Justice is the one thing you should always find.

[the_marshal]

WHO| Wyatt, Maximus, and OTA
WHAT| Surviving in general, hunting down Aunamee in particular.
WHERE| Pretty much anywhere except the Compound.
WHEN| Tail end of Week 1, and Week 2
Warnings/Notes| They're trying to find Aunamee in order to kill him, so, yeah, there's that. Also, if you'd like one over the other, or them both, feel free to specify in Subject Line.



Max called it hunting. Wyatt's conscience prickled a bit at that, at first - he'd have preferred tracking - but he didn't quibble over it, and before too awful long, even the little whisper in his head fell quiet. There was no denying what they were planning on doing, and while they might be skipping a few steps there in the middle, he believed the result would have been the same even if this was a place for fair trials.

(And, truth be told, having already done it the once, it was easier to swallow the second time around.)

It needed to be done, and if the Capitol wouldn't, they would.

They traveled during the day. Max never complained, but the Roman was moving along at a noticeably slower clip. Wyatt never mentioned it, but he found excuses - as often as he dared - to pause, to give him a chance to rest and recuperate. The rain, heavy and hot and generally unpleasant, actually helped a fair bit in that respect. Deaf to all but the driving storm, all but blind, they had no choice, but to take refuge where they found it and wait out the downpour.

At night, they camped, taking turns in the bag, one watching over the other's back when the other slept. Waiting out the strange, alien calls of the dark jungle, for the sun to return.

Comments

[shambler]

He misses talking. Somehow of all the things that could happen to him - his arm blown away by shotgun, for example - he'd never pictured losing half his face before. It doesn't hurt. But it aches in a wordless way he can't pin even if he could talk, aware of the phantom feeling of a lower jaw that was used to clenching and moving and being there. Reminding him he still had the body of a human even if the rest of him was rotted. One of the links left, like having all his arms and legs attached and a tongue that somehow, miraculously, remembered how to string words together.

Now even that's gone.

And...of course it rains. Of course.

R's still blundering away in the dark with his hair plastered tight to his skull. The rain lets up enough that he can sorta-kinda see where he's going without breaking his neck while he's at it. A ratty sleeping bag drags along the jungle floor covered in mud and God knows what, tattered beyond recognition. He'd planned to give it to Julie or Howard or someone, once upon a time. Now R's just holding onto it so he has something to do with his hands.

The biggest tip-off Wyatt has an intruder is the fact that all those strange animals hooting and chirping? They've gone quiet, that exact level of too-quiet when they think there might be a predator snooping around.

[the_marshal]

The rain had let up enough for Wyatt to hear the jungle again - the low hum of buzzing insects, the call of high-sitting birds back and forth to one another - until suddenly, it was gone again. Even the insects disappeared, leaving nothing but the plop of water against the broad green leaves, the little splash of puddles, and the quiet whisper of Max as he slept.

Stiffening, Wyatt straightened up out his easy slouch, eyes narrowing and head tilting as he listened. A hand reached for his knife, tucking the handle against his palm, as he shifted, pushing up into a crouch, weight balanced on the balls of his feet.

[shambler]

A shadow passed between the trees only a few yards away. The gait was uneven, staggering as if wounded or lost or maybe both, something dragging along the ground. A can bumped against a root. A foot scuffed into a rock, squishing against mud. The silhouette was distinctively male, tall. Something wasn't quite right about the shape of its face. Whoever they were, they didn't seem to realize Wyatt and Maximus were there and for a few minutes it might even look like Wyatt could let the Tribute pass them by.

R paused in his wandering. You know what, he was tired of shuffling forward mindlessly. He was sick and tired of doing the zombie thing because it was instinctive. R decided to be different: he changed directions, his shadow lurching now in a route that would bring him dangerously close to the camp he hadn't yet sniffed out.

[the_marshal]

He might have woken Max, but as the tribute drifted closer, he decided against it and shifted closer to the opening of their makeshift shelter. Waking Max might alert the stranger to their presence, the stirring, any whispered explanation might give away the element of surprise they still seemed to have.

