The Hunger Games - Peeta Mellark (1)

}6{ - Peeta Mellark

The Training Center had a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams.

It would be their home until the actual Games began. Each district had an entire floor.

You simply stepped onto an elevator and pressed the number of your district.

Easy enough to remember.

Livia took her time to reach the elevator to the apartment as she managed to separate from the group.

With a yawn she stepped into the box, waiting as the door began to close- and then it stopped.

A boy entered into the elevator with her.

He had messy blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

"I know you...", Livia muttered in realization, "You were on fire."

"Thanks", He gleamed before stopping. His face grew a bright fiery red, "Oh- yeah, you mean literally...."

He scratched the back of his neck embarrassedly.

Livia chuckled, "You think that's embarrassing? My partner's toga got stuck when we were dismounting and he fell from the chariot. Best laugh I've had in years."

Peeta snickered before holding his hand out politely, "Peeta."

Livia smiled taking it, "Livia."

She wondered when the last time anyone had ever shook her hand- maybe it was just a district 12 thing.

The elevator doors opened once more.

"Well, Livia, it's been a pleasure to meet you." He said as he stepped out of the elevator.

Polite.

He was shockingly polite and well-mannered compared to others she had seen from his district.

"The pleasure is all mine fire-boy." Livia called before the door closed.

She scoffed before the elevator door opened up at her own penthouse.

Her quarters were larger than her entire house back home.

They were plush, like the train car, but also had so many automatic gadgets that she was sure she wouldn't have time to press all the buttons.

The shower alone had a panel with more than a hundred options you could choose: regulating water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges.

When you step out on a mat, heaters come on that blow-dry your body.

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.

It floated down around her shoulders in a glossy curtain.

She programed the closet for an outfit to her taste.

The windows zoomed in and out on parts of the city at her command.

You need only whisper a type of food from a gigantic menu into a mouthpiece and it appeared, hot and steamy, before you in less than a minute.