No Cannons, No Caskets

Disclaimer: I don't own the "Hunger Games" trilogy or any of the characters, places or events. Suzanne Collins owns those. I have just taken it upon myself to expand on the characters and plot. This is fanfiction based on preexisting work. This will be the only disclaimer.

Chapter 2

The blonde boy and I are placed into separate rooms, just across the hall from each other. We are given an hour to say goodbye to our families and friends. I know I won't need the entire hour, and surely, neither will the boy, but I suppose it's for the other districts, the ones that can afford to have large families; and don't have to worry about loved ones starving to death before sixty. I've heard rumors passed down from Peacekeepers that in Districts 1 and 2, some people live to be one hundred, simply because they can feed everybody and the living conditions are better.

I've sat down on a wobbly wooden chair, crisscross style, and my shaking hands twist my skirt until it wrinkles. Perhaps less than ten minutes later, my sister and mother burst through the door. I hop up from the chair, and tackle Katniss and Mother into a group hug, tears noticeably no longer shining in my eyes. Katniss seems awkward around Mother, and I'm not sure why, but I know that it's not important, because if it was, one of them bring it up. Mother looks as if she's barely put together, like any minute she'd break for good, and then there would be no fixing her.

"We've only got a couple minutes," Katniss tells me, breaking the hug.

"Why?" I ask. "The Peacekeeper told me I had an hour for goodbyes."

Katniss doesn't look at me or respond. "Why?" I push.

We stare at each other for a couple seconds, before Mother cuts in, "It doesn't really matter" and I know that her word is final, so I drop it. "Thank you," she says, and there's a pause before she takes something from her pocket, "I brought you these." In her hand is my pouch of jacks. I smile, and fiddle with the strings.

"Momma, I don't wanna die." I whisper. That breaks what little control Mother had, and tears glisten in her eyes as she wraps me in another hug; I throw my arms around her.

"It's going to be alright," She chokes out, Katniss looks away from us, and I know that Mother is lying to me. At least she cares enough to lie. The look Katniss gives me is one of sympathy, just for me.

We spend the next couple minutes wrapped up in each other on the hard window bench, Mother petting my hair and Katniss just holding me. I stare out the window longingly. From my spot, I can see the square, it's empty now. Everybody has gone home, leaving Peacekeepers to clean up. I think when I die, my last thought will be of this very moment, cocooned safely in the arms of my loved ones, staring out at the district that I didn't know I was ever going to miss, but now knew I would give anything to see again. This will be a comforting last thought, I think.

Not even four minutes later, a Peacekeeper comes in, telling them it's time to go. They only protest briefly, but ultimately comply with the officer. I think about begging them not to go, but I know that it will be in vain, so I settle down in the bench we just shared. Katniss looks at me as she leaves. I would've volunteered for you if I could have, " she whispers in my ear, before hugging me one last time. As Mother gives me one last look, I wave to her. "Goodbye."

And that is the last time I will ever see my mother and sister.

It's quiet when they're gone. I stare out the window again, but dark thoughts soon engulf me. I remember the jack set Mother handed me, but that is too much like home. I will wait until I am on the train to take it out.

Instead, I settle for cartwheels. I do them all over the room, around the furniture, and on the furniture until I'm dizzy. My braids smack my face, and the pain feels good. Refreshing, almost. Feet over head, feet over head. It's all fun and games until you feel like you're going to throw up, though. I finally stop when my head pounds so hard that my brain will probably fall out and splatter all over the floor. Not that I'd mind.

Over the hour, I receive three more visitors, two are Anna and Violet, who wish me luck in such optimistic tones, that I lie and say that I'll try. The third is Oliver, a boy from my class as well as the son of a merchant. We've all been friends since forever, and promise each of my three friends that show up for goodbyes that I will come back. I know it's a lie, but only Oliver looks doubtful. Nobody else shows up. None of my other friends. Not even Gale. When the hour is up, I hold the pouch of jacks tightly in my enclosed fists and allow the Peacekeeper to silently lead me to the train. The boy is already there, sitting in a chair, equally silent as I. Effie Trinket, in all of her annoying glory, sits across from him, seemingly trying to engage him in conversation. He only responds in headshakes. It's only then that I realize he's as nervous as I.

The room is full of tables, many of which contain food and drink. None of which, except for the basics, can I name. My mouth waters as I think of the meager breakfast, meat and cheese, that I had ate this morning, before everything went to hell.

