thearena | I dig my own hole...

Entry tags:

daryl dixon,
ellis

I dig my own hole...

Who| Ellis and Open
What| Various Losses and Trials
Where| Various Locations in the Arena
When| All through Week 2
Warnings/Notes| to be updated!

I - Monday: The Forest

Ellis had a gut feeling that the moment his Nick died in the first week, he wouldn't be coming back…permanently. And he wished he felt sadder about giving his friend a proper funeral but it was the inevitable: they all died anyways…some later than others.

Rochelle was lost somewhere but he knows that she could find her way, right? He'd whistle every once, or attempt in the while to try and get some response out of the mess that was the Arena while he camped out with his supplies. Being alone was terrifying, was this what Nick felt when he had to slog through the tundra? He's helped a few Tributes here and there but he always retreated to the Forest…and up on the trees.

II- Tuesday and Wednesday : The City

Holy shit, zombie dogs Ellis was pretty damn sure that's what he saw when he wandered into the City portion of the Arena. Zombie fucking dogs, because the Universe wasn't cruel enough! He does his damnedest to stay out of the Cerberuses' paths and away from the creepy skin-bound monsters that moved so strangely. The Pizzeria was a tempting lure, maybe there was something left?

Should he see anyone head inside, El will trail behind them and see if the coast was clear.

The Avengers Tower bore no hope or mourning for Ellis, he merely tried his best to sidestep and avoid getting shocked as he searched for anything usable from the rubble.

III - Thursday : The Desert

"Holy shit, that's a goddamn car."

It was a highly modified car, but it looked functional and El's mechanic mind was already thinking of ways to start it up. He doesn't know if anyone's tried to hotwire it but this is what he is drawn to.

It's not until a tiny nagging voice takes over his mind, his rarely used common sense as it turns out, that he backs away from the car. It's too damn easy, he could ride the Arena out and keep Bambi Nick safe…but at what cost? Noise? Was there a trap?

Other structures are explored but Ellis isn't letting go of that stupid car.

IV - Friday: The Center

The bodies were gone but the blood trails still remained. Twelve native children died in this place and it felt…unnerving that they would never come back. Ellis took off his hat in reverence as he scavenged the area but this was an exercise in futility. There is nothing left in this place, just the echoes of children scrambling and the radio static he can't quite place.

All these babies will never go back to their parents…Rest in peace.

He doesn't linger here too much: he just wants to give his friends' last resting place a quick visit before he has to go again.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Deniera didn't know why she came back here. There's nothing here that could help her here, she knew that, but there was something that drew her to this place, despite the fact that her stomach twisted horribly and she could swear that being back here made the deep wound on her arm throb painfully.

She quietly lurked behind the man, trying to avoid being too obvious while trying to gauge if he could potentially be trusted. Not that she truly trusted anyone in here (even the men that Miss Swann promised would protect her). She's unarmed other than a stick she found in the forest that she held loosely as she trailed behind him.

Ellis knows he's being trailed and he slowed down just enough to catch a glimpse of the tribute. She looked like one of the dainty parakeets Ma'am Hawthorne would keep out in the backyard where he along with Keith and Dave could see them. Flighty things that had nothing to worry about as long as they were kept in their cages.

Poor baby's got one of her wings clipped, the mechanic thought as he spotted the blood on Deneira's arm.

"I can help ya with tha', you really don't wanna get it infected," he offered her that much. "I'm Ellis."

Deni wanted to turn around an run away, unsure if she could trust him. It wouldn't be worth the risk to get herself killed, but at the same time, she ~~needed~~ wanted help. "I know who you are," she said warily. One of her friends back in District 8, Cochineal, had once playfully angsted that he wasn't representing them because she liked his accent. "I'm Deniera."

There was an awkward pause as she tried to find her words, hoping not to sound accusatory. "Why would you want to help me?"

"Because it'd be terribly ungentlemanly thing t' do if I let ya walk around with yer arm like that," he joked as he set his weapons aside and brought out some of the foraged first-aid supplies from the dead Tributes.

"Survivors gotta stick together y'know?" Coach taught El that, and he's been using that mantra to help others and keep himself sane. "Come on, I can clean tha'...it'll sting but once all tha' infected gunk is outta yer wound, it'll feel better."

