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ain't no party like a ranger party [open]
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."
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."
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He gestures at the game he's been roasting over the fire -- two fish, with a handful more lying atop some blackened sticks off to the side. It looks -- and smells -- nearly done.
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He looks at the roasting fish, his smile becoming a little sheepish. He's sure that someone like Sokka would dub the smell of cooked fish delicious and go on and on about how good the man is at cooking them on an open fire, but... "But my people don't eat meat. Sorry."
He always feels bad about rejecting a person's offer of food. He always tries to do it with as much gratitude as possible, since he knows how kind it is that they'd offer in the first place, but even if he disregarded his ideologies, meat would probably make him sick.
He takes a set of reed pipes from his basket, putting them in his lap before tapping the basket with a finger. "I found a lot of berries and eggs and things like that, so don't worry about it. You can have some too."
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"Then I must remain in your debt for a time more!" he says. "But have a care with those berries -- I have seen poisonous ones among those that are wholesome. Eat nothing you do not recognize."
He takes the fish off the fire and waits for it to cool. As he does it, though, Thorongil feels a change in the air. He sniffs, recognizing the signs -- the pressure is dropping, and the very feel of things tells him...
"And gather them while you can. A storm is coming."
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"Is it?" Aang leans back, closing his eyes and pressing his hands into the ground. It's harder when he's not able to bend, but he can still feel the shift of air around him and the vibrations reverberating through the earth. It's not quite as... expansive as it should be. One of the unmistakable signs that they're in an arena, not in an actual forest. But he can feel the change nonetheless. "Yeah, it is. That won't be fun. I guess it was too much to hope for them to let us adjust a little longer."
He feels sorry for anyone without survival skills. He pops some berries in his mouth, licking the juice off his fingers. "Have you seen anything weird in the arena yet?" It'd be good to swap stories, just in case one has come across the threat that another hasn't seen yet.
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"Nothing yet -- only that there are more animals here than there should be, and the water in the river is uncommonly cold and clear. It is clearer than river-water is wont to be, when it moves at that speed." It all says to Thorongil that they are in an adjustment period, and that they had better take advantage of it while they could.
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He stares at the fire, scooting a little closer to get more of the heat. Once upon a time, he was afraid of it, but now he's more comfortable and it reminds him of life and Zuko.
"Actually, I just thought of something you could do. If you still want to do me a favor."
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But he raises an eyebrow, listening to Aang. "Name it," he says.
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Aang unzips his jacket and shrugs it off. "I have this scar on my spine that's locked one of my chakras. It makes me stiff and achy a lot, but last arena, someone knocked it against the corner of a table and unlocked the chakra, and I felt normal again. But then they reset my body when I died, so now it's locked up. Do you mind punching it or throwing a rock at it or something?"
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stubble that barely deserves to be called abeard."How hard?" he asks. "An ill-aimed blow might leave you worse off than you are now."
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He tries to twist around to look at it. It doesn't work. But the scar looks like a sunburst, like a permanent burn of some kind. "I got it from a lightning strike if that helps at all."
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Thorongil is willing, cautiously willing, to do it.
He steps forward, dropping to a knee (he's waaaay too tall to do this standing up, the guy's like 6'6" and Aang is, what, 5' max?) and resting a hand on Aang's shoulder. He places a fist against the burn, getting a sense of where it is, where to aim.
"You're sure?" he calls up, checking one last time. Aang has one last chance to back out.
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"Yep, I'm sure!" Aang, despite the coming punch, is very relaxed. His muscles stay loose and his spine ready to bend. Just in case this doesn't work, far less damage will be done if he can roll with the punch instead of try to resist it. "Let's see if this works again."
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And he will do it, striking hard with a curled fist. His aim is true, and though the strike will not have all of Aang's weight behind it, it is strong. The hands of the king are the hands of a healer etc etc etc it will probably do the trick.
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It's probably a good thing that his powers are suppressed, or else he would have reflexively gone into the Avatar State.
"Oh, okay, that worked!" His body shuddered and convulsed, but then he stretched his arms over his head and twisted his back, making the vertebrae pop and readjusting the newly restored flow of chi. "That feels better. Thank you."
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