[open]

[alldeduction]

Who| Sherlock, John and OPEN
What| A present from the sky on the way to Frontierland, and meeting whoever they find there
Where| Main Street to Frontier land
When| Week three
Warnings/Notes| None so far!


They had to move.

Their camp inside an empty building on Main Street was safe, of course, but offered absolutely nothing as far as food and water went, and it was the water that was concerning Sherlock the most. He remembered there being open water in Frontierland (in the DisneyWorld veresion, anyway), however, so after briefly to John, they packed up and headed out, checking the street carefully for any other tributes before venturing once more into the outside world.

"We'll have to try the water in turns, since we have no way of cleaning it. I'll go first - you're the more valuable one in a - ah - medical emergency. Food, on the other hand--"

Even as he spoke, however, a small parachute was drifting towards them.

Comments

[drpsychosomatic]

"I think we've already demonstrated that without my supplies I'm almost useless," John retorted, clearly still sore about his failure to help the mysteriously injured Javert, and far too distracted by his guilt and irritation to notice the parachute until it was almost on top of them. Literally. The supply package bumped into his head, causing him to whirl round with a sharp curse.

"Sherlock?" He picked it up, brow furrowed. "Looks like we have a friend."

[alldeduction]

"Please. Self-pity is hardly an attractive quality when faced with wounds that no one had any capability to deal with, supplies or n--" But he was cut off as John suddenly stopped and cursed.

Sherlock turned around, made an 'ah!' sound, and immediately took the package from John.

"Oh good. Someone doesn't want us to die," He said slightly sarcastically as he opened it.

[bangbangkerpooow]

There is food in the package, wrapped up all nice and pretty with caring Avox hands. The attached note stands in stark contrast. It is scrawled in sloppy handwriting, the letters childish and oblong.

Heya!!! :-)

Good job not dieing, but admit it, the only reason your not dead yet is because weapons are so fucking rare??? Brains are def. great, not everything tho. It's OK, I'm looking out for you xoxoxox Billy.

And then, seconds later, another package flutters down from above. A single folding knife.

[alldeduction]

He immediately handed the food to John before reading the note, his face darkening into a scowl as he read on. He glared upwards towards the sky where the the package had come from, before reaching out and grabbing the second package.

"Only reason you're not dead yet indeed," He grumbled as he opened it.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

If the last time Howard ran into Sherlock in the Arena he looked a mess, this time he looks like an outright natural disaster. Wyatt did as good a job as he could fixing up Howard's injuries, but with the sheer extent of his bite wounds, keeping them covered has meant Howard looks like a mummy, or possibly a leper trying to go undercover. Badly.

The hole in his cheek and gash that divides his lip are covered with patches of gauze that keeps bleeding through, and the butterfly stitches adorning the rest of his face might look like some kind of beautiful pattern of snowflakes if they weren't so grisly. His shirt's been stitched up to hide the worst of his lacerations, but the ones on his neck are evident. He's mostly keeping from limping by tying his tourniquet so tight he can't feel his foot when he needs to get anywhere.

He spots Sherlock first and figures he should avoid him, but then he sees who's with him - John. The doctor. The guy who told him it really wasn't worth learning much first aid out here because there was too much to learn about working without the proper equipment.

So rather than just avoiding them, he follows at about a hundred feet, hoping John and Sherlock will separate and he can ask John alone for aid (or if it's worth it to even ask). He keeps to the shadows, and for the most part by now he knows Frontierland like the back of his hand. It's almost enough - almost - to keep that pesky limp from making his footsteps so damn audible.

[drpsychosomatic]

John shook his head in mild disbelief as took the note from Sherlock and read it. While Sherlock might look more irritable than grateful, John's relief was completely obvious in the new, slightly more relaxed set of his shoulders.

"Of course you'd complain about grammar when we've been given food," he sighed. "Looks like there's enough here to last us a while if we're careful with it. You should have some of this-"

He tore what seemed to be some kind of protein bar out of its wrapper and bit into it hungrily, offering Sherlock the rest.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock was too busy pulling the knife out of the second package to pay attention to the food for a moment - flipping the blade open before snapping it closed.

