thearena | (no subject)

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(no subject)

Who| Atticus Bell, Asha Greyjoy, Kurt Hummel
What| Atticus is going out with a gurgle
Where| along the milkshake river
When| Evening-ish, midweek
Warnings/Notes| Death! And probably a little angst

After Blaine's death, Atticus had been trying to keep close to Kurt, to make sure he was okay, or at least that he wasn't going to give up like Blaine had before. He felt like he owed it to the guy. There didn't seem to be any actual water in this arena, but there was a river at least, so Atticus figured that was the best place for them to stay near, mostly in the trees, but close enough they could get to the river if they needed to.

"Hey, how are you at tree-climbing?" he asked Kurt, keeping his voice down just in case any of the other Tributes were near by.

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"I'm--decent at it," said Kurt, swallowing the lump in his throat that formed at the suggestion of tree-climbing. The last time he'd been one he'd been picking oranges, hadn't he? Then throwing them, then running, then collapsing to the ground as a spear ran through his chest--

"G-give me a hand?" he asked, snapping out of it and holding one up.

Atticus had forgotten all about Kurt's last death. There were so many to keep track of, they all seemed to run together. At the moment, he was more focused on getting up somewhere possibly safe.

"Yeah, of course," he said, moving to help Kurt into the tree.

"Thanks," said Kurt as he was hoisted up, and ignored the way his heart fluttered when he ended up close to Atticus. He's not Blaine, he kept reminding himself, but the resemblance really was uncanny, especially in that uniform. It brought back memories that he'd been intent on forgetting since the break-up.

Come on, I know a shortcut.

He'd failed, hadn't he? He and Blaine had promised to stay together this arena, but he'd messed up--and now Blaine was dead. He's dead. Kurt swallowed a lump in his throat as he looked out into the distance.

"Do you see anyone?"

Atticus took of the jacket as soon as they were both up the tree. It was definitely warm enough that the didn't need it. He was completely oblivious to any discomfort Kurt might be feeling on that front. He knew a little of what had happened between them, but he was preoccupied with other things at the moment, like figuring out how to keep them both alive.

"I think we lost most of them in the Cornucopia chaos," he said, trying to get a good look at the area around them."

The environment in this arena may be deranged, but the spoils were definitely turning her around. As soon as she wrapped her hand around the long pink bundle in the Cornucopia, she had known this was her time.

She was decked out in chainmail like she was born to wear it, moving through the arena with an ease that came from knowing how underdressed your opponents would be, one practiced for years of raiding ships and waging battle. It almost made up for the strange water, which looked thick and polluted to her, but had no smell that she could identify-- at least, not one over the sickly sweet stench from the rest.

Considering the chainmail, she was moving fairly quietly, though certainly visible from a distance as she scoffed at the water running by. But she had heard voices, and so she continued with a hand on her dagger, eyeing the surroundings critically to search for hiding places or ambushes.

Kurt blinked, focusing his eyes toward something moving in the distance. If he peered any closer he'd see a somewhat familiar face--but for now, he couldn't differentiate between friend or foe.

"There's someone there-- See?" He pointed toward the moving figure.

Atticus peered into the distance, not for the first time wishing that he had his wolf senses here. He would have heard something before this, he's sure. When he did spot the figure, he swore quietly, under his breath.

"Stay put, okay?" he said to Kurt. "I'm gonna get a closer look."

She approached confidently, but not carelessly, keeping her back covered against the water-- even if someone was hiding in there, at least she'd get her feet wet. She eyed each tree as she passed, dagger out and at the ready.

"I can make it quick, but it will happen," she called, testing the waters.

"Atticus!" Kurt hissed after him, clinging to the branches. He could have stayed hidden-- Why was he getting closer like that?

And then it hit him. Kurt and Blaine might have refused to play the game and kill people, but that didn't mean the other Tributes didn't. Was Atticus moving in to try and kill that girl?

He tensed up when he heard the woman speak. He wanted to warn his friend, but giving away his position would be a terrible idea. Crouching low, he anxiously watched the scene unfold before him.

Atticus had no intention of killing anyone, and nothing to kill with even if he wanted to. He just was used to being able to see a lot better than he could at this point, and he still had the instinct to fight rather than hide, though he didn't always recognize it as such.

