"I like my bunkmate," Annie whispers, and it's both true and the only answer she can make to Finnick's apology: it's okay.
(It's not, it's not, but the fault isn't with him.)
"But...you're nice," she tells Agatha. "Thanks. But I can, um. Look after myself."
There is, if someone is looking, the barest flash of steel (or perhaps something akin to the ocean; able to remain no matter the storm). The barest flash, because with a final glance between them, Annie darts off into the crowd.
This is the advantage to barely scraping 5'1 - one can get lost in a crowd of people very easily.
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(It's not, it's not, but the fault isn't with him.)
"But...you're nice," she tells Agatha. "Thanks. But I can, um. Look after myself."
There is, if someone is looking, the barest flash of steel (or perhaps something akin to the ocean; able to remain no matter the storm). The barest flash, because with a final glance between them, Annie darts off into the crowd.
This is the advantage to barely scraping 5'1 - one can get lost in a crowd of people very easily.