Another Way Out Chapter 3: Deal with the devil, a hunger games fanfic

Another Way Out

Chapter 3 : Deal with the Devil

| Peeta |

Using my free hand to open the door because my other hand is being held hostage by the death grip from Katniss' hand, I slowly push the door open. I tense up when I feel my heart begin to accelerate from the thought of some Capitolite laying their filthy hands on any of my things. It's true that this is my home, but technically, it is the property of the Capitol, and thus, belongs to President Snow. However, the thought of him or any of his goons in my home sends a murderous rage festering inside me.

The moment my foot passes the threshold my head snaps to the left, meeting Katniss' stare. Both of us immediately recognize the all too familiar rancid aroma of blood and roses filling the air, informing us, without a doubt, who our intruder is.

'Snow.' Katniss conveys, casting me a worried glance and gripping even tighter onto my hand.

No one appears to be on the main level of the house, so we tiptoe, quietly making our way up the steps and to the second floor. Stealthily, we creep down the hallway, eager to face our intruder, yet anxious at the same time. I instantly take notice of the door to my art studio, which is always, without fail kept shut and locked up tight; is slightly ajar. It is what grabs my attention, confirming that something is amiss. All of our friends and family; or really anyone who visits us knows to steer clear of that room, aware of what lies beyond the threshold.

Curiosity overpowers our fear, and together we make our way into that room. This is the one and only room I ask Katniss to stay out of, not because I have anything to hide but because I know the sight of my paintings will most likely trigger her gag reflex, in addition to causing her now dormant nightmares to return. They are not so much paintings, but a visual timeline of each of my nightmares, a vivid recollection of our time in the arena.

When I glance down the row of paintings, for the first time I see them as an onlooker would and cannot help but notice how each one is more vibrant than its neighbor. Most likely because the nightmares become more lucid and lifelike the closer the Victory Tour gets.

Katniss doesn't want or need a visual to remind her of the horrors we faced in the arena. But for me, it's like . . . like a form of therapy. It's like if I have the ability to remove the images from my mind and transfer them onto a canvas; by turning them into a still life portrait, something tangible, it grants me control; the power to lock them away forever, or even burn them if that's what I wanted to do.

As much as I want to forget the horrors we faced and as much as I want to expunge the memories from my mind, at the same time I don't want to forget. If I forget, then who would remember Thresh and Rue? And what about the other tributes? No, I need to remember, it's what gives me the motivation to continue living my life. The drive to fight our battle.

Once the door is open, we see the backside of a man with fluffy snow-white hair. He is dressed in a sharp, tailored suit, slowly pacing the length of the room. His hands are clasped behind his back, giving a slight nod here and there, as if offering his approval at the paintings lining the wall.

"Dammit— Lucy . . . Kill . . . Mock—jay . . ." I think I hear him mumble to himself just as his body tenses for a moment. I am instantly intrigued and wonder who this "Lucy" is.

'Did you—' I meet Katniss' eyes, curious as to if I'm hearing things. She nods, confirming my sanity.

'Peeta, I'm scared.' She shudders, squeezing my hand a little tighter, if that is even possible. I reciprocate, entwining our fingers, assuring her that I am not going anywhere.

'It's going to be okay; he's not going to hurt us.' I tell her, though not quite certain myself. It is moments such as these that I am grateful for whatever forces have bestowed us with our telepathic link. The ability to communicate silently while in the presence of others has proven to be more than . . . useful.

"Aghhem . . . Excuse me, can I help you?" I announce our presence, clearing my throat to grab his attention. I would recognize that snowy white hair anywhere, I do not need to see his face to know his identity, but I still need him to turn around and face us.

"These are quite remarkable." President Snow takes his time turning around as he compliments the painting behind him, presenting his face with an approving smirk. This particular painting details one of his ferocious mutts from the arena; a squirrel foaming at its mouth fills the page, while Katniss and I are drawn as miniscule beings in the far bottom left corner of the canvas. I am leaning over the side of the cornucopia gripping firmly onto Katniss' calves while she aims the golden arrow at the Queen. Why am I not surprised that this painting brings him pleasure?

On the other hand, I do not miss the way he sneers disapprovingly at the canvas portraying me and Katniss with our allies from District Eleven. I have captured us high up in a tree with our friends, seeking refuge from those who mean us harm. Katniss and I are settled in our sleeping bag on a branch; just below us are Thresh and Rue in an almost mirroring position. I remember that night so clearly as we swapped stories from our district's.

"President Snow, what an honor, what—" Katniss begins to offer pleasantries, but the deleterious man in front of us cuts her off before she brings it to completion.

"I think we'll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other. What do you think?" Snow says with his affected Capitol accent and a hint of arrogancy. His lips are plump and full, the skin appearing painfully tight as he speaks, causing me to believe they must be surgically altered. Lips that full just aren't natural.

'I think it's meant to highlight his features.' Katniss quips and I have to bite the inside of my cheek to mask my amusement.

"Yes, I think that would save time." Katniss affirms, her voice confident and steady as she stands tall. She has one hell of a poker face but she can't fool me. She is utterly terrified, as am I.

Snow continues to marvel over the neighboring paintings for a moment before a sly grin appears on his face. He follows it up with a nod of approval and then his eyes are back on me. "I heard you were talented Mr. Mellark, but I just had to see it for myself. I would never believe that someone from as lowly a district as Twelve could produce such . . . works of art." He begins, slithering to the far corner of the room and taking a seat in a chair behind a desk. Wait a minute, where did that desk come from? Before today, this room contained only my artwork, an easel, a handful of blank canvases, various containers of paint, my brushes, and a few other random art supplies. Either I'm losing it or, or— did he bring this furniture with him? Is it meant to . . . intimidate us?

'What do you think he wants?' Katniss presses, never removing President Snow from her line of sight.

"Please, why don't you have a seat?" Snow affirms, motioning for us to take a seat in the sophisticated looking high back chairs in front of him. However, I get the distinct impression the "please" was not merely a request. Katniss and I take a seat, refusing to release our grip on the other's hand and scoot our chairs closer to the other so that our knees are brushing.

'I have no idea, but I have a feeling we are about to find out. And . . . where did the desk and chairs come from?'

'No clue.' She answers without missing a beat.

Unsure as to how I should respond to President Snow's remark, I say the first thing that pops into my head. "President Snow, my paintings will be on display in the Capitol in just a few weeks, so I know you didn't come all the way out here just to see them. Why don't we forgo the pleasantries, and you can tell us why you have chosen to grace us with your presence." I assert, holding my head up high, recalling my lessons on proper etiquette with Effie as I come off as unperturbed. I really hope he can't see how utterly terrified I truly am.

"My advisors recommended I steer clear of you both; that you would be ah . . . difficult. But you are not planning to be difficult, are you Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark?" He articulates each syllable, hissing at the tail end of Katniss' name and clicking mine as it rolls off his tongue. I cringe from his condescending and taunting voice and suddenly, it feels as if my veins are filled with ice.

"No." We reply in unison, shaking our heads as if needing to confirm our words.

"And you Mr. Mellark, I hear your father is rather well liked around here, and not one, but two brothers. Yes, a lot of family indeed. What a privilege to have such an abundance of family, what a privilege indeed." President Snow snaps his head sharply to the left, as if he heard a noise; but just as quickly diverts his attention back on us.

'Is he threatening . . . our families?' Even in my head, Katniss' words tremble warily.

"What brings you all the way to Twelve and so far from the Capitol, President Snow?" I demand, never breaking our gaze. I am screaming on the inside, fed up with his ambiguous threats; feeling as if I have already asked this question multiple times. I wish he would just get this over with and lay his cards on the table.

