shenevermisses | 15th Throw

15th Throw - [ written ]

[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?

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[Paints a prettier picture...]

All honor and glory and noble sacrifice if you do die.

[The virtues extolled of the tributes. Those chosen or who volunteered themselves to fight for their lives. There was no glory, she'd learned that. There was no nobility. There was only cold and hunger and loss and grief and anger and fear.

And hopelessness.

In the end, that was the feeling that hit her deepest. There was not and had never been any hope. Not for any of them. Win or lose, live or die. They were all lost from the moment they were announced.

It gave them more credit than they deserved, she felt, comparing them to the men Sharpe spoke of. But as long as that was quiet and private, it was safe to think. She wouldn't insult him by saying it out loud.]

[ he remembers the day he was recruited with such utter disdain, but not because of where it had led him. he enjoys soldiering. no, he resents only the man who had done the recruiting. obidiah hakeswill. sharpe believes so fervently that even the devil himself would spit on hakeswill's corpse. ]

For King and Country. Though I reckon the rum rations don't hurt much, either.

Rum rations?

[One thing Clove hasn't sampled in Luceti: alcohol.]

A soldier's daily allowance of spirits. You're promised it at the beginning, though it don't always come.

Spirits? [He can't mean ghosts, she's sure of that. But she's trying to work out exactly what else there is.]

Alcohol, lass.

Oh.

So they get alcohol to join the army? Where I'm from, the Athletics aren't allowed to touch the stuff, not while they attend the Academy.

It's just about the only way to recruit and keep some men. [ although he... ] I've rules, though. For my men. They ain't allowed to get drunk without permission.

That sounds like a good rule. [She doesn't have experience drinking, but she knows what alcohol can do.] Do they follow it?

Most do. Those that don't quickly learn to once I've caught'em and drag'em behind a wall for a bit of discipline.

[She chuckles a little, unable to help it. Just because... in that moment? He sounds so much like one of her instructors.]

Bet they learn from that fast.

Aye. A good thumping and a few nights of extra piquets? They learn.

[ better than flogging. ] Bloody hell, if it didn't put the rest of the lads in danger? I'd learn'em quick enough just by letting them fight drunk. See how bloody long they last when they can't stand up straight.

Sounds like something our instructors would do. [And it's not an insult or a concern.

In fact, she almost sounds ready to laugh as she says it. Completely light. Enough to actually almost sound like a kid.]

...Spent years as a sergeant before I got my commission, Clove. Sergeants might as well be the drillmasters of the army.

[ christ. even after his promotion, wellington liked to use him as a drillmaster. sharpe got saddled with all the green and raw troops; it's often left to him to drill them into shape. ]

It's always good, having a good instructor.

Did you have a favourite one, lass? Mayhaps?

Petra.

She was pretty young, but she was a Victor. They don't have to work -- winning the Games gives you enough money that you never have to work. But she still chose to teach at the Academy.

She taught basic math and spear and staff work.

'S good of her, I suppose. Choosing not to rest on her laurels. I can understand a person not wanting to do nothing.

Panem makes their Victors take up a... skill? after they win. Something to prove they won't just sit around and do nothing. One Victor I knew did cooking. Used to love going to her house for dinner when I was in the village.

But a lot of them... I think it helps. Teaching at the Academy. Trying to help whatever kid goes to the Games to prepare.

That was my plan. Whether I went or not. I wanted to teach. [It's not something she talks about often. But he's like one of the instructors there. He has what tenuous trust she can offer someone.]

...Was, your plan?

[ though he takes a moment to try and imagine the young woman teaching. hmm. ]

I died in the Games.

[Calm, even. It's not important. Not worrth aan emotional response. It's simply what happened.]

Wh--?

Bloody hell.

[ the more he hears about these buggering games, the more he dislikes them. ]

It's what happens to most tributes. [Nothing worth a response from her, worth her being upset over.

Or, at least, that's what she'll keep telling herself. Over and over until it's true.] I let my guard down and paid for it.

[ let her guard down. paid for it.

as, he has to remind herself, many a solider has and many a soldier will do. sharpe himself carries scars from moments where his own sense of self-preservation had -- just for a moment -- slipped. but the difference isn't that they weren't children, for many of them were too young to shave. it was that those men had enlisted.

and the games -- as he understood them -- were not a war. they were like the dog-fighting pits in st. giles, where sharpe had spent many an evening in his youth. no finer place to pick pockets.

only he didn't like the notion of these children playing dogs and biting at each others' necks until they bled. it sickened him. ]

It means you've nothing to go back to, don't it?

Yeah. [There, her voice betrays her. A bit of the teenage girl who, when all is said and done, is frightened of her own mortality.]

No family, no school. The Malnosso send us all back to our own worlds, I... guess I go back to being dead.

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