thearena | Rolling around at the speed of sound

Entry tags:

Rolling around at the speed of sound

Who: Sandy and You
What: Enjoying her motorcycle while it lasts
Where: Traveling through the ruins of midevil fantasy to the forests
When: Week four
Warnings: Violence, wounds ect. Feel free to show up anywhere between the city and the forest on her ride.

Having escaped the destruction of the city (Barely) Sandy gave thanks for the amount of gasoline she'd siphoned into this one motorcycle, and for the fact that it was still functional. She didn't actually know how to fix a bike if it was broken.

The controls were fairly simple, only slightly more primitive then the hover cycle she coveted so much back in the Capitol. The only real downside was the noise. It was so loud she couldn't hear much of anything else.

That was alright through, the burn cream seemed to be doing it's work to keep her burns from hurting more then a constant hum of stiffness and sore with the occasional twinge of nerve pain that made her bite her lip to keep from crying out.

And to make matters better, the whispers and screaming that had plagued her for weeks were finally gone! She had gotten a full night of sleep for the first time in three weeks. She was honestly amazed someone didn't find her and kill her while she slept as heavy as she had.

With the wind in her hair and the bike engine growling happily she raced along the wreckage and ruins of the south western part of the arena. The same bombs that had destroyed the city apparently laid waste to this place as well.

Keeping the water on her right she rode past the smoldering ruins of various kingdoms, steering her bike close enough to scan the area for survivors or anything that might serve as a functional shelter.

It took her a full days ride but she finally ran out of gas on the edge of the forest. With a sigh she slid off the bike and gave it an affectionate pat.

"Thank you." If not for the bike she and Char might not have made it out of the city alive.

Moving into the forest as quietness settled in the air, beasts had been drawn by the noise of the bike. Sniffing and scratching beasts with predatorily eyes and the scent of a meal in their noses. They stalked Sandy hungrily, but anyone else in the area would make for a suitable meal as well.

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The lurking beasts aren't the only ones who take notice. Daryl had picked up the familiar growl of a bike from quite a ways off, and it's the telling cough from the engine when it dies at the edge of the forest that draws him closer. More surprising than functional vehicles being available in an Arena is the fact someone would choose to use one; that sort of noise may as well be a beacon. Foolishly dangerous.

Could be the rider had needed to escape in a hurry...

Despite the stinging protest of his still-healing injury — a long gash down his chest he'd received during the Cornucopia — he makes his way to a higher vantage point, carefully ascending a tree that's sturdy enough to support his weight in the higher branches. The axe from Rick is carried on his back alongside a makeshift pack, a hunting knife is sheathed at his waist, there's loops of scavenged wire slung over a shoulder, and luckily none of it impedes his progress.

He pulls himself onto a solid-looking branch and settles into a seated position within the dense foliage, legs left dangling, the trunk pressed comfortably into his side. From there he waits, curious for a glimpse of the unknown Tribute headed his way. Who turns out to be... a child? He knows better than to underestimate what they're capable of, so simply observes her for a while, until finally she's passing beneath the tree he's perched in.

"What happened to you, kid?" he calls down, having noticed her extensive burns. Kind of hard not to.

She gives a little jump and takes a defensive stance hand flying to the knife on her hip as her eyes move up. There is a muscular unkempt looking tribute in a tree...well she probably should have noticed that sooner. She could chew herself out for not paying attention later. For now it didn't look like he was going to jump on her or he wouldn't have let her know he was up there.

"Cornucopia." She explains her hand moving away from the knife to point at her face gingerly. "A girl and I went for the same weapon and it...sort of went off in her hands. The first time it burned me was an accident. Then she tried to finish the job." Her hand moved down to point to her leg which she still used with a limp. She wouldn't be running at top speed this arena that was for sure.

"I've had worse." she added with a bitter sort of smirk.

Anticipating such a defensive reaction, he obligingly raises both of his hands into view to show he means no harm. He is obviously armed, and doesn't attempt to hide the knife or axe, but he has no intention of going after a little girl.

His grim expression holds no pity and isn't exactly sympathetic, but it does soften somewhat. Poor kid's certainly had some shit luck, it sounds like.

"Heard your bike," he says, tipping his chin in the direction the bike had been left. "Doubt I was the only one." And the woods are becoming even more perilous, if the sounds and increasingly frequent sightings of dragons are anything to go by. They seem to be growing agitated, and he's sensing it may be time to move on to other hunting grounds. Shame — game's been so plentiful here.

