thearena | What Strikes Fear in the Heart of One Man [Open]

WHO| Molotov, Black Tom and you!
WHAT| Catch-all joint post for the two meanest bullies in the Tribute tower.
WHEN| Week 1
WHERE| By the lake.
WARNINGS/NOTES| Please let us know in your header if you want one or both of us! If not whomever has time first will respond. :)

The Sponsors have been generous with Tom and Molotov, and as such Tom feels no shame whatsoever in wearing a parka with the name of whatever brand of whiskey he's endorsing emblazoned across the back. If it's going to help them to continue accumulating a veritable hoard, then he can stand it.

For the most part, having so much collected has kept them from traveling too far, and with a twinge of bitterness and worry Tom actually appreciates that. The outright hiking that this Arena requires hasn't been kind to his bad leg, and in the last decade or so his career has been as much indoors, behind a computer or cradling a telephone or greasing a palm, as it has been outdoors. It's not as if he doubts his ability to withstand it, but he does doubt he can keep up with Molotov, and with insecurity that would better fit a weaker man, he worries about her becoming bored with him. Having tents and sleeping bags and blankets and liters of vodka gives them a reason to stay near the glacial lake.

For the most part, it's an excellent location. They're bundled up enough that they can stand the cold that the standing water spreads overnight, they have a steady supply of fluids, and thanks to some crafty work with one of the blankets they have a makeshift net to catch fish in. Out of any of the Tributes, they're probably doing some of the best.

At night one of them sleeps for a few hours inside the tent, bundled up, and the other keeps watch until they switch. Tom wishes it were more practical for them to huddle but until they bring in a third party - and he has no intention of bringing in a third party - they can't do so without being incautious. So one of them remains banished to the outdoors for a few hours, face red-flushed and glassy from the biting air and wind, hands tucked under their arms.

During the day, they're either busy gathering food and shoring up for the cold, or, better than that, hunting for other Tributes, either together or separately. Sometimes it's a predatory wander, knives in hand, attacking without warning, sometimes just scoping their territory and making sure no one's intruded. During the latter they're almost pleasant, up to engaging someone in a chat and letting them leave safely if they don't want to go to the effort of a fight.

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The cold is something Arya's used to, something she'd missed, but being out in it all hours of the day rather than being able to retreat to the roaring fires of Winterfell is beginning to take its toll on her. She's huddled up in the parka Clara sent, eyeing the tent warily and keeping a good distance from it, keeping one eye on it while she fills up her now empty water bottle - also from the parachute her mentor had sent, kneeling at the lake and dipping her bare hand in the freezing water. She's hoping that the occupants of the tent have long gone, hunting for food or for other tributes, and that she can scurry away without making herself a target, but as she stands and turns to leave she sees someone heading straight for her.

"Ah ah ah..." Tom's got a large stick that he's using as a makeshift cane, because at night the cold seems to crack ravines into his very bones, but during the day he only carries it as a sort of bludgeon in case he doesn't want to close distance enough for a knife. Right now, he waves it at Arya as he approaches with strides that get him through the slush rather quickly.

"Molotov!" he calls. "We've got some company."

She peeks out of the tent when Tom calls, then grabs her knife before darting out and running over to where he stands, her arm casually on his shoulder while she grins.

It's not a nice smile.

"Oh, it's a little one," she coos dangerously, cocking her head. "What should we do with our trespasser, Tom?"

Arya freezes, looking from Tom to Molotov and back again, her knife gripped tightly in one hand - for all the good it would do her against two adults who were much better supplied and had far more Arena experience. She doesn't look scared, though; instead she looks a little hurt, remembering her conversation with Tom back in their suite in the Capitol.

"I thought you said we were on the same team."

Once he's close enough to recognize which of the little ones it is - by her voice as much as her cold-puffed face - he lowers his staff and looks over to Molotov, grinning back. His grin is less cruel but nearly manic, as if he's already plotted out something terrible in his mind.

They can use this girl. And, God help him, he does have a bit of a soft spot for scamps.

