Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hunger Games. R&R please.
Chapter 3
"Flush." Chaff tosses his cards. Finnick notices that he manages this quite artfully with his stump of an arm.
Cecelia snorts. "Fullhouse."
"Fullhouse." It's said with an emphasis that makes Cecelia look miffed. This one's a better deck, as Brutus knows.
"Two-of-a-kind." Finnick says lamely. He holds out his cards—a mish-mash of nothing, really.
They look at him, stunned. Then Chaff starts laughing so hard that he needs a swig of his liquor to calm himself, and Finnick tries not to flush as the others smirk.
He is glad that he is not playing with his own money. They were short of a player and forced him to play, although all he's been doing is adding to Brutus' losses. Not that Brutus is really losing a lot—he can afford it, what with the way he's been getting all the good cards.
Brutus sweeps up the winnings, laughing raucously. They don't play with high stakes at all; coming from Districts has hammered in a fear of running out of money one day, even though their winnings are technically good enough for the rest of their lives.
"Losing in your own casino!" Brutus snorts. "I wish all the ladies out there could see this."
He laughs with the rest, who are basically shaking in their chairs.
Finnick hates the idea of gambling. But it's not often that there are people that he knows and likes to be with in this casino. This is one night when he doesn't have a patron bugging him. And so he sits around, playing cards with his friends, although he is terrible at it.
"Well, we know what Finnick Odair isn't good at." Cecelia says mildly. In retaliation, Finnick puckers his lips at her sexily, and she shakes with laughter. "Are you going to strip now?"
"I swear," Brutus barks, "This penalty for losing is almost too easy for the loser. We should pick something harder." He looks at Finnick pointedly. "Something that requires more brains than getting nekkid."
It comes as a slap, although he doesn't show his real reaction. It's not their fault. They don't really know what he goes through, even though a reasonably intelligent Victor would suspect what Snow is forcing him into. For crying out loud, Finnick thinks, the fact that he lives in the Capitol and not back in District Four's Victor Village is telling!
But they won't ever know. Cecelia's too plain to be ever considered attractive especially with that stick figure and too narrow eyes—it's a bit of a miracle that she survived without a single sponsor after the first few days in the arena. Brutus isn't attractive too; besides, he's become old and grouchy in the eyes of the ageist Capitol, and he itches for a fight with everyone. Chaff was like Haymitch—a bit of a looker and quite buff back then. But then, Chaff survived the games but lost his hand, and invalids aren't exactly desirable.
None of them really know the implications of their barbs when they call him a ladies' man.
Brutus is crowing now. "Brains, I said. Not just—," He gestures to Finnick and leaves the description to imagination. Finnick laughs along with the others. "Come up with an alternative!"
Finnick, with his extraordinary looks and the disadvantages that comes with it, doesn't like to dwell on things too much. It would be so much harder to get through the days if he cared enough to pity himself. Besides, he's well-fed and he adds to his winnings, so it's not all a loss there.
"Oh no, I insist. It's only fair, since we agreed on the penalty!" Finnick gets up, literally rising to the challenge. He begins swiveling his hips the way he's seen skimpily-clad dancers do every night in this casino. They've given him quite some additions to his repertoire. "There's an—," He pauses, looking sultry in a way that makes the rest crack up, "Art to it."
And then he unbuttons his shirt, keeping his face from collapsing in restrained laughter. He goes down the row, one at a time, slowly, slowly, so, so slowly, moving his hips all the time. But then Chaff jabs him with his foot, laughing too much to be coherent. "Okay, okay, just sit down already before I see what religion you subscribe to."
Finnick does so, still grinning. He's gone past the point of caring that he's cemented his reputation as a toy boy of the richest Capitol people. He's that District Four Career that has since settled down in the Capitol and made good. It's all part of the wider joke. And what's life, without something to laugh at?
Chaff calls for drinks, as Finnick expects he will. They've run out of the booze, thanks to Chaff and the way that he glugs, and so an Avox comes up behind him, serving him.
"It's good that you bring this casino so much business," Brutus says. "We get discounts, don't we?"
"Discounts?" Finnick says indignantly. He pounds a fist on the table. "Do I look so cheap to you? Didn't you know that this is on the house?"
By and large, the place is adapted to keep him happy. That is, it's adapted to keep the patrons who come, mostly disguised as the usual gambler, satisfied. And that means making Finnick happy.
"They need you, clearly." Brutus comments. He waves his hand around at the interior-deco. "I can see that it's all sea-themed."
"Hell," Cecelia says with a hint of sarcasm, "I passed by that aquarium along the way here." She whistles under her breath. "It's showy, that's for sure. I saw the Avoxes working on it. They must have to work hard with this place's scale."
"And a former Victor is slaving away in here." Brutus snorts.
Finnick doesn't feel like responding to that. He has the urge however, to ask which victor Brutus is referring to.
"There's a massive pool too." Chaff says, his breath rank and his eyes looking sleepy. He has downed all the liquor already, and there's little left despite how recently the Avox refilled their glasses. "You use it, Odair?"
"No." Finnick says shortly, unable to come up with anything witty. Not when he has to work there once a fortnight, when the casino has something called Mambo-Jumbo Night. Basically, it's when the gambling takes place around the pool and everyone hangs around in swimwear and ogles. Finnick of course, gets to dive and to have women fighting to stand in line to get splashed from the impact of his body hitting the water. The whole thing is more ridiculous than it has to be, really.
He much prefers to go swimming with the dolphins and turtles in their enclosures, because he dislikes the taste of chlorine in the normal swimming pool. Although he's been spending more time away from the casino, Finnick swims with the animals when he can. For some reason, he has more and more free time these days to entertain himself, which he always delighted at. He has pondered about this, and there does seem to be some plausible explanation.
Maybe, Snow doesn't have that many debts these days. Maybe.
Or maybe fewer people are interested in him these days—it's been five years since he was crowned, anyway. There are other victors to lust after, since the whole idea of fascination is that of novelty anyway. He does have one or two people turning up now and then, but most of the time, he is left to his own devices.
Like now.
As Finnick shuffles the cards, grinning widely. But as the Avox comes to serve them pours drinks again, Brutus looks around and asks, "Where's Annie?"
"Who?"
It is a good question, never mind that Chaff is half-drunk and asking it in a horrible slur. Finnick has never been able to answer that question, despite Annie's having been here for quite some time. She's not a friend—none of the Avoxes are. She's not a charge—never mind what Mags wants. She's not his responsibility—he doesn't want and doesn't have any. But he does spend time with her. He knows things about her. He shares a secret with her, even if she may not really understand the implications of her recovery and how she's capable of unlocking the voice trapped within her.
Finnick is certain though, that he doesn't want to tell the others that he has begun to clean the enclosures with the Avoxes and Annie whenever he can. He thinks about the incident that happened a few weeks ago—when he'd been joshing around and he'd heard Annie's voice.
"Annie Cresta. The winner from two years before." Cecelia says to Chaff. She is quite straightforward—they've all become quite open with each other, since they've survived their round of Games. Finnick finds her calm and firm with others, and Finnick likes her style. "The thirteen-year-old, right?"
