Roland Deschain (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ka_sera_sera) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
thearena2015-02-24 04:58 pm
ka_sera_sera) wrote in thearena2015-02-24 04:58 pm
Entry tags:
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Who| Roland and you?
What| crochety old cowboy makes a fire, terrorizes some birds, and drops things out of a tree
Where| in a small cave, then near the river outside the caves and in the pine forest/cornucopia field
When| before and during the cave bloodbath thing
Warnings/Notes| nothing yet
a.
The cold by this point isn't really a surprise. When it starts Roland's managed to find a little cave to settle into, and wills himself to be as still as possible to use less energy. Still, sometimes he has to venture out to find firewood, head down, spare pieces of leather wrapped around every possible bit of exposed skin. He moves carefully, trying to focus more on the cold than on the vague memories it brings. Somehow Susannah is the gone friend Roland finds himself missing the most often, and before he dismisses the thought, he wonders if he'll ever get used to surviving arenas on his own without her. If he's lucky, he won't.
Later, he makes a fire. It's got to be near the cave's entrance, so he picks a time there's less wind. It's either let the smoke be visible or let it choke the whole of the cave, because the heat is something he does not want to risk doing without. If that attracts attention? Well. At least a fight would give him something to do.
b.
By the time he loses his handy cave spot it's gotten warmer, though he's in no state of mind to appreciate it. Voices he doesn't recognize move by, followed swiftly by voices he does, other tributes calling out names he doesn't recognize. Even before one of those unfamiliar voices swings around and changes, starts calling out to him in tones far too familiar, it's pretty clear that something is wrong.
Using their families against them is an old trick even for the gamemakers, something they've done before. Can he keep that in mind as Alain's young, strong voice calls out to him, ends in an abrupt choking noise he remembers even better than he'd thought? As a young woman cries out to him in pain, as he shivers and realizes he's gripping the stone of his necklace so hard its chain is digging into the back of his neck? He tries.
Even a long while and a few voices later, he knows it's a ploy. It's only that he forgets he's been trying to stay out of whatever trap that's being laid, springs up even as a boy's cry echoes off the walls around him. "Go then," says the boy, sounding calm and resigned and Roland shoots to his feet, scoops up a handful of dust and pebbles and gives a huge, wordless yell, flinging them at where the voice came from. There's a squawk, sounding odd after all the human tones, and the bird launches itself away, flapping in startled circles for a second before going for the cave entrance.
"Yah!" he yells, and chases it out. Come pass by and watch him, a lanky figure highstepping through the river, yanking his long legs up and over the snow to try and keep up with the bird's pace. He yells things like "h'yah!" mixed with the stuttering, stilted mess the chip in his head turns his own language into, though the occasional "thee, wicked spirit" and "heed my order!" does make its way through, punctuated by rock flinging and a good deal of wordless yells.
He throws another rock and it hits with a crack. A bird falls, and the others around it start squawking even more loudly, milling around in confusion. Come pass by and witness: Panem's newest, angriest scarecrow runs through a field waving his arms, yelling incoherently and really freaking out a small flock of jabberjays. He's doing good work.
c.
It's later that day and he feels tired, wrung out. He drags his feet through the forest, looking thoughtfully up at the trees, and eventually tries to make his slow, weary way up one. When he tries to settle on a spot where a few strong branches spread from the trunk of a thick tree something slips from his backpack - a first aid kit, judging by the sound of it hitting the branches below. When he sits up to try and see, one of the thin, soaked, battered things that used to be Ugg boots snags on a twig and slips right off his foot, falling quickly out of reach.
Roland gives a loud, heavy sigh, and lets his head fall back. He might be able to do without one, but he sure as shit needs to go down and retrieve the other.
This has been a wonderful day.
What| crochety old cowboy makes a fire, terrorizes some birds, and drops things out of a tree
Where| in a small cave, then near the river outside the caves and in the pine forest/cornucopia field
When| before and during the cave bloodbath thing
Warnings/Notes| nothing yet
a.
The cold by this point isn't really a surprise. When it starts Roland's managed to find a little cave to settle into, and wills himself to be as still as possible to use less energy. Still, sometimes he has to venture out to find firewood, head down, spare pieces of leather wrapped around every possible bit of exposed skin. He moves carefully, trying to focus more on the cold than on the vague memories it brings. Somehow Susannah is the gone friend Roland finds himself missing the most often, and before he dismisses the thought, he wonders if he'll ever get used to surviving arenas on his own without her. If he's lucky, he won't.
Later, he makes a fire. It's got to be near the cave's entrance, so he picks a time there's less wind. It's either let the smoke be visible or let it choke the whole of the cave, because the heat is something he does not want to risk doing without. If that attracts attention? Well. At least a fight would give him something to do.
b.
By the time he loses his handy cave spot it's gotten warmer, though he's in no state of mind to appreciate it. Voices he doesn't recognize move by, followed swiftly by voices he does, other tributes calling out names he doesn't recognize. Even before one of those unfamiliar voices swings around and changes, starts calling out to him in tones far too familiar, it's pretty clear that something is wrong.
Using their families against them is an old trick even for the gamemakers, something they've done before. Can he keep that in mind as Alain's young, strong voice calls out to him, ends in an abrupt choking noise he remembers even better than he'd thought? As a young woman cries out to him in pain, as he shivers and realizes he's gripping the stone of his necklace so hard its chain is digging into the back of his neck? He tries.
Even a long while and a few voices later, he knows it's a ploy. It's only that he forgets he's been trying to stay out of whatever trap that's being laid, springs up even as a boy's cry echoes off the walls around him. "Go then," says the boy, sounding calm and resigned and Roland shoots to his feet, scoops up a handful of dust and pebbles and gives a huge, wordless yell, flinging them at where the voice came from. There's a squawk, sounding odd after all the human tones, and the bird launches itself away, flapping in startled circles for a second before going for the cave entrance.
"Yah!" he yells, and chases it out. Come pass by and watch him, a lanky figure highstepping through the river, yanking his long legs up and over the snow to try and keep up with the bird's pace. He yells things like "h'yah!" mixed with the stuttering, stilted mess the chip in his head turns his own language into, though the occasional "thee, wicked spirit" and "heed my order!" does make its way through, punctuated by rock flinging and a good deal of wordless yells.
He throws another rock and it hits with a crack. A bird falls, and the others around it start squawking even more loudly, milling around in confusion. Come pass by and witness: Panem's newest, angriest scarecrow runs through a field waving his arms, yelling incoherently and really freaking out a small flock of jabberjays. He's doing good work.
c.
It's later that day and he feels tired, wrung out. He drags his feet through the forest, looking thoughtfully up at the trees, and eventually tries to make his slow, weary way up one. When he tries to settle on a spot where a few strong branches spread from the trunk of a thick tree something slips from his backpack - a first aid kit, judging by the sound of it hitting the branches below. When he sits up to try and see, one of the thin, soaked, battered things that used to be Ugg boots snags on a twig and slips right off his foot, falling quickly out of reach.
Roland gives a loud, heavy sigh, and lets his head fall back. He might be able to do without one, but he sure as shit needs to go down and retrieve the other.
This has been a wonderful day.