It is curious that physical courage should be so common in the world and moral courage so rare.
- Mark Twain
Recap / Clove was placed on bed rest following the boy's assault, meeting her assailant in the form of fourteen-year-old Ellery Watson, the sister of a girl Clove had injured. Clove decided to end her friendship with Cato, helpfully informing him her father was a military interrogator that could come after him. This spurned great interest in Felix, who decided he would try to recruit her for the 75th Hunger Games. Meanwhile, Mars introduced Cato to a first year who had been looking for him. Disregarding pleasantries, she immediately stomped on his wrist and then returned to class, but not before revealing to Mars that her name was Magnilda Holloway.
October, Hunger Games Year 68
In the months following the boys' Ellery Watson-inspired attack, Clove's wrist still ached. She tried not to think about the amount of time she'd lost in her training regimen as a result of the setback, but she didn't have much more time to spare before things became unrecoverable.
So on this day in particular, she sat in place sifting through the sand below her. Here and there she'd take a particularly impressive rock and add it to the plastic sandwich bag she'd kept from her lunch. After amassing enough rocks for her collection, she hoisted herself into a tree with one arm, and scaled up about ten feet. Once she found an acceptable resting spot she made herself comfortable against the tree trunk.
As she nestled comfortably into place, the perfect victim made its way into her line of sight. "Rusty yet, Clove?" she asked herself. She concentrated on the chirping bird below and closed her eyes to enhance her focus. When she reopened her eyes, she took a deep breath and shot one of the rocks at the creature.
The bird fanned its wings and made an agonized sound in response. "How many hits before you say die?" she murmured to herself, watching it struggle to fully spread its wings. The bird lost a few feathers as it faltered from its assault. Blood seeped from the apex of its back onto the concrete. She watched it with great fascination, counting five strikes before it succumbed to its wounds.
Before Clove had an opportunity to hop down and examine her victim, a group of younger boys from the Annex filed through the exit and crowded the bird. "Cool!" a handful of them said in sync, watching the bird writhe in pain. One of them, no older than seven or eight, promptly stomped on the bird and snapped its neck. This only further bloodied the pavement below their feet.
"Oh, what a rip off! It didn't even make a noise."
"We could find more! There's lots of pigeons behind School #76!" another of the boys suggested.
The group grew in their excitement and scurried off together.
As Clove pondered to herself how she planned to make up for the strenuous physical training she'd missed in the last several months, she spotted a familiar face. His carefree demeanor drew her ire almost immediately. She conserved and redirected that energy, wondering to herself how good her aim truly was against a creature with better reflexes than a small bird.
She retrieved a rock from her bag, closed her eyes in attempt to center her energy, and then flung the rock directly into the back of Cato Elroy's neck.
He spun around, spewing a few nasty words, and threw himself against the tree when he saw her looking down at him contemptuously.
"What the hell was that for?" he demanded with a snarl, kicking the base of the tree a few times.
"You know what for," she responded, coolly. Clove contemplated throwing a second rock at him for the expression of disbelief he held in response.
"Are you crazy?" he asked, his mouth gaping open.
Clove turned away from him and looked into expanse of the city before them. There was a path of seemingly endless stores and building, and in a contrasting direction, a road leading back to rural School #76.
"I said I was sorry months ago! What else do want?" Cato asked, crossing his arms, and sulking.
"I want you to leave me alone."
"You're the one who threw a rock at me!" he snapped in return, seemingly appraising the tree as if to determine whether he'd come after her. She bid him good luck in that venture.
"You're not the one with a broken wrist. I'm on medical leave because of you!"
He jumped out of the way as she emptied her bag of rocks onto the ground below. They cascaded against the grass with a clunk. Cato rolled his eyes, "You're joking, right? Get over yourself already!"
"Excuse me?" she demanded, revving up for a fight she couldn't possibly win.
"Clove, come on," Cato said, imploring her to be reasonable. "I'm not allowed to eat. Mars doesn't even talk to me anymore now that he's in candidacy training and training just keeps getting harder. So what? We deal with what we have to, because that's just how it works."
