(open) Attention, all personnel. There's a loon on the loose.

[swill]

Who| Hawkeye and the unlucky who run into him
What| A crash course and a sorry welcome
Where| Heading southeast though he hasn't gotten far from the Cornucopia
When| Tail end of week 2
Warnings/Notes| Can't think of any now, but I'll update as needed

It's been a... day? One day? Had everything really happened in only one day? They could have had the goat. But did they listen to him? No. Their loss. He's long since tucked the dog tags into his shirt to keep them from sounding his presence with every step. Now all he had to worry about was him sounding his presence with every step. Twigs and leaves and mud and bugs-- it was their loss, you know. They could have had the goat. It would be quieter, possibly. --Ha! Nah. Hawkeye knew goats. You know, unfortunately. They weren't quiet, no. So that's one thing to take pride in, and he'll take any ridiculous opportunity to boast. He's quieter than a goat. He's also sweatier than one. And if he finds one, just randomly in the middle of the jungle, he'd like to eat it. It'd be like lamb, but maybe with a more wild, tangy taste. Tougher meat, but he'd still love it. Or maybe 'love' was too strong a word. He'd like it. He'd appreciate it. He's hungry. He's just so damn hungry. And so much for trying to be quiet, all non-existent survival instinct and training showing off now in his supposed time of need. There are sounds in the jungle, but Hawkeye hates to think how easy it is to distinguish between what steps belonged in the setting and which didn't. His didn't. His steps had already landed him in danger. He had already been captured by that... that one guy. He had high tailed it out of sight the second the swap was made. A prisoner exchange except he'd been the only prisoner. More than leaving with just a wounded pride -what kind of guy sets foot in a trap so soon after being labeled game?- his confidence, not that he'd had any to begin with, well... well, shit, that sure was shot. And all the while after, all he could admit to thinking was 'well, prisoner exchanges are nothing new'. And 'that went well'. And 'one day I might get used to almost dying'.

He titters. He can't hear anyone else around. His legs hurt, his stomach hurts. Maybe he should have taken calisthenics more seriously. Just maybe. There's a pole. A rod. To his left. "Uh huh."

And there's another to his right. He has no idea what they do. Are they radio towers? He didn't have a radio, so it wouldn't be worth the while to figure it out. What a lousy design! Ruin the majestic moss and rubble, all radiating green, by sticking two poles just there. "I take back what I said," he declares, again, to nothing. "I don't- I don't like this. You could have at least disguised them as trees." The rods were just there! They really messed with the atmosphere of the place.

They really helped drive the point home that he was going to die.

A death in a jungle would be, to a point, normal. Plenty of people wandered off into the wilderness, got lost. Were never found. A jungle was wild- who could blame it if it got a little hungry now and then? But this was man-made. Altered, at the very least. A planned death, one the unsuspecting sap doesn't know the day or cause of, that's... that was never good. Do you know what else wasn't good? Yelping. Yelping when you're trying to be silent and pass under the radar. But damn, Hawk could have sworn something touched his foot and something green slithered on the ground in front of him. And he hears a buzz and his break time's over. He doesn't know why -it might be because his newly found, shallow acceptance of his imminent death- but he shudders loudly and violently, all because he could. He catches sight of movement again and hop-steps forward with a hasty "Alright, alright, I'm moving already!" And move he does.

The sun's falling and he's wet and hungry and tired and lost. Drafted again. Everything's a pleasure, a joy. He finds a grin snake onto his expression. It hurts to keep but it'll do the trick.

Nobody would blame him for humming a tune. It rained all night the day I left, the weather it was dry. Nobody was around to criticize. He had heard and made sure. But he was sure he'd lose it if he heard nothing but birds any longer. Oh, Susanna! Oh don't you cry for me. Keeping his mind on the pitch of unsung lyrics kept it off of the rising panic and his stomach which was resolved to eat itself through. Ladies and gentlemen: the captain is here.

Comments

Short tag is short but...I just loved reading your intro

[revvinguptheharley]

From the trees, music...

...someone was humming along with him.

Thanks!

[swill]

He was humming Alabama when his heart dropped and his invisible companion's song was with his. Of all the states, he was going to die singing of Alabama! If that wasn't reason to hate himself, he wasn't sure what was.

