Disclaimer: The THG universe belongs to Suzanne Collins only. I make no profit playing with her characters.

A/N: A big thank you to Mary and Fremus, who beta-ed and reviewed the original and the edited version for me! I appreciate every follow, favorite and review, so thank you dear readers for encouraging me to publish this little story!


Chapter 2

James and I had the talk yesterday. Rue was still upset the following morning. She didn't say so but her sad brown eyes and the careful behavior told enough. I was seldom angry with him, but since Rue was still upset that morning, I wanted try to make him see what was wrong with his behaviour. For a three year old, he was able to understand quite well if I explained to him properly. Though I'm not sure if the way I raised him was the right way.

Prim had been older when I fulfilled my mother's duty after my father had died. It had been easier as she already knew to tell right from wrong, and she was more understanding than James was now at the age of three. I had no one to question about such things like education, only Sae, who never had children of her own and Rue who had a handful of smaller siblings.

She had told me often that I treated him like an adult when I tried to explain what was wrong with his behavior, or why I wanted him to act a certain way. Plus, she thought a small slap if needed would be appropriate, instead of thrashing it out. It was appropriate discipline so she never had a problem with it like I did. I had witnessed classmates with bruises, I knew it was common to do so, and no one would judge me if I did, but my parents were unconventional about some things, never raising a hand to either of us. I had kept it that way. Hitting a child simply felt wrong to me, so the only way I saw to teach him was by talking, to make him see reason and thus far it had mostly worked. Prim had been the more motherly type of between the two of us, and I had trusted her to do the right thing when James would be born. I had never intended to interfere in that aspect before she was gone, but now I must do it myself and follow her steps as best as I could, I just hoped not to fail him. Or her.

Today's show was sold out, as was usual for the late Saturday night performance. The first one had gone very well, and the mayor of Twelve and his wife had been in the audience, which was the best approval we could get. He even applauded at the end and gave an approving nod to Abernathy, which made all of us proud. Impressing mayor Coin was a hard thing to do. If word spread that he liked it, more people might come to see our show in the next few weeks, which possibly meant extra shows, and hence, extra money. I certainly wouldn't mind that, thinking about the new shoes James would need soon.

"Show starts in twenty minutes!" Mr. Abernathy shouted from across the floor which led to the stage. His voice roared from one end to the other with such force the people in the audience could probably hear him, too. I was already dressed for the first scene. Every time I changed my costume for the stage and put on my grease-paint I felt like somebody else. I was neither Bessie, nor any one of the other characters I played, nor was I my real self. The mask of makeup made me feel more confident, as if no one could ever harm me. No one could tell, but being dressed up, I felt less vulnerable.

The mirror reflected a woman that was not me in a white black striped gown, lightly puff-sleeved, overdone with makeup, smiling even. Her hair was curled and partly pinned up in the latest fashion, topped by a ridiculously overstuffed hat with flowers (which simply represented Miss Trinket's own taste in clothing). If one knew, one could even see that she had removed some flowers and replaced them with others. Miss Trinket was acting ridiculous about superstition, and therefore nothing yellow, not even a tiny flower, would get near the stage if she could help it. She even removed some leaves. The less green the better, she had told me sternly, scowling at me because I had not appreciated the grand favour she had obviously done me. I couldn't care less.

I still sat in front of the mirror looking for imperfections when the door was thrown open with a clatter. "Guess who's seated in the front row?" Miss Johanna Mason entered the room we shared, her trademark smirk on her face. She flung herself into the arm chair, neither caring about the precious blue muslin costume nor her intricately curled hair. She even loosened her corset, which was all but appropriate. But she usually didn't give a second thought back-stage. "Ah, I finally get to breathe …" I turned back to the mirror, but kept my gaze locked on her reflection.

"You know you should not peek," I repeated Miss Trinket's mantra only to distract her, hoping she would drop the topic. "It's very, very, very bad luck after all." I had an idea of whom she was talking about, and that did nothing to lift my spirits. It was enough that I was sure going to have to handle that big bunch of unwanted roses later on.

"Yes indeed, Miss Everdeen is absolutely right! I, and everybody else for that matter, would not mind if you were more careful about that." Speaking of Miss Trinket, she must have overheard the last part of our conversation as she entered the room. She sniffed audibly at the sight of Miss Mason, which only served to make Johanna grin.

"I must say that you don't look like a decent young lady," she stated in a less than normally chirpy manner. Her mouth twitched slightly, you could see the struggle in her face. Miss Trinket must have decided that the case was lost on Johanna Mason, because she turned to me. She made sure to always approve everyone's hair and makeup, sometimes in a fuss. Now, she put just one single lock back into place. Obviously this was one of the rare occasions she was content with my labours.

