[This Title Is Such Bullshit I'm Sorry I'll Change It Once I Write A Good One Liner Probably]
[PRE-AN:] Un beta'd. This fanfic is heavily inspired by the (no longer published) "Of Strawberries and Painkillers" by Isforwinners. Go read her fanfics cus they rock
Hunting is a great distraction from almost anything. It requires all of your focus and every ounce of your skills. Especially when you're alone, you think bitterly, then remember you wouldn't need a distraction if your partner were here to hunt with in the first place.
In a very short amount of time, you will not be able to hunt anymore. You'll be in cramped, claustrophobic mines, providing coal for the very people who've caused all of your anger and worry for the past week, and your whole life really.
The very thought makes your stomach twist and knot with anger, but Catnip isn't here to complain to, and you're not going to talk to the trees. You haven't lost it yet.
You woke up early this morning for several reasons.
Since it's Saturday, with no school or other obligations to keep you busy, you decided today would be an excellent day to spend trying to keep up with the demanding number of people you have to provide for.
(Not that you're resentful to Catnip about it. Even if she'd told you not to, you would've captured game for her family. It's more resent directed towards the Capitol, as where all your anger and resentment is usually directed.)
It's also become unbearable to walk through any part of town once people are up and going; what with the stares and 'condolences' from every single person in this godforsaken district. It reeks of pity and you can't fucking stand it.
It's always been common knowledge you and Catnip were close. You hunt together, you sell and trade together, and you usually spend the time you're actually within the fence together.
So now that she's become a tribute in the games, her family, and by extension, yours, have been continually assaulted by exaggerated sympathies. Things like "Oh Gale, it must be so heartbreaking to not have Katniss here anymore," and "I'm so sorry Mrs. Everdeen." (You're sure the only thing they're sorry for is the fact that it's became more difficult to get a decent haul.)
By now you're too angry to really wait around any longer. You've shot a decent amount of birds, and rounded up all the berries and plants you're capable of recognizing. So you put them each into their respectable sacks and go to clear and reset the snares.
Once you've finished the snares, you've got an okay haul. You slowly trudge out of the forest, and slip unnoticed back into the confines of the fence, headed towards the Hob. You make trade in the Hob as quick as possible. (It's the worst here. Constant glances in your direction, muttering trailing behind you, everyone frowning and it's so depressing. You finish a cup of soup from Greasy Sae and book it.)
You deliver the birds to peacekeepers, a rabbit to an ancient old man who doesn't really have any type of trade (or job at all), divide the turkey up to several customers, and sell two squirrels to the baker.
This is a painful experience. He looks worn and sad, like he isn't sleeping well, (he probably isn't; you know you aren't) and he gives you a weak clap on the shoulders before he closes the door, frowning.
You leave as quickly as you can without running, and once you're halfway to your next destination, you begin to drag your feet. You're looking forward to this confrontation slightly less than the one with the baker, and once you reach the mayors yard, you're already prepared to leave.
You've never sold to the mayor without Catnip. Well, technically, you've never sold to the mayor himself at all. He's never home at this time, always busy in the justice building doing whatever, you don't really care.
But his daughter, Madge, is always home. Of course she is, she doesn't have seven mouths to feed, so you've always sold directly to her.
Let's just say you two don't get on well.
Katniss usually manages this transaction, with minimal involvement on your part. You haven't been on this doorstep since the Reaping, and you really just want it over with.
You rap your knuckles on the door three times. They have a doorbell, but you'd rather not. What's the point of those things in the first place? You can just as easily knock.
You guess it's because their house is so goddamn big, (three stories, the first floor at least twice the size of your whole house) that you wouldn't be able to hear a knock from most of the building.
The door opens, and just as you'd suspected, Madge is standing in the doorway, clad in simple clothes you'd still never be able to afford, hair tied up in a neat burgundy ribbon, and she looks slightly annoyed.
"Hello," She says, forced politeness evident in her tone.
You wordlessly hold up the sack of strawberries.
"Not speaking today are we?" She says, sneering at you, and you can tells she's so fucking smug about how uncomfortable you are.