Cold showers he had had plenty of. The compound had been shelled a too-great number of times. Artillery had flown right by and-- you know what? That one time Trap's not-kid Kim had gone into the mine field, and Trap had gone in after him. The feeling Hawkeye feels now is a lot like then. It's familiar. It's fear, but he's always some level of scared, but this fear is just shy of terror and hopelessness in a way that made his gut feel warm and light.

Because it's fear that something... bad. might happen. But there's hope. Some of it. Some hope that if he did something right, that one bad thing might not have to happen after all. He doesn't dare step forward. His eyes scan his surrounding frantically. He's got to remember to breathe. He's silent. Now he's certain he is. And if someone moves, he'll hear. He remembers seeing the throwing weapons on the tables, in that room to impress the judges. His smile fades, but no. No, he's not thinking about those.

Re: Thanks!

[revvinguptheharley]

The humming continued for a moment until the other voice realized he had stopped.

"Aw what's the matter chief? Did ya forget the melody?"

The voice was high pitched with a thick accent, maybe New Jersey or New York?

Out of the trees fell a bundle of blond hair...no not fell. Dropped! She was hanging upside down from a tree. Twin ponytails on either side of her head dropped towards the ground as her legs kept her secured to a branch.

She waved cheerfully as if they were old friends.

[swill]

A lady's voice! Oh, he knows he shouldn't feel the relief, not so immediately, but he can't help it. The grin's plastered on him again and this time Hawkeye had the sense to turn to where he heard the voice come from, though it's a slow and deliberate turn and he holds his hands up, palm forward. A surrender, sure, but it's a girl who's been tailing him. Aw, gee. A girl. A girl wouldn't hurt him. That's faulty thinking.

Harley drops down from the branches, Hawkeye dips his head ever so slightly but he's trying to see if he can find any gun on her or a throwing knife or somesuch. He's actually really bad at it and doesn't even know why he tried. "I was letting you take the lead," he offers, his tone obviously cautious and too sweet. Ah ha. He can play friendly too, see. "But if the lady gets frightened on her own, we can do the duet again." There's a game he's just stepped foot into, he thinks. He hopes he can dance around long enough to get a straight answer to a question he hasn't asked.

[revvinguptheharley]

That made her laugh. She laughed hard enough it made her branch wobble but that didn't seem to bother her.

"Who me? Afraid of performing? We're on camera all the time you know! If I had any stage fright this place would be the death of me."

That was also apparently a joke because she started giggling again.

[the_marshal]

Blame? No. Wyatt wasn't sure he'd use the word blame...

But he certainly found it odd, and it definitely gave him pause, when the soft crooning reached him where he crouched by the river, dunking his and Max's canteens. Frowning, his head cocked, listening as the canteens bubbled and gurgled, trying to determine where it was coming from and, more importantly, where it was headed.

(Max wasn't far away, setting up their camp for the night.)

Pinpointing the tune, he capped the canteens, picked up his spear, and slipped back into the cover of the massive trees. He no interest in further bloodying his hands, but neither was he going to let an unknown tribute get the drop on their camp.

With any luck the stranger would be reasonable, and they could go their separate ways without bloodshed.

[swill]

Follow the sun and find a direction. Hawkeye would, except he's finding it difficult to find any sort of clearing from the trees which would allow him more than a scanty view at patches of sky. There was sunlight, golden now, in spots here and there but the shadows were extended and doing the tango with every movement of the leaves and grasses. So- right. He was moving right and straight ahead and last he knew, he was moving opposite of that one other guy. His pace had slowed considerably and he'd more than once thought about trying his hand at climbing so he could settle down and catch a cat nap, a wink of sleep. So he could wake up finally and realize he was burning a fever in cot reserved just for him in the post-OP ward. Movements, though. They're everywhere and seldom his. Green things move and Hawkeye hop-steps every time, thinking they're snakes. Funny he hadn't seen a head yet, or a forked tongue.

Speaking of tongue, he's got his between his teeth. His humming comes more buzzed. The song evolves, turns into a slower and lower ditty. He was tired.

He heard water running and--

well, at least he didn't have to piss, y'know, otherwise that steady trickle would be maddening.

