thearena | [open] Wood and stone will fall away

Entry tags:

[open] Wood and stone will fall away

Who| Phil Gray and open!
What| Week 2 Catchall with various prompts
Where| Everywhere except the Castle (ha ha no)
When| During Week 2
Warnings/Notes| None at the moment!

A. The Village

Getting Linden's parachute was a godsend, as Phillip unwrapped the package and read the note. He chuckled a little at the "noble angle" snipe, it sure didn't feel like that. That would imply that Gray had done more to prevent the murders instead of just covering them up. Well, better late than never, the former guard sighed out and stuffed what he could into his makeshift bag. He'd seen the mess that comes from getting too close to powered Tributes, a legitimate threat this time around, and he had turned into old instincts to keep off the beaten path. Survived this long to get blasted? No thanks.

But none of that, nor the temporary beauty that came with every sunset gave the Phone Guy any comfort that this was anything but the death match he knew and resigned himself to. Nowhere was this more evident in the way tried to sneak into the Village. He'd heard inklings about ghosts roaming the Castle and catacombs at night...and just maybe...

"No, I won't find them here," Phil assured himself as he made a quick lasso for any emergencies. Who "they" were was known to a select few but for being merely memories, they sure weighed a lot in his mind.

Focus on finding Clementine and Sandy, make sure they're safe, figure out the rest later. Raiding caches was distasteful, yes, but if the Capitol wants to see how far Phillip Gray could go to meet those goals, then he'll do his best to give them a show.

B. The Village Part Deux For Firo

If Gray was good at something, it was keeping a level head through stressful situations, and raiding had to be listed as one of those sorts. But keeping the rats at bay just reminded him of the dumpsters out back from Freddy's. The stink was just as bad anyways but not too unfamiliar. Either way, there was food here and nothing a little brush of the hand couldn't fix so he could store it away. By now though, Phil had no issue with keeping the small folding knife somewhere close, ready to defend himself.

Prochainezo said he was going to help me, he thought as he bit into a piece of the rations he had for himself. The other? Stored away for any young or hungry Tribute he ran into that wouldn't try to kill him. What? It might be his second Arena but he's not about to give up being who he is for the bloodshed.

Even if it kills him.

"Firo?" Phil peeked into an adjacent building, hoping Firo wasn't playing him after all this time.

C. Wild Card! Pick whatever you'd like to do!

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These conditions are downright tolerable compared to what Daryl's accustomed to living in, and the efficiency with which he's learned to survive enables him to have much of the arena layout mapped by the second week, while fully expecting it to be changing as the days pass. New areas may be revealed, established areas may be altered, and the introduction of additional threats is guaranteed. A predictable pattern of events that he and Rick have accounted for by keeping their camp mobile this time around — which they share with the little mage, Vivi, whom Daryl had literally swept up and carried with them during the mad dash away from the Cornucopia. Beth regrettably hadn't been as lucky, and that loss still aches despite the transitory nature of death in arenas.

Their latest campsite isn't far from the village. As Daryl carefully makes his way through the dilapidated buildings, he's relieved to find the area largely devoid of other tributes. Presumably the majority of them are sheltering within the castle, which is all the more reason for his small group to keep their distance, aside from those brief, scavenging treks through it.

It's the parachute that immediately catches his eye and alerts him to the presence of another tribute nearby. Instinctively crouching closer to the ground, he creeps cat-like around the edge of the building to get a better look, his attire — the hooded robe of a monk, with simple cords at the waist and upper arms — aiding his stealth. A makeshift pack secured to his back with rope holds his current haul from the village, but it's light enough to not impede his movements. The other tribute has his back to Daryl, and he's halfway to reaching for the long knife hanging at his waist when recognition strikes him.

It's the hair, of course. Then that unmistakable voice.

Pulling back his hood, he rises from his crouching position and cautiously steps into view. There aren't many people he'd reveal himself for, but Phillip's given the impression of being genuinely decent — the sort of person Daryl's willing to risk helping.

"Oughtta be more careful," he says by way of greeting, voice low. "You alone out here?"

