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CATHARSIS
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WHEN ONTARI FINALLY embarks on her Victory Tour six months after her Games, her reputation is already well-established throughout Panem. Whatever impression she'd left on the citizens before or during the Games has been eliminated. Clever PR stunts and countless discussions of her on the Capitol Report have transformed her image. If someone had thought she was forgettable during her pre-Games interview, that opinion is already scrubbed clean. Hadn't she always been a little promiscuous? Wasn't the smile she gave Caesar Flickerman in her initial interview a bit suggestive? Her dress, too short?

It's already as if the Ontari from before the reaping had never existed. She has never been average. The Capitol had cleverly shifted the narrative to make her fit the mold they'd chosen for her, made her into a spectacle, and stripped her of any remaining innocence.

According to the Capitol Report, which still discusses the most recent Games regularly, keeping her name in constant circulation, she hadn't slit the throat of the boy from Twelve with stealth and cunning out of necessity for survival. She'd distracted him with her beauty. And Alder and Dew, her former allies, must have been coerced by her charm. Hadn't Ontari made dehydration and exhaustion the new trend?

According to Eytelia, a few people in the Captiol are actually walking around with dry, cracked lips and rings under their eyes on purpose. Of course, it's not a sign of suffering— it's all makeup. They'd turned her look of near death into a fashion statement.

The recent discussions on television haven't done anything to soften the public's opinion of her. In District Two, she's met with the hard, unyielding stares of the family of Cerise Lockwind, the tribute she'd killed to win the games. One of her older brothers — Ontari can tell because they look almost identical, except for the pattern of freckles splashed across their faces — gives her a crude gesture when she makes eye contact with him. It makes her briefly stumble over her words. The speeches — the same one in every district — were written by Cabel and thus overly dramatic, fall robotically from her lips.

Afterward, Eytelia admonishes her for stuttering.

This is the first time that Ontari is getting a glimpse of the other districts. Granted, she is allowed to see the most polished parts: the train station, the Justice Building — only the areas under as much control as possible. Nowhere she can see how people truly live. Still, she should be fascinated by the taste of the world outside of Eight, but instead of curiosity, she feels the prickles of hatred jabbing into her skin like tiny needles, animosity reflected wherever she looks, and she quickly realizes that it's easier to let the crowd blend into nothing than to remember the faces staring up at her.

In District Four, she's nervous for a different reason: the presence of Finnick.

It's humid this close to the coast. The Justice Building is located in a picturesque area framed by palm trees, the breeze causing their fanned leaves to sway rhythmically. No matter the location, all Justice Buildings are identical, so in comparison to the white-bricked architecture that surrounds it, the marble sticks out like a sore thumb.

The citizens of Four stand on the scalding pavement to watch her speech. Ontari sweats bullets under the intense heat of the sun. Her corset top is made of black lace, its thin straps pulling her chest up. This is hardly the place to be displaying cleavage. But now that she is a Desirable, her body will always be on display for others to ogle and judge. And when she manages to glance at the faces of the gathered crowd, that's exactly what she sees— frustration, hatred, annoyance, judgment, outrage.

At least Venus had swept her hair into a low, romantic bun to compensate for her black clothing. The back of her neck is so hot it feels like the surface of the sun. As her speech continues, it's a constant battle to keep her dry mouth from mispronouncing words. It is my honor to stand before you all as a victor of the sixty-eighth annual Hunger Games...

As soon as she's back inside the Justice Building, her mentors are there. Cecelia lifts a glass of water to Ontari's lips and Woof gently presss a handkerchief to her forehead, temples, and neck to mop up the droplets of sweat. Icy liquid cascades down her throat. She should be used to feeling thirsty after surviving in a literal desert, but that was a dry heat. This humid climate makes the air feel denser. It feels like she's pushing through the air molecules every time she moves.

"Once again, absolutely magnificent, dear," Cabel praises her. "You poured your heart out into those words!"

Ontari glances at Cecelia, who pulls the glass away with a look that says, Humor him.

So she plasters a smile onto her face and tells him, "It's all thanks to you for writing such a great speech, Cabel."

