A Dance Amongst Rattlesnakes
Last night hadn’t went as desired, but one thing was certain. He was alive. And that was a start. Walking away from that encounter with nothing but his pride handed to him a tad by the beautiful career, it only served to harden him. Wattson knew there was a time to be jovial, it was something he deflected on for so long, but he couldn’t hide behind that mask for long. After all, because of his electrical scarred hands someone laid dead in the cornucopia, only disappearing from site from a clawed hand. Her face had shown in the sky, proceeding after a face he had hoped to not see. She had been up there amongst what couldn’t have been the real stars, but still broke him just the same as he strode back to his oasis. He should have protected her. She had been from Three too, and it certainly wasn’t a good look to allow her to die so quickly. She would have to meet her fate eventually if he had any hope of making it out. It was only natural. But were Addison and Xavier safe? Was little Tera with bolts, or did Electra and Theodore protect them in his place from the crowds.
Or what if worse broke out, what if their windows crashed and burst in flames like it had done when he was alone? No. It couldn’t happen, not without him there at least. Damn if Three’s bolts are rusted and have combusted inward into itself, but he won’t let the Ellory machine fold to their hands. Their factory was a sanctuary, and it would stay that way. That’s why he had to make it back home. If riots broke out, damned be at least then he could be there to protect his brood. Because only god knows where his parents were, if they were safe, or were they under the thumbs because of the Eagles activities. They had been subjected to speculation for some time, seeing their children less and less. In moments like these, as the girl from Three’s face faded into oblivion, he tried to imagine their faces. What motivated him was the prospect that their faces won’t appear in the sky so long as he didn’t. He had taken the long way back as his mind sank into itself like quicksand.
The first day was closing out; he was alive, not a scratch on him fortunately, and only a knife. There were worse positions to be, but being alone certainly didn’t help. On his twilight lit trek back, the arena seemed too quiet, not a soul amongst him. It felt so small in comparison to others he had seen. The red pandas were just as cuddly, offering them a brief chin scratch as he contemplated his next move. Even though hunger had started to gnaw at his stomach, he wouldn’t dare consider harming them. Perhaps he would have better luck with the dome across, eyeing it tentatively. He was in the open here, and that was one of the most dangerous things you could be. Peering around to make sure the coast was clear, his large frame stalked into the dome cautiously. The chill of the wind immediately struck him. Black masses littered the top of the dome, unable to make out what they were immediately. Yet, towards the edge something had caught his eye, a cavelike structure that extended towards the back. He didn’t think twice, that being his goal.
Stepping cautiously into the structure, his boot seeped into the sand underneath him, realizing it was clustered with an assortment of animals sparse yet overwhelming in the stature. He made sure to jog in a tip toed manner, probably seeming hysterical on the camera as his dreads bounced in stride. Making it near the cave, a snake had crossed his path, its attention turning to him as he cursed under his breath. Its coiled mass pulled back, hissing and aiming in striking distance, Wattson making the split decision to do something very ambitious yet stupid. Sliding his leg back, as the snake lunged, so did his leg, colliding with its body and knocking it into the glass with a satisfying thud. He considered attempting to stomp it out, but knew Olive would be cursing out the screen by now, so he hopped away back to the cave. The cave inside felt moist, making him cringe slightly at the smell. Well, bat shit wasn’t supposed to be appealing anyway. What did seem appealing to him inside the cold structure had been the well spring.
Feet trampling one over the other through sand until he reached his destination, he shoved his knife carefully in the side of his boot before bending down and drinking greedily, water running down his Adam’s apple and staining the tip of his shirt collar. Chittering could be heard surrounding him, to which he looked up. The black masses had littered the walls above, having been alerted from his snake kicking antics and clopping feet, now dropped down with several aimed his way. The first had crawled up his shirt from behind, biting him square in the back of the neck to which he grasped, wacking it against the wall. Yet in the process, before it fell dead to the floor, it had bitten the corner of his right hand, making him grimace as it stung his skin. Another had bit the back of his bicep as he unsheathed his knife, turning away and swinging blindly. Having largely missed as he swung, fortunately, he felt his blade knick some of their wings. It felt satisfying, but he knew his luck wouldn’t last long. The running water behind him called to him, and in that moment he did as he feared. He sank, not in quicksand, however, but into the water behind him.
It wasn’t as deep as he thought it would be, however, finding only the base of his foot was covered, but it was enough. Using his hands, he flicked water in front of them with a wide grin, feeling like a child playing in a stream. Some bats fell to the floor, flapping wildly while others scrambled away with their screeching noises. Although he was soaked, and his hair wet, he stood there still after the chilling chaos ceased, basking in the afterglow.