Hi! I actually got this done sooner than I expected–and it's a little more than 3,000 words (AN not included!)–a decent size!
Since I haven't done one of these babies in a while: I do not, in fact, own the Hunger Games. In case you haven't caught that already.
KATNISS
Atala's advice matches up with Haymitch's, so that much is well. But when we're dismissed, most of the tributes head right over to the weapons, ignoring her advice. We start toward the fire station, where I get a flame after a bit of time, while Peeta has no luck.
"Move your hands faster."
"If I go any faster, it'll fly out of my hands!"
He demonstrates, whirling the stick until it's about to slide from his grip.
"Ok, stop." I cover his hands with mine, halting the frantic movements. I can feel the tension. "Breathe."
His eyes close and shoulders rise, letting out a long breath. When he looks at me, it's a softer shade of blue.
"It has to be controlled." I shift my hands, starting the movement up again. "Remember, roll them down the stick, then slide back up." I continue with the motions until a thin wisp of smoke rises.
I hand the stick to Peeta, having him spin it faster to encourage the flame. When it catches on the dried grasses, a loud sign escapes him, both of us falling back to sit more comfortably. He keeps adjusting and adding to the small fire until it's a decent size.
Some of the tightness in his shoulders lessens, but the furrowed brow remains.
I knock his boot with mine. "Aren't you the one that always calms me down?"
He exhales in a little huff, face relaxing a bit. "Thought you could take a turn." With the fire crackling, he scoops up a handful of dirt, smothering the flames. "You're good at this. You already know how to survive. The first station, and I'm already having trouble." I can see the worry etched on his face.
I don't really know what to say to that. Because it's true. I certainly have more survival skills than a merchant. "You had trouble. Then you improved and got it right."
"Didn't know you were the type for pep-talks." The tone is lighter, and I stretch my legs out in front of me.
"I have many hidden talents."
"I'm sure." He stands up, brushing the dirt off his pants before offering his hand. "Snares?"
They go better. The trainer, an older, grizzled man, is ecstatic when I show him my prior knowledge of traps. Gale's better than me and can devise new types, but I've gotten good at resetting the traps, recreating his designs. Peeta's still less accomplished than me but manages to set two types of snares that consistently work. It's good enough that he shouldn't starve, as long as there's game and a length of rope.
A bell rings for lunch, launching me back home, where the bell releases us from the monotony of a coal education. Memories of black stained tiles, tables bunched with clusters of brunettes, a dandelion in a schoolyard. Mage's decision to sit with me, drawing ire from the townies. A blond boy looking over his shoulder, staring straight into my eyes.
Peeta tugs me toward the lunch hall, breaking the daze.
The food is less extravagant than those in the apartments, but it's still filling, and I can eat all I like. We both heap food onto the plates. Who knew fire-making could be so taxing?
"Going for another?" Peeta asks, watching me stand for the buffet. "If you're not careful, all that food will bog you down in the Arena."
"You're one to talk," I say, casting a meaningful look at the feast still on his plate. Piled with potatoes, greens, and roast chicken, it exceeds the amount in my first serving.
He just laughs, motioning me to keep going.
I'm debating whether to grab the fruit bowl or thin pudding when Glimmer slides next to me. "Hey, Girl on Fire!"
I freeze, unsure of what to do. Haymitch said to keep a low profile. Should I ignore her? Probably not. But what's the worst she could do? They're already planning on murdering me in the Games. "Hi, Glimmer." I turn away, hoping to leave without any more interaction. But her hand latches onto my forearm, the grip strong, warning me.
"You should be careful. The flames that burn the brightest tend to burn out too fast. Make sure you share that spotlight." She grins, the teeth-baring smile wholly different from the vapid, giggling girl that's been displayed so far. "Or we'll make your death extra entertaining."
I hadn't pegged her for a main contender, but she's still a Career. And the glint in her eye betrays that deadly training. It's interesting she's completely hidden that from the sponsors. Playing up the dumb, sexy blond for old men willing to sponsor her, I guess.
Her hand tightens, and I realize she's waiting for an answer. "Cinna can take all of the credit, really. The spotlight wasn't exactly my choice." Nevermind that I wanted it.