Ignoring my question, he touches the tips of his fingers to the tips of the fingers in his opposite hand, resting his chin on top and I see his eyes move slightly to the left as he speaks to Katniss. "Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice, Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire. You have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow into an inferno that destroys all of Panem. We have a problem Miss Everdeen, a problem that began the moment you volunteered for your sister. A problem that only escalated when you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena." He lowers his hands, lifting his head to reveal a sinister smile that shows off a set of, more than likely, surgically perfected white teeth.

"If the Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane had any sense, he would've blown you both to bits right then and there. Unfortunately, he had a . . . sentimental streak, so here you are. Tell me Katniss—" Snow eerily reminds me of a snake in the way he once again hisses out the end of Katniss' name, "—can you guess where he is?"

Inhaling her lungs full of air and straightening her back, Katniss speaks with so much conviction, I can't help but feel a sense of pride. "I can only assume he had to answer for his actions." Snow nods, grinning that eerie, sinister grin of his once more. His eyes ghost down to our hands, which are still linked together in unity and smiles. It is a smile of disgust, if I ever saw one.

"And you, Peeta Mellark. You caused a lot of problems for me in that arena; declaring your love for a fellow tribute on national television, expressing remorse after a kill, your alliance with that little girl, and all of your . . . storytelling." Out of all the things he just listed, he doesn't hide the fact that it is my "storytelling" that he finds the most egregious. And I get the impression he isn't referring to my stories from the cave, but the story I gave to Rue as she took her final breaths.

"What can I say, I have an active imagination." I tell him unblinkingly.

"Yes, I suppose you do. And you, Miss Everdeen; performing death rights for an opposing tribute and then supplying him with your district token. Yes, I must say that caused quite a . . . well, never you mind. What was I to do, but allow the two of you to play out your romance for the Capitol, the nation if you will. However, your little stunt in the arena has caused quite a mood change in the districts."

"Mood change?" I ask him, my forehead wrinkling with confusion.

"You see Miss Everdeen, Mister Mellark, if one of their own can defy the Capitol and walk away unscathed, what's to stop them from doing the same? What's to prevent, say, an uprising in your hometown, or perhaps in another district?"

'Did you see that?' I ask Katniss, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

"U-uprisings? We haven't had any uprisings . . . have there been . . . uprisings . . . in the other districts?" Katniss stammers, questioning him curiously, yet cautiously. President Snow reaches up to rub his beard, his face contorting into a frown.

'See what?'

"No, not as of yet, but they will follow if the course of things doesn't change. Uprisings have been known to lead to revolution. Do you have any idea what that would lead to? How many deaths you would be responsible for? Believe me when I say this, I do not want that on your conscience. Whatever problems people have with the Capitol, you can be certain when I say that if it released its grip on the districts for even a short period of time, the entire system would collapse." Snow begins to rub a spot on his forehead, massaging it as if there was a pain there. Is he really blaming us? Surely, he doesn't believe either of us to be that naive. Or stupid.

"It must be very fragile, if all it takes is a handful of berries to bring it down." Katniss asserts, once again sending a powerful surge of pride coursing through my body. I pluck a memory from my mind from a few weeks ago; of the night Katniss attempted to cook and ended up burning our entire meal. The entire chicken carcass, crispy and black; in hopes of staunching the smile forming on my lips.

It works; a little too well because Katniss tenses up, her eyes catching mine for a moment.

"It is fragile, but not in the way you suppose." President Snow begins, once again, slightly jerking his head, but to the right this time.

'There, he did it again! Did you see it too, or am I imagining things?'

"I didn't mean to start any uprisings; it was never my intention. I just wanted for me and Peeta to go home and to get back to my sister. The gamemakers said— they changed the rule, and . . . I had no idea— I— I didn't know—" Katniss rambles frantically, beginning to unravel at the seams.

'Calm down, it's going to be okay.' I assure her, squeezing her hand in hopes of alleviating her anxiety.

"KATNISS, PEETA? ARE YOU HERE?" I jump, startled by the slamming of the front door. It is followed by the sound of Mr. Everdeen's firm but frantic voice as his footsteps pound against the stairs. Less than a moment later the door swings open, revealing a rather disheveled looking Dylan.

'You mean how he keeps jerking his head to the side like he's heard something?' Katniss asks me while Snow's attention is focused on the person standing in the doorway.

'Yes.' I tell her, thankful for the interruption from her father.

"Oh, hey guys, I didn't know you had—" Dylan pauses when he catches sight of the guest in my home, "—company." He finishes, tipping his head in a polite gesture to President Snow. "President Snow, what a surprise." He says, and I commend him on refraining from using Katniss' greeting to the sinister man.

"Good to finally meet you Mr. Everdeen; we will not be much longer, if you don't mind." President Snow admonishes, dismissing Katniss' father.

"Sure, um . . . can I get you some tea, or perhaps a bite to eat?"

"That would be lovely, what a thoughtful gesture." President Snow chimes and then Dylan is out the door. Within seconds I hear the tell-tale sounds of dishes banging around in the kitchen as he searches for something to whip up for our dear president. I'm sure it is just his excuse to remain near us, and I am instantly grateful for his presence.

There is an uncomfortable silence for what feels like ages before President Snow speaks. "Where was I? Oh, right, right. Of course, you wouldn't know the goings on in the other districts, as I would not expect you to, but nonetheless, the two of you seem to have caused quite a ruckus." There is a pregnant pause for a fraction of a moment as he seems to ruminate something over in his mind before his eyes land on me.

"And you, Mister Mellark; you are quite the storyteller. Tell me, was that story of yours a true story? Please tell me, I must know." He implores, seeming genuinely intrigued. This time I know he is referring to the stories from the cave. The ones detailing the birth of mine and Katniss' friendship and the consequences of my actions.

"It was." I admit sheepishly, adhering to our vow of maintaining honesty.

"You have quite a way with words, if I do say so myself."

"Please don't kill Peeta, I'll do whatever you want, I'll stay away from him, I'll do anything, just please—"

'Katniss! No.' I mouth to her; what in the world is she thinking?

There is a light tapping on the door followed by Dylan entering the room. He carries a tray containing three cups, a kettle of tea, cream, sugar, spoons, and an assortment of day-old frosted sugar cookies. I am a little surprised at how quickly he managed to get everything prepared until I remember there was already a kettle of water simmering on the stove from this morning. And the cookies; they were sitting on the counter from last night.

"Where would you like it?" Dylan smiles at Snow, playing his role of clueless father with impeccable precision.

"Right here is fine." Snow gestures to a spot on the desk, sliding some papers over to make room. I find myself frowning again, wondering where this desk came from and when he would have had time to have someone come in here and remodel my art studio.

"What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that president's need to eat, too." President Snow gives Dylan a charming smile. "Thank you kindly, we won't be much longer here." He finishes, clearly informing Katniss' father that his presence here is unwelcome. I am not oblivious to the worried glance Dylan tosses our way as he walks past me and Katniss to make his exit. I try my best to send him an inconspicuous and reassuring nod as President Snow proceeds to fill the cups with tea.

"Sugar, cream?" He asks once Dylan has clicked the door shut behind him. He slides the cups over to our side of the desk and plops a few sugar cubes into his own cup, stirring it around before splashing in a dash of cream.

"No thanks." I tell him, reaching for my cup and holding it in my hands, enjoying the warmth for a moment. And then I sit my cup down and look into his beady eyes, "You won't kill us, there are too many people watching." I challenge him, knowing it is a very dangerous game we are playing.

There is a pregnant pause before he begins, followed by a slight nod of his head. "You're right; you two are quite the item as of now, but don't worry, I have no intention whatsoever in harming a single hair on either of your heads. In fact, I came here today seeking your help. You see, what I want is for you to prove your love is true. It seems in the other districts, they do not quite believe your ah, 'love story'."

"It's not a 'story', it's real. Peeta and I really do love each other." Katniss growls defensively, her voice rising an octave as she glares daggers at the old man.

