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

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

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?"

"They call it credits. Everyone uses credit cards in the Capitol, there is no cash." She doesn't even wonder if he knows what credit cards are. Sometimes, Holiday keeps things like that in mind for new people, but she's been a bit rushed lately.

"I won't hurt you if you don't try anything. Just picking my way to the Cornucopia for food, that's all."

And there were no partners with her, but if there were, Hawkeye would have little to worry about. This arena was certainly not the worst one she's been through, by a long shot, but she was definitely more stressed in this one. So close to home, but still way too far away.

He nods. Like it makes sense to him. Like it's relevant to anything at all. Like he'll ever see where the capitol of this new place is, like he cares one bit about half the things that have come from the woman's mouth. But she's still behind the tree and Hawkeye's still standing where he had stopped to converse. That's what this is. A conversation. Because before he can wonder about whether or not he should believe her, he's asking "Where's the food?"

Again, loud.

If they were closer, maybe he wouldn't feel the need to shout. If he wasn't starving, maybe he wouldn't feel the need to shout -though months at the 4077th held evidence to the contrary. Maybe- Christ, what's the wrong about it? Maybe he just felt comfortable being loud- and who the hell could say he shouldn't be? "You can come out from there. I won't try any funny business if you don't." Which is contrary to every fiber of his being, but dire circumstances called for the sacrifice. "Are there ribs? I would k-" Nuh-no. No, he wouldn't. Slip of his tongue, his bad. He holds up a hand again. Apologies. Sorry. Continuing now. And he even lowers his voice. "I can eat a horse." And he shouldn't be attempting to cling on to decency but the fact that he hadn't been attacked yet did wonders to a miserable spirit. If this was a trap, it sure was working. "You don't know this, but I had a horse once. And a Howitzer. I poured cement down one's throat and gave the other away to a nice farmer." Guess which was which. He should stop talking, but the woman hadn't tried to kill him yet-- wasn't that something? Wasn't it exciting? If he can keep talking until he can coax her out, it'll be a victory. He needs more of those today.

She shifts when he speaks loudly again, roving her eyes around the area just in case someone was headed their way. There were too many people out there who hunted and enjoyed these arenas and Holiday didn't want to find them here.

Finally, he speaks softer and she calms down a bit if only because she could hear the possibility of approaching feet better now. Holiday, after some consideration, steps out from behind the tree, but is also considering that this man was either insane or in shock. For military, this wasn't a very good way to go into shock.

Then again, when she first landed in this place, she ran and didn't stop until someone kicked her face in. Literally.

The doctor stays quiet for another moment with raised hands to signify she comes in peace, despite the obvious hunting knife in her belt. "I doubt there's ribs," she finally speaks softly and calmly, "but on the first week there was a lot of things. Crates of potatoes. Boxes of wheat. Canned tuna. Too much for people to run away with so some of it has to still be there or near by. It's all at the Cornucopia, in the center of the island."

Not really sure why she's explaining things. Really, she does have a soft spot for new people of whatever age, but he could still be dangerous whether he means it or not. If he panicked and didn't shut up, he could get them both killed, making him a hazard. She'll just handle things by ear.

Hawkeye has to keep from snickering. That'd be in bad taste. He raises a hand to signal to her, instead, to signal to how ridiculous she's being with that gesture he's sported so many times already. Peace. Surrender. Two words that were always just there, but hardly ever did anything.

"I'm a doctor, for Christ's sake. And I'll have you know I take my profession very seriously." That meant different things, at different times. "So stop- stop doing that." It made him feel like he was being saluted to. The gesture was as useless. A salute signified respect by people who wanted nothing more than to spit on your grave and here's a sign of peace by a woman with a knife on her hips. Funny. Life was funny.

He lowers his own hand and heaves a sigh and wants to run a hand through his hair but the last time he put his face in his hands, he got a spear brushed against his neck. So he paces just a little. He's antsy. He doesn't get it. He just wants ribs. And now his mouth's watering, figuratively. She hadn't mentioned powders. He holds up his hand again. Stop, lady, stop. When he finishes his little exercise he's got his torso perpendicular to hers. He moved some yards. "You're getting me excited. I'll get emotional in a minute if you don't stop talking about food." Physically emotional. Aroused, even. --nah.

