This seminar is entitled: Blaine wanders around while Raven puts off Kurt's appearance to build suspense.
I absolutely promise you Klaine in the next chapter. I say this because I've already finished the next chapter and am holding it hostage bwahahaha. But until then, enjoy Blaine running from mutts and other adventures.
Read, review, and enjoy!
Blaine is frozen as the train doors open, barely daring to make a sound. Suddenly he can't remember his reasoning behind staying the night in a pitch-black, underground, abandoned train station because right about now it sounds like the stupidest idea he's ever had.
There's a split second of silence after the groaning of the doors ceases, and then a bone-chilling, eery scratching of nails on broken tile.
Blaine stiffens with terror in his sleeping bag, listening as the sound multiplies. There's no way these visitors are friendly.
He forces himself to slowly, ohsoslowly ease out of his sleeping bag and peek up out of the opening to his hiding place. He barely contains his shriek, clamping a hand over his mouth.
Rats, oversized and frenzied rats are pouring endlessly from the train car that has stopped in the station, its dim light from within illuminating the horrifying scene before Blaine. The creatures' tails look as if they could knock the wind out of a grown man, and their eyes glow a sickly red.
Mutts.
Suddenly jagged teeth are snapping at Blaine's face, and this time he does let out a shriek. The rats are seeping into every orifice they can, up the stairs to the open air, down darker hallways of the station, and most unfortunately for Blaine, into his tiny hiding place.
Gasping out uncontrollably panicked breaths Blaine snatches his pack and his sleeping bag from the ground just as the first rat flops down to the floor at his feet. He gives it a harsh, instinctual kick as he desperately stuffs the lengthy fabric into his pack and zips it, using the newly heavy weapon to send two more mutts flying with a thwump.
The disgusting animals (are they even animals?) are coming faster than he can fight them off, and he knows that if he doesn't manage to get out of that window where they're filtering through, he'll be trapped and that'll be it. Without even finding Kurt first.
His audible gulp ends in a small cry as he pulls out his knife. He slashes at the rats attempting to climb through the window, hissing in pain as the ones at his feet begin to bite and scratch. He prays to God (or the gamemakers; whichever is in a higher position) that they aren't venomous or diseased, and launches himself through the opening.
He's swept instantly with the force of the stampede in the direction of the stairs. He feels teeth ripping at his arms and legs but slashes out wherever he can, using his bag as the best shield he can manage. He stumbles on the stairs, almost getting trampled but scrambling to his feet just in time. Finally he's out in the open and he gasps in the fresh air of just-before-dawn, but knows he can't stop now.
He runs.
The rats are less condensed out here but still as deadly. And now he's out in the open, an easy target.
Sure enough, every mutt seems to have eyes only for him. His legs sting harshly as they stretch for him to run, but he shoves the pain to the back of his mind.
He dashes down the street, parallel to the one he had been traveling the day before. His energy is running out fast, and he can't possibly outrun the rats. He needs a hiding place, and fast, but his choices are limited. He can't very easily scale a crumbling building, after all. A cannon goes off somewhere nearby, accompanied by snarls and a scream but Blaine barely hears it past his internal monologue of left, right, left, right, push, breathe.
Finally he sees a mostly intact building in the distance, two glass double doors sealing it firmly shut. It's the only chance he has.
The rats are on his heels as he sprints, faster and faster and oh god please faster and finally he reaches the doors, wrenches them open, closes them and braces himself-
The crash nearly knocks him backwards but he forces his arms to keep the doors shut against the onslaught of mutts thirsty for his blood.
He can't help but let out a whimpering sob at the sight; the gigantic things throwing their hairy bodies at the glass doors, mouths stretched in ugly snarls with gleaming white teeth, glittering eyes crazed as their tails twitch to and fro and their bodies writhe.
Dawn is breaking and Blaine wonders how long he'll have to hold the doors before he gets too tired, before the pile of mutts builds up and he has to let go. Already his arms are fatigued, his wounds are stinging as sweat drips down into them, his lungs are aching from running with no warm up.
Sunlight pours into the street and Blaine hangs his head, pushing against the growing force of rats with all his might, trying in vain to bide time until he has to run again because he just can't catch his breath-
And then there isn't anything pushing back.
