Not Like You Think

Chapter 2

To say that this was the most extravagant place Clove had ever seen would be an understatement. A large crystal chandelier hung in the middle of the dining cart, throwing a soft light over the most delicious, and strange looking, selection of foods and beverages. Royal blue arm chairs sat to the end of the cart, facing a love-seat of the same colour, seating two people that Clove instantly recognised. She couldn’t say that she was upset to see them, but she couldn’t say she was happy, either.

‘Brutus, Enobaria,’ Cato nodded as he sat down on, much to Clove’s disgust, the love-seat.

‘Good to see you again, Cato, Clove,’ Enobaria smiled, her pointy teeth shining slightly in the light from the chandelier. After winning the 62nd Hunger Games by ripping the throat out of another tribute, President Snow made her surgically alter her teeth into sharp points.

Cato smiled back at her, all charms and smiles that he was, but Clove just sat down, bored and frustrated. They talked for a bit, Clove not really paying much attention to what was being said, nodding in the right places, about what they might be up against in the Arena. All Clove really wanted at this point was to be in the Training Centre throwing knives at the dummies, or maybe at someone in the room. Just a little longer, she thought, then you can go to your own cart. Soon, the conversation slowly died, and Clove took her chance to escape to her room. 

The door slid shut with a soft hiss, sealing her away from everyone; she only wished the door had a lock of some sort. Clove paced the length of her room for a while, restless, before flopping down on her bed and sighing.

Bored; so, so, bored.

Lucky they didn’t spend more than a day on the train to the Capitol, so only a few hours she had to suffer with these people in an enclosed space. What could she waste a couple of hours on? Her usual option was going out to the abandoned stone mine and practicing with her knives, but that didn’t seem like a plausible option at this time. Going out to talk to people was most certainly not a feasible idea. Taking a nap seemed like the best one, so she decided to do just that. She kicked her flats off and let her black hair out of the bun, falling and settling around the waistband of her dress, before curling up and closing her eyes.

A horrible screeching noise broke though Clove’s dreams, and when she opened her eyes she discovered that Masalyne was the source. Clove blocked out what the escort was saying and stretched out like a cat, then getting off the bed and pushing her way past Masalyne to the bathroom and locking the door.

Thankfully for Clove, the door muffled whatever was being shouted at her. She would most likely pay for this at some point, but she didn’t really care. Turning her attention to the mirror, she couldn’t help but noticed how bad she looked. Honestly, Clove didn’t care, but she knew looks mattered as soon as she stepped off the train; how she looked was vital for her survival in the Games. And the fact that her hair looked like she’d been dragged backwards though the streets and her face was still slightly puffy from sleep didn’t exactly help her situation.

She brushed whatever tangles she could out of her hair, before fixing it back in a bun, and washed her face, which mostly got rid of the puffiness. It didn’t really bother her anyway because in a few minutes she’d be on a table as a group of ridiculous Capitol people would be “fixing” her in preparation for the Tributes Parade. She wasn’t looking forward to it at all, but she knew this when she volunteered, so really she brought it on herself. After looking herself over once more, smoothing out the wrinkles in her dress and fixing her hair a bit, she unlocked and opened the door straight into Masalyne’s onslaught.

Something about manners, tardiness and appearance Masalyne was yelling at her and she joined everyone in the dining cart. Cato thought it was hilarious, at least the grin he was trying to hide on his face told Clove. She just adopted a scowl and sat down in one of the chairs, trying to block out Masalyne’s barrage of meaningless words.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the train finally pulled up in the station. Cato was at the window, waving and grinning at the crowd, something about sponsors and whatnot. Clove stayed seated until they were told to get off, for which Clove was first at the door to enter the station. As they stepped off the train into the cheering mass of bright colours, Clove managed to smile and wave to the Capitol airheads as they made their way into the main building where they would be staying in the weeks before the Games.

The smile was instantly replaced by Clove’s trademark scowl as the doors closed behind them. Masalyne chirped something about the two of them making a “decent enough impression” on the crowd, and quickly went on to saying something else. Clove had stopped paying attention a while ago, so when she heard Enobaria speaking, she figured what she was saying would be important.

‘…your stylist who will be working with you right up until you go into the Arena. They will be designing your outfits for the parade later and the interviews when it comes time, so remember to say thank you, alright?’

Clove couldn’t help but wonder if that last sentence was aimed at her or not, but she didn’t have much time to wonder as three brightly coloured cyclones whisked her off to a different part of the building, commenting about how they had their work cut out for them. Clove could only tell that what was going to happen next would be so much fun…