Cato was fuming as he was escorted to his stylists. He hadn't volunteered for this. He was no doll to be dressed up and stripped down. The teenager had been washed and cleaned, though there was not much to clean. As a Capitol favorite, District 2 citizens were kept well fed and bathed their entire lives. They had to be in order to keep the elaborate architecture and well-trained soldiers.

The blonde was sat on a type of bed and waited for his lavender haired stylist, a middle aged man named Articus, bounded in with another, younger man, beside him. This man did not seem to have any surgery or malformations. His eyes were dark, though, which gave Cato a strange feeling. He had to admit, the man was quite attractive. His body seemed to be well-toned and the sense of brooding intrigued him and attracted him to the dark haired man.

The middle aged stylist introduced him as Jensen Wood, a seventeen year old model from District 7 who worked for the Capitol. Cato merely stared at the man, Jensen, and didn't reach his hand out to shake. Neither did Jensen. He gave the model a curt nod but didn't take his eyes off him. "Pleasure."

Cato was told how the Parade would work. Articus dressed Jensen in a Roman-esque costume which Cato had to admit looked good. It wasn't like District 12's costumes from previous years, which were laughably bad. This was sexy and would certainly reel in the sponsors. And how Jensen strutted with it on..

His eyes hungrily gazed at the model but his mind was screaming, scolding him. He wasn't here to fuck some piece of ass. He was here to become victor, to bring pride to his district.

When he agreed to put on the costume, Jensen was stripped of the costume and Cato was dressed in it. Adjustments had to be made to the breastplating but other than that, Cato was set. Atticus led him and Jensen to the Parade spot so the tribute could be briefed. Jensen's narrow stare at Cato bothered him extremely. So much that he turned to the boy and snapped, "The fuck is your problem?"

Jensen raised his eyes and gave Cato a sharp stare. He was silent, though, which only infuriated the blonde male. "I said." He stood dangerously close to the model. " The fuck is your problem?"

"…Your face."

Jensen's voice was low and deadly. He raised his chin and had his jaw set. Being this close, Cato could smell the cigarettes on him. So, he was a smoker huh?

"What about my face?"

"It's close to mine. Get it away."

"You don't tell me what to do, you little shit."

Atticus was by Clove's stylist. He was out of earshot. Jensen smirked and shook his head, looking back at Cato. "You're the little shit here. A bastard, a shit. Heard you volunteered." He shook his head. Painful memories flooded his memory. "Yes, I volunteered. I trained my entire life for this fucking moment. To fucking win."

"You won't."

He stared at Cato defiantly. "Volunteers never win. No matter where they're from. If a strong, volunteer tribute from 7 can't win then neither can a Capitol pampered prick."

"Well this volunteer from 7 was a weakling who deserved to die. He deserved to die in there and I hope whoever he was, he suffered."

He turned on his heel and stalked over to Clove and Atticus, leaving the model standing there in shock. He couldn't move at all. Not even at Atticus', "Oi, boy!" He was seeing red, blood red. A red that overtook his entire body and caused him to shake with absolute rage.

Tyrone, his brother. His brother who had volunteered for him and sacrificed his life for him. And Cato had just stamped on, spit on his memory. Even if he didn't know it did not make it okay. Not at all. Jensen had to be dragged over to the District 2 chariot. He toned out the discussion of the Parade, how Cato and Clove, the short girl beside him, would act towards the audience. A suggestion on acting as lovers came up.

And Cato's reaction was quite peculiar, Jensen noted.

His entire body went rigid. His jaw set and there was a short shake of his head. His features contorted in dislike and his head turned to the other chariots. The blonde tribute's eyes scanned the area then turned to his mentor, an older, bald yet attractive man whose name Jensen did not know. The man gave him a headshake and then put down the idea with a harsh tone. Cato seemed satisfied and a smug look crossed his face as he leaned against the chariot. Little Clove gave him a glance and a shrug of her shoulders. Also an eyeroll.

Perhaps Cato always got what he wanted, Jensen thought to himself.

He and Atticus, along with Clove's stylist, made sure the tributes looked desireable in their costumes. The model was not pleased but knew he had work to do. He had been picked to do this, seeing as he had an eye for style and perfection. When he refused, his salary had been doubled. How could he refuse that? More money to spend on his ladies and his innocent addictions.

