in the distance when i look [cowboys]
Jul 5, 2022 20:38:05 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Jul 5, 2022 20:38:05 GMT -5
T E X
The arena goes quiet for a single moment as his spear touches flesh touches bone, carving into the flesh of the beasts that circle around them. They're primed for the slaughter with fangs bared, hearts pounding and muscles tense underneath torn through flesh. His own spear points towards their demise and salvation, into the mist as it erupts with the sounds of shrieks and howls one last time, the smell of iron and rust piercing the air and the grounds below.
Then it is still, ominous and painfully still.
His own breath breaks the silence first, stammering up from from his lungs and caught heavy in his throat as he stares out towards the shifting silhouette of the forest, a thousand cracking limbs swaying softly in the arena's wind. It's like the world around them breathes a sigh of relief and then a sigh of indifference, the fog clearing and the facade of safety trickling back into the view around them as they stand, weapons still drawn and eyes still focused on the shadows that flicker and dance amongst the trees, waiting for whatever is next to come after them.
After an eternity and a half, all shattered heartbeats and bleeding wounds, he realizes nothing is to come of the two of them anymore. They've given their entertainment and received their punishment in turn, in reds and blacks coating their skin and new wounds dotted against the landscape of their flesh. Pain comes in wave as he finally lowers his spear, the tip of it dropping into the foliage that coats the forest ground beneath them and the adrenaline beginning to seep from his veins. He should consider himself lucky, the way all of his limbs are still there, that there's still a heart beating inside of his own chest, that two brown eyes can still look into the dead spaces of the forest and see everything he has ever lost staring back at him. Luck, he repeats the word in the back of his mind and feels it cut deep. So twisted and strange, so unfair in a place like this.
"Kip." He finally breathes out his own partner's name, eyes still focused on the forest ahead as he reaches back behind him to make sure the boy is still there. He accidentally finds a new gash on the other's arm, feeling the warmth of blood coat his fingertips and hearing Kip gasp in pain. "Fuck-" The expletive slips from his lips as he spins around on his heels, skin still stained red as he throws the other's arm around his shoulder, the one between them worse for wear falling into his side. It'll be alright, he nearly says, but his own silence has never faltered to stupidity before and it wouldn't start then, wouldn't give way to false promises in a place like this. "We're alive." He finally settles on, omitting the last piece of the statement that claws at the edge of his tongue: for now.
Time moves slower in a place like the forest, with shadows darting behind the trees and the occasional rustle of the trees seemingly reacting to the way they hobble forwards. His spear sits lzaily out in front of him as they walk, pointed towards their death and their destiny as if he had any hope of defending himself against it. They stumble forwards for what feels like hours, until finally the forest gives way to a clearing and the next illusion of safety, light breaking through the trees in rays and illuminating the ground as if to highlight their own coffins. He wants to keep moving forwards, stifle the words and the worries and walk until their feet bleed and their legs snap, until they can't look back to what has followed them anymore.
Instead, he looks sideways to his ally and accepts whatever fate they have for the day, drops his bag in defeat but keeps his weapon laced in between his knuckles. It's only when he takes a seat against the nearest stump that the adrenaline drips from his body like a new kind of wound, slipping to the forest floor and causing exhaustion to wire itself into his bones. Amongst the soreness and the aches he looks back to Kip, watches the other examine the blade of his sickle again and again, as if to admire the new blood stains that stick to it.
He knows something sinister should write itself into his veins and his words as he stares at towards him, can see that the Capitol wants their loyalty to disintegrate by the way the cameras in the trees have turned red eyes onto the clearing they sit in. And to an extent he gives it to them, narrows his gaze and lets the thoughts in his mind seep forward in the wake of Cain's sudden death. He had heard Cain rustle and rise in his sleep, had heard Kip ask him a question that he never had the answer for. He knows Cain is dead and gone, a cannon in the night and a body not found.
But he knows that he is also alive, can feel his heart still hurting inside of his chest. If Kip had done the killing, would he not have dragged that blade against his own throat just to make sure the job was done?
"Who do you think killed Cain?" He asks, words awkwardly slipping from his mouth. It's accusatory on accident, untrusting simply due to the circumstance, and as he looks towards his ally he sets his gaze and stares absently as if a defense mechanism, writing stoicism back into his form.
[Search Mechanic - Day 2]
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