"ɪ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ɴᴏ ᴀᴘᴏʟᴏɢʏ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴇᴛɪᴛɪᴏɴ."
The anthem of Panem sounding over the arena startles Clio awake. She rolls over onto her back and shakes a still dozing Cashmere before shuffling slightly out of the cover and squinting at the sky where the bright white light of the Capitol seal appears in the sky above them. The first face that appears is the man from District Five. Mags actually made it through the night. So did Wiress and Beetee. She recognises his face as the man who lunged at her with the boning knife. The one who's intestines left his body attached to Cashmere's knife. Then the male morphling from Six whose corpse became their training dummy, the outlet for their anger. The faces jump to both of the tributes from Eight - the woman had been taken out by Gloss, whilst the man wasn't killed at any of their hands. The woman from Nine is next, followed by the man who died at Finnick's hand if the three holes in his chest were any indication. Clio badly stifles a laugh as the face of the woman from Ten flicks onto the sky, but her romeo's face doesn't appear. Damn, he's still out there, she thinks, we'll get him in the morning. The last face to show in the sky is the woman from Eleven, leaving sixteen tributes alive. Four career tributes, five if they are including Finnick. The other alliance, which also includes Finnick, and some other random tributes scattered about. They doze for probably another hour or two before pushing themselves to their feet, and walking slowly to the edge of the rocky island, Cashmere following close behind Clio as they go to switch places with Cato and Gloss, letting them get some sleep. Their heads snap round as they hear footsteps, removing their hands from their weapons when they see the faces of the two women in the dim light of the full moon. The crack of lightning together with the rumble of thunder makes the four of them jump slightly, their heads drawn to the sound, in time to watch a thick bolt strike a large tree deep in the jungle. The tree lights up in a flash of bright white when the lightning hits the branches, briefly illuminating the canopy layer before it falls pitch black once more and twelve booms ring out across the arena.
As the two guys shrug dismissively and go further inside the cornucopia, Clio and Cashmere lean their backs against the cold, metal wall and slide to a seat.
"Do you think that lightning was supposed to signal something?" Cashmere asks her carefully.
"It's probably just something to do with the number of Districts. They're obsessed with it, and there's no other reason it would ring out twelve times." Clio laughs quietly. "It can't be the number of Districts still involved because both from Eight and Nine are dead."
"Maybe it's telling us who has the best odds?"
"Then it would've rang out twice. My odds were three to one after the interviews, I checked." Clio shuts down any semblance of praise directed at Katniss - because it's obviously not going to be talking about Peeta.
"You checked?" Cashmere asks, "What were mine?"
"Seven to one."
"And Gloss?"
"Five to one."
"What about Cato's?"
"Bloody hell Cash, if you wanted to know everyone's odds you could've just said that." Clio jokes, "Cato's were four to one. So were Finnick's, Johanna's and Katniss'. The others were all too low to even worry about."
"Why the hell were mine so low?" Cashmere whines, obviously upset at having lower odds than she did in her first games.
"Maybe because District One hasn't had a victor in the past five years, you know as well as I do how that drops your odds but hey, it could be worse, you could be from District Ten."
"I suppose," Cashmere agrees, "What were hers?"
"Forty-eight to one." Clio lets out a giggle and Cashmere joins in after a moment, the two girls sitting laughing together as if they were old friends. As if they weren't laughing about a dead woman's odds of survival.
"We're very similar, me and you. I think in some other universe, we're probably friends." Cashmere says, head hanging low as she tries to will her voice not to break. "I never really had any in the Academy, we weren't really allowed friends. I mean what's the point in-"
"Getting attached to someone who could die.' Clio finishes her sentence for her.
"Exactly." Cashmere accepts sadly, "I meant what I said in my interview. I know I'm in here with my brother, but I really do view you as a little sister and with everything that happened to us, if things were different we'd be friends. I'm not looking forward to having to kill you."
Clio holds back a scoff. Not looking forward to having to kill me? She thinks, wanting so desperately to fire back a sarcastic remark about how she'll be lucky if she even gets the chance, but she knows she has to maintain the alliance for at least another couple of days, until the main threats have been eliminated. "We are friends. In some other universe you're probably helping kids out and I'll get to have my kids, but hey, maybe try not to think about killing me until we've at least whittled down some of the others."
"Deal." The smile returns to Cashmere's face as she stares into the distance at the forest. "I guess it depends on if you kill me first."
"True," She agrees, "I'm tempted."
"Gee, Clio, you're not doing a very good job at hiding it." Cashmere laughs.
