Cato

[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.