WHO: Finnick Odair
WHERE: The woods, by the fields, and the Inn
WHEN: June 6
OPEN TO: EVERYONE
WARNINGS: None so far but always the chance of Panem-related asshattery

THE WOODS

OTA

He thinks they're dandelions. At least, they look like dandelions. But for all his training, edible-plants was never Finnick's strongest point. Fishing, hunting, improvising nets and ropes out of whatever he could find around him, those were the skills that got him through the arena of the 65th Hunger Games. So when he finds that a spot in the woods near one of his fishing traps has, in the space of a few days, erupted into a carpet of fluffy white balls that burst seeds into the air as he walks through them, Finnick's immediate response is uncertainty.

He crouches down by one of the plants and peers at its leaves. Dandelions, he knows, are safe to eat. He's seen tributes eat them in the arena. But he isn't sure if these are actually dandelions or just some other plant that acts like them, and he can't remember as he studies the leaves whether or not that's what dandelion leaves look like. if they were dandelions, shouldn't there have been flowers? Or at least, flowers for longer than the time it's been since Finnick last walked through this spot?

Maybe someone in the village will know. Maybe Katniss will know, since somehow she seems to know a lot more about how to survive in the wild than any tribute from her District he's ever seen. (There's a story there, somewhere, but it's a story that nobody would expect anyone else to share, at least not someone who's spent as long under the Capitol's surveillance as Finnick.)

So Finnick gathers a collection of leaves from the plants, and tries his best to collect one of the fluffy heads without it bursting into the air, and puts them in one of the woven baskets he and Annie use for transporting fish.

THE FIELDS

OTA

Finnick plans to stop by the fields on his way home, with the vague thought that there might be someone there who's able to help him work out what the plant he's found is. But as he cuts across from the woods towards the fields, Finnick's suddenly overcome by the smell of salt on the breeze, the tangy smell of the sea that means home.

He stops, uncertain, and raises his trident, his body suddenly tense, the alertness that's always running under the surface suddenly springing to the surface. It's impossible that he's smelling the ocean here; surely it can only be some sort of trap.

He waits, only sign of movement the rapid rate at his his gaze goes from one spot to another, scanning trees, shrubs, anything that could act as cover. It's only slowly that he realizes there's no real apparent danger, and heads towards the smell.

THE INN

OTA

The smell of the sea had turned out to be coming from another unexpected spring blossoming, this time an expanse of purple flowers on the boundary of the fields. He doesn't remember seeing wildflowers there before now, and now there are so many of them that they look like a field of their own. Since he already has a sample of uncertain flora in his pack, he'd picked some of these flowers, too, and he heads for the Inn with his samples in his backpack.

He stalks into the main room of the Inn, because it's one of the places it's common to see a lot of the villagers gathered. He has one of the purple flowers in his hand, and he holds it out, his head tilted to one side, as he leans on the never-stocked bar.

"Is it me, or are there more plants around than there should be?"

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Benedict is currently on his knees behind the bar, sweeping cobwebs out of hidden corners. He glances up when Finnick brandishes a stem of purple flowers at him from overhead, his eyebrows lifting in surprise.

"I am probably the worst qualified person to ask that," he points out mildly, sitting back on his heels and tossing his head to get his hair out of his face.

The motion brings a waft of scent to him, and he freezes, his golden eyes growing wide. Perhaps faster than it is wise to move around the people of this habble who all seem to have some sort of trauma they are working through, he reaches up to grab the flower in Finnick's hand, holding it still so he can lean closer and smell it properly.

"Where did you find this? Why does it smell like cordite?"

Finnick's gotten used to the fact that since they arrived in this new version of the village, Benedict looks like he belongs in the Capitol. Those cat's eyes would be quite a feature there, where body alteration is a fashion. Fortunately, there's little of the superficiality of the fashionable denizens of the Capitol in Benedict, so Finnick still feels relatively -- as it always is with victors -- at ease with the man.

