Date: October 19th
Date: October 26th
I could hear the fuss of Florus, my fathers' stylist who always seemed to smell of Jasmine and Lavender. I wasn't surprised how clearly I could hear her shrill voice echo through our home, she had always had a…"talent," of a voice that carries. She was obviously upset about my fathers' inability to upkeep any sort of cleanliness, state of sobriety, or common knowledge of looking presentable as a victor. In his mind, he had done his work, and he was done.
Through the house, the only noise to be heard was the clanging of odd Capitol gear, and my fathers' hung over hands knocking over a vase while being unaware of his surrounding, met by a groan by someone of Florus' team. I needed to get out of the house. It was loud, more so than before. And the camera crews would be hear in the next week to shoot footage of the Victors for some Pre-Hunger Games excitement. They would ask how they think the possible tributes would lineup this year, how the chances looked for a victor. They would bother families of the Victors, asking for the latest and greatest gossip on the who's who in the victor circle, an interview that I had managed to miss for my entire life.
I changed quickly, noting that my entire closet had been replaced with more capitol brand clothing, so I chose a training uniform that I hid under my bed along with a pair of newer training boots that made a small squeak as I ran down the stairs to be greeted with a scream of horror from a tall, thin woman named Eden. A women who looks to be in her 20's, but is probably somewhere in her 50s, whose skin had a tint of blue and with hair of a dark purple that always stayed tied up in a tight bun. "Clover!" She shrieked, dropping the pair of scissors she was using. "Your clothing! Haven't you seen your new wardrobe!"? The rest of the team looked over my clothing, some gasped, the others with a look of horror. Florus looked at me, he light eyes flicking over my eyes with shadows of disappointment, by her look, I knew that she saw the slight remainder of a gray bruise around my eye, thinking about how to cover it.
"I'm going to go out for a little bit, I'll be back later," I promised my mother, not giving my father the time of day. The room looked back at me, still deadly silent after Eden had screeched in the name of fashion, but as I shut the door behind me, I could hear my dad slur a request for a drink, and the team start to make him, and our home look lovely again.
Outside, the day seemed more peaceful. I grab a hallowed rock from the bushes, tucking a knife that lay inside in a pocket that hid in the lining of my boot before looking back up. A lone man swept the empty streets of the expanding victors circle, the only noise heard around us was the sound of stylists running in and out of the house, grabbing something they may have left lying around, this was the only time in the year that the birds weren't chirping. It was nice weather for October, at least comparing to last week when the entire District had been hammered with rain, hail, and lightning, a couple houses catching on fire after being struck, none from the victor's circle.
I could hear the heel of my boot make a soft click against the ground as I made my way towards the pond in the trees. It was ghostly, a noise against a white wall of silence that rose as I entered the Square of District 2, where I will come in a week for the reaping. It's a slow business day. Shop keepers mill around their stores, tidying up and keeping dust from settling. Men are in the mines, and children are at home or in training, and any squeals of excitement have been blocked out as I tune away from the sound of the district, and into the safety of my own mind, a place where no one can hurt me, a place away from the games.
I shouldn't be surprised that he's next to the pond, sitting next to the rock where I usually am, he had sat there every day after the HG night simulation, only going into training after the sun went down, when everyone had left. Cato was silent, as if he were thinking deeply. I had seen him here every day, yet never approached. Had he been waiting for me? Or was he trying to get away from the district without escaping the district limits? Either way, I left the thicket of trees and sat down across from him, not saying a word, merely taking off my shoes and dipping my feet into the warm water, heated by the furnace of a mine that lay below it.
He throws a rock into the pond at an angle, which makes it skid across the surface in small jumps before it drops to the bottom with a soft splash, breaking the silence we had created.
Cato is calm as he looks up to me. He looks innocent, not like the killer he has been raised to be. "You're here." He points out with a small smirk, receiving a small nod from myself, confirming it. I look down painting words into the wet mud at our feet. "Are you nervous?" He asks, standing up and walking over to me, sliding onto a rock next to where I am.
I shrug, aren't we all nervous, no matter how many times the victors have come from district 2, we are always shaking in our shoes about reaping day. I'm 16, Cato's 17, his name is in there 12 times, due to him needing a couple tesseraes for his family, mine in there a mere 5 times. Even with that man slips of paper, we are among the child population of 3,000 that live in district two, and of that many, we have a select group that can volunteer for other, less experienced kids if we care to, though if any of us that participated in the overnight get chosen, there is no volunteering.