He wondered if Cato smoked or drank. His body was so muscular and well built that Jensen had to wonder if he used drugs that aided in his muscle growth. But Cato did not seem like the type and his body wasn't overly ripped with muscle. No, it seemed to be natural. He inhaled deeply as he adjusted the breastplating on Cato. The blonde's eyes were staring off into space. "There," the model said in a harsh tone, stepping away. Cato didn't even thank him. He gave him a haughty look and turned to conversate with his partner.

Jensen stood with Atticus and Cato's mentor, who Jensen learned was named Brutus.

"And why not? Why can we not have a 'lovers' set up?" Asked Atticus in an almost whining voice that grated on Jensen's ears. "Because Cato does not approve. And neither do I," snapped Brutus. "So Cato runs the show?"

The mentor and stylist turned to Jensen, whose arms were folded tightly across his chest. "Excuse me?" "Cato, a mere tribute, is making the decisions?" Jensen realized his mistake immediately when Brutus' jaw clenched and his face reddened with noticable anger. He raised a hand in apology. "Just a thought," he stated. Brutus looked down at him with a dangerous look. "My tributes do not control decisions, Mr. Wood. I merely agreed with him. Our tributes are not weaklings. We will not portray them as lovers. They are not lovers and we won't do something so low as passing them off as such in order to get sponsors. Look at them."

He gestured to Cato and Clove, who were deep in conversation with each other. Jensen gazed at the tributes but his eyes found themselves on the male tribute.

His arm was flexed and his jaw was set. He crossed his arms across his chest and seemed cross as he argued with Clove, whose eyes were quite serious. Jensen inhaled deeply as Cato's head gestured over to Brutus, Atticus and Jensen. What were they talking about? The blonde's face seemed quite angry. His hands seemed to want to jump out and gesture oh so wildly around. A gesticular speaker, Jensen decided.

Cato must have felt the look because he turned his head to Jensen and scowled at the model who scowled back and turned his head to Brutus. "Quite threatening," he said, his fingers tapping his pocket which held his cigarettes. He was itching for a smoke. Brutus and Atticus went off after Jensen's word to the District 1 chariot, meeting with a young man who Jensen recognized as Gloss, a victor.

He pursed his lips for a moment and pulled out a cigarette, lighting up expertly and exhaling the smoke.

"For me? Oh you shouldn't have."

He felt the cigarette get plucked from his fingers. The model glared at the blonde tribute, who put the cigarette in between his lips. "I didn't. Now give me my fucking cancer stick." Cato smirked and blew the smoke into his face. "You're not my mentor. You have no say, little shit." Jensen stepped forward and smacked the cigarette from Cato's hand. "Fuck you," he spat out bitterly. "Oh why? Because I insulted some little weak shit who died because he was too much of an idiot to realize he would die and that volunteering was useless? You really need to get your priorities in order, little boy."

Jensen's fingers curled into fists and Cato seemed to notice, restraining him in an instant. Jensen grit his teeth as he struggled to get free from the Career's strong grip. "Little boy," taunted the blonde. "Little, little, little. Pity you aren't in the Games because I'd have the pleasure of slaughtering your ass." He leaned forward to whisper in his ear, "Thought it'd be the shame of a pretty face." Cato snickered and gave Jensen's wrist a twist before pushing him away. Jensen turned to him with a furious expression. To this, Cato merely held out his arms and laughed, "Try it. Hit me. You'll just end up dead on the ground."

Jensen wanted to. He so wanted to just pummel Cato. But he couldn't. By the boy's cockiness and self-assurance, and the fact he volunteered reminded Jensen how he shouldn't mess with him. Too much. "Oh but what will that do for you? You just called me attractive." He smirked. "Oh, does Cato have a crush?" The blonde narrowed his eyes and walked up to Jensen. "Please.." He replied in a half-whisper. His teeth grazed over his bottom lip and his eyes flickered from Jensen's eyes to his lips then back to his eyes. Jensen felt a sense of discomfort cross over him. At Cato and how close he was, what his eyes were doing. How his teeth grazed across his bottom lip like that..

"Cato!"

The male tribute smirked at Jensen before taking a few steps back and turning to go to Clove, a type of confident swagger in his step. Jensen was left there staring after the male tribute. His entire body shook with rage and confusion. Damn you he thought bitterly as he ground the cigarette under his heel. Damn this boy.

