Back in his element

[polyturtle]

Who| Donatello, Susannah, OPEN
What| Settling in, making improvised weapons and sort-of tech, and tending to Susannah.
Where| An old van on the Main Street
When| Throughout Week 1-2
Warnings/Notes| Blood, head injuries, possible mentions of Susannah's past? This will be updated as required.

Susannah was stable. That was the good news. But, she was still in a coma.

Which was fine by Donatello. Not that he was happy that she was injured with potential brain damage. Far from it, and being alone on a caffeinated high with noises around was not a good thing. Still, it allowed him to work. Shore up their position, make weapons from car parts, figure out supplies, and tend to the wounded. Maybe even make electricity.

It was about a day in when the parachutes came. First came the anonymous ones. Then, Harley's. Reading them both, Don's face set into a frown. Susannah's was especially problematic, given what he knew of her personalities. More specifically, the one called "Detta". But really, Susannah reading the note from Harley at all seemed like a bad idea. So Don decided to get rid of the notes through pragmatic means.

--

On top of getting rid of the notes, it made for great kindling that wasn't going to go to waste.

Don took a sniff as the meat strips he put over the fire began to turn colors and get warm. Yeah, he could eat them cold, but it was a little cold without his jacket, after all. And he was hungry. Kill two birds with one, er, stone, once he set Susannah's head with some gauze.

He was outside of the car, but the back doors were open. It was near dusk, and with the thick fog, he didn't anticipate many people finding him quickly or easily. And if they did? Well, the garden hoe was like a bo. And Donatello was a pro with the bo, and could go toe-to-toe with whatever someone might throw.

And apparently he also had the beginnings of a poet in him.

Comments

[ka_sera_sera]

Normally, Roland would give someone else's camp a wide berth. Anyone who's not looking for a fight, as far as he's concerned, isn't going to get one. Even if they are tempting fate by sending the smell of meat over a fire drifting through the biggest road in the whole town.

But Roland's coming up at just the right angle to get a glance through the open doors of the big car, to get a glimpse of that familiar hair, that familiar form. If he's found at least one of the people he's supposed to have been looking after, how he'd 'normally' act isn't even a consideration.

There's that creature outside those doors, though. Standing guard? Roland makes his steps a little louder in case it doesn't already know he's approaching, and calls out quietly. "Hile. I mean no harm." He raises a hand palm out as if to prove it, but only one. The left he keeps hovering near the screwdriver tucked into his waistband, because he's not stupid and because his right, missing the first two fingers as it is, couldn't be counted on to keep a weapon anyway. "It's only I've been looking for someone, and I think that might be her. Is it Susannah Dean who sleeps inside there?"

[polyturtle]

Oh, he heard someone coming. At first, Don wasn't sure whether the noise was the place playing tricks on him or not. But the moment those noises came louder than usual, the turtle was up, hoe in hand at the ready. He didn't know who was coming.

He listened as the stranger spoke, and while he didn't clench the hoe as tightly, he didn't let go of it, either. He knew there were Tributes who'd have no problem killing a comatose parapalegic - much less a normal Tribute with all their limbs - without a second thought. Regardless of their words to the contrary.

"Yes, that's her," he replied carefully. "Why? Who are you?"

[ka_sera_sera]

"Roland Deschain, her dinh." He shakes his head. "Her friend." It's not so much that the other tribute probably won't recognize the word, as the fact that Roland's not entirely sure it's true. Susannah insists that it is, but can there really be a leader when there's nothing at all left to lead?

It doesn't matter. Not right now.

"She can tell you as much, if you'd wake her." Roland does see the gauze, of course, had seen it the moment he'd caught a glimpse of her hair. And it's not really a good sign that Susannah hasn't woken already - the woman he trained would have, as soon as he'd approached. But perhaps she's only sleeping deeply. It's still possible, until and unless he finds out otherwise.

"Or I could share something of her, if you need proof. How well do you know her? What sorts of things has she told you?"

[dividedgirlofmine]

In the van behind Don, Susannah shifts and groans. "My first thought," she mutters, "he lied in every word. When is a rose not a rose? When it's a tower. Gunslinger, izzat you?"

[polyturtle]

"...Susannah!"

Instantly, Don was at the truck quickly looking over the woman. Shell, she was coherent. For the first time in at least a week. Instantly his hand was looking for the flashlight, finding it in a crevasse.

