MASTERPIECE
Written for Prompts in Panem Challenge
Summary: Katniss discovers Peeta loves art – with a side of Capitol dissension.
Rating: T
Masterpiece: Triumph Over Mastery
Triggers: None
I do not own The Hunger Games.
—o—
Katniss Everdeen hates field trips to the Justice Center, which doubles as District 12's library and museum. Once a season, the Capitol sends something or other to the District to be put on display. The students trudge dutifully across the square to see it (whatever it is) and to be reminded of the greatness and beauty of the Capitol. This field trip was no different than any others. The Capitol had sent paintings – artwork, supposedly from before the dark days.
As if they needed something as a reminder of how much better the Capitol had it.
Gale shrugs his shoulders and laughs at the field trips: they are usually documents or some sort of art. Gale thinks they are useless. Who could eat a painting? The Capitol can't make them feel any worse for how they live because the Capitol doesn't understand how little beauty matters. Food, family and security, he was fond of saying: those are the things that matter.
Katniss walks slowly from picture to picture like the rest of her classmates. Some of them are so colorful that they make her eyes hurt. She wonders if the Capitol has to take special precautions to keep the pictures safe from the gray dust that settles over everything in District 12. Do they even know about that? Or do they send their precious artwork here and not realize that the very air in her home district will strip it of its colors and make it dull? District 12 has a way of sapping all the color out of everything.
Most of the pictures make her anxious with their color and their faces showing all sorts of emotions. Gale could walk by all of them and sneer that he felt nothing, but Katniss felt all sorts of things looking at the swirls and lines and colors. They are confusing. Some make her breath catch. Some she can not look at – like the ones of mens' unclothed bodies. A few – and they are rarely shown in her district, often covered with a red velvet drape and only available for special showings – show a man and a woman together. These leave her red-faced with her eyes averted, arms crossed over her slight bosom. Her body looks nothing like the lush, white skinned women in the paintings.
At fifteen, she knows what a man and a woman do together. She has heard of the rumors of the slag heap, sees her mother treat young girls who get in the family way. Looking at those pictures make her feel uncomfortable, like she is missing the point of why people do it in the first place. Like there is a giant secret that she has yet to discover.
She stops in front of a picture of an animal skull floating in a blue sky. That's a pretty good skull she thinks. Probably fed a family for a week with an animal like that. She looks at the land shown under the skull. Not a lot of game in terrain like that. She wonders if it was a family pet and had to be killed in order to feed the family through the storm depicted in the picture. Would the family survive the winter? Was the flower a tribute from a family member who loved the goat as a pet? Who had fed it and brushed it and treated it like a friend?
She clenches her hands and tries to breathe shallowly past the fire ball in the back of her throat, tears pricking behind her eyelids.
She feels eyes on her and turns to seek them out. It's the Mellark boy again.Gale always refers to him as that dumb Mellark kid. Katniss can't bring herself to quite use that term – he had saved her life, after all. He is looking at her, gripping a sketch pad and staring at her with concern in his very blue eyes. A stupid sketch pad! Katniss thinks angrily.
She locks eyes with him, consciously unclenching her fists and taking several deep breaths. He smiles at her encouragingly. That sweet smile is enough to make her to storm off to the girl's room.
—o—
Her class eats lunch at the exhibit. Katniss has already made short work of her half of an apple, so she finds herself wandering around the paintings. What did one draw when one looked at them? Was he copying them? Was he making some sort of notes? She could barely look at some of them. What would it take to copy a work such as these? And the nudes… The thought of Peeta Mellark's hand copying the lines of a naked woman's body makes odd warmth spread through Katniss. She doesn't understand the feeling, doesn't have time for it, so she ignores it.
She stares moodily at an unresponsive woman with a younger woman crying next to her. The woman reminds her of her mother. It would be just like Prim to cry like that too, even though mom is no help when it comes to the things that matter. Katniss sometimes thinks that her sister is too soft.
"Do you want the rest of my lunch?" A voice in front of her asks. She hadn't realized that she was standing behind Peeta Mellark as he contemplated the same picture, sketch pad open on his lap. A paper bag sits next to him. Katniss stares daggers at his back. Take the rest of your lunch? Are you kidding? Stupid merchant kid, giving away food like I'm a charity case! She tosses her single, long braid over her shoulder.
Peeta's clear blue eyes meet hers over his shoulder. They hold no trace of pity or charity. "I'm not going to eat it – I get tired of the same stale bread day after day."
She snorts. "You get tired of eating every day? That sounds just like a merchant." She almost spits the last word.
"I don't get tired of eating. I get tired of eating the same thing day after day. We should trade next time: apples are a special treat." He pushes the brown bag toward her. "Take it. Normally, I give it to Delly."
Katniss spares a glance at the golden and voluptuous girl. She, at least, looks more like the women in the paintings. Katniss grabs the bag before she can change her mind and takes a bite. Besides, she already owes the boy, so what is another debt tacked on? Whereas the bread he had given her that long-ago day was arm and nutritious, the bread in his bag is tasteless and not so much crunchy as chewy. She begrudgingly admits to herself that she can see how someone could tire of it.
