A Collection of Forgotten Travellers
Jun 26, 2014 14:30:06 GMT -5
Post by анзие (Anz) on Jun 26, 2014 14:30:06 GMT -5
He runs for what felt like a really long while, runs until his lungs burned and his legs ache; the gash on his left arm leaks blood like a faulty faucet, red lines criss-crossing one another in some kind of intricate design that Leon cannot feel over the fire of pain brought upon him by Cystine Crystal's whip. (He thinks he remembers seeing Cystine fall not too long after, but the images are blurry and he hopes to high heaven that they never sharpen.) Behind him Leon feels the intimidating presence of a hunter and every instinct tells him to not stop, to go until he is alone with his friends (with Owen).
It is the realisation that the footsteps he hears are his own that brings him to an unsteady stop, out of breath and completely alone.
Leon takes a moment to calm his frayed nerves before scanning the horizon for any sign of them - for any sign of Charlie, or Aelia, or Owen. He is rewarded with the sight of dust devils spinning lightly over an empty plain, and the shimmery waves of heat over a sun-baked ground. His concern steadily rising with every passing moment, Leon turns a full circle before concluding that he must have lost them on his way out (because the alternative is too painful to think of). I thought they were with me. Guilt assuages him for a moment, and Leon stuffs it into a tiny box before casting it into the deeper recesses of his mind (where it may spring out like a jack should he see their faces hanging over his head at the end of the day).
"Frick," he mutters under his breath, squinting against the sun. Why must it be so bright? For a moment he wishes he's truly on stage where the spotlight may guide him to his friends, except that he isn't. Running a hand through his hair, Leon scans the horizon one more time (hopefully, tiredly, worriedly) before turning his gaze back where he came from. The sound of fighting is quiet now, but he doesn't know if it's over.
If they hadn't gotten out alive-
There's no time to think about that, because Leon has bigger issues than worrying about the fate of his friends. Turning away from the direction of the Bloodbath, Leon heads for any sort of shelter he can possibly find, to get away from the invasive heat that sinks its dusty claws into his skin - the nearest happens to be a convenient-looking boulder (that Leon almost skirts, eyeing it with distrust). Cautiously crouching in its narrow shade, he takes stock of what he's picked up. The knife he's got to come to know as a natural part of his body is bloodied, and Leon promises himself that when he has time he'll scrub it clean (just so he doesn't have to look and remember the way the other tributes' flesh feels as it gives way to the blade); he's got a water canteen - empty, though it should hardly surprise him - a scarf that he gratefully ties over his head to give him a weak semblance of shadow, a lantern and a bag. He stores both the canteen and the lantern in the bag before slinging it around his body; he secures his knife in his belt, where it will be an easy draw.
There is nothing for his arm, but there's not much to be done about that.
Casting quietly hopeful looks around him, Leon concludes that there is nothing good in simply waiting for a Career pack to rush through and destroy him; he pushes himself to his feet, licks his already dry lips, adjusts the surprisingly comfortable shoes on his feet before picking a direction and heading that-a-way. He has not taken two steps before the explosive sound of a cannon almost startles him into a run. He puts a hand on his thundering heart (remembering the beat of other hearts under the press of his lips) and tilts his head to listen.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Boon.
Five dead.
Nine-teen alive.
Are you one of the twenty? Are you alive?
Leon swallows and forces himself to keep moving.
He has no idea where he's going but he makes himself seem purposeful (because he knows how); he makes himself ignore the burn in his arm and the weariness pulling at his soul, the worry that pulls it apart (because there is nothing else he can do). Leon trudges onwards, aiming to place distance between him and whichever tributes who now hold the key to all that lies in the Cornucopia.
Not ten minutes has passed when he sees a figure in the distance; and his heart picks up speed and it hurts him to walk but he doesn't run.
You can waste away in a safer place
You'll get by, you'll survive
But are you really alive?
ooc: Leon receives iodine tablets from sponsor shop
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