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Finnick kept expecting for the bottom to drop out. It was hard to believe that this wasn't a charade. He'd seen plenty of devious plans hatched and carried out in the Capitol, and there were certainly many that had this sort of longevity and creativity. But this lacked a certain level of cruelty that he had always been able to taste before. If it had been an arena, the need for blood would have won out long ago. No, this was something else. Maybe it was safety. Finnick wasn't ready to believe that yet.

Still, he had decided to lower his guard a little. It helped marginally that both Johanna and Katniss were here; if something was going to happen to him, it was going to happen to all three of them, and if there were any other Victors he wanted at his side, it was the two of them.

As it was, there was little else he could do. If the Capitol was playing a trick, they were holding out the cards. So, Finnick decided to enjoy the hotel. It was nice enough. Certainly on par with some of the nicer ones in the Capitol, although perhaps lacking the gaudier decorations.

He liked being out in the gardens, because he rarely saw anything resembled nature in the Capitol. But, without a doubt, his favorite area was the pool. There still was something unnatural about swimming indoors, but it was calming all the same to do lap after lap and just hear the quiet of the building surrounding him.

That's where he was at the moment, stripped to just his skin except for Annie's necklace, which was still tied securely about his neck. He treaded water for a moment before launching himself forward, heading back toward the shallow end of the pool again.

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She actually almost laughs at that, a high-pitched derisive little thing. Nudity is a weapon that can be used against people unused to the shock of it and she's always been pleased to wield it in her favor. "I doubt they've ever seen a naked body so well put together as yours. Not a compliment," she assures him sharply. "It's fact that you put the effort into it. We all do, don't we? Appearances," she says icily. "are the difference between life and death."

"I'll take it as a compliment anyway," Finnick answers immediately, smiling at her again -- he doesn't care if it irritates her, because if she wants to do anything about it, she has to come in the pool after him. He'll take his chances.

Besides, only part of what she says is true. He certainly hadn't put any care into his appearance before he went into the Hunger Games. It wasn't like his prime strategy when he was reaped was to charm everyone. It had just been who he was, paired with natural good looks; he might be more polished now, but there's not denying that he started off naturally good-looking. And to be fair, even now he doesn't put that much effort into his appearance. It's everyone else who does. It's his team of stylist who work to make him look effortlessly polished but not plastic, to get as little clothes on him as humanly possible.

But appearances being the difference between life and death is an absolute rule -- at least for the two of them. There are plenty of Hunger Games that are won by weird instances -- BeeTee's, Haymitch's. But most of them are won like his and Johanna's. The play a role. The Capitol loves them for that role. That's how Katniss' and Peeta's were won too, wasn't it? They wanted to bring home a pair of star-crossed lovers, so they did.

"You found anything out?" Finnick asks Johanna in return.

"There aren't enough weapons," she replies, inching forward so she can hush her words as best as she can. "I've started to sneak one or two away from places they might not notice, the kitchen, the stables, the housekeeping rooms, but funny enough, I can't find us an axe, a trident, or a bow." Said like that, it sounds as if she's pitching some strange and fantastical combination of items. "And the doors don't always lead where you expect."

She'd figured that out by opening a door and getting a frosty face of snow in greeting. "No one's tried to kill me, though, and they haven't seemed to notice that I'm squatting in a room. The lap of luxury," she notes condescendingly.

She's eased close enough now that she can arc her foot down and splash him with the water, an intent to try and rile him continuously ongoing. "I could get used to it."

It's not a surprise in the slightest to hear that she's been hoarding weapons. It's a reflex, he thinks, for most of them. Especially when they went up in an unfamiliar place after winning. They need the tactical advantages, to defend themselves against unseen enemies. Admittedly, it's an itch in his own mind even now, to know that he doesn't have a good weapon here.

"I haven't tried any of the doors yet," Finnick admits. He's heard a bit about the strange doors, but he hasn't committed himself to any yet. Maybe because it's nice to develop a solid knowledge of this one, but also because they're unpredictable, and Finnick doesn't enjoy walking into situations where he doesn't have the upperhand.

"Could you?" Finnick asks innocently, but he does mean the question seriously, if only because he's surprised to hear the concept coming from Johanna.

The water hits him squarely in the face and Finnick blinks a few times, letting it drip down the bridge of his nose. He grins up at her, because, really, she should know better than that. He bobs a few times, gaining as much as momentum as he could, before pushing himself upward, grabbing at her knees in order to drag her into the water.

It's dangerous, what he's doing, but it's almost funny how it strikes her as a playful kind of fighting, two murderers splashing around in the pool. She still doesn't let it go unpunished, driving her knee against him in the water, but combined with his skills and the crush of water slowing her, it does barely anything.

She finds her footing, watching how the water weighs down the fabric of her clothes, watching as they sop disgustingly. She gives a disgusted sound and strips every item, flinging them onto the deck with quickness until she's got nothing left. She doesn't mind the long walk back to her room, but she's still pissed he's inconvenienced her. "One leads to a flashy little city of lights and sound," she says. "I could get used to that, too."

