Clove leaned against the wall of the Training Center, arms crossed against her chest. Deceptively idle, her eyes moved slowly across the room, taking in as much as they could. For all the hype she'd heard about the oldest age group's training room, the high-tech displays and spas and gourmet cafeteria foods, it wasn't all that different from the room she'd been moved from just that morning. Desperation and sweat formed a haze around the figures that were fighting, running, crying. Apparently some were more desperate than others.
The boy approaching her now was certainly not one of those. Nearly a foot taller than her with ice blue eyes, a brutish face, and a muscular physique, he emanated confidence like the artificial light that reflected off his golden hair. She angled her body to face him, mildly surprised to note that she did know him. Cato Ludwig: swordfighter extraordinaire, swooned over by the female trainees, darling of the District. He was practically guaranteed the privilege to volunteer during the Reaping.
Clove was almost certain he had no idea who she was. Tiny little girl with dark hair in a ponytail, pale skin dotted with freckles, bright green eyes. Easily swallowed by the crowd of trainees who were taller, stronger, louder than she. Forgettable. But that morning, a trainer had pulled her aside to tell her that she was being promoted a whole age group ahead of her classmates. She might not have much in the way of imposing strength, but she was quick and clever and always perfect with a knife.
Cato didn't seem the type to wonder why someone of her diminutive stature would be elevated in rank so dramatically. That was just fine with her. Hiding in the shadows meant she was the targeter and not the targeted. Just in case there was some brain hidden inside his brawn, she gave him her sweetest "I won't last a minute in the arena" smile.
He stopped a fair distance away, still towering over her, and she instantly hated the angle her neck had to tilt at to look him in the eye. "Fuhrman?" Cato asked in the manner of one who already anticipated the answer.
Clove smiled widely again, blinking a few times for good measure. "Yes, that's me. Can I help you?" There was a dagger's biting edge hidden beneath the words, so smothered with sweetness she doubted he could detect it.
Cato appeared to be restraining himself from rolling his eyes. "I've been ordered to be your guide for the day." Every syllable was low, rough, and smothering in its condescension. He eyed her doubtfully, probably wondering why she was here and what she'd done to earn her spot.
Clove inwardly smirked. He appeared to be just as thrilled at the prospect of showing her around the dull room as she was. Cato Ludwig was used to being spoiled, the favorite of the trainers, not escorting some new trainee around like a servant. "That sounds great," she told him, purposefully skimming over his evident disdain like she was too dumb to notice.
He didn't say much more after that, just turned on his heel and began to stalk away like she was expected to follow. When she lingered at the wall too long (inertia was a lovely thing, but sometimes inconvenient), he turned around with a growl she could feel in her bones. She marveled at his mild self-control, as his grip was only slightly bonecrushing around her wrist as he pulled her away.
"Stations," Cato told her unnecessarily. "There's no schedule for training like the other age groups have. You're free to work on fixing a weakness or perfecting a talent, although I can't imagine you have any." He looked pointedly at her spindly arms.
Clove resisted the urge to pull out her not-Training Center-sanctioned knife from its strap on her ankle and show him just where her talents laid. "What are those boards along the walls?" she asked instead, smothering her homicidal tendencies with another smile.
"Rankings for the different stations. Don't expect to see your name on them." Cato flicked a finger at the one that hung above a wrestling ring. His name dominated the rest of the list, and as Clove glanced around, she could see a similar occurrence on the other boards.
"Interesting" was all she said.
Cato pointed out the cafeteria and changing rooms with bare nods of his head, tossing out more thinly-veiled insults than she'd thought was possible as they walked. She was close to losing her composure by the end of the tour, but managed to keep her cool and give Cato a docile bob of the head in thanks. Cato just stalked away, muttering under his breath in disgust, and she was finally alone.
The first stage of her plan was to stay inconspicuous. She knew she'd become a target once she revealed how suited she was to the Hunger Games, and unfortunately, she lacked the connections or brutal strength of Cato to repel those desperate enough to dispatch her.
So instead of rushing towards the knives and obliterating the pathetic score that topped the board for that section, Clove meandered over to one of the empty stations and almost groaned when she saw what it was. Fire-starting. No wonder no one's here. Starting a fire is the quickest way to say "please find me and kill me" in the Games. But as long as she was here, she might as well pick up the skill.
The trainer who ran the station was rather surprised to have company, but soon adjusted and showed her the basics. Clove was absorbed in her work, quietly focused, when a shadow fell over her.
At first, she didn't turn around. Getting into a fight with Cato would make her a little more visible than she'd prefer, even if it did make her feel better. Perhaps, if she ignored him, he'd give up and leave. The trainer glanced up from where he'd been rearranging some kindling, did a double take, and froze. Surely Cato'd never come over to this station before in his life. He struck her as the kind who found survival by eliminating his enemies, not by hiding himself. Then why was he over here now?
Clove hated to depend on luck, relying instead on her own skills, but she wouldn't have minded a bit of good fortune. That luck didn't seem to be with her that day. "Ludwig. Is something the matter?" she asked innocently. In her hands, the tinder sparked. She imagined each wisp of flame on Cato's face, searing lines onto his skin, and smiled.
"One would hope not." His voice was cold, flat, hiding any flashes of rage. "It's lunchtime. You'll eat with me."
Now Clove turned to face him, actually shocked. What did he think he was doing? Beside her, the trainer began to edge away slowly, clearly not wanting to be caught in the fight he was anticipating would ensue. She hid her surprise, simpered, "Why, Ludwig, are you asking me out? How sweet of you. I don't think you're quite my type, however."
Cato scoffed, let out a bark of laughter that made the quivering trainer beside her startle. "Don't be ridiculous. I'm being friendly."
Now it was Clove's turn to laugh derisively, though she knew she was quickly shedding her meek, mediocre persona. "I don't think you've ever done a single thing out of the goodness of your heart, Ludwig. Why would a person like you want to be seen with a person like me?" Without looking around, she could feel the eyes on her back, the other trainees watching her with curiosity, amusement, jealousy.
"Maybe I just really want your company." His face cracked into a smirk halfway through the sentence, unable to hold onto his poker face. Clove scowled up at him, and Cato grinned wider. She slashed the sticks against each other with such fury that one snapped in her hand. Cato gave another laugh, the sound rough from underuse. "This is just lunch, after all. No pressure." When that seemed to fail to convince her, he added, "Come on, pet. You don't want to starve, do you?"
"If I do, then I don't have to listen to you any more," she snapped back, but there was a resignation to her. Clove tossed the sticks at the shell-shocked trainer, barely even noticing his flinch. "All right, Ludwig. You win. There'd better be some damn good food to make up for this."
It was pretty damn good food.
Blue here with a brand-new pairing! I'm super excited to start this story and work with such fun characters. c: Expect updates about once every other week. Please drop a line for critiques, suggestions, etc.