blink thrice {sylvie vs. tawny/dotj}

[Azalea]

SYLVIE SERAFINI Y O U C H A N G E D           A N D T H E T R U T H  G O T L O S T. I'D ONLY ENTERED the competition because I had too much time on my hands. School work and the pressure of performing well for my family- it all was piling up behind me and my oblivious nature was elsewhere whilst it did this. But here we are now. I've somehow managed to end up in a tournament which although is strange to me, seems oddly familiar. I've never fought anyone before, I've seen no blood or gore or guts. Just peace, the swaying branches on the trees and wilted dandelions which have let go to their seeds. Yet, although the thought of having to attack someone so that I could come out victorious stunted me in all my spirits. Is this tournament morally correct? I have a soul, and everyone else does. To think I may be damaging it in some way makes a part of me turn black and shrivel like a prune. I look around me, numerous other competitors eager to get their hands on the coveted crown. To me, it doesn't seem something worth fighting for. It would be nothing more or less than a sentimental object to me holding deep meaning and possibly harmful memories.  The sun is shining down on us all, and as the rays crack through the trunks of the trees, I hear the singing of a nearby crowd. It is so harmonious and melodic, and reminds me that this world is full of hope, even though parts have been brutally murdered a thousand times over. The air is thick with tension, and as my fingers wrap around the sword, I feel the powerful essence that the shaped metal holds. It is sharp, and the pointy end glistens in the light, making the weapon look beautiful. I know it isn't and I won't let my mind trick me into thinking it is art. The only thing this will be painting with is blood. Possibly, at least. If I had the choice, I'd chose to settle it without the violence, but I do want the spectators to have a good show. I can smell their thirst for entertainment - it is so strong that I can taste it on the gentle plains of my pink tongue. It is bitter and sour, and leaves an indescribable taste of uncertainty on your cheeks. One                         Two                                                     Three steps- And I'm onto the battleground. My opponent seems ready, which reminds me that I'm probably not. My grip tightens and I try to stare her dead in the eye in hopes I look somewhat intimidating. I decide to keep my mouth shut at this moment in time, as arrogance is nothing but a downfall. For the sake of embarrassment, I'd rather not go down without a fight. template by chelsey

[ghosty]

[googlefont=Bad Script:400]

Tawny Blythe

It's the contagious pressure of a fight that always bring me back every time, to fight again, to feel the addictive pleasure of a victory. And to see the look of hurt, of loss on someone else's fight when they lose. It's the best feeling ever, to know that you caused the hurt on that persons face. And to win a crown for causing that pain? Well, that's just a win-win in my eyes.

The tournament is a wonderful idea, whoever thought of it should be made the mayor of the District, no matter what anyone says. They know that everyone will fight to win, although it's not a lethal fight. Flimsy little swords that won't cause harm, but still show the skill of the fighters. I see some familiar faces around, Rat, Adaira, both of whom are skilled, thankful of the non-lethality of the fights for my dance teacher's heart. And my parents hearts also. Neither of whom could see me get hurt again. It's getting a bit of a habit.

And the girl that I'm facing, a face that I have never seen before in my life is before me, her eyes staring deeply into my own, trying to unnerve me. And it isn't working, the girl looking mildly constipated as she's standing there, and I have to bite my tongue not to laugh. I nod towards her, the smile on my lips show that I'm meaning to win, and flicking the sword around, waiting for the word to go, to fight. And ready I am. Calling out the girl in front of me, I take a deep breath. 'Good luck, don't feel too bad if I beat you.' And waiting for a fight to begin is always too long. Too long to wait for the crown.

table made by ghosty

[Azalea]

