ain't no party like a ranger party [open]

[elfstone]

Who| Thorongil and anyone!
What| That great big open party log I promised! Thorongil is taking a different approach to this Arena, and that approach involves giving people free food.
Where| Around the arena -- generally in the forest area.
When| Late week 1, post-Bilbo and Sam )':
Warnings/Notes| Feel free to respond using the log prompt itself, but if you have another idea, feel free to throw it at me in a toplevel! Thorongil will be wandering around the Arena hunting for food, so he could stumble on conceivably anything. Ragnar, Anna, I'm looking at you two especially.

For many of you, this Arena will be one of the most traumatic things you've ever experienced.

For Thorongil, it's Tuesday.

Most nights, he camps with a fire. Reckless? Perhaps, if he were trying to win the Arena.

But that's not Thorongil's goal.

He hunts during the day and cooks what he catches at night: if the firelight doesn't draw in other Tributes, the smell will. It's been a few days. They're probably starting to get hungry.

Approach in the open, and he will greet you with a nod of his head. Try to sneak up on him, and he will hear you. "You'd better come out into the light," he will say, putting a hand on the long, sharp spear he's made for himself. "I know you're there."

Comments

[actually112]

Someone sneaked up by jumping between tree branches. That someone is very small, and he sticks his head out of the pine needles when he hears Thorongil's voice. "Sorry! Just wanted to know who you were before I came down." It could be hard to tell in the dark, after all.

He jumps down to each branch before hugging the trunk and sliding down to the forest floor. There's a basket on his back and a spear (more suited for a child his size than an adult) balanced expertly between his neck and the basket. He takes the spear in hand and sits across Thorongil at the fire, putting weapon down politely. "Hey there."

[elfstone]

"Well met!" he says, letting go of his own weapon, as well. It cheers him, to see Aang -- it does something to lift the heavy cloud that has been on his spirits since the passing of both Bilbo and Sam. "I am glad you have come, Master Aang. I owe you a debt from the last Arena, and I am finally able to pay it back, at least in part."

[actually112]

"A debt? Oh, don't worry about it. I'm glad I could help."

He puts down his basket as well, getting comfortable near the fire. This arena is a little chilly, so any warmth is welcome.

"And I'm glad to see you got out of the Cornucopia okay this time."

[rediscover]

For Anna, this Arena is less horrific than the others, right off the bat. She's more comfortable in the forest than she is in a mall or a space station, after all. And she's got some experience being out in the wild under her belt--enough that she manages to stay alive through the first week relatively unscathed.

She's made herself a makeshift shortspear out of a stick, topped with the sharpest piece of flint she could scavenge and held together with a half-inch rope woven from her own hair, after she'd grown desperate enough to cut out a chunk of it herself--the grass too dry to be usable.

Still, she's had to wander quite a bit, and her bones are weary. The adrenaline, the fight-or-flight of the initial start have long since worn off, so when, one evening, she sees the signs of a fire not far off, her heart leaps. It's a risky thing, to hope that whoever it is is feeling generous, but she's just weak enough from her meager meals of wildberries that she's willing to risk it.

Shyly, the redhead pokes her way into the clearing, eyes wide and scared at the sight of the man sitting and tending the fire. "Excuse me--may I sit with you awhile?"

[elfstone]

He's a frightening man, to be sure: even sitting as he is, it's clear that he's tall, and his face has a rough, weatherbeaten look to it. The rumors around the Capitol don't help: if Anna knows his face at all, she will know that this is Thorongil, highwayman and thief, robber and murderer. He turns keen eyes on her, reflecting the firelight, and regards her silently for a long moment.

"You may," he says, and his voice is not particularly cold, nor is it gruff. It's the tone of a man who has not yet made up his mind. "The fire will burn just as warm with you here as it would if you were not."

[rediscover]

The man gives his permission, and Anna steps forward gingerly, toward the fire. "Fair enough...thank you," she ventures politely, crossing to the other side of the fire from the stranger and sitting, legs crossed. As a gesture of good will, she lays her spear down a couple of feet away. She can smell the food roasting over the fire, some sort of game, but she's not presumptuous enough to ask to share. It's a precious resource, and she doesn't exactly expect him to give it up to a stranger. So the redheaded princess gives him a little smile through the flames. She doesn't recognize his face, thankfully, or she'd likely be terrified.