He gasps out as his head snaps back up. The rats seem to be- choking? Dying? They're almost shriveling in on themselves, those that can still move scampering away to chase the rapidly disappearing shadows.
Blaine furrows his eyebrows in confusion,watching as the creatures collapse against the door and to the pavement, suffocating in the sunlight-
The sun.
Blaine backs away from the doors, immediately knowing he's safe. The last of the rats twitches helplessly, and becomes still.
He heaves a breath of relief, collapsing to his knees. Deadly, nocturnal mutts. Well that'll be one more reason to look forward to nighttime.
He winces as he eases himself into a sitting position in the wasted lobby of what was once a grand building, scooting behind a crumbling receptionist's desk and braving his injuries. He cringes as he takes in the numerous cuts on his legs and arms. None seem too serious and there's no way to tell if he's been infected with some kind of disease, but he feels fine so far. However he does have a deeper gash on his upper arm and the hems of his cargo pants are in shreds.
Blaine rips off the straggling bits, wrapping them as tightly around his arm as he can manage with the awkward angle, and rolls up the pants. He thinks they almost look better as highwaters, showing off the boots and why is he thinking about fashion at a time like this?
He uses as little antiseptic as possible to spread over his surface wounds, but by the time he's done he only has half the bottle left. He prays he won't run into anymore rabid, animal-like creatures today.
He gets to his feet with little difficulty, feeling a bit achey but he categorizes that as a side-effect of exertion with no nutrition in his system. He needs food; fast.
Blaine shudders as he eases the double doors of the building open, trying his best to avert his gaze from the hulking mass of mutts at his feet. He continues his path down the street, keeping in the sunlight as much as possible. He knows he's more visible to other tributes like this but he's still a bit shaken from the rat attack, so he humors his irrationality and soldiers on.
Unable to contain himself, he decides to munch on a strip of dried mango to tide him over. He realizes a bit too late that maybe he should have tested to see if those rats were edible but he doubts it; the gamemakers wouldn't make it that easy. Animals that not only die in the sunshine but are edible as well? Too good to be true.
But Blaine doesn't see any animals around, humane or not. There's not a tribute in sight and there are no traces of food - or life - anywhere.
He comes to an enormous intersection that offers a break in the dense buildings. He's hesitant in entering it, keeping close to the wall of the building next to him. On the other side there are what seem to be giant, cylindrical, concrete honeycombs crumbling before his very eyes. Old-fashioned automobiles are parked in the openings, some falling out of the disintegrating structures with loud crashes on the ground. He hears a faint scream amidst the rumbling, then a crash, and he jumps at the sound of a cannon.
So there are people around, Blaine thinks, they're just keeping to themselves, too.
He shakes off the shock and savors his last bite of mango, continuing on his path to who-knows-where.
As soon as he enters the next intersection the sound of rushing water floods his ears, and he realizes that the intersection isn't one at all; it's a bridge crossing a over river.
The water is a deep blue, a grand contrast to its dried out surroundings. But this doesn't mean that it's good for drinking; Blaine hopes that his iodine will be enough to purify it when need be.
He takes a tentative sip from his own water bottle, the liquid warm but satisfying his need anyway.
Blaine debates what his next move should be. Move across the bridge and keep searching for food? Travel down along the river to look for shelter? And which way would get him closer to Kurt?
He decides, considering his state of fatigue, that staying put for a while couldn't hurt. His water and fruit could keep him surviving for a couple of days, so if he can manage to find peace until another night passes he figures it will do him good. It's not an easy decision, because knowing that Kurt could be anywhere in this maze itches at his bones and makes him fidgety. But his injuries need to heal, and he needs to conserve what energy he has.
Looking around, there are few buildings in which he can take shelter. But he remembers how the rats had been set loose from underground, and wonders if there's any way he can find shelter above ground. Even with the risk of a cave in due to the deterioration of the buildings, at least he might be able to catch a few good hours of sleep.
