kodachi | WAR GAMES

[She is not too proud to admit that she remains frozen long after the countdown finishes. She cannot understand the words that still hang in the air and, in a habit that she's rarely acted on since childhood, she twists her hands through her hair, chewing her lower lip.

The man at her side has wings and hair to rival the length of her own, and despite the strength of will that saw her brave enough to reject a king, she finds her mouth too dry to speak even a word to him.]

[Kol gives the young man—whose name escapes him in light of the announcement—a sharp look, but the moment he opens his mouth to respond, he begins to cough, and he does not stop. He coughs until he feels his stomach twist within him, and falls heavily to his knees, making an attempt to stifle the sound with his fist. What a fool he would be to give away their position so easily... !

He shudders around the fit, feeling an old ache he'd nearly forgotten creep into his bones. Even though the coughing, he feels desperately for his medicines, fingers clutching for the barest of relief—but he finds his pockets empty. Suddenly he's unsure of what pains him most, and he presses his mouth to the crook of his elbow until the cough fades. When he finally raises his gaze, shuddering, he's surprised to see blood on his skin.

His eyes sunken, he looks to the young man and says flatly.] You don't want me, child.

[These people have made a game out of violence and survival, and they do not realise just how practiced he is with fighting for the amusement of the ignorant. Performance is something he's long since become accustomed to, and this shouldn't be any different.

But it is.

D'Ivann barely glances at the woman they've assigned him. She is scenery, rating barely more attention than the soil beneath their feet and the trees that surround. Nothing merits more than a cursory look, and with their immediate surroundings dismissed as worthless, D'Ivann stalks into the woodland and doesn't look back. He hopes she doesn't follow. He has no interest in her, or anyone else they would try to force on him. There is only one person for whom he'll play these violent games.]

[She lifts one hand in his direction, sure she'll call him back—but the look in his eyes as they pass over her makes her bite back the words. He... unsettles her, more even than she's willing to admit.

She remains stock still long after he vanishes into the shade, considering her options. She'll not follow him, and she trusts no one else in these circumstances... except.

Her heart clenches at the thought of it and, with sudden, shaking resolve, she strides in the direction opposite of the angel. She does not know how she will find him, or who she may find first, but only that she'll make it her goal, and decide how else to survive afterwards.]

[It's only when Kol drops to his knees that Laurence finds it in himself to dart forward to crouch alongside him, not willing to lay hands on the man but plainly horrified at both what he's seeing and the amount of noise being made. At length, though, the coughing fit comes to an end, and Laurence turns to look wildly about their patch of forest as though expecting an ambush. Nothing, for the second. They may have gone unnoticed, or enemies might even now be bearing down on them. Either way, they - is it they...? - can't afford to stay put for long.]

You're really sick. [It's a stupid observation, but he's too suddenly disgusted by what he's seeing not to say something.] Why would they put you out here? What sort of fun do they mean to have watching a sick man die? As if this isn't twisted enough already...

[And now he's supposed to leave this guy? Staying isn't tempting, but leaving doesn't sit very comfortably either... what would Visvaldis do...]

[He can't help it—a grim chuckling sounds in his throat, much as he stifles it, not willing to prompt a further attack. The poor fool, worrying about him. The boy's right about one thing, though: he's doomed out here, that much is clear.

His voice is smaller and hoarser than he'd like, and that makes his tone hard.] I have always been sick, my entire life. This is normal. [Normal, but with nothing to blunt the edge, he isn't sure how long he'll weather it.] My brother is looking for me. You can go. Live as long as you're able.

[Ever since training started, she has kept even more silent than usual, only ever sharing her thoughts with Griffith when she dared creep to his side for some bare comfort. It now seems to her that the people managing this game have been unkind, sending her to the wilderness alone when others were clearly permitted friends or family from home.

She intends to explain herself to Hollingworth, shyness overcome by the need to communicate—and she finds she can't. She... has her own thoughts, of course, but anything she attempts to project remains flat and heavy in her mind, and her eyes grow wide with fear when the realisation hits. They've taken it from her, the people running this game: they've taken the only thing that was ever hers.

She feels the tears coursing down her cheeks before she opens her mouth in a desperate attempt to do what she has never done—but of course, it fails, and nothing but a high, strained squeak sounds from her damnable throat. It's a small cry of upset that comes next, as she thrusts one palm roughly against her temple, the action more than enough to communicate her distress even though her body denies her that ability.

