farsickness | 🔱 new to town with a made-up name

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🔱 new to town with a made-up name | OTA

WHO: Finnick Odair + OPEN
WHEN: Late March, early April
WHAT: Being Less Crazy, investigating, spying, scoping out the market, and sort of trying to make friends?
WHERE: Gazin
WARNINGS: Vague reference to prostitution in the river/market prompt. The thread with Annie (treadswater) contains descriptions and depictions of mental illness.
NOTES: You can also hit me with a wildcard if you want, Finnick will be scoping things out a lot. Feel free to use this as a catchall!

The Inn

It's taken some time, and a lot of discussion between Finnick and Annie, but they have something like a strategy now.

Of the two of them, Finnick is the one who's best at reading people. He'd always been good at it, even before he'd been forced to rely on knowing how to understand people as a survival strategy in the Capitol. He knows how to use charisma, and good looks, and fame -- though here that last part hasn't seemed to work so far. But back before he'd been famous, when he'd just been another district kid, he'd still been good at knowing how to get people to do what he wanted, and how to charm them.

Annie isn't good at charm. And Annie's been in Gazin longer than him, and wants to know what he thinks about the people here.

So Finnick's out and about among the people of Gazin and the other guests of the inn. He spends a lot of time in the inn, usually sitting near the fire nursing a drink for much longer than he'd need to -- a trick he'd learned to fool people in the Capitol, to look like he was drinking when he wasn't, much -- and ready to strike up a conversation with anyone who looks like they want one.

He's recovered from the burns that had covered his face when he first arrived, leaving only patches of pale pink against the golden-tan of his skin, and he's dressed more like the other people here. Anyone who hadn't seen him out in the woods in those first days wouldn't be able to pick at a glance just how wild and prepared to fight he'd been when he first arrived, but anyone good at noticing these things might see the way he keeps his back to the wall if he can, or the way he pretends he's not watching the doorway when he definitely is.

Or the way he's watching all the people around him, offering only a cheeky grin of acknowledgment if he's seen.

The River and The Market

The other part of their plan is to try to find a way to make some money if they need to. Annie had sold some jewelry when she arrived, and if it comes to it, Finnick still has the golden bangle Haymitch had given him which as something of a connoisseur of fine things, Finnick thinks is probably made of actual gold from District One and will probably be worth a decent amount to sell. But it's never good to have to fall back on your last defence, so they need a way to make some money fairly quickly, and that means fishing.

(Finnick has other marketable skills, but none he cares to use here.)

So he spends a lot of time by the river, exploring it up and downstream, and can often be found with his trident studying the water and looking for fish. But it's still too cold to spend much time up to his knees in the riverwater, so he resorts to a method that involves spending a little less time in the freezing water, and starts setting some traps just upstream of Gazin. The traps are fairly simple, rudimentary things, woven as best he can out of sticks and grass and a little rope purchased in town. They'll do for a little while, until the weather's warm enough he won't freeze if he tries spearfishing.

And he catches enough that he has extra, even after offering some to the innkeeper in partial payment for his and Annie's board. So he heads out into the market one day to look for anyone he can sell to. He can be found in conversation with a fishmonger, trying to negotiate the possibility of occasionally selling some of what he catches. And in the meantime he learns a little about the fishing fleet that operates out of the nearby port at the mouth of the river.

"Thanks," he eventually tells the man. "I'll be back if I have more to sell."

He's painfully aware how obvious it must be that he's an outsider, a fact probably not helped by the fact that he now smells faintly of fish as he heads back towards the inn.

But he lingers, a while, because a market is as good a place to watch people as any. He stops at other stalls and strikes up conversations with the vendors, though he's aware that he doesn't have much money to spend. Nor does he actually need most of what he's looking at, but he's interested in what he can learn about the people, about how this place works, or how they say it works. So he asks the man selling pots about how to get a stall at the market, and he asks the woman with the spices how hard it is to get them here, and he watches for their reactions.

And if he sees anyone he recognizes from the inn, he'll give them a smile and a greeting for good measure.

