Finnick watched as Ricochet wordlessly adjusts the fitted skirt of her gown, a high slit slithered up the length of her left leg revealing a large portion of her thigh when she moved across to her vanity.
"I wouldn't say I'm deadly by any means," Finnick tried to recover as he shifted on the bed. The blankets still felt stiff as if she had never even once pulled them loose to sleep under, although with a job such as hers sleep probably was the last thing on her mind at any given moment.
Ricochet gave a scoff, he could see her rolling her eyes in the mirror's reflection and he shook his amused at how childish this killer or killers could be. As she pulled her hair over a shoulder to brush the shine into, the angry and jagged scar along her back was impossible to ignore. It was bright against her sun kissed skin and clearly tended to for survival rather than appearance. No doubt in Finnick's mind that the scar was a constant reminder of the games. The curved bodice of the gown hid the scar over her breast and yet allowed for the perfect amount of cleavage to be presented. She wasn't overly showy or exposed as other Capitol women had been, he remembered one woman had worn practically nothing just thin see-through netting. Ricochet, however, looked classy and refined and best of all subtle.
"You're a Victor, we are by definition deadly," she said absently piling her hair up to weigh her options. If she did pull it up, she didn't have many options. She only knew how to style her uniform bun, braid and unceremoniously pile it all on her head with pins, bows, clips and bands. Nothing as regal as her gown, but she wasn't sure leaving it all down would be alright either.
"I prefer to think we're merely reactive," Finnick said as he smoothly stood up from the bed and walked to stand behind Ricochet. Her vanity held only the minimal of essentials: a soft foundation with gold flecks for a shine; dark charcoal eye liner of blue, green and black; eye pastels of all the colors of her gowns; a gloss of every flavor and color for her lips and a stunning bronze colored skin paint for intricate designs painted across her body. In comparison to other vanities and bathrooms he had seen she was living in extreme minimalism.
"Reactive, huh?" Ricochet mumbled thoughtfully as she let the hand holding her hair up fall to her lap. "I didn't react as much as act," she confessed as images of her stealthy attacks flashed her mind, her creeping footsteps unheard in the jungle terrain as she leapt into a tree just to fall onto a Tribute or crept along the dark to where the enemy slept. She was first move, first kill really. The others may have reacted in a means of self-preservation but Ricochet killed, plain and simple.
"But overall you did because your life was at stake," Finnick reassured as he slid his fingers through Ricochet's silky hair. She tensed at first, but the sensation of Finnick's fingers gently tugging the tangles free while lightly scratching the nape of her neck was so comforting and soothing she couldn't resist very long. She chose not to argue with him over her reasons or intentions when entering the Games and instead let her eyes linger over his reflection. The gentle yet sharp features of his strong jaw and the slope of his nose, if he had more paint and color and gall he would have most definitely been a Capitol son born and raised. It was no wonder why he was one of Snow's more popular pets to buy and trade among the elite.
She felt her skin begin to crawl as she remembered the three years she had to wait before joining the Capitol Guard, the blur of nights tangled in silken sheets and on fur rugs in front of blazing fires. Mouths gasping, hands grasping, nails clawing and skin dragging along skin- her stomach dropped and absently dug nails into the wood of her chair as she swallowed heavily and kept her eyes locked on Finnick's reflection.
Facial hair scraping along her young smooth skin; teeth tugging and nipping along her neck and chest; the dull nails of well-manicured Capitol men clawing at whatever cloth was between her and them.
Finnick caught Ricochet's staring and flashed a charming smile as he began sectioning off her hair, teasing,
"Dashing aren't I?" Ricochet blinked as the panting and breathy moans faded out of her ears giving way to the deep caress of Finnick's voice. She gave a snide smile at his question and teased back,
"I've seen better." He put a hand to his chest as if he were physically wounded and took a stumble back. She couldn't help but laugh softly at his ridiculously hurt expression, his lower lip jutted out and his eyebrows arched up as if he were mimicking a kicked puppy.
"That hurts, Ricochet. You can be incredibly hurtful, you know," he informed in a tight voice before sniffling and wiping imaginary tears from his cheeks. She ducked her head to hide her smile and quiet her laugh, but he saw it and leaned down so he was cheek to cheek with her, a bright and genuine smile on his face, "Now that is the beauty I've heard about. You're much more approachable with a smile."
She glanced at him and then looked into the mirror simply replying,
"I'm not paid or kept to be approachable."