"I don't know how to hide things. I have a very expressive face."
"You have a chronic resting bitchface,' the blonde woman snorts. "You think they'll execute us for betting on each other?"
"What are they going to do?" Clio replies, before adding, "Throw us into the arena again? Oh wait..."
"Still, it feels redundant to place a bet with you on which one of us will die first."
"If you die first, you owe me a hundred."
"Deal." Cashmere repeats, "and if you die first then you owe me two hundred, considering you have better odds and all."
"Sure, Cash, whatever you want." Clio rolls her eyes playfully. "Do you think I'll get two cannons when I-"
Clio's sentence is interrupted by a shrill chiming noise. A silver parachute glides down, the tinkling coming to a halt when the large container hits the rocky ground with a small clang.
"Whose is it?" Clio asks as Cashmere leans over to grab the sponsor gift.
"It's for you." She shrugs, handing her the parcel labelled 'Two.'
Clio's face contorts in confusion as she strains to read the note attached to the large cylindrical tube.
'Find pretty boy. He's stuck with Twelve. Don't be a chicken.
- L.C '
She rips the note from the thin strands of string which attach it to the top of the container and chucks it aside, eager to open the gift. She twists the top of the cylinder to the left and gently lifts it from the large tube at the bottom. With the darkness in the arena now that it must be at least midnight, or so they think, she can only make out some small black objects that are seemingly embedded into some kind of thick foam inside. Fingers finding a small notch on the side of the cylinder, she flicks it and the barrel uncoils, opening in front of her.
"No fucking way." She whispers excitedly, cautious not to wake Cato and Gloss who are now snoring lightly inside the cornucopia. Her sponsor has gifted her a set of knives. Ten shiny, new, silver throwing knives, all of different lengths. Each with black handles of various thickness. Some are serrated whilst others are plain-edged but they are all perfectly sharpened as she picks each knife up one by one and examines them, running her fingers lightly over the spines of the blades as they glint with a mirrored finish. Holding one knife out in front of her, she watches as it glints in the moonlight and weighs it in her hand before turning to Cashmere who holds a shocked expression.
"How did Enobaria manage to get you new knives when there's heaps of weapons you're more than capable of using?"
"It's not from Enobaria." Clio chuckles, quickly pushing herself to a stand and rushing to the piles they organised earlier. She grabs a knife vest from the top of one of the stacks and slots each of her new knives into the sheaths before placing it beside her thigh harness and boots that lie beside the metal wall and returning to her space next to her blonde ally.
"Oh?" Cashmere questions with a wiggle of her brows. "Then who is your mysterious sponsor?"
"Loopy Crawford."
"Ha ha. Very funny." Cashmere laughs sarcastically. "Who actually sent them?"
"I'm serious. Luna did."
"You weren't joking? Why?"
Clio slides the note across the rocky floor in Cashmere's direction, and gestures for her to read it. "I think we underestimated her, she's clearly got more faith in us than she does the others."
"Sorry, I'm just still confused as to why she'd send these to you?" Cashmere says, "Everyone knows you don't get along."
"I'm just as confused as you are." Clio's shoulders shake as she laughs, leaning forward to hide her face in her hands. "I would've thought she'd be focused on getting her own tributes some help but I'm not going to decline more knives."
Leaning her head back against the cool metal of the cornucopia, Clio looks up at the sparkling diamond stars that are scattered across the dark velvet canvas of the sky in a tapestry of constellations. Although the sky above them wasn't real - they were in a manufactured death dome after all - the stars felt authentic. Maybe they are real, she thinks as the clear night seems to stretch on forever, past the treeline. She traces the patterns in the sky with her fingers, pointing out familiar constellations to herself as she desperately tries to remember the ones her sister had taught her the year prior. There's no shooting star to wish on as her eyes flit between the distant sparkles to try and keep herself occupied on her watch to pass some time.
"It's funny isn't it?" Cashmere's voice carries from beside her.
"What?"
"How harmless they both look when they're asleep." She replies, craning her neck to look over at Cato and Gloss who are both spread out on their front, arms underneath their heads as a makeshift pillow. Clio shuffles closer to take a look and laughs under her breath when she notices how relaxed the two of them seemed and the snores that leave their mouths.
"It's a good job we aren't hiding because I bet you can hear them from the edge of the jungle." She laughs.
