pas de deux // jacob vs ike, day 6
Jul 20, 2019 13:31:45 GMT -5
Post by esther kim d3 {lance} on Jul 20, 2019 13:31:45 GMT -5
"Get out of here, Fel."
The very tone in Cedar's voice makes me freeze, solely for the fact that I didn't realize that the boy from Twelve was capable of spitting such venom. Of the duo from Twelve, both outside the arena and within, I'd always seen Red as the hot-head and Cedar as the more quiet, passive one - like me - but I suppose the Games can make monsters of us all.
Besides, who knows? Perhaps something deeply traumatic happened between when Red killed Kit and when we met here and now. Only they know. Well, and the rest of the fucking world, I guess.
"-next time I will." precedes a shot so ridiculously inaccurate that I'm not even sure if it was supposed to hit me or not. But the message was received, loud and clear.
Were I a braver man, perhaps I'd stick around a bit longer to hurl back a witty retort. Something like You can try, or even a long-winded speech like You sure about that? You've already had me at your mercy twice and let me go, so what makes you think there will be a third time?
I am not a brave man. I run like all the demons from hell are on my heels, not quite sure of where I'm going, only that it's far, far away from the Victor's kid and his deadly partner in murder.
The lights come back on eventually, and when they do, there's no one to be seen. Which is a relief, I suppose. Definitely moreso than a disappointment, given that at this point, I can only think of one person in this whole goddamned ship who wouldn't shoot to kill on site.
But I chalk it up as good, mainly due to the fact that the room I'm in when my sight is restored is unfamiliar as all hell - in the darkness, I'd somehow stumbled into a location I'd never visited before.
Sleep, nourish, fight to survive, explore. The four stages of the tribute lifestyle, each and and every one with a very real chance to prove your end. And yet somehow I'd avoided them all. For the moment, at least.
A hand reaches back, adjusts the flower that Kit had put behind my ear mere hours before his death. I'd kept my promise, refused to remove it through trial and tribulation, through rest and exertion. And he'd kept his in return. A good luck charm, to keep me safe.
My mind is in a fog as I go through the motions, ignoring the pain in my leg or the drying blood on my cheek. The discovery of medical supplies - a surprise, to be sure, but a welcome one - barely adjusts my mood, for I am still lost in the dark, firing at a little girl, a former friend, and what I thought was a likeminded soul burdened by the weight of his name.
It wasn't me that killed the girl. No, my shot had hit Halt, and it had hit him hard, but it hadn't been the blow that named his demise. No, that'd been Red's duty, lit by the glow of her sword or something or another, she'd hacked away at the child until her cannon had sounded. All because she'd been the first to strike Cedar in lieu of my own inaction.
Or perhaps she still viewed me in a favorable light. Which if she did, she had a damn funny way of showing it.
It is a peculiar black box that finally pulls me out of my thoughts for more than a few seconds, long after I'd used some of the medical supplies to stitch up my wounds and gathered the rest. There's a computer screen of sorts attached to it, though I can't make head or tails of the gibberish that appears.
But one thing does stand out, loud and clear.LAST TRANSMISSION SENT BY OPP◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️◼️Y
'My battery is low and it's getting dark'
The chill that crawls down my spine once the words register is nearly inhuman in nature.
Nothing of note happens again until well after dark. Natural, this time, instead of a sudden cut to the lights.
The anthem gives me names I barely recognize alongside Industria Spark from Three. The boy from Seven with the long ass name, and two Careers, the girl from One and the boy from Two, both shine on my watch before the numbers fade.
What's more surprising is the realization that follows soon thereafter.
I've made the top twelve.
No doubt there were plenty, both back home and watching for entertainment alike, that had marked me down as a quick death, an easy kill for someone with more skill and more determination to stay alive. Hell, if you'd told me at the very beginning that I'd outlive two-thirds of the Careers and had proved to be (mostly) self sustaining well into the sixth day? I probably would have chuckled nervously before telling you not to get my hopes up.
And I still haven't changed that mindset. Luck can get even the most unlikely of souls to the top eight, but I know that in the days to come, should I maintain that luck, I may as well consider myself fucked.
