The next day, Clove ignored Cato's glowering as he stabbed at his breakfast. "I think I'll show off a bit today," she announced to the table. "Check out their knives, see what quality I can expect."
"Good, Clove," Enobaria nodded. "Keep up the angle. The other tributes should have no idea what you're really like until the Games start."
"I will." Clove took another bite of some fruit she'd never heard of, sweet and tangy.
Cato didn't glance up from his food. "And what would you like me to do, Enobaria?" he asked with cold courtesy. He'd been sulking in silence the whole evening before, and now it seemed he'd used politeness to put another veil between himself and his humiliation.
She pondered a moment, tapping her fingers against her chin. "Show off, too. The first day was to scope out the competition; now you can shine. Go ahead and recruit the boy from Eleven, but make sure to emphasize your talents. Swords, even as a repeat, would be a good idea to prove to the Gamemakers you can be counted on. You said Marvel was better at spears than you? Skip those and try something else. There's wrestling still, isn't there? You need to prove to the other tributes you are undefeatable on multiple levels."
"Wrestling, weights, anything that'll really show off your strength," Brutus added as he tore a piece of bread with his teeth. Clove wrinkled her nose. "If you can intimidate some of the other tributes, do that. And if Eleven doesn't want to play, you'll need to be more threatening still. Clove, try to appear deadly but still sweet. Don't go showing all of your talents off at once. Knives, yes, but steer clear of anything forceful."
With that advice, she and Cato rose and went back to the Training Center.
"Oh, Cato! Over here!" Glimmer's high-pitched voice was the first sound to reach Clove's ears as she stepped off the elevator. She wore pigtails this time, a style so juvenile Clove repressed a shudder and instead beamed at the other girl like they were long friends. Marvel was already beside her, clapping Cato on the back and leering at Clove.
"The ones from Four aren't here yet," Marvel told them offhandedly. Clearly he didn't think too highly of them, either. "Guess we'll just have to start without them."
"What a shame," Cato drawled. Glimmer giggled, playing with the ends of one of her pigtails. "I'm going to swords again. Anyone else?"
"Oh, I'm supposed to go to archery," Glimmer said with a pout. "It's my talent, and my mentor really wants me to showcase it."
Marvel added, "Yeah, she's pretty good," and the blonde preened, glancing up at Cato through her lashes.
"Oh, how wonderful for you," Clove gushed. "That sounds like such a difficult skill to learn!"
Glimmer glanced over at Clove, but she didn't seem to notice any discrepancy between her tone and her face. "It did take a while, but I'm so glad I learned it. It's not a messy weapon, either, so I won't have to risk blood splatters."
"Wow," Clove said, seemingly enthralled. "How nice that you've found a weapon so well-suited to you. Where do you plan on going, Marvel?"
The boy shrugged. "Probably spears again, maybe the ropes later. Play to your strengths, Gloss told me. Want to come with, Clove?"
"Oh, goodness, I wish I could, but my mentor told me to go to knives." Clove mimicked Glimmer's disappointed pout. "I'm sure you'll do great, though."
Marvel grinned at that, and from there the pack dispersed. Clove took her time walking across to the knives, watching the other tributes out of the corner of her eye. She saw two boys manage to light a fire and jump back, startled, and rolled her eyes. There were some kids fighting with heavy weapons she didn't recognize, but none looked particularly capable at it. Twelve's duo was huddled in front of a snare in the fake grass. She felt her lip twitch into a sneer at that and banished it from her expression just as she reached the knives.
The trainer handed her a set of knives and started to explain how targets would light up periodically and she'd have to throw knives at each of the lit targets in order to turn it off. "Do you need a refresher course in how to throw?" he asked, looking at her somewhat dubiously.
Clove smiled brightly at him, running her finger down the edge of one of the blades. Oh, these were good ones, all right, sleek and sharp and light. "I think I've got it, thank you," she told him.
