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?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

...I believe I find that to be a travesty, Miss Clove. [ a touch of formality, as if trying to put some distance between himself and the dead. he means no disrespect, only...

bloody hell, it's a strange thought. ]

[Clove doesn't miss the change in his voice, but she doesn't want to call attention to it. Isn't sure right now why it's there or what she thinks of it.]

That's why I'll fight to stay here. Do whatever the Malnosso want me to.

Clever, that. [ thoughtful. ] Heaven help me, but if I were in your shoes? I'd do the same. A soldier's only as good as his last fight, Or hers. So that's how you prove your worth to them. Eh?

[ so that's how he proves his worth to wellington. ]

I figure it's the same as with the Gamemakers.

[The calm of that statement might be unsettling, but... She sees too many similarities. Malnosso, Gamemakers. One and the same. Or at least cut from the same cloth.]

They want a good show. Give it to them, you'll live longer.

Or you die again in a blaze of entertaining glory...

[ which has never quite been his style. pride? aye. but never glory. ]

Death here doesn't last. So, I'd rather die for the Malnosso and get to stay than be made to leave.

Ain't sure what to call that. Not loyalty. But--

[ desperation? survivalism? ] You're a one woman Forlorn Hope.

...What's that?

The men of the Forlorn Hope are the first men into a breach. A deadly mission: very few survive. They volunteer for it, lass, because although death ain't certain, promotion is. It's a good way for a solider to get ahead when being a soldier is all he's got.

Sounds about right.

[Her voice is low and quiet. This man... understands. At least somewhat. Someone who's seen war knows about violence and survival. Not the Games, not how she and Cato were raised. But he understands something about it, and that's more than she gets from most sources here.]

I don't know how to be anything else. I don't even know if I want to be anything else.

We are what we are, Clove. We lie in our beds without complaint. It affords us a little honour. And a little has to be enough.

15th Throw - [ written ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]

[ voice ]