Author's Note: A bit of context for those who might not pick up on it, this world is centered somewhat around a patriarchal society. Men run the world - as can be true in a lot of real life as well. That obviously wasn't something really in the original storylines, just something that's a part of this one. It's also not a huge rule of thumb, so it's not that women can't do things or that they have zero control over their lives, but it's more likely they won't or can't do certain things, especially if they're from a higher society family. If that makes any sense at all…
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Chapter Five: Falling in Line
A rigid, booming knock at the servant's door early this morning alerts me of Gale's arrival. I listen at the top stairs as Ava retrieves the keys for him and they exchange a few hushed words.
I resolve to stay inside until he leaves for the day.
The resolution is mostly out of cowardice and cowardly resolutions are almost always insincere. It is only a few hours later in the day, after I've finished all my duties, that I break it.
I timidly settle onto a stone bench in our maze of a garden, deeming it safe when I don't immediately spot Gale within the vicinity.
The rock is cool against my thighs and I lay my palms flat against its surface. Scraggly bluebells caress my ankles, growing in borders along the brick path.
I ache to witness the garden in its full glory once more. In Mister Davis's absence, the area has been left almost entirely unattended. It pains me to see the life in it wilt away without proper care. It's almost as if I am wilting with it.
As always, I feel powerless to do anything.
It is improper for anyone to see someone of my stature engaging in manual labor, especially now that I've grown older. As much as the Mayor's daughter is allotted more freedom than most, I still have confines in this role I play.
I smile toothily at my friend. His golden hair is soft and white, nearly transparent in the light that shines from the kitchen window.
"You use your fists to knead it." A tiny, pink tongue darts out between thin lips as he focuses on the task at hand. He works for a while before speaking again. "Do this for a while to develop the, um, gluten. I think that's what Papa said it's called - gluten." I giggle at the funny word. He pronounces it like "gloo-tin" and I can't help but repeat after him.
"Gluten."
He nods.
"But not too much or you'll overwork the dough and-"
The boy suddenly stops and grimaces.
"And what, Peeta?" I prod.
He closes off some, sounding a lot quieter as he continues.
"It will ruin the bread." Peeta looks away, seeming somber for a moment. He shakes his head, smiling faintly. "But don't worry about that for your first time, just get the steps down, okay?"
"Okay," I agree readily, eager to see my closest friend return to his happy self once more. I notice how he flinches at the mention of a mere phrase. I notice the painful glint in his eyes as he focuses intently on the task at hand. I notice the rolled up cloth of his sleeves that reveal varying colors of bruises.
But I don't know what to do about it.
What can a ten year old girl do for anyone?
"Here, you try," he suggests, moving away from the floured surface.
I step forward, coating my hands in flour, similar to what I witnessed Peeta do only moments earlier.
My sleeves have already been pushed up to the elbows and a layer of white coats my skin and apron. While my friend's own body remains mostly free of the powdery dust, I have managed to practically douse myself in it.
I am clumsy as I begin the movements. The dough is soft, pliable, yet somehow still unwilling to yield. It only takes a moment for my scrawny arms to start to ache. Sweat beads on my skin and I wipe at my brow with the back of my forearm.
"I'm afraid I've completely forgotten where I've put down my glasses. Madge, have you seen-"
The words cut off. I turn around, feeling pleased that my father has finally left his office for the day. While he is attending to business at home, I am not allowed to go near the upstairs East Wing. The Mayor of District Twelve has an important job, one that a ten year old girl shouldn't dare interfere with.
"Hi, daddy," I greet. I grin. "Peeta is teaching me to make bread."
He nods and gives Peeta what I can only describe to be a smile.
Only, it doesn't look like a smile. It doesn't look like my father's smile - at all.
"How interesting," he comments. He comes over to us, peering over my shoulder.
"It really is," I tell him earnestly, looking up.
Blue eyes abandon the ball of dough just as my hands do. The icy stare is now on me, drifting up my body to my face.
