whisted | for all_at_sea : if I had a heart

Jack Simpson is enjoying this.

That, more than anything, is what has Horatio Hornblower feeling so painfully trapped. There had been a terrible sinking in his gut when his own name had been called during the reaping. There had been a heavy weight that lingered even after his mother's hand was dragged from his shoulder and his father's voice had vanished from his ears. For all that had ripped something from him, the odd inevitable hadn't been so terrible. A piece of him, even now, thinks he could manage to have properly accepted it.

But then, through the haze, had come the harrowing sound of Simpson's name. That had been far too much far too fast. That had been the worst sort of death warrant; the immediate shifting of hope toward dying at the hands of anyone but his District's other tribute.

None of the rest of it had helped, of course. Being dragged far from home was excruciating. Being poked and prodded and needled and explained to, by tense displeased voices, that he somehow didn't even stand and wear his clothes correctly was torturous. Even the odd comfort of being handed into the care of his mentor was undercut by the horrific fact of Simpson standing nearly constantly beside him, practically preening with a nauseating sort of pride.

In defense of the prep team, of course, Horatio apparently doesn't know how to stand properly. It doesn't matter that his fingers grip tight to the chariot, or that all he properly has to do in the Tribute Parade is actually stand still with the faintest bit of a smile. It's just a blessing, Pellew is certainly sighing to himself, that the Capitol seems to find a tribute managing to fall off the back of a chariot faintly endearing.

(Simpson will make his life hell for it later. Thankfully, Horatio doesn't anticipate having that much more life to have to suffer through.)

It will be better, he tells himself, when they can be separated in the Training Center. It will almost be enjoyable, perhaps, to have these few days of being able to make some small amount of space for himself before Jack Simpson thoroughly enjoys killing him.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

all_at_sea

Pellew is an angel. A strange sort of angel, but one none the less. His gentler sort of affection probably wouldn't work on Tributes from District 1, but it's probably the sort of attention Horatio needs. Protective and but far from suffocating. Pellew doesn't have Lady Barbara's problem of having to appear a genteel lady- he can give his Tributes a smack on the back of the head as necessary.

Not that James knows anything about what measures Pellew has taken- but he's glad to see Horatio step into the room in one piece. He finds himself straightening up, smiling and gesturing him over, and trying not to think about how they danced and the way Horatio squeezed his hand.

"Good morning," He said, realising this was a little formal, but not really sure how to be less-so. Friendship was a strange thing to navigate in these circumstances.

"I... Lady Barbara has suggested that if we spend a little time on traps and snares, I should also teach you a little about knives. Or other weapons, if you prefer it."

Hopefully before anyone else turned up to watch them.

From:

whisted

There's comfort in settling himself into place beside James again. It feels safe to stand beside someone who had gone to the mat with Simpson. It feels safe to listen to someone who had held his hand gently and guided him through an overwhelming cacophony of other human beings.

None of that stops his face from falling slightly, gaze dropping to their feet before he can force himself to nod.

"I don't-- know how much I can learn."

It's the right thing to do. It's the right thing even just to have bits and scraps of knowledge before he's meant to be helpful to the taller boy.

It still sink his gut a little.

From:

all_at_sea

James sees Horatio's face fall and he shakes his head, reaching out to gently put his hand on Horatio's shoulder again.

"Don't worry. You have a much harder task- trying to teach me to fend for myself." He says, offering a small smile of encouragement. "Or at least, help you fend for us. As far as I knew, food just arrived on plates. Catching it is a revelation."

Barbara was right in one respect; if Horatio was used to catching and preparing games for the pot, he was used to sharp knives. The hard bit would be teaching him to use them on humans. But if all James could do was give him some pointers that Horatio could use if he needed to, then he would.

"Anyway- our deal is that I do the messy bits, and you keep house. I'll keep trouble as far away from you as I can, I promise."

From:

whisted

This will help. If they survive long enough to find each other properly after the bloodbath, it's good to know that a gentle hand on his shoulder is so incredibly calming. It will be different once the killing starts, Horatio knows. It will be different once he's had to face the reality of Simpson's first choices; his own first choices.

But a tiny piece of him feels slightly safer in the knowledge that James's hand on his shoulder feels safe.

"You're not-- serious."

The team would work well enough. The division of labour would make them a strong team. A deep breath makes it easier to start drifting toward the collection of knives set out for them.