That doesn't mean he's prepared for the suddenness of Benedict's response, or for the sudden way he grabs at Finnick's hand. Finnick tenses sharply at the unexpected touch, but years of forcing himself to strangle his impulse reactionstop him from pulling back, so he lets Benedict lean in towards the flower. Finnick forces himself to relax, and it comes easier once it's clear that it's the flower that has Benedict's interest.

"Cordite?"

The word's unfamiliar, and it shows in the careful way Finnick repeats it, focusing on that instead of his unwanted reaction to the man's hand on his. "I thought it smelled like the sea. They're growing out by the fields."

Benedict is not, contrary to popular belief, stupid. When Finnick's entire body seizes when Benedict grabs for his arm, he instantly feels guilty, well aware that he has apparently stepped on some sort of trauma for the man, all because he was careless. With a murmured apology, he unclenches his fingers around Finnick's wrist, placing his hands pointedly on the tops of his thighs as he kneels on the ground beneath the bar.

"Gunpowder." Most high-quality long-guns were powered solely by weapons crystals, but Benedict has been on enough tours of duty through the Spirearch's Guard that he has become quite familiar with the smell of cheap, low-quality guns, the way the smoke tickles the nostrils and makes him want to sneeze.

"And ozone." He frowns, turning his eyes back to Finnick and away from the flower. "You smell the sea?"

It's an unspoken thing that everyone in Panem knows about the victors: many of them are a little strange. Some drink, some are always angry, some take drugs and Finnick ... Finnick is intense, and prone to losing himself in long periods of melancholy, and to a dislike of being suddenly touched when he's not expecting it. (It reminds him of too many other touches, and that's the only reason he doesn't flinch away, because he's had to learn not to.)

The tension eases out of him as Benedict lets him go, and Finnick gazes at him for a moment before he nods appreciation for the apology. Even after so long here, he's still not used to the fact that people here will show that level of respect and understanding.

"Gunpowder." Finnick doesn't know that word, either. For all his training and experience, he's never held a gun. They're reserved for Peacekeepers, and he's rarely even seen them used. "I don't know what that smells like. But all I smell is the sea."

How to explain what gunpowder smells like? Benedict has never properly seen the sea, only fresh water lakes and streams, and those only on his time on the Surface. For all he knows, the sea may very well smell like cordite.

"Like charcoal, and steam, and ammonia. A little bit like fireworks. The mercury fulminate leaves a distinct metallic taste in the back of your throat. The crystal mechanism for firing it smells of ozone, like the smell after a lightning strike."

Another thing he's only discovered since his time in this habble.

"Is that what the sea smells like?"

A lot of what Benedict says doesn't make sense to Finnick; mercury fulminate and crystal mechanism mean nothing to him in the context of a gun, and he hadn't been out in the streets when the uprising in Four was crushed to know if the guns the Peacekeepers used had any sort of distinctive smell.

(There'd been new smells in the district, but they'd been smells of burning and destruction, smoke and fire from bombed-out buildings, and they'd been faded by the time anyone was allowed back out from their homes.)

Fortunately, Benedict does give enough else to work with that Finnick can start to understand the smell he's talking about. He's a sailor, so he knows the smell of lightning, and charcoal and steam are easy enough to bring to mind.

Finnick shakes his head. "No. It smells like salt and hot sand, sometimes raw fish and whatever's coming in on the wind."

He looks down at the little flower, frowning, and takes another deep breath to be sure of the smell. It's definitely salt and sand, not ozone and charcoal. The little thing looks bright and harmless, but Finnick has seen the recordings of the Second Quarter Quell, and there's something deeply unsettling about the idea of something that smells different to different people.

"They've made something that smells different to different people," he says, his voice wary.

ψ haven't you heard what becomes of curious minds? | OTA

THE WOODS

THE FIELDS

THE INN

the inn

tw: ptsd/anxiety

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