It's not much. Definitely not what we had at the Capitol.
[She sounds almost shy. Maybe embarrassed. Because the apartment is rather small compared to what they were given as tributes, and she hasn't tried to make it feel very "home"y.
A few new pieces of furniture. Things she liked in the shops. But that's it. Nothing really... individual. The Academy had schooled her against that. Leaving a mark on her surroundings.]
There are two spare bedrooms. Right down there. [And a nod to the third door, nearest the entrance.] I sleep in there.
You're... [It feels strange. She still doesn't know what they are. Former tributes? Something more? Friends? Is he ashamed that she died screaming for him? Does he resent her for being so weak? Does he maybe still care? Just a little?] I want you to stay. As long as you want to.
[It might not be much but what it is makes Cato smile. They've never had something that was really...their own. Which wasn't as pathetic as it sounded. They were given anything they asked for as Academy students - as long as it was used productively toward their skills.
The way it worked was - everything had a price, nothing was just given to you. You had to earn it, or pay it back in blood, sweat, and tears. The Capitol worked the same way.
So this spartan apartment with the three bedrooms would do just fine. Because he could pretend it was theirs. For now he could ignore the looming presence of the Capitol-like entity constantly reminding him that all this could be taken away if they wanted to.
The thought makes him angry, but he smiles all the same. Something he wouldn't do anywhere else. Or with anyone else right now.]
I'll stay. I don't want one for myself.
...This is enough.
[He can't judge her for screaming for him as she died, for being weak. That kind of weakness is something he looks back on and feels for. She'd needed him to help her - not to save her, no. Never save her - and he wasn't there in time. The guilt he felt for that was overwhelming in some instances and barely there in others.
He remembered wishing she was there when he died. To put him out of his misery instead of Katniss? Or to just sit with him while he choked on his own blood and broken teeth, waiting to pass out and die?
Maybe so she could have gone on her very own bloody rampage? Who knew.]
She feels young when he smiles. Like she actually has something to look forward to. She's seen how the Malnosso operate, knows this could all vanish in a blink. She's had her memories tampered with; she's been into battle; she's been locked out of one of their battles. The food, the shelter... everything could be gone tomorrow, but it's theirs now. If they'll pay the price of battling when they're told.
Not unlike the Academy and the Capitol.
Another game, another arena. But they can be allies here. Can truly watch each other's back.
Though there's nothing to tell them how to win.
And there's no going home.]
I-- [He'd seemed so uneasy last night, as she'd curled up to him and tried to sleep at the camp.] I have something for you. [He didn't seem to want to fight. But hopefully... Hopefully a gift wouldn't be out of place.] Sort of... found it. And...
I'd... kind of hoped you'd come. So... I grabbed it.
[She can't sleep. Of course she can't sleep. But her talk with Lover Boy has her agitated. And she's waited... about five minutes since he went into the forest, leaving her alone.
So she takes his Journal and, by moonlight, writes just a quick message.]
Know you're probably asleep. Just checking in. Still safe, still doing okay. We're out of the mountains. Should be back soon. Couple of days at most.
For two hours, she ran through the forest. Criss-crossing tracks. Somewhere along the way, she sheathed her knife, scrambling over fallen logs. She misses one slight drop, though, and falls. One. two. three. four. tumbles.
Face and arms, scratched up. Knee hitting against a rock. She curls up on the ground, trembling, listening for something -- someone -- coming after her. Tears are falling.
Clove scrambles up after a moment. To stay still is to die. So she gets to her feet, ignores the aches, and resumes running. Finally, she's looped around. She's broken the tree line.
She can see the camp.]
Cato.
Cato!
[He has to be okay. He has to be. He has to be okay.]
[The panic in her voice gets his attention like a dog-whistle and he's standing upright instantly. His hands are wet, from washing them off in the lake.
The instant his eyes are on her he can only see that she's banged up. Scratches, dirty and crying. His first thought is that she saw Thresh. After it'd been explained to him that anyone can come back, that was the one he decided he'd be waiting for.
Instantly a horrible cocktail of rage and terror fills him and he goes to close the distance between them. He's worried and he can't readily recognize why but deep down he knows it's because this is too familiar. Clove screaming for him and him only just making it to say goodbye.
