} s o i l | [walkers vs. spitting raptors // day3]

The second night that Curtis spent in the arena was a sleepless one. Though the pain in his body had lessened greatly, his mind had plenty of other things to think about during those hours. Like the lack of food and water that made his stomach cramp up and his throat dry, or the fact that only two faces had been in the sky that night. The sister fish from four that had taken his ear and of course, Ellea “Legs” Banks from five; the girl who had died by his hand. The contents of her token unsettled him to no end, and he had spent some time reading them over and over after the anthem had faded from view. But before perusing the contents of his reading material he had taken a moment to figure out who was still padding around the arena. Thirteen other tributes was a number that was still quite large for the third day. Funny how no one ever seemed to die during the night. The exertions of the day must keep everyone searching for the time to sleep.

So what’s all this then? The Queen of Spades and Potty are still around. And the blonde bimbo that took my arm. A three, Leg’s district partner, Cub, and a couple lower districts still out there. Careers are doing good for themselves. Can’t say I’d want to run into any of them though. Trouble enough with those chickens. Two’s company, three’s a crowd, fourteen is a... well its too many.Once the anthem had faded from view, Curtis’s attention had been focused on the folded pieces of paper that were really quite saddening. The words spoke of an innocent love, of two people that were only connected by their shared feelings, nothing else, for they had never met in person, prisoners of society, or perhaps of their own minds. Whatever the case, they appeared to have established quite a rapport. None of the papers were dated, so it was hard for Curt to guess as to when they may have been sent. Everybody's missing someone. Shoving the paper back into his bag, he lay down and stared at the cavernous ceiling. Sleep would not find him this night.

***

Their little band of three had set off early in the morning for somewhere else, knowing from past arenas that tributes who stuck to a single area often had to deal with all manner of “persuasion” to leave. Bran shifted occasionally on his back, and Alaska said little, the events of the previous day still weighing on their minds. How long had they walked? Curtis could not say. Eventually, the landscape became a mite more rocky, and he knew they were entering a new place; and as the statues began to enter his field of vision, he knew it was a sinister place to boot. An eerie quiet began to settle around them, and Curtis had the uncomfortable feeling that they were being watched. More so than by the hidden cameras. Eager to shake that thought away, he began to examine the statues, hoping to find some form of clue as to their purpose. He had passed several scenes of stony carnage before he saw one he recognized; that being one of a girl facing off against a tentacle that held her ally. Jana and Cyrus. The Kraken. As if the area wasn’t unnerving enough without the stony eyes of former tributes glaring about.

Now that he was aware of them, he decided to play a quiet game in which he guessed who stood silently around him. The ones who lay dead or dying were hard to guess, though it was likely they were all victims of the bloodbath; the ones fighting mutts or standing alone were a bit easier to guess. Like the pair over by the imitation latch crab. It was crawling towards a boy who was not amused, and behind him a girl bashing in the head of a lizard with a cooking pot. Few were the ones that had disposed of mutts in such a way, that he recalled them as Saskia and Razor. Tributes from when he had been thirteen. A blind girl and a career that had begun to talk to himself near the end were an unlikely couple, but what they had shown to the cameras was that a strange kind of love could be found in the arena. Never to last, given the nature of the games, but a theme that happened nearly every year in spite of that. Curtis was half sure that even now, a similar theme could be playing out somewhere in this year’s arena. After all, hormonal teenagers will be hormonal teenagers.

Staring into the other boys cold eyes he wondered how it must have been for the career boy. To lose his love, and then his sanity, before losing his life a stab or two away from victory. Still, when the camera had panned over to his dying face, there had been a sense of calm playing about his eyes. Would he find that? If it came down to it, could he accept his fate and go on to whatever awaited him on the other side? At that moment Curtis doubted it, because he felt anything but peaceful. Shaking his head he kept walking, trying to keep pace with Alaska, which was a bit hard to do with the kid on his back. Not that he would complain out loud. He needed Bran just as much as Bran needed him. If you couldn't depend on your allies... well. Curtis knew all about that now, as another statue he recognized came into view. The effigy in question belonged to one Michael Smith, the now infamous career. Much like the real Mike, it was cowering under the attacks of the stony long-legged Harp girl. It was his deed that had made Curtis realize that no one was to be trusted for long. Everyone had their own goals and motives.

