thearena | [open]

Entry tags:

[open]

Who| Roland Deschain & Commander Shepard & Thane Krios, Roland Deschain & anyone
What| walking, death and spider fighting (not in that order)
Where| an abandoned building, the lake, the amusement park
When| week two
Warnings/Notes| death

A.

During the day, during that heat, seems the best time to stop and rest. Any fighting - though he's not seen much - is probably best done in the cold, not during the day when he'll be sweaty and slow. The building's chosen deliberately, not in such good shape that others might have chosen it, but not so bad that it'll rot under him.

The choice was a careful one but, as he finds out shortly, not careful enough.

Before he's taken more than a few steps inside, before he's even had time to shut the door behind him, there's a glimpse of color high up amid the ruins of what was once a second floor. That shifting color is his only warning because the movement is fast, something huge and quick dropping right on top of him. Reflex takes over and he throws himself back, hitting the wall beside the doorway hard enough that it rattles. That same reflex has also got him dropping a hand to his hip, but of course - no gun there. Not now, probably never again. "Damn it," Roland spits, a little louder than he probably should have.

There's that height and those legs, and Roland's first look at it has him thinking of another enemy fought long before the gamemakers brought him here, and he can't help the wide-eyed look that slips over his face, the shiver of confused memory. The thing's colors are different, though, and it's taller. Much taller. Until it brings itself low, red things squirming inside that wide mouth, and makes a noise he can only be called a hiss. Between his own noise and that hiss anyone passing probably knows there's something happening in this house, knows there's someone inside who's distracted enough to take advantage of. No time to worry about that. Roland grips the screwdriver in his left hand, the only hand whole enough to still have a reliable grip, gets his feet under him, and waits for it to get close. Probably won't have to wait long.

B.

A while later, rested and having avoided becoming a meal for any mutie spiders, Roland makes his way along the edges of the lake. His eyes dart toward it now and again, keeping a wary eye on the huge swaths of darkness shifting under the water. He'd risked the wrath of those shapes to drink a little of that water not long ago and he hunches his shoulders now, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. More cold than usual, suddenly, but that may be because there's not too much cover here, nothing to break the wind. He'd be more cautious, but he's got to keep the big metal shapes in the distance in his view. The tallest of them, from what he can tell, looks like a giant wheel, and if he can get atop that Roland may be able to make some progress finding Cuthbert.

But that'll be no use until this fog clears a little, so for now he just walks, shouldering the windbreaker tied like a purse over one of his shoulders and trying to stay alert. Little harder than it should be. Maybe he should have slept a while longer.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Once the fog starts to thin Roland picks up his pace, and gets where he's going soon enough. Even without enough knowledge to call this place an amusement park it's clear it was a fair of some kind or another, once. Now the only thing it is is a damn hassle. Roland was taught long ago to check every quadrant of enemy territory as he moves through it, including above, below, and behind, but there's only so much that can be done with places like this. The metal is mostly rusting, bits of it whining as the wind pushes them. The big structures creak and shift. Any stray noise could be a footstep, or it could be just another sound of a place that's slowly decomposing.

He takes a slow breath as he approaches the one structure he was working toward. The tallest one. He wishes, vaguely, for his gun, wishes he had enough sense to stay away from such a risky area as this, but the longer he goes without seeing even a trace of Cuthbert the more twitchy and unsettled Roland gets, and he needs to be trying something.

Those thoughts are driven out of his head a moment later, because when he grasps a part of the wheel to start climbing up it the metal gives what sounds to his keyed-up senses like a shriek. Even if he can climb up the thing without it falling on him, there's no way anyone in the area could have avoided hearing that.

Well. Nothing for it now, is there? If nothing happens in a moment he'll keep climbing anyway, but for now, he waits.

Caution- on the approach, at least, was the order of business for any arena of combat, let alone the more literal arenas they were faced with in the Games. You had to be careful where you stepped, you had to be aware of everything around you. It wasn't possible, of course, to be aware of everything, but that was the point; you always assumed the bullet was coming from where you couldn't see, and planned accordingly.