Finnick thinks, 'Fifteen now—just celebrated her birthday.' He knows, because he saw the Avoxes slip her a scarf that they knitted in their spare time.
"The girl who swam through the flood." Brutus says mockingly. "Best title ever." He clearly doesn't think much of Annie Cresta, who never took anyone down. "The District Four Tribute." He glances by chance at Finnick, who avoids his eyes.
"Oh, yes, yes." Chaff is glugging his drink again. "The mad one."
They all laugh grimly. It's actually almost natural that the Victors find solace with each other, and Finnick is thankful for having at least that. Finnick though, can't find it in him to join in.
Chaff is scratching his chin with his good hand. "What's she doing here again?"
"She's an Avox now." Finnick tells them. He deals the cards. "Helps around with the animals in this place. The aquarium animals, in particular."
Chaff raises his eyebrows. "Eh?" There's something absent about the space next to him—Haymitch ought to be here, passing bottles between them. But if Haymitch were here, Finnick wouldn't have to be sitting in for this game in the first place.
"She's here now?" Brutus looks around, evidently trying to spot something that might look like an Annie to him. He swivels to Finnick. "You see her around?"
"No." Finnick lies, not looking so that he won't have to point her out. He doesn't even know why he bothers, as if he is hiding a secret. "I don't like to have the Avoxes hanging around me."
This isn't true. He is always finding ways to hang around them. The ugly truth is that he's insecure without people around, despite how tired he is of people. The Avoxes are a good bunch to hang out with because they don't make him angry and feel used. Even if he makes sure not to be too happy around them for fear that it would be unkind, he enjoys being around them. They are genuine at very least.
Cecelia's looking around for Annie too, as if she'll pop out from the air. "Where is she?"
Brutus begins peering around.
"She can't speak." Finnick tells him pointlessly. That just makes Brutus look out even more. Somehow, he doesn't want them to see her. He finishes dealing the cards and then reaches for a drink. "No point getting her here when she can't tell jokes like me."
"Still can't speak after all this time?" Brutus says in surprise. He laughs shortly. "Maybe that's why she's good as an Avox."
Finnick stops drinking for a second to shrug. He is thinking about the laugh that may or may not have been part of his imagination. For sure, if she is beginning to find her voice, she must be recovering in some ways. "If you ask me, she's pretty useless. She can't work the way that the other Avoxes do."
"Then why do the casino owners keep her?" Cecelia wonders.
Finnick has wondered about that too. One could argue that the animals thrive under her. The dolphins let her ride on their back, and Finnick hears that the casino owners may let her do shows in the future. She isn't without value there. But surely, they didn't know that when they were presented with a clumsy Avox, did they?
"I'm not her keeper—I don't know." Finnick tries to shift the conversation away, trying to ignore the worry welling up in him. He has noticed that Annie is beginning to speak. She is able to make certain sounds that are almost syllables now. He isn't sure if they'll have to take out her tongue once the casino owners find out.
Then quickly, Finnick reminds himself that it doesn't do to worry about other people.
"She's in this casino, yes?" Cecelia asks.
"Yes." Finnick doesn't add on, suddenly keen to avoid any topic on Annie.
"I've run out of drinks again." Chaff complains. Finnick is quite sure that Chaff is already drunk—he seems to be blundering his speech, and he is starting to address Cecelia as Finnick and Finnick as Brutus. He looks around. "Oy!"
"Refills!" Finnick calls. He grins at Cecelia. "And hopefully before Chaff goes berserk from withdrawal."
But he is stunned when it is Annie that comes to serve. Of course, Chaff doesn't notice, still trying to tilt the last drop into his mouth and drinking thirstily. Brutus, counting his money, doesn't see that Finnick has gone still.
"Hello, Annie." Cecelia says kindly.
Somehow, she recognizes the Avox that's taking her turn to serve this room of casino guests. It's surprising, Finnick thinks, since two years have passed and Annie is the kind of person that people tend to forget.
Brutus stops counting and looks up in surprise. "Is this Annie?"
"Yes." Finnick says, not sure what they are going to say.
"She looks different," Brutus says unnecessarily, the winnings limp in his hand. This is obvious. Annie has become healthy; much healthier even in the awfulness of the casino. She looks entirely normal; her white pinched face has been filled out since then and there is colour in her cheeks. She looks pert and neat in her uniform, her long hair tucked into her beret. She stands there patiently, dutifully, holding a tray.
Beyond that, Finnick is seeing how lovely her face is even with that inexplicable air of melancholy that she carries within her innocence and senselessness. Perhaps she is naïve and blameless because she can never comprehend and adapt to the world around her, and that is why Finnick cannot help but want to protect her at times.
They are all looking at Annie, save the drunk Chaff who is facing another direction groggily. She has grown a little taller since she was in the Games, and the fabric is of a bright red. It's a world apart from the seal suit she wore then. It brings out the dark, silky hair that's been braided, and she looks remarkably well.
But what amazes Finnick even more is what he sees of Annie's lips. Those actually part as she lifts her face to look a Cecelia, and he realizes that she is forming a word, even if it is silent. She isn't mumbling incoherently; she isn't talking nonsense in her mind. This is a conscious choice of a word—a greeting, even if partial.
"—llo." It is soft and strange, but it is familiar in Finnick's mind.
Cecelia, Brutus and Finnick gape, even as Chaff slumps happily onto the table, drooling noisily.
A few weeks after Cecelia, Brutus and Finnick hear Annie speak, an Avox rushes up to Finnick, signing and gesturing frantically. He comes close to startling Finnick, who was lounging on a billet table like a cat in the throes of its afternoon nap.
This Avox is much older than Annie or Finnick for that matter, and he seems to be the one that the other Avoxes trust and follow. Finnick though, isn't exactly familiar with the signs that the Avox is making with his hands. He sits up on the table that has become his temporary mattress. He looks around, not understanding, a bit lost. The billets room that he sits in is empty and the head bartender isn't anywhere in sight.
The Avox gives him a look of clear desperation.
"Shall I follow you?" Finnick offers.
The Avox nods promptly. His silence is a painful one. It is exceedingly obvious that he is worried about something and that if he could, he would be already begging for something. He sets off in a sprint, and Finnick is left to put down the rope that he was playing with and to chase.
This Avox runs surprisingly fast, and Finnick actually has to try to keep up. The area that's roped off from the casino guests speeds by as their feet pound away, and the Avox seems to increase speed still.
Following him down the corridors and to an exit that leads to the aquarium and pool area, Finnick has his suspicions. There are few things that make the Avoxes so worried at this time of the day when there aren't many drunkards or rowdy guests around. That the Avox has come to Finnick specifically rather than the Head Bartender is quite telling.
Of course, it is Annie.
Finnick sees her legs rather than her—a few Avoxes are crowded around what must be her form. She is lying down on the edge of the large pool that Finnick never frequents except when he has to. It is a pool that has varying depths and it is more difficult to clean than the aquarium tanks, despite the absence of animals.
He hurries there to the deep end where the little group is. As the Avoxes step back to let Finnick near her, he sees that her uniform is soaked and her hair is streaming wet everywhere. A few other Avoxes are just as soaked— they must have pulled her out of the pool. They don't know what to do—none of them know how to revive her.