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Aella is a regular in the inn. Not just because she lives there (right now) but because it’s a good place to hear things. People talk. People always talk. And since people here don’t seem to have issues with elves, they talk just the same as they would were she a shem. So she sits, and drinks, and occasionally dips into conversation.

It’s still nice. Even... shit, almost a year later, she still finds herself getting surprised at how... welcome she’s felt, in Gazin. How much she DOESN’T feel like she’s one word away from someone getting pissed off at the mouthy elf. No, here they just get pissed off at her mouth. It has nothing to do with her being an elf. (Sometimes, though, she still goes out to what had been Morrigan’s cave, camps a few days. Sometimes she just needs a break from people. Especially when it looks like another of her friends had vanished.)

And maybe because she’s used to watching people, it’s why she can recognize it when someone else is doing the same. So when he notices her noticing, and gives her that cheeky grin of acknowledgement, she grins right back, lifting her glass to him.

She sees the grin and smiles softly back at him. He was one of the newer faces, of those that were coming and going. He at least seemed to adjust well enough, as far as she could see. What he made of this place and how he managed when he was alone was another matter. He at least wasn't angry or blustering about as others had. Either he was attempting friendliness or he was legitimately trying to create some form of roots. Both she could understand and empathize with.

"Do you have enough for something to eat?" She asked him when he was close enough to hear her. Given that she had steady work and coin, she liked to help the newest arrivals have meals at the inn when they needed it. It was kindness that helped her settle here, she was eager to repay that gesture a thousand times over.

He's interested in her before she notices him, because he notices her ears. Not because he has any concept of an elf or what that might mean about her, but because the pointed ears look like something someone would pay a lot of money to have done in the Capitol. But the sort of person who'd pay that much for body modification would also pay for oddly-colored hair, for more elaborate jewelry, for tattoos that were more obvious than the one he can see on her shoulder.

If he's here to find out more about people, to test Annie's belief that this isn't Panem, then this woman's worth finding out more about. Or at least speaking to.

After a moment's conversation with the innkeeper that gets him another glass of what she's drinking, Finnick picks up his own glass and heads over to her. He settles into a chair at the table next to hers, and sets the new glass for her on her table.

Finnick sets his own glass on his table and leans casually into his chair.

"Thought I'd save you getting another."

It's been four long weeks since Arya has seen Gazin and she hopes that the innkeeper has not cleared out her room or removed any of her belongings. She'd paid for two months in advance the last time and that time wasn't up for another few days. Luckily, the room was still hers and no one had rifled through, looking for anything of value.

After settling back in, she moved down to the tavern and got herself a bowl of stew and once it was in her belly, she took her beer outside and joined the partyers.

She notices the unfamiliar face by way of a passing glance and even though her eyes are forward, she keeps him in her periphery long enough to decide that he's watching her. So, she moves and wanders around, managing to somehow get from where she was to the other side of where he stands in less time than it should.

For however long it takes for him to notice her there, once he does, he will find her staring forward until she finally decides to turn grey blues eyes his way to ask him what she already knew the answer to.

"I noticed you staring," she opens in a friendly enough voice. "Have we met before?"

Having to think about how he uses money is a strange feeling for Finnick. It's not that he hasn't ever had to think about it, but not since he was a child young enough that money had been his parents' concern rather than his. They have enough money to get by for a while now, here, especially if they are careful: Annie's sold bangle and Bucky's generosity had seen to that. Still, it's an adjustment to have to plan ahead with money, just like living in a small inn room instead of a mansion is an adjustment.

So is the apparent concern from strangers here. Neither he nor Annie had known what to make of Bucky's generosity, and now another stranger is asking after his situation.

The strangest part is that none of them claim to know who he is.

"I do," he tells her. "I have a friend who sold some jewelry when she got here, so we have enough for a little while." He's smiling, and he tries to keep his voice friendly.

