thearena | welcome to your office, settle down and take a seat

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welcome to your office, settle down and take a seat

Who: Jeremy Fitzgerald, OTA
What: That care package is only confusing him further.
When: Beginning of week 2.
Where: Forest and surroundings.
Warnings: Mention of head injuries and various FNAF related grossness.

This is hardly what he expected the afterlife to be like.

He wasn't exactly religious or spiritual. He'd always figured that whatever the end of the line would be, he'd deal with it when he got there. Just because he's here a little earlier than he'd expected had nothing to do with his surprise upon finding out what awaited him after death was just more of it.

Kill or be killed is what he was told. But I'm already-- was what he wanted to answer with, but he was only shushed, told to try his best, and then he was out in the middle of it all. He'd stepped out into what could only be described as a warzone, bodies and blood scattered about and his only instrinct - once he could force himself to move - was just to run. Run, run, keep running, hope you don't pass out.

He has no idea how he made it this far, but he's just glad he's remained conscious. It hasn't really hit him yet, the seriousness of the situation he's in. As far as he's concerned ... well, he's still very, very dead. How much worse can it be to die again?

For a long time, Jeremy wasn't even aware of his surroundings. He just ran, and found someplace to hide whenever he heard a noise. It seemed to go well for the most part, and the forest he finds himself in now is certainly different than anything he'd ever known. It's near one of the quiet, shallow ponds that he decides to take a break, sitting down near the water's edge and breathing heavily from the journey. And then he takes out his findings from the odd little parachute that nearly knocked him in the head earlier in the day, keeping a water bottle by his side as he reads the note again.

"Keep moving ... sorry for-- for what ha-happened. Need help, find ... Luna, Sansa ... Firo, S-Sandy, Daryl, Kar...kat, Nick."

He reads it to himself again, before rolling his eyes, crumpling the paper in his fist and letting it fall to the side. "Fat load o'good names do m-- me now."

It doesn't help that the same hallucination has been following him around since day one, usually in the corner of his vision but sometimes - like now - right across the pond from him.

"God-- fuck off, already," Jeremy grumbles at the shadow, frustrated enough to flip his middle finger up at the damn thing as he rubs his scarred forehead with the other hand. What a headache this is. "Leave me alone."

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Well, that was apparently the wrong thing to say.

But Jeremy wasn't sure of how else to put it. With no combat skills, unpredictable panic attacks and blackouts, how was he supposed to be of any assistance in a battle to the death like this? It wouldn't be fair of him to tag along only to get someone in trouble, if something happened beyond his control. He was just dead weight, wasn't he?

"I don't know what else to do ..." Besides give up. His voice was only a whisper, as if he was afraid of being scolded for his attitude again. Daryl was clearly a lot more skilled than he was, with makeshift tools and everything. A group, even. The people here were used to these arenas, and they were all stronger and more capable than he was. What could he do to even help out? He didn't even know how to hunt for food.

He does jump a bit when that fish is very quickly and expertly speared, startled despite watching the entire time. And he supposed that, maybe, he could find a similar branch and some way to sharpen the ends, and fish for himself. Maybe that could help. But he wasn't sure if whether or not meeting up with this group of Daryl's was a good idea. He didn't want to slow more people down.

"... h-how do you know which ones aren't toxic?"

At least it would be something. The note he was given also had a few portions of food and fresh water, so he was going to try and make it last as long as he can, but if he was ever in a pinch it could help to know a few things.

"Ain't that a shame," Ellis sighed out as he picked up Jeremy and held him tight, "Y'seem like the sorta guy who'd really enjoy a beer over a friend's barbecue an' shoot the shit. Probably arms draped over a lady, or a guy, if yer so inclined. I came from a place tha' was ravaged by a zombie-like virus, made people go insane...My boyfriend Nick calls 'em walkers, I call 'em Infected."

He was certain that things would turn out better for the Tribute if they're as far from civilization, hell even find a group or two.

"Yer not dead now, so let's make sure y'get some mileage outta this Arena, all right? Heh...I'm doin' way better than my last two. First one, I was burned alive. Second one was a mini-arena, got gutted...not fun but I learned a lot."

El was basically doing the talking for them both.

The guy was certainly a talker. Jeremy was a little embarrassed, since it was a lot of talk about things he had no particular interest in - he didn't have many friends back home, wasn't often invited to barbecues, and not really the ... draping type. He's pretty sure this is his first piggyback since he was five years old. But he decides not to say anything about it, since he's already being quite a downer as it is.

