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Who| Roland and Zed
What| roland tries to get a yeti drunk so he can kill it. zed happens. eventually roland falls to his death (again)
Where| in the mountains somewhere
When| last week of the arena, maybe friday or saturday
Warnings/Notes| drinking, death

He doesn't stop to doubt whether this is a good plan. It isn't. But he's working with what he's got, which happens to be: One deerhide coat, and extra scraps of hide he'd tanned along with it. Too many medical supplies. Fishing hooks and improvised cord of braided sinew. A couple of improvised shale daggers, small and, due to the type of rock he'd had to use in place of a blade, maybe likely to break if used in a fight. Alcohol. What kind he isn't sure, but by the smell it's got one hell of a kick. He hasn't drank any of it; anything Capitol gives them here Roland treats with deep suspicion, and there'd be no point to drinking this except to make himself stupid and vulnerable. He isn't so desperate as that to entertain the lazing masses watching them back in Panem, but that does not mean he is not going to use it.

So. Bad plan. Roland is aware of that. Maybe even a ridiculous one, something a certain person of his long-ago acquaintance might have laughed at, and loudly. But as with a lot of what he's done in the last couple arenas, this is an act born of need. It's been far too long, he thinks, since anything of note has happened to him here, and so far as the people of Panem are concerned their tributes are only worth anything if they can put on a show.

Roland's steps are slow, careful, measured. It isn't hard to track these things, because they aren't concerned with sneaking anywhere. It wasn't hard to slip up this mountain unnoticed, and it isn't too difficult to stay ahead of the creature he'd found. He can stay slow enough to do it, and he can stay quiet. The creature can be seen through the trees, a small speck of white, and after some observation he's sure it's going to follow this particular path.

He reaches up, stretching all six foot of him onto the tips of his toes, because these creatures are damned tall. The sinew cord, already weighted and thrown over a strong branch, is tied with neat, efficient knots around a scrap of leather, which in turn cradles a bottle that Roland is now working to open. It isn't that he is paying no attention to his surroundings. In the arenas, he pays the space around him careful attention even in his sleep. But he is not expecting to see any other tributes so far up, and in this moment, his position is vulnerable. He begins, in this awkward, tip-toed position, to get the bottle open, and the smell of it leaks instantly out into the cool mountain air.

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Zed, on the other hand, hadn't been able to resist taking a sip or two or ten when the vodka bottles had started raining down around him with their shiny silver parachutes. He'd lost count after the first ten or so bottles, and they'd just kept coming. He's got enough of his wits about him to keep carrying his gun and his sword with him, even if he's dragging a ridiculous amount of vodka behind him in a rough bag fashioned out of all the parachutes they'd come down with. Judging from the way he's grinning and swaying a little as he walks, he's feeling no pain, and he too smells very strongly of the vodka.

The sight of someone else playing with one of those vodka bottles catches his attention, and he's drunkenly striding over there weighed down by all the crap he's carrying. "Hey! What'cha doin' with that?"

Just as obvious as the other tribute's condition is Roland's reaction to it. Dismay - how in the world hadn't he heard that coming? - and disgust. Here's one who doesn't care at all about making himself weak and vulnerable where they all ought to stay sharp, and either doesn't care that he's lost his dignity playing to the cameras or doesn't realize he's done it.

Can Roland manage both these things? A stranger - possibly a violent one - and the creature that's coming? He'll have to. Because it is coming. Roland decides to handle this with honesty.

"See that spot of white over there? If it hears you and finds out we're here, it's going to tear us both apart. Be silent, if you would." He reaches up to finish tying the cord to the leather, then looks back at the man. "And pay this no mind; looks like you've got too much already."

"Ohhh? A spot of white?" Zed wobbles a little as he turns to look in that direction. "Little bit of shining white on the horizon gonna try to tear me up?" He really doesn't sound as concerned about that as he should be. "So what else is new?" Yes, he's definitely more annoyed than worried.

...the fact that he's sort of half-assedly shaking his gun in the approaching white thing's direction is also probably not helping. But at least he's ignoring the vodka in the tree. That's something.

"Oh, for your father's sake," Roland mutters, turning toward the man but not approaching. He knows better than that when someone's got a gun out, especially someone who either doesn't know or is in no state to remember one of the primary rules of using them - don't go pointing it unless you're really about to shoot.

He can't bribe this tribute, can he? More drink looks like something he's already got, and it isn't as if you can bribe someone in this state with gauze. Or even the Capitol's tiny pain-masking pills. "Listen now. If you stay quiet until that thing passes, hide behind these trees with me, I'll let you look through my things and take something. Whatever you like. If you stand here long enough that it sees you, the deal's off. Do you understand?"

