a threat or a promise?— [six/mauve - day 3]

Blood coated her fingers, bits of fur and flesh caught under her nails. She picked at them absentmindedly, the weight of the mutts skin draped over her shoulders. She hadn't had time to do the process of drying it properly, her skinning job slightly messy due to the way that her biceps burned with each movement, her shredded upper arm reluctant to obey her commands. But it looked fierce none the less, blood and mud mattered fur told the story of the battle that had just taken place.

She had dragged the rest of the carcass into the cabin that they had destroyed, broken table and smashed windows sheltered, Mauve had picked up the beasts severed head and placed it beside the body that had been flayed, wide lifeless eyes following her as she exited the cabin her eyes catching sight of movement.

A flash of red has Mauves lips pulling back into a wicked grin, she would recognise that hair anyway.

Prowling through the rows of cabins she watches as he slips into a vacant one, propping the door open with a stone. He seemed to be alone, no allies trailing behind him. His mistake could be her reward. Fastening her axe to her belt she slips in behind him, leaning against the doorframe she fold her arms across her chest, ignoring the pain that shoots through her, persistent and intense.

She clears her throat and he jumps, fingers fumbling for his weapon- or what she had thought to be a weapon until he turned around, a flimsy plastic fork clutched tightly between blood splattered fingers.

"Mauve."

"Red."

Her eyes over the fork scanning his body for injuries. She notices the blood soaked patches on his right pant legs, and the deep gash that tore open the flesh of his right arm. Her eyes linger on the open gash for a moment longer before meeting eyes that looked tired, it seemed like the arena might have been taking its toll on him. She stares at him a moment longer before a sigh escapes her lips, "why don't you put the plastic fork down, killer. You're scaring me," her voice is mocking, as she rolls her eyes.

"You- you seemed scared of my fork- fork last time in the Training Center... is Bubby with you?" Mauve feels her lips curl back into a slight snarl, her arms uncrossing from her chest as she closes the distance between them and rips the stupid blast fork from between his hands as he lowers it.

"You think that I am scared of a puny little boy from Eleven?" She hisses, eyes drawn to the way he rests his hand on the hilt of his machete, another unspoken threat that as her spit out a nasty laugh. "I could knock you onto your bony ass in a heart beat and you wouldn't even get a chance to cry out for your allies who are probably lurking in one of these cabins." She tosses the fork to the floor, "Your threats are as empty as your head."

... is Bubby with you?

Mauve had almost missed it, so caught up in the way the boy thought he could threaten her. She had almost missed the way his voice softened, and the way he seemed kind of cautious, but excited at the mention of the boy from four. Mauve had watched Bubby in the training center, she had seen the two of the interact more times than two tributes merely pass being each other. They must have bonded, the extent of their relationship unknown to Mauve.

But she knew enough about the boy from Eleven to know that he had somehow managed to get his emotions interlaced with a dead boy from four. It was almost as if he was begging for her to pulled at the frayed ends of their relationship, to tug at the loose strands until it came apart.

"Bubby..." She starts, allowing his name to roll off her tongue as se formulated a quick little white lie. A lie strong enough to start watching the boy before her unravel. She gives the boy from eleven a wicked grin, once again crossing her arms across her chest as she looked down at him.

"That canon you heard earlier, that belonged to him.

He's dead.

And I killed him," she says softly, watching the boy before her carefully.