shenevermisses | 1st Throw - [ video/written/action ]

[Her approach today: simple, caution edged with sweetness.

Clove has set her Journal on a table in her apartment for the perfect upper body shot.

The key to her appearance is the word "simple." Her long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail. She has enough make-up on to color her features, but it is light enough that it's only just noticable. Her shirt is pale grey, fitted and sleeveless with a high neck but made of light material.

She gives herself a few seconds before she speaks.]

Hello, everyone. My name is Clove. I've only just arrived, and I'm still getting my bearings.

[Remember to smile. She obeys the advice from her absent mentor.]

I've been sort of a recluse these last few days, and I'm really sorry if you've seen me around the village and I ignored you. This is just a lot to take in all at once.

[This isn't the Games, and there are no sponsors... but in a new, strange place like this, a little good PR can't hurt.]

I look forward to getting to know everyone.

[Off goes the feed.]

[A few minutes later, she writes a short note.]

If you're somehow reading this, Cato: come find me. Tonight at sundown.

[Come sundown, Clove is sitting at her makeshift camp by the western lake.

She's sure Cato isn't here. She'd have heard from him long before now if he was. Still, her message was for him to find her at sundown, so she waits.

Her location has been carved into various trees throughout the forest and village using a signal taught in the Academy to make pack activity easier. If he looks for her, he'll find it.

Of course, anyone out that way will see her waiting for someone who won't come.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A few. I always got along better with the guys than with other girls, though I think even some of the guys were glad to see me go when my name was called.

Did you know Cato?

[There's a pause. Longer than she likes. But she thinks her voice sounds even when she speaks.]

Yeah. I did.

I knew Thresh. [It's a bit of a peace offering, for what it's worth.] Not well, but he was always nice to me.

[Thresh.

Huge and looming. A hand on her back. Hands on her. A blow to the head.

Clove tries to make the gasp at the memories sound like just a breath. And she holds stubbornly to the conversation. She won't-- can't-- think about the District Eleven male tribute.]

Cato was a year older than me, and, at dinner, the boys always went through the line first. Sometimes we had a choice, different kinds of food that, as long as he met our requirements for the meal, we could have our pick of.

Cato... would always grab an extra apple. Because those went fast, and I love them.

We'd hang out after hours-- sneak out of the dorms. Just spend time on the grounds. And when he could, he always had the apple for me.

[The story can't do either of them any harm now. The Reaping and Games are in the past. She and Cato both died and not because of sentiment or friendship or anything like that. Her death might have been humiliating, but it hadn't been because she'd been weak against him.

That was one consolation.]

[Sorry, Clove, she wouldn't have mentioned Thresh if she knew.]

He sounds like a good friend. [She wouldn't have said that about the Cato she knew in the arena, arrogant and violent, but she realizes she didn't know Cato either. She only knew Thresh and Katniss because of their alliance.]

We made a deal in the Academy.

That if one of us went, we both went.

[For a moment, she doesn't sound like a Career. Or even a tribute. She sounds like a sixteen-year-old girl, talking about a seventeen-year-old boy whose side she almost never left.

The effect is gone almost instantly.]

Keep close to your allies, kid. From the sounds of it, this place is just another arena.

[Rue wants to say it sounds like a sad promise, because it would be impossible for both of them to come back, but that's life in the Hunger Games. They're careers too so she knows it's a little different. But it's still a little sad.]

The Malnosso are just as bad as Gamemakers. [Why yes, she does sound a little bitter about that.]

[It almost sounds like she chuckles. Or starts to.]

And here, we're not even promised a Victor.

[There was no stylist, poking and prodding at her. No mentor repeating things she'd heard a thousand times at the Academy. There had been no fire to outrun or tracker jacker stingers to use fingers, knife, and teeth to get out of swollen flesh, with nothing to further aid recovery. There was food and shelter, and there were weapons freely available...

...but they hadn't seen combat yet, and they were trapped. This was as much an enclosure as the arena, she was sure. Maybe tomorrow she'd find the perimeter, just to know how far she could travel...

Better or worse than the Games, that has yet to be seen.]

But everyone can live like one if they want to. You don't really win anything. [Though there is one thing Luceti grants to everyone that Panem never gives; life. Here, they can live as they want, even if they're already dead. Even the dead can come back to life after a week. It's strange, being able to live without having to worry too much about surviving.]

[A pause. It takes a long time (at least, a long time for Clove) to find the right words.]

We're living like tributes, not victors.

[Rue has to think about that before she realizes Clove is right. Some of the other districts had lots of food and were treated well, but they were reaped all the same.]

I guess you're right. Someone could only be a victor if they never had to worry about the experiments, kidnappings, and drafts.

We still have to fight for our lives.

[It's quiet, calm, even.]

And they can put us back in an arena, as armed or empty-handed as they see fit.

Whenever they want.

[If they could bring them here without any of them knowing how it was done, they could move them just as easily.

There's a long silence, long enough for Rue to reply, certainly. Then... a sound. A pair of sounds, actually.

A crash. And a thud.

A knife thrown from the bed, shattering a vase of flowers Clove had liked, and burying in the wall behind where the vase had stood.]

[Rue gives a tiny jump on her end when there's a crash. She waits a few seconds before quietly asking:]

Are you okay?

[No. She's not okay. She will never be okay.]

I'm fine.

Are you sure?

Of course.

[Cold, hard.]

...Okay. [She knows when to drop the argument.]

...Take care of yourself, okay?

...Yeah, kid. Sure.

[There's not much more to say, is there. Rue gives a tiny "mh" of approval before she closes the journal.

Clove may be a career, but she's from Panem and that's enough reason for Rue to keep an eye out for her.]

1st Throw - [ video/written/action ]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Voice]

[Nothing]