Wow.
Peeta watched Katniss leave The Hob, smiling vaguely.
Well that was…interesting.
Their conversation – or more specifically, the enjoyment he had gotten out of it – had come as a shock to Peeta. Stimulation was on the menu, of course. But the type he had anticipated sure as hell didn't involve any exchange of dialogue beyond the necessary introductions and propositions. His vague smile widened for a moment before he caught himself.
No.
Peeta was annoyed at getting so off-task. Their introduction had gone exactly nowhere, meaning Katniss was nothing more than a distraction; an interruption he had indulged in for too long. Irrelevant and pointless.
Back to business.
Hardening his resolve with a curt nod, Peeta surveyed the room again, this time finding a distinct lack of interest in the women he was surrounded by.
…The fuck? Focus, Mellark!
Thrown, he looked again, making sure to leave no female un-judged. Still, no one caught his eye. He pushed his beer away from him, the amber liquid sloshing up against the sides. Even alcohol had lost its charm for tonight.
Fuck this.
Peeta stood up and left the pub, pulling his jacket on roughly.
Just a stupid girl. Not even all that attractive, really. Jesus! Can't believe I let her ruin my night. Life fail.
As he was making his way back to the hotel, Peeta was vaguely aware that anger was now finding its way to the forefront. Grunting his thanks to the doorman, he trudged through the lobby, trying to pinpoint the exact target of his resentment. Himself? Katniss? Cato?
"What are you doing back so early?"
Peeta stopped and looked towards the familiar voice, barely making out the familiar silhouette.
Definitely Cato.
"What's it to you?"
There was a loud dragging sound as Cato pulled out the chair next to him, motioning for Peeta to join him.
Not likely.
"C'mon Mellark. Plant your ass."
"What's in it for me?"
"Fuck I don't know! Maybe a chance to stop being an ass?"
Peeta moved forward slightly, hovering in the archway separating the lobby from the hotel's bar. "Fuck you."
"I know we need to talk. Finnick knows we need to talk. Hell, even the bartender over there can tell we need to talk. So take the god damn seat, and let's get this done."
Sighing, Peeta relented and lowered himself into the chair. "Fine. Go."
Cato took a deep breath, "So. We haven't really been getting along recently."
Not shit. You really Sherlock-ed the crap out of that.
"And despite the fact that you have the emotional capacity of a plank of wood, I want to air it out with you."
Peeta remained silent, his arms folded firmly.
"Right. So. Let's hear it." Cato spread his arms wide; an invitation, "Why am I a wanker?"
Peeta snorted and looked at his band mate suspiciously. "Are you serious?"
Cato nodded, still waiting.
"Isn't it obvious? I don't need to be protected. Or judged. Or bitched at." He paused, thinking, "We used to have the best time in the world, and now you're just on fuckwit mode. All the time."
Cato was nodding slowly, seemingly thinking about how to word something.
"So…you miss when we were younger and more reckless?"
"No. More fun."
"Less serious about the music? About our futures?"
Paging Dr Phil.
"Jesus Cat – all I'm saying is you're a wet blanket and it pisses me the fuck off."
Cato straightened in his chair, eyes flaring, "Yeah well you gallivanting across the country doing god knows what with god knows who – risking the entire band's future in the process – really pisses me the fuck off too, Peeta!"
The men stared at each other, once again sensing a stalemate. This time however, it was Peeta who broke the silence. "Gallivanting? Really?" He smirked, raising one eyebrow.
Cato turned to look away, not quite able to hide the slight smile forming on his lips. "I was in the moment."
"What moment lends itself to 'gallivanting'?" Peeta pressed, his voice driping with mock curiousity.
"Shut up Mellark."
"No, honest! I really want to know what moment; what thought process leads to earnest usage of such a word."
Cato turned to face Peeta, smiling genuinely now. "The wanker path, clearly."
They laughed, the tension from earlier in the day finally broken. Cato held up a hand to beckon the waiter, keeping his eyes on Peeta. "Seriously though…just…try to care more?"
Peeta shrugged in compliance, "Only if you try to care less."
Two hours and a dozen drinks later, Cato and Peeta had fallen back into step with one another. At some point one of them had called Finnick to join them, and now the three men were sitting around the table laughing merrily.
"Jeez…not even 9:30 and I'm feeling it." Finnick commented, swigging the last of his whisky.
"Tell me about it! Even more bizzare with Peet still here with us…" Cato paused, thinking, "Hey! You never did tell me why you got back so early tonight!"
Peeta did his best to stay expressionless. "No reason."
I only fail at life, is all.
"As if. Out with it!"
There was this girl.
"Really guys – nothing extraordinary. Just weren't any lookers tonight."
She stole my mojo.
"Since when have you been picky!"
How did she steal my mojo?! …Also, fuck you Cato.
"You know what I think?" Finnick interjected, smiling smugly, "Peeta struck out."
No I didn't.
"His skills were just non-existent."
No they weren't.
"It's not that he wasn't looking – they weren't!"
"No – she looked!"
Shit.
"Who's 'she'?" Cato asked pointedly.
Katniss.
"No one. Some random that introduced herself."
She smelled like fruit.
"She asked me to meet her there again on Friday. That's how interested she is. Suck on that."
"Sounds a bit made up if you ask me." Finnick jeered, nudging Cato, "A bit too convenient."
No. Convenient would have been her leading me upstairs to one of those pay-per-fuck rooms.
"I think you might be right, Finn. Why, I bet if we asked our dear friend Peeta here, he'd claim he never had plans to follow through; that he wasn't interested in seeing her again."
Exactly. Because I'm not.
"Well, that would go along with the whole convenience theory then, wouldn't it Cat?" Finnick grinned, "Perhaps we should insist a meet and greet of our own this coming Friday. Just to make sure."
Peeta rolled his eyes, frowning. "No."
"Oh c'mon! What's the harm? She's already asked you on the date – that's a sure thing!"
"Actually…" Peeta hesitated, his frown deepening, "She said she'd be there with her friend."
"…She never properly invited you?" Cato questioned, raising an eyebrow.
Fuck you.
"Not in so many words…" he trailed off uneasily.
"You're missing the point, Cato! She's bringing a friend. Which means it would be impolite of Peeta not to bring one himself." Finnick turned to face Peeta, "Luckily for you I happen to know this great guy called Finn – a real looker he is. And talented, too! You should just see what he can do with his hands!"
Laughing, Peeta stood up and started towards the lobby elevators, "Goodnight guys!"
"You can't leave! We haven't unpacked the details yet!"
And I'm the one with the "Desperado" theme song?
Peeta kept walking.
"Finn the Friend! It's alliteration! Girls eat that shit up!"
The elevator doors opened, and Peeta stepped inside.
"Okay. So – we'll sort out the details later, then! Cool!"
He heard Cato laughing as the doors slid shut.
I won't go. That would be ridiculous.
He pressed the "10" button.
She was only mildly entertaining.
1…2…
And there was zero indication that she'd put out. Which makes it pointless.
3…4…5…
She was sort of funny though. I guess.
6…7…8…
And seeing Finn throw himself at her friend would be hilarious.
9…10.
Okay. Fine. I will go and see Katniss.
