Welcome to my story! First of all, shout out to the amazingly talented theatricalveggie. Their story, "As If You Have a Choice," has me so obsessed with Katniss and Peeta's relationship, that I couldn't resist making my own Victory Tour story. Seriously, if you are not following that story, you need to!
All the chapters in this are planned out and most are prewritten, so I imagine I will be able to finish by the end of summer. I can't make any promises on updates. But I will try to get it all out as soon as possible. I'm just dying to get these ideas out of my head!
This story is isolated in the Victory Tour, is canon-divergent, obviously, and I'm going to be taking some creative liberties, some of which won't line up very well with the book. One of which will be very obvious in this first chapter.
There will be 13 chapters: 12 districts and the capitol. They should feel mostly isolated from one another, like a bunch of one shots with a common theme.
So without further ado, I hope you enjoy this first chapter. I'm looking forward to getting into the future pieces I have planned!
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Chapter 1: District 11
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District 11 is hot and dry as Katniss and Peeta take their first steps off the train, Effie's bright pink heels clicking obnoxiously behind as they promptly descent the platform.
The star-crossed lovers are solemn, the reaction to their speeches yesterday still fresh on their minds. Linking her arm with Peeta's as she sees a camera approaching, Katniss wonders of the old man's family. Wonders how many others she has put at risk with her thoughtless behavior. Could they not give a speech without screwing everything up? She feels Snow's presence on her now, she hears his warning, she smells the blood on his breathe. What a stupid, stupid girl she is.
On the agenda today, Effie told Peeta and Katniss early that morning, is a tour through the work fields and food processing plant. The sun beats down heavily, sweat breaking out on their pale foreheads, as Peeta and Katniss trudge on, counting down the seconds until they can escape back into their respective sections of the train and wait until the next stop, the next act, the next kiss, the next nightmare. Step after step, they trudge through the dirt road, utterly out of place as the fields and factories come into view.
"My, my, " chortles Effie, her voice screeching an octave higher than normal, "What a reception, one would think a car would be provided for our victors!"
Katniss grits her teeth, scowling. Of course there isn't a car, District 11 is nearly as poor as 12. There are far less trivial things to be concerned with when one is focused on trying to survive. Peeta seems to sense her frustration and squeezes her hand, as if in reassurance as they press on.
"It's alright Effie, we can walk," Peeta turns, laying a hand on Effie's shoulder as if to calm her fretting as she fluffs up her bright pink wig, she shoes still clanging, step after noisy step.
"Yes, but my shoes dear! They're satin, and they're covered in dirt! These are vintage!" she hollers, wailing, as she gestures to her shoes, covered in a light sheen of dust. Katniss thinks she looks utterly ridiculous, her eight inch platforms, her heels so sharp they leave indents in the soil, her wig that's slowly slipping down the side of her face.
To this, Katniss snorts, a smile ghosting her face for the first time since the tour began. She looks at Peeta, his smirk mirroring hers as they burst out in laughter, howling in an eruption of hilarity as they walk hand in hand, down the bone-dry dirt road, their faces craning up towards the bright blue sky. Katniss notices the way the corner of Peeta's eyes crinkle in mirth, and decides she likes it.
"What's so funny children?"
...
The fields are dreadful, and Katniss cannot understand to what purpose having the victors tour the premises is supposed to help anyone. She only wishes to leave, abandon this dreary place in the dust upon which she walks and try to forget about this endless nightmare. The men and women in the fields work, like machines, pushing through the sweat, heat and pain. She knows those weary faces, the ones that cover the blackened miners faces in twelve, and she only wishes she could help – though she and Peeta have surely caused enough damage. Behind her, she can hear Effie prattle on abut production, and oh, the poor dears. She can feel her rage growing and pulsing, pounding against her carefully constructed wall to protect herself. She knows Effie means well, that she is shelteredr and unaware and helpless. She knows they have agreed to protect Effie, to spare her from reality, to protect her innocent vision of the world. Though she cannot help her rage, for her escort, though harmless and whimsical, is a citizen of the capital, thoughtless and utterly aggravating.
Her face of stone nearly breaks as she watches a small girl, one who immediately reminds Katniss of Rue, stumble across the pathway, dragging a heavy pail of rice behind her as she struggles to keep up with the pace of the peacekeepers. She sees the lash of a whip, red and swollen, tainting the mocha complexion of the innocent child, as she sweats in the sunshine.
She can feel Peeta stiffening as he takes in the child as she moves away, a peacekeeper following her group, whip in hand. Barking orders as the stragglers struggle to keep up.
She squeezes his hand, palms sweating. A reminder. Just a few more hours, just a few more days, just until its over.
Peeta's face is stone just as hers, his jaw clenched, his eyes storming. She can see how close he is to losing it, how desperately he wants to protect that girl. The boy with the bread, of course he wants to help. As he always has. As he fed her. As he bartered off his lunch every day at school for far less than he had. As he gave part of their winnings to the tributes. But he can't, they can't. They really truly can't.