Really, even sober, Zed probably wouldn't care about things like gun safety. Drunk, he somehow manages to care even less.

Zed makes his wobbly way over to where Roland's wanting to hide behind those trees. "Oh? Little bit of sharing there?" He pauses. "You got anything shiny?" But hey, at least he seems willing to strike some sort of bargain as he drags all those bottles of vodka behind him.

Roland hunkers behind the treeline, swinging off his pack and setting it open a little ways away from him. "Why don't you look and find out?" he asks it absently, looking away through the trees. What was a speck is now an actual figure, its color a uniform off-white, and even as he watches it becomes clearer how fast the thing's moving. That's its natural pace, he's fairly sure - it'd be the natural pace of anything that big.

He thinks about the size of the creature as it comes closer, then looks toward his one bottle hanging in the middle of the path. "Those bottles you've got," he says casually, because it'd be hard to hear the noise of all that dragging behind him and not know there's something glass in there. "They're more of that drink, aren't they? How many are full?"

[ooc: what zed will find in roland's pack is listed in the first paragraph of the post, but basically there's medical stuff, lots of scraps of leather, and probably lots of small rocks and mostly wrapped up fishing hooks at the very bottom]

Zed seems perfectly willing to stagger over there and paw through that bag of stuff, even if he's taking the time to scrutinize some of it like he doesn't know what the hell he's looking at. He looks back at the bottles he's dragging at the question. "I don't know how many there are, man. I only drank one, and they just kept falling and falling, kinda raining everywhere..."

At last, he seems to have found something he likes. "Hey, this rock's shining!" He triumphantly removes one of the rocks from the bag and looks drunkenly enthusiastic about it. He has also removed a fishing hook from the bag, in that it's badly stuck in his left index finger, and he hasn't seemed to notice. Thanks, vodka!

Roland eyes the man's finger, looking deeply unimpressed. That's going to get infected, he's sure. As it's neither Roland's fault nor his problem, he does not draw any attention to this fact.

Good sign, though. That drink, whatever it is, must be very strong.

"Wouldn't mind parting with a couple, would you? I'd- shh!" The creature's made a noise, slowed and tilted its head. Possible that it's gotten close enough now to hear them. Roland looks at the man across from him who, if he normally has any common sense, probably has put it to sleep for a good long while.

Roland sets his right hand over the lower half of the other man's face. The empty spaces where its first two fingers used to be leave a gap over his mouth, but hopefully that'll muffle any noises well enough. Precautions have to be taken.

Zed had so much vodka that for once in his life, the concept of sharing or giving someone to someone else wasn't entirely foreign. He could give this dude a couple of bottles, sure.

He's quickly distracted from this odd turn of thoughts by Roland clamping a hand across his face. Rather than jerking away immediately, he gives the other man a weird look...and he's laughing a little, too. This is funny. Everything's funny! Why worry about that yeti? "I'll take care of it..."

Zed holds out his left hand, palm facing outward, towards the yeti and makes a vague sort of pushing gesture. He's drunk enough that he's momentarily forgotten that he does not, in fact, have his powers, and he seems puzzled when nothing happens. He's frowning at his hand and sort of repeating the gesture a few times, like he's got a weapon that's misfiring.

Magic, while rare in his world, is not so unfamiliar that Roland does not recognize what was meant to happen, there. Some sort of projectile. A small part of his mind notes it, because that might be a very useful thing to know someday, but the rest of him's paying attention to the approaching creature. It's close enough that he can see its body language - cautious now, wary.

It's time to assess. Roland does so and decides this plan, not exactly impressive in the first place, was probably a lost cause from the moment whoever this is stumbled on him trying it. "You owe me a fight with one of these," he mutters, sounding a little resentful, then draws his hand back from the man's mouth and glances behind them for exit routes. "Time to go. Leave that," he flicks a hand toward the bag of bottles, "you can come for it later."

Zed is quite annoyed at the failure to blast the yeti away with darkness, though this quickly bleeds into more of a drunken state of confusion.

"Oh, sure, sure, I'll find one of those for you later." Zed's attempted attack gestures melt into sort of a lazy wave. And at being told to leave the vodka, well, he reaches into the bag and grabs a single bottle. No one tells him what to do, even if he's willing to leave the rest for now.

Good enough. Roland nods toward the nearest cover - a tree - and moves at a crouch toward it. They may have to move toward the thing before they can get away from it, because the only other path that isn't in the thing's line of sight is far too steep. So his movement takes him closer to the creature, even as it's almost on them. They're reaching the moment of decision now, where the slightest noise will attract its attention, and if it were only himself and the creature here Roland might not be quite so tense about that.

