thearena | Then he got up his arrow and his bow

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Then he got up his arrow and his bow

WHO| Maxwell and you!
WHAT| Gettin' his hunt on
WHERE| The area in and around the river/caves
WHEN| Current week, post Valentine's Day shenanigans
Notes/Warnings| Animal death, general arena awfulness

After the announcement, they'd all agreed to leave the Capitol and the their fellow tributes to the blood-sport of the so called 'patch game.' They'd seen enough of it, certainly, after the wild cats and Dorian's explosive gift, but unfortunately, Maxwell simply couldn't wait it out in the relative safety of their camp.

Their supplies were holding for the moment, but with so many out of commission, resting and healing and unable to bring more in, he knew it wouldn't be long before they started to dwindle.

So out he went, increasing his trips to twice a day, rousing with the rise of the sun to try and catch game as it climbed from its bed, and striking again at dusk, hoping to meet them on the return. He was gone for hours at a time, traveling as far as he dared and as the snow would allow.

That much of the bigger game had seemingly disappeared - spirited away by the Capitol, or slaughtered by the vicious cats - was worrisome, but for the time being at least, the river still held fish and the geese still provided large targets for his new bow.

Slinking as quietly as he could through the treeline, he approached a resting flock. Drawing an arrow from his quiver, he sized up the animals, trying to settle on the best of the bunch, uncertain if he'd get a chance at a second.

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The first day there, Kieren was absolutely certain he'd end up eating someone's brains, or having his own dashed out of his skull. Then night fell, and the sun rose again, and time passed. More time, he knew, than he could possibly go without his medication, and yet...he hadn't gone rabid. That changed everything. Kieren didn't know how or why, but he knew these people were somehow stopping him from reverting back to his mindless state.

That meant he didn't have to be afraid of eating people, but it also gave him renewed vigor in wanting to survive. He'd been told that dying didn't mean true death here, but that didn't negate the fact that he didn't want to be killed. Besides, it's one thing to know that, another thing to truly believe that when faced with something that could kill him in seconds.

That was why, when he approached a man who had a bow drawn, he decided to back up and slip away quietly. Sure, it was pointed at geese, but it would only take an instant for the man to redirect his aim toward the pale and deathly figure. Unfortunately, as he backed up, Kieren stepped on a rather large stick that snapped with a sound that was sure to draw the man's attention.

The bulk of his attention had been on the birds, but ever since the cats, Maxwell had been painfully aware of his surroundings - of how quickly they could change. The sudden snap almost wasn't even a surprise by this point.

He whipped around the sound, the bow coming up and the arrow drawing in one fluid movement. Eyes sighted down the shaft, he searched and found the pale figure, standing awkwardly a few yards away.

Behind him, down by the water, the geese paused, and looked their way, but unable to see them in their strange standoff, they merely fluffed up their feathers and went about the business of being geese.

"Seems introductions are in order," Maxwell called out to the man, as loudly as he dared. Maker only knew how long it would take the birds to settle again once startled.

When the man turned, drawing his bow, Kieren stumbled back, tripping a little and only catching his balance when his back hit a tree. He swallowed. Well, at least this man wasn't firing yet.

"I'm Kieren. Kieren Walker."

At least if he was asking his name, he might not want to kill him immediately, right?

Maxwell studied him for a moment, eyebrow arching as he stumbled and staggered, then slowly lowered the bow. Unless he was a marvelous liar, he was confident he could get an arrow off before the man got close if he decided to suddenly lunge.

"Maxwell," he offered in return, eyes glancing to the side, checking that the geese were still as they were, untroubled down by the water. "I'm afraid you've got me at a rather inopportune time, Kieren - do you mean to attack me?"

Such forwardness always lost him favor in Court, hopefully not here though.

He refused to go back to camp empty handed.

He shook his head. "No. I don't plan to go along with anything they ask."

And now he could say that with complete certainty, now that he knew he wasn't going to go rabid.

"I don't see why anyone should, actually. If you think about it, we could all just not kill each other and there's not much they could do about it, is there?"

Of course, he had no idea just how wrong he was.

The bow lowered further. The man sounded earnest enough, and he wanted to get back to the hunt. Turning slightly, enough to see the geese again while still keeping sight of Kieren out of the corner of his eyes, he searched for his target again.

"I've heard that if we refuse, they'll simply make a victor themselves," he murmured in reply, arrow shifting against his fingers. "The entirety of the arena is apparently under their control."

Not that he was advocating murder and mayhem. The reply was merely a sharing of information, as best he understood it.