The truth is, she could get used to anything outside of Snow's thumb.

Finnick feigns injury when she drives her knee in against him, a blow that would have had more substance if they had been on land; he dreads ever having take a serious injury from her -- because she could certainly do it. (Even though there had been plans for them to be allies in the Arena for the Quarter Quell, he'd had nightmares for a bit about her killing him. He'd woken up in a cold sweat on more than one night with the image of an axe being thrust into his stomach seared onto the inside of his eyelids.)

He pushes back from the wall a little once she starts to strip down, giving her some space. She's probably the one that uses nudity as a better weapon that he does.

"A city?" Finnick smiles as she talks. "Not what I would expect from you, Jo."

"It's not district seven, I'll give you that," she admits, sinking down into the water when she's rid of the rest of her clothing. "It doesn't look like anything the Capitol could ever come up with," she finally gives the real reason. "This still reminds me of that place, but there are other things out there and I think if we play this right, we have a chance to get free, District Thirteen or not." She keeps her space, about an arm's distance, just in case something happens and Finnick decides to turn.

There are a lot of people back in Panem that the others will want to grab. They can worry about them all they like. Johanna's ready to leave at any moment. "We can go and get her." Actually, she might help with that. So sue her, she might feel a bit of kinmanship with a victor who went nuts after surviving the games.

Nope. That's a lie. Still, keeping Finnick happy keeps her allied and that matters more.

Finnick lets the tide of the conversation turn, quietly ingesting everything that Johanna says. It's true. There are parts of this place that do smack of the Capitol, but parts of it that seem like it couldn't have possibly been constructed by the people who enslaved them for so long. It might just be the finery of everything. There isn't anything as well-constructed and decorated as this place anywhere but the Capitol. But, if this is a Capitol trick, what's the end game? It's evident that they're not killing each other. They've said enough about the rebellion that all three of them could be tried for treason. Why keep them here for a prolonged of time in such comfort?

He looks at Johanna without any of his usual facade when she suggests they escape. Maybe they could. But that isn't what they set out to do, was it? If they left, just deserted Panem, does anything change? Do the Hunger Games grind on? And he knows implicitly, that even if they stop, he can't just leave. He has too much family. Too much to lose in Panem.

His gaze narrows, mouth actually thins a line when Johanna so openly alludes to Annie. His chest goes tight for a moment, because he's been trying not to think about her too much, but all he does is end up obsessing over her. Every night he lies awake and thinks of her, retraces her face over in his mind, makes sure that he can still hear the sound of her voice, what her hair smells like after they've been swimming in the sea at night. He had been afraid to leave her for the Hunger Games, but that had been a sacrifice he could make. He might die; but it was with the promise of bringing her a better life, where she could be free, didn't have to worry about hiding herself from the Capitol at all times. He had done it for her -- and for all of his sisters, who he had to stay in the Capitol for, to make sure they weren't reaped. They were all together, at least. It's a small consolation, mostly because he doesn't understand what's happening to himself, so he can't understand what's happening at him.

He doesn't know what to say to Johanna for a rare moment, because he can never dare to say Annie's name anywhere remotely public. He can't risk exposing them, can't risk anyone knowing what she is to him, that he loves her so deeply that he would do anything to make sure she doesn't feel anymore pain.

He clears his throat.

"So, do you think the Capitol sent us here or not?" Finnick asks.

Her brow raises up and down, a pointed little commentary on how she feels about the conversation being steered so quickly away from her offer (well, more like question). She gives him a look that explicitly says they're going to discuss this at some point because if they're not going to get Annie or any of the others, then Johanna might just think about striking out on her own.

"Send us to a place where we're well-fed, well-rested, but paranoid at every twist and turn? It's practically like they're doing this for a little more entertainment value to warm the pathetic cockles of their heart when they're bored of all the bloodshed," she says derisively, pushing her way to the edge of the pool to raise herself up and out, beginning to pick up her clothes in order to get them to dry a bit better. "Why? What else could it be?" she asks over her shoulder.

He can practically feel Johanna's ire and frustration in the gaze that she shoots him. He gives her his own pointed look, one that says, you didn't really think we were going to have a casual chat about her in an exposed area, did you? But, the moment does serve to highlight a source of frustration: They need to discuss what they're planning, but Finnick doesn't trust anywhere in this hotel enough to do that. They need to find a way to communicate. He agrees one hundred percent that they need to go back for everyone, but he doesn't know how to tell Johanna that without exposing them.

"Why though?" Finnick presses, echoing her. It does smack of Capitol cruelty to make them think they're safe -- but they don't really believe that, so what follows next? Back to the arena? It's no predicament than where they would have been before.

He watches her get out, and for some reason his gaze snags on her arm -- remembers something that Plutarch had told them: If you still have your tracker in at the end, we can't help you.