"You've never made a meal?"

From:

all_at_sea

James lifts his hand from Horatio's shoulder and shrugs. He's never had to worry about food. He's always been training for the games, which in District One means hand-to-hand combat. Sure, some of his peers might have gone into the wild, but James never had. Food wasn't in short supply, there was no need to go find it.

"I can't say I ever have."

He should probably be embarrassed about that. And he is, more about the excess and the comfort he took for granted than his own inexperience. He might not be able to hunt rabbits, but he'd had food and drink and healthcare and training, and his District had asked him for very little in return. No wonder District One were always the favourites.

"I am a blank slate. Impart your knowledge." He says, stopping by the table of supplies- rope and cord and knives, bits of wood. It all (well, apart from the knives) looks a little mystifying.

From:

whisted

Maybe that's why James is taller. Maybe that's why his entire body seems to be solid and secure, not ropy and still oddly scrawny as Horatio had always been. Maybe that's why James could keep his chin up while they danced and look, faintly, like he was enjoying himself.

"Have--?"

Holding a knife isn't so unfamiliar. Horatio understands the weight of the one he picks up. He can imagine using it over a snared hare or a stick to be whittled into useful shape. It's the thought of using it against another human being--a young man like the one standing across from him--that puts a tremble in his fingers. That helps distract him from the fact there isn't a delicate way to ask his follow-up question.

"--have you ever been hungry, though?"

From:

all_at_sea

All of that is probably true. James hasn't ever really suffered- he's been brought up to either be a Tribute or a Peacekeeper- he's been fed well and trained well and educated to a far better degree than the children in other districts who have to work or find food for their families. He's been able to grow big and strong- and Horation hasn't.

But it's hard to imagine Horatio as anything other than lithe and agile. He could probably move quicker than James. That would probably be a very useful skill, if he was any good at hiding or climbing trees. James would have to find out.

Once he'd swallowed down the uneasiness that rose in him like bile.

"I... not really. No." He murmurs, looking away and shifting his weight slightly, his fingers moving to the edge of the table, picking at it unhappily.

From:

whisted

There's a beat of quiet. There's a beat of taking in this piece of reality--always known, but never felt as acutely as in this moment of standing together with the other side's end product.

Then Horatio nods, attention flitting to another knife.

"You can't panic, when it hits. It will feel like... something's wrong. It isn't. It won't get better, but it will tun into something you can live with. You just have to recognize it. Learn how to breathe through it will help."

It's something they'll need to be prepared for. It's something they'll survive.

From:

all_at_sea

James, for a moment, doesn't realise that Horatio is talking about hunger. He knows that the other Districts don't get the right supplies, he's not stupid. He knows that the Capitol takes everything and barely shares. He knows that he could have done with a little less, to make sure Horatio had more. The same for everyone else in his District. True, there was never an abundance, but no one ever paniced or suffered because there wasn't enough.

He swallows, and then realises that if hunger is going to be a reality, he might as well experience it now rather than in the arena.

"How often do you think we might find food there?"

He has to ask. He can spend more time training, skip meals. That way he can at least be used to the physical excursion with an empty belly. He will have to, unless he wants to drag them both down in the Games itself. Horatio clearly is used to hardship, but James will have to learn, and learn quickly.

From:

whisted

"That depends on the terrain. Almost certainly less meat and smaller portions."

Possibly even than Horatio was used to. Certainly more than he could imagine James would be used to.

"And it will depend if we can... breathe, ever."

Sometimes the Games went so quickly. Sometimes the slaughter came so quickly and violently that there was barely time to find a place to steal a few hours of rest for the night. It would be much harder to find anything to eat if they were in a constant state of running.

"But they want us to-- manage." His brow furrows unhappily as he sets down one knife and picks up another. "We're meant to kill each other, not starve quietly."

From:

all_at_sea

James expected that much. He might as well get used to it here, so it doesn't send his body into shock then.

"They won't want everything to happen all at once." It wouldn't be entertaining if it was all over too quickly. The Gamemakers could ensure that happened, somehow. He'd seen it, when it looked like everyone was going to die too quickly, strange things had happened in the arena and the Tributes had been forced to scatter. After all, if they had to pick each other off in unpleasant terrain, then it made for better viewing.

