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[shenevermisses]

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video; october 23rd, early evening

[breezing]

[ This message courtesy this conversation ]

Happy Birthday, Clover!!! I drew you a cake, but I didn't know how many candles to put.

[ She'll hold up the picture at this point, which can be seen here ]

[shenevermisses]

[Clove grins at the message. She can't help it. Sure, dinner wasn't great, the dress was horrifying, and the plans were quiet, but...

Cato remembered her birthday. That's more than enough.

And Ikki, too?

It doesn't even bother her that she can't ever return to Panem. That she'll never have another birthday there. She smiles over the Journal, obviously stretched out on the ground with the book propped up.]

Thanks, Ikki. I'm seventeen, now.

[breezing]

[ Ikki's in her house's living room, sitting on the couch. She grins back, cheerful. ]

I'll add some candles for that, and give you the picture later, then! Does seventeen feel lots different from sixteen?

[shenevermisses]

You don't have to. It looks great just like that.

[She makes herself keep smiling. Not really think about Ikki's question.]

I don't think so. But that might just be because it's new, right?

[breezing]

Probably! I mean, I guess you can't really tell until you've been whatever you are for a while! Either way, happy seventeenth birthday!

Did you do anything fun?

voice; november 1st

[breezing]

Hey, Clover? You're home, right? [ A pause. She hasn't seen the other girl around, but everyone should be back... ] Anyway, whenever you're up to it, I made some candy apples, and one of them is for you.

I hope you're doing okay, and that you didn't get hurt while you were gone. Be sure to rest up!

[shenevermisses]

[It takes Clove a little while to respond.

Away from the fight, she's back to now knowing what to do or where to go. Sure, Cato's with her, and she's not getting too far away from him, but... But she was born and raised to be a Career, to fight in the Games and to think only of survival. To come through it stained in blood and not care is one thing.

The quiet afterwards is quite another.

She woke Cato up last night, she knows. She couldn't even tell him why she was screaming. Was it trackjackers? Fire? Wild dogs? District Twelve? The infected? She doesn't know, not really. It was some nightmare, some creature she can't shake from her mind. But he didn't bother her about it. Just stayed awake until she fell back into fitful sleep.

She wants to be back in the battle.

As long as she's fighting, the nightmares can't catch up.]

Hey, Ikki. I'm back. Few wounds, but they're not too bad.

[Her voice falters, a soft, unsteady sound that's something between a laugh and a sob.]

I've never had a candied apple before, but. Sounds great.

[breezing]

[ That laugh-sob catches Ikki's attention, and she frowns at the journal, worry plain on her face. ]

Rest up, okay? And...I'm glad you're back.

[shenevermisses]

Good to be back.

[She's lying. She doesn't want to be here. She wants to be in another fight, drenched in blood, sleeping for just a few hours in order to survive. Because as long as she's fighting to stay alive -- as long as there's something like that to think about...

The nightmares can't catch up.]

How were things here?

december 20th; action

[deadalready]

[Cato had only just been making dinner. Some beef and noodles, nothing that required skill really. He was still under the impression that he'd survived. Had a life with Clove and loved her. It made him happy, being under the impression that he had that. Of course...all good things come to an end.

It was completely innocuous when it happened; mid-stir he suddenly realized that it was all fake. A complete lie.

It felt like someone had punched him in the throat and he gripped the edge of the stove for support as that perfect little world came crashing down around his ears. For a moment he wondered if Clove was even here, and the thought sent a panic through him instantly.

Fuck, he couldn't remember if she had left or stayed or if she was even still in Luceti. Taking a chance with his sanity, he tried her name.]

Clove!

[He sounded pathetic to his own ears.]

december 20th; action

[shenevermisses]

[Clove knows. Somehow, she just knows.

It's over. The pain of playing along, of smiling at an older Cato who looks at her in a way hers never will. Seeing the eyes of the young man who wasn't too late to stop Thresh. Curling up to the father of her child. Her husband.

She'd known for a few days now. Remembered what had really happened, how she had died. She'd been through it before, but she knows the pain it causes, realizing that life was a lie.

