#tac7

It's safe to say victory wouldn't have brought the man any satisfaction.  Tacitus Constantine would never rest until his heart stopped.

And it did.

The blow to such a fragile area of his body was more than enough to end his struggle.  His lifeless body clung to Atlas' dual tridents, blood pouring out from the areas of impact.  His neck now convulsed lifelessly, akin to an accordion.  It was a gruesome sight, to be sure.

. . .

Startled was the most mild way TAC could describe his awakening. This was far more intense then when he watched the island began to sink into the sea back in the jungle; this was far more horrifying than watching the jungle burn up in the distance. Despite obviously being tired, groggy, and a terribly exhausted, survival instinct jolted his body awake akin to the sensation he felt during the parade. It was like his body was electrocuting him awake.

He leaped to his feet to get an idea of the idea of what was happening, but he didn't have the time to even begin to register what was happening before his feet spoke ahead of his mind, it was time to go and he didn't have a second to spare. The earth would literally swallow the tribute beneath him.

He wouldn't go out that way, he couldn't he wouldn't allow himself to be simply swallowed without a fighting chance. He brought himself back to his training. Three days of The Gauntlet helped his speed, and to cope with the reality of the rapidly crumbling earth beneath him, he sprinted frantically to the south towards the Cornucopia.

Three cannon shots rung out that evening.  He wasn't familiar with the District 12 male, but he was somewhat familiar with the District 6 female and District 1 male, particularly the latter person.  Julius, if his memory served him correct, had trained with him a few times in the training center.  He remembered his helping out Cael as he struggled to do some weight-bearing activities.  His interaction with him was pleasant as well as he recalled asking the other male for water and him complying without hesitation.  With his demise, that left three career members on the prowl.  He kept the tally buried in his mind, never forgetting the threat they posed.

Through the night, he felt small tremors, but.. his fatigue made sleep a priority.  Further examination revealed that the terrain was disappearing into the sea.  Undoubtedly the source of the commotion, he realized this area was no longer safe.  Returning the rope to his bag, he quickly descended the tree where he slept.  Upon ground fall, he took a step a little too large on his injured ankle.  The pain was unremarkable at this point, but the sharp pain upon impact was a reminder that it wasn't completely recovered.  First instinct was to find his walking stick, but he remembered that it was used to feed his fire yesterday evening.  He shuffled his hands around the dead fire and soot for the smooth rock he had found days ago for defense.  Upon finding it, he picked it up and started southward away from the crumbling land.

Two short naps and finishing the 25% of the cereal bar he had remaining didn't serve him as well as he liked or hoped.  The humidity was absolutely oppressive and the muddy bearings made travel difficult.  He felt sluggish, like he was operating at a low 75%, perhaps even 50% of his normal production levels.  He didn't regret the move though and hoped that he was heading in direction out of the woods, yet close enough to them should he need to hunt, hide, etc.  The outdoors was home for the man, and if anyone could find work-arounds to better his condition, it would be TAC. 

The sheets of rain that had been pouring from the sky had seemed to transform into more of a drizzle. This change was enough to pull him from a small side-world he had found himself in while sitting in the tree waiting for the rain to subside. While he sat clutching his canteen in his hands, he thought about his next move. The fire was out now, making an eastern journey a viable path.

With his cereal bar with about a bite left, he would actually need to hunt something to stave off famine. Even if he found something to eat, he could hardly start a fire in the present conditions of the jungle. Now humidity was mixed with a dampness that would make finding tinder impossible. The dangers of consuming raw anything made the option of eating it uncooked as a last resort. He would have to leave the jungle.

The descent from the top of the tree was slow and steady; the bark had absorbed a great deal of moisture making the small journey more difficult. It wasn't too arduous though as rain fall was not stranger back in his verdant home. Upon ground fall, he grabbed his staff equip with the rock he found day one and made his journey southbound, the opposite of where he had originally fled into the forest.

Besides satisfying his hunger, he realized that his reclusive strategy wasn't working. He stopped in his tracks, a realization hitting him. He hadn't heard the sound of cannons for a good while. That meant that there were still many tributes still alive. As long as tributes remained alive, this game would continue.He wanted to badly to be free of this. The stark realization of what had to be done made him feel a resounding sense of disappointment. He grabbed his chest with his free hand, his face echoing the disappointment in his heart.

If he wanted to be free, he had to be their puppet. There was no way they could all live and all escape this nightmare. He couldn't just live off the land and expect to survive, the gamer makers wouldn't like that. That wasn't entertaining. The more he thought about it, the sicker it made him.

Post breakdown, the silent warrior found sleep as a welcome respite.  He wasn't able to dream at all that evening.  The piercing cries of local bird and insect life caused him to stir, but it was really the brightness of the sun piercing the leafy roof of the forest that broke his slumber.  His back ached, as the nights sleeping in the firm, plush beds of the Capitol had introduced a level of comfort to his normally uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.  He was sure he would've fared far better had he not been babied by the Capitol in the first place.  Despite rigorous training, the brief time spent made him soft, both physically and.. emotionally.

He untied his safety rope from around his leg and the bow, untied the ice-pack from his ankle, and returned all three times to his bag.  His ankle felt a little better, but he wasn't about to push his luck with it; he wouldn't be running any marathons, that much for certain.  He took out the cereal bar from his pack as well as his canteen.  He took a small bite of the cereal bar and a few sips of his water.  Water remained at a little less than half, the bar at about three quarters.  It would be enough to stave off hunger but he knew he would need more of asubstantialmeal, preferably in the form of some local game.