He is silent for a moment, not saying a word in response.
A thumb comes up to swipe across my forehead. It leaves my skin covered in flour. He looks at the substance on his finger, as if it is completely foreign to him.
I suddenly feel nervous.
When he finally speaks, I feel disappointed at his next words. "Peeta, why don't you run on home now," he suggests, clapping the younger boy on the back. I am disheartened to know my friend has to leave, but I don't dare argue. "Your father will probably need you to help close up the bakery."
Peeta lifts the apron over his head. "Of course, Mayor Undersee. Thank you for allowing me over to visit with Madge." He glances at the mess we've made and blushes. "I'm sorry about all of this. Let me stay and clean up-"
The Mayor holds up a hand. "Thank you for the offer, but that won't be necessary." Peeta seems uncertain, but nods his head anyway. "Madgerie," my father enunciates loudly. I startle at the use of my full first name. "Please, show your friend to the door and say goodbye for the day."
"O-okay," I say.
"Have a good rest of your day, Mayor Undersee."
"You too, Peeta. Tell your family that I wish them well."
"I will, sir."
My father is a kind man - kinder than most in his position would be. Despite that kindness, he still must do what is necessary. It is a necessity to punish a child for actions that put them in danger.
My punishment was for a crime I was not yet keen to. It was a punishment less severe than it could have been, perhaps even should have been, but still a painful reminder nonetheless.
"The baker bakes our bread. The cobbler cobbles our shoes. The gardener tends to the garden." I swallow, feeling the weight of the disappointment in his words. "Do you know why that is?"
I know I must answer, but I fear for it being incorrect. I stand in the foyer of our hall, only just having closed the door on Peeta's back.
"Because… that is their job?"
Blue eyes flash in a way that belies anger. "Exactly - that is their job. That's the family that they were born into and the roles they were destined to fulfill. You were born into the Mayor's household. You are not destined to bake bread or cobble shoes or tend to the garden." I nod my head like I understand, but I don't really. "You are expected to hold yourself to a higher standard than everyone else. Your actions reflect upon our household. And as of now, they reflect rather poorly." I bite my lip, feeling lost and confused and desperate for the cold look in my father's eye to leave and never come back. "Do not ever participate in commonor duties, Madgerie. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, father."
I nod my head, again pretending to understand.
But I don't understand - I don't understand at all.
The following day, I was forced to write for six hours, the same sentence over and over. If I stopped for even a second, my tutor would smack my knuckles with a ruler. By the time I finished, they were red and raw, the cracks in the skin welling with blood.
Over and over again, ingrained into my very being, I was forced to write: Madgerie Undersee will not bring shame to the Mayor's household.
Although I didn't understand then, I do understand now. I don't resent my father, at least not for the valuable lesson he taught me that day.
Being the Mayor's daughter is a role of prestige; it is similar to the functioning of our society. I must remain above the rest because my status and wealth are a symbol, almost as much as the Hunger Games or the Capitol extreme's opulence. There is a reason there is a Town side and a Seam side to our District. I imagine it is the same in other Districts - two sides of the same coin that are never to touch.
Just as there are the most destitute of the poor, there are the most prosperous of the rich. Those roles must be fulfilled in order to adhere to a certain truth of our society.
The rich thrive; the poor do not.
The rich deserve their salvation; the poor deserve their damnation.
To attempt to disprove that truth is to rebel.
I sigh, reluctantly standing up.
I know I cannot stay here forever. Although the garden is expansive, Gale will likely stumble upon me at some point if I linger around much longer.
I don't want to be alone today, but I know loneliness may still be my only company yet. Visiting Peeta is an activity I indulge in rarely, as I don't want to make his work any harder than it already is by stealing him away from the bakery. Visiting Katniss is completely out of the question - I am simply not that type of friend to her.
I hesitate, eyes searching the garden before coming to the tall shrubs guarding the front gate. Gale must be around back, because he is nowhere in sight.
