i'm sure you're just a fun guy / storm vs fungal folk, day 2

He lives, for now. He lives, even as two more cannons echo across the arena and two more members of his competition find themselves forever ingrained intothe dirt. He lives, even as five unfamiliar faces flash across the sky, staring down judgmentally at him as if taunting him for the gift of life he still carries within his chest.

He's never been known for taking much seriously. Not at home, not at the training center, not anywhere, really. Not for the first time, he ponders if that's the reason he's found himself alone within the arena - who'd want to be responsible for a hyperactive fourteen year old who quite literally signed himself up for this in a year when only three people in total chose this?

(Yeah, he supposed he wouldn't either.)

But he does take this seriously. Takes in gazing up at each of the five faces who gaze down upon him in quick succession. Linnaea Valentine and Kassia Simmons from Three. Alex Henning and Niles Nolastname from Eight. Cain O'Malley from Eleven. Five kids who'd died so that he could still draw breath today. Five kids he'd never gotten to know, who'd never known him, who nevertheless served as unseen obstacles in his path to returning home and undoing the mistake he'd made.

To think that he'd once thought that doing this was an honor, a chance to prove himself worthy. All it'd done was prove himself an idiot. And Storm had never claimed to be the brightest bulb in the shed, but he still had his pride. And even if that pride maintained a vicelike grip on keeping his emotions and whatnot inside him instead of out (last night in the apartments notwithstanding), there was one thing that it couldn't hold back - no, one thing that it wouldn't hold back - was his innate desire to undo his mistake.

How ironic. He could handle doing something stupid and reckless to the point he'd prematurely end his life and shrug it off, but he couldn't bear having admitted to doing the wrong thing. Not in public, at least. Never in public.

He realized that if he made it out of here, he'd owe Avriel an apology or three. Poor guy must have gone through a lot having to deal with Storm's recklessness.

It's an easy decision to decide to move in the morning. The Gamemakers never really appreciated the solitary, and if the clinking of glass constructs in his bag, courtesy of someone named L dot K - man, Capitolites had such weird names - was in any way, shape, or form useful, then of course it would be a good idea to keep moving onwards.

(And no, it was not because in the night he'd heard the rustling and crunching of feet on rock, harboring the presence of other tributes or mutts, that he was terrified of running into all on his lonesome. No sir, not at all).

Not for the first time, he laments not doing more to build up his cardio in the year leading up to his volunteering. It's high noon by the time he approaches the river, and his poor legs seem ready to fall off at the knees, or maybe the hips, from overuse. It's an easy decision, therefore, to stop and take a break, shedding his satchel off of aching shoulders and henceforth collapsing onto his back on the vibrant green grass.

He decides then and there that if he's going to make it out of here, he'll get more into exercising as a hobby, if only for the sheer euphoric relief that floods his system upon rest. Is this what people mean when they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Because Ripred above, the absence of rest and relaxation has made this turn into the best pre-nap that he's ever had in his life.

It would have likely been the best nap of his life, too. But Storm is reckless, not unobservant, and the creatures aren't exactly stealthy.

Yet even with that, it takes a moment before he lifts his head. And it takes another before what he sees truly registers - a half dozen giant mushrooms, if mushrooms had tiny faces on their stalks and were staring at him ominously.

He blinks. The mushrooms blink back. He pinches himself, because surely this is some sort of exhaustion-induced dream. He gets nothing but a stab of pain in his bicep for his troubles.

Slowly, his brain registers - this is not a dream. This is not a hallucination. There are six living creatures that look like giant mushrooms surrounding him.

So, naturally, Storm does what any rational, clearheaded person in such a situation would do.

He screams, involuntarily lashing out as he scrambles to his feet. One flailing leg connects with the closest mushroom-creature full in the face, sending it tumbling head-over-heels straight into the nearby river.

It takes five seconds for him to grab his makeshift knife and get to his feet. Coincidentally, it also takes five seconds for the five remaining shrooms to register what just happened. And look, Storm's had many a disproving look sent his way over his life, but rarely has he seen true hatred.

Luckily for him, the shrooms seem more than happy to remind him just what one looks like.

"Is this why you told me to never, ever take shrooms, Eve?" he mutters, slightly breathless. "Because one day they'd gain sentience and attempt to claim revenge for their fallen brethren?"

Yeah, it's a little too late for that, I think.

With a battle cry of "Get back!", he stabs his knife directly in the direction of the creatures.