miles rhodes; mentor, district six (milesperhr) wrote in colosseum, @ 2014-03-02 13:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 56th games, - capitol, victor: 49th miles rhodes, victor: 51st brutus roach |
WHO: Brutus Roach [D2] and Miles Rhodes [D6]
WHAT: Viewing and reacting to the things~
WHEN: Day 14, during this.
WARNINGS: Spoilers
STATUS: Complete
Miles had checked his watch a few times, trying to fight off a yawn. The drowning rain was thundering on and that, coupled with the inactivity, had his head drooping, slobber running down his chin.
He woke with a start when his tablet starting incessantly beeping. Eyes flying open, he jolted up right, hair sticking out in random places, as he looked around like a deer caught in headlights. “Whaa?” he started, before reality set in. His gaze shifted from the table of empty drink glasses to the big screen television that showed the male D2 tribute moving through the rain, and the go-kart - Halle’s go-kart - not too far off.
Brutus had deliberately positioned himself next to Miles once it became apparent that Brock had seen Halle. He hoped the fish they'd sent earlier -- some Capitol delicacy that a chef had assured Brutus was filled with nutrients to keep his tribute thinking straight -- would give Brock the energy to finish the job quickly. It couldn't be too hard. The rain was less than ideal, but she was small and currently struggling with her little arena vehicle.
At Miles' sleepy vocalization, Brutus looked sideways. The ends of his mouth curled up to form a gloating smile. "Morning, sunshine."
The sound of Brutus’ voice flittered into his ears and before he’d even looked up, he knew who it was. He could practically hear the smug in his voice. Miles’ eyes narrowed to little slits that could almost rival that of the other man’s tribute as he gave Brutus a small little glare.
Great, he thought. He’d been expecting Halle to die since before she’d even stepped foot in the arena, but death by Brutus Jr was probably the least appealing way she could go. At least it wasn’t the statue. “Fancy seeing you here,” he mumbled at last. As he watched the screen though, his heart plummeted even more when he realized that instead of riding away (or running, if the kart was stuck), Halle was driving towards Brock. He gritted his teeth, trying to ignore Brutus next to him.
"I thought we should share this moment," replied Brutus.
He didn't do a good job of suppressing a laugh when Halle floored the pedal on her go-kart. "Huh. She's going to ram him? That's ballsy. I guess you Sixes have your moments." He looked pointedly at Miles' nose before turning back to the screen. "Too bad it's going to end similarly."
Miles raised a hand to protect his still-broken nose. He heard Brutus but didn’t turn to acknowledge him. Internally he agreed with Brutus, and though he didn’t utter anything his feelings were evident on his face. His jaw went slack with resignation and an audible sigh escaped him as the go-kart went racing (as much as it could) through the rain and mud. Boy Two was waiting with that stick of his and...
he fell? Miles blinked, and he sat up even straighter, literally scooting to the edge of his seat when he realized that the Boy’s legs were now pinned under the go-kart. “What?” he asked of the screen, and then snuck a look at Brutus from the corner of his eye, daring to say, “She might manage to take down a super teen.”
"What?" Brutus asked in tandem, immediately looking unhappy about it. He shot Miles a dark look at the super teen comment but didn't say anything. He spent his energy willing Brock to get the hell up, but Brock had fallen strangely. The go-kart on top of him wasn't helping his limited range of movement, either. When she took the quarterstaff away, like proverbial candy ripped from a baby's palm, he pressed his eyes closed. This wasn't going to look good even if Brock managed to get out of it.
"You've got to be kidding me," he muttered, watching Halle kneel down on his tribute. Where was his wax statue when it was really needed? Wax Brutus could have stepped in and lifted the go-kart off of Brock's legs. That would have been sweet. Sweeter yet if he'd knock both tributes' heads together as a lesson to how shit was done in the arena. Brock could finish off Halle later, but, to Brutus' growing frustration, that did not appear to be in the cards for his remaining tribute.
“That makes two of us,” Miles responded to the muttering, not bothering to even pretend he wasn’t shocked by this turn of events. He vaguely eyed the spot where the quarterstaff had landed before becoming fixated on Halle’s move to take out Brock herself. He cringed visibly as she attempted to drown the older boy in that muddy puddle.
Miles sucked in a breath and held it as he watched the fight start to drain out of Brutus’ boy. Every second that ticked away, Miles expected Two to somehow get the upperhand, but when the cannon finally sounded, he just sat there, still unable to believe it had happened. His eyes were wide when he finally looked away, locking his gaze on Brutus instead. “Well, I’m glad we shared in this moment,” he said, repeating Brutus’ words when he finally found his voice.
A mud puddle. "A fucking mud puddle?!" Practically spitting the words out, Brutus was seeing a shade of red very similar to the flush creeping up from his neckline. Brock could have won the games, could have brought back the glory to District 2 in Brutus' second year of mentoring, but no. No, District 4's girl had even outlived him, and no one had expected her to last as long as she had.
His entire face twisted as he watched Halle work to get her go-kart off of Brock's lifeless body. It jerked with every yank and nudge until one narrowed eye, lashes caked with mud, appeared to be squinting angrily at Halle as she drove off. It certainly wasn't a spectacular death. What a fucking joke.
Brutus wheeled on Miles and shoved his index finger in his face. "Enjoy it, Rhodes," he growled. "But if you say one more fucking thing to me about it, we're going to have a reenactment between you, me, and the tribute train. Got it?"
Miles opened his mouth to respond but shut it after a moment as he stared at Brutus, taking in the red flush of anger and frustration. Boy Two’s body was still staring up at them, open eye blank and eeriy. It struck him then, that somewhere in District Two, the boy’s family had just watched their son, maybe brother, die in a blaze of un-glory. He frowned as Brock’s lifeless body was airlifted by the hovercraft
“Yeah, all right,” he replied at length, no longer feeling too smug about it. Miles didn’t really feel bad for Brutus, but a dead child was still just that; a dead child.