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How am I playing Cato? Poorly? Not rude enough? Too rude? Let me know below!

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Appointments and messages for Luceti. Please title, tag and date appropriately.


Aug. 5th, 2015 05:55 pm
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3 cans of vegetables
1 revolver
1 ziploc bag
1 old leather-bound sketchbook
1 old photograph of a boy's family
1 book of matches
1 pair of shoe strings
1 deck of cards
1 flare
1 string of firecrackers
1 beartrap
1 machete
1 backpack
deadalready: (you'll be at peace now)
[Well this is it. What everyone who had been telling him to do wanted to see happen.

Cato was going to probably get murdered tonight; he figured making some kind of announcement to that effect would be wise.]

I'm going to tell her.

Uh...if she kills me I'll be back in a week. So no big deal, really.

But I just want to say I blame all of you that helped if she does. So. Yeah.

Thanks, I guess.

[He wants to bitch and moan about it to delay the inevitable but...what's the point really?]


[Cato pretended that his heart wasn't about to beat out of his chest as he rapped his knuckles against the frame of the bedroom door in a quick succession and spoke without much pause between the two actions:]

Come out to the woods with me.

[He said it clearly, without mumbling at all (which is a victory for him) and just...walks away. Either because he doesn't want to have to argue with her again or because he's more than slightly freaked out about having to do this.

Probably both.

He's considering using the word 'please', it's that bad.]
deadalready: (one temporary escape)
[The page on the journal opens with a heavy, frustrated sigh. It seems like all he's been doing lately is fighting with Clove, not talking to Clove, keeping what he's doing every day a secret from Clove... it's exhausting.

Cato has thrown himself into trying to build something he has no idea how to ever since the draft ended. Clove has tried to talk to him about it, what happened and what they understand of it - but not being together when...

everyone died. And it seems like Clove is never really going to accept that it happened - she'll acknowledge what he and everyone else experienced - but not they died.

But he knows they died. And won't see it any other way.

It's been causing some friction. Enough, apparently, for him to go to the journals.]

Being married shouldn't be so...weird.

Okay, wait that didn't come out right. It's not weird it's just...

Sure you fight and get mad at each other - I'm not stupid. But...does getting married really change things that much? I've --

I've never hated her. But lately it's just been so...





Maybe I should stop keeping the house thing a secret from her. She keeps getting suspicious when I tell her we have something else to do every time she wants to go the lake and I'm pretty sure she knows I'm lying since I suck at it.

Just...How do you know if getting married was the right thing to do? I mean, we did it because we're here. And alive. Because we could.

Is that any different from what people who weren't...basically stuck here would do? "I want to get married so let's get married!"

[His impression of a proposal is seriously off by a couple hundred yards.]

Or should we have waited? Does it even matter? I mean, maybe we were just supposed to... stay friends or - I don't fucking know.

I love her. I do.

But if I'm wondering whether we should be married or not...doesn't that answer my question already?
deadalready: (gonna gut that fish)
[Cato stares at the journal for a good ten seconds, unblinking and tired - either trying to collect his thoughts or just...spacing out. Either way, he comes back to it blinking and takes a fortifying breath.]

There are people here who've been in wars right?

[He doesn't think the Games count as a war, but he feels like battle is sort of a unifying point between soldiers and Tributes. When it comes down to it, they're both trying to kill people right? That's his understanding of it, and it's the only reason he's asking this question in the first place. There are no Tributes he can talk to about this. Not really. Clove and him well...they don't talk. Not that much. And Katniss...well he isn't even gonna think about talking to her. A little bitter still about coming close to being a Victor? Possibly.]

I don't know what you'd call them. But this last draft...

[Cato's lips seal into a thin line and he looks away from the journal. Composing himself? Trying to figure out how to word things? Who knows.]

How do you ... 'deal' with that? Going back?

It feels like it's been forever since the last time. Sure there were other drafts, but ... I've come close to getting killed again here a lot, but it's never happened.

[He - like a lot of people - had never experienced death like that. The sensation of being watched so strong that he felt like he was going to be sick. Except he was dead.