No, no no. That wasn't this. Clove was running towards him. She wasn't on the ground. She was crying and that meant alive. It relieves him enough to make it to her.]
[She lunges with all of her strength at the last foot, something between a leap and a pounce. All she can think about is getting hold of him, and she does. Her fingers tighten into the fabric of his shirt. She's gripping. Hard as she can.]
Cato.
[Breathless. Panting. Half sobbing.]
Cato.
[Stop. Please -- just stop. Stop saying my name like that.
His rebuke from the first day comes back to her, and she buries her face into his chest. She shouldn't be crying. She's not hurt. She shouldn't be crying.
But she sobs against him, trembling. She wants to scream. She wants to start screaming and crying and not stop until this all goes away. Until she wakes up from this nightmare either at home, at the Academy, in the Arena, or fallen asleep under a tree on the grounds with Cato.
She wants to be who she was. She wants to know no fear, to laugh at the idea of being a tribute. She wants to have a future.]
[It's a basic response to someone burrowing against your chest to wrap your arms around the person. He can't help it, or at least that's what he tells himself as his hand curls around the back of her head.
It's almost customary now for him to do that. There's still paranoia that pieces will be missing from her skull but he takes his chances.]
What happened? [He does his level best to calm down because right now she doesn't need anger. And it doesn't matter to him that she's breaking down and crying. That Clove, of all people, is having a moment of weakness.
[It's been raining for three hours by the time she walks into Community House Two, room three. Clove is shivering badly. Or maybe it's trembling.
She's soaked to the bone. Not only from the rain but also, despite the weather, diving into the lake fully clothed. She had to get all the blood and dirt off her skin. though her shirt and pants are stained with both.
Her cheek has stopped bleeding, but the cut is still obvious.
Her hunting knife is missing from its place on her belt.
Clove's lips move, but nothing comes. She can't decide whether she wants anything more than to see Cato or nothing less.
She knows she can't tell him. Like the tribute among the refugees, this will be her secret. He dreams of the Arena too often, she knows. He doesn't need to remind him of things.
Clove silently heads for the bathroom, stripping off her top shirt as she goes. A hot shower, scrubbing, and drying off will get rid of this chill.
[Of course he heard her coming in, he'd been a little nervous as the storm wore on - thinking of the tornado, again. But it'd had stayed constant today, now his only worry was about Clove returning soaked.
He grumbled to himself as he padded around the kitchen, only thinking of heating up some stew for her when she returned. He tried to hide how pleased he was she was back by busying himself with a bowl of stew before wandering to the bathroom.
She was quiet by nature but she usually responded by now or came to tell him what she'd been up to.]
[And the door opens anyways. Clove your boyfriend has no sense of the meaning of privacy. He doesn't make any pitiful noises at the state of her, or mention how broken she looks. Instead he sits on the toilet and smirks. No idea of what has just transpired. He looks like he's getting comfortable.]
[Clove likes white chocolate. Enough to bring several pieces home with her after a spa visit. She'll like it much less tomorrow when the effect wears off, but... for right now, it tastes good, and she doesn't notice or mind how much she's been talking.
After Cato's address to Luceti (and a few minutes after she's finished a piece), she looks at him. The man's ring around her neck she usually hides is out, and she toys with it mildly. For all the sentiment she feels this week, she's still a Career. It's somewhat worrying, and she still knows caution about what she wants to say and how it might sound.
She strokes the ring. Cato's father's ring. Cato's ring. Then:]
[His eyes fall to the golden band shes playing with and he ducks his head quickly before smiling and looking back up at her with a quiet voice.]
Yes.
[He couldn't help the honesty because he couldn't just...stay quiet. It was better and less hurtful than a lie though. He didn't want to hurt her - not anymore.]
I think about it a lot. We have time to think here.
[Her head stays ducked, but there is a small smile on her face. She bites a little at her lip, not out of fear but out of nerves. It's not something they've ever actually talked about. Even after the rings were exchanged, they never discussed it. Because it was a promise, one way or another, to someone who was going to die.