For a long moment he simply regards her, eyes narrowed against the occasional flash of sunlight that filters through the canopy. "You look familiar. One'a them District Twelve kids," he guesses. While he has made a point of finding out what he can about other Tributes, it's mainly been so he'd know who to avoid or possibly kill on sight if necessary, for the sake of protecting his group. Few children have warranted such attention. "M'from District Nine. Daryl Dixon. You alone?"

And thank goodness for that. If he wanted her dead even with all her training she was pretty sure there was no chance she could stop him.

She glances back in the direction of her bike and nods grimly. "It was either that or walk the long way around the arena. I had to get out of the city before it was leveled. If the place I just rode through is any proof? The city's a smoldering ruin by now."

And if it wasn't for that bike she and Char would be with it.

She nods confirming his guess to which district she was from. "Yeah. I had the girl from District 12 with me. Char. But she took off once we were out of the city." Sandy looked sad at that. There was any number of reasons why Char wouldn't feel safe with Sandy but none of them brought her much comfort.

"I'm Sandy." she added as an afterthought.

The mention of 12's district-reaped child Tribute has him looking even more pensive. He hasn't encountered any of them thus far, but he'd made some effort to look for 9's especially, Irri, having hoped to give the kid a fighting chance at least. Nothing about the Hunger Games is particularly fair, but pitting children — who won't be revived afterward — against adults in a glorified death match is so far beyond the pale it makes him sick thinking about it.

And this kid's obviously seen better days. He can't help but want to help her, if she'll accept it. Just a shame he has nothing in the way of burn relief to offer. He and Rick do have plenty of spare, makeshift bandages though — in an attempt to stay ahead of the infection, his own injury is frequently re-dressed.

"Gonna come down, Sandy," he warns. "I'd 'peciate it if you don't stab me or nothin'." Can't be too careful here. Making his way back down the tree's more difficult than climbing it, but he manages it mostly without incident (the loops of wire get snagged a few times on the way down, more annoying than a real hindrance), and steps closer to Sandy, brushing away stray leaves and bits of bark from his hair and clothes. He's careful to stop just outside of what he estimates her reach would be, in case she is inclined to get stabby.

"Don't think this place's gonna be safe for long. Lotta grumblin' dragons around. Where you headed?"

His request actually makes her smile and she steps back to give him room to come down, hands where he can see them.

"Oh um...I didn't really have a direction. Figured if I kept moving I'd be a harder target." She reasoned, but the warning about dragons had her looking over her shoulder. As if on cue some bushes rustled. The creatures that had been stalking her before were moving in closer. A pack of four, not in sight yet but close.

"Good idea. Mind havin' a tag along for a spell?" Even before he receives an answer he takes the risk of stepping closer, his intention to walk beside Sandy as she ventures deeper into the woods. Couldn't hurt having someone watching his back, too, particularly with the injury he's sporting. It somewhat limits his capabilities.

The distant rustling is hard to miss, and harder still to judge exactly what might be causing it, but he isn't keen on either of them meeting the source. As a general rule, prey animals aren't likely to stay in the area after inadvertently giving themselves away like that, so anything that does stick around is probably higher up the food chain...

"Keep an eye out," he adds with a wary glance in the direction of the noise. He's already feeling restless, being out in the open like this, so the sooner they get moving the better.

She smiles at that, as if letting him tag along was going to be doing him any big favors. "That'd be nice." She confirmed. She's keeping an eye on his movements though, if they get some place safer maybe she can patch his wounds...

unfortunately his warnings to keep her eyes open only prove to be confirmed as from the bushes appear Three dragons. Wingless but each the size of a ostrich with long whippy tails and a sting on the tips. They were studying the duo carefully, trying to decide the best way to attack.

Sandy's hand crept towards her bag, drawing out a a plain black mask, small enough it would only cover about half her face.

Well, shit. Looks like they have company already.

The sudden appearance of the trio of dragons would have normally had Daryl backtracking to the better defensible position near the trees, but with more than his own safety on the line, he instead tries to make himself the more obvious target by unsheathing his axe and moving forward to meet them. He's bracing himself, posture intentionally threatening so they'll hopefully focus on him first.

"Might try chasin' you if you run. Prey drive. Y'know how to fight?" he calls back over his shoulder without looking away from their uninvited guests. If this were his own world, the question would be unnecessary; but here, in Panem, he has no doubt some of the children Tributes could hold their own. In Sandy's horrendously burned state, he knows it's a risk.

