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7/4/14 23:41The strange thing about body base zero was that it healed very little. The fixes were all superficial, binding together skin and obscuring bruises. It had also been to still the feel pain, but to not have the marks visible on his skin. Years later, it was still difficult to not be able to see the scars he should have kept from his games. His fingers could expertly trace over where the knife had punched into the side of his torso, skittering over his ribs, coming precariously close to killing him.
But, there was great care put into his appearance, making sure that no blemish remained on his skin. Melia was an expert. But at the end of his most recently stint in the Capitol, a three-month run that had left him utterly worn down, he found himself without Melia -- who had been unexpectedly called away for some emergency (which, in all likelihood, was probably the wife of some government official who had insisted she would only be worked on by Finnick Odair's stylist). And considering that no one who was considered important was going to be seeing him for months, he was carted back to Four with an impressive spattering of marks upon his body.
They were nothing new to him. His last client wasn't a stranger and seemed to consider each mark a work of art. Finnick had come away from this endeavor with several bruised ribs -- black and purple stained the right side of his torso, interrupted only by cuts of tanned skin outlining where his ribs were located. The marks were completed upon his hips, the same dark colors blooming there.
At the very least, there was nothing that wouldn't be easy to hide. Except from one person.
He sat uneasily on the train back to Four, because he could hide this from his sisters and his mother and Mags, but he couldn't hide it from Annie. She was still a distant thought to him, like some fever dream. Something intangible from a lifetime ago. The weeks he'd spent with her seemed unreal now, as if he'd been an entirely different person then. Coming back, he was quietly afraid he couldn't be that person again, that he wouldn't remember how.
His train got in during the middle of the night, and although everyone had been told when he was arriving, years of being a victor had stopped his family from coming to see him at all hours. There would be celebration tomorrow, the presentation of gifts, a homecooked meal from his mother. But for the time being, Finnick dragged himself across Four and quietly in the house, letting himself into his bedroom, which seemed strangely sparse and quiet after so long in his apartment in the Capitol.
But, there was great care put into his appearance, making sure that no blemish remained on his skin. Melia was an expert. But at the end of his most recently stint in the Capitol, a three-month run that had left him utterly worn down, he found himself without Melia -- who had been unexpectedly called away for some emergency (which, in all likelihood, was probably the wife of some government official who had insisted she would only be worked on by Finnick Odair's stylist). And considering that no one who was considered important was going to be seeing him for months, he was carted back to Four with an impressive spattering of marks upon his body.
They were nothing new to him. His last client wasn't a stranger and seemed to consider each mark a work of art. Finnick had come away from this endeavor with several bruised ribs -- black and purple stained the right side of his torso, interrupted only by cuts of tanned skin outlining where his ribs were located. The marks were completed upon his hips, the same dark colors blooming there.
At the very least, there was nothing that wouldn't be easy to hide. Except from one person.
He sat uneasily on the train back to Four, because he could hide this from his sisters and his mother and Mags, but he couldn't hide it from Annie. She was still a distant thought to him, like some fever dream. Something intangible from a lifetime ago. The weeks he'd spent with her seemed unreal now, as if he'd been an entirely different person then. Coming back, he was quietly afraid he couldn't be that person again, that he wouldn't remember how.
His train got in during the middle of the night, and although everyone had been told when he was arriving, years of being a victor had stopped his family from coming to see him at all hours. There would be celebration tomorrow, the presentation of gifts, a homecooked meal from his mother. But for the time being, Finnick dragged himself across Four and quietly in the house, letting himself into his bedroom, which seemed strangely sparse and quiet after so long in his apartment in the Capitol.