olympia (nagina) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-01-07 19:36:00 |
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The Career girl from District One is still alive. He can see her from his vantage point atop the hill: she’s crouching down at the pools, fully illuminated by the moon. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense-- the pools are dangerous, even at night even if they’ve dried out. Then again, most Career’s weren’t the smartest and she might not have been around to learn that lesson. She moves slowly, picking her way through the pools, her back to him. Her hair is a wave of black ink down her back, and she looks a lot thinner than when they first entered. She also is completely devoid of a weapon where she stands. Sweat breaks out on his brow. He has only killed one tribute so far. His district partner is dead, he saw her face in the sky. But this Career is unarmed, alone, and utterly open for attack. His heart hammers in his chest and he climbs down, slowly, trying not to make any noise. Only once does she look up, eyes darting around. He ducks behind a cluster of trees and vine, and three long, tense minutes pass. His hand covers his mouth just in case she can hear, and he counts to himself as quiet as he can. The counting doesn’t cease until her footsteps start up again and he relaxes. They grow further away and he takes a chance on peeking out: she’s a little further down and now that he can see, blood soaks bandages on her thighs, and her steps are careful, measured. A curse leaves her when her foot sinks into a bit of the wetland and she has to make an effort to tug her leg out. She’s weak. Thank god, he thinks. It’ll make it easier. He follows her carefully, taking his steps meticulously across the way. He keeps to the shadows as well as he can, trying not to breathe too hard. He just has to get his hands around her neck. That’s it. He’s bigger than her. He can get his hands around her neck. The Career stops to inspect another pool and that’s when he lunges forward. He does not expect for the back of her head to slam into his nose. Nor does he expect for it to hurt hard enough for him to fall back, for his foot to slip, pushing him further back. A strange, piercing whistle hits his ears, as he falls-- is that her? It doesn’t matter. When he lands flat on his back, for a split second, terror takes him. Either she is going to bash his brains out or one of the mutts will climb out the pool to kill him. He tries to surge back up, ears ringing, only for a snarl to reach his ears. In confused terror, he thinks, Those mutts aren’t supposed to be here. She didn’t think it’d work, using the mutt like that. Olympia can only pant, still exhausted but triumphant, watching the mutt tear the boy apart. The whistle had been a gambit, the mutt had been a gambit. But it pays off as the canine mutt tears at his throat savagely, the boy unable to scream properly. She turns and runs for her hidden pack, digging for it. The pack is dirty, but she can push past the healing salve, and grasp the knife she needs. The sounds of the mutt devouring at him continue, and she tears a piece of the small bit of her suit left. Hastily, fingers clumsy, she ties it around her face-- there’d be no point in doing this if she ends up choking to death because of it. The tribute should be dead. But there was only one way to really make sure of that. Olympia buries the knife in the mutt’s neck. Miasma pours out, and she lets the knife stay embedded in it’s corpse. It takes only thirty seconds for her move out of the way but by then the cannon booms. One tribute down. Four more to go. She does not say thanks to the mutt, she does not look back. There is only winning or dying, from here on out. |