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DESIRABLES
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｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

THE FIRST THING that Ontari notices when she steps onto the platform of District Four is that Finnick is standing there, just as planned. The second thing she realizes is that they're wearing matching coats. It was more than likely planned as well, but catches her off-guard nonetheless.

The sky is now dark from the eight-hour-long trip between their districts. He's standing with his hands in the pockets of his black peacoat, golden hair tousled by the icy wind. His sea-green eyes are illuminated by the fluorescent lighting of the train station's outer bulbs. And it isn't fair that he looks so good, really.

Her lips immediately form a bright smile that's not necessarily fake. The flutter of excitement she gets definitely isn't, either, though she's used to that by now. Finnick's infamous grin stretches across his face in return. He holds out his arm to her, which she gratefully accepts because her boots are murdering her feet. Apparently not even Capitol shoemakers can make heels comfortable.

Ontari leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, right on his jawline. A bright-red imprint is left on his tanned skin. It's definitely bright enough for the cameras to pick up— she'd chosen the correct shade.

This is what always happens. They'll leave arm-in-arm, and the Capitol Report will use only the last possible seconds of footage in their broadcast. It'll be manipulated so that his face will be hidden but the lipstick on his cheek won't. And the entire Capitol will be able to tell it's Finnick, but Caesar's convincing skepticism will cause them to question if it really is.

Around and around in circles, they go. An endless loop of providing entertainment to the extremely gullible Capitol residents.

"Your luggage was dropped off a few hours ago," he informs her as they walk, Ontari carefully avoiding cracks in the sidewalk. She curses her stylists for making her wear heels in the snow. "I'll take it they made new... items for you to try on?"

Ontari scowls at him, though it's not untrue. As far as their stylists are concerned, they actually engage in activities while they're together, and the result is a chest full of intricate lingerie in the back of her closet that's been collecting dust for years. She can't even begin to explain what she's wearing under her clothes.

"Hope you didn't peek," she teases in reply.

Finnick shrugs innocently. "I may have, a little." He unwinds the scarf from around his neck, putting it over Ontari's head and arranging it so it covers what her open collar doesn't. "Here."

"Thanks," she says with a shiver, the exposed skin on her chest immediately warming due to the material. The night is bitterly cold. It hasn't snowed for days, but it's too chilled for the precipitation to melt. The lakes of District Four are completely frozen over. She can catch faint outlines of ice fishers in the distance, their shanties looking like pointed shadows.

Their relationship has always been easy. At first, Ontari had been intimidated by the notoriously attractive teenage boy she was forced to be with, but as soon as the doors closed and she'd broken down crying, he'd comforted her. Said they wouldn't do anything until she wanted to. If she wanted to. And so they spent every moment from then on sharing stories with one another. Helping one another. Finnick still upholds his promise from that first night, even seven years later.

They still joke about it. Because, really, it's hilarious to them. The Capitol goes all-out on a fling that doesn't exist. Ontari's stylists continue to make her seductive outfits that Finnick never even sees and Hestia ends up stealing. They fall into each other easily, so it's not a challenge to pretend during fleeting moments in front of cameras. They've both been trained on how to smile, how to seduce, how to look at each other in public.

So, when they make their way to the Victor's Village, they plan to do what they've always done behind closed doors: talk. But Ontari has different plans first.

"I want to see Annie," she says to him, to which he gives a nod and turns her in the direction of the girl's home.

Annie Cresta, the victor of the 70th Games, is someone Ontari considers to be a friend. She usually seems delighted to see the raven-haired girl, though she isn't always...there. After witnessing her fellow District tribute being decapitated, she hasn't been the same.

Finnick raps his knuckles on her front door. His thumb runs over his knuckles to rid them of the sting the action brings about. "Annie?" When there's no response, he tries again. "Annie, a friend is here to see you."