Sometimes, it even worked that way.

But not today, not for Roland. Shepard heard the complaints of steel and rust long before she saw him. He made a fine target, twice his body-length above the ground, making his steady way up the metal skeleton of the old Ferris Wheel. It would have been a beautiful shot, if she'd had a firearm and the will to use it.

As it stood, he was the only tribute she'd seen that day who hadn't been a child, or a good friend, or both, so even if he was making himself a damned nuisance to go after, he'd just have to do. Being boring, in the arena, was about as dangerous as anything else you could do. The Gamemakers were likely to send you something nasty, and at least you could choose most of your battles with the other tributes.

The sane, sensible, boring thing to do would be to take him hostage, to set up a perhaps days-long watch and keep him tree'd until the sponsors ran out of money or one of them died. Shepard signaled Sandy to wait, and began her climb, a noisy, vicious puruit.

The risk he'd taken - that anyone else who came along would have seen as little sense in making ranged weapons as he had - was apparently a reasonable one. It means he can't try to get rid of the other tribute until they get close, but it also means they can't get rid of him yet, either. And he will have to stop to get rid of them. Getting to the top of this thing will do him no good if he's still got to keep from dying once he's up there.

With that in mind he starts to circle around, trying to look as if he's still climbing. It won't do to let the other know he's looking for a place to slide quickly back to the ground - best to get there first, if possible. He can fight on this thing if he has to, but it's not an idea he likes.

"I don't mean any harm!" he calls down, not expecting the words to change things one bit. The difference between someone who truly wants you dead, he's found, and someone who doesn't, is usually made clear by how much that someone is talking. Still, he needs to try. "Cry off, and we can forget we saw each other!"

The pain in her side wasn't optimum, but she wouldn't complain; refused to complain, really. Stubborn as her grip, but she was watching him, knew the moment he saw, and looked up and saw the lay of the land. Yeah, he could still get away.

Risky, all of this. But she'd chosen this risk. Don't be stupid, that isn't how this works, she thought, but saved her breath for climbing. God damn did she need lessons in how to use a bow. And a bow to shoot. Next time, next time, always next time.

Hell, while we were making wishes, an amp that worked, a good Cirta rifle, and a pocket full of arc grenades. And a pony. And her goddamn dignity back. Small chance of any of that.

But maybe she could kill this guy and at least get a little triumph for her effort. She'd make it up to him later, buy him a drink to ease how she was going to throw him off the top of this goddamn three-credit attraction. She saw him look up and back, saw the calculations run past in the curve of his shoulders and the speed of his movements and knew; the chase was on.

No answer. Well. That's answer enough. He looks around, wondering if he should climb down - if he can move this fight to the ground, he ought to - but there's no way to make it quickly, no way that won't just bring him within range of her.

Regardless, he'd like to at least try to halt things before he has to test how well his right hand, lacking the first two fingers as it does, can keep hold of a weapon. At least the circling around he'd done earlier might keep her on his right side, so if he does have to fight with one hand and hold himself up with the other, the one taking all the weight will be the left one.

Throwing things at her might be juvenile, but it seems the only option if he wants to end things before she gets close. He picks a stone out from his pocket, and waits until it seems like one of her hands might be about to lift to find a new grip. When that seems about to happen, he throws the stone hard and fast toward the fingers of the other hand, hopefully the only one keeping her up. If he gets lucky, if she reacts slowly enough, if she doesn't catch up to him in the time he's had to stop climbing to do this - no sense worrying about ifs. Very shortly, Roland's sure he'll find out.

Edited 2014-06-01 23:36 (UTC)

She's not expecting it, but even if she were, it would hardly have saved her. Whoever this guy is, he's got good aim; another little fact to file away for the worst version of tomorrow. Or the best, dependent on how you felt with a gun in your hand.

