Better Run, Better Run {Mario&Luigi}

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garnet beauford d8 [earthling]
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cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

Better Run, Better Run {Mario&Luigi} Oct 23, 2011 0:55:52 GMT -5

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Post by garnet beauford d8 [earthling] on Oct 23, 2011 0:55:52 GMT -5

for what it's worth, I always aim to please
but I nearly died

The blood flow to his heart, his brain was almost painful. He could feel the quickening at his neck, his wrists, his biceps and thighs. All those places that beat, beat, breat against him. They reminded him that he was alive, that he was moving forward through the frigid landscape. He tried to count them and lost track, heard her words instead of the rhythm. You either need to fix your aim or your heart... and he wasn't ready to fix either. They both seemed to be out of his hands; one too slow and clumsy, the other too quick and blinding. He had no control over his world, and that, more than anything, enraged him.

He was sure the girl had died slowly, regretted the aim of his spear. He wasn't sure he had the necessary tools to fix his heart. What would that even look like? But he sure as hell could fix his aim. He'd been stupid to avoid the combat stations, as it turned out. He hadn't wanted to tip off any of the other tributes, but he'd never been trained in hand-to-hand combat either. More of a brawler, really. He needed to at least try to improve himself, and there wasn't really any available targets at the Waterfall, except for the thing itself. And he couldn't really explain why, but it spooked him in a way nothing in the Arena - not blood, not death - had. He wanted to be away from its eerie halted movement, the very embodiment of the reaper.

By the time Mace had collected himself and cleaned his weapons, he found the landscape around him had changed again. It was clearer, crisper, and filled with far too few figures. He pulled himself up from the ice, having used it and some snow to scrub off the blood. As he slid the spear back into its makeshift holster, he turned in a slow circle, puzzlement and then anger pinching the folds around his mouth and eyes. Somehow he'd been ditched. But at least he wasn't entirely alone; he just had fewer brothers now. He could go after them, but there were several problems with that option. One, his ego. He didn't like to be left behind. Two, it would be hard to track someone who was drug addled. He'd dealt enough of Ten's weeds around the district to know what withdrawal looked like, or close enough.

And three, he'd really thought that he and Denver got each other. But here he was, quite literally cooling his heals with the only Bro he didn't understand at all. "Fuck that." He finally said, when he really meant fuck them. In his appraisal of the scene, Mace had spotted something in the distance. Everything in this world was blue, or white, or grey. But it had some sort of shape, and right that moment, it was good enough for him. He wanted something, anything, else, even though new things in this arena pretty much constantly turned out to be worse.

Besides, his stomach was long past growling. It was starting to cramp inward, to draw his breath away, to eat the stinging cold that he tried to fill his lungs with. He needed something, and he'd be damned before he explored the base of the waterfall. Anything to get away from that monstrosity. It only occurred to Mace once he had his mouth open and his attention on Alexander that maybe he didn't want anything to do with him. But the words were already choo-chooing along, and he made it a point never to ramble. "Let's go that way. I need food." Spoken like a true caveman. Mace rolled his shoulders, adjusted the pack, and started forward.

The awful truth, that he could feel in his stomach but couldn't quite form in his thoughts, was that he was pretty sure Alexander didn't like him, which probably meant that Mace couldn't trust him. But he couldn't - not yet and maybe not ever - bring himself to kill a brother. If Alexander wanted to knife him, he'd had to get through his rucksack and cat o' nines, or maybe he'd just go for his knees or heels. With the snow under their feet, though, Mace was pretty sure he'd hear him getting too close. He had his knives at his belt, and while he could have been more prepared for an attack, it was still not a bad place to be in. Except that the paranoia didn't suit; it only made him angrier.

For now, he would just have to decide to trust Alexander, who rarely spoke and when he did, it was hard to understand him, at least for Mace. There was a formality, an education, to his words, and a subtlety - like Alexander already understood how everything worked, how everything would end up. Maybe that was confidence, and he ought to listen and learn. Mace's thoughts slowly turned back to Cygnus, whom Alexander reminded him of, on the endless, unchanging walk away from the Waterfall. What were his real brothers - the Emberstatts - doing without him? Were the cows ranging? Was the herd still intact? And how were Marcelline and Verronica coping? Their faces swam in his thoughts, made impressions in the snow at his feet.