Instead of looking around he looks up, scanning the roofs of the buildings. All of them are impossibly high except for the one he stands directly next to. He circles the perimeter of it, taking in the weathered driveway around it and the opening leading to an underground parking garage. He looks up, seeing how the structure is backed by a larger, taller building, and realizes that he's found the lobby of a hotel.
From what he can see through the cracked and blown out windows, though, there's pretty much no hope for a warm bed or room service.
His gaze travels all over the smaller building in front, looking for a way to the roof. There's a small gap between this building and the one neighboring it that he hasn't searched, and upon further inspection he finds (hallelujah) rungs on the side of the building leading up to the roof.
They don't seem incredibly sturdy, but they're solid enough to at least hold his weight, so he takes the chance.
He quickly scrambles up the ladder, wary of the rungs creaking in protest, but before they can give way he's stumbling onto the roof.
It's an open area, but the boundaries of it are high enough so that if he remains sitting, he'll be undetectable from the ground. He walks to the edge to take in the somewhat desolate view of the river and crumbling honeycombs of cars. He can't shake the feeling of being watched, and forces himself to blame it on the cameras planted in every crevice of the arena.
He slides down the wall and lets out a sigh of relief as his muscles relax. After marathon-worthy run this morning he'd be perfectly content to lay here until he's forced to leave.
And so that's what he does.
He snacks on dried fruit and water all day, not relieving his hunger but keeping it at bay. When he feels rested enough he decides to practice with his knife, and throws it again and again into nonthreatening cracks in the wall opposite him. By midafternoon he's beginning to actually hit near the cracks he aims for, and just as he reels his arm back to make what he's sure will be the winning throw, he hears voices.
Immediately Blaine ducks down behind the wall at the edge of the roof and listens, eyes widening when he hears the voices of the Careers below.
"... so fucking quiet, we haven't even killed anybody yet," grumbles the voice of Karofsky.
"The arena is big," an unfamiliar male voice (Jesse?) reasons. "The gamemakers are probably biding their time until they can flush us all together."
"Giving us a false sense of calm," his fellow tribute, Giselle, continues.
"Sucks about Sugar," someone who must be Santana says. Blaine can't help but think she doesn't sound very sincere at all.
"Whatever," Sebastian's smooth-as-silk voice lilts. "I thought she'd be useful for at least a day, but she got her neck snapped by that lumberjack like that." Blaine jumps slightly at the loud snap that accompanies his words.
There's a mumble of agreement among the group and Blaine seethes internally at Sebastian's dismissal over his partner's death. He knows that's how Careers are trained to think but something tells him that even if Sebastian wasn't a career, he'd say the same thing.
"What do you think about this water?" comes Giselle's voice from farther away; she must be leaning against the rail to look into the river.
"Probably okay, but we need shelter and food more than we need water," Jesse says.
"We should move on soon," Karofsky suggests, "It's dangerous to be out in the open."
Sebastian scoffs. "Dangerous for you; the rest of us didn't get our weapons stolen by a hobbit."
Blaine grumbles silently.
"He's right," Santana says. "But weapons or no weapons there's nothing here. Nothing anywhere because everyone's spread gamemakers know that and shits gonna go down soon, so we should be ready for that when it happens."
"Which means shelter and food," Jesse reiterates.
"Fine," Sebastian snaps. "Let's head out."
After a few moments Blaine peeks his head up to catch them walking across the bridge and into the maze of buildings on the other side.
He settles back to sitting position, thinking hard.
They're right, obviously. Nightly mutt attacks won't be enough to satisfy an audience; they want tribute against tribute battles, compelling ally stories, mass murders and intense individual kills. Something is going to happen, something big, and something soon.
But there's nothing Blaine can do now but wait. Munch on fruit, sip on water, and wait.
The sun sets, slowly giving way to pitch black night. Blaine looks around, taking in the nightlife: the only illumination is provided by dim, half-functional lamps lining the street. The buildings look eerier without the bright sunlight; broken windows like gaping holes and shadows lurking ominously.
He pulls out his jacket and huddles into it, feeling irrationally safer.
As silence presses in on his ears, he drifts off to sleep.
I know ending chapters whenever Blaine falls asleep is unorginal but God is it hard to end chapters in this story. Like I said before, Klaine in the next chapter, but not after shit goes down :)