Ahh I do apologise for how long I've left this! Writer's block ;) And I've been working on my other stories too.
Anyways, just a few notes:
- I've changed the rating to M now. It's kind of bloody from now on.
- I've named the boy from 3 Nelson which is the surname of the kid who plays him in the film. The girl from 4 is called Tara (again the actor's name, although the first name) and the boy is called Jamie after Ethan Jamieson. I was going to use his first name, but well, it was Ethan and that's the name of Annie Cresta's district partner in my other fic.
- As for canon. The Games may follow it for the most part (until Clove's death though obvs, 'cause then I'll change it from there) but I don't know yet. I'm definitely messing with the timeline and other little details, but yeah, whatever, I'm just going to do what I like ;)
Right, as always, please review :D I hope you enjoy this xx
CHAPTER THREE - IN COLD BLOOD
You can't sleep that night.
You lie on your bed, staring up at the ceiling, replaying the interviews over and over in your head and getting more and more agitated. You thought you and Cato had done well. None of the other tributes even came close to your cool confidence and Cato's charming charisma...
That was until Katniss Everdeen started spinning like a flipping fairy and her dress exploded. It was the chariot rides all over again. You and Cato overshadowed once more by the girl on fire. And it got even worse when that blonde boy – you can't remember his name – trundled on stage and announced to the world he's in love with his district partner. It was smart, very smart, and suddenly all the Capitol audience wanted talk about was the star crossed lovers of district 12. You're sure that if you switched on the television now, they'd still be prattling on about it.
Ugh.
With a little growl of irritation, you roll out of bed and stumble into the living room, your bare feet sinking into the thick carpet as you move to stand in front of the huge windows. You stare out through glass at the illuminated fountain in the courtyard below. It's the first time you've actually seen it empty; you were starting to think Capitol people never slept.
You let out a huge sigh. You hate that there's a nervous flutter beginning in the pit of your stomach; you thought you were better than that.
You expect Cato is probably sleeping like a baby right now. You know you should really try and get some sleep too – tiredness affects your aim – but you're too hyped up on an odd mix of nerves and excitement and irritation.
"Can't sleep?"
You start a little at his voice but don't turn. You take a second to steady your voice, to erase all traces of apprehension before you speak. If he realises you're anxious, he'll never let you live it down.
You run an idle finger along the window ledge.
"Just excited." You say with a shrug.
He joins you at the window and you're oddly unnerved at the tightness of his t-shirt.
"You're not nervous, are you Clove?" He asks teasingly. You shoot him a sidelong glare.
"No." You say and he smirks, turning to you and resting his hip against the ledge, his arms folded across his broad chest. "You obviously couldn't sleep either." You point out bitingly but he just laughs.
"I just heard you get out of bed. You woke me up."
You don't quite believe him and a smirk of your own settles across your lips. You take a step forward until you're standing right in front of him, until you can feel the heat of his body ghosting across your skin. His stomach muscles tense, but he doesn't move, and satisfied he's thoroughly uncomfortable, you tilt your chin up, gaze lifting to meet his eyes.
You raise a mischievous eyebrow.
"Don't worry, Cato." You say wickedly before raising yourself up on your toes so your breath whispers across his lips. "I won't tell anyone you're afraid."
Irritation creases his features and you let out a throaty chuckle, dropping back on your heels and stepping away.
"I'm not afraid." He says with a scowl. You laugh again, pulling yourself up to sit on the window ledge, swinging your legs teasingly.
"Uh huh."
"I'm not."
"I've already told you." You say mirthfully, pleased the pressure is firmly back on him. "I won't tell anyone."
He moves forward, leaning in close – too close – and resting a hand on the ledge right next to your thigh. He's so close you have to tilt your head back against the cool glass of the window.
"I'm not afraid." He hisses, his eyes flashing angrily. "I can kill anyone in that arena. Anyone. And no one will escape me." He bares his teeth in a fierce snarl. "Not even you, Clove."
