An Unlikely Pair

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By: DarkGiggle

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, I make no profit so please don't sue me.

Warnings: Un-beta'd and still looking for a beta. Rating and violence level will go up.

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PART 7

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I'm released but can only look up through my wet bangs at Effie Trinket! She is positively pink with outrage, waving her arms wildly and doesn't seem to be done screaming yet.

"AND YOU HAYMITCH! YOU DEGENERATE! HOW COULD YOU SIT THERE AND WATCH THIS! I THOUGHT YOU BETTER THAN SCUM!"

"Effie-" Mr. Abernathy starts.

She glares at us and raises an empty glass pitcher up menacingly, "I SAID OFF HER, BEAST!"

Holy bagels, is she going to lob that at us? Hawthorne scrambles off me and we both scoot the hell away from the lunatic. Our mentor stands now and gets in between, palms up passively. Trinket just switches her scowl to him and there is an odd look of hurt disbelief in the lilac eyes.

He sighs, "She's fine Effie, they were just sparring for me. I needed to know how well they fight."

Our escort blinks rapidly a few times then looks from soaked us to him and back. "You were mentoring this early in the morning?" she looks him up and down, "you are sober…"

Suddenly it clicks what the ludicrous misconception she had was, I begin laughing. Oh that this rich! HA! Ha! Ha! Just too rich! "Hawthorne" my laughs interrupt me "wanting that" can't help even more laughs bursting out "from me? Ha! Ha ha!" Not in a million years! I keep laughing. I know his type and aside from Catpiss his type is feminine, fuckable and forgettable. He doesn't even try to flirt with girls or women whom aren't his three F's; girls like Madge and his friends' sisters and women like those he has to keep good trade agreements with. From the times I've run into him while on delivery I know there should be one more 'F' in that standard: Free. I mean free as in not someone's current girlfriend, fiancée or wife. Of course then he wouldn't have near as many fights as he does, so maybe he does it on purpose?

When my chuckles die down I notice all of them looking at me. It feels like I should share the joke but I'm not sure how to explain without speaking about his… mating habits with them. It's not their business so I just ask, "Should we continue?"

Older grays scan us then his watch. "Nah, it's nearly six, go wash up and change for the Capitol." He turns to Trinket. "Can you get two bruise creams and the medical kits to their rooms? They did a number on each other. Oh and help Sweetheart here pick something right for a girl."

Now returned to her usual eerie pale she seems in shock to have something to do, but she nods to him, says, "Apologies" and is off.

That Capitol henchman is going to help me dress? I watch her retreating silver and pink clad form leave in disgust and glare at the bastard when she is gone. "Is this payback for the drink?"

A half smirk creeps into place but his gray eyes aren't teasing. "Not too sure on that; however, I am sure that your tomboy style won't be well received in the Capitol. They're all so prissy they can barely comprehend a man being masculine, let alone you. A bit before breakfast I want Effie to give you pointers on how to be girly, sport."

I don't groan or whine out my misery at hearing this but it must be on my face because my now damp companion is the one doubled up guffawing at me. "Shut up, Hawthorne! It's not funny!"

"Oh yes - Ha! Ha! - it is Panty, yes it is."

I take a real swing at the A-hole, full force thus full speed.

He dodges and grins. "You sure you want to go again," he pauses to meet my sky blue eyes, "loser."

That ass-hat! I flush, "It's not a real loss if it's a spar. I'm stronger than that!" It's true I was restraining a lot on almost all my hits and holds. "Compare with your hip if you don't believe me." That reflexive kick had gotten away from me. "Besides if it wasn't a spar I could have gotten out of that pin, Hawthorne."

He very obviously doesn't want to give up his win. "A loss is a loss, Mellark. I-"

"Okay that needs to stop right now." Haymitch interrupts. "From now on you two call each other by first names only, no exception, no substitutions." We both stare in shock. "Are you going to sit there like two wet lumps or are you going to get ready?" Somehow that feels enough like an order to get us moving.

Walking through the cars back to the sleeping rooms makes me take stock of my muscles, tendons and especially my ligaments. They don't hurt now, I'm still high on adrenaline and joy over a good match, it is later that the pain will blossom.

Trinket waits for us with a kit for each. She follows me into my room and swings open the closet. As nice as a shower would feel this instant I don't trust this bitch to pick something that isn't out right freakish. When she starts to pull something ruffled and pink I remind her that I'll have bruises that I need to cover. It's uncomfortable but I strip to my bindings and underwear to show her what needs to be clothed. Actually it's unpleasant, not just uncomfortable. Her lilac Capitol eyes aren't like my district's eyes; I've never even thought to be shy in front of any one from home. Not that I display myself but in the locker room before gym or some sport event I wasn't concerned with others. These are eyes that will wish harm to me once the games start. Or do they? She did try to protect me from what she thought was an assault. Where does that put her?

