Song Suggestion: Adele—"Rolling in the Deep" (Piano Guys Cover)

Thank You: Lucy Greenhill, Guest, 3vlee, slightlytwisted84, K8 the Great, Obscure-Reference-Girl, and a guest.

A/N: Someone asked if I will be writing a chapter from Cato's p.o.v. My answer: not yet. He has too many secrets and telling the story from his perspective would ruin the plot. I may write a scene from his perspective at the end, or after everything is done as a special.

Tea Time

"Hold still! It's just one more coat," Theodora leaned forward and placed one her instruments of torture on Prim's eye. She flinched, getting mascara on her skin. Theodora scowled. "Geez, you're worse than Cassius."

"You put makeup on Cassius?"

"Sure I do," she scoffed, "Where do you think I get the practice in?" She stopped suddenly, "Forget I said that. He'd kill me if anyone knew."

Prim smiled. Theodora was growing on her. Yes, she was a terrifying, but there was something endearing about the way random bits of information slipped out of her mouth. Prim reminded herself to never tell Theodora a secret. She already had enough dirt on Cassius, he'd be covered in it if she ever wanted to use it.

"There, all done," Theodora twisted her seat so she could look in the mirror. "You like?"

The makeup wasn't bad and neither was the hair, probably because Prim fought her the whole way through. Every stroke of eye shadow had been a battle.

However, her dress was a ridiculousmix of flouncy, bubble like material that floated around her skirt in varying shades of violent green and a trail of fluff that stuck out behind her reminding of a rodent's tail. Her shoes rose into ankle-breaking points. For the first time, Prim got a glimpse of what she would look like if she had grown up in the ostentatious capitol.

"I look utterly stupid."

Ten Minutes Later

They said goodbye to Cato on the front doorstep.

"You're not going?" Prim asked. She wished he would. She hated going to things like this and considered Cato like armor. Last time, he did all the talking, even answering questions directed at her. Knowing that she had no such protection this time around frightened her.

"No, I have things to do." He kissed the top of her head, "but you'll do fine."

Somehow, though she couldn't possibly know the future, she knew this not to be true.

Several Hours Later

They drove through winding streets. For the first time, she studied her surrounding as they traveled to the heart of the city. At the beginning, there were shanty shacks on the side of the road. Outside sat hollow-eyed children with rounded bellies, their hair in dirty tangles with patchy clothing. Wounds and thin soot flashed through openings.

The sight made her think of her home. And the comparison shocked her. She had always thought the whole of district 2 were privileged, even the poorest having, at the least, a decent meal every night, shelter from the cold.

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized how naive she had been. Of course, there were poor people here. Who else would mine the quarries and work the stones? It was the same social structure as District 12, but instead of townskids and mine workers, it was divided between quarry kids and the kids who were blessed enough to be trained at the club.

As they went, the houses became sturdier, more beautiful, until they entered the city, sparkling and white, not even a scrap of trash could be found on the ground.

The car pulled to a stop in front of a large building with ornate, curving detail. Small crowds of brightly-colored and well-dressed people made their way up the steps and through a gigantic door made entirely of glass.

Five Minutes Later

"You look fucking stupid." Those were the first words spoken to Prim as she exited the car. She glanced up to find Katla giving her a coy grin.

"Katla!" Prim exclaimed and threw herself at her. She hugged her back. It had been so long, and she had so much to ask her and talk about. Theodora was nice and all, but Katla and she had a shared sense of hardship that would be hard to replicate.

"Nice to see you too, but you're ruining my stupid bubbles." She wore the same dress, but in varying shades of blue. "And that would be such a travesty."

Prim smiled, holding back at the laugh. At least one person realized how ridiculous they looked.

"Turn around," Katla said.

"What? Why—"

"Just do it."

Prim pursed her lips in confusion, not understanding what she was getting at. Her curiosity won out and she twisted. Something cold wrapped around her neck and fell heavy against the hollow of her throat.

Prim's hand shot up and touched a cold, flat, round object. A necklace.

"What's this?" Prim glanced at the jewelry and gave a side-smile. It was an exact replica of Katla's necklace, the steel one that helped them start the fire. The thing that saved their lives. It was a circle with a hollow center.

"A gift, stupid. I got it made for you."

Prim turned to face Katla. The emotions bubbling inside her made her eyes burn.

"Now don't you start crying. Theodora won't be happy if you messed up her hard work."

But she couldn't help it. Prim could count on one hand how many gifts she had been given in her life.

Hearing her name, Theodora popped into the conversation, already scowling at the necklace, as if it was a snake that needed to lose its head.

"There is no way I'm allowing you to wear that thing, or you Katla. It's horrid."

"Then I say it matches the dresses perfectly. "

Theodora placed a threatening finger in front of their faces.

"I don't want to hear any complaining. I spent days picking those out. The designs were exclusives made byConstantine, the most famous dress designer in all Panem. Show some gratefulness, and—"

"Theodora, dear." A voice interrupted them. Prim turned to find Mrs. Carthage. Her dress looked like it had been painted on with bright gold polka-dots and high shoulder pads that rose into triangles. Not the stupidest look by far, but still stupid.

