thearena | OPEN to witnesses and interactions...and death

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OPEN to witnesses and interactions...and death

WHO| Tate, Emily & whomever may want to witness death and such.
WHAT| Killing and the like
WHEN| Day 4 in the arena
WHERE| 9-G
WARNING/NOTES| Things could get stabby.

Tate made his way through the fairly wooded area that seemed to be inclining. He had just made his first kill, the girl who was supposedly from his district - whatever that was really suppose to mean. It meant nothing to him. He wasn't from these districts. Either way, he was confident that killing people probably racked up some sort of points in this "game" despite having no clue if the deaths really counted for much other than ultimately winning.

It seemed like everyone had their own agenda or was off hiding in this damn forest. He could have just sat this out and waited for everyone to just die off, but that was just boring. Unaffected by the water and decreasing temperature, Tate kept moving. The sooner he killed everyone the sooner he could get the hell out of here. Having been stuck in that murder house in Los Angeles since he was killed in his bedroom by a SWAT team over a decade ago, must have left a serious impression on him. He was actually homesick. However he couldn't let that distract him. He wasn't going to risk actually dying. Not in here.

Shank in hand, he moved as a casual pace, while still careful to keep his wits about him and not step on any fallen branches that might reveal his position.

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Emily shrugged. "Just making small talk until you work up the balls to do something." One corner of her lips quirked up in a not-quite smile. She was playing a dangerous game and she knew it, but after Ian, she was used to it.

Dumb bitch, he thought. He hated being doubted, it was something he had dealt with while he was alive and he wasn't about to put up with it here. He'd show her. So without a flinch of warning, with shank in hand he ran at her.

She dove to the side, doing her best to side-swipe his forward momentum. It would hurt when she landed, but it looked much preferable to being eviscerated.

"Finally," she managed to puff out despite having the wind knocked out of her from the landing. She mentally cringed; damn her wry tongue.

When she moved he piveted with his feet, despite being in mud and water, which made him slide forward. He caught himself with one arm to break what could have been a deadly fall, but he stayed on his feet. Barely noticing the mud on his free hand, he kept moving.

Her comment only fueled his anger, causing him to lunge again towards her, this time with his knife over his head ready to stab the first body part that came in his way.

Dammit...her knife. Where was the knife? She felt blindly along ground searching for the cold metal of the blade with her fingers. It had skittered out of reach during her fall.

Screw it, she decided. It was gone now. She closed her fingers around a stick instead and flung her arm rather wildly, hoping to make contact.

The stick hit his forearm unexpectedly, but instead of being fended off, he was able to grab it and give it a hard pull towards him, in an aim to throw her off balance. It wasn't weak enough to snap in this small tug-of-war, but it was slippery in his grip, which didn't hold it for more than a second after that.

Emily fell onto her back, stumbling over the slippery riverbed. She struggled to inhale from the shock of hitting her back on the hard ground.

The stick had slipped from her grasp too, so she was prepared to use her forearm to fend off any blows that might be forthcoming.

Being the one left standing, Tate took a sudden different approach - mostly fueled by his anger rather than his rational thinking - and kicked her. He was clearly the kind to kick someone when they were down (literally) because this meant he would keep the upper hand. His right leg swung forward aiming right for her face as if to try to blind her so she wouldn't see anything else coming.

She felt, more than heard, the crunch as his foot connected with her face. She supposed she deserved it after she'd punched him in the face earlier.

"Summch," she mumbled, clutching her hands to her face as the gush of hot blood spewed forth, muffling what she'd meant to say, which was 'son of a bitch'.

Was her nose broken? She didn't really want to know and it wasn't like it could be helped right now.

He saw the blood spill from her face and a rather evil smirk came across his own. He moved to kick her once more, wanting her to be out before he got in too close. He looked around to locate her dropped knife but couldn't without keeping his eyes off of her for too long.

Now she knew what it was like to get what she had tried to give him st the cornucopia, "Dumb bitch-" he pulled his hand back, shank in hand and moved to make a stab towards her midsection.

It was starting to seem like she was well and truly screwed. But she planned to fight to the last nonetheless. Not for the first time either.