The stone zings off her knuckles with a resounding crack, and she loses the grip, stumbling. For a moment, it looked as if serendipity and his own throwing arm would solve all of Roland's recent problems, the whims of fate played out in Shepard's windmilling balance and the time and distance it bought Roland.

--And then she caught herself, knees locked, body a harp-tense breath from falling, averted. So she got back to climbing; he'd gained whole bodylengths on her and chasing him down over the ever-more-deadly fall would be difficult. Wisdom said to leave him be, well wisdom had said that from the start, but it was far too late to switch tracks now. Besides, now she was mad.

He hasn't wasted time staring at her and is soon climbing again, but his ears are paying attention. And when there's no other noise after the crack of rock hitting bone, no heavy, unsettling thump of a body hitting ground, his jaw tightens very slightly. He does not sigh. He's not even disappointed, at least not more than a little. A chance was taken, and didn't pay off. That's how it goes sometimes.

The best chance for him now, he decides, is to make it the rest of the way to the top. At least there maybe he can take the fight to one of those seats lining the outside of this thing. Still not secure, not even a little, but Roland's not very happy about trusting his climb to that right hand of his in the first place and fighting while trying to stand in one of those seems a damn sight better than the alternative.

Either this great wheel was smaller than it seemed or he's a quicker climber than he thought, because he's almost there. One of the seats is just within reach and he climbs a little bit more, pushes himself up and stretches toward. it.

Thane heard Shepard. Good, dependable, loud Shepard. He would know her anywhere if she made an appearance. But there was another person climbing, someone unfamiliar. And they were close to where he had been keeping himself, even for only a short time. It was in one of the seats towards the top. When he heard them getting closer and closer to him, he waited.

He moved his body, staying down low towards the floor of the seat. He was careful not to move or shake it. It would make noise and he would be easily detected.

When the man was within his reach, he grabbed him, hard, and pulled him into the seat. When he did, it swung and shifted a little and Thane stood still and comfortable. There was no shift in his body.

If Shepard was watching the seat, she might have noticed his hand (so recognizable to her) and then the shift of the seat.

Roland's body stiffens automatically when he's grabbed, but he relaxes it. He was going to climb up there anyway, and trying to free himself holds too much chance of falling. Once it's done he gathers himself quickly, ready to attack if he needs to - but, apparently, he doesn't. He watches the other man, eyes him a moment, then jerks his head in the direction from which the other tribute is climbing and raises his eyebrows. If the man heard Roland, surely he heard her too, and if she gets up here she's going to attack at least one of them. As long as the other man's not attacking, there's no sense in not giving him some warning.

The swing and sway of the seat is neither subtle nor silent. And there's no way to mask the uncontrolled thunk Roland makes when he hits the particleboard plastic footer.

But then, she's not particularly subtle or easily mistaken herself, not when she's double-timing it up the scaffolding between herself and the sun-faded bucket her target had gone in. At least once a spar broke under her foot, in protect of its repeated burden, but it clanged away unheeded; Shepard kept climbing until she could see the flash of green over the edge of the seat and knew.

"Thane!" he always seemed to meet her after a tower and a fight, what was that all about? "You caught him?"

"Yes, and there isn't anywhere to go from here," he answered to her. His voice is even and distant. He sounds unaffected by the current environment and situation. Once he had the individual, it didn't matter how much noise was made as a result of his action. The only threat to them was before him, and if Shepard heard him sneaking up - all the better.

"You led him right to me, Shepard." He answered. It was obviously unintentional (and would probably seem that way even to Roland), since this was the first time he had run into her since they got into the arena.

Damn. Not just someone who'd happened to be up here, then. But of course, it makes sense that if they were both here, they'd be here together. It's very clear, now, that Roland will find no ally here so he sweeps a leg over the floor, trying to knock into the other man's legs and unbalance him.

