A/N: I'm sorry about leaving this story for so long. Writer's block had me in a choke hold for many months regarding this one. I don't even know if I'm completely freed yet but I'm trying to get back onto the horse with it. I can't apologize enough for the delay.
Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, the idea of Tarzan, or the cover picture for this story. The cover picture is from Chistudios on tumblr. Their art is fantastic ^_^
Chapter Seven
I have not been a part of the female community of the human species long but I already despise it. The only highlight has been the journey on the aircraft, where I flew high above the trees, higher than I have ever swung before, and got to witness what I thought had been the only world in existence but in truth had only been a small sector of a much larger world. The Peeta creature laughed when I pointed out the window at the tiny landscape below me, wearing what had to be the widest smile I have ever worn.
However, ever since I have landed in 'London', I have not worn a smile of any description. I have been plucked, tugged and soaked, the Madge animal lucky that Peeta promised me she wasn't a threat before I went to her or else she'd have lost an eye. I don't understand why it's socially unacceptable for me to keep my body hair. It is required for warmth and now that I have lost it I feel like a plucked chicken. And don't get me started on the female's covers! They wear covers that sweep to the ankles, covering the legs and feet. How am I supposed to make others aware of my strength if most of my assets are hidden? How are they supposed to know that I could beat them in a fight? That I am more dominant than them?
I cannot comprehend the extravagance of 'London'. There are barely any trees and the 'streets' are packed tight with huge structures that the Peeta tells me are 'houses'. Houses are where the humans live. The sturdiness of their shelters amaze me. They must not worry when the weather is angry and untamed. Their shelters would easily protect them. I am taken to where the Peeta takes shelter. He shares his shelter with the Delly but I do not bother to even give her right of ownership in my mind.
"This is your room," the Peeta explains, showing me into a room that resides on a whole other level to the bottom rooms. "We don't often have guests so pardon the bareness of it all."
The room is strange. It is big, not as big as the jungle or the forest floor but larger than I had anticipated. There are many structures, similar to those that had been in Peeta's tent. The cot is much bigger though and the mattress reaches my waist. It's huge. Surely this was designed for more than one person. A couple maybe? It still looks like it could house more . . . I look at Peeta incredulously. "This whole area is just for me?"
"Yeah," the Peeta answered. He rubs the back of his neck, trying to be inconspicuous about his nervousness. "It's normally for couples but we haven't had couples around here for a while." When I quirk at eyebrow at him, he says, "Delly hasn't been prepared to receive for a while now."
"Why's that?"
"She's had the fever, only recently recovered. The trip to the jungle, it was a means of getting away from the . . . let's say pressures of the city," the Peeta explains to me. I pick at my clothes as I look around the room with increasing wonder. "You can borrow some of Delly's clothes until we are able to buy you your own."
The Delly? Ha! Her covers would not fit me! She's too thin and bony. Her covers would tear over my muscles, there's no way I would even be capable of squeezing an arm in! The Peeta must see my incredulously as he smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck again, a seeming habitual quirk he can't shake when he's nervous.
"Delly is a seamstress, I'm sure she can let a few old pieces of clothing out a little," he explains. "Maybe a couple of old dresses that she hasn't worn in years. She does buy a lot, after all, most only for the fact that they were a bargain."
Bargain. What an odd way of using that word. The only bargains made in the jungle is when a bear catches a fish and we must haggle for its ownership. Is that how covers are obtained in the Peeta's world? Through haggling? "Do Delly and yourself share a room?" I find myself spontaneously asking. I am not used to these creatures customs, especially concerning partnership. All I know is that the golden band around the Peeta's finger is a symbol of some sort, to represent the fact that he is a married male.
"Uh, yeah, we do," answers the Peeta.
I sit on the edge of the large cot and play with the silky fabric of the blanket between my fingers. "If you are civilly joined, why haven't you tried procreation? Isn't that the humans' goal in life? To create more?" This is how it works in the jungle anyway. Married animals usually get to work breeding immediately, since the whole purpose of existence is usually to create more of us. It confuses me that this isn't human priority.