Things like these were what Mr. Abernathy had hired her for. She always made sure we were in neat and tidy costume, never forgot to tell us about important persons in the audience ahead of time, and had ordered enough makeup to last her entire lifetime. She was nice enough, a superficial person with ridiculous blond hair, bleached no less, always clothed in the latest fashion and her updo was nothing short of fancy, in a shape that somehow reminded me of a rose. She also liked her perfume a little too much, preferred sweet and heavy scents that would linger in the air even when she had left the room minutes ago. Johanna kept joking that you smelled her before you even saw her. She also had this thing about manners. If I were her, I would have already given up, since no one cared except for maybe Miss Cartwright. But Miss Cartwright's manners were none that needed to be criticized. It was rather Johanna Mason's and for which the latter one did not care a single bit.

"Fine, fine. It's a big… Miss Mason, may I at least ask you to not eat one of those unpleasant things!" exclaimed Miss Trinket watching her in disgust. Chewing gum was Johanna's latest habit to anger her. You could really see her self-content grin when Miss Trinket left the room in a hurry mumbling something I didn't catch. I only rolled my eyes to show Johanna how uncalled it was for.

"Maybe the two of you would be on better terms if you could spare her the sight of it," I said carefully. A part of me pitied Miss Trinket, to be honest. Either you got along with Johanna Mason or you didn't at all, and I was glad the first was the case for me. "But the mint one is the best" she explained in an earnest manner. "You want one?"

"What an honour," I retorted, uncomfortable about seeing her fishing a package out of her corset unabashedly. This was where she usually kept things she needed though it made me mouth agape at the first few times. But she grew on you and you learned to tolerate certain things. There was no use complaining anyway.

"As I was implying earlier before we were interrupted, you might expect a nice bouquet of roses later on." Cato Stone, as I had assumed. I sighed wondering when this would come to an end.

"He's been pursuing me for about a year, if not longer, is he not supposed to give up some time?"

"He won't stop unless you do as he wishes. If you believe the rumours, he is perfectly able to please any woman. Not that he has taken any interest in me though," she admitted in a regretful tone.

"Johanna!" In my opinion, she was once again speaking too openly about such intimate matters.

"You mustn't blush! Just saying you might have some fun sometimes." It was common knowledge she sometimes gave in and had some 'fun', always using 'protection,' as she had told me once in secret (not that I cared to learn about that, however). With people like Johanna Mason around, it was no wonder people thought ill of me.

"I still have a reputation to lose," I grumbled, leaving my stool to stand up straight. First, it ended the conversation I wanted to escape, and second, I preferred to sing a bit to get rid of the tension ahead.

As a minor role six years ago, when I had been at the beginning of my career, there had been nothing to worry about but at the very first performance in a leading role, I had panicked and Mr. Abernathy had to talk sense into me for several minutes. In the end he had quite literally shoved me onto the stage. Since then I had improved, and I did not need the singing anymore to calm my nerves. Stage Katniss had grown to handle that without her stressing out. Johanna joined me after a few seconds. It was our ritual; her voice was deeper than mine, some people called it boyish. That was why she sometimes had to take over the part of male adolescents. We hadn't made it past the third stanza of the song when Abernathy shouted "Two minutes!" causing us to both stop at once, and I left her behind. As Faith, one of Miss Appleby's daughters in the play, Johanna had her part later on, so I went alone across the wooden floor right into scene for the second time today. The chorus was already gathered and sang the opening from backstage.

Though I knew it was bad luck and had been scolded by Miss Trinket only minutes ago, I couldn't keep myself from peeking through the curtain. I saw immediately that: a) every seat was taken and b) Mr. Cato Stone was seated front row, today he was wearing a grey striped suit (as far as I could tell), and he sat along with Mr. Odair who always gave his best charming smile. I didn't like him.

For a cat to a cucumber If you only have a number, We will sell you at the Royal Stores.

Mr. Odair was no better than Mr. Stone but because of his looks - even I had to admit he was a handsome beau with that bronze hair and perfectly even smile– he was more successful and had broken a decent number of hearts from what I knew and yet was engaged to a lady whose name I did not remember. Poor girl, I was convinced he would break her heart too.

You'll find, you'll find at the Royal, loyal Stores, You'll find at the Royal Royal Stores!

I hurried back in position as I heard those last lines of the opening. my own appearance only seconds away.

