little red wolf [maggie // day 1]
Oct 16, 2019 22:55:45 GMT -5
Post by mat on Oct 16, 2019 22:55:45 GMT -5
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maggie mae
maggie mae
She takes refuge in the forest. Tributes are darting in all directions, but her movements are planned. Although she only made eye contact once or twice with the other places to start the journey, the forest spoke to her most. It would be a good place for cover and hiding, especially if she was on the run from other bloodthirsty opponents. And besides that, she's much more willing to take her chances with density than the openness and noisiness that's likely to be made down the pavement toward a village or the river where so many people are seeking fresh water.
Her pace slows gradually over time as the trees begin to become all she's aware of. Her arm throbs every other step she takes. Already the load she bears is becoming unmanageable. Holding onto what she can, she drops the bag that twists her grip. Maybe the survivalist in her is kicking in too soon, but the impressions of her footsteps are what worries her most. She could be getting followed or tracked, and any bit of weight that pulls her feet into the ground makes it that much more noticeable to an enemy.
A beeping falls slowly down behind her from the sky. The parachute latches onto a tree branch. Using the broom she had gotten in the Bloodbath, she gently pokes it down to her feet. Inside: a pair of scissors and a lantern. In a place with cover such as this, it could be handy to have this stuff for when the darkness falls. Taking the scissors, she cuts neatly into the sweater wrapped around the broom. Into a million pieces it falls, each one long enough to wrap around a wound. Call it crafty, or just call it common sense.
Afterwards, she continues to push forth in the forest. The trees mock her with every step. The remnants of cut branches frown and laugh at her, while the ones still remaining seem to point at her from every which way. Unsettling, she thinks, that the trees are the dream catchers'' eyes and ears here. One distasteful moment and they could send wolves or monsters to slaughter her. That's their game, and if it means surviving, she's willing to play it.
On the side of one of the trees lays a worker's batch of supplies. She scopes it out, most of it residing in a singular wicker basket. Great, her stylist is going to adore the irony of the girl in the red hood finding a wicker basket to hold her stuff.
Picking it up and placing the cake, the scissors, the lantern remnants of the sweater inside, she decides it's better than gripping tight into the handle of the apothecary bag.
Laying beside a tree are a pair of gloves and a saw, both of which she picks up. A lumberjack's ax is a much better fit for someone in seven. A saw has a nice blade with sharp edges, and much easier for a girl of Maggie's frame to hold.
It seems that within seconds, she's went from unsure about the manageability of her supplies to now confident.
The story her stylist told her before she threw her into the arena is slowly becoming contorted.
Little Red Riding Hood versus the Big Bad Wolf.
Putting her hood back up and continuing to walk into the nighttime, she becomes both.
And my oh my, what strong blood lust she has!
[maggie's going to do a ton of shit in her trib maint, just you wait!]
Her pace slows gradually over time as the trees begin to become all she's aware of. Her arm throbs every other step she takes. Already the load she bears is becoming unmanageable. Holding onto what she can, she drops the bag that twists her grip. Maybe the survivalist in her is kicking in too soon, but the impressions of her footsteps are what worries her most. She could be getting followed or tracked, and any bit of weight that pulls her feet into the ground makes it that much more noticeable to an enemy.
A beeping falls slowly down behind her from the sky. The parachute latches onto a tree branch. Using the broom she had gotten in the Bloodbath, she gently pokes it down to her feet. Inside: a pair of scissors and a lantern. In a place with cover such as this, it could be handy to have this stuff for when the darkness falls. Taking the scissors, she cuts neatly into the sweater wrapped around the broom. Into a million pieces it falls, each one long enough to wrap around a wound. Call it crafty, or just call it common sense.
Afterwards, she continues to push forth in the forest. The trees mock her with every step. The remnants of cut branches frown and laugh at her, while the ones still remaining seem to point at her from every which way. Unsettling, she thinks, that the trees are the dream catchers'' eyes and ears here. One distasteful moment and they could send wolves or monsters to slaughter her. That's their game, and if it means surviving, she's willing to play it.
On the side of one of the trees lays a worker's batch of supplies. She scopes it out, most of it residing in a singular wicker basket. Great, her stylist is going to adore the irony of the girl in the red hood finding a wicker basket to hold her stuff.
Picking it up and placing the cake, the scissors, the lantern remnants of the sweater inside, she decides it's better than gripping tight into the handle of the apothecary bag.
Laying beside a tree are a pair of gloves and a saw, both of which she picks up. A lumberjack's ax is a much better fit for someone in seven. A saw has a nice blade with sharp edges, and much easier for a girl of Maggie's frame to hold.
It seems that within seconds, she's went from unsure about the manageability of her supplies to now confident.
The story her stylist told her before she threw her into the arena is slowly becoming contorted.
Little Red Riding Hood versus the Big Bad Wolf.
Putting her hood back up and continuing to walk into the nighttime, she becomes both.
And my oh my, what strong blood lust she has!
[maggie's going to do a ton of shit in her trib maint, just you wait!]
