A/N: In which a trip to the supposedly romantic shack falls utterly short - but a small dinner party seems to make up for it in ways Sil does not anticipate.
Thank you all again for the reviews, favorites, and follows. They really mean a lot to me. Please enjoy this chapter! The next time Sil will be in District 4, she'll be doing the one thing that scares her more than anything...but there's quite a few events that need to happen before then ;)
Rowaelin: Thank you, I'm really glad you like the story! I can't promise that it won't be a bit rocky between Finnick and Sil in the future, but I can promise that this story will be fully completed and that said ending will be one that they both deserve :)
Radio Free Death: Thank you for the review and for your feedback. You make some valid points that I have also been considered throughout the editing process. This is the first story I've written that involves such an intricate plot. It's been a challenge to integrate it into the Hunger Games theme, as well as spinning it into a romance on top of that! The purpose of my explanations regarding Sil's identity is due mainly because of this story's Scarlet Pimpernel backdrop. Everyone knows, at the very least, that the Pimpernel is an Englishman and that he is behind the rescues of the French victims of Madam Guillotine, therefore I thought it would make sense to have District 13 also be aware that the Nightingale is on their side. The spy isn't their only source of intel but it's common knowledge that she works for 13. That is my take on it, in any case. Regardless, thank you again for your feedback. I appreciate your insights into the story so far.
Without further ado, please enjoy, and as always feel free to drop me a review on your way out :)
Chapter Ten | That haunts me
"The very joy of living was writ plainly upon the sweet young face, it sparkled out of the merry blue eyes and lit up the smile that lurked around the lips. She was after all but five-and-twenty, in the hey day of youth, the darling of a brilliant throng, adored, féted, petted, cherished." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
Two days pass. Finnick brings her out on the town every evening, catching the public's eye. People don't stare and whisper and point as much as they had before. They recognize the two Victors. It's almost as if Sil has become a part of their district. A strange feeling, to be sure, and not one she expects. Being accepted has never been familiar ground for her.
But despite her slightly less than civil relationship with the charming District 4 Victor, she does feel accepted when he takes her hand and drags her around his home. He points out landmarks, memories of his childhood, stops to talk with people he knows. Merchants, fishermen, dock workers – you name it, Finnick knows them all personally. By the end of the first few days, Sil starts to believe that his so-called charm is actually the real thing.
He doesn't get the chance to take her out on another boat. (Just as well, she'd refuse anyway.) However, he does live up to his one promise to her. One morning she wakes up to the smell of his cooking and when she trounces down the stairs with her disheveled hair and sleepy green eyes, Finnick tells her that he's taking her to their romantic little shack on the shore. She had nearly forgotten about that particular conversation on the very first day of their silly fake relationship. When it had become their shack, she doesn't know, but she can't deny that she's excited to make the trip.
It's about two miles up the coast. Sil wears designer boots and the heavy wool coat Finnick bought her days before. She complains about the lengthy trek every other step, but inside she's enjoying herself. The salty sea air whispers at her, makes her feel oddly alive. She wonders if it is a normal response or just one of her own fabrication.
Finnick serenades her with stories as they walk, though it's probably only to shut out her complaints. She doubts he really cares about entertaining her. The only time he appears charming and devoted is in public. It is one mask that he doesn't even try to hide from her. (Not that she really cares, of course.) But in any case, they reach the little shack by noon, and it's…well, it isn't much to look at, but she can immediately picture Finnick coming here in his search for solitude. Tranquil silence seems to pucker through the entire area, distilled by the tumbling sound of waves rolling over each other. No one is around.
"Here we are," Finnick says by way of introduction. He starts off at a jog and reaches the site before her. Sil watches him, the way his body moves, the firm muscles coiling as he sprints. Attractive. Masculine. Not hers. Never hers, she tells herself, and nods. Why on earth would she have to tell herself that, anyway? It isn't as if she wants him. What an absurd thought! She'd like to think she's a little bit more original than all that, what with half the Capitol already drooling over the man. She doesn't need Capitol leftovers, a snide part of her sneers – and the rest of her, the good parts of her, recoils at the wickedness of the thought.
"Come here and help me get firewood," he calls over to her, already kneeling in front of a fire pit he must've built some time ago. "There's some piled up inside. Should be dry." She gives him a surly glower and goes to the door of the shack. Or there lack of.
There's no actual door, just a doorway that's been covered by a thick tarp to keep the elements out. She drags it open and glances around the small building. It's in awful condition. There are holes in the ceiling and walls. It looks barely put together, as if one harsh tug of the wind could blow the entire thing down. A pile of wood has been stacked in the far corner, beside some fishing rods and a few empty buckets. There's one solitary piece of furniture in the shack – a rickety old chair that's seen better days. Not as impressive as she'd pictured, for sure.