Zombies, however ... that talk surprises him. He thought those were only myths, horror movie stuff. But everybody here comes from different worlds, and if one of those worlds is a zombie world, well ... his own world has murderous animatronics haunted by murdered children, so anything can happen.

He wasn't enjoying all the death talk, though. It was so weird, to hear someone talk so casually about dying, when it was the most frightening thing he'd experienced. Jeremy lowers his head to Ellis' shoulder and closes his eyes, trying not to think about it.

"I just w-want to go home ..." Where he was already dead and didn't have to deal with this any longer. "I don't want to learn anything here ... just-- want to go home."

"No hard'n fast rules for that. Gotta learn each mushroom, and avoid the ones you don't know," he explains while depositing another speared fish into his pack. Inwardly, he's pleased that Jeremy's making even a minimal effort. It's a start. "I'll point out any I do know. Jump-start your survival education."

Because this is Panem (and an artificially manufactured environment at that), and most of his hands-on experience is limited to what's native to Georgia, there's bound to be some he can't identify at all. But he's gotten lucky in previous Arenas, and hopes they might come across a few species he recognises; failing that, the fish and frogs and leftovers from his snare run the other day should suffice.

He's far from being the ideal teacher, as irascible as he can be when he feels his time's being wasted, but his patience and profound sense of loyalty to those who've earned it (as the mysterious note sender presumably has) mean Jeremy's unlikely to be left high and dry here.

Once he's satisfied with the amount of fish, he slips the makeshift spear back into his pack and shoulders it, standing up. The lower half of his battered jumpsuit's still sopping wet, but the mild weather doesn't warrant waiting for it to dry. He makes his way around the pond and gives his unlikely companion what he hopes is an encouraging look, nodding in the direction he intends to head. "C'mon. I set some snares this way, we can check those too. Best to keep on the move, don't stay in any one place too long unless you've secured it."

Uncertain of whether or not Jeremy will join him, he sets off. Of course, he doesn't actually intend to just leave the guy there if he doesn't follow, but he's hoping Jeremy will decide on his own to start helping himself.

Luna shakes her head at that. If Jeremy really wants her to go she will, but otherwise she wants to check that he'll be fine first. She's failed people enough times that she hates the idea of leaving someone where they're vulnerable, especially now in the Arena. It goes against the most important thing she's promised herself coming into the Arena, and besides it really just feels wrong.

"I want to be sure you'll be all right. I don't know whether you're crazy but even if you are it's not safe here, and you don't look like you're in much of a condition to defend yourself if you need to. So...what's wrong?" She gives him a pleading look, trying to convey that her concern is genuine. But once again, this is the Hunger Games. She wouldn't be surprised if he didn't believe it anyway.

Ellis felt so badly that he had no answer for Jeremy, only condolences. "Oh Rabbit...This ain't-The Gamemakers found ya interestin', an' yer stayin' here under the eye o' the Capitol. It's a really nice place, kinda like New York on steroids. I-If you get outta here, maybe you can git some help for those headaches."

He lets Fitzgerald have some hope and in some sense, it's cruel. He's a VERY long shot to survive the incoming weeks, let alone win the Arena. What is implicit is Jeremy, like him, has become one of the Capitol's dolls for them to break and rebuild for the sake of entertainment.

"It's-" he found a tree worth a shot and nudged the Tribute up. "This is your new home. It's time to make the best of it."

Well, Jeremy figured that was as good a reason as any to just avoid the mushrooms all together. Maybe it was a good idea to avoid the plant life in general. Anything here could be toxic - except maybe the fish, since Daryl seemed to be pretty confident about stockpiling as many of them as possible. So, good thing to note: plants, bad. Fish, probably good, and easier than hunting.

Not that he didn't trust the fish to also potential spontaneously combust, because everything was unpredictable as hell thus far, but it seemed to be a safe bet for now.

A part of him does start to dread the moment the other man stands up again to approach him, thinking to himself oh god this is it, but it's only to give him fair warning about staying put and offering to let him follow along. He refrains from asking if he's certain, because he does still worry about slowing someone down. It would be awful if someone ended up hurt or killed just because Jeremy was lagging behind or distracting them. Still, he was only offering, and then heading along on his way. He didn't have to follow him.

...

