The next day was spent preparing for interviews. They spent the morning with Lucretia for presentation. Clove'd worn heels on the chariot, but she hadn't had to do much more than stand in them. Lucretia stuffed her in a towering pair and a short, frilly dress with a low neckline she kept hitching up and then Lucretia would smack her hands and yell, "Don't fuss!"

She thought Cato might start crying from laughing so hard.

Walking was difficult. She bobbled at first, clinging to the wall in case her legs were to give out suddenly, but Cato's jibes finally made her let go. There were a few very near misses, where she stepped wrong and felt the shoe twist beneath her, but she somehow managed to keep her footing.

When she'd mastered walking, she slumped down in a chair as Cato took his turn. He swaggered across the room once, emanating confidence and casual superiority. Lucretia just clapped her hands and said they could move on.

She had Clove sit down into a deep plush chair dozens of times until she could do it gracefully, without falling backward or exposing anything. Then she had to stand back up without appearing to struggle out of the chair. Cato had to go through the same process before Lucretia was satisfied.

"Posture time!" Lucretia trilled. She seated them both side-by-side and focused on the positions they'd maintain throughout the interview. Clove sat very straight with her legs crossed at the knee, hands folded in her lap. Cato was allowed to lean back, leg folded over the knee, one hand on his ankle. Lucretia had them both sit like that for three minutes while she corrected their posture constantly, then another three where they were expected to maintain it on their own.

Eye contact was effortless for both of them; neither was shy in the least. Lucretia more focused on Clove, teaching her how to incorporate coy downcast looks into her repertoire and soften her eyes. Gestures for Clove were as minimal as possible, with no punctuation or douchey head tilts; for Cato, he had to use his free hand for emphasis.

Smiling was mostly about smiling more, at least for Clove. Lucretia shuddered at how Clove's face naturally assumed a cold, vicious grin when told to smile, so she instead made her give a close-lipped, almost knowing smile. Cato was told to not smile at all, unless it was absolutely required. "It makes you more likeable, more open when you smile," Lucretia told him. "We don't want open. We want brutal."

For the last bit of time before lunch, she had them work on handshakes. "You both have very confident handshakes," Lucretia praised. "Clove, a little softer. You don't want to rattle the man, do you?" Clove grinned, not the sweet, harmless smile she'd just learned, and Cato laughed.

After lunch, they went off with Enobaria and Brutus for content. Clove and Enobaria sat away from Brutus and Cato, but still in the same room.

"So, Clove, how've you been doing with the angle?" Enobaria asked.

Clove softened her eyes from their usual hard glint and gave her one of the sweet smiles Lucretia had taught her. Enobaria grinned back, pleased. "Very well then, I see. Cato? How did the other Careers perceive her, do you think?"

Cato glanced over in mid-smirk. "Glimmer wondered why she was even there in the first place. Said she was too young and too naïve to volunteer at all, asked who she'd stolen the spot from."

Enobaria nodded as Clove clenched her fists. She'd worked for that spot, had earned it fair and square. But she couldn't let the bimbo know until the Games had begun. "Very good." She turned back to Clove. "Let's work on your charm, shall we?"

They sat there for hours, Clove answering all kinds of questions with liberal amounts of those gentle smiles. She couldn't keep all of the sarcasm, all of the arrogance out of her tone, but Enobaria told her not to worry. "Give them a hint of what they can expect in the arena. They'll be wondering if you aren't a little bit haughty."

Halfway through, Enobaria switched with Brutus, and Clove had to feign charm in front of the man who still disgusted her. She remembered how sweet she'd been with Marvel fawning over her and stuffed down all evidence of her revulsion. She'd have to, anyway, if she didn't want to sneer at plastic-and-dye Caesar in front of everyone.

When they were finally finished, Clove left to take dinner in her room, exhausted from having to appear perky and friendly for so long. She ordered a variety of foods and ate silently, turning on the screen to a rerun of an old Games. As it began, she summoned an Avox and asked for a notebook and something to write with. The Avox didn't return, but Cato did, brandishing her notebook and pen like they were some sort of prize.

"What do you want, Ludwig?" she asked tiredly. She'd spent the entire day with him already. Surely he was sick of her, too.

He shrugged, ambling across the room and flopping beside her on the bed. "I figured if we're both going to watch reruns, we might as well do it together so we can compare notes." He had his own notebook, she noted as he tossed hers over.

"You were going to watch reruns?" She caught the notebook and flipped it open to a blank page.

He shrugged again. "I've got nothing better to do. There's only so long you can stare in the mirror, even if you're as handsome as I am." That was accompanied with a slow grin, and she rolled her eyes.

"Egotistic to the last," she muttered as the screen flickered and began to play.

"You didn't deny it," he pointed out, and she punched him even as she rolled onto her stomach, a pillow tucked under her chest. He mimicked the action. "Is this what girls do at sleepovers?" he asked, glancing over at her. "Watch gory movies and take notes?"

"I wouldn't know." She might have been bitter, might've just been tired. "I didn't have friends who would invite me to them."

"Poor misanthropic Clove," Cato sighed. "You traded your friendships for power. Isn't that better?"

A smile curled her lips. Of course Cato's bluntness would be the one thing to bring her comfort. "It is, I suppose. Friends don't matter in the Games, anyway." She paused to consider the boy beside her, the careful poker face he was keeping as he scrawled something down. "Allies? Those are important."


The next morning, she woke to find Cato gone and her grotesque prep team hovering above her. She nearly screamed, but managed to smother it and plaster on a sweet smile. It seemed to fool those idiots, at least, as they all beamed and giggled and chattered with excitement.

