thearena | Why don't you meet me back at the tepee?

Entry tags:

Why don't you meet me back at the tepee?

Who| Wyatt and Maximus
What| ~~Giving the Waximus fangirls something to squeal about~~ TOTES MAKING UP IN A TOTES MANLY WAY
Where| Desert Arena
When| A day or two after this.
Warnings| MANLY MANNESS. And Capitol fans being creepy.

Things may not have settled the way Wyatt'd wanted, but they were surviving. He and Max weren't fighting openly and R hadn't tried to eat them. The rest would come in time. Hopefully.

And if not, well, this was still better than being alone.

When the winds finally died down and the sun slide up from under the horizon, Max and R headed for the Cornucopia while Wyatt waited back at camp, holding the ground and trying not to imagine what the two might be getting into.

Crouched in the sand outside the opening, he scratched at the earth with his knife, sketching idly, trying to work out a plan that had been stewing in his mind since he'd arrived.

He knew how it was done and had everything he'd need... if he dared risk Max and R to get it done.

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They'd set off two hours ago, but the wind had picked up, a dust storm brewing that had enveloped them quicker than Maximus had thought possible. He'd yelled out to R against the storm - told him to turn back, head back to the camp, but he had no idea whether the zombie heard him. Turning up at the cornucopia in this weather was asking for death.

He hoped R could understand that, wherever he was.

Maximus turned back on his own.

By the time he approached the camp, he was mostly out of the storm - though his face was full of sand, despite the robes wrapped tightly around it. He pulled them down and spat grit out as he walked over to the lone figure stooped on the dunes.

"No luck," He said hoarsely to Wyatt. "Weather gets worse the further you go. Lost sight of R."

Wyatt looked up, watching Max come up out of the sand and dust like a ghost in his pale robes, frowning at the lack of R on his heels.

An expression that only deepened when the Roman spoke.

"...he'll be alright," he replied after a long moment, staring up at Max from under furrowed brow. "Storm won't bother him any."

Not the storm, not the sun, not the thirst... all they'd have to worry about were other tributes. And the hunger.

Which R might be coming back to them.

His head tipped slightly, chasing that thought away by looking Max up and down appraisingly. "You okay?"

Maximus only nodded, removing the headdress completely, and shaking out the dust.

"None the worse for wear," he said gruffly, glancing back out at the sand.

"How's his sense of direction?"

As much as he disliked the idea of R being around Wyatt and in the camp, it was worse to think of him out in the desert, ready to grow hungry at any moment and come shuffling back on them unaware.

He followed Max's gaze across the dunes, inhaling deeply, mouth twitching thoughtfully.

"Seemed to find his way 'round well enough last arena."

He paused, digging at the sand silently for a moment, then exhaled and rose out of his crouch.

"I know ya don't trust him, Max, an' I know ya don't wanna be here, but I - appreciate that ya are."

"No, I don't trust him," Maximus said instantly, face hard. "And I'm concerned that you do. But we have a better chance in this place if we stick together."

He stepped over, one shoulder dropping as he offered Wyatt a slightly exhausted smile.

"Besides, need someone to watch my back while I sleep."

Wyatt had trusted the zombie more before he'd learned how friendly R had been with Aunamee, but he kept that concern to himself.

It wasn't a conversation he felt particularly keen on having again.

Instead, he raised an eyebrow at Max, the corner of his mouth pulling slightly upward.

"Ya sleep?"

The smile spread a little wider - just a touch, just a fraction.

(Gods, but he had missed this.)

"Sometimes," He said, an eyebrow raising. "When the mood strikes."

It was then that something silver flashed in the sky, the reflection hitting his eyes, and Maximus turned up to look, his hand acting as a shield. The little parachuted canister floated a little lopsidedly towards them, then landed with a smack in front of Wyatt's feet.

The knot in his chest loosened some, the tension giving in time to the way Max's mouth twitched.

"Could help with that," Wyatt offered, eyes flashing with amusement. "I reckon a good hard-"

He broke off mid-joke when Max turned. Brow furrowing, he followed suit - just in time to watch the can plop down at his boots. He glanced back at Max, cleared his throat (the last present still fresh in his mind), and crouched to pull it open.

The latches gave with the soft clink of metal on metal and the sleeping bag crammed inside all but popped free, expanding as the lid lifted. The little paper note fluttering free and gliding across the sand toward Max - a splash of rosy pink against the pale sand.

Maximus leaned down, immediately, grabbing the note. He'd never seen one in pink before.

