Marvel/Katniss... odd, right? But with all the Kato fics spouting up everywhere, I decided that Marvel needs a little love. I got my perception of him from the tribute guide's claim that he's not the sharpest tool in the shed, and a little of it from Jack Quaid's portrayal of him in the movie- which consisted of a lot of smirks and odd facial expressions- so his personality may be a bit... different, but I hope you guys like it.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Suzanne Collins.

"I look hot, right Breeze?"

Absurdly big green eyes look at me with a frightening solemnness, and I find my grin growing wider under my little sister's spotlight stare. I continue standing there, arms stretched out expectantly, until Brianna purses her lips and shakes her head.

"You look absolutely ridiculous," she says, her tone of voice settling somewhere between teasing and dead serious. I reach over and muss up her hair, and Brianna's jaw clenches as she leans away, complaining, "I spent all morning on that! What if I get picked! Now-"

"Oh, quit shitting bricks," I say, moving away from her to look at myself in the mirror. I do look ridiculous, courtesy of my mother and her gaudy fashion choices, but it is traditional for District One's finest to wear crazily expensive clothing on Reaping day. "You won't get picked, for one, and for another, no one will really give a shit about your hair if you do. They'll be too pissed off that a scrawny little twelve-year old is going to go into the Games that-"

I have to stop to dodge the hairbrush that's chucked at my head. It sails an inch in front of my face and crashes into my mirror, shattering most of the thin glass. Brianna doesn't blink, instead smirking at me and stomping off to the bathroom, no doubt to redo her hair.

I mutter a low curse, but ignore the damage. Mom will be pissed, but I've never been too fond of the mirror anyway. It pretty much acts as a clothes rack given that I have not yet developed a sense of self-love quite as impressive as my father's, and therefore can serve its primary purpose just as well with the shattered glass as it could have without it.

Somewhere, an alarm starts screeching. That would be Brianna's. She's always been anal about making sure she's on time for things. We have to go.

I sneak another quick glance at myself in the mirror, shaking my head. I'd rather be in my terribly gray Academy uniform than the uncomfortable ivory pants, ridiculously confining suit jacket in matching color, and bright blue shirt that will no doubt make countless viewers scattered throughout Panem question my sexuality, but I also have a feeling that my mother would tear my heart out if I decided to switch outfits, and therefore I resign myself to the prospect of public humiliation.

"Marvel! It's time to go!" Brianna calls. Rushing away from my nightmarishly bright reflection, I run a nervous hand through my hair and sigh. I've been trained for this. Nothing to worry about. Still, I don't want to go to the Games. Living outside, dealing with bugs, going without food?

District One's got more pride than it knows what to do with, my family is about as rich as we can get without being Capitol, and anyone who's seen me chuck a spear will vouch for my own personal masculinity – although that may not last long after they've seen my suit- so I have nothing to prove. No reason to fight.

Two years left, and I cannot wait until they're long behind me. I've never been a fan of uncomfortable things.

"Marv-"

I step out into our foyer before she can finish her impatient shout. Brianna gives me a nasty glare. She's got her hair up and perfectly styled again in an impressively short amount of time. Light makeup makes her big green eyes look even bigger.

I really hope she doesn't get picked. She's too pretty to die.

"Don't worry, I'm right here. We won't be late."

Brianna nods. Then, without looking at me, she reaches over and weaves her small, twelve-year-old fingers through my own. I try to walk forward, but she doesn't move. When I stop to look at her, there's an awkward moment of silence.

"I don't want to go," she whispers finally. "I don't-"

I reach over with my free hand and pinch her lips shut. No one in District 1 talks like that. Especially not any Metzgers.

"Breeze, shh. We don't say things like that, alright?"

She nods gravely, and I can feel her take a deep, shaking breath. She's so naturally small that her weakness makes her look like a little bird, like the ones I used to throw rocks at when I was younger. They'd fall slowly to the ground, tiny and fragile, and I would step on them if they were still alive.

A big, heavy boot is now very close to Brianna's head. A stroke of dreadful luck, and it'll come down completely.

Together, quietly, we make our way out the front door and down the neatly paved streets to District One's town square. Our steps are slow, and with every little bit of progress we make, Brianna's hand tightens around my own.

"You should get away from me," I warn her as we approach the line of tributes that are still waiting to check in. "All your friends will laugh if they see us together. I look like an idiot."