"Is this your first Arena, or...?"

[dreadinquisitor]

Maxwell was reluctant to travel far from the Cornucopia. Meeting at it had only been a tentative plan, and not one any of them had been particularly happy with, but it had been the only one they'd had after 'look for Iron Bull.' Not that he didn't try, he did. During the daylight hours he set out in a different direction every day, traveling and searching as much as he dared while still leaving himself enough time to find his way back. As much as his injury would allow.

The wound was more flash than substance, but it's placement made it difficult to deal with. A shallow stab where the knife had connected in the back of his shoulder; a cut as he'd twisted to avoid the killing follow-up, dragging down toward his spine. It burned and wept and he couldn't even clean it properly.

The best he could do was to crouch on the bank of the frigid river, jacket tucked beside him, long unclothes folded down as he cupped water and tipped his hand over his shoulder to let it run over his back.

The chill almost felt good at first.

[elfstone]

"That's no way to clean a wound."

Thorongil's approach had been quiet indeed -- nearly silent, in fact, and still more difficult to hear over the voice of the water. He has a long, straight spear in one hand, but it is neither aimed nor braced. Its butt is propped against the ground, and the arm that holds it is relaxed. He does not stand close to Maxwell; he's a good five or six yards away, far enough to keep from being an immediate threat. He does not want this man whirling around and attacking. His expression is thoughtful, as he regards Maxwell. A backpack is slung over his shoulders.

[dreadinquisitor]

He pivoted on the balls of his feet, snow and stone crunching under his boots, to find the sudden voice, but he didn't jump up. Didn't flee. Didn't grab for a heavy rock to use a weapon.

Eyes sweeping over the stranger, the spear out but easy at his side, Maxwell decided he might be able to hold on the quick reactions.

If he'd wanted blood, surely he could have just taken it.

"If my attacker had only been a little more thoughtful... or my arms a little bit longer," he replied carefully, gesturing with one wet hand - showing both how difficult the wound was to reach and that he wasn't wielding a weapon.

[cognitived]

Clint has experience with living in the wilderness. Not too much, because most missions dealt with urban areas, but enough that he knows how to hunt and forage and build a make shift fire. His eyesight made tracking possible, easier than most, but still. He's lucky. A fire speaks either of recklessness or arrogance, he thinks. Though certainly he's given in and made his own quick fires and meals before moving on. But those were small, and the scent of smoke and cooking meats draws him in; quiet, quiet.

It's not necessarily an attempt at attack, but rather, Clint's long since gotten used to a catlike way of moving. Still, Thorongil speaks up, and Clint's brows lift. Not many would have heard him.

He slips from the shadows, make shift spear in one hand, but it's tucked precariously between thumb and forefinger, palms up to show he's uninterested in a fight right now.

"You've got good ears."

[elfstone]

"If a man builds a fire in a place like this, he must expect to be found," says the Ranger, sizing Clint up with a keen look. "And there are things in the Wild that walk lighter than you or I."

His face and voice are neutral, intending neither to fight nor to run. Thorongil is simply waiting to find out why Clint has come: is it for the fire, for the food, or out of simple curiosity? Talking with him will tell, he's sure.

[cognitived]

That's fine, Clint can work with a solidly neutral presence before him. He doesn't move much closer, ready and waiting for a sudden attack or an invitation -- in this place, he fully expects both. In all honesty, he wouldn't be surprised if this was a ploy to bring in weary tributes and slaughter them. But his keen eyes do not pick out blood upon grass and leaf, even in the dark, and so he doesn't turn tail and run. Not yet.

"Are you just waiting to be found, then?"

[shenunigans]

"Well excuse me, mister bigshot firemaker. I don't want any trouble." Dave quips, dipping out of the darkness where he totally hadn't been agonizing over approaching the stranger. He's had crackers and he and Karkat caught a goose, but it's a few days in and shit is already getting harder. He doesn't have a weapon beyond rocks he's been collecting and a stick he's been trying to sharpen, so he doesn't really look to be much of a threat. You know, as if being young and lanky didn't add to that fact.

