For those of you who enjoy visuals I have the dress I envisioned Clove wearing for her interviews: h t t p : / / i m a g e s h a c k . u s / p h o t o / m y - i m a g e s / 1 4 / m i l a s e l i e s a a b s s 1 1 . j p g / (You're going to have to take out the spaces)
Clove, Cato, Brutus, Lyme, Katniss, Peeta and the whole crew belong to the ever talented, ever wonderful Suzanne Collins. I can't deny that I loathe this chapter for some reason. Ether way hope ya'll enjoy. ALSO WARNING: language language language.
(P.S.) Had to go back and edit some things. Gah. Sorry.
ALSO one last thing: I wanted to try something alittle different. My favorite author here on (the incredibly talented Petite Cheriewhose amazing story on Finnick and Annie was what inspired me to write my own) always includes incorperates songs into her writting. I write most of this to my own ltitle soundtrack so I'm going to try it out. I know I already published this but anyone who is reading this for the first time/comes back to reread this chapter, tell me what you think! And yes I know Bassnectar isn't everyone's forte so please let me know!
Hold your sadness like a puppet
Keep putting on the play.
But everything you do is leading to the point
Where you just won't know what to do.
And at that moment you may laugh
But there is someone there who will be laughing louder than you.
- Sunrise Sunset, Bright Eyes
6.
It was two o' clock in the morning, but Brutus knew where to find him.
The lights of the elevator assaulted his eyes. They were too bright. The labels on the keys seemed to be letters rather than numbers- but he knew this couldn't be right; he hadn't drank that much liquor. But he had drank enough to have difficulty deciphering the symbols. The elevator doors had long been closed when he finally managed to pound the button labeled 12.
All was quite in the dark corridor the doors revealed when they opened. Brutus stood still until he heard the muffled sound of clinking and a light came into focus somewhere down the hall. He followed it.
The battered man he had been looking for sat alone and sullen in a room meant for avoxs, allowing a bottle of liquor to control his torments.
Brutus had known him for some years. They were victors- they had mentored together. Though it was hard to say whether or not the man absolutely despised him, considering Brutus's tributes seemed to kill his every year.
"Haymitch, my old friend."
The unexpected voice was enough to provoke Haymitch to jump out of his barstool, sending it flying several feet behind him, and slash a knife through the air a few times before realization spread across his face. His blood-shot gray eyes narrowed.
"What are the fuck are you doing here, Brutus?" he slurred. As usual he was inebriated. Maybe more so than usual.
"Funny story, actually," Brutus said. "A few hours ago I had the pleasure of dealing with the owner of the building over the finical expenses that resulted when my tribute punched a fucking hole clear through our wall. So to get rid of the headache, I had a few drinks. But then the cabinet downstairs ran a bit dry."
Haymitch took another swig. When the bottle pounded onto the table with a thud he said in a smart voice, "You could have just ordered more."
"Well maybe I wanted the company," Brutus said.
For several minutes they both held their ground; Brutus, standing the doorway, Haymitch glaring at him from where he sat at the table. After a beat he lifted the bottle in the direction of the barstool on the opposing side of him and poured liquor into a heavy glass. He slid it to Brutus.
"That was quite a reaping for you this year," Brutus said.
The only sound he received in response was Haymitch's gulping. Then he waved his hand, dismissing the comment. "Please, let's get to the real reason why-"he paused to release a burp that sounded as though it may have brought something other than gas with it, "-you're here."
Brutus decided which approach he wanted to take. Silence swept over them again.
"How did she do it?" he finally asked.
Haymitch's smile was dark. "You really think I'm going to tell you that?"
Brutus felt his temper flare, so instead of acting on it he leaned away from the table and threw his head back to dump the contents of the glass down his throat. It was strong. It was really strong. Haymitch didn't fuck around.
When he opened his mouth to exhale the air of the room felt cool. Instantly the haze before his eyes thickened.
"Wasn't sure what I thought," he said, his head leaning to the side with a harsh crack. "It's just such a turn around. Usually your tributes come out with what? A four… a three… this year you have not only an eight but an eleven."
"First time for everything," Haymitch said. "Usually your tributes don't go punching holes through walls."
Silence again. The men both sat back slightly, staring lazily at each other through half open eyes. Brutus eventually leaned his body onto the table. He was smiling.