Jack had been in the city for over a week, had claimed a couple abandoned houses for his own in an effort to escape from the nightmarish creatures lurking in the streets at night. But this time, he'd made a mistake -- he'd lingered too long outside, searched too long for supplies or food. The sun had dipped down dangerously close to the horizon, and Jack was nowhere near his usual hiding places.

And in the fading light, out of he corner of his eye, he'd spotted movement tracking him. Heard feral, guttural snarls somewhere in the distance. It wasn't safe, that was clear.

Despite the flickering lights and creepy music, the Pizzeria looks like his closest and best bet to a hideout. So Ellis will see a flash of a gray suit as the pirate darts around the side of the building, disappearing inside. Then, not soon after, the sulking trot of a Cerebrus as it passes by the Pizzeria, head bent down to sniff the ground.

Hell no, Ellis is not messing with that rotting piece of meat on four legs. He's seen what Lickers did to Luke, he ain't touching that without some serious firepower. The Pizzeria seemed the most logical place to hide his redneck ass from the other predators. They seemed to avoid the place for some reason and he's going to head it.

So he takes an empty can of food leftover from Chuck and Derek's gifts and tosses it as far away as he can to get the Cerberus off his track and distracted. As soon as the beast is far enough...the mechanic darts to the Pizzeria and barricades entrance instantly.

He turned to the other tribute and croaked a "Hi", spent from making the run.

The commotion near the entrance had been enough to put Jack on high alert. He'd assumed the dog -- or creature, or whatever it was, christ -- had caught whiff of his scent and followed him inside.

So when the man turns around to greet him, Jack is all but stiff, staring, with one hand clasped tight around his knife. "Oi, mate, I won't cause you trouble if you'll return the same favor to me." He's wary, defensive, but randomly killing off other Tributes isn't really the way he operates.

"Likewise, an' let's both agree those dogs are fucked up," Ellis is quick to point out and make sure said dogs are gone.

It's when he realizes, "Did y'all see them turn tail when we came in here? It's as if they know something we don't..."

Well, they're in a Pizzeria so there should be some wares to raid, talking along the search, "Pretty intact...though the music's creepin' me out. I'm Ellis, what's yer name?"

Jack relaxes somewhat as Ellis agrees with him. Hopefully that meant the other Tribute was one less danger for him to worry about right now. "More monsters than dogs, I'd say. The beasts look half dead." He'd caught sight of them slinking around in the shadows and beneath street lights, skin marred with patches of exposed muscle and bone. Something was very wrong with those things.

He trails along with Ellis, staying vigilant as they move deeper into the building. The music gave him the creeps too, making the hair at the back of his neck and arm prickle. "Aye, they mustn't like somethin' about the place. And Captain Jack Sparrow. A pleasure, mate."

He stops short, suddenly, hearing what sounded like the faint, disquieting echo of a child giggling somewhere. "Did you hear that?"

"Captain? Shit, I-" Ellis paused his words when he did hear that laugh. "Uh yeah...I heard that."

And thanks to all the Witches he's faced in the trip from Savannah to Louisiana, the first thing the mechanic does is ready his weapon. He knows the Arena has lures using the Tributes' sympathies and humanity against them, not this time, buckos.

"Sounds like it's comin' from the back. We'd better find someplace safe. Someplace we can barricade ourselves, I ain't too curious t' see wha's inside."

Likewise, the pirate's hand tightens around the hilt of his knife. Laughter like that -- in a place like this and in the Arena, no less -- meant only trouble. He was sure of it.

"Aye. Good plan. There's a corridor that way." He indicates with a nod towards a gloomy, dark hallway that branches off from where they stand. "I'd wager there's a room or two to barricade there."

Not that he was eager to lock himself in a room with another Tribute. But his choices were becoming more and more narrow as the time ticked by -- caught between trusting Ellis, combating the demonic dogs outside, or dealing with whatever traps lay in store here.

"Betcha there's a security office or a food storage room we can use," Ellis was thinking as he followed Jack's suggestion. It was the same in every store his group ran into as they made their way over to the promised land: the evacuation center that would take them to safety up in Canada or some other place. It took a bit of searching but the mechanic pointed out to the only lit room in the restaurant. "Like tha', tha' works just fine..."

Posters of cartoon animals and party decorations strewn about made for an unsettling atmosphere. It was creepy enough with the laugh, now this? He spotted one of the mascots laying around in disarray. "Poor man's Six Flags or Disney World..." he remarked, nothing he could salvage off the bear or anything he wouldn't need a welding torch to free. "Still kinda weird."

