Mercutio Harriway
|District 12|Male|Age 12
Mercutio’s idle, half-lidded eye blinked fully open as whipped his head around at his comrade’s query, instantly noticing the swelling of dark, foreboding clouds just on the horizon. His hands were in the process of trying to untangle the matted hair on his head. And then the scream, a young girl’s scream, unconcealed by the storm brewing just probably around a kilometer or so away at a rough estimation. Gosh, it must be snowing bloody snowballs over there. He was just glad it wasn’t them; he probably won’t have strength to battle a snowstorm now. Frowning in concern, he wondered if they should shift their temporary camp somewhere…not here. Whoever made that scream was obviously in pain that he was hesitant to put himself through. Being a hero was the last thing on his mind right now. It was nothing in this Arena. In here, no one would remember if you died, rescuing some other poor tragic tribute from harm. In here, unless you are in a close-knit alliance, you should only reasonably care about yourself. In here, it was just best to mind your own business.
This would have sounded selfish and vulgar to some of the hero-types or people that have never experienced hunger, but the Hunger Games were made for one victor. Rich, fat Capitolites watch in glee as twenty-four teenagers murder each other over the course of a few days. The shortest Game was actually two days and a half, while the longest had been a hundred and twenty. There was no point saving anyone’s life but yourself’s. Effort wasted, life gone. Gripping the hilt of the sword, Mercutio bit his lip, starting to open his mouth to tell the other not to worry about someone who is probably going to die here. He’s probably going to die here. His wounds weren’t looking too good. Grimace plastered on his face, he watched as the boy finished treating his wounds, gripped his spear, and started to run away.
The “I don’t think this is a good idea-“ turned into a yell, a “Wait!” as Mercutio gripped his backpack with swollen, bruised finger joints, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. Well, only one person would actually need to go to aid a hurt person, and Mercutio honestly very much disliked going to heal people, as he was never a people-person anyways, but swallowing his grimace, Mercutio shoved the left-over cotton balls into the depths of his backpack, slung it over his shoulders, and hurried after Wyatt, a slight limp in his gait. I hope this is worth it… Mercutio silently thought to himself. It was no difficulty tracking down the girl, but the fact that Mercutio’s doing something for someone other than his family startles him for a moment. Maybe he does have humanity. But if it’s a trap, then-
He gripped at the sword’s hilt tighter and hurried on, about to feel the full-blown force of the blizzard.
((OOC: Seconded ^^))