"Sure," the Peeta says, somewhat hesitantly. He doesn't meet my eyes-which is also perplexing-and instead busies himself tidying things that aren't even messy. "But Delly and I want to take it slow. At a sloth's pace, if you will."
I frown. "How long have you been joined?" I ask.
The Peeta makes an odd sound. A sound I can only discern as fluster and confusion. "Four years," he says.
"Wow. Some sloths are moving faster than you, I hate to say." At least sloths have their priorities in order. It seems that Delly and Peeta's marriage is a complete mess. There doesn't seem to be order or precedence. Maybe that's what all-what did he call it?-'arranged' marriages are like.
"I know," the Peeta replies, sounding like he is repeating something for the hundredth time.
I scratch the back of my neck and watch the Peeta with a deepening frown. He continues wasting his time by tiding things up that don't need it. I decide to leave him to his devices by ceasing communication. I wonder what it was that I said that irritated him so much. Was it offensive or is he just in a bad mood? I wonder if the Delly has done something to upset him. Loathing for her wells up inside me and I force myself to swallow it down again.
As I watch the Peeta move around, doing his pointless tasks, my mind wanders to how the monkeys in my clan procreated themselves. It was a swift ordeal, usually not even taking a quarter of an hour to complete. There's no fluff or time wasting. It's just a get-the-job-done event. But for some reason desires stir inside me that don't match the monkeys' ways of doing things. It doesn't seem ethical. Not if I were to, for example, take an animal like the Peeta as my mate. There's small issues that prevent the action from being quick. Like the fact that the impractical covers of 'London' would have to be removed; the fact that I'm still curious about the Peeta's anatomy holding me back a little; and this odd sensation I keep having to discover what his skin tastes like. Of course, I wouldn't eat him, that would be silly.
Or would it?
"We, ah, have dinner at six," the Peeta explains. He pauses and stares at the door with a fixated frown. "You wouldn't know when six o'clock is, would you?" Six o'clock. What a weird concept. "I'll get Delly to come and collect you when"-The look on my face must cause him to pause-"Or would you rather I came?"
I nod. I don't want to see the Delly more than I have to.
The Peeta returns my nod. "Okay. I'll come and collect you at six. I'm sure you would like to get some sleep, since you're very probably jet lagged from the journey."
What the heck is jet lag?
Again, the Peeta is able to read me and he breaks his gaze from the door and smiles at me. "You're very probably tired," he elaborated.
Damn right I am.
I sleep for hours. I am used to sleeping in the open air, nestled in the crook of a tree branch with the pack below me. The room in which the Peeta has placed me isn't like the trees at all. There is no open air and no rough tree bark rubbing against my skin. But I do not feel like I miss it. The bed is impossibly soft and the warmth of the room is a pleasant change.
It feels like only minutes before the Peeta comes calling again for dinner. I am curious to see how the process of dinner works for the humans. Something tells me that they don't eat with their bare hands or go out to hunt prior to the dinner gathering. When I climb off the bed, my dress is slightly wrinkled but the Peeta simply smiles.
His covers have changed. He is no longer only wearing the white shirt and waistcoat. Well, as far as I can tell, anyway. The sharp looking night black jacket he is wearing is closed up so I am unable to judge. Something tells me, however, that if even he is also clothed in a white shirt and waistcoat underneath, it would be a different set from the earlier ones I have seen.
"Feel better?" he asks.
I can't deny that I feel refreshed. I haven't sleep so well in what feels like years. Of course, the trees provided sufficient rest but I would be fooling myself if I told myself that I slept peacefully and I wasn't restless or fitful. I nod.
