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Entry tags:
(open) Attention, all personnel. It's that time again.
Who| Hawkeye and anyone, with specific scenarios for Ellie and Guy Crood
What| Surviving the second week in this new hell
Where| Sticking near the center of the island, but wandering around
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Want to maul him? Let me know! I'll update warnings as needed.
Ellie
Ellie's hollow tree had served as his first shelter against the jungle, though being part of it itself. A dead part of it, so naturally Hawkeye thinks he feels some comfort keeping in its skeleton. The rains wouldn't stop, though, and there was only so much he could take of being confined to such a small, suffocating area for long. Hunger was new to him when a lot of things weren't- he'd taken to chewing on the collar of his shirt late at night and reminding himself of a baby with a pacifier. It was embarrassing and his ears would sometimes burn red with frustration. He was supposed to be the adult and the strong one and he still played with the chain of his dog tags between his teeth for the sake of tasting something other than plain lukewarm nothing. The metallic taste would remind him of blood and then he'd just get scared and drop the chain with a tink and roll his head back and listen to the pains in his stomach instead before drifting off to sleep. The human body was an incredible thing. He knew. It could go much longer than he had without food, with horrors.
The screams would ring out at night and he didn't know who or what they were from and sometimes he'd feel like springing to his feet and going to the source and other times he'd mutter in a heated breath, "Shut up, shut up," and trek the now muddied jacket over his head. Sometimes animals would run past- then he'd take his own advice and can it.
He'd said he wouldn't play their game, whoever 'they' were who supposedly had cameras hidden in the clouds and rocks. But the anxiety and guilt were quick to try and persuade Hawkeye otherwise. He can't just hide. Sit in the mud and rot away. He-- the girl can. The girl he's been with can. The girl didn't have a career, she didn't have to worry about others dying. She wasn't just hiding away when she could be helping. She couldn't do anything, so there was nothing to do, Hawkeye reasoned. They'd have to move from the tree eventually. He made his way out of the hiding spot as silently as he could on weak legs.
Almost immediately a white spot crossed his vision- he figured it might be from the dehydration until the spot became clearer, came nearer. A parachute. Small. It caught on a low lying branch to his left. It beeped. A metal canister.
Hawkeye thought it was going to blow.
He turned in panic, slipped in the mud and scrambled a ways on his hands and knees until he got to his feet again and cried out, "Down! Stay down!" Because a hollow tree blown to bits would mean shrapnel but if Ellie could cover her head-- and he practically bulldozes into her, the poor thing, and forces her down and muscles her head down and against his chest and though he's sore and stiff as a board with tension, he realizes just how odd it was that the assumed bomb hadn't exploded yet.
It was his first arena. The hell did he know about sponsor gifts?
Guy
After he had wolfed down his food, he decided to go out and scout. Because- back to his previous train of thought- a hollow tree wasn't adequate shelter. Nothing was, short of a real house, and he was beginning to think that finding one of those here was impossible. Notice, though, that Hawkeye still held out hope.
Part of him still wished a MASH unit would show right around the bend. He couldn't find his way around a jungle but he could around tents and flag poles and terrible shacks impersonating functional hospitals. He opens his mouth to complain to nothing, but snaps it shut. His first week had taught him to shut up unless he was with friends. -common sense to others. Hawkeye would argue he never had to learn that, but rather that he never believed his predicament was what everyone said it had been. The world around him seemed slower than before. Brighter, but slower. He'd sworn he would have killed by now if Rosie's ever came in sight but it had all been in jest. He pushes a heavy leaf out of his way and trudges on, remembering how he used to wonder how anyone could stand still. Now he wondered how anyone had the energy to move, let alone the energy, mental and physical, to kill people. Eva's attempts at his life came back, and Hawkeye snapped his head up.
And almost right ahead was a young man he'd seen his first night, who had trapped him. He didn't look well and Hawkeye told himself to pay more attention where he was going because some people out there apparently had no qualm with savagery.