You don't respond, lips pressed in a tight, irritated line and she rolls her eyes, grabbing some money set out on the counter.
"Here," she says, and you take it, giving her the bag and you're about to leave when she speaks again.
"Erm,"She looks suddenly nervous and uncomfortable. "The games are on, right now. If you want, you can watch them on my television. It gets a pretty clear picture, and it's easier to watch than those enormous screens in the square." She clasps her hands behind her back, looking at you questioningly.
"Is Catnip on right now?" You ask without thinking.
"She was a bit ago. She's safe." The implied 'for now' hanging on the end of her sentence. You're never completely safe. Yet, at her words, you can't help but relax a little. She's alive.
"Alright." You manage, and once you're inside you immediately begin to regret this lapse in judgement.
The kitchen in pristine. Clean white tiles on the floor, unscathed white walls, beautifully crafted counters and cabinets, a stove so nice you could live off it's selling price for weeks, and holy shit a refrigerator.
Even with merchants those are hard to come by. You take a moment to take it in, because you'll probably never see another again in your lifetime.
The whole room is so quiet and white and clean, it's like no one even lives here.
You suddenly feel very self-conscious, and look down at your muddy boots, frayed jacket, and dirty fingernails.
Madge is wearing cotton slippers, ironed clothes, and her fingernails are immaculate.
"Should I, er, take off my shoes?" You ask awkwardly, peering into the living room and seeing the crisp white carpet, almost wincing as your mothers voice rings in your ears.
"If you want, I could care less. The maid will get it if you don't." Of course.
You slip off your shoes anyway (manners, Gale) and leave them next to the back door, following Madge into the living area. It's nearly as white and clean as the kitchen, only there is more color in here.
Soft blue drapes and matching doileys, a few flower pots on the tables, small things. There's also a plate of crackers on the coffee table, looking half eaten and you almost roll you eyes; must be nice to have food at your disposal like that.
Madge sits down at the opposite end of the sofa from you, relaxing into the cushions, and you slouch, elbows resting on your knees, chin resting in your hands. You pull the plate of crackers near and begin eating them, forcing yourself to chew slowly, one by one.
Madge knows how poor you are (ex: your open resentment of her wealth) but you at least try to keep yourself from seeming disgusting and lacking manners. You have manners. Hell yeah.
She doesn't even glance in your direction, eyes trained on the television (bigger than the one at home, with perfect picture and sound free of static. You begrudgingly take note it's better than watching on your own, and less headache-inducing than the massive projected screens in the square. She was right, goddamnit.)
Katniss isn't on, it's another tribute that you care so little about you take more time to inspect Madges home.
There's all kinds of things littered (more like carefully positioned) about the room you would never waste money on. A painting hanging on the wall above your head, table cloths and doileys, blinds behind the drapes, plants, rugs. A piano.
"You play?" You ask, and Madges head snaps in your direction. You nod at the instrument sitting against the wall under the window.
"Yes." She says stiffly, looking a bit annoyed at your interrupting her.
"Why?" You find yourself asking. You've always wondered the point in all that trite bullshit. Nobody in the Seam has time for music, they've all got more important issues at hand. Like not starving to death.
"Because it's cultural. It passes the time. Because my parents wanted me to. Because it's enjoyable. Because I like music. Why does it matter?"
You're a little taken aback.
"I was just wondering, Christ." You say, and she rolls her eyes.
You spend the rest of the day at Madges, bikering and watching the games. Today was okay.
Katniss didn't die.
Today was great.
It's around seven when you finally realize you should get home. Madge says her father will be home soon anyway, and you leave without another word.
[AN:] HELLO it's 3 AM and I'm really tired and that's probably why I'm publishing this trash. Gadge is the best HG ship please don't argue this with me. `
This was originally gonna be a really long oneshot but then it became Too Much and I've divided it into parts and this is part one hoo ha. This is gonna be multichaptered but I'm not sure how far I'm gonna take it. Not past the first book though.
Please review and tell me what you think it's vital to my survival as a writer