Primrose's eyes snapped open, ragged breathes escaping her lips as she did. For the past three years, on this day, she'd wake up screaming from a nightmare that it was her or her sister that had been chosen for the reaping. The girl awoke from a restless sleep, with no recollection of her previous dream. A pang of ache ran through her body as she stared back at the bruises lining her arms where she'd deliriously kicked herself in her sleep. Katniss always said Primrose turned into a gymnast when she slept.

Primrose sat up, the exhaustion from her body fading away as she rubbed her eyes. She had barely been paying attention the night before, the fragments of yesterday faintly floated around in her mind. As she moved, a new sense of awareness began consuming her. She discovered that she'd managed to dress in a soft pink nightgown before she slept. Contrarily, one touch of a hand on her head told her that hair must've look like home for a bird. Despite this, her unkempt locks left her with a comforting sense of familiarity in this new world, even for just a moment.

Primrose dragged herself to the bathroom and turned on the shower. She'd never had one before. Occasionally, her mother would tell Primrose of her childhood as a merchant's kid before she'd married her father. Katniss and their father were out in the woods as she retold such tales, making it a special memory for her to hold onto. According to her mother, the merchant's kids had showers and running water, which was something Primrose could never dream of.

Primrose pulled off her clothes and stepped into the shower. She spent a solid hour trying every single button, scrubbing her body with this and coating her hair with that. Instead of struggling with the knots in her wet hair, she merely placed her hand on a box that sent a current through her scalp, untangling, parting, and drying her hair almost instantly. She definitely needed one of those for home, Primrose thought. If she ever made it home. 

 Once she was out of the shower and covered with a fluffy towel, she looked back at the now foggy mirror in the bathroom. With a tentative touch, she pressed her finger against the glass. A look of awe came over her as she began swiping her finger against the murky surface to create small doodles. As Primrose left the bathroom, the cold air nipped at her face and body as she was no longer in the comforting flurry of steam. She chose a white collared top, leaving the top button open like she'd seen merchant kids do, and a blue skirt of a similar hue to the dress she'd worn yesterday. She picked a pair of flat white shoes that slightly pinched her toes, and finally pulled her hair back in a ponytail. Primrose examined herself with in the mirror. Yup, she had taste, alright.

Effie Trinket brushed by Primrose with a cup of black coffee as the girl made her way to the dining car. She was muttering obscenities under her breath. Curiously, Primrose glanced back at the presumed reason: Haymitch. His face was puffy and red from the previous day's indulgences, and he was chuckling. Her gaze landed back on Peeta who held a roll of bread and looked somewhat embarrassed at the scene in front of him. 

"Sit down! Sit down!" said Haymitch, waving Primrose over. The moment she slid into her chair, she was served an enormous platter of food: eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes. A tureen of fruit sat in ice to keep it chilled. 

Beside the splayed out goods was presumably a cup of coffee. Her mother adored coffee, which they could almost never afford, although according to Katniss, it only tasted bitter and thin. A rich brown cup of something Primrose had never seen, she found her self lost in the mesmerizing swirls of neutral tones and sizzling fizz.

"They call it hot chocolate," Peeta said, as if he'd seen her staring. "It's good."

Cupping her hands around the mug, she took a sip of the sweet, creamy liquid, and subsequently smiled. It was delicious, it left her feeling at home despite never being able to have such luxuries there. She placed the cup to the side, wanting to save it for later, and turned to the rest of the meal. Habitually, Primrose stuffed herself and asked for seconds, and the latter practically vanished off of her plate as soon as it was laid out in front of her. To her dismay, she found that the hot chocolate had gotten cold, but a Capitol attendant took the cup, disappeared for about thirty seconds, and brought it back steaming. She blinked back in a daze at the sheer efficiency of the workers, before a stoic expression suddenly tugged at her astonished face, one that she'd often see the Capitol kids adorn. The thought of acting more like them bobbed around in her mind, both as a reminder of where she was and who she had to be to survive.

Haymitch hadn't paid much attention to his platter, but he was knocking back a glass of red juice that he kept thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it was some kind of spirit.

Primrose kept her opinions to herself. It was a known fact about her. It was hard to coax a thought or opinion out of her. When it came to Haymitch, she had incredibly mixed feelings about him. On one hand, she thought he had suffered a lot of trauma from going to the Hunger Games and watching every kid he'd sent to the Hunger Games die because District 12 never had any victors. On the other hand, Primrose tried to see Katniss's point of view; the guy never even tried, he was always drunk because he was way too pathetic to handle life. Now, looking at him so up-close and in person, Primrose didn't know what to think. 