Thane sits down in the chair, shifting his feet to avoid the sweep of the man's feet. He shifts his feet up and there's almost no pause before he returns them to the ground - to help ensure the seat remains balanced. "I would recommend against continuing that behavior." His tone was even but it was a warning.

He knew well that the man, if successful, killing him in front of Shepard would not end well. As it was now, it could be simple, easy, and probably faster.

"No need," Shepard growled, heaving herself over the lip of the gondola seat and in the same motion that caught her balance, she reached down and lifted Roland by his collar. She did not stop moving, only swept him along and half over the opposite edge, both hands grit tight, and expression grim.

She considered herself a very reasonable person. But there were some things Shepard reacted to with a certain... Impulsiveness.

"What's your name?" She asked Roland, dangling him full at arm's length outside the seat. It would be easier to find him in the Capitol if she didn't have to look him up by his face alone.

"Roland of Gilead, son of Steven," he says evenly, gaze moving over the ground below. "Do I get to know yours before you kill me?"

Edited 2014-06-14 10:20 (UTC)

She thought about it, honestly she did. The words sat there on her tongue, defiant. It would be so easy to drop him without even that much dignity. It would feel... pretty damn good. But it wasn't often that right and best coincided, so she let the temptation go.

"I'm Commander Shepard," she spat it like a cuss, "Goodbye."

She let him go, and the weight fell away, rocking the seat with its sudden loss. She listened, to be sure of his death on the concrete below, and when she was sure, turned away, still unsatisfied.

A figure appeared in the fog in front of him, also walking along the edge of the lake, in his direction. Whoever it was didn't seem to want to stick quite as close to the water as him, however, and seemed to be cautiously staying clear.

It turned out to be a young man with a mess of wild hair sticking up in every direction. He had a metal spear in hand, a crude thing that seemed mad out of a thin pipe and the blade of a kitchen knife.

The moment he spotted Roland, his body went tense and alert, but he didn't attack, not right away.

"Uh. Hiii," he said, hoping the (awkwardly) conversational tone would prevent a fight if the person wasn't hostile. Slightly more sarcastically, he added, "Lovely day for a walk, isn't it."

Roland snorts. He's not really relaxed, not really smiling, but amused nonetheless. "If you say so. Not a very good day for killing, though."

The words - and more, the fact that even while they saw each other coming, the other tribute had made no move - lead Roland to begin to believe there'll be no fighting in his near future. All the same, he keeps his distance, out of what he judges the range of that spear to be, and keeps his hand close to the screwdriver tucked into the waistband of his jeans.

"Any luck?" Roland jerks his head toward the water. "Not sure how many fish you'll find in there, but..." He shrugs. The question's more a way to keep making sure the other man doesn't want to try and kill him, but he's curious, too. "I wouldn't try anything with these," he adds, gesturing to his hammer, aforementioned screwdriver, and coil of extension cord, "but that spear looks like it could get some kind of result."

Guy got the same impression, that maybe there'd be no vicious fight to the death for the moment, though he wasn't letting his guard down any either.

"I haven't tried," he said of the fish, crouching down and peering into the water, though he stayed a bit away from the edge in case one of those whatever-they-weres was feeling grabby. "Something gives me the idea if I try to go for one of them that they might grab on and I'll be short one spear. If I go after anything it'll be those giant dogs. I'm used to taking down predators that size."

"Are you truly?" Roland studies him a moment. The only thing that size he's used to hunting, at least most of the time, is deer. "Well, you're probably better off with the dogs. Last time I tangled with something waterbound before I knew what it could do-"

Roland holds up his right hand, pointedly spreading the thumb and two fingers that are left on it. "Well. You may end up short more than a spear. So. Not fishing. Not... hunting." For food or for anything else. "What takes you out this way?"

Edited 2014-05-30 23:25 (UTC)

Guy pulled a face at the sight of Roland's hand.

"Getting the lay of the land," he said. "I tend to keep moving during the arenas. I don't like to settle in one place."

