CHAPTER FOUR

Feliks skipped out of the room, avoiding the puddle of gross body fluids. I wanted to grab him by his Jimmy Choos so he'll fucking face plant into the vomit, but I thought that was a too horrible fate for someone who had as much taste in clothing as me.

What?

Fashion was serious business!

Anyways...

The smell of regurgitated alcohol was making me dizzy, so I quickly backed away.

Antonio's perpetual smile was gone; he seemed genuinely perplexed by our rather unfortunate situation.

"Don't hurt yourself thinking," I muttered, calculating the distance to the doorway with narrowed eyes. I could definitely make it if I held my breath.

"But Lovi-"

"It's Lovino, bastard," I snapped. "Don't get all buddy buddy with me just yet."

Antonio frowned, hurt, but decided to let it drop. "What do we do? He's suppose to be our mentor but he's inebri ... inerib ... inberi ... drunk and passed out on that sixteenth century Ottoman carpet!"

"I didn't know that."

"But he's right there, Lovi! How can you un-see it?" Antonio was waay too cute with flecks of ice cream still stuck to his curly brown hair.

I mentally bitch slapped myself.

"God, Antonio, even the carpet knows that. I meant how did you know it was Ottoman?"

Antonio stared. "I don't. Isn't that where all carpets come from? Like Aladdin and the Magic Lamp?"

"Magic Lamp my ass!" Rolling my eyes, I crossed my arms importantly. "First we have to figure out what to do with this douchebag. I'm not rolling him anywhere again."

"Of course not, Lovi."

"Lovino, bastard. I say we push him out the window. Or even better, burn the body and maybe this whole train. Then I can say I died happy, because damn that was the best meal ever."

"I'll clean him up."

I wasn't sure I'd heard correctly. "Excuse me? You want to clean up that asshole instead of pitching him out the window?"

"Yes~!"

"Antonio, I didn't know you were so fond of cleaning up after his lovely technicolor yawn, but be my guest."

I fucking skipped out of that room.

Then I immediately felt guilty when I heard Antonio sigh tiredly and the sound of a body being slowly dragged across a carpet lubricated with...

Nope. Not even going to go there. I don't feel like losing the contents of my own stomach.

BUT.

If I did, it would probably be enough to feed the homeless population of District 12.

Hah!

Damn my skinny jeans are really tight...

I found my way back to my compartment, shedding my too tight clothes and just wearing an oversized dress shirt.

Damn all those carbs to the fiery pits of hell! Or maybe just down the toilet.

...

Moving on...

I jumped up and down on my super bouncy bed several times just for the hell of it - don't judge me! - and then calmed down enough to think.

Yes, the great Lovino Vargas, thinking!

...

Don't act so surprised. It's fucking insulting. To me.

So I got to wondering why the fuck Antonio would dirty his nice, strong, tanned hands to help a drunken asshole like Julius.

He was nice.

Antonio was nice.

And a nice Antonio was infinitely scarier than a mean Antonio.

Because nice people have a way of working into my heart and then breaking it into a fucking million pieces.

So I decided to hate him.

Because hating him was easier.

Once that was decided I went over to my pile of old clothes. Because there was a certain smell that was stinking up my room.

I found the wurst Mr. Beilschmidt had given me and realized rather belatedly that I should've donated to some poor person back in the District.

I opened my window and flung it out. Since it was already sliced, it exploded into little ugly red coins.

On top of a wild tomato plant that happened to be growing on the side of the tracks. Which reminded me of that bastard again.

But to understand that you need to hear the sequel to my previous boring flashback for you:

So after Antonio had given me the food and I'd seen the dandelion growing in the crack in the pavement -

By the way, did you know that its easier to sprinkle vinegar on weed between tiles caused them to die and rot away, what was a lot easier to do than going down on your knees with a silly little knife to remove them by hand.

...

What? It's true!

...

But I'm digressing...

So Feliciano and I went to the meadow and looked around for edible plants.

And then I search through any old things my father had left behind and viola~! A map to where his bows and arrows were hidden!

Sometimes I can be so clever.

...

What?

...

The reason they were hidden was that bows and arrows could be use as weapons to start a rebellion.

Pssh. As if.

But I turned out to be a pretty good shot. I'd just imagine animals with people's faces that I hated (like the potato bastard's) and BAM! Bull's eye!

Or rabbit's eye?

So Feliciano and I had the first meat in months and there was much rejoicing.

Over time, I got more and more skilled and was able to bring home leftovers to trade at the black market. That plus signing up for tesserae got us flour.

Add in a pasta maker machine from a German and we got PAAAAASTAAAAA~~~!

And there was more rejoicing.

And then I killed the potato bastard with my own bare fists and I finally became a man!

And there was a shitload of rejoicing all around.

Of course the last part didn't really happen. Just my hyperactive imagination running away with me.

