hysteria

(n.) exaggerated or uncontrollable emotion or excitement, especially among a group of people.

"District Two is always allied with One and Four," Enobaria warns her as Clove's getting ready for the day, pulling her hair back into a tight ponytail and shoveling food in her mouth in a way that has her escort wincing.

"And?" she asks around a mouthful. Their escort shudders and excuses herself hastily.

Enobaria fixes her with a cold glare. "So even though you despise the girl from One, you need to play nice."

"At least until you're in the arena," Brutus adds. "Once you've dispatched the weaker tributes, you can go ahead and kill her. Make it long. The audience loves to see the packs split apart." He's clearly thrilled at the idea, licking his lips unconsciously, and Clove grimaces.

"If you even last that long, Clove," Cato chimes in with a sneer. "You won't be able to keep up. Don't expect us to wait for you."

"Who's this 'us', Cato? You'll die first just for being obnoxious," Clove snaps back.

Before he can retort, Enobaria snarls in a way that reveals the pointed edges of her teeth. They were doing this sort of back-and-forth even at the Reaping, and it's obvious they're old friends, but Enobaria's grown quite capable at halting the arguments before anything truly nasty can be said. The tributes are silenced and Enobaria speaks. "Work together with your allies, then turn on them. It's a well-known recipe because it works. Individually, what are you?" She eyes Clove's quick yet diminutive frame, Cato's brawn-in-place-of-brain. "Weak. Average. Forgettable. By providing the audience with some drama, you will become beloved once you win."

"Worked for me," Brutus interjects from his place on the couch. "Have you seen those Capitol women? They go crazy for true victors." He grins lasciviously at nothing in particular and Clove fervently hopes he doesn't begin reminiscing.

Enobaria rolls her eyes but keeps her attention on the tributes. "It also worked for me. In case you haven't noticed, I'm somewhat of a celebrity in the Capitol, as opposed to a spectacle." She glares at Brutus, but he doesn't seem to notice. "If you truly want to win the Games, you'll follow my advice. After all, I've already lived through this."

Clove bristles but is otherwise silent. She wants to win, craves it like morphling. Victory isn't sweet, not to her. Victory tastes like dying screams and the light from long-dead stars and blood boiled in the sun until it's just a metallic residue in her mouth.

She looks at Cato. He'd taste like victory, she thinks, and licks her lips.

A few hours later, they're in the Training Center, and Clove has never been more annoyed. She's used to Cato's needling, but there's something intangibly irritating about the giggly, gorgeous tribute from One- seriously, what kind of a name is Glimmer?

Maybe it's the way Glimmer is clinging to Cato's arm and blushing in a manner that has to be forced because she's certain no one can smile that prettily while embarrassed unless they've practiced the action. Perhaps it's the way Glimmer's partner, the equally-poorly-named Marvel, alternates between watching Glimmer gloomily and utterly failing at any of the stations he's tried, besides spears.

Or possibly it's the way her own District partner is smirking as Glimmer flirts outrageously with him and tells him one stale anecdote after another. He laughs at all of them. Clove scowls, sets down her spear (Marvel was beating her anyway), and storms over.

"Hey, Cato," Clove calls. He turns around, only reluctantly tearing his gaze away from Glimmer's not-quite-regulation top. She's about ready to start bantering with him again, to remind him who his best friend since grade school is, when Glimmer lays a territorial hand on his chest and smiles sweetly.

"Oh, forgive me," she says in a voice apparently meant to be seductive. "Have we met? I'm Glimmer."

"Clove. I met you this morning." Her voice is high, cold, flat unlike Glimmer's lilting purrs.

"Gosh, I'm sorry. I guess I forgot." There's no apology in her tone, and her beam is a little jagged around the edges. Clove bristles at the insinuation- you're not important enough for me to remember.

"No, I wouldn't expect you to," Clove replies in a voice perhaps a touch too dry to be the politeness it masquerades as. "Cato, come on. We've been at this station for an hour already. Don't you want to get to the wrestling station in time?"

Before Cato can answer, his eyes narrowed as he glances between the females, Glimmer responds. "Oh, wrestling?" she chirps. "That's my talent! Come on, Cato, let's go!" She pulls at his arm, and he shrugs and follows her. Clove trails behind them, wondering crassly if Glimmer could find a more sexual talent.

