Petaline Tiller volunteers as tribute (nofortunateone) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-02-22 21:50:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 56th games, - arena, tribute: 56th aramis rosegold, tribute: 56th ariel o'connell, tribute: 56th brock samson, tribute: 56th miranda tern, tribute: 56th sephora kohl |
WHO: Aramis Rosegold and Sephora Kohl [D1], Brock Samson [D2], Miranda Tern and Ariel O’Connell [D4]
WHAT: Breaking up is hard to do… j/k IT’S EASY PEASY
WHEN: Dusk, Night 10
WHERE: Locker Bays
STATUS: Complete log!
By the time Miranda returned to the locker bays, it was evening -- or at least, the Gamemakers had decided it was time for the sun to set. Long shadows surrounded her, and the walk back from the Biali Brothers' Sideshow had longer than she remembered. Or perhaps it was just reluctance. Bringing back the news to the other Careers that Zipporah was dead was bound to not go over well -- their tenuous alliance had been sustained by the fact that there were equal numbers from each district. It had occurred to her to cut and run with what supplies (Zipporah's extra dagger now sequestered in her own backpack), but the pressing concerns -- Ariel and food, fixing the cut on her shoulder -- had necessitated returning to the locker bays. At least temporarily. Now, four pairs of eyes were watching her, and the five of them stood in silence for a long moment. "You heard the cannons," Miranda finally said. She slowly stepped towards Ariel, stance broad, grip tight on dagger and mace. "We ran into District 9. I killed the girl and the boy killed Zipporah." Her eyes flickered towards Brock. "She fought hard. I'm really sorry." Brock knew it was coming the moment he saw Miranda approaching the camp alone, the look on her face truly remorseful, but whether it was because of his nearly-closed eyes or his quickly-closing heart, he only saw red. He was silent a long time, arms crossed and staring at her, trying to ignore the pain in his side underneath all the bandages and the tight feeling in his stomach. He was more than aware of the other tributes around him, his "allies," though even that word felt weak these days. Things had certainly changed between all of them in the last few days since Aramis killed Cypress. He'd felt the boy from One's hesitation to return Brock's mace, he'd seen how he went out alone — plotting something. Ariel's behavior too was becoming more and more suspicious, the way he looked at Brock sometimes giving him chills up his spine. Miranda's chattiness seemed different somehow, and even Sephora's thoughtful quiet seemed more sinister. The only one it had been the same with was Zipporah, and now she was gone. "How did it happen?" he demanded, remembering back to Lyme's games. Well, to the re-runs he had seen. She had gone out hunting with an ally and killed him, returning alone to claim they had only just escaped from a fight. Even with two cannons, something similar could have happened here. His eyes narrowed further and his tone was icy. "More specifically." "She wanted to fight the boy, and I chased the girl and killed her in a different tent," Miranda said flatly. "I wasn't there. I couldn't stop it." She was next to Ariel now, still gripping the weapons, eyes narrowed (not to Brock-level, but narrow all the same) as she surveyed the placement of supplies and the stance of the other Careers. Brock shifted, shoulders tense, and he took a small step toward Miranda. His eyes went to her hands, clutching her weapons, noticing her eyeing the others. Was this it? With Zipporah gone, were they going to try to take him out? His hand moved sideways, slowly, for the quarterstaff that was leaning in arms-reach again the lockers, but when his fingers wrapped around his weapon he stopped, not yet making a move. "Oh, you couldn't?" Or she wouldn't? The world had long gone sideways and stayed there. Often Ariel would wake with a sensation of drowning and quietly spit some gob of saliva or blood—he couldn’t rightly say which, his eyes dimming and brightening—before slipping back into a deep, almost inescapable sleep. It was getting harder to wake up, especially since his hearing was fluctuating, sometimes the Arena’s noises seeming a constant dull roar and other times absent entirely. Miranda’s long absence with Zipporah had worried him, and by the time she became clear on the horizon his entire body was taut with tension and a certain slow-release adrenaline. If Zipporah killed her, it would be more than the excuse needed to finally slit Brock’s throat; he didn’t think the Ones would stop him, and all day when near the supplies and not wandering—because he was wandering now more than ever, seeking a kill, yes, and something else—he crouched by the remaining food stores and scraped at his throwing knife with a rock, mace near at hand. At Miranda’s arrival, he was at her side in a moment, and his backpack was fuller than before. In the initial fuss he had slipped more supplies into it, the precious few bottles of water and power drink and some of the jerky. When Brock made a move towards Miranda, Ariel stepped forward as well, throbbing head and blurring vision and all. Their voices were muffled, but he could still hear the threat. “Unless you think the great Zipporah could be killed by a one-armed girl,” Ariel said, though the words felt strange in his mouth. Brock’s blood was near, as near as it would ever be. The throwing knife was loose in his hand, but Zipporah could have told them that the looseness would be an advantage, would help the knife cut air and then flesh. Sephora looked over from her spot, sitting on an empty crate with a dagger slicing against a stone to sharpen it. Her eyes immediately found Aramis as surreptitiously as she could. ‘4 or 2?’ she willed him to think as she tried to come to a decision too. Brock was outnumbered now, he was a likely choice. Miranda and Ariel could not be allowed to secure another win for District 4. Brock was a stronger ally, what with Ariel unfocused and Miranda… that ached a little. She’d never quite let go to the idea that it would be her, Miranda and Zipporah banding together, but if Miranda had done her in (could Patsy have done it? Yes, she was clever and brave enough; it made Sephora momentarily sad that she’d lost her life to Miranda), she would do her in too, in a heartbeat. Of course, they all would. And she had not shown any capacity to be able to stop them. She did a mental inventory of what was in her backpack - tools, rope, food, water, apples. Would it be enough to take her and Aramis down to the wire? She hardly expected her Mentors to be generous, not with her actions. She didn’t stand immediately, waiting for the blow she knew would come. Aramis had been on edge all-day ever since he had run into the jabberjays that had imitated the screaming voices of the dead tributes begging their killers to be allowed to live -- Eli and Cypress' voices still echoing in his head -- though really, he had been anticipating and dreading this moment ever since he had killed Cypress only three days ago. With one of the biggest outlier threats that kept the pack together dead and the camp having been raided while he was supposed to be guarding it, nothing had been the way it was when the six -- now five -- of them had first banded together during the blood-bath. And it certainly was a long time since they had all been as close as they could be to friends back during training, the moment when it would hit them that only one of them could live in the end too far away to be of much concern. At this point, he was also just sick and tired of the arena and wanted to go home to his sisters -- and to do that, he had to kill everyone and anyone, including his allies who were now turning into enemies right in front of him. He quickly glanced over at Sephora, meeting her eyes for a brief moment before tilting his head at the slightest angle towards Brock before reaching as discreetly as he could for his sword and dagger. I'll take him, he tried to tell her with just his eyes. Brock and I are evenly matched, and I'll cover for you. But to the others, he said, 'All right, we all know things have been ... a little tense since I killed Cypress, and now this, but let's calm down and try to work out what happened first, shall we?' He tried to keep his voice light and conversational, but there was an urgency and tension that had never been there before. The group stood in silence for a moment, but suddenly, a clattering noise disrupted them -- Miranda, who behind Ariel was attempting to stuff more of the canned jerky and meals in her backpack, had dropped a pile. She glanced up, expression one of mixed guilt and nervousness. He'd been distracted by Aramis, he'd turned his gaze away from Miranda as the blonde boy began to talk like he wanted to smooth things out, but his eyes caught something else in Aramis, a look he gave to Sephora Brock couldn't quite place. He was in the middle of deciding whether he was letting his paranoia read into things too much or he had cause to be suspicious when he heard the clang, and quick as Zipporah's bullwhip she never got in the arena, his head snapped back to Miranda. His squinty eyes took in the scene, the girl filling her bag with food hidden behind her district partner, and that confirmed it all. That was all Brock needed to know that Miranda had done Zipporah in, had turned against her own ally. "They're trying to run," he growled, hand finally grasping his quarterstaff and pointing it forward at them. "And with our food. Oh fuck no; you're gonna be dead." And with that, the alliance was finally broken. There was no more feigning friendship tainted by the unspoken plots of how they would turn on each other one day. And as they were Careers, they all knew how this was going to end -- with several of them dead by each other's hands, rather than simply parting ways peacefully, hoping someone else would take out their former allies like the sentimental outliers did. All five of them knew how the Games were played -- that only one of them could live, and that was done by killing everyone else. And there was rarely a bigger threat -- or more impressive kill -- than a Career. That was why Aramis now rushed and lunged forward with his sword, hoping to run the blade through Brock's back while he was distracted by Miranda, the dagger in his other hand ready to block the boy's quarterstaff if it came to that. Honor and playing angles for the cameras didn't matter now -- and wouldn't matter if he was dead. He didn't smile. 'I've got this, Sephora!' It was too risky for him to take his eyes off Brock, but he trusted his district partner to do what she needed to do so that they both made it out of this second blood-bath and into the final eight together, with the rest of the pack dead. 'You take the Fours -- I'll cover you and catch up later!' |