#granted its all in drafts now and i must queue them

[bloodymyhands]

inbox empty !!! slay !!!

[kdlovehg]

Chapter 2 - Twelve times the season - a festive everlark fic.

Oh look, I’ve finished another chapter. Enjoy. XO

Click for links to chapter 1 and summary - tumblr

Fanfiction

AO3

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Chapter 2

First thing the next morning, Peeta received his first envelope from the letter carrier. After finishing his draft the night before, Peeta had made sure to write the post in his best handwriting and had then faxed it over to the head office, eager for them to have it published in time for the next morning. Now Peeta wasn't a fool, he'd made sure to add a footnote so that the publishers were aware of the situation and thus wouldn't put a copy of his column in any of the papers in his apartment building, except for his. Unfair? Perhaps. But it was better than risking Katniss nicking someone's paper and seeing it. This simply avoided the problem altogether.

He tore open the envelope and pulled out a single scoresheet. Now as this was a sponsorship, the company had made sure that there would be a way to track the number of papers being read from page one until the final word in the column. One common way was to check for any fingerprints on discarded papers, that way they'd know if the reader had flicked through the pages or not. They would also send out workers to see if people had chosen not to grab their paper at all as this was all important information in finding out how many people were reading it.

Two, was written in bold in the centre of the paper. Fifty views. No recommendations as of yet.

It wasn't the best start, because no recommendations meant that nobody in the town or wider part of Panem was talking about it but it was fine. He'd only just started. He turned over the page to see a few comments printed on the back, all of which must have been submitted back to the head office.

Mockygirl: Good luck! Can't wait to see where this goes.

Atrinketonthetree: Fabulous idea! Spread that cheer all through the year.

Unfortunately the last comment wasn't as promising as the first ones.

SwiftG: Just leave it. A Grinch ain't gonna change for you so don't bother.

Despite what the third reader had suggested, Peeta had already planned his first move to woo the little Grinch into the festive spirit. He washed, dressed and left just early enough to grab both Katniss' and his newspapers.

Once he'd collected them, he rode the elevator back up to their floor, checking the time as he went. She hadn't left yet so his plan should be perfect. He knocked on her door and listened for her voice, yet he was only greeted by a loud bark.

After waiting for a few moments he knocked again only to receive a muffled "What?".

"Its your neighbour" Peeta said, doing his best to sound perky. "Mellark. Peeta Mellark".

Silence.

Realising that he wasn't going away Katniss replied "Am I supposed to care?".

Peeta ignored her comment. "I brought gifts". That would work. It always did with the children, besides who didn't love free stuff.

"Don't need em".

"Should I leave it against your door?".

A pause.

"Leave what?".

Gotcha.

"Its a surprise. Don't you like surprises? I sure do. Puts you in a great mood for the day".

The door flew open and she stood in front of him, her skirt failing to conceal a layer of shaving cream that was painted across her leg. Katniss held the razor in her hand tightly as if it were a weapon she might strike him with. Her other arm was holding onto doorframe, creating a blockage for Mutty so that he couldn't escape. Regardless the dog peered over as if he too were curious about the surprise.

The familiar scowl settled back on her face. "I hate surprises".

"Here's your paper", he said, thrusting it towards her.

She grabbed it and tossed it over her shoulder, someone managing to make it land on her table. The accuracy was honestly quite impressive.

"You're welcome", he added, both of them knowing that she didn't appreciate the help. Before she could start mumbling under her breath he turned around and left with a "Have a good morning!".

"Whatever".

"You say that a lot don't you Everdeen?", he commented with a grin. For someone who he assumed was smart, she wasn't very creative with her responses.

"Do you mind? I'd like to finish what I started". Peeta tries not to think about her getting out of the shower when he knocked. Imagine if he made her open the door in a towel. Just for a paper she could've gotten herself. Goodness. It'd be hard to talk his way out of that.

"Go for it", he added, refusing to turn around. Granted it was a little rude but if she could do it then so could he. His nice deed had been done so he didn't owe her anything.

At least she hadn't slammed the door on him.

There was progress at least.

He returned to his room and waited for the familiar sound of her opening and closing her door as she left for work. Then seconds later he left to accompany her at the elevator.

Couldn't break tradition.

"What a coincidence", he lied as they entered and she pressed the button for the bottom floor. Katniss glared at him, clearly not believing a word he said.