When she sees me Trinket inhales deeply then lets loose a long string of things in her accent that again I can't get. If I hadn't caught the word 'beast' I would not have had the foggiest idea what she is on about. "Hey! No! Haw- Gale isn't like that! I did just as bad to him as he did to me. We needed to show Mr. Abernathy what we are capable of."

She still looks concerned at my state before she turns to find something that can hide my left side. From my left collarbone to my wrist is dark and getting darker, my right arm is too, from elbow to wrist. My middle torso to my hips and my knees are likewise. She keeps pulling awful things out of the closet that I hadn't realized were there. Not just girly terrible but Capitol terrible too, like with polka dotted frills, striped lace and neon colored layering! It's too much, so much that I blurt out a deal; if she lets me pick a reasonable dress I'll try not to fight her in her coaching me to be more lady-like. She agrees. The speed at which we pick a dress and accessories following that has me leery of her. Trinket leaves after she suggests I trim my shaggy bangs out of my eyes.

My shower time has been greatly reduced by the dress madness but the creams; one for contusions, another for soreness help what the hot water didn't have time to. I am also impressed by the paper-thin big patch bandages the kit has; I'll be able to keep creamed up under these. I use the kit scissors to shorten my bangs from my nose to my eyes, then just play with the cutters for a second and know I'm stalling. Black pantyhose, a bra, black shoulder length fingerless gloves, a black belt and matching gray slippers are all supposed to go well with a modest, short sleeved Seam gray dress. I dress, look in the mirror and don't recognize myself, not even Madge's pin helps.

It is a physical pain that manifests in my heart to see a girl, weak and vulnerable like all the rest, in the mirror. I've tried so hard to be just me, to be strong and vivacious, to not let anything change me and this hurts. I sigh then tell myself to suck it up and go do good with my remaining life. I start by opening my parcel and take out three of the seven (wow seven!) cookies.

Hawthorne and Mr. Abernathy (open bottle in hand) are in the TV car talking when I come in and take my seat without word. Both stare a bit then shrug it off.

"Nice of you to finally make it, Sweetheart."

"Oh but I come with a gift so let it slide." I hand each a cookie and start on mine. It's still so soft and moist. The sweet flavor of honey and shreds of almonds remind me of all the good things back home. It settles me more than I imagined it would.

Our mentor shoves it in carelessly but after a few chews I know it has him. He slows down to savor it then finally swallows. "Mm. Never found those on the food cart before."

My sunniest smile breaks out across my face. "Those are from home, my family makes them and they are my favorite sweet. What do you think?" I turn to the hunter but he is just gazing at it. It hits me that he's probably never had a cookie in his life; cookies are a luxury and none more so than these because of the expense of the honey and almonds. Oh great, don't tell me I've just hurt his macho pride over being able to afford it or is he going to pull that no kindness crap like Catpiss. I open my mouth to nag him into just accepting it but he talks first.

"Why don't you want to be victor?"

Well that's easy, I glance at both of them before I answer, "I want to be a very specific kind of victor, one that didn't compete with a fellow tribute with a chance, a victor that did not kill anyone in the games and most of all a victor that did not get changed by either the Capitol nor the arena."

Older Seam eyes seem to understand but appear uneasy and younger ones look flat out confused. Um, how to explain it? "Do you remember Wilhelmina Knotts? Five years back, as a tribute she killed a 13-year-old boy and a 14-year-old girl and later betrayed her fellow tribute from 12."

Hawthorne nods. Of course he does, that was a big year for us; top 9 and people talking about how they never expected that from her.

"Everyone talked about her, couldn't believe her actions. But can you remember what everyone used to call her? Can you remember what she was like before the games?"

Here he shakes his head; she was merchant so it's no surprise.

"I was 11 then and I worshipped the ground she walked on. Will had been dating my oldest brother for 3 months before the games and she was so nice to me." She was the only girl I'd ever seen as close to strong and she had been a bit of a tomboy. I'd wanted to be her when I grew up. "She let the game change her and I don't want to do that. I want to be a victor only if it is on my terms or not at all."

Haymitch puts in, "Well Sweetheart that won't get you far." His face has a distant expression on it. He remembers her? "So no killing huh?"

I nod. "None whatsoever, I'll find away to suicide if it's a kill or be killed situation. I refuse to murder for the Capitol."

"So it's alright if I do?" Hawthorne bursts in angrily. His face has so many things I can't distinguish one feeling from another.

Sheepishly I say, "Frankly no, it's not alright for you or anyone to kill another person, let alone for the Capitol's amusement but you have people that need you to go home." I pause then explain. "And since I care about some of those people and I can't win my way I'll help you win your way."

The hunter sits back and just peers at me; he still does not believe me but at least he hasn't returned the cookie so far. I know Seam people are not normally so difficult; years of sports and fights have introduced me to more of their and their younger siblings characters. At least more than most merchants, so maybe this is a hunter thing? Finally he asks, "If you so don't want to change, don't want to be tainted, what's with the dress?"

I snort at him. "I'm practical enough to change at least my clothes and presentation, doesn't mean I like it." I feel a nasty chuckle bubble up and let it out. "I bet my mother will love every second of it."