"Your parents hurt you," she added matter-of-factly. "You forgot that one, too."
Cato was taken aback by the comment. His vulnerability slipped through, and so he said, very openly, "I'm used to people I trust hurting me. I just didn't think you'd have to be one of them, and I know that's not fair, because I hurt you first, but-"
Clove jumped to ground, "Paxton Watson said I had no friends."
"Yeah, so what? She says stuff like that all the time," He inquired, tiredly.
"But I had you, right? You said we were supposed to be friends," She asked finally, her eyes brimmed with tears. "So, why'd you do it, Cato?"
"I don't know… I guess everyone else's opinions mattered to me more than my own, but I'm really trying to be stronger now, I mean it. "
Her resolve softened at the sincerity in his voice.
"Hey, Clovey, let's make a truce." He gingerly grabbed her hand, "No more throwing rocks and no more breaking wrists."
"You have a lot of rules, Cato Elroy."
Cato laughed gently, and after some reluctance, wrapped his arms around her, and said quietly against her hair, "You're going to be the death of me someday, I know it."
Hunger Games Year 69
The pocket of darkness was an act of kindness. He snuggled within his blankets, pulling the book to his chest and then putting it aside a moment later. With a resigned expression, he lost his sense of time, knowing it dwindled with every breath. Eventually, the day would come and he would have his first of many opportunities to get one step closer to the intangible, to honor and bravery.
Less than eight weeks were left. Soon, he'd be eligible to test for the next bracket of his training.
Before he could fully immerse himself in his blanket, a knock came, and light poured into the creak of his door. "Come in," he said, softly.
His brother neared and then he heard the click of the lamp. Mars sat on the edge of his bed. While always muscular, his mass had certainly increased in the past year. It was almost as if he was a new person, less refined, but rougher, harsher, brutal even.
"Hi," Cato said, quietly.
"Hi," Mars replied.
Cato looked up to his brother with curious eyes.
"I was thinking after you finish your first year as potential tribute that we could visit Two South," Mars said, his voice reluctant and throaty.
Cato frowned at the injuries he glimpsed over on his brother. Yes, the hand-to-hand piece was important, but as it was as if his wounds spoke for him. Decision-making was where he derived the majority of his strength, or at least, it was supposed to be, so Cato couldn't imagine what purposes the wounds were supposed to serve.
"Cato?"
"What, sorry?"
"What do you think of a trip to Two South?" Mars asked, now rigid.
"Yeah, I want to go!" Cato said, springing to his feet. Then, remembering his place, he returned to his bed and stilled. "but, why?"
"You're still interested in cowboys and all of that nonsense, aren't you?" Mars supplied stiffly, remaining uncomfortable.
He was, but since when had that mattered? There had to be a catch of some sort. Mars was clever, calculating, because if he'd been gifted his brother's stipend, he's sure it would have been put towards food and an industrial lock to secure it. Then again, Mars' didn't operate in the same way he did. Age and experience had gifted him more freedom and better allies, Ryden, his boyfriend, who doted on him and ensured he was well-fed.
Cato pursed his lips together in thought and suggested, "We should go somewhere you want."
Mars sighed at that response, apparently discouraged. "I offered, because I want you to be happy, Cato."
"It's just-" Cato paused, thinking carefully, "If I fail my exam, I won't be allowed back. I'll lose everything."
Mars had the diplomacy to appear surprised at such a revelation. "You're one of the best students in your cohort for specialty sword training. That already puts you at an advantage. You won't miss your target just because your test subject is a moving object, kiddo. It's not that bad. Promise."
Cato remained quiet. Anything he could say would be construed as weakness. Instead, he just nodded his head and averted his eyes. "I heard in Two East that they dig holes into the ground and pave them with concrete and when they're done they add water. We should go there, too."
"You're afraid of killing," His brother realized. "That's what this is."
"I never said that!" Cato barked in reply to the accusation, backing away from his brother and closer to the wall his bed leaned against. He shot Mars a dirty glare and pulled his knees forward, "I never said that." he repeated, softer.
Mars shook his head, failing to hide his revulsion. "You're going to have to overcome your weaknesses fast, Cato, but in the mean time, I don't know - just break their neck. Make it quick if you have to, but failure is not an option."
