planting -| robin day3 chillin

planting -| robin day3 chillin Jul 5, 2021 23:03:29 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Wonder on Jul 5, 2021 23:03:29 GMT -5

robin keeni, district 6
pre-mandate

The evening before, tucked against the wall of a cabin, Robin had looked out towards the large coniferous trees that grew in the distance, generously offering him shelter. With thick trunks, the vast forest would give anyone with quick wit and agility enough of a defensive line to escape any hunting scenario. A thick overhead covering of leaves promised shade and protection from any element that pushed this way.

Of course, the cabins provided these same comforts with the addition of a staggeringly large standing target.

It would take just one alliance to walk in the door, and instantly Robin would be dead. The cabins, though built to last, were also constructed with one door framing the front. There were no other secret exits, though Robin had spent the better part of the afternoon investigating every nook and cranny of the space. Cabin Six had become his refuge for the evening, against his better judgment. Robin could hear Flynn screaming through the screens, but there was a certain finality in knowing this would probably be his last sleep in a proper bed. Robin couldn't imagine that he would ever return to this area, the cabins serving as a beacon. So he took pride in one final comfortable night.

Chirps awoke Robin. Even though he wasn't positive what type of birds were in this monstrosity of a summer camp, his mind filled in the blanks quickly with possibilities - possibilities he wanted to spend no time sticking around to meet. Overnight, the serrated edges of his machete had shredded into the bed coverings of the bunk. He'd spent the evening clutching the hilt of the machete between his fists in case of intruders. Soreness around his knuckles indicated to Robin that his tensity hadn't let up all evening either.

Peaking out the door, the fields surrounding the cabin looked clear. The sun beat down with the same disastrous humidity as the day before, as a dry layer of sweat clung to his scout's uniform. He'd awoken already feeling muggy, and Robin imagined the day would proceed much the same way. One hand clasped onto the string of his bag, the other clenched around the machete, Robin stalked cautiously towards the tree line. Slightly crouched to make his five-seven frame look even smaller, he toed as quickly and quietly as he could.

That's when he heard them, vibrating like an earthquake, the sound of voices carrying through the open field. The hums of camaraderie shook each cabin and left Robin wondering just how long they'd been there. Had Robin spent the whole evening just two doors down from another alliance? How the hell did he not die? Did they not bother to check and see if anyone else was around? He was dumbfounded, physically and mentally. His fingers shook violently, and Robin found he couldn't even move anymore. He watched as the Le Roux boy walked out of the cabin. Perfect, the careers that had nearly murdered him in the bloodbath. Julian sat far enough in the distance to not see Robin as he toed desperately towards the treeline. Robin counted his blessings with each step that the career didn't turn and sound an alarm. The last way he wanted to start his morning was by being chased by a pack of rabid children, foaming at the mouth and shit.

Robin's first step behind a tree turned into a full-on sprint, rushing blindly towards his perceived safety. The father away from that group, the better. Four-on-one. What a nightmare. Robin's anxieties about sleeping in the cabins were made real, only saved by the idiocy of the career pack, if even one of them had checked his lot, seen a sleeping Robin, game over.

And then he saw them - hiking up the trail ahead of him: the girl from nine and the boy from eight. Him hulking over her petite figure, whispering as they moved. What were the chances he would be sandwiched between two death traps? Everyone seemed to have the same idea as him: get to the trail, hide in the trees. But if everyone sought refuge here? It could turn into Death City. Something Robin wanted nothing to have a part of.

He scrunched his button nose and inhaled. Looking off into the open grassy knolls to his left, he knew he had to risk it to move onwards. To the picnic fields.

[Leisure -3]

Non-Combat Roll Approved by GMs

1-2 = Fail
3 = Success
4-6 = Fail

NGN5EquHIs1-6

1-6

planting -| robin day3 chillin Jul 5, 2021 23:30:48 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Wonder on Jul 5, 2021 23:30:48 GMT -5

robin keeni, district 6
post-mandate

The grass felt cold as it kissed his tired limbs. The tangled vine of the dead Floraspore still sat wrapped limply around Robin's inner right thigh. Without constriction, the vines did not cause him any harm, and frankly, Robin barely could find the energy to sit up, let alone untangle the dead creature from his throbbing leg. Let them stay connected after the hard-fought battle. He felt more tired than yesterday too. The Sheepish had not taken nearly as much out of him as the Floraspore had, and the effects were clearly showing as Robin laid outstretched on the dirt. Grassy tendrils formed to his aching body as the winds swept them in every which direction. He could lay here forever, he thought. Just ride it out.

At least he no longer felt the fuzziness of the spores. The antidote worked swiftly to remove any poison from his system. Near the end of the battle, the world had begun to look a little shaky, and Robin could feel himself growing shakier. Not only from fatigue but from the spores as well. He'd worried that it was too late, that he'd taken too long to kill the Floraspore, and it wouldn't work. But Capitol technology proved its sins against God once again as he found his mind growing clear by the minute. He thanked Flynn aloud, "Thanks, Flynn." Robin knew this wasn't easy for him. Taking care of Robin, trying to get him out of the arena - if it hadn't been forced on someone, Robin was sure the position would have remained vacant.

But part of that guilt was a motivator. Robin alone was destined to die first. There was no motivation to go home. No one was waiting there. He could have stayed tucked up in the training center all week, and stuffed his face, learned nothing of value. It was the call to arms of his mentor that got him out of bed, had him concentrate on learning skills. Every day in the arena was to curb the sanity of the first real friend Robin had ever made. He knew he was carrying with him a legacy from the year prior, and if Robin wouldn't make it out of here? He'd give it a hell of a run.

He grunted and moaned as he sat upwards, shifting away from the imprint he'd left in the ground. Robin had to keep moving. It'd been hours since he'd wrapped his arm in bandages and stitched up his thigh. The cut on his stomach looked good, as healthy as a day-old bite-wound could be, especially when you took into account his amateur suturing. He drank up with water canteen taking careful sips throughout the afternoon. Its effects were an immediate relief on his body, flushing away the red flush that had overtaken him and replacing it with an embracing cool.

Refreshed, Robin looked to start his day. It didn't stop just because he killed the Floraspore (cutting the vine at his thigh to release the monster), and there were so many threats out in the arena. Just that morning, Robin had seen as many tributes as he'd seen since the start. Who knew what that meant for the future? But every minute was a moment to prove himself. Robin would be what the audience needed him to be, as long as they kept working for them too.

Non-Combat Roll Approved by GMs

1-2 = Fail
3 = Success
4-6 = Fail

[SUCCESS!!]

dlNIdf0N3Y1-6