Then last summer, I found a small wild tomato plant growing near a pond. The tomato was too small and bitter to eat.

But by then Elizabeta was living with us and since she was so smart with her knowledge of plants and herbs and all that flora crap that I brought one home and she told me it was a wild Roma tomato plant.

Imagine that. A tomato named after me!

Or was it the other way around?

The ugly potato bastard- back then just a potato boy- told me that Romano meant "Romans."

But it's so much manlier to be named after a tomato than some sweaty hairy brutes, don't you think?

...

Why do I feel like I'm making a fool out of myself again?

Anyway, Elizabeta smiled at me and told me that as long as you can find yourself, you'll never starve.

Hmm. She could be right.

And since I know I'm boring the crap out of you I'll end my flashback there.

So for some reasons my eyes had gotten wet reminiscing about my pathetic childhood and I decided that it was some weird ingredient in Capital food that made me feel this way (What? It could be true!) so I decided that it was time for a siesta.

Turns out I was so tired that when I woke up again it was morning.

And then I finally looked in the mirror and realized that there was still dried whipped cream clinging to my curl.

Ew. Ew. Ew. EW.

And so I found my own bathroom and it was about the same size as my whole fucking house.

A-and the bathtub was so shiny it nearly blinded my just-woken-up-sleepy-eyes.

But I still went for the shower.

I preferred taking showers. Yup. There was nothing that could beat a nice, good ol' shower.

MOSTLY because taking baths was for women, small children and over-the-top gay people ( like Feliciano meets Feliks–kind of gay people) only!

Yes!

REAL men took SHOWERS. No baths – SHOWERS. Since showers were so very manly and cool and come on, did you ever see a commercial with a guy taking a bath while trying to convince his stupid, potential customers to buy a crappy, let's say, loofa? That's just too gay.

It's gay beyond fucking words.

Anyway ... I still preferred showering to bathing because it was easier to think about my life while taking a shower: the sound of the water hitting my skin and the hard bathtub was very soothing for me – I just couldn't stand too much silence whenever I was thinking about myself.

Don't ask me why – it probably has got something to do with my ego. Probably. I'm not sure, though.

So anyway this time I chose a nice blue dress shirt (Gucci, baby!) and just for the hell of it I added Gilbert's weird chick-pin back on.

Breakfast time! Mountains of eggs and pancakes and waffles and potatoes ew! and more eggs.

But first, I couldn't decide between tomato juice or orange juice. Because they most tasted great in the mornings.

Tomato or orange?

Maybe I'll just slush them together and make an American juice.

Then there were soft footsteps and I looked up to see Antonio give me a beaming, burning, tearing right through the motherfucking sun and stars and massive metal and English inedible scones too smile.

"Good morning, Lovino…~"

"Uh." I said in response, hastily clearing my throat when I realized I had said "uh", "uh", for crying out loud, and tried to greet him again.

"Hi. I-I mean … hi. N-no, I mean … hello. G-good morning, Antonio. Yeah, t-the last one."

Antonio chuckled and gave me another smile, this one luckily not as killing as the former one, and sat down opposite from me.

"Ooh, hot chocolate!" Then he frowned slightly, tilting his head to the side and making himself look so fucking cute it should be a crime. "Or do I want tomato juice?"

I finished my third glass of toma-range/orang-to juice and peered up at him. "Try both," I suggested, totally forgetting my promise to myself to hate him like he was the devil himself.

Antonio just looked at me strangely before chuckling again, reaching for only hot chocolate.

So since apparently Capital people are ignorant of the wonderfulness that is Pasta-For-Breakfast, I decided to try the waffles.

The waffles turned out to be pretty good especially with a load of strawberries and strawberry syrup because they were completely two different things, dammit!

I stayed away from whipped cream though.

C-cleaning my curl in my morning shower was definitely n-not fun.

...

So I ate until I felt like I was going to die or at the very least explode. Then I took a piss and ate some more.

Then Julius Abernathy walked in - not hungover, but drunk (Before nine o'clock in the freaking morning? You've gotta be kidding me.) - and totally killed my happy bubble.

He flops down into a chair and pours himself another glass of wine.

I was pissed off. He was supposed to be supporting his Tributes and getting us sponsors, but he sure as hell seemed to appreciate his wine more than caring to to save our lives.

"Oi, bastard," I said, snapping my fingers in front of his face. "Aren't you supposed to be training us?"

His brandy colored eyes slowly focused on my face and he laughed. "Stay alive."

"You -" My fist snaps forward but that asshole's reflexes are pretty damn fast because he was gripping my wrist, stopping my punch an inch from his face.

It hurt, dammit. I was going to have bruises.

I scowled and did the only thing I could; I flicked him on the forehead.

Ha!

Great, Lovino. Way to go acting like a man.

That couldn't have possibly hurt him, but it pissed him off royally, because he fucking shoved me back and I had to grip the table with my good hand to avoid falling on my ass.

