all went screaming wild :: red scare
Feb 24, 2021 22:59:54 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Feb 24, 2021 22:59:54 GMT -5
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"We should get out of here soon." The words had slipped from his lips after too much time spent at the Cornucopia, hazel eyes counting the shadowy forms of the alliances that had stopped to rest just outside the blood-stained sands of the Cornucopia itself. He'd gulped, narrowed his gaze as he'd taken in the sight of so much dormancy, every alliance complacent instead of charging forward with weapons drawn. "The Gamemakers won't be happy that we aren't fighting, especially with how close we are to one another.". He'd narrowed his gaze onto each of his allies, sharing silent nods before they'd hobbled their way out of the area, leaving shadowy figures of tributes turned enemies behind to bury themselves in the dust.
He cradles the shotgun in his hands as he walks, the cold of the metal quickly faltering to the heat waves that rise up from the ground of the arena. He'd been hesitant to approach the sponsor gift at first, too many Games seen in years past to trust anything that was thrown at him, but when he'd finally gathered up the deadly mix of courage and stupidity he'd been met with only a weapon and a note, folded piece of paper flickering softly in the dead wind that swept through the entire arena.
"Fitz Meyers. Training Score: Ten."
His fingers had clasped heavy around the piece of paper, pressing in on the note until it finally had crumbled in his grasp, finding a home in the dust and the dirt when he'd tossed it behind him. His fingers curled around the metal, muscles flaring as he'd picked up the entire weight of the weapon, he'd turned back towards his alliance with the same shit eating grin that had become his brand throughout the eighteen years of his life. He'd been met only with dead stares, wiping the grin off his face as he'd met the gaze of his allies. "Lucky number ten, I guess.." He'd said, feeling the words hang in the air for a moment before falling dead to the ground. "We should head out."
Now he walks, wincing as the pain of the gash in his leg shoots up through his body with every step. It spreads deep in his veins and his bones, hollow and dull and sitting within his bones. He grunts in pain to himself, breathing heavy as they trudge towards the towering black figures in the distance. It hadn't taken long for his alliance to realize that the arena itself was fighting against them, rashes spreading slowly on their skin and lungs burning with every breath they took. He'd assumed it was some insane way to make sure they all died a slow and painful death, that if they couldn't have the balls to kill one another that the arena would do it for them. As he looks to the sky, a swirling mixture of blues and oranges he sighs, realizing that he couldn't blame the Gamemakers for wanting them all dead. After all, he'd thrown his life away willingly, drowned in the waves of a bottle and a needle and his own thoughts. His heartbeat echoes the thought, hammering up through his chest and forcing him to choke on his own breaths, pushing down the thoughts of his own fate as he stares up at the machines that tower above them.
They stand in the shadows of the machines, towering masses of criss-crossed metal beams coated in rust the mark of time itself. He sighs as he looks up at them, feels the cold of their shadow cloak his skin as his alliance wanders beneath them. When they'd first set out towards this area they'd absently thought that the machines themselves could be some source of water, distant memories of diagrams and machinery giving way to the illusion of false hope. When he thinks of it now he feels his stomach bubble and boil, fingers curling into hisp palm as he mumbles something incoherent and deadly to himself before throwing his words at the rest of his alliance.
"Guess there's no water here. How the fuck do they expect us to survive without this shit? Great fucking suggestion Kane-". He throws the insult towards his ally, only softening his gaze when he sees that Kane is still pressing his weight into Lenox, groans of pain escaping his lips as he deals with his broken ass. "Poor guy." Fitz thinks to himself, taking in the sorrowful sight of himself and his allies before the feeling of a vibration in his pocket cuts into his thinking. He smiles softly as the name flashes once, twice on the dull screen of the device in his pocket, a response to a text he'd sent Reagan before they'd departed from their spot just outside the Cornucopia:
He smirks, a chuckle escaping from his lips before he puts the device back in his pocket. He didn't know Reagan, at least, he didn't know her well enough to bring himself to overly care about her wellbeing. But she was something from home, from the same smog-ridden skies that he'd been raised in, someone who shared the same memories he had from Three. He'd convinced himself that that was worth something before he'd entered the arena, in the late night thoughts of his sleepless nights in the Capitol. Now, as he looks at the machines that stand towering above them, he can't bring himself to decide if home was worth it in a place like this. He shoves the thoughts to the back of his mind, snaps himself back to reality before turning towards Kane, by far the worst looking out of all of them.
"Ya look like shit, Kane. We can rest here, I don't think anyone's very close to us anymore." He says, scanning the landscape for any signs of other alliances.