SYLVIE SERAFINI Y O U C H A N G E D           A N D T H E T R U T H  G O T L O S T. 'GOOD LUCK, DON'T FEEL TOO BAD IF I BEAT YOU.' The girls voice is sour. She seems too full of it, too caught up in the essence of the fight, the guts and glory. All it is, is a little fun. Some time taken out of our repeating days to fulfil the wishes of someone else. Thinking of it like such makes me feel warm - I'm making other people happy. Even if I do lose this fight and lose the tournament in the first round, I'll be proud I launched myself into something so unique and out of blue. Fighting, with a sword at least, is something I'd never done before. I'd always shown a keen interest in the dagger and bow and arrow as they can be silent killers. A sword slashes and crashes, metal scraping against another- it makes me cringe just thinking about it. But here I stand, the girl who want to rip me to shreds before me. I just wish this fight could be peaceful and only violent for the purposes of the crowd, but she seems to want this for herself and only herself. She wants the crowd upon her head. Greed is a disgusting trait to possess. Perhaps if I win, I'll be able to rid her of this. I hold the sword in my hand and move it through the air. It cuts through it magnificently, like a bird spreading its wings in flight, darting up and down through the summer sky.  My eyes dart across to her and I see it in her eyes - she's ready. And with her thick, piercing stare, I step forwards, sword pointed towards her and- slash, I just hope it hits her. WEjEkOI91-20 template by chelsey

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[ghosty]

[googlefont=Bad Script:400]

Tawny Blythe

The girl looked unnatural with the sword in her hand, someone that doesn't know the in's and out's of sword fighting in general, and shouldn't be able to beat me. But under expecting you're opponent has always been my downfall, the thing that always brings me down. And again, it has, as the sword strikes, and shook my senses back to full working order. They'll doubt again that an opponent can beat me, and it'll be wrong again. But now, in this fight, they won't doubt this girl. And I won't either.

I swing at the girl, and hoping I can hit her, to make up for missing the ball in terms of her hidden skill with a sword, because I don't want to lose, let alone in the first round.

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table made by ghosty

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[Azalea]

SYLVIE SERAFINI Y O U C H A N G E D           A N D T H E T R U T H  G O T L O S T. I STRKE, AND SHE IS HIT. I couldn't feel more relieved. The sword in her hand looks to natural for her to make a rookie mistake and I dread what she does next.  I take a moment and just breathe. But even a short moment as such is cut short as I watch her stance change and her grip tighten - and then her sword is flung out towards me. I dart to the side, narrowly avoiding the pointy end of the silver metal. I take another breath, a full one this time and try to compose myself and make the most of this situation. It's only a bit of fun, no? I'm beginning to think it isn't and this truly is a competition; nothing more, nothing less. I can hear the roar of the crowd getting louder and I catch the eye of my mother who stands behind my opponent, just over to the right. She is smiling and looks exceedingly happy that her prized daughter is doing something so fantastical. Quickly, I paint an awkward smile on my face as I move my sword and shake my head, allowing my blonde hair to fall behind my shoulders. I stand to side step to the right, before lunging to left and extending my arm towards the girl. I blink once and I am close to her, so close I can hear her inhalation of the air and the drumming of her heart. She makes orchestral sounds everywhere and it makes me feel so tranquil- but it is short-lived as I strike out again towards her. I can do nothing but hope the pointy end hits her. 9YTzsJ9p1-20 template by chelsey

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[ghosty]

[googlefont=Bad Script:400]

Tawny Blythe

An attack against me doesn't do as much as some people think it might. The little pointed ends of the sword is merely just a sharpened stick, something that causes me little pain. I've had swords, or knives dug into my leg that are sharper, and dealt with much more accuracy to areas, which hurt a helluva lot more than this does, but this means more than all those practise fights, for this is to win something. A crown of all thing. A fucking crown! If it was anything less, I would still fight, but not to this power, to this hard earned fighting prowess that I'm giving. And hopefully, it'll be worth it. And I get to keep the crown, and have it upon my head. Bragging rights to the plenty, I think.

And could I survive losing a fight? I think not. No matter in what circumstances, the crowd would remember me losing this fight, and  I cannot have that, I'll tell you that.