"You can sit down, if you like."
"I thought you'd have cake for lunch."
Peeta laughs. "I wish. We never get to eat them."
"Never?" Katniss asks in disbelief. She can't fathom it. How cruel would it be to see something like that – no, make something like that – and never get to eat it? It would be like hunting or foraging, but never being able to eat it.
"Ok, maybe not never. Once a year, we have a small birthday cake for all of us. It's never chocolate, though."
Katniss nods. She doesn't even know what chocolate is – not really.
"That's more than we get. You should be grateful." It comes out angry and judgemental. She sounds like Gale.
Peeta drops his head back to his notepad. Katniss isn't sure if he is acknowledging her comment or just ignoring her.
The silence stretches for a few minutes, broken only by the scratching of Peeta's pencil against paper. "What are you doing?"
"Practicing."
"Practicing what?"
"Drawing." Peeta holds up the pad. On it is a pencil drawing of a face and part of a woman's body. Katniss blushes and looks away. The thought of Peeta's hand tracing along the curves of a woman's body… it make her very warm, indeed.
She's never noticed how fine his hands are, pale and slender. They have callouses and scars of their own, like hers.
Finally, she says defensively, "It's not like drawing is a survival skill."
He looks at her, his hand still moving on the page. "It is for me: I decorate the cakes. Better cakes mean more sales, more sales mean more for my family."
Her eyebrows furrow. "Oh." She wasn't going to admit to him that she hadn't thought of that.
"We're not that different, you know." His blue eyes consider her.
Katniss fumes. "You don't know anything about me and we are nothing alike." She had to lash out at something after that ridiculous comment. Totally forgetting they are in the justice building, she says, "This whole thing is stupid. Why do they bring us here? What's the point? All the color, all of this emotion – it's stupid. Useless. It won't feed anyone or keep them from freezing during the winter." She hears the slight echo of the words in the almost empty room and winces: she could be arrested just for thinking them, let alone saying them out loud. Let alone saying them out loud to him.
Silence descends again.
"Maybe it's to help us forget." The words are spoken quietly, Peeta's eyes trained back on his drawing. It's almost as if he is talking to himself.
"Forget what?" Katniss's voice is quiet but confused.
"Forget to be ourselves. We get to be outside of ourselves, feeling something else, someone else's emotions for a little while. Why were you so upset looking at Ram's Head? What did you see?"
"A family, starving. A long, cold winter. A beloved pet sacrificed so they could eat."
Peeta nods. "What about that one?" He points to a picture entitled The Death of the Virgin.
"My mom on the bed and Prim crying." She's never come close to talking about how her mom is at home. She squirms a little bit.
"I can see that. Especially the braids." Peeta smiles. Katniss thinks that he might be mocking her.
"Do you like any of them?" Peeta sounds doubtful.
She's just told him that she thinks they are all stupid, and that's true. But she considers them all anew."Um, that one." She points at Man and Woman Contemplating Moon. "It reminds me of the forest….Of what I imagine the forest looks like." She quickly covers up her slip.
Peeta seems to catch it anyway. She knows that her visits to the forest are not a secret, not in a small district like 12. "Have you ever…pictured it…at night like that?"
Katniss shakes her head. "Not full dark. It's dangerous, I…imagine…it's dangerous."
Peeta jerks his head back to the picture. "Well, at least you have someone to face the danger with." His eyes seem to search hers.
She nods, unsure of what he's asking and tired of talking about herself. This is the longest conversation she's had in months and she isn't used to working so hard. And with him, no less! She points to the row of paintings. "What's your favorite?"
Peeta blushes, then grimaces. She is sure he is going to point at a nude, is already frowning at him because of it when he points at The Kiss. Despite the name, it's the tamest of the paintings that have both men and women. He almost sounds defensive when he explains, "I like the colors. And it has texture that might work in frosting."
Katniss looks at it again, cocking her head to one side in consideration. She tries to see what he sees, since he seems to be taking this so seriously. It isbright. And it's not trying to be realistic. She can almost see bits of the colors of the woman's dress or some of the wildflower field on which the couple lay depicted on a cake. Almost.
"That seems like a good choice. Since you like art, though, I'm surprised you didn't go for that one. Although, if you like bright colors, I can see why not. " She points at Triumph over Mastery.
"That one is horribly depressing!" Peeta's voice rises. It's unlike him and he immediately glances around to see if anyone heard.
"More depressing than the one that looks like the Hunger Games?" Katniss points at Massacre of the Innocents.
Peeta concedes. "That does look a little like the Cornucopia."
They share a look and burst out laughing, then shush each other. It's almost like they are friends.
The school Administrator calls the students together for the walk back to school and the end of the day. Katniss can feel Peeta looking at her. She knows the question that is likely going to follow. She also knows that she will catch heat from Gale over it. But Gale doesn't own her, and she's interested to hear what Peeta has to say. Oddly interested, considering that this conversation won't put food on her table, give her something to trade or keep her warm.
"Can I..Can I walk with you?" He stammers. He blushes when she nods.
They leave the Justice Building. Katniss is grateful for the sunlight and the warm air outside. She takes a deep breath. The air may be tainted with coal, but there is at least the hint of forest out here instead of the pervasive musty smell of the stone building behind them.