It was one of the only ways he got to truly wander, given how penned in the Tributes were in the Capitol. The arenas might have been dangerous place to wander around in but they were still new places and he was used to danger back home.

"And looking for all my people. I tend to get a fair amount of sponsor gifts or find useful things. I like to make sure my friends have what they need."

Roland raises his eyebrows at that expression, but doesn't actually take any offense. Long ago as it'd been, the scars probably look as nasty as they'd felt. Besides, there're more useful things to focus on here. "You seem used to finding people in all this. Have any hints on how to go about it? I've only found Susannah so far, and that was an accident."

"Luck, mostly, but checking shelters since most people are holed up. Or waiting near places that have food like the orchard."

The rest of what Roland caught up to him, though.

His face brightened. "You know Susannah?"

At the answer, Roland nods. That'd hold a lot of risk of finding someone he may end up wishing he hadn't, but if he could figure out a way to check those sorts of places without being seen, it might be his best chance. He'll continue on the way he'd been going, try to get a broader view of the arena and find some hiding spots he hasn't yet checked.

But in the meantime, there's this - someone who may be even more likely to be friendly than Roland'd expected. He relaxes a little, leaning a little closer.

"I know her very well. Proud to say I trained her myself." This is the second ally of Susannah's he's met so far, if the brighness on the boy's face when he mentions her turns out to be genuine. When she said Harley's betrayal had turned all her allies from her, clearly she'd wrongly estimated a few. "And you? How'd the two of you meet?"

"Roland, right?" The name was knocking around in his head from one of their conversations. "We met in the arena. There was this giant death lizard in a cage that was breaking and me and her and a man that was her friend, we decided to work together to kill it together before it broke free and tried to eat everyone. Neither of them, ah..."

No, that was a terrible thing to tell her friend and teacher about, her death. The pause alone would explain it had happened - he didn't need to know in detail.

"Later on, in the next arena, she killed me. I was trapped in tar, I was going to die like- like -" Awkward subject against. "Like my family did and I begged her to. She didn't hesitate. And when we both showed up at the Capitol again afterward, she made me something called a pie as an apology when she didn't even need to apologize." His gaze went a little distant. "It was a gift. The death she gave me."

Because of it, he didn't have to know, personally, what it felt like for his family as they died.

"We've been friends ever since. She's been very kind to me."

Roland nods. The fact that the boy already knows his name, combined with the parts of the story that match things Susannah's told him, convince Roland to dismiss a good portion of any remaining wariness. Roland's attentive expression is broken neither by unease nor by sympathy hearing all that, hearing of death and everything that comes with it. Listening close and intent is his version of sympathy; no point in anything more than that.

"She is very kind, isn't she?" His gaze goes distant, briefly. "Always has been." Then he refocuses, holds his hand out to shake. "I think that makes us allies. Any friend of Susannah..." He shrugs a shoulder. "Roland Deschain, and I think you've got me at a disadvantage."

The house is close to where they've decided to set up their camp for now. It's close enough too that Joel probably wouldn't pitch a fit about Clementine walking over there on her own either.

She moves carefully to the house, emboldened by the gifts she'd received, a crowbar and a swiss army knife. The former is from her stylist, the latter from an anonymous sponsor -- she's not sure who she impressed that much but she'd thank them when she got out of this. It had really helped in working on fashioning a bow and arrows like Roland had shown her. The one she'd made wasn't so powerful but it shot more or less straight and it did give her distance.

Hopefully the second one she and Ellie are working on will be better. They'd taken wood from the edges of the orchard for them.

As she rounds the house there's a thump and a loud hiss. Instantly Clementine drops low, moving quick and quiet to the broken window to peer inside.

It's Roland! Roland and -- and a spider, a really... really big spider. Not something she'd seen yet. A moment of heart palpitating terror washes over her as she watches, tempted to simply flee back where she'd come but Roland... Roland had been good to her, Roland had helped her.