Katla and Prim gave each other a side-long look, and Prim had to bite her tongue to keep herself from laughing. At least she wouldn't be going through this alone. In fact, she almost didn't care at all. What could the likes of the women she'd meet, probably of the same caliber as Mrs. Manniola, do to her?

She'd been through losing her father. Losing her mother. Losing her sister. Losing Gale. Starvation. Hopelessness. Kidnapping. The destruction of herself. Prim could handle a few bitchy women.

At least, she thought she could until she walked through the glass doors into a sparkling room, filled with the crème de la crème of District 2 society. Mountains of food overflowed tables, thousands of flowers of hung suspended from the rafters with invisible string.

But Prim stopped short. Her insides turned into ice. And it had nothing to do with the crowds or the decor.

A woman in a blue dress without stupid bubbles or a trailing tail stepped in front of their small party. Brilliant red hair tumbled down her shoulder, and she smiled with perfect, straight teeth so gleaming bright it almost hurt to look at them. Every cell in the woman's body was sculpted and curved with desire in mind. Everyone, including Prim, looked unfit for the occasion beside her.

"Oh, Persephone, sweetheart," Cato's mother gushed from beside her, "I'm so glad you could make it."

Persephone didn't even look at Mrs. Carthage, her eyes were glued to Prim, and Prim couldn't break the stare. Persephone smiled, though her eyelids thinned as if sneering, as if Prim was a particularly interesting pet that could do tricks.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world."

Thirty Minutes Later

The Room was beautiful; there was no denying that. Sunlight filtered through large picture windows overlooking a small pond with a fountain spraying water twenty feet into the air. The carpet swirled with patterns in a pale shade of celery green and chandleries dripped their crystals from the ceiling bouncing the light into brilliant rays around the room.

Prim sat at a table picking at a plate of food with her silver fork. The plate held food fare similar to Cato's home, fresh but heavy with butter and cream. Decadent and mouthwatering. Prim wondered how the women managed to stay so thin, considering the intake of calories, until she noticed several ladies taking a sip of some strange juice. Then they promptly excused themselves, hurrying to the bathroom.

"Where are they going?" Prim asked a man seated next to her. He had a large potbelly and stuffed his mouth with more food before answering. He obviously never had the problem of starving himself.

"Disposing of their food."

"Disposing of food?" It took a few minutes of working it out in her head to realize that he meant they disposed of their food in the toilet.

Her disgust couldn't be confined with description. It tingled across her body. Disposing of food when most of Panem starved... Criminal. Unjust. Despicable. The adjectives made her shake with anger.

"Do you want some?" He tilted a glass towards her. The juice reminded her of orange juice, but brighter, unnatural.

She couldn't stop her sneer.

"No."

He glanced askew at her, surprised by the answer. As if she was the first women he had ever heard say that.

The table she sat at was very large. A circular table, so that all the people had to stare at each other. It was so large it held nearly twenty people. Theodorasat on one side of her. Katla was seated at a different table. The only other people close enough to talk, besides the random man sitting next to her, was Cato's mother and Persephone. So the majority of the time she sat silent. Prim was bored, wondering if this was all to Tea Time. If so, she had worked herself up for nothing.

However, that sentiment didn't last for long.

When the man beside her, an old liaison from the Capitol, got up to go to the bathroom to dispose of food, Persephone stole the opportunity and sat next to her. The hair on the back of her neck rose in warning.

"So Primroot, right?"

"Primrose," Prim answered back through clenched teeth.

"Whatever," she waved her off, "So, how is it living with the great Cato Carthage? Was it everything you ever dreamed of while living in squalor? I have to admit, you managed quite the coup."

"Is there a point to this discussion? Can't we both agree to not like each other and avoid interaction?"

"Hunny, I could never be ignored even if I tried. Just look at me. You, on the other hand—"

"Am tired of being insulted. Now, please, I'm trying to... enjoy my dinner. So if you'll excuse me."

Instead of listening to her, Persephone sidled closer, scooting the chair until they sat side by side. She leaned over, her mouth close to her ear. From an outsider's perspective, it would look like they were best friends, sharing secrets.

Prim refused to turn or acknowledge her presence. She was afraid seeing Persephone so close up would do nothing but harm. She could just see Cato brushing his lips on her milk skin, breathing in her honeyed scent, cloying to distraction. Next to her, Prim's background stood out: her slouched back, her weathered hands, healer hands. They told her story before she could.

"Life doesn't work like that in this part of the world," she said, her breath warm and ticklish. "Here we keep our enemies closer than our friends."

Prim straightened her posture and lifted her chin for confidence.

"Who says we are enemies? To be so, I'd have to care, and I certainly don't."

"We aren't," she said, "Yet." She sat back and placed a hand over Prim's hand and squeezed, "Though I'd be an awful one to make. Be careful to not get in my way." She stood up, but stayed close by with an amused expression, "And by the way, you're using the wrong fork."