"What is it that you want from us?" I ask him, ready for him to get to the point. For the briefest of moments, for merely a fraction of a second he looks hurt. If I wasn't intently boring my eyes into him, I would have missed it.

"I'm so glad you mentioned it!" He says jubilantly, quickly eradicating the pained expression and clasping his hand together as if we are the best of friends. He reaches for a snow-white handkerchief in his breast pocket, which looks as genetically altered as the white rose he wears in his lapel and dabs it to his mouth. When he lowers the white cloth from his lips, I can't help but notice there are a few drops of blood staining the napkin and I wonder what happened. "I came here today with a proposition for you; for the two of you." He says, glancing down to the platter of cookies. "These are lovely, did your father bake these?" He inquires, catching Katniss' eyes.

"No, I did."

"Oh, right, yes. You are an artist, and your family owns the local bakery."

"What is it, we'll . . . I'll do anything, just please don't hurt Peeta or my family." Katniss begs, going slightly off kilter.

'Katniss, stop it, you don't make deals with the devil.' I chastise her for being so eager to strike a deal with him. 'No matter what promises he makes, we cannot trust him to keep his word.' I beseech to her, knowing Snow's tactics is nothing but manipulation.

"I want you to go on tour and prove your love to this boy and prove to the nation that your actions in the arena were not done againstthe Capitol, but for him." He informs her, the mood in the tone of his voice taking a dark turn. And then he briefly glances over to me for a moment before planting his snake eyes back on Katniss.

"You have a choice Mr. Mellark." He begins, his eyes still trained on Katniss. "You may continue to stir up trouble while on the Victory Tour with your . . . acts of compassion and selflessness, or you and Miss Everdeen can play nice for the cameras, come home and never worry about the Capitol again." He begins, causing me to cringe at the mention of Katniss' name; sending an overwhelming urge to protect what is mine to soar through me. "You'll never have to be a mentor, never have to leave this Godforsaken district you two seem to love so much. Both your families will never have to worry about a thing. You can live . . . happily ever after." He alleges, boring his beady eyes into mine.

"Why?" I ask, bewildered by his offer and refusing to be intimidated by him.

What could he possibly gain from this proposition? What am I missing? I ask myself, trying to figure out his game plan.

"Perhaps I have been mistaken in believing you to be a smart boy; can you not figure it out?"

Internally squirming in my seat for a moment, I ruminate over his words and then it hits me like a ton of bricks. "You want us to calm the districts— to distract them from thinking about our . . . what did you call them? Oh right, "rebellious acts". You're afraid people will follow our lead and stand up to you. But won't it look suspicious if "The Love-Struck Fools" don't return to the Capitol in their first year of mentoring, during a quell no less?"

"Oh, they'll ask, but won't I look like a sympathetic president when I allow the two of you to live your lives in peace? Think about it Mr. Mellark, you could marry this girl—" He says, motioning with his eyes to Katniss and then his eyes are back on me. "—have children—"

"You mean only to watch them get reaped!" Katniss dangerously accuses him, taking a deep breath after realizing her voice has risen to a menacing level. We are walking on dangerous territory, and I must admit, I am frightened.

"I could arrange it so they will never see the inside of an arena. You can live your lives in peace. I will even turn a blind eye to Miss Everdeen and her cousin frequenting the illegal woods. Wouldn't that please you, Mr. Mellark? A guarantee that everyone you love could be free of the games."

"Everyone I love?" I contest, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

"Wouldn't it be a shame if that sweet little girl, what's her name; what is your sister's name again? Primrose, right? Yes, what a shame it would be for Primrose Everdeen's name to be chosen two years in a row, what rotten luck! I am not privy to what the gamemaker's had in mind for this year's quell, but I can only imagine that one of the Games has the potential to reap its tributes from the families of victor's."

At the mention of Prim's name, a sudden heat surges through me; an indignation I have never felt before. But then . . . there it is; the threat I have been waiting for, the missing piece of the puzzle. He must know how much Prim means to both Katniss and I and knows that he can manipulate us to his will in order to spare her life.

"How do I know you won't go back on your promise?"

"You have my word Mr. Mellark, and a president is only as good as his word."

"Nope, not good enough. IF I agree to this, and I say "if" lightly. I will want it made official somehow, a public acknowledgement that my whole family, Katniss' entire family, including all of her cousins will be free of any and all future reapings. And . . . and our children, if we were to ever have any, and our family's children. Our stylists, prep teams, Effie, Haymitch . . . hands off everyone."

At my demand, the president's face twists into an indignant scowl, most likely astounded by the audacity of my demands. "You are too smart for your own good, Mr. Mellark. Anyone else would have jumped at the offer the moment I uttered the words—"

"Well, I am not anyone else. Take it or leave it, the choice is yours."

"It seems there is no choice to be had. Suit yourself. If you and Miss Everdeen keep the people focused on you and your . . . love,—"he spits the word out as if it is a disease he could contract. "— and away from your ah . . . acts of rebellion, then yes, we have a deal." President Snow extends his hand to confirm our deal. I stare at it for a second, almost afraid that if I touch it, it will do something, like bite me. Against my better judgement I hesitantly accept it, ready to rid him from my home.

"I'm not—" I begin, but Katniss' voice overpowers me.

"I'll— we'll do it." Katniss interjects, squeezing my hand firmly. "We'll convince the districts that we're in love, that we never intended to defy the Capitol." She blurts out.

Narrowing my eyes, I look at her with a frown. But then I notice her erect posture and she looks more confident than she has the entire time we have been sitting with this evil man. She looks almost . . . giddy and it worries me.

"Aim higher." He challenges.

"What do you mean?" Katniss asks, giving him a befuddled glare.

"I want you to convince me."

"Okay, I will, we will. We love each other, we really do. Just please . . . please don't hurt them."

President Snow nods, standing up to leave and walks to the door. Except when he meets the door, he quickly turns around to face us once more. "Oh—" His voice causes us to turn around in our chairs to face him, "— and I hope that new leg is treating you well. You should make an appointment in the Capitol to have it checked out before your return home." He finishes, implying that he knows something I do not. And then just like that, he vanishes out the door.

Still connected by our hands, Katniss and I turn back around to face the chair Snow previously occupied, only to discover that the room seems to have magically and mysteriously transformed to its previous disposition. Gone is the desk and chair, replaced by large boxes of art supplies. Katniss and I jump up from our seats to see that our once fancy high back chairs have converted into a near three-foot-tall stack of books.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0

| President Snow |

The electric window separating my compartment from my driver, Ryuzaki's compartment slowly begins to lower until it stops at the halfway point. Ryuzaki clears his throat as he prepares to speak.

"We have arrived, sir." His voice echoes throughout the car. Irritated by his comment, I shake my head; as if the car coming to a complete stop in the driveway was not my first clue.

"Damn idiot." I murmur under my breath and the clueless Ryuzaki lights up in a dazzling smile, only adding to my irritation.

"So, this is Victor's Village." I jabber to myself, intrigued that not much has changed since I was last here.

The idiot Ryuzaki is, confirms my statement. "Yes sir, this is the residence of Victor, Peeta Mellark."

No shit Sherlock, this is where I asked you to take me; is what I want to say to him, but I hold my tongue.

"What a dump." I ramble under my breath as Ryuzaki climbs out of the driver's seat and circles the car to open my door. I accept his hand as I step out of the car and look around the dilapidated village, scoffing to myself. So much has changed since I left this ghastly place, yet, so much is the same. Once my experiment, (as Dr. Ghaul referred to it as) in Twelve reached its completion and I relished in my Capitol life, I never gave this place a second thought.

Or her. I think to myself.

'Now, that isn't true Coriolanus, and you know it.' Her voice echoes in my head.

Scoffing to rid her pestilent voice from my head, I make my way to the front door of Peeta Mellark's home, knowing that Ryuzaki will not abandon me in these backwoods of a hellhole, and will most likely take a nap. I retrieve the set of master keys from my pocket, fumbling until I come across the correct one. Once I find the magical one that unlocks the door, I take it upon myself to enter.

