Summary: After her mother's death, Arie Temple is stripped of her Capitol citizenship and sent to live with her biological father, Haymitch Abernathy in Twelve. Gale Hawthorne takes issue at once with the young Capitolite woman, as they teeter on the line between passionate prejudice and hate-fueled attraction.

Chapter One:

It was a simple, yet taxing dilemma:

What does one wear when meeting their father for the first time?

I scowled at the barrage of bright colored chiffons, taffetas and lace strewn across the bed of my compartment. None of it would do.

It was a shame.

I had taken such care to pick out my plainest outfits. If it was dowdy, boring, or mousy by Capitol standards, it was still a far cry from the burlap bags they wore in Twelve. It's not like I hadn't watched those kids every year on the screen. Surveying their gaunt faces and worthless attire never failed to pull my painted lips down into an offended frown. Their hand-me-down couture was appalling. I had said as much to the gossipy snots I'd considered my friends back then. Sipping champagne, we had laughed about how truly dismal their lives must be to wear such god-awful clothing. I had nothing, nothing, like what they wore: simple cottons in every shade of dirt you could imagine. They don't sell such things where I'm from. Where I was from.

The train was scheduled to arrive in twenty minuets, and I hadn't even had a chance to scrub off my makeup. I plucked a little emerald number from the pile. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it. The color was nice, but nothing else about it worked. Having gone straight from the garment bag to my closet, it was slowly pushed to the way back. Even in it's simple design, it was still too grandiose a garment to traipse through Twelve in. I wasn't Effie Trinket. I didn't get to go home to the Capitol ever again. If I had any hope of surviving my new life, I knew blending in as much as possible would be paramount. If there is anything intrinsically bred into a Capitolite, surely it's our unflappable sense of self-preservation. Well, that… and good manners, of course.

Snatching a pair of scissors from the pocket of my makeup bag, I eyed the garment shrewdly. The brooch and feather collar would have to go, and the foam in the shoulders could be ripped out easy enough. Making quick work of the adjustments, I held the de-glamafied dress up to myself in the mirror, my eyes bright with hope.

Nope.

Still, just… awful. With a disgruntled throaty sound, I threw it at the bed to teach it a lesson for being ugly.

Running my thin fingers across the angle of my jaw, I looked down my nose at it. There really were no other options. I suppose it was… plainer…ish. But that green! The color was still far too vibrant, and the cut too clingy to pass as a true district dress. I turned my back on it, resigned. It's not like I would be able to fool any one anyway. I could don brown cotton, but my accent, grammar, practiced walk, elevated opinions, everything about me, would give me away as a Capitolite… and there was little I could do to change that now.

Walking into the pocket-sized bathroom I took a sober look at myself in the mirror. It would be the last time I would ever be made up like this. My insides twisted as a dull sadness crept out of my bones. Pulling out a tissue, I started dabbing at my lavender colored lips. My mother had given me this shimmer lip-gloss just before…

At once it was as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. My lungs constricted painfully as an ache so feral and cruel nearly dropped me to my knees. Tears flowed to the corners of my eyes against my will. Slipping out, they mercilessly dragged the white powder on my cheeks down in streaks of blue mascara. The result was grisly. Like a harlequin emerging from a dunk tank.

Perhaps it should be like a bandage?

Flicking my wrist, I turned the faucet on full blast, gasping at the icy sting of the water as I splashed my face. Scrubbing until my cheeks were as pink as my wig, I finally looked up at my makeup free face. I'm not sure how to describe the sound that bubbled forth as I cringed away from my reflection. Something akin to: 'euhh-ehww'. On impulse, I stepped further away and two loud and cruel words crashed against the walls in my mind: unforgivably ugly. Boring pale skin, and tepid peach lips. I took out my contacts, and suddenly my eyes were just like anyone else. No dark, deep set pupils, no allure. Just brown. Like mud.

Looking up at my fuchsia bee-hive, I couldn't help the sob that wracked my body. I adored that wig. I had worn it first at Marco Appleton's 16th Birthday party. He had complimented it's height, (tallest in the room!) and then kissed me on his terrace under the glittering city lights. That had easily been the best night of my life.

A shaky breath stumbled up from my lungs, and I began to unpin it, all the while, my chin quivered. It was like taking off a beloved memory to be cast aside, and never thought of again. Underneath, my dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a harsh bun. Looking at myself I wanted to both scream and vomit. I looked just like them. I looked like a kid from the districts. Like a dirt-poor traitor.

I pulled off my long stick on nails, revealing the chapped nail beds beneath. Pulling out the gold pins holding my bun, my mousy blonde hair cascaded in waves over my shoulders and down to the middle of my back.

I rushed from the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, unable to look in the mirror a moment longer. Snatching up the destroyed dress, I donned it with the same enthusiasm one would a garbage bag.

I didn't bother packing any of the other dresses back up. I wouldn't be able to wear them now anyway. I would keep my gorgeous and costly underthings though. No one would see those anyhow. If I had no choice but to wear dingy linen for the rest of my days, you'd better be damned sure I'd at least have something pretty on underneath.