The door opens to reveal Annie Cresta. The younger girl's red hair is scraggly as usual, unbrushed and tangled down to her hips. She's already in her nightgown and Ontari immediately feels guilty. Although it's early in the evening for sleep, the redhead's slumber is never an easy one. She may try to go to bed sooner before the darkness truly settles in.

"Hi, Annie," Ontari greets with a gentle smile.

"Ontari," she says back with a nod. Her expression appears both wary and confused. "What are you doing here?"

"She's on one of her visits and wanted to see you," Finnick explains gently. He's always been the best at handling her, even when she's trapped in her own mind and fiercely attempts to harm anyone near her. He seems to be one of the only ones who can calm her down.

"But it looks like you're getting ready for bed, so we'll get going," the older girl adds quickly. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

Annie gives her another nod and a small smile. "Thank you for coming."

She closes the door. Finnick and Ontari walk back to his house in silence.

"Has she gotten any better?" she asks somberly. Her heart aches for the girl not much younger than her who had been ruined beyond repair by the Games. The haunting in her eyes will never go away. The sleepless nights. The hysteria. Not as long as President Snow reigns supreme and the Games continue on.

Finnick shakes his head with a dejected expression. He absentmindedly kicks a stray pebble out of his way. "Not since last month."

Ontari sighs and heads up the steps to his house after him. His door isn't locked — it doesn't need to be in this part of town — and so he opens it with ease. A rush of warmth envelopes the slightly shorter girl; she shivers and steps inside to embrace it.

The interior of the house isn't unlike her own except for the furniture. While District Eight's modeling nods toward their industry, textiles, Finnick's is all about the sea, boats, and fishing. Accents of gold and aqua wink from an abundance of white wood, giving the home a much brighter appearance than hers.

She doesn't decide to unpack right away. Instead, the two of them lounge on the sofa in his sitting room, his legs carelessly sprawled out and hers placed as comfortably as possible with how tight her leather pants are. She notices how Finnick is trying to look anywhere but her chest, but the bright color of her shirt isn't helping. Her stylists truly know what they're doing.

"Have you noticed a difference?" Ontari asks to break the silence. She grabs a knitted throw blanket from the spot next to her and cuddles herself into it. "In...you know."

"Our customers," Finnick finishes. When she nods, he continues, "Yeah, I have noticed a decline in offers."

To keep the guessing game interesting, the two of them are still required to sell themselves to other members of the Capitol. Mostly highly-ranked ones who will spill to others. This, according to their agents, adds to the questioning over whether or not they're exclusive. It's one of the dumbest things she's ever had to deal with.

She always pictured herself devoted to one person and starting a family with them, not hooking up with a general twice her age so she can keep the country interested in her.

Finnick notices the faraway glaze in her eyes and frowns. He stands, offering a hand to help her to her feet. "Come on. It's getting late, and the spare bedroom is much more comfortable than the sofa."

-:-

"We're not going out today, are we?" Ontari questions as she enters the kitchen, where a half-asleep Finnick is bumbling around to find something to eat.

"I wasn't planning on going anywhere, no," he answers, almost cut off by a yawn that escapes next. He rubs his eyes and shakes his head to wake himself up. "We're not required to until tomorrow."

Her eyebrows crease at his fatigue. "Trouble sleeping?"

He gives her a sad grin and turns away from her. "What else is new? I have porridge. That's not new."

Ontari frowns, noticing that he's trying to change the subject, but decides to drop it and heads to the cabinet she knows contains his bowls. She sets two of them on the counter and turns toward the refrigerator to grab the jug of fresh milk from inside. It's natural for her to amble around as if it's her own house— after so long, it practically is a second home.

The two of them prepare their breakfast together like parts of a machine. As Finnick heats the milk and oats, Ontari slices berries that are about to expire. She knows he hardly eats them and that needs to take care of himself. She'll make sure he finishes them, even if she has to force them down his throat.

