thearena | What's good for the goose is good for the gander.

Entry tags:

What's good for the goose is good for the gander.

Who: Sandy and you!
What: Cassandra Marko Vs. The Geese of doom.
Where: The peat bog in the Southern end of the arena.
When: Sunday morning.
Warnings: Graphic Violence towards geese and children.

By the end of her first week, Sandy was warm, but hungry.

With Phil's extra jacket on over her own a shiny new knife from the sponsors Sandy was stalking along the edge of the pond, boots sinking into the mud with each step. This was a terrible place to hunt if she needed to run but perhaps the sticky ground would work in her favor?

The knife had come with a note with a single word on it. One that rang in her head as she tried to puzzle out it's meaning while she stalked as quietly as she could through the morning mist.

"Inquisition."

What did it mean? For all the learning Sandy had done since arriving here and for her vocabulary being advanced for her age she couldn't remember hearing a word like that in context.

Back in the moment her eyes settled upon what she hoped would be her next meal. A flock of geese were drifting lazily on the water but one had nested in the mud of the shore and she was fairly sure if she got close enough she could kill it, pluck it and make a fire to eat it provided she found enough dry wood.

Closer and closer she crept, body tight and face scrunched up in an eternal wince as she heard her boots squelching in the mud. Maybe geese were dumb? Maybe they were heavy sleepers?

Once she was no more then five feet away the bird's eye snapped open and it watched her.

She froze, even holding her breath till she could stand it no more and let the air out through her nose slowly.

The bird made no move.

She took another precarious step forward.

Still no move.

Another step.

It blinked and she froze once more teeth clenched so tight that it hurt her jaw.

Another step, the knife gripped so tight in her hand her knuckles were white. This was just a goose why was she so tense?!

Because she knew if she screwed this up she might go hungry.

One more step and she was close enough to try for a grab when the beast rose to it's webbed feet and let out an angry sounding honk!

Sandy was about to make her move when it was echoed by several other angry honks.

Eyes wide with a bead of sweat running down from her scalp she turned her head slowly and realized that while she had been so focused on her target the other geese had surrounded her and were approaching by land and sea. Some had their wings out like they were hoping to pen her in and keep her from running.

Sandy's eyes narrowed and she adjusted her grip. Was she really about to run from a bunch of birds?!

The original goose she had been menacing struck! Lightning fast it's head short forward and it's beak snapped at her hand leaving angry red bite marks as she yelped and jerked backwards stumbling over onto her rear and kicking up mud everywhere. Her shoe had gotten stuck in the mud and thrown her off balance!

As soon as she was on the ground the geese lunged for her honking up a storm. Sandy's world became feathers and angry beaks as she lashed out with her knife. Soon the color red joined the mix as bleeding geese stained each other with crimson and continued their ruthless assault on the girl.

"GET OFF!" She barked swinging the knife again and feeling her blade piercing a goose's neck. It's honking became garbled with the blood draining into it's throat but it continued it's attack even as she yanked the knife back out.

Plastered in mud, blood and feathers Sandy made a snap judgement. She was not about to get killed by geese. These weren't even mutant geese as far as she could tell!

Shielding her face with her arm she plowed forward, stomping on a goose in the process who's beak snapped shut on her pants so it was dragged behind her flapping it's wings to slow her down. The other birds were in hot pursuit as Sandy slipped and slid through the mud.

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The bottle would be taken hesitantly, Gray knew this wasn't the best way to cope. But he needed to forget just for a moment that he was here because he'd failed those kids. That he was just as bad as the murderer he spent ten years tracking down. He took a small drink and coughed a little, the burning sensation was stronger than what he was used to.

"Holy crap," he let out in a croak, "I forgot how strong this stuff is." He'd hold off drinking any more until he got to it. "Let's get burying, shall we?" His task was at hand: make sure he didn't fail in protecting his friends as he did in the past. "S-Sorry about this." He was lucky the panic attack happened before, and while there was one already brewing, he had to focus.

"Yeah no problem." She answered quickly and began digging using her knife to cut grooves into the stiff earth so her gloved fingers could pull at it. These were all things she'd learned in the training center and as much as she hated to thank a Capitol employee for anything...she owed the staff more then a couple.

After a few minutes of working she spoke up again.

"Whatever you did, it's OK. I know you're a good guy even if you're not sure."

