Re: [Hotel; Finnick]
Finnick had always prided himself on being quick, on being fit, on being able to protect himself. But there was no protecting himself from the hand that shot out to grab his neck, and before he had properly realised what was going on, he was being lifted, his purchase on the floor of the hotel removed as his feet left the ground. There was pressure in his neck, a constriction that automatically had him lifting his hands to try and pull at the iron grip around his throat. A moment of struggle, a moment of fight, and Finnick went still as that gaze caught his. He wanted to look away, but found it nearly impossible to do so, that gaze a shade deeper than black, something that pulled him in, deeper, falling, pulling out of him things that he had worked so hard to tamp down over the past decade.
The fly buzzed, an annoying sound in the background, but Finnick's attention was drawn entirely by the thing that held him. And yes, he did feel it, the anger, the rage that had been fueled by the Capitol. He did hate them, he did, but he could only do so much against them. It's why he played the golden boy for them and collected his secrets, the only way he knew to rebel against them. But it wasn't enough to quell the anger, and it still simmered beneath the surface of everything, ready to come to a boil and spill over at a moment's notice.
His lip curled in a half-snarl, the hands that were pulling at Rhys' own falling away, curled into half fists, the feeling of blood all too real there, sticky and hot. Nostrils flared and yes, there was anger in that gaze that had been so warm and open only moments prior. It was still hard to breath, still hard to draw a proper breath, but it didn't stop him from snarling softly. "They use all of us for their entertainment. Children die and they act as though it's amusing!" His teeth were bared, a growl deep in his chest.