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table made by ghosty

i failed the first one btw1-4

[Azalea]

SYLVIE SERAFINI Y O U C H A N G E D           A N D T H E T R U T H  G O T L O S T. IT FEELS STRANGE to be hit with a sword exactly the same to one you are holding. The blade feels cold and lost and broken. It feels these things yet it still retains the power to inflict all three upon innocents. I've seen it in the games and I'm seeing it right before my very eyes. She has a sword and so do I, it's just a matter of who uses it the best. The air thickens and the crowd screeches as a hit against each of us is made. The noise is irritating and annoying and doesn't seem to leave your head, even when an alien moment of silence strikes down across the hundreds who watch in awe. I look left and right, keeping the girl within my peripheral vision. I can't let myself become an easy target for her. The thought of her smiling as her victory and me being cast aside so early on seems like a nightmare; having to live with the embarrassment of such events. But the thoughts do nothing but drive the fierceness inside me to want to achieve and succeed. I want to beat at least one person to prove I'm most than just a whimsical girl of District One. I have little talent and perhaps fighting could be it. So I take the stodgy air in through my mouth and exhale it furiously through my nose knowing that if I don't act now, I might not have another chance until the next tournament. I lift my sword into the air and run towards her. I imagine I am inside a storybook where the knight saves the princess, where the giant fights the man and where the dragon strikes the lord.  But there's no story where a girl fights another, and there's certainly no story where she wins. I blink again and I'm alive. template by chelsey

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[ghosty]

[googlefont=Bad Script:400]

Tawny Blythe

Each and every glance around by the girl, I want to launch towards her, swinging my sword like a madman, hoping to lodge an attack that'll take her out immediately. But if I do try, there is always the chance that she'll have a lucky swing and do the same to me. It's always risk vs benefit. And this time, the risk is as high as the benefit. But beginners luck and everything well and truly blows the risk out of the roof.  It's obvious that she doesn't know how a sword swings, or that she doesn't know that she's holding the blade too loosely to have a good swing, Although, the looser the grip, the more variable you are. Again, the risk of getting disarmed against the benefit of more creativity. It's a hard one. And in the crowd surrounding me, somewhere, is my brother, probably cheering on the other girl. He loves seeing me lose. And I can't let him see it again.

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table made by ghosty

1-4

[Azalea]

SYLVIE SERAFINI Y O U C H A N G E D           A N D T H E T R U T H  G O T L O S T. ACCEPTANCE IS A KILLER. It was obvious that I was never cut out to be a swordswoman, never cut out to be intelligent, never cut out to be anything of worthy recognition. I'm just a girl with a name, nothing else. I can feel the crowd leaning towards my opponent, their roar getting louder with every step and breathe and movement. It's putting me off, all of it, it's putting me off and I can barely concentrate on what I'm meant to be doing. I can feel myself getting weaker every time a new second arrives and leaves. I wonder what would happen if I dropped my sword and gave up now? More embarrassment and more people to face after the tournament is finally over. That's all I want to wish for now- for it to be over. I want to see someone win and have the crown which is so beautiful and glorious sit on their head. I want to watch them smile as they runs their fingertips over the jewels and metal. Why can't that be me? It can't be me because a thirst for riches is wrong. Good things come to those who wait, and I take it that Ripred has decided my time is not now. My time is in the future or has already been. I sigh and lift my sword tiredly and swing out towards her without a care in the world. Maybe there's still a string of hope. Maybe I've just cut it with my attempt. template by chelsey

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[ghosty]

[googlefont=Bad Script:400]

Tawny Blythe

A careless looking swing from the girl hit, hard. It makes me angry that someone who fights with luck can hit me hard, instead of me with skill and many, many hours of skill and practise. And now, both the ground, and each of us, are covered in spots of blood, from where the tiny prick of the end of the sword digs in. It's a shame that no such swipes will do anything unless they are drove straight at the opponent. And in the corner of my eye, I spot my brother, a smirk instilled upon his face, wishing me to lose, over and over, just so he can laugh straight at my face. And I want to shove his smirk up his arse. And hopefully, it'll hurt like nothing else. I jerk my sword back towards this lucky girl, and hopefully, I can finish this just a little bit faster. I want to see how both Rat and Adaira do in their fights, either to give them a forced congratulations, or barely hidden joyful sorry for their loss. I just want to see them lose, basically.

a6SqU_Fg1-4

table made by ghosty

1-4

[Azalea]