He activated the session. Lights began to glow red around the human silhouettes. She took a breath, feeling ice control her movements as she raised the first knife.
Once she'd learned to throw a knife, she'd never missed.
These stationary targets were no challenge at all.
She threw knife after knife, hitting the bullseye over the heart every time, until the last glowing light winked out.
Clove felt eyes on her back, the same attention she'd received during her District evaluation. But she ignored it, smiled at the trainer as she handed him the extra knives she hadn't ended up needing and walked off.
They sat in a group at lunch again, noticeably without the boy from Eleven. "You didn't recruit him, Cato?" Clove asked, voice light.
He was more relaxed than before. Slicing dummies open seemed to be soothing, she reflected. "I tried. He wasn't game," Cato said with a shrug. "He's the one that's missing out, not us."
"So, Clove, that was some impressive work with your knives earlier," Glimmer purred, almost conversationally but for a hard set to her eyes. "I didn't realize you were quite so talented."
Clove smiled sweetly. "Oh, that's so kind of you, Glimmer. I've been throwing knives for how many years now? Six? Seven? I'm afraid I'm not as good as you are with a bow, though." Her modesty might have sounded real, but it wasn't, and Glimmer's eyes narrowed a shade, unsure as to her honesty. She'd seen Glimmer at the archery station, watched her launch an arrow and fail spectacularly. Clearly she wasn't going to win the Games by her skill alone.
"How about you two?" Clove asked, turning to look at Marina and Ethan. "Learn any new skills?"
"Some knots," Marina said softly. "How to light a fire. I went back to the knives station and I really think I'm improving." She paused, seemed to gather her courage. "Would you teach me, Clove? You're just so good with knives…"
Clove flicked a glance at Cato, who smirked and carved another bite of turkey. "I'd love to, Marina, but I really don't know how much use I'd be," she told her in a tone that might've passed for apologetic. "I've never taught someone before. I don't think I could. I think the trainers would be better suited to help you with that." Cato glanced up at Clove, clearly thinking of the time she'd spent teaching him to throw a knife, and she glared for just an instant. Don't you dare make me tutor this idiot, she would've hissed if it wouldn't ruin her image.
Fortunately, Marina dropped the subject, and they spent the rest of lunch chatting about inconsequential matters until it was time to resume.
Halfway through, after another bout with knives, Clove came over to Cato and Marvel, who were standing by one of the spear racks and chuckling. "What's so funny?" she asked.
Cato nodded at the ropes course, and she followed the movement to find the boy from Twelve struggling and failing to scale the rope ladder. She folded her arms and leaned against the rack, a cold smirk fighting through the blank sweetness that had strengthened with each hour. "He isn't doing too well, is he," she remarked with glee.
"He's had to restart twice," Cato told her, and this time there was no disguising the ferocity of her grin.
Glimmer skipped over to join them from another station, braids flying. "Oh, is he about to fall?" she asked brightly. "One boy fell yesterday from the other ropes course, but he was maybe thirteen. How old is this one, do you think?"
"Old enough he should be able to do this," Marvel snickered. Just then, the ropes swung wildly, and the boy came tumbling to the ground. They all burst into laughter. Clove watched as his face turned red, crumpled on his side and gripping the leg he'd hurt in the fall. The dark-haired girl from his District trotted over, leaning close to him and whispering something inciting enough that he hauled himself to his feet.
Slowly the boy stumbled toward a rack and grabbed one of the massive medicine balls, the one Cato'd been lifting earlier. It'd been a strain, even for Cato, who was solid muscle, and they watched hungrily for him to drop it, to fail.
The boy threw the medicine ball and sent it crashing into a weapons rack, the noise jarring. Clove felt her own eyes widen. This boy was far stronger than he looked. She heard a gasp and turned to see Glimmer, who'd fallen back as if the boy'd thrown it at her, one hand clutching at her chest. Even Marvel and Cato seemed impressed, however reluctantly. "Not bad," Cato said, turning back to them. "Of course, strength won't help him when he's dead."