The Dalton uniform did little to camouflage him in the bright landscape, but he did his best to stay hidden. When he heard her threat and Kurt's hissed warning, he knew he should get back to the tree, but he wasn't sure how to do so without drawing attention to himself and giving away Kurt's position, so instead, he moved, as quietly as he could, toward another tree, just to see if he could get himself hidden before she spotted him.

She wasn't sure where, exactly, to look in the first place, but she was scanning the surroundings carefully enough to spot him as he crept towards the second tree. For all she knew, he could have been walking along from anywhere... but she had heard voices, and she doubted he was talking to himself.

"Where's your friend?" she asked, shifting her body language slightly to project nothing but confidence, cockiness, and a complete willingness to follow through on her promise-- making this easy if she could, but making it happen either way.

Kurt covered his mouth, stifling any more noise. Frantically he began to look around for something he could use as a weapon, but there was nothing around but branches too thick for him to snap.

He wished Atticus could turn around and run. Why was he just standing there?

Atticus was tempted to answer her. In movies they always did. There was always some kind of banter before the fight. But he wasn't prepared to fight. He had nothing to fight with, and he could already tell he wouldn't be changing any time soon.

So instead of trying (and probably failing) for some clever quip in response, he ran instead, away from the tree Kurt was in. He'd try to get up another one eventually, but not until he'd led her away from Kurt.

As soon as he moved, she ran, a hand on her weapon. There may be another, but unless they had crossbows she would be able to withstand it-- and if they did have crossbows, they would have used them by now, or else they were more foolish than she thought. There would be time to hunt down the other one later, but if she wanted to make her mark, she'd have to be sure not to let this one get away.

She was used to running in chainmail, used to being weighed down by even more, and so she moved like there was nothing there, intent on cutting off his escape options and boxing him in against the river

They were running out of Kurt's field of vision, and he couldn't stay put anymore. Atticus had helped him before, so there was no way he was going to sit in a tree and let him get hurt.

Gracefully he slipped down the branches and out of the tree, and moved as swiftly and quietly as possible as he followed the pair, sticking close to where foliage would hide him from sight.

Atticus, on the other hand, was used to being able to run much faster, much easier than he currently could. He could hear her behind him, and that was good. That meant she was running away from Kurt.

It was too late, though, by the time he realized he was running toward the river. He tried to change direction to make for the trees again.

She moved to cut him off, trying to keep him boxed in against the river, breathing only slightly irregular. It was the thrill of the fight that got her, and considering it was just about the only good thing in this entire bloody place, she was going to indulge it.

It was a shame he didn't seem to have much on him, but he was old enough that she didn't feel guilty for pursuing anyway. "As I said, I'll make it quick if you like," she offered, her smile confident with no room for being persuaded otherwise-- the quicker the better, especially considering she had to deal with the other one as well.

"Atticus, run!"

Kurt couldn't help himself. He couldn't let someone else die in front of him, not after that girl. It didn't matter to him if that made him a target now.

"Don't you think I'm fucking trying?" Atticus yelled back, now utterly annoyed that he hadn't eve managed to lead her away from Kurt after all that. "You run!"

He was boxed in, chocolate river to his back and the girl with the dagger in front of him, and Kurt off somewhere watching the whole thing instead of getting himself to safety like he should be doing.

He wasn't trained for fighting either, though he'd been trying to do some training between arenas. He still had only a rudimentary grasp of what to do with a sword, and he had no sword right now anyway. Still, he thought if he could keep her distracted, last just long enough, Kurt might still be able to get away.

Or he might get lucky and neither of them would die today, but that seemed like a little much to hope for.

He crouched slightly debating whether to simply charge her or take his chances in trying to get around her. Knowing he wasn't as fast as he would normally be, though, he decided on the direct approach, barreling toward her, shoulder dropped to both protect his vital bits and maybe bowl her over.

And hope that Kurt was smart enough to take his own advice.

She glanced over her shoulder at the shout, not fully turning away but diverting her attention for a second—so the other one was still here. She was tensed for an attack from the other one, expecting some sort of blow to switch her attention, but turned back just as the one in front of her charged. She braced herself, legs adopting an easy, practiced stance born from years of fighting on pitching boats, but it was a second too late, and the momentum was enough to stagger her back, shoulder pressing against chainmail into her stomach.

She caught her balance as quickly as possible, taking a few steps back before her back foot dug solidly against the ground, and shoved back with a snarl, both to regain the bit of lost ground and to move into a better position to get her knife in.

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