Jack trails into the room behind Ellis, that feeling of unease creeping deeper into his thoughts as he catches sight of the mascot inside. He furrows his brow, a grimace pulling his mouth downwards, metal flashing in his teeth. "Blimey, this place." Curiosity and impulse urges him to go investigate the bear, maybe prod at it a bit, but sense has him scouting the room for things with which to barricade the room's openings first. They need to make sure they're safe.

"They've certainly done their best to make this place resoundingly eerie." He has no idea what Six Flags or Disney World is, but gathers they must be similar to this place in some way. Another giggle echoes from somewhere far off.

Ellis would have made a comment about the absolute creepiness of the place had he not spotted movement in the back. He wasn't sure what it was, but it moved faster than anything he'd seen outside. A chill went up his spine as he looked into one of the abandoned bathrooms close to the security room.

"Uh, Captain Sparrow? Where are ya?" he called out as he saw the remains of a monster, its' head torn off by what seemed like one hell of a strike...or a bite. "I think we're gonna need a lot more back-up!"

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, fuck FUCK.

He's in the middle of rifling through a desk when Ellis' worried voice carries over from somewhere outside the room. With a growing knot twisting in his gut, Jack quickly scrambles to where the other Tribute is, knife at the ready, and takes in the scene with wide eyes.

"Bloody hell, what do you think did that?" He's starting to think that coming into the pizzeria wasn't any better of an idea than toughing it out outside. "I think you're dead-on right about needin' more back-up, mate."

It's at that moment that Ellis took note that the bots aren't where they were in the first place, most notably, the bear. The bear that Captain had spotted was now gone from its' spot and the laughter of children had suddenly deepened to an unearthly low tone.

"I think we're gonna find out, time t' close down at the office," he whispered, "We're not alone here!"

How terribly ironic to have a tattered banner read Welcome to Freddy Fazbear's, torn and hanging by a thread.

Ellis ran towards the left hall, and nearly crashed an open door, the Service and Parts area when he could see a large shape with beady eyes that had no right to be in a children's cartoon.

This wasn't good. Not good at all.

Jack rushes behind Ellis, his gait uneven and arms swinging, and almost smashes into the other Tribute's back when they enter the next room. The ghastly sight of Bonnie startles him bad enough to force a (not very manly) yelp past his lips, and Jack clasps a curled hand to his mouth.

Then he makes a grab for Ellis' shoulder, to try and pull him out of the room. "Engh not this way, not this way!"

Ellis is no newbie when it comes to horrible survival situations but he's used to living threats that aren't automatons hell bent on scaring the shit out of their prey. There is one saving grace after all and as soon as he regains footing from Jack's pull, El pointed out to the security room, and exclaimed.

"There! Head there an' see if there's any lights goin'!"

There had to be a mechanism, anything to ward them out, more so when the mechanic could hear curtains parting, and a "dum-dum-dum" sing-a-long echoing from the stage.

True to form, Daryl's hit his stride haunting the familiar terrain of the woods, slipping like a wraith through the underbrush in the pursuit of game. The sponsors have once again been generous, providing practical supplies for Rick, Vivi, and Daryl, along with rations and even clean drinking water, but he isn't fool enough to rely on sponsors to survive.

The Cornucopia had proven extremely beneficial for Rick — netting supplies and weapons, including a shotgun and large axe, and all without incurring injury — but not so much for Daryl; in his attempt to cover his partner, he'd gotten blindsided and had caught the business end of something nasty, opening an extensive, curving gash from right shoulder to left hip. Luckily Rick had acquired first aid supplies, and they've since scavenged abundant material to serve as reusable bandages, effectually sterilised with boiling water. But in spite of these advantages and careful treatment the wound's become infected, inflamed and hot to the touch, throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

It slows him down. But there's no way in hell he's going to sit at camp and expect Rick and Vivi to pick up his slack, it's simply too much of a risk right now. For the moment he's still more than capable of tracking and hunting on his own, his movements as silent as ever as he prowls between trees, though there's a noticeable stiffness to his posture that speaks of concealed pain.

The sound of whistles occasionally carry to him through the stillness of the woods, and he adjusts his route accordingly to keep the source ahead of him, the distance between them steadily closing. The axe from Rick's haul is carried on his back, while his hunting knife is held at the ready as he cautiously makes his way toward the camp. When he spots the Tribute, he huffs out a surprised breath and abandons any pretense of stealth, rising from his crouch to offer a wave.

