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[the_marshal]

Who| Wyatt and... you?
What| Planning his next step
When| The day after the Cornucopia
Where| Let's say S4
Warnings/Notes| None

He'd survived the Cornucopia, and the subsequent swim to the next island. The cut on his arm had been dealt with (hopefully the salt water had cleaned it well enough to keep infection at bay) and the long night, spent just inside the tree line, had been uneventful if restless.

Now, with the sun already on its ascent through the startlingly blue sky, Wyatt stood in the sand, looking out at the rolling waves. Hunger was a gentle itch, scratching at the back of his gut that he could ignore for awhile yet, but thirst, well, that was going to be problem. And soon.

Mustache quirking thoughtfully, he ran a hand over his hair and sighed.

Shoud he follow the beach? Or head deeper into the trees?

Comments

[cowardfacinghappiness]

She stopped at what she judged a careful distance, a few feet, and put her hands on her hips. "Well," she demanded, deciding to let him set the tone. If he made any threatening movements she could make for the trees or the water, whichever seemed safest.

[the_marshal]

His other eyebrow joined the first, jerking up toward his hairline in surprise.

"I'm sorry," he replied, blinking and amused. "Can I help you, Miss?"

He had a flash of Dodge, of working his rounds, and of patiently hearing out the stories of some imagined slight or other.

[cowardfacinghappiness]

"Are you going to attack or not?" she asked, deciding to get it out of the way. "I don't have all day." Not that she had any real pressing concerns other than finding food and a better hiding spot for the night.

[the_marshal]

All puffed up like a kicked cat, he half expected her to hiss and bare her teeth.

"Hadn't much planned on it," he replied, lips twitching, tone baiting. He couldn't help himself; her indignation just tickled him. "But I 'spose I could change my mind if yer really so keen."

[cowardfacinghappiness]

She crossed her arms, annoyed. Was there really so few people being picked to fight willing to actually fight? That seemed like poor casting. "What were you planning then?" she asked, ignoring his offer to attack anyway. "Long walks on the beach until you're eaten by a shark?" Or whatever other horrible things they had here. Momoko was avoiding the water as much as possible for a reason.

[the_marshal]

"As opposed to walkin' up to everybody askin' if they'd like to kill me?" He grinned. "Yes, yes, I reckon I like my plan better."

[cowardfacinghappiness]

"Not much of a plan, just waiting around." She carefully didn't mention how that was essentially her plan for the moment, except when she had brief bouts of potentially fatal restlessness. "Is that how you intend to win?" Not the most subtle of interrogations but it wasn't as though Momoko had a lot to work with.

[the_marshal]

"It's how I intend to go on, Miss," he replied simply.

He honestly hadn't given much thought to winning, per say. Just surviving. Coming out of this the man he'd walked in. No more, and certainly no less.

"But then, that is just me, and by all means, it's a big beach, don't let me stop your quest for excitement." Had he his hat, he might have tipped it, but, seeing as he didn't, he just gave her a polite nod, and moved to step around her.