[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 THIS week, after the worms.

[the_hit_list]

Tim sees her from thirty yards away and doesn't move, at first, staying crouched in sparse grass that the animals haven't mowed down yet. Adult female. Well-armed. He can't place her name, but he knows that this isn't her first Arena. No one lives this long in an Arena without luck or skill, and Tim doesn't want to meet an unknown with either - or worse, both.

At twenty yards, his hands tighten and twist on the crude staff. He's starting to feel like the hunted, when he should be the hunter. Stalker, he mentally corrects himself. Panem has taken the lingo that once was so comfortable and twisted it back towards its original meaning.

The scythe doesn't worry him. They're unwieldy, and he's been doing better this Arena in terms of supplies. He's lost weight, but Tim has been doing better in terms of food. There's some dehydration; careful, obsessive rationing keeps it from overwhelming him.

That crossbow is another issue. Does she know how to use it? If yes, is she a decent shot? He's still not too concerned, having sparred against Speedy enough to feel much safer facing another archer shooting to kill than he did the first time it happened.

Twenty yards. Tim straight up with the bo held in front of him, at ease but ready. "I think you should keep your distance, miss." Polite and firm. He wouldn't say no to an allegiance with someone that he knew a little, but not a stranger this late in the Arena. With the dwindling numbers, who can tell when someone chop off your head the second you put your guard down?

[grandmas_gurl]

She preferred the longbow. But her granny had slept with a cross bow with years, and Ruby knew how to use one. She wouldn't normally miss a man sized target, not even a moving one - though maybe someone with Tim's skill would do better, particularly if he could catch those metal bolts on his staff without it cracking. She had eight bolts in her quiver, though. So it would come to whether he could get her to spend them all, or else get close enough to bat it aside without getting shot.

It was true that the scythe wouldn't do much good if he could get close to it - she'd mostly been using it to cut spikes off of plants, and butcher her animal kills. She had only avoided breaking off the staff because she wasn't convinced she wouldn't need the range.

Of course Ruby din't want to kill him. She would't hesitate if he made the first move, but she had no intention of being first. She was't a killer. She wouldn't let this place turn her into one.

So when he spoke up, she stopped, eyes focusing on him. Her fingers twitched, but she didn't reach for the cross bow just yet. "I didn't know this place was claimed." But she needs to get through it.

[the_hit_list]

"It's not," Tim said brightly. Even if he had been intending to camp here, seeing another Tribute is the first and only sign that he needs to know that it's time to move on. "I was taking a minute to enjoy the scenery on my way through. It's a nice patch of sand. Very beige."

He was being sized up, and Tim held his ground for it. She might have more weapons, but that was as encumbering as it was helpful. Good luck holding onto the scythe while wielding a crossbow, or vice versa. Whichever she dropped, he would smash. There were other points in his favor, as well. The clothes hid most of the damage he'd taken in the fight with the Grand Highblood, and his shoulder had been popped back into socket by an ally. It wasn't perfect, but it wasn't his dominant arm anyway. He looked healthy enough, for the Arena.

And - Batgirls and Wonder Woman be damned - he was male, and Tim knew that psychologically that counted. No matter how much stock a person put into the women's liberation movement and equal rights, there were millions of years of evolution behind men being seen as dominant, threatening fighters.

If he took control of the situation, maybe they could both head off without other injuries. "I still want you to keep your distance. We circle around at 20 yards, and I'll let you go your way. I'll go mine. This never happened."

The tone. It's all about how things sound, and Tim hits that Red Robin voice on all cylinders: low in pitch and strong in volume, without resorting to shouting. There's a firmness that implies that acquiescance is not only expected, but recommended. The bo never so much as quivers in front of him.

[grandmas_gurl]

The scythe was tucked under arm - fine for now, but she'd have to shift it or more likely drop it in order to aim with both hands, using her cross bow. Same for if she wanted to use the scythe - she lacked the physical strength, here, to handle the heavy weapons with one hand.

If it had just been Red in that head, his manhood's affect might have been blunted. She'd grown up among dominant women, after all, with no men in sight. But there was Ruby in there, too - dulling her fighting instincts, chipping away at her self-confidence... and far more familiar with masculine capabilities than Red had been. Still, at this physical distance, she had her nerves under control. She just needed to keep it that way.

Beyond that, though, she's a wolf. His masculinity didn't come in, there - her granny had been an alpha-type, and so had her mother had ruled an entire pack; not exactly patriarchal. But the tendency to respond to commanding tones is still, there, and she wasn't contrary enough to fight back on something they both wanted.

"I'm just after the mountains," she promised him.