It was almost identical to the knife he'd had on the ice.

Even the thought somehow made him feel colder, and he shoved the knife into his belt and looked over at John.

"I'm fine," He said, though his stomach immediately belied his words, grumbling darkly.

[drpsychosomatic]

John raised his eyebrows and did not move, his arm held straight out, still offering the bar for Sherlock to take. On this point, he wasn't going to budge.

"Doctor. Remember? Nothing else is going to matter if we starve to death. Take your medicine, Sherlock."

[dirtyword]

Brendan explores because that's the only way he can see himself winning: getting a lay of the land, figuring out just where everything is and what to use. There are no actual weapons. Makeshift ones, maybe. If he had some sort of knife or sharp tool, but the teenager was beginning to think it was a hot commodity.

One thing was for sure: he was damned hungry. He hadn't eaten last night and combined with what felt like very little sleep (though Brendan was always used to that, always used to never sleeping, always used to just forcing his body to deal with it) he felt like he weighed an extra 20 pounds.

He'd managed to get on the roofs, though. It was difficult but he figured he'd have a high vantage point there, being able to spot things--

--like a parachute. A parachute with something on it. Supplies of some sort? He'd vaguely heard of sponsors before being shoved on the pedestal. He decides to follow it, adjusting his glasses once he realizes it's gone to two men. Much older than him, but a little haggard. The arena, Brendan supposes, would do that to you.

Time to watch and see if it's worth stealing or not.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock rolled his eyes and took the bar, unwrapping it carefully and biting into it sullenly as if depressed by the very idea that he had to admit that his body needed to eat.

The hunger erupted as soon as he took that bite, however, and the next five followed in rapid succession.

[alldeduction]

He registered the sound before he knew what it was - reaching out to touch John's arm in half a warning before stopping. Footsteps. And not just any foot steps, but injured ones...

"We have company," He said quietly under his breath before he turned his head sharply, looking for the source of the sound.

[drpsychosomatic]

He almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he allowed himself a tiny smile before turning his attention back to their supplies. Probably the best way to carry this stuff was to use his cape somehow, but until he felt a little less out in the open, crouching down to make a knapsack didn't appeal much.

"We need to keep moving. Anyone desperate enough will have decided the best idea is to keep their eyes peeled for parachutes so they can steal supplies..."

[drpsychosomatic]

John stopped immediately, completely silent as he scanned the area for sign of anyone following them- and there. Definitely a figure lurching into the shadows as quickly as it could manage once it realised it had been spotted. Sherlock had already seen it, but two pairs of eyes were better than one.

"Did you see who it was?" John whispered.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock finished off the bar in his hand, licked his fingers, tossed the wrapper, and grabbed another bar from John and slid it into his belt.

"Trust me, anyone desperate enough won't wait to make sure we have supplies," Sherlock said a little darkly as he began to walk forward once more.

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

Howard, oblivious to their conversation or to the fact he's been spotted, continues his pursuit. He only realizes he's given himself away when he stumbles slightly on a step he thought was further down than it was. He doesn't fall, but the sudden jolt rushes up through the injury on his leg, and he can't help but yelp.

And then he moves out of the shadow and waves a bit, as if to say 'hey, I wasn't following you or anything, just passing by and realized we knew each other, hiiiii...'

[alldeduction]

"Howard." Sherlock says almost at the same time that the boy reveals himself, and he turns to give him a flat look.

"Who's managed to hurt himself again, I see," He said a little louder so they both could hear. "This is turning into a pattern. I presume you've come in search of medical aid?" He asked with a vague wave in John's direction.

[drpsychosomatic]

John frowned and pulled himself upright, looking over at Howard carefully. The kid was limping heavily and looked like he might have had more than one run-in with other tributes. Throwing Sherlock a look that suggested he watch their backs, he closed the distance between them, beckoning Howard over.