They look up when I enter. Effie gestures to the chair as she speaks. "Oh there you are, Primrose, darling! Have a seat!" She speaks like everything! Has! An! Exclamation! Point! After! It! Because I don't want to stand any longer for fear of falling on my still numb legs, I follow her orders to sit. After a while, I feel the train rumble to life, and it slowly starts. The boy and I lurch with a start. Neither of us has been in a moving vehicle before. When the silence gets too much for her, Effie stands up and declares, "I'm going to find Haymitch. He's probably in the bar car." Her heels click on the floor as she exits.

The boy and I are alone. The silence is awkward to the point where I just want to say something to break it. "What's your name?" I ask suddenly and quiet as a mouse. He looks up at me, like he didn't think I could speak or something. "Peeta Mellark," Peeta says slowly. The silence returns.

"Have you ever met him?" Peeta asks in the silence.

"Who?"

"Haymitch Abernathy. Have you ever met him?" He clarifies. Yes, in fact, I have met our drunkard mentor. Once, about three years ago.

"I have," Peeta looks up at this. "Only once, though. Probably three years ago. He was drunk out of his mind and fell somewhere and had an accident. Ended up with shards of glass on the side of his head, somehow. A bunch of other cuts, too. Mother and I gave him stitches. I doubt he even remembers that night, let alone me."

It feels weird talking to him. He could be the one to kill me in a week or so, but as weird as this feels, it also feels natural. Peeta Mellark has a charismatic quality to him, even though we've just met, I can tell. When I pass him at school- there is no separate school buildings for younger and older students in Twelve- he always has a crowd of friends gathered around him. I bet he needed the entire hour for goodbyes. I feel a tinge of jealousy unfurl in the pit of my stomach, before I quickly subdue it.

"He's our mentor, Primrose, he won this thing once." Peeta says. I almost laugh at this because it's terribly hard to picture the forty-something year old man as a Victor of the Hunger Games. A Quarter Quell, nonetheless.

"We're screwed, Peeta." I say bluntly. "Twelve has only had two Victors in seventy-four years. There's no chance for us." I'm surprise at how honest I'm being with this near perfect stranger. I open my mouth to tell him to call me Prim, but decide against it. No use getting cozy with someone that you will either A) be killed by or B) be the person you kill. So far I'm thinking A) will win. There's no way I could kill a person when I flinched that one time Katniss tried to take me hunting.

"Don't say that," Peeta tells me. "Right now, you have just as good of a chance as anybody else at winning."

"Don't lie to me!" I raise my voice slightly. "I have no skills, and an old ass dude is about to come in here and tell us that we will, without a doubt, die! I have no chance of survival when every-other tribute has whatever skill that they've been trained to do since before the could walk!" The swear word doesn't come easy to me, but I'm panicking, I knew the second that I was reaped that I was doomed, but the idea has just fully dawned on me that I am going to die. I start taking in deep breaths. Hyperventilating. I've seen people who survived mining accidents do it, but I never pictured myself in this position. Tears refuse to fall, which gives me a small satisfaction in all of this mess. I need to control myself. Now. The first thing is to fix my breathing, which is hard because I can't. My thoughts need to shut up now.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay." A nice voice says. I look up. Peeta. In my panic, I neglected to notice him come over to me, He rubs soothing circles on my back, continuing to tell me it's okay. It works, sort of. I regain control over myself, and can slowly breathe in my nose and out through my mouth. "Thanks," is all I say once I'm none. He nods as he sits back down. "No problem."

That's when the door clicks open behind the two of us. We both glance back as a middle-aged man stumbled in. He has long dark hair, and holds an empty glass. His attention is immediately drawn to the table holding liquor. He fills his glass clumsily, in a way that suggests he's already had a glass or four beforehand. When he looks up, I spot familiar Sean gray eyes. This is Haymitch Abernathy, our mentor.

"Where's the ice?" These are his first words to us, which he says while holding the lid to the container where the ice was supposed to be.

Peeta has stood up, and makes his way to Haymitch, but it is I who, surprisingly, responds first. "You know, alcohol isn't good for your liver. It also isn't that great for your brain. People think it'll make their problems better, but really it makes them worse. And by the time they notice, they're too drunk to care."

Haymitch looks up at me as he slams the lid back down with a clang. His eyes stare into my soul. "Well aren't you a little smartass."

"N-n-no, Sir," Why am I stuttering? Better yet, why do I feel the need to defend myself? "Just facts."

