choice and merely pours her a glass. He pours himself one too, and as he twists the cap back on the bottle, he nods over to the kitchen chairs. "Wanna sit down? Those heels look treacherous." This makes her smile a little more genuinely.
They are treacherous, just like the rest of her at this moment. The teetering quality of her emotions only makes it that much worse. She folds herself down onto a barstool and Finnick follows suit, handing her the brandy as he does.
"A toast?" he inquires, and hardly waits for her to agree before he's smoothly declaring, "To secrets," and then clicking his glass against the edge of hers with a wink.
Sil smiles wryly at him and shrugs, "To secrets then." She tips the glass back and takes a sip. The burn of the alcohol stings her throat. She swallows it gratefully, pleased that the burn lingers there like all the rest of her untold secrets…secrets that Finnick seems all too interested in.
As he sets his glass back down, he gives her a sideways glance. She flounders in her seat and avoids his eyes by taking another sip. She waits for the telltale questions that she knows are coming, and he does not disappoint.
"Speaking about secrets…" he begins, quirking an eyebrow at her, "you seem to have quite a few of them that I didn't know about." He speaks as if now, he does know them, perhaps even all of them. Like he thinks he knows everything there is to know about her. She raises an eyebrow in return and shrugs daintily.
"They aren't secrets," she tells him, "they're only things you didn't think to ask me about before."
It's partially true. The secrets he's referring to are things that he hadn't considered she dealt with. Things he'd never before thought to ask her about because before a few weeks ago, he's never had the inclination to speak to her at all. But now that he knows her better, these so-called 'secrets' are things that interest him a great deal. The familiar craving for knowledge hits him hard, but this time it isn't coupled with the desire to control or manipulate for his own purposes. This time, the secrets he wants to know about are Sil's, a fellow Victor, and there is only the strange feeling of protection that rises up within him at the thought of the hardships he hadn't known she has.
Finnick accepts her words graciously. She's right of course. He isn't sure why he's never really spoken to her before despite her status as Victor. He's aware that all Victors have some hardships. All Victors are susceptible to Snow's manipulations. But Sil…she's always seemed to transcend that darkness. She's always seemed to consider herself to be above the other Victors. He's only now beginning to realize that this is only a mask. She's still the stupid Victor he's always thought she was, but now he's aware that she's not naïve. She knows all about manipulation and hatred. He'd seen it in her eye when Felix had started toward them at the party.
Whatever prejudice he's felt for her in the past, Finnick pushes aside now. Here in this conversation, there is no room for it. And so Finnick only sighs and murmurs, "You're right." And Sil looks up at him in surprise.
She's right? She's never heard a Victor say that to her before. Actually, Victors rarely say anything to her unless they're forced to. She knows that they don't think highly of her. She also knows that Finnick doesn't, either. Yet something in the tone of his voice makes her wonder if perhaps that perspective is changing.
"Am I?" she wonders, musing over his words with a trickling laugh that doesn't reach her eyes. Finnick notices the dullness in them and sighs again.
"Yes, you are," he says insistently. "I know we – I – have never really given you a second thought since you became Victor. I've always just assumed that since you acted like a Capitolite, you were one. I still don't know what to think of you but I have a feeling that you hate the Capitol as much as any other Victor."
She openly gapes at him. Those words are the most honest ones she's ever heard. She's so used to dealing in deceit, in lies, that hearing such honesty sounds foreign. Especially coming from Finnick Odair, who also deals in secrets and all things unmentionable.
She doesn't know what to say, so she just remains silent. Finnick seems fine with her silence. He gives her a quirky smile and shrugs, "Let's be truthful with each other from now on." He pauses, looks into his brandy, and then in a slower voice wonders, "You don't have to tell me, but does Felix often…?"
Take advantage of you. The words are quiet screams that Sil can easily hear, though Finnick doesn't say them aloud.
She laughs bitterly and mutters, "Every Victor is taken advantage of in some way, Finnick. I might not frequent hotel rooms like you do, but that doesn't mean I'm exempt from the shame of being used." If that doesn't answer his question, nothing will.
