A/N: In which Finnick gets a taste of District 1, Sil's father is nothing like he imagines him to be, and the wealth and glamour of the Cornelius Estate makes him distinctly uncomfortable.
remifoster1313: Their time in District 1 is my favorite part of the story when it came down to writing it! I based District 1 on Las Vegas. It has the same kind of vibe in my mind. Anyway though - there will be more explanations into Sil's Games the further we get, and Finnick will begin to remember them a bit more as time goes on and he gets to know her better.
selfluv: I'm so glad! Writing with OCs is my guilty pleasure, though I know not everyone enjoys them. I'm happy you like Sil and the role she plays in this story! I hope you stick around for a while - the romance will get a lot deeper and more encompassing in the future. We're really only scraping the surface of it so far ;)
I will be going away for a few days next week, so I'll be updating twice at the beginning of the week instead of just once to make up for it!
Chapter Eleven | A purgatory of flushed sound
"Sir Percy Blakeney's house on the river has become a historic one: palatial in its dimensions, it stands in the midst of exquisitely laid-out gardens with a picturesque terrace and frontage to the river. Built in Tudor days, the old red bricks of the walls look eminently picturesque in the midst of a bower of green, the beautiful lawn, with its old sun-dial, adding the true note of harmony to its foregrounds, and now, on this warm and early autumn night, the leaves slightly turned to russets and gold, and old garden looked singularly poetic and peaceful in the moonlight." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel
District 1 is really nothing like District 4. Finnick had only been there once or twice after his Victory Tour, but he'd forgotten about how much he hated it here. When they aren't walking through the industrious fumes of factories, they're ducking through ridiculously priced high-end stores that sell anything from silk sheets to gem encrusted jewelry. Five minutes off the train, and Finnick already dreads having to spend a whole week in this peculiar hell. At least they're able to take a car from the station to Sil's mansion, which is all the way on the opposite side of town – and the Victor's Village.
"I thought all Victors lived in their district Villages," Finnick comments as he glances out the window. The two of them are sitting in a very comfortable, very sleek black car. There had been a driver waiting for them when they'd arrived, but Sil had kicked him out with a wave of her hand and assumed the driver's seat herself. It had been surprising, to say the least. Finnick hadn't known she could drive. He'd never had the chance to learn himself. But in District 1, the levels of wealth are clearly much different. All the rich families have the very best. It's almost an extension of the Capitol in many ways, which makes Finnick wrinkle his nose. Still…there's something strangely sexy about Sil knowing how to drive. In a purely objective manner, of course.
Sil hums and says, "Nonsense. Why ever would I live in a place like that when I have my own mansion? Besides, my father would never want to move." She turns left onto a less populated side street, looking very chic in her oversized sunglasses and white scarf. Finnick has a nagging suspicion that she only wears said scarf while driving, because he's never seen it before.
He raises an eyebrow and glances at her. "What do you use the other house for? Romantic trysts with your fake boyfriends?" He smirks.
One dry scoff later, and Sil airily tells him, "Hardly. I store things there. My closet at the mansion is large, but it only fits so much you know."
The response placates him, though Finnick obviously judges it with a certain harshness. She won't tell him what she actually keeps in her house – extra clothes are really the last thing she bothers with. Once again the wall of silence between them settles and begins to grow, fluctuating outward and surrounding them. Ever since they'd taken their leave of District 4, the magical romance between them has dropped away.
The train ride had been boring at best, disconcerting at worst, because Sil had been too busy thinking about the night before and how much fun she'd had at Finnick's little dinner party. She tends to over think things, and she's been wondering if perhaps she has over thought the light in Finnick's eyes when he'd asked her to dance, when he'd spun her around, when he drank the rest of the liquor with her after Mags and Annie left. Perhaps she had just been making it all up in her head. It's probably just as well, or so she's been telling herself for hours now, to no avail. She has a job to do, a deadline to meet, so many things to get underway before the Quarter Quell is announced. And yet…
Yet for some baffling, entirely ridiculous reason, she wants to be more than just some stupid, bumbling fool to Finnick Odair. She wants him to know her. She wants him to want more of her. With a frown, Sil accelerates the car, trying to leave those silly thoughts far behind.
It's easier said than done.
