sixthiterationlogs | ψ come morning light

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ψ come morning light | closed to Kate

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: The Inn
WHEN: Early September
OPEN TO: Kate Kelly
WARNINGS: Mentions of depression

It's strange, having a future to plan for. Except it's not really a future, because how can it be, in this place? Or maybe it's more than it's not really a plan. Whichever it is, he's not used to thinking about what he wants. He plans for the revolution. He plans for seduction and the secrets he'll steal with it. He plans for how to make it through the weeks each year he spends in the Capitol. Anything more than that disappears into the distance, overridden by the President's demands. Maybe that's why he hasn't known how to plan for the wedding. Or maybe it's just that the past months have been so hard. Or maybe he just never believed it actually would happen.

Annie, though, does believe. Now that she's helped him steer safe to shore through the storm that raged in him for weeks, she wants to know when it can happen. How it can happen. And that's one question he's not sure he can answer, because there's still one thing he hasn't worked out: who actually will marry them. Johanna had suggested Peeta could perform the ceremony, but he's gone now. There's just him and Annie and Johanna from Panem now, and that means he needs to find someone else, who can marry them in whatever way the people here are used to.

He doesn't know who that would be, either, but there are one or two people he thinks might, and of them, Kate Kelly is the one he knows best and, more importantly, trusts most. So this morning, when Finnick brings by the excess fish from his catch, he sits near the basket of fish, by the steps of the Inn, until he hears the door open.

"Kate Kelly," he says, in greeting.

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He's become an.... Well, most people have a different definition of 'expected' to her, she's aware of that. Odair isn't a consistent presence, or a predictable one, but he's expected every few days at least, and usually more frequently. And yet, this is the first time she's seen him in what feels like weeks.

Underneath her cheerful kindness, Kate holds most people at arm's length, yet her hazel eyes are intent as she looks at him. Not staring, not intense, but there's some concern there. Some checking, to see any evidence of anything amiss which would cause him to stay away while his shy sweetheart delivered fish.

"Finnick Odair," she says, and tips her head forward in greeting. "It's a good mornin' out there, isn't it?"

Finnick knows being looked at. He's known it all his life, even before he became beloved of all Panem by winning the Hunger Games. His beauty had always drawn attention, even when he was a child, though it had been a different type of attention than the Capitol had shown him. He'd learned to ignore it when he wanted to, but he'd also learned to appraise it, and while it's clear Kate is studying him, it's with a careful curiosity, not the sort of lascivious fascination he's so used to.

He'd lost weight, over those weeks, when he hadn't been eating as well as he should, and hadn't been walking the banks of the river to check his traps. It's been long enough since he last saw Kate that she might be noticing that; more likely, she's wondering why he's stayed until she came out this morning, when he usually slips back away after he leaves his gifts.

"Sun's nice," he agrees. "Got a good catch, too," he continues, tilting his head to one side to indicate the home-made basket of fish.

He's a beautiful man, and always seems far more beautiful in person than in her memory. But she's no giddy, sheltered girl who'd grown up in the bush, not seeing anyone but maybe her parents, and besides, he's a familiar enough figure now so her initial stumbles have long since been forgotten.

He doesn't look entirely well, and those glorious cheekbones are shown into a bit too-sharp a relief. If he's been unwell, it makes sense that she's not seen him for a few weeks. But she won't pry if he won't offer; she doesn't know him that well.

And he wants something, even if it is companionship. She doesn't think that's all it is, but it could be.

"Two things near an' dear to me heart," is what Kate says, cheerfully. "I might even use the fish today, some fresh meat'll be nice."

"Good thing I came by today then, if you want some," he replies easily, and he stands, stooping to reach for the basket of fish and actually give it to her instead of letting it sit there for her to collect. He smiles as he offers it up.

"I actually had a reason for bringing it," he confesses, flashing a grin that contrasts with the way the lines in his face have sharpened since Kate saw him last. The smile makes his expression look a little less haunted, brighter, and there's even something genuine in that. There's a happiness he's not sure he knows how to express, or even feel, at the thought of why he's really here: he's not used to being able to be truly happy, and he knows it doesn't undo what's been chasing around in his mind for weeks. No matter what's happening, it's hard for him to stay happy, but maybe this is a start.