"You by your lonesome?" he calls out quietly. There haven't been signs of any others in the immediate area, but all the same he waits for Ellis's answer.

"Yup," Ellis sighed out, "An' it's worryin' me." Seeing Daryl walking around if hurt is a comfort as he holds up his knife to show he's not here to make any trouble. "Haven't seen Nick around, Hat Nick I mean..." He made the distinction because, "My Nick is dead again. I-I don't have much faith in his return." He spotted the stiffness and he immediately dropped down to Dixon's aid, "Tell me Rick's taken care o' tha', 'cause I can try an' help but my resources are limited."

He doesn't want to lose anyone else right now.

He draws closer to Ellis's camp, moving to sit near him to lessen the chances of being overhead by anyone else.

"M'good," he mumbles dismissively, not wanting any more supplies to be wasted on him. The bandages visible beneath the collar of his haphazardly mended jumpsuit are a good indication that it's been taken care of, at least. "Sorry about Nick. Wasn't us, this time," he's careful to add as he slants a concerned look at Ellis, frowning. Two weeks into the Arena and he's been alone this whole time? It seems unusual — and dangerous.

"Haven't seen 'em neither. Nick, Luke, Rochelle. Been keepin' an eye out." It's the least he could do. He may not be on the best terms with Rochelle, but she's important to Luke and Ellis, and that's enough for him. Sighing inwardly, he brings a hand up and chews on his thumbnail as he scans their surroundings, falling silent for a moment while he thinks. "We're not hurtin' for food, can boil water. Got a whole castle to ourselves..." As he trails off he gives Ellis another look, this one expectant; he clearly has no intention of leaving Ellis on his own. Just doesn't feel right.

"I know it wasn't yer fault. I just wish I could bury him properly, you know? He deserves tha' much." El caught the tone and smiled; Daryl was looking out for him. He's trying his best to look confident himself, for his sponsors and for his Mentors, including Miss Anna. If she could make it to Victory, why can't he? There is a Career mindset taking hold on the mechanic's mind, training with Chuck has ensured that much on him.

But he's chosen to make that into something useful for his fellow survivors: having less qualms about murdering other Tributes would ensure they lived to see another week.

"Y'all won't mind if I crash with ya? Havin' yer own castle is metal as fuck."

"Yeah, I get that," Daryl replies with a solemn cast to his face, choosing not to elaborate. Everyone's lost someone, talking about his own losses won't change that fact. "Could still do somethin' after the arena, pay your respects. Pour one out for him."

The desire for a proper burial — hell, even a chance to say goodbye — is something that he's become well acquainted with, even long before he'd been brought to Panem. When he'd found his older brother for the final time, he'd been too late; all that had remained was a shambling reanimated corpse, wearing his brother's face and driven by an unnatural hunger, mindlessly reaching for him...

Time's supposed to heal all wounds, or so he's heard. Hasn't done jack shit for that one.

At least with Beth, there's the slim chance she's alive back home, still waiting for him in that godforsaken hospital. Carol, too. He has to believe that.

Surfacing from his grim thoughts, he gives a nod and withdraws his hunting knife from its sheath at his hip, looking over the blade. "S'no trouble. Gonna check more snares before I head back though," he says as he wipes the blade clean on his jumpsuit. "Wanna come with or should I pick you up later?" The need for stealth is less important with snare-hunting, so he doesn't mind potentially noisy companions for it.

"I'll come with, dunno what y'all might get with this Arena...an' you might need a second set o' hands if it ain't falling easily."

Ellis was as loyal as they came but also as efficient. Daryl was probably one of the bigger contenders for the Crown, and he had the experience to prove it, but the mechanic knows he can be useful in a pinch. He helped get Anna off the boat back at the last Mini-Arena, he could be an asset.

"At least I want to be useful if I'm going into a castle!"

"We should get movin' then," Daryl suggests, already beginning to feel restless sitting in one spot, relatively out in the open like this. "I'll help you close up shop."

By which he means pack up Ellis's supplies and get him ready to move. Given the mercurial nature of Arenas, the Lindblum castle might only be a safe haven and stronghold for so long, but they'll cross that bridge when they get there. For now, it really seems to be the most secure place to settle in. Easily defensible.

Once Ellis is packed up, Daryl's careful to sweep away the traces of his camp, disturbing the loose dirt and scattering detritus. A well-trained eye might pick out where they've been and be able to follow, but to the average Tribute, they may as well be invisible.