Yeah that's still throwing him for a loop.]

I guess that's what made it stick out in my head. I don't really remember what I did the first few weeks I was here but it wasn't... good. For me.

[Cato is different from the angry, confused, bloodthirsty kid who found himself in a field without dogs swarming over him. A little less angry, still just as confused and the urge to fight and kill has subsided enough to where he doesn't feel like it's the best solution for any and everything. He's gotten better at being a person but this...has clearly shaken him up.]

I'm trying to figure out how to reconcile that. I guess.
deadalready: (at last from the sea)
[Cato was just minding his business this morning - getting ready to go to the lake, as he had been for the last few months on a daily basis, without Clove. It was sort of a godsend that she hadn't been going out there much lately. But his good luck would run out soon, he knew it.

So it was sort of horrible that, as he was leaving, he saw Clove's journal. And...might have...peeked inside. And saw her latest post that way. The big snoop.

Which prompts this:]

Don't anybody tell her what I'm doing! [Oh god he's super serious. Also maybe your apartment isn't the best place to be giving this warning, Cato.]

It's suppose to be a surprise and I don't want any of you jerks to fuck it up, got it?

If you can't help yourself from telling her than just avoid her, if I find out she knows about it I'm going to kill whoever does it.

[It's kind of horrible that it's up in the air whether or not he's just saying that or if he actually means it. He does have his murder face on for emphasis but it sort of melts away to something a little less angry. A lot less angry, really.

But much more contrite.]

But occurs to me that I might .... [siiiiiiiiiiigh. It hurts admitting this so he just speeds through the last of the sentence.] actually need some help on this?

[But! Once he admits it, it's less awful to continue. Marginally]

I don't really know what I'm doing or how to do it. And I know I've been... [irritating? pig-headed? muleish? an asshole?] stubborn with refusing help but I could actually use it.

[Say the magic word Cato.]


[It looks like that word leaves an extra bad taste in his mouth and Cato twists his face up like he just ate something sour before closing the journal so he could leave and get to work.

He'll be at the lake the rest of the day, digging out space for a foundation some ways from the actual lake itself.]
deadalready: (open your eyes now)

[There's an awful lot of noise coming from the Western Lake today. Sounds like someone is destroying something!

Which is sadly accurate, seeing as Cato is currently stomping around kicking pieces of wood around like it's his job. He looks pretty pissed though, like something went wrong.]

Son of a bitch!

[And now he's screaming. So mature, Cato! He doesn't give himself much time to cool-down before he snatches up his journal like he's going to beat someone's head in with it, but instead flips through and scribbles furiously into the page before slamming the book shut and throwing it aside, it skids to a halt just before plunking itself into the river and oh boy wouldn't that have just been perfect.

Cato stands, still fuming, and kicks another piece of wood hard as he can - it doesn't end well for him.]



Note to self: Don't fucking try to build something in winter.

[There are some frantic, angry scribbles in the margins of the page too. Any replies he's going to give out will be later in the day and a lot more calm, thankfully. Also a lot more legible.]

Does anyone know how to make glass?

[In his fit of anger though, he forgot to private the entry from Clove.

Oh shit.]
deadalready: (feel it start to permeate)
[Hey everyone, iiiit's Cato! He usually makes these kind of posts without even thinking about it, just talking to the camera and saying what's on his mind and leaving it at that but this time around he's looking into the journal a bit...nervously. As if he's trying to be quiet or keep someone from hearing him.

He looks this way and that, either out of nerves or caution before he starts speaking. Not one syllable makes it out before he's already realized that if he wanted to keep this a secret he shouldn't be talking at all.

The video cuts out and his handwriting hastily appears beneath it.]

Does anyone here know how to build a house?

deadalready: (hard to control when it begins)
[It's still so weird that he and Clove are getting married. That it's actually happening like they acted like it could in their more stupid moments where they were both alive in the end. Maybe only one of them went to the Games and won, maybe neither of them went. Cato had wanted to with increasing desperation the closer he got to 18 but he'd told Clove before he would only volunteer if she needed him to.

