thearena | There's a million ways to go

Who| Courfeyrac, Max, & Kevin
What| Courfeyrac's death.
Where| The Orchard
When| Week Three
Warnings/Notes| Character death. Blood. Gore. Kevin.

After his encounter with Ian a few days before, Courfeyrac had learned his lesson about the dangers of wandering out into the fog by himself. Needing more food and supplies for their little band, he would go out searching, but this time he would take a companion. Seeing as she was his shadow, Max seemed like the perfect partner for such a quest.

Knowing nothing of the strange fruit, he'd suggested that they make for the orchard to investigate the trees. If nothing else, the fruits would surely be edible. That would buy them all a bit of time before the next round of gifts came. If more gifts came.

"Come, sister. We must make haste. I do not wish to be out in this fog longer than is necessary." He said, reaching for Max's hand to lead her through the thick swirls of mist. "We should be near the orchard now. There will be trees, with delicious food to eat."

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"You see? The others still need FOOD," Kevin echoed, empty eyes widening. He pulled his weight from the pipe to his feet, lifting the filthy metal upward to inspect it between his grimy fingers for faults. A strange giggle escaped him, out of place, out of nowhere.

His attention turned, very suddenly, to Courfeyrac.

"I'm VERY hungry, myself."

The words come out strange, warped, distorted, all wrong - the pipe is swung outward, fast and hard, aiming for knees, shins, feet. Aiming to hobble, not kill. Not yet.

Courfeyrac was on the ground before he could even scream, falling face first and in utter shock before the pain set in. He had a delayed reaction to the shooting pain going up his legs and he quickly realized that he was going to be in seriously deep trouble.

He tried to call out to Max, to say something, anything to her, but the only sound that came out of his mouth was a horrified and strangle wail.

God, why was this happening to him? Why couldn't he get to his feet? And what the hell was wrong with Kevin's face?

"Run!" He finally groaned, grabbing a clump of grass and dirt from the ground to pitch it at Kevin. He was gasping and trying to kick away from the looming man with the pipe. "Max! Leave us!"

"Courfeyrac!" She saw him go down and knew in an instant that his injury wouldn't let him get back up. This wasn't fair. They weren't suppose to die like this, at the hands of this crazed man who smiled too sharply.

Max's heart raced and sentiment had her hesitating to leave. She knew he would die if she left him, but it was likely she would also die trying to help him. A voice that sounded like a horrible mix of Zack and Colonel Lydecker told her to leave him. Enjolras's voice told her not to be cruel. Would it be cruel to kill Courfeyrac before that creature could?

She couldn't do it. She loved him too much to hurt him even as faced a death certain to be horrible. She was a coward.

Max looked at the smiling man, memorizing his face once more, and silently promised herself that she would find him again and kill him.

Then she ran.

When Max ran, Kevin listened - and he could tell that she was fleet of foot, a difficult target as he was right at this moment. He elected to let her get away, turning his full attention to the man prone beneath him. The dirt and grass hit him square in the face, sending sediment into his teeth and empty eye sockets...but it didn't do much besides irritate the strange man, making him rub at his face with his sleeve. The motion scraped more peeling skin away from his cheekbones. He even stuck a grimy finger into his eye socket to try and get some of the dirt out. Courfreyrac would be able to pull away at least a bit, scuttle back - but it wasn't long before his focus was back and he was moving slowly to close the distance between himself and his prey. He knew there would be no running.

"So friend," he chuckled, his voice coming out muffled, strained through a speaker that just wasn't there, "What color is your hair? I can't see it, you know."

This may have seemed like a strange question.

Unless Courfreyrac noticed the bracelets around his right wrist, plainly braided from bloody clumps of hair that did not belong to him.

He'd been silently relieved when Max had finally left and now he was ready to face this destiny. His heart was racing, beating so hard that he feared it might burst out of his chest. Never in his life had he faced down someone so utterly horrifying.

"Just do it!" He cried out, fate sealed, unwilling to draw the game out any further. "I surrender to you. Just kill me!"

"Hey, now-"

Kevin brought his foot up, stomping it down in an attempt to pin the man's chest beneath his heel. The force was enough to break ribs, if his aim was true. Hard to aim for certain, though. He was blind. after all.

He leaned down, hands on his hips, voice growing more warped by the word.

"I just asked you a question."

Courfeyrac was in too much pain, he couldn't even attempt an answer. Instead, all he could hear in his head were the sounds of his own ribs crunching and the throbbing in his head that told him the end was nigh. Gasping back tears, he resolved not to cry further, not to speak, not to do anything but lie there and let Kevin do what he would.

"ANSWER ME, PLEASE."

Bloody hands shot down to grab Courfeyrac by the shirt, lifting him off the ground and close to his face. "YOU ARE BEING VERY RUDE RIGHT NOW." He shook the other man, hard - he didn't look like too much, but Kevin was wrong. Very strong. Courf was little more than a blood-smelling ragdoll to him, and he was about ready to fling him back down onto the ground.

Something in the back of his mind told him this wasn't him, this wasn't right.

Something else in him, however, was feeling very hungry, and the other man smelled very good.

There wasn't much keeping one something from drowning out the other, but he would still hold out for an answer all the same. At least for a minute more.

There was no mistaking the look of sheer terror in Courfeyrac's eyes as Kevin shook and handled him as though he were a broken, floppy little toy. He was in the jaws of the alligator now, it seemed, and as Kevin barked and bellowed, the Frenchman tried his damnedest to stay calm, serene, and not to panic in the face of inevitable death.

Of course, that wasn't exactly working well for him. So instead, despite his best efforts, he found that he was inhaling through clenched teeth, hyperventilating, shaking, and hissing out an answer at last. "Brown. It is brown. Now kill me, you bastard! Just do it!"

There's a million ways to go

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