You hate to admit it, but you're just a little perturbed. There's something about being bare footed and dressed in nothing but a flimsy shirt that makes you feel vulnerable. You need the solid weight of a knife belt, the protection of pockets filled with hidden blades. Unarmed you might be able to take down Marvel or Glimmer or even Katniss Everdeen.
But not Cato. Never Cato.
You make a silent promise to yourself to never ever be caught unarmed in the arena.
Cato is still waiting for your reply, his eyes slightly narrowed as you regard him silently. You refuse to show your fear, you refuse to give him the satisfaction of frightening you, and so, breaking his gaze, you push at his chest and slip off the ledge, starting back across the room towards your bedroom. You keep your stride slow, your steps confident.
And then when you reach the door, you stop, lifting a casual hand to rest on the door post. You turn your head, not far enough to meet his eyes, just far enough so he can see your expression; cool, calm, uncaring.
"Good night, Cato." You say indifferently. "I'll see you in the morning."
You can see him staring at you, still standing at the window, his lips parted in silent confusion. He obviously expected you to back down, to admit you were wrong, maybe even stammer a little. But you're strong, as strong as he is, even if it's in a different way.
You shut the door behind you, allowing a self satisfied smile to trace your lips for a moment, before sliding slowly into bed. You stare up at the ceiling again, but this time drowsiness overtakes you. You fall asleep quickly and spend the rest of the night unconscious, dreaming of meadows, silver blades and sky blue eyes.
…
The next morning passes quickly. You don't see much of Cato, just a passing glimpse as the two of you are led to separate rooms in the hovercraft, and then you're on your way to the arena. Your stylist chatters incessantly, offering you various food and drink, but you ignore her steadfastly, focusing instead on maintaining your inner calm. You're not particularly anxious, but you know the bloodbath will be chaotic and disorientating. To survive and to take out as many tributes as possible, you know you'll have to keep your cool.
The windows black out and you know you're nearly there. There's a twinge of excitement in your stomach.
You imagine what it'll be like to kill someone for the first time. Power. You imagine you'll feel a surge of power. Satisfaction too, maybe? And blood lust. You mustn't forget the blood lust; you'll have to control that if you want to win. Practically every year of your life, you've watched Careers drown in blood lust. Sometimes, it's a good thing. You expect Cato is the kind of person to thrive on blind, raging blood lust, but you, you need to keep focused.
His blood is as hot as fire. Yours is as cold as ice.
...
In your launch room, your stylist dresses you despite your protestations. It's a good outfit, though, you decide. Khaki coloured trousers, loose fitting and flexible, tough supple boots and thick warm socks, a dark red top (the exact colour of blood, you think with a smirk) a dark brown leather jacket and a waterproof windbreaker – again in a rather flattering deep red. Not exactly the best colour for camouflage, though.
Your stylist scrapes your dark hair from your face, tying it up in a tight ponytail, before whipping out her make up box. You glare at her.
"No make up."
She sighs but doesn't push it. No one ever pushes it with you. Well, except for Cato maybe.
And then suddenly, a pleasant feminine voice is announcing that there's thirty seconds to launch. Straightening your jacket, you step into the metal plate, tossing your hair as the glass cylinder closes around you. From the other side of the glass, your stylist gives you a thumbs up and you acknowledge her with a slight nod.
A few seconds later, you hear the plate above you slide smoothly open and sunlight spills across your face.
Five seconds.
You set your stance, clenching your fists and lifting your chin proudly. You know the second your plate rises into the arena, you will be in full view of the cameras and therefore the rest of Panem.
And then you're rising upwards and your breath quickens with exhilaration. This is it, you think. This is what you were born to do.
You emerge in a large clearing, the sun warming the back of your neck as the metal plate slowly grinds to a halt. The large booming voice of the Games announcer echoes out across the grass
"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the 74th Hunger Games begin."