The rooms would house the tributes, their mentor and stylists. Cato was far from pleased. Jensen pissed him off to an infinite degree. He wasn't exactly a person Cato desired to see each day. But training would begin in the morning so that somehow calmed him. Somehow.

The teenager made himself at home in his room and came out for dinner in a black beater and training pants. He preferred to be without a shirt but the eyeroll from Clove as they both exited their rooms told him to go back and change, much to his annoyance. He sat down to the table which was lined with food, yet he was not ravenously hungry. He was fuming from the Tributes Parade. The attention the sponsors had directed at him and his allies were now on the tributes from 12. Stupid, idiotic tributes from an outlying district. He was red with anger as he picked apart his steak with his fork and knife.

More like slaughtered it.

As Cato spoke angrily about the tributes from 12, Jensen's eyes glazed over to Clove who was rolling her own eyes and looking around the table. Both seemed annoyed by Cato's venting and Clove looked as if her nails would leave deep marks on her partner's face. Jensen cleared his throat and sipped the clear liquor in his cup before excusing himself and making his way to his room. He sat on his bed and went through the designs that Atticus had sent him. He organized them by his personal likes and dislikes, of which there were many he disliked. The young man was engrossed in his work and spent nearly the entire night on it. When he had finished it was quite late in the night.

Quietly he walked through the elaborate rooms and went to the window, smoking on his cigarette. He exhaled the smoke and stared at the skyline of the grand city, his home. No, this wasn't his home. District 7 was.

District 7 with its vast wilderness. He could nearly smell the woods, the air. It wasn't like the air of the Capitol which was full of artificial scents. He could hear the chopping of trees and the loud booming of the falling trees, cracking of the branches and whacking of the ax against the wood. He could see Tyrone, his brother, and himself walking through the wooded paths. His brother who Jensen had so looked up to. His brother who had volunteered for him, given up his life for him to live. Jensen had watched his brother fight and die for him. He had watched his brother be slaughtered like an animal.

Secretly he hoped that happened to Cato.

The boy irked him so much. And his insult to his brother's memory infuriated him. He angrily puffed on the cigarette then stabbed it against the siding of the window.

"I don't think Snow would like that so much."

Cato. It was Cato. "Fuck off," snapped Jensen.

"Oh how nice."

A feminine voice. Jensen turned around and spotted Clove, the small girl, making her way over. She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. "Such nice language. You have a better mouth than Cato." "Like I give a shit."

"Like I said, nice language."

Jensen shoved the cigarette into his pocket, reminding himself he would have to throw it out later. "What are you doing up?" "Same to you," retorted the girl. He had to admit; Clove was certainly as irritating as Cato. Maybe a little less. "What did it look like?" He questioned the darker haired, shorter girl. "Having a smoke. Cato would be jealous," Clove said, tossing back her long dark hair.

"Well who gives a fuck what Cato thinks."

Clove managed a laugh and sat on the couch. "That's what I've been asking myself for weeks but no one has an answer." Jensen followed her but stood, not sat, by her side. "Does he have much influence? He seems it." "Cato is certainly well-liked in 2. He is the favorite because he is the prodigy. He has shown remarkable talent since he started training when he was 5." Jensen raised his brow. "5?" Clove nodded, "Yes. We start young in District 2."

She sighed and shrugged. "He's always been Brutus' favorite. Brutus pampers him. We aren't supposed to smoke but he lets Cato. Not like I want to." She rolled her eyes and leaned back against the couch. Jensen nodded slowly and looked out the window at the sky. "So, I suppose that hinders how he trains?" "Oh, no. He still trains harder than everyone else. His lungs are weakening, though," Clove continued.

"Is he always such a dick?"

"I see he has made a good impression on you."

Jensen scoffed. "Has he always been a complete prick?" "Yes, since day one," she replied. "Get used to it." "Trust me, I don't think I will have to. After the Games it won't matter. I'll go back to doing my own thing." Clove shrugged and bit on the inside of her lip, standing and bidding him goodbye as she went off to her room. He stared after the girl and then went to his own room. Tomorrow training would begin. The real work would begin. The process of making sure the tribute he strongly disliked would be a success. Much to his displeasure.