thecapitol | At long last someone comes... not quite home.

Who| Peeta Mellark and OPEN
What| Peeta's been held in questioning for a few months, and now he gets to be around people again.
Where| Around the training center/tribute tower
When| After his release
Warnings/Notes| Nothing from Peeta, but who knows who he'll run into!

Sunlight. It was such a beautiful thing, something you didn't think you would miss until it was gone. Peeta may be a baker's son, but he did enjoy being outdoors. Not as much as Katniss, of course, but no one wanted to sit in a room with the only entertainment being a deck of cards. Countless card houses, countless card castles had been made, and he thought about starting up a tally when someone came in and said he was free to go.

Whatever it was, he passed, and he didn't question it. Not right then. It was something to be questioned privately, and not in full view of everyone else. Things had changed around here. And Peeta, too. He'd changed. He was supposed to be a mentor now. It made him cringe a little to think that he had left all of these new District Twelve tributes with Haymitch and Katniss... Katniss. He missed her. Did she miss him as much as he had her? A silly little hope. Maybe the whole "star crossed lovers" thing had died down? It would be nice to not have to pretend so much.

That's what he was thinking when he walked into the training center. He could already tell people were recognizing him; they'd started to recognize him on the street as well. He'd given them all a wave and a smile, and continued on his way. He was expecting cameras and news crews and whatever else they did here, and hoping that they never showed up. He wanted time to walk around, perhaps see the new people here.

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She glared at the mug like it was it's fault for hurting her and put it down while she waited. It was hard though.

She had never been starved before, at least not for more than a couple of days, but food had always been given as a reward and the idea of being given food just because she wanted it was completely alien to her.

"I do be liking that."

"It really is good, isn't it," Peeta smiled, and he went to take a seat at one of the tables, pulling out two chairs in case she wanted to take the other.

"I know how weird it is, with everything. You can have whatever food you want, anytime. Just tell someone. Or press a button. We don't have that back home, and you... you don't either, right?"

She moved over carefully so not to spill the drink. "No we do no be having that." She wrinkled her nose, "Well we do be sort of having that, in inns and things. I did be working in one so people did be asking for food or drink and I did be taking it but they did be having to be paying for it."

And they didn't have magic food buttons.

"That makes sense," Peeta nodded, setting his mug carefully down on the table. "We have that back home. My parents run a bakery back in District Twelve, and people have to pay for bread and the like. But here... I think the citizens have to pay for it, in some way. But since we're more like guests, we don't have to."

A bakery, she wrinkled her nose. She had a entirely irrational dislike for bakers, as their shops were always the most guarded and they chased hungry looking children away on principle, even if said hungry little children were on errands for their guardians.

"I do be thinking they do be having a lot of money then."

"The Capitol citizens?" Peeta asked curiously, before answering his own question. "I assume so! I mean, look at this place. The Capitol treats it's citizens well." And really, it's citizens were taken care of. It would have been different if he said Panem treated their citizens well, but the Capitol citizens and those in the districts were very, very different.

"It do be, they do all be living like nobles." She said wrinkling her nose and reaching for her hot chocolate again.

"I haven't heard anyone say that before, but that's right. They do all live like royalty, here," Peeta smiled, picking up his own mug and taking another sip. "If you win the games, you get to live like royalty, too. Back home, we got new houses, and clothes, and plenty of food. It's good to be a Victor."

Pruna nodded at that but wrinkled her nose, "But they will no be letting me go home... if I do be winning."

"No, they won't," Peeta agreed. "But you get to live like royalty here. And you'll never have to play in the games again."

Pruna picked up her mug and stared into it, for a moment looking every bit as young as she was. "But I do no be wanting to live like royalty, I do just be wanting to be seeing my sister again."

Peeta nodded, looking down into his cup. "I know. I'm sorry. Maybe she'll show up here, or maybe... maybe at some point, everyone will get to go home, and they'll go back to how the games used to be. But for now, I'll do whatever I can to help you."

"If she did then we would be beating everybody." She said taking another sip of her drink, "She would be having a good idea to be getting home."

Peeta laughed. "Would she? She sounds like a spitfire. You know what, I don't even know her, but I would bet on her to win."

"You would be winning everyone's money then because she would be winning first time." Pruna would help her of course, but her sister had much better plans then Pruna even if Pruna was better at killing.

"Well, let me know if she ever shows up here, okay? And I'll keep an ear out for her, too. So between you and me, we can make sure that you two get to see each other again, okay?" Peeta smiled.

She nodded and sipped her hot chocolate again. "I will be being."

"Good," Peeta finished the rest of his hot chocolate. "I need to go check out my room, I want to make sure nothing got taken out of it." He joked about this part; he knew no one would take any of his things, but it had been so long since he'd seen anything besides four white walls.

"Is it okay if we part ways? I know we'll see each other again, probably around dinner, right?"

Pruna nodded and grinned. "Okay, I will be seeing you later." She grinned and went back to her hot chocolate.

At long last someone comes... not quite home.

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