thearena | (no subject)

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Who| Danny, Sherlock and YOU!
What| Finishing up the shelter, dealing with whatever, getting to know each other. Running into people.
Where| An hours walk some random direction away from the Cornucopia.
When| Some unknown time after the cornucopia.. the timeline is fluidish....
Warnings| Danny wlil probably fire off his mouth, Sherlock will be an ass. Whatever comes at them. So, in summary/warnings might change. :-D

They’d actually managed to set up quite the shelter in the snowbank they’d found. It was maybe a bit claustrophobic, but it would do. When one wasn’t taking watch the other’d be able to sleep pretty damn well. Sherlock was fucking with something in the shelter. It was mostly his idea. Hell, he was were partnered with someone who may or may not be Sherlock Holmes. With the knowledge he was pulling out of his ass thought he might just be the genuine article. In either case he’d be an utter moron not to take advantage of that brain.

So he sat and kept watch.

OOC: Their shelter!

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Sebastian had been running for quite some time. He had a pack that he'd slung over his shoulder, and now he was determined to find somewhere safe to stop and see what was inside. But with the cold, and his lack of body heat, he knew he'd need to find a shelter.

All of a sudden, he sees a figure through the snow, and since he's not sure if it's friend or foe, he stops running, trying to regain his breath, and walks towards the shadow.

Edited 2013-01-16 04:08 (UTC)

He scanned the horizon yet again from his crouched position at the front of their shelter.

Was that? Yes, shit, maybe 2 o'clock, someone was coming. He didn't see any obvious weapons not that that really meant anything. Danny kept the unidentified person in his sights. Pulling off one of his gloves he threw it into the shelter. There, get the hint Mr. Brainiac.

Sherlock came out a minute or so later with a quizzical look on his face. He was obviously about to say something when Danny smacked him on the leg and pointed toward the newcomer.

He snatched the glove back too. No need to be cold for longer than necessary.

Effectively silenced, Sherlock crouched down in the snow, narrowed eyes peering through polarized glasses at the shape slowly approaching them.

The spear - his ony weapon - currently lay propping up their shelter. He'd only take a run for it if it was absolutely clear that nothing else could be done.

He pointed to Danny, then to his eyes, and then to the approaching tribute. Watch him, the message was clear, as Sherlock slid back behind the snow bank and carefuly around the other side of the shelter. He could see Danny clearly and only just see the stranger barey over a crest of snow. But from here, he'd be invisible, and even without a weapon, a moment of surprise would give Danny an extra few seconds if he needed to escape.

Sebastian heard very little movement, but when he came out of the shadows, he had his arms raised in the air. He meant no harm, not that he was overly capable of causing any.

"I come bearing no weapons. I just need a place to check what's in my pack and then I'll be on my way."

It was a fucking kid. Jesus H. Christ

His instincts were to comfort and take care of him...but here? Where there was a chance that the kid would come after him, or he'd have to kill the kid. He didn't know if he could do that.

Also? Checking your supplies in front of a stronger probably not a bright idea.

Shit, Shit, Shit Shit, Shit.

"Alright, come closer, hands up. Don't do anything stupid."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, peering through the blowing snow. The 'kid' was approximately 16 or 17, and taller than he was. But declaring intentions was a step up from his original fight in the arena (if that could really be called a fight), but he still kept out of the way.

A quick calculation. The meagre supplies that they had were all arrayed in the shelter, as well as the spear - letting him inside was an incredibly poor idea. But he stayed where he was, every muscle taut as he waited.

It was nearly impossible to decipher anything else about the stranger - each tribute was equipped in exactly the same gear, and Sherlock did not have the benefit of meeting him before.

Howard's watching from afar. He doesn't know the first thing about snow except that he entirely hates it, so when he noticed someone else staying in the same spot, he assumed that they must have built an igloo or something. He's not entirely off. He just wishes he had a pad of paper to take notes.

Determining that they haven't noticed him yet, he creeps closer from behind another snowbank. Thus far only the top of his head has been occasionally visible, but sadly, taking this chance to investigate puts him, even momentarily, in full view.