Water. Was it? "You know, I bet that's just what you want me to do." And no, he doesn't think he can be heard, especially not by the people he'd like to think he's conversing with. Everybody needed water. Everybody would follow the river and now at least he knew there was one. "But I'm not that easy, though you thought I was. Ah ha. I'm full of surprises, too." Like not having a prayer because he swears he's just heard something rustle and if he suddenly looks like a hare ready to run, it's because he feels like one but slightly less fluffy. The people in the rooms who changed his clothes and all- they took his whiskers.

[the_marshal]

Amongst the cavernous roots of a tree, Wyatt waited, muscle in his jaw ticking in time to the thick pulse in his throat.

Who was this man talking too? Him? Had he somehow been spotted? ...Or maybe he wasn't alone. Maybe this man was the bait of sorts, and somewhere else a partner was waiting....

A bead of sweat rolled down his brow, leaving a damp, itching wake along the side of his face. His fingers tightened on the staff of the spear.

It wasn't something he'd put past a man like Aunamee.

The footsteps paused, he slipped along the root, glancing up and over, marking the lanky shoulders yards away with his steady dead-aimed stare, before ducking down again.

[swill]

His stomach growls and Hawkeye almost tells it to shut up. He's got a frog in his throat and his lips quiver once. Again, he finds himself with something like a grin but it's so much looser this time, so much more nervous. He's not a military man. He's had enough of action. It's impossible to spot someone who didn't want to be seen in the greens that stretched out like a cobweb sea. Strain his hearing as much as he might, no, he can't hear a peep out of place. And that was the problem, wasn't it? He didn't know what the rhythm was, he didn't know what would be out of tempo, what beat would sound wrong.

Five, six seconds go by and Hawk hadn't dared blink or move a muscle. His tongue feels heavy. His finger twitches. The tension, he starts to think, is his alone. Ha-ha, jungle. Fooling him like that. "Shame on you," he mouths and sobers up. His grin dissolved, because it's no time to be grinning. He swallows thick and brings a hand up to wipe at his face. Nothing. So he should make his way to the river, then. Maybe there would be less ghosts near the bank, after all. But he's listening now.

[letthemburn]

It's the music that catches Iskierka's attention. While she's been lucky enough to not need to worry too much about about what there is to eat, the fact that she's been more than a little bit ground-bound is definitely starting to get to her. She's meant to fly, after all, even if she has to grudgingly admit that there probably isn't really enough room to fly here.

All the same, new people are at least worth checking out, and she's going to have to kill someone eventually. Or at least, that's what she's assuming and if this particular person is making their presence all the more obvious then that's at least worth checking out.

Of course, there's still the fact that not everyone is used to dragons showing up out of nowhere, but this is fact that Iskierka is not often concerned about, and so the first indication Hawkeye has that he isn't quite so alone is a a distinct non-human head peering up above the grass. She isn't going to speak up just yet, but she's definitely watching.

[swill]

He's oblivious, it's true. He's not a soldier. He had never been a Boy Scout, though he had sworn truth in their name more times than he could count. He was lucky to even know how to tie a knot but guess what? He had no rope! If he threw every ounce of his being into catching a squirrel, a damn squirrel, he's certain he just wouldn't. Talk about ungrateful. Talk about hindsight. The mess tent slop would go down easy and welcome. "Well, let's not get carried away," he murmurs.

The songs have stopped. He's felt the fight or flight reflex more times today than he'd care to ever count or remember. If he stopped marching forward he's sure his legs would turn to pudding and down he'd go, face first into the mud. Sometimes he figures he's too hot and tired to care, other times that the minerals he'd inevitably swallow after a face plant would taste better than his own spit. He'd caught sight of fruits before. He didn't know which were edible. The rods, see.

They kind of ruined everything.

So when he squints against a ray of sunlight and sees this red thing there he thinks they think him a dunce. Well they're right, whoever they are. "But I'm no Snow White!" He hisses, and if there's no stir he'll move on and away because he's not feeling up to encroaching on any creature's turf. A creature, a lizard, a bird. That's what he thinks the hand belongs to.