He'd been learning English, could read most of the notes sent to him in the sand - was even able to recognize names. But this particular note was written in an extremely curvy, looping, and shimmering text - covered with glitter. He could recognize two of the words "Just" and "Already" but he couldn't make out the one between them. He frowned, glancing at the sleeping bag and walking over to Wyatt, holding the pink monstrosity out between his fingers.

"Can't quite read it," he said lowly. He assumed the present was for Wyatt, of course.

Shaking the bed roll free from the can with one hand, Wyatt reached up and pulled the note from between Max's fingers with the other. Mouth pursed, prepared for someone else to gleefully remark on the blood on his hands, he glanced down - and did a quick double-take.

Lord knew he wasn't the best of readers, surely he'd just missed a letter in there somewhere...

No. No, he hadn't.

His throat cleared again, color not unlike that of the paper creeping up around his collar.

"It's fer us," he said, as casually as he could manage, preying to his God - and a couple of Max's - that the man wouldn't ask.

Unfortunately for Wyatt, here on the sandy floor of the Arena, the Gods were deaf.

"Good, we can sleep in shifts," Maximus said, happy that someone was thinking about them, albeit in obnoxious colours. ... One of which Wyatt's neck was turning. He stepped over, twisting so he could read over the man's shoulder, hoping that maybe a second glance would reveal the hidden meaning.

Of course, nothing was ever that simple. He pointed to the middle word. "So what does this one mean?"

Of course not.

Wyatt exhaled, long-suffering, as Max's question brushed across the back of his neck and turned. Inches apart, his head tipped, blue eyes almost pleading. "Ain't anyone ever told ya to never look a gift horse in the mouth, Max?"

Maximus, perfectly oblivious, shook his head. "In this place, I prefer to know exactly what I'm getting, and why." He leaned over, pointed to the first and the last words.

"Especially when it comes phrased as a command."

Wyatt's tongue slid against the inside of his cheek, taking another breath as he realized then that Max would not be deterred.

He considered - for a brief moment - lying through his teeth, but as he worked through the mental math of making that work, he knew, deep down, that it would all be for naught once they were back in the Capitol. Someone was bound to bring it up. Likely a disgruntled sponsor at that, wondering why he hadn't liked their present.

He turned the note out, toward Max again, scratching at the middle word, glitter like tiny purple snowflakes.

"Kiss," he sighed. "The word is 'kiss,' Max."

Helpfully, he blew a raspberry for emphasis. Just to make sure they were on the same page.

It didn't really break through his head, at first. He took the word as he would any other new piece of information, and slotted it into place in the sentence.

"Just kiss already," He said aloud, reading it, his mind more focused on remembering the spelling of the word and the meaning ( k-i-s-s ) then what that meaning actually was requesting them to do.

And then it clicked.

Two seconds later, he started to chuckle.

Considering how Wesker's knife had come, he'd take this over that any day.

Still chuckling he leaned over, slid an arm around Wyatt's neck and pulled him sideways, pressing a gruff kiss to his temple, just under the brim of his tipping hat.

The chuckles had not abated as he turned to walk over to the sleeping bag.

"Hope that satisfies," He said in a slightly louder voice up to the sky.

An eyebrow shot up in surprise as the muscled arm wrapped around his neck, joined by it's mate when it tightened and Max's mouth landed on his temple, warm and rough.

The curve of his mouth followed a heartbeat later, the laugh unstoppable in the face of Max's.

"Ya better hope so," he called at the Roman's back, rolling the pastel note into a ball, flicking it after him. "Unless they plan on sendin' dinner too. Wyatt Earp does not woo easy."

The chuckles faded into a breathy wheeze as the paper ball bounced harmless off his back and he leaned over to unroll the sleeping bag.

"Don't tempt them with promises you can't keep," He said, amused, as he rolled it out. The bedrolls that they had in this era were strange... The fabric bizarre and light. Maximus was unconvinced it would make a particularly warm bed, but then...

He didn't mention to Wyatt that it might make it easier for him to drag a body back, if he put it in this.

Keep it for sleeping.

He tipped his head, rocking on his heels thoughtfully.

"Fer real food? I'd even kiss yer ugly mug." He glanced up at the sky. "Chicken. Biscuits an' gravy. An' cornbread." A beat. "Homemade."

He looked down again, smirking at Max as the bag unrolled. It wasn't very big, he thought idly. Not nearly big enough for the two of them unless....

Well.

His head shook, bemused. "Gird yerself."