Their momentary silence is broken by the sudden sound of heavy rain descending on part of the jungle, almost as if the heavens themselves have opened their floodgates. The rain pours with unyielding intensity, forcefully blurring the boundary between the night sky and the ground. As the raindrops plummet through the thick canopy, the verdant foliage trembles under its weight, releasing a chorus of susurration of leaves and the thud of pools of water hitting the forest floor. The two girls share a look, and rush inside the cornucopia, expecting to hear the sound of the rain crashing into their metal shelter as the rain covers the arena, only to watch the downpour stay in the same place, and find that no clouds have moved from that part of the arena. "Is that localised over there?" Clio questions in a low whisper.
She doesn't hear Cashmere's quiet response as the thick vegetation acts as a natural amplifier, making the sound of the rain even more immersive, submerging the entire arena in the noises of the storm. The calls of the tropical birds are hushed as the rain intensifies and Clio can smell rusted iron in the humid air as it carries the scent of the rain. "Is that blood?" She asks.
"Hmm?" Cashmere hums.
Clio looks over at the blonde woman who is slumped against the inside wall, desperately fighting to keep her eyes open as she mumbles something about the sound of rain making her sleepy. Clio rolls her eyes, "You can go to sleep if you want. I won't tell."
"I'm fine," She mumbles tiredly as her back slides further down the wall before she rolls onto her front and Clio watches her eyes shut and her face relax with sleep.
"Great." Clio huffs, moving back outside to lean against the wall of the cornucopia again, content on watching the stars as she listens out for any immediate threats. The rain is still pelting against the forest floor, creating a harsh, rhythmic patter as her eyes flit between her knives and her allies. What if I just killed them both now? She says to herself, It would save a lot of drama and I could just get it out of the way while they sleep. She debates it for a little while, looking over her knives, going as far as figuring out which ones she'd use before deciding against it, knowing that she'll likely need their help in taking out some of the others and like her mentors had mentioned after their first alliance meeting, an unstable team of four increases their chances if they run into a group of the others. Another loud spark of electricity comes from deep inside the jungle, startling her from her thoughts. A shout follows the zap and then a cannon sounds. Another one down and out, she thinks as she looks over to find that none of her allies have even stirred at the noise.
With the rain still lashing against the jungle floor and all her friends still sleeping deeply inside the cornucopia, Clio decides she needs to make her own fun to keep herself awake and safe. Rising to her feet, she grabs one of the spears from the middle of one of the stacks of weapons and walks halfway down one of the spokes and perches herself down to try and look into the deep blues of the water. The sea surrounding the central island is surprisingly calm but in the low moonlight she can't see any aquatic life moving underneath. Never having attempted anything like this before, she lunges with the spear. In the split-second decision, the spear pierces the surface with a satisfying splash as she tenses her muscles to stop herself from falling head first into the water. Recalling the spear from the water, she tries again. Nothing. Trying again and again until finally she feels some kind of resistance at the point. With a small fish securely impaled on the spear, she returns to the centre of the cornucopia and props the weapon up against the stack; the fish flopping limp as it slides down the point slowly. As she takes a step backwards, she eyes Cato's sword lying beside him, the silver glinting as it reflects the metal of their shelter. Treading quietly to avoid waking him, she leans over and lifts the sword from the floor. Holding it tightly she moves to the edge of the island and swings it back and forth. She spends a while just flicking the weapon back and forth, trying to match the rhythmic beats of the rain in the jungle. Clio traces arcs of light as the sword reflects the moonlight, as She swings it diagonally a few times, before spinning in a circle with it extended in front of her. The world begins to blur around her, the swishing of the sword coupling with her gentle laughs as the weapon weaves through the air in a fluid motion until she gets dizzy and has to stop her movements so as to not impale herself with it.
Having had enough fun with the sword, she places it on the floor at Cato's side once more and picks up the flail. Picking the remaining chunks of flesh from the spikes from when she killed the woman from Ten, she flicks them aside before dunking the ball in the water. Pulling at the chain, she tests the strength of the link again before firmly gripping the bottom of the baton in her left hand and circling the weapon above her head, keeping it moving quickly. She paces back and forth as she swings the metal ball wildly, humming to herself as she does so. Making a circle of the cornucopia, she watches the treeline for any other tributes who may have dared to come closer to their hide-out. Her pace switches from a walk to a jog as she keeps the weapon swinging above her head and does three full laps of the island before slowing back down to a walk. During the run she hasn't noticed how close she is now standing to the giant metal horn, only realising when a loud clang rings out after the metal spikes of her flail embed themselves into the metal wall.
"Shit," she mutters, turning to face the structure and pulling her weapon from its side, "Sorry."
