AN: First fanfiction for the Hunger Games so reviews are greatly appreciated. Rating will be T but it might change later on. Cinna/Seneca pairing later on as well
Seneca had talked with Cinna during his childhood four times. Or maybe it was three. The point was that he could count on one hand the conversations he had with Cinna when they were children. However, despite this, he never did forget the boy. He wasn't like others, Seneca could tell that right away.
For one thing, he wasn't a whiny brat like most of the other people in the Capitol, children and adult alike. At first, he seemed shy, but Seneca would watch him and he soon realized that he wasn't shy. He simply didn't express himself with words; instead, Cinna spoke with his actions.
Seneca was able to tell by the curve of the boy's lips, the way his shoulders were set, where his hands were positioned and so much more gave away how he really felt or what his honest opinion was. It was certainly more than anyone else did.
It was so boring how everyone smiled and just nodded along with each other. There was hardly any arguing, disagreeing, and to some it might seem as if the entire city got along. But of course that wasn't true. It was all for show, everything, and no one was going to go against it, the flow.
Except Cinna.
In the sea of what was considered normal and every day, Seneca saw that Cinna was really the most human compared to anyone, even himself. Seneca, unlike Cinna, was to afraid to step forward, to fight back and disagree. So, he watched Cinna instead.
When he turned sixteen, he saw Cinna for what seemed like the last time. He had been sitting down, not gossiping, or playing the games, just drawing in a sketchbook. Seneca had never seen him draw before. Was this the first time he had picked up a sketchbook? Or had Seneca simply never seen him with one?
He had wanted to ask, see exactly what the boy was drawing, but someone was talking to him and he wasn't strong enough to say excuse me and leave. Seneca listened on and on to the blabber that didn't really mean anything to him and when he finally turned back, Cinna was gone.
He wouldn't see him again until after he became the gamemaker. When Seneca became the gamemaker, he was both disgusted and fascinated by it all. He knew it was wrong, that the entire system was messed up and that this wasn't how humankind should be. Those thoughts were what would keep him up some nights, nightmares circling his mind.
However, at the same time, Seneca loved to see that struggle for survival, the primal urges that could take over the human body if need be. He sometimes liked to imagine what it would be like if someone were to through in a child from the Capitol into the Arena. He was almost positive either A; they would be killed, or B; their sweet little exterior would break and they would become animals just like the others.
Besides this idea of survival though, Seneca also thought the emotions on each child's face was amazing. You never fear or success, sadness or happiness upon the faces of the Capitol people you did on the people from the Districts. Once again, it was so much more human, more real, and of course he was reminded of Cinna.
It wasn't to long after that when Seneca then found out Cinna was the Stylist for District Twelve. He went around, never going straight up to the man, never simply talking to him, but watching from afar whenever he could.
Seneca couldn't believe how little he had changed. Most of the people he knew would change their entire look after a few months, making them look completely different. Cinna, besides the fact of being older, looked just the same, only a touch of gold eyeliner rested on his already beautiful face.
His actions, of course, spoke louder than his words. Seneca loved it, the fire that seemed to be bubbling just underneath Cinna's skin as if in defiance to everything that happened around him.
And apparently, though no one had really noticed that part of Cinna as a kid, it seemed that more people were realizing it now. Gossip floated around about how Cinna did or didn't do this. People talked about how he never changed his hair or really even his style of cloths and of course the fact that he was willingly working for District Twelve. It was all stupid of course, talking about these things, but to the people of the Capitol they thought it was horrendous practically that he was doing this.
Seneca, never getting involved in these talks, only listening in, would simply give a small smile of amusement. Why anyone would want to change what seemed to him an already perfect face was beyond him but then again, he wasn't exactly a normal Capitol person either. Seneca of course went along with everything that was asked of him, but there were certainly thoughts and ideals in his mind that many would not appreciate.
Really though, it was amazing that he never did end up talking face to face with Cinna. Seneca had the chance to plenty of times, but he enjoyed watching the man from a distance. In a way, he felt that he was learning more about him than if he had talked to him face to face. Still, he was content with this way of life, with how everything was going for two years.
But when the seventy-fourth Hunger Games started, he knew something was off. Seneca could tell that something was going to change.