Despite all his concerns, Jeremy does end up pushing himself up to his feet, taking a moment to brace himself against the tree while he regains his bearings. Daryl's right - he can't stay in one place for too long, and he certainly doesn't have the tools or supplies or even the skills to last on his own. He follows close behind, far enough away to be out of range if anything bad happens, but close enough to be within earshot if Daryl has to tell him anything of importance. Whoever wrote that note, they really were trying to look out for him.

Wouldn't it be in her best interests, staying away from a complete stranger dealing with all sorts of potential troubles? Jeremy didn't consider himself dangerous - sure, he'd lashed out in the past, but in his defense he'd been completely stressed and panicking at the time. But any rational person in an arena situation like this, when it was kill or be killed, they'd be better off leaving him alone. Wouldn't they?

"... it's just--" he stumbled over his words, both hands rubbing at his head now, and he sighs. There really wasn't a good way to explain it. "I keep ... seeing things. From-- from back h-home. They won't leave me a-alone."

Well, that was just about the most ridiculous thing Jeremy's heard in a while.

Interesting? Certainly not in a good way. He was a basket case, he panicked over cricket noises, he passed out the second the stress would get to be too much for him. If anything, he was a hassle. The Gamemakers, whoever they were, they were wasting their time on him. Someone like him, he couldn't be that entertaining to watch, right?

With help from Ellis, Jeremy's able to scramble up the tree without being too clumsy, up high enough off the ground so - hopefully - he wouldn't run into anything unpleasant. It's not the most comfortable, but it's better than risking staying on the ground. Still, he's a little concerned as he looks back down at Ellis below.

"Will you ... be okay?"

Once he's sure Jeremy's more or less on board, he maintains that distance for a while as he navigates his way toward one of the familiar trails of snares he'd set up. As they approach the first one, he intentionally shortens his stride until they're closer to walking in tandem, not wanting their conversation to carry any further than it has to.

"So where're you from?" he asks in an undertone, slanting a sidelong look at Jeremy. "What's your world like, what did you do?" While he'd barely seemed concerned with Jeremy's appearance before, he very deliberately takes it in now, without attempting to hide his scrutiny. His look is accessing in a passive, non-judgmental way.

Knowing more about him may or may not shed a little light on who the sponsor message was from, but that's only partially the reason Daryl's curious. Asking the Three Questions — standard procedure when bringing in anyone new to his group — out of context won't provide any useful information, since Jeremy's probably too recent an arrival to have killed any other Tributes at this point. Not to mention he hardly seems capable of it, though appearances can be deceiving...

So he'll have to try and figure the guy out the old fashioned way.

As luck would have it, there's a smallish rodent-like creature caught in the first snare, still alive, futilely struggling in the wire. Won't make much of a meal, but it's better than none. He kneels down and carefully frees it, carries it a short distance away and efficiently slits its throat with the ease of long practise, ensuring the animal won't suffer unnecessarily. After the initial spill of blood it quickly slows, and the struggling ceases with a final few twitches of a back leg. He ties the critter onto the length of rope hanging at his waist and returns to reset the snare.

Ellis knew that concern anywhere and he smiled wearily. He hasn't been here as long as other Tributes but he knows how terrible things can get when they don't have friends to back them up. He hoped that Jeremy, with his disposition, could find friends that could take care of him.

"Like I said, this ain't my first rodeo an' I'm makin' sure it ain't my last," he knew his odds of making it to the crown were the same as everyone else's...and he was damn sure therre were others who deserved the win, like the kids here.

"I'll be fine, Rabbit, but if y'find yerself in trouble, holler okay? I will bust some heads-" he paused for a moment, then grinned, "An' if Daryl finds ya, tell him I won our bet: flannel beat camo."

He placed that errand onto Fitzgerald for a reason: Tributes can be friends with others and they care about each other. He tossed Jeremy one of his food stores from his Mentors: a sandwich.

"Keep yer strength up, I got faith in ya."

Well, if someone was comfortable enough with the situation to call a fight to the death battle arena a rodeo, then Jeremy figured Ellis would probably be okay with the rest of it. He still wasn't too fond of the overall idea (and the more he thought about it, he wasn't too sure he wanted to be left alone at all,) but Ellis was skilled and armed - things Jeremy definitely was not.

The tree was hardly comfortable, but it was safer than the ground. He was a little startled when the sandwich was tossed to him, reflexes not too quick, but after a fumble he's able to catch it before it could drop to the ground. Definitely much better than trying to hunt on his own.

