When I was little, I loved taking baths. I would slide beneath the water and thin film of soap and submerge myself in the cold bathwater. Cold, of course, because I would soak so long that the fire beneath the tub would have long gone out. Not wanting to waste firewood, even though we were tucked away in the capitol of firewood - Seven, I sat in the cold water and rubbed the gooseflesh on my skin. I'd pretend I was a mermaid or pirate, regaling myself with old tales my father would tell me before bed, of dashing pirates and unscrupulous kings and queens. My distaste for authority and law and order sprung from the seeds of those stories he planted in my head before dreams. I idolized the swashbuckling pirate, not the stuffy king.

My favorite part of the baths, though, was dipping my head under the water so the sound of the falling trees and chopping of wood became a distant, foggy din. Everything sounded soothing and muted when I was in the water. I could be a mermaid, living in my underwater castle. Or a pirate diving in the deep, blue ocean for some buried treasure.

That muted calm was what it sounded like when the escort called my name for the Reaping. "Johanna Mason" she had stated. So loudly. So clearly. Without even a flinch as she withdrew the slip. I don't give a second look toward the girls flanking my left and my right. They don't mean anything to me, and I don't want to see their pity. I walked straight up to the stage and folded my hands in front of me, like I had seen other Tributes do on other Games.

She called the boy, but I didn't hear his name. He looked vaguely familiar. Older than me, though. I think he worked as a woodsman, just having left school. Nectar. Something flowery or plant-like. Our escort, the green-and-brown-clothed Capitol woman, ushered us into our rooms. My father was there, but not really offering any words of comfort. What do you say in a time like this? Don't die? See you never? My father whispered some words of encouragement in my ear, handing me a chocolate truffle - my favorite - and soon I was off the train to the Capitol.

74th Hunger Games, here I come.

...

In spite of the circumstances, I can't say I entirely loathed the trip. We ate foods I had never seen and some I got quite a taste for. Lamb stew, some kind of squash boat filled with sausage, and a spinach casserole that I would literally slit someone's throat for. Our Mentor Blight is a pleasant enough guy but truth be told, I don't know how he won his Games. All the other people must have killed themselves, or drowned like the time that girl from Four won, because he isn't all that smart or all that strong. But he doesn't bullshit me on my chances, so I decide to like him.

On our way there, we watched the recap of all the Reapings. All of them are pretty standard except when we get to Twelve. Typically Twelve is a sad little miner's kid, sooty and overall kind of depressing. But this year it's a strong blonde-haired boy, and a volunteer. In all of my memory I can't remember when anyone outside of One, Two, and Four had ever volunteered. But this girl does. She's got a long, brown braid with bangs that curtain a pair of steady grey eyes. Her skin is the olive tone that many people from that area called the Seam had. She's beautiful. But everyone looks more beautiful when they're doomed to death. Is any picture of Joan of Arc more alluring than the one of her on the stake?

"My, a volunteer, how uncommon!" my escort squeals, clapping her hands excitedly. My raised eyebrow and Nectar's impassive look took the wind out of her sails pretty quickly. She clears her throat, pursing her gold lips together. "This will be an exciting year."

"Thrilling," I reply, shaking my head and returning my attention to my chocolate dessert. I was full hours earlier, but I couldn't stop myself. We didn't get these kinds of decadent desserts back in Seven. I had only tastes chocolates on special occasions like weddings or birthdays, and of course, just before I left for the Capitol. I always despised the people from the Capitol, but I think if my world was filled with this chocolate, I'd be a real asshole, too.

That night, the volunteer from Twelve somehow appears, unbidden, in my dreams.

The Remake Center is definitely one of the Seven Circles of Hell. After I've been doused, plucked, scrubbed and rubbed, I meet my stylist, a woman who introduces herself as Hiss. Her given name is actually Hiss. Appropriately, her eyes have been altered to look like a snake, her skin painted to look like shimmering scales. If she hadn't opened her stupid mouth and made a high-pitched tea kettle noise she calls a voice, she would have been kind of frightening.

She circles me for a few minutes, eyeing my naked form with a few nods of her head. I've never been ashamed of my body - nakedness wasn't some kind of cause for recoil in Seven. And besides, I'm seventeen, I'm in good shape, and I apparently look "much more attractive without all that hair" as one prep team member had been so kind as to tell me. Finally, she speaks again. "Well I think it's a no-brainer, isn't it?"

"Trees?" I ask in a glum voice, my distaste for her style and for her, in general, hopefully coming through.

"Yes, trees, but more than trees. What do trees make?"