When she steps back into the sand with a couple of logs balanced in her arms, Finnick looks utterly at peace. She stands there for a moment, taking in the sight of him. He's kicked his shoes off, rolled up the legs of his pants, and is sitting in the sand. His eyes are cast out to sea, his hair mussed and perfect (how does it always look perfect?) as he leans back on his hands. She can't see his face from her angle, but she imagines it's pressed into a thoughtful, rare expression devoid of his usual mischief.
"Here," she says to announce her presence, and lowers the logs to the ground.
He turns to her lazily, blinks, and then flops himself down into the sand with a bemoaned, "I'm too tired – you make the fire."
She stares, rather caught up in the way he looks as his eyes slip closed. Perhaps it's not so strange to find him handsome after all, because right now Finnick Odair is downright beautiful, sand and all. She doesn't immediately respond because she's so surprised at the thought, and Finnick opens his eyes to cast her a curious glance. Just in time, Sil's features rearrange into a scowl that puts her firmly back on her own pedestal, the one of her own creation, and snidely asks, "You want me to make the fire?" Her eyes are perfectly incredulous, as if he's asking her to throw a rope around the moon and drag it down for him.
He rolls his eyes. "You're a Victor. Don't you know how to start a fire?" And he settles back down, this time drawing his arms over his head and resting them behind it. He looks completely relaxed.
She looks completely annoyed. "It's been seven years since my Games, darling. I'm sure whatever I learned back then has been lost." She sits down before the circle of stones anyway, and starts throwing the wood into it without preamble. "Besides, I mostly survived on sponsors." Beside her, Finnick makes a grunt that could be labeled as disapproving, if she had a mind to care.
She did mostly survive on sponsors. She also knew how to make a fire, thank you very much, but she figures that appearing as idiotic as possible will only help her cover. It isn't very hard to do – Finnick already thinks she's an idiot anyway, along with most of the Capitol and every one of the Victors. He doesn't look very surprised to hear of her latest failure, and sighs as he heaves himself up.
He bats her hands away and rearranges the wood over a pile of leaves and twigs, muttering to himself as he does. Then he peers at her and says, "I don't remember much of your Games. Sometimes I forget you're even a Victor at all."
He turns to dig through the leather satchel he's brought, and Sil's expression falters momentarily. By the time he turns back with a lighter, there is no hint of that crumbling left to be seen.
Well. She'd known what she was getting into when she had agreed to join the rebellion all those years ago. She'd known that people wouldn't take her seriously – she hadn't wanted them to. It's much easier to do her job when no one suspects her of having the intellectual inclination to do it. But knowing and hearing are two different things, especially when the words are coming from Finnick's lips. But why should she want him to be proud of her? Why should she want to matter to him?
She shakes the delicate thoughts away for now and instead focuses on the first part of his sentence.
With a hum, she leans back and murmurs, "My Games were dreadfully boring, really. No spectacular deaths until the last few days. But your Games were really something else." She vaguely remembers watching them, back when she'd lived with her father in District 1, only a few years before she herself had gone into the arena.
Finnick snorts in the back of his throat and sets the fire blazing. His expression hints that he'd like very much to send other things blazing too – primarily, all thoughts of his Games.
"Spectacular deaths?" he drawls, giving her a sort of cold look.
She shrugs and tells him in a calm, steadfast way, "Don't be an idiot, Finnick. You know that's what the Capitol wants. It is a strategy for the Tributes – unless of course they're the ones dead."
He stares, half caught between a frown and reluctant agreement. He can't help but think that Silver Lamprey Cornelius is really the last person qualified to speak about strategy, but doesn't say anything. He just shakes his head and says, "Let's not talk about the Games."
He suspects she is a little relieved to let the subject rest when she nods resolutely and asks, "What shall we talk about then?" And he pauses, because…because for once in his life, Finnick Odair doesn't know what to say.
He flounders like a fish out of water, and Sil chuckles, "How about we discuss this charming dinner party you've planned out? The one where I get to meet all your lovely little friends?"
He narrows his eyes on her and her not so subtle jab and flops back down into the sand, glowering up at the sky. But he indulges her, as usual, and tells her all about it and what she should expect, and Sil sits there and listens to his voice careening over her like the waves that lap at the shore. And for once, she is happy to just sit and listen, surrendering herself to the whims of this strange and inconceivable man.
The dinner party is definitely not what she expects, regardless of how Finnick has prepared her for it. There is no music, no lavish lounge to sip at fancy liquors and exchange gossip and idle humor. No card games or gambling, no crowds of people. Even the dinner itself is…less than what she's used to. Is she surprised to find that Finnick is planning on serving fish? She realizes belatedly that she shouldn't be. It's the only solid source of food in this district that doesn't cost a fortune.