Edited 2015-06-06 10:19 (UTC)

Daryl's voice caused Phillip to immediately jump in surprise and almost dropped the precious gift from his Mentor. While they had themselves an awkward flirt or two in the Crowning, hair patting included, the Arenas were always something different, there were lives at stake. "I-I know...like I told you, I'm not exactly built for survival, now am I?" he tried to be a bit jokey, to ease tensions, as the looming dread of Battle Royal Panem edition clung to them. But in those chocolate eyes and the smile he gave the redneck, there was a haunted look, a man carrying eleven dead children and countless coworkers who were not careful or didn't heed his warnings.

"I-I am, just making sure the, uh, the kids have caches of food and supplies around, you know?" If there was any doubt of Phil's sincere drive to aid those he failed to protect, putting his neck on the line for their well-being was certainly compelling evidence.

"Yeah, I remember."

Unfortunately. The Crowning mess had been facilitated almost entirely by alcohol and remnants of a past probably better forgotten, the memory of which is enough to cause Daryl to duck his head and glance away in obvious embarrassment, that strange look in Phillip's eyes only making it worse. What could he say? Should he apologise for being an asshole? It doesn't seem like the time or place to discuss it.

The mention of caches has him looking back up, surprised. That's a smart move, and not the sort of thing he'd expect a former night guard to know to do. Eyes narrowed in suspicion, he begins edging closer to Phillip, explaining, "Been doin' the same thing for my people. And I've noticed someone's been poachin' a few of those caches. Don't s'pose you know anything about that?"

"I-It's okay, I had fun," Phil's smile was just a bit brighter, less troubled, right up until Daryl talks about the caches...Phone Guy's full of surprises, but he knows he might have stolen one of those collections.

"Ah shit, one of those might have been me, sorry." And even with the ridiculous setting and the implied ruthlessness of the Hunger Games, he apologizes. "It's now in the, uh, blacksmith's, I think it's in one of the overturned pots."

And some of the dead rats that kept the scavengers at bay. Sanitation is everything in food preparation, Phil told himself, a vestigial memory of working in a restaurant but not exactly enjoying the reality of having to kill anything to survive, even the vermin.

A corner of his mouth quirks upward in a smirk, effectively giving away his ruse — he isn't actually mad. There's also the fact he isn't reaching for a weapon. Hell, if Phillip really had raided one of Daryl's caches in order to help kids, it's fine by him. He's ensured there's more than enough for Rick, Vivi, and himself should any of them get separated from each other and need the help.

"'m messin' with you, man. Keep it. It's good you're lookin' out for those kids." While he speaks he's continually surveying their surroundings, alert and increasingly uncomfortable about being out in the open like this. Too much like being a sitting target. If their conversation isn't cut short soon, he figures they ought to get moving, maybe slip into one of the abandoned buildings. He glances back at Phillip, his expression solemn. "And who's lookin' out for you?"

Somebody outside of the arena, judging by the sponsor gift. It's something. Won't be nearly enough to survive on, though.

Phil doesn't miss the way Daryl's eyes are looking over the environment and he nudged his head over to the nearest structure, walking along the paths laid out by hundreds of ghostly feet.

"Erm," the question caught Gray off guard. Aside from Linden and Firo, there wasn't much Phil could fall back on, but he was used to it. The lonely night shift gave the man some level of resigned acceptance to isolation, to being attacked the moment he got too comfortable. But it had been the displays of power in this round that the former guard meant to avoid. Just as Dandy predicted in the previous Arena, he'd be cannon fodder if he wasn't careful.

"Does myself count as an answer? I'm used to it."

Daryl easily falls into step beside him, and automatically takes point upon entering the squalid building, moving in first and carefully stepping through the clutter to check around corners, wanting to ensure they're alone. He's been in the area for a while and made note of every building he saw other tributes duck into or out of, and none had been through here; still, better safe than sorry.

Returning to stand near Phillip, sympathy tempers his skepticism. "Yeah, it counts." For how much is debatable, but he doesn't want to insult him. And though Daryl may have been pretty damn shitfaced when he'd claimed he would have helped Phillip last arena, he had meant it, which is what prompts his offer now. "I got a camp with a couple others," he starts, his voice pitched low enough that it won't carry, "good people. Ones I trust with my life." The weight of his focus is on Phillip, his look full of meaning, his blue eyes sharp. "Can I trust you?"

Of course he can lie. Daryl's taking a page from Rick's book — asking a question mainly to see how the person reacts, and measuring their answer against that.

