Kobe Bryant (probablydead) wrote in colosseum, @ 2013-12-07 01:28:00 |
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He'd already discarded the bloody makeshift bandages, salvaged from the clothing of dead tributes. As they had been collecting fabric, Marlin had thought that the fat boy from District 11 might have had enough material for all of their needs, but he'd had to change his wound a few times already. The kick was the injury everyone remembered, but it was the cut, apparently, that lingered. Every time he moved his shoulder, the wound re-opened, even as he remembered to apply pressure. At least he'd had the satisfaction of getting back at the little shit that had done it. It almost scared Marlin, just how satisfying it had been to feel the boy from District 8's life slip out through his fingers. When he dozed in the tent while Dory was on watch, he had vivid dreams of hunting down the girl from Seven and squeezing her breath out of her lungs, dreams that lingered uncomfortably after he awoke. He was a killer now, finally, after all his years of training and anticipation. Everything he'd ever wanted, and the thought thrilled him, even as it left him feeling wretched and fucked up. Was this what District 4's victors had all tried to warn him of? Well, they hadn't warned him to watch his junk. Marlin spared a glance at each of the tributes from District 2 as he examined the gash in his upper arm. Let them judge him, he thought. They'd made fun of his testicular mishap? Marlin knew he could fight through pain, and that only made him stronger. There had been no cannons since the Cornucopia, and he itched to get out and explore the arena -- and, more importantly, find that damn water source. But first, something to take care of. The knife burned dull red as he held it, with a carefully gloved hand, in the embers of their bonfire. That was as hot as he needed it to be; any hotter, and he risked compromising the blade. He had knew he was about to take a risk, and so did Dory, who'd fretted, but in the end offered to hold his hand as he pulled the blade from the fire and pressed its searing hot flat into his upper arm. There was a hissing noise as the metal burned his flesh, cauterizing the wound. Marlin gritted his teeth, but as he held the knife to his skin, it only seemed to burn hotter, and he howled in pain. His breaths came in heavy when he pulled the knife away, and he knew, sickeningly, that he was inhaling the scent of his own burning flesh. He hadn't done much for the risk of infection, but at least the wound wasn't going to open up again. So what if the shining burn was even uglier than Dory had predicted it would be? When (if) he won, the Capitol would fix it all for him. |