"Do you mind if I ask you something? Somewhere private?"

Edited 2017-09-25 13:22 (UTC)

Normally, he doesn't stay and chat - or if he does chat, it's because she's caught him before he could vanish into the mists and mysteries of the forest (or the broad sunlight of the space between the buildings, but there's no one around to mind her silent flash of whimsy). Still, she does feel pleased that she's correctly read him, that he's wanted something. He can be a hard man to see under the surface, is Finnick Odair.

"Mind? Not at all. Just let me take these inside, and I'll meet you round where the chooks and rabbits are."

People can wake up at all hours at the Inn, but it's rare for any but her to be out tending to her collection of chickens. And the rabbits. And her very sweet, but very loud, rooster.

He'd taken to leaving fish and disappearing rather than coming in, or even knocking and giving to to her at the door, many months ago because he didn't trust anyone here except Annie and Johanna. Learning to trust Kelly in even the limited way that he does has taken time, even though he and Annie owed her for the food she'd given them when they couldn't fish in the flooded river or gather in the torrential rain. It's stopped being about not trusting Kelly. Now, it's part habit and part avoidance of the rest of the village, retaining his ability to choose when he interacts with the others in the village.

In a way, it's like being in the Victors' Village in Panem: he interacts with Annie and Johanna, and the few others he chooses, and goes into the village when he wants to reach out more.

Now is one of those times. So he smiles, and shoves his hands back in his pockets. He's got a length of cord that he's taken to carrying with him since he emerged from the mists of his ... illness. He pulls the cord out of his pocket, and twists it through and around his fingers, his thumb smoothing over the woven nylon sheath, focusing on the feel of it as he walks around the back of the Inn.

When Kelly emerges, she'll find him gazing idly at the rabbits, a length of paracord clutched between his fingers.

"Hey."

The chickens get names: they are for laying, for making more chickens. Her first rooster gets a name, although most of the young ones currently scratching around don't. They are destined for the slaughter when the weather starts to turn. The rabbits are the same: they are there for their meat, for their leather and fur. Kate's fond of a few, but aside from the rabbits put aside to continue breeding, she doesn't get attached.

Still, she takes care of them well. The animals are glossy-furred, well-fed (being fattened up), and when she clicks her tongue a lot of them look up. They know what that means.

Food.

She walks over with her bucket (two, really, but one is for her beloved chooks) and stars to toss out the plant scraps from yesterday. Odair wanted privacy, and this provides a cover as much as it is a needed chore.

"What's on your mind?"

She's got a good little flock of chickens and ... whatever it is of rabbits going here. They look well-cared for, and he supposes the rabbits must be for food, having seen so many eaten in the Games over the years. He knows that his and Annie's geese would be good for food, but all he can think of is eggs. They've become friends with the geese, their curious, friendly, protective gaggle, that have become such supports and companions for Annie. They're family, as much as he knows the sentimentality is a poor survival choice. But that's how it is: gathering the eggs is the closest his birds are coming to being food.

He doesn't say any of that, just thinks it as he watches Kelly start feeding the rabbits. He's still toying with the length of cord as she speaks to him, and he appreciates the length she's gone to in order to keep this both private and unobtrusive: nobody would know they were here because he'd asked for privacy.

"I could use some advice," he says, quietly. "I'd know who to ask at home, but not here. You know the people here better than me. I'd like to find someone who could perform a marriage."

It might be expected that Kate, she of the insistence on 'Miss', might be shocked that that Finnick Odair is not wed to the red-haired girl he shares a home with. Yet quite apart from her own situation of living with a man to whom she has not formally pledged herself before God, she's more worldly and practical than that. Sometimes marriages don't happen, for whatever reason. No priest around to bless it, the legalities aren't there, or simply.... human nature. There is the commonlaw, too, she knows about that.

It's different, for people in her station and class. Not as panicky pure as the middle classes.

"A marriage?" she asks, and she smiles at him. "As it happens, you're actually in luck. One of the more recent arrives, Father Mulcahy, he could. You would have to ask the man, of course, but it is one of the functions of a priest."

