All or None

Chapter 1

Year 1912

I read through the list provided again as I lie on my narrow bed. I want to have it memorized tomorrow is my first day as a footman and I want to perform perfectly. My mind drifts off to my last meal with my family and I feel a twinge of pain as I think about it. My father cried through the whole meal ruining my mother's mood. Most of the conversation was made up of her snapping at my father that he should be grateful that I was going to make something of myself and not die a penniless baker.

I shake my head I can't think about these things I don't want to end up crying when the other footman walks in. His name is David Cato and he doesn't seem like the type who would turn a blind eye to a person's weakness and I don't need it spread around that I sobbing about leaving my family the first night.

I force myself to read the schedule again to get my mind off things. Mr. Snow, the Butler, was not lying to me in the interview, there would be plenty of setting and cleaning table, shinning shoes, and serving tea. I smile to myself as I read that I am suppose to be up at six. I sounds like a holiday to me after years of working in a bakery, then must be ready and in the kitchen by a half past and get a bite to eat then. I can't eat breakfast with the rest of the servants because I will be serving the family breakfast. At seven it is my job to wake the Chef with a cup of tea, then head upstairs to set the table and serve breakfast to the family. I then need to wait at the door. I skim the list, it seems throughout the day I am slotted in for a small eternity of standing by the front door ready to answer. After that it is more table setting, serving, shoe collecting, shoe shining, then straight off to bed. The door swings open; Cato is finally come up for bed.

I am unsure of what to say. I don't particularly like him, the first thing he ever said to me was the bed farthest away from the slanted ceiling was his and I shouldn't even consider taking it. This was only seconds after we had been introduced. I have never understood nasty people. It would have made a lot of sense to me to just say that he needed that bed because of how tall he was.

"Why are you staring at me!" His voice cuts in to my thoughts.

"I'm not staring at you!" I fire back. In all honesty I may have been making a study of him, but I am not admitting that now.

"Look if you think I am here to baby you and tell you that it's all gonna be alright you've got another thing coming. Our job is a competition. A competition I am currently winning since I am first footman, and I am not going to help you steal my job. This is an every man for himself situation, got it."

He is practically snarling his words at me just spoiling for a fight. I am not afraid of him, he only has a few inches on me and I am not giving him the satisfaction of having me thrown off the job before I have even started for fist fighting.

I smile at him. "Alrighty then, mind if I turn off the light?"

He twitches forward at me like he was going to lunge, and then stops as he processes what I have said. I swear I can see his face going red as he spins around to his own bed. He climbs in and I cut the gas to the light. Darkness fills the room, followed by dreams that fill my mind.

I start my morning off by smacking my head against the low ceiling as I sit up in bed frantic that I have over slept. As I gingerly rub the back of my head I realize Cato saw and is smirking at me. I can't worry about him today. I have a job to focus on. It takes next to no time to dress in my livery. My room, and I assume the whole upstairs, is freezing cold providing good motivation. I am ready and downstairs almost fifteen minutes early.

Stepping into the kitchen is one of the most pleasant experiences I have had since I have been in Panem. For one thing it is warm, which after being cold so long makes you instantly relax and almost restores your soul in a way. It also reminds me of home, even if it is missing the signature smell of freshly ground flour and new yeast. It all seems very familiar indeed, especially with a blonde girl who seems about my age bobbing around as she makes biscuits.

Her blue eyes snap up. She has seen me. Her pink lips draw up into a smile.

"Hello. You must be Peter the new footman." I could tell just by the way her eyes crinkled at the edges that she truly was happy to see me, and seemed so pleasant that I felt no awkwardness as I corrected my name. She gives another true smile before speaking again.

"Oh, I am sorry. I understand though my name is Delly Cartwright, but people are always calling me Dilly."

I am about to tell her that I can empathize with her problem perfectly, but a kettle starts whistling first. She runs over to the stove to start tending to it and Cato walks in and gives me a funny look. It is an expression halfway between neutral and smirking. I fear he has seen some weakness in me. Delly starts straining the tea and placing the filled cups on breakfast trays.

"Hurry up, you know Mr. Snow likes his tea hot." Cato snaps.