"Yours are going to die, Haymitch."
Haymitch let out a burst of harsh laughter. Then he pounded his fist into the table and opened his eyes wide. His gray orbs were simmering. His teeth were clenched beneath his smile. "No shit. Isn't that the game? Twenty-three of those tributes are going to die." The bottle was at his lips again.
"Oh no, no, no I should have been more specific," Brutus said. "My tributes want their blood. No- maybe I should say they want her blood. It'll be quite the show when they catch her. You should have seen the fire in my boy's eyes when he saw that eleven."
Haymitch remained unfazed as he sloshed around the bottle in his hand. "I'm sure there was quite a bit in yours too," he said.
Brutus was taken aback by this, even in his slowed state.
"Maybe," he smiled. "Doesn't really matter how I felt about it though. I'm not going to be in that arena. Regardless, this should be an interesting games this year… for both of us."
Haymitch was focused on something in the wood work of the table. A grin slowly spread across his face until he was beaming from cheek to cheek.
"Ah but isn't it always, Brutus?" he said.
Then he suddenly became hysterical, as giddy as a child. His manic laughter vibrated off the walls of the room. It rang off the pots and pans hanging above the sink. It drowned out Brutus as he thanked him for the drink and pushed away from the table. It followed him down the dark hallway and back to the elevator. It followed him all the way to the second floor.
Even though she didn't dream, Clove still saw things when she slept. Often they were memories- memories from the day, memories from a long time ago, reoccurring thoughts. Though they were always quick to disappear.
Her rests, when they came, would be a few hours of her body succumbed to relaxation, while she drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes she would be roused by the sound of her own voice, sometimes it would be the sounds of other voices, real and imaginary. That night she saw pictures carved into a gray wall.
A rain cloud, a tree, monsters, children, mommy, horses, an angel, a house, a spider, a demon.
Then she saw another wall. This wall was blue. And this wall wasn't blurry; it was crisp and detailed. This wall was real, it was her celling. The celling of her temporary room. She was in the Capitol, waiting for the Hunger Games.
One more day.
She sat up in her bed.
Today was the last day. Tomorrow she would be in the arena.
She knew sleep would not come back to her now, so she stood up and began to pace her room. Tomorrow would be everything. Everything she had been training for her entire life. Excitement began to bubble somewhere deep in her stomach and suddenly it had flooded her entire body. She couldn't contain herself. Her heart raced, her feet moved one in front of the other quicker and quicker.
Who would she kill first? Did it matter? No, no it didn't. Because she would be killing. The feeling, the feeling, oh how she craved to feel it now. How desperate she was to know how it would feel.
Her hands balled into fists. There was no point in taking a shower. Today there would be plenty of colorful hands eager to bathe her. Eager to create their little doll to present to the Capitol. Interviews were tonight.
Clove cared for none of it.
All of it was just a distraction. She didn't care what the Capitol thought of her now. The training scores only had mattered so she could repay her district, and now, nothing more was owed. Now it was only her wants and her desires that mattered. And she wanted to get into that arena.
It could have been hours, it could have been years that she paced that floor. At some point a fist was pounding on her door and she was bathed in cauliflower blue light.
Just one more day.
Men dressed in gray were working to fill the hole in the wall with something thick and blue. They're white gloves ran over it again and again, coaxing it to close. Clove watched it shut like the eye of a sleeping giant.
"Be careful!" Pallas quipped. He pointed one accusing, stubby finger. "Don't move to hastily. I want that job done, right!"
And then the little man, dressed this morning like a ball of candy, turned his beady eyes to glare at Cato. They're Capitol escort had been in a particularly bad mood after the little stunt the boy had pulled last night. He wasn't attempting to hide his distaste in them any longer.
Clove realized that her district partner must have not slept very well last night. There seemed to be permanent shadows in the creases of his mouth and in the hallows of his cheeks. The tiniest blue veins were visible beneath his eyes. They struck Clove- these veins. No matter how thick his skin may be elsewhere, it was still so delicate under his eyes. It was hard to think anything about Cato was delicate, but he was a human being, and all humans have such thin, thin skin beneath their eyes.