"Oh? What are you kept for?" Finnick asked as he began twisting and lacing the sectioned hair into an intricate but comfortable maze along the back of her head. Ricochet glanced at his moving hands in the mirror and frowned as she asked in disbelief,
"Are you- are knotting my hair?" Finnick paused as if he just realized his hands were moving and looked at the hair in his hands and then Ricochet's flaming eyes and set jawed expression. He looked between the mirror and the woman sitting in front him slowly straightening as he drawled with a very disconcerting,
"Uh." Finnick offered a weak laugh and shifted his feet. "I- I tie knots a lot back home," he offered as if that would sustain her frustration with having her hair knotted up. Ricochet felt mostly annoyance over her hair, she was mostly annoyed at how long it would take her to untangle once this banquet was over.
"Seems like a very personal bit of information, Finnick," she said instead situating herself to better be in his reach. Finnick blinked surprised he wasn't dead, to be perfectly honest. He had always heard stories, and secrets, of seeing how completely unhinged and easily ignited the young Presidential Guard was, but from what he had witnessed she was rather laid back and unreactive unless he touched her.
"A lot of people know of my knot tying habit, it's not as well kept a secret as most would expect," he said while reaching over Ricochet's shoulder reach for the sparkling hair pins. As he began to pin the strands in place, Ricochet drummed her fingers thoughtfully along her vanity's surface.
"I chew on my fingers," she said suddenly. Finnick hummed absently before giving her his full attention. Only a few strands fell from his exquisite knotted hairstyle but the way they fell gave her the absentminded and offhanded beauty she always had, as if she weren't even trying to succeed as well as she was. She took his hum as a request to repeat herself and without looking at him, she lifted her bruised and raw fingers as she repeated, "When I'm nervous or upset, I chew my fingers."
Finnick took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing each and every fingertip with the softest kiss as she watched him with the most bizarre amazement. As he lowered her hand he smiled and said,
"Don't worry, no one will be looking at your hands," he gently turned her head so she could see the intricate and perfect hairstyle Finnick had created with his nervous knot-tying. Her awe was hardly hidden; her lips turned up ever so slightly at both corners, her eyes lightened and her shoulders perks back as she leaned in a bit to tilt her head in various ways to admire the tangling, twisting and looping design Finnick had made. "I guess you're making me nervous turned out for the best, hm?"
Before Ricochet could respond, there was a sound at her door signaling someone had arrived. She assumed it was her escort or at least a servant come to inform her of the dinner Snow planned. She didn't move, though, because Finnick promised to get it for her and promptly left her to her own selfish admiring.
Finnick crossed the shockingly bare sitting area to the stunningly flawless steel door. He opened the door and childishly peeked around the corner cooing,
"Yes? How may the fantastic Odair service you this evening?"
A very tall and muscular man stood there with an expression that was everything but amused. He had a vicious scar over his right eye and short grey hair that stuck out in various directions. He must have been a general or something for Capitol's army. He stood with a back straight a board and his heels were together and he leaned awkwardly to the right trying to see past Finnick and into the apartment.
"I was asked to escort Ms. Sanders to a banquet in her honor," he said in a raspy and gruff voice. Finnick frowned at the harsh sandpaper sound the man used as a voice and decided to play around a bit while he could. He straightened to occupy the space between the doorframe and the door completely obstructing the other man's view in Ricochet's apartment.
"Ah well it seems she's been double booked then," Finnick said slightly tsking under his breath as he drummed his fingers on the frame. "See, I was personally given the request of providing Ms. Sanders with all her birthday dreams and therefore I will be escorting her to this banquet." He offered a charming grin as he leaned forward a bit and jokingly added in a loud whisper, "Between you and I, she may need my help merely standing." He wasn't going to clarify if he was implying he was the cause of Ricochet's sudden difficulty in walking or if she was just unused to wearing heels, but by the man subtle grin and raspy chuckle, he had made his own decision and so Finnick gave a wink and leaned back into the apartment.
The man suddenly cleared his throat and said,
"Even so, Mr. Odair, my orders were clear. I will escort you both to the banquet hall once Ms. Sanders is ready."
"Ready as she'll ever be," Ricochet said behind Finnick as he opened his mouth to respond. Finnick absently swung the door wider as he turned to look at Ricochet, and both men felt their jaws drop. Ricochet had lined her eyes in shimmering green that caused her eyes to shine dangerously from under her dark and full eyelashes. Her pouted lips were lightly glossed and bronze heels that laced up her calf making her legs look longer and leaner. She could put Capitol models to shame as she stood there, a bare leg jutting out from the long slit in the gown and glitter sparkling across her exposed chest. She looked up from smoothing the skirt over her thighs and quirked an eyebrow, smirking at the slack jawed expressions of both the Sex Symbol of District 4 and one of the commanding officers of her own brigade. "Pick up your jaws boys, you'll need them to eat."