shenevermisses | 2nd Throw

[A party on Friday constituted a shopping trip on Wednesday. Normally, Clove was not keen on social functions. She avoided the main core during things like that at the Academy. Here, though, she took it to be part of the show. As a "New Feather," she had to try and forge alliances. She had a few prospects, she felt.

The Roman-- Roan, but that was close enough for Clove-- theme called for an effort to find her Tribute Parade costume.

For three hours that morning, Clove browsed the clothing store. When she found something she liked and that looked like it would fit, she put it in the canvas bag she carried. She needed a bit more of a wardrobe, after all. It was sort of fun, looking through everything.

Finally, she found it. The black pants and the layered gold shirt. Sleeveless and close-fitted, tailored to show her off, accent the delicate feminine frame next to the tall and broad figure Cato presented.

Clove took it quietly. Unlike everything else, this outfit did not go into her bag. She carried it to a changing stall and shut herself in. She stripped, put on the pants, shirt, and her boots. She even tied her hair up in a poor imitation of her parade style and stepped out to inspect herself in the mirror, smiling faintly with anticipation.

Her smile faded almost instantly. There was a small gap between her waistband and her skin, and the pants were almost too long. Her shirt hung loose, rather than hugging her chest. She reached up, under the shirt, and felt her side. They weren't horribly prominent, but she could feel her ribs. Not surprising-- she'd had little to eat that last run in the Arena. Of course she'd lost weight.

Clove looked at her reflection. She was a shadow of the girl who had ridden in a chariot with Cato. She felt near her temple, trying to find the dent in her skull. It wasn't there. Maybe she'd feel better if it was. Maybe a physical reminder of that injury would make her feel like everything was real again.

She touched the loose ends of the shirt, felt the layers of fabric. Her eyes stung. Something wet fell down her cheeks. ...She was crying. For the first time in a long, long time, she was crying. Clove drew herself up, willing the tears to stop. Then she bent over... sank down into a crouch as her chest shuddered with a painful sob.]

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[A child star...

No. No, that's what a Victor is. Not a tribute. Though...

Aren't they all? In some little way? Until their deaths? Then they're forgotten, of course. But while they're alive...]

...Something like that, sort of.

...That sucks.

[and she's not talking about the details of being a Tribute, though that would certainly get it's own reaction. But while Faith was envious of a lot of things, being in the public eye wasn't one of them. More people watching meant more expectations. More to live up to. She could barely deal with calling when it was (mostly) a secret]

It's okay. I got used to it.

[Because she had more to worry about than being watched. She was fighting for her life. And, in a way, knowing she had an audience made it easier.

She'd never cried while they might possibly see her. She'd only shown her fear once, screaming for her district partner.

And, even now, she was banishing her tears and the putting the emotions behind her. Because now she has an audience, and she doesn't want anyone to think she's that stupid or that weak. That's now how a Career presents herself.]

[and that's something Faith understands. She doesn't buy it for a second, but she's not about to argue. She'd say it was because she didn't really care one way or another, but at least part of it was recognition. She got why that struggle to stand alone mattered]

Better than the alternative.

[she's already starting to go back to looking at clothes on a nearby rack. Not because she's ignoring the girl, but because she'd have an easier time pulling herself together without being stared down]

[She's just going to focus on the top still on her hand. Because that's the easiest part of all this to explain.]

My stylist made this for me... to match my-- my friend.

He... [How sentimental should she make this? She has two choices. Does she go for simple or some attempt at heartstrings? She's not as good at it as Lover Boy...] He died.

[At least she could calculate. Wonder if that was too much or just right. She had to hold onto that mindset. The Arena mindset.]

[she gives the girl a sideways glance at that, expression serious. She's not really one for hugs and sympathy...but it explains the tears over the shirt, at least. Good to know it wasn't just a vanity thing]

Shit.

It's... okay, though.

[No, it's not. Nothing about this is okay. Nothing about this is ever going to be okay.]

I just... Yeah.

Sorry.

This place just... does some weird stuff.

You're tellin' me.

[...wait a minute. Her brow furrows, confused] Wait...you saying this place killed him?

Oh.

[Clove shook her head. She swallowed hard to find the words.]

No. He...

I found out he died when I came here. Someone else who knew him told me. And that... wasn't very long ago. I... didn't know.

[She wouldn't come out and say that it had shaken her... But she was fighting tears again.]

[she doesn't do mushy...but that hits a little close to home. She frowns a little before she speaks]

Damn. Sorry, kid. That's a shitty way to find out.

["What happened to the school?"

"Well… it was a tragedy, really. Lots of students died. The Principal, the Mayor…"]

You, uh...

[she shifts her burdens into one arm so she can run a hand through her hair, trying to shake the discomfort]

You got anyone here?

There's three people I know here.

[There's something about this woman. Maybe she's just used to that distant, awkward kind of "help." It's what most people she personally knows would do if they found her or someone like her upset.

It's appreciated, at least.

And maybe this comment will get laughed at. A lot of the people she's met here so far would probably laugh. They don't seem like the type to believe a girl her age could have these.]

All enemies.

[Perhaps too strong a word, but... alone and without allies and an alliance of three against her if she makes a wrong move or they just decide to, that's what they feel like.]

[huh]

...Guess that's a going trend, then.

[It's not hard to understand that comment.

And the pack mentality starts to stir. Ever so slightly, still cautious. She needs more information, but maybe...]

You have them, too? Here?

[that pulls Faith up short. The response had been instinctive...the culmination of her frustrations from the past few days. This though-

Buffy had been her enemy. Willow too. Or, more truthfully, she'd been theirs. Now, they weren't friends. They weren't allies. But she honestly didn't know what they were.

She frowns, conflict warring in her eyes as she tries to place it]

Maybe.

[after a pause, she shrugs] They're not exactly welcoming me in with hugs and kittens. But whatever. Guess it's this place's idea of a joke.

We've got a truce, us four. They don't attack me, I don't attack them.

[Because even a "maybe" is better than she's gotten most of the time. It's something that isn't "we need each other to survive" or the like.

It feels more real, to have someone who seems to understand, at least, the precarious situation.

She's wary, of course. There can't be too much trust placed. But this isn't a secret. Really, the more people who know about it, the safer they all are. It keeps them in line, having others knowing the truce's terms.]

...But with three against one, if they decide they don't like those terms...

I hear ya.

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