The man presses a hand to his heart and appears teary-eyed at her compliment. When he walks away, Ontari hisses out of the corner of her mouth, "That man has the emotional stability of a pregnant woman reading a tragic novel."

Cecelia frowns, placing a hand on her slightly protruding belly. "Mind your words."

Ontari flushes the color of her rosy lipstick for a moment. She'd forgotten that Cecelia is expecting a new child in the late spring. It will be her second, and while Ontari is excited for her, she can't help but dread the time these children will turn twelve. Victors' offspring are not exempt from the reaping.

In the past, Ontari has struggled with the idea of wanting children. She would love to have a family, but the idea of her kids being sent into the arena has always made her nauseous. Now that she's on the other side of the equation, and her children being reaped would be a spectacle... it's unbearable to consider.

"Where's Eytelia?" she questions.

"'Making arrangements,' is what she told us before she wobbled away," Woof replies. "I think we're going to stay here a bit longer than usual."

"What?" They've spent the same amount of time in each district, planned almost to the minute, because she has another speech scheduled and they have to be on time. But staying here...?

She realizes why the same moment she sees him. Finnick is here, in the Justice Building, smiling and greeting the people around him as he walks closer. His linen shirt is halfway unbuttoned and exposes the tanned skin of his chest. Ontari doesn't understand how he isn't suffering from a heat stroke with his long sleeves rolled to the elbows and trousers, but then again, he's more accustomed to this climate than she is.

His arm is around a frail, elderly woman whom Ontari instantly recognizes as Mags, the victor of the 11th Games and the oldest one alive. Her frizzy, graying hair is pulled back from her face with golden clips. She's lucky enough to be clad in a dress, the loose, ocean-blue material falling almost to her ankles and swishing with every hobbled step.

Ontari's heart does approximately seventeen backflips. They're staying longer... because of Finnick. Because of her public stint with him. Will she have to sneak away to his house tonight and be purposely photographed there? Why didn't Eytelia inform her sooner? A warning would have prevented her from being caught off-guard like this.

She's grateful that her training keeps her nerves from showing on her face as Finnick approaches. He looks at her first, his smile radiant but also a little mischievous, and then slides his gaze over to her mentors.

"Cecelia. Woof. A pleasure to see you both, as always," he says. His voice practically drips with charm.

"You too, Finnick," Woof replies, then stoops down to pull Mags into a hug. "You look well."

"Ontari, I'd like you to meet my mentor, Mags." Finnick gestures toward the woman.

"It's wonderful to meet you," Ontari says earnestly, extending her hand. Mags clasps it in both of hers and inclines her head in a meaningful nod. Her skin is soft and leathery, deeply tan, and freckled from ages spent in the sun. Then she makes quick motions with her hands.

"She says it's nice to meet you, too," Finnick supplies, and Ontari realizes Mags had been communicating with sign language. The woman makes another gesture and digs her bony elbow into Finnick's ribs with a sly smile. He laughs and signs something back. "She also says you're beautiful."

Her face turns hot again. "Thank you, Mags. You're very kind."

Woof is smiling conspiratorially, and Ontari almost asks why before she realizes that Finnick hadn't translated what he'd said back to Mags. The older man leans into her ear and whispers, "Looks like someone agrees with her."

She's surprised that her vision doesn't start swimming in front of her when her body heats up again. Finnick... thinks she's beautiful? The boy who has stolen the hearts of every Capitol citizen and been with the richest, most gorgeous women in the city?

Ontari takes the glass of water from Cecelia's hands and forces herself to take dainty sips instead of chugging the rest of it like she wants to. She's already sweating again. Woof realizes this and dabs at her damp skin with the handkerchief as he had earlier. Luckily, her prep team had used waterproof makeup, so everything stays in place.

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of heels frantically clicking on tile— one that can only be achieved by Eytelia. Sure enough, when the group turns, they see her hurrying down the adjacent hallway in her District Four-themed ensemble— a turquoise-colored dress reminiscent of the rolling tide. The rippling fabric appears plastered to her body as if wet, with glittering pearls, starfish, and shells decorating her neckline. Her wide smile brightens at the sight of the victors socializing.