A good mentor knows how to assess the competition, and Finnick had always done his best to be a good mentor. So the girl -- tribute-aged but moving with a self-assurance that was rare in district children -- catches his attention. What's even more interesting is that even though he's mostly watching her, she manages to disappear when he takes a moment to survey the rest of the gathering, vanishing into the crowd. He's seen tributes with that sort of skill, the combination of sharp wits, quick movement, and the ability to blend in that makes them able to fade from attention, and if it's not inherently threatening it's interesting, even if he's aware enough to know she could have been trying to escape his observation rather than any immediate threat.

It takes him longer than it should to notice that she hasn't actually disappeared, but that she's standing near him, studiously not looking at him. Until she is looking at him, and her blue eyes are met by brilliant green as Finnick nods in acknowledgment to her.

"We haven't," he admits, easily enough. "But I think you know that."

There's a degree of arrogance in that, but it's not unfounded: Finnick knows he's memorable, even here where people say they don't know his name or his history. Beauty is still beauty even without fame, and it's always made him stand out.

He'd certainly have remembered her if they'd met before: he has an excellent memory for faces, names, and the things he learns about the people that go with them.

Edited 2021-04-04 07:26 (UTC)

"Come join me then." She wouldn't mind the company and there was something familiar about him, though she doubted he was from Westeros. He seemed friendly enough for a stranger. "You will have to find some sort of trade here, but many of the natives are kind and patient, if you haven't worked before. They will help you learn whatever you need to." Which was honestly what happened in her case.

"Where are you from?" She took a sip of the ale, still missing the Dornish Red that she sometimes enjoyed in Meereen. There was a list in her mind of things that she longed for, but had to make do without in this world. Aside from her dragons, there were little things like honeyfingers and sherbet. It wasn't so much a mansion she missed, but the food and the familiarities of home.

"I'm Daenerys Targaryen. You are fortunate to have someone from home. Already this stay will be a bit easier for you, I hope."

Finnick is used to assessing people. Not just the people he's used to mingling with in the Capitol, but the tributes too, the first impressions he gets from seeing them on tv, from watching their interviews and the reports he gets from his own tributes about them in training. Daenerys Targaryen is about the age of the oldest tributes, and beautiful enough that the Capitol would love her. Finnick, though he always notices beauty, is more interested in her poise; there's a maturity about her and a direct practicality in what she says that seems to belie her age.

That's interesting enough to make him accept her invitation and move to sit closer to her. Besides, the information she offers is exactly the sort of information he's seeking: her world, her experience in this place, and the fact that she's one of the outsiders here, like him and Annie.

"Daenerys." He nods his head in an attempt at polite acknowledgment of the introduction, and her taking the first step reminds him to introduce himself, something he hasn't had to do since he was fourteen, and has often forgotten to do here. "I'm Finnick Odair. From District Four in Panem."

He's watching her for any sign of reaction to those names, but if she was going to show any, she probably wouldn't have asked where he was from. Everyone in Panem already knows. Everyone in Panem knows the basic outline of his life story, or a version of it that the Capitol likes.

"Yeah, I'm grateful to have her here."

Years of reticence make it hard to talk openly about how much Annie's presence means to him, but he's comfortable saying that much. It's possible that his smile gives away a little more than he intends, to someone who doesn't know their stories, that Annie is supposed to be too crazy to be interesting to anyone, least of all him.

"I have a trade I can use here, I think. I'm from the fishing district, I know enough to pick it up here."

He’s... not wrong on the oddly coloured hair front. She has that, too, but it’s harder to notice with her hair near constantly up in the buns she wears. And it’s subtle. Sort of. A dark pink on the last third or so of her dark hair. But that’s just her.

Well that’s unexpected. Nice of him, but Aella is a little wary. He’s a human, she’s definitely wary. “Thanks,” she replies (because she’s wary, not RUDE. Not yet, anyway), before she sculls the rest of her drink and sets the now-empty glass aside for the new one. “Just out of the kindness of your heart? Or was there another reason.” She’s curious about his answer. With the way he was watching everyone, she’s pretty sure it’s not the first. Whether or not he’d admit the second, she doesn’t know.

