A lack of honor [CLOSED]

[formersurgeon]

Who| Joan Watson and Tom Cassidy
What| Joan is tricked and murdered
Where| On the way to the food court
When| Week 3
Warnings/Notes| Death


Joan was going it alone. She had managed to find a spot in Touch of Class where the racks of clothing efficiently obscured a corner without obviously appearing to hide anything. She stayed there, creeping out at different times every day to make her way to the food court. There were days when she hung back, unwilling to confront the people in the food court, and returned to her hiding place without food. So on days when she was able to grab things, she took as much as possible back to her spot, and rationed it, keeping herself alive, able to move, even if fighting would be a struggle for her by this point.

She was on her way to the food court again when she saw another Tribute, and ducked into a store front. Maybe he hadn't seen her. Maybe he was one of the Tributes who refused to fight. She waited for a moment, then carefully peeked around the corner.

Comments

No worries! <3

[formersurgeon]

There's a moment of confusion. Her stomach hurts. Why does her stomach hurt? It doesn't make sense. There's blood, and for that one moment she wonders if it's his.

Then it all becomes terribly clear, and she gasps in shock and pain, trying to pull herself away even as her strength and life flows out with her blood. She presses her hands to the wound, and the blood spurts between her fingers.

"You son of a bitch," she spits out.

[pimpcanes]

"Language." He clicks his tongue and stands, much faster than the exaggerated limp would suggest. He brings up the injured leg and kicks her in the chest, down.

"Really, you should have seen that coming."

[formersurgeon]

She refuses to scream. She will not. She grits her teeth, gasps, writhes...

Then he kicks her, and the agony rips a scream out of her. She tries to get up, and she can't. Her muscles refuse to obey her.

"Congratulations," she grinds through her teeth. "You're a monster. Enjoy your box."

[pimpcanes]

If judgments on his character ever made an impression on Tom, they certainly don't after nearly thirty year on the job. At least he looks like a man these days. That's enough humanity to keep him perfectly content with himself.

"Oh, you have no idea." He presses his foot down on her shoulder. "Now be a dear and let me have my knife back."

He reaches down and wrenches it from her, twisting it on the way out and wiping the blood off on her pant leg.

[formersurgeon]

Joan shudders with a strangled cry when he wrenches the knife out, but when he bends to wipe his knife on her pants, she uses her very last ounce of strength to kick him in the face.

[pimpcanes]

He takes the hit - it only avoids breaking his nose, and instead splits his lip. He snarls with rage and spits the blood onto her, shoving her back to the ground.

"You're lucky to be dying, or I'd make you pay for that." He steps on her hand and twists, then kicks her in the stomach. "I hope you linger."

And he stalks off, the limp still there but so much slighter than it was.

[formersurgeon]

She doesn't have the strength for anything more than a bare groan of pain.

"You will," she whispers, not loud enough for him to hear, not really making any sense, consciousness fast slipping away. "You'll pay. We all pay."

As everything fades away, she wonders if they'll even bother bringing her back. If instead she'll be like her friends, like Sherlock and Punchy and Gabriel, just left for dead. And she can't decide which one she wants. She wants to live. But dying for good...maybe it would be like now. Maybe it would be a mercy that spared her more agony.

Her thoughts gently unravel, and the last of her consciousness and strength floats away. Moments later her heart stops beating, and she dies in the spreading pool of her own blood.