The digitalised timer, mounted at the mouth of the cornucopia, begins its steady descent from sixty. You shift a little from foot to foot, eyes darting around the clearing, taking in the arena – wood, a field filled with tall grass, a large lake – and then focusing in on the goodies at the cornucopia.
Your mouth nearly waters as you spot the endless supplies of weapons right at the mouth. As soon as the gong sounds, your first priority will be getting your hands on some knives – you spot an open box of blades a little way from the cornucopia and make it your goal. You'll have to run fast though. You might not need to worry about the other Careers, but you're pretty sure there are other tributes who'll want to try and take you out early on.
With your aim in mind, you look around at the other tributes. You see Glimmer and Marvel – you let out a snort when he winks at you – and then you spot Cato. He's standing tall, huge muscles tense, golden hair glinting in the sunlight. As you watch him, his eyes swivel towards you and, smirk forming on his lips, he lifts his hand in a jaunty salute. You grin back partly because you're so exhilarated, partly because the audience will love your carefree little exchange.
Laughing a little, Cato gestures towards the cornucopia in a don't you think we should concentrate? kind of gesture. You shrug, pulling a face, and he shakes his head, a grin still on his face, before turning back to focus in on the weapons.
You turn back too, realising there's only ten seconds on the counter. Focus, you tell yourself sharply. You have plenty of time later to prove your confidence to the audience. You lean forward a little, every muscle tensing and in silence of the clearing, all you can hear is your own heartbeat. Every limb tingles in anticipation as adrenaline and apprehension and excitement strums through your body. You feel like a live wire.
Your eyes zero in on the knives as the timer hits three.
Two.
One.
The gong sounds and without hesitation, you leap from the plate, sprinting towards the cornucopia, boots pounding on the dry ground, hair whipping out behind you. Coloured jackets blur around you and you're aware of the first scream.
You reach your knives in seconds, grabbing as many as you can hold in your hands. Oh, they're beautiful, solid curved handles, glinting silver blades... You shake your head a little. Later. Later you can appreciate their beauty. Now, it's time to put them to good use. Shoving all but one in your jacket pocket, you take off again, glancing rapidly around to check no one is attacking you, before heading towards your new found prey, a girl with light brown hair who's rummaging through a large black container. She looks up and panic streaks across her face. Squinting slightly, you lift your arm, taking aim... and then a huge figure looms up behind her. The girl's body convulses and you see a sword explode out from her chest, piercing clothing and spattering blood.
You slow to a jog, your knife faltering.
Cato whips the sword out of the dead girl's back with a smirk, letting the body fall limply to the floor. You glower at him but he's already off, chasing down another victim. With a snarl of irritation, you spin on your heel and break into a run, spotting a sprinting boy in a blue jacket a little way out. You position your knife straight at his back – you see him stop and raise an axe high above his head – and then with a grunt, you let it fly.
The blade soars through the air and then hits its mark, right between the shoulder blades. He takes a few seconds to fall – in the mean time, you glance around again for more possible attackers – but when you look back and he's on the floor, you see whom his axe was aimed at.
Katniss Everdeen.
Yes! You sprint off again, eyes fixed greedily on your newest victim. She sees you coming and you're satisfied to see a look of pure terror cross her face. Scrabbling slightly, she turns and legs it, racing off towards the trees. You pull another knife from your pocket and taking aim, waste no time in sending it shooting like a bullet across the clearing at Everdeen.
At the last second, she yanks her backpack up to protect her head and the knife buries itself in the thick canvas.
You say a bad word – caught for a moment between staying here to go after more tributes and chasing down Everdeen – but then you make a split second decision and you take off after her, another knife already in your hand.
You dash across the grass, determination in your jaw, knowing that once she's in the forest, she'll be harder to catch. But she's still got that damn rucksack protecting her head and back and you won't be able to get a good shot. And then she hits the tree line and a curse slips through your lips. You accelerate after her, reaching the forest a few seconds after she does. You spot that bright orange rucksack between the trees up ahead and smirking to yourself, follow it, the dried leaves crunching loudly underfoot as you run.