She wants to hurry but can't. She gets up from the couch and goes into the kitchen. Slow, hesitant. She doesn't want it to be over, even if she hated herself every minute for lying to him.]

I'm right here, Cato.

december 20th; action

[deadalready]

[The relief that comes when she appears is almost as heavy as the loss he feels. He doesn't realize he's shaking with how tightly he's holding himself to the oven, with everything that's swarming in his head.]

I - I don't...

[He can't bring himself to go to her and cling like he wants to. He's rooted to the spot, trying to register the differences in his memories. Cato remembers her dying...and living. Remembers killing Katniss at the top of the Cornucopia with Clove -- and being finished off by her arrow.

He remembers the ceremony and the Victor house and the years they had together. And a child.

There is nothing to contrast that with. Only his memories here.]

december 20th; action

[shenevermisses]

[Clove, standing here and watching him, only feels numb.

It doesn't even hurt right now. Not her own sense of loss or watching him deal with it. She remembers the family portrait, hidden away high up in the closet where Cato can easily reach it but will never think to look. The first reveal of their then month-old daughter. A picture to satisfy the Capitol and the people of Panem, to keep them enamored with the couple who beat the odds. But it doesn't hurt. There's nothing left in her to hurt.

So she walks toward him but goes around. She doesn't touch him; she turns the dials on the stove to turn off the burners.]

Careful. [There's almost nothing to her voice.] You'll burn yourself.

[Says the girl with a few cuts on her palm where her knife's bitten in to her flesh when she needed to remind herself how real this all was.]

may 5; action

[deadalready]

[It's taken him time to come down from the encounter with the wolves. He didn't speak for nigh on a week and after that had trouble eating and keeping things down. Meat wouldn't settle in his stomach at all.

For a week and three days he didn't leave his room.

He's only just started to talk to Clove (or anyone) again, started to be himself again but he's still...much more quiet than he was before. He takes pains to not make noise now - whether out of consideration towards Clove, fear towards her, or simple paranoia...he's not himself.

It's a late night for both of them, and he's leafing through a cookbook, halfheartedly marking pages for recipes he might want to try when he feels like it. He's followed Clove into the main room and sat himself in front of a chair on the ground.

He's been thinking - this whole long time after the wolf attack.]

Are you mad at me?

[His voice is hoarse, telling of how little he's been using it to shout.]

[shenevermisses]

[Cato's barely spoken to her, and Clove hasn't tried to speak to him. Not really. He doesn't leave the room, and she'll sometimes be gone from dawn to dusk, eager to be anywhere but inside. But trapped.

But the last few days, he's at least been elsewhere in the apartment, and she's been staying in a little more, reading the Journal or just sitting around.

Tonight, she's curled up in an armchair near the window, letting the warming breeze come in. Open and able to be slipped out of in a moment. It's already heating up, despite the late hour. But Clove doesn't care. She has on long pants -- no shoes or socks -- and a loose jacket over her t-shirt. She doesn't want the teeth marks and scratch marks on her shoulders and arms -- all still wrapped up -- visible. She doesn't want it obvious she's hurt. Physically.

She looks over at him at the question then looks back out the window.]

No.

Why? Should I be?

[She doesn't want to talk. But she can't just ignore him. She can't just refuse to speak to him.]

[deadalready]

You are too, don't lie.

[He's sort of impressed with how little his voice is raising. He just doesn't have the fucking energy to get loud and mad. He really doesn't.

Cato keeps leafing through the book, not even looking at the pictures now just ... doing anything but looking at her even if he knows he should.]

You're angry at me and I want to know why. What did I do?

[What didn't I do? His mind will always, always, always go back to the day she died. Because he sees that as his greatest failure.]

[shenevermisses]

I'm not angry at you.

[And it's true.

She's been angry at everything else. Angry at Twelve, angry at Lover Boy, angry at Glimmer, angry at Marvel, angry at Thresh, angry at the Capitol, angry at the Games, angry at the Malnosso. She's been angry at Cato, too. When they had the time and energy to argue here...