He glanced over, seeing the familiar paper tucked under her arm. Perfect. Unintentionally, his gaze dropped back to her legs to see a small piece of paper peeking out from beneath her skirt.

She must have cut herself. Odd. Katniss didn't seem like the type to be distracted easily, but mistakes happen, he supposed.

"I hope that wasn't my fault" Peeta said, gesturing towards the injury.

Katniss huffed and tugged her skirt lower slightly so that he could no longer see it. "Course not".

It totally was.

She'd never admit it though.

"The little cuts are the worst kind".

She shrugged, avoiding conversation, but he heard the quiet "So are happy neighbours".

Well she thought he was the worst kind of neighbour? Perfect. The feeling was mutual.

"Forgive me, I was just trying to be helpful. Next time I'll knock and leave it at your door for when you leave".

"Don't".

"Don't what? Its too big to slide under your door".

"Don't be helpful" she insisted. Katniss didn't need anybody's help. The only thing she needed was for this elevator to hurry up. His voice was getting on her nerves.

"Its really not any trouble".

"I said don't".

"Alright", Peeta said, backing off. "If that's what you want".

"That's what I want" she said, finishing the conversation. Gosh he was annoying.

As soon as the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, Katniss flew out of there, eager to get away from her neighbour. Peeta found it amusing to say the least. He'd never made someone run from him before.

"Enjoy your day", he called out after her, if only to wind her up more.

Finnick was right. Being nice wasn't half bad. It was the most entertainment he'd got in weeks.

As a treat, Peeta decided he'd go to a local store, 'The Hob', as it was the closest place to get produce. Inside it they also had a small counter of freshly baked goods, mainly breakfast items, and hot drinks which likely earned them all of their customers. As luck would have it, he noticed that Everdeen was four people ahead of him. Odd since he'd never seen her in the store before.

Despite knowing that he shouldn't, Peeta shouted out to her, his voice quickly getting the attention of the other patrons. "Katniss I didn't know you came here! You should of told me, I could've came earlier to grab you something".

Katniss tensed up, swallowing back a curse at the familiar voice. Of course she couldn't escape him. She knew she should've went straight to work. She just can't catch a break.

Sae, Peeta's favourite barista and the owner of the store, gave him a toothless grin. "Morning Peeta".

"And a good morning to you, lovely", he said with his typical charm. He gestured towards Katniss. "She's my neighbour. I'd like to buy her a hot chocolate".

Everdeen spins around, hand on hip and leans to the side so that she can see around the other people in line. "No. I can buy my own hot chocolate - and cheese buns", she added. "I'm very capable". She didn't want his money. She didn't want his help. Gosh she hoped he'd miss his train so that his day could be as annoying as hers .

"Consider it an apology", Peeta explained as Sae bagged the fresh, gooey buns. She handed it to Katniss along with her drink and waited for the outcome. Peeta knew the older woman must be confused, why would anyone refuse an act of kindness?

"No", Katniss stated and slapped the money down on the counter, capturing Sae's attention.

"Well if you insist", Peeta said as the queue moved towards the counter, every other barista completing their order quickly and with a smile. "I really am sorry. I'll be quieter next time. You won't hear a single Christmas noise from me" he lied. Rather than acknowledge his insincere apology, Katniss grabbed her goods and left the store, not even saying a goodbye to the woman who'd served her.

Peeta considered if Sae knew anything about the woman. Surely she's visited before, just at a different time perhaps? When it was his turn to order he asked, "That girl" and leaned slightly across the counter. He rubbed his face, playing up the curiosity as if the thought just happened to cross his mind. "She come here often?".

"Aw yeah all the time. She orders the same thing, never talks really but what can you do".

"I figured", he said politely. What did he expect? She was an older woman, hardly one to gossip. He asked for the usual hot chocolate and paid, and then gave Sae extra money with the memo that it was to pay for his neighbours order the following morning. "Tell her its from me". Katniss would have to accept his generosity one way or another.

"Well if you're sure boy. She seemed a bit mad about you trynna do it today though".

"She's like that. Talking ain't really her thing", he said as if he was actually friends with Everdeen. Sae handed him his coco.

"I noticed. I'll make sure to serve her tomorrow, just for you Peeta", she added with another grin. There's the community spirit he missed.

"Perfect. Thankyou Sae".