"How've things been?" he asks as they start heading deeper into the woods. It's an intentionally broad question; he isn't asking about Ellis's Arena experience now, but rather everything else that's been going on outside of it. "Noticed flannel's gettin' real popular in the Capitol," he adds dryly. Unsurprisingly, a few awkward rumours about the two of them had also cropped up from time to time.

Ellis is fully aware of the rumors that spread through their interactions, and just how far the Capitol will go with to get their fix for a "ship"

"Oh-ho they needed a break from the glitter an' fancy food, time for a redneck party!" the younger man laughed, something he hadn't done in a fair while now. But he had to ask, "Have ya seen some of the stuff in the city? I...don't think Luke's comin' back."

Yeah, no, the Lickers did a number on him.

"That's puttin' it lightly," Daryl says with a derisive huff, but it becomes a quiet chuckle as he can't help smiling a bit at the ridiculousness of some of those rumours. They're so far off base sometimes it isn't even funny (except it sort of is), considering Ellis has become more like a kid brother to him than anything else. But the Capitol sees what they want to see.

He sobers at the mention of the city and Luke's fate. "Saw the city but didn't stay long," he answers, hesitating. They'd managed to scavenge a few things from the area, including the wire that Daryl's using for snares. But it was so monster-infested they'd have quickly run out of ammunition if they'd stayed. "...You saw Luke then?" he eventually asks, chewing on his lip. Ellis's comment made it painfully obvious what must have happened. "Didja make sure he— wouldn't turn?"

Unless he'd already been too far gone...

"There wasn't much left to turn," In this case, Ellis needed to be blunt because of what he saw: the creatures he had no clue to what they were, they were devouring the Tribute and the mechanic wasn't about to join his friend in that mess.

"I'm sorry for your loss, Daryl," what else could the man say? They came from different enough worlds that the monsters were different. "I couldn't go any closer but..."

But I recognized him and that's something Nick and I will have to deal with.

El looked away for a second, "We've not been doing as well as I'd hoped, you know?"

"Yeah... Glad I found ya when I did. Our odds are better if we stick together," Daryl replies, wondering what happened to force Luke to be on his own like that. Terrible way to go, dying scared and alone and surrounded by horrors. "Least we know what happened to him."

Luke's been an ally almost since the start, and somewhere along the line, Daryl had allowed him to bridge several carefully guarded boundaries to become a good friend as well. He wordlessly shakes his head and casts his gaze downward as they walk, letting his silence speak for him. He doesn't blame Ellis at all — he'd been smart to not needlessly put himself in danger, especially with Luke already being that far gone.

Almost without conscious effort he detects the hints of a trail left by a good-sized animal, heading in the direction of where he'd set the snares. Feeling hopeful, he picks up the pace as he follows the tracks.

Sure enough, they lead straight to a muttation roughly analogous to a deer or goat, caught in one of the snares. It's hanging with the wire pulled tight around its throat, already dead; either from a broken neck or from strangling. And luckily no scavengers have gotten to it yet.

"Never seen one'a these before," he remarks as he circles around it, reaching out to examine one of the long, twisting horns on its head. "Reckon it's edible. C'mere, help hold it and I'll get it loose."

"I just Nick will forgive me for not helping." The change of topics was needed because if Ellis were to linger in his thoughts, he'd start blaming himself for the deaths rather than thinking objectively. He had to face the facts that Luke probably got lost and met the ends of every survivor who left a group without telling his fellows. The risks were the same no matter where they were and now he had to explain what he saw to Nick.

"Looks like Bambi had an affair with the wrong species," he laughed as he held onto the muttation tight, "Fucker's heavy though, hot damn yer gonna eat good tonight!"

Clearly they'll have goat deer meat for days...so long as it was edible though.

The prospect of decent, filling meals and not having to worry about food for a while is enough to lighten Daryl's spirits; he feels truly useful for probably the first time since getting injured. Just as Rick's personality and abilities make him a natural leader, Daryl embraces the role of provider like a fish takes to water.

Once he's freed the muttation from the wire with Ellis's help, he shoulders the weight of it himself, spending a few moments to shift his burden into the most comfortably balanced position for carrying. Ideally he'd like to field dress it to reduce the weight, and he isn't looking forward to the steep hike into Lindblum like this, but leaving even the slightest trail of blood just seems too risky.

