Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 3 ★ My Friend, The Sky (PC)

VICTORS OF THE ARENA - 3 - PERCY COLE 

Count: one, two. Count: three, four. Count: six- no. Five. Four? 

Damn-

Percy, resting firm upon his haunches, presses a thumb to the bridge of his nose and sucks in an easy breath of salt and breeze. He shouldn't get worked up over numbers, he knows. Childish, that's how he acts, and that's how he's seen.

He hikes in a breath. There's a ruffling against his hair, the sky's own concoction of assistance. Silently, he thanks it.

They are close, he and the sky.

It's fine. Just restart. It's no big deal. Try, try again.

Blinking, he stretches to shove an empty canteen from a full one, and once again restarts his process of counting. It comes to him in a rhythm, and once he fulfills the solution to thirst, he drags his finger through the sand, marking a large five beside the pile. This has been his duty for the past- well, while.

And he revels in it.

Now, it's not that he garners a particular pleasure from organizing various bottles and blades, but there's this...this calmness about it, this normalcy, something he welcomes full throttle (all things considered). Packs and fruits, they mean little to him in the grand scheme of things, but they give him quiet. Peace. A bit of something to obsess over until the gracious breather they've been granted tick-tocks into dissipation.

But what's already tick-tocked, he wonders? Only a few hours split now and the Bloodbath. Or had something else happened? No, no - the Bloodbath ended, he could piece that together, and they regrouped before swimming off to the distant coves. Nobody was too thrilled about the venture but they came, one way or another.

Actually, when thinking back, Percy doesn't remember what exactly he said. Now that - that irks him. I don't want to forget, he thinks, overlapping onto the numbers he's been so caught up in. I want to remember everything. No bullshit, "Well, I think this happened," no, I need to be sure.

When he sees his finger outstretched to mark the sand, he doesn't quite know what to trace, and with a reinvigorated sense of frustration, pushes himself until he plops flat on his butt, exhaling exasperation. "This shouldn't be so complicated."

"Well, that depends - did you pass kindergarten math? No one would blame you for your incompetence if you hadn't."

Percy's leg twitches and he looks up, up into the amused expression of a man named Josef Thomas. That name carries with it rationality, for without it, Percy would think him Teagan. The resemblance is striking, really.

Percy cocks a strained grin, nods, and looks back to his work.

He expects Josef to wander, but he remains rooted, shifting sand with his foot. It's not that Percy wants him to leave, either, for he enjoys the company. He's just got near no idea what to say to this man who appears as the deceased.

A silence crosses between them. Percy starts running a hand over the back of his head, rubbing a nasty bump. Sighing, he says, "Wren. I'm worried she won't catch up."

The sand shifts again as Josef moves to sit beside him, crossing his legs and leaning forward intently to the heap of supplies before them. "We'll find out all we need to know when the anthem plays. No sense in worrying 'til then."

The next silence that passes is a contented one, one in which the two have found a comfortable common ground. Josef picks up the counting, Percy stares between his knees at the sand. There's a curiosity down there, with the periodical flickering of shadowed lumps in front of his feet. He figures it's only a wavering palm above.