The arena began to remind him of something, and it took Mace a little while to place it. His dreams. Although the flora and fauna were dramatically different, the lack of color felt familiar. Black and white. That's how things ought to be.

Except maybe with less slippery ground.

He might've walked right by the Caves' entrance, if not for the change in the wind. He was used to paying attention the weather; when you were responsible for a herd of cattle, it was handy to know when a storm was brewing. He felt the pressure change, the wind disrupted. And then when he looked to his right, he saw it. It wasn't much from the entrance, a darker shadow, like nightfall come early. He turned, hunched his shoulders forward, dropped his neck. A knife was already in his hand before he thought about it. He definitely didn't like the idea of going in somewhere with one entrance, one exit. It reeked of a fox hole. He was about to suggest they turn back, when the shadow world began to sort itself out. It was almost like trees had started to grow in the caves, ones that looked healthy and, well, edible. Anything was edible at this point, except the snow. His stomach announced its presence as Mace came to a halt. "What do you think? Do we go in?"

Mace has collected firewood.[/size]

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Last Edit: Oct 25, 2011 15:27:56 GMT -5 by garnet beauford d8 [earthling]

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gm bourgeois decadence [aya]
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Better Run, Better Run {Mario&Luigi} Oct 25, 2011 15:24:33 GMT -5

Quote

Post by gm bourgeois decadence [aya] on Oct 25, 2011 15:24:33 GMT -5

and if the snow
buries my neighborhood
and if my parents are crying
then I'll dig a tunnel
from my window to yours

Alexander Hood —

They'd been left alone. What had happened to Aesop and the new amputee was beyond Alexander — perhaps they'd gotten lost in the bleak landscape, perhaps Aesop had wandered off like he tended to and Denver had simply followed — but she found herself unfazed. Upon entering the arena, the District Seven — now her district's only representative in this godforsaken place, thanks to the previous day's skirmish — had sworn not to care, but there wasn't even effort going into her indifference anymore. In most regards, it was as if she was already dead. Pulse, no representative cannon blast to speak of yet; a very real, very gnawing hunger in her gut that would need to be satiated soon. And there was still that ever-diminishing yet still unshakable voice in the back of her mind: You have to maintain your cover. For the sake of your family, make sure nobody knows about you. This was a nagging that had been a constant hum amidst Alexander's normal thoughts since the day she became Alexander from Phoebe. However, a new mantra had joined its ranks: You're going to die. Soon.

While she knew there was no way that she — a female who'd been cheating the Capitol's system for several years and ended up reaped in her deceased brother's stead — couldn't die, really. But that didn't mean anything to the sixteen-year-old. Two days into the competition, ten down, and still largely intact, save for a few bruises that were no doubt yellowing underneath her jacket (this she dared not remove.) Nobody could blame Alexander Hood for feeling invincible. She had a weapon and, between she and her remaining brother, all the supplies that a tribute could think to need. Despite a lack of training, she'd performed exceptionally well with her blade, and nobody had really been able to touch her. What reason did she have to think about her death? Even with the bone-chilling cold and the two deserting brothers, it seemed as far away as ever. Farther.

Here she was, left with the one brother she felt most uncomfortable around. Maybe it was the fact that, of the four of them, Mace was by far the most likely to win — he seemed to have the head for it, where Aesop lacked the coherency and Denver lacked the common sense. More likely it was his eyes. Alexander found them unsettling, hollow, difficult to read. Whereas their former brothers' plans and motives always seemed apparent, making them easy to understand and easy to trust, the District Ten had never seemed that way. Alexander didn't see the harm in starting to trust him now, especially when her other support here in the Arena had disappeared when neither of them had been looking. Maybe they were the deserters, then, out of inattentiveness, while Aesop and Denver were the two true brothers. But it didn't matter; she and Mace were brothers now, thrown together by circumstance more than fraternal bond at this point.