The moment I step inside, I am inundated by the most heavenly of aromas, reminding me for a moment of the grandma'am. It smells of freshly baked bread and a mixture of cookies, causing me for a moment to forget the purpose of my visit. "Focus Corio." I urge myself to stay on track as I walk around the main floor.

After glancing through the main level of Peeta Mellark's living space, I grimace and shake my head. "No, this will not do." I admonish, noticing how warm and inviting he has turned his home into. No, I need them uncomfortable, anxious, and on edge. They must be reminded of the Capitol; of their place.

I make my way up the spiral staircase, chuckling at how every single victor's home is a replica of the other. Once I reach the second level of the house that contains all the bedrooms, one particular door stands out amongst all the others. Out of the four doors, each one is wide open, save one. That is the door that intrigues me, so I reach for the knob and twist it open.

Once again, Peeta Mellark has bedazzled me without even knowing it; without him even being present. I am taken aback by the vivid and immaculate works of art displayed throughout the room that depict the seventy-fourth hunger games to a tee. It is perfection. Yes, this will do nicely. Reaching into my inside coat pocket I retrieve my cellular device and dial the number for the Head Gamemaker.

"Plutarch Heavensbee." Plutarch's gleeful voice answers on the second ring. For the love of Panem, why is everyone so cheerful today?

"Plutarch—"

"Ah, President Snow, what can I do for you on this lovely day?" For some reason, his cheerful and perky demeanor angers me.

"Well, since you mentioned it . . ." I begin, going on to inform him of my needs. Almost instantly, the rooms transforms to accommodate my needs as Plutarch guides me as to where to place the boxes of books and supplies. Now, in the far corner of the room there appears to be a desk and three chairs. One situated at the head of the desk for myself, and two others on the opposite side. For Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen if she so happens to be with him. From what I gathered in all the footage I watched of District Twelve, the two seem to be inseparable; meaning she will almost certainly accompany the boy.

"Is everything to your liking, sir?" Plutarch inquires, eager to please me, which brings me a certain amount of pleasure as I think about Crane's betrayal.

Seneca Crane; he could have aspired to be something amazing. I cannot believe how he fooled me so. I am not certain of this, but I have this feeling that allowing these two degenerates to survive the games was only the beginning of some master plan of his. Well, at least I nicked that in the bud before it came to fruition.

"It is perfect. Thank you, Plutarch."

I end the call, unsure of how to make use of my free time as well as not knowing when the boy will return home. Surely, it cannot be much longer since his stylist and prep team is due to arrive in just a few hours.

I notice the canvases lining the wall and my mouth contorts into a rictus of displeasure. Biding my time, I walk to the far side of the wall and decide to see what all the fuss is about regarding the boy's talent. Rumor has it that it is his ability to replicate memories via artwork.

After glancing at the first painting for only a moment, I am instantly hypnotized. His talent was not exaggerated, the boy is rather gifted; these paintings are astounding. I marvel over the intricate details in which he has replicated little pieces of his games onto each canvas, depicting what appears to be each of his hours in the Games with such immaculate precision. I am bewildered by the accuracy the images portray of the arena.

The "timeline" portion of his paintings causes me to have an "AHA" moment; an idea for the Quell, compelling me to pull my notepad out and jot it down. I must share this with Plutarch and see what he can do with it. Yes indeed, I already have a master plan for the Quell this year, a way to kill two birds with one stone, figuratively speaking.

'It would have been such a shame had he eaten those berries Coriolanus; all that talent, just gone.'

"Shut up; go away." I snarl, ignoring her unwanted commentary and move on to the next painting. It seems no matter what the boy paints, the main subject in each canvas is her. Katniss Everdeen. Without fail, she is present in every single one. I cannot deny how beautiful; how stunning she is in each and every portrait. Even covered in grime, their bodies caked in mud and filth, he somehow found a way to pull out her beauty.

'As long as you can find katniss, you will never starve. Do you remember that day Coriolanus? I wonder if that's how the people in the district's feel; that Katniss is feeding them . . . hope. Soon, their bellies will be full and—'

"Shut up Lucy Gray! I didn't ask you." I bark at her, irritated that she refuses to leave me be.

'It's not over till the mockingjay sings! Katniss is the mockingjay and she is feeding the districts with her melody of hope!' Lucy Gray's voice trills in my head. Ever since I saw that damn pin on Katniss Everdeen, Lucy Gray has haunted my every thought. Whether I am awake or asleep, she is always there. The girl on fire is a constant reminder of her at every twist and turn. And now . . . here I am, in District Twelve where the ghost of the only girl I ever loved is . . . everywhere.

"Dammit Lucy Gray, I will kill all of your filthy mockingjay's." My threat only causes a shrill giggle to course through my head.

'Keep trying Coriolanus.' She challenges me; damn her.

Distracted by Lucy Gray's antics, I am oblivious to the actual people who have entered the room.

"Aghhem . . . Excuse me, can I help you?" I take a moment to gather my composure as the boy clears his throat, offering his assistance. I slowly turn around to face him and a bright smile appears on my face when I see the girl next to him. How predictable.

"These are quite remarkable." I tell Peeta Mellark, gesturing to the painting behind me. It may even classify as my favorite. I wonder if those squirrels haunt their dreams and I would bet my life that Katniss Everdeen now fears the woods she once loved so much as I think about the abundance of squirrels in the forest of Twelve.

However, my eyes land on another painting as they make their way to the victors in front of me. The love-struck fools are perched high in a tree just above their District Eleven allies. If I could kill them right now I would; for the mockery they have made of my precious games with all their friendship, love and alliances. Their actions are a disgrace to Panem, and I'd no sooner have them executed for all the nation to see if my citizens were not so taken with the duo.

Something more attractive will come along and push them out of the spotlight. I will be lurking in the shadows, awaiting that day; the day I can eradicate Panem of these two brats.

"President Snow, what an honor, what—"

Foreseeing what she intends to say, I decide to skip ahead and get to the point. "I think we'll make this whole situation a lot simpler by agreeing not to lie to each other. What do you think?"

"Yes, I think that would save time." So, this frail girl who needs a boy by her side is who the districts are looking to? Ha! And here I thought she actually posed a threat. I can break her, I am certain of it.

I avert my attention back to the wall covered with the paintings, offering an approving nod here and there before returning my eyes back to Peeta Mellark. "I heard you were talented Mr. Mellark, but I just had to see it for myself. I would never believe that someone from as lowly a district as Twelve could produce such . . . works of art." I begin, walking to the far corner of the room, pulling the chair from the desk and sit down. Once I am seated, I notice the questioning glances they share pertaining to the desk and chairs.

"Please, why don't you have a seat?" I offer, keeping my voice pleasant and motioning for them to sit in what Plutarch has made to look like a pair of sophisticated high back chairs on the opposite side of the desk. I must remember to commend him on his ability to distort reality.

"President Snow, my paintings will be on display in the Capitol in just a few weeks, so I know you didn't come all the way out here just to see them. Why don't we forgo the pleasantries, and you can tell us why you have chosen to grace us with your presence?" The boy sits brave and tall, confidently meeting my gaze. Who does this brat believe himself to be, speaking to me in such a manner? Could it be possible that he is not the insecure little twit I previously accredited him to be. Perhaps he is the problem and not Katniss Everdeen.

"My advisors recommended I steer clear of you both, that you would be ah . . . difficult, but you are not planning to be difficult, are you Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark?"

"No." As if rehearsed, they reply in unison.

