Tribute 24
A consistency with the Games besides taking good people and turning them murderous or being a show full of useless bloodshed is that a tribute cannot talk his or her way out of being the next cannon. Unfortunately, this smooth talk may actually ensure that the tribute in question will not live to see their district ever again.
In the case of Honey, this talk was like her first language. She was used to using her smooth voice to charm the fangs off of anybody was she met. That was how she charmed Tommy. And Blake. And Hershell. The butterfly wolf had escaped the Bloodbath with only a minor nick in the ear, courtesy of a bat that was know lying dead somewhere in the jungle. She flew along until she met a fox boy that we at home all know and love. The two established a mutual distrust before they headed out together in search of water, as the only water they'd seen was the rain. However, both tributes were not as honest as they appeared to be.
Honey hummed a soft tune under her breath as she walked in time with Kixx. The white fox kept his stormy eyes fixated on the worn trail, slicked by the rain from earlier. The bolts in his ankles squeaked with every step he took. He also was going to be Honey's shield until he got killed or she got bored. She felt the cool metal of her knife against her side and inwardly smiled. Time to go to work.
The sneaky butterfly wolf turned to her companion, her wide doe-eyes gleaming with false admiration that even a blind man with wool over his eyes could see through. "I must say, Kixx. You have very nice eyes." She said sweetly, bumping her thick tail against his knee. You should always start with simple and only a small bump or contact to catch them off guard. Boys all operate the same, so the species of the boy shouldn't be a problem.
Kixx let out a gasp and jerked his leg away, looking down at the butterfly wolf in confusion. "Erm, what? Uh, I guess so." He stammered, derailed by the sudden complement.
Honey smiled coyly and sighed dramatically, pushing herself against his flank as they walked along. "Don't be so modest, ferea," she paused and batted her eyelashes at him, "you have wonderful eyes. I bet you have all the girls swarming back in your district." She batted her eyelashes up at him, going through the entire song and dance. Ferea was a word that her grandma had told her when she used to go trade with the foxes before the War. It meant "sweetie" in old foxspeak. Apparently her grandma had a fling, but was very secretive about it.
Kixx's cheeks became very red and her shied away, shaking his head in dismissal. "Nah, nobody was very interested because of my ankles."
"I find that very hard to believe." Honey said, taking a hateful glare at the bolts in question. It would be very hard for a fox to defend her with such a weakness. She flattened her ears as she realized that the fox was no use to her anymore. "You have anyone special?" She prompted, taking her eyes off the flustered fox to reach for her knife. When she looked back, she found herself muzzle to muzzle with a very angry Kixx. She gasped and the knife clattered to the ground.
"I hate when people lie to me. Also, your sweet talking really sucks." He growled at her. Honey didn't have time to blink before the Kixx's jaws clamped down on her throat, crushing her windpipe. She made a gurgling sound and went limp in a matter of seconds.
The cannon blasted and Kixx left the body in search of his alliance. He recovered his axe from it's hiding place first. He'd hidden it for no real reason other than he didn't want to seem threatening to any tributes along the way. They never really thought much of the fox with the bolts in his feet, but he was so much more than they could ever imagine.
A consistency with the Games besides taking good people and turning them murderous or being a show full of useless bloodshed is that a tribute cannot talk his or her way out of being the next cannon. Unfortunately, this smooth talk may actually ensure that the tribute in question will not live to see their district ever again.
In the case of Honey, this talk was like her first language. She was used to using her smooth voice to charm the fangs off of anybody was she met. That was how she charmed Tommy. And Blake. And Hershell. The butterfly wolf had escaped the Bloodbath with only a minor nick in the ear, courtesy of a bat that was know lying dead somewhere in the jungle. She flew along until she met a fox boy that we at home all know and love. The two established a mutual distrust before they headed out together in search of water, as the only water they'd seen was the rain. However, both tributes were not as honest as they appeared to be.
Honey hummed a soft tune under her breath as she walked in time with Kixx. The white fox kept his stormy eyes fixated on the worn trail, slicked by the rain from earlier. The bolts in his ankles squeaked with every step he took. He also was going to be Honey's shield until he got killed or she got bored. She felt the cool metal of her knife against her side and inwardly smiled. Time to go to work.
The sneaky butterfly wolf turned to her companion, her wide doe-eyes gleaming with false admiration that even a blind man with wool over his eyes could see through. "I must say, Kixx. You have very nice eyes." She said sweetly, bumping her thick tail against his knee. You should always start with simple and only a small bump or contact to catch them off guard. Boys all operate the same, so the species of the boy shouldn't be a problem.
Kixx let out a gasp and jerked his leg away, looking down at the butterfly wolf in confusion. "Erm, what? Uh, I guess so." He stammered, derailed by the sudden complement.
Honey smiled coyly and sighed dramatically, pushing herself against his flank as they walked along. "Don't be so modest, ferea," she paused and batted her eyelashes at him, "you have wonderful eyes. I bet you have all the girls swarming back in your district." She batted her eyelashes up at him, going through the entire song and dance. Ferea was a word that her grandma had told her when she used to go trade with the foxes before the War. It meant "sweetie" in old foxspeak. Apparently her grandma had a fling, but was very secretive about it.
Kixx's cheeks became very red and her shied away, shaking his head in dismissal. "Nah, nobody was very interested because of my ankles."
"I find that very hard to believe." Honey said, taking a hateful glare at the bolts in question. It would be very hard for a fox to defend her with such a weakness. She flattened her ears as she realized that the fox was no use to her anymore. "You have anyone special?" She prompted, taking her eyes off the flustered fox to reach for her knife. When she looked back, she found herself muzzle to muzzle with a very angry Kixx. She gasped and the knife clattered to the ground.
"I hate when people lie to me. Also, your sweet talking really sucks." He growled at her. Honey didn't have time to blink before the Kixx's jaws clamped down on her throat, crushing her windpipe. She made a gurgling sound and went limp in a matter of seconds.
The cannon blasted and Kixx left the body in search of his alliance. He recovered his axe from it's hiding place first. He'd hidden it for no real reason other than he didn't want to seem threatening to any tributes along the way. They never really thought much of the fox with the bolts in his feet, but he was so much more than they could ever imagine.