And then you've got a clear shot. You take aim and...
Someone ploughs straight into you, taking you down to the hard ground, all the air leaving your lungs. Your attacker rolls you over and over, your knife slipping through your grasp, but even as you gasp frantically for breath, you know you've got to react. And fast.
Now on top of you, the girl raises a a huge knife right above your chest. You're suddenly furious – because she thinks she can kill you, because she stopped you from going after Everdeen – and with a scream of anger, you throw her off you, rolling on top of her and pinning her to the ground with knees to her upper arms.
"Thought you could go after me, did you?" You snarl as she struggles helplessly beneath you. "What district are you? 6?" She nods tearfully. "6. Right." You pull out another knife from your pocket and on seeing it, the girl lets out a blood curdling screech. You let out a cold laugh. "Sorry, no victor for district 6 this year."
And then you slash the knife across her throat, the blade slicing through skin like butter. Blood explodes from the wound, spraying you across the face but you find that you don't even flinch.
You stay where you are, holding the girl down as her struggles end and then you stand. You leave the bloody knife on the floor beside the body – you'll have loads at the cornucopia – before turning and heading back through trees towards the clearing, wiping your damp face across your sleeve.
Something strangely hollow settles in the pit of your stomach but you shake it off.
You came here to win. You came here to kill.
…
"Hey Clove!" Glimmer calls as you appear in the clearing. You lift your hand in greeting, before breaking into a jog towards the cornucopia. The bloodbath seems pretty much over. Bodies litter the clearing and Glimmer is already sorting through boxes. The girl from district 4 – you should probably find out her name – is bent over a slumped body, pleading quietly, wrapping some already blood stained bandages around the kid's leg. Cato is standing next to them, arms folded, expression irritated.
He perks up a little when he notices you though, striding over to meet you.
"You survived then?" He grins. You look offended.
"Of course."
His eyes flicker down towards the blood smeared across your face and throat.
"Looks like you had some trouble."
You shrug.
"Not mine."
He laughs, but his expression clouds as whomever the district 4 girl is tending to lets out a cry of pain.
"Who's that?" You ask.
"Jamie." He replies with a roll of the eyes. When you look none the wiser he chuckles. "District 4. I slashed him by accident."
"Isn't he an ally?" You ask, unimpressed. He shrugs.
"I didn't mean to. I got caught up in the bloodbath and he got in my way."
"How bad is it?"
Cato look sheepish.
"Really bad."
"Hey guys!" Marvel shouts, suddenly appearing from behind the cornucopia, dragging someone by the scruff of their neck. "Look what I've found!"
Glimmer bounds over to where you and Cato are standing as Marvel drags the kid over. It's a boy, the boy from 3 if you're not mistaken. He's alive and uninjured and you wonder what the hell Marvel is playing at.
"What are you doing, Marvel?" Glimmer asks, eyeing the wriggling boy with distaste.
"He says he can be useful." Marvel says, dropping the kid on the floor in front of you all. The boy sits up and catching your eye, shrinks away, fear in his expression. The blood you haven't managed to wipe off your face yet might have something to do with that.
"Oh yeah?" Cato asks, nudging the kid with his foot. "What can you do?"
The kid cowers away from your hulking great district partner, his mouth opening and shutting, no sound coming out.
"Tell 'em, kid." Marvel says encouragingly.
"I, uh." He begins hoarsely, before clearing his throat. "I'm real good at rewiring." He says. "I'm pretty sure that, um, with a bit of time, I can reactivate the bombs." He gestures towards the metal plates you were all stood upon before the gong sounded.
"And what use would that have?" Glimmer asks, tossing her hair. You roll your eyes.