But if they can work together, they stand a better chance.

One of the dragons does a mock-charge, and Daryl stoops slightly with his knees bent, axe raised in anticipation. Outnumbered as they are, intimidation isn't likely to work. Tail lashing and jaws snapping, the charging dragon stops short and backs up to its companions. The next attack probably isn't going to be a bluff.

This guy sounded like he knew what he was talking about, that was good. Sandy had worked with all sorts of people weak and strong...but she preferred when the grown ups could handle themselves.

"Y-yeah, I can fight just...I need a minute." She didn't want to take her eyes off the dragons, but such as she was right now she was useless. She could lash out with her one good arm at full strength but that would only get her so far.

Slipping the mask on took her eyes off the dragons for only a second, but one saw it's opportunity to strike and lunged for her, tail whipping forward to drive the barb into her chest!

There was a sharp sound, and the dragon yelped in confusion stumbling over itself to get back to the others. It's sharp tail barb was cracked and bleeding now.

A dark grey was spreading across Sandy's body. Her skin, her hair, even her clothes were turning stiff and solid stone. Like a statue. A statue that was now pulling out a knife and looking sternly at the dragon who had failed to kill her.

The dragons are able to cover a surprising amount of ground with a single leap, and one's springing forward to sting Sandy before Daryl can even attempt to help her from where he's standing. He expects it to be over just that fast, but his look of shocked dismay transforms into one of astonishment as the dragon's attack is somehow foiled — more than that, the barb's broken.

Is it the mask...?

"Nice trick! You got powers?"

One of the other dragons whips its tail at him, hoping to take advantage of his momentary distraction, but he manages to catch it on the long handle of the axe, effectively blocking it. Before it can retract its tail, he grips it above the barb and gives a rough jerk toward himself, causing the dragon to stumble. It's all the opportunity he needs. One swing of the axe later, and the dragon's withdrawing a bleeding stump of a tail, while the severed end flops about like a dying fish on the ground.

"Overgrown lizards," he mutters and starts circling around the trio, feeling more confident that Sandy can hold her own against them. The injuries have left them temporarily disoriented, but they're regrouping. Within seconds, two are advancing on Sandy for a coordinated attack, the third moving to cut Daryl off.

"Just the one power, but training makes up for it." She called back feeling a little flushed with confidence and pride. Sometimes her stone wasn't as strong as she needed it to be, but apparently it was tough enough to withstand those barbs.

The two advancing on her was still worrying though. Were those jaws capable of crushing stone? She didn't want to give them a chance to find out. There were probably expecting her to run so she did, but towards them screaming.

The one she charged at stumbled over itself to try and get out of the way while it's partner lunged for Sandy. She immediately abandoned the stumbling one and swung her little stone fist into the dragon's face catching it in the eye and making it screech and whip it's tail at her. Once again the barb glanced off and now it was trying to get away. The girl bounced on it's back and ran a knife across it's throat before they both collapsed into a bloody heap. The entire mess was clumsy and rough but it was one less set of teeth to worry about.

Unfortunately the first one she had scared found his nerve and leapt upon her from behind. Pinning her to the ground and scratching at her back and head with his claws trying to crack her.

The group of dragons splitting up simplifies matters, and he tries to keep an eye on Sandy while preparing to deal with the one that's zeroing in on him, shrugging off his pack and gripping it in one hand along with the axe. Given the capricious nature of powers within arenas, there's no telling how long she can keep it up for. Their best bet is to end this as quickly as possible.

At the same moment Sandy charges her attackers, the lone dragon hurls itself at Daryl with an enraged snarl, who meets it head on. The long handle of the axe is again used to block — this time the flexing razor claws of the beast, though a couple still manage to rip into him — but he loses his footing as he's forced to the ground beneath the greater bulk of the dragon. Without any stoneskin protection of his own, the dragon's teeth are guaranteed to shred his skin to ribbons. Just as it coils its neck back and then strikes, snake-like, he forces his pack into its gaping mouth, which affords him the precious few seconds he needs to act while the dragon's vulnerable. Gripping the axe with both hands, a short sideways stroke lodges the blade in the neck of the beast.

While not immediately fatal, the blow is decisive nonetheless — the artery's partially severed and blood sprays out in a huge arc. The dragon makes a pathetic keening sound as it staggers back, choking on its own blood and steadily losing focus, allowing Daryl to regain his feet and tug the axe free. Instead of finishing it off, he immediately turns to the pair attacking Sandy only to find one already dead and the other in a frenzy. With a properly braced stance now, he's able to put his full weight behind the next swing of the axe, lodging the blade deep, right behind the head of the still living dragon. It isn't clean, but a couple more hits with the blade separates the dragon's head from its body with a sickening squelch. He kicks it away.

