[.}and the days.s t r e t c h.on{.][>Day Five<]

[WT]

Of all the items she'd lost access to in the hurricane, the one Aranica missed least was the probably the tent she'd been sleeping in. She hadn't really had time to befriend it as she had, say, her medical kits, so she didn't have that attachment to it. This also gave her an excuse to utilize the shelter-making skills she'd learned in the training center, which made her feel rather less useless than she had been deeming herself for the past several days. The tents had been a tad bit more comfortable, but given that Ara had spent three and a half (albeit dimly-remembered) years sleeping on a hard stone floor, she was kind of used to discomfort.

Honestly, Ara had absolutely no idea why she was thinking about tents. Of course, she had to think about something, because she couldn't get to sleep and lying there staring at the wooden sides of her makeshift shelter gave her mind way too many opportunities to go wandering off in all directions. because thinking about the lost tents led her to thinking about lost tent bags, which led her to thinking about lost things in general, including lost tributes. Which was exactly the line of thinking that she was trying to avoid.

She tried to be cheerful by reminding herself that no more of her friends had died last night, but that sent her mind rambling down a path she really didn't want to explore. She yanked herself away from mental images of the friends who had already died, but that got her to thinking about how she had found out that her allies had lived past last night. That just led to images of Ree's face in the sky, followed by memories of Ree (still alive), the cloud-assassin, and her conversation with Semper. Somehow her mind managed to morph that conversation into an argument with Papero, who had somehow been turned into a zombie by the clouds.

Aranica hit her head against the ground a couple times. She wasn't even asleep and she was still having nightmares. Really, it was no wonder she was only catching minimal rest.

Eventually she managed to drift off to sleep, but it was a fitful, half-hearted affair that involved snatches of memories and nightmares turning into what seemed like reality, causing her to wake up over and over again. Cradling her rock helped a little, but not much; even its presence could only do so much to do reassure her at this point.

Finally, shortly before the sun was due to come up, she gave up on getting any sleep. Moving carefully so as not to awaken Dru (if her friend was even asleep, which she may very well not be), she made her way out of the little shelter, being careful to keep inside the dense plant cover so that the clouds didn't see her. (They hadn't talked to her for a good several hours, and she wanted to keep it that way.) For a time she sat there, holding whispered conversations with her rock and the plants and the dirt. Since she had risked some of the island's water late the previous night and hadn't died yet, she drank a bit more, and tried to scrub off some of the black dust that clung to her skin. (It didn't work, so she gave up after a bit; it was good camouflage, anyway.)

None of it really mattered much in the long run- she was just trying to pass the time and avoid thinking about the previous day at the same time. It was kind of therapeutic, though, to just sit and relax for a bit, at least insofar as it was possible to relax right now.

((OOC- ... Yeah, whatever. Oh well, at least it's up. XP))

[cinder]

Sleep was hard to come by in the Arena, Dru could tell you that much. Even a Career such as herself, with a large weapon and larger ego was uneasy. Too many questions forced themselves into her head. Two questions in particular had managed to carve a place for themselves in her head, and would whisper to her every night. The first question was simple, every Tribute thought about it: What if I don't wake up and I'm ambushed by mutts/other Tributes/my allies? The second question was Dru's and Dru's alone (Or so she thought. If there were any closet-psycho-Careers around, they might have been thinking along the same lines)

Why isn't sleeping with my falchion cradled to me a good idea?

Honest to God, Dru was fast (please, no jokes) but she wasn't exactly sure if she could reach her weapon quick enough if need be. It sat all by its lonesome self about three feet away from Dru, a few plants tossed on top of it as a camouflage of a sorts. In case her midnight attackers were smarter than the average bear, and decided to use her falchion against its wielder, just for kicks. (Hey, if Dru was one of her own ambushers, she would do it.)

The sound of soft footsteps carefully walking away from Dru awoke her from a short slumber. Her eyes were wide and seeing in three seconds flat, her hand already inching toward the hidden blade. Of course--not to brag or anything but--Dru had put together the pieces of the puzzle that was Aranica going for a walk. Dawn approached at an altogether too-fast speed to be natural. Dru eyed the skies suspiciously but not in the fashion of Aranica Petros warily regarding Cloud Assasins. Dru's eyes were rolling about in her up-turned head in search of the sun. Usually it made its appearance around this time in the morning, a fact Miss Charlesburg was familiar with only because she had walked home from more riotous celebrations by the light of the rising sun than she cared to count. It wasn't like common sense had led her to this search or anything. C'mon, was there any part of Dru that could be labeled common or sensible? Get real people.

Alas, the clouds hid the sun just as well as the sooty, dark stuff covered Tributes. Dru sat up far too quickly, and found herself crouching with one hand pressed to the ground and another to her head. She continued to nurse her pounding head until something in Dru reminded her of a pivotal question. If one hand was on the still-cool soil that was the ground, and the other pressed to her hot-head, than which hand was holding her falchion? Just because it was dawn did not mean Dru had escaped the possibility of midnight attackers. She stood up completely, straightening up to her full height and stretched creaking bones.

Finally she bent down and wrestled her wannabe-sword from the clutches of the plants that sat on it. Dru held it carelessly, only using the blade to hack away at the occasional plant, until she happened upon Ara. The little girl was curled up in a ball of adorable psycho. She looked like an overgrown obsidian rock with her back to Dru. The soot covered the whole of their bodies, and her dark hair still shined in the fashion of the glassy-black substance. Dru did not fill the silence with words, she just clapped her hands together and ducked behind a tree, with only a small portion of her body sticking out. It was just enough for Ara to realize who it was and not shoot her with the ever-present dart-gun.

She stepped away from her shield and went over to the water Miss Petros was near. Dru first looked at Aranica's lips, carefully taking note of how dry or wet they were. The District One Career wanted to trust her little friend, but Aranica was a born-killer. Poisoning the water and letting Dru drink it was a humane, tricky way of getting rid of the not so useful half to their whole. Dru was comforted by a droplet of water on her chin, so she too sipped some more.

Water Drinking c: