#doughbcy

Art school was great, but Will always had trouble with the kind of assignments he was working on now. Their upcoming annual art show was gave them free rein to do whatever they wanted. Full artistic freedom. Allowing inspiration to be full bent. Only it always made Will feel uncomfortable. He was better with a strict assignment. Or painting for others. This...This felt too vulnerable. Like he was offering part of himself on a silver platter for the world to see. It made him overthink every decision. Every pigment put to paper.

There were two weeks to go, and he had barely finished half of his piece. He shouldn't get distracted, but when Peeta opened the door, Will was happy to see his friend and roommate of two years. He had hoped he would be assigned a place to work next to Peeta, but instead, he was down the hall, sharing with a pretentious fourth-year, who had turned up her nose when he had pulled out his Crayons. And then she had looked slightly disconcerted when she had seen what he was painting with them. But Will couldn't help it. His own pieces always swayed towards the dark and macabre. This was no different. The neon-colored anatomical heart illuminating the black surrounding just enough to hint at a cracked rib cage and torn chest.

sundays. the days katniss wouldn't have been home, and instead spend it with gale. madge ... isn't entirely sure, really, what her train of thoughts had been when she walks herself here. or maybe the truth was, she hadn't really been thinking at all. ever since– ever since katniss returned, they ... they had become— closer, even though the word feels foreign even in the confines of madge's own thoughts. like if she thought of it too much, the capitol would somehow hear it and— and do something.

something bad. worse than the hunger games. madge still isn't sure what that could be, though with the way katniss' shoulders tense at any possible camera feed around the district, she has a feeling that whatever a person's worse guess would be, the capitol might have a chance of tripling it. she just wonders now, quietly, if they will triple it for katniss now that she's– she's come home. that she's come home with peeta. whom, speaking of, is now standing in front of her. madge blinks, and she feels like an idiot for having not noticed him sooner, for not speaking now that she does, until—

❛⠀peeta,  ❜ her greet is low, and whatever smile madge tries to wear, it feels— slow. faded, as soon as it's bloomed. ❛⠀i – i forgot it's sunday. katniss wasn't home. i ... was i in your way ?  ❜

abilene's chest was heaving with each breath . the air was so thick with moisture it was hard to breathe , not to mention the heat that made her hair and suit damp with sweat . she was trying , she really was . abilene wasn't much of a fighter , or a skilled survivalist . . . she was a performer , not a hunter , but she was trying not to lose her head . she was trying to think or to plan , but all that she could think about was the smell and the sight of blood on the beach , the taste of saltwater , the pounding of her heart .

she leaned her back against a thick , tall tree . the leaves of the trees made a canopy overhead that kept the rays of the sun from their skin , but not the heat . she swore she could hear her own sweat sizzling on her skin . she looked towards peeta and managed some sort of smile as she wiped some sweat from her brow and flicked it to the ground . the plan was to stay together , to keep twelve alive and they'd be rescued , that was all that she knew . . . but the games had another idea , or rather the tributes from two as herself and peeta had shaved off from finnick and katniss with brutus behind them .

❛ he broke through . . . the brush . . . like a damn bull . . . ❜ she gasped , a laugh bubbling up from her throat . ❛ should've thrown . . . something red at him . ❜ it was a myth that the color made bulls angry , but one that she knew made rounds in the capitol . abilene coughed , but after another moment finally managed to catch her breath even if just for a moment .

he's careful, peeta.

though madge supposes that isn't much of a shock — peeta has always been kind. gentler, sure, than the typical unspoken standard of men within their district, with their coal-soot fingers and weather-roughened demeanour, but there is also a level of mindfulness in the way that he moves that's— kind of surprising. or maybe it's a shock at all just because madge is properly at the receiving end of it.

to be clear : they're baking. or she's trying to, with little success she thinks, and @doughbcy is trying to teach her. mother's birthday is coming up around the corner. madge had wanted to do something nice.

it's too bad that for as much as she has the talent on the piano, it doesn't seem to reflect anywhere that requires a bit of a household work. which leads to— now. with peeta's patient smile and carefulness in full view, meanwhile madge sputters and clenches each time she breaks an egg wrong ( precious things for most people at the seam ) or rolled the dough too slow ( another precious thing, wasted in her soft, unworked hands ).

peeta removes a clump of some of the flour that must've been stuck when she tried to push back strands of her blonde hair, and madge swallows the humiliation of being so utterly helpless to compare to what he's done, to what he's survived, to whatever patience he's putting in right now, here, with her. so, she smiles, hoping it comes off apologetic, and brushes at her cheek again, unbeknown of the trail of flour she drags there as she does.

❛⠀i — i'm sorry. ❜ she tries, searching for his eyes, ❛⠀—i'll get better. hopefully. one day. ❜

Not that Katniss can see. She looks around the courtyard of the shopping square. Tucked in here and there between the Capitol’s pristine, tall-iridescent buildings are little patches of greenery: carefully cultivated bits of lawn that, to her, are unnatural in their neatness. From where she sits with Peeta at the base of the courtyard fountain, she watches a small gaggle of children play in one of the patches. A couple adults watch them from benches nearby, laughing and pointing. At first it looks like they’re playing tag. Three boys and one girl chasing another girl, whose hair is done up in a braid. A familiar one. Her braid.

The braided child turns, mimes shooting an arrow, and Katniss’ stomach goes sour.

She hates it here, she thinks. It’s all so wrong. She hates the way the buildings block out the sky. She hates the chemical-smell of the water in the fountain. She hates how the Capitol shoppers gawk at her and Peeta as they pass. Even the familiar things — like the trees, like the green — feel wrong. Katniss shrinks back, bumping shoulders with Peeta.

Peeta. The sense of relief is immediate. She doesn’t really know how to describe it, but all this feels manageable when he’s around. Now that they’re talking again, anyway. There’s more to uncover, here. There’s deeper to dive, but she needs to focus on Snow. Convincing him. Finishing the Tour. Making it home. They’ve got a few more days left in the Capitol — filled with parties, and propaganda events, and ‘celebrations.’ Today is, as Effie described it, “A Walk Through The Shops.” Apparently the Capitol really wants to see Peeta visit one of their bakeries.

“Haymitch says some of the more popular Victors live here. In apartments, like the penthouse we stayed in.” Before the Games. By the tree, one of the boys faux-stabs at another with a stick. An adult claps. Katniss’ expression goes distant, but she doesn’t look away. Doesn’t even know why she’s brought this up, really. Is this it? A glimpse of the future? Remember what else Haymitch said? You never get off this train.

“I think I’d go mad, stuck in this place.” Nothing to hunt, nothing to do. Being stared at like some exotic animal in the zoo. Katniss crosses her arms tight over her chest and rips her gaze away from the faux Games by the tree. “What about you?”