"We'll be alright." He says, putting all the confidence into his words. Even if there's no much food, we can find water, there's always water, and that'll do." He stretched his hand out, gently touching Horatio's.

Lady Barbara would probably go mad if she saw them.

From:

whisted

Barbara would absolutely be beyond displeased with the soft intimacy of the gesture. Horatio, for his own part, is only briefly puzzled.

After a heartbeat, he melts closer.

He only leans briefly. He only settles for a few heartbeats with his shoulder against the taller boy's. It's infinitely settling.

Barbara would absolutely be beyond displeased with that as well.

"We... will." He can stand up again on his own after that, head slightly ducked in concentration. "Tell me about knives."

From:

all_at_sea

It could be a perfectly innocent, friendly gesture. Horatio is fidgetting with knives- not exactly a safe thing to do- but the gentle touch of James' hand against his stops the nervous movement. That's how James would explain it anyway. He can't explain the way Horatio moves against him, or how right it feels, or why it makes heat rise in his cheeks.

He hopes Horatio doesn't notice.

He clears his throat, trying to appear knowledgeable, in a vague attempt to impress the younger Tribute.

"Most of these are hunting knives. Serrated and normal blades. I guess you know what they do- but they're not great in a fight because they're not designed with the right sort of tang. And they tend to break where they fold back into the tang" He pauses, looking over the table, and picks up something that looks a little more useful. It's dagger really, but the blade is wider and slightly curved than most on the table. "This is better for what we want, it gives you more options. Slashing and someone can be as good as stabbing them, if you do it in the right place."

James stops then, and glances at Horatio. Horatio who has probably never been in a physical fight with anyone, training exercise or otherwise. "I... Do you know the bits to aim for? On a person?"

From:

whisted

The knife he'd been fidgeting with is set down. His attention is focused in on the blade James is holding.

That makes it easier not to wince at the question.

There had been scuffles, back home in the District. There had been boyish playing early on, before 'play' had become a thing of the past. There had been spats here and there. It's just that there had also been years of careful breaking at his spirit.

How does a person learn to fight after years of being told not to fight back?

"Where's... Where's best?"

From:

all_at_sea

"Where-ever you can reach that doesn't leave you open." James replies dryly. Then he smiles, shaking his head and putting the knife back down on the table.

"If you see a chance to cut at someone attacking you, then unless it's going to put you off balance, or give them a chance to cut you deeper, take it. If you have time to aim, go for the face, or the throat. Or stab them in the thigh or the stomach. There's less chance of hitting bone and having the blade glance off. And if you can elbow someone in the nose, do it. We're not going to get points for playing fair."

He steps away from the table, gesturing for Horatio to come with him towards the training mats. "Let me see what you can do. I'm not going to try and hurt you, but I want to see how you fight, and then... we can go from there."

From:

whisted

On the one hand, that sends an unpleasant sensation through Horatio's gut. On the other, a tiny piece of him is relieved that there isn't so much to remember before lashing out.

If he can remember to lash out at all.

It takes a heartbeat to pick up another knife--a familiar shape, the sort he had occasionally used on rabbits. That much might at least be easier to manage.

"I-- don't, really."

From:

all_at_sea

There is more to remember, but only if you're going in to attack. Defending himself should be Horatio's concern, and therefore James'. If Horatio can keep himself out of harms way and let James do the offensive work, that will probably keep them both alive a little longer than if Horatio tries attacking people with more skill than him.

"Dont take it out of the sheath." He says, kicking off his shoes. He has no blade himself, that's not the point. The point right now is to see what Horatio's natural reactions are.

Once the boy is on the mat too, James moves, stepping away and the frowning, and then relaxing and stepping close again.

"No wait your pose-"

It's a trick. Not much of one, but he gets in close enough to put his fingers against Horatio's ribs and tickles over the protruding bones.

From:

whisted

This will be fine. This will be a friendly face and, he suspects, gentle critique. This will be the first step toward something like the possibility of safety in their joint life in the games.

It's probably dangerous, how easy it is to trust James. Horatio can't help craving this sensation all the same.

He stands, as he often does, like a man backed into a corner. His shoulders are rounded and his feet clearly ready to bolt. It's no surprise that James moves closer to fix the problems clearly rampant in his stance.