I gather my calf length, sage skirt and slip quietly out of the garden. If I go visit my father at the Justice Building then maybe he will tell me about our upcoming visitors and who they might be. Hopefully, he will also give me direction on how to act while they are here.
If he is too busy to spend his lunch with me, then at least the trip will give me something to do to pass the time. I have never felt very welcome in my own home, with the garden being the exception.
Now, even there I am no longer wanted.
The walk toward the Justice Building is calming for a while, but as I move closer to my destination, more and more people populate the area. They move around me, casting a wide berth around my body. I pass by residents. Some are from Town. They assess me with wary eyes, but smile politely, if a bit tightly. Some are from the Seam. They don't acknowledge me quite so kindly - or even at all. I do my best to keep to myself, my eyes hardly straying from the cobblestones in front of me.
I reach the looming, brick structure of the Justice Building ten minutes before my father typically breaks from his mid-morning meeting for lunch. There are people in suits, or uniforms of white and gray depending on their roles, running about. I inform the clerk of my arrival and ask to see the Mayor of District Twelve.
The older woman at the desk has worked here for as long - if not longer than - I have been alive. Miss Perrier has wire glasses, silver hair, and a perpetually displeased frown. She instantly recognizes who I am and doesn't ask for any credentials, nor does she bother to give me any sort of greeting or formal acknowledgment. Her wrinkled hand stiffly motions for a Peacekeeper to come over before buzzing a short and unceremonious message of my arrival through to my father.
In a way, Miss Perrier's mask is better than anyone's else's I've ever met - in being that I am not entirely sure if it is a mask. It could be true that she is genuinely as unfeeling as she appears.
We stop in front of a large oak door with a golden placard boasting the Mayor of District Twelve's title. The stoic man guarding me has just barely rapped on the wood when another male, also in a white uniform, opens the door promptly.
The Peacekeeper stationed guard in my father's office is surprisingly young, especially compared to the older officer escorting me. His gaze slips down and I pause.
His skin lightly sun kissed, just at the cheeks and nose. Facial muscles do not move, but still give away something expressive.
A brief moment in passing - blue meeting green - makes me think he can see something real about me - underneath my mask. It is in his eyes - green eyes that have a quality to them similar to silver ones.
"Come in, Mayor Undersee is expecting you," he speaks smoothly.
I transfer from one official's side to the other as I pass through the threshold. I feel the lightest of touches on my bare arm for the briefest of moments as I pass by, so faint that it may have been nothing at all.
As I step into the brightly lit, ornately furnished office, I feel proof lingering warm on my skin.
"Madge!" a welcoming voice greets. My eyes are drawn away from the green eyed officer to my father. The Mayor stands and smiles brightly at me. The lines of his face are deeper; he is tired.
He hasn't been home since my birthday. I can only assume he is preparing for our upcoming visitors' arrival.
He turns to the Peacekeeper still in the room. "You may leave us, David. Have someone from the cafeteria bring up two lunches, please." The uniformed man quickly does as my father orders and we are alone.
I wonder briefly if David is someone I've met before - but his face doesn't come to memory. He must have been shipped here from another District. Green eyes and sandy hair are both foreign traits to Twelve.
"Father, it's good to see you. You should try to come home again soon," I say, smiling grimly at how his graying hair seems a little grayer in the fluorescent lighting.
"I'll see if I can manage it," he replies, his smile also a little less bright.
I take solace in the fact that the leather couch in his office is roomy and comfy, so it's not as if he has nowhere to sleep. Still, I worry if he's sleeping at all. My father has long been determined to work himself into an early grave.
"I'm happy that you had the time for lunch today," I say, switching the topic. My words are genuine. It is rare and treasured time whenever I get the opportunity to talk with and see my father.
"Please, sit," he beckons to a glass table at the end of the room, surrounded by gold trimmed chairs.
A knock curtly sounds at the door, likely our food.
"Come in!" the Mayor beckons.
