[OPEN] Why don't you come to your senses?

[the_hit_list]

Who| Tim Drake and OPEN
What| Tim is making like Moses, only he’s lost his tribe.
Where| Anywhere in the desert arena! Dessert Arena Tributes are free to bump into him in the tunnels.
When| Week 5 (from the day after the start of the sandworms) through Week 6
Warnings/Notes| No warnings thus far. Big note: I’m not looking for death here, as Tim’s been bought out.



The desert is slipping into sameness. There was never much to differentiate one acre of open, baked ground to begin with, save for some areas being more sandy and others more packed and cracked, but Tim had been doing okay with recognizing this cactus as opposed to that one, using the boulders and rock formations as landmarks. Mnemonics helped. This one was the Keebler Elf, in profile, and that one reminded him of Red Tornado. He’s been losing his touch with directions, though. It started when they found AndrAIa’s body. Worsened when he watched Punchy pass away.

Then, he saw himself die. Swallowed by a sandworm that was there and gone in an instant. It had happened so close to him. One second, walking along as normally as they can, with the younger Tim Drake slightly ahead and to the side. . The rumbling again, nearer than it had ever been and bearing down on them. He thought that it was a flash flood. It had to be. Instinct said to run for the mountain.

Only one of them made it. Now, after spending days holed up in and on the mountain, Tim has been aimlessly wandering the Arena.

He can't think about it. It's not any easier to this time around, with no way to have saved any of them. It doesn't ease the guilt, regret, anger. Tim tries to keep himself occupied with other things, inventorying in his head what he had and what he’d lost over and over without brushing the reasons why. He had a sleeping bag, rolled up around two lidded containers that were watertight and a container with a smidgen of burn cream left in it. The bundle is tied up with rope and slung over his shoulders, cross body, like a yoga mat or a quiver – except for the curved scythe blade sticking dangerously up out of it. Tim had shoved what handle was still attached into the roll as snugly as it would go. The staff is ever in hand. Punchy’s mask, borrowed after the teen no longer needed it, is on under Tim’s sunglasses.

The tent, wire, most of the meat, and throwing knives are gone. What else is gone, besides the lunch that he hadn’t been able to keep down in this heat today? He can’t remember. He lost them… was it four days ago? It might have only been three. Another thing that he’s failing to keep track of. He’s got a few small comforts left: he hasn’t seen Steph, Damian, Barbara, Diana, or Howard in the night sky.

But he can’t find any of them.

Comments

Setting this at the tail end of the worms.

[the_hit_list]

Tim has taken refuge in what he hopes is an empty cave, after seeing a worm breech several stories out of the sand and nearly land on the side of the mountain. It seemed like a good idea to begin with, but he's read The Hobbit a few too many times and refuses to stay inside a cave that he hasn't examined the end of.

The tunnel's stretched out so long that Tim has stopped along the way, using rope to strap the staff across his back and holding the scythe at chest-level instead. It feels off, somehow, and joking thoughts of orcs have been replaced with real concerns of muttations and whether or not baby sandworms live in dens.

He can hear something moving ahead, the soft sounds echoing down the stone walls even when Tim stops moving, breathing. If he can hear it, it can hear him, and fleeing footsteps would only give a beast the notion that prey was near.

There's something in the darkness ahead, and Tim can make out a few long glints, like thin, wet teeth several feet long.

[bratwonder]

Oh, he can hear him, alright. The sounds cause Damian to pause, looking over in the direction of the footsteps. It's hard to see much past the bars... It annoys him (ugh, what he'd give for some actually useful tools around here), but he's not too worried. The bars were an advantage in case whoever was on the other side happened to be an idiot, and he remembered exactly where he came from, so he could make a quick escape if necessary.

...unless it was a worm. That might be a bit more difficult. But he doesn't think it's going to be a worm, especially not when the other side goes silent. Damian makes a face, but he decides that he's not interested in making small talk—he's got other concerns, like finding a way past this area, so he just goes back to investigating instead. He's still mindful of the other's presence, but he's preoccupied at the moment.

[the_hit_list]

Something's moving again. But nothing's moving. There's nothing advancing. It's keeping the same distance, and Tim finds himself drawn forward. What's the worst that can happen? He dies. Getting ripped apart by a giant worm would probably be quick. It's going to happen anyway, if there's an animal down there to chase after his escape. He might as well meet it head on. Get it over with, for the second time this Arena.

He wished that the poison had killed him outright and sent him back to the Capitol, where he could pretend to be making progress and feel slightly less like a circus animal.

Tim eased his way towards the glints. He didn't want to startle whatever it was and was surprised when bars came into focus. They were followed by something, someone, moving in the darkness. Small and obscured by the costume, but so familiar, and Tim is suddenly relaxed, letting one hand release the staff and the other drop to hold it loosely at his side. "Damian?"

Leaning the weapon against the wall, he's already testing the bars for weaknesses, but he's no metahuman. Tim gives up after a few seconds, not wanting to waste the energy. It's too hot outside of these caves to lose water by sweating it up in here as well. "Is this a cell, or did you make your way down here too?"