Glimmer wasn't lying about being talented at wrestling, and that alone is enough to make Clove scowl. She isn't terrible herself, but her own lack of height and muscle means she's lacking compared to bulky Cato and tall, curvy Glimmer. She's forced to admit Glimmer isn't quite as ornamental as she'd thought when the blonde manages to flip Cato onto his back and pin him down within minutes, a feat Clove can't even contemplate.

She's realized that Glimmer isn't stupid because she's pretty, just as Clove's not weak because she's small.

"How do you get your makeup so perfect?" Clove asks Glimmer one day. She's set down her beloved knives for once and leans against the wrestling arena, watching as Glimmer leaps down, barely breathing hard as her opponent wheezes and chokes on something vile behind her. For once, her voice is curious, maybe envious, rather than the bitter, snippy tones she's directed towards the blonde lately. Maybe that's because Glimmer's stopped hanging around Cato and instead has been working with her own partner.

Glimmer takes the towel handed to her by a shaky trainer and dabs delicately at her face. She hasn't even broken a sweat. There's a pause as she evaluates the girl, perhaps two years her younger, measures the sincerity of the olive branch. "I can show you, if you'd like," she finally responds. "It isn't very complicated. You just need to have quality makeup- and the Capitol has the best."

She tosses away the towel and holds out an arm. Clove tentatively links arms with Glimmer and the two begin to walk blatantly out of the Training Center, leaving Cato and Marvel bemused in their wake.

They return twenty minutes later, and now they're both giggling, Clove so hard she's pulling on Glimmer's arm as Glimmer talks breathlessly about some anecdote. Finally Clove composes herself and wipes away a tear, and Cato stares. She's still Clove, still pale and freckled and small, but there's a flush to her cheeks that certainly wasn't there before and her eyes are huge and impossibly dark and her lips are bloodred as she smirks when she catches his eye.

That sets the two of them off again, and this time it's Glimmer who nearly pulls Clove down with her, shoulders hunching as she laughs. Some of the other tributes turn at the sound, a lightness that permeates the dim Training Center, and Marvel glares at them and they blanch and turn away.

"Clove, what…" Cato can't find any words to express her transformation into the starlit creature that blinks at him.

Glimmer answers for her. "I helped Clove with her makeup, and now she's going to teach me how to throw a knife." She waves cheerfully as they stroll away.

Clove's known for being overprotective at best when it comes to her favorite weapon, but somehow she's patient and generous with Glimmer as she shoos away the assigned trainer and begins to instruct her herself. She's more than a little horrified to hear that in One, trainees are taught how to master one specific style of fighting and nothing else. Glimmer's unbeatable in hand-to-hand combat, but give her a distance weapon and she's clueless. Clove counts herself lucky that she was in Two, that she at least knows how to handle a sword and a trident.

Several hours pass, and whatever strange truce they've formed still hasn't ended in passive-aggressive comments like Cato had bet Marvel. Glimmer can hit the target consistently and the bullseye often, and she's just started working on moving targets when it's time for lunch. Clove and Glimmer look at each other, shrug, and eschew eating in favor of more knife throwing.

Marvel only shakes his head. "Crazy bitches, the both of them. Hate each other right up until they're best friends," he tells Cato as he fills his tray with delicious Capitol food.

Cato, his thoughts consumed by crimson grins and fierce green eyes, is silent.

It's time for interviews and Clove is quietly nervous. If Enobaria hadn't drilled into her the importance of appearing collected, she'd be pacing like some of the weaker-willed tributes as they wait for their name to be called.

Glimmer is first to go. She gives Clove a hug, not even caring if her curls are rumpled, then flashes a dazzling grin as she strides onto the stage. She's stunning in a sheer gold gown that glistens off her tanned skin, and the crowd goes wild as she waves and blows a kiss. Caesar seats her, and the interview begins. Clove can barely focus on it, only noticing that Glimmer's angle is flirtatiously charming.

Marvel goes, and she watches as he bumbles through his amiable angle with a grin on his face. She prays she doesn't freeze, hopes someone shoots her if she does.

Then Marvel leaves the stage looking all too relieved to be done and it's her turn. She stands on shaking legs and, after a glance to Cato, follows her guide until she's on the stage.

