Finnick doesn't like the city. It's different from everywhere he's ever been before. It feels like some sort of trick. Local craftspeople doing their trade just like back home in Four, but without the constant undercurrent of fear and the edge of desperation that he's so used to. People here aren't afraid they're going to starve. But neither do they have the overbearing sense of their own comfort and worth that the people of the Capitol do.
He's not actually ready to be around this many people yet. It takes time for a victor to be able to face the world again after they come out of the arena, and he hasn't had that time.
So Finnick is up a tree, above a street corner, far enough from the marketplace that the street isn't thronged with people, but close enough that he can watch, and that's what he's doing.
Exploring (river west of Gazin)
It hadn't taken long for him to decide to strike out for somewhere less unsettling. The landscape is different enough that he doesn't see the arena in quite every shadow, and there's water.
His plan is to trace the length of the river to see where it goes; he's aware he could have asked, but he'd rather find out himself than trust anyone here, when he doesn't trust anything he's seen here so far.
He's still alert to his surroundings, even out in the wild, so Finnick hears the sound of approaching footsteps before he sees anyone coming, and ducks down towards the bank of the river, crouching in a bush.
Celebration
Finnick knows from bitter experience that the best way to get information from people who can't be trusted to give it is to get them to let down their guard. And that letting them get drunk is an excellent way to do it. So he's at the celebration. He's dancing, because he's quick at picking up steps to dances he doesn't know after years of having to learn the trends in the Capitol. He's even managed to barter some fish for decent clothes; his torn and half-discarded uniform from the arena would have been entirely inappropriate.
The patches of pink, scarred skin on his face from the burning gas are less noticeable now than they were, as well. He almost doesn't look like he just crawled out of the arena anymore.
He spends most of his time near the drinks, occasionally striking up conversations with the approaching strangers.
"Hi," he says, with his best, most dazzling smile-for-the-Capitol. "What do you suggest, I haven't had any of these before."
Finnick Odair | The Hunger Games | canon point: from the arena, near the end of Catching Fire
Finnick doesn't like the city. It's different from everywhere he's ever been before. It feels like some sort of trick. Local craftspeople doing their trade just like back home in Four, but without the constant undercurrent of fear and the edge of desperation that he's so used to. People here aren't afraid they're going to starve. But neither do they have the overbearing sense of their own comfort and worth that the people of the Capitol do.
He's not actually ready to be around this many people yet. It takes time for a victor to be able to face the world again after they come out of the arena, and he hasn't had that time.
So Finnick is up a tree, above a street corner, far enough from the marketplace that the street isn't thronged with people, but close enough that he can watch, and that's what he's doing.
Exploring (river west of Gazin)
It hadn't taken long for him to decide to strike out for somewhere less unsettling. The landscape is different enough that he doesn't see the arena in quite every shadow, and there's water.
His plan is to trace the length of the river to see where it goes; he's aware he could have asked, but he'd rather find out himself than trust anyone here, when he doesn't trust anything he's seen here so far.
He's still alert to his surroundings, even out in the wild, so Finnick hears the sound of approaching footsteps before he sees anyone coming, and ducks down towards the bank of the river, crouching in a bush.
Celebration
Finnick knows from bitter experience that the best way to get information from people who can't be trusted to give it is to get them to let down their guard. And that letting them get drunk is an excellent way to do it. So he's at the celebration. He's dancing, because he's quick at picking up steps to dances he doesn't know after years of having to learn the trends in the Capitol. He's even managed to barter some fish for decent clothes; his torn and half-discarded uniform from the arena would have been entirely inappropriate.
The patches of pink, scarred skin on his face from the burning gas are less noticeable now than they were, as well. He almost doesn't look like he just crawled out of the arena anymore.
He spends most of his time near the drinks, occasionally striking up conversations with the approaching strangers.
"Hi," he says, with his best, most dazzling smile-for-the-Capitol. "What do you suggest, I haven't had any of these before."