Ten minutes later, they're pulling into the long driveway of Sil's mansion. The large estate sprawls before them, hidden only by a sprinkle of trees. District 1 resides on the edge of the desert, and decorative palm trees loom in perfect unison down the edges of the driveway. There's some grass, but not much of it, and no water at all. At once, Finnick feels entirely out of his comfort zone. At least in the city, there were too many buildings to notice the expanse of the desert sand. But here the effect is much more potent.
"Here we are," Sil informs him idly, just to break the silence. She pulls the car up to the front doors – large, beautifully crafted carved pieces with lovely stained glass windows in the center. When they step outside, the beat of the sun makes Finnick feel dry, like a fish out of water. Thankfully, it's much cooler inside. And much more glamorous.
The foyer is large. Pillars of mahogany spiral to the ceiling, which is tiled. Tiled. Finnick stares up at it in wonder, noting that most of the tiles actually form a sort of swirling pattern that is entirely made up of painted glass. The afternoon light hits it just right, illuminating the room with sparkling clouds from above. It's amazing and disgusting, and the endless display of grandeur doesn't stop there.
A huge staircase is located just opposite them, the marbled steps hurtling over each other as they drift upwards. The railing is wrought iron and bent in artful symmetry, and the wall behind it showcases portraits of men and women that peer down at him with disdain, as if silently wondering what an outsider is doing in their home. Above it all, hanging atop the line of portraits like a king standing over a sea of soldiers, is a wooden coat of arms that looks to be several feet wide. It's a massive piece that commands attention, carved with a huge black bird with gem encrusted eyes and outstretched wings that glimmer with more painted glass. What appears to be three snakes wrap around the bird, as if halting it from taking flight. There's no doubt that this is the Cornelius family crest, especially when Finnick eyes the painted gold letters that curl beneath it.
"Verum inter mendacium," Sil's voice suddenly sounds. Finnick turns to her, curious at the ease in which she speaks the foreign words. She gives him a light smile and shrugs, "Truth is found between lies. It is the Lamprey motto."
He raises an eyebrow. "Not Cornelius?"
Sil merely laughs, simpering to herself for a moment before telling him, "Gracious, no! The Lamprey and the Cornelius families intermarried centuries ago. Every descendant keeps both names of course. You only know the half of it – I still haven't told you my middle name yet."
Finnick is baffled. She has two surnames? Why? He scrunches his nose at her and says, "Now this I've got to hear."
But Sil merely snickers and breezily tells him, "I only tell lovers my middle name, Finnick darling." She pauses, waiting for him to jump in and say –
"Well, that is a problem that can easily be rectified." He winks and she rolls her eyes with an amused smirk.
"What's this?" a loud voice questions from above them. "Is that my daughter? Come to find out if your old man's kicked the bucket?"
Sil immediately gasps and exclaims, "Father!" She tosses her shoes off and dashes up the stairs, feet skidding on the marble floor. When she throws herself into the arms of an older man who looks like he's seen better days, Finnick watches. He stares even harder when Sil begins to pepper her father's face with kisses. It's odd seeing her so genuinely affectionate. He's so used to the airs she puts on in the Capitol that it rather takes him off guard.
"Now what's this about lovers?" her father asks, peering down at Finnick with all the roused suspicion of a pitbull. To Finnick's abject horror, he actually feels himself shuffle a bit beneath the scrutiny. Sil looks equally as horrified.
"Father!" she hisses, wrapping an arm around his back and walking with him down the stairs. "I told you about Finnick before – don't be cruel." Her father obviously knows to take her words lightly, because he chuckles and kisses her hair dotingly.
"Yes, yes, of course you did. It's sometimes hard to keep up with you these days, Silver," he says with a sigh. "You're so busy talking about all that dreadful gossip that I can never get a word in edgewise."
For her part, Sil looks a little chagrined at the gentle scolding. Finnick watches the exchange with vague interest – he's never seen her take someone's words to heart before. Then again, fathers and daughters often have that special relationship that speaks beyond words.
"Finnick Odair, I presume," her father greets in a more official tone, and holds out his hand. Finnick pauses only a heartbeat before offering his own in exchange. The handshake is firm and just a tiny bit threatening. Sil's father is definitely not what he'd expected. A more feeble, weak-minded character would have better fit the mental image Finnick had formed.