While the lunch is not as gourmet as the dishes often served up on our dinner table, it is far better than the meals seen by Seam residents. Freshly baked bread, likely fetched from the nearby bakery, is sliced next to a gorgeous salad. Vegetables, unless grown or traded for, are rare things indeed in the poorer part of our community. I feel guilty picturing the abundance of goods purchased from the market for the purpose of making these salads that will likely be picked at by 'too busy to sit down and eat' Council Members and employees.
The gray uniformed workers, the color significant to their role, leave us with our lavish meal. David remains stationed outside the closed door.
"It looks delicious," I state, contrary to my inner feelings. I place my napkin in my lap and delicately take a forkful into my mouth, noting how the carrots and spinach are coated in a light vinaigrette that gives it a tang. We both get a few bites in, occasionally sipping at the water provided in crystal glasses, before beginning conversation.
"It's actually rather good luck you decided to come down here today," my father interrupts, sitting back in his chair. He takes another large drink, before continuing. "I have something to speak with you about. I'd much rather discuss it in person than over the phone."
I swallow thickly, feeling as the food sticks in my throat.
"What is it?"
My father dabs at his mouth with a linen napkin. He makes eye contact with me, his blue eyes sharp. "We have two very important guests arriving by train tomorrow. They'll be here sometime before dinner."
I nod and choose my words carefully. "Oh, good. It's so nice when we get visitors. Is there anything I can do to make them feel more welcome?"
"I'm sure they would love to hear you play. Would you please choose a few pieces to perform for them?"
I smile tightly, not entirely enthused with the idea. However, I sound rather positive as I reply, "It would be my pleasure."
"These are very special guests, Madgerie." The use of my full name garners my attention and it's easy to see that what he is saying is important. "They are the representatives of a potential suitor."
"A potential suitor." My heart startles in my chest.
I didn't think the courting process would start happening quite this early. I've just barely turned sixteen. I haven't begun accepting the role I've been given yet. It's far too soon for me to start playing this part when I haven't rehearsed the lines.
"Oh really?" I ask, my voice lifting higher as if the idea actually entices me. Regardless of how unprepared I am, the curtain has lifted and the play has commenced. I must now do my best to stay in character and sell the show. There are people listening - watching - and they need to believe the show is real.
"This is someone you are unfamiliar with. This boy's family has only recently extended their interest in a courtship."
Unfamiliar - the word makes me want to scoff. They are all unfamiliar. Simply knowing a name and age tells me nothing of who they actually are.
Still, that means this suitor isn't anyone in the binder he gave me. This is someone else - someone new. But who?
And why? Why me?
I maintain my composure. "Oh?" is the only word I let fall from my lips.
"He hails from the Capitol."
My heart stills. "The… Capitol?" I rearrange a smile on my face although my insides are twisting with horror. There is a pause as I struggle to hold it all together - hold everything in - but I manage to continue on with the charade. "What a surprise! I never thought a suitor from the Capitol would ever consider someone like me."
Why me? Why take an interest in me, out of all the potential sixteen year old girls in Panem?
I take a swallow of my water. I try to buy time to think.
Although the role of Mayor's daughter holds some prestige, being from District Twelve means I am far less desirable than someone from a higher District. There is no favorable explanation that I can come up with as to why this is happening. The only ones plausible are ones that I prefer not to consider at all.
"What's his name?" I ask after a moment.
"Now, now. I don't want to get your hopes too high. You're already far too excited as it is," my father scolds me as if I'm a spoiled child. I know he likely cannot say more on the matter, but I desperately want answers. I can feel my mask weakening by the second as I try to process all the information being given to me. A muscle in my father's forehead twitches and he grabs my hand across the table. "Nothing is decided yet, there's still time." He gives my fingers a reassuring squeeze before releasing them. "We'll discuss this more at a later date, I promise."
I take a mental deep breath and busy myself with finishing the food on my plate. There is that dreadful hollow feeling in my chest, as if the world is caving in on me.
No matter what I feel inside, I have to keep playing my part.
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