The group laughed at that, but it wasn't the same confident, self-assured sound it had been before. They had been rattled. Maybe these Games won't be as easy as I'd thought.
The third morning, they gathered to watch odds as they went up. "Three to one for you, Cato!" Glimmer chirped, leaning in close as if to bask in his success. "That's the highest odds of everyone!"
"Five to one for me. Oh, and Clove. Wow, how'd that happen?" Marvel asked jokingly. She grinned and made as if to punch him.
"I'm just as surprised as you are. I think District Twelve's odds suit you better," Clove replied, nodding at the ridiculously disproportionate odds in the last box. He laughed at that.
During lunchtime, they were called out for their private sessions. Marvel left first, already swaggering and blustering, as they shouted fake encouragements at him. "Try not to stab yourself in the foot!" "You won't miss if you don't get nervous, so just don't get nervous!" "Now, this might seem like the most important part of your life, but relax! Getting a bad score will only mean you'll not get sponsors and die."
He didn't come back, but Glimmer's name was called over the speaker. Waving brightly and winking at Cato, she strode out of the room. Clove felt her shoulders relax as she left.
"Any idea what you two'll do?" Cato asked Marina and Ethan.
Ethan shrugged. "Maybe throw knives or something. Whatever I can do." It won't affect how anyone perceives you, that's for sure, Clove thought contemptuously, eyeing his short, round build.
"I'll throw knives as well." Marina was still soft-spoken as ever. "It's the only logical move for me. I can't really do anything else." She glanced down at that, shame scrawled across her face. You should be ashamed, Clove thought viciously. Ashamed at your own weakness, that no one volunteered for you, that you come from a Career District but are so woefully unprepared you're just a liability.
She was snapped out of her thoughts when Cato's name was called over the speaker. "Good luck, Cato," she said, a challenging set to her smile.
He grinned. "No kiss for luck?" His smirk widened as she scowled. "Good luck to you, too, Clove. And you both," he added as an afterthought. Marina smiled wanly as she wished him luck, and then he was gone.
Clove stared at the remnants of food on her plate, focusing on her breathing and the way her eyes narrowed, her face became taut, as she grew colder. Faintly she registered her name, and barely remembered to smile at Marina and Ethan as she rose and walked out of the room.
The gymnasium was eerily empty. She walked through it, a silent ghost passing through the stations. She came to a stop in front of the knives and picked one up, her finger gliding along its edge. Oh, these were beautiful knives, excellently-crafted. The ones she'd picked up over the years were good, decent-quality knives well-honed and familiar in her hand, but they didn't even come close to the beauties in the Capitol.
Clove held the first knife, hefted it in her hand, before almost casually throwing it at a target. Bulls-eye. She picked up another one, cruel, with a curved blade. Good for tiny, precise cuts. That one was flung at a bullseye, too. And then she was throwing them faster and faster, at any target she could find- the dummies Cato'd been slicing that morning, the boxing sandbag, one of the dangling ropes. She heard a gasp when that last knife sunk into the twisted rope, fraying it halfway. She hoped one of the other tributes would be dumb enough to climb the ropes after she'd finished.
"Thank you, Miss Fuhrman," a voice finally said, breaking her out of her reverie. "That'll be all." She'd filled up all of the allotted time with her knives.
"Thank you for the opportunity." She didn't even have to fake her beam as she laid down the few remaining knives and exited.
Outside, she was surprised to find Cato waiting for her. "Why didn't you just go up?" she asked as they stepped into the elevator.
He shrugged. "Wanted to see the expression on your face when you left. You look pretty smug; you must've impressed them." The doors opened, and they stepped out and into the apartment.
"I hope so," Clove confessed, the iciness that had possessed her beginning to splinter. I survived. "I didn't miss a single throw, and I think I heard one of them gasp when I threw one at the rope ladder."