"So why are you telling me all of this?" Why be civil?

Holiday slowly lowers her arms to her sides with a mixture of disappointment and confusion on her face. At least he wasn't much for playing around and, eventually, getting to the point. "I'm a doctor, too. It doesn't really change things in the long run."

She understood the gist, though. Doctors saved people; cured them. That's the sole reason Holiday went to school. Cures. Treatments. To stop the mass genocide. That just wasn't enough here.

While he paces and seemingly tries to work through what's going on, Holiday stays still and watches him move around, keeping one ear out. She's all about being patient, but she really didn't have a ton of time right now... A little longer couldn't hurt, though. Might even help him if things go right. She did note to not mention food, though.

Her frown deepens at his question, but she can't decide if it's because of what he may think or because she understands why he asks. "We were all dumped here. The first arena without any prior guidance is complete Hell; I've been there. They're all terrifying, but-... I just understand. I haven't killed anyone and I don't plan to start with an unarmed man scared out of his skull. Besides, kind of hard to break a career of helping people now, right?"

She's been through the ropes of this place several times over. She still hadn't stopped helping people. Food, information, medical treatments, even played decoy twice.

Wasn't that the same song and dance, though? Why be a doctor if it changed nothing? Why do anything at all, why wake up in the mornings? Stone cold. His expression turns hard for a moment, just long enough to attempt to convince himself that all he loves was worth something. "Maybe not to you but it will for me." Change things. No, he doesn't know what that meant. Don't ask. He wasn't going to kill. He wasn't going to hurt anyone. Not anyone. He wasn't some-- some child. Some uneducated boy. He knew. He knew things. Too many things. He knew right and wrong and he's pacing again. It was either that or singing and if he sung he'd just seem crazy.

He stops again and signals to himself and maybe he's miffed. Maybe. "Being a doctor might not mean anything to you, but it does to me." Maybe he misunderstood the whole thing. He won't ask for clarification, won't issue an apology either. His stomach rumbles- but whatever.

Then, reality strikes again. He has no idea what's going on. "What do you mean 'arena'? Is that what they call these things? What-" wait a minute. She's got a knife and he doesn't, so marching up to the woman is the safe thing to do. He wouldn't hurt her. He's not mad at her. He's not even mad. Just excited. The fearful kind of excited, which is the most common kind that plagues him. Hawk frowns. He searches her face. Scared out of his skull? Him? Nah. No. Really. He moves his hands- up and down and all over. Meaningless gestures and trying his luck with proximity. Oh, and also? He's loud. "What do you mean first?"

It does matter to her... There's no point in getting angry, though. He just didn't understand yet. Once he was in the Capitol, maybe he'd get it. Doesn't stop her brow from furrowing, though. Arguing wouldn't help right now. Probably just rattle him more and then they'd both be yelling.

Her hand moves to the hilt of her knife when he gets closer, but she doesn't draw it. He may try to punch her, but he won't try killing her. Holiday can tell that much.

On the other hand, he has a lot of questions. She could answer them all, but he doesn't seem to have much of an open mind right now. Understandable, really... Then again, she's still angry over his comment.

"I've been in here for three weeks," she hisses lowly, angrily, "I have two hungry kids huddled in a cave. I have until sundown to bring back food for them. If you want my help, you will calm down and you will treat me with respect or they'll eat roasted doctor tonight." They won't. She'd never reduce herself to cannibalism, even if she considered it last time. It was enough of a test. Hopefully, it'll make him shut up for five seconds.

That doctor comment really got under her skin. After what happened to Punchy... Hawkeye's lucky his nose is intact.

The attempt to pull seniority falls on deaf ears. The next comment doesn't. He just doesn't get it. He'd seen her hand go to the knife but this was a test. First do no harm. How much can he trust someone's word here? Anywhere? Stupid, stupid, really stupid to experiment but where the hell was his incentive to do otherwise? There's a heat at the back of his throat. Hawkeye wants to groan, frustration coming to a noticeable peak. He doesn't move an inch, doesn't move a hand.

The record scratch and backtrack is almost as audible.

Children. He draws in a breath. He wants to move, Christ. His skin's crawling. There are monsters around. How can anyone stay so still? But he manages, miracle of miracles.