Throughout the play, I could feel Mr. Stone smile at me. It was never a friendly smile, but a presumptuous one. I also knew he watched my every move. I was happy when the show was finally over and I made my way back into the dressing room.

Johanna Mason was already in there still in her cream coloured Faith dress. She nearly hung in that chair as she had before the play eating some grapes. With that posture, half-lying half-sitting on the armchair and stuffing herself with fruits, she reminded me of one of those pictures that I remembered vaguely from my textbooks at school, about salaciousness and decadency in the Roman Empire. The scent of fresh roses hung unmistakably in the air and I had no doubt where they came from. "Mister Stone sent you some grapes along with the flowers."

"How nice of you to ask," I stated sarcastically, not hiding my disappointment.

"First come, first serve. I thought you would not care either way." She shrugged and pulled another one with her tongue into her mouth. Decadent and all.

"I do not care about the flowers, but the little one would surely have liked the fruits." I pointed out. To be honest James only got them if Mr. Stone gave them to me. Grapes were expensive, nearly a luxury. Nothing I could afford easily though I tried. Usually we had to settle for apples and pears.

"Oh, ummmm….. there are still a few left." At least she was behaving embarrassed. She didn't apologise though, not that I had expected her to, and offered me a half-eaten skeleton of grapes.

I put the pink roses down on the drawer so that I could see myself in the mirror as I removed my the remnants of the stage from my face and finally moved behind the wooden folding screen to change clothes. Not that Mr. Abernathy would have cared about things like this, but Miss Trinket had talked him into it, which I was glad for. Johanna had just rolled her eyes when the screen was brought in, murmuring something like, "unnecessary prudish demeanor". I always had it to myself.

Me being in my undergarments was nothing I wanted someone to see, neither Johanna nor anyone else, I had always felt as if I wore nothing at all. The screen hid me, protected me in a way. Exposed and bare I felt vulnerable like the Katniss that was somewhere deep down inside. Like the one who was weaker that I myself denied ever to be. I had to be strong, really just had to. First for Prim, when my father passed away and my mother's will with him, and now for James. I could not let myself down, or all those suspicious glares would get back at me. It was worse when unknown people assumed he was mine. I just could see it in their faces, though everyone in my neighbourhood knew better – they had seen Prim pregnant – they did not trust me to raise him as a proper member of society.

It never got me down - I was too used to that- but it bothered me that despite what I was doing, it would never be good enough. I could adapt to them, but like I already said, their standards have never been mine, and they would always condemn me as if Prim's mistake had been my own. In failing to protect her, I had accepted it as my fault.

I grabbed the grape leftovers and the bouquet to give it to someone on my way out. It was already late, I wouldn't see James anyway but I'd like to know how he behaved after yesterday's talk. Hopefully Rue was still awake.

"See you on Monday," I said to Johanna, who still hadn't moved.

"Sunday service starts early, huh? Still don't get why you are doing it." Sometimes I asked that myself. The answer was that simple: "for James as you may know by now." Despite him being born out of wedlock, I wanted him to be accepted. I didn't care about my soul's salvation anymore; after my father's death I had lost my faith. Being indifferent, I had refused to go to church for several years just until James was born. It was another concession I made. If being a decent member of society meant to attend church regularly, then that was something I could endure for his sake.

"They will convict you nonetheless. Honestly, you are not like them and you probably never will be. You are a piece in the games of pretending and it won't work."

I was too stunned to reply, no one had ever dared to speak to me like that. No, I would not acknowledge her stupid comment. She seemed a bit pensive for another second, but being Johanna also meant she would not go further into the topic. Thankfully, she was proving my thesis right.

"Have you noticed that blond guy at the right side in the front?" she asked suddenly when I tried to leave for the second time, already touching the cold metal of the door knob. I turned towards her again.

"No? What about him?" Truthfully, I had seen him. Since it was no one that I knew, he had to be some guest of someone in town or maybe just an occasional transient. I hadn't paid further attention, I had just caught him stare at me once or twice out of the corner of my eye. It was something I was used to from Mr. Stone.

"He was smiling at you the whole time. Maybe you now have to choose from two suitors." That self-content smirk of hers was the last drop in the bucket!

I stomped off without any comment, slamming the door behind me with as much force as possible. Miss Cartwright's ever-present smile froze on her face as she met my gaze on my way out. It was already home that I noticed that I still carried those damn flowers with me and I stared at them in disbelief. Without much ado, I fed them to the hearth in the kitchen, regretting it a minute later when the scent of roses creeped through the house and disturbed my sleep.