2.
The sound of knocking rapidly pulled Clove from her thoughts, startling her. It took her a moment to survey her surroundings and remind herself where she was.
The Hunger Games haven't started yet. She wasn't in a barren field, or a desert. She wasn't repeatedly stabbing the boy from Eight. She was however, sitting on an overly luxurious couch in the overly luxurious room the Capital had provided for the duration of her stay until the games actually did begin.
"What?" she snapped.
In response the door opened enough for her mentors head to pop into the room, her handsome face eyeing Clove with something that resembled curiosity. Though Clove didn't like many people at all, she did have somewhat fond feelings toward the tall muscular woman. Her name was Lyme – she had won the games sometime back and unlike many of the others in the vastly large pool of victors from District Two, she wasn't arrogant and didn't act overly superior. Rather she was tough, mostly quiet, and only spoke to Clove when it was necessary – which Clove really liked.
Also unlike other District Two victors, she didn't give off the impression that she really wanted to be here.
"Dinner," Lyme said evenly. Though judging by the slight twisted expression bestowed upon her strong facial features, she had disapproved of Clove's tone. Because Clove held a great deal of respect for her mentor, rather than challenge her further, she pretended not to notice.
Allowing her lithe legs to slip out from beneath her body, she felt the familiar sensation of pins and needles attack her feet. For a moment she stayed seated, flexing her toes and giving herself time to retain some feeling. Lyme continued to analyze her from the doorway and just as she opened her mouth to say something, the sound of china smashing onto marble floor caused both of their heads to whip around toward the dining area outside the doorway. Lyme instantly fled to the scene. But Clove didn't move, instead an involuntary smile crept onto her lips.
Several voices followed the sound of the crash – one of them belonging to their blubbering fool of a Capital escort and the other was deep but loud and shredded through the originally calm air like the sword he was so good at welding.
He was the definition of an arrogant, self-absorbed idiot. Along with having an inflated ego, he had an equally inflated temper and was constantly flying off the handle. He was very much like a child with his tantrums, only unlike a child his body was muscular and massive which made these episodes not quite as harmless. There was indeed something off about him, something Clove had picked up on the minute they turned to each other to shake hands for the cameras to broadcast to all of Panem on the day of their reaping. It wasn't when he aggressively squeezed her small hand so hard that he must have been trying crush the bones of her fingers that she noticed it. It wasn't even when the corners of his well-shaped lips twitched up into a smirk as he did it despite the fact that nearly every television screen in the country was focused in on their faces.
Rather, she saw it when she looked into his eyes- which seemed eerily vacant despite the animation of his face.
Cato.
He was like her in many ways. He too was hollow, but at some point in his life must have filled up the empty space with anger and hatred toward everything, everyone and maybe even himself.
But there was just enough difference between the two to keep her loathing him… and to keep things interesting too.
For example, one of Clove's favorite new ways to pass the time since being reaped was pissing off her dear district partner- and she was as talented at this as she was at throwing her knives. Though truthfully just about anyone could be good at angering Cato – she just seemed to be the only person who enjoyed it.
Using cold clammy hands she pushed the cape of her dark hair over one shoulder and smoothed out her shirt. Then she treaded into the warzone.
Porcelain shards laid strewn about the stone floor surrounding the suite's long mahogany dinner table and frantic Avoxs scurried about, nearly crashing into each other to clean up the mess. Cato was standing in front of a toppled over chair, his large body leaning over the table and massive hands gripping the edge of it's surface. His white teeth were gritting together and he was almost snarling at his mentor, Brutus- an equally threatening looking 40-something year old victor. Brutus lounged in his chair with one large arm lazily hanging off it, but a toothy smile broke out onto his face- his tan stubbly skin making his teeth glow white.
"Are you done yet?" he asked casually.
A bright red flush spread across Cato's smooth cheeks and one of his nostrils twitched.
"You talk to me like I'm a God-damned idiot," he snarled, rattling the entire table as he pounded into it with his fists.
Pallas, their plump Capital escort with his artificial hair dyed the color of a lime and ridiculous purple eye shadow to match- suddenly piped up at the prospect of possibly having to replace the table along with the now-broken china.
"Why don't we all just take a seat and settle down, hmm?" he coaxed while folding his fat fingers together nervously.
Brutus didn't acknowledge him. Instead he slowly rose from his seat, standing several inches over the already massive Cato and assumed a similar position- leaning over the table with his hands gripping the edge and his face not far from his tributes. Seeing them like this, Clove couldn't help but notice how similar they looked- the main difference being Brutus's tanned rough skin and dark hair as opposed to Cato's relatively fair skin and youth.
"That's because you are a God damned idiot. Maybe you should remember who it is that has control over what life-saving sponsor gifts you receive in that arena. Now sit down and shut up," he growled, but despite his tone he still smiled.
For a moment they held their grounds, eyeing each other. Then Cato jerked around and up righted his chair with such force he nearly threw it into the table. Brutus took his seat and leaned back with a look of approval illuminating his features. For most mentors, Cato's behavior would have been a show of utmost disrespect- but this mentor and victor hailed from District Two. Brutus actually liked Cato's outbursts – they showed the boys fire which wouldn't just be helpful to him in the games; his aggression would be one of the main sources of entertainment. The Capital always loved a ruthless killer.