She isn't angry at him now.

It's an old... twinge. Like a wound that never healed right. She'd learned about those, usually from mining accidents. Things that didn't get to a doctor fast enough or just couldn't be helped. Something that just didn't heal right and still hurt. It was the same kind of... sort of not-pain that she felt toward Twelve. Just worse.

A lot worse.

Thresh. The refugees. The wolves.

Too late. Not there at all. Almost too late.

But they're Careers. They protect themselves. They don't need to protect one another. That's not how she and Cato work. She can take care of herself; he can take care of himself. They don't really care.]

You almost got yourself killed. [It bothers her, thinking about it.] Don't do it again.

August 26th; post event

[deadalready]

[He hardly ever cares about these shifts anymore, they come and go like clockwork almost and it's a relief of sorts to be able to come back to himself. Especially after this one. He doesn't feel like it's a big difference and if he could he would gladly change how he came here. He'd gladly trade in the memories of the mutts for something less awful but he's happy being here with Clove in their apartment being normal.

As normal as they could get at least.

Cato's sitting on the couch, staring off into space and fiddling with his journal as he sits and thinks until...]

Do you wish your parents could be here?

[shenevermisses]

[All Clove can think this time is: these things better not interfere with the wedding.

Going in and out of the "shifts," it's gotten fairly familiar. Almost easy. And, really, she wouldn't have minded this one that much if it hadn't tampered with the memories here. No thoughts of dying. Still feeling sixteen and invincible. Going into the Arena without knowing what would happen there. Without fear and without hesitation.

But she knows what she's been through, knows what she is now. And... that's okay.

His question stirs her out of her thoughts, calm as they are. She considers it for a moment and shrugs a little.]

Sometimes. I think especially right now. I wish my dad was here. [For the wedding.]

[deadalready]

[Cato's thoughts also linger on the wedding, he thinks of how excited his parents would be about this - how his mother would dote on Clove in her own weird way, how his father would slap him on the back and grin because this meant the town was going to have a party.]

Yeah... me too. My mom would be so mad about missing this.

[He remembers what Katniss had said though. That the other Victors had been...]

They'd probably like it here.

[After all - it was a hell of a lot better than District 2.]

[shenevermisses]

They'd love it here.

[She tries not to think about their parents. Cato's... gone. Hers... They might be dead. If they'd tried to fight either the Capitol or the new government. Or maybe they'd just adjusted, were living happily. She liked that idea better than the alternative...]

Lots of room, no money. Just getting to do whatever you want.

August 9th, written, late afternoon

[amonglions]

[It's not July anymore and frankly, Booker is rather relieved. The daythat he went up in the sky and never really came back down has passed and he can go on pretending this place is real. Which is nice.]

Still want to learn how to use a gun?

- DeWitt

[He figures it's time to make good on his offer, one which he actually remembers making while completely smashed - which is a bit of a miracle in and of itself.

Plus he's not at all having any problems with his daughter being on a honeymoon. Why would you say that?]

[shenevermisses]

[There's a lot going on. A husband she's never felt further from, something unexplained in this world that doesn't fit with everything else, the gnawing sense of loss and betrayal that have only been twisting together since Katniss vanished.

Which is stupid.

She and Katniss weren't friends. They were allies, but only because of a treaty. There wasn't any reason to have been angry at all that Katniss left her here. And there was no reason for that anger to still be there.

So the message--]

That sounds great. I need to get out.

[Violence is a language she understands. Learning how to kill in a different way is like learning a new song.]

[amonglions]

Battle Dome. 15 minutes?

[The sooner he has something to focus on that isn't drinking the better.]

written --> action

[shenevermisses]

I'll be there.

[And, sure enough, she is.

She looks, rather than a Tribute ready for the Games, like a Tribute new to the Capitol. She's dressed for it. She doesn't have her vest of knives on. There's one tucked in her boot, just in case, but that's always there. She is, instead, in something she can learn in, rather than survive in.]