In light of her loss, she forgets Hollingworth, the terror of never being able to communicate again taking her in a violent grip.]

[The brother, the stronger looking one... The thought of them reuniting out here isn't something he can find very comforting, even when he's already been considering searching for Vis in precisely the same way...]

You and your brother won't both be allowed to leave, though. What're you gonna do if he does find you?

[He's an old man with little enough chance of survival. Hollingworth knows himself to be the most intelligent individual in the field of play, but he also knows this to be a game of luck and brute strength. Even with the knowledge of survival - and he does have that knowledge effortlessly meticulously committed to memory - he lacks the practice and the force to put such skills to the test. His odds are poor and he's come to accept that.

But he has no intention of giving up, and that means using every advantage given to him. The first of which, it seems, is a tearful girl. Thankfully her distress is relatively quiet, though still far too loud for his liking, and Hollingworth wastes no time at all in grabbing the young lady around one frail wrist and pulling her sharply into the shade of the nearest tree. Poor cover indeed, but better than standing so plainly in the open. Oh, he is not designed for this sort of outdoorsmanship... nor for the comforting of frightened women, an entirely unexpected nuisance among all he has considered.]

Young miss, this will all be quite difficult enough without blind panic. If you hope to survive this experience, then for mercy's sake do calm yourself. I would have an ally out of you.

He has always known I will die before him. At least he would give me a respectful end. [He doubts there is anything he could say to convince Larsen to kill him, but he knows there is nothing Larsen could say to convince him to live through this. He will not keep his cursed life for the sake of his brother's or Helene's, and there is nothing waiting for him on the other side should they both die here.]

Then you just want to live long enough for him to find you...

[Can he afford that? To stay and help this man, just long enough for family reunions or the grim revelation offered by a night sky?

... It's a kind thought, but he can't. Every moment they share is a moment where Kol might reveal them, and Laurence has learned very well how much danger exists within his fellow players. He knows too that a good many of them must be keeping cards to their chests, concealing hidden powers that might yet change everything. For now he has to hide, stay as low as possible. Once the field is narrowed, maybe then he can reveal what few cards he has left to play.

That won't work if Kol is with him.]

I'm sorry. [Laurence rises, offering a half-hearted hand should his teammate need help getting back to standing.] You should find somewhere to hide. If I wind up seeing your brother, is there something I should tell him? [Before he kills me, or I kill him? This "game" has barely begun, and already they've managed to mess with his head.]

[Her screaming is nothing more than rasping air pitched high with fright, and she beats small fists against her attacker—she didn't want this, not with him! She'd hoped, oh, she'd hoped to be an ally with him, and here he...

His words trickle through her emotions, that much a long-time skill she has no means to deny. She goes very still and quiet quite suddenly, her gazes serious on him, if still wide-eyed.

He doesn't know. Of course—he wouldn't know. He doesn't know what they've taken from her, and she guesses from him, too. Whatever skill he might have, it's clearly not as dear to him as her power is to her. She draws in several deep breaths in an attempt to bring her shuddering panic under control.

How is it that they... She pulls back from him, just enough to raise her chin and indicate her throat. She taps it several times, opens her mouth to indicate that as well, and shakes her head: No voice. She hopes he can understand.]

[To be perfectly fair, he wouldn't mind dying on his own and saving Larsen the trouble of arguing with him, but he's not about to say that. He can't expect his would-be teammate to live through this, not with Larsen participating and only one or two winners permitted, but all the same, he wants as little to do as possible with the young man's death, and that means telling him only one thing.]

Stay as far away from him as you can. Even if you tell him I sent you away, he won't let you go.

[He ignores Laurence's outstretched hand, instead pushing himself upward with effort and turning his back to the young man to study what he can see of the sky. Careless 'playing', but he was never going to win this game.]

[Well, she's calming, at least. Hollingworth smiles encouragement at her serious expression, and privately takes measure. She's very slight, not giving any great impression of physical strength. Judging from that first reaction she's going to be emotional, perhaps prone to fits of dangerous panic. Far from ideal, this girl they've given him. But there must surely be some use he can pull from her - she is his first and at present only tool for survival, and that isn't something to be lightly discard.

The mimed instruction is simple and plain, and it takes him a matter of seconds to decipher what her indications surely mean.]

You can not speak? Is that it?

[How dreadfully inconvenient.]

