Capitol Crossed Lovers

CHAPTER 1

My name is Katniss Everdeen. I am sixteen years old. I am from the Capitol, and I fell in love with a boy fighting to the death on a screen.

"Are you excited for the reapings today dear?" my mother's haughty voice trickles into my room as she comes to make sure I am up, at the ungodly hour of five in the morning, "Beauty is pain dear," that pain of course translating into me rising before the sun. As my mother reaches my room I jerk backwards, shocked at the sight of her greened face, I wonder if she dyed her skin before realizing it was a mask for her skin. Seeing my reaction she says "It's just a chemical peel," and she rolls her eyes, "Poly says it will make me look at least ten years younger."

"Poly's quite the time keeper," I grumble, as she slides my light controls to their brightest setting,

"Get out of that bed, Vapor will be here any minute," As I drag myself out of my thick bedding I wonder why she came to wake me, usually Vapor, my stylist, takes care of that. Regardless I have to get ready, today especially I "cannot dawdle around" because at ten I must be at the presidents house to watch the reapings. I must look my absolute best.

Vapor has been my stylist since I was deemed old enough to wear make up and high end clothing (which was 15 months old.)

Vapor sways into my room, in dramatic black smokey make-up, and a short black dress, paired with black heels. Black is very in right now. "How are you dear?" I know not to complain about the time because she has to get up at three to ready herself before she can come take care of me and my looks. One time when I was seven I grumbled about the time, and for my entire three hour session I was told how lucky I was to sleep in.

Vapor and I are friends in a way, she knows me better than anybody, but she's sort of a second mother to me, a motherly friend.

Vapor runs my bath and puts my favorite settings on, I disrobe and slide in, throwing my head back so she can do my make-up while the rest of me is taken care of by the machines. After a while I feel the bath begin to drain and the hot air blow into my hair, which Vapor styles while chatting about the events of tonight. Like me she gets to go to the president's house for the event, the advantage of being my stylist, or rather a stylist of the Everdeen family. Father's stylist (who really doesn't have to do much at all) Westh, gets to go, mother's stylist, Poly gets to go, as well as Vapor, and Vapor's brother, Valor, who is Prim's stylist; they need to be congratulated for their fine work on us.

Vapor lays out a skirt and a bustier for me to step into, I dress then I walk to my mirror wall to admire her work. My hair is put up into in two braids along the sides of my head, which curve into a bun on the top of my head. My eyes are lined with white, the white is then lined with black, my lips are black as well. That's it for my make-up, minimalist. My nails are shiny black with matte black french tips. My bustier and skirt match, they are black and white squared patterns.

"You are much too young to be wearing all black, I needed to lighten you up," Vapor purses her lips as she debates between two pairs of shoes in her hands: a pair of black heels, and a pair of black flats. Secretly I hope she chooses the flats; she doesn't.

"It's beautiful," I tell her, like always, it's the polite thing to do.

"Thank you dear, you're too kind," she packs her things, before hovering her lips above my left cheek, then my right as I do the same. We hover because we'd ruin our make-up if we actually pressed our lips against each others faces.

Afterwards I have to be downstairs, promptly, to eat breakfast with my family. I check the time, my session is to end at 8, I am to be downstairs by 8:05, it's 8:03. I hurry out of my room, down the long hall, to the grand marble stair case, I click down and settle into my seat at 8:05 exactly. A line of avoxes come out, carrying silver individual plates, four of them, one for each of us. We are served and eat, casually talking, wondering what the games might be like this year. My mother hopes for a forest arena, the desert last year was "Too boring, the tributes died too quickly."

We finish eating at 9:00, and we have a half hour before we have to leave. Prim and I look to our mother, hoping to get time to spend together. "You girls can be excused, make sure you're down promptly at 9:30 to leave for the viewings," we rise, and walk at an appropriate speed, not too excitedly, we cherish our time our time together, but we still must act in "polite lady like ways." We walk into our sprawling garden, and sit on the delicate golden hanging swings.

"Wow, Prim look at those shoes!" I gasp. I don't know how Prim is walking, her feet are in simple black boots, with pointed toes, but the heel of the boot curls down into a crescent moon shape underneath her foot, reaching to the front of her boot a few inches away from her toe, leaving her balancing on a rocker. I'd be on my face in a minute, flat, but she's always been steadier on her feet than me.

