for all_at_sea : if I had a heart

[whisted]

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.

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[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?"

[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."

[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."

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[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."

[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.

[whisted]

It's a first step. It's something to work from in the next round, to beat into the beginning of an instinct by the end of the week.

The sudden collision of James's body into his is also a good first step. It's a reminder that rattles through the back of his skull as they fall to the floor. He'll remember this sensation when the face across from him isn't friendly.

Horatio's breath comes in ugly, unhappy gulps for a few seconds as he stares up at James, knife still gripped in his hand.

"W-What, not... the m-most pathetic death, then?"

[all_at_sea]

James laughs, but doesn't move to get up.

"You've still got the knife, haven't you? You're not dead yet. But ideally, you don't let them get you on the floor."

He shrugs, and then makes a face. Horatio looks thin and scrawny, but those shoulders are surprisingly painful.

"I didn't think you'd go for me like that. I'm impressed." And then a wicked grin crosses his face, and his hands find Horatio's ribs again, "But not impressed enough to give you mercy!"

Maybe it's childish. But so what? It's fun, thrilling to touch Horatio like this, to tug up his shirt and get to bare skin. Horatio could retaliate, James wouldn't mind. It would be good for him to do so- to try and get someone off of him, although James- with his sore nose and bruised ribs and something else that tingles rather than hurts- hopes Horatio doesn't try too hard.

[whisted]

Horatio does still have the knife. He does still have his consciousness. If they spend the rest of the time they have running this again and again, working toward the beginning of instincts, there's half a chance he'd survive a moment like this--might even prevent himself from falling into a moment like this.

That's something to build the tiniest bit of hope on.

Then, miraculously, James is grinning down at him again. Stunningly, wonderfully, James is tickling him, and the tension is flooding out of him again. This is something to hope on as well. This sensation, in the middle of sharp adrenaline and faint panic, is something to pin genuine hopefulness on, despite where they are.

His laugh is soft and faintly breathless as he squirms. Pieces of his mind are beginning to scatter here and there, considering where the knife might land, how his arms might angle for leverage. For a moment, all the same, he simply lets himself enjoy being pinned by someone he trusts, caught safe and warm and racked with the pleasant sensation of tickling as he gasps through a few more giggles.

"J-James--"

[all_at_sea]

They should be using their time better. There are far more mptgant things for the two of them to focus on. Within a week they'll be fighting for their lives.

But surely that means they should enjoy as much time as they can now?

James' fingers dance again, up and down soft pale skin, laughing as Horatio laughs. He just can't help it, there has been very little chance for laughter in his life thus far. It sounds musical, beautiful.

"Do you yield?" He asks, still tickling. "Do you yield and proclaim me victor of the first annual Tickle Games?"

He might stop if Horatio does yield. At least to catch his breath.

[whisted]

Pellew would say this is important. The mentor from District 11 would underline the importance of trust between people who are going to have to put their lives in one another's hand; how quickly people bonded when they had the chance to be happy together. Matthews would echo that letting children be children, even for just a few minutes of the day, could keep their minds from falling apart with what followed.

One could only imagine what Barbara would have to say about the way the boys were smiling at each other.

Horatio's sides are shaking happily, but after a beat he forces himself to focus through the spasms. Elbowing James in the gut is harder from this angle, more scrambled than his previous blows, but there's half a chance it could begin to dislodge James.

Getting them rolled over would be a victory, inelegant though it would certainly be.

[all_at_sea]

James should have known asking Horatio to yield was too much. Still, the elbow does catch him, a little lower in the stomach than he personally would have aimed for, but he appreciates that it isn't easy in Horatio's position.

He has the advantage of a better position and despite the surprise of the blow, he reacts fast. His knees close in, squeezing at Horatio's sides, to keep a grip on him if he does try to roll and toss James off. And at the same time, he catches at Horatio's wrists as best he can, pulling the boy's arms up and planting them firmly against the mat above his head.

Which means that he is stretched out over Horatio, chest to chest with him, face to face, in the attempt to keep Horatio pinned and the knife out of the picture.