The Peeta holds his elbow out. I stare at it for a moment. I recall seeing males and females who roam the streets of London walking together in a similar way. I hesitantly place my hand on his arm and when he doesn't protest or step away, I slip it further in to loop around his arm. "You look very nice," he said.
"I look like a fish trying to swim on land." The Peeta chuckles and leads me out of the room. His shelter is amazing. I can't help my head rotating in awe as I look around the hallways he walks me through. They are decorated with different fabrics and occasionally have depictions of images in huge wooden structures. I glance at the Peeta out of the corner of my eye. His profile is shockingly defined. I can't understand how one animal could be so striking. There is a stir in my chest and I realize, without a doubt, that my monkey urges have somehow become intertwined with the urges of another kind. What, however, I just don't know.
The Peeta leads me to a room even bigger than the one he has given me. It is almost cavernous. A long structure-which I soon learn is called a table-sits in the middle, a glass container holding flowers placed strategically in the middle. My fingers dig into the Peeta's bicep at the irritating sight of the Delly sitting at the top of the table, her back straight as an arrow and her expression less than amused. The mere sight of her ruins my mood completely. And I was quite enjoying the stroll with the Peeta.
"Why, jungle lady, you look like you're just out of bed," the Delly says tightly.
"She is, Delly," the Peeta answers. His calm approach fascinates me. The way she speaks, that one simple sentence, has already riled me enough to rip her head off her shoulders. He moves to one side of the table, beside the Delly, and pulls a seat out. I think he's seating himself and am confused when his gaze returns to me. "Please, sit," he says.
Who? Me?
Oh.
I discreetly slip into the seat he has pulled out and grip the arms in surprise when the Peeta pushes the seat in. My back wishes to hunch in the way it has become accustomed but I try my hand at mimicking the Delly. I force myself upright, trying to figure out whether the way the Delly sits has something to do with why the Peeta chose her as a mate.
"You surely have a name," the Peeta says as he walks around the table to seat himself across from me. "I know you can't speak but there must be a means of finding out."
I shrug helplessly. I cannot think of a way in which I can tell the Peeta my name. I would love to, I just don't see how.
"I don't understand why you would care," the Delly says. "I mean, she's an animal. Do the monkeys in the jungle have names? Do the insects that roam the soil have names?"
"We're all animals, Delly," the Peeta answers.
His response makes me smile. I click my tongue to make the sound of Kala's name. Of course we have names, could the Delly be so naïve? When my eyes connect with the Peeta's, I find tenderness in his gaze. Does he recognize that I am saying Kala's name in the form of the monkey's language?
"Sadly, there's no way," the Delly sighs. "No way to find out. She can't speak; she clearly can't write. We must simply regard her as jungle lady or tree nymph." I cock my head and narrow my eyes at her spitefully. What, exactly, does she have against me? What have I done to her? Maybe she senses the competition in the air. Maybe she knows that I wish to mate with her civil partner. Huh. Should make things interesting.
"I'm sure we'll think of a way," the Peeta dismisses. "I'm right in believing that you do have a name, aren't I?"
I eagerly nod. "My name's Katniss," I want to say. But I can't. I'm sure the Peeta can decipher than I am trying to say my name but it doesn't take a genius to know that it is impossible to be able to read my name simply from my eyes.
"Well, then, we'll definitely have to figure out a way to find out," the Peeta smiles. His smile is contagious and it doesn't take long before I'm smiling back.
The Delly still looks no happier. Her mouth is set in a thin line, almost invisible if it weren't for the red paint on her lips. "Yes," she says. "I'm sure we will."
When food is placed in front of me, I am fascinated. It is placed on a flat holder of some sort. There are several metal objects on either side and I am confused as to what I am to do with them. I'm not to eat with my hands, I know this much. It's too grizzly, I can tell. Besides, the Peeta nor the Delly eat with their hands. I glance at the Peeta, unsure. He notices my confusion and smiles that attractive smile again.
