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[leiche]

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."

Comments

[shiftingurbulls]

"I would not raise too much hell," a hushed Southern drawl whispered from behind, as a careful tribute made his way to this new one. Poor man seems like he's seen some shit and probably yanked from a bad situation.

Plus he had supplies with him, so Ellis figured there could be some bartering in the future. "Yer a new face, wha's yer name?"

The caution El displayed was typical of his survivor friends: welcoming but ready to fight if there was any displays of aggression.

[leiche]

The voice behind him caught Jeremy completely off guard and he jumped, pushing away from the pond's edge to cower against the tree behind him. Just because he still believed himself to be dead already didn't mean he wasn't wary and suspicious of the other (possibly) dead people around. Who knew what kind of people they were, anyway?

Just because this fellow seemed friendly at first, it didn't mean he wasn't here for something else. He wasn't about to trust him for a second.

"Please go-- go away," Jeremy answered, voice quiet and shaking as he tries to push himself further away. "Leave m-me alone ..."

[shiftingurbulls]

Ellis was as friendly as they came, a survivor that can rally support and keep morale up had its' purpose. This newbie shook like a cornered bunny and while he could make the easy kill, it wouldn't be right.

"It's yer first Arena, ain't it? Yer gonna get yerself killed if y'don't move or find help," he spoke again as he rummaged in his supplies for something useful. Yes, it was the antithesis of the Games's purpose but it's also one of the few ways people keep sane.

"I've gone through it twice now. Don't be shy, Rabbit." And that's probably Jeremy's nickname from now on.

[leiche]

He knew better than to trust the guy at first glance. If he could take anything from his previous life experience, he knew that much. A friendly smile, a charming voice, it could all just be a cover. And the rules of this arena were anything goes. It could be nothing more than a false sense of security.

And hunters could easily pick off a rabbit at any second.

"... f-- first ..." Jeremy mumbled, rubbing his forehead as his headache worsened, the crumpled note rolling towards the water. Maybe this guy can just make it quick. "Jeremy-- it- name ... I'm ... Jeremy."

[shiftingurbulls]

Sorry Jeremy, but this Tribute isn't a killer, or at least not without provocation. Ellis allowed himself to be vulnerable and stepped out, putting aside his weapon for this.

"Jeremy, I'm Ellis. District 4 an' your note's up an' leavin' ya," he remarked, "You got sponsored, tha's a good thing. I can lead ya towards a safer spot an' tide ya over. Y'got a nasty wound on yer head."

[leiche]

Setting weapons aside was a bit of a surprise. Though Jeremy didn't doubt that if the man wanted to, he could easily take him out with his bare hands, at least it was a good sign for now. But he was still going to keep his distance, eyeing the note rolling away but only shrugging his shoulders in response.

"It's just n-names," Jeremy answered, tugging his knees to his chest. "I don't-- don't know what to do with-- with it."

He figured it was only a matter of time before the scars were mentioned, and he only shugs again, making a vague gesture towards his head with one hand. "And it's f-fine. It's old."

[shiftingurbulls]

"Really?! THAT'S old?" Ellis barked in absolute surprise, those were deep enough to break the skull! Either way, the mechanic draws closer, "If a sponsor's referrin' ya to somewhere, maybe I can help. I know a fair buncha people an' they're pretty damn good folks."

He might boast about that now but he knows that if push comes to shove, he'll put up one hell of a fight to win. Not with this one. "Most people don't wanna kill fer th' sport of it. We just wanna survive."

[leiche]

Oh god-- shouting, loud, not good.

"Not-- too loud, don't be loud," Jeremy tells the stranger first, hands covering his ears. Loud shouting voices didn't set him off into panic attacks or anything, but it didn't help the headaches at all, and if he was going to last any longer out here, he didn't want to be dealing with headaches on top of everything else.

He's not sure what the guy means by sponsor, exactly, but once the man mentions other people, Jeremy wonders if the names on the note he was sent were any of those same people. He doesn't trust most anyone here, but this guy seemed nice at least, and if he knew other people who were the same, Jeremy needed any help he could get. So he brings the note back up and unfolds it, holding it out in a trembling hand for the other to read.

"Do you kn-- know ... any of these people?"

[shiftingurbulls]

Yeah, no, Ellis is going to have trouble not calling Jeremy Rabbit if he trembles like this. He took the note and beamed, keep his voice down,"Yep! Daryl Dixon's a pretty neat guy an' Nick's my, uh, boyfriend, yeah...others, ain't too sure myself but like I said, most people don't wanna slaughter ya for the hell of it."

He kneels down towards Jeremy, checking his injuries out, "Come on, this place is full of monsters tha'll tear ya apart..." He's seen the zombie dog tracks and the bloody aftermath.

[didnothing]

Luna's cautious when she ventures into the forest, armed with nothing but rations and a first aid kit. There are creatures about and she doesn't have much by way of self-defense skills, so she's in hot water in the probable event that she encounters trouble. But she's never had any illusions about her odds of winning, while she does have of hopes of making some small difference for someone who needs it.