"—You alright, kid?" he asks as he drops to his knees in the bloodied mud beside her, shoving the corpse aside and reaching to help her up. He keeps hold of the axe, intending to take care of the last dragon afterward. "Pretty impressive," he admits with an irrepressible grin, adrenaline and relief buzzing in his veins. "Hope we ain't ever on opposite sides."

"Ow...ow ow and ow..." She answered as he helped her to her feet. She twisted around and groaned seeing some deep claw marks in her stone back. "That's gonna hurt like hell when I take this mask off." And she knew she had to take it off soon but she waited a moment longer to make sure no more dragons were going to pop out of the bushes.

"Thanks." she added sheepishly "I try not to fight against people who's fought with me so, we should be good." A soft smile and she knelt down to examine the dead dragons.

"Could probably use their meet. They don't look poisonous...then again the Capitol doesn't always follow the rules on what is and isn't safe to eat." The clock was ticking but she was holding out taking off the mask because she knew that would just be one more burden to put on this new ally.

A cursory glance around confirms that there aren't any other immediate threats, but he isn't keen on staying in the area too long; it's a vulnerable position. Other dragons or Tributes may have been drawn by the commotion.

"Hold up." Getting up, he steps over to the last dragon that's in the process of bleeding out, and quickly puts it out of its misery before retrieving his pack from its jaws. "Got a first aid kit," he explains as he returns to kneel near Sandy, rifling through the pack. "Think you're gonna need it. Can you... un-stone?"

She'll need it more than he will, at any rate; his own injuries aren't as deep, and too many supplies have been used already just on tending to the wound he'd received during the Cornucopia. He doesn't want to waste more on himself if it isn't absolutely necessary.

"Erm..." She hesitates awkwardly and after a moment she decides she really has no choice.

"Yeah I can but...OK see here's the thing. Every time I use one of these masks...once I take it off everything hurts. Like...aching awful can't move pain. And all my energy is gone. It usually lasts twice as long as I had the mask on so...if I do this I'm not gonna like...be able to move."

Let alone tend to the wounds on her back.

"So...maybe if we can hurry and find some place I can hide before I do it?"

Understanding quickly dawns on Daryl's face — of course the mask would have to have drawbacks, it's hardly surprising when everything comes at a cost here — and he wordlessly stuffs the first aid kit back away, righting his pack as he gets up, not even bothering to brush the dirt and gore from himself. He nods toward the nearby underbrush and says, "Let's get goin' then," wasting no time in heading for the closest available sheltered area. Just putting some distance between them and the site of the massacre should help a bit as well.

"Wasn't plannin' on leaving you defenceless," he adds. "Do what you gotta do. I'll wait."

She moves quickly despite her injuries, maybe it's the mask or maybe it's the pressing nature of what's waiting for her as soon as she takes it off.

Finally she seems to have found the right spot. a dip in the ground leading to the base of a fallen tree. The tangle of roots will make it hard for anything to get in after them, and there's enough room for both of them, though it comes with the drawback of being equally difficult to escape from.

"If we cover that up with brush and stuff we should be invisible to passers by...maybe..." She remarks, hesitating to see if he wants to look for a better place. She's not a leader even if she has enough training to make up for a lack of experience.

It may not be ideal but it's decidedly the most protected position he can see, and doesn't seem like a bad place to lie low in for a while, provided no fire-breathing critters attempt to root them out. If they're lucky, maybe the pile of dragon carcasses will even serve as a warning to passing predators rather than attracting them. But he isn't going to count on it — his hunting knife won't be far from his hand.

"Best we're gonna find on short notice," he replies and gestures for her to go in first. "Go on. I'll cover it up." As well as their tracks, which he does his best to disperse before gathering more loose branches and leaves, arranging them to conceal the entrance, making sure they're strewn about randomly enough to appear natural. They can still be scented, but that would be true virtually anywhere but in the water.

Once he's finished he begins following her down into the hiding spot, pulling detritus in behind him to cover up the gap.

As he puts the finishing touches on their hiding place she decides the time has come and rips the mask from her face. It doesn't hurt at first...not in the same way that the old masks hurt. It comes off almost effortlessly and her stone snaps off with it like someone flipping a switch.