Phillip looked at Daryl straight in the eye when he nodded, "Yes you can." He may have royally screwed up in the past but this was different, he was making sure those he cared about made it as far as they could. Above everything though, is that Phone Guy's word was binding; if he could keep quiet about the murders and the animatronics' homicidal tendencies for five years, what's an alliance in this world? More so when it was with someone he could trust back?

"How can I help?" the question was his way of bartering supplies, one more mouth to feed was always a strain even in the best of circumstances.

After several long moments of scrutiny, the tense line of Daryl's shoulders relaxes marginally and he nods in turn, willing to accept the answer for what it is. Doesn't mean he'll let his guard down just like that, certainly not when Rick and Vivi's lives are also at stake, but he wants to give Phillip a chance. Wants to believe there are still good people, like Beth said.

"Another pair of eyes'n ears at camp'd be a real help. Means I could go huntin' more. Animals," he clarifies, knowing that in an arena especially that distinction is needed. "Ain't gotta be a one-way street. You help us, we'll help you."

Food surprisingly hasn't been an issue yet, between gifts from sponsors and what they've managed to snare and hunt in the woods. When and if things do become more dire, he probably won't hold it against Phillip if he decides to cut and run for his own sake, but — if he stays, Daryl will do his best to keep him protected and fed, just as he would anyone from his group. These alliances aren't made lightly.

"Got any unfinished business here, or wanna head back with me now?"

"Just one more thing," Phil quickly hurried to the nearest table, and grabbed the nearest iron pot from the scenery. As with all the other caches, he stores the small wares under the pot and makes sure to carve out an arrow on it. The next Tribute to stumble into this building would get a pleasant if stale surprise. "All right then, now I'm ready," Gray nodded towards Daryl and kept his knife closed but out for any emergency encounters. He knows that he's breaking rule 1 of survival but he can't find it in his heart to care.

"You're lucky I don't sleep much then, I'll keep the night watch." If there is a friend Phone Guy can help, they're stuck with him for better or worse.

With that last cache hidden, Daryl nods them forward and slips out of the building first, his sliding gait enabling his steps to be soundless. He begins to lead them on an indirect route back through the village, just in case any other tributes are watching.

"Guy who shot you last arena, the one who was shootin' up kids... We ran into him a few days ago," he states matter-of-factly, keeping his voice low, and glances at Phillip to gauge his reaction to the news. "He won't be troublin' no one now." Something he's sharing in the interest of full disclosure. Killing District 7's Nick had been fully justified, righteous vengeance as far as Daryl's concerned, but he's well aware that doesn't sit right with some people. Phillip ought to know what he's getting himself into, and ultimately this is just preparing him for meeting Rick.

With Vivi somewhat dependent on them and Beth absent, their group dynamic has naturally shifted to become a partnership. It's a change that Daryl's come to prefer to the alternative, not only because it spares Rick from shouldering the heavy burden of leadership alone, but because it's made Daryl feel as though they're truly equals. Introducing Phillip into the mix may further change the group dynamic, but they'll cross that bridge when they come to it; Daryl understands Rick's need to be in control probably better than Rick himself does.

Phil's reaction was of surprise, as with any death of a person he knows, but neutral, "He should have known better." Though Nick had some purpose in killing off his fellow Tributes, there was no way to stomach or justify murdering a child or a Districtmate that had done nothing to deserve it. He saw the way he killed that Southern boy, Bayard was the name, execution style, the man had his mind on ending things quick.

Vengeance was something that Phil could get behind, he had his own target and to tell anyone that it was wrong would make him a hypocrite. With that, Gray kept his eyes on the horizon, "He wasn't so lucky this time around."

He'd never met Rick Grimes in person, just on the screen as the ever-present companion to Daryl...possibly married but no one's had the gall to tell them. Except that one time in the Crowning.

"Killin' people like he did, 'm sure he coulda guessed the consequences."

Daryl had gotten the impression Nick's murder spree hadn't been anything personal, but that hardly made it any easier to stomach. But since he and Rick had effectively evened the score as far as their own personal vendettas were concerned, if Nick let them be from now on, Daryl would be inclined to extend the same courtesy. Hell, he'd even sort of liked the guy before everything went to shit, and the fact he's apparently Ellis's ally means he can't be all bad. Maybe.