[It's a small clearing, but still enough space for him to get the measure of this new sword; larger than what he would usually choose, but still comfortably within the range of blades with which he might called him practiced. Too cumbersome to be wielded with one hand, except when borne by erratic momentum, but easily handled with two. It's been well crafted, keenly honed and finely balanced. It'll be a pleasure to work with this, and he already has a perfect bloody christening prepared.

They have taken his particular sight from him, these gamemakers. He can not track, can not feel as others feel, and the disappointment of that might have had him distracted still had they not seen fit to gift him this horned spitfire as his teammate. The little man had attacked him first! Armed only with spirit and rage, and what use were those against him? Even with bare fists Thane had soon brought the man low before him, and might very well have killed him right there were it not indeed for those horns. Black as pitch and cool as bone to the touch, and if pried just so, as if to separate them by force from the skull... how the goat had bleated then! Sounds that clawed from the back of the throat, the sort that Thane thinks will draw frenzied spittle to this little man's lips if he goes at it with a blade and removes them good and proper and completely. He'd resolved then to do just that, and searched for weaponry ever since.

The goat had proven selfishly uncooperative toward the task, but that's been fun too. It's taken only the occasional blow to keep him sufficiently staggered, reeling and glassy-eyed - Thane fears not resistance but an attempt at escape. He's never been one for the chase so much as the result.

But finally they've succeeded, the one and singular success they will share as a team. Along with the sword, buried deep in the rotten hollow of an unpleasantly decaying tree trunk, Thane has uncovered some sort of ration packs, and a pouch containing a fine knuckleduster. The pouch he ties at his belt, both ration sets crammed tightly within. The brass knuckles adorn his right hand, a few practice swings gladly revealing that they won't impede his swordsmanship. It's time enough now, and he lifts his chin, grin vicious and bright as he opens his mouth to speak.

And then stops, a flicker of confusion crossing his features. ... There, yes. He did hear something. Thane hefts the blade across one shoulder and strides the negligible distance between himself and his ill-fated pet, catching hold a firm handful of fine dark hair and yanking the man's head to match the curious tilt of his own. He's grinning again, eyes shining, his voice a low enthused whisper.]

Do you hear that? I'm starting to think these gamemakers favour me, goat. Listen, it's getting closer. What do you think it will be? Get lower; [He commands it, drawing them down to a half-crouch with another sharp yank of that hair.] Let's see. If you'd been a good little boy daddy would have let you help kill it. But you weren't good, were you?

[With no more warning he slams his teammate down into the earth in one smooth hard motion, jamming his heel to the back of the other man's neck.]

Daddy doesn't like sharing anyway. Now shush, quiet now, little goatling...

[Thane watches the woodland and waits, bright-eyed and brilliant with anticipation.]

[For most of the day, he's settled into a puffing, mile-eating gait, the weight of Ivy on his back doing little to impede him after he grew used to it. She's a bright girl, clearly very scared, but he's done his best to be cheerful with her and gave her the task of reporting anything interesting she could see out in the woods. She'd done admirably—she'd pointed out a stash of weaponry tied high up the trunk of a tree.

Several minutes and an outpouring of sweat later, Reece had found himself rewarded with a length of chain and a small, peculiar hand saw. Its edge was sharp enough, though, and he decided with a shrug that it was better than nothing. The chain, he slung around his shoulders and then invited Ivy to mount up once more. Now, he'd said, they were looking for a clearing of some sort, a space where he'd be able to fight well when it came down to it.

He isn't the sort to worry about whether or not he's going to survive this; the next fight might be his last, but he'll put just as much effort into it as always. He thinks he sees light shining through the trees, and he isn't disappointed when he gets close enough to see the clearing. He slows to a jog and eventually halts just within the break of trees, crouching down and speaking brightly.]

Hop down, miss Ivy. This looks like a good spot.

[It's very very almost become pleasant. Not really, not truly, not with what's expected of them, but Reece is so friendly and the woodlands are quite beautiful and nothing terrible has happened. Ivy settles to the ground on dainty feet, smiles brightly at her saviour (how he'd laughed when she called him that!), and almost skips the few short steps that take her through the trees and to the edge of that open space.

What she sees then is a long-haired man, crouched and meeting her gaze, a sword at his shoulder and no, no, he isn't like Reece at all, there's nothing kind behind that smile. Ivy stumbles back with a startled cry, and that's before she even notices the other one, the figure on the ground. Is he dead...?!]

Reece! [She calls back with urgency, her voice making it perfectly clear that they have suddenly found themselves in a terrible amount of danger.]

