The Sterling Nightingale ⟷ Finnick Odair/OC

One

Chapter Thirty Eight | One

"Oh! Think! Think! Think! Of what she should do. The minutes flew on; in this awful stillness she could not tell how fast or how slowly; she heard nothing, she saw nothing; she did not feel the sweet-smelling autumn air, scented with the briny odor of the sea, she no longer heard the murmur of the waves, the occasional rattling of a pebble, as it rolled down some steep incline." Emma Orczy, The Scarlet Pimpernel

By the time four o'clock come around, Finnick and Sil finally arrive at their hotel, where they will be staying for three days. Or, well, where Sil will be staying, at least.

The Pantheon Hotel is true to its name – expensive and historic to the primary district of Panem. It's probably been around since the Capitol was a fledging city in the pre-war era. Built around pillars of carved stone that arch up into the ceilings of the main lobby, the hotel is a sight to behold. One would think that it's too much of a landmark for them to enter without notice, but the fact that the Pantheon is so famous is the main reason Sil booked a room there. Their guest's discretion is something they take very seriously. The other reason she wanted to come to this hotel in particular is because it's only a few streets down from the Capitol prison, where the other Victors are being kept.

Their room is lavish and located on the top floor of the building, secreted away from the other suites. The main room is more of a sitting room than anything else, with armchairs and sofas artfully strewn here and there around the space. Adjacent to it is a small balcony that overlooks an unassuming side street. Its stone railing seems to match the décor of the rest of the suite, which has more of a vintage, pre-war vibe to it.

"Nice place," Finnick comments as he drags their suitcases into the room. He shuts the door behind him and the telltale 'click' of the lock sliding into place seems to reverberate through the entire area.

Sil shuffles forward, intent on exploring the suite to distract herself from the fact that she is alone with Finnick, the man she has just married.

Gracious, but that is rather a lot to take in.

Walking through a doorless archway into the next room, Sil turns in a full circle, sweeping her eyes briefly over the large bed and focusing on everything else. She'd rather not think about the bed right now. She knows very well that they won't be doing anything in it, but it's still a bit frightening to look upon it, as if it is a hulking symbol of what a wedding night should bring.

Finnick follows her inside and crosses his arms, looking speculative. His eyes also take the room in, but unlike her, they don't shirk away from the bed. Instead, Finnick heads right to it without even a shred of hesitation.

"It's pretty comfortable," he informs her as he drops down onto the mattress, looking up at the velvet bedcurtains that drape over the four posters. He turns his head to catch her eye and gives her a winking smirk that makes her face heat up. He's not making this easy for her, clearly.

When she doesn't respond (instead opting to stick her nose in the air and turn to examine the furniture with more curiosity than she actually feels), Finnick snorts.

"Come on, Sil, don't be like that. We are married now," he chuckles, sweeping his hands behind his head as he shifts to get comfortable. After a moment he adds, "Plus we've been living together for the last few weeks."

She rolls her eyes. Living together as a forced couple and living together as forced spouses are quite different things. Sort of. Well in any case, she doesn't want to talk about their marriage duties. The phrase in and of itself is fairly archaic anyhow.