"Rick won't be expectin' me to bring home any strays," he admits as he pauses at the corner of a building, peering around it to make sure the way is clear. Then he's moving forward again, checking on Phillip every so often to see that he's keeping up well enough. "Won't be real friendly. Just mind what you say. And try not to spook the horses."

Unfriendly may be something of an understatement, as Phillip will be finding out for himself shortly. Daryl's prepared to vouch for him, insofar as he can — and possibly also mention that past offer to make him and Rick a pizza. It'd be something nice to look forward to after they've escaped this bullshit.

"Trust me, this stray is low maintenance...I just need somewhere I can rest my head," Gray assured him, his strides strong and keeping up his new ally.

"Wait, you have horses?" that may have perked the night guard's curiosity, "You managed to wrangle some?" Holy shit these were practically professional Tributes if they managed that much. "I-I'll try to be honest at least," he tried to placate Dixon's worries, "I know some first aid if you guys need some."

He knows that no alliance is struck without the other part giving something back.

"Weren't nothin'. Just gotta let 'em know they can trust ya, that you're worth trustin'," Daryl says dismissively of the horses (though the same could be said of Rick and Vivi). "First aid's always welcome. I got some basic, practical knowledge, but that's about it."

Once they're drawing nearer to camp, he gives a sharp whistle, the sound well-nigh indistinguishable from a bird call, but one whose meaning Rick will hopefully understand: Daryl's back, and not alone. He hasn't had much occasion to use this exact variation of a signal before, but trusts that Rick will still remember it and not shank Phillip in alarm.

Their current camp is still within the woods, but not as deep as it had been earlier in the arena, due to a desperate incident involving a murderous tree and a mysterious fireball, which they'd barely managed to escape thanks to Vivi's magic. Discussions have been ongoing about trying their luck in one of the abandoned buildings in the village, but Daryl isn't fully sold on the idea yet. They'd need to explore the area more thoroughly first, and secure it, which is exactly what he's been doing over the last several days inbetween hunting and seeing to general camp maintenance (thankfully there's little laundry), and taking his turn as sentry so Rick and Vivi can rest.

A fire pit dominates the center of camp, with a pot of stew situated in such a way and it's kept hot, the savoury aroma of it wafting throughout the area. A tent is mostly hidden in the brush, miscellaneous supplies surrounding it, and a pair of nervous horses are quietly whickering to each other nearby, both secured to a tree on rope leads long enough to permit grazing and access to the makeshift water trough. Both creatures are on alert and flick their ears forward at the sound of footsteps approaching.

Daryl steps into the clearing first, and quickly explains, "Brought a friend," before he shrugs off his pack and holds it in a hand as he retrieves a couple hatchets from it, tossing them toward the collection of weapons off to the side of the fire. The handle of their original hatchet had splintered the other day, so he figures a backup this time couldn't hurt. Half-turning to look back at Phillip, he motions him forward so introductions can be made.

There was no mistaking the sound heralding the pair's return; after all, it had been Daryl who'd introduced Rick to their current method of communication, building on the foundations he'd laid with his brother. It was quick and effective, and had the added benefit of privacy, which was increasingly rare nowadays. While this may not have been one of their more common calls, Rick picked up on the meaning quick enough - They had company. Invited, from the sounds of it.

The tension in his frame was evident as he emerged from the tent, though he kept his weapon sheathed - a short sword, about the same length as the machete he'd wielded back home, was tucked in his belt, where the stranger would still be able to see it. More a deterrent than a threat, but hardly inviting nonetheless.

The last arena had taught them a hard lesson, one Rick should have learned long before now - This wasn't the place for forging friendships. This was survival, and whether they liked it or not, it changed the rules. The generosity they'd shown Ellis had been repaid in blood, and the man they'd helped patch up had been the one who'd ended up murdering Beth. It was true that they still had a few scattered alliances, mostly with Nick and a few from his group, but Rick wasn't actively looking to add to those numbers. Sooner or later, they'd get burned again.

"Any trouble?"

The words may have been directed at Daryl, but his eyes were on his 'friend', his head tilted slightly as he sized him up. Not a face he was familiar with, but given how they earned publicity in Panem, they may not have been a bad thing. Though, it did leave him to wonder just what he'd done to win the archer over. Rick trusted Daryl's judgement more than anyone's, his sense of people was second to none - He wouldn't have brought just anyone back to their camp, even mobile as it was.

