[closed] muscle to muscle and toe to toe

[crabmunicator]

Who| Karkat, Chuck, and Derek
What| A battle with Chuck turns into Karkat getting offed once Derek shows up.
Where| The city of ruins.
When| Day 1 of the Mini-Arena.
Warnings/Notes| Combat, violence, and eventual death.

A bloodied sickle on a live tribute is a sight that should insist competence, understanding, and know-how. Most of the spill has been wiped off the blade, cleared by leaves or against the material of his thermal suit, whichever lay handy at the time. And in a sense, it is true that Karkat knows what he's doing. A sickle is his weapon of choice, more familiar in his hands than the knives he's had to learn, and a damn sight better than the morning star he started with. Sure, it worked, but it was nothing like his usual.

Which is why when he ran into Altaïr, former dream interloper slash jackass who made his Escort quit, he arranged a trade. He hadn't expected to see him here, let alone for him to have a sickle, but why overlook opportunity? It worked, at least.

But even then, who knows how it might have gone if he hadn't gotten separated from his Districtmates. Not their fault that he didn't realize the bug spray would be harmful for him too, and never mind the lingering worry for Linden in particular.

Yeah, Victors. He didn't expect those, but he hasn't expected a lot about this arena.

The point is that despite the odds he's managed to adapt so far, and the sickle stands proof of that. He's being careful even then, skulking between shadows for cover and to avoid the heat of the sun, while a pair of sunglasses - the one other Cornucopia boon he kept - block the glare. It's not the same as his vision at night, more hazy than that, but it's cut down some of the difficulty he'd have otherwise.

As he moves along he watches carefully. There's the typical dangers, but there are bound to be other Tributes as well. He can't ignore them when his aim now is to win.

Comments

[theyoungperish]

Chuck already has blood on his hands, but that's nothing new. He's a Victor, and he won by systematically hunting down mutts and tributes and killing them. The Arena is well known to him, even if it was seven years ago. So by the time he spots another Tribute, they've already got a kill under their belt. Without a weapon it had been messy, but that wasn't all that unusual either. Blood splattered faintly across him from the explosion, concrete and dust dyeing his hair ashen.

Mostly, he'd just bitched about laundry, hiding the anger and panic being back in an Arena lit beneath his skin under humor. Even if it was a rather dark version they were both well acquainted with.

Still, Karkat is relatively quiet, hidden in the shadows, but its the glint of sun off sickle that catches Chuck's attention. He has no weapon, but he doesn't need one -- he's fully capable of killing with his bare hands. Derek is off behind him, just a tad, scouting even if they shouldn't split up. But he's not far, and Chuck knows he'd probably show up at the first hint of danger anyway. He's got a sixth sense for when Chuck gets into trouble. So Chuck slinks closer, silent despite his solid 6' frame, carefully planning his attack. If he's not careful, Karkat could gut him, could slice off a limb. It's almost as if he's back in his Arena, half the size of all the others, fighting off Kaiju with a simple spear.

His teeth glint in a bared snarl, keen intelligence burning beneath green eyes. Smoothly, he ducks down, picks up a rock, and carefully lobs it at the back of Karkat's head. If he's lucky, it'll daze him, knock the sunglasses from his face, but Chuck's not counting on being that lucky. He shifts, slinks away to circle Karkat.

sorry for the wait on this! last week tossed a bunch of stress at me

[crabmunicator]

With a thwack the rock glances off Karkat's horn and he stumbles. It's a sharp, sudden pain, like hitting an elbow but radiating down into his skull, and he hisses sharply. No swear, no shout: he'd like to, but fuck like to when it felt too direct to be an accident. Hell, even if something did fall, even if some Gamemaker just flipped a switch to pelt the alien with a rock, the risk is enough that he can't play it off. He gets his sickle up in front of him, other arm up to guard as he puts the shades back straight.

His first instinct is find the danger and get safe. It's untrollish, but it's one that's saved him before: a listening ear, a watchful eye, and feet quick enough to move when he needs to. But the thing is, those times he wasn't trying to win, not like this. He can feel his blood beating up in a rush already. He made promises, didn't he? Wrote things in letters, talked up to sponsors, to reporters, to whoever might take influence or who might carry good opinion for him. What's he going to do if he doesn't live up to it?

A hard swallow does nothing to force down his doubts, but yelling comes too natural for him to have difficulty shouting out.

"Hey, taint reek! What kind of cowardly pustule fights by throwing rocks they can't even aim right?" He doesn't know where they were aiming, honestly, but he prays (inasmuch as a faithless kid ever would) that his assailant will take the bait still. "Why don't you haul your pathetic husk out here and face me like a real tribute?"

His nerves are lit up with a threatening panic in his chest. You're a troll, he tells himself on repeat. You were made for this. He tries to believe it as he scans, searching for sudden movement, or wherever his presumed attacker has slipped off to.

you're fine friend!