He was armed with nothing but a screwdriver.

Clementine made her decision and ran for the front door, finding it open and pulling an arrow to set it to the bow in her hand. It's just a sharpened piece of wood but that doesn't mean it can't do some damage. She doesn't call out, that would distract Roland and alert the monster, too risky. Instead she takes aim and looses the arrow past Roland as close as she dares into its swollen body.

Edited 2014-05-29 21:32 (UTC)

It hisses again, and while it's distracted by pain Roland takes the opportunity to stand up. It's standing now, too, and its body's held maybe a full foot higher than his head. Right now that's just another detail, rather than something there's any point in reacting to, but a small part of him wants to shiver a little anyway. Man Jesus. Why did it have to be spiders?

He tries to make it toward the door, but its moment of distraction is over and it darts to intercept. Moving in the opposite direction to avoid that mouth takes Roland further into the corner, which seems too convenient for the thing not to be deliberate.

He'll worry more later about the fact that he's been outthought by something that's barely even got a brain.

"Keep near the door," Roland warns her, not taking his eyes from its face. His voice is very quiet, even, almost soothing. He's taking the risk that it'll react as little to that low, steady sound as it is to his stillness now, and for the moment, he seems to be right. "I'm going to try to grab my hammer too, but if it thinks you're the easier target it may go for you instead. I don't know if it'll chase you out there, but I think it'd rather remain in the dark."

Slowly, he grabs at his hammer. Slowly, he hefts the screwdriver. Then, in one sudden movement he jumps, driving it toward one of the thing's eyes. He's not sure whether he got it because the thing's started to move - and, as Roland found out earlier, when it decides to move it does it fast.

She hit it.

Thank God, and it actually seemed to do some damage, not enough though. "I--" Clementine manages a nod, thinking that silence is her best option unless it's absolutely necessary to talk. She quickly makes a mental tally, four more arrows sticking out of the backpack she'd found, the crowbar stuffed in her hoodie and the swiss army knife in her pocket.

She unzips the hoodie enough to let Roland see that she has the crowbar and she'll throw it to him if he indicates that he wants it, otherwise she knocks another arrow and stays stood in the doorway (glancing backwards briefly to make sure nothing was sneaking up from behind) and waits to fire again.

Clementine looses the arrow as Roland strikes, she really can't miss at this distance, not with the spiders girth. The arrow hits close by the first, confusing the monster with attacks from both sides.

It writhes, not knowing where to turn and unable to turn anyway, because Roland's screwdriver is still stuck in it and all his weight is hanging from that. No choice but to put his right hand on it to yank the weapon out - but from this angle, there's not much space on the spider that isn't eyes or mouth and some of those red, squirming things move over his palm in the instant before he gets the screwdriver free and jumps back.

"There's a can in there," he says, grabbing the windbreaker-turned-makeshift-purse off his shoulder and slinging it toward her. "Got a picture of a bug. Use it!" It tries to turn, following the movement of his throw. "Ey! This way!" he shouts at it, and hooks the claws of the hammer around one of its legs. It hisses and darts toward Roland again and again he jumps back, holding the screwdriver out toward it. He hasn't got much in the bag, so with luck what he's thinking of will be easy for her to identify. With luck, he'll be able to keep either of them from being eaten until she does.

"Got it!" she dove for purse where it landed. Clementine tears the bag open, not caring much for the state of the fastening in her haste. Her hand closes around the smooth shape of the can and pulls the cap off with a sharp pop.

God, she hopes this works.

She darts forward -- because this really doesn't have much of a range -- and pulls her crowbar out into her other hand. No time to be scared, just act and presses her finger down on the release, the hiss of the spray matches the sounds of the spider and she thinks confuses it before the poison hits. It must burn on contact, possibly as the spray hits the wounds where the arrows are sticking out, because the spider lets out the most horrendous sound she's ever heard.

