(no subject)

[tis_allgood]

WHO| Cuthbert Allgood and Open!
WHAT| Food fight... sort of
WHEN| Afternoon on a day when nothing all that interesting is going on.
WHERE| Training Center
WARNINGS/NOTES| Minor injuries possible in this post.


It took some serious searching and luck and probably pestering various people who work for the Capitol, but Cuthbert has managed to get a decent slingshot to practice with. He knew he should have been practicing more of his close range and trapping skills, they would serve him better in a place where he wasn't likely to get the weapon he really wanted. But the temptation to practice with something he was comfortable with was just too much to resist.

Which went a little ways toward explaining what he was up to at the moment: firing unpopped popcorn kernels at anything he considered a worthy target in the Training Center arena. That included other tributes, so long as they had something interesting to aim at.

"Damn! These things are just too small."

He wasn't as accurate with the popcorn as he had been with the steel balls he used to use, but far less chance of getting in trouble this way (he hoped). It may not be wise to bend over until he has been disarmed or runs out of ammo.

Comments

[sleeplessinalternia]

"Ow, fuck," Karkat snarls as one of the kernels hits him him square on his left horn. The horns themselves are made of keratin and so can't really feel anything except at the base, where the nerves connected, but the impact still stung, like getting punched in the teeth. "Cuthbert!"

[tis_allgood]

"Cry pardon, I was aiming between your eyes. Although, mayhap I hit a far smaller target."

He does feel a little bad though, he still thinks troll horns may be akin to genitalia. He is reloading, aiming a bit off to the side, trying to graze his shoulder.

[sleeplessinalternia]

This time it hits Karkat's throat. Oh. Oh this was the final fucking fodder blade. Karkat stomps over to Cuthbert and grabs him by the collar. "Do that again," he growls, "and I'm treating you like I would a troll."

There. Now Cuthbert can't go back and complain that his precious human sensibilities haven't been catered to.

[tis_allgood]

He doesn't have any idea what Karkat means by that, but he knows what the words 'do that again...' mean. In this case they obviously mean that Karkat hasn't had enough corn. Which is why he pulls a kernel out of his pocket and flicks it right into Karkat's face. No sense in bothering with the slingshot when he's at close range.

[the_marshal]

The first one whistled past Wyatt's head and clinked off the bowl of nuts, yellow kernerl bouncing along the bar and disappearing into the row of neatly stacked glasses beyond. He had just figured out what it was when the second snapped against the back of his hand.

He jerked the appendage back with a hiss, glass clattering, bourbon splashing. He turned - and the third flicked off the brim of his hat just as flinty blue eyes landed on Bert, the slingshot in his hand damning evidence.

"What ails you, boy? That's a shameful waste of good bourbon."

[tis_allgood]

"One shot in three isn't bad. Though in truth I would be dead by the third if you were any hand at shooting."

The smile on his face was of the 'shit eating grin' variety. Clearly, he thought he would get away with all of this. He was just starting trouble because he could, surely Wyatt knew boys like this when he was young.

"Besides, 'tis impossible to waste something that flows like water here, aye?"

[the_marshal]

His mustached twisted, mouth turning up in-spite of himself.

"A fair enough point, I suppose." He bent, rubbing the back of his wet and stinging hand against his pant leg, plucking up the corn kernel that had bounced off his hat with the other.

He rolled it between his forefinger and thumb, studying it almost thoughtfully. "But firin' when someone's back is turned is still a awful yellah thing to do."

And without looking up, he flicked it back.

There might have been one or two others that had been called faster on the draw, but Wyatt'd long been considered one of the truest guns in the west.

[cutshort]

It hits him on the shoulder, back turned and mind distracted, hands in his pockets. He's only here to observe, not quite get involved, but someone obviously has a different idea about that.

Hyperion turns his head, slowly, looking over his shoulder, brows pressed softly together to find the popcorn on the floor before he finds the culprit with his eyes, saying nothing. It could be a silent hello.

[tis_allgood]

Cuthbert knows exactly what he's up to, and he's prepared for the consequences therein. Not that he had meant to hit so many people, but at least in this case it was working toward his advantage.

When he's sure he has Hyperion's attention he loads another kernel and pulls back the sling on the slingshot, curious about what reaction that will get him.

[cutshort]

He doesn't flinch, doesn't make a move to defend himself. His gaze is unwavering, his expression unchanged.

"Bored?"

[amourtician]

Jay barely feels the first kernel that hits him, but by the tenth, he's noticing a steady patter of something that feels like horizontal rain. It can't be that, so he turns around to investigate and gets popcorn to the eye. Clapping one hand over it, so nobody notices how it waters and makes his mascara run, he goes to find the source.

It doesn't take him long. He draws himself up to his full (rather pathetic) height of 5'5" and says, sternly, "darling, I am going to set you on fire in the Arena."

[tis_allgood]

"That last one was an accident, say true."

Which didn't explain the others. But he's not exactly remorseful about it.

