shenevermisses | 2nd Throw

2nd Throw - [ action ]

[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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[Sally hears the door unlock, and that's good enough for her. She understands unspoken requests for companionship, even if, sometimes, against one's better judgment.

So she opens the door and peeks around the frame.]

Hey. What's going on? Are you all right? What's happened?

[Without waiting for a response - because Clove is young and Sally remembers being young - she steps into the room and closes the door behind herself and...waits. She doesn't approach, but by her posture, it's clear she'd like to, if invited.]

[Clove sits with her knees tucked to her chest and her head bowed against them. Thin shoulders shake with a few sobs.

She wants to be alone. She wants company. She wants to keep crying for the rest of her life. She never wants to cry again. She wants to scream. She wants to be silent.

She doesn't know what she wants.

But she manages to speak, words choking in her throat.]

It-- It's stupid. It's really stupid.

[None of that was a "no". So...

Slowly, because she's had a taste of what this girl's life has been like, what she's been exposed to - slowly, Sally approaches, backs against the wall next to Clove, and slides down to sit beside her.]

What's stupid?

[She laughs, a strange, choked sound. Because it's either laugh or scream.

Clove lifts her head, turning it slightly to look at Sally before she has to look away. This isn't how a Career acts. This isn't how a District Two tribute behaves. She's as much an embarrassment to her district here as in the arena, screaming for help.

Her voice is soft, betraying her age. She's only a sixteen-year-old girl, whatever else she's been through.]

It doesn't fit right.

[...But surely a sixteen-year-old girl who can talk about being in a fight to the death without flinching wouldn't be a wreck over an outfit, right?]

[For a bizarre moment, Sally is convinced what doesn't "fit right" is Luceti; that their prison is wrong for the sort of person Clove is, the way it is for most of its inhabitants. But then she recalibrates, filters the situation through "teenage girl", and takes a look at the outfit Clove is wearing. It's...well, something; she's not sure, but it doesn't, in fact, fit right. The girl is too small for it; too thin. And for the first time, to her shame, Sally realizes that Clove has always been thin. Hungry-looking. But that wasn't Sally's concern before, and now...now it is.]

It will. It will fit right again; you just need a little time to get back to the way you were when you first wore it. [An assumption, but a good one, she thinks.] You're a very pretty girl, and your clothes are lovely. Those facts are bound to match up again, sooner than later.

[If it's all about the outfit, she can talk about it. And she needs to talk. She doesn't want to talk about the Games. But she needs to talk. She needs to say something, and Sally...

...Sally is trying. It's more than anyone from the Capitol would have done if she'd started crying there.]

My stylist made it for me. He wanted me to look like Athena. [She's still crying, but there's something like a smile on her features for a moment, even as she stares straight ahead.] We looked perfect together. Me and C-Cato. [The name hits her harder than she expected, and she has to take a sharp breath, struggling in vain as a few tears escape.]

It's... so stupid. I shouldn't be-- Sorry.

He called me "beautiful." [Cato or the stylist, she doesn't specify.

Instead, she takes another harsh breath and forces herself to keep talking about the mundane, not the personal.]

There's... a party. Romans. This Friday.

I just... I really wanted it to fit.

[I want to be the girl I was.]

Hey, you're all right. [She touches Clove's hair, and rubs her arm, trying to comfort. It's not something Sally feels she's good at, but she's doing the best she can.] You're okay.

You are beautiful; you really are. And don't be sorry. God knows I'd be upset if I found the perfect outfit for a party and it didn't fit. But you know what? You'll still look gorgeous when you go the party. Everyone will think you look fantastic, and if anyone doesn't, that means - the only thing it means - is that that person is an idiot. You trust me; I was your age once, and I lived through it, and it was no fun half the time, but I learned a thing or two. And I know for a fact you're a very pretty girl.

[Maybe the outfit isn't what this is all about; Sally has the inkling it's really, probably not. It's never that simple, is it? Especially with kids. But it's a starting point.]

[What Sally says doesn't matter.

Her touches and tones dominate Clove's senses. This isn't the reaction she expects from anyone witnessing this. In District Two, the most compassion she would have expected would have been to have seen and ignored, left her dignity by having her weaknesses go without comment. To have someone try and comfort her...

