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( Armin allows the figure's movement, screwdriver ever poised, and glances (he knows he shouldn't) through his peripherals. his fingers flex along the tool grip.

if he were to fight, he likely would have. clearly taller. possibly weightier. Armin's position is more precarious; the screwdriver, easy to wrestle away were he to take Armin's wrist.

after a moment, eyes on the other's mask, Armin relaxes, ever so slight, breath through his nose. his fingers flex: this time, gripping leather. a pause, watching his own hand, flexing a third time (longer, almost continuous) and Armin at last unfurls — the screwdriver, slowly lowering — gaze anywhere but the figure before him. shifting, Armin rises to his feet. )

[ The Judge waits for Armin's thoughts, or perhaps decision. Idly, he's aware of fingers firm against heavy hide, long enough then that he wonders the reason. He waits, still, until the other has stood up, and then just a moment more.

Finally, the Judge stands too, only to turn his attention promptly to the generator. He chooses the narrow side. The gloves he wears are best for wire work; better than dealing with too-tight spaces or intricacy requiring a more dexterous touch. They'll have it working more quickly together, and hopefully quickly enough that the Huntress does not find them. ]

( on his feet, Armin's gaze remains low.

he offers the man more space, stepping a pace or two away, and watches from his peripherals again as the man determines to repair the generator. another pause. then, Armin joins him, returning the screwdriver to the toolbox and pushing either shirt sleeve to the crook of his elbow. kneeling, reaching for inside parts, Armin not quite sets to work.

almost apologetic, glancing to the other, ) ...I don't really know what I'm doing. ( garters, binding sleeve to upper arm, are at least some indication of Armin's meaning. )

[ The Judge, then, pauses with a wire in either hand, to lift his attention to Armin. The work so far seems alright, he thinks - at the very least, they aren't starting from nothing.

But work going forward will be slow, if Armin doesn't know what he's doing; slower still, if he makes a mistake that damages the generator. To teach him is possible, but tedious for the Judge's lack of speech. (Is it sin, still, to speak, even if abstaining possibly means this stranger's death? ...Can he still talk? The Judge does not remember when last he tried. Even gravely wounded, he only rasped.) He could write down instructions, then, but that would take time, too. The Huntress is not close, he's sure, but it is only a matter of time before she finds them.

The Judge knows how the predators of this realm work. He once was one.

He replaces the wires, and motions for Armin to move. For now, the best thing is perhaps to teach visually. Once they ensure their escape, perhaps they'll have some reprieve the Judge can write down instructions. Better, still, would be finding a generator on which to practice, but the Judge surmises that the Entity is neither so kind nor so careless. ]

( Armin begins to return to their task, only for the figure's motion to catch his eye. Armin lifts his head, curious, then after a slight pause, a little surprised, adjusts for the other to take his place. he hadn't meant he wouldn't try, but he can't argue this isn't for the best.

a long glance to the door. should he offer to keep watch? is that useful when the woman hunting them readily announces herself? Armin's attention returns to the the figure beside him, not even an arm's width between them. ) Someone showed me how to do a couple things... ( although what else he ought say to a man that can't or won't speak... )

[ Briefly the Judge glances up, offering a nod to show his understanding. He points to the dark eyes of his own mask, then to Armin, and finally the generator. It's fine to watch, for now. The Huntress does not seem to delight in unaware prey. If she's coming, they'll know.

The Judge removes either glove, revealing hands tanned and both callused and scarred. The gloves he tucks into his belt so as not to lose them. It's difficult to show the inner workings, the light dim as it is, but the rest he can show, levers and knobs. Not too slow, wishing to waste as little time as possible, but enough that Armin might be able to follow. ]

( falling silent, Armin nods in his own understanding, eyes lingering on the other's hands before he begins to work. watching is helpful insomuch as Armin was given prior instruction, hardly thorough or demonstrative, but Armin is a quick learn, a thoughtful edge in his voice as he realizes the function of an inside piston.

seconds later, the generator rumbles and lights. Armin's gaze drifts upward. )

[ Armin seems to understand as much as the Judge can reasonably expect him to. He rises, hand on either knee, a little slow. He cocks his head to one side as he fits on either glove once more, as though listening.

There— the single, long note that the Judge has heard too many times. The next step in this torturous excuse for a game, and hopefully, the last. He isn't sure if this is Armin's first time.

