thearena | (no subject)

Who: Armin Arlert, Donatello
What: Armin gon' die. All the turtling in the world can't save you from a turtle.
When: Week three while the Compound is open.
Where: Fort Armin, a house he has fortified in various ways and stockpiled some supplies in.

In truth, Armin was oblivious to the fact that the button had turned off the gates. He had decided this was the best plan given his skill set. He'd lay low while the other fought it out. Every time he heard a cannon fire, he hoped it wasn't Eren. He had himself a spot where he'd lean in view of the window to watch the pictures in the sky every night. Eren was still alive out there. He wondered idly how many of those faces Eren was responsible for.

After that alarm had sent all the animals into a frenzy, he hadn't slept much. Not much more than an hour or two during the early morning hours. Staying awake during the night was especially important to him.

One night, his rhythm was interrupted. He awoke to find he had fallen asleep against a wall in the house. Out in the open, though the view was almost entirely blocked by a dresser up against the window. Sunset filtered through the gaps around the furniture. He dragged himself up to his feet, and did a lap to check his fortifications. His body couldn't take the abuse he was forcing it into, but it was that or die. He had no shortage of supplies. There was plenty for himself and Eren to last a couple weeks. Longer if they stretched it.

The front door was deadbolted and blocked by a careful arrangement of the kitchen chairs so that the door could not swing without pushing the chairs up against the opposite wall. It wouldn't open enough for most competitors to get through, but Armin could wiggle through if he needed to. He kept a pair of broken-off broomsticks pointed right where the door opened, ready to stab whoever tried to force their way in.

Windows were barricaded with whatever large furniture he could move, both to block the view inside and to discourage creative entrances. The back door was blocked by the kitchen table, wedged in so the door wouldn't open at all.

He unsheathed one of the pair of swords he'd found, just in case there was a surprise awaiting him. They were mismatched, two different styles, but he wore them one on each side nonetheless. The weight was grounding, in a way. Even if he wasn't as capable with them as he should be.

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He was done here.

He had supplies. He had food. He had weapons. It was all he needed, and nothing more. It was all he could allow himself to have. Quietly he began to walk, seeing that the fence was at last down. He kept going towards the edge of the compound--

Movement. Noise.

Most had left by now. That he knew. But there was a shack, and on it a window. Maybe it was Don being paranoid - and really, when wasn't he now, he had to admit - but he was sure he saw a shadow in the window. In cracks.

Maybe he was being reckless.

But there was only one way to find out. The next thing he knew, he was running towards the window at full speed, ready to smash into it and see what was inside.

He caught his breath as he readied for impact.

In the quiet, he heard the final few steps before the intruder crashed into his hideaway. All that noise would surely alert others to this position. But for now, he had to survive this. He drew his other sword as he darted out of that room and into the next, ready to ambush his attacker there. Sure, the strategy was as transparent as they came, but it was all he had. There were probably few combatants here that he could overpower, so all he could do was try to out-think them.

Because of this, he hadn't quite gotten a good look at him, just a flash that he was big, and there was quite a bit of green involved.

Don rolled as he impacted the wood and upholstery and glass. Shard cut him, but the cuts were superficial. That, and the creaking of wooden floor gave him confirmation: someone was in this house.

Very quietly he stopped his motion, smashed his hand through more of the glass to make more noise, and then made his way to the door by leaping up. Digging in, he latched onto the ceiling beams with his hands, swinging from beam to beam towards where the turtle thought he saw something go. But he didn't go in. Not yet. He didn't know whether the Tribute was armed or not, or whether he'd believed the feint. Best to be safe, than sorry.

He then waited, for a moment, before he suddenly jumped down, drew his knife, and leaped through the doorway. Hopefully, the ruse of him leaving

Armin was listening closely to what was going on in the next room. He raised his weapons up and to one side, pointed back over his shoulder, as he'd been taught. His heart thudded in his ears, almost louder than anything else in the vicinity.

What was he doing in there? It was way too noisy, then way too quiet. No, he wouldn't be lured out by something as simple as that. Was he big enough to climb the ceiling? In that moment he regretted not getting a better look at him sooner. He took a step back from the doorway, but he still hugged the near wall. Patience was his asset. Don't be lured out to a certain death. Wait for it...

And there he was. All at once, and huge! What was this guy? Whatever focused look he had changed into wide-eyed fear as soon as he saw him. He wasn't human. Out of reflex, he swung his swords down at him, in a strike that would be far from enough to do any kind of damage to Donatello's shell. They dropped out of his hands and clattered to the floor uselessly.

The swords barely glanced Don. In fact, one of them didn't even come close. Once both swords were down, Don lunged, his knife aiming for Armin's torso. He wasn't sure where exactly it would connect, but if he could sever an artery, he knew that he would die within minutes.

~~Even if he was just a kid. Even if he was, too. Even if they all were...~~

Edited 2013-11-24 05:47 (UTC)

His panic had been the end of him. Even with his intelligence and whatever experience he's been able to gather in this short time since joining the Scouting Legion, it wasn't enough to prepare him for this.

The knife found its mark, somewhere just under his ribcage. Nonono he had to live, to see the outside world, with Eren and Mikasa and the others. His eyes were still wide, and his fingers struggled to grip at the arm holding the knife, but the pain was clouding everything. He'd never felt anything like this before. He was beyond afraid.

But somehow, something amounting to clarity broke through. Maybe if he kept the knife in him, he could survive long enough to at least take another swing at this guy. He grabbed at the handle of the knife in Don's fist.

It was a fatal blow. That much he knew. He wouldn't live, not very long. Still, Don saw the attempt, the effort to take the knife from him. He knew what the younger kid was trying to do. Keep the plug in, so to speak.

Don had no intention of allowing him to live longer than necessary. Surely Armin knew that prolonging his life in this place, once it was claimed, was pointless. There was a time to fight, and there was a time to die. He'd lost the fight. There was only one course left.

So he began to pull, feeling the warm blood trickle onto his hand as he did so.

Edited 2013-11-24 17:10 (UTC)

Don would have no trouble yanking the knife out of Armin's hands. Right now, he wasn't even parsing that he was going to come back, that this was only a game. he collapsed fairly quickly, shock and desperation on his face and in his eyes.

It didn't hurt as much as he expected it to. After the initial pain, it was just a numb void, that was no longer filled once the knife came back out. Blood poured from the wound. All he could do was clutch his hands to his stomach and stare at his blood. Never before had his mind been so blank.

He slipped away fairly quickly. He could feel everything getting farther away, as though he were falling right through the floor. The shaking in his body faded with a final pathetic whimper.

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Now with the correct Titan character!

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