He turned to leave with his drink and added, "Just a shame I won't see her reaction".

Peeta hurried out the store and rushed to the platform, just in time as the train had already arrived. He slid through the doors as they closed and sipped his hot chocolate. What would Katniss do?

///////////////////////////////////

The man was driving Katniss crazy. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? He was obviously just doing it for the attention. No-one was that happy in general let alone in the morning, yet every day its the same smile that he greets everybody with. Katniss knew he was playing a game with her and she didn't like it one bit. So she decided she'd do what she did best - ignore him. Unfortunately he'd already managed to get her to talk on two separate occasions so far but that was a mistake. She knew better now. Walking quickly, Katniss headed towards the Justice building. Being late was never an option. She had bills to pay and a cut in her salary wouldn't help. Besides she had a schedule: work in the morning and then for lunch she would go home, grab a snack, get changed and take Mutty out. Then once the dog was all tired out - which seemed to be never the older that he got - she would quickly wash and change back into her work uniform. Then she'd leave just as he'd settle down for his nap. It wasn't always that way, but Haymitch's building didn't allow dogs so she had to take him in. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt. Katniss loved her Uncle - even though he was a pain - and she was grateful for all that he did in raising her. Luckily he seemed to adjust well to the new place, and by that she meant, she had yet to receive a complaint from the complex.

Even when she was young, Katniss knew she wasn't a people person. Her father had tried many times to help her make friends but she hated everything about it. She'd much rather sit alone in the woods and study the animals. That's why her job in agriculture suited her. She could spend time away from people as often as she wanted to. People were dangerous. Animals were smart. They knew to be careful with their trust and she'd been fooled before. She didn't even want to think of Gale's betrayal. No - it was over. Her mind had moved on.

"Morning Miss Everdeen!", the receptionist said in greeting. She was unusual as the place was known to be quite cold and workers were stoic, but Katniss didn't mind as the girl was never mad at a lack of a reply. On her counter sat a small Christmas tree with ribbons wrapped around it and trinkets hung from the branches. It did nothing for Katniss' mood but she supposed some of her colleagues might like seeing the sight.

With a nod in her direction, Katniss moved on. She didn't remember the young girl's name, or perhaps she hadn't bothered to ask. It didn't matter she supposed. The less familiar she was with people the better. She closed the door behind her, glad to be back in her office. Silent. Alone. Perfect. It gave her time to ponder her odd neighbour. He was a nice guy. That wasn't unusual, but why now was he trying so hard to get her attention? And why did she care?

////////////////////

After work, Peeta headed down to 'Monsieur Cornucopia', a building full of different clubs for young children, so that he could help them with their holiday program and then he travelled to the orphanage. He'd had a good day - better than yesterday at least. The shoppers seemed more patient and they sold out of a lot of fish. He liked to think that it was some type of good karma, for trying to be nice to Everdeen. Sure she rebuffed it, but these things take time.

The kids in the orphanage enjoyed the singing and loved the chance to sing to those in their community that were often forgotten; the elderly, the homeless, even some of the new mothers. The previous week they'd sung at the local hospital, for the new parents, most of whom were underage and thus looked down on. The children didn't judge them though. Maybe that's why he liked them so much. They were just jolly, none of them needed a reason for it, unlike some people.

This week the children were heading down to The Seam. The small living-complex located on the outskirts of twelve, didn't always sound like the ideal place to take children but they wouldn't mind it. He knew how excited they were. Some even hoped to see their old relatives, after being separated from them for good reason. They wouldn't understand that though. They didn't care.

By nine-thirty, Peeta made it back to the lobby, he was exhausted, but still in a good mood. He headed towards the lockers to check for any mail - if it was a special delivery letter then the carrier would take it straight to the room but anything else was just stored in the designated box. As he unlocked, the locker, he grabbed his mail and began flicking through the envelopes. Bills. Gas. Water. No Christmas cards yet but there was still a chance for those that could afford to send them, to do so this year. In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a familiar brunette. Everdeen. He wondered were she'd been as she was dressed in the same clothes that she would wear when taking her dog out but he was sure she must have done so already, and the little fella wasn't with her so she must have been somewhere else. The faint smell of sweat tickles his nose but he doesn't comment on it. She'd probably take it as an insult anyway. Although, he glanced her way, she did seem to be pretty athletic. That was a nice surprise. Not that he should be looking. It was her body, who cared what he thought of it. He looked away before she could catch him. Maybe she'd cuss him out, out loud this time. He didn't want that, it could ruin her mood for tomorrow and then she'd never appreciate his gift.