"Well take your facts somewhere else, to someone who actually cares." He says roughly as he takes the seat across from us that Effie has vacated. Haymitch relaxes nonchalantly in the chair, leaning back and swirling his ice-less drink, staring into the glass like the alcohol within holds the key to the world. Perhaps it does; I've never had alcohol, so who am I to judge?

"So, what's the plan?" Peeta asks Haymitch.

"The plan?" Honestly, Haymitch does not look like he wants to be here, which is fine, because neither do Peeta and I, but, seriously. He's not even trying.

"Yeah, you're our mentor. You're supposed to show us how to get sponsors and give us advice and stuff," He finishes lamely.

With a sigh, Haymitch takes a generous sip of his drink before responding, "Mentor? Slow down. Most of you aren't so eager." At this point, he gives up on trying to be discreet with his drinking, not that he tried so hard before, and just throws the whole thing back. "Here's so advice: stay alive." Then he just bursts out laughing, attempts to stand up and stumble out of the room. "I'm going to take a nap," are his only other words to the pair of us. On the way out, Effie passes him, and Haymitch comments, "Nice dress," before pushing past her to presumably go find more alcohol.

Effie sees the bewildered expressions both Peeta and I wear on our faces. "So, I see you two have met Haymitch?" She asks, voice dripping disgust. One of us must have nodded or something, because then she says, kindly, glancing down on her heels, "The years haven't been too kind on him." Silence follows.

"Well, I guess we better get the two of you to your room for tonight?" We take that as our queue to follow the pink haired Capitolite out. Peeta is shown to his room first, and he goes in without a sound. Then Effie shows me my room, and I'm impressed. I highly doubt that this is the fanciest room in the Capitol, but it is the greatest thing I've seen, this room is easily more expensive that the entire Justice Building back in 12. Somehow, I find my feet walking forward of their own accord. There's a dressing area, complete with a vanity and closet. The bed is huge, piled with feathery pillows and a cozy looking blanket. And I haven't even looked in the bathroom yet. "Well, I'll leave you to it," Effie says from behind me. "Supper's in an hour, and it wouldn't hurt to look decent." Effie's heels click clack on her exit.

The bathroom has a complicated shower system and cold and hot water. We never really had hot water at home unless you boiled it, which took longer, so you might as well just bathe in cold water.

I explore the closet, which is enormous- apparently everything the Capitol does is over the top. There are a million different outfits in that monster, I highly doubt one person would be able to wear them all in their lifetime. Every piece of clothing is fine, but nothing I'd wear.

Everything in this lovely room is at my disposal, my only restraint is supper in an hour. So, I do what any person probably would: I head to the bathroom and find a fluffy, white towel, place it on the pearly white sink, and shed my blouse and skirt. While taking off the skirt, I rediscover my jack pouch, and a wave of homesickness floods me. I put the pouch next to the towel. I'm hesitant to undo me braids, Mother did them for me, and they are the last personal connection that I have to her. In the end, the need for a shower wins, and I carefully unbraid them, setting the hair ties inside the pouch alongside the jacks. I savor my reflection in the mirror; one last glimpse of the Seam girl, I have a feeling that, after a shower, anything Seam related will be scrubbed away from me by the Capitol stylists. I take one last look at ratty blonde hair and blue eyes on a sinking dirty face. I let it last.

It's a pain trying to figure out the shower. There are a million different buttons in the shower, ranging from temperature of the water to the scent of the soap or shampoo. I eventually figure out how to get cold water flowing from the showerhead; cold water is as close to home as I'll go right now. I choose a shower free of any weird smelling soaps, but allow some pretty scented shampoo; the label says 'lavender and lemon'. I make note of that because I like the smell. I've never taken a shower before, and the sensation of water and soap running down my body is alien to me. I scrub myself clean, making sure to clean my hair deeply as it was probably the dirtiest part of me. When I'm done, I hop out of the shower and dry off with a warm towel, before grabbing another towel to wrap around my dripping hair. There were other buttons I could have pressed to dry off, but don't want to try, lest I screw up too badly and end up with my hair sticking out every which way.

