Gladiators -- Clato

-Memories-

I'm left alone in the train car, and really, I couldn't be happier. This is all the peace and quiet I'm going to get, probably. But what Cato said about him and his sword triggers a memory that I've forgotten for a long time.

It's winter some six years ago. It was late out, well past the time most people would chose to go into town. I has been wandering around the streets, which was really all I did for a while after my mother died. When I was walking past the Training center, something caught my eye.

It was Cato, maybe a year or two older than me but still tender with youth. He pulled a key out of his pocket and fitted it into the door easily, then turned it and sauntered into the building. I watched him go. Everyone in school talked about him. He was the next glorious victor of two, they said. He was the son of the District 2 training center manager, so of course he naturally had a reputation from the moment he was born.

Some curiosity took hold of me then and I rounded the building to where the small square windows looked in from outside. I was able to stand on my toes and look over the windowsill into the main chamber of the training center.

Cato was the only person there in the dim room. He had a sword in his hands, swinging it around in sharp arcs and slices. His feet moved forward ever so slightly with each flash of his sword, and he wielded it with such power that made me sure he had been doing this his whole life.

I got back on my feet and dashed to the front of the building, knocking at the locked door. I was honestly not even expecting him to come open the door for me, but, maybe about a minute later, he's there, albeit looking a little confused. When he sees me, he frowns.

"What are you doing here, Clove?"

"I was just walking around when I saw you. It was...really cool." I expressed nervously. "I was wondering if I could come watch."

He thinks hard on this. "Fine. come in."

Once inside the warmth of the training center, I sit in a spot on the edge of the practice floor while Cato does his warmup routine again. I'm mesmerized by the way his blade glides so smoothly through the air.

In front of me, at the end of the training floor, is the armory. A wide variety of knives, swords, daggers, spears, and many other weapons sit unused and polished in the candlelit room.

I got up from my spot. Took some tentative steps towards the armory. I looked over the variety of sharp objects carefully, and one in particular caught my eye.

A throwing knife. It had a sleek blade, a handle perfect for the light grip of an agile hand. As i lifted it from it's rack, cautiously attempting some weak slashes, I heard Cato's disgruntled voice.

"Hey, put that down. You're going to kill somebody."

"Wait," I mutter. There's a dummy on the west wall of the room, and I take a few wide strides to stand in front of it, knife in hand. I feel the weight, the coolness in my hand.

I throw the knife and it sticks into a spot near the dummy's heart. Definitely not perfect, but something about it makes me beam in excitement.

I want to see Cato's expression. I look at him, and he's got the beginnings of a smile on his wolfish face.

"Hey, that's not bad. Try again." He goes to the armory and finds another one of the throwing knives, then makes his way towards me and deposits it in my hand. I nod to him and then back up, preparing to throw again. This time, I decide to aim for the head, and with a quick flick of my wrist, the knife goes sailing through the air and straight into the temple of the dummy.

Cato begins clapping. "Clove, that's really good. I'll recommend you to the instructors, they have to have you!"

The memory finishes off with his enthusiastic grin, and I sigh to myself. It's true that Cato is really who I owe my place in the Academy to. But whatever. I've gotten much more skilled than him over the years.

They make us watch the reaping for the District One tributes. Marvel and Glimmer are their names. The girl is a ditzy idiot and the boy seems about as intelligent as a rock. I smirk, watching Glimmer do a happy little dance onstage and blow kisses to the crowd.

"God, District One," Cato scoffs. "They're so prissy."

"They'll be your allies," Enobaria sniffs. "It's better you learn to tolerate them."

I can't help but agree with Cato on this one. Of the career districts, there's no doubt that Two takes the cake as the most hardworking, most ruthless out of them. The kids from One have been pampered and showered in jewels their whole lives, and the kids from Four think they're special because they can splash around in puddles.

Enobaria gives us a short talk about introductions with the tributes from One, and then snakes away.

And I'm left with Cato again. Shocker. It seems I can't escape him for more than an hour.

"You saw the girl?" he mutters. "She's cute."
"Ugh," I grunt. "Seriously?"

"Yeah. what are the rules on sexual relations between tributes in the Capitol?" he quips.

"Gross." I stand up, and I hear him laughing loudly.

"I'm kidding," he chuckles. "And you? What's your thoughts on the guy?"

"I'm not having this conversation," I snap. "Cato, can you stop acting like we're friends?"

"Ouch." he pretends to wince, but then rolls his eyes. "What happened, Clove? I mean, what did I ever do to you?"

"Nothing. That's the point." I mutter. "There's nothing to make me trust you."

"Damn. I guess this is why everyone at the Academy stayed away from you." He pops a grape sleazily into his mouth, and smirks. He's joking, but this has struck a nerve. In seconds, I'm nearly on top of Cato, knife held to his throat.

"Say it again," I threaten.

Cato doesn't seem fazed at all. Rather, he makes a joke out of it, laughing raucously. "Looking for an excuse to get on top of me, princess?"

I flush in anger. He's not taking me seriously at all! I may as well be nothing but a little girl to him. I stare him down, but the twinkle in his eye infuriates me even more and with an angry growl, I ease off and sit down on the couch opposite from him. His eyes don't leave me though, and this only makes me angrier.

"Stop!" I shout at him. He doesn't answer. How I would love to stick my knife through his face. With his smug looks, his icy blue eyes, his stupidly handsome face...

I don't have much time to plot Cato's murder before the train enters the tunnel into the Capitol and the entire carriage goes black. Being just a few hundred miles from the Capitol, the ride from District 2 is a short one. I prepare myself to pull into the station. Shoulders poised, stand tall, make yourself look threatening...