It's really a wonder that Zed manages to move in as straight a line as he does towards that tree, even if he still hasn't quite grasped the fact that he should be concerned about this whole oncoming yeti thing.

But wait! If he can't shoot the thing with his powers, he's still holding a gun! He's got the best idea. At least he's quiet as he drunkenly tries to take aim.

The movement catches his eye and Roland does something he would never dream of doing at almost any other time: he grabs the gun's barrel, wanting a good grip to try and keep any bullet away from him if the gun actually should go off. He moves his face directly in front of the other man's, too, widening his eyes and giving his head a quick shake. Exasperated words stay locked behind his teeth, because all this will be useless if Roland lets himself be the one to give them away.

He flings his free hand toward the tree he'd been moving to and then moves it slowly over the other man's, pulling at it in an attempt to get it off the barrel and, if it's there, wanting the other man's finger safely away from the trigger. Even if he trusted the man's aim they have no idea if anything short of a headshot can kill the creature, and this isn't the right angle for that. Roland tries to communicate some of this with his face. If he had enough patience to do it, after this arena the entire tribute tower would be getting gun safety lessons.

Grabbing the gun like that only seems to amuse Zed--he's just not used to people telling him no, only it's funny right now instead of annoying--and so he makes a face right back at Roland. At least he's not feeling particularly aggressive after drinking that much vodka.

And what, Roland wants the gun for his yeti fight that he claims Zed owes him? Sure, whatever, Zed's still got that sword belted to his waist. He likes it better anyway. He'll suddenly let go of the gun, because he's too drunk to care that doing so is probably a stupid move.

Roland, of course, stumbles back. He catches himself, but not before his stumbling rustles the bushes. The creature, now a couple seconds away from being within arm's reach, turns its head. Roland gets down, letting himself fall back and wrapping a hand around the closest part of the other man's clothing to try and pull him down too. If he were alone, if these damned mountains were as isolated as they ought to be - well, nevermind. He'll be grateful enough if the other man stays quiet.

It's easy enough to pull Zed down, pretty much because his balance is so bad at this point in his life. He falls, somehow manages to miss falling on Roland...and then decides that this just keeps getting funnier. Of all the things to worry about, this guy's worrying over a yeti.

Don't mind him, Roland, he's just going to lie there on his back and start laughing his head off if he's not stopped.

Roland hurries to roll toward the man to try and shut him up, ends up half-sprawled over him with a hand pressed - again - over his mouth. Roland bares his teeth at him in an angry, warning look, and he's half convinced now he'd be better off picking the man up and just tossing him onto the monster, but he'll save that until there really is no other choice.

For now he just risks moving the hand from the man's mouth to grab onto his shirt and try to drag him over the ground, pushing himself along on bent knees and pulling with the elbow of the other arm, the one still holding the gun. He's listening for any sign of attack, listening hard, but he isn't going to risk breaking cover to see. Chances they're going to get out of this - well. If the monster on the other side of those bushes is extraordinarily stupid, they might have a chance. Maybe.

Zed has already managed to accidentally skewer his own finger with a fishing hook without noticing and give his gun to Roland also without noticing. Throwing him at the yeti just might be doing him a favor.

But Zed is still drunk enough to think that someone trying to drag him, the Emperor of Darkness, around by his shirt, so he will continue both to let Roland drag him and to giggle softly at how this is all going. "You worry too much."

Okay, so maybe he shouldn't be talking, but at least he's not yelling.

Not yelling, but it stretches what luck they've had a little too far. Roland hears a hint of a growl, a noise a little too close, and rolls, trying to haul the giggling idiot out of the creature's range. It crashes through the thick bushes, lunging, and he swings the gun around-

It's in his right hand. The gun. It's in his right hand.

He almost gets caught in staring at his hand, looking astounded at its existence, but his training is too deep in him to allow that. Thankfully. Roland wouldn't be able to think of his old teacher, who spent so many years on him, without cringing if that's how he died, with that stupid, surprised look at his own mistake.

His one trigger finger is currently wound into the other tribute's shirt. It is too late to switch to it. His right hand jerks, lets its grip go, and the gun slams directly into the middle of the thing's face. Roland hears a crack and doesn't stick around to watch it howl; he scrambles up, mustering his will to yank the idiot up, too. Very tempting to leave him, more than tempting now, but even after everything Roland is still a gunslinger, and will not take the cowardly way out just to save his own skin. "Up!" he snarls, because whatever time he gained will in roughly half a second be gone.

Woah. Hey. That sure is a big, hairy thing coming crashing through the bushes at them. Something kind of cuts through Zed's vodka fog to let him know that he should probably maybe possibly do something, maybe. There's another hasty "why are my powers not working, come on" gesture at it, but there is no time to wonder why that still isn't working.

