Halle Gremlin, District 6 (trict) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-03-01 21:32:00 |
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There. One day since he'd taken out Rye. Two since he lost his last ally. With five of them left going at this rate, it would be over in less than a week. Much less if the Gamemakers decided to hold a Feast. Brock only hoped he would be the one to see the finale. Still, the tributes weren't going to go out and kill themselves, and as one of the few Careers left in the game, it was up to him to move things along. His injuries were still problematic, but he also knew the sooner the Games ended the sooner he would be put out of his pain; one way or another. So after finishing up his delicious (if slightly damp) magikarp dinner, made slightly more difficult with the tooth he chipped on the stale dinner roll the day before, he headed out of the pizzeria he'd taken shelter in, ready to hunt down Miranda. The fish sent from his mentors had to be a sign. The rain that started two days before was showing no signs of stopping, and Brock had never been the type of person who liked to get wet. Trudging through the arena he could hear his shoes squelching in the mud, but no other sound was audible beyond the dull din of the rain and the occasional thunderclap in the background. Unlike Brock, Halle made no plans to seek out her fellow tributes. The more of them getting killed by each other or by the arena itself, the better. She knew she'd have to come in contact with them again eventually, but saw no point in forcing the issue and the confrontation until she had to. Plus, there was rain and mud everywhere, and her go kart was threatening to flood again. The sponsor gasoline a few days earlier was a big help; no need to worry about sustaining what little she had anymore. But the rain and the mud it left in its wake was far from ideal. Still she drove, trying to find dryish places (or at least slightly higher ground) to protect her favorite and most valuable possession. Unfortunately, she managed to get herself stuck in some mud first, and getting out to push was about the only option she had. There. Tracking tributes was so much harder with the rain that had been coming down in the arena for the past few days, but Brock was starting to get used to it. He still hated it, of course, but he'd managed to keep it out of his eyes (the nearly-closed bit actually came in handy) and be a bit more observant. And now he saw another tribute, getting out of a go-kart she'd somehow managed to drive around. If there was any time he'd hoped Ace had been right about rigging the arena with electrical traps, this was it, but he didn't think so anymore. He'd just have to finish her off himself. Quarterstaff out and ready, Brock began to run at her, counting on the sound of the rain to mask his footsteps enough as she tried to get her vehicle out of the mud. One quick whack on the head and she'd be done for. Halle's exertion paid off with just enough force to get her kart out of the mud and ready to go again. And not a second too soon; lightning lit up the sky as soon as she started the engine, highlighting the hulking figure approaching her. She could make a break for it and probably get away; surely none of the tributes were in any shape to chase her down. But she couldn't keep running forever. She floored the gas pedal. It was unlikely she'd gain too much speed in the mud and rain, but she had to try. Aiming straight for the other tribute (the Two boy, she realized as she got closer), Halle braced herself for impact. It wasn't hard to make out, even in the rain, that it was a girl at the wheel of the go-kart. The girl from Six; the only girl left. Water dripped down his nose as he watched her approach and he gripped his weapon tighter, feet planted and waiting. He'd let her get close, jump out of the way at the last moment and use the long staff to whack her. All he had to do was— slip. It was the mud, water he wasn't experienced with, perhaps. It was his broken collarbone and the aching in his bones that slowed him down, that caused him to fall. It was the puddle underneath his feet that was bigger than he'd realized, that grabbed a hold of his shoe as he tried to pull away, twisting beneath him and causing him to fall into it, hands out in front of him and palms sinking as he hit the ground. Then the kart was on top of him. Halle jerked forward with the collision, but the kart kept going, crawling up Brock's legs like a ramp. She braked immediately, letting the weight of her vehicle hold the heavier boy down in the mud. A few bruises might form later, but she wasn't about to worry about that now. She assessed the situation as quickly as she could. The first thing to do was get his weapon out of reach. She scrambled out of her kart, gritting her teeth anytime she put weight on her knee. She made a grab for the handle of the weapon--Halle wasn't even sure what it was--trying to wrench it free of the Two's grasp so she could throw it away from the both of them. She didn't know how to use it, anyway. He could feel her wrenching his quarterstaff away, the slick wood slipping out of his hand even as he tried to hold on. His left arm was pinned beneath him while his right screamed in pain, every movement agony on his collarbone. Arm flailing as he attempted to keep his grasp on the weapon, he tried to whack her, but it was futile. The staff left his grasp. Everything was futile. Brock struggled, but his legs wouldn't move, trapped beneath the go-kart. His other arm wouldn't move. Water splashed in his face, head half-submerged in the puddle and he knew he needed to get a hold of the girl; if he could grab her, he could pull her down too. He reached out, grasping for her leg, her jacket, whatever. Halle couldn't let him get ahold of her. She threw the staff as hard as she could, but that wouldn't be enough. She was tempted just to leave him like this, but what if he found a way to get free? What if he didn't, and it took him hours to die? She kicked at him, finally connecting with his shoulder. When he yelped in pain, an idea came to her. She knelt down on his injured shoulder, digging her knees in so it would be hard for him to move his free arm. Hands shaking, she pushed his head down into the puddle. He couldn't move. He couldn't move and suddenly Brock realized that he was actually going to die. It wasn't that the thought hadn't crossed his mind before, that the possibility was real. He had never deluded himself into thinking there was no way he could lose. But he couldn't move, his arms wouldn't work and his legs were trapped and this girl, this stupid little girl from Six, was holding his head under the water because even without training she had what a tribute needed to be a victor; they all did. He felt like his lungs were bursting as he tried to hold his breath, struggling against her. It felt like hours, every second ticking by an eternity as he willed himself to hold his breath. He couldn't die, he couldn't die, he couldn't— He sputtered, coughing in a mouthful of water. It was almost ironic, that he was going to drown. Rock types were always weak against water. He could feel something tearing in his chest as the water filled his lungs, a burning sensation spreading over him and then— Calm. It felt tranquil, almost. I did well, he thought, but it wasn't comforting. Four kills, including two of the biggest tributes, and in the final five, but none of that made him feel any better. There were no runners-up in the Hunger Games. Only the winners were remembered. He was going to be forgotten. A cannon boomed. Even as the boom echoed around her, Halle didn't let go. She had to be sure. When she finally did pull back and the boy didn't move, her breathing got heavier and she stumbled back. She stared at Brock's motionless, lifeless body and was overcome with a desire to get out of there, to get anywhere, to let the Gamemakers deal with the body so she didn't have to. She pulled and pushed at her kart until the wheels could catch the ground again and she could leave. She thought for a moment of searching out the boy's weapon, but she knew it wouldn't do her any good. All she wanted now was to get out of the rain. |