And also unfortunately, he didn't account for the fact that once he's behind the next bank, his footprints will still be in full view.

Sherlock was inside when a dull thump alerted him. Cautiously he drew himself out, glancing around with narrowed eyes until he saw the small, parachuted package at his feet.

He knew what it was, even though he hadn't seen it before. Sponsors. He picked it up, but as he righted himself he saw a flash of something across the snow and instantly whipped his head in that direction. Nothing. No. Something. Fresh tracks in the snow, headed towards them and disappearing behind a snow bank. He ducked back against the shelter, clutching the unopened package. Just one set of prints - someone alone, at least.

Sherlock immediately scanned for Danny.

Danny had been around the side of the shelter, well, taking a leak.

He came back around...hey? What was Sherlock doing out, "Hey man, what..." he trailed off when he noticed Sherlock staring off into the distance. Then he noticed the footprints huh. "Fuck not again," he muttered as much to himself as anyone.

He pulled out the ax. Just in case.

Howard's aware by now that he's been noticed. The only question is what he should do about it. The fear's already pumping through his head, so his body's tense, his senses focused, perfectly still except for the slight tremble originating at the base of his skull - he's like a rabbit deciding whether to stay still or bolt at the sight of a fox.

Maybe he should run. But these look like adult men, and his ankle is injured. He's fast, but he doesn't know how fast he is in the snow.

So instead he just stays where he is, paralyzed by fear.

Sherlock was standing perfectly still, arm raised to silence Danny as soon as he spoke, though Danny silenced himelf. And got a weapon. Good.

But there was something odd... Sherlock narrowed his eyes, peering closer at the tracks in the snow. They were off. They favoured one food just slightly.... And though it was true that some people naturally walked that way, but...

"Injured." Sherlock said his voice barely loud enough to be heard by Danny, let alone by Howard over the wind, then pointed at the tracks. "Sprain, maybe? Too sure-footed for a break, but obviously favouring the left foot so that he doesn't put pressure on the right."

He tossed the package into the shelter without opening it. He would deal with that later.

"Shall we see who it is?"

Danny just grunted. Yeah sure, what the fuck, lets deal with the new crazy. Danny indicated Sherlock needed to take the right side of the snowbank, he'd take the left.

At Sherlock's nod, he moved. They took positions and Danny caught Sherlock's eye. He mouthed, 'one two three' and popped out to the right of this unknown person.

"Whatcha up to buddy?"

The shriek that comes out of Howard's mouth is anything but manly. He falls back onto his rear and scrambles backwards, finding himself deeper in the snow bank behind him and struggling to get out. His eyes go to the axe, and a million ways it could be used to kill him go through his head. His breath comes out fast and panicky - he's certain he's looking at death.

There's a spray of blood down the front of his parka, and a tear in the side of it, with a stain that indicates he was injured there too. A bruise is forming on his face around his broken nose. He's missing his sunglasses.

"Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, I'm unarmed!" It's a lie but it would be difficult to see his knife in the folds of his pockets. He holds his hands up.

"Howard." The recognition was instant as soon as Sherlock mounted the snow.

"It's his blood, John," He said, pointing at each of the wounds in turn. There was a pause, and a click of his teeth before he corrected himself. "Danny."

He kept his distance, however, eyes narrowed through the polarized glasses. He, of course, was bloodless. "We have no intention of hurting you." He said flatly, and then glanced at Danny. "Do we."

Another kid? Goddamn it, and one Sherlock knew apparently. And did Sherlock just call him John? What kind of Freudian slip thing was that? It was interesting actually. He'd consider it later right now they had a bloody and freaked out kid.

"No, we don't. At least for now." He let the hand with the ax fall. "So, what brings you to our little corner of hell?"

He takes a moment to breathe. It's not an easy moment. It's a 'not quite sure if this is a panic attack' moment where he's hyperventilating and shaking as he bungees down off the adrenalin peak. He lowers his hands and wipes his nose with the back of his glove, gently because it's still tender.