[The little one wails and Thane steps forward to follow her words with his own, trusting his rebellious goat to remain still and obedient for at least the time being. Here's something new for him to play with, and what a terrible host he'd be if he didn't welcome them to his very own piece of arena dirt.]

Reece! [Thane swings the sword down from his shoulder - the girl shrieks in alarm though it doesn't go anywhere near her, jumpy little get - and plants it lightly in the ground between them, gripping the hilt with both hands and leaning forward to greet her with another smile. How tragic; it doesn't seem to calm her at all. Thane continues calling, his voice rough and brimming with excitement.] Hurry on out here, this is a good spot! Miss Ivy agrees!

[An explosion of curses flies from Reece's lips as he flips the chain over his shoulders to hold in front of him. It's not the weapon he wants—oh, not at all—but he's not about to abandon Ivy to this bloodthirsty-looking man.

He bolts across the clearing, stopping wide enough of the man keep from being skewered but near enough that he can defend Ivy quickly and snaps, chain taut between his hands.] Look, leave us alone. We don't want any trouble with you.

Leave you alone? [Thane keeps one hand to the hilt of his sword, and gestures the other in a wide half-circle around the clearing.] Now that wouldn't be gracious, would it? An audience expects bloodshed, Reece. But don't worry yourself - I don't think you'll be any trouble at all.

[That's enough foreplay. A slight grunt as he pulls his sword back from the dirt and then Thane stands tall and battle-poised, a grin on his lips as he nods toward the chain in Reece's hands.] What a pretty little necklace. Do you think it'll suit her?

[She has no claim to athleticism; her life has been soft, for the most part, and she has never been pressed towards physical activity. So after spending most of the day picking through the cluttered underbrush of the woods, she finds herself miserable, exhausted and disgusted. She's tired, certainly, but she refuses to stop walking. She knows if she stops, she will stay seated for too long—or else someone will find her, or she will panic.

She has managed to calm her nerves by telling herself that— he would hardly have died so early as the first booming cannon, and that she'll find him if she only keeps going. Focusing on each step keeps her calm. Calm enough.]

You leave her be! [Reece roars, and instinct that demands he makes the first move overrides his concern at his lack of appropriate weapon. He doesn't expect to have very much time to talk—he isn't sure he expects to have much time at all, based on this man's form—but he rattles off quick instructions to Ivy as he attempts to tangle Thane's sword in his chain.] Ivy, get out of here! Take the saw and go!

[It's so careless, the way he finds her. Hah! Finds? The way he stumbles on her. One moment he's alone and tallying his successes, the next he swears he can hear footfalls. Then he can damn well see her, and he doesn't have time to hide or respond before she notices him in turn.

His first instinct is a defensive assault, he even does it, but the air stays calm around them and Laurence touches his lips in a moment of fleeting confirmation. Somehow it doesn't surprise him as much as it should - he'd suspected this, he realises, from the moment he'd found that blowpipe concealed within the undergrowth. Well fine. She doesn't have to know he just tried to kill her.

Laurence converts his hand gesture into a motion of shock - pretty damn convincingly, he thinks - and then holds both palms out in her direction. There's still quite a distance between them, and it damn better stay that way.]

You hold right there, don't move! I don't want to fight if you don't, so you stay right there!

[But she can't, she can't possibly leave him, he's the only thing about this she can bear! He's been so kind! Reece can't die, he just can't!

Ivy stays rooted in place, terrified and gripping the handsaw against her chest as though that gesture can protect her and Reece both. She doesn't mean to wail his name but the sound just bursts from her. How could she have been so foolish as to stop feeling fear?]

[She's stunned, to find someone else. She isn't sure of why—the chances of finding someone else are certainly high enough, isn't that the point of this damn game?

He raises his hands and she falls back a step, but when he speaks she finds her own tongue and raises her voice enough to reply. The rasp of it doesn't quite betray her nerves.]

I have no reason to fight you! Please, I'm only looking for someone.

[Her voice feels so small... But if he doesn't want to fight, then maybe she can get some help from him. She'll hardly be so lucky more than once, will she?]

WAR GAMES

TEAM FIFTEEN

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TEAM THIRTEEN

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ENCOUNTER: TEAM SEVEN & TEAM SEVENTEEN

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ENCOUNTER: TEAM EIGHT (LAURENCE) & TEAM FIFTEEN (HELENE)

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