"I know that. It's not like I have a choice, Mars!"
"Just because I gift you forgiveness does not mean you should expect it of others. Remember that when you're running your mouth," Mars said, coolly.
As his brother made his exit, Cato sunk back into the sheets and contemplated what laid in the distance, miles away from Panem and found his mind drew a blank.
May, Year 69.
Cato stalked through the entrance of the Annex with deliberate movement. He halted once he found his bounty and amicably greeting the duo. Clove turned away, contemptuous, but Magnilda proudly supplied him with the biggest smile he'd ever seen. The contrast suited them even if it did make him want to laugh.
"Hey, Nelle," he responded softly, patting her on the head for a brief moment. Magnilda continued to beam at him sweetly. He smiled back at her, before turning directly to Clove.
"Why do all of you dumb boys have to spoil her with the pet names?"
Cato appreciated that Clove of all people was making the statement. She had a half-dozen nicknames on the tip of her tongue at all times. His response was a simple half-smirk to which she shook her head in frustration.
"My instructors said I could come watch you get promoted to potential tribute," Magnilda told him, enthusiastically. Her pigtails bobbed in excitement as she stood on her tiptoes to gather his attention. Each tail was adorned with a loose turquoise ribbon, setting him off.
"Don't," he combated a moment later, icy, as he retracted his arm from her grasp.
"But-" Magnilda launched herself towards him again in desperation.
"Get lost," Clove commanded her sister immediately, turning back to them. She pushed the petite first year away from them and Magnilda huffed indignantly, storming away. Yep. She was definitely Clove's sister.
"You gonna keep your promise?" Cato asked, sounding a bit unsettled. She nodded, but gave him an inquisitive stare in response. The pair began walking towards one of the classrooms, passing several students in the hallway of varying ages along their route. They even ignored a glare from Paxton Watson as they passed her as well. Paxton was surrounded by a number of familiar faces, including the second and third ranked in his cohort, and a number of students in the cohort she and Clove shared.
"I never thought you'd be asking me for tips, you know." She remarked, offering him some of her grapes.
He accepted a small handful with a breath of relief, opening the door to find a group of third years, who he immediately ordered out of the room. He didn't even count a second and they were gone.
Clove set up as Cato rummaged through his bag. She gave a test throw and unsurprisingly the knife hit its mark dead center. Cato whistled appreciatively, "That's why I asked for your help."
Clove guided him to the marker and stepped behind him, guiding his arm in the same pattern she'd just used. Then Clove made a throwing movement and he followed suit. His precision was off-center, but better than he'd ever thrown before. Though, by Clove's concerned expression, it wasn't quite good enough. Cato scowled, grabbing another knife, getting a feel for it. It was less ethereal than a sword, less powerful, less critical. In Clove's hands, though, it was anything but.
So, he threw again. This time it was closer to the center than his previous attempt.
Clove stepped away to observe his technique, calculating. Cato threw another knife, this time nearly perfect. He didn't miss the way her eyes dilated in surprise. He made ten or so more attempts. Many of his throws fell into the other rings. The rest were close, but not precise. Close, but not enough. Clove made minor corrections to his posture and throwing technique, but despite these efforts he hardly improved.
After an hour, Cato was clearly worn but refused to give up.
He took a breath and reminded himself; He would prove himself. His efforts would not be in vain. His heart beat for Panem and because of Panem. For his country gave twenty-four very fortunate youth the opportunity to attain the highest glory and to share that glory with others for the duration of the rest of their life. The Capitol would not go unappreciated for their generosity and he would play a key into returning Two to its greatest honor.
Another throw followed this affirmation. Clove turned to him with an expression of disbelief in her eyes. She threw herself onto him, causing them to topple onto the mat.
"Impressive work," she said softly into his chest. He hesitated for only a moment, before moving a hand through her hair. They both were acutely aware that it was possible he might not be able to replicate the precision again, but it was a start. He began shaking, so Clove grabbed his left hand with her right and gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze.
"They won't know what hit them."