Peeta has an easy time keeping up with her, although he does laugh a little at her short strides. "Man, you walk fast!"
She furtively looks at him. His smile is huge, like he is grateful to be beside her. Already, she regrets her decision.
"About the painting back there. You really didn't find it sad?" He sounds like he is disappointed in her opinion.
She thinks back on it and says, "Well, it was brown."
"Do you remember the man on the ladder?"
"Yeah. He was whitewashing something." She remembers thinking that it was dumb: whitewash doesn't stay white but a week in their district.
"He was erasing a masterpiece so it could never be seen again. Like it never existed at all."
Katniss thought back on the painting. "Oh-kay." She said slowly. "And that makes you feel sad?" She couldn't see it, not like the painting of the woman on the bed and the child, or even the bright colors of the Kiss.
Peeta's voice is soft, furtive but urgent. "It's a warning, Katniss. It's what the Capitol does to us all."
Katniss stops dead in surprise. Did Peeta Mellark just say that?
He glances around again, shoving his hands in his pocket. "They erase what they don't like, anytime they want. Like the Games. Like life here. It's about control. You don't see it?"
Katniss stares at him. What he has just said, out in the open, is enough to earn him lashings at the least, possibly more. Peeta Mellark has just spoken out against the Capitol. She shakes her head at him: at his words, at the situation. She doesn't need one more thing to worry about and she liked it better when he was uncomplicated.
She laughs at him, a dry, harsh sound. "Aren't you being a little melodramatic?"
His blue eyes narrow, his foot idly kicking a pebble. "I thought that you would understand." He sounds disappointed.
Her voice is hard. "I do what I do to take care of my family. That's all. Nothing more, nothing less." She pauses for a minute to let that sink in. She can't let him know how much knowing he has those sorts of thoughts scares her. The thought of anything happening to the Boy with the Bread…it's untenable. At least Gale can fend for himself. Peeta, on the other hand…she's pretty sure that the Capitol would erase him as surely as the man in the painting erased that wall.
She looks at him for another second or two with clear eyes, hoping he gets her message. Do not ever speak of that again.
"Gale!" She calls out to the older boy who had walked past them with a quizzical look. "Wait up!" She jogs up to where his loping stride is carrying him confidently forward, effectively leaving Peeta Mellark in the dust.
—o—
Katniss knows she's in for a tough time that afternoon when she realizes that the woods are alive with vibrant color. No longer does she just see the verdant greens and multi-hued browns of the forest. She sees reds and oranges and yellow and purple and pink. And it's all due to Peeta Mellark. Damn him! It is bad enough that she did not even think to say thank you to him during their strange conversation earlier. Now he is actually in her head, pointing out all of the colors and textures. Like he belongs there. Like his whispered words of rebellion have somehow created a stronghold around her heart, no different than the couple that was snared by the hovercraft. They still haunt her from time to time. Now, so will Peeta. Unless…
There is nothing to do for it but try to apologize. That, and look out for him.
Katniss finds what she is looking for and puts it in her game bag with two squirrels and some greens. She needs to make haste if she wants to make a detour to the bakery: they close at sunset these days and that is getting earlier. She ducks under the fence and finds herself at the bakery back door just as the sun starts to streak the clouds pink in its descent.
Pink? There he is again! She scowls, then knocks.
Mr. Mellark is pleased and surprised to see her again: they traded just this morning and Katniss never comes back twice in a day. At her request, he goes to get Peeta from the front of the store.
Peeta looks confused to see her.
"I brought you something." Katniss does not mince words. She opens her game bag and pulls out several handfuls of wildflowers.
Peeta stares at the flowers on the counter, uncomprehending.
"There's Goldenrod and Gentian and Lobelia, and Purple Milkwort, Aster and Witch Hazel and Alum Root." She says the names like she is throwing out a challenge.
"What are they for?" Peeta studies the flowers in spite of himself, intrigued by the varieties he has never seen except in his family's ancient picture book.
She sighs and it comes out like an angry sound. "I thought you might want to practice a meadow of flowers. Like in the painting."
"You mean The Kiss?" Peeta squints trying to make the connection.
Katniss nods, finally happy to be understood.
Peeta rubs the back of his neck. "Katniss, I don't understand. You left this afternoon like you would be happy never to talk to me again. Now, you bring all of this…"
Katniss had hoped that he would take the offering and not question it. She should have known that Peeta would want some sort of explanation. She stumbles for words. "I…I heard everything you said today. I may not understand all of it, but I heard it. It made an impression. I just…I don't want… I was surprised. At some of the stuff you said, that's all."
"So this is like a peace offering?" He's trying to follow along.
Katniss is grateful and her frown clears. "Yes. Yes. That's exactly it."
The kitchen grows quiet while the two stare at each other, each lost in thought.
Katniss clears her throat. "I'd best be leaving."
Peeta nods, still unsure of what to make of her visit.
She makes to leave and is stopped by Peeta's voice, which cracks on her name. "Katniss? Today was nice. Thanks."
She acknowledges him with a tight, small smile. His is wide in return.
Fin.