"I'm going to start billing you," Hawkeye warns, teasing grin on his lips because he'd fight against his bedside manner deteriorating until he simply couldn't anymore. "You don't believe me, but I mean it. I'm a doctor, you know, I can name any outrageous price I want." And he hopes he doesn't get a spear in the gut when he steps closer to the guy turned dog chow. "What happened?"
Open
He knew there were caves somewhere because of Holiday. She had mentioned them the first time they'd met and he now counted her message and gift of food as a second meeting. He now kept an eye open for cameras, actively looking for them during his walks. He never found any and despite everything still doubted there was an eye on him at all times. It was an alien concept- then again, this was an alien world despite how much it looked like something that could be found in his. Three times he almost stepped on discarded beer cans. He had bent over and taken a sniff and wrinkled his nose and gagged and wondered why he ever thought it would be a good idea to do what he did. Then he had chucked the cans- all but one Hawkeye stuffed in a pouch in his jacket. It was odd to move with it just there, but aluminum was malleable and- and something, alright? It would be good for something.
By the time he had swatted at the hundredth mosquito, he was feeling winded. No, he just wasn't cut for toughing it out in the wilderness. He wanted to go home. He wondered about the Four-Oh-Seven-Seven. Some chief surgeon he was, behind enemy lines anywhere he turned, never where he should be doing what he hated but had a duty to do. Suppose he shouts at the cameras that are supposedly everywhere and asks kindly for an aid station- a thatched roof and stretches and some blood and needles and bandages and a lot of penicillin. Optimist he is, stupid he isn't.
And besides, if he wanted to perform, he'd just drop his pants.
A yawn wasn't exactly the sort of reaction he had expected from himself at the thought. There's mild disappointment in his features because of it -men and women behaving like animals, why couldn't he? For starters, because there was now a chirp, chirp, chirp echoing through the jungle that Hawkeye had heard before though not during the day. It sounded closer, and with that he quickened the pace to return to his headquarters. He'd search for the caves later, maybe, probably not. He knew he would have to but-- so how about he focuses on staying in one piece throughout the rest of the evening first?
What| Surviving the second week in this new hell
Where| Sticking near the center of the island, but wandering around
When| Week 4
Warnings/Notes| Want to maul him? Let me know! I'll update warnings as needed.
Ellie
Ellie's hollow tree had served as his first shelter against the jungle, though being part of it itself. A dead part of it, so naturally Hawkeye thinks he feels some comfort keeping in its skeleton. The rains wouldn't stop, though, and there was only so much he could take of being confined to such a small, suffocating area for long. Hunger was new to him when a lot of things weren't- he'd taken to chewing on the collar of his shirt late at night and reminding himself of a baby with a pacifier. It was embarrassing and his ears would sometimes burn red with frustration. He was supposed to be the adult and the strong one and he still played with the chain of his dog tags between his teeth for the sake of tasting something other than plain lukewarm nothing. The metallic taste would remind him of blood and then he'd just get scared and drop the chain with a tink and roll his head back and listen to the pains in his stomach instead before drifting off to sleep. The human body was an incredible thing. He knew. It could go much longer than he had without food, with horrors.
The screams would ring out at night and he didn't know who or what they were from and sometimes he'd feel like springing to his feet and going to the source and other times he'd mutter in a heated breath, "Shut up, shut up," and trek the now muddied jacket over his head. Sometimes animals would run past- then he'd take his own advice and can it.
He'd said he wouldn't play their game, whoever 'they' were who supposedly had cameras hidden in the clouds and rocks. But the anxiety and guilt were quick to try and persuade Hawkeye otherwise. He can't just hide. Sit in the mud and rot away. He-- the girl can. The girl he's been with can. The girl didn't have a career, she didn't have to worry about others dying. She wasn't just hiding away when she could be helping. She couldn't do anything, so there was nothing to do, Hawkeye reasoned. They'd have to move from the tree eventually. He made his way out of the hiding spot as silently as he could on weak legs.
Almost immediately a white spot crossed his vision- he figured it might be from the dehydration until the spot became clearer, came nearer. A parachute. Small. It caught on a low lying branch to his left. It beeped. A metal canister.