Clove drowns beneath the bright lights. Her dress is orange and shimmers playfully with every step she takes, all girlish ruffles and a strange contrast to the heels she's too young for. She blinks a few times, feeling how heavy her lids are beneath layers of bone-colored eyeshadow and enough false lashes to create a light breeze. She smiles beneath a layer of pale pink lipstick, remembers how gorgeous she looked in red, and plots to kill her stylist even as Caesar welcomes her to the stage.

Her interview is a blaze of small talk, to which she responds honestly if not with interest. Clove is sweet and sarcastic and just a tiny bit arrogant as soon as the questions ramp up, and she can feel the crowd's excitement ramp up the more biting comments she makes. Finally Caesar lets her leave. Her legs shake, but she forces herself forwards in her ridiculous heels anyway.

She finds Glimmer and sits beside her, noticing how pale the other girl is beneath her makeup. The heel of her stiletto taps out a beat that's uneven and rapid against the tiled floor even though she's outwardly calm. But before Clove can offer sympathy, receive some of her own, Cato's walking on the stage.

She watches with her heart in her throat as he's bloodthirsty, brutal on the stage. The audience loves it, loves him. She lets out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as he shakes Caesar's hand, leaves the stage.

Glimmer gives her a reassuring smile and a knowing wink as Clove slumps against her chair. Killing should be much easier than this, she decides as Cato joins them and Marvel leans forward to start the discussion about the other tributes.

Together they decide that the tributes from Four will be included just as a cursory acknowledgement of the traditional alliances. They're both utterly forgettable, miserable people without even the slightest trace of charm or skill. Glimmer, who has both, wrinkles her nose when Marvel suggests keeping them around as human shields a little longer. Clove can't help but agree with her.

Three isn't worth discussing, bland and powerless. The boy from Five is patently stupid, but there's something in the girl's eyes that makes Clove wary. She's a predator, seeking out dying things and speeding their journey. The lame boy from Ten is almost pitiable. They all agree the boy from Eleven is dangerous. He's already refused their invitation, and he's clearly a formidable opponent in battle. They'll hunt him in a pack to take him down. The girl from his District is small and quick, like Clove, but without Clove's cunning and skill with weapons. Twelve gives them all pause. The boy is strong enough, but he's hopelessly idiotic. The girl is the kind of charmless threat, coupled with her nonsensical relationship, that just might win.

Clove knows she won't.

It's the day of the Games. Clove is dressed in the warm outfit her stylist had forced on her, her hair done up in a style Glimmer calls a bubble ponytail. She rails against her stylist for hours until, reluctantly, he lets her borrow Glimmer's lipstick again. She stuffs it in her pocket when she's finished, deciding it can be her token since Glimmer's poisoned ring was confiscated.

She stands solid on her platform as it raises, as Caesar introduces the Games, as she surveys the layout of the arena. Forest, lake, meadow, Cornucopia. The weak will run into any but the last. She catches Cato's eye, nods. Glimmer beams excitedly and waves at her as the timer begins to count down. She can't see Marvel or her unfortunate allies from Four, but she assumes they're on the other side.

The gong rings out. She surges forward, faster than any of the others, and seizes a bundle of throwing knives near the entrance. Clove throws one of them at a forgettable boy grappling with a girl for a pack, and it hits him in the back. He chokes, and the girl leans down to tug away the pack. She looks up, and Clove knows. She lets out a scream that's absorbed by the general clamor of battle and hurls a knife at the girl from Twelve. It lodges in her backpack- a lucky break for her- as she sprints away.

Clove doesn't bother pursuing her, instead turning back to the bloodbath. She watches as Cato kills one boy and turns to aid Glimmer, but she doesn't feel the rush of cold envy she's used to. Glimmer's shifted goals ever since they've become friends, gone from seducing Cato to flirting with Marvel. Cato doesn't even seem to notice.

The bloodbath isn't quite as glorious as she'd anticipated. It's a lot of screaming and sobbing and metal clangs against the Cornucopia. It becomes a chore to slaughter the weak, the pathetic who thought they'd have a fraction of a chance. They're all pale and wan by the end of it.

"Ready to go hunting?" Cato asks their group. They've all survived with only minor damage, except for the boy from Four. Glimmer winks at Clove, and they share a smirk. Poor forgettable boy, befalling Glimmer's knife. Friendly fire kills many.