"Hope you'll be joinin' us for goat-deer steaks," he says with cheer in his voice as they get moving again. "If you do find Nick or any'a the others, bring 'em back with you. It'd be nice bein' all together."

It's a matter he'll discuss with Rick at the first opportunity, but he's sure it won't be a problem, especially if he continues bringing home such good hauls of fresh meat and fish. Plus, he knows Ellis and Nick can both hunt too... if they manage to find Nick, anyway.

"Found a stray couple days back," he continues. "New guy, Fitzgerald. He had a sponsor note tellin' him to find me'n a few others— Nick too." The news about Luke's untimely demise presents a new possibility. "Y'think maybe Luke's already back in the Capitol and sent it...?" How Luke might know Jeremy is another question; Jeremy doesn't seem to be from their world.

"Oh I wish I could bring y'all some sandwiches, my momma always taught me to bring somethin' to a get-together," Ellis half-joked at the prospect but all he had were his two hands, ready to serve the group. "Nick hasn't come in yet?"

But at the mention of a stray named Fitzgerald, there was one only candidate that fit the bill. He smiled softly at the memory, "Y'mean Rabbit? Kinda jittery, nervous but sorta not all there? I heard him read yer name an' Nick's but he don't look like he's from our worlds. I left him in the forests, hopin' he'd run into ya or Nicky accordin' to tha' letter."

Their undead-infested worlds would have been cruel to someone as broken as Jeremy, but it begged the question: "If it was Luke, I wouldn't be surprised. Him an' Nick got hearts o' gold."

The mention of Southern hospitality draws a fleeting, wistful smile from Daryl despite himself. He's unable to deny how nice it is to have such reminders of home, especially in present circumstances. Eugene and the other newcomers to his group back home were antsy to get their asses to Washington on some fool's errand, something about a supposed 'cure' (about which he maintains a very healthy skepticism), but Daryl's rather hoping to stay in Georgia. If he ever gets back...

But whatever Rick decides on the matter, Daryl will support him no matter what, even if the decision ultimately runs counter to Daryl's best interests and wants. It wouldn't be the first time; it's just part of caring about people. They come first, his own wants are inconsequential.

"That's the guy," he confirms after Ellis describes Jeremy. "'Rabbit', huh? Seems fittin'. Dragon flew by and I thought he was gonna jump outta his skin." His features settle into his customary dour expression as he shakes his head. Bringing a guy like that to Panem seems cruel, even if it is technically a second chance at life. What sort of life can anyone really have here?

Of course, some manage to land on their feet and get luckier than others. He and Ellis are proof of that.

After a while their trek through the woods begins to take them uphill, the incline gradual, still easy going compared to what awaits them closer to Lindblum.

"How are you and Bambi?" he wonders aloud, casting a look back at Ellis, genuine concern veiled with humour. "'N I don't mean what them gossip rags say."

"Poor thing's haunted by somethin', he doesn't deserve to be here an' be fightin' the mutts here," Not like he and Daryl or anyone else should be out dying for people that would just as well be cheering for murderers and assholes like Black Tom. At the end of the day, and with the Hunger Games being the Real World on PCP, it's fairly obvious the Capitol just wants to be entertained.

The question earned Daryl a smirk, "Well, we're goin' steady if tha's what yer askin'. We're good on tha' front if y'know wha' I mean." It's not just Celebrus who enjoys the relationship, it's them too. "I make sure he don't worry himself t' an early death. Wha' about you an' Rick, hmm?"

Sponsors get listening.

Daryl suspects Jeremy might be haunted in a much more literal sense, after what the former night guard had said about the murderous animatronics. But it isn't his place to share that sort of information, considering he may have been told in confidence — never mind that nothing is truly 'private' in Arenas — so he remains silent on the matter.

It's nice hearing about Ellis and Nick's success; the two survivors certainly deserve something going right in their lives for once. That they've managed to create something worthwhile together in Panem of all places gives Daryl hope for his own relationship, despite the challenges they've faced.

"Glad to hear it. We're good," he replies and afterward hesitates, considering. He isn't very open about such matters normally, but Ellis's own candour encourages him. "He's the best damn thing that's ever happened to me," he admits, and immediately seems embarrassed by his own honesty, ducking his head. Shifting the muttation on his shoulders, he starts heading toward a semi-paved path that's beginning to resolve itself amidst the forest detritus.

