➵ running out of time.

[broadsidewaltz]

 Who| Hubert and Tom
What| Hubert getting in a fight and then murdered
Where| Near the lighting rig
When| Week Three
Warnings/Notes| character death and fighting and stuff! heck yeah

Military officer or not, spending a prolonged amount of time in this place proved more stressful than not. Despite the usefulness of supplies, the terrain was wholly unfamiliar and the open space unnerving. Thankfully though, things were going rather favorably. Having met up with his mentor and a few new acquaintances made, along with the shotgun that now hung on a crass makeshift sling on his shoulder... yeah, it was a lot of good luck, even with the tense fact that he was going to perhaps die in the coming weeks.

That luck of his was going to run out, certainly.

And, as luck would have it, Hubert found himself on something of a usual patrol by now, starting to accustom to these less than savory living conditions-- taking to making a tour of the Arena. It was easier than waiting holed-up somewhere only to get cornered and lose the upper hand. Although he could just as easily be attacked from any which angle here, at least there was enough space to dodge, to guard, to fight back.

Nearing what seemed to be some sort of control for the lighting, he peered curiously at it. He had never been to this part yet, and his growing curiosity would lead him closer still, a hand moving up instinctively to the sling his gun was wrapped in-- just to be sure.

Comments

[pimpcanes]

There's something about military training that never quite leaves somebody's posture; even decades after Cain had deserted his draft and slouched and sprawled his way back into casual body language, there was a sort of need to pace, to keep an eye on the location with shoulders tight. Tom saw it and never really mentioned it, as it was useful and the last thing anyone needed to get Cain to do something was to make him self-conscious. For his part, Tom has no martial background, but Hubert's about as subtle as a brick to the head about advertising his here.

Tom's crouched over something at the ladder leading up to the lighting rig, picking at a lock with marginal success. His tone is casual as his head jerks to to assess the newcomer, but his grip on his cane tightens and his eyes are darting about, taking in Hubert's silhouette, sizing up the threat.

"Hey, lad, fancy giving me a hand over here?"

[broadsidewaltz]

The sight of a man, picking at a lock wasn't really surprising as much as it had Hubert simply keeping up his guard, hand only straying from the gun (and even then, not that far) once he was spoken to.

"With getting up there?" he'll ask, leaning on one foot to see him better. Of course, he was definitely interested in getting up there, and so he wasn't going anywhere just yet. "Might I ask why?"

[pimpcanes]

"Can't you see the advantage of a place to rest where you can see anyone coming towards you? Come now, you must have noticed that during your patrols."

Tom stands, tall but not imposing, not leaning his muscular frame forward in any way to try and intimidate Hubert. It's as if they just met at the market or anywhere else, not a death match.

[broadsidewaltz]

Hubert straightens up when the other does, giving him an even once-over.

"I certainly do. I also don't know if I have anything to pick that lock with," he'll admit, watching Tom evenly, giving him as neutral a stance as he can, given he's just-- naturally rigid in posture. "Let me take a look."

He might have picked up a thing or two-- his pockets not weighed down as much as full of goodies. If there were no sudden movements from the other, Hubert would pull out a clearly manmade first aid kit. It wasn't put together by him, but he had been given it and perhaps there was a needle or pin somewhere in it... glancing up to Tom the entire time as he opened the kit.

[pimpcanes]

For his part, Tom isn't certain yet that he can hand-to-hand against Hubert. He isn't scared, but he also doesn't believe with a hundred percent certainty that he can overpower him. Thus, he's waiting for Hubert's head to go down, waiting for that split second of opportunity.

"You know, it's easier to pick a lock when you actually look at it." He sets his cane to the side and holds his empty hands forward. "Don't worry about me. I'm not armed."

[broadsidewaltz]

If anything, his words feel even more suspicious-- but Hubert furrows his brow, unsure whether he should trust his gut on this or not. After all, he hasn't really been affronted yet.

He pulled out a needle, closing the kit and putting it back away as he goes to kneel by the lock... "Yes, I'm aware."

[pimpcanes]

As it seems clear that Hubert's only going to pay cursory attention to the lock while watching him for sudden movements, Tom makes a huffy sound and decides to deliver on the threat the Arena wrote into all their interactions like a palimpsest.

Tom moves quickly. He lunges to the side, grabs the cane off the ground and swings for Hubert's head.

[broadsidewaltz]

It figured. Hubert was thankful he hadn't completely turned his back, just barely throwing himself down to the ground to avoid the cane- knowing it was kind of a long shot flinging the needle in his direction, but it would make for a short distraction while he clambered to his feet.