"You can call me Gemma," he informs Finnick with a short nod. "Mr. Cornelius is reserved for my clients, few as they are these days, and any potential future sons should at least get used to my name."
There is a beat of silence in which Sil stares at her father with alarmed panic and Finnick purses his lips to stop grinning. Gemma just looks pleased with himself…until Sil starts slapping his shoulder and muttering, "Father, you can't say that – "
"I'll take care of your daughter to the best of my abilities, sir," Finnick cuts in, smiling a suave smile that threatens to break his face in half. He obviously failed at hiding his grin. He also fails at battling it down when Sil turns her wide eyes to him and sends him a snarling look over her father's shoulder.
Gemma chuckles. "It seems I've embarrassed my daughter yet again, but can you blame me? With all the men chasing after Silver these days…" he tsks and says, "Well. I have to make sure they're worthy of dating my beautiful, intelligent girl."
Finnick's mouth twitches. Intelligent? Beautiful, yes, perhaps, but intelligent? He nearly laughs aloud at the thought. Somehow he manages to keep silent (at great personal cost) and merely coughs into his hand. Sil pretends not to notice his amusement, though anyone could see the bright twinkle of it in his eyes. It would be hard not to notice, to be honest. Finnick's eyes are lovely.
She purses her lips and mumbles, "Father." But, as Finnick is beginning to realize, Gemma has a mind of his own. He merely waves Sil away and glances over at the butler who is now lugging suitcases through the massive front doors.
"We've set up a room for you on the east end of the mansion. And before you get any ideas, Silver's room is absolutely off limits. There'll be no canoodling under my roof." Gemma glances at Sil's pained expression and laughs loudly. "What did you expect, dove? Did you really think I'd forget about all those incidents you used to get into? I'm getting older, but I haven't lost my memory yet."
Sil looks absolutely mortified, which naturally makes Finnick more than a little curious. Incidents in her youth? Now that is a secret he has to hear. His mind flashes back to that one night at that glamorous Capitol party weeks before, when Gloss had mentioned something about Sil going to parties before her Games. He wonders if that's all there is to it. Surely not.
Before he can subtly question Gemma on the topic, Sil lurches forward and grabs his wrist, tugging him away from the marbled foyer. "I'll show you to your room," she says hastily. Gemma smiles in amusement and gives Finnick a polite nod as they leave him behind.
It takes a moment for Finnick to adjust to the change of rooms. Really, the mansion is a world on its own. The marble floors of the foyer turn to gleaming cherry colored wood as they enter a hallway. Instead of the looming, dreadful feeling of those many portraits staring him down, he is filled with a much lighter sense of ease. The décor matches, transforming from gloomy and sullen to bright airy greens and blues and yellows. There are even flowers painted on the walls, sprouting from the floor and creeping up the mint green wall paper in life sized splendor. Even Finnick has to admit that it's a sight to behold.
The mansion isn't quite as ominous or large as it had seemed upon stepping into it. It only takes a few minutes to walk from one side to the other. It's not even as big as President Snow's estate in the Capitol, to be honest. But it's glamorous in a way Snow's estate could never be, and when they arrive in Finnick room he's once again swept off guard, like a wave blocked by a jutting pier.
"…Wow," he mumbles, feeling strangely inadequate in the face of all this glamour. He shouldn't be. The Capitol is glamorous too, but this is something else entirely. Where the Capitol is almost industrious in its views of comfort, Sil's estate is practically a fantastical dream. He takes one look at the circular bed strewn with bright pillows with a mesh drape overhanging the piece and smirks.
"You don't spare expenses," he says with a raised eyebrow, noting the gossamer white curtains and the floor length windows overlooking perhaps the only greenery on the entire grounds. There's a swimming pool just outside his room. A pair of French doors open up onto a patio where there are comfortable looking woven chairs and even a hammock hanging from between two towering palm trees. He barely manages to drag his eyes away from the view of the water that he honestly can't wait to jump into. He's glad he does though, because Sil is making something of a show as she zips around the room and tidies nonexistent messes.
She gives a trilling laugh. "Yes. I thought you'd like this room. I hope you'll enjoy the pool. You can use it whenever you'd like."
The hesitant smile she sends him falls away when he points out, "I didn't bring swim clothes, you know." She looks chagrined, probably because she'd forgotten to mention it before they'd left District 4.