One signals to her ankle but Finnick doesn't understand. He is already next to her, trying to revive her. What he can gather though, is that they can't wait any longer. Now isn't the time for questions—they can't afford it if Annie has taken in too much water.
Wasting no time, he gets down on his knees and begins to press against her chest, hoping that he isn't too late. His father taught him to do this, although Finnick has never had the first-hand experience of having to revive a drowned person.
This is madness, he thinks. His hands are shaking and he is shocked at how affected he is at seeing what may be a death—he thought he'd grown used to death and decay in the Capitol after those days in the Arena. How could this girl drown? It seems impossible to him even as he parts her lips and desperately blows air, keeping his hands pumping steadily against her.
He keeps up at it, praying with all his heart that he isn't too late. But within seconds, she coughs up water violently, shoulders caving inwards. And shakily, her eyes open.
"Annie!" He gasps. She shudders her breaths, teeth shaking and chattering. An Avox runs to fetch a towel and they drape it over her. There is applause from the Avoxes, and Finnick suspects that if they could, would probably have cheered. He steals a glance to the things around them— brushes and brooms and cleaning equipment. Had she fallen in while cleaning the tank?
"What happened here?" He muttered. There is a sudden burst of anger within the relief that he feels. How could she have fallen in and nearly drowned with so many Avoxes around her? Or did they all overestimate her as the girl who swam through a flood? Did she splash about after she fell in, unable to swim properly with a cramped ankle, and did they ignore her for too long before they realized that she was drowning?
He crouches next to her, feeling her tremble as he helps her up.
They all crowd around, watching as she sits up unsteadily. But her eyes are unfocused and dazed, and she looks confused. She doesn't even seem to realize that she isn't alone and that there are people right beside her.
In the meanwhile, Finnick sits back, exhausted from the strain of stress and his efforts at reviving Annie.
But what she does next makes them all stare.
She blinks once, looking at all of them as if she doesn't know them, and then her eyes dilate and she screams.
Ten minutes later, the head bartender knocks on Finnick's door.
It is strange to see the head bartender venturing out of the main hall—he's been working there ever since the casino was set up and he seems to be a part of the place as much as the special crystal cutlery and chandeliers.
Finnick opens the door a little, smiling as naturally as he can while preventing the bartender from looking in. The loud music playing from the in-built sound system is of a pulsing beat and volume that makes even the seasoned bartender wince.
The bartender gapes at what he can see of Finnick. "Your hair and shirt's all damp!"
"Oh yes, working out does that to me." Finnick says nonchalantly. He hopes he doesn't smell too strongly of chlorine for the head bartender to suspect otherwise. "Can I help you?"
"Er— did you hear anything from the aquarium just now? What was that racket about?" The bartender asks curiously. His eyes narrow. "I was coming back to the main hall and I heard screams. Really, really loud screams."
"Oh that," Finnick laughs it off. "That was me. I was just letting off steam along the way down here. Even now." He smiles winningly. "I'm doing a new kind of therapy that requires me to release the stress that way."
The bartender looks shocked, trying to speak loudly over the music. "Sounded like a female. I didn't know you scream in such a high pitch."
"When I'm in the mood, it gets like that. That's what they tell me all the time," Finnick grins idiotically, jabbing a finger behind his shoulder in a vague indication of something that makes the bartender wrinkle his nose. Finnick then screams loudly, in the highest key that he can muster, and the bartender takes a step back, thoroughly shocked.
"Well, don't let me disturb you any more," the bartender stutters. He turns away, muttering something to himself about weirdoes.
Finnick watches him for a few seconds to make sure that he's left, and then he slams the door, locking it shut and turning back to his quarters. Huddled in a corner, screaming still, is a drenched, bedraggled Annie. She is kicking away, trying to get further away from him, but one of her ankles is suffering from a cramp and she can't quite move. The towel that Finnick bundled her up in, slung her over his shoulder and half-ran into his quarters in, is now shredded from her struggling.
Her screams, hoarse and awful with fear don't overpower the stereo, but it's enough to make Finnick feel almost insane himself. He strides to her and tries to lift her up, shredded towel and all, but she claws at him and manages to leave three red strips over his shoulder. Thankfully, she missed his face—that would be inconvenient.
He does manage however, to clap his hand over her mouth, and he hauls her to the four poster so that he has something to push her against. His ears already ringing, he switches off the stereo with an indignant push of his finger against a wall panel, and turns back to the shrieking lunatic whose mouth is covered by his palm. The screams are muffled mostly, but he's afraid to let go.
"Shut up!" He whispers fiercely. "Do you want people to realize that you're not a real Avox and take out your tongue for real?"
The contact of his hand, rough against her mouth, stops her from screaming. She drags her hands to his clapped hand but she doesn't try to pull it away. Instead, she holds it there.
Her eyes are wild in her face and tears are already spilling and rolling down her cheeks. Shuddering to control his anger and fear, Finnick pushes her to lie down, pinning her down with his weight, too anxious to realize that the sheets are getting soaked.
"So you understand then." He whispers. "Good. I'm telling you, if the owners find out that you have your voice back—,"
He trails off. He doesn't really know what will happen, but his instincts tell him that it can't be anything good, and Finnick trusts his instincts.
He hears her panting softly behind his palm. She has screamed herself hoarse already. She is shuddering violently, and her hair is a tangled dark mess. Those eyes are nearly dilated in fear.
"Don't be afraid. Nobody's going to hurt you here." He looks at her, trying to understand what she is so terrified of. "I don't want anyone to hear you, Annie. Keep quiet so I can let go. Do you understand me?"
She gives him an unmistakable nod, and he lets go slowly, rolling off her, ready to clap his hand back at any time. She begins to sob, quiet tiny mewls that shake her already trembling body. He shakes his head, feeling as lost and as bewildered as her. Had he not reacted fast, the Avoxes and Annie would have been seen by the bartender. Finnick was plain lucky that he bundled her up fast enough and ran off while the Avoxes distracted the bartender.
Now, he strokes her cheek, touching the tears with his hand. She curls up, crying quietly, eyes becoming puffy and red. Helpless at her misery and his own confusion, he brings her to him to try and comfort her. He doesn't expect it when she hugs him suddenly, clinging on as though something's after her life.
She doesn't understand herself anymore than he has failed to understand the madness in her. But her voice is a threat to her safety now. It puts fear in him, but he works to hide it as he takes her into his arms too, pressing her against him as if that will make them feel more secure in this mad place.
He hushes her. Her tears are still spilling down her cheeks, wetting his already damp shoulders and shirt. "I know." He pats her back gently the way he learnt to do when his siblings wouldn't sleep. Shelley used to be the worse of them all—she was always afraid of the dark and shadows especially after their father had died. She and Tristan were the youngest, and they used to beg to sleep right next to Finnick. On hindsight, he was always tall and perhaps curling next to their elder sibling gave them a sense of security somehow.
Annie is still mumbling incoherently but not so incoherently for Finnick to miss the muttered ramblings about water and the ground shaking. She must have been reminded of the Games.