[letthemburn]

Iskierka has been lucky enough to not need to trying the local wildlife. She doesn't really expect that her luck will last forever, but for now, there's no need to try, and as such she can spend more of her time actually getting a handle on the feel of the arena. And the other people too, but that sort of comes with the arena and any she doesn't feel terribly inclined to get to know the people she might kill.

This doesn't keep her from answering the comment all the same. She might not really get the reference (it's hard to know much about fairy tales when you can't read).

"Whyever should you be?"

[swill]

It's only normal, you know, that someone goes a little loopy. That after a day of nothing but stress -beginning with the goat, the damn goat, God damn Klinger's goat- the mind starts to seek a little release, a little recreation, a little rest. Some tomfoolery. Heck, Hawkeye loved tomfoolery. It was almost as if he and his mind were one. They loved the same things. But. But sometimes Hawkeye can't say he really agrees with his head, or with what it wants to tell him.

Right now he doesn't want to believe a lot of things, but knows he has to. He's trying to find a way- a loophole- some way he can convince himself the red hand didn't just call back to him. So. Not a bird. Not a lizard. He wants to peer at what's connected to the clawed hand, but thankfully both Hawkeye and Mind agree curiosity is not worth risking a Body over. They both loved their body, thank you very much.

"I'm not Quixote tilting at windmills, either!"

Be reasonable. He couldn't outrun the creature. Might as well see if it's friendly. Or die trying. That's kind of like the drill.

Up for a near-death experience?

[vissernone]

It's not as if Eva's bloodthirsty, at least, not in any way she'll admit. Admitting to bloodthirst doesn't do anyone any good - it isolates you, makes you the scary person at a party, the subject of lurid conversations and healthy distances rather than a participant. So Eva never lets on that what she and everyone else call repressed anger is, just a little bit, bloodthirst - it's unbecoming.

When she gets out of this Arena with her clothing saturated red, they'll call it survival. Wrath. Self-defese. Necessity. Revenge. But they won't call it what it is, and she's alright with that, because that allows her to delude herself just as badly.

She chose allies as much because she cared for them as for their weaknesses. It gives her an excuse to go out into the woods and justify any fellow Tribute she kills as a necessary evil. She's protecting herself, protecting a sick, heartbroken young woman she's taken under her wing. It's simple mathematics - take out another Tribute and get herself and Eponine one step closer to victory.

And it has nothing to do with the way she's forgetting what it felt like to rip a teenager's face off with her bare hands. That sometimes she hates that she's forgetting the most traumatic experience of her life. That sometimes she wants to remember so badly it's mistaken for need.

Her hair is braided to keep it out of her face, but stray locks twist and twine in the wet air. The humidity has made her look younger, almost, filling out the wrinkles of middle age with a little more doughiness. Her breathing is shallow with anticipation, her palm clammy and tight around her spear. It's a throwing spear, which she finds comedic give that they're in the jungle, and getting a clear shot is a pipe dream. The shiv she's made of the other spear's head is tucked into the back of her pants.

When Hawkeye gets near, she lunges forward from behind an overgrown plant with a feral snarl, thrusting the spear forward in an attempt to run his guts through.

Always!

[swill]

Terror was an easy thing to fall back on. Hawkeye had said it once before and it's a claim he'd stand beside any day of his life. Terror was reliable and always just a call away. It'd always grip you and wrap you in its arms when nobody or nothing else would.

He's humming. He's drumming his fingers on the trunks of trees he passes near enough to touch. Give me five minutes more, only five minutes more. Let me stay, let me stay in your arms. It's a Sinatra song. He's a sucker for romance. Seeing as Terror was his sweetheart this day and night, Hawkeye figured, exhausted, worn, the best he should do is humor her. The insides of his eyelids he'd seen enough of. The new world around him he'd seen too much or not enough of. He hadn't decided yet which it should be. A day of contradictions, of yes and no and hesitance. That was what was killing him. His boots seemed to be made of iron. He's stepping loud and heavily.

