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Who| R, Wyatt, Maximus
What| R fails at guard duty, Maximus is a good shot, Wyatt needs to step in
Where| Desert arena, night
When| Week 2
Warnings/Notes| Crossbowing, references to zombie cannibalism
R volunteers for guard duty first chance he gets. It takes him most of the plodding trip to where Wyatt’s camp is to find the words, then figure out how to string it together into a sentence; he’s relieved it comes out in one shot. Not too much gets lost in translation.
So here he is. Standing there in the dark trying to look sharp with his back to Wyatt a few yards away. R smells, listens. The sand is howling now, blasting across his skin, his eyes wide open against the storm. It doesn’t occur to him to close them, to do anything at all to protect them like anyone else in his position would, first thing. R stares into the grit and tries to make out any shadows – wildlife, other Tributes, anything that might like to take a bite out of Wyatt as much as he catches himself thinking. The storm’s in full stride by now, visibility reduced to only a few feet ahead. R vaguely registers grit hitting his face and scouring it like sandpaper.
It’s not so bad. R uses the time he’s out here figure out what to say to Wyatt. He thinks he wants to ask if there’s any other friends here - Julie - but he hasn’t worked out the words yet. In the meantime the zombie keeps busy, standing there, this dark, swaying shadow blurred against the sand whipping itself into a frenzy. It’s like a big target sign saying "here I am - shoot me!".
What| R fails at guard duty, Maximus is a good shot, Wyatt needs to step in
Where| Desert arena, night
When| Week 2
Warnings/Notes| Crossbowing, references to zombie cannibalism
R volunteers for guard duty first chance he gets. It takes him most of the plodding trip to where Wyatt’s camp is to find the words, then figure out how to string it together into a sentence; he’s relieved it comes out in one shot. Not too much gets lost in translation.
So here he is. Standing there in the dark trying to look sharp with his back to Wyatt a few yards away. R smells, listens. The sand is howling now, blasting across his skin, his eyes wide open against the storm. It doesn’t occur to him to close them, to do anything at all to protect them like anyone else in his position would, first thing. R stares into the grit and tries to make out any shadows – wildlife, other Tributes, anything that might like to take a bite out of Wyatt as much as he catches himself thinking. The storm’s in full stride by now, visibility reduced to only a few feet ahead. R vaguely registers grit hitting his face and scouring it like sandpaper.
It’s not so bad. R uses the time he’s out here figure out what to say to Wyatt. He thinks he wants to ask if there’s any other friends here - Julie - but he hasn’t worked out the words yet. In the meantime the zombie keeps busy, standing there, this dark, swaying shadow blurred against the sand whipping itself into a frenzy. It’s like a big target sign saying "here I am - shoot me!".