Day 2: The Processing Center (Benson v Setta v October)

[✨]

If one were watching the 10th Annual Hunger Games from the comfort of their own home, they would see the names & faces of the fallen across their television screens:

Linden Parser, District 5
Radke Torres, District 5
Jackson Thomas, District 6
Max Jones, District 6
Fraser Birk, District 7
Djed Carnelain, District 8
Ammo Alexander, District 9
Hesper Hart, District 9
Peyton Blight, District 11
Merlot Holliday, District 11
Sorrel Holler, District 12
Collete Purslane, District 12

But if one were in the depths of the Capitol's sewers, you'd simply have to guess by the sounds of canonfire - 12 so far - who's names they belonged to.

Half of the tributes wiped out in one day. The majority from the middle to lower districts. Their bodies still lie scattered in the tunnels, the main chamber, the backrooms and the flood reserve. Bloodstains surround bodies. Some float, unnervingly still, in the water. Rats come out at night to feast on severed fingers and bury into open wounds. And still, always: the stench of it all.

Congratulations on surviving Day 1, tributes. Worse is yet to come.

---

Day 2: The Processing Center

On Day 2, all mandates will be using the 1v1v1 fighting system, meaning every tribute will attack both other tributes in the fight in every post. Attacks should be in order of initiative for the fight, from highest initiative to lowest.

One tribute must die in each mandate.

Benson Sharpe v Setta Furey v October Rhapsody-Fray
Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom]  sucy  clover ❁

Initiative: Benson (93.01), Setta (50.17) October (37.17)

[Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom]]

The smell lingers; always a reminder of where they've ended up.

A monster by all means according to the capitol; just more trash to be tossed away and dealt with later. The cannons hadn't been easy to count. There's only around half left if he had to guess. Consumed by that need to survive, he wades through the water. The sound of skittering rats still sound from every possible corner. The smell of blood and sewage stuck to his skin; a scar would form on his shoulder; his cheek will still be stained with the red crusted blood of the day before. A reminder of what he's already become in just the twenty four hours since the bloodshed started.

Rest had actually come to him after meeting October from One. It'd been a miserable one with an aching headache to come forth after everything, but he could breathe normally. Or well, as normally as you could in a sewage system. The wooziness having faded to a dull nausea; he stays vigilant in his movements. Quiet, yet dangerous. The silvered blade of his knife held out as if anything could come forth and strike him once more. Would he be able to handle this? Would his family be watching? Are his loves from the past seeing him and claiming him to have always been the monster that he's already become? Inevitable. All of this was inevitable. Luck never seeming to have found it's way to him.

Bad Luck Benson. Never the type to become a hero. Never the type to do anything right. Love is all he's ever wanted, but now he's here with a knife in his hands and it's the farthest thing from his mind. A pathetic feeling washes through his chest, but he bites down the feeling and stares ahead. A whistling sound of air filling his head; annoying and loud. The sound of air seemingly coming from every direction. The darkness still around every corner, he moves with a gentle footfall, unsure of what's to come.

The wetness disappears slowly; he can hear what sounds like a hissing of air. The rush of steam past his face as he ducks and moves forward. The sound of metal against his feet as he moves forward. The room opens up to a massive cylinder at the center; a fall that's certainly fatal. A grimace on his lips as he looks over the edge for a moment, backing up at the sight of the swirling vat of something. The darkness hides what's underneath, but he doesn't want to find out.

The sounds of others reach him as he feels his hand grip the knife close to his chest. There's an uncertainty of what to do, but if there was half the tributes left, then certainly the others would be out for blood once more. Would October attack him now? Shaking the thought away, he feels his heart rate spiking; veins filled with doubt. Striking once more, he's going to be the villain in this scene. It's better to be a character than whatever he was right now. Steeling himself, he waits, watching the paths before him.

Only, he pauses. October is there. Pretty and yet an uncertainty. Bonding with someone, even so small, would cause any sort of hesitation. Benson didn't know her, but he knew bits about her. The panic she had when she'd stumbled over him. The way her eyes look in the darkness, but still carrying that bit of life. He may have not killed anyone, but he's not Benson Sharpe. He's whatever has been created for this. Humanity having long since bled out as he could remember the panic attack he'd had before seeing her. The genuine fear of losing himself to the madness. Never before had he wanted to harm someone, but now, now he wanted to live and that meant harming others.

