Intricate Strokes, Delicate Precision

Option A

By: KaKaVegeGurl

Author's Note:

Big news fer me, and maybe you all might want to know,

I'm moving. Yes, actually moving, not to Canada, not yet. But I'm moving from my apartment back to a place that I might be able to call home. It's closer to family and more convenient.

I'm ALSO starting up werk again on Thursday. This Thursday. Yeah, I know. Exhausting, but hopefully this will give me more money, need that. Can't just write.

Internet might be a small issue fer a little while, MAYBE, but I should have time to write. I'll try and get some more writing done before I have to start packing, so that can give me a boost with posts.

ALSO, I'm SO TOTALLY PUMPED fer like all of the Options right now, C is just amazing, D is hella crazed, A is getting to some of my favorite parts, and B is... Well, it's B, need I say more?

ALSO, I'm just saying, but there's a surprise after this update, soon, maybe tomorrow or so. Might shock yer socks off.

I love all of you, you guys are awesome, glad you've stuck around! Have a nice steaming cup of yaoi and enjoy!

~KaKaVegeGurl (A)

Side Notes:

All I know,

Is everything is not as it's sold.

But the more I grow, the less I know.

And I have lived so many lives,

Though I'm not old.

And the more I see, the less I grow.

The fewer the seeds, the more I sow.

I wish I hadn't seen all of the realness.

And all the 'real people' are really not real at all.

The more I learn, the more I learn.

The more I cry, the more I cry.

As I say goodbye to the way of life,

I thought I had designed for me.

Then I see you standing there,

Wanting more from me,

And all I can do is try.

Then I see you standing there,

I'm all I'll ever be,

But all I can do is try.

Chapter 6 - Trying

They're going to try something new to me today. I know because the doctor tells me.

It's good that they're allowing me the knowledge of change, it's comforting because it's different than what Snow did.

It's even more comforting because I think I need to know, I probably shouldn't be subjected to surprise when I get so upset so easily.

This time, today, they play a recording for me. The feeling of panic at the sight of her is overwhelming as the video plays out.

Katniss sits against me and asks: "Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?"

I watch me on the screen as I shake my head and she begins to explain, "It was a Friday evening, the day just before Prim turned ten, late in May..."

The story plays out until this sickly version of me mentions how they both are like Katniss, her mother and Prim. How she's nurtured me, I'm sure, I think that's what I meant.

But the screen blacks out and they turn on the lights of the room.

The doctor comes up and I feel a calm swell over my mind, calm from the story, from Katniss. It's like I'm comforted by seeing her and me like this; close together, in the cave.

I remember feeling like that then, when I was with her.

I can't take my eyes from the screen, can't take my mind from that moment, staring up at the black screen as I play back the memory in my head.

I can smell the cave, feel the discomfort of it, the sting of my leg, when I had it. I can even remember the tastes in my mouth and the feel of her lips; the lamb stew in the cave.

Whether she was playing it up, or was a mutt, that doesn't stop how I felt and how she made me feel.

I glance up finally when I feel a particular presence come close to me.

"Peeta?"

The doctor by my side looks concerned and I try to push away the overwhelming tidal wave of emotions that's taking over.

I can only grasp on to tiny details of what Katniss's story means.

District Twelve was bombed, I remember that, and Katniss's old house can't possibly be in the shape it was then. And even when she moved out of it and into the Victor's Village, I don't remember seeing that goat at all.

The doctor smiles as I blink up at him.

"How are you feeling, Peeta?" He asks softly, as if not to startle me.

"So, was the goat real?"

His eyebrows narrow as he stares down at me, "The goat?"

"The goat in her story," I try to explain, "Was it real, or did she make that up for the cameras? Did it die?"

"I don't know," he answers finally and I'm immediately put out.

I'll never know if it was real, and even if it was, it's probably dead from the explosion.

The next time they play a video for me, it's not a memory I know.

It's Katniss, yes, clearly Katniss. And she's singing to these trees of Mockingjays out around our home in District Twelve.

