thearena | I'm Living Dead [Closed]

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I'm Living Dead [Closed]

WHO| Javert and Maximus
WHAT: Javert asks a favor.
WHEN: Week 2
WHERE: Fantasyland
WARNINGS/NOTES| Mercy killing, illness, zombies.

Javert's a decent tracker, when he puts his mind to it. It's not a skill he's been trained in it any more than the average police officer, but he's more able than most to picture where a hunted man may go, and more observant than most of his peers. While he isn't pursuing a convict now, these skills still come in handy as he looks for the one person he puts trust in in the Arena - and, ironically, the one person to have taken his life thus far.

It's fortunate he's good at this, too, because with his health as it is he couldn't manage much more than he's doing. Despite his attempts to clean the wound with water from the duck pond, the swollen redness has spread down his arm and up his neck. His breathing is weak, and he has to pause every few yards to rest. His outfit is soaked in sweat, except for the area around the injury, which is stained yellow and sticky from pus. He shivers violently. He feels as if he's vomited up the Sponsor gift he received many times over.

He finally locates a shop he's certain Maximus has come to with his injured lady friend. Unfortunately, by then his feeble energy is all but spent, and he'll require time to muster it to go in. He sits with his back propped to the wall near the doorway, legs out with his body bent at a ninety degree angle, and closes his eyes.

The strength doesn't seem to be coming back to him. He may just have to wait until Maximus exits the Fantasyland shop.

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It was his turn to go on watch, and he did so - silently and resolutely, glancing over every few moments to make sure that Morrigan was sleeping soundly but otherwise unmoving. He didn't like not being able to see the surrounding area, but the shop afforded a measure of protection while they slept.

His ears pricked as he heard footsteps outside, almost a shuffling. He glances at Morrigan, considers waking her, but the noise had stopped... He could just check it out on his own. She'd wake if he yelled for her.

Slowly, he stepped up to the door, unable to peak through the boarded windows, and instead glanced through the planks.

"Javert." He said the name both to the man and to himself as he pushed the boards aside and stepped out.

"Maximus." He turns his head ever so slightly, a wan smile on his face. His eyelids flutter a bit. He hopes to not embarrass himself by tipping over from where he's sitting. "I've been looking for you."

Although it was less 'looking' than 'feverishly wandering around in the blind hopes of bumping into Maximus' towards the end there. Javert winces a bit. He's glad to see in Maximus looking to be in good form, honestly; Javert doesn't have any reason to have preferences about who wins this arena, but he doesn't necessarily want to see one of the few honorable men here in needless pain.

"I hope I can," he has to pause to catch his breath, "ask a favor."

The missing ear on the side of his head was carefully bandaged, but otherwise Maximus did look in good form - even if his head was constantly itchy. He lowered himself into a crouch, though he kept a foot or so away, his brows furrowing in something that could almost be called concern.

Javert looked like a dead man walking.

"A favour." He repeated, cautiously. "What would you ask of me?"

"As you can see, I'm not bound to be this Arena's Victor." A little wry humor peeks through the wheezing, but not much. His mouth feels dry, and he licks at his lips; there's a sore at the corner of his mouth the size of a quarter, and others blotting his neck and jaw.

"I was bitten by another Tribute and I fell ill within hours. I want you to be aware of that risk." He takes a moment to regain his energy for the next few words. "I hope you wouldn't let me suffer."

Maximus looked solemn, side-eyeing the sores. He'd seen similar things before. But if it was the plague that Javert brought, he was already too close to it now. But he certainly did not want to get his hands on Javert's necrotic skin. He stood up.

"You wish for a swift death," Maximus said, his voice oddly flat. Sympathy, perhaps. It was not a way in which he would want to go. "I have no weapon, I could not--"

But even as he spoke a strange floating thing made its way through the sky towards him - a tiny parachute (though he'd never seen one in his life) making soft landfall at his feet. He reached down to pick up the small container, and opened it.

His face darkened as he pulled out the folding knife. He had almost forgotten they were watching him, even now. He held it up to show Javert.

For a moment, Javert thinks that the sparkle falling through the sky must be snowflakes. It's only after far too many seconds thinking on it that he remembers how Sponsor gifts are obtained.