Besides, it didn't really matter if Mace would want her dead eventually; the Capitol wanted her dead, and that meant she couldn't make it out of the Arena alive. (She still had to remind herself that she didn't want to make it out alive.) After all, what life of punishment would be bestowed upon her for cheating the system and again defying the Capitol by simply not dying? Alexander didn't want that for herself. Didn't want it for her siblings, either, even though it meant District Seven would go another year without a victor. How had that thought even wormed its way into her mind? The lumber district didn't matter to her anymore. Her siblings back at home? She should care, considering she'd given her life to provide for them and would give the rest of it because she'd been ensnared by the unintentional trap laid by Panem's governing city. Now here she was. Completely screwed.

"Fuck that." Definitely. Moments later, Alexander realized it wasn't her own situation Mace was referring to — because how could he know? Nobody did. Nobody could. — but theirs. Their deserting brothers. Mace had become the only other person included in her pluralization; us had been divided in two, into a we and a them. "Fuck that," she agreed, though her words carried much less weight than his had. They were much like the scenery around them: barren, cold. Indifferent, really; she'd made up her mind. Aesop and Denver — Absconder and Deserter — weren't her brothers anymore. And it was fair; they'd been the ones to disown her. "Guess now you're my only brother here."

She only needed one, really, if that; Alexander was used to depending on less at home. The quartet had been useful for the fighting, for the wealth, but she could make it as far as she needed to with just Mace. Besides, it wasn't as if she had a set goal. She wasn't going out until the Capitol forced her, and she might not come quietly, but she certainly was not about to win. Unlike the other tributes, Alexander's goal was not victory. It couldn't be victory. But she certainly wasn't about to go and let herself starve to death — that would be miserable — so when Mace suggested that they look for food, she hastily nodded her assent, adding on a "Sounds good" for reinforcement. She followed through the snow, mind blank to keep her thoughts from reflexively reeling. If she didn't mull over the Games or ponder how things were going back in Seven or wonder where the hell Absconder and Deserter wandered off to, the long journey to — well, to wherever they decided they could find food — was made much shorter, the cold kept to a minimum.

However much longer, the two brothers came upon a break in the endless span of white: a black cave, impenetrable darkness beyond the mouth. Mace asked if they should go in, but it took her a moment to come up with a response. On the one hand, she loathed the idea of being trapped somewhere by the Gamemakers, vulnerable to falling rock traps and mutt attacks and whatever other atrocity they could cook up. Yet at the same time, they needed food, and it might be good to get out of the bitter wind, if just for a moment. She frowned. In the inky abyss before them, they'd need a torch or something to see. "Yeah, I think we should," she decided. "But let's melt some of this snow for water first, don't you think? And light a torch or two from that fire. I'm not worried about anyone seeing; we can take them if they come for us." The question was more of a rhetorical one, and Alexander set to work building a fire out of some of the wood in the area — no species that she'd ever seen before, though it most resembled teak. It wasn't much effort for the District Seven, who'd spent her entire life working with lumber. In no time, she had a small blaze going and was busy packing two water jugs with snow to melt.

Eventually, she stood up and offered a jug of water to Mace, along with a makeshift torch — though this was really more of a log that was flaming at one end. She grabbed her own supplies along with a torch for herself. "Ladies first," she said with a smirk, gesturing for her only remaining brother to enter the cave before she did. Nobody had said she couldn't amuse herself, after all.

ooc — builds a fire using one match and firewood in the area (and firemaking.) Melts 2 jugs of water. Drinks 1 jug of water.

