Howard Bassem (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2013-03-29 11:12 pm
iselldrugstothecommunity) wrote in thearena2013-03-29 11:12 pm
Entry tags:
A Body with No God Attached [Closed]
WHO| Howard and Wyatt
WHAT| Wyatt and Howard reunite after the excursion to Fantasyland.
WHEN| End of Week 2
WHERE| Frontierland
WARNINGS| Gore.
Howard's a mess, not just mentally but physically. His shirt has been ripped down both the front and back and hangs loosely over one shoulder, exposing deep oozing lacerations down his neck and chest. The cloth sticks to the gashes on his back. Pieces of glass are embedded in his arm, and on his left a single long shard remains half-lodged in both his palm and the back of his hand. His pants are ripped off above the knee on his right side, exposing a puncture on his lower thigh where Grey speared him.
Wounds so deep that they're hardly recognizable as human bite marks cover his face. On his cheek, a cut two inches long descends into a wide hole in his skin through which his teeth are visible, made red and orange by the light and the blood in his mouth. Every time he breathes out it makes a damp whistling noise. Two-thirds of the way across his mouth, a gash entirely bifurcates his lower lip, leaving it as sinister and divided as a snake's tongue. Red and pink drool dribbles down his chin.
Time has dried some of the blood, leaving it as heavy black and brown stains on his formerly-white clothing. Only the wounds around his mouth, wetted with saliva, are still fresh red. He doesn't know how he got back here, how he manages to drag his mutilated body back to Frontierland and up the rails to his hideout. A few bloody handprints dot the rail track up. He remembers stumbling back, hoping he isn't so late that Wyatt's left, hoping he can find his ally again. He doesn't remember how he felt when he realized the hideout was empty.
He's curled up in the scaffolding and sleeps, not out of tiredness but simply because his mind cannot process everything right now, so it has to just shut down. Every few hours he wakes up, looks around for Wyatt, and returns to sleeping. While he rests a Sponsor parachute of medicine and bandages floats down and catches in the rail, with a note.
Romance and tragedy! I'll keep tuning in!
WHAT| Wyatt and Howard reunite after the excursion to Fantasyland.
WHEN| End of Week 2
WHERE| Frontierland
WARNINGS| Gore.
Howard's a mess, not just mentally but physically. His shirt has been ripped down both the front and back and hangs loosely over one shoulder, exposing deep oozing lacerations down his neck and chest. The cloth sticks to the gashes on his back. Pieces of glass are embedded in his arm, and on his left a single long shard remains half-lodged in both his palm and the back of his hand. His pants are ripped off above the knee on his right side, exposing a puncture on his lower thigh where Grey speared him.
Wounds so deep that they're hardly recognizable as human bite marks cover his face. On his cheek, a cut two inches long descends into a wide hole in his skin through which his teeth are visible, made red and orange by the light and the blood in his mouth. Every time he breathes out it makes a damp whistling noise. Two-thirds of the way across his mouth, a gash entirely bifurcates his lower lip, leaving it as sinister and divided as a snake's tongue. Red and pink drool dribbles down his chin.
Time has dried some of the blood, leaving it as heavy black and brown stains on his formerly-white clothing. Only the wounds around his mouth, wetted with saliva, are still fresh red. He doesn't know how he got back here, how he manages to drag his mutilated body back to Frontierland and up the rails to his hideout. A few bloody handprints dot the rail track up. He remembers stumbling back, hoping he isn't so late that Wyatt's left, hoping he can find his ally again. He doesn't remember how he felt when he realized the hideout was empty.
He's curled up in the scaffolding and sleeps, not out of tiredness but simply because his mind cannot process everything right now, so it has to just shut down. Every few hours he wakes up, looks around for Wyatt, and returns to sleeping. While he rests a Sponsor parachute of medicine and bandages floats down and catches in the rail, with a note.
Romance and tragedy! I'll keep tuning in!
no subject
He lingered in Fantasyland for some time, locating the sites of several bloody scuffles and tracking the red-black stains until the trails faded and he had no choice but to turn back and hope that the mess didn't belong to Howard... and that if it had, he wasn't lying somewhere, injured out of sight.
Eventually, he made his way back to the mountain, hoping against hope that the boy had come back on his own.
The blood on the rails was at once a relief, and a terror.
He hauled himself up quickly, grabbing the parachute, silver canister winking in the late day sun, without thinking and ducked inside.
"Howard?" he called, slouching down the tunnel. "Howard, are ya in-"
And then Wyatt saw him, a ragged pile of flesh and bone, huddled like a dark little cat against the cold. Torn and broken.
"Christ almighty."
no subject
"Wyatt?" His voice is shaky and weak, words mutilated. He's dehydrated, injured, his mouth mangled.
He struggles to rise and sinks back down, turning to face Wyatt, unwittingly exposing Wyatt to seeing the gruesome extent of his injuries. Tears ring his eyes. Wyatt must have seen from the display in the sky that Eponine's dead.
"You came back." A ghastly smile crosses his face. "You came back."
He can't believe it. He stumbles up again and staggers to embrace Wyatt.
no subject
A bitter, rage churned in his gut, his eyes hard and staring over Howard's shoulder. This was just something else to lay at the Capitol's feet. Another sin to seal their fate.
"A'course, I came back," he managed after a moment, emotion choking him. Damn them. Damn them all. "Somebody's gotta keep an eye on ya."
He patted the boy's back gently, and pulled away, forcing a smile for him. "Now, come on, let me look at'cha. We need to take care of those wounds."
no subject
He makes a little groaning noise when Wyatt pats his back. There isn't a part of him that doesn't hurt. And yet he doesn't want to be held at arm's length, either. He wants to pull towards the warmth and comfort again.