His tears hit the mat. He didn't dare meet her eyes.
A handful of older students lined their cohort in order of birth date; Felix was at the head of the line, with Nero somewhere within the first ten. Cato counted the gap between himself and Dicey to be six, with Cato at the heel, naturally. The girls were in a separate, but parallel line to them. One girl searched his eyes for comfort, but he quickly turned away. She would surely fail this exam and he did not want to have to answer to her tears when that happened.
He envied Felix for being fortunate enough to go first. He'd be stuck with the turmoil in his stomach for hours to come, while Felix would get to enjoy the show. It was a shitty hand to be dealt, he thought.
Four peacekeepers stood guard by the back entrance.
The first criminal was guided to the center of the room. The man was fairly young. So much so, that if he had trained, it was likely that he had only graduated within the last five years. He was unshaven, contempt blaring in his eyes. Felix stepped forward. His eyes were deprived of any fleeting thought or feeling, the usual fire suppressed. To the right of him was the holding rack, with a large variety of weapons before him.
Some of the items had been regular fixtures of the past year. Others they'd never feasted their eyes on before this moment. It was alluring, and Cato fixated on the array of options available to Felix.
Felix examined the weapons very carefully. Finally, he selected a war hammer, grasping the feel of it. "This will do," he informed the lead peacekeeper.
"Elias Kellog, age 24: Convicted of falsifying reaping documents."
Felix's face remained impassive as one of their instructors called out, "Felix Grey, born July 3rd, 56. Reaping eligible."
"Begin," confirmed the other instructor as she started a blue and white stopwatch.
The cohort watched in anticipation as Felix took his first steps closer to the man. His face lit up with a smirk.
Felix lunged forward, striking his victim in the abdomen. The prisoner immediately became winded, holding his stomach, desperately gasping for air. Felix glared at the man before him, and spit, "pitiful" before slamming the hammer against the man's left knee. Immediately, the knee came out of place and a few of the students grit their teeth, but none closed their eyes.
He swung the hammer to his other arm, turning his stance to one of a baseball player, and aimed for the prisoner's shoulder next. A sickening crack followed the impact and the prisoner cried out desperately in pain. Felix followed up again, hitting towards his other knee.
"I've heard of people like you. Trying to remove children from the reaping bowl. How despicable you must be to try and deprive them of their chance for glory."
With an expression that unsettled even the strongest among them, Felix leaped upwards, wielding the hammer, then brought it down directly over Elias Kellog's head. The impact viciously fractured the man's skull, breaking it into several pieces that launched outwards, splattering blood everywhere. "You'll never be able to repay the price for the acts you've committed."
Felix seethed, taking a haggard breath with the refractory blood on his face, appearing nearly rabid as an instructor commented with great regard. "We truly look forward to your future, Grey."
The other instructor added, "You may sit there and observe your classmates. Very good work, boy."
Felix nodded his thanks, breaking the stupor by blinking and steadying his breathing. He seemed to make eye contact with Nero, who must have give him a reassuring look, because Felix's breathing de-escalated. He sat to the left of his cohort mates. Cato noticed him still shaking, trying to regulate himself, and wondered what he could be thinking.
The peacekeepers brought other prisoners to collect the bodies after each examination. Soon enough, Cato was focused in on Nero, who looked impassive. Nero studied the middle-aged man before him and selected a long war scythe.
"Slay Alcott, age 42: convicted of intimacy with a minor under the age of twelve."
Nero tried to steady himself, apparently caught off guard by crime. He glared at the man with great disdain. In any other scenario, Cato was sure Nero would have given the man quite the hefty lecture. Instead, Nero seemed too fixated on the wall behind Slay Alcott to give any monologues at the moment.
"Nero H. Kaiser, born August 28th, 56. Reaping eligible."
"You may begin!" the other instructor clucked with a press of her finger.
Cato watched her eyes light up a moment later when the man's head was on floor beside her. Satisfied, she kicked the head to the prisoner cleaning up and he placed it on a silver gurney with the rest of Alcott's body. It reminded Cato greatly of the Grim Reaper victor of 59.
"Very clean cut, Kaiser. We'll have to work with scythes during the next training year."