She spends the morning walking by herself around the Victor Village and the beach that lingers nearby. It's refreshing to get away from Finnick for a while, and all the faces she uses around him. She spends about an hour by the sea, and by the time she turns back to make her way into the village, Sil understands a little bit more, about how Finnick is so connected to it. It's impossible not to feel something when she looks out at the water. It's mysterious and beautiful; full of life but enigmatic; frank and honest, but puzzling. Just like Finnick.
When Sil returns to Finnick's house and lets herself in, he's already bustling around the kitchen getting ready for dinner. This time, he's not wearing that ridiculous apron. Instead, he's just wearing a white button up and jeans. The first few buttons are undone, hinting at the smooth chest beneath.
He glances up when she enters and gives her a small smile that actually looks, for once, unforced. "There you are. Had a nice walk?" he wonders idly, and turns his eyes back down to the fish that he's gutting. Sil makes a face at the sight as she approaches.
"Yes…" she says, trailing off as she wrinkles her nose at the smell. There's a pile of bones and other (frankly disgusting) entrails in a bag next to him. She doesn't look too closely.
"Do you ever eat anything other than fish?" she asks, and this time her voice is a little dry, a little bemused, like she's silently laughing at him.
Finnick smirks, "Nope. Do you ever eat meat on any day that isn't Wednesday?"
She barely even remembers that she'd said that, despite it having been only a few days ago. With a laugh, Sil tells him, "Touché."
She walks over to the cabinets and pulls out a glass. As she fills it with water from the tap, she glances at him and takes a brief moment to admire his profile. Finnick is truly beautiful. Straight nose, strong jaw, long eyelashes, attractive lips. And his hair is something to be envious of – all that bronze, tripping over itself like so many waves.
He can feel her staring at him. She knows it too. So she's not at all surprised when Finnick murmurs flirtatiously, "Like what you see, sugar?" He doesn't even grace her with a glance.
Sil sighs dramatically, a puff of breath that gets muffled in her glass. "You're very handsome, Finnick. As your fake girlfriend, I'm allowed to look."
He pauses, barely. Sil wouldn't have even noticed had she not been watching him already. But he does, and she raises an eyebrow at the slight way his fingers fumble with the knife in his hand. Has she surprised him? Is she not allowed to joke about their ridiculous circumstances? Has she somehow crossed a boundary she hadn't known existed?
But Finnick just gives a grunting sort of laugh beneath his breath and says, "I'm so glad you're finally accepting your role in my life, Silver."
Sil frowns. She walks forward and puts the glass down on the counter, then rests her chin in her hand and stares at him. He glances back at her curiously, and her eyebrow raises further when she murmurs, "You look uncomfortable. Should I have called you ugly instead?"
It's his turn to raise his eyebrow. He rolls his eyes, "No point in lying, sugar. I'm the most attractive man in Panem. Capitol Weekly even did an article about how I style my hair." They stare at each other for a moment before Sil bursts into laughter, with Finnick not far behind.
"Why am I not surprised about that?" she asks after a moment, and Finnick chuckles.
"Now if we're done talking about the fact that I'm gorgeous, make yourself useful and chop up those potatoes." He points to a bag of said potatoes and her smile immediately turns down at the edges, morphing into an impressive glower.
"Why should I?" she bemoans, reverting into the dramatic nature she plays so well.
Finnick rolls his eyes again and turns back to the fish. He idly warns, "If you don't, I'll put my fishy fingers all over your face."
She immediately pauses, narrows her eyes, and slowly says, "You wouldn't."
He totally would. And when he tells her that a moment later, she huffs and gets to work, rolling up her sleeves and shooting him glowers every other minute. His smirk widens every time she does, and they pepper the silence with small observations that could hardly be considered actual conversations. The hour passes like this, and by the end of it, the fish is ready to cook and Finnick has started on making the potatoes that Sil diligently peeled and cut. It is only then that she realizes he plans on deep frying them.
"Fish and chips? That's what we're having?" she asks. She hadn't exactly cared what they'd be eating before. She supposed she'd figured it would be something a little bit classier than that. Under her breath, she mutters, "It's so fattening…"
Finnick barks out a laugh as he heats the oil up for frying. He opens the fridge and pulls out a bag of lettuce, then throws it to her from across the kitchen. She snatches it from the air with a raised eyebrow, a little more gracefully than Finnick expects. He would've liked to see her fumbling with it, to be honest.
"Make some salad then, if you're so worried about your weight," he tells her. Inside he's rolling his eyes at any and every comment ever made by the female population about getting fat – if there's one thing Finnick loathes, it's having to listen to such idiotic words.