"Why were you wondering if we were going anywhere?" he questions over a mouth of porridge once it's been finished. They sit opposite each other at his otherwise completely sparse dining table. Ontari's fingertips absentmindedly tap against the slightly chipping paint, the other hand holding her spoon level to her face.

"I have to dress accordingly," she explains, then stops tapping her fingers to sip her glass of milk. "'Finnick outfits', remember?"

"Ah," he hums with a nod, then reaches up and points to his upper lip. "You got a little—"

Ontari wipes her mouth with her sleeve, unbothered. "I snuck in some regular clothes my mom made me into my suitcase. I think I'd much rather wear them than...whatever else is in there."

Finnick chuckles and shakes his head, ducking it down to examine his breakfast. She can't help the warming of her heart at his laughter— however small and fleeting, it had existed because of her.

She isn't sure exactly when she realized she didn't need to pretend around him anymore. It just happened, and the reality of her feelings came crashing down upon her. Her liking toward him extends more than friendship and she hates it because she knows he's merely playing the part he's supposed to. But at least she can put everything she has into the sparse moments they're in front of the camera.

"The Capitol Report should be on soon," she notes, stirring her porridge around so the dyes from the berries swirl into it. Her oats are now more purple than beige.

"Ooh, wouldn't want to miss that." Finnick's sarcasm is strong when he stands and carries his now-empty bowl to the sink. Ontari lingers at the table, calmly finishing her glass of milk and the remains of her breakfast. But then the anthem sounds from the sitting room and she shovels the rest of it into her mouth hurriedly. Finnick is already sitting on the sofa; she crashes down beside him.

She has barely missed the beginning of Katniss and Peeta's wedding photoshoot. The announcement of their engagement had come during their Victory Tour, and the Capitol is proving to be head over heels for their relationship. But Ontari recalls the darker side of the engagement. Shortly after the news of their partnering broke to the rest of Panem, District Eight was the humble owner of an uprising in which a rally of citizens attacked Peacekeepers. The Capitol shut down and it resulted in the government blowing up one of the district's factories. Innocent people had been killed. Her hand curls into a fist at the memory.

"I think they're becoming more popular than us," Finnick drawls. They both know that the pair of new victors is covering their spotlight. Ontari can't say she's bothered by it, but she knows that it'll only cause their agents to switch things up. Do something to put the public eye on them, even for a few minutes.

Caesar Flickerman is having the residents vote on which of Katniss' final six wedding dresses they'd like her to wear. Another bit of proof that nothing is their own. Even a piece of their marriage will be manipulated by the Capitol, and she can't help but find it disgusting. They're seventeen— kids, and Katniss can't even wear a dress that's special to her interests. Not to mention that the ceremony will be crawling with people they don't even know.

"Stay tuned for the next big event of the evening! But first, new pictures from last night have found their way into our media production's hands."

"Oh, my God," Ontari says blankly, wondering why Caesar even pretends that the pictures just so happened to fall into the Capitol's grasp anymore. Everyone in Panem must know what utter bullshit it is.

"Our very own Ontari Nightfall, the winner of the 68th Hunger Games, was spotted getting off of a train in District Four," the brightly-colored announcer continues. His skin is so orange that it physically hurts her eyes to look at. "Look at this picture and tell me: do you think it's the Capitol's darling Finnick Odair?"

"Ha," Finnick says humorlessly as the picture of them arm-in-arm, lipstick smudge on his cheek, and his face hidden by her hair pops up on the hologram. He creases his eyebrows in mock consideration. "I don't think it's me, do you? No, definitely not me."

"I see the trademark blond hair!" Caesar exclaims, his dyed brows then starting to pinch together. "But the face, hmm..."

Ontari puts her head in her hands.

"I'll leave that up to you, folks. We're moving on. Now, for the moment you've all been waiting for! That's right, this year will be the seventy-fifth anniversary of the Hunger Games, and that means it's time for our third Quarter Quell!"

