Smoothing out her dress, Clove began the long walk to the square. Cato had it much easier, having lived in the square his entire life. She knew he would wait around for her, though. Cato would wait and attempt to convince her not to volunteer. He'd been relatively successful the last few years, but this year she wanted to volunteer no matter what he said. She was ready.
Clove trailed behind a brother and sister, listening to their quiet conversation.
"You'll be okay."
"No.. They—They'll pick me. I just kno-ow," came the stuttered response. Clove could almost hear the tears rolling down the little girl's face.
The boy stopped, kneeling in front of his sister. Clove recognized him as a boy from school, from her grade even. Though Clove had stopped as well, neither of them had noticed her or her obvious curiosity. She'd never had someone to comfort her like that.
"I'm promising you that you'll be okay." His words didn't seem to reassure the girl, though. She choked out a few sobs, eyes turning pink where she'd rubbed them.
"If they pick you, I'll volunteer in your place," Clove said automatically, almost robotically. There was no warmth to her voice, only the cold that she had always been capable of. It weighed the words down like stones, leaving her sounding harsh and indifferent. The girl saw past this, though, and sniffled as she turned to smile at Clove.
Behind his little sister, the boy mouthed the words, "Thanks, Clove."
Clove nodded her assent before hurrying past them. She now had a good excuse for volunteering, if Cato asked, but there was the chance that this girl wouldn't be chosen anyway. Sighing, Clove picked up her pace. She just wanted this day to be over with her traveling on the train to the Capitol.
The tiny guilt that tugged at her mind from not knowing the boy's name though he knew hers slowly faded as she neared the square. Without having to be mindful of younger siblings, Clove could do almost whatever she wanted. She decided to take the well-known shortcut past Cato's house. The houses were packed close together in this part of the district, but she knew the number of his house and where it was like the back of her hand.
"Cato," she whispered, letting the words flutter on the breeze before they vanished into thin air.
Like he always did, Cato slipped around the corner and into view. He'd been hiding out from his parents who would have urged him to hurry into the square immediately after having been dressed and readied. They were perpetually worried for their son's health, and Cato was forever doing numerous things they would disprove of. It wasn't that he wanted to spite them like how Clove did things just to make her father mad, but he was just having fun in his own twisted way.
Grinning, Cato looked her up and down with his usual arrogance. "Looking good, though I obviously do formal better."
Clove rolled her eyes, tugging at the cinched fabric uncomfortably. She'd never much liked having to dress up for the Reaping. If she was chosen as a tribute, though, there would only be a few more times to get all dolled up and then the road split but came to a similar verdict. No matter how the Games ended, she wouldn't have to dress up anymore.
"Come on," Cato said quietly, taking note of her silence and lack of snide comments. He slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it before retracting his hand altogether. "Let's just get this over with," he commented, squinting up at the sun that filtered in between the stacked houses.
As they walked along through the winding alleyways, Clove glanced up at the pristine white of the shutters on every window. Each house was nearly identical with rooms upstairs and downstairs to hold two families. The square was located in the very center with the houses and alleys branching out like dead tentacles. Outside of the city, the houses were farther apart and much less cheerful and perfect. Her own house looked like it would be much more suited for a hover crane to smash the side in.
Following Cato into the square, the two of them gave each other a quick glance before separating into their designated slots. Clove held out her hand for them to take her blood, feeling a nervous bubble forming in her stomach.
She stepped forward with as much grace and poise as she always had when going to the Reaping. It was important to at least add to the background, even if you weren't the center of attention. People would look back on this footage next year as everyone geared up for the Quarter Quell.
"Welcome, welcome!" Milyndia called through the microphone as the children, ages twelve to eighteen, finished filing into the square. There was a silent wave of acknowledgement that the Reaping had begun, a few smirks settling on the tributes that were anticipating the moment when they could volunteer. "Let's get ready for the 74th Hunger Games!"
The mayor went through his normal speech, Brutus and Enobaria adding in their small wishes of luck to the tributes who would be chosen.
Milyndia snatched up the microphone again, her sleek, blue tresses flowing down her back in a sheet. "Now let's start with the girls, shall we?" Her purple eyes sparkled as they roved over the girls; Clove averted her gaze.
Her long fingers tapped the glass of the bowl before she thrust her hand into it abruptly. She pulled a name right from the heart of it, just like she'd done every year since she'd become District 2's escort.
"Clover Nightingale. Come on up, darling!" Milyndia trilled happily.
Cato watched with a pained expression as Clove moved toward the stage. He'd wanted to hold it off, but there'd been no use; all the luck in the world couldn't have stopped this. Adrenaline pumped through his body, a whooshing sound rising in his ears as Clove began her assent to the stage. Cato thought about how many times her name must have been put into that bowl and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. He had to volunteer; it was the only way he could make sure she would be all right.
"Hello there, Clover! You can stand right here and be a dear while I pick our boy tribute." The knots in Cato's stomach twisted tighter with every sugary sweet word that escaped Milyndia's lips.
Her fingers, long and spindly, dove into the bowl for a second time that day, the faint sound of paper crinkling being caught by the microphone. The seconds it took Milyndia to open the slip up and read off the name seemed to last for hours, every nerve ending in Cato's body on edge. Clove seemed to be staring straight ahead, her attention elsewhere. Maybe she was wondering who her fellow tribute would be. Maybe she was hoping it would be Cato.
The name didn't matter, but as soon as Cato could visibly see the escort open her mouth to speak, he was off running. Cato pushed his way through some other boys roughly, not bothering to worry if he knocked anyone over.
"I volunteer!" He shouted at precisely the same time as another boy. Cato turned, looking at the strangely familiar boy beside him. And then it clicked. This was Mason Boulve, the boy who'd loved Clove since before even Cato had met her.
Sneering, Cato turned and punched him square in the nose.
Author's Note: I always forget to make an Author's Note, so this is kind of for both, I guess. Obviously, I don't own the Hunger Games. This is going to be my first multi-chapter Clato story, and it's based in the 74th Hunger Games (again, obviously). Reviews are greatly appreciated. ^_^