Chapter Text
The Night Watch finds himself in a bed much smaller than his own, in a body much smaller than his own, and an ache deep within his bones. Something is wrong - such a realization is easy to come upon - but the “what” is hard to pin down.
His room is smaller than he remembers. The walls are a disgusting kind of tan and grey, muddled together with poorly matching furniture. There is no finely crafted side table, fit with warm candles and carefully velveted windows, and there is no comforting bed beneath him. It occurs to him, then, that he is not within the Hunter’s quarters. Had he been, things would have been nearly doubled in size, and he would have heard the annoying humming of that man across the way. This side is silent, at the early hour, snow coating the earth and hiding the slowly rising sun.
This must be some prank. Paired with the headache he’s experiencing, he’s sure he spent an evening seduced into drinking by Antonio, with Jack joining along and dumping him into some random bed.
Annoying as it might be, it should be rather easy to sneak out of the Survivor’s side. Daft as they are, he doubted they even saw Jack enter. He mentally curses the man out. None of his things are here. Stilts missing along with his jacket, Ithaqua lets out a ragged sigh. His continued exploration of the room shows that it is full of items; a basic hygiene set, spare shirts, and an assortment of sheets for the bed. He briefly worries about having stolen someone's bed for the night, but the room seems… pristine. There is no dust, no messed floors, and hardly a droplet in the bathroom shower. It’s odd. And something Ithaqua will no longer be thinking upon-
Knock, Knock.
In his interest about the room, it seems he had missed the quickly approaching footsteps. Only one. The feeling strikes a bit of panic in his heart - it had been just one, then, followed by so many he couldn’t stop their attacks. Ithaqua looks for his axe, and finds it gone, along with his stilts. Dammit, Jack couldn’t have even spared his coat? Even with his stumbling, he was sure he could outrun any survivor at his door. He just had to do this carefully, but quickly.
Another knock comes, a bit angered, and followed by a shout. Ithaqua slams open the door, intent upon making a run for it, or bullying his way out.
Instead, he looks up at a woman’s chin, and she looks down upon him. It’s shocking enough to make him freeze, jaw tensed and eyes wide. The woman he once knew as the Coordinator meets his look of horror, but stands steady in his path. Anything would have been better than being caught so early on. Hell, he’s not even sure if he knew his way to the Hunter’s door or not. Now that she stands in his way, his hope of at least exploring in peace has been thrown out. The Coordinator doesn’t seem to do anything, however, and Ithaqua quickly makes a step around her.
“Wait-” She grabs him by his shoulder, forcing him to spin around. Ithaqua snarls on instinct, lips curling into the form of nothing less than a ravenous beast. He doesn't appreciate the feeling of air hitting his gums, nor the reminder his mask is still gone. “Is this what you all think of as a joke? Getting the Baron in on it too, or were you all bored enough to forge his signature? Now I have to explain to everyone that this was a prank”
“What are you even on about? Yes, it was a prank. Probably by Jack. Yap at him, not me.”
The Coordinator blinks at him, before her mouth furrows deeper. It’s an unattractive look on her, similar to how she is in the matches. Eyebrows hardened, mouth in a flat line, and ready to pounce. A part of him half expects her to pull a flare from her side and shoot him right here and now.
Actually-
“How did you know I was even here?”
“The letter. I just told you. We were expecting a new survivor in that room. The one you were in. It figures that Jack is bored enough to screw with the newest Hunter. You think he would’ve done it before now. It’s been a month since you arrived.”
“He got me drunk.”
“Whatever, I don’t care.” She sighs, heavily, her lungs rattling her entire form. “I’ll do you a favour and call off everyone, and I can take you to the Hunter’s door. You better give me a free win next time we meet, though. Maybe five.”
Ithaqua does not do so much as huff, merely stares, lips curled to show his distaste. Martha, as she always has, pays his taunts no mind and turns on her heel. Following after, he finds, is more difficult than it is in the games. His leg continues to warble beneath him, and he feels his stride is much shorter. There is no wind at his ankles to rush him. Such a feeling is utterly odd - one he does not wish to dwell on, but is forced to, due to the long walk Martha is taking him on. The silence does not aid to distract his mind, nor the walls that seem repetitive and equally bland. A vase, a broken piece of wallpaper, an unmarked door. The loop continues.
Until the door is neither unmarked nor small.
A small sign to the left of it reads nothing more than “do not enter”. Its warning must be enough, for a thick coating of dust lies on the broad handles. The door itself doubles what his room looks like, and there is something particularly eerie about the grain. Martha puts her hand on it, goes to pull it open, and her body yanks violently backwards. He watches as she stumbles, her eyes bewildered. A second time, she tries it, her back arching in effort. Still, the door does not budge, and Ithaqua dares not to try and help. There’s still an irrational fear that she might view him as a sudden threat, and shoot him before he could defend himself. Not that he could. Only when she sets her furrowed gaze upon him, does he even dare to move forward. The wood beneath his hands is unfamiliar. Just like Martha, he helplessly pulls at the door. There is no obvious lock on the door that he might fiddle with, and the door does not push as he thought it might.
“Great. Another thing I’ll have to request to be repaired - if you’re lucky they’ve just put chairs on the other side, and it will be cleared by tonight. The staff rotate every twelve hours, the morning ones might have missed it.”
There is no reply, only a jointly shared blank gaze. Both are thoroughly unamused by this situation.
“Do you eat?”
“Yes.”
“Then you might as well join us for your feast. I have heard hunter’s have a rather large appetite, you’ll do us good by eating through it.”