𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧. ( moves and countermoves )

     Once she's gone, he makes up his mind. Well, really, he made up his mind long before that, but he feels the compulsion to finally act on it once the car door shuts so abruptly behind her. He heads straight for the elevator, firmly punching the button that will take him to the lounge. The room is full when he steps in. He curses under his breath, but maintains a mask of nonchalance.

"Fancy a game of chess, Ronan?" Finnick asks once he's within a stone's throw of the table he and Blight share (though the latter is snoring loudly in his chair).

A ripple reads on the older man's face before a smile follows it.

"Well, of course. You'll have to forgive me if I'm a bit rusty," Ronan says, rising from his own cushy armchair to join Finnick on the walk to the small chess table. It's situated along the wall to the right of the door, far enough out of the way that a small sense of removal from the rest of the room can be felt.

They don't talk while they play. If any of the inhabitants in the space find the silence between the two boisterous men peculiar, they don't bother to say anything. Gloss edits photos on his tablet, humming softly to himself as he works. Gaia, Enobaria, and Cecelia chat on the sofa near the window at the back of the room, growing louder with each glass of wine that empties onto the round coffee table. Blight naps on through the noise, head hanging back, hands loosely gripping a pencil and a sketchbook open on a page with the barest outlines of a face. Finnick and Ronan play chess.

Never once have they played chess together. Neither Ronan or Finnick betray the oddness of their shared game, instead falling into a steady rhythm of back and forth moves. Ronan isn't just rusty, his moves betray a lack of any skill beyond basic comprehension. The first match finishes quickly in Finnick's favor, then a second, and a third. If he was playing with Grant, Finnick would surely be gloating by now, parading around the room to serenade his multiple victories. Instead, he only hums gently with each passing round.

Gloss leaves first, mumbling about heading to bed before he goes out for the night. He's followed shortly by Cecelia, who leaves for client prep. The two other women stay for an additional hour, finally retiring to their rooms to prepare for their own evening plans. Normally Finnick would walk them back, their wobbly steps on pin-like high heels always worry him after a day of their typical wine drinking. He does his best to put broken ankles out of his mind and continues to move his pieces across the board.

"So, you've come at last," Ronan breaks the act of monotony.

Finnick's eyes flit over to the still-sleeping figure of Blight, then back to the rugged District 1 victor sitting in front of him.

"Don't worry about Blight, he won't wake up. It wouldn't matter if he did anyway," Ronan assures him, waving a hand in the air dismissively.

So, Blight has joined up. Finnick shouldn't be surprised, Blight has never harbored any love for the Capitol. Especially not after Johanna's win and the grueling victory tour that followed.

"I figured you'd be talking with me soon. Honestly I thought you'd be by to see me the first night we got here." Ronan raises an eyebrow, as if to challenge Finnick. Why weren't you ? It asks.

"I've known for some time." Is all Finnick offers.

"It's one thing when it's you, completely changes when you're sending someone else off, doesn't it? It broke my heart bringing Gloss here. Dragging Cashmere along the next year made it unlivable." Ronan leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head in a gesture so calm that it clashes with his lament. "The alcohol helps to numb the pain, but it doesn't do anything to solve it, does it? Don't look at me like that, we all know you've been drinking," Ronan scolds and Finnick does his best to wipe the dubious look from his face.