"Here." He says, stepping forward and slinging Kane's arm over his shoulder to help him down to the ground into a more comfortable position.
He cradles the shotgun in his hands as he walks, the cold of the metal quickly faltering to the heat waves that rise up from the ground of the arena. He'd been hesitant to approach the sponsor gift at first, too many Games seen in years past to trust anything that was thrown at him, but when he'd finally gathered up the deadly mix of courage and stupidity he'd been met with only a weapon and a note, folded piece of paper flickering softly in the dead wind that swept through the entire arena.
"Fitz Meyers. Training Score: Ten."
His fingers had clasped heavy around the piece of paper, pressing in on the note until it finally had crumbled in his grasp, finding a home in the dust and the dirt when he'd tossed it behind him. His fingers curled around the metal, muscles flaring as he'd picked up the entire weight of the weapon, he'd turned back towards his alliance with the same shit eating grin that had become his brand throughout the eighteen years of his life. He'd been met only with dead stares, wiping the grin off his face as he'd met the gaze of his allies. "Lucky number ten, I guess.." He'd said, feeling the words hang in the air for a moment before falling dead to the ground. "We should head out."
Now he walks, wincing as the pain of the gash in his leg shoots up through his body with every step. It spreads deep in his veins and his bones, hollow and dull and sitting within his bones. He grunts in pain to himself, breathing heavy as they trudge towards the towering black figures in the distance. It hadn't taken long for his alliance to realize that the arena itself was fighting against them, rashes spreading slowly on their skin and lungs burning with every breath they took. He'd assumed it was some insane way to make sure they all died a slow and painful death, that if they couldn't have the balls to kill one another that the arena would do it for them. As he looks to the sky, a swirling mixture of blues and oranges he sighs, realizing that he couldn't blame the Gamemakers for wanting them all dead. After all, he'd thrown his life away willingly, drowned in the waves of a bottle and a needle and his own thoughts. His heartbeat echoes the thought, hammering up through his chest and forcing him to choke on his own breaths, pushing down the thoughts of his own fate as he stares up at the machines that tower above them.
They stand in the shadows of the machines, towering masses of criss-crossed metal beams coated in rust the mark of time itself. He sighs as he looks up at them, feels the cold of their shadow cloak his skin as his alliance wanders beneath them. When they'd first set out towards this area they'd absently thought that the machines themselves could be some source of water, distant memories of diagrams and machinery giving way to the illusion of false hope. When he thinks of it now he feels his stomach bubble and boil, fingers curling into hisp palm as he mumbles something incoherent and deadly to himself before throwing his words at the rest of his alliance.
"Guess there's no water here. How the fuck do they expect us to survive without this shit? Great fucking suggestion Kane-". He throws the insult towards his ally, only softening his gaze when he sees that Kane is still pressing his weight into Lenox, groans of pain escaping his lips as he deals with his broken ass. "Poor guy." Fitz thinks to himself, taking in the sorrowful sight of himself and his allies before the feeling of a vibration in his pocket cuts into his thinking. He smiles softly as the name flashes once, twice on the dull screen of the device in his pocket, a response to a text he'd sent Reagan before they'd departed from their spot just outside the Cornucopia:
Reagan Carbone
--
still only dead on the inside, dumdum. let's both stay that way, yeah?
--
still only dead on the inside, dumdum. let's both stay that way, yeah?
He smirks, a chuckle escaping from his lips before he puts the device back in his pocket. He didn't know Reagan, at least, he didn't know her well enough to bring himself to overly care about her wellbeing. But she was something from home, from the same smog-ridden skies that he'd been raised in, someone who shared the same memories he had from Three. He'd convinced himself that that was worth something before he'd entered the arena, in the late night thoughts of his sleepless nights in the Capitol. Now, as he looks at the machines that stand towering above them, he can't bring himself to decide if home was worth it in a place like this. He shoves the thoughts to the back of his mind, snaps himself back to reality before turning towards Kane, by far the worst looking out of all of them.
"Ya look like shit, Kane. We can rest here, I don't think anyone's very close to us anymore." He says, scanning the landscape for any signs of other alliances.
"Here." He says, stepping forward and slinging Kane's arm over his shoulder to help him down to the ground into a more comfortable position.
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[ Fitz exists omnipresently in two threads at once ]
[ Collects items ]
[ Collects items ]
![heather - d2 [mylee] Avatar](https://i.imgur.com/EYsuKfD.png)
![D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] Avatar](https://64.media.tumblr.com/2ceaa2e8a0381d01e1f00b9185fef0d9/a3e6c2570227db20-78/s540x810/2789744cb50b2a75b6d37d3e72599aed88e7bfb6.jpg)
sorry