If Barbara would have been unhappy before... well. She really would not have liked this.

"So..." James begins, sure he can hear Horatio's heart thumping. "If I let go, what are you going to do?"

[whisted]

For a split second, there's a flash of panic. Having his wrists pinned hits something uncomfortable in the recesses of his mind, the same brief flicker of nerves that came when James's fingers had come too far along his spine.

This is easier to breathe through. This comes with the jolt of adrenaline that triggers fight over flight. This is what it will be like in the arena, Horatio suspects; a shot of angry panic rather than terrified panic.

(This is also easier because James's face is too close to be mistaken. There's something under the faint scent of soap that clings to the older boy's skin; something faintly metallic Horatio can practically taste in the back of his throat. It's comforting in its own right to have his senses full of James.)

The flush in his cheeks likely feels warm to the taller Tribute, settled together like this. "...t-try again?"

[all_at_sea]

"That's not an incentive for me to let you go." James says, although not loudly. So close like this speaking in a normal volume is pointless, besides there is something about this shared space, listening to each other breathing. It's comforting.

Comforting or not, James let's go and straightened up again, keeping his green eyes fixed on Horatio.

"Move me." He says, he's going to end up with bruises, but Horatio needs to try this out. He needs to be able to get away if someone has him pinned. James will take a few knocks and bruises if it gives Horatio the confidence he needs.

[whisted]

He's still holding the knife. He's got the faintest bit of mobility back. His cheeks are still a warm pink, but it's easier to blame exertion for it when they aren't quite so close together.

Horatio's breath comes shaky for a moment before he can stabilize himself. A heartbeat of concentration helps steady his heartbeat.

Right now, he's safe. Right now, he can try and fail and learn. Right now, they're going to make it just a little easier for him to survive just a little longer once they're released into the Games.

Another deep breath, and he forces himself up slightly at the hip. His arm not holding the knife is thrown toward the older boy's throat. His other hand switches around the hilt of the knife, twisting it around to slam it as best as he can toward the other Tribute's ribs.

[all_at_sea]

James expected Horatio to try and roll. He wasn't planning for theft and to fly to his throat or the heavy hilt against his ribs.

The knife is the one to avoid. It's hard to strangle someone, especially in this position. He blocks as best he can, lifting his arm and trying to knock the knife away.

He will have to move. To regain an advantage he needs a new stance but that involves pulling away from Horatio.

That means Horatio wins. There no problem with that. He just doesn't want to lose.

[whisted]

James is moving. James is destabilized, even slightly.

Abruptly, almost properly for the first time since he arrived in the Capitol, Horatio has the spark of realization that he wants to live.

His breath comes in a sharp rush. His arm with the knife is knocked away, but the momentum helps push his own skull toward James's jaw. His legs squirm, scrambling to start moving himself back from under where James he's being held down.

[all_at_sea]

James has a couple of options. He can give in, let Horatio win withiut hurting him, or push back and possibly cause the young man some pain.

If it was Cutler or Simpson or Elizabeth he was fighting with, he wouldn't hesitate. But he's not fighting anyone with experience. He's not fighting someone who knows their chances are good.

He doesn't want to cause Horatio pain.

And that means he let's the movement underneath him go unchecked. He doesn't try to fight the wobble as Horatio shifts and the control moves from one of them to the other. James gives on, letting his body roll to the side and rather than jumping back up, which he would usually do, he gives the younger tribute that moments advantage.

[whisted]

This, of course, is exactly what Barbara had been worried about.

Then again, this is something Matthews might have praised. This is the faint glimmer of hope a Tribute like Horatio surely needs to make his way into the arena with more than an acceptance of his own death-wish.

His free hand catches at the older boy's face as he follows the movement of their bodies. It gives better leverage as they twist to slam James's head down into the mat, sheathed knife finally properly brought around to stop short at the older boy's throat.

It's dizzying. It's nauseating. It clearly throws Horatio off to find himself abruptly in this new position, entire body freezing up all over again.