He's Gotta Be Fresh From the Fight // [Hero + Laide Call]

The world on the horizon seemed to extend forever, and Hero aimed to find some semblance of land beyond the lone mountain in the center of the Arena. He didn't know how he knew he would find something else, for the islands in the distance could easily be another trick of the Gamemakers, a mirage to draw the hopeful tribute to his death.

When his raft nudged against the edge of a sandbar, Hero let out a disappointed sigh.

So much for an island.

Pulling the raft ashore, Hero collapsed on the sand. If nothing else, this was the best place he could find to defend himself; the land was flat and clear of any vegetation, and the ocean spread all around him. If anyone was to sail this way - unlikely, given the other tributes' complete ineptitude on the water - he would have ample warning.

Hero rested in the sand, flat on his back, legs in the water. While he was thankful for the bandages on his wounds to keep the sand and salt out, nothing could be done to get the FUCKING LOBSTER off of his face. Though its presence irked him beyond measure, what worried him more was the ominous noise emanating from the creature.

God, did it worry him.

The damned thing made it too difficult to lay flat, so Hero pushed himself up and explored the tiny strip of sandy sanctuary.

Admittedly, his search lasted about 30 seconds, because the strip was only a few dozen feet wide. The wind from the sea tossed sand over a lump of something in the ground, and the odd shape quickly pulled at his attention.

He rushed over, hoping for a treasure, something to help him survive. He didn't know what he would find - maybe a deadly blade or something more to help him tend to his wounds - but no.

It was a bunch of bottles. Twisting the top of one open, Hero took a long sniff and coughed.

"Ahh."

It wasn't just one bottle, but a whole case. He could drink his way through the entire ordeal, couldn't he? Just roll up to the island on the dinky raft, drunk off his ass, swinging like a madman.

He eyed the sky for a moment, and figured the weather would hold for awhile.

So he opened a bottle and took a drink, laying back in sand. In one hand, he held the bottle. In the other, he pulled the Villain plushie to his chest and held it there.

"I don't know what you want me to do."

Hero jumped, clambering to his feet. Fuck, fuck, where was his weapon? It was on the boat with his backpack, and the voice was too close for comfort. He spun around and clung to the neck of the bottle, deciding quickly to use it as an impromptu weapon.

He spun, and spun, but nobody was there.

"Who's there?" he half-yelled, brandishing the bottle above his head.

The alcohol made his head buzz. Did the Gamemakers put something in it? Was there something wrong with him?

A scream echoed in his ear, but the sound seemed.. distant. Far away, like it was happening in a dream.

"Where are you?" he asked, lowering the bottle somewhat. "I don't want a fight."

This much was true, for he was already half-dead.

Even as he spoke, a cloud of uncertainty descended over Hero's head. What if this person was a threat? What if they were actually close by? What if they meant to harm him?

He took a deep breath, in and out, gathering his bearings. The booze made his head foggy, and it happened like a switch turning in his brain; all of a sudden, he forgot to worry. The disasters of the day fell away like water, and Hero settled into a state of calm, his concerned thoughts falling to the ground and burying themselves there.

Breathe in, breathe out.

"Adelaide Throes, reporting from the top of the mountain in the Seventy Sixth arena."

Ah.

Though the name meant nothing to him (he was bad at names) he nodded into the lobster like it made perfect sense. He missed the next thing she said because the alcohol pulled at his attention, though he assumed it was something important.

"Uh -"

He paused, resting a hand on the lobster, trying to ignore the inconvenience of its presence. He was certain, then, that the damned thing was the cause for this conversation. So maybe it wasn't all bad.

"Hero Marvray," he said matter-of-factly, and he dropped his weapon. In a moment, he collapsed back into the sand, losing caution by the second. "Reporting from the middle of the deep blue sea."

Except, well, she didn't hear him say it.

"You'll have to repeat whatever you've just said. My koala has a personal vendetta against all good things in this short life."

He said the first thing that came to his mind.

"What the fuck's a koala?"

He paused, rubbing at his nose.

"Hero. My name's Hero. I'm here in the Arena, but I've found this bit of sand, and there's - well. A lot of sand. And some rum. Well. A lot of rum."