She sees someone in the distance to her side and makes to approach them. Luna is careful but not silent (sneaking up on people would give the wrong impression of her intentions) so when Jeremy makes a rude gesture she assumes it's directed at her. She can't quite make out what he's saying but the sentiment is clear, so Luna steps back from where she is and waves her hands in apology, calling out to him to make herself heard more clearly. "I'm sorry! I just, um...are you all right?"

[leiche]

He knows that it's incredibly unlikely for him to be all alone in the forest. There were still ... at least fifty or more tributes from what he could remember being told before, and while the arena was certainly large and vast, the odds of him being the only explorer in the forest right now were still slim. But even keeping that in mind, Jeremy's still startled when the hallucinatory black rabbit started talking to him - in a female voice, surprisingly.

But after closing his eyes and rubbing his scarred head, he looks back up and the shadow is gone, a young lady in it's place. Oh-- great, he just cursed at and flipped off a girl.

"... sorry," Jeremy answers, reprimanding himself for not keeping his temper in check. "I didn't mean you, it was-- it's ... nothing. Sorry."

[didnothing]

Luna doesn't see anyone else at the moment so she doesn't know who else Jeremy could mean right now, but she chooses to believe him when he says it wasn't directed at her. That begs the question of what he did mean by it, though. She comes a little closer, slowly so that he isn't startled, to get a better look and to give herself a moment to check their surroundings again. No, she doesn't see anyone else around - or if someone is there, they're hiding for now.

"Did you see something?" she asks once she's near enough to Jeremy to talk normally. "Or...are you hurt?" She doesn't see any obvious recent injuries and it wouldn't explain the rude gesture, but a painful injury would shorten someone's temper. Certainly people have gotten angry over less.

[leiche]

She didn't seem immediately threatening, but Jeremy still wasn't too certain. He knew the rules of the arena - only one winner, one survivor - so it wasn't really in his best interests to start making friends now. Anyone could be playing along, lulling him into a false sense of security. Or the opposite could happen: what if they end up becoming friends but have to kill the other in the end anyway? How hard would that be?

"... maybe," he answers quietly, shuffling an inch or so further away and closer to the tree. It helped that she was speaking quietly and seemed genuine with her concern. He wasn't injured, minor scrapes and bruises from his own clumsiness more than anything, and the scars on his forehead were old and faded by now. He was just scared and weary. "I don't know-- it-- ... 's just in my head. I think. I-I don't know anymore."

[didnothing]

In his head...that's not really good either, especially since the man seems to be disoriented by whatever's wrong. He's shying away from her, but she's not going to complain about that - it's to be expected in a situation like this, and it isn't as if she can do anything for psychological matters. Still, it looks like the man might run into some trouble if she were to just leave now so she tries to think of what she can do for him.

She starts with something basic. "Well...if you want to talk about it, I can listen. I'm Luna, from District 6. It's fine if you don't believe me, but I'm not going to hurt you."

[leiche]

He wasn't about to start letting his guard down just because someone didn't look immediately threatening. Anyone could practice enough to learn any combat skill, and hell, anyone could lift a rock and drop it on someone's head. But truthfully, always being afraid of everyone and everything was taking quite a toll on him, and it was exhausting.

So even though she was saying so, Jeremy wasn't sure about trusting just yet. But he also wasn't sure if people would introduce themselves to someone before killing them, either.

"... it's-- it's okay," he answers, shaking his head. "I'm just ... crazy. Crazy person. Y-You should keep going."

[didnothing]

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.

[leiche]

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."

[weaintashes]

The ponds are veritable buffets if one knows which woodland critters are safely edible and which to avoid, even if it's always sort of a crapshoot in Arenas, with how fond the Gamemakers are of murdering Tributes in unexpected ways. It's a necessary risk as far as Daryl's concerned; they can't survive on sponsor gifts alone.

He's thigh-deep in one of the ponds and wading through, methodically gigging frogs with a makeshift spear when he hears the telltale sounds of someone approaching, still a ways off — too far away to have seen him, hopefully. He quickly gathers the haul of skewered frogs in his pack, slips his axe into its sling on his back, and vanishes into the undergrowth to wait out the intrusion.

The guy who shows up looks pretty unassuming, and not well equipped. A face he's never seen before.

Other Tributes remain the greatest threat in any Arena, and Daryl makes a point of finding out what he can about the 'competition', in particular, who to avoid or kill on sight. Being new makes this one a wild card and thus dangerous by default.

Just as he's turning, intent on slinking away to hunt elsewhere, he hears the new guy muttering to himself — and what's unmistakably his own name. Firo and Nick's, too. Huh. The note must have been from someone he knows well, if they're telling this stranger that Daryl'll help him. He hesitates for a long moment as he makes up his mind, and then cautiously moves forward to reveal himself, rising to stand on the opposite side of the pond from the stranger (thankfully not overlapping the hallucination), a hand gripping the hilt of his hunting knife sheathed at his waist. Just in case.

"Who's that note from?" he asks by way of greeting, voice pitched low enough that it won't carry far, and tips his chin toward the crumpled note. "Seems they think I oughtta be helpin' you."

