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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.
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She's frowning. He's patient.
Her acceptance made his lips twitch but he doesn't smile again. There are questions running through his head, always are. They can wait. "Do you want me to follow behind you," he asks, "or besides you?" Because he's a grown man, noodle though he was. And the girl was smart and he'd respect her. He could help. It made him relax, the thought. He didn't have to lose his head, after all. They didn't have to lose the fight, though he's pretty sure that by now his stomach had shrunk to half its size and was scheming to eat what remained. At this pace, he'd just gnaw off his own arms soon.
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But first, where to? She looked around - had she been here before? - and then: "Right. Okay. I know vaguely where we are. There's a really big tree up that way-" She pointed in its direction, "Big hollow trunk, and you can climb up on the inside a little ways. You know. If someone hasn't already made camp in there. But it was empty last time I checked."
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He can respond with sarcasm too.
"You know vaguely where we are, you most likely have a knife on you, and I'll be leading this train. I don't see how this can possibly go wrong, can you?" Airy, cheeky. He didn't want to be a downer, which, considering his words, wasn't all that believable. Before he gets within reach of the girl, his hands go up again. No weapons, no intention to do harm. He can only hope it's the same line of thought working through her head. "My name's Hawkeye," he says casually. He steps around her a little so he's what he deems a comfortable distance from the girl before he steps in front. He doesn't want to seem like a vulture and eye her injury but his gaze wanders to her leg anyway. He keeps talking. "Got it from the 'Last of the Mohicans'." His smile woke up again. His eyes twinkle. "Great book." His father's favorite.
And who would write his old man after he died?
"Finest kind."
He turns his back to the girl, moves his hands to rest on his head and feels some of the burdening weight on his shoulders lift and instructs, "I can't see your foot in this light. Try to stay off it if you can. No need to rush."
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"Don't worry, I'll yell if you start getting us lost," She says mildly, watching him as he moves around like he can't quite stand still.
"Hawkeye." She repeats it as if she doesn't quite believe it, but then says: "... Ellie. Didn't get it from a book or anything, just... yeah. Just my name."
She falls into pace behind him but now that the adrenaline has worn off she is really starting to appreciate the pained tang that jolts up from her ankle after every step. Damn, damn, damn.
"Actually, there is a reason to rush," She says, limping at as good a clip as she could manage. "People trying to kill you, arena trying to kill you. Staying out in the open is not exactly the best idea in the world."
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"Major 'El!" He calls back, cockney accent deployed. He shouldn't get attached and he wasn't yet, being honest with himself. But play- he missed it. Some of him craved it. "I can work with that." Even if it was a boring old name. Not from a book- hah! There's a pang through his chest when he thinks about fathers for a second. He almost turns his head to catch a look at Ellie again but he stops himself. He didn't know if she had a weapon or not. He thought she did. She might spook if he turned, because he'd been too comfortable surrendering as her prisoner before. He still was. He was sure he could muscle her away if she ever attacked.
Hawkeye snorts. It felt good to be derisive, though he didn't mean it as much as he let on.
"It's worked out for me so far," he comments. "I got the loveliest little tan. Made some friends. Learned some new words." And he still doesn't know what the girl had been running from. That worried him. Rushing the limp did too. "Mud wrestled with a beauty. I always wanted to check that off my bucket list."
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He's nuts. One hundred percent nuts, but something about it is causing her to almost crack a smile, even as her limp is getting worse with every step.
"Yeah. Well. You and I have very different bucket lists," She mused quietly. "Hot food is on mine. And maybe a bed. And people not trying to kill me for like... a whole week. That'd be nice."
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The girl should be in pain. Hearing her heavier steps were good. Pain that could be felt was better than pain so far gone it wasn't. Her adrenaline had begun to wear off, he figured. And if she stayed next to him he'll slow his pace but still- he won't turn to look at her.
"Different!" There's the trace of a chuckle in his voice still. There were crow's feet at his eyes. It was such a task to not let his hands down. "I think we might be related. Hot food- good food. Not powdered slop. I want a real mattress straight out of the newest edition Sears catalog. I want a fan if it's hot and a coat if it's cold. --I take that back, I don't want a damn fan. Air conditioning!"
A week without someone trying to kill them all.
"And television. I hear- I hear those are all the rage. I'm a man of simple pleasures."
He made four hundred a month. He owed the Army twenty-two thousand. When the hell was he going to get a television? --why the hell was he thinking about television? His legs would soon give out if Ellie's didn't. "How much longer do we need to walk? We going the right way? I left my compass back in Korea. It pointed East instead of North, so we went longer than we should have thinking West was South. Either that or the sun rose the wrong way every day, which I wouldn't blame it for. I ask because I'm old and I don't think I could keep up if it'll be much longer." He really had to look at her foot.
