Christ, what is wrong with you Southerners?

[streetsmarts]

Who| Nick, Bayard and eventually Tabris
What| Nick kills a kid, 9/10 people disapprove. Mostly Tabris.
Where| The meadows.
When| Final week.
Warnings/Notes| Child death, murder. The usual.

The weight of what can only be described as an abundance of murder doesn't weigh on Nick's shoulders much, but he mourns the loss of Ellis. That motor-mouthed asshole had a way of making the most ominous and offputting situations so painfully normal with his total disregard for context and tact when it came to storytelling. It's a lot quieter with him gone. The Arena is emptying out and it becomes more and more clear to Nick as he makes his way through it.

He's been heading back to places he's sure are more populated. He might be running low on bullets, but he has knives and a will to survive. The mud that cakes his legs is symbolic of the absolute shit he's had to wade through to make it so far. Nobody likes to compare themselves to a cockroach, but Nick is starting to see the resemblance. Zombies, sewers, Jason, Tributes gunning for a prize only one of them can win. He's seen some things, he's seen enough. He's ready to nip this in the bud and sail off into a peaceful, victorious sunset.

He's nearly there, so close he can fucking taste it through the remains of smoke in the air. The meadow is charred and miserable looking, more and more like the wasteland it ought to be rather than the fresh calender shoot it had started out to be. It's enough to make him exhale in relief, but not enough to distract him from a rustling in the distance. His hand slides into his jacket, feeling for his gun as he approaches the source of the sound.

A kid. Really. Even his gut wrenches briefly, but his hand tightens over the gun. If he doesn't kill this kid, something else will get him. Like hell is he going to let some fresh faced little punk take the win when he's clearly done the work for it. And really. He's probably going to get crushed by a mammoth and starve. Killing him is humane, but Nick's hesitation gives the child too long to notice that he's been milling around behind him. Nick tenses when he turns, but he forces himself to react and he lets his hand drop as if he'd just been scratching an itch.

"You alone, kid?" A brow quirks upward when he asks the question, his voice low and careful.

Comments

[yoknapatawpha]

Bayard's come to the meadow every day, especially as the weather heats up. When spring hits the field, it explodes into greenery and flowers, and though Bayard knows by now that everything in the dell is poisonous, he can't help but think of home when he's here. When he isn't collecting wood for the fire or checking in vain for animals to trap, he sits in the tall grass, chewing but not swallowing on a long reed and watching the sky for birds and clouds, making up stories in his head that pale in comparison to the reality he now lives in. He stays within earshot of the camp where he and Tabris and Cullen share body heat and firewood.

He hears someone coming, and he sits up, then emerges from some of the grass that covers his head when he sits and comes up to his chest when he stands. He sees Nick but not the gun, and his face brightens in a way that's warily optimistic. So far, everyone here has been kind, and Bayard's come to believe that they aren't fighting each other so much as collecting allies against the elements.

"Yes, sir. I have people over yonder, though. 'Fraid we ain't got anything to eat lately, though." They've just finished off the last of the fish they saved from the meteor shower. "You wouldn't happen to know where we might find some, would you?"

[streetsmarts]

There's something about the way Bayard's face brightens that squeezes Nick's heart a little more than he'd like to admit. It's reminiscent of Ellis and his tireless optimism, but he lacks the same emotional attachment where this kid is concerned.

See? He was right. Starving. Nick doesn't know how long this thing will drag out, but if as many people are do-good pacifists like Jason seems to believe, they could be stuck here a long, long time. Starving isn't a good way to go, a bullet to the head is a blessing. Maybe he's a little frantic, maybe he's trying to justify something selfish, but it seems like sound logic to him.

But it can wait. He can talk and placate the kid with a little more friendliness before he puts him out of his misery. "Nah. It's alright, I'm used to it." He waves him off almost airily. "Dunno, kid. I get the feeling this place has been picked dry. Never thought I'd be happy to see a goose, but damn if I don't want to see one now." Nick shakes his head, sparing a quick glance around the meadows before he sets his line of vision back on Bayard. "What's your name? How old are you?"

[yoknapatawpha]

The irony is, had Bayard known they'd managed to keep any food, he might have offered to share it with Nick. Granted, Nick ain't a lady or a youngun', but as Bayard supposes they're all in this together he can't imagine Tabris and Cullen would have minded too terribly. The idea of a greater enemy - one which you don't meet in the tall grass, one which you don't assign a face to - is an appealing one to someone who wants to believe the better of people.

"Geese are mean little bastards," Bayard says, looking a bit cheeky as he does. The small joy he gets from being able to cuss without his Granny making him chew the soap is one of the few pleasures he's found in this strange world. It brings a grin to his face, makes his cheeks puff up and redden with dimples.

"I'm Bayard Sartoris. I just turned twelve a few weeks back. You, mister?" Bayard doesn't imagine Nick's age matters much, but it seems like the right way to keep a conversation going, reciprocity.

[streetsmarts]

Surprise lights Nick's features when Bayard uses that word, but it's soon followed by a chuckle of amusement. It's the most mercifully pleased he's been with anything anyone has said this whole Arena and he can't help but shake his head like this is some after-school special.

"Geese are tasty bastards." He adds, but he doesn't entirely disagree with the sentiment. He doesn't seem at all phased by the swear, nor is he eager to tell Bayard off. He moves on with the conversation easily, as if he isn't still thinking about how heavy his gun feels. It's as if it's symbolic of his conscience at this point, but it wouldn't be the first time he threw that under a bus.

"Nick. Thirty something." There's something curt about his tone, like he isn't eager to give out information about himself. He keeps the focus on Bayard, moving onto the next question. "You been here long? Didn't see you 'round at the start. Not that.. you're all that conspicuous. You've got that going for you."