He needed shelter. He needed to turn in for the night. Wandering around aimlessly wasn't getting him any results he wanted. Only five minutes more of your charms. But he fades out of song half way through it. He forces the final words out as simple grunts. He becomes more quiet in his treading. But it's too late, he knows. Being found half a dozen times... well, gee. Anyone would learn that feeling a pair of eyes on your back meant there was a shadow that didn't belong to you. Suppose he had been quiet since the get-go, he thinks. He wasn't good at hide and seek. He wasn't good at hiding and he had no intention of seeking- not by the competition's rules.

But what he thought of the rules didn't matter. Never did.

He hears an animal.

Hawkeye sees the spear first, and only. He shouts because he doesn't know how else to release the heavy weight built in his chest and though all of him feels lousy and slow he pushes his every bit to backtrack, to just swerve and feel his heart pound painfully and the weapon fly past. The foot he had shoved weight on slips in the mud. He stays standing. --a woman. Walking backwards is how he had landed in a vine trap. It's also a very real way to back himself into a corner he didn't know existed or-- but Hell. Hell, he's not going to turn his back to the woman with murder in her eyes. There's fire in his, too.

"What the Hell are you doing?" He shouts, hands outstretched and feeling for anything around him. He's moving, moving back, he doesn't know to where. "What are you, trying to kill me?!" His eyes sting. They really do. He didn't get this at all.

[vissernone]

Eva would answer, if she were the type for pithy one-liners in the midst of combat. While humor makes an appropriate shroud in the Capitol, she's long shed it here. There's no point in wasting one's breath explaining herself to someone she's going to murder.

Honestly, there's no point in even remembering Hawkeye is human and not some overgrown bipedal boar to slaughter.

The spear's out of her hands, but Eva quickly moves to make sure that it can't be in his either, lurching to put her body between her and it as it clatters over roots and dirt. Her right hand swings back behind her body, finding its hold along the shank that she's made. The spearhead catches a stray string in the back of her pants that remains tangled around the point when she brings it forward to stab at Hawkeye's gut.

She meant to skewer him, not startle him, and she's aware that the longer she spends trying to kill him the less likely she is to accomplish her goals. She's a middle-aged woman with a limp; her advantages are surprise, experience and fearlessness, not combat skill. She throws herself forward with the spear head aimed at his stomach. Five steps to collide.

[swill]

Nuh-no. No-no. He's not going to die here. He's not going to die- period! Live forever or die trying, that's the good doctor's motto! Well, now it was.

Funny how quickly everything changes-- but. But nevermind. It's not about thinking, right now. It's about reactions and luck. And he already let slip the chance to get the spear and chuck it out of reach so he really shouldn't keep his eyes on it. A spear! Where the hell did these people get something like that? He can't tell much about the woman -other than the fact that she was mad in the insane kind of way, not the angry kind of way he was- but he figures it doesn't matter. And it's a really strange way to think. And he doesn't think he can pull it off for longer than absolutely necessary. The woman's hands reach around her back and he crouches low and shuffles back. Back, like it's the only direction he should know in his damn life. Away. Away is a good place.

Always has been.

"Yeah, you know, you're pretty spr-"

Shut up, Hawkeye, and move. The woman's charging again. She has her little shank, not the big one, in hand.

So Hawkeye thinks.

And turns his back and holds his hands out and sprints through the first two or three trees. Barrels though. Lets the terror move him. Then he ducks behind the next. "--for your age!" She had a limp. Damn.

Damn.

[doc_holi]

Food was running too low. If it had been just her, Holiday wouldn't have done a damn thing. She would have stayed in the caves and tried her luck with a reptile or two, but she wasn't alone. They needed food, real food, some that wasn't guaranteed to be poisoned.

Just get in to the Cornucopia, take a quick look, and get out. If nothing was there to easily take, then she was just going to leave it. She couldn't risk her life this time.

Holiday was alerted to someone nearby by their humming. She was thankful for it, otherwise she would have just walked on top of the guy. So stupid to be lost in thought now of all times.

The doctor sprinted to a nearby tree and pushed herself against, probably not in the most quiet of fashions, while palming her hunting knife. She had no plans to hurt anyway, but there were only three types of people that hummed in an arena. Someone trying to keep their spirits up, an idiot, or a maniac. She was worried of the last one.

[swill]

Son of a

"You'll really hate yourself if you kill me, ya know!"