"Well." He swallowed, casting his eyes downward and away from the other man. He knew they could see everything, but he supposed he hadn't thought much about how they could manipulate the situation. Kieren's own yellow eyes darted back up again to meet the man's gaze. "That still doesn't change anything. I can't help what they do, but I can help what I do. I'm not going to become a monster."

And now that he knew he wasn't going to go rabid, he could be sure of that in more ways than one.

The yellow gaze reminded him of another. He hadn't known Morrigan either, when Celene had insisted upon her joining the Inquisition, but as with her, something told Maxwell he had nothing more to fear from Kieren.

"I agree," he said, looking back at the strange man. "I have no intention of hurting you. I only came for them." He gestured with the tip of his arrow down toward the shore of the river to the flock of preening geese.

He nodded. That was something he had no problem with.

"In that case, go ahead," he said, gesturing toward the geese. He wasn't going to do anything to stop the man. Or move too much, not wanting to scare away this person's meal.

Maxwell watched him a moment longer, waiting for Kieren to find a spot and settle before fully turning his attention back to the geese. His eyes jumped over the animals, pinning again on the one he'd targeted, and he lifted his bow.

The arrow drew back, shafted whispering against the limb of the bow, against his knuckle as he shifted his fingers out of the way. There was a heartbeat of silence, nothing but a gentle breeze and water and the geese below. Then there was a sudden twang and insanity followed as the birds burst into motion, screaming in surprised panic.

An animal near the back of the pack squawked and flapped its wings, but it went nowhere. The movement was merely instinct, the brain a step behind, refusing to accept what was happening.

As the rest of the birds struggled to heave themselves into the air from a standstill, Maxwell was already reaching for a second arrow, moving forward between the trees to try and get a second shot off.

Through all of this, Kieren was quiet, but he averted his gaze, cringing slightly at the gore. He understood the need to hunt, and he would not begrudge anyone that, but that didn't mean he enjoyed witnessing the gore. He hadn't cared much for violence before he'd become undead, but now it just reminded him of his time as a rabid.

He loosed the second arrow, his aim fast, but true, and a bird tumbled from the sky. It landed in a heap, flapping and squawking, and he drew a third, final, arrow to silence it. Putting it out of its misery as quickly as he could.

The rest of the geese flew fast and hard, disappearing in a flurry of feathers, their startled cries echoing in the clear sky.

Turning back to Kieren, Maxwell started to thank him for his silence, then raised an eyebrow. "Are you not fond of meat?" he asked.

It wasn't entirely unheard of, though not something he'd encountered often. He didn't begrudge anyone their preference, but he did feel bad that the man had seen it.

"Technically, I'm not fond of anything when it comes to food. Not since I died. I did like meat when I was alive, though, but I didn't really tend to see it become meat."

There was a bit of a disconnect in modern British society between food on the table and the animal it came from. He suspected that might have been less prominent during the rising, but he'd been busy...well, procuring his own meat in the most violent way possible at that time, so it wasn't like he had been fully aware of everything people were doing for food. Aside from pilfering it from grocery stores, that was, and that was mainly because he'd hunted there.

"And...well, the main period of my life where I did see that sort of thing, people were the main part of the menu, though to be honest, I hadn't realized that your hunting would remind me of that so vividly."

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When the Capitol sent her a bow in exchange for proclaiming her love for them, Clementine hadn't expected it to be so... pink. It's not that she's complaining, bow and arrows are a kingly sponsor gift, probably the most valuable she's ever gotten and actually likes pink, it was just surprising.

THen again, maybe it shouldn't be, they did the whole thing because it was Valentine's Day in the Capitol and that was a day Clementine always remembered full of pink and red.

Despite the colour the bow works perfectly and the arrows are straight and sharp. When she practiced with it they flew true, the only reason they ever missed was Clementine's own lack of skill. It wasn't all her fault, she did practice as much as she could but everytime she died it was like her body had to learn how to use the bow all over again. The mind remembered what the body didn't, that was the price of being resurrected.

Coming to the river she see's Maxwell up ahead. He has a bow as well and seems to have come here with the same idea Clem has. She decides she better not call out and risk scaring off the geese, instead walking up quietly to where he's stood, "Hey!"

She was remarkably light on her feet. Whether she'd had more practice in the arena, or the snow was simply kinder to her smaller frame, or both, as primed as Maxwell was to his surroundings since the cats had been set loose, he didn't even know the girl was creeping up on him until she was speaking to him.

It was only his quick mind and steady hand that kept him from letting an arrow fly in surprise.

Turning with a jerk, his eyes snapped down to find the familiar voice.

"Hey you," he called back, chuckling lowly as he pushed out a sharp breath as his heart tried to settle again behind his ribs. "I've got a friend who would love to meet you. You just about gave me a fit."

