closed.

[marcato]

WHO | Aunamee, Grey, and Wyatt.
WHAT | Aunamee dies, then Grey dies.
WHEN | Early Week 5
WHERE | Ice fields.
WARNINGS / NOTES | Death, gore, basically nightmare fuel.

Blood, but no bodies. Blood, but no bodies.

Aunamee is leaking blood from his face, his stomach, his leg, his foot.

Down in the crevices, there is no need for first aid. His body defies biology, all the blood loss translating to a mild buzz, the sleep deprivation to a quiet hum, the hunger to a vague itch. Down in the crevices, Aunamee is built to live forever.

On the surface, he is a man whose head won't stop spinning.

Comments

[the_marshal]

"Is that what ya want?" he asked after a thoughtful beat, more for clarification then out of surprise.

He'd asked himself once, arena's back, when the snake's poision had been burning through his veins.

Some deaths just weren't fit any beast to suffer. Not even ones like Grey.

He move closer, crouched, studied the man's face with intent blue eyes. "Yer sure?"

[greymatter]

The scientist grins at him, though it twitches at the edges. "S'faster." He replies. He isn't terribly keen on the idea of bleeding out on the ice. A gut wound could take hours depending on what Aunamee did or didn't hit. That's if he doesn't freeze to death first, of course.

He hadn't won the arena, but then, he didn't need to to be satisfied. Not this time.

[the_marshal]

They eyes looked him up and down, lingered on the gut wound. The knife handle shifted in his grip.

"Any particular preference?"

It was probably a courtesy more than Grey deserved, but Wyatt couldn't bring himself to just... attack a dying man. No matter his personal feelings on the matter.

[greymatter]

A knife between the cervical vertebrae would likely be quickest, but that would involve moving and Grey is not entirely confident that Wyatt won't botch the job. The scientist licks his lips. They're blue with cyanosis. "Can you hit the carotid?" He asks. It shouldn't be difficult.

"If you c-can't, ...just leave me here." He gives a short laugh that comes out more a choke and then groans with pain. No more laughing.

[the_marshal]

A beat. A moment to absorb how strange it all was.

"I reckon so." He reached over and touched Grey lightly, a brush one of finger along the skin of his throat. (He was fair certain that was the right one.)

He shifted his weight, moved his hand to grip Grey's shoulder, and brought the knife up.

"Steady."

[greymatter]

He flinches when Wyatt touches him and, for a moment, there's a look of intense discomfort bordering on panic on his face before he manages to quell it. Not everyone can locate the carotids merely by sight. He should have figured.

"Just do it." He says with blunt dispassion.

[the_marshal]

And he does, the knife coming down, slicing into Grey with a gentle - distinct - pop of cutting flesh.

The effect is immediate, blood, hot and fresh, spurting against Wyatt's palm. Then onto the snow, onto his pants as he pulls back, pulls the knife free. Great gushes of it. The smell raw and terrible, threatening to choke him.

(OOC: I'm not up to date on my medical info, so please correct me if I'm wrong and I'll fix this tag.)

[greymatter]

(OOC: You're good!)

He jerks, teeth clenching as the knife bites into his neck, but it doesn't take long for his heart to pump what's left of his blood out in spurts timed to his pulse. He shuts his eyes as the darkness closes in, eager to return to the Capitol. To find Aunamee. To laugh at his failure.

His cannon fires only seconds later.

[the_marshal]

Wyatt backed away as the cannon fired, echoed around him, wiping at his face with his forearm.

He could feel Grey's blood on his cheeks, across his forehead, the bridge of his nose. Warm, so warm, when everything has been so cold.

He cleans his face, his blade. But there's nothing he can do about his clothes.

They stayed with him. A reminder of what he'd done, right or wrong. Wet and warm as he turned from the body, the flying ship purring over him.

Stiff and cold as the arena dragged on. End nowhere in sight.