So, I started this as an original story, but converted it into a fic just for fun. This is the stupidest idea known to fanfiction.. but hey, I don't specialize in writing. It just keeps me sane while I'm unruly.. (hence my username.) But yeah.. this fic is about Cato and Clove.. which is one of my crazy ships (ships that I ship waaay too much.)
I don't know how I started writing this, but I didn't really see this idea floating about so why not? :)
Hope you enjoy! Worshipping and/or constructive criticism are the only types of reviews that will be tolerated. :o)
OH! And there is a different language use in this fic, so I've already inserted the translations for you.
But there's someone who can help me
She's helped me twice before
Came down from a higher floor
-Try To Be Quiet; Callel
He likes the colors of the walls. Cerulean blue, mustard yellow, and a peachy salmon. Each color made an obvious division between each house unit, and he knew exactly which one was his.
His dance bag is swinging and hitting his side as he fast walks through the alleyway, endlessly searching for his home. Stuffed in a black satin string bag was his black tights, black leotard, and black ballet slippers. Everything was in black. It made him like the black swan in too many ways, though that wasn't his intention.
He just really liked black.
The cold wind rushes against his lily-white skin, giving it bumpy gooseflesh that bubble up on his fairly clothed form. He'd only worn a white t-shirt and khakis. Simplistic, but good enough to handle the weather of Legnica, Poland – especially for a native.
As soon as his house comes into view, he can see his traumatized mother, Katarzyna, rushing outside and onto the narrow cobblestone path, whacking a rat out with a wicker broom.
Her ashy blonde hair is tied up in a bun, some pieces of the long locks strewing out. Her slightly wrinkled face is scrunched up in disgust as she watches the dark rodent scampering away. She hated pests. Feared them, possibly.
"Kysz! Kysz!" She yells, waving her hand before whirling around to spot her son jogging up. {Translation: Shoo! Shoo!}
"Ma!" He calls with a smile, and she returns the grin.
"Cato!" Holding out her bony arms, she walks toward him. "Witaj kochanie! Czy korzystają z klasy balet dzisiaj?" {Translation: Hello baby! Did you enjoy ballet class today?}
"Dobra, jak zawsze," He hugs his mother tightly in his strong arms, pulling her frail and short body against his. {Translation: As well as always.}
He allows a sigh to escape him when inhaling her smell. Not anything too magnificent, but it smelled like her and kept him calm. She was all he had left in this poor life of his.
Ms. Kat leads her son into the tall – but tiny – candied blue condominium, and he pushes himself inside. The scent of a savory apple pie intoxicates his nostrils as it drifts about the small living room/kitchen, and he throws himself onto the velvet couch.
"Synu, idź na górę i przygotuj się na lunch. Annie i jej rodzina będzie tu wkrótce." Ms. Kat says, piling delectable foods onto bread and topping it off with whole wheat. {Translation: Son, go upstairs and get ready for lunch. Annie and her family will be here soon.}
Cato complies without a word.
The stairs to the upper floor are narrow. He's surprised he can still fit. He's not the tiny kid he was years ago; in fact people mistook his age all the time.
The walls on each side of him were cover in old floral wallpaper that was staining and peeling from the walls. If they had the money, renavations would be necessary. He was convinced they would begin to be infested with asbestos.
The top of the staircase creaks under his weight, which was mostly muscle from lifting petite girls for ballet and attending gymnastics each week.
The sound of a harsh knock rings around the small home, and his eyes widen. He rushes himself into his room, which was fairly close in the tiny array of rooms.
He stuffs himself inside his blue and gray room, nearly tripping over the bag that he had thrusted inside first. His bed also made a squeak under his body, making him wonder if he should skip lunch in order to look the part for dance and gym.
Cato didn't usually eat much anyway. Appetite went out the window awhile ago when he committed himself to his soon-to-be career.
It was his dream to be the one that the male gymnastics team or the Polish ballet wanted out of all the other boys with the same dream. He wanted to be the final choice, the one everyone considered the best of the best.
He let these perfections control his life. If he trusted himself enough, he might just be able to make it.
The teen can hear the soft footsteps of none other than Annie Cresta trotting up the stairs. He smiles to himself.
Annie and he went way back. A bit too far back, actually. She busts into his room unannonced, bouncing through the door and making the floors rattle with her excitement. "Witaj, Cato!" She calls, and he swears all of Poland can hear.
Well, maybe not all of Poland, but..
"Zamknij się, Jackowski!" {Translation: Shut it, Jackowski!}
Annie stops her jumping, slowly but surely. Her face morphs into innocence and she cringes when Cato smacks his forehead. He drags his hand down his face in exasperation, being the calm soul he is.
Through the grime-edged, dirty window, both can see the silouette of two teenage boys. Neither had bothered to memorize their names, all they knew was that they were jerks.
Cato opens the window, pushing up with extra strength as it gets stuck multiple times. Annie uses her delicate arms to help lift (which was really no help at all.)
