bite me | {bb v 2 kantutzan}

When Dan awoke the next morning, he was in a significantly better mood than the previous evening. Jem had apologized for his juvenile kill-stealing, which had done a surprisingly good job of dissipated the cowboy's anger. Dan, of course, did not apologize for his equally-childish sulking, which he felt entitled to, on account of the fact that he'd been the mistreated party in the situation. (No thought would ever cross his mind that the blonde girl they'd slaughtered was wronged in any way; she shouldn't've been so easy to kill if she didn't want to die.)

Their wagon had carried them to the riverbed, which was mostly dry. The rest of the arena, from what Dan saw, did not seem as if it would have much in the way of water, so the few muddy pits would be the ideal location — tactically — to form a base. That was, provided the area remained relatively free of environmental hazards. Based on Troutmouth's shrieking, Dan did not suspect that they were the first to make camp there.

"Jesus christ what the fucking fuck," he swore as a pair of giant two-headed reptiles descended on them. He'd never paid much attention to the wildlife in many Games, preferring to watch fights between tributes. Killing some fabricated monster was not nearly so interesting as watching another human become one. In the flesh, it was no different. Not a goddamn thing in the arena was scarier than Dan Johnwayne, but the dicephalic serpents were a close second. And the cowboy knew he wouldn't have nearly as much fun fighting an opponent he could not goad.

He and Jem managed to dance around the snapping heads well enough to avoid major damage, at least — and the ever-acrobatic Tiger leapt free of the snapping jaws with agile ease. Troutmouth, however, was not as skilled as the trio of careers. The District Seven took a fang to the back — maybe two, Dan couldn't see from his vantage point — which looked like it must've fucking hurt.

Axe in hand, he leapt over the snake that was snapping at him and made an effort to rescue Tiger's pet Seven — who the hell knew why — from its massive jaws. "Incoming!" he announced, bringing the bit down.

[attacks Zaphod & Marvin, axe]
892EZ7x9axe
[ 11075 | Severed Left Arm at Shoulder | 10 ]

One snake head's sluggish fang grazed his right arm as he brought his axe down. The cowboy flashed around and struck the snake down without a second thought, even though it was not the one he'd been trying to corral away from his allies. It made sense for him to be selfish – after all, there was no other way to play the Hunger Games: you put yourself first and foremost, or you died. Even that wasn't a catch-all; plenty of people died all the same.

But Dan needed them all the same — for now. They'd be handy when he ran into other packs of tributes — skilled as he was, even four-on-one was a bit much for the cowboy to handle — and were convenient distractions from the oppressive hell-heat of the arena. He didn't need them in perfect health for it, though, and it benefitted him to let them take a few hits. They'd be easier to kill that way, when all was said and done — and while he defended them now, he'd have no fucking problem playing executioner.

Even though he had no intention of returning to District Two except encased in wood, Dan still found himself thinking long-term strategy. It was impossible not to, not when the victory mindset was so pervasive throughout his hometown. He fucking hated it... and yet he found it infectious and inescapable. Perhaps it was his unending need to be the best (he was) or perhaps his sister's natural proclivity for competitiveness shining through, but Dan Johnwayne's end goal had somehow set itself to victory even as he knew he would not achieve it.

He tossed his axe to his left hand and brought it down with all his might, aiming to finish the stupid mutt off so he could get on with his life.

[attacks Arthur & Ford, axe]
b_BkoP8Vaxe
[ 11033 | Shallow Cut on Left Calf | 3.5 ]

And then he brought his axe down again. And again. It split in two, in three, and he kept chopping until the reptile was reduced to a bloody pulp of scales and bones. "You fucking had enough? You had enough?" He didn't realize he was laughing — or that his face had been splatter-painted crimson — until he tasted iron, and yet he did not stop hacking at the mutt until he'd reduced it to a fine mince.