Finnick wonders how the hovercrafts pulled her out of the flood. Had she been too exhausted to keep swimming at some point? Had the rest died while she had been seconds away from her own and declared the winner just before there could be none for that year? She feels damp at first touch, but their bodies' heat is beginning to travel from their contact. Gradually, her teeth stop chattering and she becomes silent.
He would like to lie here for a while longer by her side. If anything, Finnick can be brutally honest with himself. But now that she's mostly calm, there's no time to lose. He brings her away gently, speaking in that same hushed tone even if he's not furious or panicking anymore. He sits both of them up.
"You need to take a bath." He tells her urgently. "The owners will be coming to the casino any time now and if they see you, they'll wonder what happened." He looks at her wrecked uniform with a small sigh. "I'll send an Avox here with a change of clothes." He lets go and stands up. "I'll get you a new towel."
She looks at him beseechingly, and he turns back to her. "What, Annie?"
"How long have I been here?"
That she is speaking makes Finnick take a step back. That she is not just speaking but asking a question is highly unnerving. Her eyes are dark in that paper face, and her lips are raw from her biting. But she is so very still and frighteningly calm now.
Her first complete sentence in more than a year is a question.
Suddenly, it makes sense. Each relapse that she has brings her closer and closer to remembering the past and the details of how she survived the games, but it also gives her back her words. The shock of remembering damages and heals her at the same time, although complete sense will not return to Annie.
He forces himself to answer. "It's been more than a year since you won the Games." It comes as a shock to him even as he says it. "You've been here for more than a year."
The direct mention of the games makes Annie's face grow paler than usual. She even tries to get up, forgetting that her ankle is cramped. She falls back, making a hiss of pain, and Finnick rushes to her. He kneels, lifting her ankle and resting it on his bent knee, and miserably, she looks at him while he tries to deal with her cramp.
"Let it rest." He tells her, flustered. "Don't do anything."
She is hearing him but not listening. The harassed look hasn't left her expression, although she sits still.
He asks unsurely, "What happened?"
"I fell in." She whispers. She is staring into the distance and does not look at him when he searches her expression to see what she is really trying to say. "I was drowning."
"Your foot—," He shakes his head, not wanting to hear anymore even while he bends her small foot, trying to work feeling back into it. "It wasn't working well."
She doesn't seem to understand him anymore than he fails to see what she is so fearful of. "I swam." Annie says quietly. "It was cold." She shakes her head. "Very cold. I was blind. There were rocks. I kept begging for help." Her hands are gripped white. "They couldn't hear me."
"They must have been busy." He thinks about the worried Avoxes who thankfully pulled her out in time. "They must have known—you couldn't cry out then."
"They couldn't hear me." She insists in that deathly still way. Her eyes are nearly black from her panic. "They couldn't hear us begging."
"Us?" He whispers, seeing the fear in her face bloom once more. "Who else—?"
It is then that Finnick knows that there is clarity even within her insanity—she isn't talking about what just happened. She is still living in her past, and it haunts her as if it is as real as the present. He understands a little, because it is that way for him at times.
Her gaze grows sharp with hatred. It puts coldness into him—he has never seen her face hold such poison. But it passes as suddenly as it enters, and suddenly tears are spilling down her cheeks. She doesn't flinch—her eyes only grow wider. "They were listening, weren't they?"
She must have screamed for something to lift her out. They'd probably waited until the rest had drowned before they'd fished her right out and just in time. How many times had she gone under the water and then cut through, struggling to breathe? Did she hear the other Tributes screaming through the flood too?
"I got a branch at first." She closes her eyes, stifling a sob. "It broke after a while."
Her terror seems even more real in the way she speaks quietly. These were all her trapped words, he realizes. The shock and emotion was too great and she became silent, unable to articulate what she'd gone through. Even now, the recount seems patchy and it lacks details of what she was feeling. But then, she doesn't need to tell him that she was terrified for him to know.
"I swam." She says again. Her eyes are lost.
"You're really better now, Annie," Finnick says as normally as he can, trying not to listen to her. Somehow, he'd rather have her silence than what she is saying now. It horrifies him in a way that he didn't expect, to hear that soft, steady voice. He lifts her to her feet. "Try and walk."
She manages to take a few steps, and he nods encouragingly, guiding her along until she can take her hand away from his. When she does, he misses the feeling of her holding him. She turns back to him, eyes questioning. She is even more confused than before, but hopefully, that will keep her from talking in front of anyone else.
He forces a confident smile on his face. Mad or not, she has learnt to interpret these things as reassurances. He must be strong—she's so clear-headed in some ways but so muddled in others. If he loses grip with the reality of the present, he'll be just like her. He reminds himself to be strong, because he has gone past the point of trying not to care about Annie. "You'll be fine."
When an Avox comes with a change of clothes and he receives it hurriedly, and dismisses the worried Avox. Then Finnick turns to Annie, where he sees that she is mumbling and deep in thought. She mumbles about bread and Papa and the nets that haven't been mended well.
"Yes, that's good now." He tries to get on with what they have to do and act as if everything is fine once more. If she has apparently regained some kind of sanity, he fears that he is losing his. "Now, you better take a shower—you have your work after this at the drinks bar."
Without waiting, he practically shepherds her into the bathroom. "The soap's there—," He points things out briskly and slings the fresh towel over the rack. Forgetting her fear suddenly, she looks at the bathroom in awe—this is possibly a much larger room than the others that she's been in. Finnick's bathroom, for sure, is filled with luxuries.
"Shells." She points out a mural of tiles. "Conches."
"That's right." He echoes. He is suddenly stricken with guilt as he remembers what he took from her and had crushed. He forces a smile onto his face. "I'll return you yours soon."
He looks at her inquiring, slightly swollen eyes and knows that he is fooling both of them. There is no replacing the crushed things of the past. He of all people, ought to have known that.
She continues to stare at the things in the bathroom, but obeys and seems to understand him when he tells her that she has to hurry. He draws a bath for her and clears out, closing the bathroom.
He manages to keep himself silent for as long as she takes to start washing.
But when the sound of the bath starts, Finnick allows himself to lose his control and sinks to the floor, sobbing. He claps his hand over his mouth the way he had to do for her—afraid to be heard. His shoulders are shaking, and he prays for everything to stop.
He manages to recover—right in time to look normal and almost cheerful when Annie reappears. In her fresh uniform, she would have looked almost like her usual mad self—except that there is an understanding and hint of intelligence in the eyes that now see things differently. Even if she is still mad, there is a growing comprehension in her expression each time he sees her, and Finnick fears that one day, she will remember more than she has to. She is undeniably gentle-natured though, and it is easy for Finnick to tell himself that he'd imagined the hatred that welled up in her before this.
As she stands there, looking at him dumbly like a beaten animal, his heart is filled with pity. He didn't think that he would have anything more than the gaping chasm in him, but the numbness has been changed, somehow. Without knowing why, he crosses to her, brushing her fringe out of her eyes.
And without really intending it, Finnick kisses her on her forehead.
She accepts it as her eyes flutter shut, and when he folds her into his arms, hugging her like the sibling that he lost, she pats his lower back comfortingly despite their height difference.
And she whispers as he did to her, "You'll be fine."