The Judge motions with one hand towards the sound of the exit. With the other, a single finger to where there is no mouth on his mask. The Huntress will have heard their generator, or at least be able to see the floodlights where before there were none. A direct path to the exit is an unwise one. The Judge steps back into the main hallway only long enough to cross, slipping silent through another door, glancing behind to ensure the other remains with him. ]

( for Armin, beneath the nigh deafening toll of the school clock tower, the Huntress's lullaby is nonexistent. his attention merely drifts, watching the generator light spill into the hall, with realization: he has not walked into a nightmare but a game, the odds ever stacked against him and his comrades.

after a moment, Armin's attention returns to the figure beside him. more present, he offers another nod, then follows, quiet as he can manage, glancing across his shoulder as he had even in relative silence. the Huntress's lullaby is distant but gaining. )

[ The Judge is patient just long enough to wait out Armin's realization, the sound of humming impressing a sense of urgency.

Even if they run, she'll catch up to them eventually. Instead, he guides Armin through a hole in the wall that leads to another room, and points. Nearby, the floor has collapsed, forming a makeshift ramp to the lower floor. This way, perhaps they can spend a little longer avoiding detection.

The Huntress' lullably is louder now. The Judge cannot tell whether it's below them or not. ]

( the school — Armin can gather that much, dark and malformed that the inside has become — had been a maze, at first, his only guide an eerie hum; that had become a warning, then, finding the source in a giant of a woman, axe in either hand. she had tilted her head so curiously, but whatever animal instinct drove her easily drove Armin; he had ducked through so many rooms, obstructing her path any way he might.

(in the end, however, he survived only through her own volition.)

this room is unrecognizable but if he remembers the layout he ran... not far from the jump to central courtyard, gates on either side.

halfway to the bottom, Armin lurches against the figure behind him, a sharp yelp above them. he turns, an instinct to help, but the next sound is long and tortured. Armin imagines every swing: the disturbance in his expression turning itself to defeat, the face of someone already familiar with their best decision. )

[ A hand on Armin's upper arm; whether the gesture is meant to steady or comfort isn't immediately obvious.

The Judge spares a single, brief glance above them. She's closer than he likes, and while he could go back, perhaps draw her attention away... to do so risks losing sight of her, risks her finding this person, too.

His best decision, then, is to ensure that at least one gets out. Then, maybe, he can help another. His head turns towards Armin. A pause, then, a slow, single nod of approval. The Judge points. Keep going.

He remains behind, between the long scream of the unfortunate prey above them, and Armin. The Huntress' aim is good. Wounds are familiar to the Judge, he can suffer another to keep this newcomer safe, if she follows. ]

( at the bottom, Armin makes his way for the door, glancing across his shoulder only to confirm his companion doesn't protest. there, he slips into the next room — for a woman capable of throwing any weapon, the hallway is a deathtrap — and to the gate, follows a hollow in the wall. )

Is there another way we can leave? Besides the other gate? ( this feels too close to risk. the other gate, too far. )

[ The newcomer, at least, has a good head on his shoulders. He catches on quickly. The Judge remains close behind; the Huntress, closing in from somewhere nearby.

There is another way, technically, but riskier than either gate for the fact they don't know where it is. But to explain as much is more than he's capable of the moment. A nod, then an exaggerated shrug, is all he can really give. Perhaps the other gate is safer. If she finds them now, the Judge isn't sure he'll be able to defend for as long as the gate takes to open.

The Judge leans a little, glancing back the way they came. No sign of her from that direction. ]

Edited 2021-10-10 17:14 (UTC)

( Armin's brow furrows. clearly not good enough an answer.

with no further indication, however, Armin can only pull the nearby lever: the gate, taking as long to power open as Armin expected. his body tenses, so tight his muscles ache. if others understand the parameters of this game, might the woman chasing them? is she waiting? or — ) Wait! There was someone else, a woman —

( her death had been quiet, though, at least until dropping to the floor in a broken heap behind them. from the drop, the Huntress watches them, axe in either hand. )

[ He can explain it, later. The Judge has found journals, the discovery of which he could not parse. Something the Entity wanted him to find? Or could it not prevent him from doing so? Regardless, surely pen and paper could be found.

The Judge whirls harsh to silence Armin, only to turn again to see the Huntress. There is little between her and them - a single, worn pallet, at an angle to be useless for now. The Judge positions himself between the Huntress and Armin, taking a few steps closer as though to bait her into chase in hopes that she'll choose him over Armin. The warning of the door being nearly open is deafening, and the Judge draws in a breath as the Huntress lifts her axe to throw. ]

( if she intends to kill either of them, her choice is obvious.

even if she plans otherwise, the idea is absurd, and Armin is sick — of people dying, for him, because of him. it is easy to think he is finally where he belongs, dead and suffering for his part in the rumbling. Armin abandons the gate, diving low, and drags the second man with him. the first hatchet narrowly misses.

the second drives Armin to the side. she really is just playing with us. the slightest pause and Armin runs for the gate lever. he had counted five hatchets in their first chase. two are on the ground. )

[ Ready as he is to face the Huntress, the Judge does not expect to be moved from behind, nor with such strength. Off-balance, he half-stumbles, half-crouches behind debris of grate and railing.

