I didn't notice until recently that there was actually a small group of people who liked chapter one, so I've decided to attempt chapter two. There's a lot more of the actual Hunger Games story in this chapter, not focused so much on the personal story. Just like all great sequels, never as good as the original. But do let me know what you think! Thanks!
Careers typically didn't spend very long in the remake center. District two tributes had a bit longer stent than the others simply from the dust built up under their nails, but they were definitely quicker than the other districts. Waxed, cut, scrubbed down and plucked; the general routine of getting that extra shine on them.
Clove had been with her group for a couple hours. They chatted to themselves, every once in a while one would ask Clove something, she'd give the shortest reply possible and go back to staring at the wall across from her. Once the woman with orange hair asked about Cato, mentioning his looks, Clove shot her a glare and she shut up.
The walk to the remake center had been a quiet one. Clove kept to herself. Every so often she'd get an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, glancing over her shoulder she'd spot Cato staring back at her. She knew what he wanted, for her to turn her head quickly and get that unwanted blush over her cheeks again; she wouldn't let it. Once she glared back at him until he scoffed and looked away, another time she attempted the one trick she knew caused a reaction out of him and ran her tongue over her lip; this caused an unfamiliar tightening of Cato's jaw and his vision averted. They were separated shortly after that.
"I think you're ready for her." The man with aqua tattoos over his skin told Clove in an annoyingly high-pitched shrill of a capitol accent. She was left alone in the tiny room that she had been locked in since arriving there. The prep team left to get her, whoever that was. She glanced around the room while she waited, able to catch a glance of herself in a mirror.
If the dust from the masonry had been caked on her it had to have been there for years because she was just now noticing its absence. She thought she was tanner than this, but she had come out almost pale, her freckles sticking out obnoxiously. Her hair had been left about her shoulders, she never wore it down before, it always got in her face. She looked kind of nice. She was just getting the courage up enough to move when the door opened.
Whoever her was she was standing in front of Clove now. Much taller than herself with a silver, shiny wig and dressed in what had to be six inch heels to match her brown leather and silver get up the woman seemed to crowd the room, "You must be Clove." She grins, offering the young girl her hand.
She took it out of habit of being told that's what you do, even when you don't want to, "Yes." She says confidently with a nod, giving the woman's hand a shake.
"That's a lovely name," The woman smiles, sitting her bag down on the counter, "I'm Almas, I'll be dressing you for the Tribute parade and the interviews." She explains pulling a sketch book out, "I've talked to your mentors and we've designed something spectacular for the parade and your dress for the interviews it to die for." She goes on, walking back over to show Clove the drawings.
It's exactly what Lyme and Brutus have asked for; they're gladiators. Head to toe armor for the both of them, a crown each to show they're the victors. Clove simply nods, telling the woman she likes it. Tributes get very little say in what they wear and Clove was just thankful they would be completely covered, even if it was just in metal. The woman claps, obviously excited, and tells Clove to follow her so they could get started. The woman doesn't even bother to wait until Clove's pulled her robe on before she opens the door and walks out, leaving the door open behind her.
They end up in a wide room, two screens set up on either side of the room and mirrors covering the opposite two walls. There's a seating area, Lyme and Brutus waiting with the bubbly staff team Clove had met earlier and Pumice, their escort. She was feeling relaxed enough until the door opened again and Cato walked in behind a man half his size with flaming, balding red hair. The man walks over to stand beside Almas, Cato stopping beside Clove; his eyes landing on her almost instantly.
"They made you look like a girl. I like it, it's pretty." He tells her in a low tone with a smirk. Clove keeps her eyes forward, her arms crossing over her chest to pull her robe tighter. Suddenly she didn't like the remake team as much for doing this to her.
"Alright, this way, both of you!" Almas calls walking towards the screens. Once behind them Clove realized it was less out of privacy and more for the surprise factor for Lyme and Brutus. Her robe was pulled off her quickly and a thin sleeveless dressed pulled over her. The skirt was wrapped around her next, the leather belt pulled to the point she had to choke out that she was okay to breath. The chest plate came next, forcing her into perfect posture with her chin raised over the neck piece.
After it was settled that both were ready they were instructed to walk out from behind the screens. Clove looked directly at the closest mirror as she walked to the small raised stage in the middle of the room. She looked almost like a golden bird of prey over a gladiator but she could see the theme. Cato on the other hand looked as though he was meant for the uniform of armor.
They stood on the stage being inspected by the whole lot of the team. The six or so support staff were absolutely gushing with Pumice, Lyme and Brutus were talking to Cato's stylist, Almas was walking around the two like she was dying to find an issue with the outfits. Clove kept her eyes either on the staff or on her own in the mirror, she could feel Cato's eyes on her again throughout the stint on the stage but she ignored it.
"Well, I think you look perfect!" Almas cheered, clapping and turning towards the staff whom quickly followed suit. Lyme clapped slightly, Brutus kept his arms crossed but did give a small head nod of approval. "I believe that settles it, you're going to be everyone's favorites. I bet even District One will love you." She smiles, District One was the one District you had to win favor with, they were the wealthiest and while they typically gave their sponsorship to their own tributes, if you one them over it was a large advantage. "Oh, I almost forgot the finishing pieces." Her smile widens and she walks past the tributes followed by Cato's stylist.