It's a pause, but he swivels to see the other person; someone he desperately didn't want to run into again. The little girl from before. The one who wanted to kill him. The one who made him want to suffer and asked if he would enjoy killing her. Man, his luck truly was only getting worse and worse by the days. There's a moment where he can feel the flaring frustration with himself come forward. The simmering of his humanity; the ache of his shoulder. If only he could change everything, swirl the cosmos into position where he wouldn't have ended up here with his life on the line. Instead, he squares his shoulders, loses the glint of humanity behind them.

"Looks like we've got some unfinished business." The words are spoken to the little girl; his eyes grow angry as he drifts back into that character. The fear ever still present, but he pretends he's tough. It's easier to pretend his heart isn't plastered to his sleeves. Pretending that this performance wasn't breaking him slowly and methodically. "I'm sorry. I don't want to do this, but I have to." Pulling the knife forward, he strikes out angrily, there's no hesitation left in his reach.

Silver gleams and he whirls around to see October, his eyes meet hers before he looks down dejectedly. "It's too soon." The words taste of vile; a venom poisoning his tongue. "I don't want to, but I have to..." survive. The word goes unspoken as he swerves around, staying away from the vat. Silver gleams and he strikes out towards her too. A heavy heart in his chest, thudding away like the times he's had to hear the same words of too soon from a number of people. It's a bitter feeling. Burning down bridges never sits right.

Like father, like son.

Benson was only surrounded by his own bad luck.

(Benson Sharpe attacks Setta Furey with Clean Knife [knife])
nPlm26yxoJknife
(Shallow Cut on Chest 4.0)

(Benson Sharpe attacks October Rhapsody Fray with Clean Knife [knife])
knife
(Miss)

knife·knife

[sucy]

I'm filthy. My hair's nearly black with sewage, with blood. Running from the fight yesterday, I ended up slipping, falling, literally eating shit. I'm calling it camouflage to feel better about myself. I crawled into a big pipe, one indented in the wall for the night, pulled the grate closed on myself. I tried out some of what the Capitol fucks sent me; the bubbly water, which tasted worse than the blood and shit in my mouth, and the can of meat, which I've seen before. Could've done with some bread, but it was alright. In the pipe, I felt like a badger, or some other kind of mole, in its hovel, waiting for someone like me to come in, smoke it out, skin it screaming. I shivered, from the cold, wet fabric sticking to me, from a creeping fear in my chest. The fear pushed up, up, up on my chest, but I forced it down, down, down each time. Heaving. But my food and nasty water stayed down. Not much more I could ask for.

I only managed to settle down after I heard all those cannons going off. Twelve cannons. Twelve of them (of us, I thought at first) were dead. Tomorrow, I'd take one out. I wouldn't fail.

.

I creep out of my pipe a few hours later. The sparkling water tasted like shit, but the bubbles kept me full enough to fall asleep eventually. I squint up and down the sewer tunnel. Is it morning? Maybe. The sewers aren't in the best shape, and I think I can see sunlight in the cracks in the tunnels. The whole place stinks, but less than it did in the pipe. I'll stay somewhere else tonight, if I make it that long.

Whatever. Fuck it. I can push through. I squeeze the hilt of my knife; be confident. I smile, teeth cutting yellow amidst the brown, green, grey grime under the Capitol. I wave, big, with both hands even though I've got a knife in one of them, and spin around, so I'm hopefully catching a camera, wherever they've got them hidden. Do they have sound working down here? I don't know. I call out to Ma anyways: "Ma, I'm making it." I can see her now, sitting at home, glass in hand, the strap on her nightdress slipping down her shoulder. She'd laugh seeing me here. She'd always call me a dirty little rat. Look, Ma, the Capitol thinks I'm one too. 