Finnick notices things. Not just the physical, like her hair and ears and tattoos, but the more subtle, the emotional. The way that, though she empties her glass and takes the new one, she doesn't show much sign of warming to him.

"I could be offended that you'd think it's anything else."

He shrugs. "Or I could admit it's an obvious excuse to come talk to you." He says it lightly, without any of the heavy flirtation he'd add if this were the Capitol and he were playing his too-familiar games of mock seduction.

"You don't look like the people who come from this place, and I want to meet the other -- I don't even know what to call us. Outsiders? Visitors?" He shrugs. It's an honest enough answer, because her wariness deserves some sort of honesty and the admission costs him little.

He's not the only one who has a good memory and yet, h reminds Arya of someone that she can't quite put her finger on. Then again, perhaps it was several things about him in the short minute since they've started talking that remind her of no one in particular and a number of people.

Arya's lips tilt in an uneven smile. A good first impression, though if she's learned anything, it's that you cannot judge someone to be a good or bad character the first time you meet them.

"I do," she exclaims, glancing again to the festivities going on in front of them and then him again. "Then we should change that. My name is Arya Stark."

Aella smirks a little at his comment about being offended. But the fact that he admits that it was an excuse right after is... well, a point in his favour, maybe. He was straightforward about that shit. That’s something.

“The unexpected, maybe,” she retorts with a laugh. “Since, I don’t know about you, but I sure as hell didn’t expect to find myself somewhere else. Even if I wanted to be.” It’s not like that’s supposed to happen. Wanting to be somewhere else AND THEN BEING SOMEWHERE ELSE. It’s supposed to be wishful thinking. Nothing else.

‘You don’t look like the people who come from this place’, he said. So he’d noticed the ears. Had he never seen someone like her before? That’s not something she’s used to. Not until she showed up here. “Let me guess. You’ve never seen an elf before.” It’s... not really a question.

Today had been a day where Annie stayed in their room. Could she have gone out and done things? Talked to people? Possibly. But she doesn't have to push it now Finnick's here, so she's taken the opportunity to remain away from people.

Her mind being a paranoid jerk aside, she's remained busy making traps and a net. Fishing. The weather is improving, even if it's still too damned cold to be sensible, which means she and Finnick will be able to fish without the risk of frostbite.

As she works, she thinks. Not always a good thing, so eventually she puts the net aside and goes downstairs.

(She might have to brace herself for the noise first. It's fine. There's no one here to judge her.)

Once down in the inn's main room, she scans the room for Finnick and makes a beeline for him, tucking herself against his side.

"I can't really complain, but no, I didn't expect it either."

It's more complicated than that, but he doesn't need to tell that to a stranger, for all he's being charmingly honest. But it's not a lie, either. If he'd stayed where he was before he found himself freezing on the road, he could have died. He'd promised to die, if he had to, to save Katniss and Peeta. It had been important to protect them, if the rebellion had any chance of succeeding, of persuading Katniss to use her influence to unite the districts against Snow.

But if he had to admit it, he'd rather be here, with Annie, where so far nobody's tried to separate them, or force them back into secrecy.

None of which is her business.

She's not really asking about not having seen an elf before, but Finnick doesn't even know what she means, so he shrugs.

"I don't even know what that means."

Finnick nods in acknowledgment of the introduction, and gives her a half-smile.

"And mine's Finnick Odair."

It's still incredibly strange for him to have to tell people that, for the first time since he was fourteen. He hadn't had to introduce himself except in the ironic way of somebody who knows the person he's talking to already knows what he's telling them in years before he found himself here.

So he forgets, often, that people here don't know who he is, don't know his story, haven't been watching him since he was younger than his new acquaintance here.

His head tilts a little to one side as he considers her. It's not the first time he's heard that surname here.

"You related to Lyanna Stark?"

If so, that ... makes a difference. There's a similarity in accent, in appearance, that might suggest that to be the case. He knows that it's not always possible to judge someone by their family, but he also knows that he owes Lyanna Stark for the kindness she'd shown Annie when she had nothing to gain from it.