He was using a spoon to mix whatever filled his cup, making a hypnotic clink, clink, clink noise that only stopped when he realized Clove's eyes were on him. He immediately froze and trapped her in his glare. His mouth made a hard line.
She looked away.
"Alright," Lyme sighed from her corner of the table. "We only have until mid-afternoon to ready you two for the interviews tonight. Then the rest of the day will be handed over to your stylists. Clove, finish up your food quickly."
When she stood up to follow her, Lyme led her to her a small room on their floor lined with books. As usual, her mentor cut right to the chase. Clove had barely sat down when she said, "You need an image. We are going to have to sell you to the Capitol."
"I don't care if they like me," Clove hissed.
"Oh but you will," Lyme said. "And you have two options: Care about it now, or care about it in the arena when you are dying from starvation."
Clove tightened her jaw, but let go of her pride and swallowed the words her mouth threatened to let go.
"That's what I thought. Now maybe you don't want to hear this but you aren't the usual District Two tribute. You are rather small. It'll be easy for people to overlook you. So we are going to have to portray you in a light where they can't. We all know what approach Cato is going to use."
Lyme didn't even have to say it. Yes they all knew what Cato was going to be for the Capitol. He stood out as the brutal, violent killer this year. He was going to get many sponsors. And he wouldn't even need to really 'play' anything. His very real arrogance alone would be enough for them; they would eat it up like bugs on rotten fruit.
"But for you I want to do something that isn't subtle but doesn't depict you as cocky. You are a girl, and you are young. Faun is going to make you look beautiful-"
Clove saw a mental image of herself dressed in tulle, giggling and blowing kisses to the Capitol. "I'm not going to be Glimmer," she snapped.
Lyme immediately stopped talking and dug her eyes into Clove. The message to shut up was clear.
"We're going to have to fix that attitude of yours," she said after a moment. "I had a girl one year who took that approach and I've never seen a tribute from our district come out with fewer sponsors. No one wants to see a little brat."
Clove bravely glared at her for a moment more, but after exhaling Lyme continued.
"You are going to be dangerous," she said with finality.
Clove considered this. Dangerous. The word was repeated in her mind and she began to like the sound of it more and more. If she had to be put on a show for the ignorant little beasts, she didn't mind playing this part.
"Let them know you are a force to be reckoned with. You are going to be strong and sure. Don't laugh too much; don't give out too many smiles. But don't be a stone and don't be distant. Don't be humble but don't be overly confident. Be threatening but don't act conceded. Assert yourself with a presence that won't be forgotten. Already the crowds know of you. So far your image is good- your score was one of the highest-"
Clove's hands balled into fists at this. She didn't want to talk about the training scores. She didn't even want them to be mentioned. Lyme must have noticed this because she had trailed off from what she had been saying.
"Listen to me," she said sternly. "We don't know what happened in that training center yesterday. It could have been anything. But you need to remember something: you are from Two, she is from Twelve. Don't let her get to you. This can be handy advice for the arena too."
Now Lyme is crouched down on one knee in front of her, with her eyes set deep into Clove's.
"Keep a level head," she said. "The second you let anger get the best of you, it could be the end of everything. You understand?"
To say her anger got the best of her would imply that it didn't have a constant influence on everything she did. It was her fuel. It was her motivation. It provoked every thought that she had. And it never left. It had already destroyed her from the inside out. But it was a part of her. And it was something that she certainly couldn't control.
But she nodded her head in agreement anyway.
The next few hours were spent with Lyme training her how to speak and answer questions in a way that suited the angle she would be taking. They worked on her insolence, which was difficult to fix. Lyme had her walk across the room several times with powerful footsteps and taught her how to straighten her back without puffing her chest out. They practiced interviewing together though this didn't go completely well due to Lyme's inability to get creative with questions. At some point Clove couldn't handle holding back anymore.
"I don't care about getting sponsors," she snarled, nearly jumping away from Lyme. "I don't care for their gifts. I don't need them to save me. I don't care if they want me to win. I don't even care if I win."
Lyme's features were suddenly ablaze with fury. Clove had never seen so much emotion displayed on her face.
"You don't care to win?" she barked, her voice echoing off the walls. "Then why are you here?"
