The Bookwyrm
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"Never take anything from me without my permission again," Tinker said as he left, standing up. He gave Marewill a weird look. @Spark of Hope
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@Spark of Hope Tinker had fallen asleep at some point in the night. He clutched the silver knife in one hand, and his pack of makeshift spore weaponry was tied around his waist. @J. Magi @WhyEverNot_8 @TheRavenHasLanded
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KODAMAS
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'Very expensive', he says, like he doesn't spend hundreds of times the cost of that every day on frivolities, Tinker thought. He once again proves he cares nothing about hope. Just about a spectacle between people he doesn't know.
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Tinker noted the shiver out of the corner of his eyes. He took a break from making spore grenades and quietly walked over, pulling the blanket over her body more. She really does look like Iara. Maybe it's just my imagination, though....I haven't seen her in eight years, after all. He walked over to the fire and added another log, hoping to drive off the chill. Then he went back to his crafting.
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"Yeah..." Or we could get more supplies. He turned to his shoulder mic. "Any sponsors willing to get us a spore expert's kit, some tin, and supplies?" Or have your twisted demands not been satisfied yet? @SmilingPanda19
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Tinker wrinkled his nose. "I wouldn't do that." He sat for a moment. "I don't really know what to do in this situation. I'm not an allomancer."
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Tinker shrugged. "Do what you will, then."
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Tinker took note. "You really should sleep. If you are going to kill people."
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"I need clay to make spore weaponry. Grenades, specifically." After he made sure the mud - clay - was drying well, he tore off the lower part of his left sleeve and began ripping it into small strips of fabric. "These will be the fuses," he explained. "You have one end inside a clay ball of spores, the other outside. If you soak the outer end, the water will flow through the cloth and into the spores, activating them."
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Tinker sat silently for a moment. Then he stood up. "I'll be right back." A minute later, he came and sat back down, his hands full of mud from a nearby creek. He plopped it next to the fire to dry.
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Tinker shrugged. "I knew the stakes when I joined. They're strong; they'll live without me if they need to." He tried to hide the emotion in his voice as he spoke. Damn you, Emeric...
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"For my family. I grew up in poverty, in a small town along the far border of the nation. I have four siblings; an older sister, then two younger sisters and a younger brother. My older sister is married, now, and is expecting a child of her own. "I....I had a twin sister once, too. She died when we were ten. Disease. If the central government had cared enough to help the outer districts, she would have gotten help. "We've survived off the work of our own hands - and the spores - for years now. But...we never know when the next disaster is coming. So I came to try and give them a chance at prosperity."
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"Oh." Tinker regarded the ferret again. "He looks pretty normal to me."
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Tinker frowned. "What's a mutt?"
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Tinker didn't react. He stared at that strange ferret, thinking. "I wonder how he got here."
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Tinker couldn't help a little smile. "I think we'll probably be okay."
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"There are streams all over the arena. We'll find water. "I can help you, but know that I have my own priorities. And lines that I won't cross. I don't want the gamemakers to think they have power over me." Tinker frowned and shifted to a squat, ready in case the ferret did anything antagonistic. What is this little guy doing here?
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"If you want to try, be my guest," Tinker said. "Just leave me out of it." He paused. Then he tossed her a small vial of Crimson spores. "Those explode into deadly red spikes when they touch water. Use them wisely." Tinker turned his gaze towards the speck and frowned, confused.
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@Spark of Hope @J. Magi @TheRavenHasLanded @WhyEverNot_8 Tinker sat staring at the dwindling fire as the night crawled onward. He clutched the silver knife in his hand and gazed warily at the other Tributes. He didn't particularly trust them, and the prospect of forming any kind of alliance only meant more emotional pain later on. He'd given the blanket to Marewill, told her to get some sleep. But he stayed up, thinking. Was it in his best interest to run? He had spores now, and could probably find some clay in the arena to make grenades. No iron or steel for precision Rosite usage, but he'd make due. He didn't think Marewill would take his departure well, though. She seemed emotionally unstable after what the monster Emeric had done. And Tinker didn't want to leave her...she reminded him of Iara, somehow. There was also the choice to attack. But what was that going to do? He'd never taken a life before. And he really didn't want to. He'd kill in defense, but striking first didn't feel right. He didn't want to follow the whims of the gamemakers. He'd made the choice to be here; he'd choose how he acted now. He sighed and gazed at the sky again, missing his family.
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It is currently 2:02 in the morning.
I am sitting on the floor of a random middle school gym an hour from where I live, sheltering from supposed severe weather.
The reason I am in a middle school gym is not because of the severe weather. My Science Olympiad team took first at State, so we're going to nationals.
Except nationals are in Michigan, which takes like a 10 hour bus ride to get there. (Don't worry we're using a charter bus.)
So we're camping at the middle school of the winning middle school team until the bus comes at like 4 to start driving us there.
Except now....storms!
Yay...
I'm really tired if you're can't tell.
I woke up from sporadic dreaming to the sound of tornado sirens... I'm just annoyed. And I have a headache.
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"No need for that," Tinker said. He pulled out a vial of yellow spores, placed a few on the wood, and poured water on them. They started glowing white hot, and the wood caught fire.
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"Hope? Hope? "Hope makes this place a living hell. Each of us know we're going to die here. We're trying to resign ourselves to that fate, trying to convince ourselves it's okay. When you give us hope, you hurt us. You take our carefully composed selves and shatter them for your entertainment. "You know nothing about hope. You don't know what it's like to eat Verdant vines because you have no actual food. You don't know what it's like to hide in a hand-dug shelter from a highstorm that shouldn't have been there. You don't know what it takes to look forward and see a bright future after that. "Don't talk to me about hope."
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