He resolved to live, knowing that his natural instincts wouldn't allow him to simply accept death.  He did know however that his rock wouldn't be enough to defend himself from an encounter.  There were spears, swords, tridents, and other longer-ranged weaponry that would surely have the advantage over TAC's limited range.  What the man needed was a weapon, and the only place there were weapons were. . . The Cornucopia.  It was a grim locale to be certain but perhaps returning to the open field and procuring a weapon would serve him better than running around in the wood with his limited weaponry.

Using the rope he used earlier to climb the tree, in a similar fashion he started to repel the tree.  Thoughts focused on the difficulties associated with returning to the central location: the prospect of other tributes thinking a similar strategy, the fact that the gamemakers could've booby-trapped the area to remove stragglers, and, most chiefly, navigating out of the dense jungle itself.  Perhaps it would be a better strategy to listen to the sounds of the wood and locate other tributes.  TAC, despite weaponry at a disadvantage, had a big advantage being in such a native setting.

Upon stepping-foot on the ground, he remarked the pain being a little less bothersome than the other day.  Still . . . it did hurt to apply pressure. Stop being a baby, he thought to himself while grabbing his discarded walking stick from yesterday.  The small pool of water had not been absorbed by the morning sun just yet; he figured it would be a hot spot for local fauna.  He made his way over to a leafy bush a few feet away from the pool and proceeded to use the rope he had earlier and attach the rock to his walking stick.  After about three big swings, the rock came loose.  His rope-tying abilities weren't the best, so he realized that he would have to make the most out of each swing if he was going to use it offensively.

The first name to emblazon the sky was Brutus.  He had recalled training with him once more, but before any more memories of him had the chance to fill his mind, TAC sawhimin the sky.  Even TAC's terrible vision couldn't hide the image of his former ally shimmering in the sky before him.

It.. there's no way. . .

TAC felt his body lurch forward, a visceral instinct brought on upon by that terrible sinking filling within his chest.  It now felt like his entire chest was a blaze as he shook his head in disbelief.  Mouth slowly became agape, eyes widening with shock and sheer horror that Cael, his ally- no, his friend had actually. . . Contemplating the thought only did more to exacerbate the pain in his chest.  He felt sick to his stomach; the horrible scenario he never wanted to manifest had manifested.

He tried to do simple breathing exercises to refocus and center his mind but he just couldn't get a grip.  He wasn't able to process what had caused such an intense reaction through his entire body this way.  Why was his heart feel like itwas going to beat out of his chest, why did it feel like a part of him had died, and.. why were hot tears beginning to form in his eye?

He closed his eye as hard as he could, pushing a closed fist against his mouth, knuckles against his lips to prevent what TAC gathered was.. sobbing.  TAC couldn't begin to understand why the loss ofonetribute had such a profound reaction like this.  He was feeling so many things, too many things to put properly into words.

Cael was the only tribute he felt comfortable around.  It was a joy for TAC, even if he didn't show it.  Even if their encounters didn't exchange many words, their silence bolstered a sense of reverie that didn't need any pretense.  Cael had always tried so hard to succeed, even if his lack of physicality held him back.  He wanted to protect TAC, and TAC wanted to, in turn, keep him safe.  He was a kindred spirit and TAC knew it from the minute they were in the stables together.  They were both so aware of their predicament, so caught-up in themselves.  While TAC's aloof nature gave off this cold, chilly air, Cael, equally if not more aloof than himself, carried himself with a gentle warmth.  Despite his fear, despite struggling to communicate how he felt, he was always, despite the danger he knew he was in.. smiling.  He wore that.. stupid smile that TAC could never, ever unravel.  His smile, his touch, even his.. kiss.  All wordless affections that left TAC feeling the happiest he had ever felt, despite their extenuating circumstances.

Why. . . why did Cael have to exist?

He felt himself shaking, sight focusing on his hand, his calloused, work-worn hand.  He remembered Cael's soft touch, his small grip.  In this moment, for the first time in his life, he felt an overwhelming sense of loneliness.  To experience what it was like tofeelwarmth transcended anything imaginable.  He smashed his hand once below the bough beneath him once.  This experience was a double-edged sword.  Had he not met Cael, he wouldn't have had this overwhelming desire to have that feelingback.  Had he never met Cael though, he wouldn't have known what it was meant to feelanything at all.  Cael had introduced a slew of feelings that TAC, frankly, never knew he was capable of expressing.

TAC had stopped crying.  From whatever emotional heights he had ascended with Cael's help these past few days he now felt drain from his system during this single, cathartic episode.  It was as if he had returned to an emotional state parallel when he first arrived on the scene.  He wasn't this brave, silent warrior that Caesar made him out to be.  He wasn't doing any sort of work that would lead him to his freedom if he continued to muscle his way through the game.

No.

He wasn't either of those things.

He was a lumberjack, plucked from the trees and forced to fight.  He was forced to play in The Capitol's cruel game of life and death.  Cael was gone, and there was no tribute who paled in comparison to his compassion.  Mud-mask that he had worn to conceal himself now appeared cracked as small paths from his eyes tore the mask apart down his cheeks.  TAC's resolve had melted away, and he sat in the tree as little more than a shade of his former self.