... But they could never be too safe.

The tent was helpful to shield them from bugs that bite them in the middle of the night but knowing that other tributes could easily see it and attack them in their sleep gave the mage a little more trouble with keeping his eyes closed at night. Tents don't feel as safe as they used to be and his old friends would set theirs up in the strangest places.

The flame over his head appears less transparent than it had been before, which confirms Vivi's speculation that it had something to do with his powers after their encounter with the hostile tree. Nitou had one over his body too when he saw his body. Needless to say, what he has experienced so far in this arena has him sleeping less than he usually would.

The whistle gets his attention though Rick is the first to move first. He waits for Rick to exit the tent completely before following - though he turns back for a second to grab the knife that was given to him by sponsors. The grip still is uncomfortable to him.

He peeks his head out of the tent to see that Daryl is back, much to his relief and he expresses that first before emerging out completely, standing besides Rick. "Welcome back, Mister Daryl!"

He barely shrinks a little when Rick's question brings them to the matter at hand, reminding him of just where they are and why they're here. The mage readjusts his hat, eyes also turning to address the stranger, expression seemingly unchanging with only golden eyes staring at him. "Hi there."

Holy Fazbear, Daryl wasn't kidding when he said Rick was unfriendly as the Phone Guy felt the heavy and threatening gaze of Rick Grimes. There really was no way to describe the sensation of a wary survivor looking to protect his land and his companions. For the longest of time, Phillip relied on his wits and his own speed to get out of trouble, and it worked just fine until now. It was a contrast from when he started to not just help people by giving out supplies but actively aiding in groups.

"Hello sir," it was hard to have him say that without stuttering but he makes it out and awaits for Daryl and Rick's assessment of the situation. But it's the strange child that gives Gray some courage and he smiled a little at the small mage. He can offer some of his wares to the group if they're hungry.

"Village's quiet," he answers simply, figuring he can delve into greater detail once they've settled their new camp arrangement. Catching sight of the little mage, he finds himself smiling faintly, fondly at the greeting. "Hey, Vivi."

Now comes the moment of truth. Letting his pack drop, he moves to position himself inbetween Rick, Vivi, and Phillip, but unobtrusively, standing out of the way, clearly not wanting to impede any mutual assessments that will be happening. He trusts his gut instincts about Phillip enough to let this unfold as it may. Any threats of violence won't be coming from him, of that Daryl's certain, and regardless if it comes down to it, he'll have Rick and Vivi covered in the blink of an eye.

"Rick, Vivi," he says with a nod to each in turn, introducing them, and then his eyes settle on the new guy in camp. "Phillip. From the Crowning," he elaborates after a moment of consideration, "the guy who thought we're married." A detail previously shared when Rick had helped him back to his suite after the murder party, the alcohol having robbed him of his coordination — as well as enough inhibitions that he'd allowed Rick to assist him in peeling off the lightsuit, and preparing for bed. It had been Rick's wedding band getting caught on one of the inner fastenings between lightsuit and underclothes that had jogged Daryl's memory, prompting him to recall his earlier conversation with Phillip. Considering they'd been behaving like an old married couple at the time, he'd thought Rick might find some humour in the story. He'd omitted the hair petting.

"He's on his own. Figured we could help each other out." As he glances between each person his unease grows, culminating in him crossing his arms and tucking his hands up under them. Closed off. All too aware of his prior failures — with Beth, with extending kindness to the wrong person. But still willing to take the chance with Phillip. Rick and Vivi will need to decide for themselves. ~~Is this...a Darylocracy?~~

The thumb he'd hooked into his belt tightened; the reaction, while subtle by most standards, felt as though it were glaringly obvious to anyone who knew what to look for. Colour had crept back into his features, and it was only by sheer force of will that his stony expression hadn't faltered as recognition dawned.

His memories of the conversation were still remarkably vivid, especially when one considered just how much had happened since the night of the crowning. Then, it was hard to forget when his ring had snagged, or the way his hands had grown clumsier with every inch of zipper he undid; it had been struggle enough to keep his mind somewhere appropriate, even before Daryl had gone and told him that. Rick had nearly choked in that moment, the stranger's observation throwing every one of his questionable thoughts into sharp relief, hitting a little too close to the mark.

