A Game Called Revenge ✭ Cato Hadley

Ten - Life For A Life

"ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴠᴇ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴀʀᴇ ᴜꜱᴜᴀʟʟʏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ᴡʜᴏ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɪɴ ꜰᴀᴠᴏᴜʀ ᴏꜰ ʜᴏʟᴅɪɴɢ ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢꜱ."

As the morning breaks, golden rays of light flood the room through the large window beside the bed. Clio curses to herself as she turns her head away from the sunlight and scrunches her eyes shut. Of course I forgot to shut the blinds, she grumbles before she feels Cato begin to stir beside her.

"Do we have to move today?" Cato asks, his voice muffled from the way his head lays on his pillow. Clio nods just enough that he perceives the motion against the mattress, and his arm reaches out to find her torso so that he can pull her into him. Clio buries her face in the crook of his neck, appreciating the moment of normalcy before she has to be the one to push away from him and out of bed, reaching for the training outfit for the last time.

"Get up." She tells Cato, launching her pillow at his face, before quickly dodging the one thrown at her in response. With a groan he reluctantly throws the covers back, and the two head down to grab some breakfast.

They find Brutus and Enobaria already sitting at the table, both with half eaten plates of pastries set before them, as they both look up at the sound of them entering. They seem to be deep in conversation, likely about what and who was best to focus their time on when it came to making alliances. Clio mulls over her own thoughts about her allies as she fills her own plate with a stack of cinnamon rolls and an assortment of berries. Sitting down, she feels Enobaria's eyes on her. "You're late."

Clio ignores her for a moment, focusing on loading up berries onto her knife like a skewer as she makes a point of eating it off the tip of the blade. "Can you pass me the syrup?" She asks.

Enobaria raises an eyebrow, "You can't be going into these games on a sugar high Clio."

With a pout, Clio looks back at Enobaria. "I'm going to die and you're denying me my favourite syrup," she jokes.

The tension in the room lifts by then, no more thoughts about alliances plaguing the minds of the mentors; just four friends joking over breakfast. Amused, Brutus leans over Enobaria to slide the bottle of sweet cinnamon sugar syrup across to the other side of the table.

"Thank you," Clio says, "This is why you're my favourite."

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

The afternoon of the final day of training is allocated to the private training sessions with the game makers. They spend the entire three days hovering around and watching all the tributes, but still need a private show of what they can do. The idea that all these now adults are forced to perform for some Capitolian men again so that they can rank them and open the betting lines for the Capitol is ridiculous. Everyone pretends that the odds haven't been stacking up since the quell was announced; acts as if they aren't fully aware that the Capitol have been betting in full force from the minutes the reapings aired.

Clio doesn't know why she's so restless as she waits for her name to be called. All twenty-four tributes chat quietly amongst themselves in the uncomfortable metal seats. She's sat next to her allies but they've been mostly quiet throughout, refraining from speaking about their private sessions mostly because of how little space they had in this room; they didn't particularly wish to be overheard. Their alliance was strong on the surface, the careers of Districts One and Two always portray a united front; but she knows that everyone here wants to win, and that the way she easily betrayed the District One tributes in her games must be plaguing the others' minds. She's always unpredictable, and allying with someone who's moves you can't foresee is always dangerous.