Katniss kept quiet. Of course she'd seen him, subtlety wasn't his forte, but she chose not to comment. She'd had enough interaction with him for one day. A week even. She just wanted to relax so she watched as he shut his locker closed. She checked her locker quickly, and seeing that it was empty, she closed it again and as had become the custom, the two of them rode the elevator together in blissful silence. Katniss made a point to stand in the corner so that she could have as much space away from him as possible. She needed time to breathe. There were too many people around at this time of year. Peeta chose not to acknowledge the distance between them and when they finally reached their floor, they separated and headed for their own apartment. For some odd reason, Peeta felt as if she was watching him - just staring at his back because he wouldn't see her. Rather than turn around he glanced over his shoulder at her to see the usual scowl on her face. Lovely.

Katniss couldn't figure out why he still hadn't spoken to her. She liked it obviously but it didn't seem right. Just hours ago he was bugging her and now he was content with silence?

Peeta forced a smile in her direction, "Have a good evening, Katniss".

"You don't look good".

His eyebrows jumped up. No way.

She spoke. Goodness had he broken her already?

"Its been a long day" he said, testing the waters. He wouldn't draw this conversation out, that was up to her.

Unfortunately for him, that answer seemed to satisfy her enough and she spun on her heel and disappeared into her apartment.

Accepting defeat, Peeta entered his own apartment and collapsed onto the chair. He wasn't making a lot of progress. But it was only day one. At least he knew there was promise there. Yet before he drifted off to sleep, he remembered that the day was over and thus it was time to start his second column entry. With a huff he hauled himself off of the chair and grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen. He wondered what the commenters would think of it this time.

Twelve times the season - Entry 2

December 15th

A letter and a lady

Operation Grinch to little elf is officially underway, ladies and gentlemen. Have I granted her a cheerful smile today? Oh yes. Did I give her the gift of a surprise? Why certainly! She just hasn't warmed up to the idea yet. Since seeing me this morning, I'm fairly certain she now wishes she'd succumbed to the festivity weeks ago but alas it is too late and thus my presence is here to help.

What wonderful thing did I do you ask? I woke up early - gave up a full ten minutes of sleep for this woman - and trekked downstairs to retrieve her newspaper so that the Lady wouldn't have to even spare a second to locate it. Not only that, but I offered to buy her breakfast. She refused of course, but at least I've set the tone for the next few days. And not only that twelve but I've bought her breakfast for tomorrow. How convenient is that? A lovely way to start her morning I'd say. I can't wait to here about how she reacts to that.

However something occurred once nightfall hit. A strange encounter one might say. I was merely collecting my mail in the lobby when she appeared. Odd but not unusual. Coincidences happen. From previous experience I knew how these encounters would go. If I were to strike up conversation, especially when she is at the end of her day, then I was sure to be ignored, and I didn't feel like finishing my night on a sour note. Now granted I know I'm not her favourite person, but I don't believe I'm the only one. It seems the one with the problem is her.

Now I like to believe that my newfound fascination with her is unsettling. How do I know? Well I changed tactics for a moment. I was tired and thus gave her the cold shoulder. And did she like that twelve? Oh no.

She cracked.

It was small. An ever so small dent in her façade as she asked me how I was. Were I not so exhausted I would have revelled in her words. Am I getting to her? Who knows. Its still early but I'm optimistic people.

I'll end it here for now until I can figure out a new way to... sweeten her up. In fact, I think I might have just found one.

[bjbwriting-blog]

Basta! Pasta.

It is hard at first glance to fully ascertain what it is that these people are queuing for.

They all appear to have the time, at 12.30 on a weekday, to stand, in single file and the sort of silence only normally reserved for a doctor’s waiting room, and slowly shuffle forward towards something that must be worth the trouble.

A quick scan of the queue reveals some stereotypes writ large in technicolour.

You have your communal-garden hipster, long hair with an artful slick of pomade, likely made by an artisanal friend who has rekindled the dying technique of making hair products from traditional rabbit skin glue combined with the semen of a buffalo and the tears of a woodpecker, or something similar. There is no hint of this in the beard, which grows wild and free. The clothing has been chosen for its symbolism rather than its fit, it appears that he is trying to symbolise a librarian from 90’s Bromley on a work trial as a lumberjack.