For some reason he feels the need to clear away that hesitance still lingering on her face, so Finnick winks and drawls, "I guess we could always go skinny dipping instead." He can't possibly fight away the grin that presses itself to his mouth when she immediately turns red.
"Finnick!" she says, horrified at the thought.
He laughs and steps closer. "Do you think there are any cameramen around to take pictures of my moonlit nudity? What a scandalous article that would be! Silver Cornelius lures poor Finnick Odair into the pool for her own amusement – his trousers disappear with the rest of his dignity. Sounds good, right?"
She sniffs, turns her nose up, and tells him, "As if I would stoop that low. Or try to get you naked. Besides, what makes you think I'm going swimming with you at night?" She puts more distance between them as she goes to collect his suitcase, which is waiting over by the door, placed there by the butler before they'd arrived.
Finnick watches as she drags it across the floor. "Swimming at night is fun. Where's your sense of adventure?" he snarks, then takes pity on her and helps her with the heavy suitcase. He lifts it into his arms and for a moment, Sil stares at the roiling muscles on display. Luckily she snaps out of it before he notices.
She scoffs. "Anyway. There'll be no cameramen here unless they find some way to sneak in. My father would never allow them entrance."
He gives her a sideways glance and hesitantly asks, "…Does that mean we don't have to pretend we're dating?" She hesitates too, unsure about the answer, as well as uncertain as to why she feels subtly slighted at the question. Of course Finnick Odair wouldn't actually want to date her. Their whole relationship is a scam. If he had a choice, he'd probably be as far away from her as possible.
"We'll take it slow," he tells her when she doesn't respond. "No point getting rusty and slipping in the act, right?"
She somehow manages to smile and nod, trying to look like she's in total agreement. But what she's really struggling with is trying to prove to herself that she's in agreement. That she's just fooling herself. That there is absolutely no reason at all to want Finnick Odair, or to ever think that he could want her. Finnick likes intelligent women, and Silver Lamprey Cornelius is just a dithering fool.
"I'll leave you to it, my love. Perhaps later I'll give you a tour of the mansion," she suggests, stepping toward the door with a shallow smile. Finnick just sends her a bland smile and watches her leave, skirts flying around her legs as she hurries away from him.
Dinner is at seven. Finnick changes before then, slipping on a new shirt that doesn't have the stale scent of the train permeating the fabric. He learns fairly quickly that the desert is utterly gorgeous in the evening. A myriad of colors dance through the sky like the painted glass tiles that cover the ceiling of the estate's foyer. He ends up watching it for a while, standing in front of the windows that overlook the grounds. It's like staring into a kaleidoscope full of oranges and blues and pinks.
The butler comes to collect him soon after, and together they walk silently through the intricate hallways that burst brightly with painted flowers. Apparently, they are dining outside tonight, because he is led to a large pillared veranda that's probably at least twice as large as his own room and full of equally luxurious accommodations. Sil and Gemma are already there, dressed to the nines, as if attending dinner is apparently some kind of ceremony that shouldn't ever be downplayed. The dining table is laid out with all sorts of beautiful dishes that look more like art than food. For a moment, he fumbles at the sight of all this grand extravagance.
"Finnick!" Gemma exclaims, standing up to greet him. "Sit down," he invites warmly, and Finnick takes a seat across from Sil, who clears her throat and nods at him. He nods back, still reeling with discomfort. There's no seafood in sight. He can't identify anything on the table, actually, except a plate of asparagus sitting in mock simplicity to his left. It's sprinkled in what look like nuts and surrounded by orange fruit. And – the napkins are embroidered, unwrinkled, not faded, and pristine in every way. Now he knows why Silver had been so picky about his napkins back in District 4.
"Did you rest up?" Gemma inquires, passing him a plate of what appears to be chicken (though upon tasting it minutes later, he decides it must be some other kind of poultry). Gemma sends Sil a look and she immediately stands, trudging around the table to pour Finnick a glass of wine. The action confuses Finnick – he can pour his own wine, thank you – until Gemma clarifies, "Ah. A family tradition. The wife pours the wine during the first dinner."
Sil blanches and turns to Finnick with an insisting, "He means that the daughter serves the guest – really father, why must you say things like that?" She tsks and steps back to her seat while Finnick smirks. He raises the wine glass and nearly chokes on the very sweet fragrance of it.