Though, since they're arrival this must have been at least the fourth time Cato broke something, which led Clove to wonder if Brutus was setting him off on purpose.
Lyme had been sitting silently beside Brutus through the ordeal, making sure he and his tribute didn't attack each other. Pallas sighed and motioned tiredly to the Avoxs to bring out the food as he took his seat while Brutus took notice of Clove and smiled playfully.
"Aw now look, you frightened the sweet little thing. You need to learn some manners boy, that's no way to act in front of a lady," he said to Cato, though Clove picked up just a tinge of sarcasm in his voice.
Her lips tightened. She could kill the old bastard. Her eyes then flicked to Cato whose grin was clearly holding back some smart-ass remark. The only reason he didn't say it was because they were forbidden- at least when Lyme was around. One of their first dinners had ended with Clove forcibly thrusting a salad fork into Cato's hand, which was swiftly followed by his unharmed hand wrapping around her throat and slamming her to the ground before anyone even had a chance to react.
It was because of this same incident that Lyme rose from her seat beside Brutus and relocated to the one next to Cato- the two weren't allowed to sit beside each other ether.
Pallas eyed the group carefully from where he sat at the head of the table then rubbed his forehead – each year the tributes of District Two never failed to be a handful.
Rich foods of multiple colors lined the table on ornate platters, but what Clove grabbed was a hunk of steak – probably fresh from District Ten whose tributes would most likely die at her hands in a matter of days, she couldn't help but think. The meat was mostly red, barely lined with brown - just how she liked it.
She then selected a long steak knife from the center of the table. In admiration of it's simplicity her fingers trailed along the side of the blade.
The knife was different from other weapons in that its nature was to be personal. It could be used in long distance range which was indeed her specialty. But unlike axes or whips or even swords, a knife could be used so much closer to the victim and required less strength and more nimble fingers. Swords and axes may be able to sever but they can't carve…
As she sunk the blade into her food, she imagined herself cutting Cato.
Her eyes lifted to obtain a visual of him she could use. His brooding figure was hunched over the table across from her, digging into his food with large fists balled around the silverware as if he didn't really know how to hold it properly. Civility didn't suit him- rather than having his large body wedged uncomfortably between an expensive chair and table, she could picture him better running around through a forest and barbarically attacking some animal, eating it raw. Observation of the arm muscles bulging through his dark shirt and how tightly his prominent jaw seemed to chewing left her concluding he was still tense from the ordeal with Brutus.
Sensing he was being watched, Cato instantly lifted his pale eyes to meet her own with such intensity the distance between them seemed to shrink. Those eyes of his were one of the qualities that made him so threatening- the orbs were such a light blue that they could have been two pieces of ice. And as they bore into Clove's own she realized they barely seemed human.
But they didn't scare her.
Her dark eyebrows lifted in response and she blinked with innocence before continuing dig her knife into the steak again, without breaking eye contact.
The texture and resistance of the fat against the blade made it so easy to pretend that it was the inside of his mouth she was ripping through, into the gummy flesh of his cheek.
Involuntarily she lost herself in the moment. Staring at Cato, cutting into the meat- it all seemed too real. Her vision began to darken around the edges as she soaked in the suddenly very angry boy before her, the nostrils of his well-shaped nose flaring out, his broad shoulders becoming even tenser than they were a moment ago. His perfectly angled jaw was now locked. The skin of his face was just so smooth. Would he scream as she did it? Would he-
The steady clatter of forks on plates and glass cups clanking against wood had stopped. The silence of the room pulled Clove from her trance.
She realized first that she had been dragging the blade back and forth across the porcelain plate, making an awful screeching sound. Second, she realized how tense she was – her own teeth had been grinding so hard she now felt a tenderness in her jaw, she had leaned into the table a considerable amount, and her knucles were nearly white from contricting around the knife's handle. Third, she realized everyone had been staring at her.
Like a good mentor, Lyme instantly started up conversation.
"Have you two made the official alliances yet?" she asked, and with her question the table retained some normality again.
"District One approached us today," Cato responded, keeping his eyes cautiously locked on Cloves for a moment more before slowly breaking away.
Lyme nodded in approval – the tradition of the Career pack was as old as the Hunger Games themselves. It was the Careers who killed for the most part – therefore truly making the show. The alliance process was an important one. It was almost always between Districts One, Two and Four with the occasional but rare addition of other Districts tributes if they had a worthy skill.
Ironically though District One was probably one of Clove's least favorite districts. Each year they produced the same haughty, condescending tributes who she swore were almost always blonde with soft skin and a regal air about them. And this year's pair was no different.
"And District Four?" Lyme asked.
"They reek of fish," Clove answered simply and after Brutus's harsh burst of laughter the sounds of clinking silverwear took over again.
Because she thought he wasn't looking, she allowed herself to steal a glance at Cato again only to find his eyes fixed on her once more.
[That was so fun to write! Clove-Cato tension o0o0o0o0o0o0o. Also though Enobaria seems to be the common choice to Clove's mentor – I choose to use Lyme instead. I mean she was a victor, right? So who's to say she wasn't? Please let me know what you think!]