Padding barefoot and towel-wrapped out into the main part of the bedroom, I head straight for the closet. I rummage through endless combinations until I find a light blue dress with short sleeves. The dress is plain other than a white sash that would tie around my waist, and it reminds me of Katniss's last reaping outfit. The memory of home tugs tears to the back of my eyes, but I fight them off; I'm in the Hunger Games now- I can't just be crying all the time. Although there is no way I can possibly win a fight with all these other kids, all of whom will be older than me, no doubt, I will hold on to the hope that I will be able to make it far enough for District 12 to be proud of me. These thoughts have a calming effect on me; the most I can do is try to win and hope for the best. It's strange how the prospect of hope empowers someone, because I momentarily no longer feel like a child. I still am, but I feel less like one. Strange indeed.

Jerking out of my thoughts, I unwrap myself from the towel and tug the dress over my body, I tie the sash into a bow. I stare at myself in the full length mirror across from the bed. The dress is lovely, and matches my bulbous blue eyes, as well as compliment my blonde hair, which I pull free from the second towel, that drops to the floor. Standing here without shoes, with wet, tangly hair, and a fine Capitol dress, I can't place myself anywhere back home in the mining district. I pick up both discarded towels and march back to the bathroom. On the way I run my fingers through my hair, shaking tiny water droplets from the strands. I look through the counter drawers for a hair brush, which I pull through my hair until it's untangled, but still damp. I brush it back into two even sides over both shoulders, then I pull one side up into a pigtail, securing it with the hair tie from before, the other side soon follows.

Once again, my eyes dart to the mirror for a moment, and I look sweet, innocent. Nobody would be able to guess that I know the right herbs to mix in order to put someone down. Mother and I often did it at home when someone got too old, and their family couldn't afford to feed them anymore. It was an easy, short, painless death. Peaceful, at least. Now that I think about it, I'm pretty handy with a knife, not at throwing them, but I have used one when helping people who have needed it. I can also do minor surgeries, for instance, one time there was an explosion in the mines, which isn't too uncommon, and I assisted Mother in removing shrapnel from some of the miners' skin. I didn't realize that Mother teaching me her skill could provide any leverage in the Hunger Games, but I guess that these skills will be of assistance in survival.

Grinning, I fold the towels and my reaping clothes, and place them on the countertop before scooping up my pouch of jacks. I don't feel as hopeless or as panicked as I did leaving 12 and boarding the train. I practically skip back to the closet, and am humming as I search for socks and find a pair of black buckle dress shoes.

As promised, Effie comes to collect us for supper when the hour is up. Leaving the jacks on top of my old clothes, I follow her to the dining room. Peeta isn't with her, so I assume that he just went ahead; sure enough as we enter, I see him waiting for us, sitting in a intricately carved wooden chair that is definitely more expensive that the rotten or broken wooden chairs we use back in 12. He gives me a smile, which I hesitantly return; there's a chance that he could kill me, that this nice-boy act could just be that, an act. Facade. I shake those thoughts out of my head. I've seen him around District 12. Katniss told me that he threw burnt bread to her one evening when we all were starving. Later at school, he had bruises on his face, someone at his house probably hit him for it. I decide to pay attention to Peeta, maybe we could be allies?

There are three empty chairs at the dining table, including the one next to Peeta. Two will be taken by Effie and I, so the third is for our mentor.

Speaking of, "Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks.

"Last I saw him, he was drunk out of his mind," I answer.

"He told me that he was going to take a nap," Peeta offers.

"Well, it's certainly been a long, eventful day," Effie sighs.

I nod my head, "I'll say."

Honestly, I think we're all relieved with Haymitch's absence. After that scene earlier, and his known drunkenness, it's probably for the best if we let him sober up, and pray he's better suited for the role of our mentor without alcohol in his system. It doesn't look too promising, though.

Supper comes in courses, which is a foreign concept to Peeta and I as we're both accustomed to having barely, for me, or only just enough, in Peeta's case, to eat. We're served a soup, lamb chops, all sorts of fruits and vegetables, at one point, there's even a delicious chocolate cake. Effie keeps warning us not to eat too much, to save space, because there's more to come. Peeta and I are both clearly disregarding the Capitol woman. I've never had food this rich, this good. It's actually mind boggling that such amazing food exists in Panem, and the Capitol, and probably Districts 1 and 2, hold it all. Besides, I highly doubt that I tip one-hundred pounds soaking wet, and it would probably be to my benefit that I put on a few pounds between now and the Games. People in District 12 die of starvation, I've seen it happen far too often with Mother how many times people come to us when they're sick or dying, that all their body needs is enough food. I've seen it so much that I know very well how long the body can go without food before it gives up entirely.