Hawkeye thought it was going to blow.
He turned in panic, slipped in the mud and scrambled a ways on his hands and knees until he got to his feet again and cried out, "Down! Stay down!" Because a hollow tree blown to bits would mean shrapnel but if Ellie could cover her head-- and he practically bulldozes into her, the poor thing, and forces her down and muscles her head down and against his chest and though he's sore and stiff as a board with tension, he realizes just how odd it was that the assumed bomb hadn't exploded yet.
It was his first arena. The hell did he know about sponsor gifts?
Guy
After he had wolfed down his food, he decided to go out and scout. Because- back to his previous train of thought- a hollow tree wasn't adequate shelter. Nothing was, short of a real house, and he was beginning to think that finding one of those here was impossible. Notice, though, that Hawkeye still held out hope.
Part of him still wished a MASH unit would show right around the bend. He couldn't find his way around a jungle but he could around tents and flag poles and terrible shacks impersonating functional hospitals. He opens his mouth to complain to nothing, but snaps it shut. His first week had taught him to shut up unless he was with friends. -common sense to others. Hawkeye would argue he never had to learn that, but rather that he never believed his predicament was what everyone said it had been. The world around him seemed slower than before. Brighter, but slower. He'd sworn he would have killed by now if Rosie's ever came in sight but it had all been in jest. He pushes a heavy leaf out of his way and trudges on, remembering how he used to wonder how anyone could stand still. Now he wondered how anyone had the energy to move, let alone the energy, mental and physical, to kill people. Eva's attempts at his life came back, and Hawkeye snapped his head up.
And almost right ahead was a young man he'd seen his first night, who had trapped him. He didn't look well and Hawkeye told himself to pay more attention where he was going because some people out there apparently had no qualm with savagery.
"I'm going to start billing you," Hawkeye warns, teasing grin on his lips because he'd fight against his bedside manner deteriorating until he simply couldn't anymore. "You don't believe me, but I mean it. I'm a doctor, you know, I can name any outrageous price I want." And he hopes he doesn't get a spear in the gut when he steps closer to the guy turned dog chow. "What happened?"
Open
He knew there were caves somewhere because of Holiday. She had mentioned them the first time they'd met and he now counted her message and gift of food as a second meeting. He now kept an eye open for cameras, actively looking for them during his walks. He never found any and despite everything still doubted there was an eye on him at all times. It was an alien concept- then again, this was an alien world despite how much it looked like something that could be found in his. Three times he almost stepped on discarded beer cans. He had bent over and taken a sniff and wrinkled his nose and gagged and wondered why he ever thought it would be a good idea to do what he did. Then he had chucked the cans- all but one Hawkeye stuffed in a pouch in his jacket. It was odd to move with it just there, but aluminum was malleable and- and something, alright? It would be good for something.
By the time he had swatted at the hundredth mosquito, he was feeling winded. No, he just wasn't cut for toughing it out in the wilderness. He wanted to go home. He wondered about the Four-Oh-Seven-Seven. Some chief surgeon he was, behind enemy lines anywhere he turned, never where he should be doing what he hated but had a duty to do. Suppose he shouts at the cameras that are supposedly everywhere and asks kindly for an aid station- a thatched roof and stretches and some blood and needles and bandages and a lot of penicillin. Optimist he is, stupid he isn't.
And besides, if he wanted to perform, he'd just drop his pants.
A yawn wasn't exactly the sort of reaction he had expected from himself at the thought. There's mild disappointment in his features because of it -men and women behaving like animals, why couldn't he? For starters, because there was now a chirp, chirp, chirp echoing through the jungle that Hawkeye had heard before though not during the day. It sounded closer, and with that he quickened the pace to return to his headquarters. He'd search for the caves later, maybe, probably not. He knew he would have to but-- so how about he focuses on staying in one piece throughout the rest of the evening first?
Permission to injure him maybe
Wasn't itIndeed, the shadow suddenly looming overhead was not a good sign for Hawkeye. His eyes narrowed at the familiarity of the figure...no. It couldn't matter. That was not his life - surely it had never been.
