↳ i don't rise from the ashes, i make them...
oc x finnick odair
catching fire - mockingjay pt. 2 (flashbacks included)
TW: Depression, thoughts of suicide, use of drugs/alcohol, use of tobacco, detailed gore, use of weapons, death, and mentions/sug...
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Isla grazed over the breakfast that was brought to her by the staff that worked on the train. Just like during the meal she had last night, the food that was stacked on the table could only be described as extravagant. Each dish seemed to be made with great attention to detail, the hot food still emitting spirals of steam in the air as the cold items remained chilling in bowls of freezing ice. Isla didn't find herself to be very hungry - especially since the utter thought of food seemed impossible at the moment - but filled herself up with as much as she possibly could, enjoying a small bowl of oatmeal, which was topped with fruit and sprinkles of brown sugar. She equally indulged in a few bites of scrambled eggs and a fresh biscuit that was still warm in the middle, but found herself to be cautious to not overindulge on the rich foods the Captiol provided them with. The last thing she needed was to get sick, like she did the night before. Although she hadn't thrown up like she predicted she might, she had grown nauseated and went to bed with a dull stomach ache.
Arden sat across from Isla, doing the complete opposite of her. Rather than restricting his intake, he took time to fill his plate with as much as he possibly could, without allowing it to overflow from his plate and onto the white table cloth below. She figured that, although her stomach had been full during her childhood in District Four, her family also couldn't afford the delicacies that were always available. Rich foods were among the many things they couldn't afford, so her body wasn't as seemingly used to such a diet as Arden's was.
They didn't speak as they ate, but Isla found that to be just fine, considering the fact she had very little to say to him. She was already aware that they had very little in common, or even a similar goal within the Games they would soon enter, but after his rude exit at dinner the night before, she couldn't help but admit that she lost a bit of respect for him. No matter the excuse, she didn't feel like it was necessarily okay to treat anyone like that, and especially not Finnick, a person who was just trying to help the two.
Isla tried not to think about Finnick all night, but knew she had failed miserably at that task. His sea green eyes, as intimidating as they could be, were the last thing she thought about the previous night, and the first thing she found herself pondering on that morning when she awoke. There was something that drew all of the curiosity from her bones and poured it out in front of her, begging to get a further explanation of the man and all the many things she didn't know about him and his mysterious existence.
Everything about her slightly eccentric self wanted to know the secrets he held within his grasp and refused to let go of. With even a singular glance at him, she could determine that he had many.