Clove could almost make out what they were doing in the mirror. They were bent over a cart that had been pushed into the room a few minutes ago. She glanced up at Cato who simply turned to give her a wink. She rolled her eyes and looked back at the mirror. A few moments later the two stylists were behind the tributes placing a golden wing headpiece on both.
"I give you the gladiators!" Almas cheers, gripping onto Clove's shoulders as she smiled at the mentors. Brutus' eyes were wide, looking slightly amused, while Lyme gave a forced smile with a head nod. Perhaps that had set them over the top on the obnoxious side, but that's what the capitol wanted. They didn't want just gladiators, they wanted rhinestone incrusted, purple gladiators with sparkle dust. The more obnoxious the better and they were borderline at the moment.
"Oh, I think it's time for the chariots." Cato's stylist speaks up to Almas who gasps and agrees. The two tributes are ushered out surrounded by their team. Clove kept her hands at her side, the metal chest piece making it uncomfortable for her to cross her arms over her chest. Cato's head was up, eyes straight ahead looking through the gap between Lyme and Brutus.
They were lead downstairs to the basement of the remake center that seemed almost like a stable. Chariots lined the walls each being led by a group of four horses each. Other tributes were being led into their chariots. Lyme muttered to the two of them to kept their eyes forward, if anyone was going to be looking around it would be the other tributes to them. Clove was having a hard time of it, but it seemed to come second nature to Cato.
Their horses were dust gray; apparently the stylists took it so far as to match the horses to their districts. "Ladies first." Almas smiled offering Clove a hand to assist her into the chariot. Reluctantly it was taken and Clove stepped up into the chariot, holding onto the bar that ran across the front. Cato jumped up, rocking the structure a bit but getting up without aid seemed to outweigh almost making Clove fall over. She glared over to him for a moment before looking forward again.
It was only a few minutes, a quick pep talk from the stylists to remember to remain stoic, let the citizens know they'll be the ones to give them the show they crave, don't smile too much, but don't scare them. Then, before either could assure they understood, District One was pulling out with their snow white horses to a round of applause from the capitol crowd that awaited on the other side of the gate. There was a pause and then a slight lurch and their chariot was rolling out after them.
For sixteen years Clove had seen this parade; a twenty minute chariot ride to the City Circle where President Snow will give the official opening speech of the games and then they're done. It was like the first day of training day when you're eleven. They line you up and one by one you walk down the row of weapons and take your pick. Will it be the sword, or the knives? Do you take on the spear or pick up the bow? Each one is as polished and shined up as the next, just up to you to pick one.
The bright lights hit her and for a moment blinding her before her eyes adjusted and she was capable of taking in the crowd. They were a sea of colors, but every so often she could pick them apartment from a distinguishing feature; bright red hair here, purple skin there. Her arm raised, her wrists giving small movements, it wasn't exactly a wave but it was a motion of acknowledgement that Almas had suggested they stick to. They weren't supposed to look eager.
Once again, just like with the crowd at the train station there was a leaning towards the male tribute in the cheers. Clove could hear the underlying chant of Cato's name on the lips of the capitol citizens. She hadn't been able to hear if one of the District One tributes had been favored over the other, but the jealousy in the pit of her stomach figured they had been waiting for Cato all along. The three minute wait of just viewing of the luxury district tributes must have been torture for them.
The brushing sensation on her leg started off settle at first, she barely noticed it for a few moments. At first she thought it was the cloth dress under the armor blowing in the breeze so she ignored it. A few moments later she felt it again and chanced looking away from the crowd to look down. While Clove was holding onto the bar of the chariot in front of her with the hand she wasn't waving with Cato had left his free hand between them. The settle sensation she kept feeling was his fingers brushing against her skin under the hem of her skirt behind the barrier of the front chariot; no one would notice.
She didn't know what to do. She had set a standard for herself. She wasn't going to show him a reaction, that's all he wanted. He just wanted to get a rise out of her, see her face turn red and give himself personal satisfaction that he knew a weakness of hers that no one else did. She wasn't going to let it be a weakness, if he wanted to rub her leg let him; it was a pointless act that wasn't going to lead anywhere for him. Yet, the one thing that was standing out about the simple act wasn't just that he was creeping dangerously far up her leg, it was how gentle his touch was.
She had never associated Cato with gentleness. He was fierce and rough. His actions in his bedroom were more characteristic of him, she presumed. While the touching was inappropriate and perverse, she was wondering when he was going to get frustrated and dig his nails into her. The backs of his fingers turned so he was lightly rubbing the pads of his fingertips against her. She was taking deep breathes now, each light touch sending a new sensation through her skin that was threatening to raise goose bumps over her bare legs.
She turned her head away from him, catching him starting to look at her. She raised her arm again, giving a small smirkish smile to the crowd while attempting to ignore the horny buffoon beside her. He seemed to have taken the blatant ignorance as a challenge and the pressure of his fingers against her skin intensified. She bit her lip, but made sure he wasn't able to see her face as she focused on a man with a green afro in the crowd.
