Life as a Victor was easy.
Clove had all the money she could ever want and even beyond that, enough that she could keep from working for the rest of her life. If she ever tired of her ridiculously opulent home in the Victors' Village, she could spend more than a few years living lavishly among the Capitolites. She thought she'd rather prefer burning the money.
She had no job, no family, and no hobby beyond training. Once they'd returned to Two, she'd taken up the same training schedule she always had: up early and asleep late. Victors never got Reaped again, so there was nothing to train for, no reason to keep herself in shape beyond boredom and a need for structure. But she did anyway, staying at a station with Cato for days on end until they'd both mastered it.
Life with Cato was easy.
Two was known for producing the most Victors, so all the houses in the Victors' Village were filled, save one. No one, not even Lucretia with her prim Capitol manners, had protested beyond a narrow-eyed look when Clove and Cato decided to share a house. It's not like they would've won the argument, anyway, Clove thought. Both she and Cato were terrifyingly stubborn when it came down to it.
She and Cato spent the mornings bickering as they made breakfast, which often degenerated into finger-pointing over who'd let the eggs burn or the toast smoke. Then they raced one another to the Training Center. Clove was far faster at short distances, but Cato could beat her if she tired early. They'd sprint through the market in the center of the town, disturbing bleary-eyed salespeople and children their same age in the dull gray uniforms of trainees. Then they'd try to outdo each other at training stations, their laughter and squabbling a startling contrast to the grunts and wheezes of trainees hard at work.
Clove had become lighter, more open after the Games, a fact which Cato smugly attributed to himself. The truth was, she'd been so cold, so vicious during the Games that she'd burned through it all. Even though she'd loved killing, craved it, she'd found it exhausting in ways too subtle for her to comprehend. So she was happy with her simple life of sparring and bantering with the one she loved. And if she woke up in the dark of the night, shaking and sobbing from confusion and fear, Cato was always there to hold her, to soothe her back to sleep with a tenderness she hadn't known him to possess.
He got nightmares, too, chilling ones that left him frozen beside her, unable to blink or breathe. After one of those, he wouldn't go back to sleep, just laid awake and watched over her despite her reassurances. He never told her what they were about, and she never asked. Some things were better left unsaid.
Oh, Clove was glad she'd won the Games, that she'd been strong enough, brutal enough to survive. And when the Victors gathered for dinner once a week, she'd join in the conversation with snide comments about the weak who had died and laugh with her former mentors. Brutus seemed to hold a glimmer of respect for her, a hint of awareness that she was someone to be wary of. Enobaria was nothing but pleased with Clove and Cato both, the way they'd handled themselves in the Capitol and the way she knew they would during the Victory Tour.
The other Victors seemed just as approving. Nero, one of the oldest people alive in Two, would smile toothlessly at them both and listen raptly to Cato's stories. He might've been a little senile, but he had lived such a glorious life that he was dignified and honored in his old age, and his approval carried merit. Temperamental Lyme, just as tall as Cato and nearly as muscular, watched them both measuringly, occasionally leaning in to comment quietly to Enobaria. The others- all names and faces she'd known for years but now had context and personalities to pair them with- had accepted Clove and Cato easily into their circle.
They sat in Enobaria's house, lounging against her sedately elegant furnishings. She'd been in the Capitol long enough to have an eye for nice things, and it showed. Clove leaned against Cato's chest on an armchair, his fingers idly playing with her hair as it hung loose for once. It was late, as these little gatherings tended to run, but she wasn't tired. If anything, she grew more attentive the later it got. The Victors tended to get a little loose-lipped with a few drinks, and she wasn't about to deny some gossip.
Enobaria wrapped up the dinner a little while later, claiming she was sure Brutus needed his beauty sleep. The Victors had laughed at that but obediently dispersed. Clove and Cato lingered with an offer to help clear the dishes, one that Enobaria accepted with a glint in her eye.
"It's been a few weeks since the Games," she said without preamble once they were gathered in the kitchen. "What's your strategy?"
"Strategy?" Cato asked, caught off-guard. A plate nearly slipped through his fingers, but he caught it just before it could shatter on the counter.
Clove swatted him with the dishcloth, grinning as he cursed. "Come on, Cato. To stay alive, of course. Surely you know Snow wants us neutralized?" He nodded slowly, and she continued. "But we can't die so soon after the Games. That'll seem suspicious. He'll kill us quietly, perhaps a few years apart, and let the memories of our Games fade."
"Or he might leave you alone, stir up a frenzy about the Quell and hope you'll be forgotten," Enobaria commented, her eyes thoughtful, maybe even hopeful.
Cato snorted. "Not Snow. Haven't you heard the rumors? He likes his poison, but he doesn't like anyone else to stand against him, even the way we did. And we didn't even mean to both survive. I would've killed myself, and I know Clove would have, too. I wasn't hoping for them to stop the Games." He paused, licked his lips a bit nervously. "Maybe if someone else were in charge, we'd be safer."
They exchanged glances at that, quick darting movements assessing the others. "What you speak of is treason," Enobaria finally said, her voice low and carefully neutral.
Clove stiffened, hand casually coming to rest on the blade of a steak knife as she wiped it dry. "Possibly. Or just the nature of politics." Her voice was light, almost idle. Beside her, Cato quietly shifted his weight into a fighting stance.
Enobaria laughed, a cold sound that made them both tense even more. "Relax, you two. Mentorship doesn't end after the Games, you know. I have just as much reason to hate Snow as you do, possibly more." Her strange golden eyes narrowed, apparently remembering something she'd never shared with either of them.
Clove slowly uncoiled, but she still held firmly to the knife. "You're with us, then?" she asked.
"Was there ever any doubt?" Enobaria answered, flashing them both a savage grin. "I want to see the Capitol burn."
Clove placed the knife in a drawer and picked up the next one to dry. Cato, taking his cue from her, began to ease. "You might have to settle for power," she told her. "There isn't much fun in ruling over a broken city, is there?"
Enobaria grinned. "I suppose not," she conceded. "How exactly do you plan to enact this?"
Clove exchanged a quick glance with Cato. "We hadn't discussed it yet," he admitted, relaxing from his stance at Clove's minute nod. "We weren't sure if it would blow over on its own. But we don't think it will, which is why we're asking you for your help."
Enobaria tapped a finger to her chin. "Then come and sit down once you've finished with the dishes, and we can start planning. You're friends with the mayor's son, aren't you, Cato?" At his nod, she grinned. "Very good. We can start from there."
[[ And thus begins Ichor, the sort-of-sequel to Bellona and Mars.If you haven't read Bellona, the storyline of this is as follows: Cato and Clove won the Games jointly, Snow is upset, and so they're plotting rebellion. Not much to it. Ichoris already mapped out and spans 20 chapters, which should be written and posted once a week. I am tentatively looking for a beta to help me keep the subplots straight, so PM me if you'd potentially be interested in that. ]]