She hopes he can understand the words she cannot tell him. She hopes he knows that she understands, that she is horrified, and scared, and angry. She hopes he knows that he is not alone.
As they make their way to processing and packaging, the cameras show up, and she tries to act interested. For the cameras. She must do an awful job, for Peeta wraps and arm around her, pulling her close to his chest, hiding her scowling face in the crook of his neck. She inhales his scent, seeing the Mellark Bakery in her mind's eye, her limbs slowly relaxing as she breathes in the scents of home.
"Laugh like I just said something funny," he whispers, his lips ghosting along the side of her neck in what must appear to be a very intimate action.
She shivers at the sensation, her spine tingling, though she follows his lead, leaning her head back, staring at the sky, as she lets out the most convincing laugh she can muster. Her efforts must not have been very convincing, however, for Peeta quickly pulls her back into a kiss, his lips capturing hers languidly.
Suddenly, she cares little of the cameras.
"hmmm-hmmm," they break apart suddenly, interrupted by their disgruntled tour guide. Katniss nearly breaks out in laughter at Effie's shocked expression, the smiles of the workers, the annoyance of their guide.
At least that'll give the cameras something to work with, she thinks.
The tour quickly ends. She remembers little, her mind elsewhere – thinking of the girl, Peeta's hand in hers, their disastrous speeches, the torture that was yet to come. Effie prattles with the tour guide, her pitch loud and obnoxious, trying the patience of the already worn woman, with a frown etched on her once lovely face.
"You wanna get out of this place while we got the chance?" Peeta quietly whispers in her ear. She glances at him them, his eyes full of mirth, as she nods in reciprocation frantically.
She glances at Effie, the guide is distracted, speaking with her as she talks incessantly about God knows what. A feeling she cannot quite identify rises within her. Elation? Excitement? Nervousness?
Anything for one more moment, one more hour, one more memory away from that train, from Effie, from the tour, from Snow.
Grabbing his hand, she leads them away, sneaking quietly along the far wall, ducking beneath shipments, heading in the opposite direction. Sneaking through the exit of the food processing plant, she can't help the gleeful laugh that escapes her lips as they run, hands clasped together as she pulls him faster, faster, faster into the heart of the district. They run past fields of workers, children playing in the street, mothers carrying their little ones. Katniss runs and runs, dragging Peeta's heavy tread behind her until the fields disappear, until her breath comes in short bursts, and until they begin passing small identical brown houses.
"It's like the seam," Katniss muses aloud as they slow to catch their breath, "but clean."
There's a small child who plays in the dry dirt, drawing images in the brown dust with a worn stick. A slender woman hangs her clean laundry, a crying infant in a basket nearby. Two boys run quickly past Katniss and Peeta, ball in hand, as they shout in excitement. And a group of men stand around a tree as their children play around them, softly discussing.
And then there is one who sees them. Who really sees them.
She approaches them slowly, with caution, like an anxious animal. She's small, yet her face is aged, and looks to be nearing reaping age. Peeta's gaze is elsewhere, but Katniss knows this girl, feels her presence as the two look upon one another. Perhaps a part of her feels like this cautious girl, unsure of the next step to make. Swallowing, she suddenly seems to make up her mind, briskly making her way to the star-crossed lovers, her gaze determined as she stares Katniss down.
"You're Katniss." She states, matter of factly, looking at Katniss as if she is deeply analyzing every pore. As if unsure if she can believe her eyes.
"Yes," Katniss responds, her smile forced an unfamiliar, "and this is my district partner, Peeta."
"Me and Rue were neighbors. Are you neighbors? Lots of grownups get married to their neighbors."
The words catch in Katniss's throat as the innocent child looks up at the pair in reverence. Peeta leans down, crouching in the dirt to speak with the child, as Katniss looks around, noticing the prying eyes. A pair of round brown eyes peek at the victors from an open window, before quickly darting away, out of sight.
"Not quite," Peeta murmurs, his voice soft and gentle. "Our mentor lives between us." She smiles then.
And so the child, whose name they still do not know, leads Katniss and Peeta deeper into the houses as children play and women work beneath the beating sun. She climbs up a tree then, nimble like Rue, innocent like Rue, and Peeta grabs at her hand, as if to say, "I'm here." She clings to his hand, and imagines a world where the small and lithe girl from 11, jumping from the trees, could return to play once more above the ground.
The wind blows, the heat radiating more intensely, as Peeta softly suggests that they just might need to make their way back to the train, before the hounds come out looking. They are following the girl again, having made a loop as she showed then Rue's handouts. Katniss believes this is for the girls benefit rather than theirs, therapeutic, and trudges on in silence with Peeta by her side.
Touching the child's shoulder, she turns around to face Katniss, as Peeta takes a breathe.
"Marybelle Mae! Be a good hostess and invite the victors in!" A woman, who must be the child's mother smiles, carrying a baby on her back as she sweeps the porch, her face aged by the sun.
Hesitantly Katniss and Peeta follow, knowing they really must return to the train, but unable to refuse the child.
