thearena | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only