[Closed]

[tis_allgood]

Who| Cuthbert and Sherlock
What| Mutually Assured Destruction
Where| Main Street
When| Week Seven
Warnings/Notes| Deaths for both

Working day and night the past few days Cuthbert and his two troll partners managed to dig a decent sized hole, many times longer than it is wide. The center of it is somewhat poorly disguised, and anyone watching where they walk would be able to see the rouse relatively easily. However, the pit on either side has been very carefully disguised and may not be visible until it's too late.

Added to that are a couple of trip lines, set only to help those not paying close attention trip and fall into the pit. And with all of this careful work complete, Cuthbert baited the whole thing with a very nice looking orange. He was set to sit and watch for any signs of other competitors but the heat and fatigue of the afternoon have caused him to drowse instead.

Comments

[tis_allgood]

If Cuthbert knew he had a knife he would have sought Sherlock out to bludgeon him before. He was still exercising caution, Sherlock was an unknown and that was trouble.

He lowered his makeshift weapon slowly. Something didn't seem right. And Bert wouldn't kill an innocent man.

”What do you think you're doing to my orange?”

[alldeduction]

Sherlock froze - unaccustomed to being surprised - and slowly drew himself up to his full height, the ridiculous red prince outfit now faded and torn, covered with blood (not his own, almost entirely John's). He slipped the folding knife into his hand and flicked it open, ready.

He didn't know the voice. A new tribute, then. This arena? Must be. He turned, ever so slightly, careful not to move his feet far from where they were planted, aware that there was death on every side.

"I believe the more apt question is 'What do you think you are doing to my traps?', and I should hope the answer would be obvious."

[tis_allgood]

Bert's eyes were immediately drawn to the knife and he tried to draw up a quick assessment of whether or not this careful stranger had it in him to follow through with the implicit threat. The blood on his clothes and the fact that he had survived this long would tend to indicate he did.

"A good trap should not be obvious. So yes, I would hear from you how you found it before I kill you and take that little wisp of a knife off your body."

He took a step forward, attempting to spook Sherlock and get him to step backward into oblivion. Unfortunately he was focused enough on what he wanted to do that he had slipped his foot under the moved trip wire.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock managed not to glance down at Cuthbert's foot, but he didn't need to - he knew exactly where that tripwire had been moved to. A small smile snaked across his face, unable to keep from being a little bit smug. He spread his arms.

"I merely looked. It really wasn't particularly difficult," He goaded, carefully taking a step towards Cuthbert.

[tis_allgood]

Just a little closer and Cuthbert could take a good swing. Even if this man was clever enough not to fall in on his own didn't mean he couldn't be pushed in. Just going in was the important part.

"Oh? I'd like to see you do so well with nothing but your wits and a bit of time. Not all of us were gifted a blade. But that part is not so complicated, once I'm done with you I will have a knife to use toward making my next trap better."

He lunged forward, catching his foot on the moved wire and taking a far longer swing than he had anticipated.

[alldeduction]

Sherlock smiled. A cold, impersonal smile, though his eyes lit. Challenging his wits, hmm? Very well th--

Except that anything he had been about to say, the deductions he was about to reveal, were cut suddenly and completely short as the large piece of wood smashed into his chest like a hammer.

Some piece of his mind impersonally began to check off the damage. Ribs - broken. Sternum --

He knew enough to cringe as he fell, smashing through the trap and falling down into the pit. He knew, before he hit the ground, that even without the fall he would be dead in seconds. His sternum was shattered, and pieces of it even now would be traveling into his lungs and heart--

He landed, back flat to the ground, with a massive thump, the air rushing out of his damaged lungs in a great rush.

It was not replaced.

[tis_allgood]

There wasn't even time to register that he had made a successful kill, by the time the canon went off it could have been for the man he'd knocked out or for Cuthbert himself. Because not every area of the pit was cleared for easy retrieval of bodies and when he had set the trap Bert had set the trip wire for the far end where he had left enough sharpened branches to be sure he wouldn't have to finish off anyone who tripped it.

He just didn't picture himself being the one he had to finish off. He had enough time left as his heart frantically tried to pump blood into a now torn and useless aorta to enjoy the irony of falling into his own trap. At least he could die with pride knowing he had done his best with the items at hand and had not forgotten the face of his father.