"Thank you, mam," He bowed and quietly exited.
Next Adie Fox stepped forward and eagerly selected a small, silver spear. Her dark brown locks bounced as she jumped from heel to heel in anticipation as the peacekeeper announced the criminal, a graying man, "Jessup Me-"
Adie interrupted the peacekeeper and sharply informed him. "I don't really care who he is or what he's done. He's going to be punished for his crimes either way."
The peacekeeper gave her a threatening glance that rolled off of her back. "It's done for your benefit," he explained wearily.
"I think I can decide what's for my own benefit," she replied, dismissively, and Cato was sure that if she hadn't been ranked third that this comment would have landed her in some hot water.
"Adie Fox, born September 5th, 56. Reaping eligible," the first instructor said, though the last two words were said with an edge of warning in them. The second instructor gestured for her to go, and she obliged her with a grin.
Adie stood curiously before the man, critically examining him before leaping forward.
"You," she punctuated with the spear's first impact point. "Should," she struck again, but this time to the right pectoral. The man's effeminate screams caught the collective off-guard, but Adie only launched forward again, "know" another strike, "better!" and one to the stomach. Her voice got louder, "by," and the grand finale "NOW!" The spear went directly into the man's crotch.
Cato's throat filled with bile. The boy's line inched away in unison from the female line, and the second instructor only laughed, pointing at them with great amusement.
"A bit much, Fox," the first instructor dismissed with disgust. Adie didn't appear to mind, only grinning to herself as she skipped over to the growing group of observing students. She sat beside Felix, who only managed to give her a rather exasperated expression. She grinned back at him.
Cato snorted. Adie was probably the only person more confident than Felix, and that was saying something. He couldn't wait to watch them suffer mutually at the hands of one another when they were inevitably paired up for candidacy.
By the time they got to the November-born students, the second instructor snarled at them. "Have we been wasting our time with you lot? Six failures in the first thirty? We've provided each of you every tool you needed and this is how you reflect on that!"
"It's very disappointing," the first instructor agreed, much cooler.
Following Adie Fox's little outburst the peacekeepers chose to speed up the show and omit the perpetrator's information. Cato didn't much like this. Instead, he was forced to to create his own versions of why so many of these men and a few of the women were before them. He found it rather distracting, and this only reinforced his disdain for Adie Fox.
It took several hours for the line to dwindle down to Dicey.
Surprisingly, he selected a bola. Cato wondered when the last time someone had bothered to use a bola was. The weapon consisted of a three prong durable rope that had small circular weights attached. Traditionally, they were used to capture animals by wrangling them by the foot, but he wasn't too sure how it was supposed to be used on humans.
"Dicey Wilder, born May 13th, 57. Reaping eligible."
Hushed whispers came from the observing crowd as they studied Dicey with growing interest.
The auburn-haired boy stared down the young child before him. A small, subdued blond boy with hazel eyes clouded by tears quivered in front of him. Dicey's breathing increased several paces.
Fuck, Cato thought. 'Do it, Dicey. Just do it!'
"You may-" their instructor began.
"No, wait! I want to know who he-" Dicey pointed towards the young boy before him, "is, and why he's here."
"Halvard Stalone, age 9: Convicted of multiple accounts of thievery."
"And that's enough to land him here?" Dicey demanded, now looking at the peacekeeper with an intense expression. "Are you sure?"
"Not that it's relevant to you, but his mother refused to pay the fines for his crimes. Said it wasn't worth it," The peacekeeper answered with a resigned expression that was almost treasonous.
"Begin, Wilder. Now." the second instructor threatened and Dicey nodded in response.
The small boy quickly shut his eyes, heaving to himself. Dicey threw the prongs of the bola around his neck. The boys eyes flickered open in confusion and Dicey pulled harshly. Within a minute, the boy was no longer able to breathe, crumpling to the floor.
Dicey removed the weapon from his neck and replaced it on the rack. He looked to the instructors with anticipation and they chided him for his brashness, but Dicey was given a passing grade. It was all he could really ask for at that point.
Cato's stomach lurched. There were very few of them left: three girls and five boys remained.