Quickly darting around to the front of the structure, Clio drops the flail to the ground, wincing at the noise it makes as it crashes into the rocks before flitting her eyes over the sleeping forms of her friends. None of them appear even the slightest bit disturbed from their sleep as she quietly apologises to them under her breath before her face twists up in bewilderment. Did I just apologise to the cornucopia? She questions herself. I did. I apologised to fucking metal. I'm going insane.
Clio debates sitting back down and waiting for herself to get a little more tired so she can wake the others up but quickly decides against it when the heavy rain stops and the arena falls quiet again. With the ambient sound of the jungle fading out, she knows that she can likely stay awake for a while longer now and so she grabs a pair of nunchucks from their supply and begins circling the cornucopia again. The nunchucks swing playfully from her hands, held together by a short chain as she twirls them effortlessly with a childlike enthusiasm. The chain produces a soft whirring sound as it cuts through the air rhythmically, while her gaze flicks between her hands and the treeline as she, again, looks out for lone tributes. Weaving figure-eights, circles and crisscross patterns, the nunchucks move with precision as she accompanies each swing with her own whooshing noises. She comes to a standstill momentarily when she hears some kind of hissing noise coming from another part of the jungle, making another half circle before stopping and looking into the jungle at the sound of voices. Continuing her trip around the island, she swings the weapons harder and faster, this time making sure to stay a few paces from the cornucopia. The low hum of voices disappears as the hissing sound grows louder, leading her to believe that she imagined the sounds, returning her focus to the nunchucks as she spins them around her body, like some form of invisible shield. Muttering a noise of exhilaration she swirls herself around, allowing herself to become entranced by the hypnotic motion before gently lowering the whirring chains when she reaches the front of the cornucopia. Placing them on the floor beside her, she leans her back against the wall and looks up at the sky once again, trying to see if there was any way she could tell the time by the stars.
Tired, and with no way of working out the time, she feels her eyes drop shut for a few seconds before she forces them open. I have to stay awake, she thinks. Cannot fall asleep. Nope. No. No sleeping. Bringing her hand up to her face, she slaps her cheek hard enough to sting slightly and then props herself to her hands and knees, crawling over to lay on her front on one of the spokes. Shuffling sideways, she leans over the spoke, hands gripping the rocks as she dunks her head underwater. The water has barely cooled in the early morning hours, only dropping a few degrees if at all, something which she recognises the moment her face hits the still face warm liquid. Splashing the water into her face to wake herself up, her head snaps towards the sound of a scream from behind her. A distressed scream. Coming from inside the slice of the jungle with the loud hissing sound. Pulling herself to stand, she begins to return to the cornucopia when another ear-splitting screech travels through the arena, followed by the boom of a cannon.
"Finnick." Clio mutters under her breath, a smile spreading across her face as she dashes into the cornucopia to wake up her friends.
When she reaches their sleeping forms, she nudges each of them in turn with her foot but to no avail. Her eyes find the empty cylindrical container that she discarded earlier once she opened the new roll of knives, leaning over and plucking it from the ground. Suppressing a laugh, she aims the barrel at Cato who has turned over in his sleep. With a soft thud, the container lands squarely on his chest. A startled murmur escapes his lips, a mixture of surprise and confusion, followed by a groggy shuffle and a half-conscious laugh. A pair of bleary eyes meet Clio's as he pushes himself up onto his elbows and blinks in amusement to shake off his sleep.
"What? Clio." Cato brushes the container onto the ground, squinting to try and see through the darkness to see her. "What was that for? What is it?"
"Good, you're finally awake."
"No, you woke me up. There's a difference." He grumbles, sliding from his elbow back onto the floor.
"Whatever. But now that you're awake."
"Clio-"
"Don't Clio me! I could be dying!" She huffs, sitting beside him and pushing at his shoulder to stop him falling back asleep.
Irritation starts to creep into Cato's voice. "You're quite clearly not dying, Clio."
Before he can get even more pissed off at the fact that she ignored the plan of letting the men sleep until the sun started to rise, and chose to wake him up in the ungodly hours of the morning, she crawls on top of him.
"I love you!" She whispers, moving up to kiss his cheek, then his forehead and then his nose. He lays underneath her, complacent and quiet, simply letting her smother him with this strange display of affection - that is technically public given that the games are televised.
"Please tell me you didn't wake me up just to do that?" He asks.
"No. I have a reason." She dismisses, moving now to push kisses to the corner of his lips, not caring that they're moving as he tries to speak. Or that they're a little chapped from the humid air (and the lack of chapstick). She presses a slow, soft kiss to his lips, hand resting against his cheek to keep him still. "I missed you," she mumbles into the next kiss.
