sympathy is a knife [tick & kingston | day 1]

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Tom
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OowoO

sympathy is a knife [tick & kingston | day 1] Oct 17, 2024 15:58:00 GMT -5

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Post by Tom on Oct 17, 2024 15:58:00 GMT -5

K I N G S T O N
C É S A I R E
♕ ♕ ♕ ♕ ♕

Rubble fades away; a dance of sky as far as the branches that surround him are. The dancing lights of bugs spread across the horizon where his eyes settle into the strain of bone and muscle. A dance of his own exhaustion across his brow; the spark of a hundred different emotions settling into his stomach. The stress of the day has already dissipated leaving behind the husk of Kingston Cesaire. A boy with no direction. A man who's stared electrical burns across his skin and still went back for more. Small hands were better than big ones; he's always been a bit more adaptable than most he knew.

It's how he's founds himself in a forest of shifting roots and knots tied within the ancestors of trees that haven't resided there for years, but pretend to be. Tales written across the wood itself as the lightning bugs dance across his eyeline; bulbous behinds striking through the air like electricity itself. If he'd not seen the natural area, he might've thought they were actual electrical sparks throughout. If only they could've been that. There's rumors in Three that the games are all a whole simulation. He's never really believed the line of thinking, but he could see how people thought that. In the arena, everything was mystical and almost seemingly perfect to a point of fake.

The silence is deafening for him. The emptiness of not having someone to follow his steps. Lonely. Cold. Tired. Heavy is the crown that weighs on his head; a king alone in the rising expanse of forest. If only he didn't know there were thousands upon thousands of watchers all over, he could've just faded away. A spirit within this wild kingdom; a lost soul that people occasionally talk about in Three. Instead, he stays quiet as he starts to hear someone else. It's a gentle quietness as he crouches and moves ever so closer with the same sparks as the lightning bugs around him. Axe hanging heavy from his shoulders, he stares through the branches; stalking like the predators he's seen already. Bite or bark. Run or chase.

Except, it's another tribute who's different.

Tick. He heard that name once. Just like a clock; ever turning according to it's own desires.

"Hey!" Whisper shouting out to the other, he stays hidden behind the branches. "Over here! In the branches!"

kingston collects items

Made by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

tick 12a / calla
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just a litle creacher

sympathy is a knife [tick & kingston | day 1] Oct 18, 2024 16:10:20 GMT -5

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Post by tick 12a / calla on Oct 18, 2024 16:10:20 GMT -5

T I C K

Having wet clothes as the sun goes down - not the brightest idea.

Except it's not his fault. He never actually wanted to go in the water. He didn't want to stand there on the shore shivering after, as the sky started to get darker, as Lu just sat there, seemingly fine with being damp all night.

Tick's not getting sick when he might only have days left to live. He feels sick enough as it is. It's that hint of a headache that's always trailing behind him, the chills that come and go, the nausea. He already feels like shit.

So he stomps off to find something to use for firewood. He's squinting through the din and collecting dead branches, filling an armful as he lazily hangs on to a knife, already fully planning on not sharing the fire with Lu.

"Hey!"

He stops dead on the path.

"Over here!"

And, a little incredulous, he glances over.

Kingston Cesaire. District Three. Kept to himself for most of the week. Tick tries to wrack his brain for anything else he'd written down, besides the fact that the other boy ate alone, or that he trained alone, or that he just generally seemed to be alone.

Even his interview, Tick can't recall a single memorable thing. What did he score in training? It must not have been very noteworthy.

Maybe this does make sense, then. The whole hiding in the bush thing.

Tick stares through the trees. He looks Kingston up and down. More than a little judgemental. Maybe.

If this was supposed to be an ambush, it's not a very good one. Unless it's a distraction. But the rest of the forest is so still. The only other creatures here are the fireflies, little chips of light bobbing between the branches, skitter of the underbrush.

That's when Kingston shifts. And he's got a giant axe. Right there, sharp steel slung across his back. Which means Tick's demeanour suddenly gets about three degrees friendlier.

His expression shifts, and maybe his grip on the knife shifts a bit too, but he forces his shoulders down. He's pleasant again, like he's just come across a neighbour on a stroll instead of a murderer in a tree.

"Hi." He says, tone very normal, not weirded out at all. "Comfortable in there?"