thearena | runnin' on empty

Who| Joel and OPEN
What| Various - this is a catch-all for Joel's mini-arena action.
Where| Various spots around the mini-arena.
When| All during the mini-arena.
Warnings/Notes| Probably swearing, violence, death, the usual.

If you want to set something up - Joel can rescue or murder or team up as appropriate - just shoot me a PM or ping me on plurk -

frodabaggins!

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He found himself a hatchet. It was decent enough - good heft in the handle, sturdy, useful for more than just killing. Joel wasn't particularly invested in winning this game they'd set up for them, but as always, he was invested in surviving. If death here was to be permanent, well, that was all the more reason for him to not die. Especially given that Ellie was probably watching.

He'd asked Kili to keep her away, at the crowning, but he knew better than to think anyone would be able to really do that. Not with so many of her friends here. At least, however this went, it would be short. Not more than a day, and it'd all be over, one way or the other.

Joel took what he could get.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Breathe, Joel. Breathe. That was all he could think as he tried to lift the worst of the debris off his leg, grunting with effort, tears streaming down his face from the pain of it.

He almost couldn't look at his own injury, it was so bad. At least Ellie wasn't here to see it - hopefully she wasn't seeing it back in the Capitol, either. She didn't need to be upset by this.

He had a piece of it lifted a little, but before he could get it off, he lost his grip and it landed on his leg again, making him cry out with the wrenching pain of it. "Shit," he muttered. He was running out of time. He'd never be able to get all the tokens at this rate.

Wyatt listened to the rustling, the soft, uncertain movements from around a dark corner. He wanted to believe his ears, but he knew the Capitol too well, had heard too many bells already - had died so many times just short of victory - to completely trust.

He held his ground... leaned slowly around the corner, eyes sweeping over the corridor. The collapsed wall, the rubble, the man crumbled beneath-- not just a man...

"Joel?"

Caution forgotten, he raced forward, the machete slipping into it's makeshift holster on his hip as he crouched beside him, already reaching for the debris pinning him down.

"Shit, man, what've ya gotten yerself into?"

Wyatt. God, was he a sight for sore eyes. A familiar face, someone who would help, wouldn't cause more trouble for him, would understand.

Joel grunted in pain as the other man started to help him with the debris, his face twisted with it. "The usual, I s'pose," he muttered with gritted teeth. "My leg's broken. I'm not gonna make it to the end."

"Bull," Wyatt grunted, muscling a heavy boulder aside. "Yer nearly there."

He reached for a broken plank and started to wedge it under the one holding Joel's ankle.

"Twelve is coal. I'll drag yer ass the rest of the way if I have to."

He put his weight on the board, muscles straining, teeth ground together-- and the pinning limb lifted, an inch, then another.

Another grunt of intense pain as the weight lifted and the broken leg shifted and the bleeding intensified. Joel gritted his teeth and shook his head.

"No apples when I got there," he muttered hoarsely. "No goddamn apples."

Wyatt shifted on the board, bracing it as best he could before he reached out and wrapped one bloodied, burned hand in the front of Joel's shirt. Half-pulling, half-dragging the man out from under the crushing weight before it slipped off the plank and crashed again.

"Apples..." he muttered, shifting to assess Joel's leg, hands as careful as they could be. "What district was that? I've got some extras...."

Surely the others wouldn't mind.

"That's one'a the farmin' districts, ain't it? Nine?" Nine had been the fire that had killed Courfeyrac,... that had been biscuits. Still warm, still smelling of butter. Apples had been....

His hands stilled as he remembered. As he realized.

Edited 2014-04-07 10:52 (UTC)

"I don't have all of 'em," Joel said again, almost angrily. Angry at himself, mostly, for getting into this situation, and maybe a little angry at what he knew he was going to ask Wyatt to do for him.

Wyatt didn't deserve it.

"I can't risk it," he said, his voice low and gruff and quiet. "I can't risk leavin' her for good." His leg hurt like hell, he was dizzy and his stomach was empty and his throat was parched and he knew he wasn't getting any farther than this.

Wyatt's head hung, mouth twisting grimly. Trying to look at Joel. Knowing what he'd see there on the man's face if he did. What Joel was really asking, behind the soft, broken words he was saying.

Knowing, deep down, there wasn't time - that he didn't have it left in him to face the traps again - to round up Joel's missing tokens.

"There's only two ways out, Joel," he said, drawl rougher, tighter as he finally looked up.

Angry with the Capitol, hurting for Joel, for Ellie - who was likely watching. Watching, and waiting for Joel to come back.

"...Are ya sure?"

Joel's mouth was set in a hard line - grim, determined, even through the searing pain and the blood loss.

"I'm not leavin' her behind," he said. "I just need to get back to her."

He'd do a lot worse for Ellie. Already had.

Wyatt studied him for a moment, eyes unblinking beneath his furrowed brow.

Would this count? Killing each other, they had said, or winning were the only guarantees. How would they take mercy? It was still a death at the hands of another, but he knew the Capitol too well to trust them.

Finally, pushing a breath out through his nose, he reached again for his blade.

Joel almost didn't care at this point - if he was going to die permanently, he'd rather it be like this anyway, than trying to limp to the finish line on a broken leg.

At least this way it was on his own terms, trying to get back to Ellie.

"Wyatt - I'm sorry, for makin' you do this..."

"Don't."

It was hard, more sound than actual word, as he shifted, climbing warily to his feet again.

"Save it for when we get back."

What would Ellie say, if Joel didn't return? How would he ever be able to make it right?

Standing beside him, he waited, machete gripped so tightly his knuckles were like pearls on the handle.

He thought about protesting, about insisting, but Wyatt was right - and it wasn't about either of them, anyway, and they both knew it.

That was why Joel was glad he'd come along, in a way. He understood. He knew Ellie, knew what it meant to have someone waiting for him back in the Capitol, knew how important that was, to get back to her.

Joel would've hated asking this of anyone else. He didn't like it with Wyatt, either, but at least he didn't have to explain himself or deal with any shock or outrage at his request.

"Thank you," he said finally, evening his breaths out as best he could. And then, he added one more thing -

"Ellie, if you're watchin', don't look. I'll be back there soon, okay?"

The truth of it was, as Joel called out to Ellie, Wyatt could all too easily see himself in the same place. If it had been him lying there, the escort's words echoing in his ears as the clock ticked down....

He'd have done anything, too, to get back to Max.

He waited, silent, head bowed until Joel was finished. Then he looked up, meet Joel's gaze once last time, and raised the blade.

There was a heartbeat (a year, blinking by in that one breath), and he brought the weapon down.

runnin' on empty

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