Clove watched as the recap started with District One. The first girl to be called was immediately replaced by a volunteer, a gorgeous blonde with a name as disgustingly artificial as her smile. She glanced over in revulsion at Cato and saw him leer appreciatively at the girl's figure. "Pig," she spat, punching him on the arm.
"Jealous, Clove?" he replied, not tearing his eyes away from the screen.
"Of what?" she retorted sharply. "The slut onscreen? Please. She can have as much attention as those clothes warrant. I'd just figured you to not go for the easy ones."
Cato smirked. "Definitely jealous," he stage-whispered to Brutus.
"I don't blame you, Cato," the Victor responded, grinning wolfishly in a way that made Clove's skin crawl. "She's pretty fit. She'd probably be a hellcat in-"
"Stop tormenting the girl, Brutus," Enobaria interrupted. "Look, the boy's volunteering." And he was, jogging up onto the stage amiably.
"He's an idiot," Clove decided. "Look at his blank face. You might have found some competition, Ludwig."
Cato considered, shrugged. "He's not hotter than me, that's for sure. Maybe the stupidity is an act."
Clove snorted. "Uh huh. Do we actually have to ally with these people?" She turned away from the screen to look over at Enobaria.
"Alliances have existed with One and Four for years," the woman answered as if repeating a memorized speech. There was disdain in the curl of her lip as she surveyed simpering Glimmer, dull Marvel. "You will be expected to make nice with their tributes for as long as it takes."
Clove mulled that over even as the screen switched to Two. She watched herself volunteer, seemingly indifferent to the whole thing, and turn cold onstage. "Not bad, Clove," Enobaria told her. "That'll certainly draw some discussion. Confidence is especially important when you're so small."
Cato swaggered onto the stage next, smirk blinding even through the screen. "Cato, a little easy on the confidence," Enobaria continued. "A bit of arrogance is good, expected, even, for Careers. Too much and you'll appear unlikeable." He scowled at that, and Clove snickered.
Both from Three were utterly forgettable, scrawny little things that were Reaped instead of volunteered. The two from Four made Clove sneer again. "They're pathetic," she complained. "Shouldn't their volunteers be more, I don't know, skilled?"
"The volunteers this year are certainly not up to par," Enobaria agreed. "But that only means you'll need to stand out even more to outshine your duller allies. Take care to not get lumped together with their mediocrity."
They watched a redhead take the stage in Five, cunning written all over her pale face. "She's dangerous," Cato decided. "Too smart. If we don't catch her early, she'll just sneak around the entire Games and maybe even win."
"Doesn't look very strong," Clove said dismissively. "When it comes down to it, we can take her out. I'm sure of it." They sat in a rather bored silence through a slough of dull tributes, none volunteers.
"Oh, that one's a cripple," Cato noticed when the boy from Ten slowly took the stage. "I almost feel sorry for him. He's doomed. If he somehow survives the bloodbath, he's still screwed."
A tiny girl, even smaller than Clove, alighted on the stage in Eleven. "Looks like you have competition for the scrawniest tribute here, Clove," Cato snorted. "She can't weigh more than eighty pounds."
Clove bristled, then laughed as a giant of a boy climbed beside the young girl. "Looks like you have competition for the bulkiest tribute here, Cato," she retorted, then considered. "Well, he looks like he might actually be intelligent. Wow, he's two-for-two on you."
Cato scowled beside her, nearly ready to snap back before Enobaria interrupted. "Recruit that boy. He'd be a good fit in the alliance. Goodness knows you need someone less chatty and more powerful to balance the both of you out." She fixed them with a cold stare.
"We might as well turn off the screen now," Clove sighed. "It won't even be worth watching the scrawny things from Twelve be hauled on stage." Brutus nodded and was about to turn off the screen when Enobaria lunged out, snatching the remote from his grasp.
"Watch, you idiots," she hissed. "Look at that girl." Clove bristled at the slight but turned to watch as yet another petite girl started to climb the stairs, only to be pulled back by a clearly frantic girl with dark hair.
"I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" she shouted with desperation, shoving the tribute behind her.
Cato glanced up at that. "A volunteer? In Twelve? There hasn't been one in what, how many years?"
Enobaria smiled grimly. "For long enough that it's something totally unexpected. Keep an eye on her- that one's trouble. No ordinary person would just save their sister like that if they didn't have an inkling they could survive."
"What about the boy?" Clove asked.
Enobaria glanced absentmindedly over the boy's build. "He's strong enough, but he was Reaped. Do whatever you like with him."
"Wake up, sweetie! Today's going to be a big day!" Clove winced at the piercing voice, painful even through the locked door as Lucretia called. The damned woman finally left, heels clicking on the wooden floors as she went no doubt to rudely awaken Cato.
Clove slipped out of the silky sheets and changed from one of the myriad impractical nightgowns into another jumpsuit, this one dark navy. She tugged her hair out of the bun she'd slept in and brushed it back into a sleek ponytail before tugging on a pair of working boots. It's very strange that they know my exact size, she reflected. Surely there isn't enough time from when I volunteered until I got on the train for them to find my size? Those thoughts left a chill down her spine, so she quickly exited the room.