[yoknapatawpha]

"No, sir. I been here maybe two weeks now. They brought me to this queer little room full of light and painted-up people and put me in these here clothes, and then they dropped me off in the middle of a field, and some kind people have been keeping care of me since then."

It's rare that someone besides Ringo really wants to engage Bayard in a conversation, and he pounces on the opportunity, quite the chatterbox when someone wants to listen. For the most part he comes from a time when children are to be seen, not heard, and he shows respect for his Granny through obedience and piety. As he talks he emerges more from the grass, like a deer approaching a pool of water.

"I'm not that small for my age, sir. Or, I don't think I am. I suppose I wouldn't know, what with only knowing one other fellow my age."

[streetsmarts]

The more he babbles, the more like Ellis he becomes to Nick. That's a dangerous line of thinking, though. The last thing he needs is a soft spot for some kid in a place like this.

"You're small, trust me." He clarifies, addressing only the most important part of that discussion. "And you don't need to call me sir, alright? Makes me feel old and I don't need that. Don't need a lot of things, actually. Except a way out of here." He shrugs, sliding his hand further into his jacket and gripping his rifle. He can't drag it out anymore, he needs to do it and do it fast before he over thinks it.

"So, uh. Don't hold this against me." That's the last thing he says before he removes the length of the rifle from his jacket, cocking it quickly and firing it at Bayard's head. It's all done with cold efficiency and he forces himself to turn away. He needs to get out of here fast before some asshole decides to be a hero about this. It's eerily quiet without the babbling, he needs to go find a distraction.

[cw: gore, death]

[yoknapatawpha]

His mouth opens for a question, to ask what it is that he should call Nick, then, but then a bullet slams through his head, shattering and splintering skull, dragging blood and pulp out the other side. Bayard hears the rifle cock before he dies, but he doesn't interpret it, doesn't translate it into anything but sound.

The blast drags his body down, and he hits the grass with a soft thump, a hole in his forehead and a larger one out the back. His eyes seem to turn the color of dirty ice as all the life is sapped from them, until they look like nothing more than badly-polished marbles in a face that's still about to say would you prefer I call you Mr. Nick?

[allyorfoe]

A scream rips apart the air of the meadow, then another, though this one carries one word in it's distressed wail.

"BAYARD! BAYARD!"

Summoned by the sudden noise, she almost seems to appear right out of the trees, in time to see the boy fall. An elf, barely taller than Bayard himself. She barrels to the scene with an impressive speed, though Nick is ignored, not even acknowledged as she rushed to the boy laying crumpled on the ground. "Bayard! Bayard, oh, Maker, what happened?" Tabris reaches up to his forehead, comprehension not dawning as she touched the hole. What manner of magic caused this? But the result was understand readily, as she looked down to his eyes. Dead, dead and trusting and implicitly knowing that he'd be safe, because Tabris was there, because she'd protect him.

"I told you stay close." Her voice cracked, and tears blurred her eyes, carelessly blinked away. She stood there, looking lost, for a moments, staring down at the boy.

When she moved, it was without warning, leaping at Nick with that dangerous speed.

Tabris was never real good at emotions. But she was good at violence. She cried out again, but this one held not only grief, but an blood curdling inhuman rage, a berserker madness that screamed for death. No words were necessary, only the rage and fury that burnt in her veins, the urge to maim and kill. Make this man suffer, make him pay, extract his blood for the child's. Pull his skin aside and make him scream.

[streetsmarts]

If Nick's blood wasn't curdled enough from this encounter, he's feeling it now from those screams. The instant she starts, he can feel a whole mess of mixed feelings course through him. Dread and regret are among them, but adrenaline and fear are his motivators. There's nothing to be afraid of, not when he has the gun, but it's instinctive.

He uses his time to try bring some distance between them, even if it feels gutless to make a break for it while she's mourning. He doesn't get far and she's gaining on him fast, if she gets too close he's fucked. He doesn't want to go head to head with all of that rage, so he skids to a stop and aims his rifle as best he can. He fires, he fires twice and he hopes for the best.

[allyorfoe]

She runs at him, with no fear in her eyes. No fear, or recognition, when he brings the gun out. She has no idea what he's pointing at her, but if he thinks such a puny weapon will take her down, then he's got another thing--

And then it fires. She stumbles back with a startled scream of pain, looking more surprised, than anything. One hand goes to her stomach, as the pool of blood starts to soak through that stupid fucking outfit they gave her. But the rage is too deep, and once started, pain is too distant to distract her from her goal. Or at least, she thinks so. She takes another couple steps, to try to regain the momentum of the run.

Then the second shot fires, and with her face still twisted in that hateful snarl, she drops to the ground, crumpled only a dozen feet or so from Bayard.

It's too fast, and the rage is too far, for her to really grasp that she's about to die. There's only confusion, and the bitter anger that permeates her, as the blackness closes in. It's fairly quick, as deaths go, leaving Nick alone on the meadow.

[streetsmarts]

Given that he doesn't know a damn thing about her, Nick doesn't know why she's running at a gun like she's in the clear. He assumes it's anger, that she's gone fucking nuts over what just transpired. He doesn't know how close they are or aren't, he just knows that he's not about to reason with her.

His eyes are wide, brows raised up into his hairline when he fires the second shot. He's ready to cringe, but she halts her pursuit and falls before he needs to seize up.

Nick inhales slowly, drawing back to glean over the corpses before he turns on his heel and heads off into the forest. His pace is faster, doing his best to get some distance between himself and that shitshow.