Ricochet turned her shower off and wrapped a short but heavy towel around her small frame. She tucked the end between the towel and her skin before she swiped a hand across the fogged mirror to see her now tangled and curly hair. Her eyes seemed darker to her, maybe lifeless was a better term, but she ignored that part of her reflection and allowed the hot hair to fall from the top of her mirror and tear through her hair. Her hair dried straight and full, the thick tresses owning a healthy sheen as she gently tossed her head allowing the hair to reach each strand.
The water stopped dripping along her arms and torso by the time hair was completely dried. All that was left to go to her room and find something suitable to wear, then again she wasn't even sure Snow was planning anything so she was left with two options. Dress for bed and hope she won't get a summons or go ahead and be ready for a summons to some sort of banquet and just complain and curse if one doesn't come and she has to take yet another shower.
She turned her head to absently shake her fingers through her newly dried hair, pulling tangles loose as she walked into her sitting room with nothing but the dark red towel around her middle. She paused when she saw a man sitting on her couch, a magazine lazily opened on his knee as he drummed his fingers along the back of her seat. He had neatly folded her coat and top and laid them on the table in front of him and obviously hadn't heard her walk in, or he was ignoring her. Neither really made her feel any better about some man in her apartment.
"Who the fuck are you?" she asked bluntly as she narrowed her eyes at the man. She didn't feel he was a threat which for him was the luckiest thing that will probably happen in his life, had she felt even the slightest threat in his presence he would've been dead before he even knew she was out of the shower.
The man turned to look over his shoulder, a charming smile on his lips as he eyed her from her head down to the puddle of water slowly collecting around her feet. He put the magazine back on her table before standing. He was taller than she was, and strong. Broad shoulders and shimmering bronze hair, when he looked at her with sea colored eyes she knew who he was and had a guess as to why he was there.
"I'm here to make your birthday fantasies come true," he cooed while brushing his knuckles down her smooth cheek. She shifted her eyes to eye his caress then looked at him, that charming smile catching her a bit off guard. She kept her eyes on his sea colored orbs her mind painting an image she had only ever seen in pictures and she wondered if at one time he had smelled of the ocean as she had once smelled of factory grease and gunpowder. She pushed his hand away from her face, dropping her eyes to his lips then towards her room as she said,
"I don't have any fantasies that would concern you." Finnick chuckled, apparently finding her lack of care amusing or perhaps not buying her obvious lie. Every women in the Capitol wanted Finnick, she wasn't entirely different. Ricochet was not blind nor was she in denial. Finnick Odair was possibly the finest specimen of man she had ever seen, but she was not one to use money and power of position to take what she wanted. If Finnick Odair was to sleep with her she wanted it to be because he wanted to, not because Snow bought him. And the thought of that old man buying a man to sleep with her brought on a whole new wave of uncertainty and disgust she was not prepared to face right then.
"Alright then, we can talk," he said following her towards her bedroom. She paused and looked over her shoulder, her hair tickling her lips as she asked curiously,
"Oh and what would we talk about, Finnick Odair? Our times in the Arena? Our home districts?" Finnick smiled as he looked at his feet. His District must have been a soft spot for the Victor and so she chose to remain quiet on the matter of District Four and instead added, "I bet lips are very used to letting words slip free around that smile of yours." Finnick grinned as he shrugged and teased,
"Haven't heard any complaints yet." Ricochet spared him her usual half smile and continued into her room, she let the towel slip away from her body as she walked to a tall dresser that held all her under clothes and sleepwear. She was vaguely aware of Finnick watching her every move with that grin still on his face as he leaned against the doorframe and teasingly asked, "Any secrets you'd like to share?" Ricochet paused while pulling her underclothes from a drawer to look at him. He raised his eyebrows as if propositioning her, promising she could tell her darkest secrets and just fall into those stunning sea eyes and drown. She felt her eyes tighten in suspicion as she turned to dress.
