𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐏𝐈𝐄 ━━ finnick odair ✓

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞. ( the old drunkard )

  The District 5 girl dies in one of the only moments that we spend with Grant in the lounge. Ronan leans across the couch to pat him on the back, but Grant is completely still. No trace of a reaction graces him. Finnick and I look towards each other, both wanting to give him a moment without eyes on him. It only lasts for so long before I start to itch in the silence of it.

"Those berries were a belladonna alkaloid. Taken in small doses it can be medicinal." I can't help but to list words as they come to mind. "It binds to the acetylcholine receptors, blocking acetylcholine from binding to the nervous system. Death doesn't usually happen that fast, it must have been some genetic editing on the Gamemakers' part."

"Shut up, Fara." Ronan cuts in.

"I'm sorry," I amend. "It looked painless."

Grant grunts back. When I finally return my eyes to him, he looks even more tired than before. He's still dressed in a Peeta Mellark costume from his last client, heavy makeup attempting to cover the recent sunken form of his face. I take it all in until it's too much to bear. I close the open window between us and choose to gaze upon him with a more critical eye.

The boy that used to be the one bright spot among a room of darkened older victors has seemingly lost his light. His blue eyes, once bright with mirth, are nearly grey without the old shine. His hair is beginning to match, platinum blonde appearing darker alongside the newly sprouted white hairs. They're few in number, but they're stark in the close cropped sides of his head. He seems to catch me staring and runs a hurried hand along the back of his neck.

"Grant finally has a break tonight." Ronan informs us. "I was thinking the four of us could play some board games."

That Ronan suggests this proves that he's worried about Grant. The only types of games Ronan enjoys are gambling card games, long since having given up on chess and checkers.

"I have an interview in just over an hour. They want the young mentors there to discuss our own star-crossed unrequited loves," Finnick spits out, venom laced in every word.

"I'm with Seneca Crane for the evening. He wants to see me before the games are over," I add awkwardly. "I'd much rather stay and play games with the two of you, though."

"No matter. We'll just have to manage on our own." Ronan's smile is tight-lipped and thin.

For once, Seneca Crane forgoes his own proclivity for board games. It seems that the stress of the head Gamemaker position weighs heavily on him. He's not gentle with me, taking out pent up frustration on me with little restraint. Thankfully he finishes quickly, collapsing instantly once he's done. I attempt to use his exhaustion to slip out early, but his hand catches my wrist when I make my way to the edge of the bed. He pulls me into his course-haired chest, mumbling about paying for my time. The vulgarity of it leaves my stomach churning with unease.

I can't seem to get comfortable, trying desperately to rearrange myself against him in a way that doesn't send chills through me. All that my movement spurs from him is a very obvious arousal. I realize my mistake only when I feel him, hard against my thigh. When I gasp in realization, he chuckles in my ear.

This time, his fervor is lessened. He maneuvers me under him, whispering sweet compliments about my innocence into my ear. When he asks if I've ever had a man go down on me, I lie and tell him I haven't, scared of reigniting the anger which has so recently left him with his own pleasure. His lips against me make me jump, unable to stifle a cry of fear. His hand comes to cover my mouth almost instantly. Gloss had wanted to hear me. It seems Seneca Crane does not.