As usual, the casino's packed and the chandeliers look ready to be used as common hat-stands. There are people everywhere, playing cards, shouting and throwing money everywhere on every flat surface—including dancers' toned bellies. The smoke from cigars is everywhere, and it's enough to make one's eyes swim.
From where he lies on a lounge, Finnick is playing his own game. The shock of the afternoon hasn't quite left, but he is afraid to think too much about it. Besides, he has to keep up with his usual appearances, and so he sticks around.
The people that have come here for him and not the cards and gambling are either cosying up to him or looking on. There are no cameras allowed in this casino, so they stare long and hard, trying to imprint him into their minds. He helps them along, laughing and talking and cosying up to them as well.
A casino-guest touches his chest longingly. "Finnick, you're gorgeous." She trails her smoke around him, and he feels like coughing right in her face. There are others swooning around him as well, and he lies there, tolerating all this nonsense, swirling his drink and sipping from it very daintily.
"I wish my boyfriend looked like you." Someone's being so dazed in his presence that she sighs her admiration. The music that the live band plays is loud, what with all that brass, but her sigh swells up above it anyway.
"Well, I hope he's worthy of you." He smiles playfully. He blows her a kiss, folding his legs and sitting up properly on the couch now. If all goes well, he can excuse himself in an hour and have an early night. It's been a long day, what with finding a drowning Annie who then turns out to be perfectly able to speak.
But he's pulled back by the people who dove to sit beside him when he thought he'd found a place to rest. Forcing a smile, he settles back.
"How do you maintain that physique?" One admirer begs.
I exercise a lot." He says, inserting a tiny little smirk into his face and voice. "It's very—," He pauses strategically. "Vigorous." They swoon.
But it is true. At many times, it is difficult to feel his legs at the end of the day—if there is an end or day at all. Most are satisfied customers, but some are insatiable in the first place. He has been manhandled, stroked, grabbed at, fondled, bruised, roughened up, and all but enjoyed his time with the patrons that Snow sends to him.
On some days, he responds by fucking them harder than they fuck him, making the patrons beg and wheedle and pander even more to him. On other days, when he finds himself actually enjoying dealing out the secret abuse to patrons who come to him and end up begging him to go on and to stop at the same time, he wonders if he has already gone mad.
"Oh, Finnick," One lady is slithering to have her go at sneaking touches of his bare skin. "You're such a dream. As beautiful as Venus Milano in that gallery."
He tosses his empty glass flute to the bouncer, then smirks back at her. "I'm better." He grabs her into his arms, making everyone around him squeal and gasp. She is looking up at him, eyes bright with emotion, smile filled with the infatuation that he's learnt to draw from them. "I have arms."
The bouncer that usually accompanies Finnick when he makes his rounds in the casino lumbers away to get to the other side of the room, where the drinks counter is. He is in charge of controlling the visitors if they get too rowdy, and he's also been assigned to keep Finnick's glass refilled the entire evening.
Finnick stares at the bouncer's retreating back, but just as he's about to turn back to his admirers, he catches sight of Annie.
She has begun working at the drinks counter with the other Avoxes for some time now. Since her accident in the afternoon had to be kept silent from the head bartender, she is serving there tonight. She seems to be doing fine—the head bartender doesn't have anything to scold her for at this point. She seems clear-headed enough to do her job for tonight. She will be fine. She is fine.
His thoughts are filled with her.
As the bouncer manages to cut across the crowd and get to her, she turns to take the glass, and her eyes catch his from across the room. Her gaze is fleeting but it catches him, despite the distance and the people between.
Does she see that there are women trying to crawl all over him? He doesn't know, but she doesn't register anything on that blank face. Now that she has found her words, will she think new things of him and what she sees?
The bouncer has come back with the drink that Annie has refilled. Finnick takes it, and then forces himself to tear his eyes away from the drinks counter. She has already turned away, busy with something else. Even when he touched his lips against her skin, Annie didn't look at him with that quiet scorn that the Avoxes must look at him with— he isn't even worthy of that reaction from her. Instead, there's gentleness in her momentary gaze before she looks away.
Somehow, that riles him. He feels almost frustrated. He wants to have some reaction from her. He wants disgust, if that's the only thing that he can get out of her. She must see and understand what he does—surely Finnick doesn't need her sympathy?
He has control, he reminds himself. Over this casino, and over himself. He'd rather that she scorn him then to pat him on his back and tell him that he will be fine. If he must feel anything, it's fine that he's capable of feeling pity for Annie Cresta. But she shouldn't be the one comforting him—she shouldn't be the one feeling sorry for her. He's luckier than her—he's more secure than her. She shouldn't be the stronger one between them both.
That gives him the strength to look as his admirers and smile.
One woman sighs breathily next to him and Finnick turns to her, purring. "Tell me how much you love me."
She looks at him earnestly. "I'd die for you."
He tries to keep smiling.
For the next few weeks, the thought of her and that ghost of a laugh skirting into the air haunts him. He wakes up in cold sweat, having dreamt that someone has discovered that she has regained her ability to speak. At times, his dreams are stranger and even more frightening. He dreams of dark spaces and the water flooding his lungs.
But there's more that won't leave him alone—her words, feeling less and hollow, don't seem to be connected to her thoughts either. It plagues him when he's just finished servicing others, or even when he's told jokes to casino visitors who laugh so loudly that they are clearly heard above the music playing. Sometimes, it happens at moments that have utterly no connection to her—such as when he is practicing knotting or right before he falls asleep.
It nags at him. Over weeks now, he's been doing the regular things. He's been forcing smiles onto his face when meets his patrons. But right before he falls asleep, he thinks of her cheek against his shoulder when he took her into his arms. He thinks of the brush of his lips against her forehead and the slight pain of her nails against his flesh. There was almost a release in that pain.
He can't put his finger to it, and now he reckons that he is going mad. It must be infectious.
That upsets him even though he doesn't realize it at first. His frustration grows and he doesn't seem to find the store of tolerance he thought he had for the people around him. Every night, Finnick watches from one end of the hall while lounging on his couch with people everywhere around him. He watches her all the way at the other end of the hall, preparing drinks and trays that get sent around the area. He has become obsessed with the girl who shares the secret of her voice with him and the other Avoxes.
He hasn't head Annie speak ever since the drowning incident. She has enough sense to keep her mouth shut, and of course, the Avoxes don't indicate that she can speak either. He is proud of her in a strange way—proud that she understands how to keep herself alive. But he isn't sure if that she really comprehends her situation. Perhaps it is pure dumb luck that she's used to silence.
Tonight, she is sent by the bartender to cross the hall to refill his glass personally. Finnick wasn't expecting it, but as he turns away from those around him, he is startled to see Annie waiting with a crystal jug behind him. She looks right at him with a calmness that is even more disconcerting than if she'd looked more inquisitive or even disgusted, and he stands there frozen, while she dutifully refills his glass.
She moves off before anybody can say anything, although some guests are looking at Annie in surprise. One of them says, "What a pretty creature!"
"This Avox looks young," Another lady is saying. Finnick clears his throat and they all turn back to him, forgetting the Avox that was sent to them quite completely.
