Gladiators -- Clato

-Seeing Red-

The Scores come. Me, Cato, our mentors, and Plumeria sit around the television in the main room of the penthouse. Caesar goes on about the rules, the meanings of the scores, all things we know already.
It starts with District 1. Marvel gets an impressive score of nine. He must have shown the Gamemakers his prowess in spears.
"I don't recognize his last name," Brutus remarks. "He's not from one of the Families, then?"
"Gloss tells me he comes from the working end of One." Enobaria peers up at Marvel's face on the screen.
I think that's what I like about Marvel. Sure, he's arrogant, we have to be; what I like is his lack of pretentiousness, at least regarding his social status. Not like Cato or Glimmer, always flaunting their riches and high place in society.
Glimmer comes next. She gets an eight. In terms of Career scores, it's on the low end. I wonder what she had to show. Maybe hacked away at some dummies with a machete. From what I've seen of her, she's halfway mediocre with a bow.
Cato watches with bated breath as Ceaser readies to read his score. The mentors and I also watch the screen with impatience.
"Ten," Caesar's voice booms.
Cato leaps from his seat and yells loudly in triumphance. I smile at him and give him a congratulating pat, and Enobaria gives a spikey grin.
I watch as my face is projected onto the screen. "Clove..." Caesar reads. "With a score of... Ten!"
"Hell yeah!" Cato ruffles my hair. "You're amazing, Clove. We'll be unstoppable."
Brutus nods approvingly. "Very, very good. You two were Academy Recommended for a reason." He glances at me. "Although you were one or two years early."
I feel a wave of pride in my score. A ten. That's a great score, perfect for someone of my caliber. And with Cato carrying a ten under his belt as well, people are sure to fear us.
The boy from three gets a surprising six on his scoring.
Marina manages a seven. It's not impressive in the least, but chances are she won't be an issue. She's lucky to survive past the first few days.
Everything is pretty much as expected up to District eleven. Middle district kids are weak,    inexperienced, and will inevitably die quickly.
However, when we see a silver ten for Thresh fly across the screen, we lose it. I shriek angrily and Cato punches the wall. Our mentors shake their heads. Cato spits profanities at the screen and swears to take the huge boy down.
I narrow my eyes at him. That fool! He would look so good with a knife in him. The bloodlust boils in my veins and I don't realize I'm seeing red until I hear the word "Eleven!" in my mind.
I look up and see none other than the miserable face of fire girl.
The scream that escapes my throat is animalistic. Before I know it Cato has ripped the screen from the wall and is destroying it. The crimson pulsing around my eyes threatens to spill over and my heart is beating so fast I think I may faint.
An Eleven?! My mind shrills. What the hell did she do to get an eleven?
And then the blond boy gets an eight, and I nearly lose my mind. What the hell is wrong with these brats from twelve?
    "Clove!" Enobaria's shrill voice cuts through my furious rage and I feel her grabbing me by the arm. I rip myself away from her and turn around to look at her with wide eyes.
The room is a mess. Cato and I have wrecked havoc. The furniture is destroyed. The carpet has been, somehow, torn down the middle. And in the middle of it all, Cato and I with hatred in our eyes.
"pYou two, calm the fuck down," Enobaria hisses. "It's not the end of the world. You are five people up against two with high scores. Do NOT make fools of yourselves."
"She got a fucking eleven!" Cato roars. "And we don't know how the fuck she did it!"
"So then target her, and kill her before she does any real damage!" Brutus rages. "It's not that goddamn difficult!"
I seethe quietly, while Cato mutters every vulgar word under the sun. This has been the final straw. First the flaming costume. Now the eleven. This girl is asking for it.
And interviews are tonight. Surely she has some trick up her sleeve to get the Capitol's favor. The jealousy burning in me seems to simmer in my blood. How dare she. How DARE she. Cato and I are baying for her blood, and I promise to myself I will sit and watch as her blood flows.
We don't have time to wallow in our anger. Our stupid prep team arrives at the apartment and strips me down and puts their stupid slime all over me once again, all while muttering their idiotic little comments.
When Zora finally arrives to my room with the dress, I want to leap up and claw it to shreds. It's bright orange-pink, cinching tight around my chest and waist and then spraying out in bouncy ruffles. It's extremely girly. Just when I need to be threatening, they've put me in this piece of shit.
"I hate it," I hiss as Zora makes me get into it. "I makes me look like a little kid."
"I think it's perfect," Zora says indignantly. "It shows off your shoulders and collarbones."
"My shoulders and collarbones are not threatening!" I nearly scream.
"Stop fussing!" Zora slaps my wrist. "We need to do your makeup."
"No!" I shout.
"You're insufferable!" She grabs me by the arm and drags me into the bathroom. "It's not even that much!"
I grumble and hiss as she puts powder on my face and gloss on my lips and intricately braids my hair. She then does something interesting. She takes a ponytail of my hair she's separated, and spits it into slowly descending bubbles. I touch it with interest. I kind of like it.
    What I don't like, however, is having my hair down. The way it brushes my back is so uncomfortable to me. And in a fight, having your hair down is dangerous and stupid.
    When Zora shows me myself in the mirror, I am thankful to see that the makeup and the hairstyle have mellowed out the overly girlish look of the dress. The eyeshadow makes my eyes look dark and narrow, and the intricate hairstyle creates something of a crown on my head.
As we head down into the lobby and through a hallway to the tribute stage, I steel myself against the nerves and the anger and listen to the sound of the cheering crowd. Tonight will be my night to show my worth to the Capitol.