For a moment Clove couldn't find her words. Her mentor's unbreakable stare was sure to melt her. It took what seemed an eternity to build up enough courage to open her mouth again. But her answer was honest.
"I want to play," she said.
They sat in silence for a long time after that. Lyme's expression turned to stone and when it did Clove couldn't look at her anymore. She focused in on a piece of paint that seemed like it would come off the wall soon, somewhere behind Lyme's left shoulder.
Eventually though, she spoke again.
"You make sure that interview goes well if only for the teachers and authorities who surely put their asses on the line to get you here," she said. Then she stood to leave the room but before she did, she turned her head slightly while keeping her back to Clove and added in a concentrated voice:
"Don't drop everything and put their time and effort to waste."
And then Lyme was gone. Clove stayed alone in the room, noticing dully how most of its warmth had been taken along with her.
"Oh, Hun, you really need to brush you hair more often."
Clove's colorful, tittering prep team had strapped her arms and legs onto a chair and now a green hand was holding down her forehead as they used some strange device that pulled on her hair and caused it to smoke. Occasionally it would burn her scalp. This surely had to be some form of torture. Perhaps she would have been a little better off if she hadn't tried to attack one of the members of her prep team. At least then she wouldn't have been restrained.
For hours now they had been preparing her like a fine piece of meat. They had rubbed strange creams into her entire body and caked powers of all kinds onto her face that itched unbelievably. Her eyelashes had been assaulted to the highest degree, for they felt entirely heavy on her lids and her vision had a solid roof of black now. They had blown sparkles onto her face. They painted something cold onto her lips.
The door of the room opened to reveal her stylist, Faun. Her dramatic heels clicked as she made her way across the abnormally white marble floor. As usual, a long pink stick lay lazily in between her fingers, and out of it came billows of smoke as she occasionally brought it to her mouth and puffed on it. Clove had never seen anything quite like it before, but it had an oddly natural odor especially coming from a person whose entire body may have been genetically modified
Seeing Clove restrained brought a smirk to her yellow lips. "Misbehaving again, dear?"
Clove loathed this woman.
In response she glared at her. A voice from the opposing corner of the room shrieked, "She attacked me with tweezers, Faun!"
Faun rolled her eyes. "Well that's why you wax first and ask questions later. Now get out. All of you."
With a clap of her hands a dozen rainbow, artificial creatures scrambled to the door like cockroaches from light.
"Now," Faun said, running a long brightly colored fingernail along Clove's jaw- just out of biting range. "I had a little talk with your mentor about your approach for the interview. You're dress is going to match it perfectly."
She took a step back and waved her hands through the air which left eerie billows of smoke in their wake. "If you are going for danger then it would only be suiting to portray you as something powerful, something immortal. A creation of beauty, direct from the heavens themselves. An ancient being that isn't bound to humanly measures of time and space, life and death: a Goddess."
A smile appeared on her lips as she searched Clove's eyes for some form of excitement at her words. But there was nothing. Instantly the smile became a grimace.
"You're enthusiasm is simply killing me, darling," she said and then her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to unleash you. But before you do anything hasty let me just remind you that there are cameras here, watching you're every move. And I am a high-ranking citizen of this fine Capitol. Whereas you, well, in less than twenty four hours you will be scrambling around in blood and dirt."
Her obvious fear brought a smile to Clove's face. "Oh but I wouldn't dare," she sneered.
How Clove wished her gracious stylist would be in that arena tomorrow.
Sometime after she had been unbound, wrestled into a casing of garments and squeezed into heels, she was able to step before the mirror.
When she did she saw a strange creature trapped inside. It gazed at her with interest beneath thick, black eyelashes. Flecks of gold were placed in an intricate but subtle pattern along the corner of its eyes and its eyebrows were dark perfectly shaped arcs. The skin of its face could have been silk, flawless and matte without a single freckle to blemish its soft cheeks. A long cape of hair as black as oil flowed across one of its fair shoulders, detailed with strings of braids.
The creature played with the fabric of the dress that incased it- the color of a fresh lilac petal. It ran a hand across the small half-moons of its pale breasts beneath two sheaths of lace connected to a neckline that swooped gracefully but daringly low. And then another across the bare skin of its hips and thighs which peaked through cascades of lace that rippled down its sides. Its painted lips curled up.