It's entirely a surprise to find a wonderful tickling sensation against his bony ribs. It startles a laugh over his lips as he takes a half-step back, eyes bright and clearly pleased.

Barbara certainly wouldn't like this.

From:

all_at_sea

James doesn't stop, tickling harder and follows Horatio that little step backwards, grinning right back.

Barbara wouldn't like it, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her.

Besides, when the tickling seems to have turned most of Horatio's tense muscles to jelly, James steps back.

"Come on then. Let's do this properly. Feet like this. See? It's much harder for someone to push you over if your feet are in the right place. Don't stand up, you make yourself small and that way you're less of a target. And hold the knife up. It's no use to you in your pocket."

He looks far better now, as if he could perhaps fend off an attack.

"Okay? So on three. One... two... three."

And James is ducking in again, clearing the distance between them to try and tickle Horatio again.

From:

whisted

His shoulders stay relaxed once James shifts back again. His lips stay turned up at the corners, even as he shifts to mimic the way the taller boy is standing. His fingers shift a little more comfortably on the sheathed knife, holding it less like a tool and just a little more like a weapon.

The countdown helps. It won't happen in real life, but it's incredibly helpful to have just now.

Horatio doesn't have James's reach. He doesn't have muscles trained for this sort of coming together. Still, he's quick--and, even trusting as he is in this setting, just a bit terrified.

Making space between them is easy. Remembering to do anything with the knife is, apparently, much harder. It isn't until James is practically on top of him again that he manages to make a swipe at the other Tribute's side, nearly stumbling over his own feet in the process.

From:

all_at_sea

James does feel the knife press lightly against the shirt. It might not have done may damage in a real fight, but it's something.

"That's good," James says, skipping away from the blade and coming in again from Horatio's other side. "Keep it up. Or I'll tickle you some more!"

It's no real threat but he reaches out, fingers playing over Horatio's shoulder blade, other hand darting in to caress over his ribs.

It's actually... pretty fun. He's laughing even as he moves and he knows he should be more focused but they can be serious tomorrow. This is important. Horatio has to be able to move and lash out and right now James can't thibk of another way of doing it.

From:

whisted

It's an odd thing. It's the first time in years Horatio has felt actually safe. It's the first time since he got here that he'd felt properly able to smile.

At the same time, it's the first time he's felt relaxed enough to actually think to throw a punch when being crowded.

His hand with the knife is awkward and can't quite turn as he wants it to. It's a much easier thing to throw his elbow firmly toward James's nose.

From:

all_at_sea

James had told Horatio to elbow people in the face. He'd wanted the young man to defend himself naturally, to move with his instincts. The fact that James didn't think Horatio would actually punch him proved that he still had something to learn too.

He stumbled backwards, hand going to his nose. No blood that he could feel or taste but a white hot spark of pain even so. It hurt but only as much as his pride.

James shook his head to clear the pain away as best he could and blinked back at Horatio. He should use this to his advantage. Press home with his attack. That's what the other tributes would do.

From:

whisted

Horatio Hornblower isn't a boy with instincts for fighting. The bits and pieces of him that might have been good at it had been ground down under the heels of young men like Jack Simpson for years.

James is different. James wants to help.

And James is the first person in years he's thrown an elbow at. It makes an oddly satisfying sound when it connects. It almost makes sense to follow the momentum. It almost makes sense to bring his shoulder into the man's chest and slash forward again with his knife. It almost makes sense to fight rather than running away.

"--sorry--"

He throws his shoulder firmly at James's chest before stumbling back to make space.

"--sorry."

From:

all_at_sea

Okay, the shoulder was good. It knocked right into James' sternum and moved him back a step or two. There was no exaggerated stumbling, nothing to feed Horatio's ego, only the honest movement of a young man who had been winded. Winded by a rabbit, no less.

Come on James. He didn't get you that hard.

Horatio really shouldn't have backed away, he should have pressed on, the knife should have been pressed into stomach or throat, he could have tripped James or forced him to his knees if he'd continued.

He probably expected James to wave him off, to stop and catch his breath. But that wasn't an option, not in reality. Instead James kept low, not straightening up and rushes forwards. He wraps his arms around Horatio's waist and pushes them both onto the floor, rolling once and coming to a stop on the edge of the mats, panting a little and sat on top of the younger boy.

"Well... done." James pants, rubbing against at his chest.