They're more joyous on the move, leaving behind all the carnage and the inferior weapons at the Cornucopia. Clove's jacket is lined with all sorts of beautiful knives, and her pack is full of food. She takes out a pack of dried fruit, grimaces at its uselessness, and tosses it to Glimmer, who grins in thanks.

That grin turns into a frightening snarl as a figure lurches out of the forest and into their path. Clove shoulders the girl from Four out of the way and moves to stand next to Cato, not wanting to miss this.

"Oh, what have we here?" she exclaims with utter delight. "Cato, it's that boy from Twelve!" She knows his face well enough from the way it was juxtaposed with his alleged lover and feels herself grimace.

Cato grins down at her but speaks to the foolish boy in front of them. "Any reason as to why we shouldn't kill you and see how your girlfriend reacts?" His hand rests on the sword he'd picked up as his primary weapon.

Glimmer sidles to the side, accompanied with Marvel. They've neatly cut off any means of escape the boy could have tried. "I don't think she'd care all that much," Glimmer purrs, still looking like a model beneath the various bloodstains. "From what I saw, yours was an unrequited love, no? How disappointing, that she couldn't return your love."

The boy flinches and Clove relishes in his pain, delights in it as she steps closer and watches the fear turn his square face pale. "Please, Cato?" she asks, already mentally sorting through her broad knife collection and deciding which one would make the best spectacle.

"No, wait!" the boy pleads, and she pauses, grins. She loves it when they beg. "I can lead you to her- I swear!"

Marvel laughs. "And just why would we trust you? We know you're infatuated with her. Surely you wouldn't just betray her like that." Glimmer beams at his rare display of cunning and kisses his cheek, grinning conspiratorially at Clove when he flushes.

The boy crumbles a little. "Because I know her. I know what she'll do, where she'll go. Because I want to find her just as much as you do." He's honest about that much, Clove decides, but she knows he'll double-cross them.

The girl from Four finally decides to join them, moving to Clove's side and trying to affect their air of superiority. She's less menacing, more blustering, and Clove and Glimmer exchange a look of mutual disdain.

"I don't believe him, Cato. There's every reason for him to betray us and none for him to aid us," Clove tells him, red lips curved in a mocking pout.

"I couldn't agree more." Cato nods, and that's the signal for Glimmer and Marvel to pin the boy down. They do so easily, Glimmer leaning languidly over his legs as she presses them to the earth. Clove hovers overhead, new favorite knife in hand, and sinks to the ground beside him.

"You can scream now," Clove says. "I won't mind." And then the fun begins.

They're back on the hunt again a few hours later, after autographing the boy's body and sitting down for a meal. Glimmer passes a bottle of water around. Somehow it skips the girl from Four.

It's dusk now, and hunting's been slow as they walk with ground-eating strides. Then Glimmer spots the glow of a fire ahead. She runs up first, and all her grace and experience walking in heels means she's perfectly silent in the night. She turns back to the pack and gives a thumbs-up. Just another foolish tribute, dumb enough to light a fire in the dark. An easy kill.

They break into a run as one, rush into the clearing. The girl startles awake and immediately begins to beg as she's enclosed on all sides. "Please, have mercy," she sobs amidst pleas to various deities. She's an ugly crier, Clove notes with disgust. She screams as Cato stabs her with his sword, then is silent.

"Twelve down and eleven to go!" Marvel cries out, and everyone, even the girl from Four Clove still hasn't bothered to put a name to, cheers.

Glimmer runs expert hands down the girl's body, checking the pockets for valuables. "Some poisonous berries- that's bright of her," she says with disgust, flinging the berries aside. Clove watches them gleam darkly in the firelight.

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato says, and the others nod assent. They walk in a group to a clump of nearby trees and stop. The ill-fated girl from Four plops down her bags and sits down with her arms behind her for support, looking weary and exhausted. She's meant to fish, not to hunt. Glimmer and Clove exchange a contemptuous glance.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" Marvel finally voices the half-thought that's been floating around their minds.

"I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately," Glimmer replies, twining around Marvel.

"Unless she isn't dead." Clove smirks up at Cato challengingly, and he lifts his eyebrows.

"She's dead. I stuck her myself," he responds flatly, only a hint of irritation that Clove would dare question him present.