Even without the twelve already gone, I can name several off the top of my head that could likely kill me without a second thought should it come down to it. The two remaining Careers, the boy from One and Leet. The creepy ass girl from Nine. The mysterious girl from Ten. And of course, both Twelves.
Yeah. The odds may have been in my favor thus far, but you could say I wasn't optimistic about my chances.
That was where I found myself - curled into a corner of the ship, yet again lost in my thoughts, when it appeared.
The muttation is huge yet delicate at the same time, imposing yet, as I startle, quickly apparently nonthreatening. There's an intelligence in its eyes that I've yet to see from a muttation in person, but I've seen from afar and heard about in the past.
And for whatever reason, even after five days of fighting, I feel calmed by its presence. Trusting, even.
It clops over to me with hooves that barely echo even on a hard metal floor, antlers so impressive they could probably gore me in seconds. But there's nothing threatening about its movement, no sort of attack being primed up by a sadistic Gamemaker.
It stops, feet from me. Then it tilts its head ever so slightly to the side. Waiting.
Listening.
"I'm scared." The admission falls from my lips before I can stop myself. "I mean, I always have been, but...."
The next inhale I take is shaky, ragged with emotion. "I never thought I'd actually have a chance of going home, you know? But now that I'm here, now that I've survived this long-"
Goddammit. I am not going to cry in front of an oversized deer.
"-I don't want to believe t-that I can..."
Fuck me. I'm crying in front of an oversized deer.
"I'm scared." I repeat after a moment, no louder than a whisper. "And I'm not sure if fear is enough."
I shudder, I shake, I sob, five days worth of fear and emotions bubbling to the surface in an ugly cry I didn't know I had in me. And all the while, the mutt stands, watching. Listening.
When it moves, I expect my foolishness to be punished, for a hoof to cave in my head and end me right then and there for daring to show vulnerability in its presence.
When it nuzzles me instead, I think my brain short circuits.
And I can only watch, mystified, as it turns and disappears into the night.
Perhaps that's the reason my nerves are on end when I stumble back to the center of the ship the next morning. Confused as to all hell by a mutt, I guess I wanted something familiar. Something reassuring, something that reminded me that this was, in fact, the Hunger Games, and not a really bad acid trip.
The makeshift Cornucopia probably isn't the best place for that, given that the last time I was here, Kit and I had to fight off an entire alliance, and I suffered a cracked knee and cracked ribs before survival instincts kicked in.
Half of the people that had entered through here were dead. Some killed in this very room. Perhaps that's why it looks mostly undisturbed since then - not everyone would want to return to a location of which there was no doubt had become a graveyard.
Three had died this first day. Right here, mere moments after they'd been told to fight for their lives. And nine more since then, spread out across the arena. I'd personally seen two of them.
And yet it's quiet. Too quiet, even for a graveyard.
That just causes my anxiety to spike every time I hear a rustle or a BEEP of a cleaning robot. You'd think that after several days of being forced to share a residence with those fuckers they wouldn't surprise me any more. But if you had, you had severely underestimated my ability to flirt with the edge of panic in highly stressful situations.
And I know something is going to come my way eventually. There's no lights out, no buzzing of bugs, no angry goat things. Not that I'd expect any, this late in the Games.
No. There's only one type of opponent that the Gamemakers would send my way at this point. And the very fact that I have yet to be forcibly relocated? Yeah, I'd say that means that they're coming to me. Which, as you might expect, is a verrrrrrry reassuring thought.
That's why, when I first hear the clang behind me, I freeze. That's why, when the clang turns into a steady clunk clunk clunk of boots on metal, I waste no time in drawing my gun and pulling the trigger.
That's why, when my eyes land on Ike O'Nyle, the shot already fired from my weapon, my eyes widen and my mouth opens in a silent scream.
Oh fuck-
jacob attacks ike; laser blaster (1/8)
BMR|jopSuKthrowing knife
9063 -- Shallow Cut on Bicep -- 3.5 damage
throwing knifeBMR|jopSuKthrowing knife
9063 -- Shallow Cut on Bicep -- 3.5 damage