Though actually... I don't think I've heard any squeaks or scampering or felt any furry little bodies running past me yet. Maybe they wiped them out, just so we couldn't catch and eat them. Capitolites are so stingy; that must be how they got rich again so quick.

Clink. Fwiiiissshhh.

Metal on metal, I think. Something opening up. Somebody's moving somewhere anyways. I side step against the wall, craning my neck around every corner until I reach a big room with a big hole in the ground. I don't care about that though. A big smile stretches across my face at the sight of the big coward baby from yesterday. I wave my knife at him. And... the princess. I didn't talk to her in the zoo cage. She didn't seem worth my time. Here she is though. Surprised she made it. She reminds me of a pigeon. I bet if there was a window to the outside somewhere down here, she'd knock herself out running into it.

"Looks like we've got some unfinished business. I'm sorry. I don't want to do this, but I have to."

I laugh, yell when his knife catches me across the chest, laugh again, with my hand pressed over the cut. He apologies to December or whatever she's called too, lashes out at her as well. I don't believe him for a second. One look at me and yesterday's fight might as well have never ended. I could see it in his eyes.

"Oh, wah, wah, wah, will you stop apologising already? It's getting seriously sad." 

I stand my ground between them. His knife cuts me, but not her. He must've missed on purpose. He had to have. I lick my lips, wipe my blood off my palm against my chin. 

"Hey, what about you, November? You sorry? He's taking it easy on you. You gonna stand for that?"

Setta attacks Benson with her knife!

3|zprX6WXrknife

Result: shallow cut on neck, 4.0 damage!

Setta attacks October with her knife!

knife

Result: deep gash on back, 8.5 damage!

ELEGANT

knife·knife

[clover ❁]

o c t o b e r     r h a p s o d y     f r a y 

o c t o b e r     r h a p s o d y     f r a y 

 the crown is stained but you're the real queen
flesh and blood amongst war machines 

. . . 

my friends at home aren't like amber. 

at home, we tell secrets - we walk down the hallways together, arm in arm. we have sleepovers, and stay up until dawn. we pass each other notes, and hold the toilet door shut for each other if the lock is broken, and tell one another if we have something stuck in our teeth. i thought that that was friendship. 

nothing here is like the real world; in fact, from where i am, the real world seems like a twisted dream, a flash of colour that i can only grasp the edges of. that was before, when things were clean and i was october rhapsody fray and that meant something. now i sit listlessly, staring into the blackest darkness, wondering if the night has finished and the morning has arrived, or whether i am still trapped in the same terrible minute as the one where i first closed my eyes. 

amber had shared her food with me. amber had thrown her arms wide, full of trust, and let me embrace her. we don't know much about one another - we are, essentially, total strangers who hail from completely different worlds. outside here, we would not be friends. that world doesn't exist anymore, though, and so i find warmth in her presence, and i sleep beside her as though she is a shield. 

i lied to her because i had to. 

if i had told her about fraser, she might not have wanted to be my friend, after all.

if i do not open my eyes, maybe i will be somewhere else. if i just keep them closed, there is no proof that i am lying in thick sludge on the floor of a sewer. no proof but the stench, and that is with me even in my dreams. eventually, i give in, sigh deeply, and turn to amber--

amber? "amber!" i whisper, and then, again, louder. "amber!"  she is nowhere. she does not reply. i look down, then, and see words, scrawled in the grime with a careful finger:

don't worry! gone scavenging :) be back soon - amber

immediately, i go against her advise. i worry. i am on my feet in a moment, scrabbling around for my water bottle and knife. it's then that i hear the screams: somebody is shouting. it is an awful sound, a screeching, scratching thing, like a chair scraping across a tile floor. it echoes around me until i feel dizzy, cannot make out whether it comes from the tunnel to my left or right, ahead or behind. 

the scream rings out again. a cannon fires, somewhere. i jump. 

then, i run. i don't know if i am running toward the noise or away from it - to save amber, like some kind of movie-star hero from an old film, or to get myself as far from the fighting as possible. yesterday, when fraser and ekta had tried to hurt me, i had been so afraid. not once in my life had anybody tried to harm me before. today, though, i feel octoberless, detached from my body, as though my mind has run away without taking me with her. the lie i told amber loops around in my mind, over and over and over. 

