NON-COMBATANT || alois & kip [ march games ]
@kip-whitmer
[He really hates this. Training? That’s fun, and Kip is moderately good at it. He’s no Charlie Essex, but he’s stronger than he looks and learns fast. But when it comes to the actual Games, Kip always has a fuck miserable time. Too much chaos, and this is the most chaotic Game he’s taken part in since he arrived at 22. He’d managed to pick up a bow and arrow at the start, which wasn’t much help as that’s one of his worst weapons. He’d also just lost a fist fight with someone over the stupid weapon, and in trying to escape he’d scraped his shoulder pretty badly on a tree.
So, bad mood, wounded pride, and wounded shoulder -- he definitely regrets healing that woman’s pain away the other day because his shoulder was already achey from that. He just wants somewhere quiet to lick his wounds, since the ‘Sponsor Kit’ he’d picked up wouldn’t do much to help his actually sore shoulder, and for a second he thinks he’s about to get fucked when he hears a voice. But, the voice doesn’t seem interested in a fight either. Kip sighs, drawing to a halt and twisting around to check his arm.]
Uh huh, cry me a river on the simulated pain. [He winces, brushing some dirt out of the scrape before fixing his gaze on the disinterested blond head before him. The perfect coif and the faintly accented words make him think it must be that pretty Calyset guy. Kip’s carefully avoided eye contact with him on several occasions as he goes through the Calyset common room towards the elite suites.] Truce, then? I’ve not got any weapons anyway, and if I get my ass handed to me one more fucking time I’m going to have the most heroic sulk.
[[ Alois turns his attention properly to the newcomer now, eyebrows barely arched at the apparently shared sullen mood and ultimately, they climb higher to see the blood smudged across the other man’s shoulder. ‘How’d that happen?’ he almost asks. Maybe it’s solely thanks to the fact Alois spends most of his time avoiding areas of conflict, but he’s never had to make much -- or any -- use of the hand-to-hand skills they’ve attempted to drill into him, with middling to no success. Alois prefers to stick to shooting from a distance or, as is the case today, not giving nearly enough fucks to the point where he’s an unsatisfying target.
‘Cry me a river on the simulated pain.’ For a moment Alois ruminates on which would be worse: the severe but temporary pain of a stim dart versus the annoyingly persistent pain of whatever scrape it is on his opponent's shoulder here. Ultimately, Alois decides these are hairs that aren’t worth splitting -- nor does he especially care to find out what transpired to cause the wound. ]]
Truce. Sure. [[ Alois repeats it back, hoping that delineates a clear difference between ‘truce’ and ‘alliance,’ because while he may appreciate the other’s similarly fed-up attitude with the state of things, it’s no basis for entering the fray together. It is, however, enough that he pulls a small, half-empty metal canteen from a pocket, one he’d scavenged from an abandoned supply pack. ]] Here. [[ He tosses it to the Delma, now recognizing him as such from a couple of the times he’d wandered through their house, most often to see Felix these days. ]] I don’t need it.