This unearthen beauty wasn't her. It wasn't mortal. It was a goddess.
And it was also much, much older than fifteen.
Oh wouldn't Lyme be so pleased with what her stylist had created? Together, Clove and this thing would attract many sponsors tonight.
The first proof she got of this came after Faun had rushed her into the hallway where she found herself standing before Cato.
Upon sight of her, his face slipped into several different expressions very rapidly. First his eyebrows rose with surprise, then his eyes narrowed; perhaps in realization that her ascetics tonight would be enough to give him competition for the favor of the crowds. But then his features settled into something that took her a moment to understand. When the corners of his lips tugged into a smile, it wasn't because he was sneering. His eyes lingered on her every curve. Then when they seemed to lie on her chest she was able to decipher the expression.
Hunger.
He was looking rather dashing though, wasn't he? The jacket he wore was tailored outstandingly. It outlined his broad shoulders and clung to the right spots in his arms. The gray shirt beneath it was unbuttoned just enough, exposing the flesh of his chest. His dark blonde hair, originally cut close to the scalp, had grown in quite a bit since they had arrived and was styled a bit messy but in an entirely sexy way…
She interrupted her own train of thought. Sexy? Did she really just relate Cato to the word sexy? She took a moment to decide the outrageousness of this statement.
Well he was very masculine. Once she had seen the exposed upper half of his body illuminated by the sunlight coming in through the window of the train they had taken to the Capitol. It was like watching a living statue, sculpted to perfection- the kind that ancient artists once created to depict warriors or Gods. The defined muscles of his chest and abdomen were carved into smooth skin in a way that resembled stone. And his face wasn't exactly ugly. She looked at it now; the strong prominent jaw line, flawless high cheekbones that may have been drawn by intelligent hand of an artist, lips that were of the perfect shape…
Okay, so he could be sexy. That wouldn't make a difference in killing him. Maybe would make it even more enjoyable. She wondered if stabbing into his gut would have a similar sensation to cutting through a watermelon.
Despite these thoughts, Clove still grazed her hip against his upper thigh as she passed him.
The interviews were to take place on the large stage facing the City Circle that stood before the building that held their training center and apartments. All twenty four tributes would be seated in an arc around Caesar, all able to watch each interview live. Clove and Cato were the last to arrive and immediately they were scrapped away from their stylists as soon as the doors of the elevator opened.
They were shoved too quickly for Clove, who could hardly walk functionally in her heels, let alone at high speeds. But she passed something that slowed down commotion.
Well didn't she just look on fire tonight? Her gray eyes weren't looking at Clove, she seemed as confused and rushed as the rest of them. Her hair wasn't in its usual braid. Her face didn't look quite as hallow as it normally did. Oh how beautiful she was.
Katniss. Her sweet little Katniss.
She could smell her perfume, she was that close. So, so close. Close enough that not even an arm's length would be required to grab her throat…
Clove's hand had involuntarily moved from its side. However the girl was already gone. They were moving past the other tributes now, their bodies draped in garments and fabrics of all kinds and colors. Then they were finally deposited behind Marvel. Clove nearly toppled into him. When he turned to them, he eyed her with humor.
"Well, don't you two just clean up so nicely," he said.
Together, he and Glimmer almost represented District One too literally- Marvel with his exquisite sliver suit which almost seemed to be made out of metal. And Glimmer with her golden near-see through dress that hugged each curve of her body and matched her hair in color.
"Speak for yourselves," Cato said, though his eyes were focused in only on Glimmer, who was smirking at him with red lips.
But that was all they had time for because a man suddenly appeared before Glimmer and directed her, and therefore the rest of the line, onto the stage.
[TURN ON Falling by Bassnectar (feat. Paper Machete)]
The first thing that Clove sensed was the night air which smacked her face with its cool burn. She vaguely acknowledged that this was the first time she had been outside sense volunteering at the reaping. Bright lights created a halo around the back of Marvel's already golden head and she followed it as mindlessly as a moth. Then the waves of screaming voices washed over her. They were unbelievably loud, almost mesmerizing. When her eyes adjusted to the blinding lights of the stage, she was able to see the source.
Thousands of people.