In front of this hirsute queuer is a young lady, who also appears to want to partake in the new ritual of the midday shuffle. This one, at a glance, could work as a personal trainer or the founder of a tech unicorn. The legs are clad in a material designed to stretch and hold in a manner that defies logic. How something quite clearly so soft and malleable can also have the holding and defining properties of kevlar, is beyond me. Perhaps that is her company, maybe she sells this stuff, if so, well done to her, as a glance up and down the queue and out into the surrounding muddle of bustling commuters and ambling tourists, one at odds with the other, amongst these tribes one can count immediately at least forty young people sporting a version of this lycra-cum-kevlar composite. And it is easy to see the appeal, buttocks and calves that unsheathed from this new material might bear the stretch marks of a sag, or the pockmarks of cellulite, are rendered taught and without movement by the elastic armour. And as we drag our gaze up from the clearly defined buttocks and calves of this young lady, the confusion hits, as the lower half which points to a personal trainer or gym bunny is contradicted by the top half that says tech tycoon or consultant. A riot of cashmere and leather intertwine to create a garment that looks softer than a llama’s belly and as durable as a fresh hewn hide.

They aren’t together the hipster and our half-trainer-half-tech-CEO, and neither is the young academic in NHS style glasses and leather briefcase, neither is the young lady, a food writer, a fact she announces loudly and often through her headset-cum-telephone

‘I mean, sorry, I’m here to write up the Pici for our next issue, and yet they make me wait. Well, you know how this works don’t you, for every minute that they make me wait, I will grant them one less sentence about the quality of the pasta, and one more about the draft coming in through the perennially-ajar door, or the proximity of my table to the restroom, or indeed the fact that they don’t take bookings at all, which was cute in 2006…’

In front of the food writer, which is probably the cause of some great consternation, to her, we find a father, adorned with at least three kids strapped to him via papoose and carabiner. This chap might well be our favourite. A pioneer and stay-at-home-dad-liberal, he wears his feminism smugly. Rather than eschew the exciting new pasta place as described by the last food writer to have braved the queue, he is going to attach his children to him, like a sherpa, and join the queue, be part of the thriving food scene, the pulsating heart of this great city he loves so dearly.

Once inside, he will unclip each child from his person and release them into the restaurant to explore and express themselves, whilst he quietly goes about having a transcendental moment with the beef short-rib pappardelle or the with the smoked eel tagliatelle which transports him back to the small Ligurian trattoria where he and his currently-hard-at-work-wife, shared a mind-bending plate of pasta on their last trip before they had kids.

This is what he will tell the bored waitress from Romania, whom he has wrongly assumed is from Italy and is desperate to hear every thought he has ever had on the life and times of a small Italian agrarian community imagined, rather than experienced, by he and his wife on said last trip.

So it is as we survey this queue.

We know now, that it is a new pasta place, and we know that one ‘simply must order the Pici’. We ignore the fact that one can make a passable carbonara or pasta alla norma at home, and assume that by the strength of the queue at 12.30, there is genuinely a perfect plate of pasta beyond the clipboard at the head of the queue.

So we join the queue.

And having joined, we wonder what people will be thinking of us as we stand there. Her in her long blue wool coat, looking perhaps like a fashion blogger or photographer, rather than the primary school teacher that she is, and me in my simple blue work jacket and well worn boots, looking nearer to the hipster or his arty cousin, than the airline pilot that I am.

We get our first glimpse in through the window. It is just steaming up at the edges, which hints at a warmth within, not shared with the London Bridge pavement on a bitter November day, and we can peer into the open kitchen where guys and girls toss pans and drain pasta with tattooed arms, and rustle through red chillies and herbs with a knife that looks more like the sort in that Netflix documentary about sushi chefs that the old heavy stainless steel knives that used to be issued at the beginning of a long term of home economy.

As we peer through the steamy glass, fast filling so as to obscure our view, we can see plates of pasta being delivered to the owners of the smug faces sat with their snouts up to the window, looking like pigs awaiting their feed at the trough.

They are sat too close to one another. An arrangement designed presumably by accountant rather than restaurateur, but they look deliriously happy.

We’ll wait it out we think. How long can it possibly take?

It’s only a plate of pasta.