Icarus locks his light blue eyes on me. I avert his gaze, determined to not let my interest show. Who is this man? Why is he replacing Dacia? I sniff. This man is nothing special, on the inside anyway. Dacia was pretty messed up, but this man has wings -WINGS- sprouting out of his back.

He continues to stare at me and I continue to pretend he isn't there. He shouldn't be. The chirpy woman with the funny wardrobe should. I always assumed the Capitol citizens had problems, but rehabilitation? That is plain ridiculous. I sneak a glance at Cato, who is just as alarmed as I am. He mouths to me, What is going on?

I shake my head. How I wish I knew. Before long, Enobaria is yanking me out of my chair. I fall hard on the ground. Suddenly, I'm back home, being launched in the air, only to hit the stone floor. My grandmother towers over me. She opens her crinkly mouth and screams, "You rat! Get up! Get up!"

I cover my ears, my resolve to appear on top of it all is long gone. Squeezing my eyes shut, I feel someone grab me by the shoulders and shake me. It is not my grandmother's harsh clutch, it's gentler but still firm.

Opening my eyes to see Brutus freaks me out, I'll admit that much. His eyes are surprised and alert, ready to respond to anything sent his way. "It's her grandmother. She abused Clove," I hear Cato say. How dare he! Expose such a weakness to my mentors, who up until now actually thought I could win? He is really going to get it now. Baring my teeth in a scowl, I lunge at Cato.

I actually bowl him over and scratch his face several times before Enobaria tears us apart. She looks a bit dazed. Her grip loosens as Cato begins to bleed profusely and I wriggle free. Cato glares at me and I return the favor. I growl, "I told you to respect me, Thomson. These are the consequences."

To be honest, I expect the Capitol attendants to come and take me away like they did with Dacia. But they don't and I am grateful. Brutus puts a heavy hand on my shoulder. He looks at me, his gaze a mix of awe and disapproval. He tells me, "You should get to training."


I am the first to get to the basement. I find a wall clock that tells me it is fifteen after eight. Spellbound, I make my way to the wall on the right side. On it are hundreds of knives. My hand automatically picks the smallest one. I have barely curled my fingers around it when a voice alarms me. I turn on my heel, knife in hand.

A woman, middle-aged with perfectly sculpted muscles hidden under her jumpsuit, makes her way towards me. Her strides are long and firm and it does not take long for her to end up face-to-face with me; or, shall I say, face to chest. She is tall, like, as tall as some of the buildings here and I am again reminded of how small I am compared to these other competitors.

But this woman is no tribute. She has been trained to battle much longer than any of my fellow Careers. "Who are you?" I ask, my words more hostile than I planned them to be, but I don't mind. It makes me seem like more of a threat.

She laughs. Not a cold one, but a normal laugh. A laugh you would hear from the tongue of someone who is happy. Amused. This irritates me. I am by no means something to be made fun of, but a force to be reckoned with. "Put the knife down," she instructs me, still stifling a chuckle. "I'm not going to attack you. My name's Atala. I'm the instructor here at the Training Center."

Oh. That makes a lot more sense. Embarrassed, I hang the knife back up on the wall. "Clove," I tell her, keeping the sharp edge to my voice. To my annoyance, she giggles again.

"We've got a fighter? I'll keep an eye out for you. Just stay away from the knives until everyone else it here." With great effort, I follow this instruction for one and a half hours.

By 9:45, all the tributes have filtered, weary and blurry-eyed, into the Training Center. All but, I notice, Katniss and her counterpart, Pumpernickel? I haven't bothered to remember his name. Again, Atala warns us that practicing is forbidden until ten o'clock.

I strut over to Marvel, who is drooling over Glimmer, who is flirting with Cato. I am forced to swallow my bile. Glimmer flips her hair, which, to her satisfaction, catches the little light in the room and shimmers brightly. This turns the head of half the boys in the room, even the Gamemakers. I hear one whistle to her and others tell her how gorgeous she is and that they'd do anything for her if she weren't condemned to death. Those last words I enjoy. At least everyone realizes she doesn't stand a chance.

The Gamemaker's amused cheers are interrupted by the opening of doors. Katniss and Panloaf have arrived. Atala acknowledges their presence by explaining to us the rules in training: No attempts of escaping, no fighting with other tributes, and a load of other blather I can't remember. The lecture drags out for what seems like forever and I am relieved when they allow us to disperse.

Like a child, I sprint to the Knife-Throwing Station, District 4 girl, whose name I believe is Andrea, and Glimmer close behind. I come alive, taking blade after blade and flinging them at the targets. I pretend they are my adversaries. Eat knives, Glimmer! Say hello to my parents for me, Pitabread! Die, Katniss! I know, my obsession with murder is psychotic, but in my position, psychotic is as good as it gets.

I have seven blades lodged in the forehead of the dummy I dub "Marvel" when I realize I have used all the knives. I have to wait thirty minutes until I can use them again. Furious, I stomp over to the Fire-Making Station, Andrea in tow. I plunge onto the bench and injure my tailbone on the hard wood. Spewing curses, I take some string and kindling and rub it together. Brow furrowed, I concentrate on my work. Eventually, I use a sharp rock to make stakes out of the kindling. Katniss sits down next to Andrea and has a fire going in a matter of seconds.

My mouth drops open. Not again! I fumble with my pile of stakes and chuck one at the wall. It flies by Katniss' head, just as I plan, since I only want to spook her. She stares at me, eyes wide, before shaking her head as if to clear it. Then she ducks back down to do her work. Of course it didn't spook her.

I grow desperate. I mix a Capitol sink cleanser and two gallons of gasoline in a bucket, then throw a match in. BOOM! The noise echoes around the room and all eyes fall on me. I smirk, pleased with myself, until I feel something creeping up my arm. Oh my god. The fire has spread to my sleeves. I scream, louder than I have ever screamed before.

I grab hold of a second bucket, which is thankfully filled with water. I soak my sleeves in it, sighing.

But suddenly, I realize where I am. I turn. Everyone, everyone is staring at me. I've made a fool of myself in front of the Gamemakers.


AN: So, an extra-long chapter! It was a bit of a filler, yes, and I have to say I'm still not very happy with it :/ Hopefully, you won't all hate me for this lower-than-the-standard chapter, but, hey, I got it up. It's basically supposed to add to the fact that Clove is human, therefore, she has flaws. R&R, please!

~~~Flare