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Marvel, like all the other fools around here, underestimate the little girl with the knives from District 2.
“She’s a vicious bitch, yes,” he says, with that insufferable smirk that makes her want to stab him in the face with one his spears, “but we’re better Glim. The big one—he’s the main competition.”
He tries to kiss her, and Glimmer smashes his face so hard against the wall that he slumps unconscious on the floor. Marvel likes pretty girls who don't fight back, and later she will tell him that if he tries to touch her again, she will cut off his hands.
The girl from District 2 was deadlier than the boy, and Glimmer isn’t surprised that the idiots around her underestimate the girl who never misses.
Glimmer’s hand presses between her legs, toes curling at the thought of her and Clove fucking over Cato’s corpse. She imagines what his blood would look like, dried on her hands as her fingers curled up into Clove.
After the battle for the Cornucopia—although battle makes it sound as if anyone else stood a chance—Glimmer has her bow, Cato and Marvel have their swords and spears, and Clove has her knives. They are complete, in their own ways.
In the arena, they run and laugh because this is what they were made for. They were hungry for this since before they were born, and this is a career pack that is brutal and efficient, slaughtering all those that stand in their way with an almost child-like glee.
They are setting up camp, and Marvel is loudly retelling the story of how he killed the boy from nine, the sound his final breath before he sliced upon his neck, when Glimmer hears a rustle in the bushes behind them.
Impossibly fast, Clove’s knife lands in girl seven’s face, blood exploding out. Removing her knife, Clove’s hands become smeared in blood, and the girl silently heads off towards the river, not uttering another word to the surprised tributes she leaves in her wake.
Glimmer makes some comment about washing her hair and follows her.
It might not be Cato’s cooling corpse, but it will have to do.
They fuck like they are fighting, angry—biting, clawing, scratching at all the exposed skin.
(Glimmer is many, many things, but she knows a way around a girl’s cunt)
They get back to camp, and her hands linger on Cato’s stomach as they go to sleep.
She thinks about how Clove’s eyes went to very wide as she came.