"If you had the choice... would you even wanna return home, or stay here in Panem?"

He has to wonder whether Capitol tech would allow them to visit worlds other than their own — whether he and Rick might ever get to see Vivi's actual world with the kid. In Ellis and Nick's case, it could enable them to stay together outside of Panem. He doesn't envy them there, the uncertainty of what happens if one or both of them get returned to their respective home worlds.

It's Daryl's question that gets the young man thinking and he has to say, "I...I dunno. I mean, this ain't my world, this ain't where my family an' friends are. But in the end, I think it's safer I stay here."

Because he doesn't want to think about the god-awful truth: that he could be a carrier of the Green Flu virus. That his blood, or any thing he has could infect others and bring about a new pandemic.

"In Panem, it's like the flu ain't real, a bad memory of sorts. I don't think I can take anyone gettin' harmed because of me. Kinda like you an' Rick, an' Nick. We git outta the arenas, we're jus' normal people. Or else we'd be on th' firin' squad too."

"Been wonderin' about that flu of yours. Nick from your world mentioned it, but didn't go into detail." Mainly because after saving Nick from the homicidal geese, Daryl hadn't been keen on sticking around longer than necessary, having been too wary at the time to risk trusting a stranger right off the bat.

"What is it? Everyone's got it, some are just immune?" he guesses, glancing over at Ellis with a pensive frown pulling at his mouth. "Everyone from my world's infected — prob'ly airborne. But it seems to work kinda different here... think it takes swappin' bodily fluids to infect someone now."

Something he's deduced from watching past Arena footage. The people he was in close contact with for an extended period of time, such as Vivi and Phillip, hadn't reanimated after their deaths, so presumably couldn't have been infected. The Capitol may not possess a genuine cure for the virus, but there does seem to be some mechanic blocking the usual avenues of transmission. The Initiate's corpse had reanimated after Rick posthumously bit him, proving infection is still possible...

"It's mostly transmitted through fluids but when y'have a small hospital room with everyone coughin' an' not coverin' their mouths, it's gonna spread like wildfire on kindling," Ellis explained, "Probably why they called it a flu instead o' rabies, less scary for th' kids."

El sobered up at the thought, because he didn't have to break into homes to know what lied behind those doors. "They died pretty quickly, those tha' weren't lucky enough t' be evacuated. But your virus actually pulls a zombie Jesus on people, mine just makes people go nuts an' mutate."

An apt comparison in his mind to set both viruses apart. The Capitolites had this weird idea of the undead.

The truth of the Green Flu is marginally worse than what Daryl has been expecting, particularly when considering what could happen if the viruses from their respective worlds ever combined. Crazy violent, ravenous, mutant walkers. Not a pleasant thought.

"Yeah... halfassed evacuations happened in my world too. For all the good it did 'em." There's roads and highways packed with abandoned vehicles. Empty military barricades. In the end they'd all just become part of the walker herds that can swell to a thousand or more strong, rolling through places like an undead army, ever increasing their ranks. Either plain old decomposition or the lack of living prey would be the end of it, whichever occurs first. But as long as there's still living people... there will always be walkers.

"I was up in the mountains huntin' when everything went to hell, away from anywhere populated. Kinda got lucky," he says, shifting the carcass again and getting a better grip on it. 'Lucky' relatively speaking; his father and uncle had also been hunting with him, and neither survived.

The stone paved path they're on inclines uphill, steadily growing more steep and leading out of the forested area. "Not much farther. Watch your head," he adds with a nod upward, toward the sky. "Saw some damn dragons flyin' through here the other day."

Whether Daryl intended Ellis to snap out of his memories and come back to the Arena, it was more than enough for the young man to smirk.

"Man if we git some dragon hide up in yer camp, we'll be fireproof t' hell an' back!" Resourceful as he was, it begged the question, "I reckon yer not gonna risk gettin' barbecued for some special brand leather." Been there done that, zero stars from being boiled alive in his first and only cornucopia.

Seeing the incoming camp, El joked around with, "If we keep this up, I'mma root fer ya an' Rick to be the winners. 'Bout time this place got a Southern Gentleman t' wear the crown." Excuse his pride talking.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

I dig my own hole...

Friday

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Tuesday

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cw: bonnie

jack would be so horrible at fnaf

sobbing it's true probably torn apart by foxy because irony is amazing

Monday, predictably

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they're almost at camp, so this can wrap anytime if you want!

Let's wrap up here!