Last Edit: Oct 25, 2011 15:25:37 GMT -5 by gm bourgeois decadence [aya]

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garnet beauford d8 [earthling]
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Better Run, Better Run {Mario&Luigi} Oct 26, 2011 17:51:11 GMT -5

Quote

Post by garnet beauford d8 [earthling] on Oct 26, 2011 17:51:11 GMT -5

for what it's worth, I always aim to please
but I nearly died

He'd found the further he got from the Waterfall, the better he felt. He wasn't sure if it was because they were finally passing out from under its shadow, or if it was simply that Alexander and he had finally found their rhythm. He had a point, after all; they were all each other had now, brothers against the onslaught of winter. It was the grimmest form of companionship, but was better than nothing at all. For all ranching and ranging, Mace was used to a full house, with brothers and sisters to spare. To have just the one left made him feel lonely, feel even further from home.

Reluctantly Mace stowed the knife in his belt. It was clear that nothing was going to come out of the Caves to attack; they'd have to make the first move. He hooked his thumbs around the straps of the rucksack, beyond grateful that he had acquired better gloves. They were tough, maybe even cow hide, on the exterior, but soft and warm on the inside. They made a pleasant cocoon for his calluses as he eyed the cave's maw. It was decidedly not worse than the waterfall, which was an improvement. What he wouldn't give for some weeds or mammals thought. He was still contemplating the sense in going into a dark, exitless place when Alexander spoke up. "Yeah, alright. Smart.

[/color]" Mace collected a few logs for the fire, watched Alexander's hands work their magic. His stomach had taken on a new form as the water boiled, become a monster in his center, ready to eat him whole from the inside.

The water was the first warm thing he'd touched in days. Mace gulped it down greedily, and when he paused, felt a momentary rush. The world sharpened, came back into focus. He could differentiate between the snow and the sky. And with the return of his mental faculties, Mace realized that what he needed wasn't a jug of water, or snow, or even milk. He needed some food, and he needed it soon. "So, that was good," he said, starting slowly. With the dehydration fading, Mace was slowly coming back to himself, and the etiquette he had thrown by the wayside. Of course, Mace was no gentleman. He smirked at Alexander as he seized the invitation. "Bitches second."

With the cat o' nines swinging at his back, Mace lifted his chin, forced himself to be in the fields on a moonless night, and marched forward. He'd once heard that all wise men fear nights with no moon, and how was this any different? It wasn't ridiculous to have a fluttering in his stomach, a quickness in his veins. There was every reason to believe this cave would swallow them whole, if the Capitol had anything to say about it. And they did. He had never been more in their domain than right at this moment, facing an endless stretch of night. The torch flickered, gasping as he stepped out of the wind and into the strange ecosystem of the Caves. If the walls had any colors other than black, he could not discern it. Not too far in, though, the bushes became leafier, fanned out in strange ways. Like ivy, he finally remembered the name of the plant.

He kept the torch waving slowly from side to side so that he could see both walls. About ten yards in, the path curved, and Mace turned to take one last look at the blue-white entrance, before he plunged into the depths. The ground remained level but he stepped in puddles of icy water every so often. The vegetation, against all science, grew thicker as Mace pressed on. It changed too, from stuff that clung to the rock, to vines that dangled from the ceiling, to bushes that yearned towards the windy center. When Mace's foot came down into a puddle and stuck, he finally stopped.

He bent down, touched the puddle and came away with his fingers slick with mud. He held them close to the torchlight to show Alexander. "That ain't normal. Trees need sunlight, least they do in Ten." And he new that first hand, as he'd had to replant several of their fruit trees over the years to get them out of the shade of larger trees. Mace moved the torch over the creeping plants, fingered the leaves. He wanted meat, a whole gorram cow, but he would settle for salad. "Looks alright to me. Sure as shit not what I want though." Mace plucked a few of the furry leaves, fairly sure that they were sage. He gave it a good sniff, his fingers trembling with the effort to keep it out of his mouth.

And then he swallowed the four of five he'd taken whole. His adam's apple bobbed. Mace shrugged. "Hope those don't kill me. It be a really shitty end to things." Mace tugged open the zipper of his pack at his side, and then began to grab leaves by the handful, stuffing them inside.
[/blockquote]

Mace has drunk 1 jug of water, eaten plants, and collected more for later.[/size]

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Last Edit: Oct 26, 2011 17:52:23 GMT -5 by garnet beauford d8 [earthling]

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