But here. There's time to think. And--]
We have time to do it. Or. At least. [Maybe it's too fast here. Maybe this time means they should think about it more.] If... we wanted to.
[Clove's waited a day and then some. She saw the address to the community, even listened to Cato's question. And... she gave it time. Let him think about it, discuss it. Didn't listen to anything else there, didn't want to. However Cato wanted to work it out, that was his choice.
Still, she makes up her mind while he's out that day, and she's waiting for him in the living room when he comes back. She hasn't taken her mother's wedding ring off her finger. Not yet. And his father's is out, laying against her shirt rather than hidden under it.
For a few moments, when he comes in, she's silent. Then, finally, she makes herself say it. Quieter than she wanted to, less certain.]
[He has been dreading this moment because he's still not quite sure if Clove would still be interested in this...cementing of things afterwards. So he's been tactless and avoided bringing it up completely until that contemplative post to the journals.
Now? He is really tempted to play dumb and ask her: 'Decide what?' to see if he can avoid taking responsibility a while longer. But, he thinks of how irritated he'd be with her if she pulled something like that and relents.
Time for truth bombs.]
I want to.
[....oh, wait. He should clarify.]
Be... [your husband?] with you, I mean.
[That's a total yes, right? Right.
Then he looks at her hand, gaze darting down to that specific finger because he remembers putting the ring on it and...]
[To be fair, Clove hadn't been bringing the topic up either. Sort of a "maybe if I pretend it never happened, we can act like it never happened." But... no such luck. Not for him, not for her.
She listens, a slowly growing smile emerging on her face.
Before she says anything, she takes off her mother's wedding ring. Then, after two steps forward, she offers it back to him.]
[Karla's getting worried about going out of shape lately, so she heads to the Battle Dome once again to train. Maybe there was a strong opponent she could spar with, or maybe there was someone who could teach her how to create more challenging battle simulations.]
[When she walks inside, she spots a familiar face that she didn't expect to see, and calls out to him lightly.]
...Cato?
[Action] Yes it is im the actual worst and this is appallingly late
[Cato was just heading in to train when he heard a familiar voice - couldn't shake the Academy's daily regiment, even with two years in Luceti behind him; every other day was enough of a challenge to his system.
He smiled seeing Karla though. She was a friend, as far as he was concerned.]
[As well as she could with these lame Battle Dome simulations anyway.]
I didn't expect to see you here, though. So you are a fighter?
[She remembers what she's heard about the Hunger Games. Kids forced to kill each other with little or no battle experience. What she didn't know was whether the ones who had trained for it were trained to fight, or trained to kill. To her, there's a big difference.]
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deadalready) wrote2023-08-02 02:12 pm
July 9th, action: (backdated)
[She sounds almost shy. Maybe embarrassed. Because the apartment is rather small compared to what they were given as tributes, and she hasn't tried to make it feel very "home"y.
A few new pieces of furniture. Things she liked in the shops. But that's it. Nothing really... individual. The Academy had schooled her against that. Leaving a mark on her surroundings.]
There are two spare bedrooms. Right down there. [And a nod to the third door, nearest the entrance.] I sleep in there.
You're... [It feels strange. She still doesn't know what they are. Former tributes? Something more? Friends? Is he ashamed that she died screaming for him? Does he resent her for being so weak? Does he maybe still care? Just a little?] I want you to stay. As long as you want to.
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The way it worked was - everything had a price, nothing was just given to you. You had to earn it, or pay it back in blood, sweat, and tears. The Capitol worked the same way.
So this spartan apartment with the three bedrooms would do just fine. Because he could pretend it was theirs. For now he could ignore the looming presence of the Capitol-like entity constantly reminding him that all this could be taken away if they wanted to.
The thought makes him angry, but he smiles all the same. Something he wouldn't do anywhere else. Or with anyone else right now.]
I'll stay. I don't want one for myself.
...This is enough.
[He can't judge her for screaming for him as she died, for being weak. That kind of weakness is something he looks back on and feels for. She'd needed him to help her - not to save her, no. Never save her - and he wasn't there in time. The guilt he felt for that was overwhelming in some instances and barely there in others.
He remembered wishing she was there when he died. To put him out of his misery instead of Katniss? Or to just sit with him while he choked on his own blood and broken teeth, waiting to pass out and die?
