thearena | (no subject)

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WHO| Wyatt, Grey, and (later) Neeshka
WHAT| Wyatt vs. Grey, Round #2
WHEN| Mid-way through Week #4, post Alpha-death
WHERE| Woods, not too far from the ruins
WARNINGS| Bloody, bloody, death.

It was the routine that kept Wyatt going. Try to sleep despite the wet and the cold and feeling like his insides were trying to make a break out the outside. Get up, choke down something edible. Head for the woods for water. Revisit breakfast. Spend the day trying to avoid being killed. Head back to Neeshka at dark. Start over.

Keepin' it in a list like that, tellin' himself to just keep puttin' one boot in front of the other, made it easier. He could do neat, little steps.

And it seemed to be working. The past few days had passed on by without (unexpected) incident and he was beginning to wonder if maybe, just maybe, he might somehow see the end of this thing.

But then, that morning, not long after parting ways with Neeshka, as he moved down a narrow deer trail on his way to one of his snares, the earth started to move.

For a heartbeat he thought it was his head, seein' and feelin' things that weren't really there... but then a squirrel shot past his boot and the birds overhead exploded into the air in a great, screaming cloud. The ground shifted, shook, and he grabbed at the nearest tree, fingers digging into the bark in an effort to keep himself on his feet.

Just as he thought his bones might rattle right out of his body, a great, ungodly roar rose up from somewhere behind him. The sound echoed, rolling through the arena, as the ground slowly settled, finally stilled, beneath him.

Wild-eyed he looked back the way he'd come.

The ruins. The sound had come from the direction of the ruins.

Neeshka.

Forgetting all about the snare, he turned and started running.

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He allows himself only a few moments of rest against a tree near where he killed Some before moving on, deeper into the forest. Only a couple of minutes in, he hears the unmistakable crash of something moving quickly through the foliage.

Though he's seen nothing larger than the small, deformed deer that wander about the forest, it does cross his mind that this may be a large predator. Or one of the Capitol's 'mutts'. Even if that were the case... he wouldn't particularly mind dying right now. Not with how sick he feels.

He's willing to take the chance.

Maneuvering himself behind a large tree, he wraps both hands around the bloodied piece of re-bar, ready to swing for whoever (or whatever) comes past.

Maybe it was a part of being ill - it was definitely part of his worry over Neeshka - but for those few moments, after the quake, as he ran back toward the ruins, Wyatt forward that he was in the middle of a death match and that there were still people out there who wanted to kill him.

He wasn't paying attention; wasn't looking around, listening.

He had no idea that he wasn't alone on the trail.

As the sounds come closer he listens.

The footfalls. The height at which branches snap. Tribute. He's almost positive. He attempts to judge where the person's head might be on sound alone. Too low would at least still see a good impact.

Too high might be a problem.

As the person begins past his tree Grey steps forward and swings the piece of re-bar as hard as the remainder of his strength will allow.

Edited 2012-12-02 15:00 (UTC)

As he passes, he sees it - a dark blur comin' right at him - much to late to avoid it completely, but just in time to turn, to twist aside and catch the hard blow in the shoulder instead of the head.

The force of it, combined with his awkward step, sent him down to his hands and knees, but he didn't stay there. Even as the pain came, singing across his back, he was moving, hurrying to find his feet, to turn back and defend himself.

He knew he couldn't stay down. Down was a sure fire way to die.

But down is where Grey wants him. Lifting the piece of re-bar above his head, he brings it down sharply, attempting to strike Wyatt across the back before he can find his feet.

He can kill another. He's killed two already. If he can just hold on a little while longer... maybe he can even win.

Edited 2012-12-04 07:19 (UTC)

But Wyatt was already moving, twisting and rolling, as he sought his feet and the metal smacked against the dirt instead of the man. He came up in a half-crouch, one hand up - curled around the handle of his knife - the other arm, the one attached to his injured shoulder, folded close to his chest.

Recongizing Grey (he was the man Wyatt had killed last arena; the man with the strange metal arm) he stalked sideways, looking for an opening.