He nods, looking shameful now for another reason. How could he have so easily pushed away Sil's pain? All these years of being around her, and never once did Finnick think that she suffered. And maybe he doesn't fully understand her particular form of suffering, but he does know that he understands it a little better now. Now that he's witnessed Felix's manhandling of her – and the way she's obviously afraid of the Capitol man.
Sil downs the rest of her brandy and silence serenades throughout the room. It's odd, having her in his apartment like this. Like friends, almost. He's never thought such a thing would ever happen, that he would actually become friends with her. But here they are, sharing drinks and secrets as if this is totally normal. He finds that he actually likes it.
"I don't usually have company," he tells her just to dissipate the silence between them. She looks a little surprised to hear this, probably because of his Talent and what goes on beneath the surface of it. His forced prostitution makes him susceptible to all sorts of company, after all.
He chuckles at her expression and waves his hand, "Not here in this apartment. I never bring anyone here. It's my space. The only place in the Capitol that I can be myself. Just Finnick."
Not the sociable, laughing, suave Finnick that he portrays to everyone else. Not the man who is everybody's lover but nobody's love. Here he is only the broken man that the Games have made him, and there is no pretending on his part. There is nothing at all.
Sil stares into her brandy and murmurs softly, "And yet you've brought me here." Strange, she thinks, that he would offer her the sanctuary that he keeps only for himself. She's the closest thing to a Capitolite without actually being one, and yet here she is. He thinks it's strange too, but then again everything about Sil is strange. And everything he feels about her confuses him.
He smiles lopsidedly and tells her, "We're the same, you and I. I've just never realized it before."
"Hmm," she sounds, neither an agreement nor a denial. Perhaps they are the same, in some grand way, and yet the differences between them seem so distant that it is impossible to breach them. How can two people be so similar and yet so far apart?
"So…what now?" she asks, glancing over at him. She's surprised to find that he is already looking back at her, assessing her in a way only he can do. His light eyes are like mirrors that reflect her, and together they sit at the countertop like two twisted souls abound in a universe of 'what-ifs'.
Finnick sighs and shrugs, managing somehow to look as charming here as he does everywhere else. She wonders, vaguely, if that charm comes naturally to him or if it is only a mask like the one she wears. A mask that has become so normal that he hardly even realizes he's wearing it.
"Well," he muses, turning his gaze to stare sightlessly at the sleek cherry cabinets that line the kitchen walls. "I guess we'll continue this relationship until Snow tells us to call it off. And in the meantime, we'll keep going to parties together and get to know each other. How 'bout it?"
The question is as hesitant as the rest of him, probably because he isn't sure if he really wants to get to know her. Which is fine, really, because she doesn't want him to get to know her either. Too many secrets separate them, building walls out of their silences. He cannot know that she is a part of the rebellion. No one can know. Letting him get close to her will threaten those delicate secrets and place her position into jeopardy. But if he were to also join the rebellion…
Finnick Odair has as much reason to do so as any other Victor, if not more. Perhaps they really are more similar than Sil would like to believe. She studies his profile with softly calculating eyes that he doesn't notice, and slowly agrees, "Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. We hardly have any other choice, do we?" Snow is forcing their every move after all. A fake relationship is the least of their worries.
He nods and sends her a suave smile that makes his eyes sparkle boyishly. He really is one of the most attractive men Sil has ever met. He's also the most broken. His life since he became a Victor has been nothing but hell, forced to prostitute himself to the whims of the Capitol. If Plutarch was to speak with him…convince him that joining the rebellion would be good for everyone…well, Finnick would make a very valuable asset to District 13.
But she cannot get ahead of herself. For all she knows, Finnick wouldn't go for it. They all have people back in their home districts. People they care for. Family and friends who would be punished if word of the rebellion spread. Finnick would either adamantly agree to joining, or he would never go for it at all because of his need to protect those in District 4. She pushes her lips together thoughtfully, wondering yet again as to where his loyalties lie.
"You said you wanted to see District 4," Finnick suddenly blurts out, and turns to her quickly with an expression of dawning idealism. Taken aback, Sil slowly nods, then frowns because surely he can't be thinking that going on a trip would be good for them? Sil is needed in the Capitol, both by Snow and Coin. But Finnick doesn't seem to see her hesitance. He merely smiles and nods, "Let's go there for a week. I'll show you around. We can go to that secret little shack I told you about."
