Blaze was not a brutalist. Did that come as a surprise, with him being a cult leader and everything? The things that his cult did... it was all, well, quite brutal. It, however, remained a fact that without his group he was merely a scrawny tom with a sharp tongue. He couldn't talk himself out of everything, could he? Blaze glanced up as his name was called, getting to his feet calmly with a small smile. The tom strode inside, his tail swooping from side to side as he entered. He quickly surveyed the area- dense. Lots of trees... that was nice. After all, he did originate from District 7. His golden eyes spot a specific bird- it seemed to be the only thing alive and breathing in the area- save for himself, of course! And the gamemakers who were peering down at him somewhere, but he chose not to acknowledge their existence... yet. It only registered what he was supposed to do when a loud crash echoed throughout the area. Oh no! He couldn't swim. Well, that was unpleasant- the loud squawk of the bird connected the pieces together as he scrambled up the trees like the little weasel he was, moving quickly. He quite literally flew from tree to tree, like an angel. Except this time, unlike the parade, he didn't have any wings. Not that it mattered, because they weren't real anyway and never would be. First, fake wings, next, no wings at all. How awesome- though Blaze supposed he wasn't supposed to have wings in the first place. He was the "God", his members were the angels... messengers. Blaze wondered just how much of a fraud he really was. There was no time to worry about his extensional crisis, though, because he was about to die! The tom latched onto the trees swiftly one by one, running a tongue over his teeth. He quickly snapped a sharp branch off and tied what he hoped would be a strong enough vine to it. It was not easy multitasking! Well, nothing was easy when you were running for your life while trying to remain graceful, but it sure didn't make it any easier to be doing arts and crafts in the middle. The bird was flying further and further- He threw the wood and the vine at a tree further than the bird, tied the vine around his waist, and flew, jumping off the branch and taking a leap of faith. Further and further he went, and the tom was hanging on for dear life despite being supported by his lovely makeshift corset. At last he swooped in and arrived, before using his back legs to propel himself off the tree... and right at the bird's neck. Unfortunately, he didn't think about where he'd land after that and started plummetting at the ground. NO!!! HE WAS GONNA DIE!!! Except cats always landed on their feet, as Blaze cut the vine around his waist and landed like a perfect bird after a casual flight. Which was ironic, due to the bird clamped between his jaws. Its wings flapped feebly in an attempt to get away, realizing its last few frantic efforts were proving worthless and fruitless. Learned helplessness occurs when an individual continuously faces a negative, uncontrollable situation and stops trying to change their circumstances, even when they have the ability to do so. Blaze almost wanted to laugh at the irony- alas, he turned his head towards where he supposed were the gamemakers with a dangerous smile. "At least this bird could really fly," He sighed to himself as he held it up by its neck and slit it slowly with a claw. Its death was not fast nor painless- it has flopped on the ground in some sort of pitiful dance before falling still, its blood seeping into the grounds and onto Blaze's paws. Finally, he turned the corpse around and held onto the wings hard. The rip that followed was sickening. Blaze glanced up at the screen before him. "Thank you for your time. I promise I'll put on a show." And he was gone, with the wings clamped heavily in his mouth. Oh, how he envied those who could truly fly. Free, and unbound by everything but death.
