You are a killer. You know that. It's in your goddamn DNA to crave blood and, even more dangerous, to know how to get it.
It comes as no surprise to anyone in your District that you volunteered for the Games. They had known such a thing would happen since you first started training. How they all could have known that a little tyke of three would one day slash through the throats of competition to win his way to the top was beyond you, but, given your training, none batted an eyelash at your public announcement.
Clove was jealous, naturally, at the idea that you would be playing into the hands of the Capitol and would conquer it. It wasn't about the fact that one of you would have to kill the other - it was that one you was already dead upon volunteering though not literally. Not yet.
You glare out the window, eyes plastered to the landscape. Clove is nearby, training with her shiny new blades, and she's bitching at you that you should train as well. You know you don't need it. You want to tell her to shut the hell up and play with her new toys somewhere else, but your lips are sealed and your thoughts swarm with the taste of blood.
The Capitol looks smaller upon entering it and when you're swarmed with the purposefully pale hands of Stylists, you feel them touch your muscles and you know why. You're well-trained and your body is solid, brawny, and broad. The female Stylists make eyes at you but you're indifferent. All you want is to be left alone and allow your mind to concoct each murder your body is itching to commit. Still, they do their work and perform feats of fashionable magic, but you refuse to mask the wrath you feel inside, the wrath you always feel.
Boiling to the surface of your bloodlines is a kind of rage in mass amounts, and it's this feeling that fuels you, that drives your every move. Everything you do is a precursor to barbarism and you love every second of it. You're a bloodthirsty machine, not a cog in the fucking system.
The Tribute Parade goes by you in a flash and you hardly stop to think twice about it all. The only part you recall is the entrance of the Tributes from Twelve. The female was staunch and proud with a lean physique and methods of wooing the crowd that you have never seen before. Of course, this pisses you off all the more.
Who the hell does she think she is? The male beside her is a fair bit shorter than her, and he looks easy enough to take down or, at least, bend him to your will. The female is the threat and it is on her that your focus lies. You feel the hatred mix with your already-surfaced rage, and you long to wring her neck and watch the veins in her eyes burst before the life-force abandons her. Your rage always claims dibs on kills, and Clove at your side knows this fully-well. After all, District-mate or not, she is now competition as well.
The female from Twelve is on your mind as the Stylists work to remove your ridiculously gold armor from your body and you want nothing more than to rush over and declare nemeses right from the off. You stay your vengeful hand, wanting to play this out as long as you possibly can.
After you've been stripped of your falseness, you and Clove are assigned to the second floor of Tribute suites, second for your District. So you play your part and allow Clove to do some serious ranting for a couple of hours. She talks so much and it's all violent talk anyway, so you are thankful for having learned over the years to just tune her out. Now, you barely hear a hum when she opens her tight-lipped mouth.
After your Mentors and Clove have all gone off to their respective rooms to sleep, you decide to explore. You're kind of an insomniac anyway, and with a face as near-permanently pissed off as yours it, no one would dare mess with you at the moment. You want peace and quiet and to just relax, so you do. You head down to the stables.
The horses are docked in their stalls and are whinnying and calming themselves. After quite the debut in front of the population of the Capitol, those animals deserved their current comforts.
You love horses. Perhaps it's their slender figures. Perhaps it's because you view them as majesty in living color. There is one thing you do know for sure, and that's that horses could never know of your bloodlust. They are innocent to a fault and you adore them. Judging by the rustling sound nearby, an unmistakable form of human contact with dry straw.
"What the hell are you doing down here?" a female's voice confronts you, and you peer around the next steed to see the object of your hatred personified in the girl from Twelve.
You fully expect yourself to want to threaten her to her face, but something stops your voice and prevents you from revealing what you had previously assumed to be how you felt towards her. She was different here, more vulnerable here.
You stroke the mane of the horse in front of you and turn your eyes away from the girl, suddenly fearing the calm that quells you. You are certain that her eyes are on you, notably that she is eyeing your physique. You feel a bit self-conscious, and that fact alone is inexplicable. One half of you wants to talk to her and discuss feelings, and the other half wrings the neck of the other in an attempt to protect your ass. Truthfully, why one half of you required being choked out was beyond you at the moment and was starting to make your head spin.
