𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 // thg

parade - clato

Clove's POV

The Tribute Parade had been nothing short of terrible. Instead of Cato and I getting the sponsors' attention, which would make the odds of winning in our favor, the torches from Twelve had to steal the spotlight. God, it was absolutely disgusting. Hideous tributes like them were getting more recognition than the Careers, who were actually well-trained fighters with a chance at survival. No doubt they're useless with weapons, just lucky to have gotten a creative stylist.

Cato and I's stylist, however, was the dumbest and most annoying woman to walk the streets of the Capitol. How unoriginal could you be than to dress us in ridiculous Gladiator getups?

I could tell I was fuming, with the heat rising to my cheeks a clear indication of my fury. I couldn't hold a candle to Cato, however. He was so angry, his face was turning more purple than red, and his veins were enlarged to the point that you could see them through his skin.

He began punching the column next to the elevator that led up to our sleeping quarters. I let him get his emotions out until his knuckles became so bloody, I feared they wouldn't recover by the time we got to the arena.

When the elevator finally reached the lobby, he reluctantly halted his tantrum and got into the lift with me. I clicked the 2, feeling as if he'd break the button if he were to 'press' it.

We went up in silence, and within moments, the doors opened to our level. We began walking towards the living area in unison, where he sprawled himself on a sofa while I plopped down in an armchair.

"We're been completely screwed over, Clove. There's no chance we're getting sponsors when we made no impact at the Parade," he huffed.

"I know, Cato, but we can still catch their eye with our scores and interviews," I reasoned. "I'm sure we'll get much higher ranks than either of the kids in Twelve, we've trained our whole lives for this and I bet they've never even touched a sword."

"We're supposed to be the ones getting attention, gaining sponsors. Not some low-lives with no manners or class from the poorest district!" He raised his voice. I didn't like it when he got mad, it made me uncomfortable. His screaming matches weren't pleasant to witness back at the Academy, much less here.

I gestured for him to move his legs and sat beside him. Warily, I placed my hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. He flinched slightly, but soon relaxed into my touch.

"Our odds seem to be getting worse and worse, Clover. I don't want to die. I don't want you to die, either. And I certainly don't want one of Twelve's kids to win," he sighed, using his nickname for me. He'd used it since we met back at the Academy when I was seven and he was nine, and I typically hated it. This time, though, it didn't upset me.

"You'll make it out, Cato. Bring pride to District Two, and to your family," I frowned. I knew he had to win. It was for the better of the Academy, his siblings, and our District for him to be the Victor. I knew I wasn't going to make it, but I only hoped we wouldn't be left as the last two in the arena.

I leaned my head on his shoulder without much hesitation. If I were to die in the next few weeks, I might as well do what feels right in the moment.

He smiled faintly and rested his head upon mine.