Gladiators -- Clato

-PONCHO-

hi y'all, it's finals week! sorry for the whack posting schedule, i am under sooo much stress.
SERIOUS QUESTION
i'm having a hard time deciding if i want Cato and Clove to be the victors of this fanfic or if i want to go the canon route. can you guys comment what you want to see? thank you!

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I wake up with a raging hangover. Noah, who was the least drunk of us all, has a small fire going. He's not cooking anything, which is good for him because if Cato had noticed him shuffling through our stuff he would be dead in an instant.
"Shit, my head," I moan, straightening myself to look and see who else is up. Cato is waking up slowly and Marvel is knocked out, which isn't surprising considering he was absolutely wasted by the time the night was over.

    "How's the hangover, Clove?" Cato mutters, looking at me wryly. "Remember anything from last night?"

    I blush, vaguely recalling the kiss. "No, that was the most I've ever drank."

    "Shame," he laughs, and nudges me playfully.
    When Marvel wakes up an hour later he's still a little tipsy and we laugh at him as he struggles to keep his eyes open.

    "I have an Idea," I say. "We need to be alert, seriously. No fucking around. Let's go for a swim in the lake, it'll wake us up."

    "But it'll be cold," Marvel whines.

    "That's the point. Come on, boys." without another look back, I throw my jacket and my shirt off. Then I strip off my tight pants and combat boots, leaving myself in my tight black sports bra and polyester underwear.

    I hear Cato wolf whistle at me and turn back angrily, giving him a death stare.

    "I won't hear anything about it," I hiss, and stalk towards the water.

    Of course Cato is still the same. Girls and Gory, that's all he cares about. I get about knee-deep in the cold water when I hear a patter of running feet and Cato dives into the water behind me.

    "Son of a bitch!" I curse, shielding my face as he creates a humongous splash. When he comes up to the surface, he's got a shit-eating grin on his face and he seems to just lap up all the rage that I project at him.

    Things only get worse when Marvel jumps in. I swear, that boy is skin, bones,muscle and nothing else. He follows Cato around as they torment me with wave after water, and I think I'm actually laughing for one of the first moments in my life since my mother died.

    Cato throws me over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes and parades me around the lake, chanting my name, and I grab his muscular shoulders, laughing with my mouth wide open. It's wonderful, if only for a moment.

    When we finally exit the water, all three of us are sobered up and smiling like fools. Marvel jokes around, telling us he'll miss us when he gets back to his District.

    However, after our little moment of fun, it's back to work for us.

    Marvel's senses go off, telling us he's spotted something. We follow his line of sight to the treeline, all of us still unclothed and dripping.

    I see a pair of eyes. Dark, brown eyes, blinking out at me.

    And then he breaks into a shambling run. I recognize him, the tall boy from District Ten with the bad leg. He's surprisingly fast despite his disability, but it doesn't take long for me to catch him.

    I don't hear Marvel or Cato behind me. Seems they've left the kill to me. I know that the sponsors will be wanting some bloodshed right about now, so I have to make this good.

    I send my first knife into the boy's right leg, which slows him down enough for my second knife to hit it's target, right in his left shoulder. He cries out in pain and falls to the ground, thrashing around like a wounded animal.

    "No, no-" I'm on him in a second, and with my third and final knife, slit his throat. I don't blink as the blood from his artery splashes all over my face and my bare abdomen, streaming off my wet body in watery rivulets.

As the light drains from his deep brown eyes, I think how ironic it is the way that he died. From the livestock District, where they slaughter animals for a living. I wonder what his family is feeling right now, if he has one.

    Marvel and Cato come running up behind me, congratulating me on the kill. I'm not done though, and I go rummaging around his bloody, dirty clothes looking for something.

    I found it in his right breast pocket. A large silver coin with the word "Poncho" on it. I don't have time to wonder what it means, though, because Marvel and Cato pull me away from his body so the hovercraft can collect it.

    "That was badass," Cato says, looking me up and down. "Damn, you really hot half naked and covered in blood."

    "Can it," I growl, but apparently he wasn't joking, because a bouquet of roses float down from the sky a moment later. I flush in embarrassment, imagining those stupid, ugly capitol people lusting over me.

    Marvel and Cato find it hilarious however and make an ordeal of showering me in the rose petals they rip from the stems. It's only after I wash up and put on some clothes that they shut up about it.

    I rinse off the coin in the shallow water of the lake. It's a little rusted, crooked in one corner, and has a crudely engraved bull-horn insignia in the middle. The word "Poncho," is scrawled in a ribbon-like fashion over the bull, in funny letters.

    "Poncho," I say out loud, and finally it occurs to me that this is the boy's name. And then, just then, do I feel a tiny twinge of remorse for killing him so sadistically.

    I don't have long to feel bad about it, though, because the smell of smoke fills the air and Cato calls my name. We've found another one.