002. | crash landing

❝𝘯𝘰 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘧𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘣𝘺 𝘢 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥

𝘢𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘧𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘸𝘢𝘺, 𝘣𝘭𝘶𝘦 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘥❞

𝐀 𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 awoke Clove early the following morning. She had become accustomed to the feeling of waking up on a train recently, after practically living on one for the past fortnight, and so she was welcomed into consciousness by the familiar scents of coffee and fresh bread that called to her from the dining cart. She could only be thankful that the blaring stream of dawn had woken her, as she knew the alternative was the shrill call of her escort banging on the door if she ever attempted to lie in, and that was no pleasant way to start the day. 

The first thing she did when she opened her eyes was breath a long overdue sigh of relief - after feeling like she had been holding her breath under water for the past two weeks, she could finally exhale. She was no longer suffocating - she was home. 

Only one more dreaded thing awaited before she could finally be free - one more speech. The best, and yet the most painful speech of them all. 

After leaving the arena victorious, and returning home to District 2, Clove had moved into the Victor's Village with her whole family and looked forward to putting the events of the games behind her to start her new life. But with her Victory Tour only looming over her for the six months she had lived there, she felt as though she wasn't actually there at all. Until her tour was over with, she wasn't anywhere except the arena, and in the meantime, she had only been sleepwalking. But the worst part about returning home was the people who would never look at her in the same light, the people who she knew would be incredibly difficult to face. 

Being a career tribute meant that you would always be entering the arena with somebody that you knew from the Academy, given that there was only one Academy in the whole district and it was almost always two senior students that volunteered each year. But it meant that no matter what, if you returned victorious, there was no doubt that you were returning at the expense of a favoured student to the Academy trainers; to parents left childless; to siblings who had lost a friend. To them, you weren't wanted back home. 

This wasn't unexpected, of course, that was what they were training to do after all - but Clove never anticipated she would not only be competing against somebody she had trained alongside, but a friend. 

Blaze had been that - a friend, a neighbour, a classmate - and it only made her return to her district all the more difficult. They hadn't exactly been close, only friendly with one another, but the build-up to the games is so overwhelming that it's almost impossible not to grow closer, and by the time the countdown started and they were released into the arena, Clove had grown rather fond of her district partner. She cared for him, much like she did for her own siblings or friends back home, and his death pained her deeply - the brutality and severity of it making the pain even more excruciating. 

Given that Blaze's father was a teacher at the local school, and his mother sold produce at the market, most of the district were acquainted with their family, and they were almost impossible to avoid. They were kind though, and it helped that not only had Clove not been the one to drag the knife through her district partner's skin, but she had felt visible grief at his passing, but this did not make facing them any easier. She could only imagine the torment another speech boasting about her victory would bring the both of them. 

After taking little care into what clothes she pulled on to eat breakfast, Clove made her way to the dining cart and joined her team at the table. Valeria and Nyx had not waited for her to begin eating, and so half of the food on the table had been picked at by the time Clove finally sat down. The conversation at the table was dull and limited to the weather and what was in store for the day, but most of it went completely over her head as her mind appeared to be elsewhere, so she only nodded in response. The plans for the day included a formal dinner at the Mayor's house that evening and a rally the following morning, and her prep team and stylist would be arriving later that day, but until then her day was free. 

And Clove knew exactly what she would be doing with the remainder of her day. Absolutely nothing. 

She was exhausted, and the only thing she wanted to do before she spent another night in high heels and make-up, making pleasantries with people she hardly knew, was sleep. 

But when you were a victor, and your freedom was no longer your own, it was difficult to know if relaxation was ever going to be an option. 

Clove had been half expecting the whole of the Kentwell family to be waiting for her at the train station when they docked in District Two as they had been after the games, but when she stepped off the train only her mother and sister were there. The crowd was considerably smaller than the last time she had arrived back in her home district on a train, but it was still difficult to make out their small, brunette figures amongst the swarms of people. 

Smile, don't slouch, chin up, eyes bright, breathe.

The instructions echoed almost mechanically in her head one last time before the door of the train swung open, and there was no going back. She had been exposed to the flood of people, greeting her with admiration and a standard dosage of district pride, customary to every one of the endless supply of victors the district plucked out. Her mother and sister were stood towards the front of the crowd, their smiles beaming brightly as she stepped onto the platform.

The Kentwell women all followed the same string of genetics; long, billowing locks of ebony hair, freckled skin and eyes of a deep brown that turned almost golden in the sunlight. There was no doubt that they were all related, with the youngest Kentwell, Rhea, and Clove practically clones of their mother. The women of the Kentwell family also followed the same attitude, with Clove's fierce determination and ruthless throwing technique coming from her mother, and her sister equally as invested in training for the games. Indeed, the three were clearly plucked from the same tree, but it was with the men of the family where the similarities fell short.