"I was trying to figure out how to make a shelter. Figured you guys'd know better than I do. I'm from California," he says, as if that explains everything. His eyes still follow the axe; he won't feel safe until it's out of hand entirely.

"Blunt force to the nose - probably something relatively simple. Hand? Elbow? A spear or a harpoon, there... And then the ankle, of course. ... He's lost enough blood for hypothermia to be a problem." He spoke at an incredibly fast pace, and more for himself than for anyone else. He looked up, however, at the mention of shelter, and narrowed his eyes.

"You won't manage it. It takes hours to build between two people, let alone by yourself, wounded."

Danny just stared at the kid and Sherlock did his Sherlock thing. He was torn. There was a part of him, the part of him that drove him to become a cop, to help the less fortunate.A part that loved his daughter fiercely and will do anything to protect her. That part, wanted to take Howard in feed him, clothe him and tend his wounds.

Then there was that other half of him. The half that had kept him alive in some of the most dangerous hold ups, hostage situations and shootouts you can imagine. That part of him told him to leave this kid Howard in the snow.

Fucking cocksucking son of a whore.

Suddenly, he missed his daughter fiercely.

"We can't just leave him Sherlock."

Edited (Because I suck at punctiation) 2013-01-20 23:41 (UTC)

Howard decides not to mention that he has an ally out there in the snow. Either way, he's not sure Alpha will be much on the sharing body heat side anyway.

"Yeah, that's pretty much it," he says to Sherlock. "I tried getting supplies at the Cornucopia because I didn't want to die out here like I did last time." He throws a meaningful look at Danny at that last one. Playing to the bleeding heart is a better strategy than nothing.

He gets up, clearly favoring the one leg. "I wouldn't say I've lost that much blood, though. Not enough to be a death sentence or anything. The harpoon thing was just a scratch."

It'll probably need stitches, but he's mostly glad it didn't hit anything important, and is a graze more than a puncture.

Sherlock tsked, somehow overcoming the urge to roll his eyes at Danny.

"Make sure he's unarmed," was what he said, gesturing vaguely at the boy. Howard had claimed he was, and as far as Sherlock could see, he was, but the parka was large and he didn't care for any surprises in close proximity.

He backed up and started walking back towards the shelter. He certainly did not want Howard knowing the extent of their supplies. Putting him in arm's reach of the spear was bad enough, let alone giving away all their tactical info. A fifteen-year old was hardly a non-entity as far as danger was concerned.

He didn't wait to see what Danny's final decision was (since he figured Danny had already made it and Sherlock did not actually care enough about it to argue), instead heading straight into the shelter, quickly burrowing a whole in snow and burying the majority of their supplies.

"Well, no shit...Sherlock." Yeah, he really just said that. He blamed the cold or something. He shook his head and flipped into police mode.

"Alright kid, stand up, hands up where I can see them. You got anything in your pockets I should know about?"

"Wait, are you serious? What is this, an episode of Cops?" He looks both offended and frustrated that he's going to be searched, although he's somewhat flattered that they actually think he's a threat. Pretty much no one has so far. Perks and downfalls of being a ninety-pound pipsqueak.

But he did stumble into them, not vice versa, so he rolls his eyes and takes an appropriate 'search me' stance.

He holds his hands up, then reaches into one - slowly, so Danny doesn't think he's making sudden motions - and pulls the folded knife out. He drops it by his own feet. "That's all I got. Don't take it, I was hoping on catching and carving up some birds tomorrow."

Everything hidden save Danny's sleeping bag, Sherlock made a small satisfied grunt, double checking the shelter before ducking back out to join the two in the snow.

"Fine. He can come in. Anything on him?" He asked, already glancing down at the knife with a raised eyebrow.

"Just the knife," Danny sniffs. He gestured to Howard that he could put his hands down. "Come in, get warm, whatever."

He glanced over at Sherlock. "We can blindfold him and walk him out somewhere so he can't find us again."

Well, it was as good of an idea as any.

"Jesus, why not just do a cavity search while you're at it," Howard mutters. "Can I take the knife back? I promise to keep my hands where you can see them and put it in my pocket."