"Here." He reaches across the table and takes my hand. I don't flinch and I am glad for this. I don't want to attack the Peeta. So I do not want my senses to be switched so high when I am around him. I will keep them as muffled as I can with the Peeta, and I shall keep it on with anyone else. Especially the Delly. I don't care about harming anyone else. As long as I don't harm him.
The Peeta slips one of the metal objects into my hand and shows me how to shovel my food with it. How clever. "Thank you," I tell him.
"If you need help with anything, don't hesitate to ask," says Peeta. The Delly does a strange rolling motion with her eyes. I don't understand its meaning but knowing the Delly creature, it probably isn't nice. "I'll be more than pleased to help you."
The dinner would have been lovely, if the Delly hadn't been there. She didn't seem capable of keeping her mouth shut, and yammered on for what felt like hours once I had gotten the hang of eating properly. She talked about things that didn't make sense to me but that the Peeta listened to with great interest. He offered advice when necessary but for the most part kept quiet and nodded. I don't understand how the Delly could jabber so much, listen to her own voice so constantly, when she could have the opportunity to listen to the Peeta's much more amiable and enchanting on the ears voice. Was she really so oblivious to the quality of mate she had?
I always had a loathing for monkeys who behaved in such a way. The mostly male apes who acted like they didn't appreciate the work their females did for them. I promised myself that I would never let this happen to myself. That if I ever mated with a male, I would never allow myself to be underappreciated or poorly treated. I would never submit to a male. In jungle terms, I would live a life of solitude. Alone.
It was almost odd that gender roles seemed to be switched in this world.
The Peeta returns me to my room after dinner. He tells me that he will show me around London tomorrow, to see the sights and to 'get my bearings'. I am greatly excited for this. I wish to explore every inch of the hard, grey jungle of London. Sleep is my main priority still however as the journey from my jungle to the Peeta's has certainly taken its toll, despite the fact I have already rested before dinner.
On my bed lies a garment similar to the one the Peeta gave me, only much thinner and of a cloud white colour. "They're your bed garments, curtesy of Madge," the Peeta explains. "You wear them to bed." Ah. I see. How odd. Different covers for different activities. No wonder the Peeta put different covers on for dinner. It must be custom.
I reach behind myself and start undoing the circles behind my dress. There's a shift of weight on the floorboards of the room, alerting me to the Peeta's departure. I spin on my heel and look at him in alarm. "Why are you leaving so soon?" I ask.
"This is more an affair that a lady does alone," the Peeta explains.
"The switching of covers?"
"Yes."
I let the last circle fall through its hole and let the dress fall from my arms. I don't understand why the switching of covers should be a lady's private affair. I have walked into the Peeta's tent and seen him without top cover, why should the situation be any different for me? Maybe he is being kind. I don't see why he should think that he should be though. My body has never been a shameful matter in my eyes. I have grown to become quite proud of the girth I have worked for over the years.
This doesn't stop the Peeta from turning around. I want to tell him to turn back around and face me but I know he won't. He won't look until the bed garments are covering me. I step out of the dress and untie the ridiculous 'drawers', as Madge called them, before squirming into the light bed garment.
I tap the Peeta's shoulder. "Decent?" he enquires.
I tap him again.
He turns around and looks almost relieved to see me clothed. Why? Does my body repulse him in some way? He refuses to meet my eye and busies himself by collecting my dress off the floor and attaching it to some sort of contraption which allows it to hang inside the structure known as the wardrobe. "Breakfast is usually around 9:30 but if you wish to sleep on, I can collect you later."
I have no concept of what this means so I assume that I will see what he means tomorrow.
When the floor is clear of any sign of my discarded covers, the Peeta places a hand on my shoulder and smiles that damn smile again. "Goodnight," he says.
"Goodnight," I reply.
