@suffertwiice
through the gold encrusted lips of strangers, names and bodies engraved into his mind, finnick odair held pages and pages of INFORMATION. concealed within lines of paper blotted with ink and imagery were SECRETS to bring down a social empire. through that knowledge, he had heard the name NEWT SCAMANDER—an embarrassment to the Scamanders. bits and pieces about the oddity were scattered about the oceans of gossip he’d collected over the years, only enough to let him know he would be entertaining what the CAPITOL considered a freak tonight. mrs. Scamander informed finnick he was going to be a gift for the unbeknownst Newt, so he finds himself waiting in the bedroom of this so-called FREAK, thankfully free to wander ( if just in his underwear ) . and it’s STRANGE. he can’t say he’s been gifted from a MOTHER before, nor has a mother told him to strip and wait for her son. but perhaps it’s more acceptable to hire a whore for your child in the Capitol, where the slaughter of children is FUN and grotesque body alterations are ENHANCEMENTS. the usual sickness that clutches at his stomach on these endless nights is WRITHING, though tinted with less dread than on other occasions.
oh, he had SEEN the bedrooms of real freaks. the sadistic shit they hung from their walls, displayed like they were PROUD of their twisted sense of entertainment. this is not the room of that kind of freak. not at all. the room is expansive, like any other client’s quarters, but harmlessly hanging from the walls are what look like…herbs maybe? Little bundles of greenery are wrapped in string and stretched across the wall right above an expensive looking coal-black sofa stacked with a variety of books. he trails his fingers along the spines worn from use and picks up a leather-bound journal with ink blots staining the cover. delicately, he plucks it from the pile and examines the pages of excited scrawlings, detailed doodles and descriptions. he isn’t sure what he expected, or that anything could even be expected. while surprised, it does make SENSE.
earthy smells of all sorts he can scarcely identify have claimed the air like a cave-themed candle store. as he returns to the bed, he notices it’s as if the king sized mattress isn’t even broken into. a crimson comforter of velvet coats the top that he’s pretty sure is just for him. there’s a daybed by the window fluffed up with a rumpled cocoon of blankets. wandering close, finnick draws back the curtain thin as a veil to find an assortment of potted plants.
there’s an entire HALF of the room he has yet to snoop through. wooden crates brimming with JUNK are everywhere, and perhaps it’s just his imagination, but he could SWEAR that a squeaking keeps breaking the silence. exploring has nearly taken his mind off his newest client, but there are footfalls sounding down the hall. movements are catlike in agility, dropping the dusty bottle of WHATEVER he was examining and climbing back onto the bed. arms are crossed against the edge of the mattress, chin resting atop his forearm, eyeing the doorway.