Well, she'd meant to be quiet, but not so quiet that she startled him. Clementine cringes but then smiles back when Maxwell doesn't seem that put out by her stealthy approach.

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare the birds away." though the geese were pretty fierce animals themselves if you got too close, not easily scared. After being hunted and eaten by Tributes the past week Clementine would have thought they would learn. "Who's your friend?"

Probably not someone actually around here, Maxweel looked pretty alone.

He didn't hold it against her. In fact, he crouched down, shifting his bow gently, so he could whisper to her, rather than at her.

"His name is Cole," he said with a small, but fond smile. "And he has quite the knack for turning up where you least expect him. You two could share tips."

"I'd like to meet him, then." she decides, still grinning,

Her eyes flicker to Maxwell's bow, "You got one too. From that Valentine's thing?" or maybe he'd scored it from the Cornucopia in the beginning, this is the first time that Clementine has seen him since the beginning.

"I don't think I truly understand the significance of the celebration, but they asked what I wanted." He shrugged gently, the tip of the arrow bobbing. "I didn't think I'd have much to lose in telling them."

He nodded down at her bow - it was different from his, pink and strangely shaped, but she held it with some confidence.

"You didn't mention you were an archer as well." His mouth curled playfully. "A noble pursuit."

"It's a day where you're supposed to do something with the person you love, give them cards and things." She made them in class once, for her parents and others.

Clementine holds up her bow, a little self-consciously. The fact it's pink doesn't bother her at all, more the fact that despite a lot of practice she was still an amateur at the skill. "I'm okay at it, I try to practice a lot. This is the first time I've got one in the arena."

"Yes," he murmured, brow wrinkling slightly. "I had heard that."

And he wondered perhaps if he had offended them by asking for something for himself. If he was supposed to have asked for something to give to someone.... But they had given him the bow in the end. And if they felt slighted that he hadn't played their game the traditional way, well, that's what they got for kidnapping people.

(The least of what they got.)

Looking back at her, his mouth turned into a small smile.

"Well, how about some practice now? You'll forgive me for saying I happen to know a thing or two, and we have targets." He gestured with one hand to the geese, waddling about the water.

Clementine hadn't even thought about the fact what she was asking for was maybe supposed to be for a friend. She'd gotten what she wanted in the end, so it had all worked out as far as she was concerned. If she'd done it wrong she probably wouldn't have gotten a thing.

"Sure!" she agrees almost immediately, "I wanted to try and catch something for dinner for me and my friends." Clem looks at the geese too, "It's probably a lot safer to go after them from far away, geese are mean. They fight back."

"Great minds think alike," he grinned.

Shifting slightly, he gestured for her to join him, low to the ground, in good line with the geese.

"Look for one that's presenting you a good target. It's tempting, I know, to try and take the head - to make it clean and quick, but that's an easy shot to miss. Especially if you've never done it before. Instead, aim for the body--" he showed her on himself, gesturing to his side, "--just before the tip of the wing. If you can take the lungs, they won't go far."

It was a grisly sort of thing to talk about, but this was in the midst of a fight to the death, and the girl had already had it in her to ask for a weapon when offered a choice of anything she wanted. So he didn't feel as bad about it as he might have otherwise.

He was sure she could handle it.

Clementine hunkers down next to Maxwell and holds her bow in front of her. She pulls out one of her pink arrows, the arrowhead vaguely heartshaped like some drunken Cupid had made it, and readied it to the string without drawing immediately.

She listens to him explain, her eyes following the movement of his hand before nodding, "Okay, I can do that." Clementine's long past the point of being screamish about something like this. Looking back at the flock she squints and decides on one goose, within her firing range and presenting its side to her.

Slowly she pulls the bowstring back, taking a deep breath in and holding it as she sets her sights on the goose's flank. When she exhales she lets the arrow fly. Her heart feels like it's in her throat waiting to see if it hits, but then the goose let's out a startled honk and it's wings beat the air. The arrow is stuck out its side.

"Did I hit it right?" she looks up at Maxwell, uncertain.

Maxwell waited quietly beside her, letting her take her time as he measured her form. She obviously practiced - her stance steady, her arms bent but controlled. He thought she took a beat too long preparing, perhaps, but her aim was on point.

It took it the air, but he knew from the way it swerved, favoring the arrow side, that it would die. It was just a matter of how long it would take.

"You got it," he told her, eyes tracking the animal as it flapped toward the treeline beyond them. "If you got both lungs, it can only travel as far as that last breathe, if the arrow only went deep enough to take one...."

The wait, and the tracking, could be a great deal longer.