Clementine hits with her crow bar at one of its legs with all the strength she can muster, teeth gritted so hard her jaw hurts.

Roland's arm darts out, ready to stab it again, but he doesn't need to - the spider's trying to turn back and forth seemingly at random, and its legs are starting to shake. He's able to dart around it, sticking close to the wall, and move toward where she is without much trouble. It's still important to act fast, but even so, Roland spares a moment to shove the hammer back into his waistband and wipe his hand over his jeans. The movements are a little clumsy, hurried; he glances at the palm and sees that it's broken into patches of red, except in a stripe where the hammer blocked the spider's spit.

Saliva that burns. Makes a sort of sense for a predator like that, if he thinks about it. He doesn't much care to.

He grips the screwdriver, begins to move forward - and the thing starts to teeter a little. "I think it is working," Roland says, stepping back past the doorway. "If that doesn't kill it shortly I'll try to step in while it's still distracted. But I don't think I'll have to."

With that, he looks down at her, taking his first careful look over her self-made weapon. "Fair work with those arrows," he says, sounding pleased. "I see they fly true."

Clementine backs off, shaking from adrenaline and terror both. She moves towards the doorway, eyes flicking between the spider and Roland, hoping it focuses on its own pain and let's him pass by. "I... I haven't seen one of these before." she manages, her eyes large in her face and full of concern. "Are you okay?!"

The compliment gets a residual acknowledgement of a nod and hard swallow, an afterthought to wanting to make sure Roland is in fact alright and not likely to die anytime soon.

He blinks.

Oh.

Between her own background and the circumstances of this place, Roland realizes he's started to think of her as he would have one of the boys taking the Training of his youth. But she's no gunslinger apprentice, is she? Still a child, for all this.

"I'm fine. Sit. Take slow breaths. I'll take care of this. While I do, take stock of yourself. Make sure you weren't injured anywhere."

If she does sit, she might only hear what happens next; another hiss, but a weak one. A tearing noise. A thump, followed by several wet thuds. When Roland walks back out, the bottoms of his shoes are spattered with purplish blood. "Now," he says, hunkering to get closer to her eye level. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm -- I'm alright," Clementine hastily tries to reassure him, fighting to still her hands and stand straight "I'm glad you're okay."

She won't sit but she does lean back against the wall, feeling safer with a solid surface at her back ensuring nothing will sneak up from behind. Her lips purse as Roland walks away and she hears him deliver the finishing blow to the spider. Hopefully neither of them will have to deal with one of those again.

Clem looks at the blood on his shoes for a moment before lifting her eyes to his face, "I'm okay. I've never saw anything like that before, that's all."

"Me neither," he says, setting his forearms on his knees and peering at her closely. "Well, once I suppose, but that was quite a bit different. Feeling better? Any nausea?" Depends on how she reacts to things like this. He'd offer her some water to settle her stomach, if he had any.

"No." Clementine shakes her head and it's actually not a lie. That feeling when the adrenaline starts to fade and leaves you shaky is something she's gotten so used to she isn't really bothered by it any more. Reassured that Roland isn't about to keel over has her composure starting to return. "Guess we know what the bug spray is for now."

She has some of her own but it's back with Joel and the others, she makes a vow to herself not to leave it again.

He nods, trusting the inventory of herself she's giving him is honest. "Is that what that says? I hadn't forgotten your lessons, but I wasn't quite sure." Yes, it had been a hell of a risk telling her to go for it, in that case, but there were a couple pictures on the can too and he'd been fairly certain what it'd been meant to do. He reaches for it, wanting to put it safely back in his makeshift bag, but hesitates and reaches for the windbreaker itself instead. "Keep it, if you like. Now that I know what to keep an eye out for, you may get more use out of it than I."

"Yeah but usually it's for regular sized bugs. I figured maybe there'd be mosquito's or something." Clementine shakes her head and holds it out to Roland insistently, "I have my own, back with my group. You need this one."