"Shell," The relief was evident in his face as he turned on the flashlight to check it. "You sustained a nasty concussion near the Cornucopia; I just want to make sure you're..well, as all right as anyone can be after that."

...Oh, right. The guy.

"...There's someone here, yeah. Roland Deschain's his name. I'm...guessing you know him."

[ka_sera_sera]

While he's focused on her Roland edges closer. His eyes move over the green skin, the hands and the shell, but most of his attention goes to the woman in front of them.

"She does, but she hasn't said so yet. Not very careful of you, letting a stranger so close." Really. Someone aiming to keep Susannah safe should do better.

But Roland doesn't spend long on that, just steps around him and leans forward a little. "Susannah, dear. Can you hear my voice at all?"

[dividedgirlofmine]

For the last week or so, Susannah's been... drifting. In and out of memories and fantasies, in and out of consciousness. In her more lucid moments, she knows that's what she's doing. The drifting feels familiar and if she had better capacity to think straight she would know why: she'd done the same thing when Jack Mort had dropped that first brick on her head all those many years ago.

But the gunslinger's voice pierces through that mental fog and she finds herself struggling to respond, "Roland? How close are we?"

[polyturtle]

"If I thought you a threat," Don replied, looking over at the older man. "You'd definitely know."

He let the two speak, in the meantime.

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland raises his eyebrows. After a moment he smiles, genuinely pleased. "Good."

He's looking the figure over - that hard shell, especially, might be useful during attacks - when Susannah asks her question. The blood leaves his face so fast that, for a moment, it makes him a little dizzy. "We're..."

Try again. "That was long ago, Susannah. I- You're in Panem now. Do you remember?" He looks back at the other man, his expression far from the smile of a moment ago. "Perhaps you should talk to her. If you knew her before this arena, your voice might put her into the present, rather than..." Roland shrugs, frowning, then leans back over her. "Do you know where you are, Susannah?" Who you are? "Do you know who's with you?"

[dividedgirlofmine]

"Panem...? Are we flying, Roland?" But she didn't feel like she was flying. Floating, maybe. Her eyes shifted to the side of him, expecting Eddie or Jake but instead--

"Donatello Dali?" She knew that turtle, he was her friend, he'd been betrayed like her, he understood. "I don't think... we're in Kansas..." No, wait, it wasn't Kansas. "Capitol. Not there. Arena? Izzat where we are?"

She closed her eyes again. Too much going on in front of them.

[polyturtle]

"Shell," Don murmured under his breath. "Susannah, you have a pretty bad concussion. You're in the Arena, yeah. And...its me, yeah. And Roland."

[ka_sera_sera]

Concussion. That does sound likely. Not particularly promising, but likely. "What happened to her?" he murmurs to the turtle. "How long was she out?"

And, for that matter, why is this man - Donatello, if Susannah was thinking clear in that moment when she'd seemed to recognize him, rather than just saying a couple disconnected words - taking such pains to take care of her? There may be a way, Roland realizes, to try to check whether his care for Susannah is as genuine as it seems. Or, at the very least, whether this Donatello was with her when whatever-it-was happened. "Susannah," he says gently, leaning near her but trying to stay mostly out of her line of sight. If the turtle's the one she sees, he's the one she'll be more likely to talk about. "What's the last thing you remember about the arena? Which memory is closest?"

[dividedgirlofmine]

She thinks. For the gunslinger, she tries to summon all her powers of concentration. "Apples. I'd... found apples. I was gonna look in a house..." She makes a choked-off noise, then her voice shifts harder, rougher, Detta-ish. "He did it again. Dat honky mahfah did it again. Jest like before." Her eyes open again to stare at them. The expression is less than sane--but this woman seems no more inclined to move "Didn't chu kill that mahfah?" she addresses Roland. Then, squinting at Donatello, she cackles. "Dat you, greenmeat? You gonna..." But she trails off again, her eyes unfocusing. "Did-a-chick," she mutters in a voice that sounds closer to her own.

[polyturtle]

"She's been out for several days, more or less," Don admitted. "She's woken up for a few minutes here and there, I've been able to give her sustenance. But this is the most lucid she's been since I found her."

Which, given how she was switching back and forth from Detta to Susannah, didn't say much.

"I found her with the concussion on her head. Someone attacked her from behind, though I don't know who."

