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LAST STAND
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｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ

ONTARI REMEMBERS HER reaping very well. She had been wearing a yellow sundress of her mother's own making, hair smoothed and pinned back with a white barrette to keep it out of her face. She'd stood in front of a much dirtier mirror in a not-so-extravagant apartment on a morning much like this.

And here she is again, seven years later. Only now she's dressed in a black jumpsuit with a gold belt, gold bracelets on her right wrist, and open-toed heels. No bright colors today. Nothing to make her seem innocent or pure.

Hestia had taken the time to do Ontari's hair in one of her trademark braids. Although her hair isn't terribly long, her sister had managed to create a hairstyle so neat her prep team could have done it. She isn't completely sure why Hestia had offered to do such a thing — she hasn't braided her hair since they were much younger — but doesn't question it.

"A finishing touch," she says, handing Ontari a tube of crimson lipstick. The girl examines her appearance in the floor-length mirror before her. Her shockingly blue eyes shine brightly as ever, a stark contrast to her dark hair and clothing. The jumpsuit dips lowly, but not so low to be indecent. Her outfit choice makes a subtle statement: I am not the girl whose name you pulled out of a basket seven years ago. I have grown. And this is how you will pay.

"I think I'll go with the soft pink color instead," Ontari muses. "I'll have to deal with enough red lipstick as it is later on."

Hestia sighs in dismay as she puts her favorite shade away and swaps it for the baby pink one instead. Ontari is finally satisfied with her appearance after applying it and steps out of her bedroom with her sister in tow.

Cassian is waiting outside of his door, legs crossed at the ankles as he leans against the forest-green wallpaper. He straightens once they step into the hall. His navy blue button-down and black jeans aren't much different than what he usually wears, but somehow he appears both older and younger at the same time. She remembers how he'd appeared at his first reaping: rumpled red shirt, plain khakis, and hair so messy it looked like he'd just rolled out of bed. Everyone depicted him as an easy kill because of it.

Oh, how they were wrong.

But now, Cassian had taken the time to iron his shirt and is wearing trousers of black denim that actually fit him. His black boots give the entire outfit a semi-formal vibe in sharp contrast to Ontari's, which makes it look like she's ready to attend a wedding. But they both have their own roles to play today.

The middle sibling remembers what she'd had to do in order to get Cassian out of Snow's sights. Because of their family's lucky genetics, if one could call it that, Cas was considered as attractive as her. And Ontari remembers knowing what the Capitol would turn him into the moment he was announced to be the winner of his games. She can recall every word she'd pleaded to Snow, every horrible action she'd had to go through in recompense for a lost Capitol treasure. But she'd go through it again and again if it meant Cassian could keep the remaining pieces he had of his old self.

Cassian had first explained his lack of sexual or romantic interest in anybody when he was fourteen. While puberty should have made his hormones grow stronger in that respect, he'd never discussed having crushes on anyone. One day, he'd come to Ontari trembling and sobbing, so sure that something inside of him was broken. But she had done some research and discovered terms that fit what he had described to her: asexual and aromantic. The labels had helped him relax, assuring him that he wasn't broken and there wasn't anything wrong with him. It's just who he is. And Ontari had known that becoming a desirable would have broken him beyond repair.

"Your hair never listens," Hestia hums with a frown as she licks her palm and starts to reach up to smooth a stray strand on her brother's head, but the taller boy ducks out of her reach.

"My hair is fine," he says pointedly, covering his head in a defensive manner. And it's true. Instead of its usual, tousled style, he's used gel to fluff it upwards and out of his face. The last time he came to the Capitol with his hair flat, his prep team nearly had his head for 'looking homeless.' If that was their idea of how homeless people looked, he'd thought they ought to come to the poorer districts and take a look for themselves.

"Let's just go downstairs," Ontari suggests with a sigh, ever the mediator between them. "Mom and Dad are waiting for us."

The three siblings make their way to the first floor of the house, Ontari's heels clicking on the wooden floor and signaling their descent. When Hestia steps out of the way to show off her younger family, their mother covers her mouth with both hands. Her blue eyes are already beginning to glisten with tears.

"Don't cry yet, Mom," Ontari says to her in a thick voice. Their mother has always been emotional, but after two of her children were put through the Hunger Games, it had gotten worse. "You too, Dad."

Their father raises his hands in innocence. His salt-and-pepper hair isn't the only thing that marks his age— fine wrinkles line his square face, making his brown eyes appear kinder. The marks in his skin are his physical change from the seven years since their lives turned completely upside down. Their stylists have always said that worrying causes wrinkles.

The moment is bittersweet. Hestia watches from afar as their parents fawn over her younger siblings, admiring Ontari's braid and how handsome Cassian looks with his hair styled like that, and would it kill him to iron his clothes more often?

