confessional hymns for the devil, himself
Disclaimer: I own nothing that has a copyright attached.
Chapter Four
"Do you think they've figured out his agenda?" Cato says this around an apple he's been munching on since they left the house. A little of the juice dribbles from the corner of his mouth and down his chin, and Clove has to glance away, annoyed. She can't look him in the eye yet after last night, and every little thing he does gets under her skin. He's expecting an answer out of her though.
"I doubt it. Maybe Marvel and Glimmer; only Careers would be able to catch on to something like that."
"So Snow needs an army, but where's the war?" he fires back, an amused grin set upon his face. If anything, Cato's been absolutely delighted at the recent turn of events ever since Clove told him earlier this morning what Snow had said. This is only after he spooked her by standing above her until she woke up; she honestly couldn't be blamed for the superficial cuts to his chest courtesy of the knife she still had tucked beneath her shirt.
The morning sunlight probes at the sensitive spaces behind Clove's eyes, pain a distant flare at the tip of her spine. She skipped her medication dose this morning just to see how long she could go without it. Clove refuses to feel weak because of something as simple as a little migraine, especially considering what she went through last night with Cato. If they are going to be training today, she needs to be at the top of her game and head clear from the heavy fog of sedative.
Overnight, Docere's staff had erected a military-style obstacle course in the empty space between their temporary houses. It is paltry and spare; nothing here will be of any help to the weaker, skinnier Tributes. Nevertheless, Clove leans against one of the inclined wooden walls and waits for instruction. Training is base. Training is something she signs up for without question even if she is uncomfortable playing as Snow's pawn this go around. She could still train and forget.
Thresh and Rue are perched upon the vaults across from her. He sits with his chin resting on his interlocked fingers, eyes tracing Cato's movements across the yard. Rue, however, stares her down non-threateningly, sharp eyes seem to be digesting her reaction to Thresh. Luckily for Clove, she's had enough experience perfecting a poker face.
The rest of the Tributes eventually stumble out groggily to join them. Clove can tell quickly that unless a life or death situation is on their hands many of them are not morning risers. Marvel swaggers to the forefront, sizing up the faces near him as he passes each Tribute.
"Okay, listen up, people! I've been chosen to help lead this little program, and we're going to hit the ground running this morning. Training will be far more intense than what any of you have experienced so far. You heard Snow, we're all meant for a higher purpose here, which means that we all need to be at the best of our abilities. So, let's start with ten laps around the perimeter of the houses. Let's go!"
Marvel sets off at a dead sprint. For a moment, it seems like no one is going to follow, but the Tributes reluctantly start jogging, grumbling under their breath the whole time. Cato and she bring up the rear. One look and Clove can tell he's unhappy that Marvel has appointed himself leader this morning. She could really care less about who's in charge of this crapshoot. If Snow thinks he can transform these weakling children into toy soldiers, he's going to be sorely disappointed.
The pace is too slow for what she's normally used to; Clove has always been an excellent runner over long distances. Before long, Marvel is panting too loudly next to her, and she gains the forefront with ease. Her own thoughts and the pounding headache at her temples spur Clove to veer off into a thicket of tall pines and the shade they cast. The group crashes through the trees behind her and without knowing it, she's opted to lead. Clove tries to pick the most congested paths to pose as more of a challenge; fallen logs and low-hanging branches will only force them to be more aware of their surroundings. There is no such thing as proper training without distractions.
Sweat pools heavily between her small breasts and the back of her neck before she finally slows to a stop to give everyone a chance to catch their breath. Silence reaches her ears. Clove turns slowly, fully expecting to be alone because everyone had given up two miles back. Instead, they're all grouped within the trees, watching her intently and quietly recovering. The silence in itself is unnerving, but they all act as if they're waiting on her to dictate their next move. That is especially odd.
"Why the hell is everyone still standing around? Move!"
They scatter quickly, jogging back the way they've come. Cato is the only one left still leaning against a tree, arms crossed and his infamous all-knowing smirk plastered upon his face. Clove's skull is throbbing far too much to put up with his ostentatious attitude. He has a terrible habit of always acting like he knows something she doesn't, and it really puts her on edge sometimes.
"Well, well, well. Look at you, little Clove. Slaughtering them one day and shepherding them the next. If I hadn't just seen it with my own two eyes, I would never believe it." His tone is mocking, and it only sets her teeth to a slow grind.
"Fuck off. I was just running, and everyone followed me," Clove pants. A run like that normally wouldn't take so much out of her, but her decision to forgo her painkiller this morning is really coming back to bite her in the ass.
