Stand on the Word [🍆, 🤝, and ❤️ Day 1]
Oct 18, 2020 22:19:58 GMT -5
Post by marguerite harvard d2a (zori) on Oct 18, 2020 22:19:58 GMT -5
Delroy counted at least three times when he almost went ass-over-tea-kettle and headfirst into the snow alongside the hill leading down from the cornucopia. He’d started at a gallop from the edge of the bloodbath but had misjudged the depth of the snow and had sunk down to his ankle with the first step, sending the whole thing off balance from the start. He’d started laughing at the thought that he was going to eat shit on national television because of course the last thing he’d be remembered for before he died was wiping out in the ice and snow, a fall that could be played on loop for laughs in aeternum.
Between the blistering wind and the threat of losing his footing, he caught sight of Shy’s silver jacket out of the corner of his eye and knew the boy was keeping pace. He’d made it out, too, along with twenty-two others (judging by the lack of cannon shot). Not a good sign for what was to come. He tucked the thought behind him and buried amongst the ice and snow. For now, Delroy wanted to put as much distance between them and the kids who’d decided gutting one another for a treasure chest of goodies was the better choice.
He kept replaying his conversation with the girl from four in his head, each time gritting his teeth tighter and tighter until he felt between the pressure and the cold, he might shatter his teeth to pieces. Jacynth had come to blows with him, and he’d abandoned his plan to lead a pacifist revolt in favor of knocking some sense into her. No one was going to call him a traitor to the people of panem and walk away with less than a black eye.
A depressing skirmish, she’d gotten the better of him, and left Delroy scrambling to regroup. He could credit her for sparking a desire to get as many of the others to commit to rebellion as possible. Even if an empty-headed career wouldn’t dare buck what the capitol or gamemakers had wanted, that didn’t mean there weren’t twenty-three other hearts and minds to challenge. His great uncle’s enlistment pin rattled against his neck as he pressed on, a memory of what he was fighting for.
He’d raise his voice every chance he got, until he’d mustered an army of followers or been run through. Until then, revolution would stay on his tongue.
When his lungs threatened to burn through his chest and he’d rasped for breath at another step, Delroy stuttered to a halt in the wasteland of ice before them. What had been a lake appeared to have frozen over and sat reflecting the morning sun back into his eye so that Delroy had to put a hand above his brow for a better look.
Nestled at the base sat a wooden sled with red trim, draped in a tee shirt, with a silver thermos on top and a spool of bandages. At the side was a club of ice that held spikes at its tip, almost inviting Delroy to grab its hilt.
“H-hey, buddy,” Delroy croaked to Shy. He put his hands on his knees and struggled for a breath. “Good job back there, man.” He tilted his head, still crouched, and lifted a hand to give Shy a thumbs up. “You good?”
[Delroy collects sponsorship items, spiked blunt, and bandages]
[Attempt to tame wolf]
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