[bratwonder]

...oh. Damian stops what he's doing when he hears his name, looking over with a frown on his face. He didn't need to look to know who it was, of course, but there's something vaguely relieving (shut up) about seeing a familiar face. Tim's definitely not his first choice for anything ever, but he's still alive, and he supposes that's a good thing. It's not that he'd been worried, exactly, it's just that he thinks the others are barely capable of surviving on their own! It's clearly a miracle that Tim or any of the others are still alive.

"Yes, I did." For once, he answers without much in the way of insults. It probably won't last too long, but hey! It's something. Still, he sounds exasperated when he continues. "There are a few caves like this. I can't find a way past these bars."

At least now he knew what was on the other side, but it wasn't just curiosity that made him want to get past here.

[the_hit_list]

Tim is impressed by Damian's survival. It's not that he expected Damian to go down easily, but he's seen enough videos to know that getting away from Cornucopias alive can often depend on reaching it first and luck (a certain willingness to kill helps - although Tim's not sure if killing would be something even Damian could do so immediately upon entrance, with a field dominated by teenagers and children. Maybe an adult, he thinks, but the idea dismays him). He doesn't think that Damian would have been able to resist the lure of weaponry. The kid is fast enough to have gotten in and gotten out.

Damian's alive. Tim doesn't care how much they don't get along; suddenly, he wants on the other side of these bars more than he's ever wanted anything, because getting driven crazy by the most petulant Robin is preferable to being slowly driven insane by heat and one's own bloody memories and thoughts. Insults and arguments are still talking, and Tim hasn't had much of that in recent days.

"Good." Tim didn't know what he'd do if Damian were locked in there. Probably spend the rest of the arena scratching away at the bars with the scythe until one broke off, and he could pull and twist Damian through the bars. He picks up the bladed weapon again and looks at it carefully, then runs a hand along the rock wall. "How soft do you think the stone here is? If it flakes like flint or shale, maybe I can gouge it enough to free the moorings. We've got time."

His next words are icy. Tim is trying not to think about them, really. "You can still hear the sandworms outside. I'm not heading back out there."

[bratwonder]

He looks up again at the question, noticing the bladed weapon in Tim's hand. Lucky fool. Despite the thought, though, Damian doesn't complain. He didn't need weapons. (Even if they were awesome and amazing and ugh, you have no idea how much he missed his weapons from home.) He simply shakes his head.

"Not soft enough, but you can try." He had a few small knives, but nothing like that blade, so at least it was something different. It might be pointless, but they only had so much to work with, and as much fun as it is to rain on Tim's parade, he won't do it this time. Damian was willing to try anything at this point. He'd even considered trying to just slip through the bars, even though it was clear from a glance that the space was too small. He wasn't losing it or anything—he's fine. But the futility of the situation was more than a little frustrating, to say the least.

Giant sandworms hadn't really helped, either. Damian had seen people eaten by them and had to deal with trying to avoid them himself, too. Tim makes it quite clear that it's not a good subject for him, but that doesn't stop Damian from opening his mouth anyway. It's nothing personal, really. It's a matter of normalcy. (...not that it matters much when it's an insult, but you know.) He speaks again as he moves to the other side of the cave to double-check.

"Afraid of a few worms, Drake?"

[the_hit_list]

He could try, yes, but there's the blade to consider. Dulling it to end up wherever Robin (and the others? Oh please, let the others be there too. There's so many he hasn't seen here or in the sky) is a trade he'd make in a heartbeat. Ruining the blade in a fruitless endeavor that only leaves him weary and sweating out more water that he doesn't have to spare? He can't risk it. Tim shakes his head. "I'm not going to try. I don't think there's a chance of it."

They wouldn't have supplied him the means to get around their bars. They've gone through so much trouble to separate the Tributes. The Gamemakers obviously have a plan here, and they would safeguard it well. Tim slams the butt end of the blade against the bars, or he tries to. His eyes widen in surprise when it slips between them, momentum carrying it down to ring against a crossbar.

Tim is still staring at the weapon nestled between the rods when he answers Damian's question numbly. "A sandworm took out the other Tim Drake. It swallowed him whole."

His eyes flicker over at the boy, trying to see what he's carrying, what might be tucked away under that ridiculous uniform. Did he have weapons? Food? Tim can't spare any water for him, and the nights are so cold that he's loathe to offer up the sleeping bag, not when it doubles as a means of carrying his water containers. Damian has lasted this long. He's doing something right. Tim wants to up his odds. "Did you go for the Cornucopia?"

[bratwonder]

Oh. Well. That was awkward. It was still weird to think of them as being the same person, even if they were both annoying in all the same ways, so hearing that Tim Drake died but Tim Drake is still right here is... well, really strange. But rather than say that it unsettles him at all, he's going to do what he always does.

"I suppose there are worse ways to die." He sounds a bit more dismissive than malicious, though it might not count for much. He wouldn't know what to say in this kind of situation normally let alone one where someone's past and present self is involved, and it's a lot easier to say something mean than to try and figure out a more reasonable response. Thankfully, Tim's question makes it easy to change the subject and focus on something else.

"No. I don't trust it." Damian didn't trust anything, but especially not something offered to them by their captors. "Considering half the tributes died before it was over, I think I made the right choice."

Sure, others had gone for the Cornucopia and turned out just fine (unless they'd been attacked by someone else, of course), but he still didn't trust it.