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(no subject)
WHO| Katurian and OPEN.
WHAT| Katurian is tiptoeing around the arena late at night. With a garrote.
WHEN| Second week.
WHERE| South-East (Parts of Fantasyland, Tomorrowland, and Main Street)
WARNINGS/NOTES| Attempted murder.
Katurian is a night owl. In his old world (in his old life), Katurian would sleep-walk through his days at the slaughterhouse and only revive once he left for home and the sun went down. He'd write until his body collapsed in exhaustion underneath him, and even when it did, words would still tickle the roof of his mouth and the tips of his fingertips like tiny beings clamoring for attention.
It's no different in the arena. Sleep is a near impossibility, and while he knows he has a relatively secure camp with Draco, it isn't enough. His mind twists and thrives and writhes, the words less like gentle beings and more like angry spirits living underneath his skin. Maggots. In the last arena, he solved this by pacing back and forth on the ice, a folding knife clutched tightly in his hand.
This time, he wanders the darkened arena with a thin patch of fabric tucked in his pocket. This time, he listens to the words.
This time, he fights.
WHAT| Katurian is tiptoeing around the arena late at night. With a garrote.
WHEN| Second week.
WHERE| South-East (Parts of Fantasyland, Tomorrowland, and Main Street)
WARNINGS/NOTES| Attempted murder.
Katurian is a night owl. In his old world (in his old life), Katurian would sleep-walk through his days at the slaughterhouse and only revive once he left for home and the sun went down. He'd write until his body collapsed in exhaustion underneath him, and even when it did, words would still tickle the roof of his mouth and the tips of his fingertips like tiny beings clamoring for attention.
It's no different in the arena. Sleep is a near impossibility, and while he knows he has a relatively secure camp with Draco, it isn't enough. His mind twists and thrives and writhes, the words less like gentle beings and more like angry spirits living underneath his skin. Maggots. In the last arena, he solved this by pacing back and forth on the ice, a folding knife clutched tightly in his hand.
This time, he wanders the darkened arena with a thin patch of fabric tucked in his pocket. This time, he listens to the words.
This time, he fights.
no subject
[Well, he was the world's best actor or, like Tallahassee would put it, kind of a bitch. Either way, Little Rock's eyebrows went up, though her hand stayed near the knife. Even if she was thinking option two, the former possibility was still an open one.]
no subject
[Lying after all that doesn't really seem worth it. It's impossible not to feel shame when he sees people who don't tremble or stutter in the face of this impossible misfortune. These are people who know how to cope. This girl can cope. (What has she seen before this? he wonders. What horrors has she witnessed?)
He hugs his arms around his chest.]
E-Either-- [He swallows. Grounds himself.] Either way, I'm a friend.
no subject
[She dusted her hands off on the front of her dress...and probably got them more dirty than before. Whatever. She'd tried.
This kind of thing wasn't a good sign- freaked out people did freaked out things and got everyone into a lot of trouble. Zombie hoards, knives waved in faces, cops gun's grabbed. Wichita would have just snatched his stuff and run. Without back-up, though, no sudden movements seemed like the better plan until something more helpful presented itself.]
I'm Little Rock.
no subject
But now is not the time for questioning.]
Katurian.
no subject
[She was still surprised how easily people just handed out their actual names here. Like they wanted people to get attached- or wanted to attach themselves to what they had to do here. Weird. But this one could go either way. She didn't know geography well enough, maybe it was another city name. Just a really crappy little town in Ohio or something.]