Sil huffs but doesn't argue. They were going to make a salad anyway to go with the food. But for good measure, she says airily, "I don't know why you don't just have your housekeeper make dinner." It's probably the third or fourth time she's said something like that since she stepped inside an hour ago.
Finnick does roll his eyes this time. "Because her job is to clean my house and make sure it's livable, not babysit me." This isn't the Capitol. He doesn't need someone to wait on him hand and foot. Besides, cooking is probably one of the only things Finnick actually enjoys doing.
He snatches up a bit of carrot that Sil has just finished chopping and munches on it while he checks the temperature of the oil. When he reaches for another one, Sil slaps his hand away with a short, "Don't you dare, Finnick! It took me ten minutes to prepare those!" Because she'd been too busy sharing the recent gossip from the PADD she's got propped up in front of her on the counter.
He chuckles breezily and says, "Well you'd better hurry up. People are gonna start arriving soon." The warning makes her shoot up in surprise.
"But it's only five o'clock!" she cries, glancing down in abject horror at the stains she'd gotten on her shirt. All the dinner parties and soirees she's ever been to started much later.
Finnick shrugs and says, "Mags is getting old. Besides, five o'clock is a normal time to have a dinner party."
"No it's not!" Sil wails, inwardly laughing at the way Finnick cringes at the sound. She throws down her knife and rushes out of the kitchen, leaving her PAAD on the counter and calling, "I have to change! You should have told me sooner, you terrible excuse for a – a – damn it! Did I bring my blue dress - ?"
Finnick is laughing loudly at the spectacle, and shouts back in amusement, "It's casual, Silver – you'd better not put a gown on or you'll get some pretty weird looks!"
Oh, he can just imagine her walking downstairs in some gorgeous but grossly over-dressed confection. He laughs at the thought of the expressions she'd cultivate on Mags and Annie's faces, and can't stop smirking even as he decides that perhaps he ought to change his shirt too – there's an oil stain on the sleeve that Sil will probably notice immediately, and he'd rather not have her scolding him in the middle of dinner.
He takes two steps before he belatedly realizes that she's left her PAAD behind. Sil carries that thing around with her like it's an extension of her soul, so he thinks it's odd she would forget it like this. He pauses, glances at the stairs, and then sidles over to it with a curiously contemplative look on his face. The glowing screen is still flickering with gossipy updates from the Capitol.
President Snow seen with granddaughter in La Tempête –
New fashion line rumored to be underway from designer Charles Beau –
Star-Crossed lovers Everdeen and Mellark return home to District 12 –
Victors Odair and Cornelius canoodling together on two week vacation –
Finnick pauses and raises an eyebrow. Sil hadn't made any mention of this particular article. But there they are, pressed together in a picture that probably has half the Capitol in an uproar. It's the day on the beach. Sil's white silk dress is soaked with sea water and Finnick's holding her shoes in one hand and her waist in the other. And – is he actually smiling? No, it's most likely the glare of the sun. It had been particularly bright that day…
He's so swept up in staring at the image of them kissing that he hardly notices the subtle flash of some new notification coming in. He opens it in blank silence, subtly curious about who Sil communicates with despite the fact that he knows he's invading some level of privacy by doing so. But it's nothing – just some strange spam mail that drifts over the screen, "Birds fly south for the winter. Hibernate."
Finnick raises an eyebrow at the weird message and checks the sender. It's just a bunch of numbers though, and he mentally categorizes it as a mistake as he puts the PAAD down. He glances at his shirt and sighs.
Finnick leaves the PAAD and the still cooking fries while he sprints upstairs to grab a shirt, hurrying because he doesn't want them to overcook. A small scramble around in his room gives him time to toss his old shirt on his bed and slide his arms into the new, crisp one. He steps back into the hallway hardly thirty seconds later as he buttons it up and happens to glance idly toward Sil's room…only to see something he perhaps…does not expect.
He doesn't know why he doesn't expect it. He knows that Sil is changing. He just doesn't know why he stands there gawking in a very un-Finnick-like way just because her door is open a crack and he can see –
He shakes it head and turns away, jaw clenched tightly. When he blinks, she is pressed into his sight, haunting him with the image of her bending over her desk chair in nothing but her underwear, sliding stockings up her legs. He tells himself that the sight of her really isn't why he'd stared – it had been the scar he could see that had shocked him so much, the scar that traveled from her hip down the back of her thigh – but for some reason, he can't help but wonder…does he perhaps find her attractive?
"Ridiculous," he mutters as he makes his way down the stairs. His hands drift through his hair to push it back. Halfway down, he realizes that the fries are still in the oil and he rushes the rest of the way into the kitchen, shoving the thought of Silver Lamprey Cornelius from his mind. Unfortunately, it is a lot harder than he could ever have imagined, which he notices when at last she slides back down the stairs, the picture of refined elegance.