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It was then that Ellie figured out that maybe Hawkeye didn't really know where they were - or, at least, that he didn't really know the conditions of where they were.
Because there was absolutely no way he'd be wishing for television if he'd ever actually been in the Capitol.
She filed that information away for now, noting to herself to ask him about it later, because for the moment he was right and there was little way she could keep walking on this ankle.
"It's right there," she said, pointing, though she had no idea what the hell he was rambling about with Korea and west being south and east being west. Up ahead, not far now, was a massive tree - the hollow was even visible from this side. "Looks like we're lucky and it's unoccupied."
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"I can carry you from here to there, ya know." He offers, but thinks he won't be taken up on it. He kind of hopes he won't be because he hadn't been lying about his legs almost giving out. All of him was sore and ready to fall. He drops his hands to his sides. He figures out his shoulders hurt, too, from all the running around. But they were close and he wasn't going to fall down yet. He continues forward, and would only stop if Ellie did. He stifles a snort much like Ellie had stifled her amusement before.
There was blind faith at play here. He wasn't going to be the one to tear the illusion.
"Unoccupied except for all the bugs you can dream of." But that didn't mean he had to keep the shivers to himself, did it? No, not at all. A tree. It was large. Hidden- and Hawkeye was grateful for that. There were no signs of people having passed nearby and so that further kindled his new appreciation for the stump.
"It's going to be terrible trying to stretch your legs in there."
It reminds him of the capsule that lifted him into the arena, a little.
"Tight fit."
Not that he was nervous- he had a girl to take care of first.
"Are you sure it's the right one?"
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Once he was done yammering about the stump, she nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure," she said as they came up to it. "Slept here on the second night. It's not bad, and there's space upwards a bit." She paused at the entrance and then motioned that he should go inside first.
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But a phobia is called what it is because it doesn't listen to reason.
"Well, with that shining recommendation…" He sees her gesture. He decides to be brave and waltz inside as instructed, so he ducks his head and marches forward. And promptly stops at the entrance, only peering inside. Nice tree. Hollow tree. Sturdy tree. Comfy mud. Brown bark.
This was all really stupid of him.
"I'm an officer and a gentleman. I swear." And a chicken wanting to show he really was harmless, and a half-assed attempt to bow and show Ellie how much he really insisted she go first wouldn't do it. Christ, he hated everything. Thumpity-thump went his poor little heart and Hawkeye announced, "Ladies first." And he stepped in fully. Finally. Made his way as far in as he could, which admittedly wasn't very far, and rewarded himself by leaning against the skeleton. He'd slide his ass down to the ground but when Ellie entered, there might not be enough room (or oxygen) to relax. Besides- the foot. It's always the foot.
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She follows him in after a moment, raising an eyebrow and trying to smother the smile.
"You alright there, Doc?" She asks. "It's not going to bite you. I don't think. This time."
She sidles up inside until she can take a seat, leaning back on the bark as she slides down to the ground. "Oh, fuck," She groans, reaching out for her ankle.
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Ellie was sitting now, and Hawkeye took it as a cue to lower himself, too. His legs! God, he swears he'd moan in pleasure if the girl at least looked over twenty. He settles for a sigh.
"Not this... mud stuff."
It's a transition, believe it or not. He shifts, uncomfortable with how he'd positioned himself. He rolls his shoulders. He remembers how much the whole of him hurts, and he inches closer to Ellie -it's a really tight fit in here, but it would do- and tentatively reaches a hand out, not quite touching her leg but hovering as if asking for permission. "You never told me what you were running from. How bad's it hurt? Give it to me on a scale of one to ten."
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"That's because I don't want you thinking my head needs looking at too," Ellie quipped lowly as he continued talking, shifting her ankle so that it was in easier reach of his fingers, and giving a short nod of permission.
"What's ten on the scale? Getting shot? Stabbed? Eaten by an infected? The worst pain I've ever experienced? Because that'd be pretty bad, Doc. So why don't we put this one at a 3."
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Maybe someday he'll give in to the curiosity gnawing him now about what 'infected' meant. First he'd have to stop questioning the idea of different worlds and times congregated as they were. Confused as he was already, it didn't seem wise to pry just yet. On the other hand, he wouldn't just bar information.
"So. Adjusted for adolescent inflation and exaggeration, it's a solid two." He let her foot down gently, only to offer a rough pat on her shin and a winning smile. "Just seems sprained. Keep off of it. That diagnosis will set you back four dollars. Pay up now, or later?"