There's an irony, he thinks, in the fact that now that he's actually free -- or apparently free -- to get married, he no longer knows how. In Panem, he could have gone to one of the respected elders of the community, a longstanding ship's captain or the woman who ran the main dock in the city, people who were respected as part of the fabric of the community. All it needed was somebody who knew the ceremony, and had enough standing to be respected when they submitted the paperwork. This place isn't the same. There's no mayor's office to register a marriage with, and nobody who'd know the ceremony.

It's only that he'd known someone had gotten married here before that made him think there'd be a way, and if anyone knew it, he'd hoped it would be Kelly, who knows so much about all the people here.

"Father Mulcahy," he says, his expression thoughtful. Father sounds like a title of some sort, but Finnick feels like there's something he's missing. "I don't think I've met him, I haven't been into the village much lately. Know where I might find him?"

The question of the word priest he saves, for now, until he's found out a little more about the man.

"He's around a few places," Kate says thoughtfully, thinking it over. She's still working on getting back to her normal sociability, but she keeps an eye on people and where they go.

"He lives in the house we've been usin' as a church," she says, and then describes it for Finnick and where to find it. "But he's often here at the Inn, and likes to help out at meal times. But usually you can find him where there's work to be done.

Father Mulcahy is actually a fairly nice chap, or so he seems so far. He's about in his thirties, I reckon, maybe the same height as you? Blond-ish hair and he wears glasses."

He'd let priest go by uncommented-on, earlier, because asking about Mulcahy is the thing he's worried about here, but then she says church, and it's a word he's heard before, but he has no context for it. There are, occasionally, words he hears here that are completely unfamiliar to him, many of them plants or animals that don't exist in the hot coastal climate of District Four.

"Blond-ish with glasses," he repeats, nodding. "I'll look out for him."

It should be enough to go on: age, general appearance, and most of all the fact that he's new enough that Finnick hasn't noticed him here before. Maybe Annie did, while he was unwell, but Finnick had been otherwise occupied.

"You said you use the house as a church. What's a church? We don't have them where I'm from."

"He should be easy enough to find," Kate says with a smile. "But if you can't, just come by while we're preppin' for lunch, and I'll point him out to you."

Which would all be simple enough, except that then Finnick asks what a church is.

"Oh." His question throws her, but only for a moment. "The same as a temple, although dedicated to the Christian God instead of- Instead of another one."

There, that's polite, she's being polite, except she's not sure she's covered everything from the way Finnick's looking at her.

"A... place of worship? It's normal for a place like this to have one, a dedicated building. As it doesn't, some of us use that house instead."

He's said something wrong. She covers it, but it's not particularly smooth, and Finnick is good at reading those subtle cues people give when a topic is sensitive to them. He's used it for years to manipulate, to work out where the cracks in someone's shell were so he could lever a knife into their secrets. He's not here to do that to Kelly, though; he's come to her because he trusts her, to an extent, and because she knows more about this place than most people.

He still doesn't know what she means, though, even though she answers and responds to his confused expression with an explanation, of sorts. It's just not one that makes much sense to him.

"A place to worship ... the Christian God?" He'd heard Christ before, too, a name that had been mentioned in one of the meetings. They'd talked about a place of worship then, too, and he hadn't been quite sure what they meant. "We don't have anything like that in Panem."

Kate blinks.

She's used to the idea of people worshipping God differently, used to the idea of people worshipping different (fake) gods, even heard of those who profess not to believe in anything but the world they see and feel, but even the godless know of God. Know of worship and what she means, and wouldn't be so politely confused as Odair is being at her.

She doesn't understand.

How could he not know?

"No... God," she asks, carefully, "or no, um. Places of worship?"

It's clear that his incomprehension is more than just a matter of not understanding the terms she's used. The look on her face and the very deliberate way she speaks, like she's testing his words from another angle as though that would make them make sense, remind him of his own and Annie's confusion when people here professed not to know the Capitol, or the Hunger Games.

"Unless we have a different word for it," he replies, slowly, his head tilting curiously to one side. He shrugs. "I don't even really know what it means, but we don't have buildings like that. Or ... God."

As far as he knows. Kelly hasn't given him much to go on, but it's not a name he recognizes.

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ψ come morning light | closed to Kate

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