Well. It isn't a ball gown, so Finnick can't complain. He takes one look at her and stares, until he realizes he's staring and of course turns his eyes away sternly because he can't seem to shake the image of her –
"Well? What do you think?" Sil asks him, spinning in a little circle. Her skirt flutters around her knees, drawing his attention to her legs. Her stockings shimmer and he wonders what they feel like against her skin…and then blanches, because he must be really insane to actually think about such things. With Sil. He turns away again and shrugs, swallowing the lump in his throat. What is wrong with him?
She takes his silence as an answer and raises an eyebrow, hip jutting out and arms crossed, "You don't like it? Is it too dressy? Darling, do try to speak. I need constructive criticism here." She stares at him and he sighs.
"It's fine, Silver," he insists, and a part of him is actually being completely honest. He likes the dress. It's a silky fabric like the one she'd worn on the train a week ago, but instead of shiny white, this dress is a grayish blue color. It's actually fairly simple in its construction – nothing at all like some of the gowns he's seen her in. The color rather reminds him of the ocean on a stormy day. Sort of dangerous, in a subtle, crafty way. He won't tell her all this of course, he's got a reputation to uphold – and he definitely won't tell her that he prefers her hair down. The style she'd chosen is far too precise and elegant. He likes the mussed up, wild way her hair often falls, but something tells him that saying this is probably crossing one of the many lines splintered between them.
She nods, happily accepting the words at face value and looking around the house. From the kitchen, one could just see the dining room table jutting out in the next room. It's covered in a linen tablecloth but that's about it, so Sil makes it her job to set the rest of it with plates and utensils such. She starts riffling through his cabinets as Finnick subtly watches her, still trying to figure out why he can't stop thinking about her pulling those stockings up her legs. It's a little inappropriate really, and it bothers him.
"Oh, there!" she suddenly exclaims, seeing a set of nice porcelain plates on the top of the shelf. They're the only porcelain he has in this house – some extravagant gift he'd received during his Victory Tour years ago. Come to think of it, he's almost positive he'd gotten them while he'd been touring in District 1. Figures that Sil would be automatically attracted to anything from her luxurious district. What a creature she is.
Finnick smirks at her, watching as she tries to reach the tall shelf and failing spectacularly. She might've succeeded, had she been wearing a pair of her ridiculously tall high heels, but as it is she's got no hope. And as amusing as it is to watch her flail around like that, Finnick decides to put her out of her misery.
He steps forward, gently pushing her into the counter as he reaches up to grasp the plates. She immediately falls silent, not speaking until he sets the stack on the counter and moves away a fraction. Then Sil glances back at him, looking delightfully confused, and opens her mouth wordlessly. After a moment of gaping like a fish (a good analogy, Finnick thinks with a smirk), she settles with, "Why do you keep your best porcelain on the top shelf?" As if it's a crime to hide away such lovely things.
He shrugs, watches as she takes the stack of plates into arms that seem too delicate, and drawls, "I doubt I'd use them, sugar."
She sends him a condescending glower at the nickname and walks into the dining room. Another beat of silence passes between them before she calls back, "These are from District 1, you know."
Of course she'd pick that up. He rolls his eyes and starts seasoning the fries. "I'm aware. Does it make you happy that I have something from your home district in my house?" The question is sarcastic, really, but Sil answers it with a strangely brutal honesty that makes him tilt his head.
"Yes!" she smiles, ducking back into the kitchen. Her new search begins and ends with the linen drawer as she gathers cloth napkins. "It shows that there's hope for you yet, my love. Now we just need to get you some proper napkins," she tsks disapprovingly, closely examining the napkins that Finnick had also been gifted with, though he can't remember where or when. All he knows is that he would never bother to go out and buy cloth napkins himself.
He glances at her. "What's wrong with my napkins?"
The look she sends him makes him feel like he's just asked her the difference between the sun and the moon. She laughs incredulously and says, "The embroidery on the edges is coming apart. From the looks of them, they've been washed too harshly. You have to be gentle with embroidered things, darling, or else they unravel." She goes on to list a number of other faults that his napkins have as she meanders back into the dining room to lay them out, and Finnick frowns. Who knew there could be so many things wrong with a simple napkin? Leave it to Sil to notice every flaw.
Luckily, Finnick is saved from Sil further ridiculing his kitchen accessories when a knock sounds from his front door. He looks up and smiles. "They're here. Get the door? I'll be there in a second."
Sil pauses momentarily before sending Finnick a hasty smile and darting away. Finnick watches as she leaves. She's not nervous, is she? She'd almost looked mildly horrified that he'd asked her to open the door. But there's nothing to worry about. It's only Mags and Annie – hardly a dinner party, really. Just a gathering with some old friends, plus one.
