left.for.}dead{ .tracean.

Ocean Jones's eyes were widened as Trace Rowgan moved out from the trees. Happiness rushed over her, and she smiled like she'd never smiled before. It was a real smile, the first one of the Games that weren't from killing or hurting someone. She said nothing, merely watching as he came and sat beside her. Ocean wrapped her arms around him, smiling.

She felt like she was doing something wrong, and she was. There was no need to fall in love, though she had. She'd die by his hands, she just knew she would, and yet, she couldn't find a way to escape from her love. Ocean Jones, at the time, needed not to worry about this. She forced her mind away from it, focusing on other things.

Letting go of Trace, she stood up, the spear on the ground next to her, with the satchel placed in front of her stomach, in case she needed to use anything in it at any point in time. "Let's see... Water. That's what we need. But I read in a place somewhere that you always need to boil it first. 'Cause if you don't you can die." Ocean thought of ways she could start the fire, finally she decided on -

interrupted by fight.

She wasn't laughing this time, no. Not at all, but she wasn't wanting to cry like she had every time after she'd attacked someone and they'd ran off or she'd killed someone. Maybe it was due to the fact that she was angry that just about everybody that had attacked her had came, found her [or in the other case, she found them], and tried to kill her. She knew it was because she was from District 12 and everyone wanted the two tributes from her district dead. It seemed, however, that Ocean was wanted dead more so than Awami or... or however you said his name. Was it because she was female and so was Aranica? It couldn't have been. Was it because she had made a 1 in Training and was proving that scores weren't anything to mess with? Well, to her, anyway, she thought that her 1 was the best thing that could've happened. She thought that the lower your score, the further you could get in the Games according to the Gamemakers.

The Gamemakers. Were they the ones making everyone attack Ocean? Had they put some type of weird medicine in everyone's bloodstream that made them hungry for the death of the District 12 female? It all seemed wrong. Shouldn't the target be on the other tribute, the boy that was related to last year's Victor? From what Ocean remembered, he hadn't been attacked once, but that's to say that he was probably on the far side of the Cornucopia, invisible to Ocean's eyes.

She was confused like nothing could confuse her more. Shouldn't Joshua have came with her too? He hadn't. Was there a reason? Had he died? What if everything that had happened in the Training Center was nothing to him? What if it was just some sick, twisted front to make Ocean sympathetic towards him when in reality, he had no sympathy and would most likely kill her just as she'd already killed.

She'd played the Game wrong. She should've trusted no one. She should've never helped Trace. She shouldn't have did this. Or this. Or that. She shouldn't have tried to kill so many people. She shouldn't have. She shouldn't have.. She just.. She could've done better. She shouldn't have volunteered. That's what she shouldn't have done. Volunteering was the death of her, both literally and metaphorically. If she wouldn't have volunteered, a smaller girl would be in her place, and she wouldn't be risking getting killed at the moment. Of course, she'd have to live with watching another 12 year old girl get attacked and attacked some more and then attacked some more, all the while being ignored by a family that once seemed to love her.

She couldn't help but blame her dad for volunteering, though. If he would've shown that he loved her, that he had some type of sympathy for the girl, she wouldn't be putting a spear into other teenager's arms, or their stomachs, or their feet. She would'nt be dying. It was then that Ocean Jones realized that there was no sense in regretting the inevitable. She knew she would volunteer. She just knew it, and it seemed that no matter who it was that was picked as a Tribute, she would be the one volunteering. And it was all because of a selfish mother and father.

Who cared. She needed to survive, not sulk. "Trace, I'm gonna make a fire now and make a trap. Okay? I learned about 'em in Training and we gotta have 'em! You can fill up some water jugs, I know you got some. You got some! Right?" She was just about insane. She was being delusional over something that she had two of. If Trace didn't have any jugs, Ocean would give him one. She'd have one, he'd have one, they'd both have one, and they'd have water.

She sat her satchel down in the middle of the bank of the small wooded area and the creek itself. She glanced at Trace, who seemed to be slow going at moving around. "Hm. What's goin' on wit' you?" Oh wait. She hadn't told him to do anything. Duh. "Oh. Sorry. Can you.. um.. like.. Do something that we can use?" She was being mean. There was no doubt that it was due to the fact that she was angered with her family and angered that she was being targeted just because she was from District 12. "I'm being mean. Sorry. It's just that every time I try to settle down and not kill someone, people come and want to kill me. Just like the girl with the bow and arrow. You didn't even do anything, but she missed both times. Just.. You better help me next time! You better."

