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Entry tags:
Suffering from a Case of Sobriety [Closed]
WHO| Black Tom and Molotov
WHAT| The power couple reunites in a field of flowers or some saccharine nonsense.
WHEN| Week 1
WHERE| The Meadows
WARNINGS| None. Just terrible people being terrible.
The anger Tom feels at this Arena doesn't burn itself out; instead, the coals keep simmering for days and days afterwards. After having his powers in an Arena where they were worse than useless, he's neutered in a damn forest. He imagines the Gamemakers purposefully conspiring to make his life difficult, and only comforts himself with the thought that if they didn't manufacture problems for him and Molotov, the Games would be over by now. That, he decides, is clearly the answer here, and infatuated with his own ego he makes his way through the next few days looking for his belle and surviving off the land in solitude.
His foul mood only abates a little when he realizes how the Gamemakers have placed so many poisonous plants in the fields of wildflowers and berries. It's a grim, pathetic consolation prize, but he may be able to poison someone yet, and at the very least it'll be a trick the Gamemakers haven't seen from him before. He gets to work collecting both food and biological weapons, as well as a few plants he doesn't recognize. Those he takes care not to touch, stowing them inside a sock and figuring he and Molotov may well kidnap someone to use as their guinea pig at some point.
Picking berries makes for a long day that yields only enough to subsist on for a little while, and certainly isn't a longterm strategy. At some point he hopes to find a knife or make himself a spear of some sort, and maybe he can add some meat to this paltry diet. If not, maybe, like a trapdoor spider crouched at the entrance of its burrow, he can lure someone in to share their supplies with him before killing them. It's a very short list of people he would even feel somewhat remorseful about beating to death with a rock.
He sits in a patch of sun adjacent to the field and, keeping an eye out for company, spreads his harvest on the grass before him. He pops berry after berry into his mouth as his brow knits in thought, as he wonders whether Molotov's actually going to make him venture into the mountains to find her.
WHAT| The power couple reunites in a field of flowers or some saccharine nonsense.
WHEN| Week 1
WHERE| The Meadows
WARNINGS| None. Just terrible people being terrible.
The anger Tom feels at this Arena doesn't burn itself out; instead, the coals keep simmering for days and days afterwards. After having his powers in an Arena where they were worse than useless, he's neutered in a damn forest. He imagines the Gamemakers purposefully conspiring to make his life difficult, and only comforts himself with the thought that if they didn't manufacture problems for him and Molotov, the Games would be over by now. That, he decides, is clearly the answer here, and infatuated with his own ego he makes his way through the next few days looking for his belle and surviving off the land in solitude.
His foul mood only abates a little when he realizes how the Gamemakers have placed so many poisonous plants in the fields of wildflowers and berries. It's a grim, pathetic consolation prize, but he may be able to poison someone yet, and at the very least it'll be a trick the Gamemakers haven't seen from him before. He gets to work collecting both food and biological weapons, as well as a few plants he doesn't recognize. Those he takes care not to touch, stowing them inside a sock and figuring he and Molotov may well kidnap someone to use as their guinea pig at some point.
Picking berries makes for a long day that yields only enough to subsist on for a little while, and certainly isn't a longterm strategy. At some point he hopes to find a knife or make himself a spear of some sort, and maybe he can add some meat to this paltry diet. If not, maybe, like a trapdoor spider crouched at the entrance of its burrow, he can lure someone in to share their supplies with him before killing them. It's a very short list of people he would even feel somewhat remorseful about beating to death with a rock.
He sits in a patch of sun adjacent to the field and, keeping an eye out for company, spreads his harvest on the grass before him. He pops berry after berry into his mouth as his brow knits in thought, as he wonders whether Molotov's actually going to make him venture into the mountains to find her.
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It's been a long time since he remembered those sorts of days.
"Are you much of a lover of duck? If you could get one of those, I know a very basic recipe we could make with wild onion and cloves."
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Molotov's hands rest on his chest, one still clutching the knife, and she looks thoughtful as she nods. "Have you seen ducks? Birds are a little harder, but if they've been nesting around here, I could probably grab one while it sleeps. What have you found, what's edible?"
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"Eggs and duck and wild onion sound like a flawless combination."
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But that's sort of an afterthought, because she lies against his chest now, listening to his heart beating in his ribs, running her hands down his sides. "I missed you," she says softly, hoping it's quiet enough that no camera can pick it up.
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"I missed you too," he whispers back. "Every moment."
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"We're going to win."
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And he laughs, the charmed laugh of a lover.
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