"Looks good. Smells good." He admits, warily stepping closer with his hands raised, just in case it wasn't obvious that he's not planning on being a problem here. "Hey, trade you a saltine for something worth a lot more than a saltine." He offers, carefully reaching into his pocket to pull out one of the small, square crackers.

[elfstone]

Thorongil is amused, more than anything else. He puts the spear back down, next to the rock he's sitting on, and stretches his legs out in front of him, crossing them.

"Is that all you have to offer?" he says, and it's only the light of humor in his eyes that gives it away as teasing. "You come to my camp the night before a storm, and have nothing to trade for food and shelter but a saltine?"

[shenunigans]

The fact that he's putting down the spear bodes well for Dave, he is decidedly undeterred by the stranger's skepticism toward his offer. If he isn't being yelled at, it's a good sign.

"Basically, yes. All of that, yes." He says without hesitation, shrugging before he pulls out a second saltine as if it really sweetens the deal there. He arches his brows challengingly when he makes his offer, but they furrow as he considers what he's been told. "Alright first off, I'm here to mooch food. I'm not looking for a bunk buddy, I don't know you." But he'll eat your food, apparently. "Secondly, storm? You're shitting me, right? Please for the love of the lord just tell me that's a joke and take my crackers or something."

[reassures]

Nill doesn't approach him in the open. To do so, as far as she can tell, would be foolish - though she doesn't recognize the man, he has a fire going, which gives him a better view around him if he turns his back to it. There's meat cooking over the fire. He's armed. All in all it's a bad decision entirely to try to be obvious. He could kill her in a minute if he wanted to.

But he hears her anyway, and maybe she should have expected that, given how well he seems to be doing for himself. Nill doesn't come out from her hiding spot entirely. At first she pokes the top of her head out, just enough to get a clear look and for him to see where specifically she is. Then, after he makes eye contact, she raises her hands to show that they're empty. Otherwise she doesn't move.

She's unarmed, and she very much doesn't want to risk getting closer when he's got his hand on that spear.

[elfstone]

"Into the light, I said. Come! I won't harm you," says Thorongil, letting the spear fall back to the ground next to the rock he's sitting on. "Did you come for the fire, or for a meal?"

He makes no move to stand, and his hands are resting on his knees. He doesn't look friendly -- Thorongil is notoriously bad at looking friendly -- but while he's a little frightening, he's not threatening.

[drinkupmehearties]

After the gong had sounded, Jack had essentially disappeared -- for the first half of the week -- over into the more northern end of the pine forest, in an attempt to get cover from the other Tributes. The scuffle at the Cornucopia had left him with a couple aching bruises and a few shallow nicks from recently acquired knives, but not real or fatal damage. He had, thankfully, made it out of the chaos with his own weapon -- a sharp, serrated hunting knife.

But he wasn't exactly a hunter. The famous Captain Jack Sparrow knew how to live for months at sea, could fish for turtle and bird meat on a desert island and survive, had even climbed out of the maw of Hell itself. But snagging a fleet-footed deer or rabbit had proven too difficult thus far, particularly as the abrupt lack of alcohol took its toll on his system and caused him raging headaches and a general sense of malaise.

And so the aroma of meat cooking is what draws him in, cautiously, towards the the firelight. Trying to snatch the food and run would be ideal, of course, but Jack knows there isn't the energy or willpower in him to do it or fight for it. He instead takes a few seconds to linger behind the cover of a tree to properly suss out the situation -- just as the man calls out to him.

The pirate's upper lip twitches, not liking that he's been found out, and after a moments hesitation Jack slips out from cover and lifts a hand in peace. "Meant no harm, mate." His gaze slides down to the spear the man has, a slow and deliberate motion, then back to his face. Another pause, then, "Blimey, that smells downright wonderful."

[elfstone]

Well, this was a shady looking fellow. And coming from a guy who was given all kinds of unsavory nicknames by what was essentially a frontier town because of how shady he looked? That says something.

But this man is also clearly worn out -- tired, hungry, and not looking for a fight. Too smart to pick one, maybe. Thorongil sets the spear back down.

