It was Selection Day, and Clove was nervous, trying not to pace, failing. I look like a fool, all flustered for a day I'm practically guaranteed to win. She glanced around at the other girls in the crowded hallway outside the Training Center, sizing up her competition for what felt like the hundredth time. Uniform builds, uniformly taller and stronger than Clove. Matching clothes, hair pulled back tightly. Strong and fast and tough and clever. But none were Clove.
Just as she drew strength from that thought, the doors to the Training Center opened and a group of people emerged. One of the head trainers stood at the front of the pack, and the nervous chatter abruptly ceased. No one dared rebel against a trainer, not since years ago when an example had been made.
"Good morning, hopeful tributes. Today will be a momentous day for all of you. Two of you will be selected to go forth and bring glory to our District. The rest?" He shrugged carelessly. "Condemned to a life of mediocrity. I'd say there's always next year, but if you fail this year, likely not." Clove shivered at the threat and watched the others eye one another fearfully.
"Enough with the pleasantries." Only this would pass for "pleasant" in Two, Clove reflected. "These are your evaluators for the day, the illustrious Victors of District Two." This was the point at which another group of people might have clapped, but Two disdained such idle motion as wasteful and unnecessary when it could be better spent observing who had just been introduced.
And observe she did. She knew all of the faces by sight, of course. But it was one thing to see them thirty years younger and smeared with blood than contemptuous, scowling, bored. Most of them had managed to attain an extraordinary level of fitness. There was Lyme, looking annoyed with the whole process, and probably taller than Cato with dense muscling. And Brutus, even more muscular, sneering as the trainees closest to him scattered. And Enobaria, cold and graceful, watching Clove with measured eyes.
Clove tilted her head slightly and met the other woman's gaze, noting the inlaid gold in her filed teeth when she grinned sharply. Enobaria was famous for her viciousness, her utter lack of moral boundaries in the Games. She'd ripped her competition's throat out with her teeth because it was necessary, but she'd taken pleasure from the act, too. She was by far Clove's favorite of all the Victors. She'd watched the recap of her Games so frequently she could've acted it out.
She broke eye contact as the head trainer held up a hand and began to speak again, effectively silencing the buzz of chatter that had started up as trainees gushed over seeing their idols in person. "The evaluators will walk around the Training Center and observe as you rotate through the stations. They are looking for strength, skill, intelligence, and, above all, viciousness. The District wants a Victor this year. Do not disappoint." With that, the Victors turned and entered the Training Center. Clove saw them space themselves out as the door shut behind them.
"Rotations will be in groups of threes, same gender if possible. You will each spend fifteen minutes at a station before you move to the next." The head trainer began to point out trainees. "You three, you're starting at spears. You three, ropes." Clove tuned him out and began to control her breathing, to steady it for optimal efficiency until he pointed at her. "Wrestling." The corner of her mouth tightened in annoyance, but she didn't argue, just headed out of the room with the rest of her group.
Cato caught up to her once the door closed behind them, turning her around with a yank to her ponytail that made her snarl. "Wrestling, huh? I'd wish you luck, but it sounds like I won't be seeing you after today, pet." He was all careless arrogance, clearly not too concerned with besting the two scrawny boys in his group. Clove again wondered just how some of these people reached the upper ranks.
Clove smiled at him, the kind of innocent beam she'd used the first time she'd met him, and he was right to be wary of it. "That's so kind of you, Ludwig. But I'm certain you'll see me when I'm chosen to volunteer." Her eyes rested on some of his competition, silently working at their stations and looking pretty darn good. "Then again, maybe not."
She left him fuming and met up with her group at the wrestling arena. The trainer pitted them against one another- Clove and the first and then Clove and the second and then the first and second, and she stifled a groan. Wrestling was easily her worst station when she trained with Cato- he was at least twice her size and so skilled it was almost unfair. She'd never won a match fairly against him, unless "fair" included the time she kicked him in the groin and he keeled over and she didn't lay a hand on him. She counted it anyway.
