» scared, the yellow

"Ah," quintessential vertigo, "fuck, fuck." Redwood twigs and barefeet smacking against the forest floor, Lorenzo's dress hiked up to midthigh. Somehow this all felt more familiar to him than he thought it would-- he expected something other worldly. Something so jarring, he had talked to Mace about it. Wild visions and guesses; he had expected to be wrong. Answering "so, what're you prepared for?" with nothing more than a grin and a "candyland arena, I reckon?" 

Which was true, an hour into the arena and he already missed the buffet train from the Capitol. Strange the way he warmed to it, forcing himself to play the role of sacrifice because it's the easiest way. He had always wanted to die fat, and bald for that matter. Live until he could see himself grow facial hair and maybe if he kept running he'd just might make it there. Fourteen nearly fifteen, just a week more- right? Just one more week? 

Lorenzo caught his breath in the way he fell, toppled over tree roots and face smacking through fog into the dirt. Harder than expected, a one, two, deep breaths before hitting on his feet again. If he wasn't such a fucking idiot, he'd have been more prepared for this; ready for this, even. Just navigating, knowing where to go and god knows Mace and Mack and even Temple tried for a hot second. 

Hell, maybe even Ansgar. 

Less traveled, it was luck that brought him through the woods safely. Luck and hell of endurance, Enzo hadn't bothered trekking with any means of organized chaos. Just of its own nature, weaving through trees until he ran out of breath and even walking after that; tributes would span out over time. Drain through the pathways and expand through the arena and he knew that much, that the second he stopped was the second the rest would catch up. 

And, like a bullet, would go his plan. The second he's spotted, how long- could he go? For how long could he just wait out deaths and pretend he was just a twenty - fifth spot, someone unallocated, wait until Temple cleaned through the waves and just the two of them left. He could grow out a beard, make a nice house, have a nice family or something -- something. 

Well, not here. 

He sighed to himself, cheeks pale and the fog still thickened to his lungs. The smell of tar met him like the first time he saw Ansgar, something alikened he assumed to dying. he assumed to dying.  There was Mace and Ansgar and Saffron and Justice and Mack and none of them were rooting for him per say, but they weren't hoping he'd drop dead in the immediate period. So.

There was that. And there was him running through the field, plants brushing past his exposed calves. He made it a point to tear the dress's edge when he got a chance, at least high enough to where he could run without it getting in his way. Straddling the javalin pouch, it felt weird being so alone. Existing in quiet with ferns kissing his bruised ankle. Enzo had been tripped once, twice-

three times. A loud "fuck me-!" He'd always been a clumsy dumbass. Loose spills of tar stuck to him, 

[ firestorm ]