"Jo," he says abruptly. He hastily pushes himself out of the pool, follows after her. "Do you still have your tracker?" He feels like she would have told him if she had taken it out already, but maybe she was a bit quicker on the draw than he was. Honestly, he'd forgotten about it, and now he can feel it itching under his skin. If they get it out, it would be an easy way to test the Capitol. Tracker gone, they really do risk escape.

She glances to where she had cut the thing out as soon as she'd found a kitchen blade, crouching to get it out of the wet clothes she'd slung away. Once she finds it, she straightens up, holding it so that Finnick can see it in the light. "I haven't figured out what to do with it yet, but destroying it seems like a bad idea. If they do come hunting us, it might come in handy," she says, turning the little thing over and over again in her palm. "You?"

She kind of hopes that she can use it to get even. True, it's not like it'll be the easiest thing in the world, but the thought of cutting open a Capitol lackey and jamming her tracker in there feels good to her in an instinctive and basic way, the kind of victory that would probably be short-sighted, but feel great while she did it.

Well, at least one of them had been smart enough to cut the damn thing out. He's surprised to see her holding it though, stares openly for just a second. If she still has it, it's possible to still track her -- although, it seems, for the time being, there's no been repercussions to the fact that one of the victors had lost their tracking device.

"Still got something sharp?" Finnick asks, turning his arm toward her so that she can see he still has his.

"We could try getting one of them," Finnick suggests. "Chucking it into one of those magic doors." The truth is, to him, it seems only slightly better to have it out of him and in his hand. He'd rather just be rid of it entirely. Of course, if Katniss and Johanna still have theirs, it doesn't make much difference. They'll find him with them -- but with the trackers out, it does leave some room for ... experimentation.

Johanna bats her lashes in a coy, too sweet way that's meant to be insulting, gesturing to her very nude self as she stands with her feet shoulder-width apart. "Does it look like I have something sharp on me?" she asks, even though there's an absolute chance that she does. She reaches for a towel and wraps it around herself snugly, glancing at the small tracker after she tosses it down into a pile of sodden-wet clothes. "It's a shame Volts isn't here," she says, with a genuine note of wishing. "I bet he could come up with a dozen of the things to screw with the Capitol's minds. I'd kill for the chance to play with their minds."

And she has, so it's not that much of an exaggeration.

"Looks mean nothing with you, sweetheart," Finnick answers instantly. The implication of his tone is that he's only pretending to joke, but is being utterly serious -- because he is. He knows Johanna to know that if she wants a weapon, she knows how to hide.

"What about your stash?" Finnick asks, because he's going to have this thing out of his arm soon. He can do it on his own, but it'll be easier with her help. She got hers own without killing herself after all.

"I'd kill just for us all to be safe," Finnick responds, answer oddly serious for him. He's never questioned why exactly she decided to join in on the rebellion. The Capitol's hurt them all beyond repair, obviously, but if she went into the Quarter Quell with the intention to win -- if she didn't win, she'd come bloody close. The truth of the matter is that it would have probably been one of them, maybe Gloss or Cashmere. Everyone else has wasted away too much, Enobara and Brutus too brash. Katniss too young, too untrained. But maybe this is the heart of why both of them decided to take the risk and jump on the rebellion bandwagon: He wants to protect. She wants revenge. He doesn't dare ask her still.

Her smile is utterly smug and wicked at the same time, pleased with the compliment from Finnick (even if he only meant it as a statement as to how dangerous she can be). "I could go and get it, but they're blunt force items. If you want something that won't hurt as much as an axe digging into your arm, I'm going to have to find something a little more surgical." Not that she'd mind it, of course. After all, sometimes you need something precise and devastating.

"We'd planned to, remember?" It seems so far away now, the arena. "I was ready to give Snow a bloodbath to go along with that awful scent that follows him around."

"Oh, I know you can be damn well surgical with an axe," Finnick quips immediately.

But, if she doesn't have anything that's appropriate, he's going to need to find something on his own. His mind is already starting to turn toward that, creating a map once again of the hotel. Places where he can look -- kitchen is probably the best change. Scissors or a good knife should be there. He'll need to find something to bind the wound up with. At least bandages. Something to stitch it up would be better, although he's sorely out of practice when it's come to that. But the last thing he wants is to bleed out from cutting out his own tracking device.

"Hard to tell if that's going to happen now," Finnick answers, his own voice going distant. Hard to tell if they were going to manage to get out of here at all. This would be one hell of a prison if it's thought up by the Capitol -- nice enough that they'd consider staying all on their own, removing them from the Capitol's worries by their own hand.

Johanna hates the idea of being useless as much as she hates being a pawn, so she hates this more than she can say. She stares at Finnick as she turns this over in her mind and wonders what they do next. None of them are without leadership qualities, but some of them have things to lose. She's not in the same position and weirdly, she doesn't want to ask too much of them.

"So what's the swimming for?" she asks. "Relaxation or is there some greater purpose?"

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