❛ eight o’clock, sharp. you will be escorted from your residence here to your client’s location. he values his privacy. ❜ the instructions are given with an air of indifference, the weight of what is being said entirely known to the president, they’ve had the same conversation many a time before … but CARE is nowhere to be found. his victors are all part of the system, puppets to play with when the time calls for it. fear in the districts, brainless sheep in the capitol … he intends to keep the balance in order. glancing up from his agenda for the day, he gestures to the seat. ❛ relax, my boy. you look tense. ❜
Jaw clenches at the minimal information offered, though stomach flips at the aforementioned pronoun, knowing the night will be more difficult than anticipated. Of his clientele, Finnick often found male patrons to be harshest, leaving him beaten and broken in the days following the appointment. He would need time alone to lick his wounds and salvage his dignity before facing Mags and Annie again. Weight shifts, much preferring to wait for his ride outside but obeying Snow’s subtle demand. They clearly weren’t finished or Finnick would have been sent away already. “So who exactly gets to enjoy my company tonight?” A feeble attempt to fill the silence, unsure if he’ll be met with an answer or if the President will address the reason the victor has been forced to wait. Coriolanus Snow did not waste time with pleasantries and certainly knew a moment to sit would have no affect on Finnick’s tension.
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