The line dwindled as one girl was dismissed for her lack of endurance. She had vomited all over the floor, leading to a brief intercession as they cleaned.
"Really, Arias? You parents didn't monitor your intake today of all days? Go," the first instructor remarked, irked.
The girl begged for a second opportunity, but their minds had been made.
Lana Romanoff walked forward next, selecting an axe as her weapon, and waiting patiently as the the second instructor to reset her stopwatch. She quivered, but used the moment to get a hold of herself as the first instructor recited, "Lana Romanoff, born June 27th, 57. Ineligible for reaping."
Her birthday was the same as his, which for a moment made him wonder what else they had in common. He waved off the thought and watched as a worn down, but most likely formerly-attractive prisoner was placed before Lana.
Romanoff was given permission to begin and she did so quickly, directing her attack towards the woman's spleen. The female prisoner screeched as the wound began to gape and Lana flickered with hesitation. Hesitation she ultimately dismissed by throwing the axe into the woman's heart. Her cries stopped, and the instructors appeared mildly impressed by Romanoff's work. Maybe they had believed she would fail like he had.
If so, what did they think of him?
Cato stepped towards them now as they beckoned him forward. He was the very last student to test. The weapons before his eyes were numerous: spears, swords, throwing axes, clubs, flails, scythes, bolas, bows and arrows, daggers, whips, and many more he was unable to identify.
There racks were a house of horrors, caked in blood and skin tissue. Despite this, he knew exactly what he wanted. He selected a group of small throwing knives and glided his fingers over one of them.
"Cato Elroy, born June 27th, 57. Ineligible for reaping."
The victim brought before him was a woman, just as Lana's had been. His exam subject, however, in contrast, was a heavily-pregnant teenage girl.
He stepped forward, studying her with great interest.
Just as the peacekeepers had said, these criminals were being cleansed of their transgressions in death by helping his cohort get one step closer to attaining honor. On some level, these criminals had to already know that, but Cato couldn't help but to stare at the girl before him. She looked closer to death than anyone he'd ever seen and he hadn't even started yet. Curious.
"Last, but hopefully not least," the instructor chuckled, waving him off, and he began.
Cato tackled the prisoner to the ground. She reflexively struggled against him, so he pinned her down quickly, elbowing her in the face to stall her movements. He plunged the first two knives through the palms of her hands, hitting bone, and holding her into place in the mats below them. She screamed out, struggling to breath or find clarity, focus, with tears streaming violently down her face.
His breath hilt, but he returned back to his feet, throwing a knife into her stomach. He wondered if she was crying from pain or from grief, but knew it didn't matter. Cato watched her for a moment. She was his first, but would certainly not be the last.
Wary, he threw the last knife into her throat and left her to drown in her own blood.
"Well, well. What a fascinating show this year." the first instructor said to the observing crowd, and pushed Cato towards them. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
His instructors provided no commentary, only gesturing for him to sit with his classmates.
"Many of your displays were breathtaking. Some of you will make for the greatest tributes yet," the second instructor continued, "To think that your cohort went from 97 students this morning to just 71. That's half the number of students that were here when you all began your efforts just a mere six years ago."
"And while it's been a long six years, do not forget that you have another six to go." the first instructor warned, glaring at the faces of some of the more relaxed students.
"You are formally dismissed until July 1st."
Cato exhaled, smiling even. He was done. He'd done it. It was over. He was done. Well, until July 1st. He beamed at Felix and Nero. Felix gave him a teasing wink and Nero beckoned him over, "You did a pretty good job, Cato! I thought for sure you'd use a sword, but you're getting way better with knives."
"Not as good as you and that scythe," Cato teased, grinning at Nero's flush of embarrassment.
"Yeah, Nee. You're making us all look bad," Felix grinned, grabbing Nero's forearm and dragging it toward him.
By the time he turned to find Dicey, he realized the boy had disappeared from sight.
That's no good, Cato mused, I never even got to tell him happy birthday.
Written: June 5th, 2012
Edited: November 1st, 2015 and December 17th, 2017 (grammar); May 4th, 2017 (content)