The home, one which would have looked such like Rues, is comfortable and homey, though small. A toddler plays in a large basket in a corner, a few blocks and a doll surrounding the small figure. A kettle boils on the stovetop. And worn window coverings flutter in the light breeze.
"I imagine you must be hungry. Lord I can hardly imagine how you managed to make it this far into the district. I thought you were taking a tour of the processing plant?"
"We were," Peeta responds, as the small woman rummages through the cupboards, removing a bread box with cheese cloth covering. "We may have run away from the cameras." He says, as Katniss smiles, grinning at Peeta's almost guilty expression.
"Well run far you did." The woman responds, her eyes lit in a kind smile as she sets a familiar loaf of bread on the table, much to Katniss's protests. "I'm sorry it's just the tesserae bread." She says softly, cutting chunks for Katniss and Peeta.
Katniss swears she won't touch it. Wont so much as smell the warm bread. She won't take one more thing from these people. She's already ruined it all.
"Have you by chance tried using egg whites instead of the whole egg?" Peeta asks, happily receiving his slice with a grin. "We've experimented with the tesserae grain quite a bit at the bakery, trying to make the rations as good as possible. If you can whisk up the egg whites before adding it to the flour mixture, something about it makes the grains cook smoother."
"We do have chickens. It really works? Darla and I have been putting in more berries than normal to try and hide the texture." She questions, taking a small bite, the fragrant berries making their presence known.
"Growing up as a baker's son, we were surrounded by food, but none of it was for our consumption. The tesserae isn't much, but at least its consistent. My father and I would cook bathes at a time in different ways, and my mother would supplement it with apples or pork if we could spare a pig. The egg whites so far are the only thing we have found to work well," Peeta concludes, taking another bite, reveling in the sweetness of the ripe fruit.
Katniss reels, as Peeta and the women continue talking. She assumes their conversation revolves around baking. Peeta took out a tesserae? How many times was his name in the reaping bowl? Surely the bakers couldn't be poor, with the baker giving out bread before it went bad, the numerous unequal deals he made her. They couldn't have been poor. Peeta must be fibbing. He must be.
How much did the Mellark's suffer because of the baker's kindness?
...
"You really took out a tesserae? But you're a merchant!" Katniss questions, scowling at Peeta as they lean against a shack, Peeta having stopped to tie his shoe.
They're finally making their way back to the train, the sun quickly fading. The woman sent them on their way with kind words and full bellies. They never even thought to ask her name. Selfish.
"I hate that class distinction – merchant and seam. It's just another way to divide up, make us fight over who has the largest pile of crumbs," Peeta replies, rising to his full height. He places his hands on either side of Katniss's head, leaning in closer.
She gulps.
"The seam learn that merchants are stuck-up, rich, and fat. And merchant children learn that the seam are a bunch of promiscuous, lazy, and dirty pigs with no ambition to better themselves. Life can't be a constant tally of who has what. The class divide is just another way to control us. Because while all of our food, our resources, and our wealth is transported to the capitol, we are left to fight for the scraps, like scavengers. While the capital owns us, we are all going to suffer, not just seam." Peeta responds, his eyes storming.
Katniss's eyes widen, panic lodging in her throat at the rebellious words that escapes him. She hopes there are no cameras to pick those words up. How could Peeta put himself in danger like that, again? Panicked, she pulls him to her, if only to stop him from talking. She kisses him, once, twice, three times, until he responds, pulling her closer. She shivers as his thumb caresses her hip, warmth pooling someplace deep within her as she pulls him closer, deeper into her. His tongue traces her lips as she feels this heat, inviting and all-encompassing. It makes her smile.
Pulling away, he smiles. Pressing his lips to her hairline, he murmurs a silent apology. But she knows, of course she knows.
Her face flushed as he steps away, her mouth struggling to form the string of sentences she wishes to convey. She wants to say that she's sorry, that she understands, that she knows his anger. She wants to say that she likes sneaking off, the feel of his kisses, the kindness in his eyes. She wants to say thank you, for the bread, for his care, for being here, with her. But she says instead, "I never thought of it like that."
They move away, walking down the dirt road, picking up dust with their tread as they race the sun across the sky. The birds chirp, the wind sways, and the sun slowly descends, father and farther as two heads, one dark and one fair, make their way to the train, awaiting their next destination.
"Life isn't always black and white Katniss– we live much of it surrounded by a sea of gray."
...
I know I know, Peeta probably never had to even consider a Tessarae, so why did I put this in here? Food represents ownership. While citizens cannot feed their children, the capital exerts tremendous will over their kin. As a baker, subject to quota and a strict supply chain, I suspect that growing up, Peeta was very aware of the control the capital had over his family. He lived a special kind of torture, only able to eat stale goods, while at the same time, giving extra away to those that needed it. Despite his status as the statute of goodness, I believe Peeta was always a rebel at heart, and the use of Tessarae in this story is one of the ways I attempt to show him as someone who wants to be free.