i'm sure you're just a fun guy / storm vs fungal folk, day 2

[lance]

s t o r m .

He lives, for now. He lives, even as two more cannons echo across the arena and two more members of his competition find themselves forever ingrained intothe dirt. He lives, even as five unfamiliar faces flash across the sky, staring down judgmentally at him as if taunting him for the gift of life he still carries within his chest.

He's never been known for taking much seriously. Not at home, not at the training center, not anywhere, really. Not for the first time, he ponders if that's the reason he's found himself alone within the arena - who'd want to be responsible for a hyperactive fourteen year old who quite literally signed himself up for this in a year when only three people in total chose this?

(Yeah, he supposed he wouldn't either.)

But he does take this seriously. Takes in gazing up at each of the five faces who gaze down upon him in quick succession. Linnaea Valentine and Kassia Simmons from Three. Alex Henning and Niles Nolastname from Eight. Cain O'Malley from Eleven. Five kids who'd died so that he could still draw breath today. Five kids he'd never gotten to know, who'd never known him, who nevertheless served as unseen obstacles in his path to returning home and undoing the mistake he'd made.

To think that he'd once thought that doing this was an honor, a chance to prove himself worthy. All it'd done was prove himself an idiot. And Storm had never claimed to be the brightest bulb in the shed, but he still had his pride. And even if that pride maintained a vicelike grip on keeping his emotions and whatnot inside him instead of out (last night in the apartments notwithstanding), there was one thing that it couldn't hold back - no, one thing that it wouldn't hold back - was his innate desire to undo his mistake.

How ironic. He could handle doing something stupid and reckless to the point he'd prematurely end his life and shrug it off, but he couldn't bear having admitted to doing the wrong thing. Not in public, at least. Never in public.

He realized that if he made it out of here, he'd owe Avriel an apology or three. Poor guy must have gone through a lot having to deal with Storm's recklessness.

It's an easy decision to decide to move in the morning. The Gamemakers never really appreciated the solitary, and if the clinking of glass constructs in his bag, courtesy of someone named L dot K - man, Capitolites had such weird names - was in any way, shape, or form useful, then of course it would be a good idea to keep moving onwards.

(And no, it was not because in the night he'd heard the rustling and crunching of feet on rock, harboring the presence of other tributes or mutts, that he was terrified of running into all on his lonesome. No sir, not at all).

Not for the first time, he laments not doing more to build up his cardio in the year leading up to his volunteering. It's high noon by the time he approaches the river, and his poor legs seem ready to fall off at the knees, or maybe the hips, from overuse. It's an easy decision, therefore, to stop and take a break, shedding his satchel off of aching shoulders and henceforth collapsing onto his back on the vibrant green grass.

He decides then and there that if he's going to make it out of here, he'll get more into exercising as a hobby, if only for the sheer euphoric relief that floods his system upon rest. Is this what people mean when they say that absence makes the heart grow fonder? Because Ripred above, the absence of rest and relaxation has made this turn into the best pre-nap that he's ever had in his life.

It would have likely been the best nap of his life, too. But Storm is reckless, not unobservant, and the creatures aren't exactly stealthy.

Yet even with that, it takes a moment before he lifts his head. And it takes another before what he sees truly registers - a half dozen giant mushrooms, if mushrooms had tiny faces on their stalks and were staring at him ominously.

He blinks. The mushrooms blink back. He pinches himself, because surely this is some sort of exhaustion-induced dream. He gets nothing but a stab of pain in his bicep for his troubles.

Slowly, his brain registers - this is not a dream. This is not a hallucination. There are six living creatures that look like giant mushrooms surrounding him.

So, naturally, Storm does what any rational, clearheaded person in such a situation would do.

He screams, involuntarily lashing out as he scrambles to his feet. One flailing leg connects with the closest mushroom-creature full in the face, sending it tumbling head-over-heels straight into the nearby river.

It takes five seconds for him to grab his makeshift knife and get to his feet. Coincidentally, it also takes five seconds for the five remaining shrooms to register what just happened. And look, Storm's had many a disproving look sent his way over his life, but rarely has he seen true hatred.

Luckily for him, the shrooms seem more than happy to remind him just what one looks like.