The table was laden with a ridiculous amount of food. Cato smirked at her around a pastry when she sat next to him, eyes widened at the plate slipped in front of her. Brutus and Enobaria were already there, steadily working at their piles of eggs and bacon as Lucretia sipped from a mug a drink so sickly-sweet it wrinkled Clove's nose.
Clove began to wolf down her breakfast, the exquisitely rich food that soon made her too full to contemplate anything else. "Are we almost to the Capitol yet?" she asked, reluctantly setting down a half-eaten roll and taking a sip of her noxiously-sweet juice.
"Nearly." Enobaria lifted her head to look out the window. "In fact, I'd say we're almost there." Clove watched as the mountains drew closer and closer until their train became dark. The tunnel was long and pitch black as it whipped by, the train's dim light swallowed up.
And then there was blinding light again, and Clove and Cato rose and moved over to the windows, trying not to gape at the painful colors, the bizarre people with their painted skin and fanciful fashions. They were a toxic people, poison seeping into their blood and minds, and it showed.
People began to point at them, and Clove drew back at first, repulsed by their fervor. But Cato opened the window and started to wave, smirking when the people nearest to him tried to leap, hands outstretched hopelessly for his own. She slipped back to his side, noting the increased excitement among the Capitolites when she was back in view, and waved as well.
The train finally pulled into the station as Clove's arm was beginning to ache, and she let it drop gratefully. She left Cato to close the window and went back to her seat across from Enobaria, snatching another roll. Enobaria just sipped her tea and smiled.
Clove gritted her teeth and tried not to lash out at the blindingly bright prep team members poking around her, tearing off hairs in places she hadn't realized were so oversensitive to pain. Her skin was already raw, her nails filed into ovals. Try as she might to loathe the people, the epitome of excess and luxury and everything she'd been bred to hate, she couldn't. They were more plastic and dye than human.
They scurried away once they'd finished making her somewhat presentable, presumably off to fetch her stylist. He walked in a few minutes later, another grotesque face of purple dye in swirls against shocking yellow hair. She supposed the dye did cover up some of his wrinkles. He was Bac, Two's stylist for fifteen years, and renowned for his rather spectacular outfits.
Bac glanced up and down her body. If he was surprised to see how short Two's volunteer was, no emotion showed. "You'll work," he finally admitted. "We'll have to resize the costume, of course. You can lift weights, yes? It's heavy. But most from Two are strong."
Clove bristled beneath his gaze. "I volunteered for a reason. I can handle the costume."
"Ah, yes," he said in that ridiculous Capitol accent that grated on her ears. "I had forgotten. Come with me- I am sure you are hungry." He walked out without waiting for an answer and she stared in disgust at his footwear before remembering to follow.
A few hours later, she was dressed in a gladiator-inspired outfit, all heavy gold draped over her in sheets. Scales lined the front and the winged headpiece she wore, her hair braided straight down her back and studded with gold to catch the light. She scowled at her reflection in the mirror one of her prep team had lifted so she could see herself.
"Oh, don't do that, dear! We don't want the makeup to cake in your wrinkles!" Another of the prep team raced over and readjusted her makeup, and she tried to restrain another sneer, if only so she wouldn't choke on powder again.
Cato walked in then with his similarly over-the-top stylist, this one a woman with eyeshadow beyond her eyebrows. "Nice outfit, Clove. Are those heels?" he asked, smirking already. She noticed with annoyance that no one rushed over to fix his makeup.
"You look good with mascara, Ludwig. I really think it suits you. Do you wear it often?" she retorted.
"Just as often as they draw fake muscles on your arms," he answered, laughing when her scowl deepened. "Oh, was I right? Lucky guess, I suppose."
She flushed at that, but before she could spit something back, they were summoned to the base of the Remake Center. She eyed the other tributes with disdain- what was the purpose of the pink feathered headdress? why did anyone think silver discs around one's head would appeal to the audience?- before her eyes alighted on Twelve, standing away from all the rest and wearing full black.
"Still better than the year they were totally naked," Cato murmured in her ear, following her gaze.
She snorted. "I'll say. Were they trying to emphasize how deathly skinny their tributes were? That might be a fad in the Capitol, but no one wants to back a malnourished tribute." He chuckled even as their stylists led them to a chariot.
The chariot ride was far too long for Clove's taste, far too long to keep a fake smile pinned to her mouth. The corners of her lips were twitching with fatigue and disuse when they finally halted next to President Snow's mansion, but she forced herself to keep smiling while she listened to the President's dull address, as their chariot began to circle back to the Training Center. Only once they were enclosed did she let her smile drop.
"What the hell was that?" Cato hissed in her ear. "Did you see Twelve?" He swore quietly but viciously, watching them as they were extinguished by their stylists.
"Is that even legal?" she murmured back. "How did they manage to relate fire back to their District?"
"Coal burns, Clove," Enobaria told her as she strode up, Brutus in tow. "You'll just have to burn brighter. Do you think you can manage that?"
Clove glanced back at the boy, the dangerous, desperate girl, and nodded.