"Fire?" I ask hopefully.

She shook her head. "Paper!"

...

I look like a child's discarded art project. Nectar and I are dressed in complimentary white outfits, his almost resembling a knight's armor, but made of paper. I have a large headdress that peaks out from my black hair like a bird of paradise or a fucked up peacock. Either way, we look absolutely ridiculous as our chariot made its way around the Capitol. The crowd enjoys it a little.

When I see Twelve, I can't hide my shock. My jaw hangs open like it's trying to catch flies, my eyes glued to the large screen projecting ("Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!") the loud voice tells me. Katniss Everdeen. The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I had forgotten it after watching the Reapings. They are stunning, flames shooting from their coal-black outfits. She plays the crowd well for a girl from the poor mines - blowing kisses, catching roses, flashing a dazzling - if a little forced - smile that even makes a tingle of giddiness go through me.

We reconvene by the elevators, and I watch the Careers glower at the two kids from Twelve. They're jealous. Typically One steals the show with their alabaster white horses and ridiculously fit and good-looking Tributes, but this year it's Twelve - mostly Katniss - who steal the show. Though Peeta seems to have his fair share of admirers, I note, as I see a few of the girls eyeing him shyly.

But the way he looks at Katniss, an unreturned look of adoration, makes me think they don't stand a chance. Katniss, for her part, seems oblivious. She's got a hunter's presence about her - calculating, nervous but also attuned to her surroundings. She can sense people coming up behind her before their footsteps make a sound. She will be formidable in the arena, I realize, even if she doesn't know it yet.

That exact skill is how I meet her for the first time. I manage to escape my team - and Nectar - and go to the roof of the Capitol building. It's breathtaking out here - the starless sky, the warm wind, the view of the snow-capped mountains in the distance, and the vibrantly colored city below - it almost takes me out of my continuous funk that I've been in since my name was called.

"I didn't think anyone else would be out here," her voice calls, nearly startling me off the edge of the roof. I'm straddling the cement divider, swinging my right leg over the edge. A few kicked rocks proved that there was some kind of force field down there, possibly to prevent suicide.

I look over at her, her green-grey eyes shining in the glow of the fluorescents. She has a beauty like an arrow through the head - unexpected, and sudden. Not like the Careers who are textbook gorgeous, but in a bland, predictable way. I don't answer her, and she continues toward me anyway. "Is it okay if I sit out here?"

I make a welcoming gesture in front of me, unable to take my eyes off of hers. I know that it's stupid - I might have to kill her, she very well might kill me - but tonight we aren't enemies. No harm in a little indulgence. Especially if it's harmless, like me staring at her like I've gone daft. "Katniss," she says, extending her hand. She position mirrors mine, her legs astride the edge of the roof.

A smile pushes its way on to my face, in spite of me deliberately asking it not to. "Everyone knows who you are by now," I deride, smirking at her. "Johanna Mason." I shake her hand, then drop it back next to my side.

Her nose scrunches a little in thought and I can't help the tightening in my chest at how stupidly adorable it looks. "Seven?"

I nod. "What gave it away, my origami costume?"

She laughs, a sound that she seems almost unfamiliar with. Probably not much to laugh about when your family is starving, or your parents dead in mining accidents and such. We have our fair share of hardships in Seven, but not the rampant poverty like in Twelve. "You looked amazing," I say, with a little bit of jealousy behind my tone. She picks up on it and blushes.

"Cinna is amazing. I just wore the costume. He ..he did all the magic."

I snorted. "Don't sell yourself short, Twelve." I hopped off the edge and back on to the roof, brushing my pants off. "I'll put it this way - it didn't look nearly as good on the boy as it did on you." With a chuckle I turned and went toward the exit, giving her a wave over my shoulder. "See you around, Katniss."

The next morning at training I find Katniss and Peeta at the knot-tying station. My jaw clenches unexpectedly at how conversational and intimate they look. I go to the wrestling station, strip off my outfit, and oil down to practice with the advisor there. He's an older gentleman, clearly Capitol, and unfazed but amused by my nakedness. His eyes search around me, and I know what he's thinking. Who are you doing this for? As his eyes settle back on me, I shake my head.

He gives me instructions based on his evaluation of my strength. Being from the lumber district, I have a reserve of upper arm strength hidden by my small stature. Not enough to take down the monsters from One or Two, but enough to take someone by surprise. The man - his name was Ajax - gives me pretty solid advice on taking someone larger down.