"Mm-hmm." Delly hums in a sing-song voice and then pushes a tray forward. Cato grabs it like he had to wait for three weeks instead of three seconds and storms out of the kitchen. Delly's eyes follow him until he is out of earshot and then whispers, "Mr. Snow likes his tea so hot I swear it makes his mouth bleed."

I try to give a brief smile, but am not sure if she is joking or not. She notices my confusion and changes the subject. "Anyway, I am the kitchen maid so you'll be seeing me every morning to get the Chef, Mrs. Sae's, breakfast. They told you it's your job to take Mrs. Sae her breakfast, right?" Her eyes are swimming with the question and she seems very concerned, I nod vigorously to try and put her at ease. Delly sighs with relief and moves her lips up to show off her dimples again.

"Good, good. I was hoping they had. Anyway you are suppose to bring it to her at seven o'clock sharp, but if you wake her up at five past you'll be in her good graces."

"Thanks, I'll keep that in mind." I say.

Her hands stop moving and her eyes meet mine again as she says, "You can't do that today, of course."

I am perplexed on why today is not a good day to follow her advise, "Why not?"

She leans over the counter and coats her apron in the mess from her biscuits. She signals me to lean in too. "Because Mr. Snow will be watching everything you do like a hawk," she whispers in a barely audible voice, "You must do everything by the book for at least the first week or he'll sack you."

"Right." I say with a curt nod.

She pulls back from the counter again and resumes her work, "Good." she says, "Remember you can always start gaining favor with people after the first full week. Anyway, you should get going, or you will be late." She pushes a full tray towards me. "Her room is right off the kitchen, and as soon as you get out I will have a quick breakfast ready for you."

I tell her thank you one last time and then take the edges of the tray into my hands. The door that Dilly motioned to when she mentioned Mrs. Sae's room looks ancient with cracking black paint covering it. I give two sharp knocks before entering then turn the handle. The door lets out what seems to me like an unbearably loud shriek, but I might just be interpreting it that way because I am scared about what I might find.

I find out that my fear is unfounded as I finally enter the room. It's a cold, dark little place, with a stone floor like the kitchen and is more sad than frightening. Two strides away the old woman is asleep in her bed still snoring, with her long, gray hair spread out in a way that makes her look like a witch.

I am uncertain of what to do next, I was secretly hoping that she would be awake from my knocking when I opened the door and I would have to shake to consciences a complete stranger. I drop the tray from about an inch above the bedside table in a last minute attempt to wake her. Her eyes snap open the second the tray makes contact with the table.

She sits up as if in a trance and I start muttering out my apologies, but she cuts me off. "No time for that." her old, withered voice croaks, "Where's my tea?"

I press the cup and saucer into her hands. She lifts the cup up to her mouth and then stops a hair breath away from her mouth and gives me a pointed look. "You can go now." She says.

My mouth drops I was not expecting this. I give a jerking gesture with my body which I think was suppose to be a bow, but might have ended up looking like a curtsy. It only takes me two steps to make it to the door and as I draw it closed I stop. I need to ask her something. Poking my head back into the dark room I make eye contact with her sharp gaze. "I am sorry, I just had to ask you. How do you want me to wake you up?"

She frowns and I think she is unhappy that I am distracting her from her tea. "How you did it today is fine." Her leathery hands then move up to shoo me away. I don't want to irritate her anymore and draw the door closed.

Back in the kitchen Delly is more busy than ever frying sausages and tending to eggs. She does have a plate ready for me though, just like she said. I take the two eggs and a biscuit to the servants table and sit down. I am unsure on how to proceed, meals were always such a personal thing to me. My family always ate together, even if we were rushed as we got ready to go to work we were still together. Now I sit alone at a long empty table, in a dark room, with food that is growing cold.

My stomach twist and I feel too sick to eat eggs. People always say I am a people person and I guess that I am in a way. I am never nervous around them, but sometimes if I think too hard about interacting with them, especially in a new situation, I can start feeling a bit skittish. I break the bread to distract myself and nibble the edge. Is it wrong to think that my father's baking is better? Delly's aren't bad by any measure, but my father's… my father's always made me feel safe and warm, and like I was home and would always feel loved and protected.

"Peeta what are you still doing down here?" Delly calls from the kitchen, "Go up now, you're already late."