"I know! I just love them," Prim gushes, picking up her thin leg to examine the boots. "Valor actually designed them just for me, they're called Primful," the name is kind of funny, it's supposed to sound like sinful which is the antonym to Prim. We sit and talk for the half hour we have left, I wish I could play with Prim's hair, like I do when she sneaks into my room late at night so we can talk, off schedule, god forbid. I contain myself however, and don't ruin Valor's hard work.

After our time has passed we walk to the car that will take us to one of the biggest parties of the year. All four of us sit in the back, and we're all grateful that our stylists chose outfits that don't wrinkle, having to sprawl along the chairs and lay the entire ride is really a pain. Our talk during the drive is nothing of real substance. We talk about fashion, jewels, the games.

Once we arrive an avox helps us out of the car, I fall into step next to Prim, behind our parents. We walk up the wide stairs, and into the mansion,"Gale and Rose should be here, why don't you go look from them?" my mother suggests, another way of saying "leave the adults to talk."

Gale and Rose are President Snow's grandchildren, Gale is a few years older than me. Rose is Prim's age, we always joke those two complete each other, they have been best friend's their entire life, and because Prim's full name is Primrose, but she goes by Prim, Rose is her other half.

Gale is my friend, but everyone thinks there is more. My parents wish there was more, they want me to marry Gale, he has very good status, being the president's grandson and all. Gale wants me to marry Gale too. At least that's what everybody says, Prim sometimes gushes to me how cute we'd be together, how we're meant to be, how everyone thinks it, including Gale. As if sensing my thoughts, Prim grabs my hand, and whispers into my ear, "Gale will love you in that outfit," I smile uncomfortably, it's not that I don't like Gale, because I do, he's a good friend, but I can't see him as anything more.

We eventually find Gale and Rose at a table that's lavished with crème brûlées, chocolate covered strawberries, custards, berry tarts, mousses, and tall sponge cakes. Gale is teasing Rose, he puts a dot of whipped cream from a tart on the tip of her nose. "Gale, don't!" Rose has the sweetest voice, and doesn't sound threatening at all. "You'll mess up my make-up, and Apollo did a really beautiful job!" she wipes her nose, when she notices us approaching her and her brother. "Prim! You're here, finally!" Prim gathers her in a hug before they stand back to admire each other's outfits, Prim's shoes get a lot of attention.

"Hey," I greet Gale, he pulls me into a hug, "Is anyone else here yet?" I refer to our 'friends', Finnick Odair, and Johanna Mason, they're previous victors, and are invited to watch the reapings with us, to deny would be a giant disrespect to the Capitol, and the president. They couldn't say no. We became 'friends' with the two a few years back. I quote friends because they don't really like us, I'm fact they loathe us, and everything we are. We have everything while they grew up having nothing, and their districts still have very little; but we aren't bad company.

"Nah, they're probably getting here soon," Gale picks out a tart and eats it in one bite, after he finishes talking, to be polite, of course. "The shows are starting soon, so you better eat before we have to settle down,"

"I just had breakfast," I offer. Gale shrugs his head to a table with a tower of flutes containing a bubbly pink drink. The drink looks sweet but in reality it will have you throwing out your stomach in a matter of seconds. I hate throwing up. It's gross, physically and morally.

The first time I had one of the flutes I was six, I had complained to my mother about my stomach, which ached because I had too many rich chocolate cakes. She had handed me a flute, trying to juggle Prim in her other arm, while talking to the game maker. Curious of the pretty drink I downed it right then and there, throwing up on the game maker, and my mother's shoes. You can imagine the mortification I caused. Ever since I've hated the feeling of being sick, not that it's great for anyone, they just don't mind it as much.

I realized the morality of it when I threw up upon my first meeting with Johanna and Finnick. I had overstuffed myself, and I needed to get the food out, I felt that desperately uncomfortable. I grabbed myself a drink and excused myself to the bathroom, where I could hear others making themselves sick. Afterwards I walked back out, feeling much better, but I could see the looks of disgust on their faces. I remember being grateful that Vapor had painted red for my make-up, because my face had never felt hotter with shame. That was the last time I'd forcibly thrown up, but I hadn't made a good first impression, to say the least.