She laughs again, strained and fractured. Tears still fall, but they've lessened. She's trying to rein herself in, get everything back under control. It's a frustrating effort. She always cries at humiliating times: when a top doesn't fit, the night before the Games. At least only Cato had seen her then, and he'd pretended not to notice, only let her curl up by him, as if they were really friends.

No matter what she's seen... Clove is still a teenage girl. Flattery? Helps. It rarely hurts to tell a girl she's pretty.]

It used to fit perfectly. [Because it's still the easiest topic to make herself speak on.] I lost weight in the Arena.

[And fought. And killed. And hunted. And tormented. And died.]

[Sally has a pretty strong inkling the weight loss was not entirely due to exercise. She sighs; a disappointed-at-the-world (all of them) sort of sigh. At least Clove is crying somewhat less now.]

Well, you can gain it back now. I'm sure the free food will help.

I-- Yeah.

[She swallows hard, rubbing her eyes again to force the tears to stop.

A deep breath, a moment with her eyes closed, and she leans back against the wall. Not quite relaxed but not really sulking either. Just... quiet. Almost empty.

Exhausted from the crying fit.]

...Thanks. I... know how stupid this looks.

It's not stupid. I cried about stupid things when I was your age, and being upset about what you went through isn't stupid.

[Because it's not really about the top not fitting, Sally thinks, or at least not all about it.

At least Clove has stopped crying, but she still looks miserable, so Sally tries to think, and - oh. Right.]

You know, I reckon someone here must be able to take the fabric in for you.

['what you went through'

Clove looks over at Sally. The words are almost enough to make her cry again. Because it's (brief) permission.

She can cry about the Games. She can cry for Cato. She can cry over her death.

But she fights it back.]

I don't want to alter it. [But she's grateful for the suggestions. She barely manages a smile.] I'll just... work on gaining the weight back.

[She sighs.]

Thank you. You've been... really nice to me.

[From the way she says it, this is something new.]

[Sally has heard that tone of voice too often, and she knows the only thing to do is smile reassuringly.]

Any time you need a friend.

[She stands and offers her hand to help Clove up.]

...Thanks.

[Clove takes the offered hand and pulls herself up with it, smoothing out her clothes.

She's at least calmer, now.]

[Looks like a crisis averted, at least hopefully.]

Shall I get out of your hair, then? People probably think we're plotting a coup in here. Unless you need a different... [She gestures to the clothes.] Anything. I could fetch it for you.

I'm... Yeah, I'm fine.

[She can push down everything else now. The Games, Cato, death... She can shrug it off, tell herself that she'll think about it all later.

Colve takes a deep breath, and she manages a vague smile. It really isn't much, but it's the best she can do right now. Then...]

Sally... can I... ask you something? It's kind of personal, so I get it if you say no.

[Personal questions from a little girl? What could go wrong!]

I'm sure I've heard worse; what is it?

[Clove seems to hesitate. After all, it's not something that actually matters. But she wants to know.]

Do you... have kids?

[There is a moment where Sally's blood runs cold at the prospect of where the hell this might be going, but she humors herself she does a good job of not showing it.]

Um. No, I don't. Why?

You just... seem really good with them.

[Clove shrugs a bit.]

I don't know. Not my business anyway, and it's not like it's important. I just... wanted to know? It's-- I don't know. Sorry.

[Good with kids. That makes her sad, but being sad makes her bitter, being bitter makes her angry, and being angry makes her say things people don't need to hear, so she just. Stops.

But still. Kids. From the girl who was enlisted to kill other children.]

I-- no, it's fine. Thank you. I'm glad you think so.

[Sally does not point out that she's probably learned a lot of it from her job, comforting frightened kids, because that...would be the wrong thing to say.]

...Sorry.

[Hindsight's perfect, though, and that's what makes Clove sure she shouldn't have even asked.

She wouldn't have asked one of her instructors at the Academy. And if she wouldn't say it to them, she shouldn't say it to Sally. At least, that's the most practical solution to adopt.

Different subject. That's best.]

I... Thank you. Again. For just... for helping. You really did.

[That's easier ground.]

I'm glad I helped. I really am. And don't be sorry - please. You can talk to me about whatever you want, okay?

Y--yeah. Thanks. That... Yeah. Thank you.

[She isn't good with actual gratitude. Hasn't been shown enough she can really be grateful for. Usually she's just taught what she needs to survive.

So she's doing her best.]

[Sally knows from being bad at gratitude, so she appreciates that Clove is even trying.]

No problem. You're all right, then?

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