It was a risky gambit but Sandy was very driven by her guts when it came to helping people. Her brain was reserved for protecting herself but her heart was always in it for people who had shown her kindness.

The words fell onto grateful ears as Phil took out the hunting knife he'd gotten from the sponsors. He'd kept it a secret because he didn't want Sandy to suspect he'd killed someone. He showed it to her, to keep that trust going, "You were right about the sponsors."

While they worked, he huffed out, "I tried to save him, I did everything I remembered, but he was too gone for me to help," he said as vague as possible. The blade went as far as it could but the man pushed it further. "I let him die but...it wasn't that."

Knowing that he was armed was a comfort. Knowing that the worst he had done was watch a man die.

"If that's the worst you've got you've got aways to go to catch up to me." It was almost funny really that he was so troubled by just watching someone die. Then Sandy realized with a sick twist to her stomach that normal people would be horrified by that sort of thing and she was just messed up.

The hole was coming along nicely but it would take them some time without proper digging tools. Thankfully the ground was soft and the harder parts could be stabbed at. The cold wet soil was soaking through her cloves and she knew she'd have to dry them off over the fire later.

"That's unfortunate to think, Sandy," Phil remarked as he tried to make due with everything they had before his hands couldn't finish the job. He was shaken but his sarcasm was still present. "I've never let anyone die on my watch...all I did was dispose of their bodies, clean up the scene, put the little birthday hats on the table, and write lies down so when the inevitable missing person report file was submitted, my employers were free of responsibility."

The Capitol knew that, might as well have someone he trusted know about it too. It was a twisted routine he was forced into for a long time.

That was enough to get her to slow in her digging for a moment. Her face twisted up in confusion.

"Why would you do that though?" She didn't sound concerned, mostly perplexed. "Did the job pay really well or something? Were they threatening you?" It's not as though covering up a crime was worse then actually doing the crime but there had to be some reason he'd put his neck out for his employers like that.

"The pay was minimum wage, barely enough to survive the month. I stayed because for two reasons: to investigate and to keep...something at bay." He stopped working enough to catch his breath and feel around the soil for any rocks that kept their progress.

"Do you want the long story or the short one?" Phil asked before he continued. He could spare her details of the grisly murders and how guards subsequently died.

She had to admit even knowing that the end result was going to be tragic...she was getting more and more curious each time he alluded to things.

"Might as well go long. It's not like there's anything good on TV." She offered a weak chuckle at her own lame joke. The funny part was they were on hidden camera so somewhere she actually was on TV saying that and the audience would probably get a chuckle out of it if the gamemakers didn't edit this scene out.

Phil took a deep breath and, while he plucked the feathers off the geese to carve them up, began to tell his story from when he was a kid and going into Fredbear's Family Diner, to getting his first job there as a waiter. He stopped for a moment, and put the knife to the side the moment he recalled the first murder.

"Terry and I were taking a break out back, when he spotted a little hand in the dumpster. That poor boy...he was mangled and blue from what happened to him. Tossed aside like a broken doll, he was covered in trash and blood. When I saw the mother, she just knew and screamed. I held her back when the crime scene people carried her son away, and told her she couldn't save him. I-I couldn't go to work for three days, especially near that dumpster."

He didn't care how the gamemakers portrayed him as, at least someone had to know the truth. Gray let every bit of remorse flow out of him when he talked about the first relaunch of Freddy Fazbear's, sparing no details about the following ten missing children and Bite of '87. He also began to talk about the hauntings, the hallucinations, everything.

"Jeremy lost his frontal lobe because I thought he could manage being out there. It was a normal birthday party and we needed all hands on deck. I took the night shift after him...and survived five years. Every waking minute I had, I spent it tracking down the sadistic monster who used that place as a slaughtering ground. I wanted to break his legs and leave him to the bots' mercy."

By the time he'd finished his story Sandy had the tent set up in the small pit they'd dug and had alot of it covered in branches and leaves. Not a bad job considering it was something she'd only ever practiced in the training center.

It was strange how having something to do with her hands kept her focus on his story. She felt her gut twist at the idea of someone she liked having to live with that sort of horror, but it didn't completely stun her the way it might have once.

Sensing he had come to the end she moved closer slowly. "Would um...would a hug help?"

