WHO: Dick Grayson and Harley Quinn WHAT: Final fight WHERE: Arena, Cornucopia. WHEN: Day 14 WARNINGS: Hunger Games.
Hearing the voice echo through the arena was odd enough to set him on edge, couple that with the ominous countdown and it was safe to say that Dick was in full blown Nightwing mode. Or would that be Spyral mode now? Whichever, he was alert, more so than he had been previously. So far in the games he’d managed to stay out of trouble, a couple of cuts was all the damage he’d sustained and only one of those had come from another tribute. All he had to do was survive another few hours without incident.
But then what? More experiments? Would whoever was left just be dragged off somewhere else, or forced to fight one another in some kind of death match? (Which was kind of like everyday life for him in Gotham or Bludhaven.) He could only guess the answer, things could always be worse, he just hoped they wouldn’t become so.
He’d spent the previous night just outside the sweet cave after refilling his canteen there for the second time. Despite how tempting it was to stay in there, he’d forced himself to simply walk in, get the water, and leave. But the cloying scent had made him drowsy and so he’d settled down for the evening about ten meters from the cave’s mouth. His final tin of fish had been his meal, which meant now his food supply was exhausted. Perhaps there would be something at the Cornucopia?
Checking the timer on his wrist, Dick headed in that direction, throwing knives within easy reach should he need them, but still hoping that he wouldn’t.
--
Harley was still alive, which was something. She had a newfound love of herself for keeping herself breathing. She didn’t need anyone else. She didn’t need the Joker. Harley had already come to that conclusion when he died in the jet crash, that she was still alive while he was dead. His sudden death didn’t make her up and die.
She had eaten all her Clif bars and MREs and didn’t find anything good on the bodies of Wanda or Raven. Maybe she should have stopped and looked. She didn’t even know their names, so they were Thing 1 and Thing 2. Her twisted ankle was feeling a little better, but the cut on her arm was definitely infected. Harley’s shoulder ached from where it had come out of the socket-- despite popping it back in, it still was angry. And last but not least, her eye was oozing from where it was destroyed in her skull.
Harley had her backpack still, with the flashlight and rape whistle. When the voice told her there’d be a feast, she figured-- why not? Maybe she could grab something and catch another body.
The passageway leading to the Cornucopia was close to another. She heard the sound of someone and immediately went for it. It was a boy! Harley wondered how he’d treat her as she came at him with her climbing pick. “What’s up, handsome!?”
--
“A million tonnes of dirt, beautiful.” Dick responded, dodging her direct attack with a leap to the side. Even though she lacked the scarlet and black his own version favoured, there was no mistaking the woman, if the words didn’t tip him off, the attack style did. Harley was predictably unpredictable when it came to a fight. She was relentless, liked to climb all over you, keep you on your toes and wear you down. Very similar to his own style, it had to be said. Which was why when they’d teamed up in his world, they’d worked well together.
What he wouldn’t give for his Eskrima just then, he already knew that the throwing knives wouldn’t be the best option in this skirmish. Harley was a gymnast, she could dodge as well as he could. But he had one close to hand, just incase a quick cut was needed as a deterrent. He wouldn’t kill. She was in bad shape, but Dick wouldn’t bet on her being any less dangerous in that state. He needed to disarm her first, that was the priority.
Her ruined eye would play to his advantage, her field of vision significantly narrowed and it was from this blind side that he attacked, aiming a kick to knock her back.
--
Harley watched him flip off to the side and grinned wide. “Oh, we got a live one!” And then “Oopf,” as she was knocked back. She didn’t know this Robin, didn’t help kill this Robin. Pretty little bird.
Harley hopped up pretty quickly and ran for him again, trying to scrape the pick over his unprotected arm, it wouldn’t chop the arm off, but it would at least spray some blood around.
It was already swirling in her mind, how she would have to kill him. Or he’d kill her. And she didn’t make it this far with all these goddamn injuries just to die at the hands of a man.
Harley swung again, with both hands this time, exposing her cut arm in the process. She just kept aiming for his arms, so that he wouldn’t throw one of those knives at her.
--
“You bet your ass I’m a live one.” She was just as mouthy as his own Harley, it was strange how similar and yet completely different the same person could be. Bruce was a case in point, although the younger of the two at the compound was more like his own mentor than the older one. Weird.
As she ran at him again, Dick raised both arms to block, gritting his teeth as the pick cut into his left forearm. Moving again, he jumped back, watching as her double-handed attack came soon after, too soon maybe, because it was sloppy. She was favoring the arm that was cut already, he could exploit that.
Catching her fist as she swung again, he twisted her wrist sharply in the hopes of making her drop the damn pick.
--
She screamed, followed by a sinister laugh. There was definitely a crack and she did drop the pick. “You broke my wrist, you little prick!” Harley kicked him away, holding her wrist to her chest. She scrambled on the ground to find the pick, glad that she at least cut him.
Suddenly, the arena went dark. Harley went for her backpack, considering getting out her flashlight, but took the opportunity to run away from Dick. It was hard, considering all the water and craggy rocks. She stumbled a few times but made a good distance between them. He was one to worry about and she didn’t know about it the whole time. She had been looking for the Russians. Damn Russians.
--
"Yeah, well, that was the intention." Dick shrugged, taking the force of the kick in his side and stumbling back. She looked kind of pathetic scrabbling on the floor for her pick, and Dick hesitated.
Then the lights went out.
His foot snagged on something as he tried heading back the way he'd come. Grabbing the offending plastic bag, he took it with him on impulse, free hand retrieving his flashlight from his pocket. Only when he was back in his nook off the main passageway did he investigate the bag. The two subs were wolfed down before they spoiled and the duct tape was put into use dressing his newest wound.