At a physical disadvantage, the best defence she had was words. "You know, stabbing is a substitute for the sex act...usually because of impotence. Is that your problem? Can't get it up? Or is that just because you prefer the boys?" She was going purely based on assumptions and statistics from the job since she knew nothing about the kid. But she hoped the accusations would be enough to throw him for a loop.

Tate wasn't thrown for a loop, but he did respond and take notice to her sudden questions. "You are my problem. Stabbing just solves it."

"You should be worried about people who stab with knives-" He says through his clenched teeth. "Because they want to be close to you when they kill you." He was closing in on her now, after one more good kick he was on his knees ready to striker right in the stomach.

"Sounds like a lot of big talk, if you ask me..."

She held her arms up in a protective stance, covering her heart.

"Fuck-" His shank swung in and went into her stomach when he saw her arms go up to protect what was where she thought he'd hit. However that'd be too quick and easy. Instead he gave her two hard stabs in the torso to wait and watch her reaction. "You, bitch!"

Deja vu.

She gave a little cough and tasted something warm and vaguely copper-y, like a penny. She licked her lips, little bubbles of blood sticking in the corners.

Tate stabbed her now in the chest that she seemed to be noticing the blood coming from her blood and her arms weren't as strong as they had been, protecting her heart. It hit her in the upper right lung, which he figured might speed up the process. If he had been a caring, or even sympathetic person in anyway he would have just finished her by snapping her neck, but she had ticked him off far too many times for him to give her that now.

She coughed again, requiring much more effort this time. She tried to say something - to make some comment about how you'd think getting stabbed in the gut would hurt less the second time - but she couldn't quite manage to exhale.

She looked at him with a raised brow as if to ask 'are you just going to sit there or are you going to finish me off?'

He was just going to sit there.

Tate sat back now and watched her suffering and struggling to breathe or speak, either way she couldn't do either very well. He had no emotion on his face. He had looked a bit frustrated from having been taunted, but this was his revenge and he was going to enjoy it. So he just sat there and watched.

If she was going to die, Emily decided, she was going to do it in a way that wouldn't give this kid the least bit of satisfaction.

She forced a serene sense of calmness to wash over her, refusing to let any pain cross her features. With an effort of ridiculous difficulty, she quirked her lips into what she hoped was a content smile.

She'd piss this kid off if it was the last thing she did.

Tate glared back at her now. What was she smiling about? She was dying. He had died once, but he had also forgotten much about it and all he knew was that it had been quick.

He stood up and decided to kick her once more, this time in the face. To get that smile off of her lips. She was really pissing him off and he was just one move away from stabbing her again.

This seemed to be taking a lot longer than it had the first time she'd died. Even if it had only been for a very brief moment.

She didn't really notice the pain as his foot connected with her face and she was unsure if it was because it was small in comparison with the rest of her wounds or if her oxygen deprived brain was releasing an excess of endorphins in her last moment. Probably the latter, she decided, it sounded like something Reid would say.

She laughed a little. Laughed. Or as close as she could manage with one lung.

Laughing? Oh that was too far now. She was just trying to make a mockery of him, even if she was the one dying. Digging into his coat pocket, Tate bulled out the wire-like string that had been strung on the bow he had destroyed. Wrapping it around his finger tightly, he moved in planning to get behind her and pull it into her throat now. It was time to end this.

She was becoming extremely aware of how much energy blinking required. Like a ridiculous amount of energy.

She couldn't be bothered to care what the kid was doing - she didn't really have the sensory capacity to determine if he was even sticking around any more.

She used every last bit of consciousness she still retained to whisper "Gabby..."

Tate had gone in from behind and taken the wire-like string to her throat and held her head then in his lap while he watched her as if she were just falling asleep. Not an emotion of anger or sorrow or remorse on his face, until she whispered a name he didn’t know, then there was confusion. Someone from her world or something. Whatever, it didn’t matter. All he noticed was how her last movements of her lips got some blood on his pant leg. That caused him to finally release her lifeless body and wait to hear the cannon.

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OPEN to witnesses and interactions...and death

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