lost | the hunger games

• xi •

❝it's not enough to be against something. you have to be for something better.❞

tony stark, captain america: civil war

☾

As expected, the smile didn't last long. Both Finnick and I put on our respective masks. I can't speak for Finnick, but putting on the mask was like a switch going off in my brain. Sealing everything off and only leaving the person I was supposed to be.

• • •

Finnick felt Pallas unhook her hand from his elbow. Not missing a beat with her chin set high, Pallas advanced forward, Finnick right beside her. Confidence and superiority radiated off of her as she walked forward, drawing eyes, however, it was fairly obvious that the girl on fire was the eye-catcher. Pallas glanced at Katniss, who seemed to look back at the same time. If either girl was impressed, she didn't show it.

Everyone else stares at Katniss. The wedding gown was quite magnificent. The room stood silent until Finnick finally said, "I can't believe Cinna put you in that thing."

Katniss glared. "He didn't have any choice," she defended him, "President Snow made him."

Pallas gave away nothing but the slight raise of an eyebrow. He shrugs nonchalantly and they continue to their spot.

Finnick wore his signature smirk, revealing his dimples. Almost a decade in the business as a Victor, he knew how to work people. And despite being only fifteen, Pallas knew, too. She'd switched personas so easily it was almost scary to Finnick.

They reached their spots backstage, and Finnick spotted Pallas casually scanning everyone in the room, occasionally locking eyes with anyone who was doing the same to her. Her eyes would narrow, scrutinize the crewmember or victor until they'd look away. You could see the girl who scored an eleven in her private session just the day before. You could see the ruthless victor who'd won her games with the most kills under her belt that year.

But Finnick just saw Pallas. Despite acting like a different person, Finnick knew Pallas well enough to notice her ticks. The almost indistinguishable clench of her jaw--which she happened to do without realizing it--or when she'd brush back her hair behind her ear despite it being immaculately structured, not a stray insight.

Finnick bet down to her ear and spoke so low only Pallas could hear. "Relax, I can feel your nervousness through the layers of foundation they put on me."

Pallas scoffed and turned around, breaking her blank face. "Impossible. I'm pretty sure all that make-up seeped into your skin and attached itself to your like a second layer."

"Ouch." Finnick puffed out his cheeks. He would've said something more if not for the crew member asking Cashmere and Gloss to get ready for their introduction. They were escorted to the top deck in front of the curtain. Finnick caught a glimpse of the bright lights and massive audience just waiting for them. This year, however, because it's everyone's met the tribute's already, they only get half the time they would've gotten in their interviews.

Pallas looked up at Finnick and asked, "What're you saying for yours?"

"Improv," he replied, smugly. "We both know I have more than enough favor from the Capitol--especially with these charming good looks."

"Cocky, much?"

"Just stating the truth. What about you?"

"You'll see." Pallas's facial expression morphed into one Finnick didn't like. Normally he wouldn't be too worried, but she wore mixed looks similar to stone-cold calm and smug. He'd never seen that look before, so he didn't know what to expect.