Author's Note: Hello people :3 not exactly sure exactly where this story is going, but I thought the prospect of Katniss and Peeta having children was just too enticing to not pursue in a story :D set when their baby boy is 17. Enjoy~
Chapter One
I traced my feet gently across every tree root encroaching on my path, creating an entangled labyrinth of the simple, well-worn path. I heard stories of my mother following this same path, pursuing an escape from the post-apocalyptic monotony that plagued District 12 after she broke the system holding Panem together. Since the spark of her rebellion caught and she brought down the Capitol, the world seems to have a more optimistic future. However, occasionally a forgotten charred brick left behind by the Reconstruction will catch my eye and I am reminded that not long ago, Panem was a totalitarian abomination.
It's been almost 50 years since the uprise of democracy in Panem, and I still get the occasional weathered civilian stopping me on the street, raising a shaky hand to my face and examining me intently for minutes until they finally ask if I'm really the son of Peeta and Katniss. I wear a proud smile as I respond, and wait for the usual remark about my father's looks, my mother's eyes, how proud they are. That was one thing I never understood…the residents of 12 were genuinely proud of me, though I had never accomplished any feat of my own. They were proud of my parent's ability to survive and procreate…not for any particular deed of my own.
Lost in my thoughts, my foot caught on a protruding root and my body surged forwards, and I caught myself at the last minute before my momentum sent me hurdling to the ground. I inwardly cursed inheriting my father's heavy foot, regained my composure and continued forward. Suddenly, the heavy forest air around me was cut by a high-pitched giggle. The delicate sound was soon marred as a giggle formed into a cackle.
I whipped my head around, my grown-out blonde curls sweeping across my face. I pushed them out of the way and saw a girl, no older than me, crouched in a low branch of a nearby maple tree. Her body was doubled over in laughter, but her attire caught my eye—she wore tight dark jeans and a white lacey shirt, her curvy figure enhanced by a dark leather corset laced with green vines. She calmed herself down enough to raise her head, showing faintly red locks falling to her shoulders and light blue eyes, still creased from laughter. "You fell."
"Where the hell did you come from?" I asked, not bothering to mention that I hadn't actually fallen. However, you wouldn't know that by the intensity of her laughter.
Her cackle filled the air again, a harshly contradictory sound from her delicate features. "I've been here, smart one." She rested her eyes downwards, examining her nails. I sighed, becoming increasingly agitated with both my confusion with the girl and her lack of initiative to enlighten me.
"Who are you, then?" I asked. She looked up at me, acting legitimately startled that I was still there.
"Oh, me? Ivy. Ivy Harper. Ivy Alexandra Harper," she stated, contorting her body into a heroic stance before jumping down from the branch.
"Fancy that," I said, the words emerging slightly more scathing than intended. She arched an eyebrow at me.
"Temper, darling, temper," she mimicked my tone. "And who might you be?"
That caught me off guard. As a spitting image of my father, I tended to be well known around District 12. She snorted in amusement. "Just kidding. Sir Drew Ashburn Mellark." She looked me up and down, making my cheeks flush slightly. "You look different."
I shot her a quizzical look. "As opposed to…"
"When you were fat."
My face reddened deeper, and as a defensive reply was forming on my lips, confusion emerged in my mind. "Have I met you?"
"Not formally, I don't suppose. Consider me an admirer from afar." Something about the tone in her voice ensured that her words shouldn't be interpreted as flirtation. Not that they would be, anyways. Her manner towards me was a little to insulting to be considered amorous.
"Are you from 12?" I asked, not bothering to be concerned by her knowledge of me.
She twirled the vines holding her corset up. "From 8, technically." I could have guessed. The lace falling over her shoulders held the distinct needlework of the district. "But someone here needed me."
Before I had the chance to inquire, another girl dropped from the same tree, hitting the ground hard and falling backwards into the dirt. Ivy let out another cackle, and the other girl joined in with a similarly contradictory laugh. She stood up, brushing herself off, and revealed a tall, thin figure artfully decorated with District 8's distinctive fabrics. She wore a short gray dress, sheer lace roses creeping their way up to her neckline. Her tanned legs reached a long distance down to the ground where her bare feet traced nervous circles in the dirt. My eyes darted back to her face, where shifting hazel eyes lined by delicate black makeup refused to meet mine. Her light brown hair was streaked blond by the sun and fell in a very short, layered style, her bangs sweeping all the way across her forehead.
She glanced up at me, looking back down quickly once she realized my eyes were on her as well. Ivy let out a laugh. "You awkward child. Say hello, darling."
She shot a slight smile at me, forcing herself to make eye contact. "I'm Charlotte. Charlotte Eden."