"Oh, I am?" She pulls her lips taught and gives an exaggerated nod to answer my question. I must have gotten lost in my own thoughts and lost track of the time. I hurry over to the stairs and start taking them two at a time.

I have to stop on the second flight to let a maid pass by me. She has a head of flaming red hair and a very pleasant face. I turn parallel to the wall to try and give her some space to pass me on the narrow stairs.

One step above me her feet stop moving and I wonder if there is some kind of protocol I am breaking about stair passing etiquette that I don't know. I must look scared she gives me a reassuring smile. "Hold on," She says, "looks like someone could use a friend." Her quick hands move to my tie and she starts undoing it.

I know she is trying to help, but I have no idea why she is doing this, "Um, what…"

She moves a hand up and flicks it as if to dismiss my question, "Oh, you've tied it completely wrong. Don't worry it won't take, but a moment to fix." She isn't lying she tugs both ends to finish the bow as soon she stops speaking.

Her eyes leave my neck and move up to my face for the first time. "You must be Peeta the new footman." She concludes as she looks at me.

"Yes I am, thanks for the help." I say as I finger her handy-work to admire it.

"You're very welcome. I am Lavinia and I will be happy to help you again if you need, don't hesitate to ask."

"I won't and thank you again."

"Don't thank me just yet, you are very late and Mr. Snow won't be happy." I can see by her face that this is not a joke. We both turn sideways and pass each other finally and I hurry up to the dinning room.

The walls are blood red and I didn't know they could make a paint color this intense. The room seems to have a theme of eagles because at first glance I see six different oil paintings of them. Some of the picture are twice the size of me, and I can't help but wish I could have a canvass that size some day. The dining element of the room is not lost in the decor tiny cornucopias are pressed into the white crown molding of the room their bounty accented with gold leafing.

Mr. Snow is standing at the head of the table like a lion in wait, and Cato is hovering next to him like a buzzard waiting to pick away the scraps of the kill. "Where have you been Mr. Mellark?" Mr. Snow drones. I notice he calls me Mr. Mellark instead of Peeta which is a bad sign.

"I am sorry sir, I lost track of the time. It won't happen again." I would have given a better apology except Cato keeps eyeing my tie and I realize that this is what he was smirking at this morning.

"Mr. Mellark when I agreed to take you on for a trial basis I thought I explained clearly that this house is like a clock and one faulty piece could ruin the whole operation." His eyes are so cold and icy as he speaks I almost can't look at them.

I try not to squirm under his gaze as I answer him, "You did sir, and I repeat I am sorry."

His eyes narrow into slits, "You should be sorry because you were five minutes late breakfast will be served five minutes late, then luncheon, then tea, and finally dinner. Your tardiness has put a small dent in all the order I try to maintain. Is the family to have breakfast at midnight and go to bed at noon because order has been destroyed? Panem is a delicate machine, it must be cared for and nurtured, and any vices of the staff must be crushed out. Do you understand Mr. Mellark?"

"Yes sir, I understand."

"Good, because if it happens again you will be dismissed. I must maintain order." Nothing in his facial expression is anything but neutral, except for his eyes. His eyes have a burning in them that cannot be matched and I know that he means every word he is saying with a kind of passion I have never felt in my life.

He turns away from me ending discussion on the matter and Cato presents me with the other end of a table cloth. Snow circles us as we spread it over the table. He tugs at it and makes a comment about how we must keep all the folds even on all four sides. A thin red cloth is then placed over the white one and once it is made even we can start setting the table.

I learn that there is a precise place for all the plates, china, and silverware. Mr. Snow reminds me of this constantly as moves around measuring all the place settings with his pre-marked stick. He says things like: this plate is too far to the left and then taps it with one finger to correct it; the spoon and knife are too close together, and then runs his nail in between them to separate them out; what were you thinking when you set this plate, why is it so high? They all looked the same to me before we started and I can hardly believe that anyone would notice the small discrepancies especially after they started eating.

Once the table is finally set to Snow's standards I have the final honor of placing the center piece on. It is a crystal vase filled with a half circle of pure, white roses. I look up to Snow as I set it down and he signals me to turn it slightly. The table is done and it is now time for serving.

