a black mark on their souls [anika/finnagan 92nd train]

Bite the hand that feeds, you'll end up where he's found himself. Another thorn stabbed into his side; bleeding red with the wine stains of his predicament. Suits him enough to be considered burned by those white roses who only give a shit about their own. No one touches a Davies without consequence, but he's gone in over his head a little. The justice building with his brother felt as if a lifetime's passed. Ripred, he needed a drink.

The white roses who lead him onto the train whisper to themselves, ignoring his glares as if he's not ready to set fire to each of their homes with the amount of baggage he knows of. A sigh upon his lips as he lightly shoves one of the Peacekeepers off his arm. None of them do anything, but grimace in annoyance. the venomous smirk on his lips is enough to get him to brush off his shirt and jeans before letting the venom seep out of his lips. "For whichever one of you burned me..." The tingling feeling of violence at his fingertips as he continues. "Know that you'll fucking die when I'm back."

Bitterness was oh so sweet in Twelve.

The only way to thrive.

"Sayonara, Fuckers."

Walking onto the Capitol's train, leaves nothing to the imagination. The Capitol spends all they can to make anything expensive and flaunt the wealth of a nation towards the waste of Twelve. Though, Finn's currently apart of that waste, he refuses to be like the rest of them. Lavish seats made out of cotton and some other material that's processed in Eight's finest if he had to guess. Assortment of food and beverages that'd send any poor fucker in Twelve into a food coma or drunken stupor. Finnagan could wait, but he didn't give a shit if the girl with him would care. Manners were for suckers.

Pouring a glass of the reddest wine he could find, the smell permeates through the air. The rustic smell of alcohol is by far the best sign for a drink. The taste is pure bliss upon his lips. Eyes following to the other who's set herself up in a side of the train with nothing more than a pastry. Pristine choice, but definitely something that'd give him indigestion if he were to indulge. The nod he receives feels a bit childish, but he couldn't blame her for the slow pull into whatever they were planning. Another swig of wine that'll make his head feel a little less compacted together. The set up was made. Now it was time to play the game of all games. A smirk of sweetness mixing with bitter aftertastes. His words flow out carefully, but strong.

"Isn't this a lovely trip? The Capitol sure knows how to put on a show."

Let the roses believe what they wanted, Davies would always come home.

"How's the food, Miss?"