"That's dangerous, Odair," she said snapping her bra in place and walking to the closet to find a gown. Snow sent Finnick he almost certainly managed a banquet of some sort. Finnick walked over, loosely dropping his hands to her hips and holding her to him as she looked for a gown in the small collection of regal wear she owned. She never was one for gowns and dresses, all the ones she owned were picked by Stylists and she knew she was going to be at a loss when it came to her hair and makeup.
"What is? Asking you to spill your soul to me?" he asked sliding his hands along her back, she tensed when his finger fell along her scar and she instinctively threw her elbow back to knock into his face, but Finnick was a Victor as well and all too easily put a hand up to catch her elbow and duck under a fist she offered in retaliation. He spun under her arm to stand facing her a bit away his hands up in a defensive and helpless gesture letting her know he meant nothing by his actions. She stood facing him with a slight snarl on her lips and her hands up ready to fight as he took a half step back.
Finnick knew how sensitive Victors were about the Games. The fact Ricochet kept her scars spoke loudest to the fact she never wanted to forget the hell the Arena gave, maybe it was her way of remembering the faces of those she put in the ground or maybe it was just her reminder of how human she was in fact. Finnick himself knew what it was like to wake up in the dark of a night screaming and wondering if he was more Man or more Beast. He still wondered sometimes if he was nothing more than a well-dressed monster.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," he said with his hands still up trying to look as helpless as he could, even offering an over-dramatic pout. Ricochet slowly lowered her hands and gaze, her heart still echoed loudly in her ears as she closed her eyes and absently put a hand to the side of her head. Finnick took a step toward her, his hand finding her arm that she instantly yanked from his grasp. He watched her a moment as she gave a slight shake of her head, throwing memories of midnight attacks and back stabbings from her head as she looked at the dresses again. They weren't the attire of an Arena; they were the garb of a Victor. She did what she had to so she could survive and she was damn good at it. There was no reason for her to feel shame for that, so instead she continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.
"It's dangerous for you to tell me your plans," she said pulling out a stunning fitted green gown. The gown left her back and shoulders bare, but since she planned on letting her hair remain down for once she wasn't concerned about the scars. And to hell if they saw it. If they didn't like her scars they could look away and worry about their own damn vanity and leave her pride to her.
Finnick laughed amused by her seemingly paranoid though process as he said,
"I was unaware that I gave any plans away." He fell onto Ricochet's bed to watch her dress, admiring the predatory roll of her shoulders and the constriction of her back muscles under the youthful skin as she knelt to step into the gown and pull it up. Her hips had a gentle roll to them as she wiggled the dress higher onto her body then zipped herself in. The contours of her hips and waist were unmistakable. As her dark hair fell to cover her slender back, she glanced over her shoulder at him. The green of the dress made the green of her eyes even fiercer as she spoke,
"Practically bragging about the loose lips of women around you? I can guess that you," she turned and very slowly, deliberately, walked to him with hips swaying teasingly, "you use your charm and physique to bed the highest ranking Capitol women and in the throes of expensed passion you lull them into a comfortable plane where the darkest secrets of not only themselves but their husbands tumble to your ears. I can only imagine the secrets you know of Snow's closest employees and the Capitol's government officials, the secret knowledge that must be locked in your head," she cooed by then kneeling in front of Finnick with her hands on either side of his lap. Finnick kept his smile but it didn't shine through his eyes as it done before. The more he tried to look as though she were completely off track the more it was obvious to her she was spot on. He spared an amused laugh, looking away and then back at her as if he couldn't believe she was serious, but she wasn't fooled.
"You've been in the Capitol too long, you're highly suspicious," Finnick tried to counter but Ricochet flashed a knowing smirk, that gentle upturn of her lips looking devious and dangerous as she slowly straightened and placed a hand on the curve of her hip. She was gorgeous and even in a gown she had the look of a killer. Finnick wouldn't be surprised if she had knives already hidden in the lining of the gown.
"It's not suspicion, Finnick Odair, it's mere survival. You're surviving the Capitol by gathering information that will keep you and your loved ones alive if needed," she said narrowing her eyes almost impressed, "You are by far the deadliest man I have come across."