"I didn't think so. Anyone that would go to such great lengths to preserve their life and the life of their true love would never be interested in throwing it all away with both hands. Then, there are your families to consider; your mother, father, brother's, and a sister to think about; not to mention all those . . . cousins." I avert my eyes to Katniss Everdeen, making sure to convey my awareness of her relationship to the Hawthorne family; or should I say lack thereof. "And you Mr. Mellark, I hear your father is rather well liked around here, and not one, but two brothers. Yes, a lot of family indeed. What a privilege to have such an abundance of family, what a privilege indeed." A privilege that can just as easily be eradicated. I think to myself.

"What brings you all the way to Twelve and so far from the Capitol President Snow?" Peeta Mellark demands, emanating a confidence I would have never thought him to possess.

Resting my chin atop my touching fingertips, I ignore Peeta Mellark's question and divert my attention to Katniss Everdeen. "Your stylist turned out to be prophetic in his wardrobe choice, Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire. You have provided a spark that, left unattended, may grow into an inferno that destroys all of Panem. We have a problem Miss Everdeen,—" I put emphasis on the word 'we', informing the girl that my problem is now her burden to bare. "—a problem that began the moment you volunteered for your sister. A problem that only escalated when you pulled out those poisonous berries in the arena." I pause for just a moment, lowering my hands with a smile on my face, "If the Head Gamemaker Seneca Crane had any sense, he would've blown you both to bits right then and there. Unfortunately, he had a . . . sentimental streak, so here you are. Tell me Katniss, can you guess where he is?"

She sits tall, taking a deep breath before she speaks. "I can only assume he had to answer for his actions."

She catches me off guard, so I smile and turn to the boy by her side, hiding my disgust at the sight of their linked fingers. "And you, Peeta Mellark. You caused a lot of problems for me in that arena; declaring your love for a fellow tribute on national television, expressing remorse after a kill, your alliance with that little girl, and all of your . . . storytelling." I shudder at the memory of their alliance, finding it more than despicable.

"What can I say, I have an active imagination." Peeta Mellark admonishes nonchalantly.

"Mood change?" Peeta Mellark retorts.

'Told you so Coriolanus. The show's not over—' Snapping my head to the side in hopes of ridding Lucy Gray's voice from my head, I stop myself before I do something I will regret; like telling her to shut up in front of the victor's.

"Uprisings? We haven't had any uprisings . . . have there been . . . uprising . . . in the other districts?" Katniss Everdeen questions me curiously, an almost excited gleam in her eyes.

'Oooh, uprisings. This could get very interesting Coriolanus. What do you intend to do about it?' I massage a spot on my forehead in the hopes it will eradicate Lucy Gray's voice from my head. Dammit, why won't she leave me alone?

"It must be very fragile, if all it takes is a handful of berries to bring it down." Katniss Everdeen replies gracefully. Who the hell does this girl think she is!?

'You should check the weather when you return home, I believe they are forecasting cloudy with a chance of a permanent SNOW FALLING.' Lucy Gray chuckles as if she has made the most hilarious of jokes, forcing my head to snap to the side again.

Ignoring Lucy Gray's commentary, I focus my attention on the two problems in front of me. "It is fragile, but not in the way you suppose." I reply, taking a deep, subtle breath, inhaling the redolence from my rose. It is imperative they not see how they are getting to me.

'Snow is falling, Snow is falling, down, down, down. And then one day, he will be gone . . . FOREVER!' Lucy Gray trills in a sing-song voice, cheering at the end.

"I didn't mean to start any uprisings, it was never my intention. I just wanted for me and Peeta to go home and to get back to my sister. The gamemakers said— they changed the rule, and . . . I had no idea— I— I didn't know—" The girl's pleas come out frantically. The corners of my lips curve up thinking I am beginning to chip away at her armor. Now, for the boy.

"KATNISS, PEETA? ARE YOU HERE?" A voice booms from downstairs. I hear the sound of feet clobbering up the steps, followed by the door rushing open.

"Oh, hey guys, I didn't know you had— company." I presume this rude man who just barged in on our private meeting belongs to Katniss Everdeen. It must be her father judging by his olive complexion, not to mention the identical grey eyes. She is a replica of him, in feminine form.

Sir Everdeen nods his head to greet me, "President Snow, what a surprise." He says, and I tip my head back to him with a smile.

"Good to finally meet you Mr. Everdeen; we will not be much longer, if you don't mind." I inform him, letting him know I require privacy with the victor's.

"Sure, um . . . can I get you some tea, or perhaps a bite to eat?"

"That would be lovely, what a thoughtful gesture." Sir Everdeen bolts out the door, making himself useful in the kitchen. I stroke the hair on my chin, trying to remember where we were.

"Where was I? Oh, right, right. Of course, you wouldn't know the goings on in the other districts, as I would not expect you to; but nonetheless, the two of you seem to have caused quite a ruckus. And you, Mister Mellark, you are quite the storyteller. Tell me, was that story of yours a true story? Please tell me, I must know."

"It was." He admits shamefully.

"You have quite a way with words, if I do say so myself."

"Please don't kill Peeta, I'll do whatever you want, I'll stay away from him, I'll do anything, just please—" Yes, I am definitely breaking the girl and inwardly smile at her pleas to preserve her love's life.

Sir Everdeen taps on the door to alert us of his presence before entering the room. He carries with him, a serving tray with a carafe of hot tea, three small teacups, three spoons, a small container of sugar cubes, and a miniature carafe filled with what I can only assume to be cream. On a separate platter there is an assortment of beautifully and intricately designed frosted sugar cookies. My, do those cookies look delicious.

'Do you remember bringing me food? When I was in the zoo?' You were once a kind man, Coriolanus.'

"Where would you like it?" Sir Everdeen asks, looking confusedly at the desk in front of me. What I wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when the room transforms back to its original state. I must speak to my right hand man, Bickerdyke about installing surveillance in this home, since the listening device in Peeta Mellark's prosthetic leg seems to no longer function.

"Right here is fine." I motion to the spot in front of me, pretending to shovel some papers to the side. Again, I smile at Plutarch's brilliance and detail of such simple things. "What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that president's need to eat, too." I give Sir Everdeen a tight smile. "Thank you kindly, we won't be much longer here." I tell him once he sets the tray down. Reaching for the tea carafe, I hold on to the lid and proceed to fill each cup slightly over halfway before looking at the children.

"Sugar, cream?" I wait for the auditory signal that Sir Everdeen has made his exit, dropping a few sugar cubes into my tea, giving it a little stir. Once all the grains of sweetness have disintegrated into the hot tea, I add a splash of cream.

"No thanks." Peeta Mellark politely declines, and then suddenly is glaring daggers at me. "You won't kill us, there are too many people watching."

Is that so? I think to myself but refrain from speaking the words aloud. One musn't keep all their eggs in one basket. "You're right; you two are quite the item as of now, but don't worry, I have no intention whatsoever in harming a single hair on either of your heads. In fact, I came here today for your help. You see, what I want is for you to prove your love is true. It seems in the other districts, they do not quite believe your ah, 'love story'."

"It's not a 'story', it's real. Peeta and I really do love each other." Oversensitively, Katniss Everdeen states her case with a heated ferocity in her eyes. What a stupid girl, to love a boy this much. To give your heart to another; what an insane notion.

'You only think that because NO ONE loves YOU.' Dammit Lucy Gray. Shut. Up.

"What is it that you want from us?" Peeta Mellark inquires.

"I'm so glad you mentioned it!" I keep my voice cheerful, clasping my hands together for a moment before plucking my handkerchief from my breast pocket and dab the remnants of the tea from my lips. "I came here today with a proposition for you; for the two of you." I begin, and then the tray of cookies catches my attention. "These are lovely, did your father bake these?" I avert my question to Miss Everdeen, knowing full well these are Peeta Mellark's creations.

"No, I did." He confirms.

"Oh, right, yes. You are an artist, and your family owns the local bakery." I made certain to do my research on both their families before taking this trip.