"Then go!" He urges. His hands gesture at-- at the jungle around him. Behind him. His shoulders stoop. There's conflict in him but as much as he didn't make the best impression on the lady, what the hell was she thinking, pinning this confrontation on him? It wasn't fair. "I said I'm not going to stop you. I'm not going to harm you." He's a doctor.

So he ought to start acting like one, right? There are children around.

Christ.

He steps back and he eyes the knife again. He eyes her. He's not the only one looking like a dish, thanks. He swallows, has either the decency or audacity to look her in the eyes this time around. He unclenches his jaw, he bobs his head once or twice. How can anyone stand so still when they're all so wound up? His breathing's heavy but he calms down. For real this time. He promises. "I'll back off. My name's Hawkeye." It's laced with shame, though he pushes through it quickly. "Or Captain Pierce. Or Doctor Pierce. Or Snookums. Whichever you want. I've been told I'm a bit of an acquired taste, so-" So anyway. "I've also been told I'm delicious but I'm no kiddy treat." So anyway. He lifts his hands- drops them so they hit his legs. "I'll help you go where you're going." Resolve. There. Done. Next.

Then go? Just leave him? To leave him out here like this would be the same as killing him, but just getting it over with would be more merciful. There was too much he didn't know and the biggest of which was how to shut up. If she were someone with less resolve and a bigger temper, she would have killed him already.

So she ignores his comments about leaving him. Unless he found more friendly faces (which was likely, but very risky), he was a goner.

She calms down more as he does, letting her sudden burst of anger go. For the moment. "Holiday," she tells him, "My name's Holiday. You don't need to help me, but it would benefit us both if we walked and talked rather than staying in one place."

Rebecca looked up to the sun, hoping that the gamemakers somehow didn't change the ways it was rising and setting, and began to walk around him to head in her former direction of south/southeast. "If I can get some food, I'll give you a third of it, but don't take that as a guarantee. I'm only out here on chance."

Now what she needed to do was wade through his questions and figure out answers to them that won't make him go ballistic again. He could always figure it out through trial and error, but she knows how unpleasant that can be.

He wants to crack wise over her name, partly out of instinct and partly as a way to show he's over the fit he'd just thrown. Then Holiday -he'll crack wise one day, he just can't not- goes and repeats what Hawkeye had only just said like it was her grand idea and he'd been an idiot to not listen to her. So he nods. The sarcasm's dripping. Walk and talk- didn't he just-

anyway.

He holds still when she walks past him. He can't help allowing himself an eyeful. A second later, he trots to stay by her side. His feet hurt from so much dancing around but he won't be telling her that. The first mosquito to suck at his neck gets a full shiver out of him.

"If you can find some food, I'll take what I need and you'll take back what you need for the kids." What he doesn't say if that he'd rather carry an armful back to wherever those kids hid himself- his hands were larger. He'd just. Drop everything at the cave entrance. At least that's the plan forming in Hawkeye's mind, loose as it was. His steps are heavy next to Holidays but he's trying to not be a target. He's not humming. He won't even talk if she won't. It's like he's proving a point, or trying to.

Holiday enjoys repeating and establishing things over and over in different terms, but if he brings it up, he might just get a glare out of her. Not a punch, though, and certainly not a stab.

Her mind begins to wonder why he's finally quiet. She would like to think that it's because he's finally listening and trying to stay calm now, but it could be because he's trying to think of a plan to pull the wool over her eyes. It was risky to trust a stranger in this place, so she keeps one hand on her knife, for him or others.

She doesn't argue with his settlement of the hopeful food spoils, though. That sounded just fine with her. Since he's quiet now, rather he was thinking or just being good, it seemed like the perfect time to explain some things.

"This isn't my first arena," she starts, "This is my fourth one. When you die, you'll wake back up in the city, the Capitol, almost immediately. The Capitol posses amazing technology, but I've seen people get blown up and mauled in these things. In the last one, I lost my left arm. I don't know how they do this. Clones or advanced stem cells or something.

"If you don't die, you'll be the Victor and have to live with whatever wounds you carry out with you. They usually don't have to come back into these things, but Victors are still prisoners like the rest of us. Their advertised jobs is to be mentors to the tributes of their district." She'll pause there and wait for the inevitable torrent of questions and emotions.