"fraser got away, i saw him. he was fine!" i'd said. 

i don't notice that benson is standing in front of me until i am right at his feet. he seems larger today than he did yesterday; towers above me, the opposite to the hunched figure i had tripped over. he looks stronger. i am relieved to see him. 

just as i am about to greet him warmly, he turns to the shadows as though he has not seen me at all. "i'm sorry, i don't want to do this - but i have to," he says to somebody i cannot quite make out. and then he lunges toward her. 

i gasp. benson told me that he wasn't a killer. he said. and now he strikes the girl, drags his knife across his chest. 

"no, benson!" i croak in a hoarse whisper, my hands up, too late to stop him. he whirls around to face me, again. 

"it's too soon," he says to me, and i don't know what he means. "i don't want to, but i have to-" he sounds insane. he has lost his mind completely since last night - he is frenzied, crazed, blood dripping from the blade in his hand. if he was handsome yesterday, i have lost sight of it now. 

i try to talk him down. "no, you don't have to hurt her-" i say, but then he is moving toward me in one great, forceful lurch of his body, and there is no doubt as to his intentions. he wants to hurt me. yesterday, we talked. i looked into his eyes and i thought i saw a person there. 

now, all i see is a monster. i scream and throw myself backwards out of the way. he is strong and forceful, but i am quick. 

"benson, what are you doing?" i say. i have made a terrible error of judgement, misread the situation entirely. "i thought you liked me!" 

just as i am recovering from the near-blow, the girl calls out to me.

"hey, what about you, november? You sorry? he's taking it easy on you. you gonna stand for that?"

then, she slashes at me. she rips a great, jagged line of flesh all the way down my back. i scream, louder than before. i glare at her. 

"my name-" i hiss, wincing through the pain, "is october rhapsody fray."

the body that is unattached to me takes matters into its own hands, then. 




you're the new god we're worshipping
promise to be dazzling 






[october attacks setta with knife]


Naukr1h5Ncknife


result: severed finger, 8.5


[october attacks benson with knife] 


knife


result: stabbed in back, 9.0

knife·knife

[Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom]]

It's a frenzy.

Blood coated silver; he can't quite feel his hands as he lashes out. The boy he was seemingly buried underneath the filth of the underground; as if he's always lived here. A monster in the films he's always seen his fathers portray. A capitol so shiny and perfect that the rebel monsters have been the ones to ruin the economy, the food, and the peace of Panem. Would he be like those monsters? The ruin of everything that's stood before him; a cushy life that was meant for him. All of that seems to be dripping along the blood of his knife; the air growing tense with every second. Time feeling as if it's slowed down to milliseconds where each decision holds the weight of a hundred lives.

The girl laughs again; her voice filled with those vitriol words. The burning of his skin as he can feel himself growing upset. Filled with the desire to shed tears for a girl her would never know, but knowing she's just as feral as he's been. Her words sting; just like before. "Oh, wah, wah, wah, will you stop apologising already? It's getting seriously sad." Apologies left in the air; he can't find himself feeling bad for her anymore. Sad. It's all he's ever been in the eyes of those around him. Broken hearts littered before his feet; life controlled by money and love. It'd been sad to mourn loss of what he could've been. It's a bitter feeling knowing he's being made fun of. Only, he's not back home. This wasn't school where he needed to remain popular for his own life's sake.

The real bitter feeling is hear October; her voice yelling at him to stop. In the night, he lost his mind. Laying against concrete and the putrid smell, he lost whatever brains were left in his head. All he can feel is that heavy feeling of guilt. The blood on his blade sitting with him as if he's become some sort of monster. Tears want to spill, but he's got to be tough. It's the way his father's raised him. Stand tall and never let anyone else rise above you. A shame. Truly, the most shameful feeling in his chest. "no, you don't have to hurt her-" The way she speaks is what makes him forget everything in his head. The blade goes too slow; she's faster than he expected, but he didn't want to hurt her. October could've been a friend. A friend who he could've seen having some sort of future with if it weren't for the games.