[leiche]

Honestly, he didn't mean to draw attention to himself. Jeremy thought he was completely alone, and reading the note aloud to himself helped him to remember the advice and names written there. And while he knew there would be other tributes around ... well, he thought this place was in the clear for now. That was his fault.

The voice startles him, and he presses back against the tree behind him, trying not to panic. The shadow doesn't disappear from his vision, sticking around in the corner of his eye while Jeremy watches the other man approach. He's obviously more armed (most people probably are) and well trained, so he knows there's no point in even trying to put up a fight or even argue about it. But then, the note is mentioned - this guy's one of the names written there?

It's a start, he supposes, and he reaches with a trembling hand for the crumpled piece of paper, unfolding it to read it again. At first, he wonders if he missed it, a signature or pair of initials or something, but there's nothing else there and he shakes his scarred head.

"I-I don't kn-- know ..." he answers quietly, feeling at least a little less worried. The man could be lying, of course, but it's worth a shot. "It doesn't s-say. It's just n-- ... names."

He isn't sure how the note is supposed to help - is he meant to approach everyone and ask their name to see if they're on the list? It's absurd. But, it's not like he has many options.

"W-Who are you?"

[weaintashes]

"Daryl Dixon, that's me," he answers easily, moving his hand from his knife to rest against his hip instead as he shifts his weight to one foot. Attempting to seem less threatening. The injury he'd incurred during the Cornucopia scuffle — the hint of fresh bandages beneath the collar of his mended jumpsuit the only evidence of it — hasn't been healing well, leaving his posture a bit stiff in the effort to not aggravate it further. A physical altercation is the last thing he wants, and thankfully the stranger seems more befuddled than hostile. Undoubtedly scared, and he should be. Fear will keep him alive longer.

"Know Nick'n Firo, too, they're good guys. Whatever you got sent, that's from a sponsor. Means you got someone lookin' out for you, but there's only so much they can do from out there. S'important to know people in here."

Even if all that amounts to is prolonging the inevitable, sometimes. It's good to make connections, and if this guy is a friend of a friend, well, he's as good as Daryl's friend then. (Provided he doesn't turn out to be some kind of homicidal lunatic.)

"Ain't many people who'd be givin' out my name," he explains as he carefully sinks into a crouch at the pond's edge, shrugs off his pack, starts pulling out the makeshift spear — really just a forked branch with sharpened ends. He's watching the other man all the while, unwilling to let his guard down. "Someone who thinks I can trust you. What's your name?"

[leiche]

Daryl Dixon ... he checks the list again, and the name is there. The other names he mentions are as well, so it's a little reassuring at least. Jeremy's still not sure, everything could be just a massive ploy to get him to let his guard down, but the truth is he's exhausted. He's so tired of running and being afraid of every little thing. This man's name is on the list he was given, so he might as well take the gamble and trust him, if only to let himself rest a bit.

A sponsor was something new to him, as well. He was brought into the arena with the bare minimum of information, and all of his focus had simply been on surviving. Though that did beg the question ... who would be sponsoring him? He was brand new, he didn't know anybody, and he certainly wasn't making a good impression on anyone watching by running away and freaking out over hallucinations and crickets.

It was all so confusing. Jeremy tried to wrap his brain around the concept, while curiously watching the other man - Daryl - crouch down at the opposite end of the pond. He still wasn't too certain of what would happen, if he'd end up stabbed and drowned at the bottom of said pond, but at the very least maybe he could learn a little more about this world before an inevitable fate.

"... Jeremy," he answers, idly wondering if the sharpened branch in Daryl's hand would end up piercing his throat in the next few minutes. It's not like he could fight back. "You don't-- don't have to h-help me. I don't ... really know what's going on. Probably just-- slow you down."

The last thing he wanted was to ruin someone else's chances of survival simply by tagging along.

[weaintashes]

Daryl looks downright offended by the suggestion that Jeremy might slow him down — that's a terrible mindset to fall into. Giving up without a fight. But he also understands just how overwhelming it can be, getting tossed straight into an Arena upon arriving in Panem, considering they'd done the same to him nearly a year ago. After a moment his expression softens into something more sympathetic.

"Know I don't have to help," he states matter-of-factly, tilting his head in lieu of a shrug. This isn't his first rodeo, he's taken in strays before (unbeknownst to him, Jeremy's mysterious sponsor is one of them). "Thing is, my help don't mean shit anyway if you're not gonna help yourself. Don't just—" He gestures vaguely, frustration evident. "—Give up."

Shifting closer to the water, he perches there leaning forward, intently watching the pond. "You hungry?" he asks without looking up. Eventually there's a series of tiny plips near the surface, and rattle-snake quick, he spears a small multi-coloured fish. It gets added to the collection of frogs in his pack, then he's right back to watching the water.

"Got a few mouths to feed, I have a group. Fish'n frog legs tonight. Maybe mushrooms if we find any that ain't toxic," he says thoughtfully, deliberately including Jeremy in the foraging plans. Best way to teach is through example. He spares a brief upward glance before continuing to catch dinner. "Got any questions, you'd best start askin'."

[leiche]

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.

[weaintashes]

"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.

[leiche]

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.