Clove's parents, Leta and Magnus Kentwell, had always had very different perspectives, and yet somehow, they were aligned. To Leta, a realist, involvement in the games was ultimately inevitable, and so there was the option to deny it and go unprepared, or there was the option to seize the opportunity that victory brought. As a child she trained immensely, and if it wasn't for the unfortunate loss of her older brother and the need to care for her parents, Leta Kentwell could have been great. Magnus Kentwell was an idealist. To him, there was hope for something bigger than a fight to the death, and time was better spent building a life for yourself than learning to swing a sword. It was up to their children to decide which path they chose. 

"Clove", her mother spoke softly as she pulled her daughter into a hug, "Welcome home". 

"Dad and Jonas?", she questioned as she reciprocated her mother's hug, noticing the absence of the other half of her family. 

"Busy trying to save the world from a workbench, as usual", Leta scoffed and rolled her eyes, "they're still working - but they'll be home in time for your dinner". 

She nodded, and with the help of a couple of peacekeepers, attempted to push her way through the praiseful crowd of fans with her family and team trailing behind her, until she reached the road. After a fortnight of icy weather, the snowfall had finally stopped for her return, but the cobbled stone beneath her feet was still buried in sludge. For the first time in weeks, the peaks of the mountains were not buried in sheets of white, and the walls of rock that made up the bulk of the district had reappeared to tower over their villages and shield them from the rest of Panem. Clove liked living in the mountains - their strength and beauty cornering off her small mining town from the rest of the world, and after being handed the opportunity to view every other district on her tour, she had never been more thankful for her home. 

Compared to the depravities of their neighbours, District Two was paradise. 

Clove had it even luckier than most now that she had her crown. The Victor's Village was located to the far right of the district, sectioned off from the miners' towns that surrounded the quarries, buried in brick dust and gravel. Every district had one, but as a career district, District Two's was larger than most, with sixteen houses lined neatly in two rows of eight. Each of the houses were identically built, with tall frames of white marble and glazed glass. Even for a wealthier district, the Victor's houses were nothing but grand compared to the brick structures that covered the district's regular towns, with their paved roofs and smoking chimneys. With such a large pool of victors, the village was close to filling, and being the newest members of the group, the Kentwell house sat seven houses down. 

As promised on the train, the first thing Clove did when she arrived back home was return to bed - for a moment of peace before the chaos continued that evening, if not for sleep. Her much needed solitude was interrupted by the arrival of her prep-team later in the afternoon, who bounded into her room with little warning of their incoming. She assumed her mother had let them in, and she made a mental note to scorn her for it later. Had it been Clove alone, she would likely have headed to the Mayor's house earlier and gotten ready there, but given that the affair was much bigger because of the district's wealth, and her whole family were amongst the guest list, they would travel there later on. 

Even after the games and the tour, she had not adapted to the feeling of being prodded and pawed at by the three of them, and considering she had already been completely stripped of all hair and scrubbed so harshly to rid dirt that she was sure they had taken off layers of her skin, they still managed to find some way to pain her in prep. 

Prada and Daphne, two flouncy, identical twin girls who always wore the same extravagant wig in different shades, began work on her hair almost immediately, tugging at the matted ebony locks with a comb before pulling it up into a knot on the top of her head, while Valentino, arguably the most flamboyant of the team, added a silver glitter to her tired eyelids and dusted powder on her ruddy cheeks. After taking a step back to gush at their work, the three of them discarded her in the room to drink tea with her mother and Valeria, leaving her waiting for her stylist to arrive with whatever decorative gown was awaiting her that evening. 

"Knock knock", spoke a delicate voice from the other side of the door as Clove waited impatiently in her bath robe on the bed, and her stylist's bejewelled head appeared around the door. 

Pia was by far the favourite member of Clove's team - not as blunt and sullen as Nyx, but not as effervescent as the others. Her hair was scraped back and flattened with gel, and her skin remained embellished with emerald gems as it always had, scaling up one side of her body to make her appear almost serpent-like. The result of her look was slightly terrifying, but Clove admired it, particularly the glistening green contacts that made her eyes pierce like rhinestones. In her hand was a tailor's bag containing her attire for the evening. 

"Please, not another dress I can't breathe in", Clove pleaded as her stylist hung the bag up on the closet door. They exchanged a look before her stylist broke into a chuckle, shaking her head. 

"No, a more toned-down approach today I think - it's not as though the others will be particularly extravagant", Pia tutted in what appeared to be an implied dig at the other Victors, especially Nyx, who didn't put much care in their appearances at such dinners. She unzipped the bag to reveal a short, frilled number that was much edgier than anything she had worn on her tour. It was blood red, with tufted sleeves and several layers of tulle that made the skirt bounce just above her knee, embroidered with tiny, silver beads. 

"This is toned down?", Clove's eyes widened in amazement at the way the silver accents caught the light, causing the fabric to shimmer. 