I stare up at the screen this time as the song chills through me.

"Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Where the dead man called out for his love to flee.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."

My mind isn't able to hold back the first image of her father, the first image I associate with the song.

Katniss's father, the strong, tall man, walking into the bakery.

I had gotten home from school that day and just put away my books, I'd even stopped by the back stove to make sure that the bread in one of the ovens wasn't burning.

Sometimes, they would smell like they were burning, to me, but I was always so afraid of that so I could've just been imagining it in my head.

Katniss's father came into the bakery nearly everyday. He was so much bigger than her mother and her, but not nearly as wide shouldered as my father.

They were both pretty bulky men, but for completely different reasons.

"Good evening, Mister Everdeen," my dad says as he turns back to me and asks for a loaf of Three Grain from the back.

He means warm, I always know he means 'warm' for Mister Everdeen.

I run to the back and grab the large towel to pull down the handle of the oven. It's set low to keep a few warm and I grab out the first one with my left hand, my left, which is covered in the largest oven mitts, able to fit on my head but just barely on my father's hands.

I bag the bread as my dad and Mister Everdeen talk.

"She's a beautiful girl," Katniss's father is saying, about Prim, I think, "Too innocent compared to Katniss."

Katniss, I can't help smiling, and my stomach does turns. Katniss and her singing.

And just as I'm thinking this, Mister Everdeen walks from the counter to look at the cakes on display.

He starts humming to his self softly at first.

My father walks into the back where I am, smiles at me, and puts up his apron.

"Give him the bread, Peeta," he tells me. He knows I will, but he says so just to be sure.

I watch him leave, up the stairs, to tell my brothers that we're closing.

Mister Everdeen has went from just humming now, to singing.

I'm immediately aware of the birds going silent on top of the bakery roof, just like my father said they would, just like they did for Katniss.

"Are you, are you

Coming to the tree

Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free.

Strange things did happen here

No stranger would it be

If we met up at midnight in the hanging tree."

I don't know what a hanging tree is, but the song makes me sad, and I can't help wondering why they need to be free.

As he ends the song, Mister Everdeen turns to me suddenly and holds out his hand for the bread.

I move closer and give it to him.

"You paint the cakes?" he asks softly, then points down at the one I remember doing this morning, "This one here, right?"

It startles me that he would know something like that and I feel my face heat up as I look from the bread, to his hand, to the cake, and then back up to his face.

I almost feel guilty. Most adults don't talk to me unless I do something wrong.

"This one was done by you, right?"

I nod, "I only do the lilies." I honestly can't think of anything more to say to him. This moment, right here, I'm reminded of why my father doesn't hate Mister Everdeen.

I always wondered before how my dad could settle for my mom, lose Katniss's mother, and still like this guy. But when I'm around Mister Everdeen, I can feel it, the comfort that comes from having someone around you that's concerned for everyone.

He's a strong guy, he's a capable guy, and he still goes out of his way to be kind and courteous to others.

My dad's a great man, but I can see why Katniss's mother loves Mister Everdeen now.

He doesn't even know me, but he knows my cakes.

I watch him scratch his beard stubble and smile at the displays, "You've got a good eye for detail, Peeta. Soon, you'll be painting all of these cakes."

I want to know how he knows it's mine, so I ask.

Mister Everdeen just laughs and points out something to me that I don't think of often.

"A flower is a plant, Peeta," he says at first, "And I've seen your mothers try at cakes, she's not very good. I've seen your fathers, and they're sort of like flowers. Both of your brothers make them look sort of like a cartoon."

I tilt my head as he explains, but he goes silent and I'm so impatient, I have to know.

"Well, what do mine look like?"

He fingers the bread in his hand, putting it in his hunting bag, looks at the soft white lily again and then says: "They look like flowers."

This is what gets me thinking about the way that I paint my lilies.

The way I looked them up in as many pictures as I could, how I stared at them for hours, the shadows, the lighting.

Mister Everdeen is right, I think. Mine do look like flowers.

The next time I paint one like I did that day, which isn't often, I'm glad that I can now make a flower instead of a cake.