The answer was no of course it wouldn't. Even if they weren't stuck in an arena of murder and death he needed a therapist. But Sandy's options were limited so she went with hug.

Phil nodded and sighed out, giving Sandy an earnest smile. "It would," he spoke, blood soaked hands rubbing his face and staining it for a bit. It looked eerily like his corpse stuffed into a bot had the Capitol not intervened on him.

Therapy would do wonders on Phillip but he outright refused it to focus on the pizzeria then, and now the Hunger Games.

"I lost it when...Dandy compared me to him. That I was guilty of something akin to murder. Yes, I am...of hiding bodies, of obstructing justice and being unable to do anything about the other guards."

With his permission Sandy shuffled closer and put her arms around him in a light hug. Every voice of instinct in her head screamed she shouldn't be this close to someone she was still getting to know but she just tightened her grip. He could feel in her arms just how much she trained in the arena. She was strong for her age.

"Wait..." It took a moment for his words to sink in. "So this Dandy guy is proud of being a murderer?" That could be trouble down the line if he was already back in the capitol.

"Yeah...said he had fans because he was a murderer," Phil blinked as soon as he broke the hug, "That people enjoyed the killing far more than the actual Tributes. "You got a strong there, kiddo."

He quickly gave her the footnotes of what happened with Dandy, and confessed to the rush of adrenaline he got from the control he finally had over others. "It felt good and I hate myself for it."

It filled her with a sort of cold venom to think of yet another person who clearly deserved The Hunger Games more then she did. This Dandy person sounded like exactly the sort of psycho who should be behind bars or at least in the arena away from decent people.

"I don't know if it's wrong to feel good when someone evil dies." She confessed. "I don't know if you're supposed to feel bad for everyone when they die or if it's OK to feel good because they were a bad person. I know that there was someone I hated here. And when they were dead finally I felt really good too."

In part because she had been the one to plunge the knife in.

"But if they were hurting people and they can't hurt people anymore that's gotta be a good thing right?"

What Sandy was telling Phil made sense to him: that he shouldn't feel guilty about Dandy dying becuse he was a killer. He certainly wouldn't have that sort of remorse if he ever found the killer back home. "It is a good thing, because they're taking out of the streets," he said almost low in volume to register. "But it still...it stll brings me back that, uh, to that old teaching every life is important in some way. "

He blinked then shook his head, "I'm wearing his damn jacket, and I'm complaining about letting him die. I'm not right in the head." He then turned towards Sandy, "I just have to...adapt to the Arena. Make everything count and make sure I meet my goals." If anything, he was going to grow from all this.

But he did manage something to comfort his companion, "You did what you had to do, and you made sure you survived the day. No one will ever blame you for that and the feeling good? I don't blame you either."

"None of us are right in the head. But you're right. Adapt or die right?" She encouraged. She'd learned that lesson a long time ago.

"Then we just try to hang onto what's most important and save it for when we're trying not to die."

But to hear him talk about goals sounded more like a job then a way of life. Whatever it took to survive she figured.

"Some people might blame me." She muttered trying not to think of how upset some people had been with her when they found out what she did. "But that's over now and we're here."

It wasn't over though. Not by a long shot and the nagging voice in the back of her head would never let her forget that. Thankfully another thought distracted her. The note that had come with her knife.

"Hey." She peeled off her muddy glove to avoid getting the paper dirty and slid it out of her pocket. "What's this mean?"

On the paper the single word Inquisition sat plainly in black in. Written in a very no frills businesslike manner.

"Adapt or die," Phil agreed and began to ready their dinner with his own knife. He was used to survival being part of the job description. Even if Gray did find out about Sandy's past, he wouldn't judge her for it. He who is without sin cast the first stone, right? Right. "Whatever you did in the past doesn't matter, kiddo." Phil wished he believed that for himself.

The word was a strange one for the guard to see in a place like this, "Inquisition? Aside from being a Monty Python joke, it was an organization within the Catholic Church way back in the Middle Ages. They persecuted witches and heretics, anyone who was a threat to the church's power." At least that's what he remembers from his high school history class. "Sounds like someone's got a bone to pick with you or...something else entirely." He wasn't that familiar with the politics in Capitol but this reeked of subversion.

She wished he was right about that, but her past made her who she was here. Everything she'd been through had made her strong, torn her down and then built her back up. It was a fine line between what you had to leave behind and what you had to build from.