He watches, unsure what Armin is planning. A hatchet skitters across bare concrete, and the Judge glances to it. Then— Armin moves, all at once, and the Judge follows, pausing only long enough to grab one of the thrown hatchets. As the other reaches for the lever, the Judge launches himself at the Huntress, axe swinging to disarm her next readied hatchet. He manages, but is thrown off quickly. He lands, winded, next to the pallet. ]

( metal groaning, the gate begins to slide open, agonizingly slow in the moment. to Armin's surprise, the woman ignores it. one is better than none, right? in another rush, Armin slams the pallet, knocking the woman aside just as she turns on him. he glances across his shoulder, long enough to see the other man is on his feet, and runs for the exit.

the fourth hatchet finally hits its mark. Armin falls: the animal sound that escapes, both howling and choking on the pain. )

[ He rolls to his feet, knowing by the sound of the Huntress' frustration they have a moment to make distance.

She recovers quick, quicker than the Judge is able to position himself between them. He lifts the hatchet, ready to defend.

To his surprise, the Huntress pauses some feet from them. Her head tilts, the hum never ceasing. She's letting them escape, he knows. She's had her kills, but— the Judge gives a sound of warning, low and hissing. Next time, the Huntress seemed to be saying, she would take this newcomer as her prey.

They stare at each other for a few moments longer. The Judge finally turns his attention to Armin, reaching to help him so they might leave quickly, should the Huntress change her mind.

Her final hatchet narrowly misses; a taunting warning. ]

( if he had thought her toying with them before... a second glance had afforded Armin no time to react.

instinctively, Armin's gaze rolls to his shoulder: hatchet, firm in his peripheral. every connecting nerve feels sharp, on fire. the slightest movement in his back triples the pain. does he stand? crawl? he can't waste the effort to see him this far. nails in the dirt, split hard against concrete, Armin pulls himself on the weight of one arm. the pain and exertion tightens his throat.

on his feet, Armin tilts hatchet side, arm limp. he leans easily into the other man: bloody, dirty, and his hair, damp with sweat. the huntress turns, disappearing into the courtyard. for a final moment, Armin watches. are there others? is she trapt in that place? weakly, ) Where are we going?

( he doesn't expect an answer. )

[ Not far. The Huntress cannot follow, subject to the whims of a being beyond either of their comprehension. She will, soon, be returned to the Fog to await the Entity's next trial.

The only place they as prey, as the survivors might return, is to the campfire from whence they came. The Judge points, a soft and reassuring sound in his throat. It is all he can offer, but the glow of the bonfire is already visible.

Closer, the Judge points to a log set close enough for warmth, a place to sit for now. He adjusts to help Armin lower himself without further injury. ]

( approaching, Armin's eye wanders here and there: the bonfire; the log; a building, dilapidated, in the distance. for a moment, Armin's eye remains on the latter, then sitting, turns to the fire. there, he falls silent. his own muscles painfully flex the hatchet. )

[ The Judge rests a hand gentle on Armin's uninjured shoulder briefly, and holds a hand up to gesture 'wait'. Nearby, a chest sits. The Judge opens it, rummaging momentarily. He procures a med-kit, needle and thread, and bandages. They're not uncommon, both in the strange area that the Judge has come to know as the 'blood web', and in trials themselves. Near as he can tell, the med-kits give hope to survivors, an emotion strong enough that the Entity can feed on it.

By now, the Judge has a small stockpile. Many of the other survivors that have been here for so long do too.

He returns to Armin, kneeling next to him. The light of the bonfire will have to be good enough. It is perpetually twilight here, and the flashlights they have access to, far too short-lived to be of any real use. He opens the kit and sets out each necessary item. The hatchet must be removed first, and the Judge points to it in warning, a soft noise to make sure he has the other's attention. He braces Armin's shoulder, pauses, and then without ceremony, pulls the hatchet out, straight as he can. He's quick to press a folded rag to it to staunch the rush of warm blood.]

( for the noise, Armin's attention lifts to the other man. his face is tired, pale, and haggard.

Armin nods, half present, and places a palm on either thigh; the motion of one arm, slow, fighting to work cleaved muscle and flesh. (Armin is certain he will lose full use of the arm.)

on impact, Armin flinches, a simultaneous process that contracts every muscle, painfully tight, and balls his hands into fists, nails hard against his palms. his throat dries; he feels faint and nauseous all at once. falling forward, the initial cry of pain draws quiet. Armin pants, gathering himself. the wound feels hot.

what springs forth is not blood, though, but wisps of steam, trapt against the hand of another. )