They turned her into something soft and lovely, with smooth skin and nails painted a nice neutral pink, collarbones highlighted. They put powder over her face, smothering her freckles, before having a quick argument and taking it off. The next layer was lighter, sheerer, evening out her skin without hiding her features. She watched in the mirror as her eyes became darker, more compelling, her lips and cheeks the same pale pink hue.

One of the team members took her hair, styling it sleek and straight before twisting up the top half in a series of coils. The rest was left to drape down her back, and she curled her lip at its new flowery fragrance.

Then Bac walked in, holding something in a bag. "Close your eyes," he told her. She did so reluctantly, and they lowered the dress over her head. It was lightweight, the fabric hitting just above her knees. Two of the prep team helped her step into her shoes, and she was relieved to find them a good couple of inches lower than the ones she'd stumbled in before. "Now you can open them."

The girl standing in the mirror was utterly unrecognizable. She stared back at Clove, all dark eyelashes and gauzy ruffles and a small, cold smile. The dress was a pale orange that should've been hideous on her but wasn't, darker at the top where it tied at her ribs in a bow. She could've claimed she was too young to volunteer for the Games and people would've believed her.

She'd never appreciated dresses, never understood the effect they could have. But even with that haughty Career look, she still was captivating, almost smoldering. "I don't think this is quite aiming for 'cute'," she finally murmured.

Bac shrugged. "My outfit, my rules," he reminded her. "Go for 'sweet' instead. I think it'll suit you better."

"Thank you," Clove whispered, still gazing at her reflection. Could she really look like that, flawless and poised and almost innocent? She'd certainly shock the Capitol. She'd already surprised herself.


She and Bac met up with the others at the elevator. Her eyes slid down Cato, strikingly handsome in a dark navy suit. He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Never thought I'd see you in a dress, Clove."

"The chariot outfit was practically a dress," she countered. A sly grin slid across her face. "Well, we did have matching costumes. Does that make you a-"

"You both look lovely," Enobaria interjected. She did, too, dressed in a fancy gown and gold dusted around her skin. Brutus looked distinctly uncomfortable in his formal suit, Lucretia practically bubbling over with excitement in her crazed Capitolite attire.

They took the elevator to the stage. Glimmer and Marvel were already there, being lined up to take the stage. Glimmer was dazzling in a pale pink dress and golden curls, while Marvel's tacky suit made Clove wrinkle her nose for just an instant before she smoothed her face out and beamed at them both.

"Ready to go?" Marvel asked them both.

Clove smiled sweetly. "As ready as I'll ever be," she replied.

Glimmer was called up onto the stage then, skipping almost giddily up the steps. Cato leaned against the wall, head tilted, and Clove felt herself fold her arms and sneer at the blonde as she giggled and flirted with Caesar. Finally her buzzer sounded, and she left the stage as Marvel was called up.

His angle must've been amiable or witty, but Clove could do nothing more than wince at his jokes, his attempts at humor that fell flat. Surely if one wasn't intelligent, one wouldn't want to call attention to that fact? she wondered. All too soon, his time was up, and her name was called.

"Good luck," she heard Cato murmur behind her, and she nodded once as she swallowed, mouth suddenly dry.

Her legs somehow managed to support her up the stairs. She held her skirts the way she'd practiced with Lucretia as she strode across the stage over to Caesar, sweet smile on her face, and shook his hand.

"So, Clove, you're fifteen, which makes you a good deal younger than the average tribute from your District. What made you decide to volunteer this year?" he started as soon as she was seated, legs crossed daintily.

"Well, I'm not getting any younger, am I?" Clove answered brightly. The crowd laughed. "I'm at the top of my game now, and I figured it'd be fun to go up against Cato."

"Ah, yes, your District partner. You two are allies, right? How do you think that will impact your chances?" Caesar asked her.

"Really, I'm the one doing him a favor by agreeing to it," she responded, her voice dry but her smile soft. The audience chortled. "We both have very different strengths, so our alliance should prove beneficial to us both."

"He's not too bad to look at either, is he?" Caesar nudged her slyly and she dimpled back.

"I'm not complaining," Clove told him conspiratorially, giggling when he drew back as though in shock.

"It'd certainly be hard to. Now, Clove, is there someone back home you're determined to win for?" Caesar asked, tilting forward.

She grinned, and she was arrogant when she replied, "Myself, of course. Do I need anyone else?"

"Certainly not!" Caesar chuckled. "You look to be perfectly capable on your own. So, what will be your greatest strength in the arena?"

"I can handle a lot of different weapons, but I'm best at knives." Clove smiled and glanced downward modestly, almost coyly, ducking her chin for a split second. "And there's usually knives in the arena, so I think I'll do just fine."

"I bet you will with that training score! A ten, very impressive. Were you surprised to hear what score you'd gotten?"

She shrugged, the movement flicking her dark hair off her shoulders. "Not really, no," Clove admitted. The crowd laughed again, laughed at her careless arrogance juxtaposed with sweetness. "Don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled I got such a high score, but I did volunteer to win, after all. And that's what I plan on doing."

"We look forward to watching you," Caesar said just as the buzzer sounded. "It looks like we're out of time. Best of luck, Clove Fuhrman, volunteer from District Two." She smiled at him, again at the audience, and strode off.

She was seated in a row with Glimmer and Marvel, who both eyed her speculatively. She ignored their questioning glances and focused on Cato as he took the stage, cold and brutal and bloodthirsty. He leaned back confidently in his chair and answered Caesar's questions easily.

He spoke at length about honor and pride, duty and prestige, but the one thing that stuck out in Clove's mind was when Cato told the audience, "I'm prepared, I'm vicious, and I'm ready to go." There was a cruel twist to his mouth, a heartlessness suggested by his words and emphasized by his menacing appearance. Whatever impression she'd just made on the Capitol? She'd be lucky if they even remembered her name.