Jet Link | 002 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
metalicarus) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-09-09 10:57 pm
metalicarus) wrote in thearena2014-09-09 10:57 pm
Entry tags:
Desperate times call for less than favorable measures
Who| Jet Link and Open.
What| Jet can't see, but he can walk, so he goes to get provisions
Where| On the first floor, also the food court
When| A few days after the food court explosion
Warnings/Notes| Jet is blind at this point so that will be a thing.
While Albert hadn't suffered internal injury or anything life-threatening from the explosion, he had been cut up pretty badly and it had left the German weaker. They'd done what they could with what they had those first few days until Jet suggested they move their base to one of the stores downstairs, at least then they'd be more likely to get what they needed.
But then Albert had tried to do a supply run and had taken twice as long with his wounds, so Jet had forced him to stay put. But that didn't stop them from needing things. They'd argued, but Jet's stubborn side and the fact he knew he was right won out, leaving the blond to need to find supplies. Without the use of his eyes. He had his knife and his paintball pistol on him as well as a length of rope and the walkie talkie Albert had insisted Jet take just in case, but the backpack on his back was empty for the things he was hoping to get; if someone attacked him, he'd be practically defenseless.
It drove him crazy to think that there might be a threat feet away from him and he wouldn't know it until it was too late. He couldn't keep watch, he could barely travel and had to stick to the walls to do so, he couldn't fight very well and he could barely tend to his fiance's wounds. The weight of his helpless vulnerability was weighing on him more every day. And every day he lived was another day towards the end of the arena and the impossible thought that if--by some fluke--he won, he'd be stuck like this forever. That thought alone almost made him sick.
He tried to focus on the 'mission' at hand instead of the chaotic whirl of thoughts in his head as he slowly crept along the walls with the 'pistol' drawn to try and deter anyone from sneaking up on him. He was so on edge, that even the smallest sound had him pausing and listening for the direction so he could point the pistol at the source and scare it off.
What| Jet can't see, but he can walk, so he goes to get provisions
Where| On the first floor, also the food court
When| A few days after the food court explosion
Warnings/Notes| Jet is blind at this point so that will be a thing.
While Albert hadn't suffered internal injury or anything life-threatening from the explosion, he had been cut up pretty badly and it had left the German weaker. They'd done what they could with what they had those first few days until Jet suggested they move their base to one of the stores downstairs, at least then they'd be more likely to get what they needed.
But then Albert had tried to do a supply run and had taken twice as long with his wounds, so Jet had forced him to stay put. But that didn't stop them from needing things. They'd argued, but Jet's stubborn side and the fact he knew he was right won out, leaving the blond to need to find supplies. Without the use of his eyes. He had his knife and his paintball pistol on him as well as a length of rope and the walkie talkie Albert had insisted Jet take just in case, but the backpack on his back was empty for the things he was hoping to get; if someone attacked him, he'd be practically defenseless.
It drove him crazy to think that there might be a threat feet away from him and he wouldn't know it until it was too late. He couldn't keep watch, he could barely travel and had to stick to the walls to do so, he couldn't fight very well and he could barely tend to his fiance's wounds. The weight of his helpless vulnerability was weighing on him more every day. And every day he lived was another day towards the end of the arena and the impossible thought that if--by some fluke--he won, he'd be stuck like this forever. That thought alone almost made him sick.
He tried to focus on the 'mission' at hand instead of the chaotic whirl of thoughts in his head as he slowly crept along the walls with the 'pistol' drawn to try and deter anyone from sneaking up on him. He was so on edge, that even the smallest sound had him pausing and listening for the direction so he could point the pistol at the source and scare it off.