𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭. ( very old friend )

The days have passed grudgingly slowly. I've had hardly a spare moment to myself that I haven't spent eating, sleeping, or being remade in the hospital wing. The prep team is putting more makeup on me now than ever before. When I shower, I swear I can see the tan foundation muddy the water at my feet. Cashmere makes sure to check in every day or two, bringing solemn words of encouragement.

Finnick offers his company whenever both of us happen to be in the tower, which isn't so often anymore. I suppose Garnette has stopped giving him a break on his own bookings to look after me. Most of my time in the hospital wing is spent alone. I've stopped coming into the tower in hysterics, so I'm getting along much better with the nursing staff.

As I sit in the gurney now, waiting for the perfunctory injury check, I find that I've almost begun to settle into the routine. I know the drill now. Though each booking brings new surprises and terrors, I've learned to expect the unexpected. I can't say I'm entirely unrattled anymore, but I have begun to adapt, just as Cashmere said I would. Just as my demeanor mellows out, so does my schedule. Tomorrow I find myself only servicing three clients rather than the usual five or six.

When I'm given the all clear to head out, I find myself not knowing where to go. The sun has just barely set and I don't have another booking until the afternoon tomorrow. Finnick is likely gone for the evening, so the District 4 floor will be empty. While the thought of peace and quiet usually draws me in, I feel oddly repulsed by it right now.

I'm still as exhausted as ever, but there's something more underneath it. It's something warm and bubbly, I can feel it tugging on the edges of my heart. It's something akin to relief and excitement. Over what I can't be sure, perhaps just the thought of freedom. I find myself thinking of Fierian's offer to accompany me to museums around the Capitol in my free time. If things keep pace with slowing down, I'll surely have time for it soon.

My feet gently guide me to the elevator and up to my room. I shower quickly and brush my teeth before picking out clothes. I don pants and a shirt that aren't beautiful or revealing. They hang like drapery around my shoulders and hips. I feel as though I can breathe freely in the fabric. It's been an eternity since I've been able to choose what I'd like to wear, other than to sleep for a few meager hours.

I make no effort to tame the locks of my hair and instead stroll out of my room with the waves hanging damply in my face. Curiously, I find myself drawn to the thought of spending the evening in the victors' lounge. Before I can second guess my intuition, I step once more into the elevator to begin my trek there. The skyline view doesn't strike me anymore, not as beautiful or insidious. It's simply a gaggle of lit up buildings. There's nothing special about the Capitol, it's simply a big ugly city. I feel childish for having found wonder in the image before.

A much more inviting view is the one I come upon in the lounge. Everyone's in their respective spots, doing their typical activities. It's a comforting dose of consistency. Ronan and Blight bicker softly in their armchairs, a tall pitcher of ice water poised between them on the table like a centerpiece. Cashmere and Gloss sit on the sofa nearest the bookshelves, both watching the images of nature flick by on the television. The light narration in the background leads me to think it's some kind of old documentary.

A man I recognize as Augustus Braun watches as well, poised with his elbows rested gently atop the small bar perpendicular to the door I've come in through. He straightens up when I walk in, fixing me with a gentle smirk. He holds a hand out to me as I near him, I shake it gently.

"Augustus," he introduces himself.

"I know," I hum gently. "The Capitol doesn't make it easy to forget you. Besides, we met in District 1 on my tour."