15th Throw - [ written ]

[shenevermisses]

[It's a question that's been on Clove's mind.

Okay, she's had a lot of questions lately. Valentine's Day and that whole week... It wasn't unkind, but it made her think too much. There were too many uncertainies. The ones with Cato... She didn't feel like thinking about.

But Katniss. She can talk about some of that.]

What do you all do for a living, where you're from? Or what were you going to do? Does everyone in your area do it?

In Panem... your district says a lot about what your job will be. Not always, but probably. Like me... If I hadn't gone to the Games? I'd probably have been the foreman in a factory. Or an overseer of a quarry.

And what you do... When did you learn to do it? And from who?

Comments

[fishy_go_byebye]

Yours wasn't flowers.

[She feels bad for that, in an odd way. Her tributes had always been gifts.]

[shenevermisses]

[And, at last, Clove is a little lost.]

Flowers?

[fishy_go_byebye]

Flowers for your grave, only you're not a book, and it's not going to be a funeral.

[Whoops. That was a little sudden there.]

[shenevermisses]

[Flowers for her grave. She's thought about it before, but there's no one to ask. She knows the place where she was buried. Every tribute of Two who dies in the games is buried behind the Academy. Is hers...

But she shakes her head, willing herself not to lose her thoughts down that road.]

There were probably some. Flowers, I mean.

[Maybe.]

[fishy_go_byebye]

Probably. [It doesn't hurt to agree, right? This was one of those times where agreeing could be good. Maybe.]

He got flowers, too. His very own kind of red.

[shenevermisses]

Who did? Cato?

[fishy_go_byebye]

No... Yes? Maybe. He didn't know what it meant.