"... flannel ... beat camo."

Weird, but okay. He doesn't smile, but he can offer an appreciative nod for the favour. And he'll try to remember that whole bet thing.

"Be careful."

There's still that concern, that nagging feeling that he's just going to be slowing the other man down and get him into trouble, but it's one of many concerns running through his head as they move forward. He tries his best to listen for any signs of danger, other tributes or creatures that could approach them at any time, because if he's going to burden someone one way he might as well try to help another way.

While he's not exactly one for casual conversation, Jeremy supposes it's something to pass the time for now. But his home world is hardly a fascinating topic, and his life back there isn't exactly the most exciting.

His death, on the other hand ...

"It's ... not much," Jeremy says quietly with a shrug of his shoulders. He doesn't carry himself with the most confidence, arms folded over his chest and his gaze cast down at his feet more often than not. Hardly a prime example of an ideal tribute. "Normal, I guess. I-I worked at ... a rest-- restaurant. Kid-friendly place ... robot animals."

He notices Daryl's giving him a look over, so he gestures to the darkened, ugly scars decorating his forehead. He doesn't exactly want to go into full detail about it, since recalling the incident in full was difficult; he didn't remember everything that happened, and he was trying to avoid freaking out as much as possible. "Got a-attacked by one of them ... I died, n-now I'm here."

Once they reach the snares, it's as good a time as any to take a break. He has no idea how to set traps like that, and he especially has no idea what the creature caught in the first one is supposed to be, but a new world like this is bound to have weird new wildlife. He doesn't want to watch Daryl finish it off either, so he turns away to look at the trees surrounding them instead. The shadow from before is back, distant among the trees and staring back at him, but something about it seems ... different than usual. It doesn't normally move like that.

"Do you ... see that?" he asks Daryl just as quietly, pointing a hand towards the shadow. Best to confirm if it's just in his head or not.

"Um, well, that's not impossible..." Luna feels reluctant to say it, but although she hasn't seen any of her own home around here she knows from Karkat that a piece of home around here isn't the most unusual right now. "The Arena is made up of different parts, and at least some of them are based on things from other people's worlds. I don't know if that's the same thing as what you mean, but..."

She casts a nervous glance behind them again, wondering if Jeremy really has seen something hidden out there. It's not a comforting thought, especially when she hasn't spotted anything herself. Only he would know, then. "What did you see?"

It really was hard to explain. Even though he knew the creatures he saw were just in his head, distorted and warped versions of the animatronics from back home, it was still unsettling seeing them in the corner of his vision and constantly following him. But she wouldn't have any idea - she couldn't see them. He didn't doubt the existence of real, physical monsters here, but surely not the ones in his head.

"... sh--shadows," Jeremy eventually answers, bringing his knees closer to his chest. He's well aware it's pitiful and pathetic of him, but fear has a way of caring a lot less about outward appearances. "They've been-- they ... they follow me-- I-I know they're not real. But it-- ... ever since ... it's been months ..."

At this point, he's expecting her to move along and ignore his crazy rambling any time now.

"That's rough," Daryl replies without sarcasm, his eyes lingering on the all too noticeable scars now, since Jeremy seemed to be giving permission. Pretty damned gruesome way to go, from the sounds of it. Sort of like being stuck in Disneyland or something, back when the dead started eating the living in his own world. Cutesy mascots eating people's faces...

There's also something vaguely familiar about the story.

He follows where Jeremy gestures to, and obligingly watches the trees for several long moments, half-wondering if the other man's going to pull the oldest misdirection trick in the book on him. Get him to look away before making a break for it. Of course, it isn't as though he's forcing Jeremy to accompany him, so if he wants to take off like a spooked rabbit, so be it.

Except he doesn't take off. And is apparently truly convinced there's something lurking over yonder. Looking back at him, Daryl shakes his head.

"M'not seein' whatever it is you are," he says, choosing his words with some care as he finishes up with the snare. "But that don't necessarily mean it isn't there. Lotta weird shit happens here, n'pretty much all of it's designed to kill you, in my experience." Realising what he said couldn't have been all that comforting, he adds, "Safety in numbers. Stick close, it might let you be."