He nods, I think about asking him the same, but I already know. He's not scared of everything; he could stay strong with a strong glare when faced against a whip in the square with a death sentence. His life style threatens that consequence. He has stolen food before when his family was going through a rough time. He's the poor boy with something to life for, but the one that everyone is scared of. His strength, his mind, his sadistic personality, it intimidates the others. Cato's the bravest person I know, and it allows me to lean against his shoulder in comfort.
Cato's POV
I've waited here for her for the past few weeks. Maybe I just wanted to see her and be with her after the simulation, or maybe it was my realization of how I felt about her. No, I couldn't. I can't be in love with her, but I can't love anyone. I have to be a killer, ruthless; love will make one weaken at the knees, easily broken. I can't love anyone, but as she lays her hear back on me, I feel her muscles relax, he soft hair dropping across my chest, her frame so small compared to mine. I know that I can't live without her.
I chuckle at her bravery, she would never directly admit that she's afraid of what will happen at the reaping, not Clove. The small girl that I know is too head strong, to sure and determined to make her father proud to ever show a sign of breaking. The only time I saw her ever remotely upset or showing weakness was during the 68th games when her cousin died in the games. He was 17 when it happened, and she would never speak of it.
"You could win," she says with a smirk, "You're strong and fast, and if you get your hands on a sword nothing could stop you." I chuckle in return, "Not if they have a bow and arrow." I remind her quickly, leaning back on a tree that sits behind us. "Any ways, you never know what the capitol will think of next, game makers favor some over others, and they can make sure that some win." I shrug, no matter how much we put into training for the game, as soon as you hit the arena floor, there are not rules, and the capitol likes a good show.
"You would get sponsors," she says confidently, looking ahead on herself as I scoff to myself, "What?" she questions as I begin to protest against it with a smile. "You would be part of the careers, you're strong, you'd get a high training score, an idiot wouldn't sponsor you." She tells me defensively, though is able to shrug it off. "Just forget it, let's hope neither of us have to go in." she says with a nod, but I know that one of us will have to, I can feel in coursing through my veins, one of us will be in the hunger games.
"How's your house been?" I ask her, obviously trying the change the topic, but knowing she would want to rant about what the stylists are doing know. I wouldn't know what it's like in her spot, the only home I've ever know has been in a small home is a poor part of the district, ironically called "The Platinum Belt" because of the bounty of minerals dug up there in the dark days. I think I was happier than Clove in some way; she lived unhappily in luxury, while I lived in a loving, supportive environment in poverty.
"Florus is insane, and her followers have had way to much hair die seep into their skulls, I swear, those people know about as much as a rock…accumulatively." She huffs, her hand tightening around a clump of grass that she had ripped up from the ground. "I swear, if any one of those people tell me about my wardrobe, I am going to kill one of them, it will be good practice." She hisses through her teeth, taking deep breaths as the dirt crumbles out of her hand.
I chuckle in response, "They'll be gone in a week." Though I know it's no comfort, they'll be back next year, and the year after that, and every single year that follows. Even after Clove's father passes, they will come back to interview the family, pay their grievances. Most girls would love this life style, but not Clove, the attention, the fashion; it's too much for her.
I hear her breath deeply and watch as she closes her eyes, would she ever fall for me? All I could ever do was make people fear me. They tell us in training that we will bring honor to the district, but we are nothing more than pawns in the capitol's game. They manipulate us into murderers, and for what? The glory of having killed children, people that were like you. We succumb to the games in district two, hunting people off like a sport, and we enjoy it.
"Would you ever volunteer?" she asks me, opening one eye and looking up at me as I shrug. "Maybe, it depends who is chosen." I lie. If I'm not chosen this year, I'm going to go into the games next year. I want to. It's sadistic, I know. But I want to give my family the money and a good home, and I could live next to Clove, and we would live a good life.
But those dreams are impossible, aren't most dreams that way. Something that could never happen, in Panem, people don't live happily ever after, they can die in sorrow and poverty, while the victors die drunk in bad memories, and Capitol citizens live in joy watching our neighbors children die.
"CLOVE!" I hear a capitol accent screech, causing Clove's head to shoot up, now alert of her surroundings. "YOU NEED TO BE FITTED FOR REAPING!" the same voice shouts, obviously no sure where we are, even if she is out in this area.
"Ambrosia…" she whispers before looking back up at me, "I have to go," she responds, standing up and screaming, "COMING!" She quickly brushes the dirt off her clothing before beginning to run into the trees towards the square, but she looks back before disappearing, "See you at the reaping."
Sorry it took so long to get the next chapter up, I'll try to make it a nightly thing at this point. The next chapter is the reaping! Thanks for sticking around while I was in DC