"What is it, we'll . . . I'll do anything, just please don't hurt Peeta or my family." Katniss Everdeen must learn to control her face, her emotions are giving her away, leaving nothing to be desired. Doesn't she know boys like girls they cannot figure out?

"I want you to go on tour and prove your love to this boy and prove to the nation that your actions in the arena were not done againstthe Capitol, but for him." I state bluntly, throwing my demands on the table. Quickly, I avert my gaze next to Miss Everdeen.

"You have a choice, Mr. Mellark. You may continue stirring up trouble while on the Victory Tour with your . . . acts of compassion and selflessness, or you and Miss Everdeen can play nice for the cameras, come home and never worry about the Capitol again. You'll never have to be a mentor, never have to leave this Godforsaken district you two seem to love so much. Both your families will never have to exasperate about a thing. You can live . . . happily ever after." I finish, disconcertingly averting my gaze to the boy.

"Why?" Peeta Mellark doubts my offer, supplying me with a befuddled scowl.

I return to my previous, nonchalant, and chipper tone, "Perhaps I have been mistaken in believing you to be a smart boy; can you not figure it out?"

It does not take him long to put the pieces together; he is a smart boy after all. "You want us to calm the districts— to distract them from thinking about our . . . what did you call them? Oh right, "rebellious acts". You're afraid people will follow our lead and stand up to you. But won't it look suspicious if "The Love-Struck Fools" don't return to the Capitol in their first year of mentoring, during a quell no less?"

"Oh, they'll ask, but won't I look like a sympathetic president when I allow the two of you to live your lives in peace? Think about it Mr. Mellark, you could marry this girl, have children—"

"You mean only to watch them get reaped!" Inwardly, I chuckle. Ha! Is Katniss Everdeen accusing me of finagling the reaping to achieve a desired outcome?

"Everyone I love?" His curiosity is piqued.

Both their eyes fill with a sudden rage at the mention of the sister's name. If looks could kill I would surely be dead in this moment.

"How do I know you won't go back on your promise?"

"You have my word Mr. Mellark, and a president is only as good as his word."

"Nope, not good enough. IF I agree to this, and I say "if" in the lightest way possible; I will want it made official somehow. A public acknowledgement that my whole family, Katniss' entire family, including all of her cousins will be free of any and all future reapings. And . . . and our children, if we were to ever have any, and our family's children. Our stylists, prep teams, Effie, Haymitch . . . hands off everyone."

'What a clever boy Coriolanus, I think he just beat you at your own game!' Lucy Gray continues with her incessant taunting, and I am sure the victor's before me believe my contorted face to be of their doing. Which is fine, I prefer it over the latter.

I quickly regain my composure and respond to his demands. "You are too smart for your own good, Mr. Mellark. Anyone else would have jumped at the offer the moment I uttered the words—"

"Well, I am not anyone else. Take it or leave it, the choice is yours."

"It seems there is no choice to be had. Suit yourself. If you and Miss Everdeen keep the people focused on you and your . . . love, and away from your ah, acts of rebellion, then yes, we have a deal." I extend my hand across the illusionary desk and a moment later, however reluctant he is, Peeta Mellark finally accepts it.

"I'm not—" He begins, but Katniss Everdeen beats him to the punch.

"I'll— we'll do it. We'll convince the districts that we're in love, that we never intended to defy the Capitol." The girl agrees confidently, almost excited; as if she has a plan of her own.

'I like them Coriolanus. Oh yes, I like them a lot. I foresee these two aspiring to do great things. Oh, yes, yes, yes.' Lucy Gray's voice warbles melodically.

"Aim higher." I decree, standing up from my seat.

"What do you mean?" She asks with a raise of her eyebrow.

"I want you to convince me." This should keep them busy for a while. Anyone with even one functioning eye can tell these two are hopelessly in love with each other. Sickeningly so.

"Okay, I will; we will. We love each other, we really do. Just please . . . don't hurt them." She must really work on her acting skills, I think, inwardly smirking at how delicate her puppet strings are, making her easy to manipulate.

Stepping back from the make-shift chair, I pretend to slide it under the desk and make my way from this deplorable room. As I walk past another painting, the twister catches my eye and it somehow brings me pleasure, knowing they are constantly reminded of their games. Stopping myself at the threshold, a thought pops into my head.

"Oh, and I hope that new leg is treating you well. You should make an appointment in the Capitol to have it checked out before your return home." Are the parting words I leave them with and then make my way down the steps and out the door, and finally, to my car where Ryuzaki is patiently waiting.

"To the loading docks, sir?" He asks me.

"Yes, get me the hell out of this place." I grumble. He puts the car in gear, and we make our way out of here. I am staring out of the side window when I see the standardized mayor's mansion. "Wait. Turn around, I wish to make one more stop before returning home."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0

| Dylan |

"Hey babe, hey Primmie." I greet my girls when I walk into the house; planting a kiss on Lilly's lips, and another one to the top of Primrose's head. "Have you guys seen the kids, I figured they'd be back by now." I ask, scanning the main room once more in case I missed them the first time.

"Katniss left early this morning to go "out" with Peeta." Prim says, fluttering her lashes and puckering her face up.

I frown at Primrose's assessment because I already knew this bit of information. Peeta informed me that he would be whisking Katniss away to the meadow for the morning . . . for some time to themselves before their prep teams arrive. A calm, relaxing start to their day before their journey on the tour.

With concern written all over my face, I turn my head to Lilly, hoping she has some answers. She meets my eyes, motioning for me to follow her to the kitchen.

Thankfully, Primrose is engrossed in a book Cinna sent her about different types of stitches. Even though I am on edge as to the whereabouts of Katniss and Peeta, I cannot help but smirk. My twelve year old daughter prefers to read books about surgery, healing and medical terminology. Go figure. Not only that; I see she has a bowl of assorted fruit next to her, as well as Lilly's suture kit, trying out some of the stitches for herself.

Lilly makes her way to the kitchen sink and runs the water, filling the left side of the sink with water to soak the dishes. Inconspicuously, I creep in behind her and wrap my hands around her waist, scooting my mouth near her ear. If Primrose happens to look up from her book of medical jargon, it will appear as if we are "cuddling" as she likes to call it; but Lilly knows. She always knows when I'm scared.

"What's wrong?" She whispers, plopping the dirty dishes into the soapy water.

"I'm worried about the kids. Haymitch said they left his house nearly an hour ago; they should have been back by now."

"Maybe they went back to Peeta's." Lilly offers, shrugging her shoulders.

"Both of them? No— I don't think . . . Katniss knows her team is arriving soon and she promised she wouldn't leave us alone with them." I counter her explanation with doubt all over my face.

"Why don't you walk over there and see what the holdup is?"

"Good idea." I brighten with her suggestion, wondering why I didn't think of that. I give her a quick kiss on her cheek and make my way to the foyer to find my shoes. As annoying as I find house rule number one, at the same time I am thankful for it. If not for Lilly's obsessive germaphobic tendencies, she would not demand that we remove our shoes in the foyer, which also means I would spend hours of my life wasting time looking for my shoes.

"Oh, and honey?"

"Yeah babe?"

"If you happen to find them . . . um . . ." She begins, blushing as her sentence trails off.

"I know, I know." I finish, waving her off. I remember the last time I caught my daughter wrapped in Peeta's arms, straddling his lap on the couch as they sucked face, I nearly had a coronary. Luckily for Peeta they were both fully clothed.

Once my shoes are on, I grab my coat and head out the door. As I begin the walk two houses over, I see a sleek black car parked just outside of Peeta's home. As I get closer, I do a double take when I notice there is a man sitting in the driver's seat, his nose in a book. It is definitely not either of their prep teams, and something tells me this visitor is unwanted and unwelcome. My heart drops into my stomach at the thought of who it could be and I high tail it to the front door.

