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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Clove, though, has been taught to follow a specific path and follow it without asking questions. To be "forced" into a life seems, to her, entirely natural. Students of the Academy are sent there by their parents. Those gifted physically excel in the athletic program. The intelligent go to the academic program. They will grow up to be Peacekeepers, factory owners, and other such jobs.

Those children who attend the village schools will be miners or other such less prestigious jobs.

If chosen, students in the athletic program will stand as tribute for the Hunger Games, or they will compete for the honor. There, they will live or die, according to their performance.

There's no real choice, not unless one chooses to be a coward.

...But people here are proving rather odd, so.]

I suppose not.

People should be free. I want to make my own choices for my future.

Actually, back home, I became a doctor. That's why I work at the clinic here, too. It was my dream growing up.

Doctors are valuable in every culture, I'd imagine.

[The topic of dreams and ambitions was a shaky one, at the best.

She's lived her dream, her sole purpose in lfe. She had stoof as tribute for District Two, gone to the Hunger Games with Cato.

But the question was in the back of her mind here: What now?

What came after the death she'd always been meant to die? Why was she alive with nothing to live for?]

[Her memories of it are gone, but she was once told the only reason she was being allowed to exist, the only reason for her existence, was to fight. A soldier anyway, and obsessed with power and her vengeance at the time, it had been easy to snap back that it was her intention anyway and to shut up pretending to control her.

When she finally gave the final blow of that most important battle... it had shaken everything loose. She'd come back to herself, with a weapon in her hand and the body of her best and only and most beloved friend crumpled on the ground in front of her.

She knows what comes next if it's really all about battle.

And she knows what comes next when it isn't. She became a doctor. She repaired her friendships. She went to school, even studied abroad. She had a life.]

I'd like to think they are. They're needed by everyone, all the time, everywhere. That's why I want to be one, too, aside from Mama hoping for it.

[She would keep this girl in mind.

A doctor-- anyone who knew about medicines-- could prove a useful ally. Quiet, too, which could be dangerous for many reasons. Either because she was smart enough to know how to look harmless or because she was a coward.

She might be neither, but those were the dangerous possibilities.]

It's a good thing to want to do.

[A soldier and a doctor, Ami is no coward. Though repentant, she was still able to raise her weapon against that most important person again, no matter how much she didn't want to, when it was necessary to stop the destruction of their whole world.

But that backbone hides well behind the quiet genius, behind the kind girl who's always helpful and willing to offer a quiet word of encouragement and a small smile. She's known as the always-gentle Ami-chan and the kind-hearted soldier for a reason.]

What about you? What do you want to do?

["What do you want to do?"

It's a strange question for Clove. She was raised with one purpose, and she had fulfilled it. She had stood tribute for District Two. She had died in the Seventy-Fourth Annual Hunger Games. What else was there to do?]

Here? Be useful.

['Give me something to do. Give me something to be.'

That's all she can ask of this place.]

It's the same for me. That's why I learned from Nala, and work at the clinic, too.

[Though it's more about being needed than being useful; but in the end it's one and the same.]

It's what everyone should strive for.

[To be useful. To contribute something.]

Mm. I think so, too. So what is it you do in the village?

Nothing right now.

But I plan to help our hosts with their war.

I've been drafted twice, and gone on some of their missions; but it seems like we haven't made much progress even with all that.

Then we fight harder. Do more.

Helping our enemy won't bring us home, either. [She resents every time she's had to - though she's done it for her own reasons, making the best of the situation the best she can. The missions, at least, had helped to keep Usagi safe.]

I don't like to do it even though I've agreed sometimes.

Better than not doing anything.

Maybe we can earn our passage home. Or out of this village.

[Oh, she doesn't do nothing. She's fought, she's infiltrated the Malnosso facilities with a group of others, she's involved in the science group studying schematics of the droids... any number of things.

That's the problem. None of it has seemed to take them a step forward; or if it has, the step still doesn't lead anywhere. It's never been easy for her to keep up hopes in this sort of situation anyway.

Still, Ami nods.]

It's possible, but I think after this many years, if it could be done, someone would have done it already.

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