"Then where's the cannon?" Marvel appears oblivious to their argument, or perhaps he's distracted by Glimmer. Either way, Clove grins at his question and at the way it makes Cato turn puce.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," Glimmer adds. She, at least, isn't blind to the way Cato is starting to fume, and Clove couldn't be more grateful they're friends.

"Yeah, we don't want to have to track her down twice." Clove's barely halfway through her mocking sentence before Cato explodes.

"I said she's dead!" he snarls, and Clove bursts out laughing at the way the girl from Four jumps half onto her feet. Silly thing, she thinks idly. Cato's strong, but he's all bluster. Glimmer and I are the ones you need to look out for. But she doesn't say it aloud, just watches with glee as Cato rages into an argument with Marvel and Glimmer adds further inflammatory comments.

"We're wasting time, Cato," Clove finally drawls. "I'll go finish her and let's move on." She opens her jacket and finds a good, sturdy knife, not one of her dainty blades for artistry.

"I'll go with you, see if Cato's wrong," Glimmer smirks. They link arms and head back to the smoldering fire with the body beside it.

Clove tsks. "Cato never can finish the job, can he?" Glimmer laughs and Clove stabs the twitching girl once in the heart. She looks down at the blade in disgust as they walk back. "Now it's dirty. I have half a mind to make him lick it clean of that vermin's blood."

Glimmer's laugh makes the boys turn around from where they're seated as they enter the clearing. "Was she dead?" Cato asks.

"No. But she is now." Clove grins and dangles her knife in front of him as he curses. The cannon fires, and the girl startles out of her slumber. "Ready to move on?"

They jog as a pack away from the clearing, ears filled with birdsong and distant screams.

It's dusk two days later, and they're restless. They killed no one today or the day before, and now they're choking on the remnants of smoke from the Gamemakers' fire. Glimmer's sultry, lilting voice is raspy in a way Clove can tell kills her. Glimmer's worked so hard to appear sweet and harmless that any detriment to her façade may mean her death.

And then Glimmer sees something, and her eyes light up. Clove follows her gaze and tugs at Cato's arm. It's her, the girl they've been hunting. She watches as his eyes turn from weary to intense in an instant. "Circle her," he breathes, but they can all hear him. "Don't let her escape."

They break into a run. Clove's the fastest despite being the smallest, so she sprints on ahead to the pond the girl's submerged in. She snarls in frustration as Twelve suddenly wakes up and starts running into the forest.

She must be smarter than Clove'd thought, for instead of trying to outrun their group (she can't; Clove can see the charred flesh on her leg and hear her wheeze), she finds the highest tree and starts to climb. Clove runs up to the trunk, pulling out a throwing knife, but by the time she's within range, the girl is twenty feet high and shielded by branches.

The others join her, forming a ring around the tree. Clove stares at it, a bit bemused. The Training Center in Two had never prepared her to climb a tree. She looks up at Twelve's face, watches her smile as she realizes none of them can follow her. "How's everything with you?" she calls down.

Clove's surprised at the question, but she supposes it's to gain favor with the audience. "Well enough," Cato responds, ever so polite. "Yourself?"

"It's been a bit warm for my taste," the girl tells him, and Clove rolls her eyes at the self-congratulation in her tone for her wisecrack. "The air's better up here. Why don't you come on up?"

"Think I will," Cato replies, shrugging away Glimmer's half-mocking offer of a bow and arrows. "No, I'll do better with my sword."

The girls stand together and watch as Cato starts to climb, as the girl above him climbs even higher. Then a branch snaps, and Clove feels her heart skip as Cato falls. She's relieved when he stands up, laughs when he swears.

"You need to lose some weight, Cato," she jeers. "No dinner for you."

Cato swears at her and turns to Glimmer. "Aren't you going to try it?"

"Why not Clove?" Marvel breaks in, standing closer to Glimmer. Clove grins at that, smirks at the narrow glare Glimmer shoots him at the protective gesture.

Clove flinches, and Cato lays a hand on her shoulder. "Clove and heights don't mix," he tells him, and it's a warning, one that Marvel thankfully heeds.

"Oh, let her stay up there," Glimmer finally says as the two boys posture. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning."

The girl from Four is the first to agree, throwing down her supplies as Clove rolls her eyes. What a waste of a Career tribute, she thinks. Glimmer volunteers to be on lookout, clearly not wanting to leave the job to the weakling, and they settle down to sleep.