I felt the train loosing speed and took a steadying breath. Chancing one last glance at myself in the full length mirror, I immediately regretted it.

Since my mother's death I hadn't really been eating, and only then did I realize how gaunt I had become. There were hallows under my cheek bones now. Dark circles dimmed the soft skin below my eyes, and the angle of my jaw was too sharp. The dress was too big, and hung on my body like a shower curtain. I'd lost all of my curviness, except for my breasts. Thanks to Dr. Sheldon, those would never look gaunt. I'd had the chest of a little boy before. It had been an early present for my 15th birthday from my Mother.

It was the only thing from my former life I couldn't ever take off.

Biting my lip, I tried not to cry. I tried to muster my bravest face. I tried to recall Madame Dorrell's instructions on always maintaining a 'winning smile'. Picking up three of my bags, I left the other seven in the compartment. The cleaning staff would divvy them up later, no doubt. A lilting Capitol-accented robo-voice beeped on over the intercom, and announced our arrival at District Twelve.

I nearly fainted.

XXX

It shouldn't have surprised me to see that I was the only passenger getting off. Not even diplomats or emissaries came to twelve. I squinted my eyes at the glaring sun, shining far too hot for an early April day. A khaki colored land lay before me. Dirt roads, brown buildings, tan and crooked brick paths. I frowned at the yellowed and brittle patched grass next to the wooden District Twelve sign. They must not have a sprinkler system. Odd… yet not really, I suppose.

Then my eye caught sight of two men standing to the left of the platform. I recognized the first as the disheveled and slouched form of my biological father.

Haymitch Abernathy.

Neither of us made a move. Neither of us smiled. We just stood and stared across the expanse of cracked cement at one another.

Shifting my purse up on my shoulder, I took a step towards them. My emerald heels clacked along the cement. I placed each footfall carefully to avoid a misstep that would throw off the rhythm. Glancing about, I wondered where all the people were. It was eerily quite. Unnervingly so.

"Haymitch Abernathy?" I don't know why I asked. I knew what he looked like. I had seen him on the television, in all his sloppy glory, every year as long as I could remember.

He made a curt nod and we sized each other up, neither of us interested in a warm embrace or even a congenial handshake.

A quick glance to my right, and my eyes fell upon an impossibly tall, stoic young man. I recognized him at once as the handsome cousin of the tribute from two years prior. None of my simpering friends had shut up about him. His dark almond eyes were wide and intent as he shamelessly looked me over. It was quite a rude thing to do. Suddenly he dropped his gaze to the ground, as his strong jaw clenched. I shuddered inwardly at how hideous he must find me. I was naked without my makeup. Clearing my throat awkwardly, I lifted my chin level with the ground and announced,

"I'm Arie Temple…"

"I know who you are," Haymitch cut me off gruffly. Nodding to the young man next to him, "This is Gale Hawthorne, he's come to help me with your bags." He cast a weary glance back at the platform, no doubt expecting footmen to produce them at any moment.

"Ouh… thesse iz it." I shrugged, noticing for the first time how different I sounded than them. Did they even realize how their cadence rendered their speech to sound so, so… lowborn.

"That's all you brought?" Haymitch's brows furrowed in.

"Yess." I looked down at the dusty bricks, feeling hot with embarrassment, though I couldn't say why.

"Well… I guess…" Haymitch trailed off as Gale held out his hand for my bags. I looked at his dirt caked palms, and swallowed. The way he flopped his hand out made it clear that he was less than thrilled to have the 'great honor' of carrying what was left of my belongings. Not that I could blame him. We all knew how the people in the districts hated us. And why shouldn't they? We had everything. I had had everything.

"I'll manage," I breathed. No need to further burden the already disgruntled. I looked up at him expecting him to be happy to be off the hook, but was instantly alarmed by the dark glare he was giving me.

"It's a long walk back to the house, Arie…" It was odd hearing my father stumble over my name, truly a foreign word on his lips. In vain, I hoped he would never say it again.

"You don't have a car?" I asked looking about, only to find not a single vehicle in sight. I caught the annoyed snort from Gale as he all but rolled his eyes at my question.

"There are no cars in Twelve." Haymitch said it as though it was a fact I needed to know. I suppose it was. Turning on his heel he started towards the street. My eyes trailing him, I wondered if I was meant to follow. The strap on my shoulder began to lift, and I jumped as I whipped my head to the side to find Gale suddenly quite close to my person removing the largest of my three bags. I instinctively flushed.

"Oh…" Was all I could say as he placed it over his own shoulder. It was a bright tangerine leather and looked ridiculous against his brown trousers and ratty thermal shirt. He looked mortified at having to carry such an obnoxious bag. I nearly smirked, but thought better of it. Turning my attention to the retreating back of Haymitch, I frowned. "He's not very chatty…" turning my gaze to Gale, he gave me a thoughtful look in return… for only a moment before it turned seven shades of sour.

"You'll find most of us aren't," his tone was clipped, and without another word he followed after Haymitch, easily catching up to him with his long stride.

Rude.

To Be Cont.

A/N: I haven't a clue how you will react to this OC, but feel free to tell me… You have no idea how feed back (good or bad) helps! Thank you for taking time to read this.