[theyoungperish]

His aim rings thankfully true, knocking the Troll off balance, but not enough to do real harm. Whatever, that's fine, he used it mostly as a distraction anyway. It's too bright out here to really sneak around without someone noticing, after all. But if anybody can do it, it's them.

So Chuck moves quickly and silently, trying to figure out his best plan of attack. For a second it looks like the kid might run, even though he hauls up his sickle in front of him, clearly well versed in the weapon. Simply makes things worse, if the Tribute he's trying to take down is working with a weapon they know well instead of one they sloppily picked up. He frowns, figuring that he's somehow going to have to wrest the weapon from Karkat's hands, which is right about the time Karkat takes in a big breath and starts yelling.

Chuck's not expecting it, but it works to his advantage, covering any little sound he might make. It also means Derek, with his keen ears, is probably now fully aware that Chuck is doing something stupid.

His mouth twitches up in a humorless smile, firmly ignoring the bait as he ducks to pick up another couple rocks. They served him well so far, might as well keep at it. So one flies again, glancing across Karkat's head, and then another, hitting him in the elbow. Not the best shot this time, but oh well. It works. Only, only this time Chuck doesn't slip back into the underbrush. No, he takes advantage of Karkat's distraction to rush at him, hoping to knock the sickle from his hands and take him down.

[crabmunicator]

One rock, then another - "Ow, shit--FUCK!" - and Karkat more or less knows the direction they came from. Not that he needs to when the tribute responsible suddenly comes up rushing. The face pings something familiar, but he can't put to mind where it's from just yet. His head hurts, his elbow aches (good thing he had it up, though), and he needs to move.

He launches up to meet him. His teeth are bared, a strange, clicking growl issuing from behind, the sound an insect would make if it could roar. Chuck's no doubt got size on him, but by contrast Karkat has learned to be quick against things even larger. He pulls his sickle in to slip to the side, before swinging out, looking to catch or cut with the swooped blade.

He doesn't expect much yet - it's too sudden, not ideal for lopping anything off - but a blow's a blow. His mind is still whirring over the reality of what he's doing. He's hardly fought people, tried to run in every arena prior, and the one time in his own world saw him dead against his best friend. His blood is a rush, his breath harsh when he's not snarling threat.

When it clicks that this is a Mentor, one he's seen on the Victory Reels, he shoves away the thought. He can't afford to let it sway him now.

[theyoungperish]

It's a good enough shot, Chuck will take whatever chance he can get. Besides, the kid's acting like he's on his own, and that means he's got far more of an advantage, what with his best friend not far off. Even if he's facing off without a weapon, Chuck doesn't need one to kill.

There is no mercy left within him.

The clicking sound is odd, but Chuck just growls right on back, teeth bared. His eyes burn with keen intelligence and a steely determination that will not let him fail. Only one of them will walk out of this, and Chuck will not let it be Karkat if he can help it.

So he dodges back, just barely missing the swing of that blade. A lucky dodge, but despite his size, Chuck's always had speed on his side. He recalculates with every breath, all too aware of the sickle's ability to do immense damage. He's got a rock in one hand, grip tight, and given the chance he'll slam it against the Tribute's head. But for now, he circles, wary and seeking his chance. Chuck's seen the Arenas -- can't escape it, really -- and he knows Karkat's style. Knows given the chance he runs, and so he goads him now, grinning wide, though it's more a threat than anything with the way he's baring his teeth.

"Gonna start runnin', kid?"

[crabmunicator]

Of course the guy would try to goad him. He hears the growl, sees the teeth, and takes the meaning behind them regardless of the grin. Trolls are a species well used to aggression, and he's seen fight after fight through their culture. Media real and fictional, things in front of or involving him--not even attacking someone is new, though the last time he tried, he wound up dead. He's hoping for better this time around.

"Fuck no. I'm going to thresh you so hard your parents feel it," he snaps back. It's something he's heard before with lusus swapped for a more human term now, but he can't stop long enough to feel lame for not thinking of something original.

Instead he leaps forward, sickle swinging for the arm with the rock.

[theyoungperish]

It's all Chuck knows too, aggression tied in tightly with everything he does. He's a Career, he's a fucking Victor, he knows bloodsport like none other. And he has no qualms chasing it. He'll see Karkat's blood spilled, and then he'll hunt down another.

"You can fuckin' try."

He outright laughs, though its more snarl than anything. It's a brief thing, forgotten even as he dodges, barely missing the swing. Chuck resettles his weight, swinging out to slam the rock into Karkat's still outstretched arm, hoping to break his hold. He doesn't succeed, pulling back even as the kid tries to swipe for him again and misses as he dodges.

"That all y'got?"

And yes, he does know he's testing fate there. But fuck it, he's in an Arena, his fate was never in his own hands.