His fingers moved from brushing against her outer thigh to the front and were working their way to her inner thigh. She was beginning to wonder when she should give up and stop him because he seemed determined to at least get that, and her heart was starting to pound hard enough she was sure it was echoing under the metal plate. His hand was big enough to almost completely grip her leg as he tightened his hand around it. That was it, the blood was rising to her cheeks and she didn't feel like showing a blush on camera. She turned, her hand letting go of the chariot to grab his when she stopped noticing his expression.
"What the hell is that?" He asked, his eyes looking at one of the larger screens along the trail. His hand had let go of her leg quickly and gripped the bar of the chariot until his knuckles turned white. Clove's brow creased and she turned to follow his gaze. There was a chariot on fire? What do they do when a chariot's on fire? Do they stop the parade short? Clove had never heard of tributes dying before the arena, third degree burns couldn't be completely healed by the cornucopia; they'll be the first ones to die.
"Don't worry about it." Clove muttered looking back at the crowd. All eyes were looking past them now, down towards the idiots who had lit themselves on fire. The disgusting capitol crowd was cheering; Clove should have known they'd get a kick out of two tributes burning alive in front of them. Maybe that was it, they had no hopes so they might as well go out with a bang instead of blowing up in the arena.
"They're not getting hurt." Cato noted, his eyes glancing to the screens as they passed; didn't want to let anyone know he was looking at them.
"What?" Clove asked and glanced at another screen, he was right. They were fine, they were smiling. The girl had grabbed a rose and was smelling it as she blew a kiss to the crowd who was eating it up. "District 12." Clove spoke up, noticing there wasn't a chariot behind them. The two were holding hands for the crowd to see, disgusting. Not to mention weak, kill one and the other will be easier if they care about each other.
"Who the hell do they think they are?" Cato was grumbling as he continued to wave to the crowd left who had yet to notice the fire balls at the end of the train.
"Let them enjoy it, they'll be dead soon." Clove replied, noticing his knuckles loosening up on the bar as he continued to wave to the crowd not looking back at her. She preferred it this way, at least he had stopped touching her.
They pulled into the City Circle around President Snow's mansion after the District One chariot. Clove finally allowed her arm to relax, hands lightly on the bar in front of her as she leaned against it. District Three pulled to a stop beside them and soon the other chariots were following in line. She glanced over to her right to look at District One, the first time she had really gotten a good look at them. They were completely stereotypical; blond hair, blue eyed, and in desperate need of giving their stylists a kick to the crotch. They looked like bedazzled flamingos.
The girl looked over towards her, Clove expected to glare back at her but she was met with a smile. Brow creased Clove watched the girl for a moment before noticing she wasn't looking at her, but past her. She turned to look behind her and noticed Cato giving the girl a smirk of a smile. He had that look in his eyes again, like the one he had looking at her in the bedroom. She cleared her throat and looked up as President Snow began his welcoming speech.
She felt awkward. She wasn't jealous, why the hell should she be jealous that Cato had finally found something else to play with besides her. She was attempting to focus on the speech she had heard sixteen times over with the number of the Hunger Games being the only thing to change, this was a feet considering almost every over minute she would hear an annoying giggle from the chariot next to her and she highly doubted it was the boy with his arms crossed glaring up at the president. She was annoyed.
The speech was over, the anthem played and the chariots filed into the training center. The crew was there to meet them, Brutus looked furious, Lyme looked frustrated, Almas and Cato's stylists looked scared out of their minds and were attempting to hold it together. Pumice spoke up first.
"You both looked fantastic." He told them with a small smile, Clove hopping off the chariot; this time without assistance.
"What the hell was District Twelve doing?" Cato snapped as he stepped down from the chariot, pulling his crown off his head.
"They were on fire." Almas squeaked, covering her mouth. Cato's vision moved throughout the room, finally landing on the chariot furthest away from them. The fire had gone out by now, the two tributes standing in simply black suits. "What the hell does fire have to do with fucking coal." Cato snaps, throwing the crown down on the ground and storming away from the group. His stylist hesitantly walked after him with his small crew of assistance.
"Cato!" Pumice shouts after him, and soon the entire crowd was retreating after him. Clove sighed, pulling her crown off as well, keeping to the back of the crowd.
"You were fantastic, dear." Almas told Clove with a smile, brushing her hand over her shoulder. The touch was different from Cato's, but not like any other touch Clove had received. The woman had insisted on doing it since they met, giving small pats to the young girl. She wasn't used to it, but it wasn't horrible. "Just what we wanted, you couldn't have done more." She assured the girl with a smile.
"Thanks." Clove muttered, glancing over her shoulder as they passed the District One chariot. The girl was throwing a slight hissy fit. The boy, however, relaxed was leaning on the chariot. She met eyes with him for a moment, he didn't break the eye contact, and his expression remained the same as if the display from District Twelve hadn't affected him. He gave a nod and then Clove looked forward again, getting on the lift.