"Well, it's more mature", Pia raised her eyebrows as she yanked the dress down from its hanger, helping her slip into it before zipping up the back until the fabric perfectly grafted to her body. She placed a hand on each of Clove's shoulders and guided her towards the full-length mirror that hung on the wall in the far corner of the room, glancing at her reflection before frowning. She began to tug at the pins that had been placed in Clove's hair, "Now, this won't do, will it? Nothing mature about all these twists and knots". 

After releasing Clove's hair from the mass of pins, Pia brushed it through again with a comb and applied some of the gel used in her own locks, leaving her hair slick straight and falling down her back like a curtain of sheen silk. It felt much freer, and for the first time since the start of the tour, Clove didn't feel like somebody else. She felt like herself. 

"Much better I think", Pia completed her look by adding a blush tint to her lips, before helping her choose a pair of appropriate heels from her closet. 

"Thank you, Pia", she flashed her stylist a genuine smile, "I love it". 

Downstairs, the atmosphere in the Kentwell house had found a reimagined energy. Her family were decked out in their fanciest garments, most of which had been purchased following Clove's newfound riches, and were not far off from their reaping attire - crisp shirts, tailored dresses, smart shoes, though it was just a shock for Clove to see her father and brother not covered in an extra layer of brick dust and dirt. All three present members of Clove's family were engaged in light conversation with the rest of Clove's team, and the room was filled with a newfound laughter when the two women entered the kitchen. The group turned to gush at the beauty of her frock and make-up as she approached them, but Clove had never been fond of compliments. 

"My up-do!", Prada shrieked as she caught sight of Clove's hair, but Pia only tutted at her remark, claiming that as the head of Clove's prep-team she had the final say. 

Their argument was interrupted by the sudden clanging of the front door, and a bounding figure came bursting into the kitchen, a spring in his step. The eldest Kentwell sibling had always had a more romantic view of the world, and Clove had never seen him without his signature bright smile - even when she was being shipped off to the Capitol to fight to the death, he still managed to pluck optimism out of somewhere, but he did always appear to be up in the clouds. As usual, he was covered head to toe in a thick layer of brick dust, turning the thick barrel of curls on his head the colour of sand. 

"Look who's home!", he beamed as he bounced across the room towards her, rubbing the top of his sister's head, "little miss celebrity!". 

"Don't you dare mess up her hair, Kentwell!", Pia scorned and gave the boy's hand a light slap, "go up and shower, you're late. We're due at the Mayor's house in half an hour". 

The Mayor's house had a similar appearance to Clove's own home in the Victor's Village in grandeur and stature, but the elegant white marble was replaced with the standardised grey brick that ran through the rest of the district. It was located near the Justice Building and the Market Square, where it could be free from the stench of smoke and drainage that often migrated into the air from the quarries. Clove had passed it most days on her route to the Academy, but she had never been so close, and she had certainly never been inside. 

Breathe, she uttered to herself, smile, eyes bright, chin up, breathe. 

The camera crew were waiting outside the gate to film her entrance, having already filmed her arrival on the train that morning, and she could only sigh. Being televised was briskly becoming a part of her everyday life, and smiling and waving was almost second nature, but that didn't mean she enjoyed it. Still, she imagined that the Capitol citizens mainly just wanted to awe at her fashion choices, and given that tonight's event included her fellow victors, it was of even more interest than most of her recent appearances had been. 

Still, the camera crew were not permitted to film the inside of the house, only the arrivals of the guests, and so when she entered the house, she was free from their grasp. At the door, she was greeted by Mayor Studwick, his wife, and his three children - all boys, all below reaping age. Clove had seen the three of them training at the Academy, and they all followed the Mayor's robust and brutish build, so she had little doubt that the Studwicks would produce at least one Victor when the time came. The Kentwells were the last to arrive, as scheduled for the television footage, and so the other victors were already scattered around the Studwick home as they entered. 

Despite living only yards away from them, Clove had seen very little of her fellow victors since her Games, and she wasn't properly acquainted with any of them. Her newfound fame was still a mystery to her, and so to her, her neighbours still appeared like celebrities that were idols to admire from afar rather than friends. Still, she had seen most of them walking around the village, and exchanged quick words of congratulations and small-talk with a few.

Nyx, of course, was the one she was the most familiarised with, but Enobaria could be surprisingly friendly when you passed her on the street. Brutus, and Garrison Flint - a burly man with silver hair and stubble - were often seen deep in conversation on their front porches, given that they were of similar age and attitude. A few others had initiated brief chatter with her since her victory, but there was only one victor who Clove had not spoken a single word to in the six months she had lived there. The Victor who only ever appeared as a shadow creeping under the moonlight, who rarely left his home unless the sun had already gone down. 

She was not sure if all of the Victors would even grace her with their presence tonight, but the appearance of the cameras made it more likely that attendance was not an option. But the crown chained to her skull branded her as one of them, and Clove's seclusion from District Two's circle of victors was likely about to end.