When Clove wakes, her world is mayhem. Insects she's never seen but instantly recognizes as wrong are everywhere, furiously swarming their group. She's on her feet before she can even think about it and scoops up a pack before she starts to sprint. She notes hazily Cato and Marvel behind her, but where's Glimmer?

She makes a split-second decision to race back. Marvel follows her when Glimmer shrieks, and Clove hopes above all that Glimmer isn't too far gone already. They scoop her up as she's batting at the wasps and tear away from the clearing.

The lake is only a short distance away, and they toss Glimmer in and leap in after her. Cato's already there, just his blond hair and eyes visible above the water, and he takes Glimmer's body and restrains her as she flails about.

Clove turns her head skyward and snarls, "Medicine!" She's panicked, so terrified that Glimmer might die even though it's a near-certainty in the Games that Cato leaves Glimmer to Marvel and wraps her in a tight embrace as she sobs hysterically.

But Enobaria and Brutus and her sponsors come through for her, and seconds later a parachute arrives and floats onto the water. Clove escapes Cato's hold and grabs it, rips it open to reveal a syringe. Without hesitating, she plunges it into Glimmer's flailing arm.

They hold their breath as Glimmer stills.

"Is she…" Clove finally chokes out.

Marvel places two fingers to Glimmer's exposed neck and waits. Just when Clove thinks she just might stab herself, he lets out a shaky breath. "She's alive."

Clove bursts into tears and buries her face against Cato's chest, shoulders shaking as she tries to restrain herself, to bring back that icy Career control. "She's okay, Clove. She's okay," Cato murmurs in as soothing a voice as she's ever heard him use, says it like a prayer as Clove grows cold.

Finally she lifts her head from his sodden chest and looks at him. He's stung under one eye. Looking at Marvel, carefully supporting Glimmer, he's stung even worse. "Where?" she asks, and Cato silently touches the place where her neck joins her body. She hisses at the pain, flinching away even as Cato apologizes.

"They're called tracker jackers," Marvel tells them. "Their venom causes hallucinations. You're both lucky to have been stung only once."

"The girl…" Clove trails off, not sure which one she's referring to.

"The girl from Four is dead. I watched her collapse over there," Cato tells her. She nods, vaguely remembering the cannon fire. "But the other one? I'd bet she's still by that tree. How much would you bet she got stung before she dropped the nest on us?"

Clove looks up at him and feels a very cold, very cruel smile trace over her lips. This, she thinks. This is my comfort. "Marvel, we're going hunting," she says without looking over to him. "Holler if you need us."

"I think we're okay for now," Marvel responds. "She's asleep. I'll keep her in here a few more minutes in case some of the tracker jackers are still around, then I'll move onto the ground." He frowns. "Bring back whatever supplies you can. I think we just have your weapons and your pack."

"I have my sword," Cato tells him as he begins to walk to the shoreline, to haul himself out onto the earth. "Clove, lend him a knife until we get back."

Clove pouts at the idea but reluctantly hands over two of her better knives, a sturdy thing made for stabbing and a pretty throwing blade. "That one's for Glimmer," she says. "She'll know how to use it." She glances down at Glimmer, not so beautiful now with her slowly fading stings, and trots into the forest with Cato.

Their hunting trip had been disappointing. The girl was long-gone, and Clove was starting to feel the effects of the venom enough that they just gathered up the remaining supplies and returned to the lake. Cato had made the executive decision to move them all back to the Cornucopia when it began to get hot again.

Clove sits cross-legged in front of the Cornucopia, sorting out spoiled food from fresh with Glimmer dozing in the background when the cannon fires. She smiles coldly but readjusts her position to allow for better range of movement, just in case.

Sure enough, Cato and Marvel come jogging back triumphantly. "Got the cripple from Ten," Cato boasts. "Almost impressive, how long he lasted."

"Who's left, then?" Clove asks. She hasn't been keeping track, but she knows they're more than halfway done by now.

Cato plops beside her and snags an apple from her pile of unspoiled food. She frowns and bats his hand away as he starts ticking tributes off on his fingers. "The four of us, obviously. The girl from Twelve. The boy from Eleven who refused our invitation. The tiny little thing I'm surprised is even allowed in the Games. The sneaky redhead." He pauses. "There's one more, but I can't remember who. I'm sure they'll turn up some time."

