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Entry tags:
(open) Attention, all personnel. There's a loon on the loose.
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.
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.
Short tag is short but...I just loved reading your intro
...someone was humming along with him.
Thanks!
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!
"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.
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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.
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"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.
no subject
And she had a sense of humor.
He grants her a chuckle but no, that wasn't... funny. "On camera? I should have asked they catch my good side, but apparently they thought all of me was good. How do you know? Where are the TVs? The crews?" He asks, quickly and in a single breath. He's not interested in friends just yet. He's not the trusting kind just yet. Still, he figures he'll believe what she tells him next. No sense in not doing so.
no subject
"The Camera's are everywhere! Just really well hidden. In trees, rocks, even clouds! As for the crew? Well that's us bub! We're the only staff they put in the arena. The rest of them are safely tucked away where we can't get to em and give em a piece of our mind!"
She shook her fist at the sky "I'm still mad at you guys for candyland by the way!!!"
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It's her words that deliver the punches. Cameras that well hidden? No, they're huge. Film reels alone were about the size of his head and the blasted noise the contraptions made-- he'd filmed before. He knew that noise. Hidden in clouds? Hawkeye's lips curl up a tad. "You're kidding me." In clouds? Nah. "Pulling my leg," he offers again, hoping she'll give in and just say so herself.
The perfect spectator sport.
Crestfallen can't begin to describe him. A pageant. An honor. Yeah. Yeah, it's entertainment. Violence-- he doesn't get it. If he looks like he's hit a daze, he has. "Candyland?" No, no, no. "I can't believe I missed that." He loves people. He hates people.
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"Them's the breaks. We're on the world's biggest most deadly reality TV show. And all you can do is fight or die." She tugged on her own ponytails "It's really very cruel, but kind of hilarious too."
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The unease in his gut is all too real. This lady was a bad seed. Hawkeye shrugs his shoulders lazily, feels like he shouldn't even say another word. "Hilarious? I don't see how it is and don't you try and explain things to me the way you see them, Bonnie." He wags his finger at her like she was some dog he's trying to keep off the table. Like he's explaining to a kid why they can't write on the walls. --though, if that were the case, he'd let the kids get away with it. He feels like the mud's sucking at his boots and steps back and to the side once so he doesn't feel so trapped. Suppose he should just leave then but even taking his eyes off the girl for a second, which he'd tried to avoid, makes him feel like prey. "Are you going to kill me?" He asks, not keen on being told 'yes' but needing a plan.
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"I don't think so. There's no reason for it. You're new, I don't have any weapons. I mean I could knock you around pretty good but killing you bare handed? That's much more personal and I'd rather save that for someone I actually don't like."
Then she grinned brightly "Besides, you've got a sense of humor! We need that around here!"
no subject
He doesn't think he'd have been happier if he'd have been told he failed the draftboard's review.
The lady gets a sheepish mock-up of a blush. His heart's pounding a mile a minute. He knows she could still come for him, could still be hiding an unpleasant surprise. That he'd spent his while talking to a projection of the island was unknown to him. That projections of this caliber existed at all would be news.
"Aw, shucks." Hawkeye steps back, disguises the retreat as a half-assed sweeping bow. "I'll try to make ya proud." He won't. He's not interested in someone who sees death as a joke.
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"Well if you're feeling daring, I'm heading back to the compound. There's food and shelter there and a big red button just begging to be pushed! I'll even walk in front of ya so you can keep your eyes on my good side." She turned and shook her behind at him.
She wasn't wrong, it was pretty good.