Underneath It All, We're Just Savages [Closed]

[pimpcanes]

WHO| Tom and Luke and Beth, Tom and the Psiioniic, Tom and Albert and Arya
WHAT| Tom gets injured during the patch game, kills a troll, and runs afoul of a cyborg.
WHERE| Throughout the forest near the lake.
WHEN| Week 3-4
WARNINGS| Death and violence.



I. Luke and Beth

The patch-capture seems almost quaint, the juxtaposition of the playful nature of the rules and the murderous stakes of the winnings as comical and twee as the cross between a death festival and the name "Hunger Games". Tom finds no small amount of amusement in it, and by early morning has convinced Arya to take part in it with him. The two of them sweep their way through the forest, the portrait of amiability. If it weren't for the knife that Tom carries in his palm, playing idly with, and the matching one that Arya's equipped with, they might look like a man taking his granddaughter for a stroll through a particularly wet and clammy winter.

That is, of course, until they hear others in the wood. From there they hunker down, alert, predatory, near hungry despite having been fed many times over from the generous Sponsor gifts and Molotov's hunts. At the moment there are figures moving through a snowy dell north of them, and to the east of them in the marsh.

"You manage the ones up north, will you, lass? We'll rendezvous here when the sun sets." He watches Arya go, impressed time and again with the girl's spunk and competence, before heading towards the marsh, keeping careful track of which trees he's passing so he can find his way back here when dusk comes. He could follow his footprints, but he doesn't trust the Gamemakers not to change them. They likely could change the trees too, but that seems more effort than would be useful. He's sure the Gamemakers find his rapport with Arya charming at best, harmless at worst.

He sees a blonde head of hair in the marsh, and he doesn't announce his presence. He pulls the knife out and moves near-silently through the snow-weighted bushes behind her.


II. Psiioniic and III. Albert and Arya

The end of the patch game really means very little to Tom; he plans to continue as he has with Molotov and Arya, and has put in his best effort not to let the stab wound in his shoulder slow him down. It's difficult, of course - the swelling has made it hard to sleep or to properly grip a knife with his right hand - but he only complains when Molotov's ears are sympathetic. As soon as Molotov mentions that they haven't done all that much killing this Arena, Tom shuts right up and sulks at the corner of their camp like a wet cat.

It's this insecurity, this gutting knowledge of his own uselessness, that drives him to spend longer each day looking for someone to kill and rob. It doesn't sit well with him to be both in pain and without an earned reputation to soothe it, nor does it settle peacefully in his stomach to have had such an uneventful Arena. He goes into the woods with his blade and a cudgel fashioned from a felled tree, made almost entirely unrecognizable by a ski mask and his heavy parka, hat and scarf.

He sees someone hunched over a part of the river that hasn't frozen over, collecting water, and he slips forward, looking not entirely unlike a panther moving through jungle reeds. He hopes to be silent, but the ground under him has different ideas for him.

As soon as the ice beneath his feet crackles and announces his presence, he swings the cudgel at his victim's head like a baseball bat.

Comments

II

[biiowiired]

Psii had volunteered himself to run errands, since his cavemates were both injured. He took only his knives, parka, some of his reed-woven rope, and a fire-starting kit in case something prevented him from returning to shelter.

Psii was on alert for enemies, but he still didn't expect anyone to get this close before he noticed. If the ice hadn't announced Tom's presence, Psii would have been out in an instant. Psii ducked at the sound. The cudgel caught his horn, cracking it, and Psii's head split with pain. He cried out, dropping the leftover food packaging he was using as a water holder and hurling himself to the side on instinct. His parka kept him warm enough to still be somewhat fast.

His eyes watered as his head rang, but he was too busy drawing the stone knife at his hip. He scuttled towards the shore where there was less chance of being thrown in the water. Psii was tall, but not a heavyweight. It was hard to tell where exactly the shore was, given the snow. His eyes were wide, not from fear, but from a subconscious wish to optic blast his attacker. His dark lips peeled back from his fangs as he hissed, brandishing his knife.

It occurred to him to try intimidating the human away now that the element of surprise was gone, but it didn't occur to him to try talking his way out of a fight. He wasn't a pacifist; he was an overly paranoid troll covered in a map of scars. Violence was commonplace for him, and death was cheap.

III

[silberfuchs]

The second the cudgel does swinging, Albert throws up his arm to block it and sweeps the water container with his other hand, sending frigid snowmelt across Tom's body. The crack on the ice had merely been a warning to the other man's strike. His approach on the other hand, Albert had been aware of for a short while. The older man's pale eyes may not be adjusting well to the brightness of the sun on snow, but his hearing more than makes up for it and always has, especially when he's actively listening to what's going on around him. It would be foolish not to in the Arena.

It's a welcome realization that his attacker is Tom Cassidy, though, made apparent by the mustache peeking through the gaps between the scarf and ski mask. Albert won't have any inner moral dilemma over the resulting fight at least.

The blow of the cudgel against his metal arm is jarring to Albert's flesh and blood shoulder but it still stops the weapon, allowing the cyborg to twist in such a way that will send it sliding off his cuff. The water will do little, unless he got lucky and it seeped into the parka, but he's quick to bring the metal bottle up and aim a blow to the man's face on the heels of his first useless counterattack.

[schnapp]

With so many people in their group, it's always a struggle to keep everyone fed. She knows that Daryl and Rick want her to stay behind, they try to tell her that they'll look out for her like they always do. But Beth doesn't want that, she wants to be able to pull her weight. And she does, gathering water and whatever animals she can possibly hunt with some snares that Daryl taught her and a knife.

She's been taught to keep her guard up, but the whistling of the wind makes for a great distraction, and she doesn't quite notice the man approaching her until it's nearly too late. Beth's shriek echoes in the landscape around her, hand already going for her own knife. Maybe not fast enough, though.