Okay so I decided to start another Cinna fic. Not sure why, just felt like it. Anyway, here is the first chapter. This will probably go on through the first book and will probably end when Cinna dies, as sad as that is:( It might be a little OOC and i apologize for that. This will probably be a bunch of One -shots that will form a story by the end. If that makes any sense...
I hope you all enjoy it, i'm not sure when i will be updating, i have some school work I need to be focusing on (ExamsDx), So until that is over i don't know when updates will be. BUT there will be updates! Reviews make me happy, but no hate:)
~MM
Dance on our Graves- Chapter one
It was perfect. First year as a stylist for the games and he'd had chosen the most undesirable district, District twelve.
Why is this perfect you ask? Well as many times as Cinna was asked "Why did you choose that district?" the reply was always the same...
"First year, last district."
What does that mean? Only a few questioned it and he just shook his head, but mostly they translated it into, I chose twelve because its Decent practice and no one really pays attention to district twelve's tributes anyway so I won't have to worry much about ruining my reputation until I get the hang of being a stylist for the games.
He led them on to think he was just another stylist who was there to make sure they had fun watching the tributes play dress-up, and he would move to the more important and richer districts whenever he wanted. Portia knew why he really wanted twelve, he had something amazing bouncing around in his head, so when he asked for her to be his co-stylist, she gladly accepted.
He watched the reaping anxiously and alone. In his flat, on the couch in his living room. He hoped and prayed that he would be given someone he can work with. Not a twelve year old that probably wouldn't last very long in the games. He wouldn't be able to watch someone that young get killed, he never could, he'd seen the games before and always close his eyes when someone young and defenseless got killed. Sure it wasn't easy to watch older teens kill or get killed either however he had a soft spot for children.
He needed someone with flame.
When the highly decorated escort for twelve announced the name Primrose Everdeen, and a little blonde girl stiffly started towards the stage, Cinna sighed, throwing the original idea for the chariot costume out of his head, other ideas started flowing. That is until an older, dark haired girl bolted from the crowd;
"I VOLUNTEER!" the girl yells, fighting against the mob of peacekeepers restraining her;
"I volunteer as tribute!" She states, Primrose throws herself at the older girl wrapping her arms around her and sobbing, shouting that she couldn't go. A boy that looked to be around the older girls age, pulled Primrose off of the other girl and carried her crying and screaming to her mother.
When the Screen flicks back to the older girl her face is blank. She is escorted to the stage where Effie Trinket asks for her name;
"Katniss Everdeen." comes her hollow reply, Effie say something about the Blonde being her sister, briefly the expression seemingly to say, well duh! crosses Katniss's face, its gone in a blink and she makes no other comment but a small;
"Yes."
Cinna leans back on the couch, his eyes still glued to the screen, but his mind was off somewhere else.
He zones in long enough to hear the name Peeta Mellark ring from the escorts mouth. A blonde boy also Katniss's age mounts the stage. He looks strong but the fear on his face is obvious. Katniss seems to recognize him.
Katniss.
He has a feeling that name will be one no one ever forgets. For in her eyes he saw a spark he hadn't seen in a while. A spark of defiance.
A spark of hope.