But as he plays the usual tricks on the people around him, he thinks of Annie and the vacant nature of her stare. The fact must be that she doesn't care that he's a filthy person—she doesn't mind because she doesn't even think much of him and won't spare even judgment on him.
He is upset suddenly. It prompts him to grab the nearest admirer, and he whispers, "I think it's getting too crowded here."
He discards the drink that Annie refilled along the way out, not tasting a single drop.
What he's done by seeming to favor one admirer over the others hasn't happened for the first time. When he's so utterly bored of people crowding around him, he takes someone with him just to avoid the other casino visitors. He doesn't mind kissing the random person that he grabs along; he doesn't mind hauling them both to a place where the others won't follow.
But he never lets them have any access to him, since that's not the point of his agreeing to be with them for that evening. They think that they have been chosen to be his lovers, but they get a few kisses and nothing more. They don't know that he only grabs them along because having one person around him is better than having enough to smother him.
He will go one step further tonight, Finnick decides. He doesn't have to sleep with this casino-visitor that he's chosen to be part of his skit, but he intends to. Maybe it will help him remember his dreams of earning enough to hurt Snow back and to pay him thrice times over for what he's done to Finnick. It is good, Finnick decides. It will keep his thoughts of Annie at bay.
This woman that he's grabbed along is giggling as he leads her away.
"What's your name?" He says haphazardly, bringing her down a familiar corridor that the bouncers guard. They look past him with stone faces, like they are ignoring this indiscretion. That's good. He prefers it that way.
"Sirriphae." She says with a giggle. "Sirriphae Wood."
As he leads her to his quarters, sneaking a glance behind him to see if anyone, particularly Annie is watching, he feels a bit triumphant. Everyone tried to trail as he picked Sirriphae, but the bouncers hold them back, and Finnick turns a corner with this new lover and won't be seen even when the leave.
If he's right, she's that Sirriphae Wood—the one who will have plenty of useful connections. Besides, she's attractive enough and she's not entirely repulsive, never mind that her eyes are too wide to look normal. Maybe after this, Finnick thinks, he won't feel so irritated that Annie doesn't seem to be disgusted or feel anything at what he does even when it's not a matter of survival.
He brings her into his quarters, and he locks the door. She smells fine though—not too much perfume, which is why he chose her anyway.
"So this is your room?" She's clinging to him, kissing and murmuring his name. "Do you pick your lovers like that all the time?"
He laughs, thinking that it isn't his room as much as his enclosure. "Let's keep that a secret, shall we?"
The truth is that this is the first time that Finnick has indulged in a bit of self-destruction, and it thrills him that he's doing it in a way that Snow has probably never imagined. He can't drink himself to waste unlike the other Victors, because that would earn Snow's wrath. Nonetheless, Finnick decides that he can take profits on the side. He has already been doing so in some ways—with the secrets. But this one's different.
Now, Finnick congratulates himself as he turns to his companion and begins undressing her without much ado. Her bright bubblegum blue hair is a bob and quite stylish, even if he hates the colour. But he's doing this just to assure himself that he's doing fine as a rake and that he isn't losing it.
At the same time, Finnick tells himself, if he plays it right, she'll invest in some businesses that she doesn't realize are linked to Finnick's siblings. This Wood heiress has inherited key businesses that District Four is dependent on.
During the seduction, he starts off the conversation skillfully of course, leading her to ask him about what he likes doing in his spare time, and then leading her to ask him what businesses he likes to put his money in.
"Why those businesses in particular?" She purrs.
He smiles, sifting his fingers through her hair distractedly. "I've got friends working there and I think they could do well with your help."
"Who're your friends?" She says curiously. "You must really like them huh?"
"My friends are made of paper." He grins. "And it's nobody female, so don't worry."
She laughs, satisfied. She doesn't know that he's thinking of hair that is very long and has possibly never been cut. She doesn't know that while he touches her coffee-coloured skin, he thinks of white, creamy skin that hasn't seen the sun for too long.
"Your hair's nice." He whispers. Annie's has a faint sort of wave in it, but it seems straight at first glance, and some of the Avoxes like to comb it. He's seen her letting them do that, and he wonders why they find joy in it. He has never found amusement in combing his patron's hair, even if they seem to like putting their own fingers through his hair.
His patron is moaning as he digs his fingers into her scalp, massaging her and then moving onto her neck. As he rubs his fingers sensuously, leaning forward to bite her ear, she arches and whispers, "Finnick, you're a genius."
"I know." He says throatily, reaching for her with less hesitation than he expects to find from himself. This way, he tries to convince himself, he won't feel too soiled when he has to take on lovers who are technically renting his body. Why didn't he think of doing this before? This way, Finnick tells himself, he'll still have control of his life and his own choices. This way, Snow can't control all of him.
But at the end of the night, he feels worse than ever. He thinks of what he's done and how he's seduced this casino visitor merely because there was pent-up frustration in him and general boredom. It disgusts him that he's done all this unnecessarily, even if the motivations were to find escape. No wonder even mad little Annie doesn't look at him like he's real.
As he looks at the person beside him in deep slumber, he knows that she must have fallen asleep thinking that he'll pay her attention after this. But she's no more of a fool than what Finnick is.
Snow didn't have to do much to turn him into a whore.
Annie can remember if she concentrates very hard. She huddles in her tent, the darkness frightening her. She shouldn't have woken up. Now she has to wait for the first stab of sunlight to enter before she can go out of this place.
Salt and rust against her lips. Then hard bread, although she knows what soft rolls feel like too. She nearly stuffed herself to death when she had her first taste of white, leavened bread.
When she was seven, she found a pearl. A small, flattened, ugly one, like those rotted teeth. But she thought it was beautiful still. Teeth. Biting. Bubbles travel up and then disappear whenever she swims. Her shell has been crushed. The powder must have been swept up. Does it go back to the sea where it forms a pearl?
She dreamt that she was swimming and she can remember that there are tiny bubbles in strings issuing from her mouth, creeping up her forehead, snaking up her hair as she moves her legs and arms forward. It is nice to remember the feeling of the sun casting its nets over her as she swims.
One time, her father beat her for not tying the nets well. The fishes all swam out from some gap that she forgot to mend. He doesn't ever laugh. But he doesn't cry either—she's afraid to cry. He would be ashamed of her.
She digs into the depths of her blanket, glad that she's able to move still. She's afraid of feeling cramped, Annie is. But she's afraid of what's outside too. She opens her eyes. They sting.
And there's Mags who is kissing her forehead and telling her to hide, because that's her only chance. There's that soft, wrinkled skin that's touching her own, and it comforts her. Mags is someone that Annie knows more and more these days. Mags smells of apples and cotton—and Annie can remember her hands. Those were clever hands that could tie anything together.
There's a funny feeling that she's being watched, and while it's not frightening her, she feels like she has swallowed something that wants to come up again. She stares, the tent small and cramped—there's light though. Someone has parted the curtains of the tent.
She isn't swimming anymore. No. She crept out of bed last night because she dreamt that the dolphins were crying. But when she got to the enclosure, they were fine. Still, she decided to keep watch in her tent. She must have fallen asleep again.
"Annie." It's his face. He's looking at her. He doesn't show his teeth. "Are you awake?"
