Out of all of the potential male tributes, Cato Horrik was probably the one who most desired to go to the Capitol. As the escort for District Two, Liallum Byrninson, smiled and delivered the intensely boring monologue about The Dark Days, Cato's palms began to sweat feverishly. His eyes blinked more than usual. His mouth went dry. Of course, he had trained for most of his life for a chance to compete in the Hunger Games. He decided that he was tired of waiting to be chosen as tribute and instead planned to volunteer.
This wasn't at all to uncommon; if a chosen tribute somehow did not live up to the standards of excellence District Two taught its children, then it was encouraged a stronger man or woman take their place. And Cato decided that he was far too good to miss this years' Games. After all, his trainer marveled at the seventeen-year-old blonde's swordsmanship. At a hulking six-foot-two,, Cato was an intimidating force not to be reckoned with.
And usually, no one ever tried to.
Of course, Cato knew that he had to change as he faced death in the Games, but he was certain that he'd easily become the Victor. It was usual for a victor from Districts One or Two to have the crown placed atop their heads as these particular children were trained from a young age to kill. That gave them quite the edge.
Cato itched to find out which sucker he would be replacing as tribute in the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games. His eyes scanned the male portion of the crowd.
This only confirmed what Cato thought; he was the best boy to be considered.
Less time was taken to consider who he would be fighting with, but that didn't matter ti Cato. They would die by his hand before they cold attempt to process what was happening.
That was what he was hoping for: an easy kill.
After a long winded speech, Liallum smiled and announced that he was ready to pick the female tribute. Liallum was a nightmare to look at,with his insane firetruck red curls, pale complexion, and outlandish clothing. But what made Liallum more appalling was his feminine red lipstick fashioned into a heart upon his lips. Red, red, red. As if Cato hadn't seen―wouldn't see―enough of the color.
Cato was wrenched from Liallum's babbling by the sound of a robin chirping in a nearby tree. The robin chirped as if it had no idea how much of an important day it was for Cato Horrik. Silly little bird. No one had time for such trivialities, so Cato zoned back into Liallum Byrninson's awful attempts at banter.
Liallum's left hand lowered itself daintily into the glass bowl where the names of every female child between the ages of twelve and eighteen were. The chances for victory. Glory. Riches beyond compare. All of it lay in a plain glass bowl. Cato could almost taste it. The fame was enticing.
Out of the bowl sprung Liallum's left hand, which was clutching a white piece of parchment with the name of the girl Cato would destroy himself. He licked his lips in anticipation. Who would it be?
"Clove Stillane." Liallum Byrninson's soft whisper-like voice rang throughout the clearing. All of he heads in the area turned, their eyes zoning in on a dark-haired young girl who couldn't be over five-foot-five.
Cato chuckled to himself. She would be an easy kill.
Strangely, at least to Cato, no one volunteered for this small young girl. When it was certain that Clove Stillane would be the female tribute for District Two, the girl in question smirked and strutted up the stairs and onto the stage. She had on a plain yellow dress accented with lace on the skirt. Around her neck was a necklace, but Cato couldn't see exactly what it looked like. Her voice was a bit husky, and she didn't respond cheerily to Liallum's questions.
Oh, he ached to kill her. Snap her pretty little neck. He could dunk her in a hot beverage. The possibilities swirled in his head.
"It's time to pick a male tribute," Liallum said, reaching his hand into a different bowl. He tried to speak a name before Cato yelled his proposal to volunteer at the top of his lungs. Liallum reacted to Cato's outburst with glee, and invited the volunteer to the stage with him and Clove.
Cato complied with a smile on his face, and walked up to the podium. By giving such an air of confidence, sponsors would be sure to keep an eye out for the strapping blonde. Oh, how he would prove himself.
"What's your name, son?" Liallum asked, draping an arm around Cato's shoulders, a gesture that made the taller boy uncomfortable. He was creepier up close.
"Cato Horrik," the boy replied, giving a small wave to the audience. He could hear Capitol women fainting.
"Glad to have you with us, Cato. I'm sure you'll make quite the intimidating tribute. A power not to be reckoned with."
"Yes," Cato said. He gave a smirk to Clove, who only crossed her arms on her chest, frowned, and shook her head in reply.