With the steady shift in his feelings, the way his gazes lingered far longer than he meant them to - Rick knew where this road led. He'd been circling the idea for weeks, terrified to look the truth of it in the face - Christ, he still was. There were far too many ways this could go wrong, too many reasons why it couldn't work. Why it shouldn't work. Somehow, believing that Daryl wouldn't reciprocate had made it all so much easier to sweep under the rug and bear with, but the notion that there was even the slightest chance that he... That they could make it work?

It was dangerous. About as dangerous as a man who'd reached that sort of conclusion about their relationship.

In truth, it shouldn't have been surprising with the amount of propaganda the Capitol spun about them. About all of them, really - It would have been easy to get the wrong idea. But whether it was his paranoia talking, or simply his own embarrassment at having been figured out before he'd had a chance to reconcile with his own feelings, Rick didn't like it. He could justify it as a threat, claim that it put them both in the line of fire - and that wouldn't have been wrong. But in the end, lying to himself wasn't productive.

He watched the other man for a good moment longer, not responding to the greeting outside of a slight narrowing his eyes.

"How many tributes have you killed?"

Rick may not have looked at Daryl, but the question should have been proof enough of his acceptance of his judgement. He may have been reluctant to do so, but he was willing to give this a shot. Phillip would still have to prove himself, earn his place among them - But then, Rick wasn't really doing this for him.

The mage's gaze darts around at whoever is talking. Some part of him wonders if he's missing something, but he dismisses that thought soon enough. He tries not to look too surprised at what Daryl said and hopes that his seemingly unreadable expression stays that way.

...they're not?

Oops. ~~So Daryl's last name isn't Grimes...~~

Vivi clips the knife to the side of pants and listens onto the rest of the adults talking. The other man looks nice in Vivi's book, but in a place like this, it could be hard to tell. There had been a lot of canons firing and it had only been two week so far...

Phil gave Vivi a comforting smile and a little wave, to make sure the strange child understood he was no threat to him. It was automatic for the manager at Freddy's to instinctively comfort a kid, that had been part of his job when things didn't go south, to make them smile and let them have fun at the restaurant. The question would be answered promptly as Gray's eyes met Rick's and he uttered a single, "None."

Even the only death tangentially related to him, Dandy Mott's, was more happenstance than actual intent. The man had been gored and Phil did try to help the man...right up until he revealed his true nature. If there is one type of person that will never get pass the Phone Guy and feel his wrath, is a serial killer. In his book, those are the people that deserve every last agonizing second of death. They didn't deserve the mercy they didn't give their victims.

While Rick's reaction is barely perceptible, it's still there, and telling in all the ways he probably doesn't want it to be — at least to Daryl, who's trying hard not to stare. Trying equally hard to keep his mirth from showing, too, eventually bringing a hand up to scratch at his beard as an excuse to cover his mouth. It isn't often that he gets to witness Rick caught off-guard like this, and Daryl had very much chosen his introduction for Phillip with deliberate care, curious of how Rick would react. Using his own tactics against him, sort of. There's no harm in it.

What he'll do with this information is another matter entirely. (What could he do with it?)

Phillip going out of his way to be kind toward Vivi is a point in his favour, and Daryl glances between them with a sort of vaguely encouraging look, letting his hand drop back to his side once there's no longer a smile threatening the corners of his mouth. As fiercely protective as Daryl is of the people he cares about, allowing — inviting — someone to be near Rick and Vivi in an arena setting is just about the most significant show of trust there is, for someone not already a part of their group.

God help Phillip if he ever abuses that trust.

Unaware of the potential minefield the next of Rick's Three Questions may be, he goes to kneel near the fire, and pours out some helpings of stew in the repurposed containers they've been washing and reusing. There's presumably some risk of passing the dormant walker infection to Vivi and Phillip this way, but... it doesn't really pose a problem. If they do die and reanimate, they'll eventually be revived, infection-free, in the Capitol. He hopes. Motioning Vivi over and holding up one of the containers of stew, he asks, "You hungry?"

That will leave Rick to handle the questioning, which he figures is Rick's preference in this situation. Even though their group's been whittled down to a partnership plus mage, he doesn't mind others having the impression of Rick being the leader.

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[open] Wood and stone will fall away

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Good place for Rick to tag in?

/crashes this party

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