"I don't have medicine." He lets Wyatt's words roll over him. Of course I came back. He doesn't understand it, because no one ever comes back for him. Never has.
"You came back," he repeats, and sits back down.
no subject
Wyatt helped him down carefully as he explained, holding onto one of the boy's elbows as he sank slowly to the tunnel floor. The other hand still held the silver parachute, his fingers tangled in the lines. He was only dimly aware of it - it's presence overshadowed by finding Howard, and his terrible injuries - but when Howard mentioned medicine, it suddenly struck him. The weight of it, hanging from his hand.
He crouched at Howard's side, swinging the canister forward and setting it between his boots. "This was waiting outside. Maybe somebody was thinkin' ahead."
He glanced at the tag, frowned, and flicked it away - there was no need for Howard to see that - before opening the can and pulling out the contents.
no subject
He closes his eyes and lets Wyatt work on him, not thinking too hard about how the medicine got there. The Sponsors have strange whims. The can is filled with bandages and antiseptic and butterfly stitches, along with some booster pills for hydration and nutrition. It's not a bad package, overall.
"I couldn't save her, Wyatt. I tried, but..." His voice trails off. He reaches a hand out and rests it on Wyatt's shoe, looking for something to ground him. Wyatt is protective and big and kind, and Howard wants to have that, if just for a moment, without worrying about being betrayed. There's something solid in the sheriff, something worth trusting. At least temporarily.
no subject
He wasn't sure he really wanted to know.
"I know him," he muttered, voice a low rumble. Wyatt would know that face anywhere. "Name's Grey." He exhaled heavily through his nose. "I've killed him before."
He paused, hesitating at the gaping hole in Howard's cheek and wishing idly that that pretty lady Holiday were around. She probably coulda done a much better job of this.
He reached for the bandages and his knife, measuring out a wide square and cutting carefully.
"Ya did what ya could, Howard." He pressed the bandage to the wound, palm resting lightly against the boy's cheek and holding it in place until he was certain would stay on its own. He glanced down at the hand on his boot and regretted that there wasn't more he could do.
He knew from experience how little words helped.
"It doesn't always end right, doin' the right thing, but ya tried." He shifted carefully, and took a seat, resting next to Howard. "That don't make it hurt any less, I know, but it does count."
no subject
He wants to believe Wyatt, with those warm words that feel good to believe. Maybe in time he will. Now he just winces slightly and pretends it's from the salve, when really he's just remembering how fast it was, and how few seconds it took him to decide that Eponine was dead and that he couldn't take her body with him. He just had to leave it to be swept away by the hovercrafts like garbage or cat litter or lint.
If he cries, he'll mess up the bandages and salve, so he doesn't.
He wonders if that's how Wyatt felt last Arena, watching him bleed out. At least Eponine died fast. One second she was there, biting him, rending his flesh with her teeth, and the next second her head was in his lap and she was gone.
"Now it's just you and me, Wyatt." He squeezes Wyatt's boot. In his other hand, he has his key chain, the orange rabbit foot that the Gamemakers let him bring as a token. A good luck charm that's seen better days. "I-I'm sorry I died on you last time, I'm sorry I been avoiding you, I'm just so scared all the time..."
no subject
He paused, staring at the glass because it was easier to face. Because even as he tried to comfort Howard, he still blamed himself for not getting there sooner. For not stopping Aunamee. For not being able to save him.
"...And I understand. 'Bout being scared. 'Bout regrets and mistakes. I've been there."
no subject
Howard opens his eyes and follows Wyatt's gaze to the piece of glass. It's miraculously not infected yet. The shard enters one side and emerges again between his second and third knuckle on the other. Almost like one of Wolverine's claws, he thinks. Like a weapon and not just another injury.
"You know, some people got guts in this world and I'm just..."
Small. Cowardly. A weasel, a rat, a worm. All these things people have told him he is, all these judgments he never bothered to refute or even question.
"Anyway. You're one of the people with guts."
no subject
"Howard, havin' guts ain't about not bein' scared. It's about bein' afraid and still doin' what needs to be done. About not lettin' yer fears stop you. You knew what might be waitin' out there-" he nodded down the tunnel toward the entrance, to Aunamee and Grey and to the deaths of friends and everything other terrible thing that waited outside the haven they'd built, "-but still ya went. A friend needed ya, and that was more important. That's guts."
no subject
There's a difference, in his mind - he's terrified of Aunamee but the fear of losing Eponine for good is deeper. It's not that he can overcome fear, it's just that he's more compelled by other terrors. He doesn't consider it a virtue that this doesn't just paralyze him from taking any action at all.
He looks up again, then out the tunnel entrance at the sun coming down on Disneyland. "You know where I'm from, they call this place the Happiest Place on Earth? I used to come here when I was a kid and...I don't know. Play."
no subject
"I'm sorry," he said gently. "That had no right to take that from ya."
Just 'cause Wyatt didn't quite understand it, didn't mean the memory any less power for Howard, that it provided any less comfort... that it gave the Capitol any right to over-write it with this nightmare.
no subject
"Can you make me a promise?"
no subject
"I can't make guarantees," he replied honestly. "But I can promise to do my best."
He held the end of the bandage roll against Howard's palm with his thumb and slowly started winding the clean fabric around the boy's hand. "What's on yer mind?"
no subject
He's shaking again. Hard. His palm in Wyatt's hand is trembling so hard some of the bandage gets stuck between two fingers. But he forces himself to continue talking.
"If he comes for me here and it looks like he's going to get me, can you kill me? Fast and painless?"
no subject
"I'm gunna do everythin' I can to make sure it don't come that," he said finally, a determined edge to his voice. He forced himself to keep wrapping the bandage, to pin it in place. "But iffen it does - I promise... I won't let him hurt ya."
no subject
And to his surprise, he does.