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Moth Delivers a Message [Closed]
WHO| Black Tom and Lord Zed; Black Tom, Gary and Kurt; Black Tom, Dorian, Maxwell and a cameo from Bayard
WHAT| Superpowers showdown, then Gary and Kurt die!
WHEN| Week 3
WHERE| The forest
WARNINGS| Death! And gore!
For a while, Tom lies dormant, like a volcano awaiting the proper tessellation of tectonic plates to erupt. He coils into himself in the trees, inward-focused, self-absorbed on his own grief for Molotov, even as he suspects he'll see her again. With the exception of Arya, he interacts with no one, waiting out the weaklings of the Arena and preparing to assault the survivors of the final week. He outlasts the voices calling people into the woods. He's immune to the bats, which have no interest in his bloodless form.
But he becomes bored, and eventually he pulls himself out of one of the trees he's occupying. It cracks as if all the sap inside has frozen, and he emerges from it neither man nor plant, but some foul combination of the two: barky skin, black sockets for eyes, moss and algae and leaves forming a ruff of hair that extends from his crown down his back. And he tends to his cache of supplies, folded into the knot of another tree, looking over the note that Molotov sent him and wondering when the next time Arya will retrieve the goods will be.
The air is warm again, and he cricks his neck back to look at the sky, appearing more mutt than Tribute. His nostrils flare, pulling oxygen into lungs that have all but collapsed from disuse. With a splintering sound, he opens his mouth and frees his teeth.
WHAT| Superpowers showdown, then Gary and Kurt die!
WHEN| Week 3
WHERE| The forest
WARNINGS| Death! And gore!
For a while, Tom lies dormant, like a volcano awaiting the proper tessellation of tectonic plates to erupt. He coils into himself in the trees, inward-focused, self-absorbed on his own grief for Molotov, even as he suspects he'll see her again. With the exception of Arya, he interacts with no one, waiting out the weaklings of the Arena and preparing to assault the survivors of the final week. He outlasts the voices calling people into the woods. He's immune to the bats, which have no interest in his bloodless form.
But he becomes bored, and eventually he pulls himself out of one of the trees he's occupying. It cracks as if all the sap inside has frozen, and he emerges from it neither man nor plant, but some foul combination of the two: barky skin, black sockets for eyes, moss and algae and leaves forming a ruff of hair that extends from his crown down his back. And he tends to his cache of supplies, folded into the knot of another tree, looking over the note that Molotov sent him and wondering when the next time Arya will retrieve the goods will be.
The air is warm again, and he cricks his neck back to look at the sky, appearing more mutt than Tribute. His nostrils flare, pulling oxygen into lungs that have all but collapsed from disuse. With a splintering sound, he opens his mouth and frees his teeth.