She stares at him and pauses, opens her mouth, shuts it again. Go on a trip? With Finnick Odair? A romantic trip? Because surely that would be the nature of it, or at least on the surface. Would Snow even allow it?
"…I…Finnick, I don't think – " she begins, but she's coming to realize that once Finnick has an idea in his head, he doesn't let it go so easily.
"Come on, Silver," he says, dragging her full name out playfully, "Snow's making us date, so we might as well give the Capitol something to fawn over. And what's more romantic than a trip to our hometowns?"
Now she really stares, because of one reason. He said hometowns. Which means Finnick wants to visit District 1 too? She leans forward and hurriedly says, "Are you saying you want to – "
"Go to District 4 for a week, then stop at District 1 on our way back to the Capitol," Finnick cuts in, finishing her sentence with an ease that doesn't sit so well with her. She swallows thickly and clears her throat, trying to revert back to her mask of shameless idiocy. She isn't sure if she succeeds.
She can't let Finnick come to District 1. She can't let him see her mansion, or meet her father. There are things there…things that could be dangerous if he sees them. And her father…Gemma Lamprey Cornelius may not have the same wit that he'd had in his youth, but he knows Sil's other side. Her more rebellious, smart, cunning side. A side that she has tried extremely hard to hide away here in the Capitol. She cannot let Finnick see into that part of her.
But she is Silver Lamprey Cornelius. She has succeeded where no other spy has. She has sent countless prisoners to District 13 without being caught. She is a silly little socialite without any obvious reason for being a part of the rebellion. And the Sil Cornelius that Finnick knows would never pass up the opportunity to have fun. Going to District 4 would definitely be fun.
A smile wraps itself around her lips, though inside she is scowling. Her expression is outwardly eager, morphing into an excitement that looks natural on her. Finnick smiles back and she tells him, "Perhaps it would be fun. I would like to see the ocean." Apparently, this is the right thing to say.
Finnick immediately launches into a description of the ocean in the sunlight, the way the sun hits it and it explodes into a mirage of delicate beams all splintering off into different directions. She leans forward and listens raptly, but inside she is wondering what will happen in District 1. What will she say? How will she act toward her father? And does Finnick really want to get to know her, or is he just fishing for more of her secrets – secrets he must know she has. Can she trust him?
That is a question that spins round and round in her head all night, even as she sleeps in his bed and inhales the scent of his musk-and-ocean cologne and listens to his breathing in the other room. It is a question that will continue to torment her for many months to come, until it becomes the very backbone of the symphony that will mark the relationship between their two souls.
On that very same night, in that very same hour, there is more taking place in the Capitol. Specifically within President Snow's office.
"I want you to double security," Snow growls, slamming down a recent report that has not yet gotten out to the news. Felix stands in front of the desk, looking far more humbled than ever before as he wrings his hands in front of him and takes the full brunt of his president's anger. It is justified. Prison breaks are not taken lightly, especially not when they are orchestrated by none other than the Sterling Nightingale himself.
"How did this happen?" Snow demands, turning to spear Felix with a furious eye. His fury is dampened, though – constrained by a consistent expression of calmness that always surrounds the man. He knows by now that gaining control of any situation requires a level head. So he keeps his anger tightly bound, but Felix can see the presence of it in Snow's eyes as they hold him in place.
Swallowing thickly, Felix says, "We're still looking into it, sir. None of the surveillance cameras were tampered with. We suspect that someone on the inside acted as an agent to smuggle the prisoner out."
The explanation doesn't seem to help matters. If anything, his words only make Snow that much angrier.
Standing up to tower over his subordinate, the President of Panem darkly murmurs, "The Helloise's last week, and now this? How many rebels do you intend on letting slip through your fingers, Felix?" Felix opens his mouth to give an adamant reply, but Snow cuts in with a clipped, "This spy who calls himself the Sterling Nightingale – I want him disposed of."