"So you're supposed to give us advice," Peeta turned to Haymitch. 

"Here's some advice: Stay alive," Haymitch answered before bursting out into a fit of indecipherable laughter. Primrose exchanged a look with Peeta. The look in his eyes was hard. 

"That's very funny," Peeta scoffed, and suddenly lashed out at the glass in Haymitch's hand. In the blink of an eye, it fell from his hand and shattered on the floor; the blood red liquid decorated the ground.

Haymitch's eye twitched as he stared back at the pool of crimson splayed out on the floor. Primrose sickeningly recognized the look of pure fury in the latter's eyes, it reminded her of aggressive nature of her fellow district 12 residents as they fought each other in the streets for scraps. With a quick punch to the jaw, Peeta collapsed onto the ground shakily. Despite his aching body's protests, Haymitch reached for the bottle of spirits. But Primrose, purely on instinct, grabbed the bottle and smashed it to the floor, sending more liquid to the floor. She waited, horrified, for Haymitch to strike her, but he never did. 

"Well, what's this?" Haymitch huffed. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?" 

Primrose wanted to protest that she was far from a fighter, and that she was of far more use back inside a house, but she stayed silent. 

Peeta rose from the floor and scooped up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. He started to raise it to the red mark on his jaw, the cool sensation distracting him from the pool of scarlet forming behind his lips. The metallic flavor sending a wave of nausea through his waving figure that he desperately tried to hide.

"No," Haymitch barked, stopping him. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," Peeta retorted, a drop of scarlet running down his chin as he did.

"Only if they catch you. That bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," Haymitch boasted before turninf his attention to Primrose. "And you..." He practically spat. "What exactly were you thinking when you smashed my bottle?" 

"I wasn't," Primrose admitted sheepishly, her gaze flickering from the shattered bottle to him. "I just kind of did it." 

Haymitch considered it. "Stand over here. Both of you," he ordered coldly, nodding to the middle of the room. The pair obeyed and he circled them, prodding them like animals at times to check their muscles and examine their faces. Primrose felt a little self-conscious; she was relatively healthy compared to most others in the Seam, an achievement granted thanks to her improved diet. Despite this, she wasn't particularly fit. Begrudgingly, of course, she had that blue-eyed blond merchant's kid look, but that didn't make her any less of a girl from the Seam. Or did it?

"Well, you're not entirely hopeless. Seem fit. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough," Haymitch concluded. Peeta and Primrose didn't question this. The Hunger Games weren't a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seemed to pull more sponsors.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," Haymitch offered. "But you have to do exactly what I say." 

It wasn't much of a deal, Primrose thought. But it was still a giant step forward from a mere ten minutes ago, when they had no guide at all. Notably, Haymitch had won this thing once. Maybe Primrose would get to see Katniss again, after all.. Repressinf her other doubts, the proposition quickly encouraged her to agree.

"Fine," sighed Peeta.

"So help us," Primrose exclaimed, getting a little excited. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone —" 

"One thing at a time." Haymitch interrupted bluntly. "In a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," Haymitch commanded them.

"But —" Peeta began.

"No buts. Don't resist," argued Haymitch. He made to grab his bottle of spirits before remembering Primrose had destroyed it; his extended hand quickly shifted to a bitter fist to match his scowling face, and he left the car.

As the door swung shut behind him, the car went dark. There were still a few lights inside, but outside it was as if night had fallen again. Primrose realized they must be in the tunnel that ran up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains formed a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts, making it almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. That geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to Primrose's being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains, they were easy targets for the Capitol's air forces. 

Peeta and Primrose stood in silence as the train sped along. The people began to point at them eagerly as they recognized a tribute train rolling into the city. Primrose stepped away, feeling a little self-conscious at being pointed at like an animal in a zoo; contrarily, Peeta held his ground, actually waving and smiling at the gawking crowd. He only stopped when the train pulled into the station, blocking the pair from their view.

He saw Primrose staring and shrugged. "Who knows?" he whispered. "One of them may be rich."

Primrose laughed. She couldn't help it. "Right. Rich people." 

Peeta shot her a quick smile and extended a hand to her. "Come on. Let's go meet our stylists."

Thank you to my pookie @Cady_Elsharkawy for revisions and editing, you're the best <3