Maybe so she could have gone on her very own bloody rampage? Who knew.]
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She feels young when he smiles. Like she actually has something to look forward to. She's seen how the Malnosso operate, knows this could all vanish in a blink. She's had her memories tampered with; she's been into battle; she's been locked out of one of their battles. The food, the shelter... everything could be gone tomorrow, but it's theirs now. If they'll pay the price of battling when they're told.
Not unlike the Academy and the Capitol.
Another game, another arena. But they can be allies here. Can truly watch each other's back.
Though there's nothing to tell them how to win.
And there's no going home.]
I-- [He'd seemed so uneasy last night, as she'd curled up to him and tried to sleep at the camp.] I have something for you. [He didn't seem to want to fight. But hopefully... Hopefully a gift wouldn't be out of place.] Sort of... found it. And...
I'd... kind of hoped you'd come. So... I grabbed it.
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[He brightens in the way a teenager should at the prospect of a gift, that same smile growing a little more pleased than sad.]
What is it?
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August 2nd, written: (backdated)
So she takes his Journal and, by moonlight, writes just a quick message.]
Know you're probably asleep. Just checking in. Still safe, still doing okay. We're out of the mountains. Should be back soon. Couple of days at most.
Take care of yourself. Don't do anything stupid.
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You know me.
[What he wants to tell her is 'You too.' But this will lengthen the conversation. He'd rather argue than leave it at that.]
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[Because she doesn't want him to worry. To hear some of the truths and think everything they say is true.]
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August 29th, late afternoon
For two hours, she ran through the forest. Criss-crossing tracks. Somewhere along the way, she sheathed her knife, scrambling over fallen logs. She misses one slight drop, though, and falls. One. two. three. four. tumbles.
Face and arms, scratched up. Knee hitting against a rock. She curls up on the ground, trembling, listening for something -- someone -- coming after her. Tears are falling.
Clove scrambles up after a moment. To stay still is to die. So she gets to her feet, ignores the aches, and resumes running. Finally, she's looped around. She's broken the tree line.
She can see the camp.]
Cato.
Cato!
[He has to be okay. He has to be. He has to be okay.]
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[The panic in her voice gets his attention like a dog-whistle and he's standing upright instantly. His hands are wet, from washing them off in the lake.
The instant his eyes are on her he can only see that she's banged up. Scratches, dirty and crying. His first thought is that she saw Thresh. After it'd been explained to him that anyone can come back, that was the one he decided he'd be waiting for.
Instantly a horrible cocktail of rage and terror fills him and he goes to close the distance between them. He's worried and he can't readily recognize why but deep down he knows it's because this is too familiar. Clove screaming for him and him only just making it to say goodbye.
No, no no. That wasn't this. Clove was running towards him. She wasn't on the ground. She was crying and that meant alive. It relieves him enough to make it to her.]
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Cato.
[Breathless. Panting. Half sobbing.]
Cato.
[Stop. Please -- just stop. Stop saying my name like that.
His rebuke from the first day comes back to her, and she buries her face into his chest. She shouldn't be crying. She's not hurt. She shouldn't be crying.
But she sobs against him, trembling. She wants to scream. She wants to start screaming and crying and not stop until this all goes away. Until she wakes up from this nightmare either at home, at the Academy, in the Arena, or fallen asleep under a tree on the grounds with Cato.
She wants to be who she was. She wants to know no fear, to laugh at the idea of being a tribute. She wants to have a future.]
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It's almost customary now for him to do that. There's still paranoia that pieces will be missing from her skull but he takes his chances.]
What happened? [He does his level best to calm down because right now she doesn't need anger. And it doesn't matter to him that she's breaking down and crying. That Clove, of all people, is having a moment of weakness.
Because that's all it was. A moment. Right?]
Clove, you need to tell me what happened.
[Since when did he become the rational one?]
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October 24th, action:
She's soaked to the bone. Not only from the rain but also, despite the weather, diving into the lake fully clothed. She had to get all the blood and dirt off her skin. though her shirt and pants are stained with both.
Her cheek has stopped bleeding, but the cut is still obvious.
