reunion in shadow — rafael &. bowie [blitz]
Mar 24, 2022 1:22:42 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Mar 24, 2022 1:22:42 GMT -5
He doesn’t wander much.
Rafael never had the bone for it. He has always been content on his throne, content in his luxury. That is, he has learnt since, a mistake he pays for now in ache, pain, and folly as the days dwindle and he feels more and more wretched.
Still no deaths.
He yearns to hear a cannon, to have it jolt his bones awake. These three days of mutts have dimmed something in him, and sometimes he is afraid that his ambition would never return.
But today, though his bones hurt and his skin feels raw, he has a moment to himself and can strategize clearer than he could before. Torso bare, skin freshly cooled from a bath, he makes a checklist in his head:
He files the list, pores over it once more. He has new objectives now, things to focus on, and it feels as rejuvenating as a bath.
But Rafael reassesses his third point when he hears movement. A hand is on the hilt of his dagger instantaneously, ready to unsheathe it, and he leans back further in the shadows as a figure approaches. The daylight casts their features gently: broken and battle-scared, a worn-looking Bowie apparates a few feet away from him.
He doesn’t loosen his fingers around the dagger-hilt. Taking count, Rafael is soothed by the lack of anyone around the other but he doesn’t lower his guard. That would be a rookie move. Cautious is how you survived.
He does, however, let a half of his face be limned by the light. Half-shadow, half-sun, he makes a smile as his first greeting.
Rafael says what they are both thinking:
“We’ve looked better.”
His eyes flit once more, scrutinizing discreetly, before they land back on the other. “Did Hades get to your companions, too?” Rafael asks. ”Strange games, this one. The mutts … they took the girl from Nine and Five.” The lie escapes him as easy as water through a crack. “Maybe they don’t want us to fight. Wasn’t there a games where they let the animals hunt us down?”
They both know though, that a games of that guesswork would put no value on entertainment.
Rafael never had the bone for it. He has always been content on his throne, content in his luxury. That is, he has learnt since, a mistake he pays for now in ache, pain, and folly as the days dwindle and he feels more and more wretched.
Still no deaths.
He yearns to hear a cannon, to have it jolt his bones awake. These three days of mutts have dimmed something in him, and sometimes he is afraid that his ambition would never return.
But today, though his bones hurt and his skin feels raw, he has a moment to himself and can strategize clearer than he could before. Torso bare, skin freshly cooled from a bath, he makes a checklist in his head:
1. He had left Fatima. Alone, with a raging sandstorm ardent on engulfing everything.
2. He had left Nowles. Or rather, he has put on a pause on searching for her whereabouts.
3. He was alone. The thought skitters down his spine, puts his teeth on edge.
4. He was alive. After three days, after countless fights and brawls, he was alive.
5. Orville was alive. A surprise there, really, but it makes him almost relieved.
6. The rest of the tributes were alive. Twenty one in total, a dastardly number.
7. His mech-suit was broken. Smashed through, in need of a repair.
He files the list, pores over it once more. He has new objectives now, things to focus on, and it feels as rejuvenating as a bath.
But Rafael reassesses his third point when he hears movement. A hand is on the hilt of his dagger instantaneously, ready to unsheathe it, and he leans back further in the shadows as a figure approaches. The daylight casts their features gently: broken and battle-scared, a worn-looking Bowie apparates a few feet away from him.
He doesn’t loosen his fingers around the dagger-hilt. Taking count, Rafael is soothed by the lack of anyone around the other but he doesn’t lower his guard. That would be a rookie move. Cautious is how you survived.
He does, however, let a half of his face be limned by the light. Half-shadow, half-sun, he makes a smile as his first greeting.
Rafael says what they are both thinking:
“We’ve looked better.”
His eyes flit once more, scrutinizing discreetly, before they land back on the other. “Did Hades get to your companions, too?” Rafael asks. ”Strange games, this one. The mutts … they took the girl from Nine and Five.” The lie escapes him as easy as water through a crack. “Maybe they don’t want us to fight. Wasn’t there a games where they let the animals hunt us down?”
They both know though, that a games of that guesswork would put no value on entertainment.