"So sorry to interrupt," she says, her eyes darting between Finnick and Ontari especially, "but I'm afraid I must whisk Ontari away for a moment for a quick wardrobe change. She'll be back in a blink, I promise— you'll barely even have time to miss her!"

"Can you put her in something she can breathe in?" Woof asks, referencing her corset and tight clothing.

Eytelia laughs, but the sound is dismissive. "You know I don't choose her outfits. What's wrong with this one? Are you saying she doesn't look stunning?"

She looks at Finnick and winks after that last word. Ontari is eager to usher her agent away from the others, so she mumbles something about being right back before hurrying down the hallway.

"Haven't I told you about the mumbling?" Eytelia asks as they walk.

Ontari resists the urge to roll her eyes and instead says loudly and clearly, "Right. I'm sorry."

She's grateful to see that her new outfit is a dress. Even though it has a plunging neckline and the buttons end at the very tops of her thighs, creating a long slit right between her legs, anything is better than the restrictive clothing from her speech. She'll have to be careful not to flash anyone if there's a slight breeze.

Eytelia wipes off her ruby red lipstick and replaces it with a coral color that perfectly matches the dress. After she helps Ontari slip into a pair of strappy golden sandals and clasps layers of necklaces around her throat, she's ready to face the world again.

It has always been common knowledge throughout District Eight that the Capitol Report is full of misinformation and useless gossip, but Ontari didn't realize how much of it was staged until she became a subject of it. Eytelia is an expert at crafting whatever story the Capitol wants to tell. She makes sure that Ontari and Finnick walk out of the Justice Building together just as the cameras do a sweeping shot of the main square. Even though she can feel the lenses following them like bugs scratching at her skin, she feigns oblivion and smiles flirtatiously at something Finnick says.

Ontari and her team have lodgings in the heart of the district, but Eytelia encourages her to explore the area with a pointed wink at Finnick. "You should get to know each other better. You're done with cameras for the day, but there's no harm in sharing one another's company. After all, you'll be seeing quite a bit of him from now on, my dear."

The last sentence is directed at Ontari, who is grateful that the sun has already started to turn her cheeks a faint pink so they can't see her blush.

She, Mags, and Finnick take a train to the Victor's Village. Seeing Finnick on public transport allows her to unearth another puzzle piece of his personality. People treat him... normally here. While people from her district gawk and stare wherever she goes, or shoot her dirty looks for surviving instead of her district partner, the citizens of Four regard Finnick with respect. He nods at an old man with a face darkened and weathered from years' worth of sun damage. "Afternoon, Marlin. Catch anything good today?"

"Lots'a snappers," the man replies, his voice rough like gravel. "Got a big twenty-five pounder. Almost took m' arm off." He wipes a handkerchief across his face. When he notices Ontari, he gives her a smile that's surprisingly bright compared to his appearance. It makes him look several years younger. "And who's this pretty lady?"

There's no doubt that he knows who Ontari is, but she appreciates that he pretends not to, anyway. "I'm Ontari."

"Know anything about fishin', Ontari?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. We have some freshwater lakes in Eight that people catch things in, but I'm from the city and have only been there a few times."

"I'm sure you'll leave here knowin' a thing or two more than what ya do now. Finn'll teach ya. Or Maggie, here— she can make hooks faster than an Amberjack can snap yer line."

Ontari is surprised to hear Marlin call the victors on either side of her by nicknames. It suggests a camaraderie between them, like they're all old friends. She takes in the sight of the man's seawater-soaked waders and the algae that clings to his worn boots. What is the history between him, Finnick, and Mags? What were their lives like before the Games shoved them into lives of glitz and glamor?

The trio exits the train at Victory Station. They are the only three to do so. The platform is empty, the concrete sprinkled with sand that drifts along the ground, pushed by the wind that has grown much stronger now, and attacks Ontari's bare ankles like tiny knives.

"Welcome to the Victor's Village," Finnick says, making a sweeping gesture with his arm as they walk.

It's a completely different scene from the one back in Eight. The houses are as enormous as she'd expected, but instead of being made of dark brick like hers is, they are all sandy browns and rustic reds. Palm trees line the immaculate brick street. Instead of lush lawns, they have dirt and tropical plants with vibrant flowers and dark green hues. The scent of saltwater and seaweed stings her nose as she takes it in.