Back in the kitchen Cato is handed a plater of eggs and I am given a tray of bacon and various other cured meats all fanned out in a cascading pattern. I am forced to follow Cato who proceeds up the stairs at an agonizingly slow rate. For all of Snow's fussing we must be ahead of schedule or else Cato wouldn't risk this stunt.

In the blood colored room again The Lord of the house is sitting at the head of the table. He is wearing a tweed suit and I try not to smile as I think that his most casual clothing would be my finest. For the first time in my life I am grateful to Cato, he serves first and I have his example to follow. It is my turn. I copy his movements exactly and hover the meat in front of Lord Clayworth. He selects the pieces he wants and then I step aside.

Snow is quick to move in and pull me aside. "What do you think you are doing, smothering his Lordship?" I want to retort something about his Lordship not noticing my faux pas and how he was currently nibbling on his eggs as if nothing at all had happened. I bite my lip to keep these words from coming out and Snow's eyes bore into me. He whispers in a hoarse voice, "Go back to the kitchen and bring up the rest of the things."

I don't hesitate a moment to head back down into the kitchen. I know I am on thin ice with Mr. Snow and I don't want to risk losing my job, especially on my first day. Cato is coming back up the stairs as I make my way down. Hopefully we can keep this timing and I will never have to be in the same room as him and we will only pass each other on the stairs.

I don't even set one foot in the kitchen before Delly has shoved a plater of oranges into my hands and points me back up to the stairs with a look on her face that lets me know that the news of my slight infractions are making their way around. Back up the stairs I go and somehow there always seems to be more stairs than the last time I climbed it. Holding out the plate in front of me and going up the steps does, however, waft the smell up of the fresh fruit and I look down to admire it. What a beautiful color orange is. It's like sunlight and warmth all with the intensity of a sunset. The fruit doesn't look so bad either. I've only had it once for Christmas and that must have been ten years ago. It's astonishing how they could have so much of a delicacy at one sitting, as if it were nothing.

The atmosphere of the room has changed for the better when I walk in again. Lord Clayworth is still sitting at the head of the table with not a hair of his blonde walrus mustache out of place. His porcelain tow-head wife is sitting to the left. She stares off blankly at nothing at all, this must be something that fine ladies do to make them appear elegant, and across from her is the person who makes the scene. Sitting pin-straight in the chair is a girl who I would age around twelve. Her face looks neutral like her mothers except the corner of her mouth is just slightly turned up with a secret only I can see. She has a string twisted around her right pinky with a feather on the end that she is having three, silky, shushed faced cats chase round and round. Not any other part of her body is moving and I like this girl instantly. She ruins the scene by perfecting it, and has outsmarted the social game everyone else is playing in their starched clothes and shiny shoes.

"Mr. Mellark, please stop lingering in the hallway." Snow has seen me and his tone is more annoyed than usual. As I approach the table I watch him from the corner of my eye. I was wrong I was not the only one witnessing the game with the cats, Snow has too and he can't do a thing about it.

I serve their families there orange slices keeping mind to have the platter stay farther away from each person than I did the first time I served Lord Clayworth. Snow may have noticed, but is still not pleased. He takes the tray from me and whispers discreetly, "You may go attend the front door now. We can't have it left unattended during visiting hours." He then turns away from me. I begin the long walk out of the room and try to restrain my laughter as my ears keep catching the sound of twelve cat paws scuffling and skidding around.

The front door is not far, but I am sure Mr. Snow would not be pleased at how long it took me to reach my post. I pass the stairs and a person catches my eye, and I have the distinct pleasure of watching a pure angel of beauty descend, one step at a time. A song breaks out in my heart, in my very being, and the song is wild, and untamed, and dusky.

The girl is so unlike the family dinning at the breakfast table, so unlike anyone I have ever seen. She has ink black hair, like a starless night, and her skin is tawny like a new fawn. My mother always warned me that I was too fair to ruin any children I ever have one good feature by marrying someone dark. "Marry cream." She would always say, but I don't want cream, I want the heady goodness that is before me. I want the girl who is dressed in a reed green dress. It is too dark for a traditional morning dress, but I never want to see her in anything else. I never want to see anyone else. There is only her and the love I feel for her. That is all there is or ever will be for me.

Please review if you are reading the story. Your input means a lot to me.

Next update will most likely be on Wednesday.