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

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(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.

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"Any kind of bed gets five stars in my books," Ellie said. She'd grown up with beds but nothing you could call luxury. And the last year? Well, being on the road during an apocalypse did not grant much in the way of bedding.

"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."

He's not sure what to make of that comment about a bed, isn't sure if he should even try to decipher it. He gets a hold of her ankle and scoots closer still, so it takes less effort on his part to move it. It'd be criminal to hold back the scoff that had built up, so he doesn't, and the examination begins. "I'm not a psychiatrist. If you ever want me to look at your head, though, the most I can do is recommend something for lice." But the revelation came easy and calmly, thought Hawkeye could swear the air inside the makeshift shelter was heavier than what was outside. "Like hoop skirts or dress ties. It's very effective, but not for getting them off your scalp. But if you ever need to talk, I've got two ears and last I checked, they worked fine. Just don't ask when was the last time I checked."

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?"

"Ha, put it on my tab," She said sarcastically, though she looked honestly relieved, reaching down to press tender fingers against her ankle after he finished.

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."

He snatches a leaf, broad and wet, off the ground under him and scribbles over it with one finger. He flashed her an OK after, when she was worrying over her ankle, by pressing his thumb and pointer finger and making a circle.

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.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know, it sounds fucking crazy. I wouldn't believe me either." Hell, she barely believed it and she was there.

"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."

He's quick to lift a palm and blurt out "No, no, I believe you." in an entirely unconvincing tone, and he at least hopes it wasn't too patronizing. Now, he knew about the strange capitol city that was called nothing, so the strange and uncreative sons of bitches who lived there had to live their lives calling it the Capitol. He'd crack wise about that, or he'd ask how Ellie had liked her time there before she was brought to the slaughter, but then he's nodding slow and heavy and saying, "Just like I believe you about those aliens."

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?"

He obviously doesn't believe her but she can't really blame him - she wouldn't believe any of it if she were him. And she wasn't going to bother trying to fight him over it. He'd see, eventually, either here or when they got back to the Capitol. So she was very glad when he changed the subject.

"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?"

The curiosity almost literally made him itch. He had to stop scratching his arm when he realized the urge to wasn't coming from a mosquito bite he had recently acquired. Quarantine. Abandoned. Boston? His Boston? That stuffy blue-blooded Bulldog-wannabe Winchester's Boston? Rats and their high class fleas would continue to breed in those sewers well after any apocalypse. He grunts. Questions just want to stream out.

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?

She lets herself smile a little, as he describes it. Not from her world, obviously, at least not from her time period. But that was okay. If she could have chosen a time she would have chosen something pre apocalypse too. She likes stories about the time from before, and she knows the smell that he's describing. The city didn't smell good - human despair never did - but she almost tells him about how the wilderness takes over the world. How she saw giraffes, just before she was brought here. But that makes her think about spring and that makes her think about Winter and that makes her think about Joel, and she doesn't want to.

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."

You win some and you lose some, and Hawkeye's reminded of that as he watches her smile disappear. He was certain, almost arrogantly, that he could coax it back so that it didn't bother or move him maybe as much as it should have when it was dropped. He finds himself listening more intently to how she finds her words than to what those words are.

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."

It works, maybe because she wishes it would work, and she snorts, just once, a single laugh, and then the smile lopsidedly takes to her lips.

"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."

He doesn't hold back the shudder, and even makes it more noticeable. It was like he was imagining a nest of spiders dumped on his back or glued to the insides of his shorts- and don't think he's a stranger to the sensation. It was easy to recall. "His messes sure are unique," he offers, not too sure he feels like liking Joel much after the revelation. "Most you can pick up with a little scoop and plastic bag. Sounds like the plastic bag needed here will be a little bigger. Range from four to six feet."

She snorted, again, and then honestly began to laugh - a nervous kind of relieved laughter when one hasn't been able to laugh in a while, and she wipes at the tears in her eyes. "Yeah, well, trust me that when you're surrounded by infected and clickers, having a good vicious guard dog is one of the best things you can come by." She grinned. "I'd make sure he didn't hurt you though. You're alright, Doc."

Laughing was infectious and he told himself to ask about the disease that had taken her world, her time, but later. Once she'd come down from the high, because he wouldn't bear be the one to drag her back to the mud. Because he reached over and jabbed at her stomach only once, experimentally, to see if she was as ticklish there as he was.

They'd only just met and there were boundaries he'd be sure to stick to. "Just 'alright'?" And he can't even fake the offense. He shrugs. "Better than I was expecting." Everything was, so far, and it was an effort to keep his smile. A death match couldn't be all cheer forever.

The experimental tickle only made her laugh harder and she batted his hand away.

"Hey, better than I was expecting," She says as she forces herself to relax and stop laughing because really, it was too loud, and she really didn't need raptors on her tail again.

She wipes at her eye one more time and settles back - she knocked her ankle when she was laughing and now she's acutely aware of it.

She wasn't totally sure if she could trust him but she didn't have a lot of choice at this point and he seemed okay. (David, she tries to tell herself, had always given her the creeps.)

"I think I should probably try to get some rest. If you promise no cannibalism and that you'd wake me if anything came by, we could take turns?"

He shushed her, only because he had noticed her knock her ankle, too. He kept his distance, which in the hollow tree there wasn't much of, dutifully. A fresh lungful of air, he realized, he'd have to suck in soon or else risk death by suffocation. And silly him, he takes the words of cannibalism as a joke and only snorts. "Like hell I'm leaving my life in the hands of a teenager," he says and there's a real edge to them, however dull.

Still, she did have a point and no, he wasn't superhuman. So Hawkeye stayed silent for some seconds pondering her offer. He'd already come home with her, after all, what was so bad about sharing the watch? She was unarmed and hurt, he was unarmed and helpless. Together, they might stay alive a day longer. "Yeah, yeah, sure," he agrees, unease seeping back. "Get some sleep and try not to snore."

"Alright. Thanks." She curls up against the side of the tree and suddenly takes up a lot less space, though her ankle is held out at a slight odd angle, to keep it somewhat elevated. She's so exhausted that she's already fading fast.

"I really..." - a long yawn - "... appreciate it..."

Within seconds she's out like a light, and thankfully, not snoring. Most of her doesn't expect Hawkeye to be there when she wakes up, and she wouldn't blame him if he wasn't.

But she can still hope.

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

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minor spoilers for the last of us!

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