"It's beautiful," she says, smiling.

"Countless bedrooms, private beaches, what more could a person want, right?" Finnick asks, his voice a little strained. But just as quickly, he's smiling again, and takes her and Mags by their arms. "Come on. I have something to show you."

The sea is much different from the lakes Ontari has visited in her lifetime. When Finnick leads her down to the beach, both of them leaving their shoes near the boardwalk, he encourages her to step into the water alone. The wind whips her flyaway hairs and tugs more of them loose around her head as she regards the churning water. It's greener than she'd expected it to be. She stares at the rolling tide for a moment before stepping closer as it ebbs away, then shrieks in surprise when it crashes over her feet and sloshes her calves.

Finnick is laughing. Ontari has the sense that he'd anticipated a reaction like that.

"It's cold!" she exclaims indignantly.

"It is," he agrees, ambling closer. The legs of his trousers are rolled to just below his knees. She's never seen his bare legs before, but they're also kissed a golden bronze. He doesn't flinch when he stops beside her and lets the water rush over his feet. "But later in the evening, it'll be warmer from soaking up the sun all day."

A squawking noise turns her attention to a white bird standing behind them, staring almost expectantly with its head tilted to the side. It opens its long, orange beak and squawks again.

"What is that?" Ontari asks.

"That's a seagull," Finnick replies. "Annoying little things. It thinks we have food. Oh, here."

He bends down and snatches something from the smooth, wet sand. After washing it in the tide, he places it in her palm. It's a seashell. Mostly white but with a slight orange tint closer to the bottom, with small ridges that she rubs her thumb over, it shouldn't fascinate her as much as it does. But she finds herself absolutely enthralled by this tiny object.

"Can I collect some?" she asks. "My brother would love to study these."

"Of course. The shells around here are beautiful."

Ontari gathers so many that she and Finnick start dropping them. She had no idea there were so many different types of seashells, but he can identify them all, telling her, "That's a red scallop," or "Looks like a piece of coral," when she shows him each new find. She must seem like a child to him, excited about each thing she finds poking out of the sand, but she doesn't care.

Once they've deposited all of the shells on Finnick's back porch, he suggests taking her out on the water.

"On a boat?"

He nods, pointing to a dock that extends into the ocean. A white motorboat is tied to the posts there, bobbing softly in time with the waves. Sticks poke out on each side. Then Ontari realizes that they're not sticks — they're fishing poles.

"I can take you to my favorite spot," he says.

Ontari finds herself nervously picking at her nails, then stops once she hears Eytelia's voice chastising her in her head. "I've never been on a boat before."

"I won't go too deep— I don't want you getting seasick. Just barely out into the blue."

Who knows when she'll get the chance again? "All right."

The engines are loud. Yes, engines, as in more than one— three masses on the back end that rumble unlike anything she's heard before. She stays seated in fear that she's going to fall overboard. It's fine, though, because she gets to observe Finnick as he unties the ropes tethering them to the dock with the practiced efficiency of someone who has done this a thousand times, going through the motions to set them out at sea in a seamless routine. Ontari knows that this is where Finnick belongs, on the sea, the sunshine making his golden hair shine, the kiss of salt water misting on his skin. They coast over the water toward the line that marks the deep sea.

"Just barely out into the blue" is right. Practically as soon as they pass from turquoise water to royal blue, he drops the anchor and cuts the engine. There is nothing but the wind and waves.

"Do you come out here a lot?" Ontari asks.

"As often as I can," Finnick replies, plopping into the seat across from her. It's a jarring action. Until now, he's been nothing but graceful, and the action had been so boyish that it had shocked her. "Nothing in the village is tapped except for our telephone lines, but I feel safer out here."

Ontari sucks in a breath at the outright statement of the tapped lines, instinctively looking over her shoulder like she expects a cameraman to pop out of the water. Finnick notices her unease and says in a calming voice, "It's all right, Ontari. You don't have to worry, here, I promise. You can just relax."

She tries. She really does. Ontari attempts to copy Finnick's languid posture, sinking deeper into her seat, but all of her rigorous training keeps her spine rod-straight. Not to mention she's afraid that if she doesn't hold her dress down, she'll wind up flashing him.