Sil opens the door with a well rehearsed smile and steps aside to let the two other Victors in. She doesn't have a good reputation with the other Victors. Truthfully, she's been absolutely dreading this dinner party that Finnick has been planning. Anything that puts her in the same room with the other Victors makes her a little nervous. So, expecting the worst, Sil just smiles and says, "Hello there. Finnick is in the kitchen finishing up. I'm sure you already know, but I'm Silver. It's lovely to meet you both. Come inside, it's cold out there – "
She rambles on for at least another minute before the older woman, Mags, laughs silently and pats her arm. The other woman just looks at Sil in a dreamy sort of way and smiles softly. It's such an innocent expression that Sil forgets what she's about to say and just falls into silence.
"I – um," Sil breaks out into nervous laughter and gestures into the house, "I'm sure Finnick would like to see you both." She can't get into the kitchen fast enough. For some reason, the thought of being near Finnick puts her immediately at ease.
"Mags!" he exclaims when he sees the old woman, and swiftly goes to hug her. When he does the same with Annie, Sil shuffles a little and glances away. There had been rumors several years ago that Finnick and Annie had something going on, but she hadn't really thought about it until now. A strange blunt feeling overcomes her at the thought. She's not jealous. Being jealous would mean that she wants Finnick to herself. She doesn't – she's just uncomfortable with all the affection between these Victors who know each other so well. That's all. She doesn't have this sort of relationship with the other District 1 Victors. Gloss and Cashmere are more interested in spurning her for the sake of it.
"You've met Sil," Finnick is saying, and she breaks out of her short reverie to smile blandly. If Finnick notices, he doesn't comment, and neither do the others. He goes on to talk about what he's made for dinner and how Sil set the table. He actually compliments her on the transformation of his dining room table later on, when they go to sit down at it.
"Very nice," he tells her softly, leaning in just a little with a suave smile, close enough where she can smell the musky sea scent on him. She beams at him.
They serve the fish and Finnick starts telling the others how he took Sil to the little shack up the coast the other day. Annie smiles at the topic and looks at Sil. For a brief moment, Sil is convinced that Annie's about to say something terrible to her. She grips her fork hard and stiffens, but all Annie says is a calm, "It's lovely out there, isn't it? It must be strange for you, seeing so much of the sea at once." Sil relaxes minutely.
This time, Finnick glances at her. She's definitely acting strange. Sil is usually extremely talkative. He can barely get her to shut up most of the time. But tonight she speaks only occasionally, and when Mags starts gesturing or Annie starts talking, her entire body turns tense as if she's expecting the worst. It makes him wonder just how many insulting dinner parties Sil has sat through.
She clears her throat and smiles back. "Yes, it's odd. But – beautiful."
The corner of Finnick's mouth edges up and he feels a strange sort of pride well up inside him. She likes District 4. She likes his home. Then he shakes the thought away because obviously she does – anyone who visits District 4 likes the sight of the ocean, especially if it is something they don't often see. A short but vivid memory overcomes him then, of the way Sil had pressed her nose to the glass of the train when it had pulled into the station almost a week before. The sea had enamored her then, enchanted her in a way that he'd found almost addicting.
Annie smiles too. "You'll have to come swimming with us sometime. If only the weather was a little warmer…" she sighs wistfully and takes a sip of her water.
Finnick laughs loudly and Sil cringes, knowing what he's going to say before he even says it. She's not disappointed.
He grins and says, "I don't know, Annie. Sil's afraid of the sea monsters." He chuckles harder at the glower she sends him.
Mags starts gesturing wildly, her fingers moving in a strangely beautiful, lithe fashion that only Annie and Finnick can decipher. But Mag's eyes are trained on Sil, and she gets the feeling that the woman is talking to her, in her own way. When she's done, Finnick translates, "She says you'll have to come back in the warmer months. She says we can have another party, but on the beach instead."
For some inexplicable reason, Sil feels her eyes filling with tears. Mags is looking at her with a soft, motherly smile. Her and Annie has been nothing but kind to her all evening. In their places, Sil is sure she would have been rude and judgmental toward the strange Victor who was being forced to 'date' her friend. But the familial atmosphere that surrounds the table seems to extend to her as well, not only including her but dragging her into the depths of it. She's honestly not sure what to say. No one's ever wanted to hang out with her enough to make future plans. It's…baffling.
Her silence makes Finnick lean forward in concern. "…Silver? You okay?"
But Sil just smiles and laughs away her shock, "Yes, of course. I would like that very much, Mags. Thank you." Mags grins and starts 'talking' to Annie. By the younger Victor's responses, it sounds like they're planning out the beach party. Sil watches curiously, then jumps in surprise when Finnick's hand suddenly reaches down to squeeze hers in her lap.
