The Sterling Nightingale ⟷ Finnick Odair/OC

Of our humanity

Chapter Thirteen | Of our humanity

"There he stood, the moral support, the cool-headed adviser, surrounded by a crowd of brainless, empty-headed young fops, who were even now repeating from mouth to mouth, and with every sign of the keenest enjoyment, a doggerel quatrain which he had just given forth." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel

That night, Sil boards the midnight train dressed in a dark navy Factory jumpsuit. Her white blonde hair has been streaked with temporary brown dye to tone it down, and her complexion is perfectly disgusting. Freckles abound, dirt scraped into skin, with wrinkles crowning her forehead and the sides of her mouth. She appears just as any lower level worker coming from a long double shift in the Factory: tired, grumpy, and in desperate need of a bath. The only thing that outwardly sets the two apart is Sil's gait, which quickens the moment she steps off the train and into the Capitol station.

It's not uncommon for Capitol citizens to commute to the Factory each day. It's a massive building and there are quite a few Capitolites who work there. No one gives her a second glance as she ambles toward the line of Peacekeepers checking ID cards. When it's her turn, she hands him the card with her alias and fake appearance and gets the okay to move forward. She hurries through the streets after that, walking quickly. The station is thankfully not so very far away from Mr. Dorsey's shop, so it doesn't take her very long to get to her destination.

"Er, we're closed – oh," Dorsey immediately perks up when he sees her. This time, he's not smoking his customary cigarette and his eyes are a little bit more alert. She shuts the door behind her and raises an eyebrow at him.

"My disguise must be better than I thought," she muses, but that's about as far as their small talk goes. Dorsey darts forward, throws the large rug aside, and kneels down to open the vault below the shop. Tommy is already waiting inside, leaning against the thick wooden table pushed into the center of the room. When the vault opens and she hurries inside, he looks up and brightens with relief.

"Oh thank God," he sighs. "I was wondering if you got delayed." In front of him, maps are strewn over the table. Sil claps a hand on his shoulder and peers at the wrinkled paper.

"I need to be back before dawn before anyone sees me walking around," she warns, "no one would believe that Silver Lamprey Cornelius gets up early."

Tommy snorts his agreement and nods, but turns the brunt of his attention to his plans. He's already got quite a good one, by the looks of it. Sil leans in and he explains to her what he's come up with so far.

She'll smuggle herself into the prison dressed as a Peacekeeper on his rounds. The keys of the cell are in the guard room on the south end of the prison. Getting in and out of the guard room should be simple. Sil's done it a thousand times by now. It's getting the prisoner out without detection that won't be quite as easy.

"There's a sewer grate just inside the main doors of the prison. If you can get to it, you can get out that way," he tells her, pointing to one of the many entrances into the sewer system. Below that lies the tunnels, an intricate network of winding watery passages that Sil has become extremely familiar with. Once she can get inside those tunnels, any pursuing Peacekeepers will be lost to her. She could navigate those passageways blind.

The plan is simply constructed, as most successful ones are, but it's not so easy in the long run. Sil runs into trouble in the guard room when she steps inside just as the shift is changing. For a brief moment, she's convinced that she's a goner. But she trudges through the same routine the other guards do and no one seems to suspect her. When the room empties itself, Sil takes what she needs and leaves behind a little something too.