The two twins in the alley across from Cato's are smirking from the other side. Their weasel/rat-like faces make Annie grimace in disgust. They lean against their own window pane which is a few feet away, and the look on their horrid features shows that they find themselves the most hilarious people that ever lived.
"Sorry, chłopaki." Cato deadpans. {Translation: Sorry, guys.}
They scoff. "Cokolwiek, twinkle toes." The window slams shut. An exaggerated high-five is heard. {Translation: Whatever, twinkle toes.}
The wind blows against their skin for awhile.
"Twinkle toes, huh? Nie słyszałem, że od trzeciej klasy." A mischievious grin crosses Annie's pink lips and Cato smirks. {Translation: Twinkle toes, huh? I haven't heard that one since the third grade.}
"Kochanie! Muszę podzielić się czymś z tobą!" Ms. Kat calls frantically from just a floor below, sounding shaky and unsure. {Translation: Baby! I have to share something with you!}
The pink eraser of her pencil taps against the corner of her lip as she brainstorms, each idea raining a clap of thunder in her head before it evaporates into the cloud of shit-ideas.
Being on the News-Team isn't as easy as it looks. Writing the school paper is simple, but planning the leads is difficult – speaking as nothing ever happens at Orange Country Day. Shortens to OCD. Ironic. She didn't know why they picked that name, it was stupid. And she wasn't obsessively compulsive, either.
She rolls her eyes when some dork bounces by, winking at her as if he has a chance. She doesn't date. She doesn't love. Her career comes first.
The basement of their school is busy with the outsiders that worm through each of the sectioned-off labyrinths. She sits in the newsroom division, crossed-legs and a bored expression.
Through the plexi-glass windows, people watch her and shrug their heavy backpacks up their shoulders. She hardly notices because she doesn't care.
The header of her paper reads a skinned sentence: January 13, 2013: School News Report / Clove Kentwell
She couldn't think of anything else. Her brain was constantly working, but she couldn't think of anything at all. Even as the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, she couldn't come up with a topic she hadn't already written – not that those were successful either, because nothing ever happened in this school.
Her shoulder bag is shockingly light as she hangs it on her body, pushing her chair back into the desk before walking to the door in the corner of the small room.
The hallways are narrow and uncomfortably hot, making a trigger in her easily bothered body tug slightly. People bump her shoulders and she reels away each time.
If there's one thing she hates, it's being touched. Nobody gets to touch her.
The stairs up to the main hallway are a long set, and she pauses in exasperation. When are they going to replace these with an elevator?!
"Hey princess," A recognizable male voice says from behind her, whirling around to stand in front of her. He leans against the rail and smirks at her. She blinks rapidly, not amused by the situation – or anything, really. "What do you want now, Marvel."
"You in my bed," He says, waggling his eyebrows.
Of course you do. If Marvel were smart, he would've had the decency to not bring something as suggestive as this up to someone like Clove. She adjusts her stance, putting on a fake smile. "Marvel, would you like to leave without another word, or on a stretcher? Either way is fine with me." Marvel goes pale, swallowing. It wasn't even a frightening threat..
Eventually, he gives in – grumbling out his frustration and speaking lowly. "Look, can you at least do me a favor?"
"Why would I do that?"
"Because you want me to leave you alone, like you asked me two years back.." He had a point. She complies with silence, but he knows her answer. "Can you help me make Katniss jealous..?"
Clove's jaw drops. "Katniss? Like.. the gymnast Katniss? The Girl on Fire?"
"The one and only," Marvel glances over at the chestnut haired girl as she stands against the wall, grey eyes piercing whatever book cover her eyes are set on. Her white skinny jeans and loose pink tank top make her look incredibly pretty, but Marvel would've liked her anyway. "God, she's beautiful.. please, Clove..?"
The brunette sighs. "Why don't you just try being nice to her? She doesn't have many friends. I'm sure she'd be delighted."
Marvel's face perks up, but easily deflates. "But I'm the biggest asshole in the building." He sure does know his place.
"Damn straight," Clove says shamelessly, offending the green-eyed boy. But he hadn't been wrong; so what was she supposed to say? 'No, you're not an asshole? "But, she always glances at you, so if she likes you in any way I think she can get past your rep."
He smiles, looking at Katniss quickly and nodding. "Thanks.. you're not so bad after all."
"Whatever helps you sleep at night, pretty boy." She rolls her eyes, glowering at him. Everybody knew that she might as well be labelled the coldest girl in New York City.
"I'll leave you be now." Marvel choppily walks himself over to a depressed-seeming Katniss Everdeen, who instantly peeks up when he nears her.
Clove decides not to pay attention to where this is going. It's not like it will effect her life one way or another.
Her ruby-red flats smack against the tile of each step with a satisfying click, and her hand slides on the silver railing with ease. She groans at the knot that has formed in her back. She was consumed in the idea that she'd have severe arthritus before she could even make it to graduation.
Just a short little prologue, I guess. Tell me how you like the idea...? I'm aware the writing isn't great, it'll get better, I hope :)
Thanks ;)