Cinna grins outright at Finnick's assertion--and he knows, right then, he had him pegged right. He understands what Cinna's going for. He gets it the way no one in the Capitol does even if they respond to Cinna's work.

Glancing at Finnick's hands, Cinna reaches for them, looking them over with the same kind of touch: turning them this way and that, palms down then up, then clasps them both warmly in his when he's done with his examination--but doesn't let go right away.

"Mmmm...leather gloves. Fingerless, find some means of texturing the palms for added grip. I won't go full coverage, though, calluses can be helpful."

Cinna releases Finnick's hands--then runs his fingers over his palms so he can feel Cinna's callused fingertips, far softer and more subtle than Finnick's chapped fingers and palms.

"Can't keep mine up as much as I'd like, other stylists and prep team would notice, but I do embroidery in private so I don't lose mine altogether. Means I can work in a place like this, push a needle into tough fabric or take a pin stick without drawing blood as often. You keep the ones on your fingers, you'll be safe around those fishhooks."