Predictably there's a sudden stabbing of pain in her back and she lowers to the ground on all fours trembling and hissing through her teeth. Then slowly sinking onto her side.

"Totally worth it." She grunted from the fetal position on the ground among the dirt. Blood was leaking from the cracks in her back while the energy she had been given was ripped from her leaving her exhausted and hurting all over from her toes to her ears. Inside and out.

He's expecting the new injuries on top of the healing burns to be bad, but the reality is even worse, he thinks, looking Sandy over as he moves to sit nearby. Or maybe it just seems that way because of how she's crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut. Shit. So much for protecting the kids.

Not if those get infected, he wants to say. But there's no point in being a dick when she's probably already feeling like death warmed over.

"You're a tough kid," he says instead. "Look about like I did at your age," he adds with a humourless huff of a laugh. Only the extensive scarring he still carries on his back had come from a different sort of monster.

"How about I rinse those out and patch you up now? Y'might need stitches..." He can't promise any miracles, but he does know basic first aid and a bit more, thanks to Merlyn's instruction.

She's getting more used to hearing that, being called tough even if she doesn't always believe it. She doesn't feel very tough right now but she'll take the compliment.

"Thanks, hopefully I never have to do the same for you." She accepted through her clenched teeth while doubled up in the dirt. Her face was going waxy and pale as the pain continued to radiate through her. By her rough count she'd have to endure maybe about twenty minutes of this, maybe longer if the punishments were getting worse with subsequent uses.
"I can't decide if it would hurt more or less to have you do the stitches right now. Everything already feels like it's being stabbed from the inside." It was hard for her to keep her voice down but if she growled out her words it helped.

Pulling off his makeshift pack, he sets the axe aside and brings out the first aid kit again, picking through its contents and taking stock of what's available to use.

"Reckon you're gonna pass out? Might hurt less to do it then," he suggests in all seriousness. Luckily there's still an assortment of pills left — he'd opted against taking anything himself, and now has reason to be glad for it. He holds up a packet of two tablets. "Got painkillers at least," he says as he takes the liberty of tearing it open, then holds it out within easy reach for Sandy. The dosage is obviously meant for an adult body weight, but he thinks it hardly matters given the extent of her injuries.

Oh sweet merciful pharmaceutical company. If Sandy hates everyone in this lousy reality TV world she can't hate you. Her trembling hand scoops up the pills and clenches them tight in her fist like she's afraid of dropping them before stuffing them in her mouth and choking them down dry. Even knowing that it would take some time for her body to process the things was enough to make the pain seem a little less intense.

"Now I really owe you." She coughed and offered him an exhausted smile before laying her head back down in the dirt. Passing out sounded really good right now.

"Just a little nap...yeah...a nice...relaxing pass out." she mumbled and out of the corner of her eye looked up at him. Maybe this was where her battle was going to end. She could hardly blame him if he killed her now but he'd invested his time, energy and pain killers so maybe that was enough to ensure he wouldn't.

"Just make sure I'm still breathing if you have to leave OK? And thank you again. The games would be a lot less scary with more people like you around."

She'd said it before and she made a habit of saying it to people who helped her. She wanted them to know that as terrible as all this was, it wasn't their fault. They may be fighters, killers, or worse. But so long as they had at least one decent bone left in their bodies it made the arenas less imposing and horrible.

By this point it has crossed his mind that a mercy kill might be a kindness, a quick snap of her bird-like neck that won't even be felt and then, hopefully, she'd be waking up in the Capitol, healed and whole at least in body... but the thought is dismissed as quickly as it occurs. Who's he to make that decision for the girl? Even if she is a kid. It would be doing a disservice to how hard she's obviously fought to survive.

And so he endeavours to ease her injuries as best he can, refusing to entertain thoughts of how futile it may be.

"You were a real help with those dragons," he says earnestly. "I'd say we're even."

A few more things are pulled from his pack before he's reaching to carefully lift Sandy's head from the dirt, sliding the pack underneath her to provide what little padding it can. Boiled water has been easy to come by, so he spares a generous amount from the repurposed container that serves as a canteen to rinse out the gashes on her back, then sets it within her reach. Lacking anything to sterilise the wounds with, he simply leaves them to bleed out for a short time while he prepares a tiny suture needle. That, too, came individually packaged in the first aid kit, with the nylon monofilament already attached for convenience. Small mercy.