The younger Seam roles his eyes at her mention then says, "I always knew you had fluff for brains, too many early hits to the head. And I still don't buy this act of yours. It's an elaborate lie of a semi-delusional mind or you believe your own lie in your completely messed up head, Mellark."

I scowl but before I can respond our mentor cuts in.

"First names boy, first names. Also speaking of lying I want to run through some lies with you and some improvisational acting. You need to be able to do more than just look good."

What comes next is a cross between humor, frustration and just plain sad. Mr. Abernathy keeps giving him lines to say, expects the appropriate expression, demeanor and sincerity from the context in the lines from Hawthorne when he repeats them. This knucklehead has always been on the up front side and not very emotionally forthcoming. In short, he sucks. In the improvised scenarios he is both better and worse; he can get the correct logical answer, even think up an embellishing lie but he can't deliver it for shit.

After a while our former victor gives up, declares an end then turns to me demanding, "Tell me you can do better, sweetheart."

I give him a worried look, tense my body up and add a note of pleading in my voice, "I don't know Mr. Haymitch, I've never lied in my life. My parents always said it was wrong. I'm not sure I can do it, especially not right when it's asked of me."

His head rears back and he cackles. "At last some talent!" he exclaims, "But leave off the mister."

So starts my portion of the round. He starts me with similar things he did with Hawthorne but he quickly switches to trickier situations, he demands more detail, more imaginative responses so I don't hold back. I am relaxed or tense when I need, I am open or evasive when called for and I bring up any emotion he wants. Yet most of all, when he starts to challenge me, redirect or repeat his questions to throw me off I seed truths and half-truths or my real perspective when I can to keep the lie straight in my head. It's the scenarios that I stumble over, not always picking the most sensible answer and having to try like hell to recover. I just sound like an odd ball by the end of them. At the finish of it all he rubs his brow and says it will be something to work on.

It's seven thirty now and breakfast is in half an hour. Haymitch sends me to work with Effie, Hawthorne back to his room and picks up the half full bottle. I immediately steal it from his hand and take it with me, calling back that this thing with Trinket will require liquid courage. I really should not have said anything because she is in the next car and heard me perfectly if the way her teal lips press together is any sign.

Shit. Now I have to do something I never, ever thought I would do; I have to apologize to a Capitol citizen. Fucking wretched shit. "Apologies Ms. Trinket," a slow burning starts in my throat but she does not look satisfied. Great. "I didn't mean that, but I don't think this will be an easy time for either of us," I hold up the booze, "Maybe you'll be the one that needs it." That better be enough because I'm not about to grovel to the likes of her.

Lilac eyes check me for honesty and whether they find it or not she starts, "Try not to use contractions in conversations that matter. Now show me how you walk."

Is she serious? Hawthorne, the prick, snickers and plops himself down to watch, he is soon joined by Mr. Abernathy. Jerks, both of them. I walk as I normally do, up and down the side of the car. She begins slowly, telling me to stand straighter then has me go a few times more. Then it is walk with my chin level to the ground, a few more times walking. Next it is with my shoulders back, and much walking in between. It all doesn't seem very much but it has maybe added an inch and some to my height. I think this is all a silly waste of time until she has me relax my hips, bring them a bit forward to sway as I walk. I promptly fall on my ass, almost bang my head into the wall and nearly make Hawthorne slip from is seat from laughing so hard. I flip him the finger only to have Ms. Manners tell me ladies don't do that. This time she turns to him, says a gentleman does not laugh at a lady and his time for training will come. That shuts him up. It takes me until breakfast not to topple myself every time I try to sway and walk at the same time.

Trinket continues our lesson during breakfast but it's much easier as these are things the witch has been trying to drill into me since I could toddle. When she sees how good my table manners are I'm not sure if she is please they are that refined or pissed that I don't like to use them. Really the only problem comes at portion control but I reply, "Yes I know, but please let this one go. I'm not a hunter so going into the games with a bit of fat on me will do me good." It stops her and the rest of the table. Oops, but asides from my breasts I really don't have much fat on me. I've always tried to keep myself lean and tough like a boy, I can't help my bone structure but did what I could to avoid my mother's padded curves. It's not the smartest thing to do in a district like 12, where a healthy portion of body-fat can save you from brief low points and is a sign of good life, but I don't have my brothers' stocky builds. On the plus side no one at the table makes any comment about my eating a lot of wholesome food, ignoring the rich stuff. In fact I think Hawthorne follows my lead for some reason.

The meal is just finishing as we enter the tunnel under the mountains. It's a weird feeling to realize so much rock/earth is overhead and it could pulverize the whole train in a fraction of a heartbeat. I'm so lost in thought over it I don't hear what our mentors says until my district partner is having a reaction to it.

"What?" I inquire.

"He said he wants us to be lovers." Hawthorne spits out.

"What The Fuck?"

Part 7 End.

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Side Note: None.