Silver Bells // Shrimp

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

District eight.

Even before her death in the bloodbath, Velocity hadn’t been the most coherent of allies and Katelyn hadn’t learned a single thing about her home district in the short time they’d had together. Nor had she ever pictured herself visiting the place. It was strange that the Capitol was encouraging inter district unity, though perhaps it was meant to be ironic, given the twist of the latest quell. Still, it seemed uncharacteristically benevolent of the president and it made her uneasy.

However, the ratmas markets were enjoyable in spite of her misgivings. The entire district seemed to be done up with the holiday spirit. It smelled delicious, like pastry and cocoa and holiday meats. Decorations adorned pretty much every free surface and she’d even been tempted to try the ice skating they had going on the lake. She wondered what it was like to look at the snow on the ground in wonderment instead of picturing bloody ice and dead tributes; without remembering the day she’d scooped the contents of a can into her mouth hungrily, wondering if it was going to be her last meal.

A couple carolers brought her back to the present, singing old favorites like “All I want for Ratmas is you" and "Grandma got run over by a Demo deer."  She tossed a few coins in the old hat they had in front of them and headed for the markets. Maybe next holiday season she'd register her own stall and sell some baked goods and jams. The last peach cobbler she'd made had turned out really well. 

It didn’t take long for one stall in particular to catch her eye.

The banner was painted, and exquisitely so. A simple design, but done well. The gold and turquoise just kind of worked with the curtains. There were two girls running it, possibly sisters and quite young. One was handing out refreshments and seemed fairly happy. The other girl sat ramrod straight in her chair, eyes flicking from passerby to passerby. Her eyes settled on Katelyn for a moment and there was a small nod. Recognition. Acknowledgment. Bette, she thought wordlessly.

The tributes of the eightieth hunger games were unique in that most of them understood what it was like to be a victor. To live with their scars and their sins. Though they were worse off; they didn’t get the mansion or the money. No extra food or income pouring into their districts. And as if that wasn’t enough, they lived knowing their victims and their assailants still walked the world. Yes, Katelyn thought to herself. If there was anything worse than being a victor, it was being a tribute from this quell.

“Hi,” the standing girl said, holding out a paper cup filled with a sweet-smelling tea.

“Wouldn’t you like one? It’s very cold out. “

Katelyn took the offered drink with a smile and a thanks, perusing the wares of the stall as she sipped softly. Hibiscus and cherry with a hint of rose-hip. It was soothing. The wares a little less so. Oh, she liked the look of the crystalline statues and the jewelry pinned to the mannequins well enough, but when her eyes alighted on the paintings of past victors and her stomach flipped a little. She supposed it was to be expected, given that the booth’s owners were from district one, but hero worship always made her uncomfortable.

The artist had captured Justice’s smirk perfectly, so perfectly that she could hear him making a snarky comment in the back of her head. Katelyn picked up the portrait of Opal Shore and gazed at it fondly a moment before putting it back down.

She had never thought she’d get along with a career, but Opal was one of the few victors she truly considered a friend. It was a shame that she hadn’t spoken to her in years. There were more things about, a set of hard carved cutting boards and dozens of wooden animals. She turned a tiny wooden lamb over in her fingers and glanced about. The one girl was handing out tea to someone else, so Katelyn made her way to Bette and held the lamb up to the light.

"Everything in this booth is well made. Family business? Are any of these your work?” she asked.

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