[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.
[Cato moves to follow her at first, but then halts himself in his movement. To occupy himself he shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks on his feet.
When he sees the sword it's like he's a different person.
Like the one he was back in the Arena: a killer. He eyes the sword like it's something precious and beautiful. The grin that blooms on his face is almost vicious - almost like it was. His hands leave his pockets, fingers twitching for the cold metal.]
[Clove slightly swings the sword. Not in a threatening way but to hold the hilt in her palm and the flat of the blade in the other. She holds her hands out, like an offering.]
Of course.
[Her voice drops a little. There's a bit of the girl who kept so close in the Arena, who waited for him to clear the major waves of competition while she picked others off from behind him.]
[Cato's fingers are thick around the hilt as they carry it from Clove's open hands to his, the metal is cold and warm at the same time and it feels perfect. Like it was meant to be his, just like she said.
His wrist bends and curves and the sword follows the equilibrium of his hand, moving into forms that might be beautiful if they weren't meant to destroy things. He doesn't hurt her though, he steps back and the sharpness of his smile is more jagged the longer he holds it.]
Thanks.
[He pretends that the hitch in his word isn't from the dry knot in his throat or the thrumming in his muscles that is begging him to sink his sword into something with resistance; just to get that feeling again.]
[She's sure he does. Certain. But it's still almost a question, staring at him. Because maybe it was a little insane, taking a trophy in that battle, especially one never meant for her.
But to see him with a sword... He was always her Cato, but now. Now he really is.]
[He swallows. Lowers his hand and the sword with it. The itching in his skin dies down to a dull hum to remind him he could break necks if he felt like it and cut limbs off with one swing if the mood struck him. He's violent and horrible and there's only one person who knows that and still likes him.
[She smiles a little more at those words. She looks almost happy.
Because they are the District Two tributes. Unarmed... Well. He's still dangerous. She's much less so. Armed and together, they're unbeatable. No matter what else happens, she'll be okay as long as he lets her hang around. Maybe she can be useful again. Remind him of what she can do. That she's more than her death.
It doesn't occur to Clove that she is the only one defining herself by her death.]
[At her single approval he props the sword up against the wall, careful that it doesn't fall over. He really does love the sword but he isn't in the arena and he's not training so he doesn't have to hold onto it. He can let go if he wants to.
Cato turned back towards Clove and, as if on instinct, steps to close the distance between them.
The hand that gripped the hilt so tightly hovers over the top of Clove's head and the hesitation could speak for itself but his palm comes to rest on the curve of her skull while Cato does something he'll deny ever doing. Because the idea of him hugging someone is so ridiculous even he can't stand it. ]
[She flinches at the touch. Not badly, but it's there. Mostly because she knows why he's doing it but wants to pretend she's fine. That the memories don't bother her at all, don't keep her awake some nights. That she hasn't woken up right back there, screaming for him...
When no one was around to reassure her she'd just been having a nightmare.
He pulls her close, and she wraps her arms around his sides, fingers clutching the cloth of his shirt to hold onto him. If she lets go, he might come to his senses. Remember that she's a coward and an idiot. She got caught by her own arrogance and couldn't even face death like an Academy student.
She knows-- knows she'll be an example for years. Of what a tribute shouldn't be.
Her voice comes very quietly. That's the only way to make it sound sort of steady.]
[Me too. It comes unbidden, and it's the first time that he's ever had that thought since arriving. That he's happy to be here. With her. Alive and whole (on the outside at least).
The smile he wears is pathetically genuine and a soft snort of laughter comes from him as he presses his nose against her hair. She didn't smell anything like he'd expected. In the Arena she stank of blood and ash and constantly of apples. It was strange that her scent was softer now. Pleasant. But strange.]
[Clove chuckles faintly at the statement. She can't help it. She touches his cheek-- just the curve of the bone with the tips of her finger-- before she steps back.]
There's probably something in the kitchen. It's just outside. Communal area.
[That easy look he has doesn't fade as he tugs on a bit of her hair - like he would have when they were younger. All the tension seems to have leeched out of him and for once, he looks relaxed.]
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deadalready) wrote2023-08-02 02:12 pm
action
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.]
no subject
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.
no subject
[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?
no subject
[She smiles faintly and goes into the bedroom she'd indicated was hers.]
There were enemies. Armed.
And...
[She comes back out with a sword a bit bigger than the one he'd favored in the Games.]
I... thought I'd take this. Bring it back.
no subject
When he sees the sword it's like he's a different person.
Like the one he was back in the Arena: a killer. He eyes the sword like it's something precious and beautiful. The grin that blooms on his face is almost vicious - almost like it was. His hands leave his pockets, fingers twitching for the cold metal.]
Can I?
no subject
Of course.
[Her voice drops a little. There's a bit of the girl who kept so close in the Arena, who waited for him to clear the major waves of competition while she picked others off from behind him.]
It's yours. Has been since I saw it.
no subject
His wrist bends and curves and the sword follows the equilibrium of his hand, moving into forms that might be beautiful if they weren't meant to destroy things. He doesn't hurt her though, he steps back and the sharpness of his smile is more jagged the longer he holds it.]
Thanks.
[He pretends that the hitch in his word isn't from the dry knot in his throat or the thrumming in his muscles that is begging him to sink his sword into something with resistance; just to get that feeling again.]
no subject
[She's sure he does. Certain. But it's still almost a question, staring at him. Because maybe it was a little insane, taking a trophy in that battle, especially one never meant for her.
But to see him with a sword... He was always her Cato, but now. Now he really is.]
no subject
[He swallows. Lowers his hand and the sword with it. The itching in his skin dies down to a dull hum to remind him he could break necks if he felt like it and cut limbs off with one swing if the mood struck him. He's violent and horrible and there's only one person who knows that and still likes him.
And she gave him a sword.]
Yeah I love it.
no subject
Because they are the District Two tributes. Unarmed... Well. He's still dangerous. She's much less so. Armed and together, they're unbeatable. No matter what else happens, she'll be okay as long as he lets her hang around. Maybe she can be useful again. Remind him of what she can do. That she's more than her death.
It doesn't occur to Clove that she is the only one defining herself by her death.]
Good.
no subject
Cato turned back towards Clove and, as if on instinct, steps to close the distance between them.
The hand that gripped the hilt so tightly hovers over the top of Clove's head and the hesitation could speak for itself but his palm comes to rest on the curve of her skull while Cato does something he'll deny ever doing. Because the idea of him hugging someone is so ridiculous even he can't stand it. ]
Thank you.
no subject
When no one was around to reassure her she'd just been having a nightmare.
He pulls her close, and she wraps her arms around his sides, fingers clutching the cloth of his shirt to hold onto him. If she lets go, he might come to his senses. Remember that she's a coward and an idiot. She got caught by her own arrogance and couldn't even face death like an Academy student.
She knows-- knows she'll be an example for years. Of what a tribute shouldn't be.
Her voice comes very quietly. That's the only way to make it sound sort of steady.]
I'm glad you're here.
no subject
The smile he wears is pathetically genuine and a soft snort of laughter comes from him as he presses his nose against her hair. She didn't smell anything like he'd expected. In the Arena she stank of blood and ash and constantly of apples. It was strange that her scent was softer now. Pleasant. But strange.]
I'm hungry.
[He grumbled as they parted, looking content.]
no subject
There's probably something in the kitchen. It's just outside. Communal area.
no subject
Come with me.
no subject
Sure.