Cato steps close suddenly, laying a palm against the side of her head. "You're hurting."
"Jeez, is it that obvious?!" She dodges and swats at his hand. Clove is not as comfortable as Cato about sharing her condition. "Just don't touch me; you'll make it worse."
He rolls his eyes skeptically, but she doesn't give him the luxury of another retort and begins walking back towards the camp. He laughs, slightly jogging to keep pace with her. "I think you should do it. Appoint yourself General of Snow's child-army."
"And I think you should shut your mouth," she interrupts, casting him a malicious glare from the corner of her eyes.
He pivots to face her, deftly walking backwards without once stumbling. Show-off. "No, I'm serious. They're all terrified of you so gaining their compliance would be incredibly simple. You're pretty bossy, too. You know as well as I that Marvel has no clue what he's doing, and District Two has always had more reconnaissance experience."
"I don't want the responsibility of training a bunch of losers so will you just drop it!"
Cato holds his hands up in a plea for surrender. "Okay, sorry I mentioned it."
They fall into silence, the sounds of their boots crunching against the earth their only company. The double entendre of her statement plagues Clove's mind the rest of the trip back. They were all losers not just in the sense of an insult, but also in the fact that they couldn't even have the decency and honor of a real death in the arena. She would rather be dead right now. Somewhere along the way in her childhood, her existence took a back burner to her personal pride and ego.
Once they reach the edge of the tree line, it becomes obvious that Marvel is the furthest from the right choice. He has the tributes performing piss-poor calisthenics in the middle of the clearing; the back row isn't even bothering themselves to participate. The complete hopelessness of the situation drains Clove of energy. Whether or not she despised them, they are slated to be fighting beside her in whatever obstacles Snow thrusts upon them. Like hell she is going to let them slow her up or get her killed.
"Listen closely Cato, because this will be the one and only time I say this. You were right on this one," she mumbles out the side of her mouth. Cato scoffs pretentiously, but Clove can see the beginning of a pleased smirk spread across his lips.
"Tomorrow. We'll start this tomorrow."
Docere's office is dark as she approaches, but by the harsh light of the hallway she can just make out the profile of his face through the window. Clove props open the door with her body somewhat hesitant to enter.
"Why do you have the lights off?"
His head jerks sharply in her direction, startled. "Oh Clove! I didn't see you pass by." He touches the bridge of his glasses as if out of habit. The light from the hall casts across the top of his desk but leaves him still bathed in darkness. "You're here to discuss training the Tributes."
Now it's her turn to be startled. "What- how did you know?"
"The profile I have on you has four distinctive personality traits. Did you know potential leadership skills is one of them?" He chuckles in the dark. "Does that surprise you? If it wasn't you, I would have put my bets on Cato or Thresh coming to me next."
Clove mulls over these choices in her head. Cato would be a suitable partner at times, but she could not stand Thresh by her side nor would she allow him to dictate what she did. She'd rather see herself dead at the bottom of a lake than take orders from him. "For the record, I think this is a terrible idea. These children are weak and air-headed."
Docere studies her for a long moment before pulling open the desk drawer near him. He withdraws a small capsule identical to the ones in her bedroom and lies it on the edge of the table. "You don't have to take it, but it'd make me feel better if you did. I can see you trembling from here."
She hadn't noticed. She was trying so hard to focus on his voice and not the sharp slice of pain at her temples. Clove steps forward and swallows the pill without hesitation, tipping her head back to ease it down without the aid of water to accompany it. The analgesic effect swims through her bloodstream almost immediately, and she sags against the door in relief. Her thoughts wander to Cato in that moment, whether he's had another attack since last night and hasn't mentioned it. She's glad that she's absent to witness it for a second time.
"My best advice to you," Docere continues in his soft voice, "is to train them like you were trained. It's no secret that some of the best child prodigies have emerged from the Career districts. You are young, but you are fierce, Clove. Teach them to be fierce."
His eyes drift shut and he slumps back in his chair and she knows she's being dismissed. Although Docere is as cryptic as they come, Clove understands what he's said and lets the door close behind her.
As she walks back towards the house Cato and her currently share, she lets the words play through her head. It's true that Career training is physically and psychologically at the top of its game; it's one of the reasons District One and Two win the Hunger Games consistently. However, that is not the case this time and Clove is afraid that it is the result of a personal fault and not poor planning.
How is she to train a group of teenagers to fight and win if she has already failed herself?