The scary expression fades with one of confusion. "Who's Cinna?"
"My stylist." Her grip has slackened, so I twist out of her hand, walking back to Peeta before she can grab me again.
It's only when I sit down do I let the breath out.
Peeta steals a strawberry from the bowl, looking at me with thinly veiled concern. "What did Glimmer want?"
"Told me to share the spotlight, or else." I bat away his attempt to grab a blackberry. "Said I shouldn't burn too brightly or something."
His mouth opens to say something, the bell covers whatever he's saying, so I shrug and stand up.
Glimmer's back with the pack, hanging off Cato's arm. They'd deserve each other. Of course, the fact one of them will certainly be dead in two weeks should discourage that relationship, but she's still giggling at something he said. Back to the dumb blond act. I wonder if the other Careers know. I'm sure they do. Still, Clove is rolling her eyes at the pair. At least someone shares my feelings.
Everyone's gone through the door when a Peacekeeper blocks the entry. "No food in the Training Room."
"But the Gamemakers had food," I argue. I'd seen it. A whole spread of food. More than they could realistically stuff in their stomachs.
"Leave the food here." The black, reflective visor hides the face inside the helmet. A woman certain to have never gone hungry. As soon as I set the bowl down, an Avox will throw it out. These people don't understand. Every time, every time, their displays of privilege make me sick.
"Put the bowl down, Tribute Everdeen." The impersonal title only serves to make me more pissed. Tribute Everdeen.
"Of course, thank you," Peeta takes the bowl in a swift motion, setting it on a nearby table. He practically shoves me through the door, taking advantage of my silence.
When we're out of sight, I shove him. "What the fuck, Peeta? That's such a waste, I could've eaten here!"
He spreads his hands out, trying to placate me. "I know, but they wouldn't have let you."
He tries to nudge me toward a station, but I plant my feet. "Do you even understand that it's a waste? Or do Townies not worry about that?"
He abandons the half-hearted attempts to lead me away. "I understand very well. And you know that." His voice is calm, irritating me. "Stop projecting your anger onto me. I know they're disgusting. I hate the waste too. But there's nothing we can do, and arguing with a Peacekeeper like that is not going to win any favors."
I bite my cheek, trying to stare him down. Being hungry, and being starving are not the same. He doesn't seem bothered.
"I've lived off stale bread for most of my life. Sometimes we had a loaf between the five of us. I understand. Stop getting mad at me."
The boiling anger at the Peacekeeper refuses to leave, infusing resentment into my voice. "You threw it away easily enough."
His face tightens, almost with disappointment. "I don't know what you want me to say, Katniss. They weren't going to let you leave with the food. Yes, it bothered me. But stop trying to pin this on me as if it's my fault they're spoiled, sheltered Capitolities. We agreed to be a team. Stop taking your frustration out on me." He walks away with stiff strides, heading to the camouflage station.
I follow slowly behind him, listening as the trainer starts talking to Peeta about the different natural materials on the table. He demonstrates his craft, replicating marshy grasses, then moving on, bunching leaves carefully to present the image of a bush.
I try to create a screen of clay on a backpack to hide it in a pile of rocks, but it sticks out like a sore thumb. The smooth texture of the clay contrasts with the rock's pattern, too dark next to the dried stone. Camouflage isn't a useful skill anyway. I give up on the rock, choosing to play with the various berry dyes on the table, staining my skin with shades of blue, indigo, and violet. I admire the smooth fade of one shade to the next, my skin gloved in the cool colors. Turning my hand to the side, I examine my nails, now an interesting shade of lilac. It better fade by the interviews. The prep team will kill me if it stays.
"Pretty."
Peeta's offer of peace.
I nod, still staring at my skin. He was right, anyway. I was just using him as a punching bag. Even if he hasn't known true hunger, he will soon enough. It's this thought that causes my eyes to drift over, imagining the muscles deflating, face turning gaunt, body emaciated. To see his cheeks sunken, arms–
"Shit Peeta!"
His entire forearm is a tree. The bark chips are perfectly placed, the cracks in the surface mirroring those of the reference in front of him. When he turns to me and grins, any possible resentment is gone.