She looks at him and he gives her a little wink and a small smile. The comfort it brings is as confusing as it is lovely, and Sil smiles back. He squeezes her once more before retreating and jumping into the conversation.
Sil is actually having a good time by the end of dinner. She jumps up to help Finnick clear away the dishes. Annie rises too, and soon they're all bringing the dishes back to the kitchen. The atmosphere is completely different than the slightly awkward greetings that had been exchanged an hour or so previously. Sil even laughs aloud when Mags digs around in the bag she'd brought with her and pulls out a bottle of what looks like hard liquor. The old woman hands the bottle to Sil, who grins mischievously at the wink the woman sends her. Finnick sighs dramatically at the sight.
"You shouldn't be drinking," he tells Mags, but she only brushes him away with a dismissive wave and makes a signal to Annie. The woman roots around in Finnick's cabinets for a moment before triumphantly pulling out four tumblers. Finnick sighs again.
"Oh hush, darling," Sil tells him with a laugh. Mags hooks her arm around Sil's and pulls her into the living room. "What is this, anyway? It's not labeled."
Finnick groans, throwing himself onto the couch. "That's because it's brewed inside the District." The brief description leads Sil to understand that it's something similar to the 'Sailor's Swill' that he'd told her about before at the diner. She uncaps it and takes a whiff – then recoils slightly because it's extremely strong. If it smells this alcoholic, she can only imagine how it tastes.
Annie reappears with the tumblers and a plate of what looks like tiny chocolate cakes. They're small cupcake looking things, with frosting down the sides and decorated with white crosses on the tops. She smiles warmly and lowers the tray in front of Sil, "Would you like to try? They go very good with the rum."
Two thoughts cross Sil's mind then: that if the liquor is rum, it doesn't look like any rum she's ever had; and that the tiny cakes look almost exactly like the ones she used to have as a child, when her mother was still with her. The memory hits her with a sudden clarity. Rainy days, her mother dancing around with her on the tiled floors, waving the cook away from the kitchen and plopping her onto the counter. She'd hum a folksong from District 1 and the little Sil would join in with ungainly enthusiasm. Their voices would fill the kitchen like a loud prayer, one in perfect tune and the other wobbly with youth. They'd sing until the cakes were done, and then they'd go visit Sil's father down in his workshop and have him sample the finished desserts – and sometimes he'd tell them how he could hear them singing all the way down in his tucked away corner…
"Ah – yes, thank you darling," Sil says, clearing her throat. Annie is staring at her in slight confusion, and Finnick peers at her from his place on the opposite couch. Mags, the wonderful woman that she is, just happily sighs and reaches for her own cake. Then she gestures at Sil wordlessly. Annie jumps in to translate, "She wants to know what you were just thinking about."
Sil shrugs and leans back. "Oh nothing. Just a memory. It's silly." She waves away the thought as Mags leans in and pours her a hefty helping of rum. The old woman raises an eyebrow at her as she passes it over, and Sil sighs. "The cakes – they reminded me of my mother. We would sing together whenever we baked." The admission causes something of a stir, which naturally confuses Sil until Finnick clarifies.
"They want you to sing," he tells her, sitting up and reaching for his own glass. As he takes a sip, he peers at her over the rim and raises an eyebrow. If he's surprised at her mention of her mother, he doesn't show it.
Sil's first reaction is to adamantly refuse. But Annie hurries to propose, "If you sing something from your District, we'll sing you the most inappropriate sea jaunty we know." Finnick chuckles at the offer.
"I don't – " she starts, but Mags shuffles forward and gestures for her to hurry up. Sil pouts a little because this dinner party really isn't anything like what she'd expected and she's completely out of her comfort zone here. Forced smiles and boring small talk she can do – making up gossip and spreading it around to eager Capitolites is simple – but this is something entirely different. She's actually enjoying herself. It's strange. But still, because Mags wants her to, she gives in and mutters, "Fine. It's a folksong from District 1."
Everyone quiets down, and Sil takes a breath before sitting up straight. She begins softly, her voice light and airy and very delicate. It reminds Finnick of gossamer threads or the shimmering way seaweed moves when the sun's light reaches the seabed.
"My necklace is made of a deep emerald green
For that is the color of peaceful reprieve
And in the midsummers when men come to me,
I'll always remember you.
My father he told me our love could not be
For the emerald you gave me was not meant for me
And I cried in despair and I wept in my grief,
And I settled for sapphire blue.
But the man who did give me that sapphire stone
Was as cold as the rock that it was quarried from
And I ran from his grasp and was swept from his hold,
Where you waited for me to come through.
You gave me this ring when the sun faded red
And in it you carved our initials and said
"I'll give you this diamond and love you instead"
And come Sunday morning t'was true.