Silent, he waited, listening as the rhythmic step and drag moved closer, and closer. The hair on the back of his neck lifted, but he held firm, another step, another... then he was suddenly reaching out, grabbing at cloth, ready to yank the other tribute off their feet.

[shambler]

As far as R had been concerned, he was the only one stumbling around this particular chunk of jungle. The hand grabbing him by the back of his shirt begged to differ.

R was sent staggering clumsily back toward Wyatt, dropping the sleeping bag with supplies in the mud as he tried to turn around. He didn't struggle so much as awkwardly flail with stiff arms. A weird sound gurgled out the ruins of his face as he instinctively tried to groan.

Was it Perry? It was totally Perry coming back to finish the job, he just knew it. Who wouldn't be pissed about being eaten by a corpse? R swung toward Wyatt, a cold hand brushing against what he assumed was the other Tribute, self-defense the last thing on his mind.

Huh. He felt...awfully bristly for Perry...?

[the_marshal]

Wyatt knew, almost instantly, who he'd grabbed a handful of. R stumbled back and the scent hit him, the sickly sweet rot, like meat left under the sun. Beneath his fingers, under the thin shirt, he could feel the flesh, strange and soft, more give and movement than there should have been.

(In the desert it hadn't been so bad. But here in the warm and the wet....)

Then the fingers, so cold, pushing against his cheek, grazing across his mouth.

His head jerked back, bile rising up in his throat, and the knife - rising toward R's throat - swung away again as he staggered back.

"R?" He coughed, voice thick as he swallowed back his gorge. "What're ya doin' here?"

[shambler]

Oh shit, Wyatt! R knew on some level he'd be wandering around the jungle too, surviving like last time, but he hadn't expected to shuffle into him here.

In his mind, R opened his mouth and said "I'm looking for my friends (are we still friends?) and by the way, guess who I ran into?" The reality was he didn't even have a full mouth to work with as he stared dumbly at Wyatt. He thought he made a sound, a croak, maybe a little gurgle in there, but none of it sounded close to words. Dammit.

He'd never felt more trapped in his body until right now. At least before he'd had that dim hope that if he could talk, he could eventually figure out the rest.

"Gggkl," R managed to get that much out, miserable. Even in the dark and the dawn only minutes away he'd spotted that quick spasm backward from Wyatt. The Living didn't seem like they were fans of his touch. It wasn't like he could blame Wyatt for having an instinctive reaction to it. He was tolerant, but even that wasn't limitless.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt's question actually had more to do with what R thinking he was doing sneaking around in the dark, in the rain, alone. It was a good way to get himself killed... as Wyatt had nearly seen done for him.

But as he looked back, rubbing the lingering tickle of R's cold, dead fingers from his mustache, he realized abruptly why R hadn't announced himself.

Hard to explain much of anything when someone'd run off with your jawbone.

He stared, blinking, the moment silent but before the drizzle of the rain.

"...Ya... hurt, son?"

Belated, he figured that was probably a rather silly thing to ask, given the circumstances.

[shambler]

The flavor of R's stare changed a little at the question, something shifting behind those flat, Dead-gray eyes of his. Really, Wyatt, really? He would've groaned that was more something Howard would've said - you know, his idea of a joke - if he had a mouth and he was in a good mood. R watched the trickle of drizzle collecting on Wyatt to roll down in larger beads down the side of his face in tracks.

Suddenly he wanted to talk about Aunamee after the Cornucopia a week ago. Howard finding him lurking in that closet. Longed to tell Wyatt that a part of him leaned into being called "son" like it was a gentle touch. R could feel the words swell up and with no outlet, he thought he'd explode in slow-motion. Jesus, he couldn't even squat down to write anything in the mud for the man!

The only thing he could do was let out another unhappy sound. It might almost sound like a faint "aahn". Couldn't even get Aunamee's name out if his life depending on it.

Where's Maximus? Is Howard still alive? You haven't killed anyone yet, have you?

R had enough for today. Exchanging a look with Wyatt, he sat down on the spot, parking his butt on a wet root with his shoulders drooping.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt's mouth twisted, an uncertain frown as he looked from the dejected R to the little cave where Max slept, torn between the two halves of himself.

