⠀❝ I hope you know just how much I believe in you, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It's quiet now, ⠀⠀⠀I doubt if any thoughts will ever come again ❞ Silence was a strange feeling. Or rather, perhaps it was the lack thereof. Nonetheless, such abstract matters weren't of importance to the fool. Why was he to care about whatever this was? All he knew was that he loathed it. So perhaps it was a blessing, when the lull was shattered. Little did he know, the term 'curse' would be drastically more accurate. "Espen Liefde, District Four?" The voice belonged to a she-cat, who appeared from behind the door that held his fate. Her Peacekeeper uniform quite clearly displayed what she was here for- ah, business, and all that nonsense. How /dull/. The notion of 'business' did nothing to hinder Esp, of course. No, no, no. He was a determined feline [ one may have even said 'incessant,' but it seemed Cyme was the euphemistic sort ]. "Hello! How are you?" he chirped hopefully, in an attempt to break her solemn exterior. Alas, his tries were futile. Not a word was said, on her part, as she did nothing save from guiding him to his doom. Rueful, truly- what harm would a tad bit of conversation inflict upon anybody? Oh, but they walked. As claws clicked against the floor, cold and unforgiving as the Peacemaker that padded alongside him, Espen directed his oculars up, into the shroud of shadow that lay ahead. Was there an end? Seemingly not. But ah, well, he had confidence that there surely was /somewhere/ that the two were going. Thus, Cyme strided forward, under whatever sort of ruse which the Capitol wished for him to believe. That is, until he quite literally couldn't. Instead of the stone which Esp had grown accustomed to, his paws now trudged along in some sort of sludge. Naturally, he turned to the feline beside him, to query about this sudden development, but it seemed... huh. How odd. She'd disappear, without a trace. That is, save from the violent /bang/ of the now closing door. Sealing his fate. How marvelous. No, he couldn't panic. It simply wasn't an option. /Chin up, look ahead/. Espen had to. Except... what if there /was/ no ahead? A miasma clouded his vision, consuming everything in sight. There was naught to be perceived, in this cryptic landscape. That is, save from the gamemakers themselves, as they looked down on him, visage giving nothing away. "P-praise to be Imperium!" he shouted meekly, unsure if they could even hear him. They, and their world of solidness, /sureness/, seemed miles away to Esp in that moment. What was one to do, in a realm of sheer obscurity? Eyes flickered around frantically, searching for something, /anything/, to land upon. That was when Cyme saw it. The mountain, of what seemed to be... mud? /Oh/. So that's what this unfamiliar substance- the one he was walking through, that is- was. Mud. Ah, Espen was lucky he wasn't one to obsess over cleanliness- a smidgen of muck never hurt anybody. And what was that glint of crimson at the top of that hill? A flag. His goal. Delightful. All he had to do? Get up there, and grab it. Simple enough. Wading through the sticky substance, it rose up to his knees, engulfing the entirety of Espen's lower legs. A dash lamentable, yet his mind was far too focused on the task at hand to worry about how matted his fur was going to end up afterwards. Satchel weighing heavy on his back, it tumbled around with Esp's unsteady gait. Squinting, as stifling air pummeled his flank, the tom pressed forward. He was rather lucky, that brute strength wasn't much of an issue. Could this possibly be easier than it'd originally appeared? And then he heard a dreadful /creeaaak/. A deafening thump followed. What was this, that existed before him? A tree. Looking up from his paws at last, the tom was confronted with what seemed to be nearly a /forest/- and somehow, he'd just arrived at the fact that these trees were /near-constantly/ toppling, left and right. /Trees/, he realized, with a small smile. /He knew trees/. The Gamemakers wanted a show, didn't they? Well, he'd give them a show. Upon further inspection- which proved immensely difficult, given that these logs were rolling past him at incomprehensible speeds- the sort of tree became apparent as well. "Pine," Esp noted with a smirk, a plan forming in his mind. Convenient. And now, to find a place to recollect- room to /breathe/, in the least, would be nice. Would chance provide? The tom was awfully lucky, to find an alcove of sorts. Was that the right word? It seemed that amidst this sea of mud, everything was unfamiliar. Nonetheless, there was a.. gap, of sorts, within the torrent. A lacuna, where- at the very least- Esp could stand still for a sliver of a moment, without the fear of tumbling down to his demise. Not comfortable- no, not at all, considering the awkward way his paws were splayed across the slope- but it was the best he'd find. And along with that, a window of opportunity. [ cont. in N & C ]
[ cont. from Instructions ] Craning his neck, to reach his satchel, Esp quickly fished out a small rectangular object out. A matchbox. That'd do wonderfully. After all, pines were highly flammable. Quickly striking one, clasping it in his teeth- by Jove, the flame better not stray anywhere near his face [ considering that he'd rather not have some singed fur to go alongside this already demanding task ]- he ventured out onto the slope again, rapidly blinking against the haze as it threatened to take over his vision. At least the small flicker before him illuminated the fog a smidgen- not nearly enough to entirely clear his vision, but it'd do nonetheless. Oculars swiveling hither and tither, he now scoured the landscape for the silhouette of a tree. And then it hit him. Quite literally. Wincing as branches grazed his flank, the tom was immediately grateful he wasn't, say, a step to the right. He would rather not imagine what would have happened, in that scenario. Alas, it was time. An almost /wild/ grin on his face, Cyme flung the smoldering match into the air. It arced, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀dove, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀pirouetted, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀as time seemed to stop. /Oh, this better work./ And then the stillness- suddenly as it'd fallen- dissipated; leaving not a lingering trace. Time, loathsome as it seemed, proceeded as normal. As for Esp? Well, all he knew was, that, for his own safety, he'd better run. Looking behind himself for a split second, the tom found himself entranced by the blazes that painted the fog, in brilliant crimsons. Sparks danced across his vision, in their erratic waltz, as the tree slowly met it's demise. Crumpling, blackening, Espen almost felt /bad/ for a moment, before solemnly coming to the conclusion that it was what he had to do. With that, he turned around again, and continued his frenzied plight. In his resolute state, Cyme was near /numb/ as he trekked up the hill. Unfeeling, the tom simply let instinct take over- little thought required. It was a rather nice state, adrift from reality. That is, before reality brought him back, seized him in its clutches. Startled by the sudden development of flat ground under his paws, the tom was snapped back to his senses. And there it was, waving in all it's glory. The flag. Hardly a few feet away from him, it was planted in the ground, surprisingly firm for something rooted within slippery mud. Ah, he should've felt this- the mud had started thinning out, as he'd neared the top, and now it rose barely to Esp's ankles. Gazing around nervously, he double-checked that there wasn't one final trap- a last trick- before victory. With that, he stepped forward, grabbed the flapping piece of cloth. /He had it./ The descent was a relatively easy one. Simply sliding down the steep slope, the tom was more focused on keeping out of the trees' way then actually getting down- gravity would do that much for him. Flag sticking out of his satchel, he was careful as to not let it fall. The bottom nearing, Espen quickly- albeit clumsily- staggered back to the door which he'd come from, glad /that/ was over. A quick smile was flashed towards the Gamemakers, and then he, at last, was /out/. Huh. Now if only he could get hold of that pretty Peacemaker. ⠀⠀❝ But there's a sense of some lone consequence ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Wheezing down my neck ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It's fine, we're fine ⠀⠀⠀I'm doing everything that I'm supposed to do ❞ AAAAA I completely forgot about this, but I'm glad we got the extension :0 Nonetheless, I'm still not super proud of it- it definitely could've been more creative- but ah well. The song is Death, Thrice Drawn, by the Scary Jokes! ^^