"Let's have a look at you," he offered with a slightly wry smile. "Met a few friends?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"No, I came looking for you guys because I really missed the sound of unprovoked criticism," he says, eyes narrowed at Sherlock. He limps and shuffles his way over to John, making sure to go around so John's between him and Sherlock like a human buffer. To say he's had a run-in with the other Tributes is an understatement - he looks as if he's gotten his face stuck in a thresher. The bandage around his cheek and chin hides the worst of it, but still, from the looks of it, it's a miracle he didn't lose an eye.

"Yeah. A few friends." There's a distinct hurt note as he says that. It's a turn of phrase but it's too true - he went looking for a friend and she tried to kill him. "And Draco Malfoy, and Grey, and some guy who busted a girl's head open with a metal rod."

[alldeduction]

"Draco Malfoy and Grey?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrow raising with a distinct tone of interest. Draco, of course, he would not put in the realm of 'dangerous' unless they met in a zone that allowed the impossible to happen. Grey, however...

He didn't step closer, scanning the surrounding area as John had motioned for him to do with a careful eye.

[dirtyword]

Brendan could trust the food. At the moment? After what he's seen? He doesn't want to trust anything that doesn't come from these so-called sponsors.

Then again, for all he knows someone has the technology and ability to fake one of the parachutes. So he's cautious, and waits until one of the two older men finish one of the bars. Nothing.

He can't afford to wait any longer--not with his stomach rumbling--so instead of doing the smart thing the bespectacled teen made his way down the buildings as silently as he could. He waited until they had started walking to spring into action--to sprint towards them and try to make a grab for the food before they could react. He just needed to watch out for that knife--something he'd done before less than a week ago.

Then again, he had a scar on his shoulder from that time he didn't duck quick enough when the Pin hired someone to kill him.

[drpsychosomatic]

John wet his lips as he concentrated, carefully examining Howard's numerous wounds and the bandages someone had tried to help him with- fairly competent work, actually. He was impressed.

"Someone's got a medkit, then," he commented, eyes narrowing as he took a closer look at the- bite marks? Again?
But there was no indication of the strange infection he'd seen last time, which was more than fortunate.

"Did someone bite you, Howard?"

[iselldrugstothecommunity]

"Someone sent me one. We used it almost all up, though, me and Wyatt." Information is currency, and more than that, he wants to get things out on the table before Sherlock figures them out anyway, like purposefully knocking over your chessboard so the other person doesn't get to say they won. "Grey stabbed me in the leg with a spear. Draco...did something, to Eponine. I don't know what."

He lowers his voice, talking just to John, with a sort of vulnerability he tries not to display in front of others. "Yes. He made her bite me."

[alldeduction]

Sherlock looked mildly annoyed that he wasn't allowed to deduce, but in the end it didn't matter as long as everything Howard said was true. From what he could tell, it was.

He didn't catch the last sentence but he didn't really need to - the 'Draco did something to Eponine' was clue enough, since he hadn't otherwise mentioned the wounds on his face and it was obvious what they were.

His face darkened. Magic doesn't exist, was the strong, forceful, and utterly wrong declaration in his mind. It was the fact that he knew it was wrong that bothered him the most. He hated this place.

"May I suggest we find somewhere more sheltered than the middle of the street?" He said suddenly, instead, extremely sharply.

[drpsychosomatic]

John frowned at Howard's explanation, about to say something in response when he was interrupted by Sherlock's quite sensible suggestion. It would probably be sensible to get off the road, at least.

"Yeah, alright," he agreed. "Somewhere more sheltered. Did you have somewhere in mind, or--" he cut himself off, looking back towards Howard. "We were looking for water. Do you know if there's somewhere we could find some and take a look at your wounds?"

[drpsychosomatic]

"Yeah, okay, point taken," John conceded, opening his mouth to add more- just at the moment that the stranger barrelled towards him, clearly intending on either stealing the food he was carrying or worse.

"Sherlock!" he called out sharply, his body dropping into a ready stance almost as quickly as it once had when he was young and battle-ready. He gripped the food tightly, but there was no way he could fight and hold onto the supplies.