But at least he scrambles to his feet, even if he's still kind of wobbly with it. He also decides to help once he sees the gun slam into the yeti's face, and he hurls his bottle of vodka at it.

Sure, he's aiming with the aim of a profoundly drunk man, but it's the thought that counts. He's helping!

So far as Roland's concerned, he can help by running. But maybe it wouldn't help anyway, if the man even could - Roland saw for himself how fast that thing can move. Very few things would help at this point, including that vodka bottle, which sails smoothly over the creature's shoulder. "Your sword! Force it back!" He flings a hand toward the creature, trying to show which 'it' he means, as he moves away from the other tribute.

Circle around, give the creature two separate targets instead of one - and if the other tribute does force it back that empty bottle is lying in just the right place to trip it up. If that works, if they're very lucky, Roland will be able to get the gun back and end this as he ought to have a moment ago - would have, if he hadn't been stupid enough to keep holding it in the wrong hand. If he can get to that gun, they'll be alright.

"Oh, right, right!" Zed unsheathes that sword, even if he's really wobbly when it comes to waving it around. He's still got enough experience with the sword that he's at least not completely incompetent, and it's enough to start forcing the yeti back. "That's right, go back to wherever you came from." Granted, he probably can't keep this up for long with that wobble.

It's enough, though, for the creature to stumble over the empty bottle, and while it tries to catch its balance Roland takes what little chance he's now got and goes for the gun. It's not enough. The thing's caught its balance too quickly and lunges for him, bent over, arms outstretched. He jerks back, once again away from the gun, and wonders how injured he'll end up being if he tries to fight this thing with his bare hands.

It occurs to Zed that he can so take on this creature. He's got a sword and he's the Emperor of Darkness and he is so, so very drunk right now. Still brandishing the sword, he gives off a yell and rushes the creature, leaps at it--

--and somehow, through some combination of dumb luck and drunken decision making skills ends up on its back, triumphantly waving the sword in the air. The yeti seems less than pleased with this development, and it seems to be trying to throw him or to find another target to unleash its anger on. "Oi!" he yells at Roland, "Gonna get you that fight I owe you!"

The thought Roland finds himself with, unwillingly, is, The Capitolites are going to love this.

They will.

Well, at least it distracts the creature before it can grab him - except, in its angry flailing, it grabs him anyway, only by an ankle instead of by his face, as it'd probably been intending before the other tribute's little 'attack'. Roland goes very quickly from sprawled on the ground to dangling in the air, and by some miracle as he's being shaken one hand manages to grab hold of the gun, and one of his fingers - keeping the gun very carefully pointed down - manages to pull its trigger.

Blood and bone from the thing's foot spray over Roland's face and his body tilts sideways again as the thing screams and stumbles, taking long, lurching steps in the one direction Roland has so far avoided. If he tilts his head back he can see where the ground ends, and the only thing beyond is empty air.

As the yeti flails, it throws Zed off of its back and into a nearby bush. He's just sort of lying there upside down stuck in said bush as he watches Roland's fight with it. "Try shooting it again!" he yells helpfully.

This has gone very wrong, very quickly. Roland has time for this thought. He is not precisely sure how, although he is sure the Capitolites will be only too happy to tell him, and in fairly short order. Roland can recognize when a situation is unsalvagable.

Still, he tries. Giving up is one skill he has never quite perfected. Hell, maybe he's made enough of a mess of this that the gamemakers will bring him back for another arena solely for the amusement value, and things will turn out alright regardless.

One hand takes his necklace in a tight grip, locks it there so as to make sure that particular hand will never open again, because if that treasured gift falls over his head now he is likely never getting it back. "GO FUCK YOURSELF!" he yells, loud as he can so that damned drunken mess lying wherever he'd been dropped will hear it. Then he shoots.

His old skills are still good, and even while being shaken and with all the blood rushing to his head, the bullet hits the thing's wrist and it very quickly loses its grip on Roland's ankle. It drops him, screaming anew, and he wraps an arm around its leg as he passes by.

It's the longest fall he's had in his time in Panem, but only by a little, and with some luck he ends up moving fast enough that the cameras won't be able to pick up his noises of fear.

He is falling headfirst. In actual, measurable time, things are over this time for Roland fairly quickly.

Zed doesn't seem to care that Roland's upset with him at this point, and he's swaying and laughing a little bit at all the commotion. He drags himself to peer over the side of that cliff just in time to hear the cannon go off. "Shoulda brought a parachute!" he yells helpfully after Roland.

With that, it's time to go after the rest of his vodka stash, at which point, his all-too-human liver is finally going to give up on him. Good job, Zed, good job.

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