He's crawled half-way into the tent, but she isn't really afraid of him. He hasn't hit her before. She hears his voice often—he speaks very loudly to everyone. Like he isn't afraid of anything. He laughs at everything. His laugh changes all the time. Sometimes it's a hearty, loud chuckle, and sometimes it's choked and gasping, like he's suffocating.
He smiles often too. It's a smile that makes her wonder why he's always so happy, and then she surfaces, gasping loudly as the air fills her lungs. He is warm and soft, despite how harsh his voice can be—and she isn't afraid of him. He won't hurt her.
He knows her name. It is strange. She does know him. She's thought about it, and sometimes it's very clear. Sometimes, she can hear him talking even when he's not around, and she can see him on a stage even when there are so many people in front of her who are straining to see him too.
"Annie." He is calling her again and she focuses back on him. She is all smushed up against the back of the tent, cowering.
Finnick hesitates, then moves in, letting the flaps of the tent come down. Daylight's barely here, and he can sense that she's afraid of the dark. And yet, she chooses to sleep out here where she'll be right next to the dolphins. Strange.
The tent is just nice for one person. It's not big enough for them both, especially since he's much taller and takes up far more space even when he folds his knees up.
Huddled where she is, Annie looks at him warily.
He hasn't been around for weeks, she thinks. He disappears from the casino at stretches, and then he suddenly appears again. He must have come back last night. He's always hanging around the dolphins. Did he dream about them crying too?
He is whispering. "I couldn't sleep and came to swim—I thought you'd be asleep. But I heard your voice. You were having a nightmare. You screamed—I heard you." He looks unsure suddenly.
He is staring at her still and he lifts a hand to push his slick hair back. He must have been swimming at some point. He smells of salt. She stares at his thick hair, wondering why the rest of his body is so smooth—without fur. Like a seal. Or dolphin.
"Annie," he says softly, "I haven't seen you in weeks." He smiles—it is a bit twisted and unsure. "Or did you even realize that?"
She knows, of course. He left one morning, telling the casino owners that he had an assignment. She doesn't know what assignments are, but he does leave like that suddenly at times. But he always comes back. She looks at him curiously. Doesn't he know that she is aware that he will always come back?
"Come on," He's muttering. He takes her hands, pulling her out of the tent into the open air. "No good to coop yourself up like that."
It isn't morning yet, but there's a bit of light and it's not scary outside here when she's not alone. She feels him guiding her to sit down, and she dips her feet into the pool. Her tent is so near the pool that they can put their feet in the water but have the tent over their heads. Sitting here with him, she feels less afraid.
"How have you been?" He says softly. His eyes flicker and he takes her hands again. She lets him take it, and she can see him counting. "You hurt your other finger, Annie?" He shakes his head. "You should be more careful."
Curious, she puts her hand on his skin. Why doesn't he need cloth? He's always walking around like this. Isn't he cold? She presses gently against him; dolphins always pulse when she does that.
But he doesn't.
He reels back, bumping his head against the canvas roof of the tent. There is surprise on his face, like she shocked him. She wasn't careful with an exposed wire last week—that shocked her. Maybe she shocked him. She smiles at him, widening her eyes the way his do.
And then she puts both hands on his taut, waxy skin again, wondering if his eyes will widen anymore. Those do. But then they narrow, and he brushes her hands off the way she always has to brush glass off the floor.
He looks at her without blinking. There is a curiosity in his face, but there's hesitation too. "Do you know my name, Annie?"
She nods. "Finnick."
"That's right." He seems pleased. His eyes gleam in the dark. "I'm Finnick."
"Hello." She tells him earnestly.
He laughs once. "A little late, but it's good to hear a greeting still."
She stares at him. Isn't it obvious? She knows him. He's the one who told her to work hard. He's the one that everyone loves. They are always sitting around him. They are always looking at him. She doesn't know where or why, but she knows him.
"Did you know that we met a long time ago, Annie?" He looks like a cat that wandered in one day, all inquisitive and somehow on edge below that confident, cocky posture. His eyes are green. Her eyes are green and look strange in this semi-darkness. But not everybody's eyes are green.
She opens her mouth, trying to catch some memory with her lips and teeth. She has always known his name. She does. She heard it a long time ago, and she remembered it. It was on everyone's lips. Even now, where she has been brought to, everybody calls him by name. They know him. Of course she knows his name. If only she could place that face with a memory that escapes her.
"Finnick."
She tries again. Her frustration makes her clench her fists, and she closes her eyes, trying to squeeze something forth. Things are becoming clearer. She can remember curling up. It's not so dark in this tent now, so she isn't so afraid. She looks at him, hoping that he'll see what she saw. He's the one who everybody listened to—he was the one that Benjamin was always with. Benjamin admired him. Benjamin didn't like her—but he liked Finnick and listened to everything Finnick said.
He is smiling again. "Well, it doesn't matter. We know each other now, don't we?"
She nods unsurely. Who does she know? Most of her mind is blank. The nets that were moist and crusted with salt when dried in the sun seem to be akin to her mind—the structure of things is there but there are too many gaps everywhere to hold anything of real value.
"Smile for me, Annie." He says this earnestly. It is an instruction from Finnick—she knows her place.
She does hesitantly, not sure what his instructions really are, but his eyes light up.
Even before he is truly aware of it, Finnick has grown used to the Capitol.
This occurs to him one day, when he is weaving his way around alleys that he's discovered over time. He's come to know all the alleys that allow him to move around town without him being seen too much. He's come to know the Capitol well; almost like the back of his hand. If it hasn't come through his exploring, then it's because he has to make house visits on Snow's behalf.
He can't even remember what his parents' old house really looks like. The most he can recall is disrepair and the honeysuckle that Shelley insisted that they grow. Most of it is a blank—he hasn't seen his siblings for years, even if he sends money to Mags and has her invest in their business without telling them.
It's justifiable that the Capitol's his world now, even if it disgusts him to no end. He's spent six years here already, ever since he won the Games, and since then, he's had plenty of time to forget District Four. Not that he has completely, although he isn't sure whether that's reassuring or not.
It's not his fault that he can't remember much of the past before the Capitol—he shouldn't have to feel bad about it. In fact, he should be trying to forget District Four completely. Why not? He never grew up in the richer area of District Four, but now he'll never have to want for food or warmth again. He'll never have to fish out at sea again—the finest that people back there have fished are delivered steaming on silver platters. He should be fighting to forget that place—that small link in the food chain that ends right at Finnick's mouth.
But the problem is Annie. He thinks of District Four when he sees her.
He's become accustomed to going to the dolphin enclosures when he wants a break, and she always seems to be there. She, with her coloring and the way that she's always swimming around with the dolphins, makes him think of seas beyond the Capitol and the boats that he was once terrified of until he learnt to control them.
Now he sits at his desk, trying to compose his message. Maybe the problem is Mags. She's always asking about Annie. Because of that, he feels like an ingrate, since Mags does so much for him. That's when he tries to help Annie mend the things that can thrown to her. He's good at mending too—he's found that he's quite good with a needle beyond the enclosure nets.
That's for Mags' sake, Finnick tells himself now, and that makes him spend time with Annie. He spends more time than he realizes with her. And that makes him think of District Four, and that makes him upset that he can't remember District Four even if it's better not to.