"What do you think they have planned for this year?" Finnick muses as the anthem plays again and President Snow begins to take the stage. The applause from the audience is overwhelming. "Bringing the tributes back to life?"

Ontari merely bites her lip in anticipation and doesn't respond. Anxiety is already beginning to churn inside of her. The Quarter Quells have never been more merciful than the regular Games— in fact, they're purposely more brutal. She can't imagine what the founders could possibly have thought of for the third one.

The president is followed by a short, young boy in a white suit, carrying a simple box in his arms. The elderly man begins to drawl on and on about things they've all heard before— the Dark Days, the laws of the Games being introduced, the fact that every twenty-five years, a new twist is added. He even goes so far to mention that the Quarter Quell serves as a way to make fresh the memories of those killed by the districts' rebellion.

The raven-haired girl lets a small grin lift her lips in spite of herself. District Eight itself is in the middle of a rebellion in which they refuse to make or mend Peacekeeper uniforms. And District Four is ceasing to sell seafood to others. There are also rumors of riots in Three, making for a powder keg among the districts.

President Snow's crackling voice continues on. "On the twenty-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every district was made to hold an election and vote on the tributes who would represent it. On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district was required to send twice as many tributes.

"And now we honor our third Quarter Quell." The president waves the small boy toward him. When the boy opens the lid, tidy, upright rows of yellowed envelopes are visible to the audience and the camera. Snow removes one labeled with a 75 and reaches under the flap. His hawk-like eyes read from the paper inside without hesitation. "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them can not overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

Ontari doesn't hear anything else that comes after, nor does she see the reaction from the crowd. There had been the moment before the news hit her ears and the moment after. It's like time itself has stopped. Her eyes stare blankly, unfocused, ahead of her. The air has been knocked out of her chest. Shock trickles through her like ice, spreading through her veins and encasing her with cold fear.

There are only two other victors aside from Cassian and herself— Woof and Cecelia. If she knows anything about the Capitol, it's that they'll attempt to rig this reaping as well to make siblings have to face each other in the arena. Just to engrain it in everyone's brains that Snow will spare no mercy.

Time starts again when Finnick hurls his empty milk glass at the hologram, shattering it into a million broken pieces when it hits the wall behind it. He then turns to Ontari and puts his hands on either side of her face. Her focus switches toward him, observing the sheer panic in his eyes. But just as he's about to speak, an anguished, muffled scream comes from the direction of Annie's house. It lingers in the air, sending chills down Ontari's spine as more follow after it hauntingly.

"Go, be with Cassian and your family," he instructs her firmly. "I'll go check on Annie."

As he quickly shrugs a coat on and crams boots onto his feet, Ontari slips back into the comforting trance of nothing. The sound of Finnick slamming the door is hardly noticeable over the ringing silence in her head. She merely allows the numbness to encase her as she slides off of the sofa and onto the rug below it. Her legs tuck themselves to her chest as she curls in on herself.

And then she laughs. Quietly, at first, then louder until she can hardly breathe, a deranged mess of hysteria. Of course she isn't out of the arena. She has never been. Only, the last seven years have forced her to find a new method of survival— convince Snow, or he'd ruin the both of them and the people she loves.

This is the final straw. President Snow has manipulated her enough, turning her into a person she isn't and unintentionally fueling her hatred toward him. She's not going to be his puppet any longer.

She's been secretly aiding the rebels in her district for years, now. This is the time to break out into the open and tear down the Capitol once and for all.

_____

@ snow you suck

what do you think of finnick and ontari's relationship? they're so domestic and i love it. poor ontari is head over heels and honestly?? same

i slipped in a casual reference to my other thg book, caged, in here ((; i'm sure someone will catch it

on an important note, i most likely won't be updating again until i finish my maze runner trilogy, which will definitely be soon since i only have a few chapters left. i just don't want to overwhelm myself with so many stories to write at once so i thought it would be best to get that one out of the way

until next time!

-kristyn