Hubert Oswell (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
broadsidewaltz) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2014-09-11 11:25 am
broadsidewaltz) wrote in thearena2014-09-11 11:25 am
Entry tags:
➵ running out of time.
Who| Hubert and Tom
What| Hubert getting in a fight and then murdered
Where| Near the lighting rig
When| Week Three
Warnings/Notes| character death and fighting and stuff! heck yeah
Military officer or not, spending a prolonged amount of time in this place proved more stressful than not. Despite the usefulness of supplies, the terrain was wholly unfamiliar and the open space unnerving. Thankfully though, things were going rather favorably. Having met up with his mentor and a few new acquaintances made, along with the shotgun that now hung on a crass makeshift sling on his shoulder... yeah, it was a lot of good luck, even with the tense fact that he was going to perhaps die in the coming weeks.
That luck of his was going to run out, certainly.
And, as luck would have it, Hubert found himself on something of a usual patrol by now, starting to accustom to these less than savory living conditions-- taking to making a tour of the Arena. It was easier than waiting holed-up somewhere only to get cornered and lose the upper hand. Although he could just as easily be attacked from any which angle here, at least there was enough space to dodge, to guard, to fight back.
Nearing what seemed to be some sort of control for the lighting, he peered curiously at it. He had never been to this part yet, and his growing curiosity would lead him closer still, a hand moving up instinctively to the sling his gun was wrapped in-- just to be sure.
What| Hubert getting in a fight and then murdered
Where| Near the lighting rig
When| Week Three
Warnings/Notes| character death and fighting and stuff! heck yeah
Military officer or not, spending a prolonged amount of time in this place proved more stressful than not. Despite the usefulness of supplies, the terrain was wholly unfamiliar and the open space unnerving. Thankfully though, things were going rather favorably. Having met up with his mentor and a few new acquaintances made, along with the shotgun that now hung on a crass makeshift sling on his shoulder... yeah, it was a lot of good luck, even with the tense fact that he was going to perhaps die in the coming weeks.
That luck of his was going to run out, certainly.
And, as luck would have it, Hubert found himself on something of a usual patrol by now, starting to accustom to these less than savory living conditions-- taking to making a tour of the Arena. It was easier than waiting holed-up somewhere only to get cornered and lose the upper hand. Although he could just as easily be attacked from any which angle here, at least there was enough space to dodge, to guard, to fight back.
Nearing what seemed to be some sort of control for the lighting, he peered curiously at it. He had never been to this part yet, and his growing curiosity would lead him closer still, a hand moving up instinctively to the sling his gun was wrapped in-- just to be sure.
no subject
A soft disapproving cluck of the tongue escapes him at Tom's insistence on remaining too close, close enough that he can't possibly aim the barrel at him, there simply isn't enough space. The back of his heel hits a stair and he finds himself climbing up one, then two, moving quicker as he tries to wedge the gun between them. It's difficult to do so efficiently backwards, but adrenaline pumping through his veins has him trusting in his step more often than not.
no subject
No, he won't be talking his way out of this one. Instead, as they go up the stairs, Tom notices something on the rig, something he'll have to take a risk for. He tries as hard as he can to get Hubert off-balance, and then, when he thinks he might have a chance, he grabs the rail of the stair and swings himself over, down ten feet.
The impact as he hits the ground sends a familiar and unpleasant twinge of pain up his bad leg, and he rolls under the rig to try and avoid staying a target too long.
no subject
He wasn't expecting that move, though, indeed thrown off balance-- grip on the gun relegated to one hand as his other reached for anything to hold onto, the stair railing as his gaze sought out Tom. Where was he going?
no subject
In Tom's line of work, knowing electrical has come in handy plenty of times. Usually it's to manually dismantle a security system, sometimes to set up an explosives rig, but only rarely does he get to use it for this.
He barely knows Hubert from Adam, but he can taste that this murder will be satisfying.
He grabs one of the cables plugged into the wall - one the circumference of a fist, one of the important ones. He unscrews the ring that keeps it fastened to the wall and wrenches it from its outlet. And, making sure he's grounded, he taps the metal prongs against the lighting rig.
The rig shines for one brilliant milisecond like a star.
\o/
The shock buzzes, no, tears through his fingertips and feet, lunging through Hubert's body in something at least a hundred times worse than any lightning spell he's had the misfortune of enduring. It's quick, it's beyond fast, and after a moment of excruciating pain, his heart stops and Hubert's body is limp.
Charred beyond repair, and even difficult to recognize, he dangles from the stairs until his remains are picked up by the Gamemakers, shotgun clattering and hitting the ground below hard.