"Gonna close up the worst of 'em first. I'll try and make it quick, keep still and don't bite your tongue," he warns. Anticipating pain only makes it worse, so he wastes no time in getting started. A gauze pad is employed to pat dry each area before he threads the needle through her torn skin in one smooth, practised motion, doing what he can to minimise her discomfort by working as quickly as he dares to without getting sloppy. They won't heal pretty, but the sutures will get the job done and give her a better shot at surviving longer, and that's all that matters.

"Nice to know I was useful." She mumbles and turns her head to offer him a soft smile so he knows despite her tone of voice she means it.

"I haven't spent all that time in the training hall for nothing."

Just as unconsciousness started to ebb at the corners of her vision, the feeling of the needle keeps her awake. Worse still the pressure of the thread pulling her wound closed took even longer to grow numb too. But either it was the exhaustion, or her tolerance to pain. She didn't cry out, she barely flinched. Mostly she just grunted and clenched her jaw so she wouldn't accidentally bit her tongue.

Once he finished she let her head flop down again with a deep shuddering breath.

"That wasn't so bad. You're a pretty good doctor." She mumbled amused at the mental image of Daryl in a doctor's coat.

"Think I'm just gonna...close my eyes a bit."

"I've had a lotta practise," is Daryl's grimly amused response as he cleans up the sutures and improvises some bandages that won't require her to move to apply. "Sleep, if you can. I'm gonna lie low here a while."

Even though she'd be fairly well protected on her own in this makeshift shelter they found, he doesn't actually intend to leave while she's asleep. Rick won't have cause to worry for a few hours yet, which is when they'd agreed to meet back up at the river near their camp, whether or not their respective hunts are successful. Daryl has time. And besides, he's already decided on cooking some dragon carcass and splitting the meat before they go their separate ways, if Sandy won't want to come with him — an offer he intends to make later.

And so he moves to sit closer to the entrance of the den, settling comfortably against the spongy moss that's grown over the thick tangle of tree roots. Anything tries to come in, he'll be waiting. Eventually the combination of unusually balmy weather and the quiet of the woods lulls him into a light catnap of his own, but even in sleep his grip on the axe handle never slackens.

[[OOC: Good place to wrap up the thread, if you want! If Sandy would've accepted the offer to join Daryl and Rick's camp, we can just handwave that it happened and I'll mention it to Rick's player.]]

[[ OOC: Thank you, this thread was everything I hoped it would be. Sandy would be happy to hang with him a bit longer before eventually the arena forces them to separate again. Maybe they can meet up again in D13.]

They've suffered huge losses. With the loss of Rochelle (he can't believe it when he heard the news) and a couple of faces he just became acquainted with, it leaves him with Ellis and an even smaller handful of people that Coach has come to trust (for now) thanks to Ellis vouching for them.

He is a man that believes in sticking together but sometimes, or almost all the times, that isn't always the case. He can't count how many times his group of four had been separated because of a Smoker pulling one away or being lost in the middle of a flooding town. But his experience adds to his strength - that's how Coach likes to put it.

His main priority right now is to find the spot he and Ellis designated as the meet up spot in case they end up getting separated again. It's somewhere around here...though the sound of a motorcycle in the distance has the hairs on his arms standing up. Zombies or no zombies, loud noises area big no-no...but then again, he lit up a whole concert so who is he to lecture anybody about being stealthy. Still, Coach does his best to hide in the bushes before slowly emerging with both hands up, knife sheathed. Relief, and hopefully only relief, hits him when he realizes that the source of the noise was from a young girl.

The relief falls short when he notices her injuries though.

"Hey, I'm not lookin' to hurt you or anybody. Are you by yourself?"

She tenses when she realizes someone's coming her way, but relaxes a small bit as he makes it clear he's not trying to hurt her...yet. If this is a trick she's going to be easy pickings for him, but if not she might have a new ally.

She decided to err on the side of optimism and nodded gently. "I had some people...but the arena sometimes goes out of it's way to separate tributes." She explained. "One minute they're right next to you, next thing you know..." she shrugged. Her former companions weren't dead yet as far as she knew, but she wasn't entirely sure they wouldn't show up in the sky this evening.

"I'm Sandy." she added not moving any closer just yet. Every foot of distance between her and this potential ally was a little more security and safety.

Edited 2015-11-12 22:06 (UTC)

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Rolling around at the speed of sound

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cw: descriptions of wound care (in case anyone's squicked by that)

cw: descriptions of wound care (in case anyone's squicked by that)

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