"I like this one. She's in my District, you know. Quite the passable roommate." He looks back to Arya, then gestures to Molotov as if he were a magician showing off his lovely assistant.. "We won't hurt you, Arya. Please make your acquaintance with the inimitable Molotov Cocktease."

"Well, if you like her," Molotov murmurs, spinning her knife in her hand before lowering it and wrapping one arm around Tom's waist. "Pleased to meet you, Arya. Is this your first Arena? Would you like some food?"

It's obvious to her that Tom has something up his sleeve, and far be it from her to put a damper on his plans.

Arya loosens her grip on the knife a little, visibly brightening at the idea of food. She's had to make do with what few birds and rabbits she's managed to catch; though she's eaten less and worse before she still doesn't feel at her full strength.

"Yes. If you don't mind. And it's my first." Though that doesn't mean she has no experience in taking a life, as many assumed since she was so young and had no Arena experience.

"And you won't even have to steal it from under our noses, lass." He smirks and gestures at the supplies with his nose, letting Arya know just short of winking that he knows what she was up to.

"We've been doing quite well for ourselves with food. And we've even been able to cook it." He disengages from Molotov and heads towards the tent.

"So. Molotov. Arya tells me she's already got a little blood on her hands."

"Does she?" Molotov asks, following him, although she seems to speak more toward Tom than Arya herself. "And so young."

Once they reach the tent, she heads for the supply stash, where the food from Sponsors is, things meant to keep better than birds and rabbits and fish. It's crackers she pulls out, and she hands a pack of them to Arya before taking a set on a large rock, oddly elegant even in this setting.

"Have these for now. I'll get meat in a bit, and then we'll have dinner."

Arya rankles a little at the idea that she was there to steal from them - while she longed for something a little better than the raw animals she'd caught, she wouldn't risk getting caught and killed when there was so much for her to hunt. But she bites her tongue, not wanting to start arguing when they were willing to feed her.

Once they're inside the tent she seats herself on the ground, legs crossed, pulling apart the packet of crackers and stuffing one in her mouth.

"I can get birds. And I have a spear to fish with," she offers, wanting to be useful.

"We could use someone around to keep watch and company. It's so lonely sitting up in the cold while you sleep, Molotov," Tom calls to Molotov from inside the tent before emerging with a blanket. "Here, lass, warm up."

He tosses it over to Arya. "And if she can already hunt a bird, imagine what she could do with your tutelage."

She could hunt people.

"It would pass the time, having someone I can teach," Molotov agrees, watching the girl eat. "She can help bring back big game while you watch the camp, too."

It's been an issue, not being able to carry bucks back to camp by herself. They could have so much more food if only they had one more person. And a little girl... well, either she obeyed them and they could trust her, or they could slit her little throat between them.

Besides, Molotov likes children. They're good for a variety of errands.

"Would you like to stay with us, Arya?"

That sounds rather exciting to Arya; she'd killed pigeons back in King's Landing, and rabbits on the Kingsroad, but it was mostly self taught, along with the small amount of time she'd spent with Syrio. She remembered her father and Robb and Jon bringing moose and boar back to Winterfell to roast; sometimes they'd take Bran along to hunt with them, but never her.

"Yes. If you really don't mind." She doesn't want them to feel obliged to keep her around, and knows she can survive in the forests if that's the case.

"Not at all. It sounds as if you'll more than pull your weight, and won't it be nice for you to rest knowing that you'll be protected?" Granted, both Tom and Molotov would probably fight to save the supplies before Arya, but the point is that they're both loath to relinquish the base.

He takes a seat and gestures with the liter of vodka he and Molotov have been steadily working through. "A toast to that?"

"I'll toast to it."

Molotov rather fancies the idea of having Arya around, the more she thinks about it. It's another pair of hands to help, but she's always liked being a teacher, training people (girls) with potential. It was part of the reason she started the Black Hearts, to pass everything on, make sure women stayed relevant in her field.

A mini-Black Heart is an entertaining thought, for sure.

What Strikes Fear in the Heart of One Man [Open]

either or both!

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[cw: offering alcohol to children]

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