"Is this why you told me to never, ever take shrooms, Eve?" he mutters, slightly breathless. "Because one day they'd gain sentience and attempt to claim revenge for their fallen brethren?"

Yeah, it's a little too late for that, I think.

With a battle cry of "Get back!", he stabs his knife directly in the direction of the creatures.

elegant

storm attacks the fun guys; knife

rJ5ykIq9SZknife

2030 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage

accuracy, day two

knife

2095 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage

knife·knife

[Tom]

The Rule of Stool

The Rule of Stool wasn't meant to go out this far from the woods. Their little homes waiting for them with their families behind, but the Rule of Stool never gave up on exploring the giant lands around them. Pulling their weight through the waters of the giant ocean of strange currents where the rush of water and glittering pebbles are enticing to want. They march on with the rising sun, noticing the way their little feet pitter patter against the large expanse of wood hovering over the water. The Rule of Stool had explored many places before. From the secret groves in the deep forest, to the expanding plains filled with ruins of a lost time. They've seen the world in every single possible way.

The one thing none of them had expected was the strange object laying miles away from them. Stretching the expanse between them, they all nod in agreement. This was not going to be like the sleeping Kobold incident. Clearly, the object was just another strange discovery to be made. The friend group wanders forward, knowing the closer they get, the louder the sound is coming from it. For a moment, they've all wandered into a circle around the creature, watching with their calm and friendly eyes. Around the object, the moment the object opens, they watch with awe and fear. The object closes for a second (blinking) and all they can do is blink back, except there's a sound that's earsplittingly loud; if they had ears that is.

The sound of a splash reaches the air; all but one turning to see Mick lost to the ocean. If a mushroom could scream, Mick probably would have, but instead, they all turn back to the creature? object? thing? One of them pokes at the creature, watching the skin squish between their mushroom hands. The skin molds well into their hands as all of them start to explore what this creature could be. They've already found danger, might as well bask in it. Suddenly, the sharp weapon comes down and one of their friends is gone, but they'll grow back. Spores bursting from it's head as the others look in fear and awe. Only the bravest would dare attack a creature as squishy as this, but the Rule of Stool didn't back down from a fight. Especially one with a strange creature who kicked Mick into the ocean. All of them countdown in their heads. One. Two. Three!

(The Rule of Stool attacks Storm Adroxis D9; Blunt)
Y0y0sbG6HAblunt
(Broken Left Hand 6.0)

blunt

[lance]

s t o r m .

Skill number two that he really should have thought to perfect, or at least learn, before entering the Games: Martial combat with an unfamiliar weapon.

His knife work is sloppy, to say the least, and whether it's due to nerves or simple ineptitude is a question far beyond his capacity for pondering at the moment, but after yet another round of flailing, he manages to hit one of the weird fungal creatures.

Which promptly bursts into....pollen?

For a moment, Storm can only stand transfixed. Sure, like most kids, he was fully aware that most mutts were artificial, that stabbing or killing one was akin to destroying a short-lived toy as opposed to killing an actual creature, no matter how much blood it bled, but he'd never seen something that just...exploded into plant matter upon death before.

Granted, if these were, in fact, sentient mushrooms, then it made sense. But that didn't mean it was wholly expected, either.

What should have been expected was the fact that his transfixation cost him twice over.

One moment he's staring at the cloud of something that the shroom creature had given off, and the next, he's aware of river water splashing on his shoes. As if in slow motion he turns, gazing into the very river where the first creature had disappeared into - the river, which, somehow, is now flowing in the opposite direction it had been just a minute prior.

For a beat too long, he ponders what the reasoning behind it was (did kicking the mutt in there cause a sudden shift in the current? If he kicked another one in, would that reverse things yet again). Therefore, he's a beat too slow to register the wave until it's already hit him, knocking him off his feet and completely drenching him from head to toe.

Sputtering, he gets back to his feet. "Seriously?" he calls out to everyone and no one in particular, indignation dripping from his tone as heavily as the water drips from him. "Day two, and you're already trying to get me out of my clothes? I'm fourteen for Ripred's sake! Isn't that kind of fucked up, even for you Capi-"

Mistake number two: Forgetting that he was, in fact, in the middle of combat, against fungal creatures that, clearly, aren't as inhibited by the elements as his poor human self is. At least, until his knife hand ignites in pain, startling a cry out of poor Storm as he suffers yet another unjustified assault on his senses.