No sense trying to talk this one down.

As Wyatt comes up from the ground Grey recognizes him immediately. His killer from the previous arena. He'd had help then, though. Not this time.

"Hello!" He says brightly, despite the fact that he looks like death warmed over (and feels like it too). His forehead is dripping with sweat, the edges of his hair wet with it. Switching the piece of re-bar to his cybernetic left, he draws the folding knife with his right, flicking it open.

Watching the other man closely, he moved with him, unwilling to give him that opening. Not easily, at least.

Wyatt's eyes flicked to the knife in Grey's hand, then back to the other man's face. His shoulder was burning, nose flaring as he struggled breath around the heavy weight in his chest.

He blinked rapidly, trying to focus as Grey moved with him.

He glanced at the metal hand, the long metal bar-

-and suddenly lunged, going in low, hoping Grey might trip up and give him something soft to work with.

Instead of moving to dodge, Grey moves forward as well, using the piece of re-bar in an attempt to deflect Wyatt's knife arm as he comes in with his own knife, seeking out somewhere vital. Vital organs, major arteries.

The scientist knows the body inside and out. Literally.

The bar connected with Wyatt's forearm, just above the wrist and he felt the blow all the up his arm. The force it almost knocked the knife from his hand, but grimly he held on as he jerked away and tried to avoid the blade he saw comin' in fast.

He felt the knife snag on his suit, but no pain... no pain until he managed to get a few steps between them and saw the blood.

Dark and thick and already seeping through the fabric just above his belt.

Then came the fire, like he'd swallowed hot coals.

Neeshka had been knocked out of her tree by the earthquake. She hadn't had the best of grips, anyway, not with the way she kind of felt like she wanted to die. But by the time she'd realized what had happened-- weird, she'd never been in an earthquake before that wasn't thrown at her by a cleric!-- she was scrambling woozily to her feet and on her way to look for Wyatt.

Spotting him just as Grey just about gutted him, though, was not really in her plan. She ducked behind a tree before the twisted doctor had a chance to turn around and spot her, fumbling an arrow out of her quiver and fitting it to her bow. Time to add to her own kill count, and maybe save Wyatt's tail at the same time, right?

The scientist grins wide at the sight of red slowly blossoming on Wyatt's shirt. "Thought I'd return the favor." He says dryly. Putting space between them again, he watches for the other man's next move. The pounding in his head is threatening to overcome him.

Wyatt staggered back, pressing his free hand to the would, already he can feel the chill, the slow tide dragging at him and slowing him down.

He wasn't going to survive this.

The realization was clear. And strangely calm.

He was going to die.

Only question was whether or not he could take this smiling bastard with him.

He stumbled back a few more steps, colliding with a tree. His knife tumbled from his hand, fell next to his boot, and he started to sink down to the dirt.

Luckily, it hurt enough that he didn't have to do much acting. Surely the mad doctor would fall for it.

It's entirely feasible that the stab was sufficient to fell Wyatt, especially with the nature of the arena and the illness it befell upon it's inhabitants. And Grey wasn't thinking clearly enough anymore to consider whether or not it might be a trap.

He advanced on the fallen tribute, visibly unsteady on his feet but ready to deliver the killing blow that would take his kill count to three.

And that was when Neeshka stepped out from behind her tree, sighed along her forearm and the line of the arrow's head, and loosed. Her aim was pretty damn good, if she could guess from loosing, and she was aiming for his throat or right under the collar. She wasn't about to let Wyatt die without a fight on her part! He was her partner here, after all. Part of her mini-adventuring party.

(The extent of her mini-adventuring party).

And besides. He was nice to her. So she was at least going to try and take out the bastard attacking him.

There was a sickening sound as the arrow thudded into the side of his neck, the pointed tip tearing through both his esophagus and trachea on it's way out the other side.

His eyes flew wide, both weapons dropping from his hands as they rose towards either end of the arrow embedded in his neck. His legs gave, dropping him to his knees. There was another, he realized as the world spun. Just like last time he had encountered Wyatt.