"You like horses?" you say, and your other half rages onward. What the hell are you thinking?! This bitch is the enemy!
She is silent for a moment, but after recognizing that you are somehow sincere, she relaxes a bit and removes her eyes from you. Good. Should've ripped the bitch's eyes out.
"I guess," she murmurs.
You take a handful of oats into your fist and open it up to the horse in front of you, loving the feeling of the bristled mouth tickling your skin as large teeth scoop the food into its mouth. "I think they're beautiful."
She pauses, now two horses between the pair of you. "They are, yeah."
"They're gentle, but more powerful than they could ever know - "
"What're you talking about?" she interrupts, her voice somehow leaving a stabbing feeling in the center of your chest. The fuck is wrong with you man?
You wait, hesitate, gather your thoughts. Rounding the horse you just fed, your eyes find hers. "They have so much to lose. They are big, strong animals and, in the wild, they are vicious. Here, though, they're collected and precise...precision is key. One wrong move and they could kill someone they once thought was on their side." She nods and you begin to move away. Your back is to her and that's when he hear her step forward.
"That wasn't a threat. What's your angle?"
You turn back around to face her, your chest tightening at the realization that she is much closer to you than you had thought. "If I was going to threaten you for real, I would have already."
"Why aren't you?"
You shove your hands into your pockets and heave a sigh. "I wanted to do more than threaten you earlier. I wanted to feel you bleed out in my hands." She doesn't appear to be shocked by this. "I don't know why I haven't made a formal threat." Your eyes narrow as you stare at her, her persona quivering under the weight of your gaze. "Why the hell haven't you threatened me?"
Her stance quivers once more before stabilizing. "Same as you. Don't know why." She folds her arms across her chest and the pair of you simply wait on in silence, the awkwardness palpable and thick in the space of breaths exchanged within the five-foot gap.
This is the worst. Say something, dumb-ass. She must want you to.
"You got a name, Two?" she questions.
You nod. "I do. You?"
She shakes her head. "You first."
You sigh. "Cato."
"Katniss."
"Alright then, Girl On Fire."
You notice something in that moment that may signify why your hatred fizzled out the moment you saw her in-person. It had a name, this thing you know you feel, and that's attraction. This girl was attractive, and she made your skin crawl because of it. You know that there is no other explanation, and now your inner wrath is extremely pissed off.
"Never knew a Career could have a heart."
Her words cut you to the quick, though you aren't surprised in the least to hear them. She's right, of course. Other Careers are heartless. You are heartless, at least where this girl isn't concerned.
"We're alive, aren't we? Hearts are a part of the deal."
She nods, her silence in perfect agreement with what you had intended to say to her. She strokes the horse between you with the backward motion of her fingers, and you feel your body ache at the sight, yearning for her to touch you in that way. You shake it off, Wrath fighting off Vulnerability for now.
"Listen...we shouldn't linger here. If we're caught fraternizing, it could cost us both potential Sponsors." It pains you to say that aloud, wanting to remain here and chat with the Girl On Fire until the damned cows come home, but you know you can't. You have to play this smart, especially if you want to see her again and, goddamn it, you do.
"I think I'm my own worst enemy when it comes to that. I've been told I'm pretty threatening."
You pause, Vulnerability winning for the moment. "I don't find you threatening."
She gives you a half smile and you know Vulnerability has won the fight. "Good to know."
"I mean, you're intimidating for sure, but I don't see you as a threat."
"Ditto."
A sound of voices from outside of the stables leaves the pair of you hunkered over, crouching behind the horses as you whisper out some plans.
"Four days of training - that's all we're allowed."
She nods. "Then the interviews...then the Games."
You sigh, thinking things through. "I'd like to speak with you again...if that's alright with you."
"It is." Her words come quickly, almost as if she was ready to tell you that whatever you had to say was the right thing. "Tomorrow then?"
You grin. "Tomorrow."
With that, she slips from your sight and out of the stables, directly passing by the stablehands. You are proud of this moment, knowing that now you possessed a real confidant. Of course, it was coincidental that you were attracted to her.
Too bad you don't believe in coincidences.