The door isn't even locked which only causes my panic to escalate. "KATNISS, PEETA? ARE YOU HERE?" I yell out to them once I am inside, briefly scanning the lower level of the house. Seeing no trace of either of my kids, I pummel up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I glance down the hallway and head for the one door that is closed. On any other day it wouldn't rouse my suspicions, but today is not any other day. My gut is pulling me toward this room like opposite magnets.

My heart returns to normal when I swing the door open and my eyes land on them, knowing they are safe and sound. They are sitting side by side in a pair of unfamiliar chairs, looking straight ahead. "Oh, hey guys, I didn't know you had—" I pause when I turn my head to see who they are talking to, catching sight of their visitor. "— company." I complete my sentence when I see their guest. It is none other than the infamous President Snow. The murderer of the mayor and his wife, my friends.

Quickly, I paint an image of indifference on my face and give the evil man a charming smile, as if nothing is amiss. And then I give him a slight nod of my head in greeting.

"President Snow, what a surprise." It's not a lie, I am more than surprised. But not the good kind.

"Good to finally meet you Mr. Everdeen; we will not be much longer, if you don't mind." He says casually, clearly dismissing me, judging by the tone of his voice.

Okay, he indisputably does not want me in here, so how can I prove to be useful in order to protect my kids? I take a deep breath, inhaling the succulent aroma of recently baked pastries and my face lights up with an idea. I will make him an offer he simply cannot refuse; especially in this house where the walls seem to emanate the fragrance of cookies and cakes. "Sure, um . . . can I get you some tea, or perhaps a bite to eat?"

"That would be lovely, what a thoughtful gesture." Grimacing, I nod and rush out the door, making my way back down the stairs and into Peeta's kitchen. Thankful that we alternate cooking meals between our home and Peeta's because I am already familiar with the location of all his supplies. Our homes are an exact replica to the other, however, Peeta is rather meticulous when it comes to the placement of his baking supplies and utensils. He's kind of OCD if you ask me.

"Everything has a place, and everyplace has a thing." Is the motto Peeta much too often recites to Primrose when she goes to toss something wherever she can find a place. I don't want to be gone for too long and glance around the kitchen, hoping I won't have to actually cook anything. Luckily, there is a kettle of water already simmering on the stove, so it won't take nearly as long for it to reach the boiling point.

I pull out a carrying tray from one of the cabinets while I wait for the water and set it on the counter. I zip across to the other side of the kitchen where the cupboard is and locate three teacups. And then I fly back to the other side of the room, opening the drawer that houses the silverware and pick out three spoons. I place the three tea cups in a triangle at the center of the tray so they are touching and set the spoons to the side. As I configure everything on the tray, a plate of cookies catches my eye. I search for a platter, piling it high with an assortment of beautifully frosted treats, knowing no one can resist them.

I zoom back to the cupboard and find the carafe Peeta uses to brew tea and add a few tea bags to it; enough for three cups. As if in perfect synchronicity, the kettle whistles, signaling it is ready. I pour the scalding hot water over the tea bags and ensure everything will all fit on the tray so that nothing will spill. Too bad I don't have some poison to put in his tea. I think, smirking to myself. Almost forgetting the cream, I turn back around and open the fridge, finding a small container and grab it.

Tiptoeing up the steps quiet as a mouse, I close my eyes and try to hear the conversation on the other side of the door.

"I'll do anything, just please—" It's my daughter's voice, begging, no pleading for . . . for what? Her life, Peeta's?

I tap on the door and push it open, not giving them much of a warning before I interrupt them again.

"Where would you like it?" I ask, carrying the tray to the desk the president sits at and frown, wondering where this desk came from. I am certain it wasn't here before today; I am absolutely certain Peeta hasn't ordered new furniture, and he certainly wouldn't for his art studio.

"Right here is fine." Snow tells me, shoving some papers aside to make room for the tray. "What a welcome sight. You know, it's funny how often people forget that president's need to eat too." He gives me a wicked grin before adding, "Thank you kindly, we won't be much longer here." Smiling and nodding, I set the tray down and slowly make my way toward the door, meeting my kid's eyes before I make my exit. Hoping that I convey the message that I will not be far away.

I stomp down the steps rather loudly, giving the impression that I am giving them privacy, but then silently make my way back up the steps, hovering just outside the door.

Their voices are muffled, but thanks to years of hunting in the woods I am able to make out most of their words. What I cannot understand, I easily fill in the blanks.

"Won't kill— too many— watching." Oh Peeta, don't taunt him. I think to myself. I wouldn't put it past our president to accept the challenge and show us all exactly what he is truly capable of doing.

"You're right; you two are quite the item as of now, but don't worry, I have no intention whatsoever in harming a single hair on either of your heads. In fact, I need your help. You see, what I want is for you to prove your love is true. It seems in the other districts, they do not quite believe your ah, 'love story'." Snow's deep, commanding, and authoritative voice seeps through the door just fine.

"Not— it's real. Peeta— I— love— other." Katniss pleads with the man. Even from out here, I can feel her breaking.

"What is it that you want from us?" Peeta asserts.

"I'm so glad you mentioned it! I came here today with a proposition for you; for the two of you." There is a slight pause and then I hear him say, "These are lovely, did your father bake these?"

There is small talk about Peeta being an artist and his family owning the bakery.

"What is it, we'll . . . I'll do— thing, just— Peeta— family." Oh, Katniss honey, your desire to protect us is going to get us all killed. I think to myself after hearing my daughter's pleas.

Snow's voice becomes terse, irritated even as he gets to his point.

"I want you to go on tour and prove your love to this boy and prove to the nation that your actions in the arena were not done againstthe Capitol, but for him. You have a choice, Mr. Mellark. You may continue stirring up trouble while on the Victory Tour with your . . . acts of compassion and selflessness, or you and Miss Everdeen can play nice for the cameras, come home and never worry about the Capitol again. You'll never have to be a mentor, never have to leave this Godforsaken district you two seem to love so much. Both your families will never have to exasperate about a thing. You can live . . . happily ever after."

"Why?" I can almost see the wheels turning in Peeta's head as he questions the president uncertainly.

"Perhaps I have been mistaken in believing you to be a smart boy; can you not figure it out?" No longer is Snow's voice filled with malice, but it is almost . . . jubilant.

I smile when I hear Peeta's voice reverberate through the door less than five seconds later. "You want us to calm the districts— to distract them from thinking about our . . . what did you call them? Oh right, "rebellious acts". You're afraid people will follow our lead and stand up to you. But won't it look suspicious if "The Love-Struck Fools" don't return to the Capitol in their first year of mentoring, during a quell no less?"

"Oh, they'll ask, but won't I look like a sympathetic president when I allow the two of you to live your lives in peace? Think about it Mr. Mellark, you could marry this girl, have children—"

"You mean only to watch them get reaped!" My daughter's voice booms firmly through the door. When I close my eyes, I can clearly see the scowl that is most likely etched on her face.

"I could arrange it so they will never see the inside of an arena. You can live your lives in peace, I will even turn a blind eye to Miss Everdeen and her cousin's frequenting the illegal woods. Wouldn't that please you, Mr. Mellark? A guarantee that everyone you love could be free of the games."

I can't take it anymore; I know these are all lies. Without making a sound, I slip down the stairs and out the back door, knowing that nothing will happen to them. At least not today.

When I get outside, I want to scream. I want to punch something, kick something. No, not something, but someone. And not kick but—

I shake my head knowing I cannot release my anger; especially not the way I want to and run through the village until I get to town. I begin slowing my pace and taking deep breaths as I make my way to the front door of the mayor's house. The snow-covered ground and freezing temperatures do nothing to help my overheated body.

She must have been watching through the window because before I have the opportunity to knock, the door swings open and Poppy is pulling me inside.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, DO YOU KNOW HOW DANGEROUS—"

"Dangerous? President Snow is currently having a sit-down with my kids—"

"Prim?" Poppy questions, running from window to window, ensuring that no one can see us.