But no, this time Wyatt was coming with him. The wound he'd inflicted was fatal. Of that he was sure.

As Grey had come closer, Wyatt had been waiting, preparing, and then, when the man moved to strike, so had he, grabbing the knife that had fallen in the dirt and swinging it up-

-but Grey hadn't come close enough.

Wyatt blinked at him, watched him sink to the ground, grasping at the arrow suddenly sticking - almost comically - through his throat. Staring expressionlessly, Wyatt's arm wavered, then dropped as he let the fatigue wash over him.

He didn't want to die. Didn't want to come back here, but at least Grey was down. At least someone like him wouldn't win.

That was something.

Neeshka gave a quick crow of, "Yes!" before she broke into a shaky run towards the two. There was no way Grey was a danger with blood flooding his windpipe, so she wanted to see how Wyatt was.

Even if she stumbled into a tree once en route from vertigo, and wound up on her knees beside Wyatt himself when she finally got there. She brandished the bow at Grey as if it were a club and she could warn him from... uh, crawling... any closer, and then put her free hand on Wyatt's shoulder.

Grey was too busy fighting for air as his trachea filled with his blood. With his left hand, he yanked the arrow free from his throat, falling heavily onto his side as he coughed up a spray of blood onto the leaves littering the forest floor.

He didn't even bother attempting to stem the bleeding (and there was so, so much bleeding). Major arteries and veins had been severed and he knew it. Instead he laid there, watched the two of them with dull eyes, Wyatt with a knowing gaze, as blood gurgled in his throat. It was only a few long seconds before his cannon sounded.

As the canon blast echoed above them, Wyatt looked up at Neeshka, smiling tiredly and flashing pink-tinged teeth.

"Nice shot."

She gave him a weak sort of grin. "Thanks." The smile, weak though it was, died a pretty quick death when she got a better look at him. He was bleeding... kind of a lot. And with the teeth thing, that meant he was bleeding inside, too. Thaaaaat wasn't good, and Neeshka never did study healing so much. "Uh, you don't look so hot, Wyatt."

"Don't feel to good either," he replied with a soft laugh that turned quickly into a wet, heavy cough.

He struggled, choking, and final brought it up, a mouthful of dark blood that he spat out with a curse.

"Hell," he groaned.

"Guess you're pretty much out, then, huh," Neeshka commented, surprised to find herself a little disappointed. She'd liked having somebody in her party, here. Not only was it safer, it was just more fun that way. She put an arm around him for a little support, and said, attempting to be cheerful, "At least you get to go back where there's comfy beds and plenty to eat, that I didn't have to cook, right?"

It wasn't as cheerful as she'd have liked, and her voice actually wavered a little. That didn't happen often.

His mouth twisted. He wanted to smile for her, but the pain (and the knowledge he'd be coming back here again) made it awful difficult.

"Here," he finally managed, the hand not holding his insides in lifting, (it wavered uncertainly as he struggled to to hold it up; he couldn't make the trembling stop) the handle of his knife held out to her. "I want ya to have it."

Even though she probably wouldn't last much longer, with this awful stomach problem and a potential rampaging turtle... she took the knife, anyway. It would be useful, if she could stomach even the idea of eating something. She even put both her hands on Wyatt's when he offered it to her, to steady him. "Thanks," she said, failing a bit more at the sounding cheerful part. "I'll take really good care of it, promise. I'll see you on the other side, okay?"

His hand twitched under hers, an involuntary movement, and he tried to speak-

-but only coughed instead, a pathetic sound, weaker than before as the fight in him drained. His gaze slipped aside, glassy and distant, focused on something only he could see.

His lips trembled, a whisper escaping (his agreement? a wish of good luck? a name?), and then he stilled, hand falling away as he faded and was gone.

The canon sounded a minute later, and Neeshka gave his limp hands a little pat. "Yep. See you on the other side, Wyatt." Then she checked his pockets to make sure he didn't have anything useful in there, and picked up her bow, heading back into the trees. Better get out of the open, before more trouble came looking.

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