Thinking about things from before the Games; about his sad, pointless life and his parents and their house and his room and the town...he wants that. He wants his mom and dad to be happy and see him get married.

Cato wonders if anyone will even show up for the wedding (still weird) or if it'll just be him and Clove and the person marrying them. The only thing he knows with certainty is that he's been here almost two years and hasn't made one friend. (Or so he thinks).

It makes him miss his parents even more fiercely and, without really thinking, he opens his journal.]

If you could have someone from back home be here, even for just a day, even if they were dead, would you make that happen?

[It seems selfish to even think about it, to him at least. He's curious to see if other people don't give as much of a crap about the life they'd left behind. He just misses his family.]
deadalready: (we lie beneath the stars at night)
[By now Cato is used to these weird events, these Shifts, changing things even after they're over. Before it made him a wreck, thinking he'd lived here and had a family with Clove...only to find out he'd just imagined a child and the unbelievable happiness it had left him with.

Putting that next to what their reality was now? It was no big surprise that it resulted in a long, awful fight.

After this Shift ended, especially with the fact that the Third Party did it - Cato was expecting the same low sinking feeling in his stomach about how none of it was real, that nothing from the Shift was true and he just lived a very nice lie again.

But it didn't come. It never did and Cato wondered if...if his actions during the last week still counted.]

Hey, if you did something...something you wanted to do during the Shift but hadn't thought about actually doing it before...

Does it still count? Or was that a different person and whatever they did doesn't have any consequence for you?
deadalready: (go to the sea)
[Cato comes up on the screen looking paler than usual and a little...sick. Whatever this is about, it's making him seriously terrified of the mere idea.]

I ... need to do something.

[This is both horribly embarrassing and actually awful. Cato screws his eyes shut and breaths - tries not to shut the journal and just forget about this whole stupid idea. What the hell was he thinking?]

Is there anyone around right now with a dog?

[He's just waiting for the 'haha' now.]
deadalready: (the life that you wasted)
I missed my birthday.

[It's said with no small share of amusement on his part, the fact is he was kind of in the middle of having a huge crisis with Ganon going ape on his birthday so...he doesn't feel too bad but still.]

I've been eighteen for six weeks now -- weird. Where I come from, it's a...pretty big deal. The last year of having your name put in and the last time you'll ever have a chance of being in the Games.

[He says chance like it's some kind of honor to be picked. For him, it was. Was.]

If I had been home, [Still alive that is.] next year the whole town would have gotten together to celebrate - we never did those things small.

[He smiles, mostly to himself.]

It would've been fun.
deadalready: (before the transformation takes)
[The video lights up on Cato's face as he watches something off-screen with a very fixed look. Whatever it is, it grabbed his attention just before he opened his journal. It's only a few seconds before he looks back at the page and clears his throat.]

So does anyone want to tell me who's responsible for this --

[The video cuts away a moment, blurring as he shifts to stealthily show Clove hunkered down over some small piece of wood in her hands with a look of very intense concentration her face. There are little bandages peppering her fingers and she looks like she's trying to cut the little piece into something smaller. She keeps shaving away at it.

The video jerks back to Cato's very bemused face.]

I have no idea what she's doing. But it's been going on for days now and I'm a little....weirded out. Every time I tell her to stop because it's making her upset she just yells at me and she won't even show me what she's doing with it.

This is the first time she's cut herself with her knives in years. I don't think I've seen her this bad with one since we were thirteen and just starting out with our weapons.

Someone told her to do this, didn't they? It just...doesn't make sense for her.
deadalready: (wild in my dreams)
[Cato is normally not the talkative type. He avoids conversations that last more than five or six words; spares as much poetry in words as he can and keeps things brusque. But this week has proven to be a week of changes for him...and it continues to be so.

See, Clove brought him some chocolate. Some white chocolate. And suddenly it started flowing from his brain out his mouth and...well...

Luceti will bear the brunt of it.]

So, this is like...tradition here, right? Something everyone does because that's how it's been? This 14th was my first Valentine's Day ever. But here there are a lot of firsts so I shouldn't be surprised. I'm not, by the way.

