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

"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."