He doesn't expect Annie to be the one mingling with the crowds. Of the two of them, she hasn't been the one comfortable or confident with that since her Games. He's noticed that she'd stayed in the room today instead of going out to the market or to explore along the river, but he hasn't made too much of it. They have gold, still, and can buy food from the innkeeper while they work on their traps and nets and work out the good fishing spots.

They both know that working out more about the people here and the situation they're in is an important priority, but the sociable part of that task is Finnick's.

That's why he's here in the inn, making a show of idleness in the way he eyes his surroundings when there's really nothing idle about it. If he can't hide the way his expression brightens when he sees Annie, he's also not trying very hard.

Here, he doesn't have to. So when she settles herself next to him and presses close to him, Finnick wraps an arm around her waist and doesn't bother trying to hide it.

"Hey," he says, his voice full of soft affection. "How's your net going?"

If he's really asking about her as much as the fishing equipment, it's suggested in the way he tightens his arm around her in a quick, gentle squeeze.

He's astute, but then she bears such a likeness to Lyanna that sometimes she's sure that is the reason her father and her were as close as they were. Ned often told her how much she reminded him of her. Right down to the fierceness and penchant for stirring up trouble, though it was done in a far more endearing way.

"My Aunt," Arya nods. "My father's sister who I never got meet in our world."

The expression she has is one that doesn't seem to phased by that. This place already had a way of showing its power by bringing a younger version of her father in, before he married his lady wife Catelyn and had children with her. As disappointed as she was to learn he had disappeared not too long after he arrived, Arya was unsure how to be around him.

Arya looks at him again.

"My brother is here, too," Whom she learned on a trip back home not too long ago was her cousin. They share a likeness, as well. "Jon Snow. Have you met him?"

Annie's familiar with the double-talk. And she'd been prepared for it, because she hadn't been so bad that asking how she was would be dangerous. (Sometimes, for both of them, the best thing to do is just gloss over the dark mood. Sometimes.)

"It'll be done tomorrow," is what she says. And it will. It's not a big net. And-

"Just needed a day to focus on it." Which is the double-talk. She needed a day. She'll be okay. She's not... Not bad.

"You? Been making friends?"

In District Four, on a day like today, Annie would have been able to go to the opposite end of the house, or he could have left and gone back to his own mansion with more space than a single person could ever need. Here, they don't have mansions. They don't even have houses. Or rooms. They have one room for the two of them, and neither of them has been willing to be apart from the other for long enough to seek out any other arrangement. But there are, have always been, days when being around even each other is too much. Days when Annie needs to be away from him because her emotions are snarled up until she's ready to snap, days when Finnick can't stand the feeling of being in his own body and can't bear being touched, days when they just need space.

There are worse days, too, but Annie's reply is enough to assuage any fears that she'd been in too bad a place today. He loves her, but he understands the need to just be alone, without anyone else around, even if it's a luxury he can't always allow himself when he needs it.

"Always. You know me," he says, leaning into her for a moment. And if he shoots her a brilliant grin, then that's equal parts relief at the undertone of her words and teasing, because they both know always is far from Finnick's approach to making friends.

For someone as beloved and popular as he is, he's never been particularly liked by most of the other victors.

She made it down the stairs. Stairs can be a problem when she's having a very, very bad day. Too much of her mind gets caught with graphic, violent images of what would happen when - not if but when - she fell down them. Was it District 7 on her Victory Tour where Finnick had to carry her down the stage stairs or was it 5? Maybe 8? She can't remember, and she doesn't want to right now. It's not needed. But whichever day it had been, that had been a very bad day. Here, now, the fact that she looked at her feet as she walked down the inn's stairs to the main room was to make sure her boots didn't catch on the wood. Which makes it an okay day.

Okay enough that when Finnick grins at her, sharp and bright as a dolphin's grin and just as trustworthy, she smiles back up at him.

There is a small 'humph'. But it's after the smile.

"Play nice, Finnick," she says, mild and amused. "Met anyone interesting?"

Nice was never part of the deal.

There are many things that Finnick had to be for the Capitol. Seductive. Desirable. Demonstrative. Available.