Clove's eye is caught by a flicker of movement, and she smiles slowly. "I think I found him."

Cato springs to his feet, grabs the sword he'd dropped, and starts to jog after the figure with Marvel close behind.

"Your hair looks nice, Glimmer. I didn't think you knew how to braid," she tells her friend once they're gone. Glimmer glances up from where she's fixing one of her braids, loose and messy after all their time in the Games.

"Thanks. My mother taught me." She glances at Clove's hair, the bubble ponytail that's starting to sag further and further down her neck. "Want me to fix your hair?"

Clove considers it. "Sure." Glimmer moves closer to Clove and takes her hair out of its ponytail, combing through it with her fingers.

"What token did you bring, Clove?" she asks as she pulls Clove's hair into a high ponytail. "I'm so disappointed mine was confiscated."

Clove fishes out the tube of lipstick from her pocket and grins over her shoulder. "You were right; it's a gorgeous color on me," she laughs as she starts applying a fresh coat.

Her lips are crimson and her hair is neat by the time Cato and Marvel return, half-dragging a boy with them. Clove scowls, and Glimmer, who was reclining in the shade of the Cornucopia, sits up.

"Why'd you bring us this, Cato?" she asks.

Cato prods the boy, who's clearly terrified out of his wits and bleeding. "He told us he could protect our supplies. I figured I'd bring him back, so we can see if he's trustworthy or not."

Clove surveys him, the honest fear tracing across his bland features. Skinny, no muscle definition, small, weak. Perhaps he thinks this is his only chance to survive another day, to join lots with the Careers. "Oh? And how might you do that?" she asks him.

He's shuddering, quaking as Cato digs the point of his sword into his shoulder, as Marvel shakes his head and moves to sit with Glimmer. "I-I-I can rewire the land mines. Make it so no one else can reach the supplies."

Clove looks sharply at him, bemused. "And just why would we ever agree to that?" She laughs. "That sounds like an excellent way to either kill us all or destroy the supplies, maybe both. How could we ever trust you?"

The boy is sallow, graying with every word she speaks. Glimmer props herself up on her elbows and smolders at him, eyelids heavy and lips curved in a smile as he turns an interesting combination of ashen and red. Marvel hits her on the shoulder, and she grins. "I don't think we can, Clove. I quite like having a ready food supply."

"That's a 'no', I assume," Cato says with a smirk. "We're agreed then?"

"Do it away from the food," Clove tells him with true indifference. He grins savagely at her and drags the boy into the open grass, then sets him down and snaps his neck. The cannon fires and Cato jogs back.

"Looks like someone's set a fire," he tells them, and Marvel stands up to look.

"There's one over there, too. Want to split up?" he asks Clove.

She shrugs. "I could use the exercise. You'll stay with Glimmer, Cato?" When he nods, she dusts off herself and stands as Marvel starts to jog towards one of the fires.

"Clove?" She turns back at Cato's voice, pauses. "Happy hunting." Her answering grin is feral and chilling. It's the picture of her they'll use after the Games, but they aren't nearly over yet.

When Clove trots back into camp a few hours later, angry at the trick, she's ready to start ranting to her friends when she stops dead. Glimmer's crying, and Marvel's face hangs in the sky. "No," she breathes, before she sinks beside Glimmer. "How? How did he-"

"It was a trap." Cato's voice is as cold and deadly as she's ever heard it, as dark as the starless night, and she shudders. "The girl from Eleven is dead, too." Clove looks up, and she can see he's right; her dark eyes peep out at the tributes for a second before she, too, vanishes. "So he found her and killed her, but how did he die? Someone must have been working with her."

"The two fires…" Clove whispers. "Stupid, stupid, stupid. I should have known- I should have gone with him, made sure that one was clear before we went to the next!" She stops, shakes her head, scattering tears that glisten in the firelight before they vanish. "But who? Not the ginger; she seemed like a lone wolf sort. Possibly the other boy from Eleven, although he didn't seem particularly fond of her. Twelve…" And she remembers sneering at the panic on the girl's face weeks ago as she lunged forward to volunteer for her sister, a wisp of a thing, and she knows.

Cato's reached the same conclusion she has, his face stone. "We'll kill her next. That bitch…" His hands twitch as if itching to close around her throat.

