the hunt begins ➸ eulalie & umber

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

[attr="class","scrollEulalie"] EULALIE the sharpest of thorns Alone in the woods, trying to make a mental map of the area surrounding their chosen base camp, Eulalie spots a rat. Or, more accurately: Eulalie spots a boy wearing a wizard's hat. It takes her eyes a moment to process, but those unruly dark curls and his lanky frame are a dead giveaway. Not even a day in the arena, and Umber Vivuus has already been found. A wiser girl would think of the complications: making herself known could make her alliance known, and if she truly intends on killing the boy, she should take a more stealthy approach. All sense leaves her body as the rage sets in. She shrugs off her bag so that she can move more quickly, grabbing the hilt of the golden sword she claimed from the wealth. The earth groans and twigs snap as she walks forward, right out into the open and in plain sight of Umber. The crown on her head reflects the dim light, sparkling as dangerously as the weapon in her hand. "I heard through the grapevine my threat fell on deaf ears. The plucky boy from Twelve is a Capitol favorite." If she could cut her eyes at a nearby camera, she would, but instead she focuses on glaring at him. "How should I go about proving them all wrong?" She starts to circle him, making note of his equipment and the long cloak on his back that could easily get tangled should he try to run from her. "Do I butcher you until sunrise, a very slow and painful death — or do I just cleave your head off where you stand?" Color rises to her cheeks, an aftermath of the shame she felt all those days ago in the Training Center. She wonders if he even understands what he's done. "I'm not a joke, kid. I'm not someone to mock." Even now, the memory of all that laughter echoes inside her mind, turning her knuckles white as she grips the sword even tighter. He must have dreams, too. Things he wants out of life, a home and a family he wants to return to. All she can think about is being seven, staring at the static glow of a television screen, watching her great-grandmother smash someone's head into a bloody pulp. It should frighten her, but that's all she wants to do right now. "I swear on my life, Umber. You'll regret making an enemy of me."

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[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

[attr="class","scrollUmber1"] UMBER don't fear the reaper He made his way through the tunnel with relative ease, as seemingly whatever debris came this way was promptly washed away when the rain came. The scrape on his shin was sticking to his pants, and his ego was bruised from the fall, but he could've been in much worse condition. All it would've taken is a slightly different landing, or a piece of stone falling with him when he slipped, and Umber could've broken his legs and been stuck, or worse: he could've been the first cannon of the 98th Hunger Games. And Georgie had seemed more concerned than unimpressed; he took that as a sign that he hadn't lost all his aura points. But he also would've been lying if he said he didn't feel a bit off-kilter all on his own. Even Umber, who normally would've preferred the solitude, knew it was a good idea to have another pair of friendly eyes at hand and indeed felt safer knowing Georgie was around. Here, he only had his own judgement to rely on, and he had no idea if that was worth anything at all yet. It wasn't like he had any previous experience in death contests! Eventually, he reached the end of the tunnel and stepped out into the most massive forest he'd ever seen. Trees as big as skyscrapers stretched up so high that the tops may as well have been dark stormclouds churning and blotting out the sun. Trunks so heavy they could no longer stand had bent over with time and continued to grow, it looked like, forming bridges woven over one another dozens of times over. "Georgie?" he called, afraid to raise his voice too loud for fear something else might hear it. The forest around him sounded as alive as it looked, but he realized with a concerned scrunch of the brow that he didn't actually see anything living other than the trees, and their arch-like roots, and the moss they wore like winter coats against the breeze. He could hear it though, the very breath of the forest. And he could feel its eyes on him as he walked forward, breathing in the crisp air and wiping the sweat-tangled hair from his forehead. No Georgie in sight, either. He sighed, went to work at climbing up. The trees were actually quite sturdy- he was surprised at how secure he felt marching across them. He did make a conscious effort to stay in the direct center everywhere he walked, for fear of slipping again. He'd learned his lesson from falling already. Besides, in a matter of minutes he was already finding himself higher than he would've ever survived a fall from. He tried not to peer down because it made him nauseous. His hand wrapped itself into a fistful of moss and he hoisted himself up and onto the edge of the ravine he'd just climbed out of. His chest rose and fell with exhaustion and he laid on his back, staring up at rustling leaves so far away they might've been twinkling stars for all he knew. The wind sent the edges of his cloak billowing around him, the brim of his hat loosening from his head so much he had to hold it on. The breeze was doing a nice job of cooling him down. Umber exhaled a calming breath, and then forced himself back upright. And then, for the first time since he'd parted ways with Georgie, Umber heard movement nearby. He stopped to listen. Footsteps, steady and sure. Human. Leisurely enough. His instinct was to callout, lest they lose each other again, but just before the words left his lips, Umber hesitated. What if it was someone else? He crept forward, not wanting to get corned here at the edge of a cliff if the source of the sound was bad news. From there, the only way to run would've been back down the way he'd come, and he had a feeling climbing down would've been just about as thrilling as climbing up had been. He crouched low and continued forward, shimmied through some brush. The footsteps were getting closer. He saw a nice vantage point and was just about to sneak over to it when he heard the footsteps stop. "I heard through the grapevine my threat fell on deaf ears. The plucky boy from Twelve is a Capitol favorite." He knew that voice, tinny and assured. Crap. He turned to see the girl from One smirking back at him. She wore an absurd clown-like outfit, complete with white ruffle breeches already splattered with someone's blood, and shoes that curved up on the ends. Her hair was done up to make her seem almost doll-like, even despite her murderous glare. She held a black-bladed sword with a golden hilt like it was a plaything, a yo-yo or a slinky. "How should I go about proving them wrong?" she asked. Cat meet mouse, suddenly Umber could feel every hidden camera lens in the vicinity pointed right in their direction. He gulped. "W-Well, I think I already beat you to the chase," he explained, carefully pushing his wizard's cloak aside to raise his pant leg for her to see. A sizable scrape ran down his shin from top to bottom. She didn't seem impressed. "Do I butcher you until sunrise, a very slow and painful death — or do I just cleave your head off where you stand?" He could only think of sarcastic things to say, so he kept quiet. That's what had gotten him into this predicament in the first place, really, his smart mouth. He could already hear Sigrid chastising him for it had she been around to see it unfold. Umber hadn't ever seen someone so capable of segmenting themselves off in this way, of turning certain pieces off so that they weren't damaged as this girl. Even Terrence on his best days could only separate so much. This girl, staring at him like she'd dreamed of what his neck might feel like as she crushed it in her hands with no remorse, had to have once gone to a history class, or enjoyed a nice lunch with her friends, or gotten punished for a bad grade. She lived a full life before this. And yet she was still able to summon the person that was before him now somehow, and then seemingly snap right back to the other version of herself when it suited her. Or maybe this was the real version, brutal and cruel, and the version she played the rest of the time was just a role. "I'm not a joke, kid. I'm not someone to mock. I swear on my life, Umber. You'll regret making an enemy of me." "For what it's worth, I already do!" And with that, he turned to run.

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