His irritation growing, he whirls around from the invisible cameras onto the shroom folk. "That was rude!" he half-shouts, an ill-timed voice crack sapping much of the venom out of the words. "Didn't anyone teach you not to hit someone while they're monologuing?"

With a gasp, he shifts his knife over from left hand to write.

"Well, unfortunately for you set of walking hallucinogens, I happen to be ambidextrous." He attempts a sneer, before gasping again in pain. "Since killing one of you didn't get the message through, how about killing two?"

Again, he swings, raw emotion charting his path from scared boy to mushroom slayer.

Hopefully.

elegant

storm attacks the fun guys; knife

Rhf2E1DVgFknife

2185 -- Stabbed in Chest -- 9.5 damage

knife

[Tom]

The Rule of Stool

Okay, so maybe going to the strange creature next to the ocean was a bad plan. The water rushing up and over them as the Rule of Stool reacts together holding onto a single piece of the grass and dirt around them. The ocean's rage having covered them entirely in the liquid as their brethren must have angered whatever strange entities were in there. The cries through the water are barely audible, but as soon as the rushing waves relent, they've been dropped back to the ground, stumbling over their own little feet. One mushroom person stands up tall, makes a cry of some sort in the strange telepathic connection they've got and soon enough they're all standing together once again.

The creature is yelling loudly again, can feel the way the ground rumbles around them as the smallest hides behind the bigger mushrooms. A worried nod as all of them together do the one thing they know best to calming down creatures like this. Together! Hug this creature until they're happy! All at once, they reach for the creature's hand, holding tightly together. The sound of a crack means they're doing a good job! The sharp strange object glittering as they wrap themselves tighter around the creature's hand, until the ground starts to shake once more. Sooner or later, they'd have to retreat if it became too much. Too many Mushroom lives lost meant having to relay what happened to their fallen to the elder. And no one wanted to be the one to make everyone sad.

The strange object comes down, cutting one of them entirely in half, split down the middle as their brethren fall into the water behind them. The smaller mushrooms start to look afraid once more. This friend group was meant to make a hike up to the smoke-y mountains and play by the strange crack that released air to send them flying into the sky. Instead, they watch their friend die. The creature before them must not be happy at all. Exactly like the kobold incident or even the sphinx incident. They could hug this out just like those times. Who doesn't love a good hug! Altogether, they countdown in their heads. One.... Two..... Three.... HUG!

(The Rule of Stool attacks Storm Adroxis D9; Blunt)
n6HsWOt684blunt
(Broken Right Arm 6.5)

blunt

[lance]

s t o r m .

As far as mutts go, these ones don't appear to be that threatening or durable. Which, makes sense, really - Storm's the youngest tribute in the arena, healing from half a dozen cuts and scratches from the arena, and is probably one of the only tributes in the entire damn space trying to go at it alone. He's an underdog, there's no doubt about it, and clearly, despite his nine, despite his background, the Gamemakers had clearly intended to start him off light and easy.

He'd almost be offended if he wasn't so relieved that the chances of losing his life today were essentially slim to none.

But for how fragile the shroom creatures are individually, the fact remains that there's still more of them than there are of Storm, and that together, they still pack a punch. Another flying tackle later, and his right arm goes as numb as his left hand did.

Well, shit.

"What'd my arms ever do to you, huh?" he asks the remaining shroom men incredulously. "Just cause I can't stab ya doesn't mean I can't beat ya? Are you telling me that you want to join your friend in the river that badly?"

His knife laying uselessly in the dirt, his hanging numbly at his side, Storm doesn't feel fear. Rather, he feels frustration. Frustration at his ineptitude, frustration at his soaked state, frustration at this goddamn shroom creatures and their ability to petrify his limbs with a single collective hit-

"Well, that can be fucking arranged!"

It's that same frustration, accented with a small but noticeable amount of weariness and fear, that prompts Storm into attempting to kick the remaining shrooms away, as if shooing a particularly curious rodent away from the house.

elegant

storm attacks the fun guys; knife a well placed kick

bDEr1VOdUjunarmed

5168 -- Bruised Left Thigh -- 2.5 damage

unarmed