HG OCT: Round Two - Coming to Grips (III)Best Laid Plans
If anyone ever asked him, Roarke knew that he would never be able to explain just what woke him up. It hadn't been a sound or a physical feeling just a sense that something was off. He compared it to that feeling one has right before a storm rolls in. The air was electric somehow without there being any sign of lightening or thunder. There were clouds though. In fact, Roarke couldn't remember when he'd ever seen a fog this thick before and certainly not in the middle of a forest. It had weight, texture and even with the chill of the silky tendrils, it seemed to have life. It surrounded him and left him unable to see anything except for the surreal glow of fire beyond the shifting curtain of clouds.
He could still feel the log at his back. His hand reaching along the surface towards where he'd left Rhona's knives. They were gone. Now whether she'd left with them or not was another matter. Cautiously coming to his feet and using the log as a g
HG OCT: Round Two - Coming to Grips (II)Moments to Remember... to Forget
Guilt eating away at him, he'd detoured to double check the rail cars only to find what he'd already expected. Levis was gone. That her death hadn't yet been announced gave him some hope she was holed up somewhere safe for now. He had taken so long that by the time Roarke made it back to where he had left Caleb, he had half expected the other tribute to be long gone. It was a nice surprise to see that he wasn't.
The tribute from District 9 was on his feet fast and with weapon ready as Roarke stepped into the small clearing. The tense moment ending as soon as he saw who it was, which was another relief. Sparing Caleb a small smile and a shake of his head, Roarke tossed him the small tin of ointment, which was easily caught, as he stepped past to settle down at the fire. "It stings like a bitch when you first put it on but it works."
A slight look of confusion flickered across the other tribute's gaze until, Roarke pointed to
HG OCT: Round Two - Coming to Grips (I)From the Sidelines
It had been the longest fifteen minutes of Stephan Atreo's life as he sat, riveted to the sleek black couch before his television, while the eldest of his District's tributes took on one of the evilest looking creatures he'd ever seen outside of mythology books. He had caught himself holding his breath with each near miss. Crying out as Roarke hit the ground and actually breathing a sigh of relief when District 9's boy aided him. He didn't really care that he had neighbors that he might be disturbing, he knew this kid. He'd felt the coldness of his glare, the warmth in his laughter and seen the rare glimpse of his embarrassed flush. There on sixty-five inches of crystal clear screen was a lamb led to the slaughter by the Capital, and as Stephen continued to watch he couldn't help but chuckle when Roarke asked the other tribute if he thought they could eat the Mutt.
Roarke Farryn. The kid was an enigma. Quick to glare and dismiss someone w