Got a Dragon Tattoo On My Arm [Closed]

[nunpunching]

WHO| Punchy, Joan and Garak
WHAT| Death by shovel.
WHEN| Week four.
WHERE| Theme park.
WARNINGS| Death, lizard people and Punchyspeak.

The food that Punchy got earlier in the week lifted their spirits a bit, but ultimately they're both running on fumes. Punchy's doing his best to neither complain nor let the exhaustion show anywhere on his body, but even he's not able to keep up the facade all that well. Without any of their other allies, the Arena has become a lonely, unforgiving place. Days are spent alternating watch, carefully watching their words for what ends up on camera and catching uncomfortable, shallow sleep.

"Stay close, Joanie, don't want no monsters frontin' up on you while my back's turned." The fog at night makes visibility a trial, but it's too hot during the day to go out in their dehydrated and famished state. They wouldn't make it half a mile without keeling over. Eventually, Punchy gives up on trying to keep track of her by talking and footsteps, and just takes hold of her hand.

He stops. She stops. There are footprints out in the fog ahead of them. Punchy figures it's best to announce their presence than not, and raises his voice.

"Yo!"

Comments

[formersurgeon]

The Arena has been wearing on Joan, more than usual. There's the lack of food, of course, and being without her usual allies, and the low murmur of guilt that she had somehow let Sherlock die at the Cornucopia. And now there's the sponsor gifts. Or lack thereof. All these weeks, and there hasn't been a single gift from Sherlock. And a cold certainty now lives permanently in her chest. They didn't bring him back.

Thank god for Punchy. Without him, she would have doubtless surrendered to the Arena. Been killed by monsters, or just starved to death. But she fights for Punchy. To keep him alive. To have something to live for.

She spots the footprints when he does, and after he calls out, she stops breathing, hand tightening on his, straining to listen. The fog does weird things with sound. Punchy's call is blunted, the opposite of an echo, and Joan fears that somebody would be almost on them by the time either Joan or Punchy heard a thing.

[carsassian]

The dark is better for him, honestly. It's colder, yes, and that sets him on edge. It makes him draw the jacket tight around his shoulders, and huddle closely to any heat source which could be had. Unfortunately, as the days tick past, they seem fewer and fewer between, and the nights with their damn chill seem to drag on for longer than strictly necessary or advisable.

That, actually, is what sets Garak wandering. He's vulnerable in the chill, but less vulnerable, he'd wager, than anyone else. Less vulnerable, and certainly less foolish than the two calling to each other behind him.

He's led them in a wide circle, but it's probably unnecessary. The fog is a good enough distraction even for him, and these two don't look like much. They're humanoid, at least, Terran, in all likelihood. He can tell that much from colloquialisms the boy spews jovially to the woman.

"Good evening!" He calls back to them, dragging his shovel low and limp behind him. Their bodies seem to disappear in the dim light of the fog, their torsos all appear disembodied, gliding over dreamy nothingness. If they're armed, he can take it. "It's dreadful etiquette to follow people, you know. One might think the two of you to be a little bit nosy."

[nunpunching]

"I ain't following no one!" Punchy realizes that that sounds a little aggressive, but he really doesn't like being accused of being competent. Or semi-competent.

He puts his body between Joan and the stranger, all six-foot and buff teenage boy acting like a wall for the slight middle-aged woman.

Punchy tilts his head over to the side, jerking his neck back slightly as he gets a good look at Garak. It's not as if Punchy isn't alright with aliens, but Garak just looks like a human with a really terrible skin condition and a receding hairline. "Dawg, what's up with your mug?"

[formersurgeon]

Punchy moves to protect her, and she sighs inwardly, rolling her eyes. She doesn't like being protected, but it would be useless trying to argue with him about it. And stupid to do it now.

But Punchy just has to one-up the stupid by insulting the guy.

"Look, we don't want any trouble," she quickly interjects. "We just didn't want to accidentally sneak up on you."