"That's because you're rich. Around here, I think people expect money to rot your brain," Brianna smirks. She's fine again, her second of worry already wiped from her mind, and, more importantly, erased from her features. I laugh loudly to encourage her a little, to show her that she has nothing to be scared of.

We reach the check-in tables soon after. Brianna gets pricked with a needle and her blood is stored on one of their databases. I follow. Then we're separated.

I watch a Peacekeeper drag her off, but she's like our parents more than I care to admit- too proud to share any lasting glances with me. Any and all signs of fear have been wiped clean from her face.

It takes a little effort, but I tear my eyes from my little sister and amble on over to the seventeen-year-old section. Like always, I make it a point to get as close to the stage as possible. Reverse psychology. If I'm there and looking ready to go, not trying to hide, then I won't get picked. It's worked the last five years. I trust it to hold up through six.

"Volunteering this year, Marv?" a guy from the Academy asks. I smile at him. He's bigger and stronger than me, and I can't help but think that he should be the one volunteering.

"Nah," I say. I don't know his name. "Too much work for too little reward, you know? I'm already living it up here. Why risk everything when you can't get anything more out of it?"

He looks at me strangely, then laughs like I'm ridiculous and goes back to his friends. I contemplate sticking my tongue out at his back, but I'm about ninety percent sure that my mother is watching me from somewhere out in the crowd. In layman's terms, she doesn't like immature behavior, and if she doesn't like something, she gets rid of it. I'm not in the mood to be disposed of, so my tongue stays in my mouth.

Within a few minutes, the mayor steps forward and begins reciting the Treaty of Treason in a low monotone that would work very nicely as a prescription sedative. My gut's a bundle of jumpy nerves, yet I find my eyes drooping as his low voice warbles its way out of the speakers.

Then he's done and Tilly Winters picks her way across the stage in heels that are probably as long as my forearms. Her balance is impressive, and she's so generally bright- quite like myself, actually- that any trace of sleepiness is replaced by the disorienting feeling that I've spent too much time looking straight at the sun.

"Welcome, welcome!" she chirps. Her voice rings with money- a high trill that tinkles with luxury and flows easily up and down in the slow, controlled tones of someone who has all the time in the world to say things that everyone has to listen to, but no one really cares about.

My mother speaks in the exact same way.

"I hope that you are all excited for the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games," she continues. Her green wig bobs up and down in the wind as she tells us all how happy she is to be in District One. Then her little introduction is finished, and she kicks off with her usual call of, "Ladies first!"

She balances her way to the girl's ball and reaches for a slip of paper.

The District goes silent.

Tilly smiles and unfolds the small slip.

"Glimmer Kirsch."

Ah, how fitting, that the most dangerous girl I have had the pleasure to meet has been tossed into a place where stabbing people in the back is commonplace.

There is no hesitation or pause before Glimmer strides onto the stage from her place in the crowd, looking like a walking sex-goddess as she does so. Her hair is like spun gold, hanging in bouncing curls around deceptively angelic features, and her emerald eyes survey the crowd with a challenging look, daring someone to just try to take her place.

I think she's slept with half the guys at the Academy. She's killed several other girls over insults and boyfriends. Strangely enough, that only adds to her appeal. From her tiny white dress to her dangerous red heels, I find myself quite taken with this girl who shines like an angel but has a soul so small that even God would need a microscope to find it.

She looks all the more attractive- quite perfect for the Games, really- because she's not Brianna. One year down for my little sister. Now I just have to get through, and we'll be good until the next.

Tilly coos over Glimmer with a huge smile on her face- probably because her body is going to be the talk of the Games- before realizing that there's still another tribute to pick. After having Glimmer spin once for the cameras, Tilly heads off towards the guy's ball.

I scratch at my neck a little. It's cool, and my suit is pretty light, but I still feel hot and uncomfortable.

Tilly teeters as she walks, but catches herself so imperceptibly that no one would have seen the tiny wobble of her humorously high heel unless they were watching for it. With a wide smile, she stops in front of the ball and sinks her arm into it, grasping several slips of paper tauntingly before hanging on to one unfortunate bastard's name.

My eyes don't leave that piece of paper as Tilly opens it and slowly runs her eyes over the name.

"Marvel Metzger."

Holy hell.

"Well, shit, it looks like you don't have to volunteer after all," says the guy who asked me about it earlier. I ignore him and tilt my head at Tilly in confusion.