SYLVIE SERAFINI Y O U C H A N G E D           A N D T H E T R U T H  G O T L O S T. I'M COLD. The blade is cold, the handle is cold, the air is cold, she's cold. Everything around me feel like it's passing by so slowly, like I'm living a dream or nightmare once again. Every second sneaks past me like a snail. So precious, so delicate. Time feels as if it's slowly down and I can't help but feel stuck in it. The air brushes my hair past my face but that is the only thing that I can feel. Everything else about me seems frozen and stone. Stone is all I have to be in this moment. Ice cold and rock hard, no heart and no care. Just a girl with a hope of winning, just a girl who wants to stop another arrogant girl from winning.  I breathe, I smell, I taste and I blink. I lunge forward towards her, my blade held firmly in my hand and I do what I've done before and slash out towards her. I can feel my strength declining and falling through my skin and out into the air. Slowly dripping hope and losing my strength, I feel weaker, more vulnerable. Like a child. template by chelsey

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[ghosty]

[googlefont=Bad Script:400]

Tawny Blythe

Despite the continuation of the fight, the girls strikes have become weaker, not any trouble, even though each are always touching me, none has put me down that much. And everything is looking more and more in my favour, and me to go onto the next round. Which again means one step closer to the crown that I want, that I need. It's not a matter of petulence on my part, but for the bragging rights that such an item can give to me is well, more important that even the Hunger Games. In this precise moment, anyway. And I hope that one, maybe 2, more hit could finish this. And hopefully, to make my day better, seeing Rat lose another fight. That would be funny to watch the reaction.

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table made by ghosty

1-4

[Azalea]

SYLVIE SERAFINI Y O U C H A N G E D           A N D T H E T R U T H  G O T L O S T. WE ROAR. Like a lion hungry for prey. I feel so weak, even the tremendous sound of the crowd cannot fuel me to fight harder for a victory. The only thing that does make me feel some pride and strength is the face of my mother behind the girl. She still looks as happy as ever, even though it is clear he daughter is losing still. How does she do it?  I wonder where my siblings are. Probably trying to worm their way through the endless amounts of people to the front of the crowd, holding their little hands against the silver barrier. I hope they are cheering for me because it's how I imagine them in my head. Pointing and smiling, wishing for me to come out on top. But I can't see them. Who know where they might be. At home, at the shops, listening to the music - anywhere. They could be lost, much like I. Lost in a fight where the only way out is to win or lose. And now, I've realised we all crave victory. I'm hungry for this win, to beat this girl. template by chelsey

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[ghosty]

[googlefont=Bad Script:400]

Tawny Blythe

A glance from the girl over my shoulder confirms one thing. Someone is supporting her there, someone that is keeping her going. And another strike hits while I contemplate this, my concentration slipping after this fight continues to flow. And it shouldn't. A dance lasts longer than this, and I'm barely out of breath, but something makes this more strenuous, and harder to just struggle on than any other fight. Maybe it's the audience, calls fighting over each other, battling over who should lose the fight. Just as us two on stage are trying to do the same. And the decisiveness of the crowd are with neither of us. In the end of the day, all it is, is a fight between the crowds, and all the crowd wants is blood.

qwR339991-4

table made by ghosty

1-4

[Azalea]

SYLVIE SERAFINI Y O U C H A N G E D           A N D T H E T R U T H  G O T L O S T. IT'S ALL OVER. There's nothing that can allow me to win this battle now. Please Ripred, if thou are to exist - let something gloriously destructive happen to the foul girl who thirsts for my blood. Surely, you know who is more deserving of this victory. I know that I've made a fool of myself.  I feel like a court jester in one of my sister's bedtime stories. Subject to abuse and embarrassment, leaving the soul inside shrivelled and cold.  I have nothing to lose now, if I'm going to leave in defeat I'd like to go out fighting. Like a knight, like a girl. So I lunge out- Blinking one, twice, thrice and jab away at the girl who doesn't deserve this victory. She doesn't deserve the jewel encrusted crown - she deserves one from cardboard. template by chelsey

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