i want blood, guts, + chocolate cake

[intenserer]

Who| Ford and Peggy
What| Ford dies in embarrassing ways, as per usual.
Where| The power plant
When| Day 1 of the Mini-Arena
Warnings/Notes| Violence, language.



Rick Ford makes it to the power plant.

He's immediately paranoid. He's walked through fire, water-skiied blindfolded, taken up piano at a late age. Ingested a hundred and thirty-seven different types of poison and survived. But radioactivity? That's some serious shit. Even Mister Supposedly-Invincible himself can't shake off radioactivity poisoning like it's a cold. He eyes up the fauna and flora growing up from the lurid darkness like a bad Grateful Dead poster, mushrooms and things with too many teeth and eyes. Like the fish from the fucking Simpsons. Blacklight-glow without the blacklight.

He'll kick himself, later on, for not keeping a better guard. He knows the others must be close, but he's suddenly on edge, and he can't be bothered to keep his back to a wall when there's radioactive fungal shit growing out of it, waiting to suck him in and ooze him to death, probably. So he doesn't notice, he's completely fucking oblivious to what's behind him. The perfect opportunity.

Comments

[impaledqueen]

Rick Ford, District 8, with a score of 10. That's a high score, so he's a threat. She has to kill him.

Not that she won't kill people who are less threatening, but it's an extra reason to bump him off early. She approaches quietly but swiftly, drawing out the knife she made from Iskierka's claw, but she doesn't stab him immediately. Instead, she tries to take him into a headlock and kick in his knees. She wants to kill him quietly and she can't do that if he screams at the first sign of a stabbing.

[intenserer]

Ford is so busy skirting a patch of violently purple, glowing mushrooms that he doesn't hear her. Doesn't even know he's not alone until she's behind him, until there's a surprisingly strong but definitely feminine arm around his neck, and his knees are being kicked in. Ford grunts, his mind catching up and figuring out exactly what's happening.

"Fuck--" He jerks, trying to throw her off if he can, unaware that there's a weapon in play here. His best bet is to try and overthrow her with sheer strength.

[impaledqueen]

He's picked the wrong opponent to try to defeat with brute force. Her muscles flex around his throat as she pulls against his struggles, and she hisses softly in his ear, "This will go easier if you just relax." She doesn't bother apologizing like she once would. He won't stay dead anyway. She will. Her priorities are clear.

Then she tries to slide her knife between his ribs.

[intenserer]

"The fuck I will," Ford grits, trying to reach behind him to grab at her--hair, neck, anything she can reach, and fuck, but his killers really need to stop being soft and pretty, he thinks as he catches a glimpse of her in his peripherals. "I'm Rick fucking Fo--"

He's cut off by a long groan as her knife slides into his ribs, puncturing his lung with all too much ease, and as many times as Rick Ford has bragged about situations just like this, he was vastly unprepared, and he can't do much except for collapse to his knees, blood bubbling hotly up into his throat and spilling from his lips.

[impaledqueen]

"You're dead, is what you are. With any luck, I'll see you back in the Capitol."

She yanks her knife out, taking away any kind of stopper he may have had to keep from bleeding out. Then she walks around his body, giving it a wide berth just in case he doesn't die immediately and tries to grab her.

[intenserer]

He's fading, gurgling, the hot rush of blood from his mouth only stopping when he slumps over to the cold, hard ground, and the last thing he sees before his vision fades to black is the way she circles him, like a beautiful, deadly vulture.

Well, he tried.