I break from stuffing myself to Effie's whiny voice, "At least you two have decent manners, the pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages, It completely upset my digestion."

I put down my fork and take a sip of water, the cleanest I have tasted, and hold back from raising my voice, because I knew the tributes last year. They were both from the Seam, like me, and had never had enough to eat a day in their entire lives. Surely when they finally had enough to eat, table manners were the last thing they had in mind. Both I'd seen around at school, they were very friendly with me, and we'd frequently talked and played jacks at recess. Peeta is the baker's son, and Mother had bothered to teach Katniss and I how to use utensils, but really, critiquing table manners of kids who'd never had food. That's low, even for the prissy Capitol people. I hate Effie Trinket's comment so much, my blood boils. It's not okay.

I wipe my hands on the tablecloth, Effie frowns and bristles in her seat. Good. I wait a moment, letting it sink in, before I respond. "They were hungry. Neither of them had ever even seen this much food in their lives, never mind been able to eat it! Is it too much just to want enough food? Everyone is starving in Twelve, and everyone here has food to waste." I realize my voice is getting louder and lower it. "Don't speak ill of the dead."

Effie looks down at the table, her plate full of food, and appears ashamed. I almost feel bad about my little outburst. Almost, but not quite.

When the meal is over, both Peeta and myself are fighting to keep all that food down. I feel sick and Peeta looks green. Our bodies aren't used to not being hungry, never mind being this stuffed. I figure that if I can handle watching Mother perform surgeries, then I can keep all that food down.

We all head to a different compartment of the train to watch the recaps of the reaping. They try to do the reapings at different times so the Capitol people can watch them all live. Getting to see all the kids that are going to murder each other for the first time is something special around here, apparently. This recap, though, is the first time I will be seeing the competition, the people who will probably kill me. One by one, each of the tributes are called out. In the upper districts, such as 1 or 2, volunteers are more common. Katniss said she'd volunteer for me if she could have; I wonder if she actually would have. It doesn't matter now, because I'm on my way to the Games, and what's done is done.

The Capitol emblem plays, and I watch the reapings intently, already strategizing. I'm scrawny and small, clearly not going to be much in a fight, the two days of training they allow isn't going to turn me into a warrior, so I look through the faces of the tributes, trying to find people who I could convince into being my allies. I'll need a small group, much like the team the higher districts put together each year. If I make an alliance, then I have a much better chance at surviving this. I won't win, but I won't be killed right away as long as I make it through the Cornucopia bloodbath. This will be tricky, as I don't have much to offer, other than my knowledge of healing and plants.

The boy who volunteers from 2 looks like he could cut me limb from limb, and he would smile doing it. The girl grins like a cat. There's a small boy from 3, who looks like he hasn't got much of a shot, but he'll for sure ally with 1 and 2. A fiery teen from 5 has a sly glint to her face, like a fox. I mentally mark her as a possible ally. The boy from 10 is crippled, and a feel sad for him. He most likely won't live long after the bloodbath. In 11, a sad girl is called up. Her has darker skin and eyes than I do, like most of her district. She can't be older than me, no way. She's definitely my age. I make note of her. We're going to stick together. When the escort asks for volunteers, only the wind answers. Twelve's reapings, however, are anything but quiet. Effie mounts the stage, does her thing, then picking the name. It's silent for not more than two minutes before I step up. Weird. Did they speed it up? Because I remember it taking longer. Quietly in the background, you can hear some sort of commotion going on. If you weren't there, didn't know that my sister trying to get to me, you wouldn't have really heard it. It's strange that they don't show it, the footage would've been tear jerking, I think. Oddly, enough, they show clips of a drunk Haymitch, which I don't remember happening. It was probably when I was numbed out. Peeta's name is called, nobody goes up when volunteers are asked for, and we're left with only the airy commentators, who chatter on about trivial details, like who they think will be the Victor this year. The emblem and music cuts in again, and the screen goes dark.

"Well, obviously Haymitch has something to learn about presentation," Effie says in the following silence.

"He was drunk," Peeta says.

"Haymitch is drunk every year," I add, giggling for some reason. Peeta smirks. "Practically every day."

"I'm glad the two of you find this funny! That you take amusement in your mentor, the one man who is supposed to tutor you, show you how to get sponsors and tell you tip;, dictates who will get gifts and help you win these games, making an absolute disgrace out of himself in front of all of Panem!" Effie says in a huff, getting up and brushing off her pants. "He could be the difference between your life and death, children!" She doesn't see the irony in her word choice. Children.