He takes the bug spray back without argument. "It might have been for mosquitoes if this were the outside world, more normal circumstances. But if someone went to the trouble of giving this to us here and now, do you really think it'd be for our comfort?" His words might sound like a rebuke, but his tone doesn't. He thinks no less of her for not seeing it. It's only that, though she may be no gunslinger, she'll probably need to learn how to think like one.

Without waiting for her answer, he moves on, calmly retying the windbreaker as he continues. "It's good to hear you found someone to travel with. Do you know them well?" He really ought to remind her to travel in pairs, if she's got someone willing to watch her back, but one rebuke's enough for the time being.

Clementine presses her lips thinly together and nods along with his words. She feels foolish for not thinking it, she'd had ample enough warning outside of the arena about what the Gamemakers were capable of. "No..." Needless to say the lesson had been learned now, she wouldn't be going anywhere without it again.

"I'm getting to. One of them offered to ally with me before the arena started. A man with two other girls, almost as young as me. They're nice."

He's almost disappointed to hear that last part - this arena's no place for 'young', and it's no place for 'nice'. But chances are, if those kids are here they probably know that already. And it might do some good, at least, for Clementine to be able to stay with people her own age.

"I'd like to meet them sometime," he says, turning to put his back to the wall behind Clementine and sitting against it. "Outside the arena, if possible. But in the mean time, maybe you could teach them something about those arrows." He crosses his arms over his knees and smiles at her. "It looks like you remembered what I told you. Maybe well enough to teach someone else."

"You could come join us, if you wanted to." Clementine puts the offer out without hesitating. "It'd be safer than being alone."

Calming down she lets the compliment about the bow sink in this time, smiling to him in return. "Joel and Ellie know how to use a bow but not how to make one. We're working on making a second one." she takes it and shows him more closely. It's a rough make to be sure but not bad for what materials they could find, and it shoots more or less straight as she just proved. "It should be better."

"Good. I look forward to seeing it once it's done. Afraid I can't stay, though. I haven't found Cuthbert yet, and..." He takes a moment for a deep, careful breath. The thought of that unsettles him more than any number of gigantic hungry spider attacks. Not that he doesn't trust his friend's ability, but the last time they'd battled together had been in his world, long in his past and Cuthbert's future. Roland remembers well how that turned out. Too well. "And I'd like to, before I settle anywhere."

He's inspecting the bow as he talks, and turns the topic back to it. "Well judged on the size. Keep in mind that if the man you're traveling with needs one, it should probably be much bigger if he's going to get the most out of it."

"I understand." Clementine says after a moment, not wanting to seem disappointed. "I hope you find him quickly."

She'd met Cuthbert once, briefly, in Roland's company and she knows they're close. Back home she'd had the similar urge to pass by safe company to find Christa who she still wonders for, if circumstances had allowed it she probably would have but instead she came here.

"Thank you. I'll remember."

Roland slides an arm around her shoulders, squeezing briefly before drawing back. "Thank you for saving my ass," he says, smiling a little. He doesn't typically curse unless there's a good reason, but in this case it's an attempt to make her smile, and that's reason enough.

He stands, pulls his makeshift-purse higher on his shoulder, and raises a hand. "Take care to travel in pairs from now on, aye?" Then he turns and walks away toward a different, and hopefully emptier, house. And later, to his death, though he doesn't know it. Probably should have taken his own advice.

And Clementine leans into it, which is a true sign there of how much she's come to respect and trust Roland in their short time together. "Just try not to have it need saving again." she quips, nodding again to his advice.

She'll watch him go, watch him walk away and hope that he finds Cuthbert swiftly and that maybe after that they'll meet again and that time he'll stay. Turning away when he's far gone she hurries back to her own group, destined for disappointment.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[open]

[closed to Commander Shepard and, eventually, Thane Krios]

i hope i'm reading this right...

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Wow, sorry this took so long. I've been having computer problems

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