"Benson, what are you doing?" The words hurt. Chest caving in from the feeling; he can't quite muster up the strength to respond yet. His heart seemingly getting stabbed over and over and over again. "I thought you liked me!" Truly, he does. He likes her enough to question his own judgement. It's heavy in his chest as he holds the knife out. Setta's blade comes first; digging into his neck just barely. Opening up another wound along his head; there's blood dripping already. He can feel the sting of the metal against his skin. There's a pause as he blinks back the feeling of white hot pain. Dropping backwards a little bit.

October's blade gets him in the back; the irony isn't lost on him. A backstab truly. Originally his own fault, he had caused this. The blood dripping from his body had been his own fault. As he hovers there for a moment, letting the pain soak in. He can't feel his fingers. The wetness of his clothes now sticking annoyingly to his skin; he can only watch as the life seems to drain from his body. Anger courses through him; humanity burning up in the adrenaline that's pumping through him. If he could grab the cosmos and give them to October to understand, he would, but he can't. He absolutely can't.

"Sad? I'm showing remorse for you? What's sad is not caring about who you hurt." It's anger in the purest form. The rise of his voice almost shaking as he holds the knife out. There's blood on his chest; stains sticking through as sweat falls. It's hotter than he expected down here. Voice seemingly continuing as he goes. "I don't want to do this, but I am going to. Whether that means killing you by any means necessary, I will do it." Lunging forward, he holds silver out. Tired of this already. It's been a day and he's already lost his damn mind.

As he pulls back, he can't help the way he feels himself avoiding October's eyes. Fearful. Scared. If anyone could tear him apart right now, it'd be her. Instead, he keeps his eyes to the knife in her hand, dripping in his blood. Someone's finger rests on the ground and he can't help the way his eyes avoid looking at the terrifying flesh. His voice is tense; a heaviness of guilt in them as he speaks. Dramatic, just like the best scenes in movies. "I do like you. I-" Mind flashing with all the things he wished he could show her if things were different. Blood staining his back; pain burning from there. He can't hold the pieces of himself. Too many shards dropping from his grasp.

"If things were..." different. The word goes unsaid, but he hopes she can understand. "I would've done anything to not end up here. Like this. But..." Silver gleams in his hands with crimson staining his palms. "Things are only going to get more complicated. Only one of us can win. Only one of us will get back home." It's bitter the way his heart thumps erratically as if he's lost every idea of what could've been a good friend. Only the thoughts of home, the way he misses his house, his friends, and his possible future. "I'm sorry, October. I wish things could've ended differently." Perhaps it's impossible to understand the way he's given up; the humanity lost from his skin. Eyes darkened in that horrid way that makes him into the villain of this story.

"I like you, which is what makes this hard."

Blade extended out, he strikes forward.

Heart exploding with all the poison in his soul; he's unable to feel his hands.

A whirlwind of futures being closed in front of his own eyes.

(Benson Sharpe attacks Setta Furey with Clean Knife [knife])
v8x8RWaERxknife
(Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder 3.5)

(Benson Sharpe attacks October Rhapsody Fray with Clean Knife [knife])
knife
(Shallow Cut on Left Shoulder 3.5)

knife·knife

[sucy]

This guy is so full of shit. Maybe even more than these damn sewers are. I spit at him; he has some nerve to call me sad. I've got a purpose here. I've got a job to do. If I win this thing and get home, no one will fuck with me ever again. I'll be Setta, the victor, instead of Setta, the rat. Nobody will fuck with me. Nobody's going to get in my head, in my face -- or anywhere else. This bozo's not going to be the one to stop me.

But maybe October will be. The girl, still pretty under all the muck somehow, slashes back at me, takes one of my fingers for her time. 

"Fuck! You bitch!" I yell. Blood spits out of the new gap in my hand. It fascinates me, but there's no time to study it just now. I've been bitten before, had my finger bent back so far it cracked and broke, seen those bites dribble out pus and blood, but this is... it's gone now. And that girl took it from me. I cover up the wound quick, putting pressure down on it. I'll wash it out later, but for the time being, I just need it to stop, or to at least slow down. "I don't give a damn what your name is, it won't matter when you're dead!" 

