𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫. ( the speed of light )

 Gloss leaves without addressing me, but I know he expects me to be ready when he is. I make my way down to my room alone. It feels odd to get prepped without the final touches of Genettey. I decide to let my hair air dry into waves after the shower. Though Lucia tried and tried to teach me basic hairstyling techniques in the past, I'm still a hopeless case. It's the same as the knot tying booth in my Hunger Games training days; I understand what needs to be done, but can't seem to translate the knowledge into my hands.

The truly overwhelming part comes when I dress myself. I can't remember the last time I've picked out my own clothing for a day spent outside of the tower. I sift through options on the tablet implanted into the closet door, desperately looking for anything that's versatile. With no inkling of what to expect from Gloss except a color palette, I end up choosing something that hopefully won't stick out somewhere black and gold. A plain black dress with woven straps is the first thing I come across and I click on it indiscriminately.

It falls out of the chute, perfectly pressed and wrinkle free. It fits snuggly, hugging my skin down to my waist, then loosening at the base. It's comfortable enough that I feel like I'm wearing nothing. I decide to aim for comfort with the shoes as well, opting for flat heeled lacy gold ones that come up in the top of the feed in the menu.

Though advice for hair hasn't sunken in yet, the makeup lessons from Genetty have been quite manageable. I apply metallic golden eyeshadow in the way she taught me, then try to steady my hands enough to work with the eyeliner. I end up withing a striking, yet presentable look. It's easy to tell it's been inexpertly applied close up, but I remain proud of my effort. My overall look is both bland and brash. The black dress is set off by the gold touches above and below it.

Though I'd just disputed Gloss over the possibility of having fun in the Capitol, I find the excitement building in my stomach as I think about a night out on my own accord. Finally, when I've started pacing out of apprehension, I hear a knock at my door. I leap to open it, expecting to see Gloss waiting in his promised gold and black. Instead it's Finnick, dressed in grey sweatpants and white shirt, evidently having failed at convincing Ronan to bake for him. Both of us eye each other, surprised by what we see. "Are you seeing a client tonight?" He asks, squinting.

"No. Just going... out." I answer.

"Out?"

"Out." I reaffirm.

"Ah, I was going to ask if you'd like to watch Giovani's runway recording tonight on the television together. Are you going out with Gloss for the evening?" His arms weave together over his chest with an air of disapproval.

"Yes." I hold my ground and match his body language, feeling cross at having to defend my choice. "You could join us if you wanted. You'd have to hurry though."

"Gloss doesn't go out to places that we enjoy." Finnick's nose wrinkles.

"I guess that remains to be seen," I snap. My finger taps like a metronome against my bicep.

"If you need anything I'll be in the common room." He walks away as swiftly as he came.

I blow a hot breath out through my nose. His standoffish energy from the rooftop has evidently followed him down here. It serves only to infuriate me. He could come tonight if he wanted, I extended the invite, but instead he chooses to stalk off without a proper explanation. It's hard to pinpoint exactly why I feel so nettled for a moment. I stew on it, not wanting to spend my night out with a thorn in my side.