But while he didn’t really trust Alaska all that much, he wasn’t about to go after her, betraying his district partner was unthinkable. In the same area as those two, he saw a few more that he recognized; fifty-ninth victor Mace Emberstatt kneeling in repose, another couple, these ones from neighboring districts, and behind them, a smirking statue smoking a cigarette, while perched atop wood. Curtis knew this one too. Sawyer. A district three that seemed to think differently from others in his position. Like the first statue he had stopped in front of, this tribute had made it to the final fight in the arena as well. Battered and bruised, and missing an arm, he had nevertheless made his third kill, before embracing his impending demise and making it his own. A fiery blaze in a frozen place.Have to admire his tenacity if, nothing else. I aim to live though. Got my work cut out for me.

A lack of footsteps coming from ahead of him caused him to look over to see doll staring at him oddly. Following her gaze, he was mortified to see Ellea looking right into his eyes. That is, a statue of her. It was looking over its back accusingly which Curt took his gaze off as he saw Alaska staring at a couple more. This portions got...us. The tributes of...now. Well, I guess if she died yesterday she’s technically a part of the past now...Curtis’s train of thought was interrupted by a thumping noise, and her turned to see Alaska backing away from...

Another pair of freaky-looking chickens. Man, I hate birds. he thought as he rushed up to help her. “Way to go doll, you found something that wants to eat us.”

[attacks Raptor 1]
[dice=200+1000]
[-- Deep Gash on Right Bicep -- 8.0 damage]

His strike took the thing in its wing, spraying blood across some nearby statues faces in a macabre fashion."Go for it Bud."

Bud used False Swipe. It wasn't very effective... or maybe it would have been if I could believe my eyes right now.As incredible as it sounded, Curtis could swear that the statue nearest to Bran had moved. And It would have had to, because Bran wasn't able to crawl anymore with its hand clutching him tightly."Hang on kid! We'll get you out of there in a minute!" While Curtis had known that lugging a paralyzed tribute around would be a challenge, he hadn't expected it to be this much trouble. At least he seemed safe for now. Which is more than he could say for Alaska. The bird thing had jabbed at her arm, drawing blood that began to ooze down from the wound."I did not sign up to be an all you eat buffet, doll. Next time you see something eyeing us, how about a little war-"Letting out a yell as the second of the things jammed itself into his leg. He fumbled, unable to grab the wound as his remaining arm was tightly holding his sword."Aaagh! Stupid blasted chicken wannabe...hrrng."

Blood began to seep down the front of his leg as he muttered several oaths under his breath. The wound felt as if it were on fire; and it was not comforting to know that if that thing had aimed a little higher he'd be singing soprano from that point onward."You doing okay buddy?" he gasped out. Just stay put, me and the doll will... we'll take care of these foul fowls." Taking a moment to collect himself, he wiggled back and forth a little bit, before swinging at the creature again.

"Polly wanna smacker?"

[attacks Raptor 1]
[dice=200+1000]
[-- Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage]

The closer of the birds was looking really weak now; another hit and it would be dead. Or maybe they'd get lucky and it would just die of blood loss. A pity that his blade hadn't taken off its head.

The chickens surprised Curtis by attempting to ram him and Alaska with their heads, which left a welt on his hand. It made him uncomfortable because it gave the impression that they were just playing around. Who knew what went on in their little animal heads. It wasn't as if they could talk. Although one did make a peculiar sound when doll stabbed at it again, before falling over and ceasing to move. With one down it was a heartening feeling that swept throughout his body. Of course, that may have been the poison he was thinking he had been infected with, as he had begun to feel a little dizzy, and he doubted it was from blood loss. "Oh whew. Nice one doll."Curtis turned slightly to check on the smallest member of their group. " Everything okay back there Bud? I didn't hear you say anything... The remaining mutt continued to advance so he lunged at it again."Who's a pretty bird? Pretty...freaky...bird."

[attacks Raptor 2]
[dice=200+1000]
[-- Shallow Cut on Left Shoulder -- 3.5 damage]

His sword glanced off of the top of its wing, and he sighed. These chickens were just too small for his sword to really get to.

It was nice to be able to take a breather. The second fowl had taken a knife to the face, courtesy of Alaska's good aim, and now, Curtis was able to see just what was going on with Bran. It was more than a little eerie that the statue holding him captive was that of the legless victor from twelve, and Curtis was sure there was a poetic monologue in there somewhere, but the fight had drained him too much to think to clearly about it." You rock doll... Now then... Bud...We'll.. we'll get you out of that mess in a second...No worries."A wave of dizziness swept over his head and he stumbled forward aimlessly before bringing the weapon down on the effigy of Heron Kimblering.

[attacks Heron Kimberling Statue ]
[dice=200+1000]
[-- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage]

His strike took a chunk out of the statues arm, flecking the ground with bits of stone chips." Man. What is this thing made out of?"