Then the bastard when back to sipping his wine.

Antonio was no longer smiling. He reaches over and knocks the wineglass out of Julius's hand.

Julius slowly looks up, at the green eyes flashing dangerously, and a hint of a smile appears on his face.

Then his fist slams into Antonio's jaw, knocking him backwards.

"Hey, you motherfucking -!" Julius turns towards me and I squeak - no growl - and lob a knife in his direction.

Which lands an inch from that bastard's fingers.

Ha.

Nevermind that it was totally unintentional.

Julius looks a little surprised as he inspects his almost decapitated finger. "Maybe I do have a pair of fighters this year, huh?" His voice was surprisingly musical, with a hint of an Italian accent.

"Yeah! You bet you do!" I said, a little loudly.

Antonio, rubbing his bruised jaw, looked at me with an expression that plainly said, "We do?"

I glared at him, yanked the knife from the table, looked up at the wall and imagined the potato eater's face on that slab of wood, and threw the knife as hard as I could.

Granted, it may not have been very hard, and totally missed my mark by a whole fucking two feet, and lodged itself into a crack in the wall instead.

I turned around, pretending that was what I was aiming for.

"There. Next time you insult us that goes between your fucking eyes, you fucking jackass." I crossed my arms in front of my chest because I was just that badass.

Julius rewarded me with an amused grin. "Fiery, eh? Okay, how's this for a deal, boys? If no one interferes with my drinking -" he nods to Antonio and his smashed wineglass - "I'll stay sober enough to help. But you follow whatever I say. Any protest, and the deal's off."

Antonio and I nodded.

"Okay, first of all, good job Lovino. You've proved that not all Italians are as pathetic as they seem."

I glared, imaginary flames shooting out of my eyeballs. "What, bastard?"

Julius waved aside my flames of fury like they were nothing, which they were, and frowned at me. "Language, Lovi."

"Only family calls me Lovi," I snapped, finally sitting down, because I realized I looked like an idiot to be the only one standing.

Julius's eyes darkened. He hesitated, then said,"But I am family. Your mother was my sister."

I was shocked, then became furious. "Don't you fucking dare joke about something like that!" I nearly screamed at him, looking around frantically for another knife. I settled for a fork.

"Put the silly thing down before you hurt yourself," Julius said lazily, and I gripped the poor silverware harder, then winced when I realized it was my bruised wrist.

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a rumpled photograph. It was a picture of him about twenty years ago, when he was a boy, surrounded by his mother and older sister.

I stared at his sister, who looked almost exactly like Feliciano.

Something in the corner of my eye prickled, and I quickly dropped the fork.

Julius looked at me sadly. "I was the winner of the fiftieth Hunger Games. But I had used the Games against the Capitol. And as my punishment, they killed my mother and sister."

I made a strangled noise.

"She had a husband and two adorable baby boys. The mayor managed to convince them to spare their lives, but they could not receive any assistance or be in contact with me. That's why you nearly starved to death."

I breathed in sharply, keeping my eyes wide open.

I had to keep my eyes wide open - if I'd close them, my welled-up tears would trickle down and … a-and I really didn't want that to happen. I felt horribly enough already. Crying would only give me a huge headache and a feeling of deep shame.

"That's enough," I said hoarsely. "This is not helping us at all." It's just turning me a pile of goo and manly tears.

Julius put the photo away. Antonio cleared his throat, looking extremely uncomfortable, but also extremely sad.

"So I'll be honored if you called me uncle," Julius added.

That snapped me out of my daze. "No fucking way."

"How about Grampa?" he suggested, a twinkle in his eye.

"Fuck you," I said bluntly.

He had the guts to wag his finger at me. "Remember? You and Antonio promised to do as I say. You can call me Nonno Roma."

I could just feel my left eyebrow start twitching spastically.

Antonio raised his hand. "And me?"

"Just Roma will do."

I was about to grill stupid Nonno for information but just then the train pulled into the Capitol.

I filed away all the heartbreaking bedtime stories to cry my eyeballs out later and ran over to the window.

God, those freaks of nature a.k.a Capitol people were staring at us.

I dove under the table (God, Lovino there goes your pathetic dreams to be a real man) but Antonio was smiling and waving at them.

"What the fuck?" I hissed at him, peering up from between the gaps in the tablecloth.

He turns back to beam at me. "Who knows? One of them may be rich."

My mouth opened and closed noiselessly, and I felt like I'd been stabbed in the gut for the second time that day.

I should've remembered to hate that tomato bastard. Because he did have a brain under all those cute brown mess of curls and he could be evil enough to kill.

Me.

I gulped, trying not to simultaneously fucking cry/throw up/stab Antonio.

So I settled for staring at his ass because it looked so cute/lickable/bitable in tight designer jeans.

...

I give up on life.