Before Prim could respond to the warning, the liaison came back and Persephone graciously returned to her seat.

Prim glanced down at her hand, grasping the fork. The bitch—she was right. A salad sat in front of her and she held the dinner, as if having a slouch and jagged nails weren't enough. In this environment, it was a sin great enough to be labeled a heathen. Prim was just glad it had been Persephone and not Mrs. Manniola who discovered the faux pas.

It wasn't until they cleared her salad and brought her dinner that Prim's thoughts caught up with her.

Persephone both stated that she wasn't her enemy and helped her out when she could have openly embarrassed her.

And that could only mean one thing: Persephone wanted something from her.

The question: what?

Thirty Minutes Later

Towards the end of dinner, Prim returned to playing with her silver wear, hoping the day could end already. She longed for the solitude in the woods. The dull whisper of the river. Prim raised a cup of tea to her lips, taking a long sip, wishing it was alcohol. At least then, some part of the evening would be enjoyable.

Out of the corner of her ear, Prim listened to Persephone's conversation with the capitol liaison whose name, she learned, was Cornelius. They talked of nothing interesting most of the night, just stupid Capitol gossip, pointless and mind-numbing.

No wonder the girls in this district are cruel and dumb if these were the only things discussed while growing up.

And then, suddenly, the conversation turned to something that pricked her ears up in warning. The word terrorist made her mind sharp and clear like jumping into a tub of ice water.

"It's dreadful, isn't it? What happened at the club. Just dreadful. Heroes, they call themselves. Well, I say they're nothing more than terrorists. They have never been so bold before. A future tribute...," Cornelius trailed off.

"District 2 shall rally again. They always do." Persephone said, "The resistance group is a bunch of renegade degenerates. They won't last much longer, now that President Snow's eye is on them."

Cornelius nods at this in a dumb way, a yes man way.

"But the loss of Brick." His voice came out in a groan, as if mourning," I wonder if the district will have enough time to rally for the games. There is only a week left until the reaping. "

Prim almost choked on her tea. A week? Where did the time go? It snuck up on her like a predator. Her heart beat hard at the information.

But the talk of the games was overshadowed with the talk of this so called terrorist attack. She had never heard of a resistance , sure. But resistance, no. Resistance implied organization, leadership, a purpose, a threat. The idea was almost too absurd to wrap her mind around. Was it against the Capitol or against District 2? Either way, it was an uphill battle and a pointless one. The last uprising caused the Hunger Games. What would a new one incite?

The mourning she heard in Cornelius' voice, she knew, had nothing to do with sorrow for the tribute, and everything to do with effect on the games.

Prim wished she could ask someone all her questions, but no one present would answer them. They whispered, low, conspiratorially. Whatever they said was not meant for Tea Time and polite conversation. If they discovered she could hear, they would probably stop talking.

"Did Brick manage to survive? Was he able to remember any details to help the investigation?" Persephone asked.

Brick. Prim's memory conjured a brief memory of a boy in a District 2 training shirt. He had never said anything to her, but he had never been cruel or mean either. Just abnormally talented with a sword. And that wasn't reason enough to attack him. Whoever this resistance was, she already didn't agree with their motives or solutions.

"At the time being, I believe, he's alive, though the doctors say he may never walk again, even with synthetic ones—his legs were blown clean off, you know. And what kind of life is that?" He stopped to take a long drink of water. After sighing, he said, "Unfortunately, he can't remember anything about the blast. However, they seemed to have identified a potential leader. Information proven by Cato Carthage, no less. Oh," he stopped, "I shouldn't be saying any of this. I've said too much already. It's supposed to be insider knowledge only. Only authorities—"

"I won't tell a soul, I swear," Persephone sat forward a little bit, showing some cleavage. Cornelius glanced down for a long moment and gulped.

"I suppose you wouldn't, right?" He asked, still looking down, as if he wasn't sure. "You won't believe who did it, even if I tell you. It's still just a rumor, but I have it on good authority that this individual has not only been arrested, but thrown into the Pit for a night. No one gets placed there unless branded a traitor. What else could it be? All the signs point that way. In any case, he's now stark, raving mad, he was said to have screamed at the jailers, vowing revenge, vowing death and blood—"

Persephone hand came out and rested on Cornelius' thigh.

"Who did it?"

Cornelius gulped loud, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. Both Persephone and Prim leaned closer to hear.

"Jacen Hartline."

.

.

.

.

.

A/N: I'm not usually one to ever rant about reviews. However, last chapter there was a sharp drop, not in readership or statistics, but in reviews. If you don't like it, leave me a comment as to why. I'm a big girl; I can take criticism, as long as it's constructive and not a flame. And if you do like it, leave a comment for all of my hard work.

Some authors threaten to not write another chapter if they don't get X amount of reviews. I would never do that. However, it does take a blow to motivation, no matter how driven, to receive only half the response you usually do. So please, review and let me know what you think. Thank You.