I curse again, and again, and again, while the guy keeps on trying to apologise to Miss Autumn Leaf, like she hadn't just given him the backside equivalent of a belly button. I'm so over him. I'm done with all of them, from this year and last year and every year to come, who try to preserve their social niceties. Apologising, talking about what if this or what if that, wasting the oxygen in their brains by imagining things. I can't understand it. There's no point painting pretty pictures in your head if you're District, whether you're in the Games or not. 

Their hearts'll kill them if I don't. Maybe not today, maybe not down here for one of them, but they'll die regretting crap that was never on the table in the first place. That's what's sad, not me. Them. Not me. Never me.

Benson, October called him, comes at me again, cuts me on my shoulder. Tit for tat for yesterday. I snarl at him, incoherent, angry. I want him dead, sure, but I want payback for my finger first. When I slash at him, it's to get him out of the way.

Setta attacks Benson with her knife!

qCGodHt32Fknife

Result: shallow cut on right forearm, 3.5!

Setta attacks October with her knife!

knife

Result: deep gash on left calf, 8.0!

ELEGANT

knife·knife

[clover ❁]

o c t o b e r     r h a p s o d y     f r a y 

o c t o b e r     r h a p s o d y     f r a y 

 the crown is stained but you're the real queen
flesh and blood amongst war machines 

. . . 

benson and the girl are hurting each other. with their words, with their blades. they are throwing poisoned darts back and forth, vicious, volatile. i am caught in the crossfire. everything burns.

i have never felt pain before, not like this. 

i don't know which darkness is outside of my head, and which is within it. my ears are muffled, as though i am underwater. maybe i am. maybe i have slipped below the waterline and now i am breathing in a torrent of sludge and silt, and it is moving through my bloodstream and cutting off the thoughts to my brain. maybe it is pouring out of the gash on my back, where the girl ripped her blade through me. maybe i have torn in half and haven't noticed yet. 

the girl shrieks as i strike her. "fuck! you bitch!" there is blood running down her face, and matted into her hair. she looks as though she was born here in the sewers, has never seen the light of day. i wonder if back home, she was a perfectly normal girl. nobody here is a perfectly normal girl anymore, for better or for worse. "i don't give a damn what your name is, it won't matter when you're dead."

that is where she is wrong, though. that is the whole point of all of this, really. to build a legacy. to be somebody. to ensure that when my time is over - no matter how short, my name is not forgotten. i am here to ensure that october rhapsody fray is engraved deep in history; it is imperative that it matters. if i'd never asked to come here, then perhaps i would have been forgotten. 

i shake my head, laughing. "no, no. you're wrong. when i'm dead, everybody's going to know my name. can you say the same?" 

i don't even know her name now, and she's alive, right in front of me. much too alive, really, for a girl who seems to want to slit my throat. 

i am about to ask her name, when benson addresses me: "i do like you." his voice comes out mangled. he is not the boy i met last night. that boy has been kidnapped, replaced with an awful imposter. that boy, i suppose, is dead. maybe all the good people are dead. all that is left are miserable, dirty liars. 

(i am one of them.) 

"if things were..." benson says. he is going to say 'different', i think, or, maybe, 'simple'. "i would have done anything to not end up here, like this, but - things are only going to get more complicated." 

i inhale sharply. he would have done anything to avoid this. we are not alike: i am the girl that gave everything for this - a sickening, unwinnable exchange. for this reason, he can go ahead and die. i made my choice. i have never been the sort of girl who gives up on what she wants - and now, i want it more than i ever did. 

"only one of us can win. only one of us will get back home." 

he is right, in this one instance. although he is a fraud, he makes no mistake here. only one of us can wear the crown - and it has always, always had my name on it. 

"i'm sorry, october, i wish things could have ended differently." 

benson will never know how it ends. he won't be there to find out. maybe, if he hadn't been such a dick to me, i'd tell him about it in my prayers. some people believe you can talk to the dead, if you kneel at your bedside and ask nicely. i don't know what i believe - but i know i won't be trying to get any messages through to benson sharpe, call-me-ben, not-a-killer-my-ass. 