While Gale pays attention to what dessert he'll pick next, not minding that it's only 10:30, I look for Prim and Rose. They're at a separate table, that has a tower of truffles taller than them, and their eyes are lit up. They point, and grab, and eat, and laugh, and eat, and drink flutes of bubbly pink drinks. A tiny bit of disappointment floods down my throat and sloshes in my stomach, with the same feeling the drink would give me.

I turn around and standing less than a foot away is Finnick Odair, he flashes his bright teeth at me. Before I can say hi his hand flicks up, "Berry?" he asks, cocking his head to the side slightly.

"Uh, no thanks," I wasn't a particularly big fan of raspberries, I think they were part of the cakes I'd gorged on when I was six. Finnick pops the berry into his mouth, chewing with a smirk and eyes that danced for a reason I couldn't figure out. "How have you been?" I ask, trying to be polite,

"Oh the usual,"

"And what is the usual for the great Finnick Odair?"

"Secrets," there's that smirk and dancing eyes again.

"Secrets?"

"Oh yeah, loads, great, juicy secrets, secrets you'd die to know, I probably know more about you than you know about you." Finnick annoys me because I hate not knowing things. I could care less about the secret but now that Finnick has knowledge that I don't, I have to know. But he can't know this. I raise my chin with an air of superiority,

"I have my own share of secrets."

"I probably already know them," his smirk grows,

"Whatever you say," He winks.

Before I can retort we're interrupted by Snow's voice coming over his intercom, "The reaping of District 1 is about to begin, please make your way to our viewing room," Finnick bites the inside of his cheek, bothered by our traditions. Regardless of his feelings towards the games, he makes his way into the viewing room with me. We settle into a leather sofa, and wait. Gale eventually finds us, and his eyes harden when he sees Finnick sitting so close to me,

"Finnick," he nods his head, before talking the seat on my other side. That's the thing about Gale, he's possessive over me and I'm not even his, it's a turn off to be perfectly honest.

"I haven't seen Johanna anywhere,"

"Maybe she didn't want to come this year," Gale points out, but we all know she'd be a fool to decline her offer.

"Oh no, there she is!" Finnick smiles, pointing to Johanna, in a very short black dress, sitting very straight and rigid, all by herself, probably glaring at anyone who walks by. "That's our Johanna, always making friends!" Finnick smiles brightly,as though he is the proudest parent in the world. "Johanna!" he rises his voice, as loud as publicly acceptable. Her head turns sharply the side, but she doesn't completely turn, waiting to see if she really head Finnick's voice in a way that wouldn't embarrass her if he wasn't calling her. "Jo-haaaanaa," he sings her name the second time. She is up in a single sweeping movement, walking in the most confident manner towards us; well probably only Finnick, she couldn't care less about Gale and I. She sits without a word, and after a pause turns to Finnick, and I'm sure it's Finnick only she wants to complain to, but she does want Gale and me to hear too, I'm sure of that too.

"These Capitol residents, yuck," she says with the look of utter disdain on her face, "they're freaks, all of them," her eyes flick to Gale and me for a second, before returning to Finnick, "They have absolutely no morals. And this fashion oh god, do you see what these people are wearing?" she then crosses her legs with a sigh, as if she's physical fatigued from having to look at us. I don't point out that she is dressed like us. "My stylist, the idiot, remember I was telling you about her?" she barely let's Finnick get a "Yep," out before continuing, "The idiot tried to embed jewels into my face." Unfortunately for me, I laugh.

Many people here get jewel accents on their entire body, but Johanna made the common procedure sound like her stylist suggested that arms and legs were out of fashion and that they had to cut her's off. Thinking about it, I hope that arms and legs stay very much in fashion.

Johanna hears me, of course, she's facing me, and only sitting one person away. "You think that's funny you Capitol mutt?" her voice drips with venom, and I remember back to her games, her wicked ability to kill, I wouldn't put it past her to kill me, here and now.