"You must forgive me," Gemma chuckles, turning to Finnick with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "Ever since Sil decided to forgo her formal education in favor of gossip and parties, I've enjoyed teasing her." Sil very nearly groans out loud.
Her father will be the death of her. The more unknowing hints Gemma makes, the more her cover shifts away from her like so much sand in a sandstorm. Her father is not aware of what she does in the Capitol or why she acts the way she does now. He only knows that since winning her Games, she's turned into the most frivolous creature on the face of the earth.
Yes, she used to go to parties in her youth and get into all sorts of trouble, but outside of those nights she would throw herself into her studies with a hunger she couldn't dampen. Her father had been very proud of her back then. He would often find ways to quiz her on her studies, and would delight when she could name all the ancient cities and countries that she could think of.
"Oh?" Finnick asks, eyebrows raised, "Formal education?" Sil puffs out her cheeks.
If Gemma makes any more of these comments, Finnick is going to realize that she isn't as stupid as she tries to appear. But then –
"I can't ever imagine Sil being interested in studying," Finnick says, glancing at her and clearly only seeing the surface, the shallow insipid parts of her on full display. She's not sure if she wants to wilt or grin at the fact that he's apparently easier to fool than she'd thought, even when her father is dropping hints like breadcrumbs.
He chuckles, "What kind of education did you have, Silver? Arts and crafts?" The joke makes Sil laugh, a trilling noise that she hopes sounds real, though inside she deflates.
Gemma frowns. "Silver is fluent in two Old Languages and has been the sole proprietor of the estate for several years now. Though she's also very good at her art. She always finds some new wall to paint whenever she comes home."
He smiles at his daughter, who quickly rushes to add, "Oh, yes, well I wouldn't say I'm fluent, father, and of course I'm far too busy in the Capitol to manage the accounts. I've hired help." She smiles at Finnick blandly, and he smiles back just as blandly.
Gemma looks surprised. "You have? When?"
"Oh a year or so ago," she waves her hand and reaches for a plate of fruit. "Have some mango slices father, they're good for your heart." Gemma sighs but acquiesces.
Finnick tilts his head to the side, trying to imagine Sil pouring over financial accounts. He can't. She'd just as soon toss them into the fire than actually succumb to doing math. It would make sense that she'd hire an accountant to take care of all that stuff so that she can go party in the Capitol and have a grand old time. As for being fluent in the Old Languages, Finnick does seem to recall her speaking one of them at the opera, but it had only been one sentence and she could have easily memorized it to impress her date. There's no way she's fluent in two of the Old Languages. Gemma is merely enhancing her good qualities because he's her father and that's what fathers do. He probably doesn't even realize how silly his daughter actually is.
He takes another bite of his non-chicken and tunes back into the conversation. Sil is chattering on about some sort of new gown she's having commissioned in the Capitol by some woman named Tigress. Gemma is nibbling on his mango slices and idly twirling his stemmed wine glass around his fingers.
"…Oh and you wouldn't believe the fabrics she has," she gushes, "there's this divine silver silk that would look just amazing on me. I'm going to have it commissioned for my birthday." Gemma hums lazily here and there, and Finnick wonders how much he's actually listening to his daughter's chatter. Not that he really blames him. Sil can really talk when she wants to.
"And Finnick darling, I was thinking you'd look magnificent in one of Tigress's tailored suits. Since we're dating now, I'm sure people expect you to wear all the best fabrics. I think a nice steel blue color would look spectacular with your complexion. Don't you agree father?" She delves off into different subjects before anyone can respond, as if she's trying to steer the conversation firmly in her own direction. That is, in fact, her plan.
If she can bore them both to tears with her ridiculous topics, then her father won't have any further opportunities to leave more breadcrumbs for Finnick to eat up. Not that Gemma is even aware that he's doing it, but the more he talks about Sil's past, the more interested Finnick appears. The District 4 Victor is notorious for picking up on secrets of any kind. Usually he does so between the sheets of course, so Sil is hoping he won't even notice that she's hiding something from him in plain sight. Still, it's always better to be safe than sorry.
