aimmyarrowshigh

He cobbled himself a tricorner hat and braided intricate millinery frippery for the sides, and he diligently practiced flipping it up his arm and onto his head in one rolling move. When he deemed himself ready, he sailed around the coast of the Victor’s Village to the mainland and moored his boat at the far dock; shimmied down the mooring line and ran up the sand towards the citrus grove and the pink row houses and knocked insistently at a door.

“Finnick?”

“Anemone Cresta!” he cried, gesturing wildly, “Wouldst thou – thee – wouldst you be – I am endeavoring in the endeavor… of…” He slumped. “I need help making black sails for my ship.”

Annie Cresta smiled up at wild-haired Finnick Odair, his snapping green eyes ringed in ashes like black kohl and a lopsided tricorner hat on his head. “Why black sails?”

“Because I’m a pirate now,” Finnick said plainly, as though it should be obvious. “If you ever have seen a ship on the horizon what has black sails, it can be naught but a pirate’s ship.”