"You're in luck," he said. "There is much here to hunt, and I've caught more today than I can eat myself. But you cannot have it for free. Sit," Thorongil says, indicating the spot opposite him, on the other side of the fire and the nearly-done roasted goose, "and tell me something of yourself."

only a little late to this, whoops

[a_minute_younger]

Gary's been doing his best to stick around the people he knows. Thorongil gets a special mention here--in a strange place where the food isn't as obvious as full, decorated cakes and potatoes strategically placed in small capsule rooms, it seems like a wise move to stay close to where the food is. Gary has since discovered that, by nightfall, Thorongil has the food. Hence, the inevitable visit.

Thorongil will probably hear Gary jogging through the undergrowth before he appears in the flickering light, all stained clothes and greasy hair and smiles. The last part, at least, is normal. "Hey," he gives a cheerful wave, operating under the assumption that he's welcome to join. Why wouldn't he be? "Anyone else show up this time?"

Which is another way of saying, 'do you have any food left that I can bum off of?' It's an important question and Gary's eyes, locked on the fire and the meat by it, make his intentions more obvious.

not too late never too late

[elfstone]

Thorongil flashes Gary a grin. He knows exactly what Gary's here for.

"One," he replies, picking up a cooked fish impaled on a stick, "but he said he doesn't eat meat. Here." He tosses the fish at Gary -- it's only a little warm now, thanks to how close it was sitting to the fire -- but it's still fresh. Gary will know he can stay as long as he wants.

[wizardplease]

It's the light of the fire that draws Haruto in, but not without caution on his part. He doesn't really know how to move silently in a forest setting, but he's trying to, slowly approaching and hoping to get a look at just who's there, and if it's safe to call out and wave and ask if he can pull up a patch of dirt and warm himself up. Most people in here aren't so bad. But some are. A wizard has to watch himself.

He is, of course, easy for Thorongil to catch, but once he hears the man's voice, he's glad to let himself be caught. He even lets out a laugh, as he moves forward quicker and noisier, both hands up. "Can't blame a guy for being cautious?" And then, once he's actually out of the bushes and by the fire proper, he gives a sort of half-bow and half-grin. "...glad to see it's you."

[elfstone]

That makes Thorongil break into a grin. It's hard not to laugh, especially considering just how seldom he's heard glad it's you over the past several years. The smile on his face is warm.

"Are you looking for food or fire?" he asks, and Haruto will notice the skinned and gutted rabbits cooking here. "You are welcome to both."

sob this is the latest

[tasermaiden]

Okay, as if her previous track record hadn't made it abundantly clear, being in the arena sucks. Especially this time around because, okay, the other ones had bright spots. There was technology. And food. And the great indoors.

Right now Darcy is so far out of her depth it'd be hilarious if not for the fact that it's completely terrifying and she's half certain she's going to be devoured by an animal if she tries to sleep.

The first thing Darcy notices is the smoke. A sane, rational part of her says not to approach since it's probably a trap to net suckers like her into a quick death so whoever it is can steal her shit. She ignores that because if there's smoke there's fire, and where there's fire there's warmth. And that sounds like the happiest place on Earth right about now. After that comes the smell of something cooking, and she's hungry for something that isn't snow or something from her backpack (and all she can do is hope that it isn't a person being cooked, because she is not ready to sink to Donner Party levels of desperation).

So she skulks around until she hears the voice and approaches, putting her hands out in surrender and eying that deadly looking spear he's got. "You're not trying to lure people to their deaths with that fire, right?" Which is a dumb question, because what kind of murderer would admit to being a murderer? Either way, if he has violent intentions, she's fucked. "Because, if you are, that'd be a serious dick move."

no worries at all, I am still tagging like 90% of the threads in this log

[elfstone]

"Maybe I am," he says, taking in her nervous, sleep-deprived state. "Maybe I'm not." He puts down the spear. "But if you're desperate enough to come to my fire, your chances are better with me than they are out in the snow."

He sits cross-legged, not far from the fire at all, and folds his hands and leans his elbows on his knees. It's not the posture of someone about to attack.

"Care to try your luck? If you're right about me, you'll get fire, food, maybe even a guarded place to sleep tonight. If you aren't, well -- you'll wake up in the Capitol tomorrow and have fire and food anyway."