He focuses his eyes on the knife. It's not an easy thing to do. His head rolls a little on his neck, an uncharacteristically lackadaisical motion on his normally stiff frame.

And he nods a little bit. And very weakly holds up a hand. He needs to finish his piece.

"A doctor here said it was an infection. The man who bit me...District 4. Dark hair. Grey skin. Blue eyes. Tall." He closes his eyes again. His eyes were opened last time he died, and he'd seen that Maximus had closed them for him. He doesn't need that favor repeated, at least. "Thank you."

"There's a doctor here?" Maximus asked curiously, unable to help himself despite the solemnity of the moment. He listened to the description and then nodded, darkly. "If I find him, I will deal with him. Be at peace, brother."

He unfolded the knife, took a breath, and held it up against the oddly pale flesh of Javert's neck.

"Strength and Honour."

In one swift slice he pulled the blade through skin and tissue and Javert's jugular vein.

It's not honor but justice that Javert so loves, but he appreciates the sentiment. It brings him a strange sort of peace. He doesn't want to die, but as last time, he'll face it with the same stoicism that has marked him throughout his life.

He winces slightly as the blade slips through his flesh as if it were wet paper, but makes no sound. The blood spills down like dark, watery paint into his orange outfit. The light of day filtering through his eyelids goes from red to black, as if he's suddenly become heavier, feeling as if his skin has become denser and impenetrable to the sun. His head slumps forward and his heart stops beating.

But a cannon doesn't sound.

He wipes the blade on the orange fabric covering Javert's shoulder before he slowly stands, frowning over Javert's body. He looked up at the sky, waiting for the cannon, but only silence enveloped them now. Perhaps, he thought, they were too close to the body?

With Morrigan sleeping inside he couldn't easily leave - so he slipped the knife into his belt and tore another strip from his cape to wrap around his hands. He would have to move Javert's body somewhere else...

And that's when Javert's head rises back up. It's before his brain even turns back on again. He looks up at Maximus, eyes no longer the deep brown they were before but now the light color of dirty ice over muddy water.

There's no trace of understanding in his face, but a strange expression of want. Maximus smells like food, though Javert doesn't understand how that concept relates yet. Everything's in jumbled images - a knife, hands around his neck, an icicle, the blood of life pulsing in Maximus' neck, the warm meat under the skin, sinking his teeth into Maximus' spine...

Does he know this person? He jerks his head to the side. He tries to lift his hand up and it's a clumsy gesture, less thoughtful motion and more nerves misfiring. He tries to feel his chest, the wetness there still hot, turning sticky.

Maximus stopped dead as Javert moved. Impossible. He had killed over a hundred men in his time, had watched many more die. He knew what death looked like, what it sounded and felt like, and he had known that Javert was dead.

No. Was still dead. Only he could move...

Out came the knife, instantly, and several paces backwards went Maximus, the blade flashing in his palm. The skin crawled down his spine.

He had never before seen a dead man rise.

Javert slumps forward again, then falls to his side. Then rolls over. His motions are jerky, uncoordinated, ungulate but graceless. It's as if his joints refuse to hold up under him. He gets his arms under him and pushes himself up to his knees.

He holds a hand in front of his face. It's covered in his blood. He turns his head to Maximus at a strange, uncomfortable angle, no trace of comprehension in his eyes.

And he reaches for Maximus, using his other hand to aid crawling forward on his knees.

"Javert!" Maximus bellowed, as if yelling at the creature his friend had become would snap him out of it.

He doesn't, however, wait for him to catch him - deliberately backing away from the house so that maybe he can lure it away from Morrigan.

Javert pauses at the word. It means nothing to him, but it's loud and sudden in a world where there is too much to process. His mind can't move fast enough to put together all the strange information around him, the blood on his chest and the man in front of him and the fact that he doesn't remember a damn thing about how he got here or who he is. Thinking is like wading through neck-high sludge, impossibly slow.

But he sees the knife, and feels the cooling blood again, and finally two pieces connect together.

He starts to crawl away.

He stands his ground, watching the thing that his friend had turned into crawl away, the thick, torn gash at his throat still clearing visible.

Maximus breathed, and did not move, the knife still tight in his palm.

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I'm Living Dead [Closed]

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