Can't he get through one stanza, just one? Please. His loud mouth... he'll shut up after this one, he promises. He swears. This time for real. But when his nerves are running miles under his skin it's. It's like. An iron. There's a burning, red iron just barely touching his skin. Every bit of him, covered or not. He had to do something, dear God, but he can't even hum!

Patience was his strong point only in very specific situations. Chaos and confusion and constant aggression and misery-- well, okay, that was a normal day. But usually the people who were so hot to kill each other were three miles in front of him at any given time. And he swears he hadn't seen a gun used in this jungle nightmare yet. Or shells but, y'know, thank God for that.

So he's stopped humming because he heard someone near him. He doesn't know where his next assailant will emerge from. He had to shut up and listen, really. But his mind's running wild. It's impossible to stay absolutely still. It really is.

His mouth's the only part of him he feels isn't threatening to fall off at the seams. So he cants his head a little to one side and rattles on. Rattle, rattle, rattle. Isn't it a little spooky how everybody always had a skeleton inside of them? "I know you're around. And lunging at me really won't do any of us any good. Somebody already tried that method. And frankly, it was embarrassing. I'm not a fan of encore performances." His stomach growls but it's drowned out. "I'm a screamer, I warn ya." As if he wasn't being loud enough already, every word projected, every nerve on fire. Christ, it had only been one day. Just one day. "Go ahead! Go ahead! Whoever brought me here already knows they've made a mistake, just like the Army did! I'm a doctor, not a killer! Let me go and I'll give you my diploma. Or my jacket. It's a really snazzy jacket. Beige is everybody's color."

[doc_holi]

Holiday listens, not totally convinced that he's not a lunatic out to force her guard down. However, one thing is extremely clear. He's new. Afraid. The longer she stayed hidden, the worse this would be for everyone.

So, Rebecca peeked around the tree, giving her position away and to give this guy a once over. Unarmed, kind of lanky, but military. He could have a shot at her, but with her training and the knife, she could take him or get away first.

Slowly, she removed her hand from the knife's hilt and showed them both to him while she stayed half hidden behind the tree. "For every kill a person wins," she explains to him quietly, voice shaking slightly from nerves, "they receive 100 credits after the arena. Money. You need to learn to be quiet."

[swill]

Another woman. Not hanging from a tree, not meeting him with a spear. She just peered out at him and Hawkeye for a moment can't even fathom what to do next. Is confirmation that he's not alone reason enough to run? Yes. And was really something he'd done too much thinking about in the past hours. Before, he'd have run at the sight of any man in a beige uniform. Red stars. Green uniforms were fine. Now he's wearing beige and other folk wear green- and there are no sides. A free for all. A war of everyone, for nothing. And the woman peeking out from behind the tree? Hawkeye doesn't know what to do with her.

So he holds up a hand and gives a stiff but clownish wave.

Hello, he means. I'm the moron. Sorry to disturb you. I'll be on my way.

Which is entirely contradictory to what he had thought would happen here.

His jaw tightens. He feels suddenly self-conscious. He makes a deliberate effort to keep his breathing even and not as heavy as it had been. He steps back. And listens. Good advice, really. Good advice. Still, his eyes dart from the woman to the other trees around her. Partners happened. Did she have a partner? He nods like he understands what she says and keeps nodding as he asks "Are you here for your credits? What's wrong with cash?"

[onlyimmune]

Ellie was still running.

Fourteen years old and the mouth of sailor, she was swearing under her breath as she ran, though she was getting slower and slower as she went. Whatever she was running from (spoilers, it was raptors) was long gone, but she didn't feel safe yet - trying to put as much distance between herself and those teeth as humanly possible.

She wasn't armed. Just a stick and a battered piece of wood, and she was hungry as hell despite being able to scrounge a couple supplies from well meaning tributes. She had no supplies to speak of and it was very clear that she had been sleeping in the same clothes for days - rain or shine.

She was, all things considered, a complete mess. But she'd been in bad situations before, and she'd survived those, so she was damn well going to survive this one.

She was still running (well, jogging and limping, maybe) when she heard something through the trees. A voice, singing. Who the fuck went around singing?

Her heart lurched at the sound, though, drawn to it at the same time that she thought it was idiotic, and she made for it.