As if being summoned, Haymitch shows up at the door as Effie moves to leave. "What I missed?" Then is vomits all over the floor at Effie's heeled feet before falling into his own mess. Peeta and I can't contain our laughter, and I have to clutch my sides.

"Ugh," Effie groans, delicately stepping over the vomit and leaving us alone with the drunk.

I take in the scene of our mentor on the floor.

"Honestly, we should just leave him there," Peeta says, now standing next to me.

"We should, but I don't think that's nice. Even if he was a jerk to us, Haymitch doesn't deserve to be left in his own puke on the floor," I say.

"You're right," Peeta agrees, and I go find some towels and disinfectant for the floor while Peeta tries to lift Haymitch to his room. When I get back, he's struggling with Haymitch, who's trying to stand up. "I tripped?" He asks. I leave the bottle of spray and cloths on the table, and grab Haymitch's feet, together we manage to lift him to his room, he was singing and mumbling to himself the entire way, and we dump him onto the tiled floor. Peeta goes to start the water, while I make to take off Haymitch's smelly, puke covered shirt. When Peeta sees this, he gives me a look, "No, don't. I got him."

"Why not? I've seen worse."

"How about you go handle the mess?"

"Fine," I groan. It only takes me a couple of minutes to clean it up. I use a lot of disinfectant. Like, a lot. I scrub diligently. Haymitch germs are contagious, I hear.

Walking back to Peeta, I wonder why he didn't just go get one of the Capitol people on the train. There's plenty on here, I know. Why did Peeta help me clean up? Quietly going back into the bathroom, I see Peeta carefully cleaning our squirming mentor. That's when I know the answer to my thoughts. Peeta is just doing it to be kind. That's how he is. This nice person isn't an act. Just like throwing the bread to Katniss that night, he is kind to our harsh mentor.

I go over to help him, Peeta seems to object to me helping wash this naked old man, but I am unfazed. Together, we finish washing him, I washed his clothes, and we dress him. Then we lay him into bed. I tuck him under the covers and, almost mockingly, I kiss his forehead.

"Goodnight, you drunkard," I mumble when we exit.

On our way back to our rooms, I talk to Peeta. "Thank you for the help."

"No problem," He says. There's a pause. "I'm not going to let you die, Primrose."

"What?" I'm startled.

"I mean," He hesitates, "We could be allies, I'm not much, but you deserve life more than I do. You're young and had- have- everything in front of you. I have nothing. Nobody who cares for me. I saw your sister at the Reaping. My mother and father barely said goodbye."

"Peeta, yeah we can be allies, but I've seen you lift bags of flour to the bakery. You can carry our drunk mentor. You would probably be better allied with District Two or something. You don't deserve to be here just as much as I don't." We stop where our rooms part.

"Goodnight," is his only response as he turns the doorknob to his room. I'm about to close my door when I turn around.

"Peeta?" He turns to look at me.

"Yeah?"

"If we're going to be allies, you're going to have to call me Prim."

"Okay Prim," he gives a small smile. I run across the hall and hug him tightly, not caring that I probably shouldn't get attached.

"Goodnight, Peeta."

I race back to my room, and shut the door breathlessly.

A/N: Whew! That was a lot. This is my own special blend of the book, movie and my own ideas, which is why we get Haymitch's 'outburst' from the movie as well as him vomiting on the floor from the book. I've decided that most of the established characters from the book will retain most of the same personality, but I will change it slightly. For instance, Prim is kind and caring, but I am adding on to that by making those traits be charisma and wit. I am trying to keep her like the books, hopeful and happy, as much as I can, but I feel that, in the circumstances, she wouldn't be. Also, most people choose her weapon to be a knife, I am using that, but I see it more as a skill to help her. I don't think she'll be much of a fighter.

I was originally going to stop at " I practically skip back to the closet, and am humming as I search for socks and find a pair of black buckle dress shoes," but then just decided to make it through meeting Peeta, Effie and Haymitch, supper, the recaps and drunk Haymitch all around.

Also, I'm particularly proud of the final scene with Prim and Peeta, by the way.

Before the A/N, this chapter was 12 pages in Google Docs and 5,581 words. Damn, I am impressing myself so far with this fic. This is the most motivated I've ever been to write something, lol.

xoxo,

Infiniginity