Gladiators -- Clato

-Jealousy-

I make my way over to District 2's Chariot. The two horses that paw the ground with their hoofs are both speckled gray, and the chariot is gleaming black steel. I climb into it, admiring the plush interior.

Cato hauls himself up beside me, adjusting his helmet and wiping nonexistent dust from his body. "Ready?" he asks me. The playfulness from his voice is gone now. I sense a shift in Cato. The moment we enter the Capitol avenue, he will become something else. Not a teasing boy, not the handsome counterpart he portrays himself as. No, Cato will be who he came here to be. A killer.

And so will I. Not like anything's changing. Me and Cato have both killed before. It's not anything new to us, but we have an image we need to uphold. Making a fool of District 2 is out of the question.

A Capitol attendant slaps the flank of the horse, and our chariot jumps into action behind District 1. I steel myself against any nerves that may show themselves. I am Clove Kentwell. I never miss.

We emerge from the tunnel onto the wide Capitol walkway. I can't stop my eyes from widening at the sheer size and glory the place radiates.

And the screaming. The crowd is screaming for us. For Two. For Clove and Cato.

We're halfway to the tribute circle when the crowd's already loud applause erupts into violent shrieking. I glance at Cato, and he gives a barely intelligible shake of his head. They can't be cheering for us... and certainly not for any of the other Districts, who are usually dressed in some ridiculous outfit looking like fools.

I only realize what they're screaming for when I look at the large screen positioned on either side of the President's balcony.

The tributes from twelve are on fire. Literally. Holding hands in the air like they're some kind of champions. I resist the urge to jump out of the chariot and stick knives through the both of them. Stealing our thunder like that! And much less, some twats from twelve? How much more embarrassing could it get?

The girl. I remember watching her reaping now, she had volunteered for her little sister. Heart wrenching, I know. I haden't paid much heed to it, sometimes outlying Districts produce volunteers out of necessity, but now with the crowd chanting her name and throwing her flowers and her tight black jumpsuit engulfed in fire, I realize how much of a threat she truly is.

I know Cato realizes it too, because his dashing smile is strained now and his free hand is clenched in an angry fist by his side.

The chariots eventually circle around to the dias below President Snow's balcony and come to a stop. I peer at the District 4 chariot, one away from ours. The girl looks strong enough, it's likely she was trained, like us. The boy, however, is a wimp of a thing with curly blond hair and a bewildered look plastered on his small face.

That's odd. 4 usually is pretty consistent with it's tributes, but maybe there just wasn't anyone ready to volunteer for the boy this year. Shame, really. It always does suck to see small children go into the games. Yes, it does make them easier targets, but even I can't ignore the cruelty of it.

Snow appears at the balcony and the crowd erupts into polite applause. I tune out his speech while I stare at the girl from twelve. They've painted her up to look like some kind of goddess; I nearly laugh under my breath. No, she's terrified. Her eyes shine out of her face with a look akin to a person moments before death. I've seen that look before, and something about it sets me at ease. She may have her fancy little flames, but what's that against a knife between her eyes?

And the boy. Yes, he's muscular, looks fit enough, but his expression is almost more pitiful than the girl's. Like a fish out of water, that's what he is to me.

Snow's speech is over before I can even really focus on it, and the carts are drawn by the horses to the front of the Tribute Center.

The Tribute Center! How I've dreamed of stepping foot in such a place. The floors of that building have seen countless victors come and go.

I look at Cato, only to find he's still glowing at the fire girl. If looks could kill, she would be long gone by now. I exit the chariot and meet Enobaria and Brutus by the entrance of the Tribute center. They're obviously not happy, but Enobaria feigns a smile as she guides Cato and I into the building.

The feelings of hostility lighten for just a moment as I admire the beauty of this building. Everything is gleaming chrome or white marble. I think of my house back on the east side of 2's Citadel, and feel slightly inferior.

With it's shambly roof and quarry-dust coated walls, the Kentwell home was nothing special. Well, after mom died. When she was alive there were always lilacs poking up in the front yard and the whole damned place seemed a little warmer. Now there's nothing to keep the north winds from rattling the foundation to it's core.

I block the thoughts of home out of my mind and instead focus on plans regarding this new development with District 12. It seems our mentors are already on it, chatting between one another. I can feel Cato looking at me, and I sigh. "What?" 

"Had fun talking to the guy from 1?" he asks snidely.

I'm in a bad mood. "So much fun," I say back.

Cato's brow wrinkles in distaste. "really?" he asks.

"What do you think, dumbass?" I hiss back, fixing him with a cold glare. "What, you have fun talking to that slut from one?"

He looks angry now. "so what if i did?" he growls. "You're just jealous 'cuz no boy's ever been into you."

We're about to get on the elevator now. I feel the final straw snap, and without a word, I whirl away from Cato and stomp onto the elevator, facing the opposite direction from him towards the glass wall. Damn it! My face is hot with pure fury. Who the hell does he think he is? I have better things to think about than stupid boys.

When we reach our floor I stomp into the room as soon as Enobaria and Brutus open the door. Dinner is being served, and as hungry as I am, I dive into one of the bedrooms and slam the door behind me.

"Ugh!" I scream, in the safety of the room. rage bubbling up in me, I rip off the parade costume and pace around the room in my underwear. I'm bristled, ready for a fight. That cocky son of a bitch. I'll make a corpse out of him! Countless times he's kicked me under the bus...