Finnick stared down at the piece of cloth in disgust. He hated this piece of thin fabric with every fibre of his being. How was it that he could do a knot in a brilliant snare and make the perfect bow in string for a parcel of cakes but he could not do up a tie? Glancing at himself in a mirror, he snorted in disgust.
He was wearing a blood red shirt, black dress pants with a belt (silver buckle included), and highly polished black shoes. The shirt strained against his chest, promising to pop a few buttons if he was not careful and the belt barely closed on him. It was ridiculous to ask him to wear a tie today, even if he was meeting his so called grandmother for the first time. She had never cared for him before, never come near his family in living memory. Why should he make an effort to look good when he had nothing but contempt for her? Hazelle Hawthorne was his grandmother and Haymitch Abernathy was his grandfather—maybe not by blood, but in every other way that mattered. If they had not begged him, for his parent's sake, he would be out in the woods right now, instead of putting on a shirt and tie to look good for some people he didn't know.
"Need help?" a voice asked behind him.
Turning, Finnick saw his sister in the door. Two years older, and four inches shorter, Primrose Mags Mellark was a beauty by any standards. Of medium heights, like her father, she had a full hour glass figure, their mother's dark hair and their fathers blue eyes. Dressed in a simple black dress she had made herself, with her hair tied up in a ponytail, she looked both provocative and homely at the same time.
"I said, do you need help? And wipe that protective look off your face, every boy in town knows you will break their jaws if they cross the line," said Prim, indicating the tie.
"Please," came the response. Prim smiled, and walked over to her brother. He was such a big, sweet dumb-ass sometimes. Ten seconds later she had the tie done up.
"Listen," she said, jamming a figure into his chest, "this means a lot to mom, so behave."
Anger flashed across Finnick's face. "You think I would screw this up for mom?" he growled.
"Yes, if you thought it would help her. I know you Finnick Cinna Mellark. For you, nothing is too small or too big a task to protect mom and dad. I remember the little boy who used to climb into mom and dad's bed whenever he heard mom cry out in fear and try to comfort her. But mom needs this. Please, behave."
Finnick looked down at his tie for a moment.
"Alright," he said grudgingly, "I'll behave. I'm going to the hob before they arrive. I have to pick up a pot of Greasy Sae's special soup for dinner."
"O.K., say hello to everyone for me. Try not to ruin your cloths!"
(Page Break... Page Break)
The hob was packed, as was the norm for a Sunday. The sound of children's laughter and the low hum of conversation filled the air. Finnick moved through the crowd with ease though- people tended to give him a wide berth due to his size and reputation. Grandpa-pa Haymitch was sitting at the counter of the woman who sold the district beer. Thankfully, he looked as if he was only on his second or third, he needed to be reasonably sober for the meal tonight. Finnick was so caught up in trying to figure out how to get Haymitch away from his beer that he never noticed the girl chasing the little boy, until they both ran head-long into him with a slight "thump."
The little boy was up in a second, and his eyes went wide in amazement as he looked at the figure towering over him. He couldn't have been more than five, maybe six years old. The girl was older- closer to Finnick's age. Both had the appearance of people from the seam- olive skin, grey eyes and straight black hair, but Finnick had never seen them around before. The population of District twelve was still small, and Finnick knew every person who was near his own age. Because he was such a gentleman (and because his mom would more than likely slap him into the middle of next week if he didn't), Finnick offered his hand to the girl and pulled her up.
"Let me guess," she said smiling, her eyes roaming up and down Finnick in appreciation, "you are the resident brick wall?"
"Close, the resident baker's son. Finnick Mellark," he said, extending his hand.
"Hazel Hawthorn. Resident tourist, babysitter and would be wild child if I could lose the little ball and chain I call a brother," Hazel said, nodding to the little boy and taking Finnick's offered hand. She smiled again, showing dimples. She was very attractive, but Finnick's mind was still caught on the Hawthorn part of her name.
"Your father wouldn't be Gale Hawthorn would he?"
She made a face at this. "Yes. Why is everyone I meet here so interested in that?"
"History, I suppose."
"Hazel, I'm bored, chase me," piped up the little boy, pouting, obviously bored of the conversation. Hazel smiled a patient smile. 'Why is she always smiling?' Finnick thought.
"Maybe we will meet each other again? I'm here for a while," Hazel said, a look of hope in her eyes.
"Definitely."
With that, she took off after her brother. It was only then that Finnick realised how quiet the Hob had become, and that everyone was looking at him.
"Enjoy making friends?" Haymitch slurred, a small smile playing on his lips. "What would your mother say?"
"She would say 'Put down that beer, get home and get cleaned up NOW, Haymitch.'" That wiped the smile off his grandfather's face.
"Just as cheeky as your mother at your age," he muttered, staggering to his feet, and made his way out.
"Sae," he said, walking up to the right counter, "is that soup ready?"
She looked at him with concern. "Be careful. Her father was in earlier. He's very protective of his daughter."
"Thanks for the warning. Right now, I'm more worried about what mom and dad will say if I get the soup home late," Finnick said, lifting the large pot with ease, and followed Haymitch out the door.
Authors Note: Review and let me know what you think. Please- cyber cookie for those who do...