She's never wanted for anything, to be honest. District Two is worlds away from District Ten- a darling of the Capitol as opposed to its laughingstock- and the academy is not without resources. Though rations could be reduced for the smallest of infractions, there's always been food in her belly and clean clothes on her back, no matter how drab. The games are an industry. Tributes that are well-fed are stronger and faster than emaciated urchins, so they win nine times out of ten. After their victories, the Capitol bestows their district with surpluses of grain and oil- there's a hefty return. Since she began to show prowess in knives, she's been allowed certain small privileges- imported foods like oranges, gel soap instead of the hard, gritty kind- to keep her running towards a carrot on a stick.

That doesn't stop her from gaping like a loon once she sees what kind of accommodations the train offers.

"Over here, you'll find your humble quarters! No, yours are down the hall, Mr. Hadrianus- we don't want you two to form that close an alliance!" the presenter chirps, winking suggestively. Flavius Dangle is the most idiotic human being Clove has ever had the misfortune of encountering, and his flippant attitude makes her fingers itch for a blade- must he treat a contest to the death as though it's a soap opera?

"I've walked further," Cato shoots back, clearly irritated.

Flavius' grin is still plastered onto his face, but Cato's glare is causing it to flicker as poorly-lit candle would. "Only a joke, there!"

"I don't like jokes," he replies, storming off.

She's not sure whether to be on her guard or view this as a bout of teenage impetuousness. The first option is the more rational, in this situation. If thinks he has a chance of getting an easy screw, she'll make sure he ends up fucking one of her stilettos, non-violence regulations be damned.

Flavius mutters an obscenity under his breath in his silly, affected Capitol accent. Then he schools his features and turns back towards her. "Make yourself at home, of course!" he says, much more bombastically. "Take a shower, change your clothes! Dinner is at seven-thirty sharp, so don't be late!"

After pushing the door open, she's struck dumb. There's three rooms, really, which is three more than she's ever had to herself. Soft wall-to-wall carpeting, velvet armchairs, embroidered quilts… never has she been allowed such indulgences. Experimentally, she pulls open a drawer in the bureau to find scads of tunics in various colors, which seem to be her size.

She takes a hot shower in the gleaming bathroom (experimenting with the various buttons) and pulls on a periwinkle shirt and grey pants. Still, she can't think of why she's being given all of this- it must be enormously expensive, and she doubts that the Capitol is providing it out of the goodness of their hearts. Or maybe this is perfectly normal to them, and it's only she who finds it extravagant.

Feeling inferior- or indebted, for that matter- isn't something she's used to.

Oh, who gives a shit, really? If she grew up without luxury, it only means that she won't squeal and squirm like some of the District One tributes when faced with dirt or insects or the dead.

Forcing the niggling doubt to the back of the back of her mind, she passes through numerous corridors and enters the lavishly furnished dining car. Their mentors are there- Brutus, who is taller than even Cato and looks twice as menacing, and Enobaria, who won her games by ripping the competitors' throats out. Good; at least they'll be useful, not deadweights she'll have to work around. She's seen the other districts' pathetic representatives. Morphlings that can hardly string a sentence together, crazy Annie Cresta babbling on about seeing her ally decapitated, drunken Haymitch Abernathy sicking up all over the stage- as long as these two have an idea, however vague, about how to succeed, she'll listen.

Cato has washed his sunlight hair- it glistens beneath the crystal chandelier. A stupid thing to notice, but then again, she's always been observant.

She takes a seat across from Enobaria, who leans forward slightly. "You're Clove Asina. A knife user, Cato says. I'm one myself- shame there weren't any in the Cornucopia the year I went in. I had to improvise." Her teeth are capped with gold and filed to surgical points. She can immediately tell that this is not a woman she'd like to tangle with.

"That's right." No need to volunteer extra information until pressed.

Enobaria lets out a short, barking laugh. "The silent type? Never mind. Once you win the games, other people will do the talking for you."

"Once she wins? You sound pretty certain," Cato interjects, violently spearing his filet mignon.

"I'm pretty certain myself," Clove replies. It's a piss-poor move to alienate a potential comrade right from the start. She really couldn't care less.

"We'll see," Brutus says in a low, hardly audible tone. "Is Flavius off sulking in his room? I'm not complaining, but the Capitol won't be very happy if we've wounded his feelings."

Cato smirks without any warmth. "What does it matter if this Capitol's happy with us?"

Fortunately, Brutus isn't the sort to take condescension lying down. "With that kind of attitude, you'll be lucky if you don't completely repulse every sponsor. Whether the Capitol's happy can mean the difference between life and death- but if you'd like to pretend that you're entitled to a victory, feel free."

That shuts Cato right up. Clove smiles vindictively into her glass of orange wine.

"If we can get back to what we started before Clove came in," Enobaria snaps. "The reaping videos. Watch all of them carefully, you two. Figure out who the real threats are."

She's been playing the weakling/threat game since she could first spar.

The results aren't too surprising. Marvel from District One might make a good ally- he looks strong and moves with the easy grace of a warrior- but the way the girl flirts with the cameras doesn't seem promising. Livia Ki from District Four, Xander Jordan from District Three, even Theodore Cava from District Seven (the same one that produced Johanna Mason, after all) could be useful.

A few tributes stick out in her mind, though. Sabina Heywood of District Five, who has a slender, cunning fox-face and copper red hair that will stick out from a mile away- her sister was reaped a few years ago and committed suicide by jumping into the arena before the gong sounded. A little twelve-year-old from District Eleven who looks like a malnourished bird, though the male is enormous and could pose some danger. And finally, some idiot volunteer, Katniss Everdeen, from Twelve whose sister originally got reaped. If she'd been from a high-ranking district, she'd understand wanting the glory for herself, but she doesn't stand a chance and likely knows it. Worthless sentimentality is motivating her actions, it seems.

There's fear in all of their eyes, she realizes- it brings them all together. Whether they're relying on bravado to save them or shaking as they face the cameras, they're scared.

She can work with that.

"This is hardly a challenge," Cato coolly states once the last tape has been played. "Take a look at them- terrified out of their wits. Only the other Careers will stand a chance."

"Don't get cocky," Enobaria warns. "Some of the terrified, underfed ones can turn vicious under pressure. Happens every once in a while." She narrows her eyes a tad, as though reminiscing.

Clove gives a brief nod, but finds herself doing the impossible and agreeing with Cato. She's been trained by the most rigorous instructors in Panem. How could a band of feeble, inexperienced children that no sponsor would look twice at possibly threaten her?

a/n: in which clove is arrogant, cato tries to act tough, and i waste time introducing tributes. next chapter should be less filler-y.