plague iii {{ day three ; outlanders/mutts

"You gotta be more careful."

Dane's voice came out of the dark, gentle and kind. Kite had been sitting quietly against the base of a tree, Timothy still attached to his wrist and sleeping soundly beside him. There was a security in having him there. There was no question now if he still existed because Kite could feel his friend right beside him. The darkness often swallowed many things but Kite was used to that now. Timothy gave him lightness.

Kite sat quietly as Dane carefully wrapped a bandage around his wound. He wasn't certain what to say. Would it be strange to tell him that no one had ever tended to him like this before? He'd gone to the hospital every now and then, like when he was little and lost his eyes or one time when he was ten he'd needed stitches on his knee but that had been the nurse's job.

Dane bandaged him out of want.

Maybe even care.

"Thank-you," Kite said to him, a sort of awe in his voice. He had become strange and sad over the years, certain that he was a background object, a strange permanence that people were more than happy to ignore unless they were interested in stealing his beggar's hat full of money. If Kite had known that becoming a tribute would solve this loneliness, then perhaps he would have volunteered sooner.

"You have kind hands, Dane."

- - -

The morning was a strange time, being handcuffed to Timothy.

Kite lay in silence for awhile, wondering what he should do. He had to pee and the urge to do so was growing large by the moment but Timothy was not awake yet and they were handcuffed together. Waiting for him was going to be a trial of his patience. Kite listened to the sounds of the morning, biting his lip until he couldn't take it anymore.

"Timothy," he said in a hushed tone, "I need to pee."

Kite had never been handcuffed to anyone before and he wasn't sure how this would work. He needed to use both hands to pee because it was already difficult enough to aim without being able to see, let alone with one hand. He hoped Timothy had a key.

He heard Timothy rumaging in his things for it and then they got up to go find a safe spot. Kite held his wrist out for Timothy to uncuff him and then there was a splash and a muffled curse.

"Ah," Kite said, "When I become a corpse you can cut my wrist off if you like."

He tugged urgently on the cuff, his bladder on the verge of exploding, "Please leave it for now though."

Going to the bathroom was an interesting endeavor.

Kite knew without seeing it that Timothy's hand was very close to his penis but the need to pee was so bad that he couldn't find himself caring too much. Maybe it was easier for him, not being able to see, in this situation.

Timothy was quiet, perhaps embarrassed. Kite did not feel the same way. He had done many things in his life to stay off the streets in the winter, being intimately close with another boy was nothing new to him. That intimacy had been ruined for him long ago, it was simply just another way to stay warm for him now, that emotional attachment that most people formed never having been an issue before; Kite had never had friends.

He was quiet as they walked, hoping that Timothy did not feel weird. He didn't want to lose him as a friend over him seeing something he hadn't wanted to see, especially not now that they were handcuffed together.

He was about to say something when Dane spoke, telling them to be careful.

Kite turned away, a sound of something approaching catching his ears.

"I think they've come to kill as again," he said softly before reaching into his pack to grip his knife tightly.

[Kite attacks Nightwing Troll ]
|pyD41n5knife
[2139 -- Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 ].

These were the monsters he expected to meet in the arena.

A skeleton, made up of the same stuff as nightmares, clad in armor with a sword to do its dirty work, and a creature with green skin with webbing between its arms, and vulture-like claws glinting in the sun. These were monsters.

And they were all terrified.

Dane wondered if they had been designed for anything other than the element of fear. Who would have created them for anything else? They green creature grunted, communicating with them, laughing at them for their fear. The skeleton remained silent, a corpse still, despite it's granted mobility.

"Fuck." Dane said, and the creatures attacked in response.

The skeleton moved quick for a dead person: Quicker than Dane would've ever imagined. One second it was just standing there, lifeless looking and terrifying. Dane thought maybe it was just a skeleton for a second: just standing there to scare the shit out of anyone who passed. But when it finally moved, it was a bolt of lightning, and it's sword a guillotine to Timothy's head.

His head made a thumping noise as it hit the ground, and everything afterward became white noise.

He did not hear the cannon, or hear screams of terror or growls of pride. He heard his heartbeat thump, thump, thumping within his skull.

And the world lost it's colors, all of them except one:

Red.

He let out a howl of anguish and mourning, not even bothering to care that the green creature had gotten it's claws on his leg in his moment of weakness. He knocked the thing back with his shoulder, noticing but not caring that it's claws ripped into his leg, and he turned on the skeleton warrior.

"Time to die, motherfucker."

Without thinking, without caring for consequence, Dane Allore attacked.

{zoe}

Celia stabbed first, and Dane followed suit immediately after. Together, they ripped Timothy's murderer apart at the seams. "What is dead may die again, it seems." Said Dane, flexing his leg to stifle the pain in his leg.

He tried not to look at Timothy's head, or his body, or the pool of blood that softened the already too-soft ground. He tried not to care that his friend with eagle eyes and feathers for flesh would no longer be allowed to fly, or perch on the highest branch he could find. He was dead, through and through.

And for the time being, Dane was not, and he planned on keeping it that way.

"Your turn." he grumbled with malice.

He was no good at killing people: that much was clear.

But Dane Allore was the slayer of monsters. He'd been raised with wolves and things much worse. He knew how to tame a beast and he certainly knew how to slay one.

He raised his axe over his head one moment, and in the next, he buried it deep within the sickly green flesh of the creature's head.

It stopped squirming almost instantly: fell to it's scaly knees, toppled over to it's left, and stopped breathing.

Dane's weapon made a sickly, sticky, splintering noise when he unhinged it from the creature's skull. If he had closed his eyes, he could have been pulling his axe from a particularly rotten piece of firewood.

"I don't do well with creatures of the night." He said with a huff of air. He made a point of avoiding looking in Timothy's direction. He wouldn't-- he couldn't see him like that. He would remember him as he was when he first saw him: perched on a climbing station, watching him long before he ever noticed anyone was there.

"I don't do well with... monsters." He continued, pretending not to notice the stares of his allies.

In a moment, Dane Allore had gone from the weak spot of his alliance to the slayer of beasts, and he knew the world would be shocked.

"It's... It's whatever."

{zoe}