"You missed me?" Cato laughs. "I'm right here."
"Okay and?" Clio sits up. "I'm not allowed to sleep because Cashmere fell asleep hours ago and all I want is for my boyfriend to give me some warmth and love and attention, is that alright with you?"
"Warmth?" Cato laughs again. "Angel, it's a hundred degrees in here."
"Shut up. Don't be a dick about this." Clio whines, moving to crawl from his lap before he raises to a seat and wraps his arms around her waist, keeping her in place.
"If anyone's being a dick, it's the person who woke their boyfriend up at stupid o'clock for a kiss. But I love you too or whatever." He pushes his face into the crook of her neck and she can feel the shape of his smile as he kisses her pulse lightly. "Can I go back to sleep? You know I hate mornings."
"No. I told you, I actually woke you up for a reason."
"Kissing me is not a reason-"
"Not that reason!" She mutters. "I heard a distressed scream and it was definitely Finnick."
"You could've started with that!" Cato says as he reaches for the sword beside him and raises an eyebrow. "Did you move it?"
"Nearly stabbed myself with it," Clio shrugs nonchalantly as she climbs off his lap and pushes herself to her feet before pulling him up from the floor. "Help me wake the wonder siblings up."
"I'm surprised you didn't kill them the second Cashmere fell asleep." Cato laughs.
"I thought about it." Clio replies. "I seriously considered it, but decided we may as well keep them until we've got rid of Finnick and Johanna."
Bending down, Clio extends her arm, fingers hovering just above Cashmere's shoulder. She shifts subtly in her sleep as Clio's fingers increase the pressure and shake her upper body. With each nudge, her eyelids flutter as she begins to rouse from her sleep, rolling away from the younger woman's touch. Bored with trying to wake her gently, Clio shoves her harshly, eyes widening at the sound of the top of her head hitting the rocky surface.
"Wake up." She hears Cato say, looking over her shoulder to find him kicking gingerly at Gloss' side.
The siblings shake off their sleep, Gloss rubbing his eyes while Cashmere lies on her back and rests her forearms over her face to block out any potential reflections in the moonlight. "Why?" They both whine. "It's still dark."
"Clio found Finnick." Cato proudly tells them, pulling her into his side.
"Can't it wait until the morning?" Cashmere asks, visibly tired.
"He was practically screaming for our help." Clio laughs.
"You want to go and help him?" Gloss raises a questioning eyebrow. "He'll kill us."
"He can't get all four of us at once. He might be confident but he's not stupid-"
"Besides, if we go help him then maybe he'll join us and lead us straight to the bitch on fire." Clio cuts her boyfriend off with a sly smile.
"And if he doesn't?" Gloss questions as he stands.
"Then we kill him." Clio shrugs her shoulders, moving towards the stacks of weapons to secure the knife vest around her body. The others grab their own weapons, everyone attaching their metal flasks to the holsters and harnesses strapped to their bodies.
"Clio?" Gloss calls out, "Where did his scream come from?"
"Beside the big tree." She says, brow furrowing when she looks up to see several identical looking trees equidistantly spread throughout the jungle. Shit, those haven't been there all night have they? She questions herself. Why are there so many identical trees?
"Which one?" Cashmere asks.
"That one. I think." Clio points her finger over the tail end of the cornucopia.
"Okay, we're bound to find him if we just follow the jungle round in a circle." Gloss says. "He can't have gone far."
Gloss leads his sister around the metal walls of the cornucopia, taking two spears from a rack as he passes, adding it to the knives he carries on his person. Cashmere grabs a spear also, the one with the small fish impaled onto the point, as well as a kukri. Cato picks a large machete from the pile, sheathing it and slinging the weapon over his shoulder as he holds his sword in his hand. Clio jogs to catch up with them as they run down the spoke to reach the beach, hanging a pair of nunchucks from her shoulders after shoving a few shurikens into the pouch hanging from her thigh harness. "Wait!"
"Clio!" Her friends shout back at her. "Hurry up!"
She hastily tugs on her black boots, quickly tightening the buckles. "I've only got one shoe!"
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𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙀𝙎!
HAPPY TUESDAY! Happy November. Firstly, today is a double upload day, you lucky fuckers.
More importantly, I do not understand what happened last week but Isabelle Fuhrman posted me on her story three times and I literally sobbed my eyes out.
The mentors after Clio apologies to the cornucopia, probably:
Anywho favourite line and any references then lemme know ehehhe ;)