"Did she just say my name?" I ask out loud. Several people laugh. I blink.

Me? I'm the unfortunate bastard?

I see my face on the big screen that overlooks the square, my smile still in place, but my eyes have tightened a little like I have no idea what's going on. A few more seconds pass, and finally, it sinks in.

Tilly Winters just called my name. I'm going to the Hunger Games. That's so… inconvenient. I run a hand through my hair and let out a low sigh. At least my mother stuck me in this ugly-as-hell suit. Everyone from the Capitol will love it.

I take my time getting up onto the stage, not because I'm really that reluctant to get up there- really, being reluctant would just make things worse- but more due to the fact that I don't feel like making myself rush.

Glimmer begins getting impatient. I allow her to do so. Staying on her good side is widely regarded as a feat that's improbable at best and impossible at worst, and I believe making an effort to do so would take more energy than I'm willing to expend.

The crowd cheers as I finally take my place, although not quite as loudly as I have heard other years. I'm rich and tall, but not as big as most Careers, and hardly threatening in a suit that makes me look like a transgender rabbit. I think Glimmer got a better reception than me. Then again, most of the male population of District One was probably cheering more for Glimmer's non-existent dress than any actual appreciation for her value as a tribute.

Above the commotion, Tilly tells me to shake Glimmer's hand, and I obey with a smile on my face, because, hell, on the off chance that I will die, I'll do so with memories of an unrealistically hot girl in my head.

"The boy with the nice arm," Glimmer says, because everyone in District One knows and realizes that, although I am shit at most everything else, I am ridiculously amazing at throwing spears.

"The girl with the nice ass," I say in response. Then, when she looks angry, I shrug and continue, "What? It'll get you more sponsors than my arm will ever get me."

Glimmer purses her lips at me angrily. Tilly escorts us off the stage and to the Justice Building. I laugh as I follow, the shock wearing off and gradually being replaced by a feeling of something like acceptance. The Games have always been a possibility- an undesirable one, sure, but nothing I absolutely can't handle. I've always had an uncanny ability to make the most of disagreeable circumstances, anyhow. I find it strangely easy to treat this situation just as optimistically as others I've dealt with in the past.

Our personal visits begin a short while later. Although I had dozens of 'friends' at the Academy, the place was not exactly a breeding ground for deep relationships, and my 'eccentric' personality and fascination with sharp objects twisted together to give me a large number of distant acquaintances rather than any close friends.

In other words, I was there, I was popular, but apparently not someone to take the time to see before their imminent- or in my case, statistically likely- death.

My family does come, though. I recline back into the room's expensive leather sofa- quite similar to the one that's in our sitting room at home- and smile a little as I watch Brianna walk stiffly into the room, followed by my mother and father.

I focus on my little sister first. She is holding up well- no tears, and her face arranged into a mask of distant concern. I can tell she is upset- something terrible is raging in her eyes- but I choose to ignore it.

See, that's the thing that most people don't get about District One. Looking past what's on the outside is a waste of time. If someone isn't showing you something, it means that it's none of your damn business. If Brianna expected to be comforted, she would have come into the room with tears in her eyes.

"Come home," she says. "Please."

I nod. I will. I don't plan on dying. Of course, no one does, but I'm so much better than most anyone else that I actually have a hope of getting my sorry ass home in one piece.

"I will," I assure her. "Don't worry about that." Then I look at my parents. My dark-haired father, his eyes focused on the covered window, face pinched into a look of vague displeasure. My mother's face is different- more readable, but with less to read.

Both appear to disprove of this turn of events. There is doubt in my father's eyes. He isn't confident I can win. My mother is- I can tell that she sees this as nothing more than an inconvenient ordeal, much as I do.

"Ally yourself with the other strong tributes," Mother says. "Glimmer, including. I know her mother, and-"

"I know. I've been trained. I've watched the Games every year. Besides, I'll have a mentor. I don't need advice."

"Do you need anything else?" my mother asks.

Some emotion would be nice, but I would get slapped for suggesting something so preposterous, so instead I shrug and smile.

"Nah. I'm sure the Capitol will be happy to take care of all of my needs. Really, let me go. I'll be back in a month, and we'll have a few more bucks to add to the family bank account. Seriously, I'm good."

I am dished up three skeptical looks. I have never been a typical Career, and they all realize this fully. That, however, does not mean that I am terribly frightened. A little scared? Yeah. Uncomfortable with the notion of dying? Completely. But, the thing is, when you've been faced with the idea of death all your life, when volunteering to die is actually encouraged, going out to risk your life apparently becomes something that a person is kind desensitized towards.