Standing, he cocks his head slightly and appears to be listening intently to something. But it isn't what he's hearing that has him on alert — it's what he's not hearing. The surrounding woods have fallen eerily silent. Might be nothing, could be the Gamemakers screwing with them for entertainment, but he isn't taking any chances. Wordlessly motioning for Jeremy to follow, he veers off into the underbrush, detouring from his planned route — being unpredictable nearly always pays off in these situations, he's found. He maintains a quick pace until he feels they've put enough distance between them and whatever might've been stalking them, then gradually slows as the ambient sounds of the woods return, turning his mind back to their prior conversation.

"Waiter or chef?" he guesses, glancing back at Jeremy with mild curiosity. A corner of his mouth curls upward in a lopsided smirk. "Host? You got the face for it." His tone's light; it's meant as a compliment.

Shadows. Hallucinations? Not something in the Arena, anyway, if they've been there for months. But if that's it, unfortunately it means that Luna can't help Jeremy as she'd like to. Even with her proper body and connection to a full database rather than just her head Luna's meant for treating general physical ailments than psychological ones. She doesn't know what she can offer to help deal with those.

The more she sees Jeremy withdraw, though, the more she feels she needs to do something. Like this, the first hostile creature to come along will... The same applies for her, really, but chances are Jeremy's actually human. She's obligated to do what she can. "Is there anything that helps? Even for just a little while. I know it must be hard, but can you think of anything?"

Well, at most, that confirmed it really was just in his head as usual. He didn't doubt the arena's capabilities to bring his nightmares and hallucinations to physical form (and that was a thought he didn't particularly enjoy thinking about in the slightest,) but if Daryl couldn't see the large black shadow with rabbit ears smiling at them from a short distance like that, then it definitely wasn't real.

Knowing that it isn't an actual beast waiting for the opportune moment to pounce helps, but the feeling doesn't last long since Daryl's suddenly quiet and gesturing for him to follow off the path. Safety in numbers, sure, but safety from what? What's chasing after them now?

Whatever it could be, sticking around to find out isn't an option. Jeremy tries his best to keep up, but he's not as fast and his pounding headache makes it difficult to focus. He pauses to brace himself against the nearest tree every once in a while, waiting to regain his balance before moving forward again. He wouldn't be surprised if Daryl ends up taking the opportunity to leave him behind after all, but there's a part of him that's glad he's waiting for him to catch up.

Daryl knows the place better and has the skills, and with his name in that note, Jeremy figures it's okay to trust him when he determines the situation to be safe. But he is tired, so he is going to take a seat in the grass for a minute if allowed, just to catch his breath. And to turn a light shade of red with that last comment made.

That ... seems to have come out of nowhere, and Jeremy's going to shrug it off, rubbing the back of his neck. Weird.

"Security," he mumbles instead. "I worked ... n-night shifts. By my-- myself."

Hey, at least that shadow's gone now.

She's still here, so that's saying something. As much as it surprises him, and as better off she'd be if she kept going and didn't linger, it is kind of nice to have the company and conversation. Her voice is calm and quiet, and it really does seem like she wants to help him.

At some point, he needs to stop pushing people away and accept an offer of help. It's just difficult when that dark shadow is looming over her too.

"I ... I don't know," Jeremy answers, staring at his hands. He doesn't have any of the medication he used to be on, it's cold out, and it's increasingly difficult to find a place he can just be an isolated panicking bundle of nerves for a while. What's he supposed to do to calm down here? "I don't ... really know what I'm doing h-here at all. And I can't-- I can't remember anything."

The area they're in is relatively sheltered, with a dense canopy and enough trees at their back to make it an easily defensible position. And with how red in the face Jeremy's looking, a break probably wouldn't be amiss right about now, so after circling around the perimeter a couple times, Daryl likewise drops into the shade-cooled grass. As best he can tell they're not being followed, so it's probably safe here. For now.

Belatedly, it occurs to him that his prior comment might've been taken the wrong way. "...Sorry. Wasn't tryin' to embarrass you," he apologises, awkwardly looking away and peering up at the sky instead. "I know a guy here who worked at a joint with those creepy robotic animals too. Never thought they were so common. Maybe they just ain't common in Georgia." Not that he'd rightly know, beyond his vague memories of commercials about pizzerias with animatronics; the late Dixons were not the type of people to be found in family restaurants. His childhood had been characterised by abuse and neglect, not pizza parties.