"And depending on the manner of our next Arena, I may thank you for the added heat."

[amourtician]

Jay scowls -- he doesn't find Cuthbert's joke funny at all, mostly because it doesn't look like Cuthbert takes him seriously as a threat.

"Why are you firing ... pebbles at people, sweetness?" he demands. "Are you looking to start a fight? Can't you go get your macho jollies off on some infernal exercise machine?"

[thefemaleson]

Oscar doesn't notice the first kernel, that sets one of the fringes on her epaulette swinging. She is more engrossed in trying to memorize appearances of edible plants. But she can't and doesn't ignore the one that stings off the back of her hand soon after. Finding the shooter isn't hard - after all, being able to trace back the likely trajectory of projectiles is one of the most important skills of a Royal Guard, right after noticing shooters in the first place.

"I am attempting to make use of my time here, Monsieur," she says, in a clipped, obviously annoyed tone. "While I am glad to see you are so confident in your skills to not need such instruction, I would request you not annoy those who do."

[tis_allgood]

"My aim is off still, and what better way to set it true again than to practice?"

He doesn't seem nearly as contrite about the whole thing as he should be. He could be spoiling for a fight, he could just be a jackass. It's probably a little of both.

"Besides, when the time comes, you think knowing which plan is edible and which isn't will save your life? Defense and offense, what more could you need?"

[thefemaleson]

"There are plenty of targets in this room that do not involve annoying others." She glares up at him, the sort of look she uses to quell disobedient soldiers. She doesn't care why he's bothering her or others, just that he needs to stop.

"I am more than confident of my abilities in a fight, Monsieur. Thus, I am choosing to spend my time learning that which I do not know. From what I have heard of these Games, survival against the elements is of equal importance to survival against the other players."

[gruesome]

Two land in the stiffer fur on Some's back, where a horse's withers would be, before he feels the third and whirls, searching for the thrower. But he isn't looking for a slingshot, so he's looking much too nearby.

[tis_allgood]

The sudden bout of innocent whistling from Cuthbert as he hides the slingshot behind his back probably doesn't mean anything. He's just enjoying a good, innocent whistle, even if he's having a hard time keeping a straight face as he does.

[gruesome]

There's only one face looking guilty in the room, and Some tilts his head, giving him a strange look as he twists far enough around to look at his own lower back. He finds the first kernels there, and puzzles at them for a moment. Too small to be anything but a joke, right? He looks back at the whistler. And then suddenly, he's dropped to all eight, stretched out to his full length and sprinting for him in a sinuous, liquid run.

[carnagecarnival]

Not until the games begin, may he have free reign to paint with the veins of all who roam this Center. Not until then. So for now, he makes use of the paints in the Training Center, and puts the visions in his head onto the wall he sits before, smearing the colors offered him with his fingers. The pictures are more graphic to make up for the lack in the offering. There are many odd shades, colors he's never painted with before, far brighter than the blood he's used to, and the consistency is nothing like what he knows best. But sometimes an artist has no choice but to find a new medium- at least until the normal one is an option.

Popgrubs in the paint, however, is not what he was going for. He turns to see who the culprit may be and finds Cuthbert with the sling-shot in hand. His eyes narrow to slits.

[tis_allgood]

Well damn, he's in trouble now. But it's nothing he can't try to bluff his way out of. Emphasis on 'try'.

"Cry pardon. 'Twas no comment on your artistic skills, say true."

He sets the slingshot down and puts both his hands up to try and show how harmless he is.

[carnagecarnival]

Yes, Cuthbert, you're in trouble.

He turns back to his painting and plucks the popgrub bit from where it's smeared his work. Then rakes his claws across the mess.

He rises up to his full, towering height and stalks over to Cuthbert.

"Word of the motherfucking wisest of wise. DO NOT test MY MOTHERFUCKING patience. EITHER A PISS POOR SHOT. Or it is deliberate and a motherfucker lies." And he's seen Cuthbert throw a knife.

[celebrityskinned]

Venus has given up practicing at ranged weapons. Instead, she's learning how to deal an artful killing blow on a tackling dummy that, pursuant to Capitol technology, actually tells you when you've hit it hard enough to break a spine or shred a spleen. Its plasticky skin fills with fake bruising where its hit, too, which Venus thinks is a little crass, but at the least it does its job.

She pauses when a kernel of corn hits her between the shoulder blades. She whips around and places a hand on her hip. Her glossed-up lips form a pout that stays just a hair away from looking ugly. Her eyes narrow but her brow doesn't furrow.

"Excuse me."

[tis_allgood]

"No need to apologize, the fault was all mine."

When she turns to face him Bert can't quite wipe the shit eating grin off his face fast enough. He does reload though and aim somewhere just above her shoulder. He holds off on letting it go until he knows for sure what she's going to do about it.

[celebrityskinned]

She puts a hand on her hip and twists her mouth to the side. "If this is your way of flirting, it needs some, uh. Refinement."