Her hunting knife is missing from its place on her belt.
Clove's lips move, but nothing comes. She can't decide whether she wants anything more than to see Cato or nothing less.
She knows she can't tell him. Like the tribute among the refugees, this will be her secret. He dreams of the Arena too often, she knows. He doesn't need to remind him of things.
Clove silently heads for the bathroom, stripping off her top shirt as she goes. A hot shower, scrubbing, and drying off will get rid of this chill.
It has to.]
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[Of course he heard her coming in, he'd been a little nervous as the storm wore on - thinking of the tornado, again. But it'd had stayed constant today, now his only worry was about Clove returning soaked.
He grumbled to himself as he padded around the kitchen, only thinking of heating up some stew for her when she returned. He tried to hide how pleased he was she was back by busying himself with a bowl of stew before wandering to the bathroom.
She was quiet by nature but she usually responded by now or came to tell him what she'd been up to.]
Hey, Clove?
[A little domestic.]
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[The answer comes after a moment, but the bathroom door never opens. Water's being run, gotten to the right temperature.]
I'll -- I'll be out soon. Just need a shower. [She tries to laugh, but the sound catches in her throat.] 'M freezing. Just... need to warm up a bit.
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[And the door opens anyways. Clove your boyfriend has no sense of the meaning of privacy. He doesn't make any pitiful noises at the state of her, or mention how broken she looks. Instead he sits on the toilet and smirks. No idea of what has just transpired. He looks like he's getting comfortable.]
Looks like you already got one.
[He's an asshole.]
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February 17th, evening:
After Cato's address to Luceti (and a few minutes after she's finished a piece), she looks at him. The man's ring around her neck she usually hides is out, and she toys with it mildly. For all the sentiment she feels this week, she's still a Career. It's somewhat worrying, and she still knows caution about what she wants to say and how it might sound.
She strokes the ring. Cato's father's ring. Cato's ring. Then:]
You ever think about doing it?
February 17th, evening:
Yes.
[He couldn't help the honesty because he couldn't just...stay quiet. It was better and less hurtful than a lie though. He didn't want to hurt her - not anymore.]
I think about it a lot. We have time to think here.
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But here. There's time to think. And--]
We have time to do it. Or. At least. [Maybe it's too fast here. Maybe this time means they should think about it more.] If... we wanted to.
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August 15th, evening:
Still, she makes up her mind while he's out that day, and she's waiting for him in the living room when he comes back. She hasn't taken her mother's wedding ring off her finger. Not yet. And his father's is out, laying against her shirt rather than hidden under it.
For a few moments, when he comes in, she's silent. Then, finally, she makes herself say it. Quieter than she wanted to, less certain.]
What did you decide?
August 15th, evening:
Now? He is really tempted to play dumb and ask her: 'Decide what?' to see if he can avoid taking responsibility a while longer. But, he thinks of how irritated he'd be with her if she pulled something like that and relents.
Time for truth bombs.]
I want to.
[....oh, wait. He should clarify.]
Be... [your husband?] with you, I mean.
[That's a total yes, right? Right.
Then he looks at her hand, gaze darting down to that specific finger because he remembers putting the ring on it and...]
You're still wearing it...
August 15th, evening:
She listens, a slowly growing smile emerging on her face.
Before she says anything, she takes off her mother's wedding ring. Then, after two steps forward, she offers it back to him.]
We'll exchange them properly, then.
[During their wedding.]
August 15th, evening: she's so freaking tiny omfg
August 15th, evening:
August 15th, evening:
Jan. 5th [Action] Hope this is good?
[When she walks inside, she spots a familiar face that she didn't expect to see, and calls out to him lightly.]
...Cato?
[Action] Yes it is im the actual worst and this is appallingly late
He smiled seeing Karla though. She was a friend, as far as he was concerned.]
Karla? What's up?
[Action]
[As well as she could with these lame Battle Dome simulations anyway.]
I didn't expect to see you here, though. So you are a fighter?
[She remembers what she's heard about the Hunger Games. Kids forced to kill each other with little or no battle experience. What she didn't know was whether the ones who had trained for it were trained to fight, or trained to kill. To her, there's a big difference.]
[Action]
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