The Hunger Games: Multi-Verse

Mentoring (Clove)

The vicious girl from District 2 walked with an arrogant fashion into the tribute floor for Panem tributes. She was wearing the bland golden dress her useless designer assigned. The rest of the tributes and mentor followed in behind her -- Gale Hawthorne in the typical hideous coal miner's costume, Johanna Mason in a dark green halter top and wood-looking pants, and Commander Paylor in a very unflattering textile mixture of a dress. The stylists this year had done the tributes of Panem sorely wrong.

The mentor of the Panem tributes for the Quarter Quell was Haymitch Abernathy. He walked into the grand entrance of the floor, and the mood only got dimmer, or more tense.

"Alright, I'm heading to my room. You all have a blast out here." Haymitch called, reaching his hand out and slinging a bottle of scotch under his arm. Clove watched him with an emotionless countenance out of the corner of her eye. She was constantly analyzing. Watching. Observing.

The sound of Haymitch's footsteps were the only thing heard for several moments, and the sound of his door slamming shut and locking dropped the rest of them into silence. Gale walked past Clove and took a seat at the kitchen table. Johanna did the same, sitting across from him. Clove watched skeptically as the two exchanged a single second of eye contact. She instantly inferred that the two were officially aligned together, and were a team. The commander from District 8 walked to the table as well, leaving Clove on her own, standing.

That's fine, Clove thought stubbornly and arrogantly to herself, I don't need any of these people to survive.

Clove purposefully seated herself at the long dining table a few seats away from the other three, considerably and visually separating herself from the others. She was drawing a line in the sand.

I don't trust any of these people, so why should I make them think I do? This is the Hunger Games. There's no need to lie to myself, or to them, She thought, staring straight ahead at the wall.

The Capitol stylist walked forward, clapping her hands excitedly. "You all performed amazingly. Excellent job! Excellent!"

No one replied for several moments, and the stylist laughed awkwardly only to fill the silence. "What a . . . Fun bunch!" She added finally. Silence ensued further. No one had even glanced in the stylist's direction yet.

"Well . . . Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be ever in your favor." The stylist left hurriedly, rushing away from the awkwardness -- probably to find people who would want to celebrate the Games with her.

Minutes of silence later, Johanna finally spoke. "He's from your district. You should have to go get him."

Clove realized Johanna was speaking to Gale regarding Haymitch. Gale only scoffed and replied, "Yeah, that's not going to work."

"You should at least try." Commander Paylor encouraged. Clove rolled her eyes.

"What's your problem, sweetie?" Johanna cooed down the table. Clove ignored the older woman's comments, although secret fumes of anger bloomed in Clove's chest at the taunts.

"If you're so pissed about it, then you go get Haymitch." Johanna bossed. Clove didn't budge an inch. She wasn't going to be bossed around by someone as insignificant as another tribute. They were all just targets to her, with red circles painted on their backs -- or chests, depending which way they were facing Clove come arena time.