"God, Glimmer," You say irritably. "Why are you so stupid?" Her perfectly shaped eyebrows crease as she frowns confusedly at you, but you ignore her, crouching down beside the kid. "Do you have the tools to do that?" You ask him. He nods slowly.
"I think so."
"We can use the bombs to protect our supplies." You tell the others. "That way we won't need a guard, or we can use them in traps." You look at the kid. "Is that what you had in mind?" He nods again.
"We should keep him around." Marvel says. "He's useful."
You stand, frowning as you notice Glimmer idly inspecting her sparkly pink nails.
"More useful than little miss manicure over there." You say scathingly. Her head jerks up and she shoots you a glare.
"I'll go start sorting supplies." She snaps, turning on her heel and heading back towards the boxes. You smirk after her, and Cato nudges you in the ribs. He's obviously trying to chastise you, but the glint in his eyes lets you know he might enjoy the odd girl fight.
"What's your name, kid?" Marvel asks, looking back down at the district 3 boy.
"Nelson." He replies nervously.
"Right Nelson, that's Cato, Clove," Marvel says pointing to you and your partner. "I'm Marvel, that's Tara and Jamie," He points over to where Tara is still tending to her district partner. "And the primadonna over there," He says with a chuckle, turning to nod towards his district partner. "Is Glimmer."
Nelson gives you all a nervous smile.
"Hi."
The Gamemakers choose that moment to set off the cannons. You count interestedly.
Ten. Not half bad. Only fourteen left. Still, that's thirteen too many.
"How many of those were yours?" Cato asks and you see the challenge in the quirk of his lips.
"Two." You say. He raises a blonde eyebrow.
"Oh." And that's all he says. You heave a great big sigh, but humour him.
"Okay." You say, drawing out the sound reluctantly. "How many did you kill?"
"Three." He smirks. You roll your eyes. That's only one more than you.
"What? Do you want an award?"
He lets out a guffaw before opening his mouth to answer.
"Wow." Glimmer interrupts, reappearing next to you. "Ten dead already. That's pretty good."
You're about to shrug and reply that it could have been better, when another cannon fires. A little way away, you hear Tara let out a sad sigh, and you turn to see her stand very slowly, her shoulders drooping. Jamie lies lifeless on the floor beside her.
"Make that eleven." Glimmer says softly.
There is a silence and Tara's gaze, now fixed firmly on Cato, turns accusative. She might have been about to stay something, but Cato gives her such a scowl, she subsides without a word. You wonder if Cato feels bad - Jamie was supposed to be an ally after all - but your district partner's expression is unreadable.
"We should move out." Marvel says eventually. "To let them pick up the bodies."
He moves off across the clearing, closely shadowed by Nelson, who's apparently decided Marvel is the only one he wants to trust.
As you all follow them, Cato sticks with you.
"Did you get her?" He asks, striding across the grass and trying to look nonchalant. You know who he's talking about, of course. Who else?
"No." You say, watching as the hovercraft moves in over the cornucopia. "The girl from 6 tackled me and by the time I'd sorted her out, Everdeen was long gone."
He lets out a snort of laughter and you hear relief in the sound. He wants to kill her himself just as much as you do.
"I'm guessing it's 6's blood you're covered in, then." He says. You nod.
"Sprayed a bit more than I expected." You reply distractedly. The hovercraft has moved out to pick up what you assume is the body of the girl from 6.
Neither of you speak for a few minutes.
That strange hollowness is back and you lean against a tree trunk, puzzlement creasing your brow. You never expected this. You never thought you'd feel anything but satisfaction after your first kills. It's what you've been trained for all your life, after all.
Glimmer produces a bag of something sweet she's plucked from one of the boxes before you moved out and your stomach rumbles.
Huh. Maybe you're just hungry.
...
GASP! Can Clove have a conscience? Nah I think she just needs some sugar. Thanks for reading, please review xxx
Next Chapter: Clove stumbles across one Mr Mellark, the Pack go hunting and Cato & Clove play rock, paper, scissors...