"Katniss and Peeta, sorry." I tell her, forgetting that she's new. Sorrow fills her eyes and her shoulders slump over. "You knew?" It's more of a statement than a question as the words leave my mouth accusingly.

Meeting my eyes apologetically, she nods. "I'm sorry Dylan—"

"Why didn't you tell me!" I ask her, pointing a finger in her face.

"And what exactly would you have done about it if I told you? NOTHING, because if you did ANYTHING about it, he would know where the source came from and we'd all be dead!" Her eyes glisten with rage as she lashes out at me. This is why she is the mayor; she doesn't take crap from anyone. I suppose being the secret daughter of Plutarch Heavensbee has also given her an edge.

"Woah, woah, what's going on in here?" Raven appears at Poppy's side, resting his hands on her shoulders to calm her down.

Feeling her husband's comforting hands must set her at ease because Poppy closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, seeming to relax before meeting my eyes again. "Everything is fine honey; Dylan was just leaving." The look in her eyes tells me not to contest. But she's right; had she clued me in, I most likely would have done something spontaneous and erratic that would have gotten someone caught, especially if Snow only informed one person of his plans. Which he most likely did.

"I'm sorry Poppy."

"I know Dylan, I know. Go spend some time with Katniss before they are scheduled to leave. It will be at least two weeks before you see her again."

I heed her advice and say my goodbyes, making my way home in the snow. The walk home is much colder than it was on my way here.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0

| Madge |

"Madge honey, could you drop these off by the Peterson's on your way to see Katniss? I would do it, but—" Hazelle asks me as I make my way to the door.

"Don't be silly, of course I will. I just need to go home and change first." I tell her, using two fingers to point to my shirt. She looks at me and the corners of her mouth turn up when she sees the state of my clothes. I am covered in a combination of snow and mud from my snowball fight with Vick, Rory and Posie. Gale refused to participate, standing on the sidelines and laughing at us.

"Yes, you definitely need to change. You've got plenty of time though, it's still early."

"I know, I just wanted to spend some time with Katniss before her prep team steals her away. Once they get there, I won't be able to get a single word in."

She places the basket near the door, easy access for me to retrieve it when I return. I make my way across the lawn and to my house with a smile on my face. Gale said he had something special planned for us tonight once everything calmed down; once everyone left. I am both nervous and excited to see what he has in store for us.

When I get to my front door, I notice it is slightly ajar. I never leave it open, alerting me to an intruder in my home. Though I spend most of my time at the Hawthorne's, I am meticulous about ensuring my house is sealed up tight when I am not there; and even when I am. Not having electric heat, I cannot spare what little warmth I do have to seep into the outside.

I slowly push my door open, almost afraid to find out who my intruder is. I fight the urge to squeeze my eyes shut. When the door is completely open, I see a man dressed in an immaculate tailored suit; the smell of roses and blood filling the air.

"Um, can I help you?" I ask the man. I have seen him on television enough to know who he is. President Snow. The murderer of my parents. My heart begins to accelerate, my breathing becomes erratic; I can feel the blood inside my body simmering with rage as I stare into his snake like eyes. Now I see why Katniss always refers to him as a serpent.

"Ah, Miss Undersee, what a pleasure to finally meet you." He smiles, extending his hand to me. The moment he speaks, I feel like I am transported back in time from the familiarity of his voice. He is the sinister, notorious, deleterious and infamous, President Coriolanus Snow.

Apprehensively, I accept his hand. Not because I want to and not because it is the polite thing to do. No, I only accept his hand because I value my life. Out of fear for the lives of the ones I love. My new family, the Hawthorne's. For Katniss and Peeta and their families.

"Um, hi sir. I mean, President Snow." I squeak the words, not sure what else to say. What are you supposed to say when you get home to find the president standing in your living room? How did he even get in here? Doesn't he know it is rude to just . . . enter someone's home unannounced? And without their knowledge? No wonder this world is gone to crap.

"I was in the neighborhood and thought it rude not to stop by and extend my condolences for the loss of your parents. Your father was a dear acquaintance." Is it improper etiquette to visit the daughter of the people you killed? To offer your apologies for making said girl an orphan? "What a drastic change to live such a privileged life, and then to be forced into such poverty." He tsk's.

"It's not so bad. Daddy always made sure I had what I needed, but he also taught me how to live off of the necessities. I'm managing." I say, reminding myself not to give him more than he asks for. I'm sure he could find some way to use it against me.

"Smart man. Yes, I always knew Alaric was a smart man. Speaking of your late father, he so adored you, Marjorie."

"Madge." I correct him. My parents were the only ones who called me Marjorie. And yes. Of course, I knew that; they were MY parents; is what I want to tell him, but I just nod.

"My apologies. Yes, you were the apple of his eye." What is he getting at? What does he want?

"Not to be rude sir, but I was on my way out." I say, not trying to rush him, but at the same time, trying to get him the hell out of my house. I will have to disinfect every surface in here once he leaves the district.

"Oh, yes. As I mentioned, I was in the neighborhood, visiting our beloved victor's and a thought occurred to me. You see, your father mentioned what an exceptional and talented musician you are. In the Capitol, we are seeking an aspiring pianist. And as I was passing through, your name came to mind." I narrow my eyes at him, not realizing I am shaking my head. "Now, now, Miss Undersee, I just want you to think it over. I do not wish for an answer at this time. Just think about it. You could live a life of luxury in the Capitol, far, far away from this . . . slum."

My heart is still racing as I think about wrapping my hands around this man's neck and strangling the life out of him. I suck in a deep breath, gearing myself to tell this man where he can shove his 'aspiring pianist', when my front door flies open.

"Madge! I was getting—" Gale, oh thank God! I think to myself. "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a visitor." Gale says, rushing to my side and extending a hand to our president. "Gale Hawthorne, sir." He stares into the eyes of President Snow, acting as if he hasn't a clue who the man is.

President Snow looks Gale up and down, refusing to take his hand. "Please Marjorie, I hope you will think about my offer. I shall be leaving now." And then he slithers out the door.

"Madge, are you okay? Did he hurt you?" Gale asks, stepping in front of me and placing his hands on my shoulders, our noses only inches apart.

When blue meets grey, it's all I can do not to break down. My eyes fill with tears, but not from sadness. With anger. Hatred. Venom courses through my veins with a desire to rip off the head of our dear president. I grit my teeth and the tears slip out of my eyes. "I. HATE. THAT. MAN."

Gale pulls me into his arms, and I rest my head against his chest. "I know you do. I am so sorry. I wouldn't have been so cordial with him if I thought I could get away with it."

"I want to kill him for what he did. For what he does. I hate him that much. I think I could do it, Gale. I think I could take his life and be able to sleep at night. Does that make me a bad person?" I whisper the words so quietly next to his ear, I wonder if Gale even heard me.

"No Madge. You are anything but a bad person." Gale answers me, letting me know that I did, in fact, speak the words aloud. "What did he mean about an offer? What did he want? What is he doing in Twelve?"

"He offered his "condolences" for the loss of my parents. Said he was visiting his victor's. He made an offer, inviting me to move to the Capitol to become one of his pianists. I won't do it, Gale. First of all, I would never leave home. And . . . and I would never EVER want to live in the Capitol. But mostly, I would NEVER do anything that brings him a moment of joy."

I slip out of Gales arms. "I need to change clothes. It's why I came home in the first place, then I'm going to stop by and see Katniss and Peeta. Did you want to come? Oh, crap, I need to drop the basket of laundry off for your mother."

"I already said my goodbyes." He replies sharply. I know he hates his "cousin" status, even more so he hates all the cameras. "Did you want me to come with you?" I smile at his offer. Even though he doesn't want to go, he is willing to tag along; for me.

"No, you don't need to come, I'll be fine." I tell him, not completely certain it is the truth.