"If you're sure," my mother says. "But Marvel? Please come home to us. I would be terribly vexed if I were to lose you."

I stand up and give her a quick hug, given that I don't think I've ever heard her say anything so… personal, to me over the course of my seventeen wonderful years. My father only nods at me, but I still reach out and stiffly shake his hand. Then Brianna, small and stoic as a statue, purses her lips and rigidly wraps her thin arms around my waist.

"Don't worry about a thing. I've got this," I tell her confidently.

Then the Peacekeepers come and drag my family away, and I'm left by myself because no one else is willing to visit me. Glimmer probably has a line of admirers, waiting to say their good-byes and get themselves in her good graces in case she actually returns, so I know that it'll be a while before we leave. Every second of her allotted time will be used up. I don't think I've ticked away half of mine.

I sit and wait. A clock ticks on the wall, and each second piles on top of the other in my head, adding up to a handful of minutes, and then a small chunk of an hour before a Peacekeeper enters my room and tells me that it's time to get going.

Glimmer, who I am disappointed to see hasn't been crying, is shoved up beside me, and we are both thrust into the backseat of a fancy Capitol car. As soon as the doors are closed, she turns to look at me.

"We're going to be allies, right?"

I pretend to think about it for a moment, running my eyes up and down her pretty little body as if I'm sizing her up. She tenses, so I draw out the moment a second longer before replying.

"I suppose."

Nodding, Glimmer says, "Good. You'll help with sponsors."

"How?" I ask, because although I like to believe I am greatly gifted in the attractiveness department, I have a feeling that I contrast quite badly with Glimmer's goddess-like appearance.

"Your personality. The Capitol will love a crazy-as-hell asshole who smiles all the time. That suit works with the idea, too. It makes you look ridiculous."

I shrug because I'm pretty sure the Capitol will appreciate any personality that's thrown at them as long as it's attached to a big, ruthless tribute, but I don't tell her this.

"If you say so."

"Oh? And act like you're actually into girls once the cameras start focusing on us. I'm trying to make myself appear desirable, and it will help a hell of a lot if you would actually look at me."

I blink several times, quite positive that she just called me gay.

"Hey, just because I don't drool doesn't mean I don't look," I say defensively. "Because believe me, I appreciate the view."

"So you'll do it?" Glimmer asks. She doesn't think I'll say no.

I do.

"I don't think so. See, I've got a reputation for only accepting the best. Something that's been passed around half of District One is too secondhand for my taste, and I don't want anyone back home getting the wrong impression about me. If you're willing to acquiesce to something in secret, though-"

I'm actually quite lucky that the car stops then, because I'm pretty sure that I would have had perfectly filed nails in my throat if I couldn't have scrambled out the door at that precise moment. Funnily enough, I wasn't even trying to be an asshole. I was telling the truth.

Someone of my standing and wealth seen pining after a person who is a good ways under me, at least status-wise, is frowned upon. If Glimmer were to come after me, it'd be a different story, but suggesting that to her would probably lead to a premature death that I'm not excessively interested in.

"Sorry, Glim," I say as we're prodded towards the train station, "but it's true. I'm sure you'll seduce the Capitol just fine without my help."

She puts a tight smile on her face, but says nothing. I widen my own grin and start waving, tossing out kisses, and allowing the Capitol to bask in the general sunniness that is my personality.

In District One, our training starts before we can really work with weapons. That's because our tributes rarely win the Games in the arena. Here, where appearances are everything, it's personality that counts. I have been trained to make the Capitol love me. So that's what I do.

Cameras eat up my face and other parts of Glimmer, and then we're on the train and away from the bug-like lenses.

"Well, that was interesting," I announce to the room as a whole. "Now, I think I need a nap."

No one objects, so I escort myself to a room that appears to be made up for a tribute and plop down onto the bed. I don't sleep. Instead, I take a moment to let myself get swallowed up by the quiet, away from Glimmer and cameras and prying eyes. Once the adrenaline works its way from my veins and my heart has slowed down a little, I realize something.

I'm hungry.

I'll find someone to get me food.

First, though, I have to change out of my suit.

I hope you liked it, and please tell me what you think! Any reviewers with an account will get a sneak peek of the next chapter, just in case that changes any minds.