Glimmer pulls herself up from where she was sobbing on the ground, a ghost in the half-light. She's eerily composed now, her face shuttered. But before she can speak, trumpets blare. It's Claudius Templesmith with an announcement.

"A feast," Clove murmurs. "We don't need the food, but we can take out some of the others."

"Now hold on. Some of you may already be declining my invitation. But this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately," Claudius continues. "Each of you will find that something in a backpack marked with your District number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you, this will be your last chance."

And then there's silence, and they all look at each other. Is this where we split apart? Clove wonders. "I'm going. No question about it," Cato tells them. "I'm curious as to what they think I'll need."

"I will too." Glimmer's icy and determined. "I've recovered from the stings by now." She lifts her head challengingly, like either would try to stop her.

They both turn to look at Clove. Slowly, cruelly, a smile forms. "I think we need to get revenge. For Marvel."

They huddle together then, in the black of the night with firelight drawing scars on their faces, as they discuss just how they'll win.

Bright and early the next morning, there's a disturbance on the plain. The ground in front of the Cornucopia splits and a table rises, laded with backpacks. The Careers are armed to the teeth and bristling with hatred as they sprint out and surround the table just as the sneaky redhead races over.

She skids to a stop, and she must know it's far too late for her, because she doesn't even bother running. One of Clove's knives hits her, and the cannon fires even as two more figures sprint from the bushes.

It's Eleven and Twelve, and there's an unspoken alliance between the two. They must know that if they can overpower the Careers, they can reach what they desperately need before they kill the other.

Cato rips open their backpack to reveal two flesh-colored armor sets. Glimmer opens hers hurriedly to find another. They all climb into their armor just as the two tributes reach them.

Clove's grateful for the armor when Twelve shoots an arrow from the silver bow Glimmer had carried before the tracker jackers. She's an accurate, efficient shot, too; the arrow bounces off Clove's heart. But her greatest talent appears to be near-useless now that they're clad in armor.

It's unfortunate that she doesn't have armor of her own. Glimmer throws one of the knives Clove'd given her earlier, and it hits her on the arm. She screams and stops even as Eleven rages towards them, Clove's knives stuck in his shoulder.

He's impossibly, implausibly angry as he grabs Clove and tosses her to the ground. She remembers the little girl with the dark eyes and understands why. But while that tactic might've worked if she were alone, she isn't. Cato snaps his neck even as he moves to bash her skull in with a rock.

She shoves his body aside, dimly noting the cannon fire, and goes to stand with Glimmer. They face the girl from Twelve, three against one, and there's no hope for her at all. She raises her bow to launch an arrow at Cato's unprotected face, and Clove screeches and hurls a knife at her.

It's an ugly, sloppy throw, one that her trainer back home would murder her for, but it gets the job done. Twelve falls as it hits her in the heart. The cannon booms.

The three stand together and watch the sky, watch each other as realization dawns. Cato snaps first, lunging for Clove and he's vicious, he's insane. She falls back beneath him and for an instant she's totally defenseless. "I love you," he whispers, cold and harsh and barely audible beneath her screams as she flinches and scrabbles at his arm with her nails, raking angry lines down them. "I wish-"

Then he coughs, chokes, freezes, hands falling from her throat. Clove shakily pushes him off her and sees Glimmer's knife in his back. She stands and limps away, arms wrapped around herself.

Cato crumples, and the cannon fires.

"Thank you," Clove whispers, not turning around. She lifts a hand to wipe at her face, at the emotion neither will acknowledge. "So I didn't have to… thank you."

Glimmer smiles then, and it's one tinged with sadness. Another lifetime, we could have been friends, she thinks as she raises her knife.

Clove really shouldn't have taught Glimmer so well.

Perhaps if she hadn't, she'd have stood a chance.

The knife lands in her leg, and as she's screaming and yanking it out, Glimmer rushes at her. Clove brings up the bloodied knife and braces herself, but it's too late. There's a blurred tangle of limbs, and then Glimmer's crouched above Clove's broken body, panting.

The cannon fires, and Glimmer puts on her most dazzling smile. She steps back from her friend's body, neck twisted, green eyes glassy, and blows a kiss to the audience.

Oh, the Capitol was foolish to doubt me, she thinks as she waves and thanks her sponsors, blushes for the spotlight. I've won, and now they'll pay for killing my friends.

She takes the bloodred lipstick out of Clove's pocket and paints on a smile.