Go for it /o/
Light was it now. He stops- looks around him, for God's sake, before he realizes with a cold sense of sardonic triumph that the light blocked meant something above. But the trees and their leaves and vines intertwined this way and that and green was a color he was insanely sick of- he steps forward gingerly, not seeing any definite form but knowing running wouldn't buy him time. He knew he wasn't fast. The least he could be was quiet, even if it was absurd.
no subject
In an instant he landed - behind Hawkeye. Did he teleport? Flip over? Slide? Who knew. Don did, but he wasn't telling. Not to his potential victim. Not when he was on the offensive. Indeed, the boomerang was out and at the ready, with Don ready to lob it at the older man's back.
no subject
What else can he do, really? Think about all the ways this is wrong, think about all the ways he's scared out of his wit? The thing was ready to kill him. "Don't throw that."
no subject
"Why not?"
Happy day for Hawkeye, it talked.
no subject
Of course it did.
Of course it did!
It stood on two legs. It held a boomerang. It wanted to skin him- or if it didn't, Hawkeye would love nothing more than to be told that. His mouth hangs open like he was some dolt and he even stutters once, stepping back- back- back again. A coward he wouldn't mind being called, but what sane man can look at whatever's in front of him and not want to get away? Some diluted sense of self-preservation kept him from turning tail. The same kind that had kept him from turning his back on the woman with the spear until he absolutely couldn't anymore.
Funny, he had talked a lot more with her.
Funny. Last he checked his eyes were-- screw it all. This world wasn't his.
"For Christ's sake- because you'll get nothing out of killing me." Is all he can think of to say.
no subject
"...I know that."
His voice shakes, but its slight. He already fell apart. Don couldn't get much more fallen apart. Thoughts of that troll's screams still echoed in his mind, even while his memories of the fallout plant and the previous Arena still came in. At that moment he hardly sounded like a very threatening person, as opposed to someone who was, at the end of the day...frightened?
Not of Hawkeye, of course. Hawkeye wasn't the one with the weapons.
It all...everything...it threatened to simply drive him and keep him in madness. Again. Over and over, he just didn't know what to do. Everything he did was wrong, from one extreme to another, and even if it really mattered, he couldn't find the right-
He drew in a quick breath through his teeth, shaking his head. Fast as lightning he swung, and the boomerang left his hands.
no subject
Instead of feeling cool all over in a sudden rise of alarm, he only felt light. He only saw it, also, shutting his eyes with a violent blink before the backpedaling began. The color of darkness was red at first- light filtered through the skin of an eyelid- then black- then white when blue eyes widened with a shout. He saw the shake of its head, Hawkeye would later remember running, or else feeling the distance between himself and everything else grow greater, and he'd never see the weapon fly at him. He'd never see the swing that brought it slicing through the jungle's air at him. He'd just remember doubling over and seeing two pale things next to his boot and red falling from his hands and a shriek that was -God forgive the inhuman noise- his.
He stumbles and sobs.
Feels like he should drop to his knees and beg.
Yelps again at nothing and shoves a three-fingered, bloodied left hand under his right armpit like it'd save the remains. It hurt. Losing fingers hurt. Whodathunk? And he just wants to cry and do nothing other than bleed but the rest of him is too tight, too tense, too scared. Really scared. It hurt. And he can't run forever; his legs just can't carry on.
no subject
He could finish this guy off. Sure, no doubt this guy will hate him, despise him, but...he was not a torturer. Even if it was for the audience, he couldn't bring himself to make the deaths drawn out. His ninja training preached quick, efficient strikes. Making this drawn out would accomplish nothing.
However, he would not get the chance to. Suddenly, there was a hiss, and a snarl behind him.
"Shell."
He hissed out loud, knowing mutts were just behind him. Self-preservation won out over giving this man a quick death, no matter what he might have wanted. Suddenly, he was leaping over Hawkeye, grabbing the bloodied boomerang as he disappeared into the shadows.
And then, he was gone.