Sleep eludes me. I thought I was tired but it seems to have been a ruse. My eyes skitter in an unsettled manner around the room, unable to concentrate on one thing before they're moving on to another. I toss and turn in the huge bed. It had been easy to fall asleep before but now it feels like an impossible task. I wonder what the Peeta is doing. I know for sure he is with the Delly. I still want to know how she managed to get her claws into such an intriguing being when she is so plainly boring herself.
I wonder if the Peeta looks at her without covers on.
I slip out of bed and pad across the floor in my bare feet. When I peer outside, the hallway is clear, so I continue down until I find the Peeta's room. What if he has already found rest? I can't expect that just because I suffer sleeplessness that he would too. The only way I am able to locate his room in the first place is that I can hear muffled voices behind the door. At least he's not asleep. I won't be disturbing him in any way.
As I draw nearer to his room, I realize that the sounds that I am hearing are not voices speaking rationally, but voices making strange sounds. I've heard such sounds in the jungle before. Just not at such close range. I gently place my hand on the handle of the door and push it open a slit, just so that I can peer inside.
I cannot see a lot through my slit. At first, all I can see is the Delly. And what I see of her is not pleasant.
Her body is formed exactly like mine, if you leave out the fact that her skin is pale as mother's milk. She has two mounds on her chest, just like I do, with pink nipples on top. Her stomach is thin-unlike mine that is toned-but she has a patch of unkempt hair the same colour as that on her head, like I also have. How strange. How closely linked are these creatures to my own pack?
She approaches the bed and picks up a bed garment similar to mine. I watch as she pulls it on and tugs her hair out from beneath the collar. I have to sidestep and lean closer to the slit to watch her as she makes her way fully across the room, settling into the bed and cozying up to the Peeta, who sits against the headboard with his strange glass contraptions at the end of his nose as he marks something onto another piece of white. I wonder what he's marking. The Delly? Something he remembers from my jungle?
Me?
"How long must she stay here?" the Delly asks.
"As long as it takes," the Peeta replies.
"I'm not happy you went against what I wanted," the Delly pouts, pressing her chin against the Peeta's shoulder. She doesn't seem to appreciate that she was in the presence of an amazing marking being made. I can only dream of watching the process, while she probably throws it away on what I'm guessing is a daily basis.
"I'm only doing what's best for her," the Peeta answers. "We are many things Delly but the day we leave an innocent woman behind in a jungle full of wild animals is where I draw the line."
"She obviously grew up there," the Delly mutters. "If she'd been eaten, it'd have already happened."
"What do you have against her? Why are you so strongly opposed to her presence with us?" the Peeta asked. He stopped what he was doing and met the Delly's eyes. There was a moment's silence as the Delly refused to answer the question. Then, as if I blinked and this action changed the entire setting, something else was happening.
The Delly held huge clumps of blond hair in hands, using this to hold her mate's head close to her own. Their mouths were touching, and moving, and making strange noises. I stand frozen, staring through my slit, as I tried to decipher what was going on. I had never seen such a thing before. Was that even hygienic? To have the mouth of another against your own?
I am paralyzed, unsure about what to do. The Delly is bolder than I give her credit for, as she removes the white from the Peeta's hands and slides into his lap like one might mount a leopard. My curiosity is peaked and I wish to find out what happens next, the stir in my chest returning so prominent it's almost painful.
"Not when there's company," the Peeta finally said, placing a hand in the middle of the Delly's chest and smiling at her comfortingly.
"Not when there's company; not when you have the flu; I'm really beginning to think you don't want me anymore," the Delly pouts, playing with the gold band on the Peeta's finger.
"Now don't be silly," the Peeta scolds. He cups her cheek and places a gentle kiss on her lips. "There's no one else for me."
I back away from the door and walk back to my room as hastily as I dare, knowing that one misplaced foot could give me away. I spend the rest of the night lying in the now tainted bed, staring at the ceiling and contemplating my plan of attack. The Delly has an advantage, but I'm going to have to figure out a way to steal that advantage.
The question is: how?
A/N: R&R with thoughts? I apologize for typos :-)