He didn't believe R to be willfully malicious. The boy tried, he'd had seen it... but he was dangerous, and Wyatt hadn't forgotten what had happened last arena. How things had ended for Howard, how R had looked at him when he'd found out the about Aunamee - how he hadn't believed him, and he couldn't say he'd forgiven the boy for it.

Couldn't say he wholly trusted him anymore.

So he let R sit in the rain and the mud, wary of bringing him any closer to camp. He might not have seemed particularly hungry just then, but that could - would - change, and who knew, maybe he'd already met up with Aunamee again....

"Ya know Aunamee's back?" he asked, staring down at R. "Howard an' Max have both seen him."

[shambler]

Well, that fixed the problem bringing up the man. R shifted to stare up at Wyatt for a long moment. The way Wyatt talked, he made it sound like Howard was alive - good! - and Max was...

Maximus was here in the Arena too? Didn't...he win the last one? That should've given him a pass from the whole murdering Tributes thing, if R understood how the Hunger Games worked correctly. R's eyebrows pinched together as he tried to frown, forgetting for a moment he didn't have lips to frown with in the first place. Gazing up at Wyatt looming over him, R slowly bobbed his head in a nod and tried to keep it neutral. Yeah, he knew. He'd nearly broken in his neck falling into Aunamee's hidey-hole the first week.

Unsure of what to say, R spread his hands helplessly, then gave a shrug before he thought it through and realized it might look like he didn't care. That he was blowing off the warnings. It's not that. It's - it's complicated. He'd never met anyone like Aunamee before. His fellow Dead weren't malicious when they were out murdering and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't come up with a good enough reason to explain why Aunamee would do the horrible things everyone said he did.

Anyway, he didn't eat him this time, if that was what Wyatt was gearing up to ask next.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt's eyes narrowed, watching R bob and shrug, his lips thinned, pressing together as he studied the boy's pale, wet face. He was whiter than usual, with his hair dark and slicked from the rain, like Death leering back at him.

"Howard's terrified," he said, a cold statement of fact. If R was still confused, was still determined to hitch himself to Aunamee, the boy wouldn't be able to say Wyatt hadn't warned him. "An' he's threatened me."

His fingers twitched, curled in against his palms.

"He might be a friend'a yers, but I ain't gonna let him hurt me an' mine."

[shambler]

I'm not even sure we're friends, R sighed.

"Ggh." Who's he kidding? Wyatt wasn't a mind-reader. R's eyes locked onto Wyatt's face, taking in the way his expression was closed off and guarded because he was a good friend to Howard and naturally he'd be worried. After a moment, R dropped his eyes. In a perfect world, Howard wouldn't have to be jumping at his shadow convinced men like Aunamee would be waiting for him. Wyatt shouldn't be looking at him wondering who's side he'd take.

R caught himself wondering why Wyatt didn't just kill Aunamee all over again. Replay that Cornucopia in the desert. He didn't seem the kind of guy to take threats lightly.

R tried again. "Aagn - " was about all he could force out, nowhere close to explaining that he'd stop Aunamee from hurting them if he had a choice, too. Time to try another tactic. He pointed at Wyatt, then back the way he (thought) he'd seen the other Tribute.

[the_marshal]

The blue eyes flicked from R's face to his outstretched hand and then beyond to the forest. Silently he weighed what R could be trying to tell him.

Was it really what he thought it was? Did R understand what it would mean?

He looked back, holding the strange white gaze with his own.

(What did it look like to R, through those eyes?)

"Ya know what'll happen if I find him."

[shambler]

He knew all right, he'd been more than happy to feed on the aftermath like a vulture. R wondered if it would've mattered if he'd been able to see Aunamee's face then. From what he could feel with his fingers, there hadn't been much of a face left after Wyatt finished with him.

R stared and then after a moment he nodded slowly. The bits of flesh jiggled with the movement, water tripping down what was left of his top teeth to splatter to his lap.

You'll do it again.

He let out another rattling breath escape out the new cavity in his face. After a moment, he reached down and patted the soggy root next to him, inviting Wyatt to sit.

