𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞. ( normalcy )

 "Faraday, would you grab the pearl-white thread from storage?"

"Of course, be right back."

I nudge the door open with my hip. The storage room for the shop is surprisingly cramped. Silks and yarns overflow boxes precariously stacked up to the ceiling. The air smells of mothballs and mold though the small window is propped open full time. Even as I dodge corners of particularly unstable boxes and duck underneath dangerously draped sheets, I feel at peace.

When I make it to the large thread cabinet, it takes a minute of rifling through the small drawers to locate the correct bobbin. I'd never known there could be so many shades of a color before my stay here. The first time Piper had asked me to bring her a ruby fabric, I'd brought a cherry red and we'd had quite the argument about whether or not the two looked the same. With many lessons under my belt, I'm finally able to distinguish slate from charcoal and tan from taupe. Disagreements still happen, but have become fewer and farther between.

When I hand this one to her, there's no complaint. I return to my seat behind the counter near the front of the store and she takes her place at the sewing machine at the back. Each day is the same. I help the customers with purchases, Piper crafts new designs to put on the sales floor. On slow days we banter or tell stories across the rows of dresses. When it's busy we may not exchange words at all. On the days when it's really quiet we talk about the things that matter. We speak with our backs to each other. Piper sews and I organize the display cases. On the first of these days, she'd revealed to me that she understood how I was feeling.

When she was nine her mother died in a fishing accident. She and her father had waited for weeks, hoping that the boat would roll into the docking area with tales of harrowing survival at sea. When her father decided he couldn't wait any longer, he took his own life. She said this was the reason that she'd shown up at my house with the offer of a job the day she'd heard about my mother on the television. During that retelling, she told me that the only way she'd gotten through it was working every day. She'd had to provide for herself and that demanded her attention more than the grief. She'd felt it in small doses in the 'between times' when there wasn't anything else to do. She told me that it was still devastating to think about, but it became easier to forget it in the good moments as time went on. I don't know where I'd be without her.

I hadn't believed her at first. No matter what I did, I felt as if I were drowning in it. My despair was felt first, before anything I needed to do during the day. Then, slowly, I understood. I'd begun to realize that I'd go entire days without thinking about my mom. What happened would never be okay, but I would be able to live with it.

The more manageable the grief became, the more room was left for thoughts of the future. Piper had offered encouragement when I'd told her this. She'd had no idea that the future was, in fact, not something to look forward to. I still haven't brought myself to tell her of the twisted path I'm compelled to follow, or the threats dropped directly from the President's tongue. She believes my mother's suicide was just that, and I'm content to let her.

"How long until you leave for your tour? I'll have to remember how to manage the shop on my own again." The call from across the shop disrupts the stillness.

"Two weeks," I say, reeling at the reminder.

"Have a talent yet?" She asks.

Though my time in the Hunger Games is not something the two of us spoke about, I had complained at length about having to come up with a talent. It's traditional for a victor to have a hobby to present to the cameras in time for their tour. The tour itself remains strategically placed so as not to let anybody, especially the victor, forget about the spectacle of the Hunger Games for the rest of the year. It'll take nearly a month to complete and it certainly won't be the extravagant party the Capitol advertises it as.