Gladiators -- Clato

-Prove Myself-

The next day is a tense one. When I wake up and head to the dining room, Enobaria and Brutus are sitting there, poking impatiently at the food on their plates. Cato isn't here yet.

"Good morning," Enobaria says rudely. "Eat well. You need your strength."

"I already know what I'm going to show them," I mutter. "It's a gauranteed nine or above."

"Arrogant, this one," Brutus mumbles.

Enobaria smiles, showing her creepy teeth. "For a tribute from 2, that arrogance is very much welcome."

I nod to Enobaria. She studies her nails, which she's had filed into claws while in the Capitol. "Speaking of which. Interviews are today. I want you to employ some of that attitude for the crowd."

"Well, of course," I shrug. "I mean, it's what they expect."

"But I think we can also work a little bit of your femenine angle."

"Femenine angle?" I laugh. "right."

"No, she's serious," Brutus interjects. "Arrogance alone won't guarantee a win. Me and Enobaria have decided you'll be...eh..." He thinks. "A sort of, sweet but dangerous type."

I scowl at them. "You're not serious?"

"Very serious," Enobaria says. "I've seen the way you act. There's nothing remotely charming about you. You underestimate the power of charisma."

With a snort, I turn to see Cato leave his room. He gives me a barely noticeable smile and heads to the table.

"So, I heard you guys talking about interviews." He rests his elbows on the table as he takes a seat. "Got an angle for me, mentors?"

Enobaria sneers at his casual tone, while Brutus rolls his eyes.

"Be serious," He growls. "Yes, we have an angle. Cocky, vicious, aggressive boy with a penchent for bloodshed. Shouldn't be too hard for you, seeing as you already have most of it covered."

Cato shrugs. "Fine."

We discuss final thoughts on the private sessions and then the mentors send us downstairs to the Training Center. The Careers are all here, and the Outer Districts filter in gradually. I think vaguely of the kids from districts like 8 and 6. Almost always, they completely lack any weaponry experience and are severely disadvantaged.

These are the people who's best, only chance of winning is to run and hide. If they don't get slaughtered within the first few minutes,that is. Almost all of the victors from the the outer districts, save for a few, won their games through sheer luck.

"You guys ready?" Marvel asks the group, earring a round of applause and encouraging cheers.

"Born ready," Cato boasts. He puts his arm around Glimmer, who blushes. "What about you, Glim?"

"Oh, so ready," She says flirtatiously.

I roll my eyes. She's extremely shallow. And naive.

Before I know it, through, they've taken Marvel in for his scoring. I know that in about half an hour it'll be my turn, so I do my best to reassure myself.

Scores are important. They increase your betting odds dramatically, and can do wonders for getting sponsors.

I don't even realize I've zoned out until I hear my name being called over the loudspeaker. Marina, being the last of the career pack remaining, offers me a smile. I nod to her and continue into the room.

The Gamemakers sit in an enclave some dozen feet above the ground, watching intently as I enter. I try not to look directly at them.

When I do glance over, I recognize the new Head Gamemaker, Seneca Crane. It had been kind of a big thing in Two, because new Gamemakers always bring new, unknown variables to the games. Training had been very tedious for a long time.

"Clove Kentwell," I announce as I finally come to tie center of the huge room.

I see them nod at me. I can begin.

I look around the room. Targets everywhere. But just throwing knives at a target is not worthy of a high score. I need to prove myself.

I take some small, dainty knives from the rack to the side. They're good for throwing, move through the air swiftly.

"Make them move," I say to the Gamemakers.

They look confused. "Make what move, Miss Kentwell?" asks Seneca Crane.

"The targets," I reply. "I want moving targets."

The Gamemakers seem shocked by my demand, but congregate together and discuss as if it's some important issue. I wait boredly, wondering how they can possibly make a train that travels at 250 miles per hour but not provide some moving targets for their tributes.

However, It seems my request is not unfulfillable. In a matter of minutes, the Gamemakers have produced a range of quickly moving targets for me. I ready my first knife, and throw.

It sails through the air, and straight into the middle of a close target. I hear some impressed voices from the Gamemakers, but I'm not done yet.

I bring two twin knives into my hands, and with a quick flick of each wrist, the knives leap from my hands and into the centers of two targets on the opposite side of the range.

They're really impressed now, with all the cheering and clapping. I smirk. Should I step it up a bit?

Finger knives. I race to the knife station and arm myself to the teeth with the tiny blades, held smartly in between my fingers; and with the most minute moments, I sent each one of the knives into a moving target. One after the other, they meet their marks.

I don't miss, I think to myself.

The Gamemakers are whooping, crying out their support for me, and I feel a rush of glory through me. Yes. this is what I trained for. It's coming
true.

"Thank you, Clove," Seneca's voice booms.

I nod silently and leave the room.

I go straight upstairs, and Cato greets me with a grin. "How'd you do, Clove?"

"Amazing," I smirk. "You?"

"Great, I think. Those idiots looked afraid I'd come for them next."

I laugh. "Did you see what they were wearing?"

"God, don't start," He sighs. "They remind me of..."

We both meet each other's gaze at the same time because we know exactly what the other is going to say.

"Trainer Phineas!" We shout.

"Holy shit, you remember him too?" Cato chuckles.

"How could I not? That goddamn purple tracksuit-"

Cato laughs. "Oh yeah. Well, I guess now  all we have to do is wait for the scores."