↳ 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 stood with her hands at her sides, feeling the soft fabric that belonged to her new dress. She marveled at having such a thing hanging off of her body, never thinking she would be wearing such a prestigious garment, and especially not one that was handcrafted specifically for herself. It's not like it was in good means, or anything - like the presence of the dress made her perilous situation she found herself in to be any better - but she tried to absorb the moment, just the same.
The team of horses that would be pulling the District Four chariot was composed of two, white horses, their muscular bodies standing almost as still as they could, not counting the occasional whips of their long tails. The horse on the left was the one that Isla found to like the most, for he had a sort of kindness about him. She walked slowly towards it, reaching her hand towards it's soft, pink nose, where she stroked its fur gently. It's large eye on the side of its head stared down at her, making her feel small, but something about the horse seemed pitiful and she was forced to look away.
Luckily, Finnick was also walking in her direction at the same time.
"Same horses year after year. Until they die, at least, which usually isn't for a while." Isla watched him, dressed in his simple, black suit, step towards the horse. She had seen him this dressed up on the television in past years, but not since she had seen him in person for the first time, which would've been yesterday. His sandy hair was swept together in a perfect mess, and she was sure that any woman in the screaming crowd just outside the launch area would do anything for just a quick glance of him at the moment.
Finnick reached up a hand, touching the horse's snout. "It's kinda sad - seeing these horses having longer lives than most of the kids they carry each year." Isla felt her heart rise in her chest, somewhat angry. She couldn't help but feel attacked from the full comment he had just made, and hated that he was right. She hated everything about it, in fact, and most of all, hated the fact that it was so easily about to apply to her.
"Thanks for the hope," she said softly, and then lifted up the bottom of her dress so it wouldn't drag on the concrete floor, and walked back towards where Ezra, Belisama, and the rest of her prep team were standing.
She listened to them chatter away, but never interrupted a single word they spoke. None of it was relevant to her, or even anything she fully understood or could contest to, anyways. Their comments were like a foreign language she didn't understand, and it only made her seem more out of place in an environment that was completely unknown to her.
When she stole a singular look over her shoulder at Finnick Odair, he was shamelessly staring back at her.
Isla tossed her head back around, setting her jaw tightly as her cheeks burned red with anger. At the same time that was all going on, she saw the elevator door at the far end of the room slowly peel open, Arden and a group of two women and a man following behind him. He wore an off-white suit, pearls dripping down the fabric. His undershirt was white, and carefully unbuttoned at the top, just enough to expose the perfect amount of skin. Pearls also covered his hair, and were glued to spots of his face.