It was quite literally a sea. A sea speckled with cameras and flashing sparks of light. People flooded the floor, they hung off their balconies, they waved, they cheered. They're screams evaded into her mind, flooded through her body and took her away from the stage. She had taken just one step towards the sound, when a hand was dragging her into a seat with force. Bewildered she looked to her sides. Marvel was seated to her right and Cato, the forceful hand, was seated to her left and observing her with lowered eyebrows.
All the tributes were seated. Tonight they were all just puppets on strings, being pulled by their mentors and their stylists to entertain the masses of the Capitol.
Caesar was bounding onto the stage in an instant, colored in powder blue. This triggered the already incredibly loud level of sound from the audience to spike. Somewhere music began playing. The sound of trumpets ripped through the air.
And then the puppet show began. Everyone had a role to play.
Glimmer was first, the vixen.
One of the eldest of them all with the curves to match for it. She flounced onto the stage, swung her hips draped in liquid gold. Caesar kissed her hand. She pouted her cherry lips; let her seductive emerald orbs flicker to the Capitol men in the front row of the crowd. Her hands fluttered to playfully slap Caesars arm. The buzzer sounded. She was done.
Marvel strode to the stage now, the socialite.
The smooth pretty boy with superiority and preeminence. He had the crowds from the moment he took center stage. He managed to involve them in his answers to Caesar's questions in a display of flawless showmanship. He flashed them white smiles. When Caesar asked him if he thought he would have any tough competition, he turned to the tributes with a look of indifference and gave an exaggerated shrug. "I don't know Caesar," he sighed. "I think I can handle them all. But can we get a group census on this?" He motioned to the Circle and the roar of agreement began before Caesar even had a chance to ask, "What do you think folks? Do we have our victor here?"
They're screams continued even after the buzzer had sounded and Marvel had seated himself.
Once again the world began to move unrealistically slow. Caesar was raising his hands to the crowd that visibly rippled and pulsed as if it were in itself a single living unit. Super Novas sparked around him. For a moment she heard nothing but the words:
"Next up we have our first District Two tribute."
In this moment it wasn't the mask she wore that was the immortal, it was her. She rose from her seat. Powerful. Threatening.
"Clove!"
Dangerous.
The immense sound of the crowd had almost become a visible entity as strong as the wind. She strode against it as she made her way to Caesar. The bright lights of center stage illuminated detail in everything bathed beneath them, including the small particles that hovered in the air around herself and Caesar. Up close she could see every pore of his face beneath the layers of white powder smeared across it, every crack in his blue lips. She was reminded of a monster.
Caesar complemented on her dress and Lyme's voice rang out in her mind: no one likes a little brat. She thanked him graciously.
They began deviling into questions about her chariot ride, about her stylist, about the perils of training. She kept her answers vague but was sure to add in perfectly played smirks when necessary. Her face appeared on all of the massive screens that hung from various buildings of the Circle. What she saw, everything that was happening, took on a surreal quality. Even her vision seemed cloudy.
The interview had completely passed her by and the end was nearing. But she knew what Caesar was saving for last.
"Now, we always love our District Two's. Don't we?" He turned to the crowd which roared in response. They continued as placed his focused back on her.
"Though I must say you are by far the youngest I've seen volunteer for your district in a long time. What aided in your decision to do so?"
Clove answered honestly. "I was ready to fight," she said.
The reaction from the crowd was immediate. They were cheering her on. Caesar let out a hardy laugh.
"You must be very excited for tomorrow then," he said.
"Yes," Clove said with a dark smile. "Yes, I am."
"Well, seeing you as you are, right now, I can't say I can imagine you harming a fly," he turned and talked to the crowds again. "I mean look at her? She's just beautiful isn't she?" They're screams of agreement followed. Caesar was back to her again, but he didn't have a question, he was waiting for a response.
She wanted to tell him she would throw him off this stage and break his artificial body until it was nothing more than a bloody puddle on the ground, but instead she said, "Looks can be deceiving." Now it was her turn to address the crowd. She turned to face them all, the ones in the front row, the ones hanging off their balconies, the ones sitting in front of their televisions throughout Panem.
"Because I'm deadly."
The sudden wall of noise that one statement alone ushered forth hit her with such force she felt as if she could have fallen over from it. They hooted and hollered. They stomped their feet. They seemed to almost be jumping over each other. They loved it. They loved their eager tributes. They loved the ones that made their show.
