Finnick's natural glamour is uninhibited tonight as he wanders up and down the train, inspecting everything with the kind of aloof boredom one might expect of someone with actual status. Finnick has none of that anymore, but he couldn't stop himself coming to see this. He still has dreams for the fae getting what they're owed from the Night Council, and a carriage on this train could have been the start.

Not this year.

The solemn look on his face is only so no one will spot him turning up his nose at everything. He can't manage a full smile unless he's engaged in conversation, and he doesn't see the need anyway. Everyone knows the fae are bitter that the Night Train won't even stop in their boroughs, and besides, he knows his weak but natural magic adds a perceived layer of charm and interest to his serious stare for the humans around him at least.

He wanders up and down each carriage slowly, taking it all in from the edges. All but the last. Finnick knows how to trust an instinct.