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She frowned, however, after a second, her brows furrowing before she spoke.
"Look. I-- You have to promise to hear me out, okay? And not just-- yeah. Anyway. I was running because I saw fucking-- Okay I have no idea exactly what kind they were, I didn't exactly have a really thorough education if you know what I mean, but I still know what a fucking dinosaur looks like." She sucked in a breath and met his eye, as sternly as she could manage so that maybe he would believe her. "A pack of them. Maybe a bit taller than you, and fast as fuck. There are dinosaurs out there."
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Then Hawkeye put the leaf acting as a pad of paper down, pat it, and heard her out. Well, the girl sure was a lousy story-teller, and he felt like he was in suspense worse than if he had been reading the cheapest paperback thriller in the compound. That is to say, he was engrossed. First because Ellie just admitted something he thought was intimate, especially considering she was, y'know, a girl. Now he'd have to gauge exactly what constituted a thorough education where she was from, or ask outright and pretend to be a tutor. Second: dinosaurs. He was a blink of an eye away from barking out a laugh but then she met his eye and he was still trying to take her seriously because there wasn't a reason why he shouldn't.
"Dinosaurs?" He asks, leaning a little forward and with a little lilt. "'Terrible lizards' kind of dinosaurs?" It was bizarre and, sorry, hard to believe.
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"I swear, they were dinosaurs. I have no idea how the fuck they got them here, but hey, they got fucking aliens loose in the Capitol before they sent me here so I really shouldn't be surprised."
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But hey, he'd heard about supposed time travel. He's just glad he's not the only one that may be a bit touched in the head. That the words were coming from a girl just baffled him, because he knew all about spinning yarns but never to a stranger so lost like he was. That was just bad manners.
He retreats to his opposite end of the space. He keeps his back to close to where the the opening is. He wiggles, nestles in. "So," he starts casually. "Where you from?"
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"Boston. Well, what's left of it anyway. As far as I know they closed down the quarantine there and abandoned the city after I left. That's what Joel said they were going to do." She paused, having said well more than she meant. "... It doesn't matter. Where were you from?"
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Hawkeye sports an ear-splitting whimsical grin a second after.
He wants to pretend he's in one of Rockwell's paintings, the very portrait of a fond thought.
"Ah, Boston. I did my residency there. I loved the theaters. Hated the shows, sometimes. Loved the l-" and a stop. "I'll tell you when you're older. But no, not even Boston can compare to Crabapple Cove. -That's in Maine, by the way. In the springtime, it's..." Because it was spring. It was spring, 1953. "It smells good. I know that's such a weird thing to say, but after winter, and everything is thawing out, and flowers start blooming again-- the buttercups! Oh, it's something."
Especially when those sweet smells do the tango with the scents of the fish market. Now that was an experience.
Quarantine. Abandoned. Some man named Joel--
Well, now Hawkeye's looking and sounding more like a nosy classmate than an old man spinning a yarn. He leans close, but keeps his seat. "Who the heck's Joel?" And why does he want to ask where they were last Friday night?
minor spoilers for the last of us!
So when Hawkeye asks about him, her smile vanishes. Her brows furrow, and she looks at the ground.
"He's my--" But she stumbles there. It was impossible to explain. Friend? Father? "He was hired to help me get somewhere," She settles on, finally, the truth - if the absolute barest bones of it. Anything more and she's afraid she might tear a hole in her chest.
"We were almost there when I got brought here, and-- and he didn't come. He's not here, it's just me."
Honest truth is that she's furious with him. Even though if she thought about it rationally she knew it wasn't his fault. It wasn't like the Capitol gave them a choice. But she was still angry.
Everyone fucking left in the end.
Maybe it was grief.
"So it doesn't matter."
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He wondered what exactly was so fascinating about the ground she stared at, so he directs his gaze to it too. He tells himself it's not guilt he's feeling for the turn of mood. It was natural when you were thrown to the wolves. He knew. He also knew the girl feeling lousy was making him feel lousy, so he'd better remedy it and quick. Like Ellie had said- and she was right- it didn't matter.
"Funny name for a guide dog," he settles on, in an entirely oblivious way. "You know, I never would have guessed if you wouldn't have told me."
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"Guide dog. Yeah, you got it. Not too fond of strangers but loyal as anything once he got warmed up on you." The smile did come back then - she couldn't help it, somehow the image of Joel as a dog kind of fit. "Could sick him on anyone and he'd rip their throat out, probably."
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