Caesar had to silence them to continue. "Ah ha! Yes! What a character you are my dear. Now our time is running short so just one last question. What do you have to say to your competition this year?"
The cameras focused in briefly on some of the faces behind her. What did she have to say to her competition? That she wanted to kill every last one of them herself? That she has been fantasizing about all the different ways she could slaughter them since the day she saw their faces? That she craved their blood, their suffering? That if she could she would turn around and destroy them all, right now?
Her lips curled into a smile and she repeated, "What would I say to them?"
For effect she looked over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of some of their faces. With sweetness in her voice she said, "Good luck."
Again the crowds roared only this time it was larger and louder than the last. Clove missed the buzzer. She could barely hear Caesar as he took her hand and lifted it in the air. "Ladies and gentlemen, the young, the beautiful, the deadly- Clove of District Two!"
When she had returned to her seat, the crowd was still going crazy enough that Caesar had to real them back in. They loved her. They loved the young, beautiful, deadly Clove. Beside her Marvel made a point to sneer, "That was cute." But before she could make a snide comment in return, Cato was being called to the stage.
Cato, the merciless slayer.
He didn't even have to say anything for the crowds to go wild again. Caesar spared no time on remedial questions with him. He cut right to what they all wanted to hear. Every threat, every arrogant comment Cato made received more and more praise. The brutality in his words turned the crowd into animals; snarling, screaming, hollering. When Caesar asked if he had any final comments to make, he looked to the crowd. Clove watched the screens with intent as they focused in on his face, his blue eyes penetrating into hers despite the monitor.
"I'll give you all a good show," he smiled. It was the handy work of Brutus, for sure. But the reception that ensued was louder than Clove, Marvel, and Glimmer's combined. The girl from three who was called up for her interview next was almost drowned in it.
"Like that?" Cato remarked to Clove as he took his seat, his words saturated in superciliousness. Clove kept her gaze fixed straight ahead when she said in response, "Another big bastard. Not like they haven't seen that before."
She expected his face to be hard and angry at her words, but once again Cato surprised her. He looked entirely amused. This annoyed her, and perhaps it showed, because his smirk became a grin.
Clove went back to focusing on the rest of the puppet show, now featuring the boy from Three who was playing up his intelligence. Somehow he and Caesar had slipped into a conversation about some readily used gadget in the Capitol and how it works. She couldn't tell if Caesar was actually genuinely intrigued, or if he was just a good actor. She assumed the latter.
Next up was Marina who flowed to the stage in a dress the color of a sea shell, her normally frizzy hair cascading in tresses down her back. Her character was mischievous and a bit playful. She made an analogy to her competition being similar to sharks and tuna. "There's some that are big, some that are small, some with big teeth – but if you have the right net you can snare them all, right?"
Fish Head didn't really seem to play much of a part. He ran circles around Caesar though when it came to conversation. And it ended with him asking all the questions.
By the time the Fives had taken the stage, Clove was ultimately bored. Her attention wasn't spiked again until the very last two tributes. A smile crept onto her face. She leaned over in her seat. Go on, Katniss, go on.
The girl was entirely dazed when she came into the spotlight. She nervously wiped her hands on her dress. She clutched her fingers. She narrowed her gray eyes as she searched the crowd. Clove felt fire scotching through her body again at the sight of her. She wanted to stand up and attack her right there on the stage. That would give the audience a show. Oh they would just love that.
Then Katniss was twirling around in her dress. Giggling. The crowd loved her. When they started talking about the eleven she scored during the training sessions, she heard Marvel snort. She turned her head to look at him.
"She made us all look like fools," he whispered. "I want her dead."
When the boy from Twelve took the stage, Clove realized she had never paid much attention to him at all. His character was friendly and utterly likable. Only he didn't seem to be acting a part. Immediately he roused the crowd despite being the very last tribute. They hung on his every word, laughing, cheering. Near the end of it Caesar was asking him about having a girlfriend back home, to which he responsed that there was none but there is a girl who he loves. And then suddenly, five little words was all it took for the simpleton coal-miner to set all their interviews ablaze, leaving nothing but ash, as if they had never really happened at all.
"She came here with me."
[TURN OFF song]