"Are you stupid?" She hissed through the trees when she found him. Not Joel. She knew it couldn't be, of course, but for some reason -- Stupid. She shoved the thought from her mind. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

[swill]

He hears the running first, and he scrambles, frantic yet again, to his feet. A five minute break had turned into a fight to stay awake. The disturbance was almost welcome, keyword 'almost'. Reason told him he had something else to worry of, not the person who was rushing through the jungle with an inconsistent step. Finally, maybe, he wasn't the only one broadcasting his position, involuntarily as it was. Necessity. Necessity made people loud.

And no, he shouldn't be afraid of someone who broadcast themselves. There was a bigger danger, though. That he would worry about. On his feet, hardly keeping from swaying, he sees her.

Those Christless bastards. This Christless jungle.

She's a kid.

His face almost goes red, but then he figures-- he doesn't figure anything, really. What he'd done or not never really mattered. Really. There were girls around this one's age going into mine fields to see if it would be safe for the ox. There were girls getting blown to bits to save an ox. These things just happened. Hawkeye knew that. He knew, also, that he fucking loved her question. So he drawls out an answer just to be irritating, "Only when I need to be." But first, he hummed. Just a drawn out, thoughtful hmmm.

There were girls in jungle death matches. And he didn't fucking like that at all and his stomach churns and his throat tightens and he sort of can't breathe right for a second.

He flashes a grin. He hopes it's as disarming as he tried for. "Actually," he chimes, "that's the last thing I'm trying to do." Get himself killed, that is. He wants to ask, is it working? But he doesn't want to know if she's got a spear ready to chuck at him.

It might be hard to believe that he wasn't eager to die, trust him, he of all people knows, but the truth is what it is. Hawkeye holds up his hands, palms forward. The grin dissolves at the speed it should when one's concerned. He steps forward. It's the first 'forward' of the evening. He kind of wants to write down the time, down to the second, and place it in a scrapbook somewhere. "Listen, I'm a doctor." He shakes his head. He doesn't know why. He just does. The ball chain of his dog tags pinch at a hair behind his neck. "I heard you limping. Don't tell me you weren't. I'm not the only one with a flashing sign overhead. Why were you running?" Direct. Serious. Hoping for an honest answer, not the one that will please his ears. Yeah, Hawkeye thinks, the girl merits it.

[onlyimmune]

Only when I need to be. Great. So he was one of the crazy ones. She was ready to turn right around and start running when he speaks again, sounding much less crazy this time.

A doctor. She didn't really know any, back home - at least not ones that didn't work for the army. She never had met the ones that had worked for fireflies.

"I just- I sprained it or something, I don't know. I'm fine," She says it tightly, obviously not very keen on having him look at it, but when he asks what she was running from, she looks back behind her.

"You're not going to believe me if I tell you," She warns him, snapping her eyes back to his face. "And trust me when I say I'd rather take a fucking tribute with a sword over those things. But that doesn't mean that you aren't being an idiot."

[swill]

She says she doesn't know and then she says she's fine. Hawk can't keep himself from frowning. How about that? From grinning, to steady, to frowning. His breathing's something shallow. He's just exhausted, but he puts effort to holding his head high enough to demonstrate the confidence in his abilities he know he has and maybe, just a little, he's trying to loom and seem like someone who was best paid attention to. "You don't even know what's wrong with it," he shot back. The girl wasn't stupid and wasn't coming to him just yet. It made him feel a little better. It made him feel horrible and bogged down, like he was a monster worth fearing. A doctor. A doctor, damn it, people were supposed to trust him!

He opens his mouth to convince her of something, but decides against it. He shuts it and starts digging in his pockets- every one of them. He turns his head down and focuses on turning every pouch inside out and he doesn't hear her move away so-- there's hope. There's a rush of desperation. Of need. He can help. By God, he can help! He won't believe her if she tells him. Fine. Fair. She wouldn't just believe him if he told her he wouldn't hurt her. He's show her. Once his small task's done, his hands gesture to what he'd done. He looks back up. He's mildly pleased to find her looking.

"Whatever you say, Major, but let me look at that foot. I don't have a sword or a clue but if it's more than a sprain that you have, it could mean trouble." And he could help.