[the_marshal]

A nod. Confirmation, of whatever R was picturing. Of the memory that had been so close ever since he'd told Max his intentions.

But then he breathed, sighed through his nose, and moved to take the seat next to the boy, reaching up to touch his shoulder, squeezing the strange, soft flesh gently.

He understood, better than most, that the right thing wasn't always the easiest.

"Thank ya, son," he said, that slow, honest drawl. "How ya found out 'bout all this wasn't the best'a ways it coulda happened, an' I'm sorry for that... but I appreciate ya tryin' in-spite of that."

[shambler]

He told himself it was a good sign that Wyatt sat down instead of turning his back and walking away. Little baby steps. Sure, those baby steps would be a hell of a lot easier if he could talk, but R was starting to feel up about this whole thing.

It was just...Aunamee. R wished he could put his foot down but he couldn't and he couldn't even tell if it was just a character defect he'd always had or if it was a zombie's natural inability to commit. He turned, shifting his body slowly to face Wyatt as he sat down next to him, wet bark and all. Thanks, huh? R doesn't feel like he deserves that thanks. He can't find it in him to really, truly hate Aunamee and there's still a part of him that's horrified he'd eaten his still-warm corpse last Arena. He wondered if a real friend, one with a heartbeat, would feel differently.

R peered at Wyatt through the gloom, a flicker of orange against the trees announcing dawn was closing in.

Leaning over, R touched the man's chest and brushed his fingers against that heart he knew beat steadily away underneath the grimy shirt. He let his fingers sit there, staring the man in the eyes. He (thought) he got why Wyatt had such a hardline about Aunamee. But what would happen if he kept up the killing? An eye for an eye?

[the_marshal]

His heart thumped against his ribs. His skin prickled, the back of his neck tingling as R's fingers rested on his chest.

He might have blamed the nature of what R was, the risk involved with getting so close. The grisly picture the boy's face painted, so broken and bloody, but it was the stare that weighted him. Frank and unblinking.

He could almost hear the question in his head. The accusation. The concern.

Thickly, he swallowed, Adam's Apple lurching in his throat.

"I don't like it, R. Life an' death, it ain't a game. It's a decision that shouldn't be left up to any one man... but here, in this place..." He glanced away, at the dark alien trees, the pool of light creeping closer across the wet earth. "I can't see much other choice. Not when it comes down to him er them."

He turned back, blue eyes meeting R's pale ones again. A heavy stare. Decided.

"We all got er lines, an' that's mine. Wrong er right, I ain't gonna risk their lives, for his."

[shambler]

Wyatt's blink rate increased - not a lot, but enough that R could see he hadn't made it a daily habit to be touched by corpses. He dropped his hand away from the warmth his heart, still studying Wyatt intently.

Here, in this place. R remembered what happened with Hyperion in Disneyland, how he'd felt something that had jolted through his corpse and realize he wanted more than anything to protect Howard and Julie. He hadn't been able to back then. R listened to that familiar drawl in Wyatt's voice, the twang on vowels that he'd missed more than he thought he would.

R thought he understood now. Replace Hyperion with Aunamee and Wyatt had to make those tough choices he couldn't just blame on hunger, like R could and did. e knew he had to...to commit. Draw that line in the stand instead of staring down at it, swaying uselessly. R slowly nodded. He thought he could get now where he was coming from.

"Ghk," R didn't have a hope of getting anything coherent out, but it was at least worth the effort. He reached out, touched Wyatt's hand resting on the root for a second, and then withdrew it. He turned to watch as the sun began to peek out, the gray of the morning starting to bleed into a gentle orange glow. It was almost pretty, actually.

[the_marshal]

In response, that hand lifted and rested again on R's shoulder, fabric squishing wetly beneath his palm. It was almost funny, the one person that could understand where he was coming from - even if he didn't agree with it - and it he wasn't even really a person.

Or maybe it was that R was more human than most, eating folks aside.

"I don't think yer a bad kid, R. In fact, I believe yer a, truly, decent young man. ...I apologize, for judgin' ya so harshly." Smiling gently, he clapped the boy's shoulder, then turned to watch the sunrise with him.