But to her shock, wrestling these forgettable girls was easy. They might have had fifty pounds of muscle on her, but they were slower and not as quick a thinker as Cato. Clove had learned to be scrappy during the month or so she'd trained with Cato, and now she watched as the derision slid from their too-pretty faces to be replaced with horror as she flipped one off their feet and pinned her down, wrapped her legs around the other's neck in a move that was dubiously legal in any situation other than the Hunger Games.
Perhaps I owe more to Cato than I thought.
In the extra time after the spears station (she'd done exceedingly well on them again, easily besting the other trainees who were now pale and resigned with the knowledge that they had lost their chance to volunteer), Clove rested on the sidelines with a bottle of water. She felt eyes on her back and turned to see Enobaria, cold and calculating, a clipboard in hand. A smile curved across the other woman's lips as she scribbled something down and turned to talk to Brutus.
Clove shivered even as the bell rang, signaling a shift in the stations. She dutifully rose with her group and walked on to the next station. Knives, finally. She felt something feral cross her lips. These poor fools. If they thought her success in the other stations was just a fluke, they'd be in for a rude awakening. She could practically see Cato smirking as she placed the first knife in her hand, holding it reverently. One of the girls cursed.
And they were well and truly done for as Clove played with her knives, sending them soaring towards moving targets and barely seeming to move her arm as they left her fingertips. They were all the beauty and grace she wasn't, and she loved them. The trainer, seeing how easily she demolished her targets (bullseyes were too easy. no, Clove drew a 'C' with the hilts and smiled), started to throw objects in the air, first large fluffy pillows and then smaller things, slices of an apple and plastic bags of water and her knives skewered them all and brought them to the ground.
By the time the last object fell, a pouch of water pierced perfectly through the center, the Training Center was silent. The metal of the knife rang out as it rebounded against the floor, the sound unnaturally loud in the room that was for once so silent. Clove turned slowly around to see a sea of unblinking eyes, full of jealousy and loathing and quiet interest.
She felt herself start to flush at the attention, fidgeting uncomfortably beneath their stares, until she caught Cato's eye. He was leaning up against the wrestling arena she'd been in an hour earlier and smirking, obviously relishing in her discomfort. Clove thought of Cato's stupid grin carved red and had to suppress a smile of her own. Oh, I'll kill him later, she promised herself even as the bell startled everyone back to the trudge of showcasing their talents.
"Results should be back in a week or so, I've heard," Cato told her as they walked back along the main road. Clove had tried to escape from his company by speeding up, slowing down, darting down side roads, but each time he'd keep pace with her until she'd finally given up. "Not that it really matters for either of us. I did fine on the knives and saw some of the other boys royally screw up after they saw you and, well, you certainly commanded attention."
Clove flushed again. "I can't believe those idiots just stopped working to watch me," she muttered under her breath. "Obviously they're not going to be chosen based on how well they can ogle me."
Cato shrugged. "It was the first time any of them had ever seen you throw a knife. Don't tell me you haven't been hiding your talents for the past month; you haven't gone over to that station once. If you hadn't done so poorly at wrestling, I might have been impressed too."
Clove reeled at the combined insult and compliment, not sure which to focus on. It was easier to be affronted. "What do you mean, 'poorly'? I beat those two girls easily!"
"That was a mediocre showing. Just because you beat weaklings doesn't make you strong," Cato explained slowly, patronizingly.
She tilted her head up to glare at him. "I did better than all those other girls and you damn well know it, Cato," she hissed. "The only station I flubbed was archery and let's face it, shooting a bow and arrow is totally useless in the Games. I don't need to be good at it when I'm great with knives."
Cato smirked. "We'll see how the Victors feel about that. Enobaria especially was staring at you, and not in the 'you have so much potential' way. She looked like she was an animal and you her prey."
"She is an animal," Clove murmured, so softly Cato could barely hear. "She's cold and vicious and cruel and has absolutely no regard for human life." She paused. "But I hear she's up to be a mentor this year, so hopefully she'll be as good of a teacher as she is a fighter."
Cato shook his head. "You're sure you don't have some mental disorder? Have you been checked out?" Clove sighed but retaliated, and from there the conversation degenerated into comparisons of one another's features and the nastiest things found in nature.