❝if a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows other people to buy them for an exorbitant amount of money. if you refuse, he kills someone you love. so you do it.❞
ontari nightfall wants revenge after seven year...
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▕▔▔▔▔▔▔▿▔▔▔▔▔▔▏ DESIRABLES ▕▁▁▁▁▁▁▵▁▁▁▁▁▁▏
｡･:*:･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.