I explain this memory in detail to the doctor that comes to me after the video plays.

He's surprised, but satisfied, at what I'm not sure.

Finally, he puts down his pin and helps to release me from the bed, "would you like to go and work on the wedding cake some more?"

I nod, of course I do, these memories of the bakery and Katniss's father make me long to get my hands painting again.

"Today you can make the actual cake for them," he says as he cuffs my hands and the guards stand around listening but not including themselves.

"And to what theme?" I ask.

"Sea," he says, "Of course. For Annie and Finnick."

I know it's for Annie and Finnick already, but as he says their names, I'm overwhelmed with joy that the two of them can finally be happy together, no more Capitol to shop Finnick around, no more fear of the Games for Annie.

I want to make their cake amazing.

Orange Cup Corals and gentle Sea Flowers, it's hard to stop myself from expecting them to sway back and forth.

Now that I've finished it, a few days after the memory of the Hanging Tree song, I watch them roll it away for the wedding. I wish I could go, but I know I can't be trusted out there. Just in case Katniss is around.

Even now, I don't know what to think of her.

I imagine that I have some sort of power over myself at this point, but I don't want to upset Finnick and Annie on their special day if I slip.

The doctor leads me back to my room and I'm strapped back down to the bed, left to relax for the rest of the day.

It's been grueling, getting the cake done in time for the wedding, but I'm almost painting as fast as I use to, and keeping my hands from shaking has become relatively easy now.

I'm not sure how long I lay like this, thinking over the cake and the sea flowers when the doctor returns and steps to the side of my bed.

"You remember," he starts gently, "When you told Haymitch that you wanted to see Katniss?"

I nod, despite knowing that's what I said my heart does clutch a little.

"She's offered to come in and see you tonight, would that be alright?"

"Yes," I manage out, watching him close, looking for the deceit, "Am I going to be held down?"

He nods and puts two extra straps on each arm 'for precaution'.

I don't blame him, even I don't think one would've held me back if I lost control.

I have to take this opportunity though, I have to see what she's like.

Once it's late, I'm not sure how late, the door finally does open, and I'm immediately on edge, full of fear and revulsion as she walks into the room.

Katniss, the mutt, the reason why I'm stuck down to this bed, is just as on guard as I am. I can see it in the way she walks up to me.

She doesn't get close, just enough that I can see her face and expression very clearly. And then she crosses her arms.

"Hey," her voice is soft, but cold.

"Hey," I say back, a simple introduction, not meant to be looked at too closely, I guess.

"Haymitch said you wanted to talk to me."

"Look at you, for starters," I correct her. And then I do. I look at her long dark hair, braided down her back just like I remember, I look at her storm gray eyes, building with anticipation, I look at her slim frame, unhealthy and thin. It almost sickens me to look at this creature.

How could I have fallen for something like this? Her sickly pale skin, her tight cheekbones, her boney fingers, she could be a skeleton.

"You're not very big, are you?" I find myself saying, "Or particularly pretty."

"Well, you've looked better," she snaps.

I can't help laughing at this, some part of me, the part that sees how disgusting she is, expected that response almost word for word. Maybe she really is a mutt.

"And not even remotely nice. To say that to me after all I've been through."

"Yeah. We've all been through a lot," which we have, that's right, but I think it's safe to say I've been through the most.

"And you're the one who was known for being nice," I try not to wince at this outwardly, what an insult, "Not me."

That's for sure.

"Look," she says finally, looking almost furious now, "I don't feel so well. Maybe I'll drop by tomorrow."

I hope she will, I can't help hoping that she shows up everyday.

But I can't let her go just like this, I have to do something to slow her, to stop her, to make her say more. I need to see more of her.

"Katniss."

She stops but she doesn't turn back immediately, she's just waiting.

"I remember about the bread."

Ending Notes:

If you enjoyed the adventures of Little Peeta, tell me about it. Write a REVIEW! I'm totally loving all of them, simple or not. Take care! See you next time!

~KaKaVegeGurl