So far so good. He still had his limbs. His insides were still inside. For all that he had cussed at the world around him, he hadn't damned his own life yet. Though stressful, he could, if he wanted, think up a day that had been worse. This Hawkeye attributes to not yet coming to terms with the truth the new environment radiated. His gaze periodically turns to the lady doctor's weapon. He knows, he supposes, every insult a body can physically handle and even the ones a body can't. He knows what holding a beating heart in hand felt like. He knows how to wade ankle-deep in blood.

Logically, maybe he shouldn't be as unnerved as he was.

He'd seen the proposed enemy at twenty paces, rifles aimed. He'd been at gunpoint. He'd been to the Hell that was battalion aid. Death came knocking like a thirsty friend. Twenty hour shifts standing elbow deep in dead children.

"No," he says. It's curt and flat and all too simple. He looks ahead. Maybe if he tries, he'll convince himself to not accept. No, people don't come back to life. Not to be put on a supposed television show. Not to be savagely murdered again. He-- it--

He loses his breath, really. He shouldn't have. He shouldn't have done a lot of things. There's this self-involved glaze he hated so much to see in other people. It sounded familiar. A nightmare he'd seen before. One foot in front of another. March on. Life continued. It was a machine. A glorified machine.

There's a frog in his throat and he just wants to stop and sleep it off. Children died. They just did that. "Huh," he huffs out. He couldn't wrap his head over what Holiday had said, not all of it. He knew he couldn't. He couldn't connect the dots to some pieces if he wanted to. He didn't want to.

"I'm chief surgeon. At a- it's a MASH. We're operating in Korea." That was a nice pun, he figured. The bridge of his nose burned. There was a sinking feeling around him. But he kept quiet. He won't shout when he's drowning. He never did. He just shook and fell and Billy laughed. "A lot of us there never wanted to be there. We were drafted. Uncle Sam said 'do or die' and, well. We fix broken boys so they can get killed at a more convenient time. I, uh. This sounds like it'll just be another day at the office." No it doesn't, but immunity was built up little by little. If your heart bled for every bleeding heart, you'd be nothing. "I think I'm ready, y'know. Doom, gloom, no escape, insanity, inhumanity, no reason--"

--he'd gotten progressively louder. He shouldn't have. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Here he thought he knew bombshells! What's there to do? What's there to say? He understood only parts of those words. He hadn't wanted to hear any. Why can't he ever get anything? Why can't anything ever be right? The world's a whirl and he's too sober. He lifts his arms and calls, "I asked for a vacation, I got a Holiday!" but that's at least lower than before. There's a laugh he barks out so all of a sudden and it's paired with a crooked smile. He's too sober to feel pricks in his eyes. Hawkeye draws a breath-

"So. Holiday. That's your real name? It's peculiar." A bleeding heart was nothing to bleeding boys.

Holiday slows her walking when she notices him struggling. Of course it's a lot to take in. She wouldn't have believed it if someone had told her about it first. She didn't believe it after she had already died.

Then there was the sponsor dates, training time, previous arena footage, celebrity interviews, making friends, crying in showers, merchandise, terrorist attacks, live executions, etc. The arenas were only the tip of the iceberg and she did not envy Hawkeye for going through it all. She pitied the children, tried to keep them safe, but there was something to be said about how a child or teenager takes this sort of thing compared to an adult.

If he doesn't want to progress any further on what she's told him, she won't force it. He can go at his pace, but it'll all happen either way. What Holiday hears from his end is a MASH unit in Korea. Drafted. Providence didn't draft anyone as it wasn't military and the government didn't know what to do with the EVOs, so this was definitely before the Event (and Kiev) but still on Earth. So.

The Korean War. She should really mention the diversity of people around here, but Holiday doesn't. He needs to take one thing in at a time and the topic change suggests that he can only do so much at once right now. For her, the Korean War ended over 80 years ago.

"My last name. Rebecca Holiday. Everyone at home just called me Doctor Holiday or Holiday, so I brought the same over here on habit." Glad she did. Anything to remind her of home. The green ribbon wrapped around her wrist is her only cherished possession and it's just a reminder. "What about Hawkeye? Your last name is Pierce, right?"

Chief surgeon was also nothing to laugh at and she tucked away that bit of information for later. Perhaps she could quickly catch him up on modern medicine advances once they were both out. It may help.

