i wake in the distant city

Finnick/Annie. Written for ikel89.

Title taken from a poem "Dinner Roll" by Bruce Meyer.

If there exists a scale for such things, she's one of the better ones. Finnick really can't say much about the others - needy, selfish, dumb, evil, wrong - but they were all Capitol women, of varying degrees of power, all of whom saved and sent a gift and paid for him. More importantly, all of them had something to say about President Snow, merely scraps of words - rumors and unfounded accusations, peppered with bile and malice - individually insignificant, yet strung together painted a testimony of a man with years upon years of black and bloody treachery to his name. Very incriminating.

It says something about how indifferent he is to be thinking of his machinations of subterfuge when they're kissing each other breathless in the shadowed canopy of her bed. Clothes strewn around, lighting adjusting to seductive, which basically translates to screwing around. Across from them, a wall of pure clear glass opens to a stunning dusk sun falling over the Capitol's man-made mockery of an ocean, setting the horizon on fire.

It was beautiful, absolutely, like this woman. And, like her, would never impress him. Not in this lifetime.

"Something wrong, Finnick?" She asks, pulling away from his embrace, grin openly teasing. She's really one of the better ones, despite having the vague sense of entitlement that hovers around Capitol citizens, smart and easily amused and - most importantly - aware of where she stands. She laughs, and nips at his ear, running a pale hand over the silver tattoo on Finnick's skin: an intertwine of trident and sea myths and monsters - a specific she'd asked for, makes you look like a Capitol man. "What's wrong? Is it someone?"

Yes, yes. There is someone. Annie. Finnick wants to answer to her tinkling laugh, even as he rests warm lips on the hollow of her throat. You know her. Annie Cresta. The Girl Who Went Mad. Your people ruined her, you know, and she's honestly just a little more than a kook now. Did you know how hard it was for me and Mags at first? We kept on just losing her. There are days now she's almost normal. She remembers how to sail, or hook a fish, swim a mile, recognize us. And I love her. I loved her when I wasn't ready to be in love. I love her so much I'll do anything, and anything is a word without limits. I love her that I'll swim all the way to District Four from here. Someday I'll fight a revolution for her.

His laughter is only the least bit hostile when he answers: No, no one at all.