Not nice. For all Snow had forced him to be, he could be as cruel and dismissive as he wanted to be, so long as he did what his patrons were paying for. And sometimes, he was. Sometimes, he didn't want to bother with nice or with the effort of being genuinely sociable, so he just played the Capitol's games with the Capitol's people and got away with it because he was a victor.

Here, he's apparently not that. So he does have to make the effort, because he seems to have no reputation to rely on, and acting outwardly uncaring, cavalier, and arrogant like he's used to doing won't make them friends.

So he has been being nice. Mostly.

"I'm nice," he says, the lightness in his voice belying the things that had gone through his mind.

"Chatted with some more merchants today. Sold some more fish to the guy in the market, talked a bit about the fishermen he usually buys from. He gets stuff in from the coast but he doesn't get much freshwater fish."

"Mmm hmm," Annie hums in lightly teasing agreement. He's certainly capable of being nice, but she knows how he tends to act in public. Even in District Four, when he's not playing Finnick Odair, Utter Asshole on TV. Here, no one knows him. Or them. There's no history, which is both terrifying and strangely liberating. If she believes it. She... mostly does.

She's on more secure footing as her boyfriend continues. Of the two of them, she's the one who had to look for work before becoming a victor. She's still been a victor since she was nearly nineteen, but it's something a bit more grounded. They have things to sell, but if they can secure something more consistent...

Well. She'd feel better.

"Does he sound like he'd be interested in more freshwater?"

They could hire a boat, surely.

Edited 2021-05-08 11:15 (UTC)

When Finnick had been a child, he'd been meant to grow up to be a fisherman, like his father and his father's father before them, and everyone else in his family. But he'd had other ideas. He'd wanted to join the Careers, wanted to take part in the Games, wanted the fame and the money that came with victory. He'd never really wanted to be a fisherman, until it was too late to become one.

But here, it's something they can do. They need a way to make steady money, not immediately, but eventually. Soon. And for all Finnick's skills, only one of them is something he can see himself making money with (and being able to live with himself).

It's why he'd been talking to the fishmonger.

"I think he might be. Apparently there's a fishing fleet operating off the coast west of here, but sounds like there might not be a lot of people fishing in the river."

"I wonder if there's anyone who's recently retired..." It's a market. Markets get filled. But if there's an opening, that happens, too. And it would be nice to actually earn her money for once.

And work with Finnick.

In the open.

"We could rent a boat, I'm sure. Or. Hopefully. I don't trust our boat-building skills that much yet."

They could build a boat. A small row-boat. They both know how, but it'd take time, and resources, and there's a decent chance they'd wind up in the drink. And renting could establish a connection, and everything runs on connections.

"We could try to find out. Either way, it's a start."

Neither of them had been trained particularly as freshwater fishers. Annie's family had been shrimpers and his had been deep-water fishers. But they know enough. They'd studied, and they'd learned, and a lot of what they'd learned was general enough to be useful here.

He bends his head down closer to Annie, so he can look into her eyes. She likes the idea; it's obvious from the light in her face.

"We really could do it. Earn our way here."

He never has, before.

"And you met her here."

He says it carefully, enunciating the words, though he speaks less out of uncertainty she'll understand him than that he's understood her. He's from somewhere death is a constant, and chose to become part of a system that causes it. Almost every year for the last ten years he's had to speak to grieving parents about the loss of his tribute -- their child. He knows the way people talk about dead family members, and that ... sounds like what she's saying.

But so he doesn't make any assumptions, he's careful. Because what she sounded like she was saying didn't make sense.

"I've met him. Didn't make the connection but I think I can see it now."

He can certainly recognize the similarities in their accents, which is another thing he's learning to identify here. If districts have noticeable accents in Panem, then so it seems do the places people come to this place from.

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🔱 new to town with a made-up name | OTA

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The Inn

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the inn

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Is it natural or dye? I HAVE NO IDEA YET. But I decided to keep it from her PB. XD

it's excellent hair I love her whole look

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^_^

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