Turning her mind to less pressing issues she listened to his explanation and her lips drew tight at his theory. There were a couple of people who probably had reasons to come after her even if she did her best to keep under the radar of most tributes.

"Well that's great. Let's hope it's the something else. Because I'm not a witch or a...whatever a heretic is."

Actually given what most the Capitol believed she was pretty close to the definition of a heretic.

"It's not like I have any rivals or whatever." Could she have inadvertently pissed someone off?

The guard frowned and studied the piece of paper, "If someone's calling you a heretic, you're in trouble. Heretics are those who are noncomformists and are dealt with." His protective instinct began to peek out of his shellshock. "I just hope it's someone giving you a hint as to what you should be looking for...I don't think I can just stand idly by if you're in a position of danger."

The way he stated it left no room for second-guessing: he was willing to do what needed to be done to keep those he cared about safe.

Her stomach dropped into her knees as he explained. She knew what nonconformist meant and despite knowing better she had a hard time going along with the Capitol's way of life. She'd said more then her share of anti-capitol things in the arena or in the capitol. It was probably all caught on camera. And that wasn't counting all the trouble that had landed her in prison or the children's arena.

"I'm always in danger. This doesn't change a thing." She decided turning her gaze back onto their dinner.

"I should try to start a fire. I don't have a kit but maybe I can do it the old fashioned way." She'd practiced in the tower but it was a hit or miss skill.

"Fair enough," Gray conceded then used a little bit of the vodka he was supposed to drink to wash the bird meat and clear out any lingering parasites. As he did so, he offered, "Just don't hesitate to call for help if the need should, um, arise."

"You know how to do that? Start a fire? Jeez, you're a walking survival encyclopedia," Phil praised with a grin.

Her cheeks flooded with red and she turned away, but not fast enough to hide her sheepish grin.

"I had some great teachers."

She was on her feet again gathering what dry wood she could find. Mostly twigs and things but if she needed to she could use her knife to cut down larger branches. After that it was a matter of digging a fire pit. After having dug a pit for their tent this was no problem.

"Thanks for taking care of the bird...I still think it's gross to clean stuff like that." Thankfully she'd not had a lot of call to skin and gut her meals. Pruna had always taken care of that.

He saw that grin and it warmed his heart to see Sandy smile without a worry. That's how kids should be, having fun and not worry about the next threat. His heart became heavy at the thought of those kids back home, those who had no chance.

"Eh, it's no big deal. You don't get to thirty-one on fast food and pizza, though it's not for lack of trying," Gray laughed, "Had to learn something from my folks before they passed away, you know?" In that aspect, Phil was well-adjusted, and used to loss if it were from natural causes. "Being able to cook for myself was something my mom wouldn't let me leave the house without knowing."

As he cut up the breast bone, he beckoned Sandy to come closer, "As soon as you're done with the fire, I'm gonna teach ya how to do this...in case I'm not around, you know?" That was an inevitable fate.

While the idea was not the most appealing thing in the world to her, she knew it was important. And on top of that he was doing it to help protect her even after he was inevitably killed. How could she turn that down?

With a smile and a nod she moved closer to watch him work. While she would never forgive the Capitol for the things they had done to her and her friends, she supposed the one of the few good things to come out of this mess was her meeting someone like Phil.

"If we ever get you home, maybe you should be a teacher instead." She suggested keeping her eyes on what he was doing. "Sounds less dangerous."

Teaching Sandy how to carve and gut a bird was interesting to say the least, letting her take the carcass after showing her. "You can use the innards as bait to draw out predators and lure them into traps," he was mid-way in explaining when he heard Sandy call him a teacher. He humbly shook his head and dropped his line of sight to the bloody mess. "I'm probably not good enough to be a teacher. Plus you need a bachelor's degree on education for that." He cared about Sandy, and he wanted her to make the most out of each arena, even win. "I'm just making sure one of us lasts the longest." As callous as the statement was, the tone he said it showed how much he hoped his friend could learn and live.

Thinking about alternative careers never really crossed Phil's mind, since survival and investigating took precedence. "You know, I-I've never really thought about what I'd do after I'd, uh, concluded my time at Fazbear's. Figured I'd be dead or arrested for obstruction of justice."

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