[ka_sera_sera]

Roland knows exactly what's being asked of him, and as it happens he did kill 'that mafah'. Probably. There's not much of those times he remembers too clearly, but the idea that that had happened is a fairly solid one. He does not, however, give even a second's thought to addressing the question. "Susannah," he says firmly, gripping one of her shoulders and thinking on what she'd said about what exactly keeps her, rather than Detta, in control. "I need you to speak to me now. I need you. Not her. Do you understand?"

While waiting for that, he looks up toward the other man. What she'd said hadn't been too useful. At least not in the way he'd hoped. Worrying, but not useful. But while he'd have preferred not to risk anger by asking directly, there's probably at least a polite way to go about this. "Thankee-sai. For taking care of her, you have my gratitude. But I hope you'll understand that I've got to ask you why."

Roland looks straight into his eyes, and he's not certain of his ability to judge what a lie might look like on such inhuman features, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to try. Why hadn't he asked Susannah for a description of all her allies before they'd gone into this? He hadn't given it a thought. Stupid. He'd counted too much on being able to find her early on, and look where that got them.

[dividedgirlofmine]

For Roland, yes. For the Gunslinger. He needs her. She gropes, blindly, for an internal lever, for a edge to cling to in the haze of fog that's the world she knows. "Roland. I-- yes. I'm here. Is that..." Her eyes slide to the turtle-man. "Friend. He's... a friend. Worst thing... he ever did... was throw Detta 'round a little. He's a... he's a good turtle."

[polyturtle]

At that, Don rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"Yeah, I...threw Detta a bit. We were fighting over supplies, before we knew each other."

Like a Frisbee.

[ka_sera_sera]

He's a good turtle, indeed. Well. He seems honest enough. "If anyone takes issue with you for that, don't trust them. That one's earned everything she gets. But if you're a friend of Susannah's, you're a friend of mine." He holds out his right hand, hoping to shake. "Cry pardon for my suspicion. You understand how it must have looked."

But there's the need to keep Susannah talking, too. Keeping her focused on the here and now can only be a good thing. "Susannah. How did you two become friends?" While he is a little curious, it's a topic her mind's already focused on, so it might be easiest to keep her talking about that.

[dividedgirlofmine]

"Party," she murmurs, trying to focus. For him. "Mindy's party... bumped into him... teased him... gave him Dali... then when Harley... happened to him too, you know... 'm not the first. She... did it to him too... just without that bitch to do half her work for her."

[acroodawakening]

Guy struck a threatening figure as he came out of the fog, spear in hand. When he came upon Donatello, he tensed up. They'd chatted before and it had been friendly enough but that was outside the arena. Guy didn't know if Donatello would be as peaceful inside the arena.

Then he spotted Susannah in the van and for a moment, the threat was forgotten as he squinted and his eyes widened with horror.

"Susannah? Is that Susannah?"

From his tone, it was clear he was someone that cared about her.

[polyturtle]

Don had stood up upon seeing the shadow coming forth, garden hoe in hand. Upon seeing who it was, however, he relaxed, albeit slightly. He did seem concerned, and given what few things Don knew of him - that wasn't definitely Capitol propaganda, at least - and the things that happened after his "expose", he doubted Guy was faking his sincerity towards Susannah.

"Guy." He gave a nod. "Yeah. Its her. She was hurt pretty bad at the Cornucopia."

[acroodawakening]

"Can I see her?"

He was already moving towards the van.

[polyturtle]

"...All right."

Quietly, Don moved aside. He still held on to the hoe - just in case.

[dividedgirlofmine]

In her bed area, Susannah moans, mutters something about roses, and rolls to the side.

[acroodawakening]

Donnie needn't have worried. As soon as Guy got to the van he left his spear leaning against the open doors. Close enough to grab if he needed it but if he was going to be that close to Susannah, he didn't need a weapon.

He knelt beside her, on the side her face was turned to, gently placing his hand on her arm.

"Hey," he said gently, leaning over her so she could see his face. "Hey, guess who's come for a visit?"

[dividedgirlofmine]

Her eyes flutter open. "I... Guy? You're... you're Guy. All my friends... coming to visit." She shivers. "It's cold. That evil horse... still out there?"

[polyturtle]

Horse?

"No." He couldn't really say if it was true or not, as it seemed so out of left field. "There's no horse here."