THE NIGHT BEFORE TRAINING
"What the hell was that?" hissed Clove as she stalked into the elevator with Cato coming along behind her. She hit the button labeled '2' with her fist and stood rigidly inside the glass elevator with her arms crossed. "All of the sudden that deprived District Twelve comes in with their flaming suits and the crowd is all over them!"
"I know," agreed Cato in a stony voice. "I can't believe it. They'll have sponsors crawling all over them. Funny how the saddest District got the best stylist, isn't it?"
"No, it isn't!" snapped Clove as they walked onto their floor of the building. She ripped the head piece off and threw it across the room. It smashed into a vase and brought it crashing to the floor. Wrestling out of the chest piece, Clove was fuming. She hated being beat at anything, and at such an event as The Hunger Games, failure was not an option. But suddenly it was, after District Twelve came out with their magnificent costumes and stole the show.
She was still wriggling out from under the chest piece when Cato walked over and pulled it off of her. He held it out to her warily, just in case Clove decided to take the chest piece and hit him over the head with it. Not that he couldn't snap her in half like a twig, though.
"Thanks," she said shortly, still glaring as she replied to him. "I'm going to go change out of the rest of this worthless costume. Tell me when dinner's ready."
"Fine. Try not to destroy your bedroom until then," retorted Cato brusquely as he turned to walk towards his own room. "Better yet, try not to wreck the whole floor!"
Clove heard him slam the door shut behind her, slam it hard enough for the hinges to break. She stepped into her room and stripped herself of the rest of the costume and walked into her bathroom's shower. Hitting a few buttons, she stood in the hot drizzle of water, letting it tickle her face as it slightly washed away her fury. When she was dry and moisturized, Clove placed her hand on the box that sent a current up through her body and through her hair, drying it instantly along with untangling it. Her obsidian hair, now smelling like mint, fell along her shoulder in glossy waves.
She walked out of her room, chose a simple grey tunic and black pants, and walked out into the dining room, which was relatively empty except for the few attending Avoxs. Hearing footsteps behind her, she turned around to see a shirtless Cato walking out of his room, his hands busy with drying his hair with a towel.
"Where are Brutus and Enobaria?" inquired Clove as she tried to avoid looking at Cato's muscular chest.
"Probably out drinking with some of the Gamemakers or Capitol people," said Cato as he threw his towel onto the nearby loveseat. "We should just eat without them. I don't care whether or not they'll be angry at us. It's not like they won't see food on the table ever again."
Clove snorted and said, "Very true." She grabbed a plate and topped it with thin slices of roast beef, a little side of greens with tiny versions of tomatoes, and thick noodles covered in a creamy green sauce. Walking over to the loveseat she flopped down upon it, some of the noodles already in her mouth. After Cato filled up his plate, he sat down next to her and grabbed the remote to turn on the large television that hung on the wall before them. The rerun of the Tribute parade was playing.
"You smell like mint." stated Cato as he bit into a slice of roast beef. Clove, who was in the process of swallowing her noodles, choked at the sudden deduction. Coughing, she grabbed at the glass of water sitting on the coffee table and chugged it.
"And?" said Clove, still gasping slightly as she glowered at Cato.
"And nothing," said Cato. He turned back to the television. "You just smell like mint."
Her eyes narrowed as she stared at him before turning her head to watch the tribute parade play on the large television. The chariot pulling District Twelve had just appeared, their black unitards flaming and the shadows they created dancing across the tributes' faces. You could tell that no one else could compare to them by the escalation of screaming coming from the Capitol crowds surrounding the City Circle.
She heard a sharp intake of air coming from Cato, and she glanced at him, seeing his arms crossed tightly as if he would never unwind them for another thousand years. A muscle in his jaw repeatedly twitched as the cameras stayed trained on the District Twelve tributes. Clove also felt peeved, staring at their blazing costumes that their clever stylists had created for them. But she was also, in a way, comforted because it wasn't the tributes that were amazing. It was their stylists. In reality, they had nothing of their own to show, it was really just them made beautiful by the Capitol.
"They're nothing," said Clove carefully as to not anger Cato any further, because she had seen him break necks before back in District Two. "They're nothing without their stylists to make them look nice. For all we know they could just be stupid kids who can't use a weapon to save their life."
"But that doesn't matter!" shouted Cato as he swiped his dish off the coffee table and let it smash to a thousand pieces on the ground. "It doesn't matter because they'll get sponsors! They could be incompetent with weapons, but they've been made desirable by their stylists! Look at the crowds! They're cheering louder than when we were out there! And the Capitol people are fickle enough to just sponsor them because their costumes were pretty, you know that."
"Cato, calm down." shushed Clove, not wanting any of the Peacekeepers guarding their building to come in and snoop around. Cato smashed another plate that was sitting on the table. "Cato! You'll get in trouble with the Peacekeepers and we can't afford for you to get taken away or something because you've bashed up our living quarters!"
Acting only out of instinct, she clasped Cato's face and looked straight into his crystal clear eyes, seeing her own reflection in them. "Stop. It. Now."
Panting, Cato took a deep breath and his shoulders slumped forward. Quickly, Clove took her hands off his face and told him, "I get it. But even if they've got sponsors, they can't beat us. We're the most serious contenders in the Games. We shouldn't be worrying about them. We shouldn't be worrying about anyone. They should be worried about us, and they probably are. Once we're in the arena, nothing will stop us. Because even if they've got whatever their sponsors send them, I've got my knives and you've got your sword. We can win this."
Cato gave her a long and hard stare, absorbing her confident words. Finally, he nodded.
"You're right. They're nothing. We'll beat everyone else."
end THE NIGHT BEFORE TRAINING