"How'd you do that?"
His smile grows, exuding well-deserved pride. "I do the bakery's cakes. And I love art."
"I know," I murmur, reaching out to touch the rough surface.
There's a pause that I ignore, choosing to flick a bordering piece of bark from his arm. He grabs my hand before I can flake off a neighboring section. "It's about seeing the texture, the consistency. How the pieces fit together, how the colors combine." He takes the chip of bark I'd flicked off, affixing it atop a sticky clay, using a brown mud mixed with dirt to blend it with the surrounding area.
I look in wonder as he holds his arm against the sample branch. "That's amazing."
"Thanks." The shy smile makes him look younger. Bashful.
"I've never seen any Tribute as talented as you," the trainer interrupts. "Make sure you don't forget that in the Arena. Everyone overlooks camouflage. Literally."
Peeta turns to him, asking about neutralizing colors or something. I reach over for my berries, painting the colors up my forearm.
We stay there for a while longer. Peeta moves on to replicating a meadow's grasses on his thigh. Then cracked stone on the other leg. By the time the final bell rings, he's a patchwork of earth. It appears a bit freakish, but his bright smile combats the offputting look.
He holds his mud-covered hand to my berry-stained one. "Dinner?"
It's not a question about our dinner. But if the anger that had been simmering within me had settled down in the peaceful hours. I take the hand offered, letting him pull me up.
"Maybe a shower first."
Effie has procured various books and supplies for training in the off hours. It's the first truly helpful thing she's done. When I thank her, she beams. "Of course. I'm on your side, Katniss. Ask for what you need, and I'll do my best."
When she walks off, Peeta gives a small snort. "There must've been something in the juice. You've been pleasant all evening."
I pinch his side, plopping down on the couch. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No." He clutches his ribs with exaggerated pain. "But maybe I spoke too soon."
"Oh, don't be dramatic."
The contorted expression drops. "It's good practice for the Arena." He starts to sort through the box of books, separating them by subject.
"That seems weaker than anything. Crying from a pinch?"
"Oh, I don't know," he passes a book of edible plants to me, "Maybe someone would take pity on me."
"Yes, poor you," I tease, "I'm sure a Capitolite would send you medicine for that wound."
He flicks my braid, reaching for a length of rope and resting a guide to knots on his lap.
My book, The Encyclopedia of Edible Plants, isn't too dry. It's rather like our family handbook. Carefully drawn sketches of roots, berries, vines, really any identifying feature a plant. Except this one has photos as well. It's sectioned by biome. While I can identify a good amount in 'Temperate Deciduous Forest', I'm terrible at other climates. Reading over the pages, I start to flip back, testing myself on the plants I'd already covered. It's similar to my school study. Not that I bothered with it often. Still, when there was a big test, I might've chosen to look over the battered textbook, covering tables, guessing what type of coal was pictured. Lignite, sub-bituminous, bituminous, anthracite. Thermal and metallurgical.
It's a comfortable almost-silence, punctured by the rustling of my pages, the slide of rope in Peeta's fingers. I cover the desert, grassy plains, and a type of swamp before flipping back to my forest. I run my fingers over the diagram painted with colored ink. Katniss. The small, thin roots that taste as good as any potato. A shadow falls over the pages as Peeta leans over.
"Katniss? I didn't know that was a plant."
I hum, lost in thoughts of my father: forging in the summer, swimming in our lake, going home to roast them over the fire. He seems to sense this, moving back to manipulate the rope. Does he remember his father, his family, when we eat dinner rolls? Do those delicious pastries have a bittersweet taste? I absentmindedly turn the pages, keeping within my forest, trying to find plants I don't recognize. Purslane, amaranth, hackberries. Still, I know a good number already. I should be able to forge easily if given the extreme luck to be dropped in a replica of my home. Unlikely. I sigh, moving on to jungle plants.
"How do you braid?" Peeta's abrupt question startles me, my book snapping closed. "Sorry." His lips are pressed together, though.
"Why do you want to know?"
He shrugs. "Curious."