The mystery of their stalker is eventually revealed in a flurry of movement overhead; large, bat-like wings snap out as a screeching dragon drifts above the canopy, barbed tail whipping in annoyance over having lost its prey. It soon disappears into the distance, flying away to continue its hunt elsewhere. Daryl drops his gaze back to Jeremy, looking at him with raised eyebrows but saying nothing for a long moment.

Once he's sure the threat's passed, he asks, "What'd you do, as a security guard?"

"You can't...remember anything?" For a second she sees Kyle in Jeremy's place, drugged and amnesiac to the point where he couldn't remember his own name, before reminding herself that this is the here and now in the Games. Still, Luna wonders if someone could be messing with the Tributes via chemical means as well as everything else she's seen the Arena. She can't exactly put it past the Gamemakers, and it could make for some good drama for viewers too.

But that's far from the only possible reason for Jeremy's current problems, and generally the simpler explanations are the more likely ones. Better to start simple, too. "I can't help with your memory, but right now we're in the middle of the Hunger Games. People fight to the death here, and then they'll be brought back to life to do it again...but I'm not interested in hurting you. I promise." Important caveats in case he feels (justifiably) jumpy right now.

It just seems weird to be throwing out comments like that in a situation like this. There were dozens of other tributes and countless beasts and monsters hunting them down, ready to tear them apart, and it just didn't seem ... appropriate, he supposes, to be calling anyone any compliments here. But then, he never took compliments well anyway, even before he was attacked back home.

Oh well. More interesting of note is the fact that Daryl knows someone from a similar place. Jeremy can't imagine why there'd be more restaurants with murderous animatronic creatures in the world, but he does know that people here come from all sorts of different places. But it really is such a similarity, and with the anonymous note from earlier in mind too, he can't help but wonder. He thinks, maybe he should ask ...

But that's quickly interrupted when the beast above them swoops down and away, and even though they're safe where they are, it's close enough for Jeremy to panic for the moment. He's lost all fondness for creepy creatures swooping down anywhere near his head, after all, so it's a reflex action now for him to grab both sides of his head and hunch over in the grass, his own terrified noises muffled by the screeching noises from the dragon overhead.

He's perfectly fine with waiting there like that until the damned thing's truly gone, but Daryl speaks again and snaps him back to reality. He's not in that pizzeria anymore, that grotesque animatronic isn't crawling on the ceiling, everything's fine. For now.

So now he can laugh at that question. "T-Try and ... not get killed, basically. Which-- o-obviously, I sucked at. That place ... it was a death tr--trap."

It wasn't so much that he didn't remember anything at all - he knew his name, he knew what had happened back home, and he knew that he was here in Panem now ... but it was a lot of blanks otherwise and everything else was a hazy blur. Being thrust into a new world was one thing, but being forced to run for his life for being killed by not only other tributes but any number of monsters as well, that was something else entirely. He wasn't sure how anyone was supposed to handle it all.

"... i-if you say so," Jeremy shrugs as he answers. He's sure he can trust her at her word, for now at least. The panic's easing off, at least, so he's not shaking as much. "I get ... why we're all h-here. I just ... I don't know h-how I-- I blacked out, at home, now all this is ha--happening."

Had they taken him from his home directly into the Arena? Luna had thought waking up in Panem just before the Games had been bad; coming directly into the Arena sounds even worse. Of course given her history she can't throw too many stones, but she'd found the whole thing objectionable when it was her administrators behind the plan and it doesn't sit any better with her now. Given that, she really wishes she could help Jeremy more but unfortunately she doesn't know much more about the hows than he does.

"They have ways to take people from other worlds and bring them here. And they seem to have...different ways of achieving that, if needed." She wavers more on that point, because she knows firsthand (sort of) how strange and impossible those methods can be. "But I'm afraid I don't know any more than that. I'm sorry. I've only been here a few weeks myself."

Well, at least she tried.

It's not like he could blame her. A lot of people were likely in the same sort of situation, "newbies" like himself. Either they knew how this world worked and could offer advice, or they couldn't and were trying to help anyway - but the arena was very dangerous. Anyone, or anything, could come storming in at any point to take out a couple easy targets. She seemed nice enough to not deserve a fate like that.

"That's okay," Jeremy answers, lowering his gaze because that shadow (that's not really there but is still unsettling) is towering behind her now and if he doesn't look at it, maybe it'll go away. As for her, he doesn't want to be responsible for her lagging behind and getting hurt. "You sh-should go ... before something else h-happens."

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