It would be jarring if it were the first time. --the change of attitude in both, turning from spite to this, not the information exchanged. He'd learn to understand her words better, he knew. He hoped he wouldn't, though. Holiday had slowed to almost echo his own footsteps and Hawkeye wasn't sure if he was grateful for the show of sympathy or insulted. It'd be easy to be insulted and he could tailor himself a reason right out of the blue to give his mind a game to play. It'd also be wrong and so for a moment he lets the silence sit and he's aware again of the noises of the jungle. There's chirping and a squeal that was a long way off. There was the buzzing of insects- of something else too- and the eerie thuds and thumps of moving things which can't be seen.

The smile stays. It's lazy but not unwanted.

"Ah, Rebecca." He draws out the affirming noise, letting his mouth open so he looks like a panting dog for that one moment. "I knew a Rebecca once. Nice girl. Always a holiday with her. She'd tell me to shut up, too, all the time." Story-telling, but short. He changes his expression with near every sentence, rises and lowers the pitch of his voice. Moves his hands. "But that was so her roommates wouldn't find out. Nice girl. Decided to throw a slipper at my head instead of a boot once." He pauses, thinks about digging out his dog tags and decides against it. He's positively cheerful. Talking about the most mundane things! It would be jarring if it weren't the first time. "Well, on my birth certificate it says 'Benjamin Franklin' but everyone calls me Hawkeye. And I mean everybody- back home, too. It's from my old man's favorite book. Last of the Mohicans."

They were looking for food for starving children, he was exercising his ability to keep relatively quiet, she was exercising her patience more likely than not (bless her), and he was explaining his name with such pleasure. Funny and almost disrespectful if you thought about it.

"Pair it with 'Pierce' and uh, I don't know, it's snazzy. Calling everybody by their last names only is just too formal. I couldn't do it. Their first names, too. Some of them are just plain hideous." Here's looking at you, Walter. And still, the only footsteps he could hear were his and the woman's.

Holiday very nearly stopped walking for him rather than just slowed her pace, but she figured that would have been an insult to him which was the only reason she didn't. Men and their pride, especially his right now.

Instead, she's just happy he doesn't say anything on it and even manages to pull a smile at the story of this other Rebecca he knew. It was nice to talk about simple things every now and then. "Your father has good tastes. One of the most innovative inventors and a courageous hero all in one."

Six always seemed to think that names were important. That they described someone and should be chosen with meaning and purpose. The conversation reminded her of him and she didn't like it.

"I was the lead scientist and researcher in, well, an important world-wide organization. The only person I know now that doesn't call me by my last name is my little sister, unless they just refer to me as Doc. Guess it just stuck. Feel free to call me whatever you like. One kid once referred to me as Holly or Hols once upon a time." She missed Hols.

He doesn't miss a beat. "Of course he was a great inventor," he boasts, talking like he's talking of his father and not his name sake. "He made me, after all." And with that comment comes a smirk that's all different kinds of haughty and humble at once. He hoped these quips were going to be more common than the bitter jabs of before but knew it was a minor delusion to think the cheer would last, if it could be called cheer at all. If it had to come down to it, the only wounds he'd inflict would be the emotional kind- and he knew he'd feel rotten all the same.

Whatever Rebecca says is of some importance to him and so he makes sure to remember parts. And the smirk is wiped off and see what he meant about the short-lived cheer? She was being awfully vague about her work, not that he had gone into grand detail about himself. "Some important world-wide organization." He repeats, not as impressed as he maybe should have been. "I'll tell you now, the CIA's not as big on the 'Intelligence' part of their shtick as they think they are, Holly." Because 'Holly' was more common than 'Hols', at any rate, and he didn't think hard of giving anybody a name. And right, right, she had said 'world-wide' and not 'American', but how patriotic would he be if he didn't think America was the entirety of the whole damn world?

She had mentioned a little sister, so the bite is kept out of his words.

He made me. Holiday's eyebrow perks up and she smiles. "I have a feeling we're talking about two different Benjamin Franklin's."

Holiday certainly didn't mind talking like this. There were still things he really needed to know, but even she liked to relax in these arenas every now and then.