We continue to fight, and when I look up as my hands are pushing his shoulders, I lock eyes with Katniss. I smirk. She's been watching me. I can see Peeta talking to her, and the flush of embarrassment on her face as she turns back to him. Unfortunately, I'm distracted and Ajax manages to pin me on the ground. "Ow, what the fuck," I whine, but he continues his hold on me.

"And if I had a knife, Seven, you'd be dead." He stands up, offering his hand to me. I take it, reluctantly, and begin pulling my uniform back on. "So what happened?"

I glower at him. "What do you mean, what happened? You're like 150 pounds heavier than me. That's what happened. Gravity happened."

He laughs, shaking his long blonde hair. "You were distracted." He turns, appraising the scattered group of tributes. "So which one is it?"

My glare hardens as I walk passed him. "Thanks for the training."

...

The next three days are an interesting game of cat and mouse. I watch the two of them move through the stations, ignoring the archery and the weightlifting, until on one of the last days, I'm at the archery station. I'm piss-poor at archery. My mother was a great hunter, back when she was alive, and she would kill all sorts of wild animals for us to eat. Trade some in at the market, barter for fabric for clothes. Katniss reminds me a little of her - she had an understated beauty as well.

The woman running the archery station is a dolt. Instead of giving me any pointers, she simply turns the machine on and boredly drones about where to hit the target. I miss all of them, my arrows flying in all different directions, and never at the target. Luckily no one is at the archery station, so I'm not embarrassed. Not that it matters, they can think I'm weak all day. It will only benefit me in the end.

"I know where, you fucking idiot, I just don't know how!" I hiss at her, finally jolting her to attention. The door behind me opens and closes, and I whirl around with my bow drawn ...poorly. Immediately I drop it, seeing Katniss standing bemusedly in the doorway.

"It's your elbow," she says, like she's addressing a child. I sneer at her. Unperturbed by my anger, she motions for me to shoot. "Get in position, like you see something in the distance you can take down."

Begrudgingly I follow her instructions. I don't know why she's helping me. But when she comes around my back and places her hands on my arms, I completely lose my senses. Her hand encloses mine, forcing me to pull back harder on the bow. It hurts my fingers, but her warm breath on my neck acts like an anesthetic. Her hand drags down the length of my forearm, then lifts my elbow so it's at a right angle with the floor.

Her other arm stretches against mine, her hand wrapping around my fist that's next to the arrow. She pushes it a little upward. "Keep your elbow parallel with the ground, and keep the arrow just above the mark. If you want the eye, aim at the hairline. Take into consideration distance. Say, for every few feet, add an inch or two above your mark."

I try to settle into something resembling a comforting position, but with her front pressed against my back and her arms around me, I have to keep reminding myself to breathe in and out, never mind where to put the goddamn bow. "Okay, relax." I don't. I can't. "Breathe, Johanna," she practically whispers into my ear. I try to relax. I fail again. I try to imagine myself back in my bathtub in Seven, head under the water. But instead I imagine Katniss in the bathtub and I'm back where I started, tense and irritable. With a small sigh she nods. "Okay, now release." Her voice sounds like nails down my spine and I shake out an involuntary shudder.

I release. I let the arrow fly and finally, after an hour of this nonsense, I take down the digital figure coming toward me. It explodes into what looks like blocks, scattering on the ground and disappearing. I can't help but grin proudly. Katniss is looking up at me, an unreadable expression on her face. "Thanks," I manage, my proud grin deteriorating into a small, lopsided smile.

She nods. A playful grin appears on her features. "Now do you have any tricks you'd like to show me?"

In any other context, this would be suggestive and I would be loving it, but I don't take it that way. I feel like this was all a ruse to find out what I was good at. So she and the blonde boy can take me down. My lips set into a line. I don't like to be tricked. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Her eyebrow raises in surprise. "I would." It's hard for me to tell if she's being genuine or not. I decide to assume she's trying to fuck with me.

I sneer, handing her the bow and quiver of arrows gruffly. I basically thrust them into her arms. She takes them with surprise, even what I think might be hurt crossing her features. "Why? So you and blondie can slice my throat? Get real, Twelve."

I storm out of the archery range, practically shoving into Peeta on my way out the door. How foolish of me, to think she just wanted to help me out of the goodness of her heart. No, she just wanted information. Everyone here was out for his or herself. Well, I count myself among them because that's what I'm after as well.

Screw the girl from District Twelve. Who needs her anyway?

A/N: Even with finals rapidly approaching, I can't seem to stop interpreting Hunger Games into Joniss fics. It's a harmless addiction, though, right? ...right? OH WELL. This will get more rapidly AU as I progress.