Felix in of the mind to agree wholeheartedly. The anonymous spy has made his own life more difficult than need be. The president has already been breathing down his neck about the Helloise's escape, and now his anger has increased tenfold with the disappearance of yet another prisoner. The Helloise's were supposed to be easy targets. Felix had been on his way to arrest them the very night they escaped. They had been spreading malicious rumors about President Snow. Clearly, not all citizens of the Capitol are as loyal as the rest of the districts like to believe. He would have gotten them, too, except – that damned spy had smuggled them out first, right under all their noses.
Frankly, his antics are getting very stale. Especially since Felix has been denied a promotion several times since the Nightingale began his frustrating line of work a few years before.
"…I want him gone as much as you do, sir, but we have no leads save this scrap of paper he always leaves behind," Felix informs him, gesturing to the little piece of paper that had been included in the report Snow had just read. It is an unassuming little note about two inches wide, with a single device scrawled in ink upon its surface: a swooping black nightingale in mid-flight.
Snow reaches for the note and lifts it up, eyeing the brazen bird with a hard gaze. The spy is certainly audacious, to leave behind such a thing. The scraps of paper are always left at the scene, somewhere on the premise. They are always precisely drawn in the same manner each time, with an ink that can be bought anywhere in Panem. Snow has sent each note in to be analyzed for finger prints or other clues, but so far, nothing has been found. The spy knows what he's doing, at least.
He seems to know a great many things, in fact. He'd known about the Helloise's in advance. He must have known that they were to be arrested. As for most of the other prisoners that have been smuggled out of the Capitol, the spy had been able to plan for everything to the last detail, as if he had inside information regarding their location. Information that could only be gotten if the man knew someone on the inside.
Snow heaves a sigh, gritting his teeth as he slices his eyes over to Felix's figure. "The man must be a Capitolite, and he has others working with him. He has connections, otherwise he wouldn't have known that the Helloise's were to be arrested. I'm positive that he's a part of high society."
The reasoning makes Felix pause, thinking on this. Snow seems fairly confident that the Sterling Nightingale is a part of the higher circles of the elite, and it makes sense. How else could the spy have all the information he does? How else could he succeed in disguising himself so easily, and have so many methods in which to keep himself hidden? He is clearly very familiar with the Capitol and the way it operates.
Haltingly, Felix murmurs, "Then we start screening people. Look into their pasts and their connections. Nothing else has worked – "
"No," Snow interrupts, sitting back down with a thoughtful expression. He rubs his jaw idly, looking out the window with a contemplative air, and slowly says, "We need someone who can identify the spy for us. Someone that the Nightingale would trust. Someone who is already a part of the elite circles."
Felix looks confused. He asks, "…Who?"
The question makes Snow chuckle. He glances over at the man standing in front of his desk, who had until recently been a quaking mess of fear at being on the receiving end of his glare. Felix is something of a coward, but he has his uses yet.
With a cold smile, Snow responds, "A Victor, Felix. We need a Victor."
Understanding dawns on Felix's face. He seems to know where his president is going with this when he says, "Yes – the Nightingale would trust a Victor. But none of them would willingly help us. They'd sooner join the Nightingale's little band of followers."
He's right, of course. Snow is very careful with his Victors. Together, they create a force to be reckoned with. That's why he does his best to manipulate them into silence. Scaring them into subordination is much easier than dealing with their loose loyalties to the Capitol, and manipulation is something he happens to be very good at.
"True," Snow agrees, nodding at Felix as if he's impressed by the man's thinking. The absence of his anger makes Felix stand up a little taller. "But with the right ultimatum, I'm sure I can buy their loyalty," he finishes, and then says, "Have Mr. Odair come see me tomorrow, Felix. I have a few things I'd like to speak with him about."
The sudden order makes Felix raise his eyebrows. "Finnick Odair? Surely he isn't the best choice – "
"He knows half the Capitol by now, and since he's started dating Miss Cornelius, our own little socialite, he's the perfect candidate to hunt down our elusive problem." Snow smiles coldly at the man, and adds, "We might as well make use of our resources, don't you agree?"
The smile that Felix returns him with is just as cold. In the Capitol's eyes, Victors are meant to be used, after all, and what better person to do their dirty work than the Capitol Daydream himself?