"i like you, which is what makes this hard," he says. 

"you should probably save your voice, benson," i say, through clenched teeth. "if this one doesn't get you now," i nod to the feral, frantic girl who's name i still don't know, "then you'll need it when you're crying over your rotten conscience later."

i can feel the blood streaking my cheeks, my eyes wild. i have never felt so thoroughly untethered, so completely octoberless. i have left my old self in the cage at the zoo. i miss her. 

"i'll give you some advice, benson, not that you deserve it," the knife shakes in my hand, as though the muscles that hold it there are uncertain of its presence. it is not the prop that suits me best, but it is necessary for the character i have been cast in. "being a lying bastard isn't great for your image. and this time, everyone is watching." i point the blade of my knife into the gloom, gesturing at the cameras that must be there, somewhere.

"i hope you're happy with what they see." this is a lie. i hope he is unhappy. 

you're the new god we're worshipping
promise to be dazzling 




[october attacks benson with knife]


XaM1FDXLM0knife


result: 3.5


[october attacks setta with knife] 


knife


result: 3.5

knife·knife

[Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom]]

"No, no. You're wrong. When I'm dead, everybody's going to know my name. Can you say the same?"

Crimson drips down from his wounds; blood soaking the outfit they've put him in. The taste of metal upon his tongue; he remembers vaguely of October saying she volunteered for this. Choosing to be there was so much more different than not wanting to be there. Fame. It corrupts. It destroys. It takes. He's already learned that lesson years ago. Smiled in the face of fans who had his back the least; wanting to instead rip him apart like he was feeling already. Blood soaked wounds hiding the emotional scars; he can't feel his hands as if he's gone numb.

Too slow. Too weak. His strikes were out of fear; the feeling of fear stumbling through his vision as he can feel himself dying, slowly. Setta from Eight seems to burn wounds into October's skin; the pain stumbles across his own face as if he can tell the wounds sting. Ripred, he could feel them. Tears threatening to drip down his face; eyes caught between the middle of his breakdown. It's ruining his life; the taste of whatever blood is coating him. Death's grasp over him is setting him spiraling down. All he's ever dreamed of was long since gone; what's left is the body of a boy who can't quite keep his voice from clambering out in pain. Determined to live, he still can't fight. Never a fighter, always a lover.

Pretending like he knows how this will end, he keeps his head focused. There's a coldness to his eyes as he looks towards Setta; he wants to live. The shiver falling down his spine is enough to straighten his shoulders in an attempt to keep himself looking threatening. Tall and steady, he had to keep himself solid. The metal creaks against his feet as he moves forward; blade in hand. Only, he's stopped by October's voice once more.

"You should probably save your voice, Benson," Something cold enters his veins. "if this one doesn't get you now," Eyes following October's gesture to Setta; there's the venom he expected. The weighted feeling of knowing he's with two destined killers. "then you'll need it when you're crying over your rotten conscience later." Rotten. There's a huff to the air he lets out; almost a venomous feeling in his chest. The desire to cry is still there, but he bites down on it as if his father were there screaming at him to toughen up.

"I'll give you some advice, Benson, not that you deserve it," October's hand shakes; he can see the way her face seems to change, twisting at her own words. An act. A show. A performance. Almost wanting to break out in laughter, he bites down the feeling. If he was going to be the villain in her story, he might as well go fully for it. "being a lying bastard isn't great for your image. and this time, everyone is watching." The blade comes flying towards him; he's watching it as he moves backwards. The rails of vat hitting his back as he moves; blood coats her blade, but he's barely managed to dodge a major wound.

"I hope you're happy with what they see."

Blood drips; he can feel himself growing slower, weaker, but also desperate. The taste of metal on his tongue is enough to loosen himself. Eyes almost darkening in that vitriol of his own making. The darkness felt more like home than he thought. Hiding away behind it's shade to cover all of his emotions. Bottle everything up and explode when necessary, he lets himself grown angry. Words seemingly dropping from his lips with the intention to hurt. Let the blood along his skin carry away the rest of his humanity, dying with venom upon his lips.