Immediately he'll go for unstrapping the custom-carved shotgun off his back. Even if he couldn't use it long-range, it made for a better weapon than nothing.

[pimpcanes]

Tom knows one thing about fighting someone with guns (actually, he knows a lot of things) - keep it from being pointed at you. As such, as he easily dodges the needle, he swings the cane so that it smacks the barrel of the gun to the side.

Quite suddenly, this has become somewhat swashbuckling.

[broadsidewaltz]

Swashbuckling, indeed.

Hubert barely has a steady grip on the gun when it's smacked, gripping onto it tight and trying to push the cane up (as if he were wielding a spear instead of a firearm). If he can get a really good shot in, it'll probably make up for the recoil he's bound to experience like this tenfold.

As it is, though, he'll probably end up having to use it as a blunt weapon of its own.

[pimpcanes]

Killing Hubert is, by now, only Tom's second priority. The first belongs to keeping that gun from going off in any direction remotely resembling his own, and to that purpose he nimbly steps to the side and slides the cane up the barrel of the gun to try and snap it against Hubert's knuckles. Not the sort of thing that will do any lasting damage, but if he strikes his mark it might be painful enough to get him to drop the gun.

"I hope you know that thing isn't for fencing."

[broadsidewaltz]

The snap against his knuckles hurts enough to flinch, doing all he can to tighten his hold on the gun-- attempting to bat the cane away as he'll step back, in an attempt to put a little distance between them. Not only to attempt to shoot necessarily, but to at least get his bearings and figure out where to go from here.

"It isn't ideal, no," he'll return tersely. At this rate, he's seriously considering a close-range shot. He'll just be intercepted otherwise, and it may be foolish-seeming enough to take the other by surprise.

[pimpcanes]

"So you might as well drop it." The cane gets batted, but Tom tries to stay in close enough to keep firing the shotgun from being a wise decision. If Hubert steps back, they'll both be heading up the stairs on the lighting rig sooner rather than later.

[broadsidewaltz]

"And leave myself with nothing? You must take me for a fool."

A soft disapproving cluck of the tongue escapes him at Tom's insistence on remaining too close, close enough that he can't possibly aim the barrel at him, there simply isn't enough space. The back of his heel hits a stair and he finds himself climbing up one, then two, moving quicker as he tries to wedge the gun between them. It's difficult to do so efficiently backwards, but adrenaline pumping through his veins has him trusting in his step more often than not.

[pimpcanes]

"We could both abandon our weapons-" Tom nearly loses his breath, catches it- "not that I've given you terribly much reason to trust me on that."

No, he won't be talking his way out of this one. Instead, as they go up the stairs, Tom notices something on the rig, something he'll have to take a risk for. He tries as hard as he can to get Hubert off-balance, and then, when he thinks he might have a chance, he grabs the rail of the stair and swings himself over, down ten feet.

The impact as he hits the ground sends a familiar and unpleasant twinge of pain up his bad leg, and he rolls under the rig to try and avoid staying a target too long.

[broadsidewaltz]

Hubert found that funny, despite the obvious dire situation. "Certainly not."

He wasn't expecting that move, though, indeed thrown off balance-- grip on the gun relegated to one hand as his other reached for anything to hold onto, the stair railing as his gaze sought out Tom. Where was he going?

[pimpcanes]

Tom doesn't use this temporary reprieve to catch his breath. If his scheme pulls through, he'll have plenty of time for that momentarily. Instead, he clambers to a fusebox, rips it open, and flips a handful of switches. He moves as quickly as he can, trying to keep Hubert from having the time to follow him.

In Tom's line of work, knowing electrical has come in handy plenty of times. Usually it's to manually dismantle a security system, sometimes to set up an explosives rig, but only rarely does he get to use it for this.

He barely knows Hubert from Adam, but he can taste that this murder will be satisfying.

He grabs one of the cables plugged into the wall - one the circumference of a fist, one of the important ones. He unscrews the ring that keeps it fastened to the wall and wrenches it from its outlet. And, making sure he's grounded, he taps the metal prongs against the lighting rig.

The rig shines for one brilliant milisecond like a star.

\o/

[broadsidewaltz]

He hardly has the time to fathom what Tom may be doing, nor so much as jump before it's over.

The shock buzzes, no, tears through his fingertips and feet, lunging through Hubert's body in something at least a hundred times worse than any lightning spell he's had the misfortune of enduring. It's quick, it's beyond fast, and after a moment of excruciating pain, his heart stops and Hubert's body is limp.

Charred beyond repair, and even difficult to recognize, he dangles from the stairs until his remains are picked up by the Gamemakers, shotgun clattering and hitting the ground below hard.