#madge.

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 ?  ❜

and yet —

she's been so lonely all the same. it would... be nice to have another person around. even if it would only be an hour or two for a week.

they're not talking about father, of course. madge tracks whatever space between katniss' victor's house to peeta's own seeing as it is the way to exit the neighbourhood anyhow. she's never liked it here, but it's an opinion she isn't allowed to have. she doesn't like anywhere in twelve in truth, but again, that feels blasphemous, and wrong.

how could madge hates the only place she's ever known ? she doesn't know, but she does.

❛⠀she went out. ❜ madge explains now that she's come closer, trying her best to reel in the disappointment from seeing katniss' back as she joined gale hawthorne towards a track madge wouldn't be able to keep up with, ten minutes ago.

madge would be a fool not to. before- before the fire, before the bombing, swallowing any news about the hunger games, following any shadows of katniss and the rebellion that's centred around her, had been as close to her as drinking water. until, of course, her father had somehow paid two men, petyr and lance, to take her far away. it isn't safe here, he'd pleaded with her, eyes full of tears, as petyr separated the two. and i need you to be safe. hours later, district twelve had went up in flames. nobody had suspected she had escaped; she was alive.

perhaps it was all for the better. back then, the news had wrought her with despair. the haunting image of all of district twelve, where she'd grown up, where she'd lived her whole life, now gone — and she was the survivor by pure luck, by pure fucking privilege, had had her wept and vomited and scratched herself raw with panic. it'd caused her small group of three to be apprehended. lance hadn't made it when they escaped. and petyr gave up his life just before she finally did arrive in district two.

annie cresta would not know who she is, to whom she is related to, where she'd initially belonged, and madge- madge wants to keep it that way. she doesn't deserve this life, she is supposed to be dead, and thus, no one should know what her true identity is. madge undersee is dead. margret, the name she's gone by now, is just a husk of an orphan girl trying to grow some strawberry fruit of her own. that is all. curiously, swallowing through the bile in her throat, madge offers — ❛⠀would you like one ? ❜

she does not mean it. she wants annie cresta to say no, to walk away and never return. and yet - all the same, the loneliness inside of her curls strongly. it begs this victor to stay. if annie holds any news of katniss, of where she is, if she is safe, then madge would be okay too. it makes the arm she's extended, the hand to which she presents a few fruit of ripe and red strawberries, holds steady.

❛⠀you're... annie, aren't you ? from- from district four. ❜

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. ❜

madge can't claim to know the ways of the capitol : in that, she supposes, both her aunt, @towngirlreaped, and father have one thing in common. while aunt maysie has always been more blunt and honest, madge knew that there were still things she would never tell nor share. and father ... for as much as he warns, rooting the fear under the floorboards of their house, he too doesn't divulge on the extremity of what the capitol could do. madge supposes that, in a way, is also a terror of its own: to not know the extent of harm someone could implicate on you. and now ... after the 74th, all eyes on the capitol would be on katniss.

because maybe madge wouldn't know it all, but she knows enough. she could feel it, deep in her bones. things will go wrong. ❛⠀aunt maysie. tell me, please. ❜

((For Madge!))

a small smile graces the niece's features.

on her laps, madge is still meticulously sewing a pattern that they've established. madge ... isn't sure if she has this right; she knew aunt maysilee has tried to teach her since she was small, but madge supposes she was always more cautious about the end-result than she lets on. of course, mother doesn't think any of her products were bad, but it's hard to take mother's words seriously when she is already readily relieved even by the thought that madge is doing anything but staying close and attending to her father's piano.

❛⠀well, if i tell you to behave, you'd say i sound like father. ❜ madge finds herself responding, the teasing is clear, if not by the barely-concealed humour in her tone, then definitely by the smile madge is trying — but failing — to suppress. who's to say even the quiet and observant madge undersee couldn't throw in a few clever remarks or two ? maybe she has more of her aunt maysilee in her than anyone, especially father, had anticipate.

it's nice, though. nice not to be more than... than who she usually is.

which is dormant, and sullen, and traitorously silent. like madge's simply a mirror of everything that's happening around her; a phantom moving in a world that reacts and moves and is— is vibrant, but she's... she's not. she couldn't be. she doesn't know why. towards her aunt now, maysilee reaches over, and she grasps the older's hand: ❛⠀you know i'd love you even if you have a thousand rumours or none, aunt maysie. nothing anyone says could change that. i promise. ❜