It's Mags and Annie's fault. Yes. Frustrated, he flops onto his bed and crawling on his stomach, fetches the rope. He begins to knot it.
He knows that the real problem is Finnick himself. He's the one who's begun to go to her in his free time. The other Avoxes don't really show it, but he is sure that they realize that he takes especially to Annie. He's the one who's curious about what she's thinking, even if it technically can't be anything sane. He's the one who's discovered that she isn't stupid and that she's almost normal at times. He's the one who wants to be reminded of a place that he loved, no matter how hard it got on the days when everything he and his siblings fished had to be carted away to people who never lifted a finger in order to be fed.
He's the one who cares enough to find her when he hears that she's broken something and he's the one who bandages her fingers. As far as Finnick can see, she isn't taxed beyond mending things and feeding animals and washing enclosures, although she has learnt to mix drinks recently. But she hurts herself plenty for all of them.
He thinks of her fingers. Those have tiny scars at the tips from messing around with glass. But he's taught her to wear gloves, and she seems to have gotten the hang of it. She's not stupid, even if she's mute and mad.
He's the one who tells her jokes even though she's like the Avoxes and never laughs.
Amongst their silence though, he knows that Annie is finding her voice again. The irony is that Annie doesn't even understand the jokes, unlike the truly silent Avoxes. She, unlike the Avoxes who understand, might be able to speak if she can find the key to unlock herself. She's the one who can sometimes make feeble noises in imitation of Finnick's laugh.
In between sending messages to Mags, entertaining guests and servicing the patrons, Finnick is the one who goes to find Annie in the enclosure. It has become so frequent that this happens nearly every morning. Sometimes, she's huddling in her tent, muttering in her fear, and when he wakes her up, she clings to the first thing that she can get her hand on, like she's about to be swept away in a flood.
And when he has to go elsewhere to meet people, he sometimes even misses the casino because of her.
He lies on his back now, thinking of her. He often watches her groom the otters' fur and how they cuddle up to her and stare at Finnick with beady, jealous eyes. Jealous of what? He doesn't know. It's not like he'll take anything away from them.
His fingers are still knotting and unknotting fast. He closes his eyes. He doesn't need to open his eyes to be able to unknot those complicated loops, even if it takes a little longer.
Just as well.
He likes to watch her swim around after feeding the dolphins. She always jumps in, fully-clothed in her pajamas, and sometimes, he worries that she'll drown. It's difficult to remember that she's a very, very strong swimmer.
He struggles blindly with the knot. He has to untie it—he has to. He wants to. He made the knot—he wants to untie it. But he doesn't see the knot in his mind. He sees water that's not from the sea that he thought he'd want to think of. He sees the dolphins and their smiles. He thinks of hands clasped together in fear, like the knot. But the knot can come undone if he tries hard enough. Some things can't be.
She's locked in her own world, but he's the one who watches her.
_ It comes to a point where he finds every opportunity to visit her in the early mornings. The standard procedure for those who rent Finnick is that they have to leave by a certain time— they can't stay beyond two in the morning and there's always an Avox tasked with fetching the often bleary patron out.
Because of this, Finnick gets up before anyone else does. He doesn't have to, since he basically leads the life of an owl if he doesn't take on work in the day. But he finds himself eager to wash and to go to the dolphin enclosure before the daylight sets in properly.
When he can, he sits with her at the dolphin enclosure, and he talks about everything and nothing. She doesn't greet him for a second time, but he is as certain as he can be that she has found her words, even if not all. In some strange way, Finnick is certain that when he speaks to her, she is absorbing his words and storing it away somewhere.
And so he talks on and on when they are alone, prattling idiotically, telling all the jokes that he doesn't even find that funny, hoping for some strange reason that she'll talk again. There is this excitement that he finds, almost like a parent who's anticipating the day that the child will utter her first word. Not that he knows anything about that, of course, but that's what he reckons most parents would be like.
He chatters idly about weather and rubbish like that. He frequently argues with himself about why otters are less interesting than dolphins, or even sillier things like why it's inconvenient to have perfect eyesight at times. Sometimes, he pauses breathlessly, hoping that she'll say something.
On the goods days, she hums in agreement. On other days, she watches him silently.
Sometimes, Finnick catches himself wondering what her laugh will be like. At times, when he is stuck with a patron and not enjoying himself at all, he blanks it out by constructing voices in his mind and trying to fit the closest one to what Annie's singing voice once sounded like.
On some mornings, he reads Annie bits of poetry from a love poem compilation that the patron with the snake-tongue left behind. That patron was actually quite literary when she wasn't asking him to do her hard.
He would have thrown it away, had he not found the poems so beautiful. The words are locked in context, but free in imagination, and he reads to her every poem in there.
More often than not, he does it in silly voices and with stupid accents, just so that the sobriety of the lyrical prose will not grow in the air. He doesn't want the delicate terza rimas and couplets to sound so lovely; he doesn't want to do the soliloquies properly, and he doesn't want to hear the satisfying completion and resolution of sounds when they rhyme. He clowns around, stuttering and sputtering like clogged engines at the end.
He isn't sure why he does that so often these days. Is it because hearing his voice is somewhat obnoxious? Does he feel a need to ruin the effect his voice might have to make her feel better about her silence? Does she even feel bad about her silence? Or is because he feels embarrassed? Since when does Finnick Odair feel embarrassed anyway? Or it is because he's afraid that she will understand the words and construe them wrongly in the wrong context? Or what?
He doesn't know.
Day in day out, he speaks to her like she understand him. But when it comes to those poems, he reads what is clearly written as a male voice in a pansy, mousy voice while reading the clearly female voices in gruff, bearish tones. A bit like having transsexuals hold plays—rather grotesque when he does it. At times, he finds it funny. But often, he gets disgusted with how gauche he's becoming. He tries his best, overall, to keep up with it.
She actually gets delighted with how animated he is, and she watches him carefully, as if she's recording his every expression. Maybe that's why he doesn't care that he's ruining things that she doesn't even understand.
But even then, at times, in the silence save for the water lapping around them and the squealing of the dolphins, his pretences fade away and he grows tired of trying to misread and fooling around.
In those moments, when he reads simply and without any falseness, her silence becomes strangely meaningful. In those moments, he wonders if she does understand. He wonders if he would like her to.
Sometimes, he forces himself to recite the poems to people who are not Annie—people who understand the poems and fall in love with him for it. It is a good reminder to him that the words, no matter how beautiful they are, are never exclusive.
Some of his patrons are very sophisticated, and if he doesn't know what he can do to seduce then, he recalls the moments that he spends with Annie. He recites them the poems that he has learnt by heart by reading to Mag's little treasure. They all listen, enraptured, falling in love with him even more. Some listen to him and look at him almost like they see him as a person for once.
But then they want to go back to fucking right after that.
Sometimes, he dreams that he reads the poems in animal voices and with squeaking and snorting. He dreams that he reads the male voices in female pitches and vice versa, and then fucks until they beg him to stop.
And when it is over and he gets to see Annie once more, he prays that she will never know what she came so close to experiencing like Finnick.