After many hugs before they have to exit the confinements of their house and be met with the Peacekeepers outside, the family takes a few seconds to compose themselves. Hestia doesn't have to dress up or change anything about herself to uphold her notorious reputation as their snarky, attractive elder sister. Their parents are a different story. Even they have been forced into roles: the quiet and proud parents of who the Capitol has made their children out to be.

The air is cool, but Ontari doesn't curl into herself or hug her arms like she so desperately wants to. Trading comfort for her image isn't a foreign concept to her whatsoever. Instead, she and Cassian walk with their heads high, the latter's posture relaxed while his sister's is ruler-straight and confident. From henceforth, their real emotions won't be detectable even to one another.

The four Peacekeepers walking them to the Justice Building keep them moving at a hurried pace. Ontari has to walk quickly in her stiletto heels, slightly struggling not to slip on the loose pebbles hidden in the pavement.

When they arrive, Cabel Hardust, the District Eight tribute escort, is already waiting on stage. Woof and Cecilia are being situated on the small platform in front of the Justice Building. Judging by that, they must have arrived only moments beforehand. Woof is dressed in an olive green sweater over a flannel shirt, his silvery hair gelled neatly. Cecilia wears a pretty floral sundress and strappy, tan sandals that make her appear innocent. Lively. Much unlike Ontari, who dutifully makes note of this as she takes her place beside her.

As the reaping begins, it takes every single year of training to repress her emotions. Here she is, about to rejoin the most significant piece of hell she's ever encountered, with her brother and former mentors at her side. Her hands begin to shake. She clasps them coolly in front of her to mask the movement.

Cabel, a shorter man with an absurd amount of colorful wigs and rings on both hands, takes his place at the microphone with the two glass bowls beside him, each containing two slips of paper. His real hair has been shoved beneath a dark brown monstrosity that towers half a foot above his head. His blue pinstriped suit almost hurts to look at.

Ontari can't listen to his introduction. She can't. If she does, she'll be transported to her sixteen-year-old body again, waiting in the crowd. And her façade will drop before she can realize the damage she's done.

"As always, ladies first." Cabel makes a show of digging through the mostly empty bowl. He plays between the two pieces of paper, then picks the one to the left. Her breath stops coming out as he unfolds it and excitedly announces to the audience, "Our female tribute for the third Quarter Quell is...Ontari Nightfall!"

She takes a proud step forward, ankles shaking, hesitating slightly to see if Cecelia will intervene. A beat of silence passes. Nobody volunteers as tribute.

So it's true. She's going back.

But the horror isn't over, and her anxiety only grows, a monstrous animal gnawing at her stomach, as Cabel dips his absurdly ringed fingers into the bowl containing the males' names. Cassian is standing calmly, his hands also clasped in front of him much like hers had been. Woof is hard and studious, a frown pulling down his lips.

"And the male..." Cabel's dramatic pause gives its intended effect; Ontari's heart pounds so furiously she can hear her blood rushing in her ears. "Cassian Nightfall! Amazing— siblings representing District Eight in the seventy-fifth Hunger Games!"

Cassian's trembling hand immediately slips into her own as he takes his place beside her. Their arms raise, hands clasped together, above their heads as a sign of unity. She can't see her brother's facial expression from where she stands, but she plasters a wide smile onto her own. If only it could successfully rid her body of the ringing numbness filling her to the brim.

Ontari's ankles are still trembling, and, for a disastrous second, she thinks she may actually break a heel and tumble to the ground. But her body has been hardwired for this. Even though she wants to sink to the floor of the stage, to burst into tears, to scream at the camera filming her every movement, she remains a shell of herself. It's as if she's watching her actions from afar. Whoever is standing on that stage is not her.

Seconds later, the two tributes are ushered away by Peacekeepers. Ontari struggles to maintain her composure as they head right past the Justice Building and toward the train station. Only now can she hear the crowd's angry yelling; she'd had to tune it out before. The sound startles her even as it grows quieter the farther away they're forced to walk. The district is making their discontent more publicly known than ever before.

Their greatest chances at revolting against the Capitol are being ushered away before their very eyes.

"Where are you taking us?" Cassian demands. Woof and Cecelia, who hurry behind them, appear equally as confused. "We get to speak with our families."

"Change of routine," one of the masked Peacekeepers replies, his voice slightly muffled by his helmet. "You're going straight to the train."

Cameras are still following them. Ontari has to remind herself of this several times when she feels tears pooling in her eyes or a lump blocking her throat. She obediently keeps her head high and the forced smile on her face as she gives an occasional wave to the lenses. Cassian does the same, though shyly.

She thinks of her mother, father, and sister in the crowd, watching them be led away and unsaid goodbyes lingering in the air between them.

____

okay but tell me why every single sad song in my library came on while i was writing this??

also remember how movie!peeta literally wore a hoodie to the reaping wow what an icon

-kristyn