Moth Delivers a Message [Closed]

[pimpcanes]

WHO| Black Tom and Lord Zed; Black Tom, Gary and Kurt; Black Tom, Dorian, Maxwell and a cameo from Bayard
WHAT| Superpowers showdown, then Gary and Kurt die!
WHEN| Week 3
WHERE| The forest
WARNINGS| Death! And gore!

For a while, Tom lies dormant, like a volcano awaiting the proper tessellation of tectonic plates to erupt. He coils into himself in the trees, inward-focused, self-absorbed on his own grief for Molotov, even as he suspects he'll see her again. With the exception of Arya, he interacts with no one, waiting out the weaklings of the Arena and preparing to assault the survivors of the final week. He outlasts the voices calling people into the woods. He's immune to the bats, which have no interest in his bloodless form.

But he becomes bored, and eventually he pulls himself out of one of the trees he's occupying. It cracks as if all the sap inside has frozen, and he emerges from it neither man nor plant, but some foul combination of the two: barky skin, black sockets for eyes, moss and algae and leaves forming a ruff of hair that extends from his crown down his back. And he tends to his cache of supplies, folded into the knot of another tree, looking over the note that Molotov sent him and wondering when the next time Arya will retrieve the goods will be.

The air is warm again, and he cricks his neck back to look at the sky, appearing more mutt than Tribute. His nostrils flare, pulling oxygen into lungs that have all but collapsed from disuse. With a splintering sound, he opens his mouth and frees his teeth.

Comments

[a_minute_younger]

Gary can hide, but not nearly as well as Tom. Even quick excursions between buildings in the village during the early-week heat have left him burned and peeling, moreso than he already was from his nasty shock at the Cornucopia, and any attempts at rest leave him prey to the persistent vampire bats that pick and bite at him like mosquitoes, forcing him to keep moving. The adrenaline, even in its reduced levels, helps sustain him there. Pain drifts into numbness, his dogged heartbeat keeps his legs moving in spite of how little sleep he's had. Hunger drives him more than it exhausts.

The adrenaline does nothing for the voices. Logically Gary can figure out that his brother isn't really here, urging him into the forest (at least not after the first couple of times he went looking), but eventually he got curious enough to follow. Deeper and deeper in he went, until he came upon the sword. There wasn't any harm in seeing if he could pull it out, he thought.

He nearly snapped at Kurt when they first ran into each other on the way back after their respective unsuccessful trips; thankfully, the promise of having a partner to help him search for food overwhelmed his general irritability. Together they wandered through the forest, until eventually--

The supplies catch Gary's attention first. He motions for Kurt to stop with a sharp raise of his hand, and he's happy that he does, as it seems that the trees themselves start moving to tend to them. They're a decent distance away, far enough for Gary to feel safe in standing back and watching in silent wonder. The spell lasts for a tense half-minute.

Then he turns to Kurt. "We have to get our hands on that," he whispers.

[whydoyoushine]

The forest might bother some of the other Tributes, but the darkness and the general creep factor of the place is old hat for Zed. Likewise, seeing a...tree-monster-thing might be a cause for alarm for other Tributes, but Zed is the Emperor of Darkness, head of the Shadow Line. Weird monsters are, in a way, more normal for Zed than ordinary humans. He's lurking in the forest when he hears that splintering noise, and curiosity draws him to that location. "...so what are you supposed to be?"

Week 4: Bayard, Dorian, Maxwell, Tom - Death

[dreadinquisitor]

All things considered, things had seemingly quieted down inside the arena. The bats had stopped their nightly attacks, though it had cost them Lilah. The fish and frogs had kept them fed, without having to risk traveling and hunting. The cries of the ghostly voices had even begun to lose their sway.

It was a respite, badly needed. ...For their bodies at least.

It was doing nothing to ease the awkwardness between Maxwell and Dorian. Maxwell tried to keep his distance, but it hadn't actually gotten any easier. Especially when the man insisted on accompanying him when he might have otherwise gone alone to check the traps he'd set. Especially when Bayard, their small, distracting chaperone, broke away to collect some water and left them alone together.

"...Not much further," Maxwell murmured after a pregnant beat.