So, she even gives a chuckle. "Not the CIA, thankfully. I worked for a place called Providence. A lot of people here don't even know of its existence. Most people... aren't from the same places I'm from. They sort of take us from all over. Different... dimensions. Times... Take that as you will.

"If you were from the same place and time that I am, then trust me. You would know what Providence is. We weren't exactly secret."

Guess she was getting to that part sooner rather than later.

"His real name's D- uh." Uh huh. Hawkeye swallows, frowns. Benjamin Franklin was a dead geezer, Daniel Pierce was not. It was pure, unadulterated paranoia to think it and Hawkeye feels a tug of shame once more. But he wouldn't utter a name outside his own if only for the small, insane possibility that there were records scattered about, that there was a committee somewhere hidden in between those concrete halls he was led through that picked and chose the unlucky bastards to fight based on who said what. In which case, he'd like to get to know the fink that ratted him out. Like he figured- paranoia.

"Rhode Island?"

Because like hell he wasn't going to interrupt. For what it was worth, he shut up for the remainder of her tale. Because that's what it was, a tale. The caveman and the... those people, the judges in the scoring room. They were a world apart, sure, but.

Well, so what? Everyone in Korea was from all over, too.

"Who knew they'd hit it so big, the little buggers."

Oh, he's just talking for his own God damn sake.

"Look-" He should believe her, maybe. He didn't want to. Want, need, could, should- why was there always a conflict between them? "Christ, why can't anything be simple?" He murmured, more to himself. Then louder so Holiday could hear clearly, "Look, Becky. I'm not sure I believe that. So are we near the foodthings or what? This is a fun little scavenger hunt but what's really keeping me going is the idea of sinking my teeth into something that's not made out of World War II surplus powder."

"We're very close," Holiday sighed. "It should be just over this ridge. I was running away very quickly the last time I was here, but this seems right."

She didn't elaborate on Rhode Island or her home or... any of it. Let him take it in as he can in the time it takes him. He'll have to swallow it all eventually, whether he believed her or not. If she were in his position, she wouldn't.

When this is over, she would buy him a round of drinks to enjoy. It was her only relief here.

"Keep low and quiet. If I say run, we run, all right? I know some of the people in here. If someone there is unfriendly, we don't want them to see us."

Running quickly. Hawkeye figured it was because she saw the danger of just hanging around in a way that had escaped him those first moments on the platform. A way to add suspense was to release the players one by one- that's what ran through his mind at the mention. After all, he had been alone running into the jungle. And his mind still ran through the idea of different times all together. What did it matter, though? Everyone bled the same.

"What, you don't trust me to be quiet?" He says, turning to her. He had meant it as a joke but he's doing his part to look serious. She had seniority, after all.

"You haven't really done your part to prove that fact yet, honestly," Holiday answered in a lower tone, already approaching the Cornucopia with cautious steps. "There might be traps." Just a warning. You never know.

The clearing was getting closer and closer with every step they took. While Holiday couldn't really see anyone around, she also couldn't see anything around. It looked like it was picked clean from her point of view...

Yeah, yeah, he knew. About the traps, too.

Hawkeye found himself a step or an inch ahead of Holiday, feeling some spirit of competition rising. Not in that way. Not in the 'I'll find this before you do' sort of way that would also make him search for details he didn't know and crane his neck. Competition in the more primitive way, the alert way, the 'survival' sort of way. It would be impossible to miss the Cornucopia by now and Hawkeye thinks back to his arrival.

The clearing was prime ground to hunt.

His heart was beating hard, but how was that any different from the rest of the day?

"How do you feel about splitting up?" He asks, though by how low he voices it it might as well be mouthed. No worry, though, he'd also taken the liberty to step closer, to practically brush shoulders with the woman. He didn't see a damn thing in that building. "If someone wants to pick us off going in, we might as well make it difficult." Not a damn thing in that building.

Splitting up could end badly... for him. Holiday was confident that she could get away or at least wound an attacker. Hawkeye was more of a liability for this sort of thing and splitting up would probably cost him his life, but it could give her time to find something for Punchy and AndrAIa.

Biting her lip, Holiday nods in resignation. "Just be careful," she tells him just as quietly, but still sternly.

Then again, he could be plotting to get the jump on her. If that's the case, let him. It would make some guilt go away.

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