Really Nice Eyes
Cain:
Cain Hawthorne has never suspected to be here; he has never once imagined it; never placed himself in this location. The fact that he is here still made him laugh. But he did know that this is what he wanted, needed.
He sniffs delicately as they draw nearer to the city. Smoke and ash. He wrinkles his nose.
True, it is his father's birthplace, that much he knows. His father never talks about District 12, or his childhood, or anything from the past at all. Whenever he mentions it, even in passing, his eyes get a look of longing that seemed almost painful. Cain tries not to see it; he has decided long ago that he does not want to know what in his childhood had caused his father so much hurt.
Instead, Gale was always focused on the future. Strive for excellence, he always said. The future was the most important thing. Not his own, though, but Cain's
Cain's nose wrinkles even deeper, his brow furrowing. That is why he had to come here. To get away from his father and his dreams for Cain. At least, he would be able to for a little while.
He is a dreamer, much like his father, but he dreams for travel. He wants to see things he has never thought possible, to delve into the world that he lives in, yet knew so little about, thus sparking what he and his father refer to as "The Great District Extravaganza."
The hover plane slows to a stop, its wheels lowering and sending sparks flying into the air. Cain and the other passengers shuffle off, ignoring each other.
District 12 is, in a word, dirty. Despite being built only decades ago, it has long since lost the appeal of fresh paint and shining streets. Cain expects this, though. The other, poorer Districts he has visited have been the same, if not worse. His face flushes at the thought of his modest, yet cozy home in District 2. He hitches his bag higher up on his back and plows on.
The streets are busy, even in the rising summer heat. The sun is at the peek of it's arch, bathing the citizens of 12 in a bright golden light. They are all smiling clustering about various shops and windows, looking like they are enjoying themselves. Cain pushes his messy hair back and heads into the nearest shop that looks like it sold something edible.
He is right; he has stepped right into a bakery. Resisting the impulse to lick his lips, he steps forward to the counter.
Prim:
Prim Mellark has had a slow day at the bakery; she has sold only two loaves of bread and one sweet bun, and it is already nearly noon. With a heavy sigh, she pulls out a fresh pan of bread and sets it on the rack to cool. The smell of it comforts her, as it always does. It seems to be telling her that there is plenty of time for more customers to come.
Behind her, the bells over the door tinkle. Finally. A customer. She shakes her head at the bread, puts on what she hopes is a winning smile, and turns around.
The boy - nearly a man - in front of her has The Seam look, though she has never seen him before. He is gazing intently at the goods in the cases, hunger in his eyes. He is so tall that he has to double over just to see the top rack.
Prim smiles to herself at his comical posture, then asks quietly, "Anything that interests you?"
He gives a jump back - he had not seen her yet. Prim has always been that way - quiet and slight, she is able to slip past most people's notices at first sight. But once you got to know her, she was the girl that stood out in the crowd.
He recovers himself, then returns the smile. "Anything sweet at the moment."
She raises an eyebrow. "Any preference?"
He shakes his head. "Surprise me."
Prime nods with a wry smile, then slips into the back room. After a few moments of shuffling around, she finds what she is looking for and brings it back out for the boy.
As she slaps the monstrosity of a wedding cake on the counter, she can't help but laugh at the boy's expression. His mouth hangs open like an unlatched trap door, eyes wide. He blinks a few times.
"That would be forty," she says.
He grins and looks over the top of the cake. "Maybe something a bit smaller?"
She nods, putting the wedding cake back on its shelve and taking a couple of cinnamon rolls out of the case. "This all right?"
He nods, his eyes smiling. He has really nice eyes, Prim thinks. They are a deep green, with flecks of blue in them, the color of the lake during the summertime. Her face flushes at this new realization.
He pays for the rolls, then sits down at the table closest to her. She amuses herself by drumming her fingers on the counter and trying not to think about his eyes.
He looks over at her. "I couldn't eat another," he says. "Want it?"
She hesitates for a second, looking at the door, but comes around the counter. "Why not." She helps herself to a roll. "Do you live in Twelve?" She has already guessed not - she would've noticed him long ago.
Sure enough, he shakes his head. "I'm traveling to all the Districts," he says, his eyes getting a far away look in them. "Something I've always wanted to do."
She nods. "I'd like to do that," she says, shaking her head. "But my father -"
"Thinks otherwise?" His face darkens slightly.
Prim waves a hand. "No. But I need to run the bakery. It's what he wants."
He nods thoughtfully, eyes still unfocused. They suddenly snap back to her, zeroing in on her face. "I know what you mean."
His intense stare flusters her, and she pushes the half-eaten roll away. "Save it for yourself - you'll be hungry soon enough. She stands up. "Let me get you a bag for it."
She comes back with it and drops the roll into the bag, staring at the table.
"So," he says, "I'll see you around…" he trails off.
"Prim," she says. "My name is Prim."
He smiles and stands up. "Pretty. I'm Cain." They shake hands.
She suddenly remembers that he's a customer, no matter his eyes. "Come again!" she says cheerily.
He nods, smiling at her. "I will."
The door tinkles again, and he's gone. Prim sits down heavily in her chair, face still flushed. She fans it with her apron. No, boys like Cain did not come around often.
Cain:
She was pretty.
He only realizes this after he has left the shop and was halfway down the next street. She has a fresh face, unlike so many girls in two, who slathered themselves in makeup. And she has really nice eyes. They were a light blue, nearly translucent.
He doesn't know what to do next; District 12 is not well known for anything but the mines, which he is sure he could do without. He ambles aimlessly around the market, looking in shop windows and watching the people outside of them.
He pulls the roll out of the bag. He was still hungry after the first roll, but he had wanted to talk to her. It had been a long time since he had even looked at a girl his age.
As he grabs for it, his fingers brush against a thin slip of paper. He pulls it out along with the roll, bringing it up with his sticky fingers to inspect it. There is a message on it, written in neat, flowing handwriting.
Victor's Lane, the house with the blue shingles. I get off at five. Come if you want to talk some more.
He smiles wide, putting the note back in the bag and munching on the roll with renewed gusto. Suddenly the world looks a lot more colorful, the smells, sights, and sounds more sharp then they had been just a moment before.
One thing is for sure: He knows what he is doing this evening.