thearena | (no subject)

Who| John Watson, anyone who wants a brief encounter that John will walk away from ~~relatively~~unscathed, and finally Maximus
What| Desert survival, seeking shelter, a scuffle with a gladiator
Where| Desert arena
When| After waking in the desert, meeting with Max after his argument with Wyatt
Warnings/Notes| None atm beyond an increased chance of typo and autocorrect errors, damn lack of laptop

John hadn't quite known what to do when he found himself very much alive after having been very much dead, but very definitely not in the Capitol. The rules to this game seemed to change every five minutes, particularly if changing them would cause as much hurt and damage as possible- but for whatever reason, it seemed clear that the game wasn't over. They'd simply changed locations.
He'd been in a desert before, which he supposed gave him some kind of advantage, but he wasn't sure if it was an exchange for the better, all things considered.

It was blisteringly hot. Pulling himself up from the ground he brushed sand off his face and clothes, thankful that his costume came complete with a hat and plenty of cover- he'd be grateful for that, though the pleather jacket wasn't great. He took it off, tied the sleeves together at the cuffs and used the resulting loop to sling it over his shoulder- the material was probably watertight enough to be useful should he find a source of water and he was loathe to waste it. Water, of course, was the priority, but it would be everyone else's too- seeking it out would be dangerous.
Spotting an outcropping of rock that would provide a little shade for long enough for him to gather his thoughts, he checked his surroundings and began to make his way towards it, mouth locked shut behind dry lips.

Sand. God, he hated sand.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Maximus shifted, the frown still deep-set upon his face, obviosuly discontent. He turned to look at the mountain as the wind ran through his pale robes and he had to grab them to keep from turning into flags.

"I'm sure that's where they intend us to go, yes," Maximus said carefully. The Gamemakers were not the fates, after all, no matter what he had believed when he had first arrived here. "Were we all poisoned and sent here?"

He shook his head, suddenly very conscious of the moisture he was losing with each word. It was a little ridiculous, perhaps, when he didn't know if he would be dead before he had a chance to really get thirsty, but he'd always been more cautious than not.
"No. Not all of us. Sherlock- my friend- he was fine. But I was poisoned. I saw others. How many do you think are here?"

Maximus shook his head. "I could not tell you. I've seen only you and- Wyatt." He hesitated on the last word, his face growing dark. "I thought, at first, that this might..." He looked back out toward the sand, and then shook his head. "But once I received gifts, I knew we were still in the games."

He carefully replaced his headdress so that the fabric covered his mouth (to keep out the dust, and keep the moisture in), before he began to start the long trek toward the mountain.

Maximus hadn't said, exactly, that they were to travel together, but he certainly seemed to be going in the direction John had suggested, and he hadn't been before. John hefted his makeshift bag a little more firmly on his shoulders and followed, his strides lengthening as he slipped into rhythm.
"This would be one hell of an afterlife," he muttered, glancing sideways at the white-robed man who definitely wasn't quite a friend, but certainly someone John found it easy to respect. "Did you get your gifts from someone you've never met, too?"

"No," He replied as he settled into a steady walk, though he was always alert and aware, waiting for any sight or sound of someone else coming upon them. "I received them from a man named Timaeus, who was once my host."

That his humour wasn't quite itself was apparent - Maximus never once smiled. And he didn't mention the present from Wesker, though the thought did make him glower a little more harshly.

Only survivors.

He nodded. Well, as much of a blow to the ego it was to know he hadn't been singled out, it was also oddly reassuring. He didn't think he'd like being the sole focus of anyone's attention in these Games, not one bit.
"Same," he said.

Maximus was steely and silent, more so than he had been before by several degrees- but he'd known many soldiers who changed completely when on active duty, and wasn't surprised. After a moment's silence, he spoke up.

"Howard wasn't with Wyatt, was he?"
He didn't like to think of Howard facing the desert alone.

"No." The word was darker than he meant it, as a strong gust of wind and dust blew past them and he gripped his robes against it.

"Perhaps Howard remains in the other place, un-poisoned." He paused, his expression souring even further. "No, when I left Wyatt, he was alone."

There was definitely something going on, there, though he thought it best not to pry too much. He'd known Maximus and Wyatt were about as much of an item as he and Sherlock were, but if Maximus had left him behind--
Well. He'd had rows enough with Sherlock.
"With any luck Howard will be with someone to watch his back or back in the Capitol already," John sighed. "I don't know what Sherlock will do. He'll think I have really died, with no message to tell him otherwise."

He glanced over to his companion.
"I'm sorry to hear about Wyatt. He'll probably head for the mountain himself, eventually."

"Howard's a survivor," He murmured. He hoped. He'd lost enough friends between arenas already, he didn't know what losing Howard would do to Wyatt. He didn't know the man John spoke of, though he could understand the worry. Not that he thought it changed anything. They were all here to fight and die. Even if not everyone could accept that.

He tensed slightly when John said Wyatt's name, seemingly directly out of his thoughts. "He'll do his duty as he sees it," Maximus said stiffly. "And I will do mine."

He nodded. What else was there to say to that? It was all any of them could do- though quite obviously, each of the Tributes had very different ideas of duty.

They paced on through the sand towards the mountain, silence settling down on them like a blanket. He kept his eyes busy, scanning the desert for movement as they walked- so at first, John wasn't sure if it was his eyes failing on him, but the sky was darkening, far too quickly. He glanced over, checking to see if Maximus had noticed.

Maximus had noticed. It was impossible not to notice. He drew to a stop, looking up at the sky, the frown deepening on his face.

"No natural dusk," he muttered, before glancing back at John. "We should quicken our pace."