"Lying?" A single word held with anger and vitriol, his eyes almost darkening to that of a predator's, hanging onto the way he's dying, he's lashing out even more so. If they wanted to paint him as a villain, he could be a villain. "Let me give you some advice, October." Throwing her words back at her, he continues. "You're obsessed with image. Volunteered for this to be famous; lost yourself in the blood of this. Lying to yourself. Lying to everyone around." It feels good. Ripred, it feels horrible. "I know who I am at least. Don't hide behind an image, a crown, or an identity. I've been Benson Sharpe for a long time. I know who I am, what I am feeling, and I've never lied once to you." She could call him a lying bastard all she wanted.

"I don't want to do this, but I will. I will do it for the sake of my own life." A pause as his eyes glare back to life, this time filled with an obvious coldness. "Are you going to be happy with the blood on your hands for a crown you desperately want to cling to because it's the only way you'll matter to the world?" It's a strike meant to hurt. Words hanging on the edge of his tongue; he can't quite break the tension in his chest as he holds the knife out. There's blood dripping from his body, from his blade. All he can see is the red. All he can feel is the cold chill of his body.

"I'll always care. It's my biggest weakness."

As his eyes search towards October and then to Setta; he means the words to the both of them. Even if they were both actively trying to kill him, he can't help the care he's always worn. Heart on his sleeve; open for anyone to stab. Death knocking at his door, he can taste the metallic sting of everything. There's nothing more to do.

Blood against metal;
he attacks.

Heart plastered to sleeve.

(Benson Sharpe attacks Setta Furey with Clean Knife [knife])
r7Wd80k5Geknife
(Miss)

(Benson Sharpe attacks October Rhapsody Fray with Clean Knife [knife])
knife
(Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder 3.5)

knife·knife

[sucy]

"Miss Raptor Faye," I snap back, biting back my pain, "I don't doubt they will."

My knife likes October. It bypasses Benson with a careless cut to the arm, en route to October's leg. I look up at her, just for a second, from down there, trying to see her face when her muscle gives way to my blade, when I feel the flesh split open for me. But she's busy, she's busy looking at Benny Boy, who's dead on his feet. We're both just as hurt as he is, but he's got a look on his face like he already thinks he's gone. He's not cut out for this; October is though, which surprises me. Watching her curse him out I know she is. Can't help smiling while I catch my breath, stumble out of the action for a second. He's here, at his end, nothing but regret on an otherwise handsome face, and here comes October like an Autumn wind to kick him while he's down, telling him just what a waster he is.

Her knife finds me. The cut's not deep or anything, but it's enough to push me over an edge. Not the edge, but close enough. My eyes are watering, my head is throbbing. The blood coming out of me doesn't feel like anything; all I feel is my heart pumping it outta me.

It's so unexpected, such a pleasant surprise, I can't resist grinning from ear to ear as I watch them. I suck the blood and muck out of the spot that used to have my finger and spit; time to go. I drag my feet back over to the action, knife out and ready. Benson's calling October a liar. I don't think he ever knew her at all. I like October, actually, I decide in that moment. I like that she's a liar. I think that's who she is.

"I'll always care. It's my biggest weakness." Benson says.

A beat passes and I bark out a laugh. At the same time he comes for me, but I haven't torn my eyes off him this whole time. Skating around him is no issue. I'll always care. It's my biggest weakness. Sounds like some crap my Ma would come out with after a hit or an argument or some money went down the drain. Pity me back, he's saying. Care for me, because I want to be cared for. I want someone who'll hold me, who'll stroke my hair while I fall asleep. I can't say I blame him. We all want the same things. Some of just always knew we weren't gonna get them.

"That's nice, Ben," I snarl, slur, something between the two. "Wish it meant something to me."

Setta attacks Benson with her knife!

a9Z5kwAosMknife

Result: deep gash on thigh, 8.0!

Setta attacks October with her knife!

knife

Result: deep gash on forearm, 8.0!

ELEGANT

knife·knife