nocturnal spirits [abnb vs mutts day 2]

Day never comes; only night stays. Moonlight glittering over the area in a stillness which shakes him to his core. The shiver down his spine feels as if he's being hunted by someone else, but Finnagan Davies is meant to be the hunter. Unnatural gazes seem to burn into his skin as he holds onto the medical kit from the blood river. The evening is nothing more than a warning sign for him. A full silver moon filling the sky above. His eyes focusing on the gleam as his inner voice threatens to scream. The desire to howl in his throat as he pulls himself together. Fingers gripping his thighs in pressure of sharp claws aching through the skin. His eyes glowering up above at the sky. He can't help the desires building in his chest. The need to kill others bubbling through the veins of his skin.

Instead, he looks to Anika. The purpling bruise no longer visible behind the makeup covering the mark. The bruising along his chest has gotten worse with purple smattering through the new hairs growing through. A splattering of hair, (or is it fur?) coming through the purpled skin. A heavy breath as he sinks into the grass surrounded by the blue flowers of a blood river. The smell intoxicating in many ways. A beautiful floral and the stagnant metallic nearby that's threatening to take over everything. The voice comes carefully. "We should rest here." Laying onto his back, he tosses his pack behind him as a pillow for the evening. He's found a solitude to being in the arena. The silence all around is nothing alike to Twelve. In Twelve, there's always chatter somewhere. Miners who've broken even for the day. Rebels hiding in plain sight with their pathetic egos above everyone else. Families surviving their day to day.

"I'll keep watch for tonight." Words fumbling through the air as he grimaces in slight pain at a shuffling of his own stance. "Don't expect it every night though, punk." Covering himself tighter in the letterman jacket, there's a quiet moment where his head drifts to the weakness in his own heart. Was he getting soft? Did he offer to keep watch because Anika reminds him of home? There's no certainty in his heart, but he keeps his eyes focused on the darkness of night. The moon glittering above as he stares to the sky. God, he could use a smoke already. Or a drink. Both would be nice. The day comes to a close with the moonlight crossing the sky, an endless sea of black and white. Shadows dancing along the surface every bit or so out of the corner of his eyes.

The shrill of an organ echoes through; endless sea of death upon his ears. Faces in the sky coming one by one. A Fray, left behind in death, nothing more to the name than death. Finnagan could only feel relief and joy at the sight of a career fallen somewhere far away. The others are from Three, with faces unrecognizable. The one guy had been a cousin to the psychopath from Three a few years back. A smile pulling onto his lips with the venom of his own desires. Three down and twenty more to go. As he stays up for the next couple of hours, he lives in the knowledge that he's closer than he was before. No one could keep up with him. Not even Anika. Sooner or later, everyone in his way will perish. Stabbed through the heart with thorns of his own creation. Ruin beneath his fingertips, the taste of which feeling comfortable. Claws extended out to the moon, reaching for the comfortability in the painful serum underneath his veins.

Morning comes with exhaustion. Eyes opening after his sudden tiredness staggering him to sleep. Body aching all over as hair, (or was it fur?), comes into view. Facial hair starting to burn into his jawline. The feeling of fire all around him as he yawns through the aches. Eyes focusing on the mist surrounding them. The chill echoing through his skin. An uncomfortable feeling of having slept on the cold ground for the night. Letterman jacket only doing so much to starve off the chill. Getting up, he looks to Anika. Bleary eyed and filled with his own early morning grumpiness of bad sleep. Letting the words slip past his lip as he nudges her with his hand, staying a good distance away to avoid being stabbed if she jumps.

"Wake up, princess. It's mornin'.

Stretching out arms, the crack echoing along the fog covered ground. The blood river looking mystical in every means. Metallic smells filling his lungs as he groans in reluctance of leaving, but they had to keep moving. Others surely would be coming to follow. A whole day was ahead of them. Silently, he waits with careful watching eyes at Anika as he speaks. "We should get going as soon as we can. Never know when any of these fuckers will strike." A dark laugh from his throat as he continues. "Though, it'd be their fucking funeral." A shrug of his shoulders as he slings his backpack onto his shoulders once more. Bandana tied around his arm, careful to keep his image up like Anika. Though, he didn't give a shit if anyone back home or in the capitol liked him. None of them mattered. The gamemakers were the only ones he needed to impress. They couldn't give a shit about him if his score was anything to indicate about them, but he wasn't going to let any slip ups make him quit on his endeavors.

None of them knew what thorns he could create. The roses to be plucked and soaked in blood of his own strength. Finn was the predator in all of these places, hunting around to strike anyone down. A laugh wants to burn through his chest, but he leaves it in the back of throat. Sliding down to the pit of his stomach as he marches off, letting Anika follow along. He doesn't work well with others, but he knew there'd be more to the games than just himself. Anika was useful in every way, but he wouldn't let himself be attached or be a friend. Friendships don't last in the arena. All it leads to is death. Having a heart is weakness when it comes to blood. It's why Finnagan's ripped his out years ago. Stabbed through it metaphorically as a child to save himself from the ruin of the world.

The waterfront of an actual lake reaches his vision. Water lapping up to the shore; echoing unnatural to him, but Finn's making his own head believe it's just water. The indigo color with fog fading over the water itself only makes the hair on his neck stand up. The only way forward was the water itself. His eyes glance around as he speaks to Anika. "Looks like we've hit the edge of how far we can go." As the words slip out, he notices the row boats a small bit away. Oh, this was a bad idea. The smell doesn't quite seem as if the water is actually water, but it's hard to tell. Horror films from the capitol have come forth about monsters in lakes. Teenagers trapped upon a boat in the middle of a lake where the monsters lurk to drag them in. A sigh falls from his lips as he continues.

"Well, the only way forward is to get on one of those row boats."

It was a bad plan, but Finn knew there wasn't any other way forward.

Stepping towards the closest boat, he pulls it away from the beached ground as he pushes it carefully towards the water. There's no holes in the bottom, but he's got a feeling in the back of his neck. Eyes seem to be watching them. Careful and interested. Instinct telling him to leave the lake. Except, the way back would lead to running into others. Quieting his own internal worries, he continues. "What's the worst that could happen?" In that single moment, he knew he should have kept his mouth shut.

As they climb aboard, paddling into the lake. There's a feeling of uneasiness that burns through his chest. Somewhere, he feels as if a thorned vine grips at his chest, tugging and pulling with all it's might. Eyes focused on the water and the way forward. Avoiding surprises from other tributes should have been the least of his worries, but he couldn't keep his big mouth shut. As he rows, he notices a movement from the water. Eyes focused on the slight movement as his heart tells him. It's fucking real. Something's in the fucking water. Voice uneasy as he speaks. "Did you see that fucking thing?" Hopefully pointing it out to Anika would make it less real, but as soon as his voice comes out. There's a shadow somewhere there.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

His crossbow is tied to his hip, there's not enough time to pull it out. Instead, he feels the ache at his fingertips and takes a heavy breath. The serum coursing through his veins as he continues to talk. "This is fucked. Watch out, Khan!" Swiftly leaving the oars in the slots, unable to fall into the water, he moves. Heart hammering in his chest as he can feel the ruin beneath his fingertips. There's only one way to take on a shadow spirit. Finnagan Davies had spent years learning the shadows very well. His eyes weren't wrong. There was something there. In the water, they were being watched. A surprise attack was imminent, but he wasn't going to let some muttation get the jump on them.

"Alright fucker, let's go. Mano a mano!"

Veins burst with the ache of claws forming, sharp and pointed as he lashes out.

Let the fucking hunt begin.