I'm about to come up with a retort when the large screen snaps on, and we can see into District 1, their escort, Dexy Banks, a short, little thing, is trilling into the microphone. I don't pay much attention to the talking or the names, I just watch a girl, with blonde hair, volunteer, and then as a boy, with hair the color of dark honey and skinny arms volunteers. They're both smiling, excited for their chance to bring fame to themselves. I wonder how they choose who will volunteer, everyone trains for the Games there, we all know, but how do only two kids who have spent their eighteen years of life among a hundred others get to be picked over all their peers? Is it whoever calls out first? Whoever has the greatest chance of winning? I don't know, and I probably never will.

The reapings continue on, not many people catch my eye, usually the same typical personalities come from each district, powerful and cocky players come from districts 1 and 2, smart kids lacking physically from District 3, and the list goes on. When District 4's town hall appears on screen Finnick leans forward in his seat, I pick up the names, Lyn Kawthar, and Araxie Brimlad. Finnick blows air through his nose, and I can only imagine how horrible it would be to watch your friends get picked to die. I can understand why he and Johanna hate us.

Fortunately I don't have any real reason to imagine, I, and all of my friends and family, are safe.

Just as District 4's reapings started, they end, and the rest continue on. Johanna has a similar reaction to the tributes from her district, two kids named Ainsley and Axel Burl, siblings, are reaped. Ainsley had to be seventeen or eighteen, little Axel could only be twelve, which makes me imagine the nightmare of having to go into the games with Prim.

The rest of the reapings go by without event, I continue tuning out speeches and names, only watching to see if the tribute had a chance of winning. When we get to District 12 I can't wait for it to end so I can find some dinner, we had a break between districts 7 and 8, but I had only got a snack then before being directed back to my seat. It was almost seven at night and I had only had breakfast and a small serving of salmon and salty kale chips. I watch the girl tribute being called up, who's name I don't listen to, she looked utterly bored. Anxious to get home I urge the male victor, who's sure to die given his circumstances, to hurry up and get onto the stage. I don't hear his name either, I just want him to take his place quickly. When I see him I wish I had paid attention to his name, he has blond hair and bright blue eyes, that somehow make me believe that he is not like the other tributes.

The screen then falls to black, before I can figure out what I saw in those eyes. The lights come on and everyone gets ready to find a plate and settle in for dinner, I get a bowl of lamb stew and sit with my family, as well as the president's family, at the head of the table. Finnick and Johanna do not sit with us. I pay most of my attention to my stew, which is probably my favorite food, and only vaguely pay attention to the conversation. It's probably mundane, repetitive talk about the games anyways.

My mind does wander to the games, but not to which tribute would be best suited to win, or who my family should sponsor and give money too; no, it wanders to the blue eyes that held something special, something unlike anything I had seen before in a boy who had just been given his death sentence, because he will, with out a doubt in my mind, die.

Seems a shame really, with those eyes.

"Katniss!" My mother's sharp tongue snaps me out of my own mind, "President Snow just asked who you'd like to see win," her voice strains with forced patience.

"The boy from District 12," my mouth throws the words out before I can stop it. All their eyes turn to me, making me wish I had answered in a correct manner, with a reply like "The girl from District 2 looks strong, like she'd put up an good fight, I can't wait to see her go against the District 1 boy," that would have been a good reply.

"Rooting for the underdog, ey?" President Snow laughs, saving my dignity, a bit.

"Yeah," I laugh back shakily, just glad I didn't know his real name to spit out, caring enough about a tribute, especially a District 12 tribute, to remember their name after the reapings meant you had real faith in them. Having faith in a District 12 kid was embarrassing and laughable, they were poor, and only had two victors in the history of forever, one had died, the other had just fallen headfirst off the stage, completely drunk.

I'm glad for the evening to end. I peel off my tight clothing, and put on a silk pajama set, that feels almost as good as the bath I take to get all of the products out of my hair and off my body. I fall into my bed, barely able to keep my eyes open, in a state of warm drowsy sleep already. Prim doesn't join me tonight, probably in her own bath or bed already, and I'm left to dream about the blue eyes filled with something I can't place.

This first chapter was just to get to know Katniss as a person from the Capitol instead of District 12, but she did get to 'meet' Peeta, things will pick up more in the next few chapters. I hope everyone liked the first chapter, and please leave a review! -MGB

Edited 07/28/14