I take the length of rope from him, knotting it with two others. "Hold the knot." He grabs the loop, watching my hands intently as I explain. "You move the outside section to the middle, then do the same with the other outside strand. Then switch back, doing the same, over and over." I demonstrate, picking up speed until I'm halfway down the rope, then unraveling it all, taking the knot from his hands.
His determined focus, with eyes trained on the rope and brow furrowed, is a bit funny. The first few moves are slow. But mistakes are fixed, and his hands move faster. When he reaches the end, I slip the elastic off my hair, handing it to him. When it's tied off, he hands the finished braid to me. "That wasn't so complicated. I did it!"
His adorable enthusiasm is infectious, causing me to giggle. Giggle. My face drops, and he bursts out into laughter.
"Be quiet."
He's undeterred, bumping my shoulder with his own. "What's wrong?" He says in an innocent voice.
"It's not complicated because you were doing the easiest braid, and on rope, not hair."
Thankfully, the amusement fades, replaced with eagerness. "Can you teach me harder ones?"
"It'll be hard to do them on rope."
"So…" He hesitates. "Can I do it on your hair?"
When I'm silent, he laughs softly. "Maybe we can ask Cinna for a wig and do it tomorrow."
"No, try it on me." I turn around, with my back to his chest. "But do that simple braid first. Get used to the feel of hair."
His legs settle on either side of mine. My hair has already been slightly undone by the removal of the elastic, but his fingers carefully comb the rest of it out, shaking the strands into a single sheet. I feel his hands sectioning, starting to weave.
I draw my knees up, resting my forehead atop them. The moving hair tickles a bit, but I keep still, waiting as he moves past the nape of my neck. I hear the snap of the band, the slight pull as he twists the ring around the end.
There's a heavy sigh, and he scoots back, allowing me to twist around. "How'd I do?" I'm grateful for the light tone.
I turn, facing him, and inspect the braid. The sections are a bit uneven, some ends sticking out before the band. I run my hand over the back. I can feel the hair is lumpier than my work, but no bits are sticking up. I smile at him. "I'm sure I look beautiful in your craftsmanship."
"You always look beautiful."
The words are spoken with sincerity, his eyes betraying no joking undertone. But it's a joke. And annoying. I've long accepted the fact I'm not exceptionally pretty, and far from beautiful. That's not the problem. It doesn't make a material difference in my life. Game isn't attracted by human looks. But for him to continually tease me about this…. It's annoying.
"Why do you think this joke is funny? You're always like this." The flat tone of my voice seems to surprise him. What did he expect? That I'd laugh along with him?
"It's not a joke. Why do you think I'm lying?" I don't respond. "I'm serious." His eyes are pleading, begging me to believe him. But there's no way he is serious. But...I've never known him to be cruel, either. I don't know what to think. All I can see is blond curls, blue eyes, and a fire reflecting off that face.
I stand abruptly–open my mouth–but nothing comes out. He's watching me with those eyes.
I turn quickly, walking to my room without looking back.
Anyone confused yet? Don't worry, you'll get it the next chapter. Ah, flashbacks.
So... I need to go back and do A LOT of edits. There are some details that I thought would be relevant and were a bit leading... that I've now decided to cut out of the story line. And I had no clue where this was going as a whole–I just had a bunch of scenes and a loose knit idea of a plot–so everything's a bit scattered. I'm going to try and edit all of that stuff. I'll let you guys know when I finish that. I'm giving myself the deadline of Christmas. But, as we've established, I'm not great at those. None of the edits will throw off the plot; you'll be able to keep reading without rereading... but I think it'll be helpful to read again it after I've gone though. And the whole thing is less than, what, 25,000 after this chapter? Not that much in total. Anyways, just a heads up.
As a whole I'm really happy with this chapter, so I feel justified in asking for a review...please...? The last few I've been very unsatisfied with, but I'm pretty sure I'm back on track. So I'd appreciate knowing your thoughts. It didn't feel right asking for it the last couple updates, but I am respectfully pleading with you on this chapter. And reviews help me get these out faster!
On that note, thank you to Owlthewiter (You consistently review every chapter, TYSM), Fire1 (Same to you!), mikanMD, and a guest for reviewing. Special thanks to EverlarkEverAfter for the motivation to finish this!
Hope you're all doing well
-Kay