Aramis Rosegold [D1 tribute] (knightofgrapes) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-02-09 13:25:00 |
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Aramis knew that Amelia would be clever enough to deliberately mislead him so that he couldn't follow her back to her allies easily, but this was getting ridiculous. Surely she couldn't be so hell-bent on losing him that she'd just never return to Cypress and anyone else in their alliance. He had no idea how long he had been stalking her for now, but after what felt like hours of walking all over the arena, he finally found himself at the circus side-shows -- again. It was only yesterday that he and Ariel had been here, and the other boy had read his future using those creepy tarot cards that predicted nothing but violent death for him. Even though he wasn't at all superstitious, he was once again chilled by a sense of foreboding -- that he figured had more to do with how the empty tents seemed like just the place for the Gamemakers to set all sorts of gruesome traps than any beliefs about the occult. And he couldn't fight and kill those like he could and would with other tributes. He searched through tent after tent to see if he could find the little girl from Seven and her allies, one hand gripping his locker door shield and the other keeping a tight hold on his dagger just in case anyone or anything sprung out at him. Each tent, however, came up empty -- nothing but useless junk like the tarot cards that wasn't worth taking back to the Career camp if he was at least going to salvage something from his holiday away from the others. Well, it wasn't as if he had expected the Gamemakers to suddenly put in anything as useful as a -- -- and that's when he thought he saw it out of the corner of his eye as he passed by the entrance of one of the unexplored tents. A sword. He'd know what one looked like anywhere. Without thinking, and before he could stop himself from grinning more broadly than he ever had since arriving in the arena, Aramis ran into the tent -- and stopped dead. Someone was holding the sword, and while the figure looked human enough, there was something off about -- him? Her? It? Whoever or whatever it was, it looked more like a shadow than a person, and it wasn't wearing the familiar red jacket that all the tributes sported. In fact, it looked like a District 8 textile factory had exploded and vomited a garish rainbow all over it -- and was it swallowing the sword? And when it noticed he was there and locked eyes with him, he couldn't breathe and all the blood in his veins suddenly turned to ice water. It was a muttation. And it was running on all fours straight towards him. Aramis' first instinct was to drop everything, turn around, and run for his life. He'd seen what mutts could do year after year on television -- images and memories flashed in his mind of tributes being ripped apart by teeth and claws to bloody pieces as they tried run, just as his body was trying to force him to do right now. Perhaps if a tribute was particularly quick or lucky, they could escape and live another day -- but that wasn't usually what happened when someone turned their backs on the mutts and ran. And he didn't want to die like that. In fact, he didn't want to die at all. He could barely think as he started backing away, but his mind turned next to thoughts of what the more recent Career victors would do, though they came in scattered bursts rather than a coherent stream. Vellum -- shit, he'd probably whip out a camera and take selfies with the mutt in the background. And Char, well, there wasn't exactly a durian he could throw in the mutt's face. Which only left Brutus. A memory flashed of the Two victor and bear mutts five years ago. He'd stood his ground and fought them with a spear, and he went on to win his Games. Well, that was it, then. He'd apologise to Vellum for mentally cheating on him after he won himself. Fighting against every instinct that was screaming at him to run, he planted his feet into a fighting stance -- stable, but light on his feet so he could shift positions in a split-second. He may have fucked up his white knight image during the earlier confrontation with Amelia, but perhaps he could salvage it here now against the mutt. In his childhood fantasies, he would be doing this in armour while wielding a proper shield and a sword to slay a dragon. Here, he had to settle for arming himself with a locker door for a shield and a dagger with little reach -- and ugly tennis shoes -- but it was better than nothing. He twirled the dagger in his hand with a flourish before gripping it again, grinning and smirking for the cameras with a look on his face that roared, Bring it on -- even though he was actually completely fucking terrified and almost tore open the stitches holding his lower lip together as he bit down hard on it to swallow down his fear. As stupid as he thought it looked, he couldn't have been more relieved as he braced himself for the impact that slammed him back against the ground as the mutt leapt and crashed into his locker door shield. Everything after that happened so fast and with so little thinking on his part as adrenaline rushed through him that he wouldn't even be sure how the fight had gone exactly after it was over. As much good as the shield had done at first in taking the brunt of the collision between the two of them, the muttation was still able to twist around and tear into Aramis' right shoulder with its teeth, then his left forearm as he threw it across his neck to block the thing from ripping his throat out next -- not ideal at all, but better than being dead, and his fear and adrenaline kept him from fully registering the pain from both bites. In one swift movement, he braced his right hand that held his dagger against the other arm that was still caught in the mutt's teeth to shove his arm forward and its head back -- he'd seen what happened when past tributes had made the mistake of pulling away instead and ripped out chunks of flesh and muscle until they bled to death -- as hard as possible. And that cleared enough distance for him to get his right hand in to slash the side of the muttation's neck open with the dagger, blood gushing out in seconds. Just in case that wasn't enough to stop the damn thing when it was designed by the Gamemakers and not a real animal, he then slammed the blade with all the force he could into the side of its head and into its brain -- assuming it even had one. The mutt twitched and thrashed around for a few moments before finally collapsing dead on top on him, its grip with its teeth finally going slack. Aramis winked and grinned smugly for the cameras, as if he had enjoyed the fight. And he did feel amazing from getting to kill again, even if it hadn't been another tribute. But inside, he wanted to throw up in fear and squeamishness from all the blood -- both his and the mutt's -- that was all over him now. But he wouldn't show that to the audience watching him and expecting him to swagger with knightly Career bravado. He rolled over so that he was now on top of the muttation before standing up, head spinning and stomach churning, as he took a closer look at the corpse and gave it a cold, patronising look like it had been nothing to him. The thing certainly had a human-like shape, but it was covered in brown fur and had yellow cat eyes that now stared blankly back at him in death -- and its teeth, which were covered with his blood he didn't want to look at, had enlarged canine teeth. Thank God he hadn't been killed by something so hideous, because District 1 priorities. The pain in his arm and shoulder were finally hitting him, but he bit down on his lower lip and grinded his teeth together to stop himself from showing it as he continued smiling as much as he could, strained as it was. He'd get back to the Career camp soon enough so that Miranda could stitch him up before he bled to death. But first, he had to salvage any supplies he could, or the whole damn adventure here had been for nothing, especially now that he had lost Amelia for sure. The muttation's clothes he cut off to bring back as bandages once he removed his dagger and cleaned off the blood and bits of brain on the blade, wrapping several strips of fabric around his own injuries to staunch the flow of blood. And of course he wasn't fucking leaving without the damn sword that had started all this trouble in the first place. He staggered over to where the mutt had dropped it before running towards him, his grin growing wider and wider as he got closer and closer and finally knelt down to pick it up in his hands. Finally. It was made of fucking plastic. He tried not to let his disappointment show as he laughed instead, turning the sword over in his hands as if to examine it, testing its balance and weight despite not being a real one forged out of steel. 'Well, in my hands, this could absolutely still kill Cypress,' he said, seemingly to himself -- but really to the audience watching him -- as he smirked. And then it was time to get out of the damn place before the Gamemakers set more muttations on him. That, and he was never letting anyone read his fortune at a circus ever again. |