Now emeralds and diamonds are all well and good
But the truth of the matter should be understood
Our hearts are our rulers as they really should,
For mine lead me straight into you."
Finnick stares. The room fades to soft silence and yet Sil still seems to be captured somehow in the lilting tune of her song. Finnick feels captured, too, pulled beneath the gentle tone of her voice and caught between each word. It is a very…District 1 sort of song. Luxurious things like emeralds and sapphires are just a part of life there. But he hadn't really expected it to be so romantic in nature, and he hadn't expected to imagine Sil as the main character in that song – running from other men and throwing herself into his own arms instead. The thought is unnerving and he looks away, though not soon enough. Mags notices, and grins to herself.
"That was a pretty song," Annie says dreamily, "Do lovers often exchange emeralds and sapphires in District 1?"
For some reason, the question makes Sil's face feel a little hot. She laughs. "Goodness, no. Those kinds of gifts are only exchanged as betrothal or wedding presents. They're very expensive."
Mags pats her shoulder in thanks and then nudges Annie. Sil catches on quickly – she's obviously prompting the younger woman to fulfill her promise. Annie laughs and stands up, looking excited. Then, in a split second decision, Annie goes over to Finnick and pulls him up to join her.
"Oh really? You're making me sing too?" he asks with a tired sigh, but doesn't complain. He's very good natured around his fellow District 4 Victors, Sil notices. She watches in fascination as the duo suggests different songs. They finally decide on a particularly foul one, and Sil bursts into laughter when their voices spout all manners of curses and insults. Mags claps her hands together. It's so much fun that Sil even accepts another glass of the spicy rum liquor from Mags.
It doesn't surprise Sil that Finnick has a charming voice. He's charming everywhere else, so of course his singing voice would be equally as lovely. She leans back and listens to the low lilt of it, laughing all over again when Mags jumps up and starts dancing with him. He takes a turn with Annie too, and then stops in front of Sil with a mischievous glint in his eye. When he holds out his hand, Sil freezes.
"What are you doing?" she asks suspiciously.
He laughs. "Asking you to dance."
Before she can even think about refusing him, Finnick is pulling her up and then into his arms, and Annie's starting up another tune and clapping as she watches the pair fly around the room. It's terrifying and amazing, and Sil isn't sure if she wants to laugh or shout at him.
"Hold onto me!" he says into her ear. His hands are warm around her waist, and he pulls her in tightly. She barely has a chance to ask why she would do anything of the sort (as if!) when Finnick is suddenly lifting her up off the ground and spinning her around – her skirts flying, his hair mussed – and Sil decides rather belatedly that she'd rather laugh. So she does.
"Finnick, put me down!" she cries with a grin, but doesn't mean it. She suddenly wants him to hold her like this forever, wants the world to keep spinning out of control, the colors to keep blurring together until all she can see is his face and his lovely sparkling eyes and his grin. He laughs and the world starts to slow back down. When her feet touch the ground again, they're both breathing a little harder and Annie has stopped singing. Mags and her are just grinning at each other instead.
"Look how late it is!" Annie exclaims with a laugh. Mags makes a show of looking tired (she doesn't succeed) and presses the bottle of liquor into Sil's hands as a parting gift. She's still standing in the circle of Finnick's arms, and the suddenness of this departure confuses her.
"What – are you leaving already?" she wonders in surprise.
Annie chuckles. "It's almost nine o'clock. We've stayed later than we meant to. You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you? We'll come see you off at the station!" She gives Sil a brief hug and Mags says her goodbyes. It takes them almost ten minutes to actually leave, but Sil is still reeling (from the dance and their absence) by the time the front door closes and Finnick returns to the living room.
"Well," he says with a smile, and looks at her.
She tilts her head and grins in agreement, "Well."
They're both silent for a moment. Then Finnick clears his throat and asks, "Want another drink? It'd be a shame to leave so much of this left." He sits down on the couch and refills his tumbler. She takes the seat next to him, and for some reason all she can think about is the feeling of his warm hands on her waist and the fact that his eyes have hazel flecks in them when you get close enough to notice.
The thoughts stay with her for hours afterward. Even when this day bleeds into the next and they're leaving District 4 for District 1. And before Sil boards the train, Mags approaches her with a gentle, motherly smile and shoots a lingering look at Finnick, who is saying his goodbyes to Annie with a charming smile. Sil follows her line of sight, then looks back at Mags when the old woman traces the shape of a heart against her chest.
It is…a frightening gesture, or at least it should be. But for reasons Sil cannot explain, she smiles warmly at the silent message and follows Finnick onto the train. She's not entirely sure what Mags had meant by that, but it makes her feel strangely happy nonetheless.
They wave to Annie and Mags as the train pulls out of the station, heading off to District 1 for one more week of their impromptu vacation.