ψ don't take the lakes for granted | CLOSED

[fishermansweater]

WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: 7I lake
WHEN: 20th February
OPEN TO: Major Lilywhite
WARNINGS: (Please warn for adult content or anything triggering)

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Finnick's been out to the lake a few times now to see if he can make any more sense of the fish, and it's mostly been without luck. Yesterday, though, he'd managed something. He'd come out with a trident and a net that Annie had just finished repairing and reinforcing, and a backpack full of dry, warm clothes, and he'd done everything he could to try to catch one of the must be thousands of fish that are proving so difficult to actually lay hands on. He'd lit a fire, potentially dangerous but less so than freezing because of the cold lake water, taken off his boots and rolled up his pants, then waded out a little way from shore.

He'd waded back out to warm up by the fire, then waded in again, but he'd still seen the fish apparently dart out of the way of everything he did to try to catch them. Eventually, he'd succeeded in catching one of the fish that crowded the shallows. It had taken braving the water enough to swim out and snare one in a net, but he'd done it. He'd then had to dry off by the fire before he went anywhere and change into warmer clothes, but he'd prepared for that possibility.

It had, possibly, been worth it. Annie had taken to dissecting their fish, and when she'd done that, the fish had turned out to have some sort of gold coin in it, marked with unfamiliar shapes 恵比須. He's carrying it with him, because he doesn't know what meaning the markings will have, and how Annie found the coin has just added to their conviction that the fish are some sort of manipulation from the Gamemakers. That sort of game, here, has proved unpredictable. Maybe having the coin will help him catch some more of the fish and calm his wife down about them.

Finnick heads back to where he'd lit the fire yesterday, the ashes smudged over with dirt from when he'd kicked it out. He's planning to try for more fish again, which is why he has a trident in one hand and a net slung over his shoulder. When he gets there, he sets down his trident and net and turns back towards the woods to hunt for kindling, but he hasn't headed back into the trees yet when he notices he's not alone.

"Hey. Major, right?"

It is; keeping track of who's who in this place even for people he hasn't formally met is hardly difficult for someone used to the social entanglements of the Capitol.

Comments

[majorlyugh]

Major has only incrementally gotten better at this whole fishing and hunting thing. Really, it's been the fishing almost exclusively; for whatever reason, Major doesn't feel half as bad sending those scaly, wriggly creatures to their deaths as he does when it comes to something furry and cute. Other than having seen Shark Tale once, and Finding Nemo, he can't really think of many other movies that make an audience sympathetic to the plights of fish. It's all woodland creatures, or jungle creatures, a la The Jungle Book and Bambi.

He reminds himself of this whenever he goes fishing, because despite it all, he does feel a pang of guilt in his gut whenever he has to impale the thing on a spear. Ugh. Why can't he go back to living his detached life, buying pre-killed and pre-sliced food in the supermarket? What he wouldn't give for a walk through a Whole Foods right about now.

He doesn't notice the ashes or the burnt out fire by the riverside, his mind too consumed with the looming task of what he's about to do. He's got the spear white knuckle-gripped in one hand, a crudely made basket in the other. He doesn't even hear the other man approach, eyes lost in the river, mouth silently offering up apologies as he searches for a victim.

The voice makes him jump, maybe even give out a tiny shriek, his face flushing with crimson embarrassment that reaches up to the tips of his ears. He's also dropped the basket in the moment, his now-free hand pressing against his chest where he can feel the sharp thud of his racing heartbeat. He uses the spear as a crutch to lean against as he regains his composure.

With a nod, he calms himself down.

"Y-yeah, yeah. I'm Major. Jesus, you scared the crap outta me," he offers with a flustered laugh. "I ... don't think I know your name, which makes me feel like an asshole because you already know mine .. Did we meet already? I'm sorry if we did. I, uh. I lost my memory for a period not too long ago, so if we met during that time, I .... have no idea who you are."

[fishermansweater]

This guy wouldn't last a day in the Games.

It's still an automatic judgment, the instinct instilled by years studying the Games to learn to survive them, then by more years spent assessing every one of the tributes going into the arena and comparing them to his own charges, trying to work out which would die first and which would be serious competition for his tributes. Here, it's a form of planning, the planning that he and Annie are constantly doing: who will be good allies, who will turn, who will and won't be able to look after themselves if the tentative social structure of this place collapses.

A shriek like that in the arena would bring the Career Pack down on the guy, and he doesn't know how to hold a spear. For now, that's just information to put aside for later, his new set of secrets and assessments to go with the ones he'd spent years collecting in the Capitol.

"We didn't," Finnick says, shaking his head with faint amusement at the edges of his mouth. "I'm just good at names." Really, what he's good at is watching people and listening to people so they don't realize that's what he's doing, and so collecting information about who people are and how they're connected.

"Finnick," he provides. "Finnick Odair."

He waves a lazy hand towards the spear. "Having any luck with the fish?"

[majorlyugh]

"Huh." There's probably more to unpack here, but Major's gonna skirt right on by that. He's still waiting for his adrenaline to run its course and for his heartbeat to return to normal. Seems kind of crazy, when he thinks about it, given that he'd been getting mercenary training before he'd started here. But it had only been a couple of days before he'd woken up in the fountain, and that's his excuse for he's so jumpy.

That and the whole ... getting locked in a freezer for hours, almost dying, getting shot, going unconscious, and waking up a zombie thing that had happened to him not too long ago, even if all of that felt like an eternity prior now. That sorta thing does something to people, he figures. He's just glad that it's this Finnick Odair guy and not Blaine. Ugh, Blaine.

"Finnick, nice to meet you." He thinks to put a hand out, but given that the guy's not offering his already, he skips that, too. "It probably comes as no surprise, but no. I ... am still having a hard time getting around my guilt for skewering them. I mean, I've done it a number of times, but .. it just .. I gotta psyche myself up to do it. What about you? Are you out here for the same reason?"