When it starts to get dark, dozens of tiny lights spring to life all over the veranda. They creep up the pillars and crisscross the ceiling. The butler (who Finnick has learned is simply called Hale) approaches the table with a little metal cart and starts collecting the plates and dishes with a maid. Sil chatters on as if she doesn't even notice, stopping only when Hale brings out slices of chocolate cake and dainty little glasses of milk.
The decadence is overwhelming. He even feels a little guilty about eating something so delicious. It reminds him of the Capitol, and he wonders how much of this estate is geared toward accepting the role of the perfect Capitolite servant. He eats it anyway, sends Sil a bland smile, and doesn't touch the milk. It's a rare commodity in District 4, and he's never grown used to the taste.
"How will you be entertaining our guest tomorrow, Silver?" Gemma inquires after a shift of (non-chatty, glorious) silence. Apparently Sil forgets to keep talking when faced with chocolate cake. He'll have to remember that.
"I thought perhaps Finnick would enjoy seeing the city," she suggests, glancing over at him to see if he looks interested or not. It's hard to tell. The barriers are back up between them. He's clearly uncomfortable in her extravagant home. She's observant enough to realize that. Which is why he'd probably enjoy getting out of it for an afternoon.
"Ah, make sure you take him to see the Factory," Gemma tells her as he leans back in his chair with a tired yawn. Sil immediately notices.
"You should go to bed, father," she says. Gemma apparently agrees, because after a moment he gets up and leans down to press a kiss to his daughter's cheek.
"Goodnight, dove," he tells her with a fond smile. When he turns to Finnick, he claps him on the shoulder and says, "Goodnight. Don't keep her up too late." His eyes sparkle with mischief and Sil sighs dramatically.
Finnick offers his goodnight and Gemma takes his leave. The two of them are left alone on the starry veranda. Silence overcomes them.
"Dare I ask what you think of my humble home?" Sil eventually wonders, breaking the soft silence between them. She's reclining in her seat, eyes drawn to the open sky past the veranda's rooftop, where stars swallow the desert sky. There's so many of them, all twinkling brightly from above as if caught up in their own separate secrets.
Finnick chuckles. It's easy for him to slip into his Capitol persona, the flirtatious demeanor that he saves for moments where he feels too uncomfortable to be himself. It's odd, really. He hadn't felt all that uncomfortable around this silly socialite for weeks now, and yet here in this grand estate, it feels safer and more natural to put on airs. Like it's natural to hide yourself away and be another person here. As easy as breathing.
"It's lovely," he hedges, unsure if he's lying or not. To be fair, it is an absolutely beautiful place, like an outlet of some heavenly space reserved for a select few. He'd never truly thought about how the other Victors live. Where they disappear to after their time in the Capitol expires. But he can imagine Sil escaping here – it's the perfect place to run away to, so luxurious and grand that it's only too easy to be swept up in it all.
She smiles at him, but her eyes are strangely blank, like those flickering lights above them, bright but silenced in some way Finnick cannot put a finger on. He watches her from across the table, wondering once again what secrets she holds. He's seen more sides of her than he realized existed. The excitement at seeing the ocean, the unbridled curiosity of knowing about everything in District 4, the strange but beautiful way she somehow manages to get under people's skins without even trying very hard. Surely the Silver he's known in the Capitol isn't the Sil he sees now, but he can't quite figure out the actual differences between the two. What is the common denominator between the girl he thought he knew, and the woman sitting before him now?
Instead of calling him out on his words, Sil just sighs. "If you'd rather not go into the city tomorrow, we don't have to," she says after another moment of silence. "I'm sure I can think of something else to do."
The offer is tempting. Finnick's never liked District 1. Both times he's been to the overly flashy district, he'd been filled with the sense of disgusting claustrophobia. The way these people live, like they're trying too hard to look and act like the Capitol, makes him sick. Nothing feels natural here, even this glamorous estate – especially the estate. But Sil had been willing to see the sights of his own district, and they'd be spending a whole week in hers. He might as well make at least a little bit of an effort.
"I'm sure Snow would expect us to go out in public," Finnick muses lightly. Sil hums in agreement. They fall silent again.
The desert is lovely at night, like another world. Like two sides of the same coin. He can't help but wonder what the two sides of Sil are. He's sure there's something there, and as the evening rolls out before them, the thought remains constant in his mind.
Silver Lamprey Cornelius is turning out to be quite the mystery.