Where I come from there isn't a lot of...this. At all. Celebrating love is kind of pointless to us, we're more focused on other things. But people still get married! Engaged -- obviously. It's the little things that make it count for us. Little traditions. Rings get passed down through families for instance - they go down generation after generation when the children want to get engaged if their parent's marriage lasted and was good. It's like a token for good luck. Ensuring the marriage is healthy. Obviously the ring doesn't pass if it was a crap get the idea.

So, I have a question of what kind of traditions you have from your worlds to show people that you want to be with them?
deadalready: (come away to the water)
[Cato's been mallynapped for precisely three days, along with Clove. Not long enough to make some people panic but a good amount of time on it's own. He comes back...different, though. Like everyone else. But instead of coming back crazier or without anything in his mind, Cato comes back ... more like himself from before his death. Except the aggression and general horribleness of a ruthless teenager are gone.

He still has the scars running down his face though, but he looks thoughtful as he poses a question:]

For anyone who has family - people they care about - where they come from:

How do you deal with being away from them for so long? I feel like I'm going insane with worry here. I'm lucky to have Clove here but still...

What do you do when you only have half of your family?

[ooc: For the next four days, Cato is going to be under the impression that he and Clove won the Hunger Games. It's going to be the same Victor!AU that Clove had. Complete with marriage and a daughter. He'll be a different Cato, more well-adjusted.]
deadalready: (to all that is next)
[It's midday and guess who still has pent up aggression from the last mission? This guy.

Cato could be found in the Battle Dome, using it for the first time since he got here - which would have shocked anyone who actually knew him - the fact that he'd gone so long without training was strange.

To him, though, it hadn't mattered for a long time after he arrived. Because he was dead - he wasn't going to be competing in the games any more and that was the only reason he trained, the only reason he even existed before. An existential crisis? Definitely.

There are dummies cut down all around him and it's apparent he's been in here for a long time by the way he's breathing and sweating. But he's grinning into the journal.]

Anyone feel like sparring?
deadalready: (you'll be at peace now)
[When Cato pops up on the screen he doesn't look as...grumpy as usual. No, that's been replaced with nerves. A lot of them. Which only serve to make him actually twice as grumpy as usual. So it's all a big fat lie.

He seems to be trying to figure out exactly how to go about speaking before finally beginning very hesitantly.]


[All he can think at this point is that it would just be in his best interest to close his journal now. But he keeps going... albeit hesitantly.]

Say hypothetically you wanted to do something...nice...

[He grits his teeth when he says it. Like the the mere idea of him being nice personally offends him or maybe it's just the word itself. But he can get through this question, or so he tells himself.]

...for someone, like...take them out on a date orsomething. What would be good? To do? I've tried thinking of things for her and nothing sounds right.

[It's then that he realizes he just let himself talk without editing himself and whups that is a no-go. Because he's really nervous and really unsure of himself -- both of which aren't him. So he ends the post. Only to write in a few pages later:]

how do you tell a girls dress size?
deadalready: (when you return)
[Backdated to midnight. Action.]

[When Cato wakes up because he remembers mutts tearing at his arms and crunching his bones in their wide, ugly mouths he's filled with a sense of dread and relief.

Dread because he wakes up with grass under his back and thinks for just a moment that he's woken up in the Arena at that very moment. But then the canopy above his head and the blanket half tangled on his legs makes him breath. The feeling of clean air is like punching a hole through a wall and he remembers everything and for once it's not a bad thing.

For the past three or four days he'd been in a fog and been trapped in being nothing. Now he knows who he is and what he's done and it makes everything ten times better that it would normally.


CloveCloveCloveClove. His mind races over the day they re-met and it takes a little breath away from him in a strange, choked laugh. He runs a hand over the back of his head before scrambling for his journal.]


Clover -- Clove?

Clove if you're listening come to the lake. Right now.

[It's quick, tired and broken but the person is there and he'll wait all day if he has to.]


deadalready: (Default)

August 2015

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