Maximus chuckled. He had no idea what cornbread was, as 'corn' in latin was 'grain' in general, and all breads were made of grain, but he could tell Wyatt meant something specific.

"A nice fat Dormouse," Maximus said a little wistfully. "A lightly cooked fish. A couple pears - no, make that at least four. My cheese ration. Never thought I'd miss that. Some good bread, right off the farm--" But there he cut himself off, abruptly, frowning down at the sleeping bag. Best to banish thoughts of the farm as quickly as they arose, even though his chest was already twisting.

He cleared his throat, trying to force the grief away.

"Should be alright for one of us to sleep in, while the other takes watch. Don't really trust R to take a watch on his own." Mostly because he was the biggest threat that Maximus would be watching for, while awake.

Wyatt's amused grin faded as the tone shifted. Suddenly, but clearly.

He straightened, shoulders squaring as he remembered abruptly that they weren't just two friends shooting the breeze and sharing a laugh. They were tributes with a whole arena still waiting for them.

(It was like sinking into ice water, a stone tied round his ankles. Chill and inescapable.)

All the blood and death and pain he hadn't ask for.

"You take it first," he said, picking up the can and clicking it closed. Maybe they could use it for something. "I don't suspect R will be back for awhile." He scanned the dunes, started to turn back for the little cave. "I'll keep watch."

He was going to argue. Make Wyatt take the first watch, make sure he was well rested. But the truth was that Maximus was exhausted - he'd been running on very little sleep this entire arena, thanks to the strange sky, and the thought of sleep sent his body into a deep yearning for it. Alright. He could admit that he needed it. Once he had a few hours, he'd make sure Wyatt got some too.

"Alright," He agreed gruffly as he dragged the sleeping bag with him to the cave. He pulled it into the far corner and laid it down. He didn't get in it - and whether that was because he didn't know he could (as he was always put off by zippers) or because he preferred it that way was unclear. Once he lay down, the weight of the world seemed to settle on his chest and his eyelids, forcing them closed.

"Wake me when he comes back, or in two hours," he murmured.

There was a gentle thump in the sand outside.

Wyatt was just beginning to settle by the cave mouth, humming softly in agreement as he pulled the coat-door back so he could watch the sand when the new canister dropped slowly from the sky. Eyes narrowed against the glare of the metal under the sun, he stared, unsure if the thump he heard was that of the can against the ground or his heart against his ribs.

They wouldn't....

He ducked out and carried it back. Making a sound caught somewhere between a laugh and a groan when he popped the top and found the veritable treasure trove inside.

His cornbread, a tin of chicken swimming in gravy. Max's pears, a hunk of cheese. Food and water, enough for two.

And a note. Not nearly as gaudy as the last one, the paper was simple, the handwriting elegant.

'I do hope you intend on bringing your gentleman caller to the next social, Mister Earp. Love from Glinda x'

"Oh, for the love'a...." His eyes rolled to Max, his head shaking.

He tucked the note into his pocket and closed the canister back up, setting it pointedly aside though he could already taste the sweet cornbread.

Later. When Max woke, they could share.

Edited 2013-07-16 18:39 (UTC)

Maximus, however, was already in the deep sleep of the trained soldier when Wyatt came back inside. Complete in the trust that Wyatt would wake him if necessary, he didn't even twitch when Wyatt came back in.

He dreamt of wheat, and cheese.

Max had said to wake in him two hours, but Wyatt let him sleep on. He knew personally how elusive sleep had been out there alone in the dunes and knew, just as well, that it was a result of their own stubbornness.

Whatever their opinions on the arena were, he still liked the man and would still rather spend his last days with rather than without.

So watching the sun and counting grains of sand was how he made up for it. How he apologized. He listened to the wind, and to the growling of his stomach, and waited, keeping a weather eye out for R and a wary one for anyone else.

When the sun dipped and slid behind the distant horizon as quick and mysteriously has it had risen just a few hours before, Wyatt twitched the coat closed and headed for the back of the cave.

Any sudden movement always left him leery of what the Gamemakers might be planning.

Reaching out, he touched Max's shoulder lightly. "Max-"

Edited 2013-07-18 16:09 (UTC)

He woke instantly.

It was instinct, not thought, that had the blade in his hand in seconds. Had his fist in Wyatt's shirt, the blade at his throat. His heart was hammering hard but his face was stone. It was a tense few seconds before his brain caught up and he realised who it was. He let out a shuddering breath, lowering his blade.

"Wyatt," he said, his voice rough.

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