Observing her surroundings and happy to see that no one was coming, so it seemed, she got the shovel out of her satchel after walking back to where she'd sat it down and grabbing it. It was a golden type of shovel that reminded her of gardening. Had she possibly use one of these when she was younger and had just forgotten what it was? Probably. Either way, she took the satchel to her workplace and dug a hole in the ground, covering it with the shirt she'd taken from the boy. It was still covered in blood, and Ocean thought that the scent of it would attract animals. It took a while, but she eventually wove a square shaped piece of wood out of living twigs that she'd tore off of trees.

Getting a larger stick, she sat it on the edge of the orange shirt and propped the square of wood on the end, forming a triangle. She'd learned it in training. What was it called? She did not know, but it was effective. When the animal stepped on the shirt, it would pull the stick away and the square piece of woven wood would fall on top, trapping the animal inside. Of course, something would need to keep the wood stable, which, in this case, was not there, so Ocean was taking a risk of not catching anything.

Tired after making the trap, she made her way back to a tree with her satchel and propping her back against it. She wondered not what Trace was doing, but wondering if she could sleep, and slowly, her body relaxed and she closed her eyes.

***

As she woke up, she yawned, she stretched, she did all the usual morning activities, only to see the sun setting. Or was it rising? Had she missed the Anthem or? No. She couldn't have. The Sun was in the wrong part of the sky for it to be rising. What could she do? She could check the trap? Yes. Trap checking seemed to be a good idea.

She sleepily made her way to the trap, seeing if anything had found its way inside.

[checks trap]
[dice=2]

Nothing. She let out a groan of frustration.

ooc.- post was rushed. ray, zona, you can come in at this point in time? dunno. gotta get ready for my sister's birthday party.

There was a sense of a fight had just passed in the air as Trace walked away. One that Ocean had felt one too many times before. There'd been times at home where, Ocean would fight with her dad, with her mom, and she would always win, but afterwards, she'd feel awkwardly frustrated at the world as they gave up on trying to win and walk out of her room. Or their room. Or wherever it had occurred.

Ocean decided that living in an arena where she'd have verbal fights and then the awkward feelings afterward were nothing to worry about. She'd have to rid of him. Definitely. She stood up, spear in hand, running towards the boy.

If he were to leave, then she'd always have that awkward feeling after a fight, and at the moment, she'd rather have the regret of someone that she loved being dead than that extremely awkward emotion. She'd told herself all the way through the games that she wouldn't love Trace, that she wouldn't stay with him, but of course, she'd disobeyed her own rules. It was time to turn into a goody-two-shoes kid and obey them.

After nearing the boy, Trace abruptly turned around before the end of the spear was released towards him.

trace. spear.
[dice=200+3000]
shallow cut on left thigh. 3.5 damage.

In slow motion, so it seemed, the tip of the spear grazed Trace's thigh and blood squirted onto Ocean's shirt. She glanced down, wiping at it and diving for the spear.

She picked it up and slowly examined the dirty tip. How many people's blood had been on it? What was it? Five? Four? Six? Everyone? To someone sane, they'd see it as too many, but for the changed Ocean. She saw it as not enough.

"Ha."

So. There once was this girl. Her name was Ocean. She was one that would always have sympathy for others, and always help someone when they would get hurt, She would play with her father in the backyard and sing with her parents at the dinner table. She would live a life of smiles and laughs and would never think that once, her hearing would stop and she wouldn't be able to stop disobeying what she once was.

What was she now?

An injurer. A psycho. A backstabber. An unintelligent.

A killer.

Trace slammed his hammer over her shoulder and hit her back. There was no way that she wouldn't feel it later, when she finally got time to herself.

Alone.

She took her spear and threw it at the one she used to love, if she ever did.

trace. spear.
[dice=200+3000]
stabbed in foot. 8.0 damage.

A flashback of a certain spear entering a certain girl's foot replayed in Ocean's head, and the Bloodbath nerves, the vomiting, everything that led up to this replayed in her head. She wouldn't stop.

She couldn't stop.