CLOVE
I hear my name, but my brain doesn't register it immediately. It takes about 5 seconds for me to realize the name Magnus spoke was mine. Embarrassed, but refusing to show it, I confidently take the stage. I give my smirk-smile to the crowd and, more importantly, the cameras. I hear applause and some noise that I'm not sure is a shriek or a whistle.
Magnus motions for the crowd to calm down so he can ask for volunteers. No one moves a muscle. Fine by me. Magnus proceeds to draw the name of my fellow tribute. He uses the same procedure to draw the name of the male tribute. He swirls the ball, draws a slip, and waltzes back to the microphone. He unfolds the paper and reads the name.
"Felix Volascae."
Shrill gasps, moans, and sounds of dissent come from the crowd. Felix is a small 12-year-old boy who is not totally right in the head. He twitches and shouts out things he doesn't mean to say. I look to the twelve-year-old boys and see some kids nudge him and tell him that his name was called. I hear some boys towards the front say, "Oh, it'll be alright. He won't need to worry about going to the Games. He's safe."
Safe? Not going to the Games? His name was called. He's going to the Games, like it or not. Unless of course there's a volunteer. A volunteer! Oh, no. It's going to be one of those volunteer years. Sometimes an older, well-trained boy will volunteer just for the pride of winning the Games. An older, well-trained boy will most likely mean my death. I cannot let that happen. I decide to hate whoever steps forward to volunteer. I will let this premature hatred fester inside me until it is time for me to kill this boy. I cannot show right away that I hate him, though, since we are guaranteed to be in an alliance for the first week or two of the Games.
Then the tiny, kind-thinking voice inside me says, Clove. Don't get ahead of yourself. Maybe those boys meant someone will volunteer out of the kindness of their heart to spare that poor little boy misery. If this voice were a real person, I'd tear its voice box out with my own bare hands. I can't afford to think like that. This is the Hunger Games.
I snap back to reality when Felix mounts the stage unsteadily, almost falling. I reach out my hand to help him, cursing myself under my breath. I can't appear nice and kind to all of Panem! I've been trying to appear mean, brutal, and relentless. I might have just blown that to help this damaged little boy.
"Why, Clove, that was very kind of you," Magnus says. I scowl, but he doesn't seem to notice. "Now, are there any volunteers to replace this young man?"
"I volunteer!" yells a raised hand from the 18-year-old section.
"Would you please come forward, sir, and join us on the stage?" Magnus asks.
The hand lowers, and I can't quite make out the owner until he's mounting the steps to the stage. Cato Luxor. Of all the people here, anyone but him.
I guess it makes sense he'd volunteer. He's the strongest, toughest boy I've ever seen. Quite frankly, he frightens me. But I won't let anyone know it, especially him.
Cato takes the stage and fist pumps vigorously, which sends the crowd into frenzy. I truly do hate this boy. He is the only person I've ever met more arrogant than myself. I can only hope I get the opportunity to kill him myself.
"And what might your name be, young man?" Magnus glows. There's something about volunteer tributes that makes the Capitol citizens extra excited.
"Cato Luxor, your next victor," he smirks, if for no other reason but to irritate me. He obviously picked up on my signature smirk. I make a mental note to smirk as I kill him about a week or two from now.
As Cato and I shake hands, he grips my right hand so tight, I'm afraid my fingers will fall off. I respond by digging my long nails into his hand. His eyes widen, then crinkle as we unlatch.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, your tributes from District Two!" Magnus cries. The crowd once again roars.
I turn my head to Cato as he simultaneously does the same to me. I narrow my eyebrows, which brings a sneer out of him. If he's trying to get under my skin, it's working. I shake my head at him slightly, then turn back to the crowd. I keep playing out scenarios in my head of his slow and painful death by my hand. This seems to soothe me, so I embrace it. I promise myself to kill this boy if it's the last thing I do.
CATO
Clove. I've seen her harassing, bullying, and beating up kids constantly. Just an unhappy look her way will send her into a fit of anger, her fists flying. She did a number on my sister last spring when Minerva bumped into Clove at lunch. She took it the wrong way and gave Minerva a black eye. Ever since then, I've had respect for Clove.
I turn back to my right and see Clove leaving the group of 16-year-old girls and making her way to the stage. She floats up the steps to the stage and gives the crowd what I take to be her idea of an intimidating look. I think it may be a smirk. I almost laugh out loud, but catch myself. I politely clap and wait for the next name to be drawn. Magnus strolls over to the bubble of names and takes his pick. He moseys back to the microphone and clears his throat.
"Felix Volascae," he reads.
I have never heard the name myself, but I don't care. He'll be eternally grateful after I volunteer, since anyone is ill-prepared for these Games compared to me.
People groan and begin to weep. I whip my head around to see a sad-looking little boy twitching his way towards the stage. I feel a strange pang of what I can only describe as sympathy, though I think I've only felt it a few times before. This little boy looks mentally damaged. If I volunteer for this kid, the sponsors will probably eat this up. The other tributes may view me as soft, which will only be proven wrong when I cruelly kill them. I decide not to care who Felix is or what's wrong with him. It's none of my concern.
Felix reaches the steps and stumbles, but is caught by an extended arm. My eyes travel up the arm to find its owner. Clove. Unexpected, but okay. Maybe she's playing the sympathy card, herself. I read the curse word coming off her lips and snicker. She doesn't seem too in-control of her actions.
Magnus asks for volunteers and I swing my arm up, lunging forward. Magnus asks me to take the stage, and I do immediately. I turn to the crowd and pump my fist in the air. Magnus asks for my name, and I respond in the most honest way I can.
"Cato Luxor, your next victor." I turn slightly to Clove, making sure she catches my smirk. She looks appalled, just as I'd hoped.
I take Clove's hand and grip it as tight as I can without breaking it. A vein pops out in her right temple as her eyes bug out, and she grins as her nails pierce my hand. I feel my eyes begin to pop out as well, and almost laugh, because I begin to think that we're a little too much alike. We release our agonizing grip and turn to the crowd.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, your tributes from District Two!" announces Magnus.
I turn my head to Clove, to see that she's doing just the same. She tries to give me a threatening look by lowering her eyebrows, but I snicker in return. I feel the heat of her anger radiating off of her. I can't help but think what a fun time I'll have with Clove in these Games.