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Better Run, Better Run {Mario&Luigi}
Oct 23, 2011 0:55:52 GMT -5
Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Oct 23, 2011 0:55:52 GMT -5
for what it's worth, I always aim to please
but I nearly died
The blood flow to his heart, his brain was almost painful. He could feel the quickening at his neck, his wrists, his biceps and thighs. All those places that beat, beat, breat against him. They reminded him that he was alive, that he was moving forward through the frigid landscape. He tried to count them and lost track, heard her words instead of the rhythm. You either need to fix your aim or your heart... and he wasn't ready to fix either. They both seemed to be out of his hands; one too slow and clumsy, the other too quick and blinding. He had no control over his world, and that, more than anything, enraged him.
He was sure the girl had died slowly, regretted the aim of his spear. He wasn't sure he had the necessary tools to fix his heart. What would that even look like? But he sure as hell could fix his aim. He'd been stupid to avoid the combat stations, as it turned out. He hadn't wanted to tip off any of the other tributes, but he'd never been trained in hand-to-hand combat either. More of a brawler, really. He needed to at least try to improve himself, and there wasn't really any available targets at the Waterfall, except for the thing itself. And he couldn't really explain why, but it spooked him in a way nothing in the Arena - not blood, not death - had. He wanted to be away from its eerie halted movement, the very embodiment of the reaper.
By the time Mace had collected himself and cleaned his weapons, he found the landscape around him had changed again. It was clearer, crisper, and filled with far too few figures. He pulled himself up from the ice, having used it and some snow to scrub off the blood. As he slid the spear back into its makeshift holster, he turned in a slow circle, puzzlement and then anger pinching the folds around his mouth and eyes. Somehow he'd been ditched. But at least he wasn't entirely alone; he just had fewer brothers now. He could go after them, but there were several problems with that option. One, his ego. He didn't like to be left behind. Two, it would be hard to track someone who was drug addled. He'd dealt enough of Ten's weeds around the district to know what withdrawal looked like, or close enough.
And three, he'd really thought that he and Denver got each other. But here he was, quite literally cooling his heals with the only Bro he didn't understand at all. "Fuck that." He finally said, when he really meant fuck them. In his appraisal of the scene, Mace had spotted something in the distance. Everything in this world was blue, or white, or grey. But it had some sort of shape, and right that moment, it was good enough for him. He wanted something, anything, else, even though new things in this arena pretty much constantly turned out to be worse.
Besides, his stomach was long past growling. It was starting to cramp inward, to draw his breath away, to eat the stinging cold that he tried to fill his lungs with. He needed something, and he'd be damned before he explored the base of the waterfall. Anything to get away from that monstrosity. It only occurred to Mace once he had his mouth open and his attention on Alexander that maybe he didn't want anything to do with him. But the words were already choo-chooing along, and he made it a point never to ramble. "Let's go that way. I need food." Spoken like a true caveman. Mace rolled his shoulders, adjusted the pack, and started forward.
The awful truth, that he could feel in his stomach but couldn't quite form in his thoughts, was that he was pretty sure Alexander didn't like him, which probably meant that Mace couldn't trust him. But he couldn't - not yet and maybe not ever - bring himself to kill a brother. If Alexander wanted to knife him, he'd had to get through his rucksack and cat o' nines, or maybe he'd just go for his knees or heels. With the snow under their feet, though, Mace was pretty sure he'd hear him getting too close. He had his knives at his belt, and while he could have been more prepared for an attack, it was still not a bad place to be in. Except that the paranoia didn't suit; it only made him angrier.
For now, he would just have to decide to trust Alexander, who rarely spoke and when he did, it was hard to understand him, at least for Mace. There was a formality, an education, to his words, and a subtlety - like Alexander already understood how everything worked, how everything would end up. Maybe that was confidence, and he ought to listen and learn. Mace's thoughts slowly turned back to Cygnus, whom Alexander reminded him of, on the endless, unchanging walk away from the Waterfall. What were his real brothers - the Emberstatts - doing without him? Were the cows ranging? Was the herd still intact? And how were Marcelline and Verronica coping? Their faces swam in his thoughts, made impressions in the snow at his feet.
The arena began to remind him of something, and it took Mace a little while to place it. His dreams. Although the flora and fauna were dramatically different, the lack of color felt familiar. Black and white. That's how things ought to be.
Except maybe with less slippery ground.
He might've walked right by the Caves' entrance, if not for the change in the wind. He was used to paying attention the weather; when you were responsible for a herd of cattle, it was handy to know when a storm was brewing. He felt the pressure change, the wind disrupted. And then when he looked to his right, he saw it. It wasn't much from the entrance, a darker shadow, like nightfall come early. He turned, hunched his shoulders forward, dropped his neck. A knife was already in his hand before he thought about it. He definitely didn't like the idea of going in somewhere with one entrance, one exit. It reeked of a fox hole. He was about to suggest they turn back, when the shadow world began to sort itself out. It was almost like trees had started to grow in the caves, ones that looked healthy and, well, edible. Anything was edible at this point, except the snow. His stomach announced its presence as Mace came to a halt. "What do you think? Do we go in?"
Mace has collected firewood.[/size]
banner credit: jurate
lyrics:placebo for what it's worth
lyrics:placebo for what it's worth