"I... I can't," she mumbles, her voice nearly drowned by the sound of the waves crashing against the side of the boat. "I haven't been able to relax since the month before the reaping. Sometimes..." The words teeter on the tip of her tongue. "Sometimes I can't tell which parts of myself are me and what's the Capitol anymore."

Finnick's expression softens. He leans forward until his elbows are on his knees, his hands clasped together. For a second, it looks like he's going to reach out and touch her knee, then thinks better of it, maybe because of how the fabric of her dress is fluttering dangerously around her thighs.

"The feeling will pass," he tells her. "Believe me, I know what it feels like to have the mask stuck to your face. But it can come off, and you'll be able to turn the persona on and off in the blink of an eye. Watch."

He straightens again, pulling his shoulders back, giving the appearance of someone who has never slouched in their life. A suave smile pulls up his lips. Instead of the open and honest expression he'd worn a second ago, he oozes cool confidence. Then he breaks character and returns to a more natural state.

"See?"

"It's not just that, though," Ontari says. "They've changed my soap. My perfume. I can't sew too much anymore because Eytelia is afraid it will mess up my hands like Cecelia's were broken in the machines. My sister sometimes looks at me like she hates me. It's like... my skin doesn't feel my own."

Finnick is quiet for a moment. His gaze is so intense that she can't bring herself to meet it, instead staring at the goosebumps forming on her legs from the wind. When she stood in the sweltering heat and delivered her victory speech, she never thought she'd feel cold in Four, but here she is, shivering.

Then he stands and walks to the back of the boat. Ontari hears the sound of a compartment opening and things rummaging, and then something hands hard on her head. She jumps and reaches up to feel a hat.

"Put these on," Finnick orders, also passing her an enormous waterproof jacket. "You're not used to the sun, and it reflects more strongly on water. Your scalp can burn fast. The coat will protect you from the ultraviolet rays and the wind."

Ontari blinks. "Thank you."

The inside of the jacket is worn from years of use and surprisingly soft. It drops all the way down to her knees.

"You have a lot of tension inside of you," Finnick continues. "I've felt it. I feel it a lot. Sometimes I think I've pushed my work as a Desirable past me, and sometimes I feel the weight of it like an anchor pulling me down to the bottom of the ocean. So when it becomes too much, I take this boat out here, as deep as I want to go, and... I scream."

"You... scream?" Ontari questions.

"Yes. Like this."

Finnick tilts his head back, his spine curving with the power of him thrusting his chin toward the open sky, and screeches at the top of his lungs. It's a raw, powerful sound filled with frustration, anger, and sadness all rolled into one. The scream echoes across the ocean and bounces back toward them on all sides.

"Now it's your turn."

Ontari opens her mouth unsurely. She makes a noise that sounds more like, "Aaaahh?"

"No. Again. AAAHHHHH!"

"AAAHH!"

"Good. Now try it longer this time. Really dig deep and let everything out."

"AAAAAAAAHHHH!"

"That's it! AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

Soon they're screaming back and forth at each other, laughing too hard to get much more than a second or two out before dissolving into hysterics again, and Ontari gets to see what his raw, genuine smile looks like for the first time. It lights up his entire face and carves a dimple into one cheek. She wants to put her finger in the small indentation.

When they stop just as their voices start to turn hoarse, struggling to catch their breath, Ontari realizes she's slouching.

_________

a/n:

hi friends! apologies for several years of waiting. i'm glad i chose to do it though, because i re-read catching fire since my last update and it gave me inspiration to write for thg.

i've also been wanting to take radiance down and revamp it. i want to add more chapters before the quell starts, dive deeper into the rebellion, and do more world-building of district 8. i feel like i left it totally untapped when there is so much i could have done to flesh it out.

i'm not going to do that right now though, seeing as i've got a lot of ongoing books, but look out for that in the future!

i've had this scene planned for so long and i've been so excited for you guys to read it !!! let me know what you thought of this chapter <3 also i don't blame you if you have to go back and re-read some stuff to refresh your memory on ontari's journey so far.

— kristyn

( word count: 4.3k )