"I didn't think that was possible," Cato laughed. "Good for you, pet. Maybe they'll give you a good score."
"How'd you do?" Enobaria asked eagerly, twisting from her spot next to Brutus on the couch.
"Good," Cato answered for both of them. "I heard them whispering at the end of mine. They weren't sober enough to be subtle, so I definitely heard they were impressed."
Enobaria nodded at that. "And you, Clove?"
She grinned, the cold expression much more at home on her features than the sweet little smiles she'd been wearing the past few days. "I did perfectly. Didn't miss a throw, even though I did some pretty crazy ones," she boasted.
"Very good." Enobaria seemed pleased. "Come and sit down. We've got some time to waste before dinner, so we might as well start discussing interviews." Clove sat and leaned forward, and they began.
Dinner dragged on far too slowly for Clove's liking. She nudged impatiently at her food, taking irritable bites of it before glancing around to see how close everyone else was to being finished. She locked eyes with Cato, who appeared to be just as aggravated as she was. "Scared I'll beat you, Ludwig?" she challenged, his last name much more natural. Safer.
His eyes lit up, and they began to banter, a side conversation that lasted the rest of the dinner until Enobaria finally pushed back from the table.
They went into the sitting room, Lucretia and the stylists tagging along. Clove found herself squashed in between Cato and vile Bac on a couch meant to seat two. Nose wrinkling, she shifted closer to the lesser of two evils, who smirked at her as the screen flickered on.
Marvel's face was the first one to be displayed by Caesar. "Marvel receives a score of nine," Caesar said, already sounding impressed.
"Guess he didn't drop one on his foot after all," Cato murmured in her ear, and she snorted.
A particularly-flattering shot of Glimmer was next. Eight. Clove smirked at that, the practically-mediocre score the girl had received.
Cato's likeness scowled onscreen. Ten. Everyone burst into congratulations, slapping him on the back. Clove just smirked up at him. "Could've done better," she commented.
Then her own face was up. A cold little grin twisted her mouth, and she looked ruthless as a number flashed below her face. Clove held her breath. Ten. She exhaled as the team began to cheer the remarkable scores of both tributes. Cato grinned down at her. "Could've done better," he parroted in a high-pitched impression of her voice.
"You both did very well," Enobaria cut in. "I'd be quite surprised if anyone else were to receive the same score."
They settled back and watched with shock as Ethan got an eight. "That kid? That scrawny little child who could barely throw a knife got the same score as Glimmer?" Clove couldn't decide if she was more surprised he'd gotten above a three or amused that his skill somehow equated to Glimmer's.
Marina got a suitably mediocre score, as did a long stream of tributes until Eleven. The boy- Thresh- got a nine, and the tiny little thing Clove'd seen hiding behind a pillar had received a seven. She bit her lip as the boy from Twelve's face flashed. Eight. So his strength had been enough to be comparable to two Careers? Her gaze flicked to Cato's, but he seemed more fixated on the new face. Eleven.
"Eleven?" Clove snapped, eyes hardening. "That's bull. How'd she pull that one off?"
Cato had frozen beside her. "I don't know," he murmured, his voice very quiet and very deadly.
Brutus snarled obscenities as the screen turned off again, the program concluded. "How'd a girl from Twelve get an eleven?" he growled. "How the hell did she beat both of you?"
"I've never seen her be anything more than mediocre," Clove answered, stunned. "Okay at spears, spent most of her time building fires or making snares. The boy got his score probably from throwing heavy things around- we saw him launch one of those medicine balls across the room. But her? I have no idea in hell how she managed to get that score."
Enobaria was silent, thoughtful. "Go get some sleep," she finally said. "We'll think about this some more, but you both need to rest for tomorrow. You have interviews in two days, don't forget."
Clove rose in a blur, barely noticing Cato stand beside her, his hands clenched in white-knuckled fists. She was shocked, but he was pissed. And she didn't know what that would mean for her.