It's not like he'll be able to find them again in this monotonous snowy landscape anyway. He gets inside the shelter, still shaking and shivering. The freshly-packed snow does grab his attention slightly, but only because he's looking for it. He can't make out anything of what they have.

"I know Sherlock," he says to Danny. "What's your name?"

Sherlock waved a dismissive hand to the question of the knife. It would hardly be his first time facing an armed opponent before - even in close quarters - and now that he knew about it, he could keep an eye out. He sat down once inside the shelter, but kept one eye on the blowing snow outside, the other on Howard.

God he would give anything for nicotine. In any form. And something that didn't feel like ice to the touch.

"Cavity search? That can be arranged, usually that's the rookie's job but really..." he trailed off. Something about this guy just... seemed off. He couldn't quite put his figure on why but something just seemed hinky. For lack of a better term.

He figured some feather preening wouldn't go amiss here, and the kid game him a perfect opportunity. "Danny Williams, Hawai'i
Five-0 Major crimes task force."

"Ah." Cop. Figures. Howard does a good job keeping an impartial expression, even though the distaste is heavy in his mind, and it's slightly evident in the way his neck and shoulders tense and the feigned ambivalence of his response. He starts watching Danny more than he's watching Sherlock, which is a change from the way it was a few seconds ago.

"So. Like." He looks out the opening of the shelter at all the snow. "This is the opposite of Hawai'i, am I right?"

"Oh god," Sherlock exclaimed a little more loudly than he really needed to. "Please, spare me the small talk about the weather, or maybe I will start to take these games in the spirit that they are meant."

If there was one thing Alex disliked the most about this Arena (besides it being cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey), it was that everything was so white. Remembering where he was in relation to the Cornucopia and his campsite was difficult, due to the terrain all blending together in various eye-piercing shades of white and blue. Alex had taken to using various crevasses to find his way around, which is how he happened to wander within sight of Danny and Sherlock's shelter. A quiver of arrows is strapped to his back and a coil of rope over one shoulder. He glances down at the crevasse now and then, looking for spots to explore, but he mostly keeps his eyes out on the glacier, not wanting to be caught unawares.

Sherlock was on his way back to the shelter - a bird in one hand, a knife in the other, and a good streak of blood across his chest. Luckily, it was not his own. His parka, however, had torn in a couple of places. He hadn't quite anticipated just how difficult taking a sea bird down by hand and a knife would be. He was exhausted, frustrated, and hungry.

However he was never anything less than acutely observant. And so, as he came over the crest of snow towards the shelter, he caught sight of the figure - - and dropped immediately. Even if the man's height wasn't a give away, the quiver of arrows on his back made it quite obvious that it wasn't Danny.

Slowly, he moved along the ridge, careful to keep out of sight until he ducked down to the shelter.

"Danny," He hissed in a low voice, "Company."

Sherlock made quite the sight with blood and feathers everywhere. He found himself wondering idly if there were polar bears or something like that around.

Then Sherlock spoke, Danny rolled his eyes and muttered as he collected his ax. "What the fuck? Did we put out a damn Vacancy sign when we built this place?"

He glanced over and Sherlock as he once again, walked out the front entrance.

By the time Danny came out, Alex was crouched at the edge of the crevasse, eying a ledge a couple meters down. From the coloration, he almost thought there might be a depression there, or it could just be a dark patch in the ice.

"Worth taking a look," he muttered to himself, standing back up. He shrugged the coil of rope off his shoulder and started attaching one end to the shaft of one of his arrows.

Sherlock threw the bird inside and adjusted himself before following, keeping down and immediately scanning for the man he had seen already.... ah, there. An arrow out, no less. But it appeared that he had not noticed them.

Sherlock frowned, his eyes narrowed as he crept along the snow bank, careful to keep Danny in sight but also get some distance from him. The bloody knife was still gripped in his fist, but he dragged it along low in the snow.

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Let me know if him noticing the new-packed snow is infomoddy.

Nah it's fine, Sherlock wouldn't have gone to a lot of trouble to hide it

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