D8 Hope-less vs D6 Spragg [89th Spar]

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

d a n n y .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

Danny couldnt help but feel some sort of wonder when he walked into the private screening for the spar matches that he had created himself. He was pretty gleeful when he realized that most of the tributes wanted to participate. He already knew that he was making a mark on the capitol this games. He made it his mission to revitalize and create something new so his games would stand out from the others. He did hide behind a reinforced glass that was blacked out on the other side so tributes could not see that they had an audience. The people that got a chance to see this first hand were few, but Danny knew that this would be another good way for people to see what the tributes had to offer. Of course, Sponsorship was more important than ever.

There was a clear change in the atmosphere, and Danny could feel it. Hell, right now, he would love to be painting while watching this all happen. However, he was not being paid by the capitol to create art on a canvas. He was being paid to create art on the battlefield. The boy from 8 Ty Hope-less had walked into the room next, and a couple of the viewers had begun to stir. It had been a long while since anyone with the last name Hope had been in an arena. After all these years, someone from the family had felt the need to show Panem that they are still alive, and quite honestly, Danny thought it was good on them. The boy from six Jack Spragg had joined soon after, and Danny wondered how the most recent victor from six had been holding up. Six had always been another wildcard district, but now that they had two victors, they would surely shore up their numbers. Danny had a good feeling about it.

The trainer told them where to stand, an x marked the spot. He explained the parameters to the tributes. That they would go hand to hand until one of them is incapacitated. (OOC: 15 Damage) "And remember, you never know who might be watching. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!" Danny listened to the trainer and then focused on the fight forward. He was excited to see what was to come.

elegant

mat & rook

[rook]

that's disco, baby!

This is your first time physically interacting with another Tribute. Until now you have exchanged but a few verbal blows with your fellow damned souls, but now you must trade words with actions and prove yourself in front of everyone.

You should rightly be nervous, and yet you are still, your breathing steady and your eyes unblinking. None of this has been a change of pace for you, has it? In fact, you've found your time in the Capitol to be a respite from the usual fight for survival on the streets.

They have paired your with the boy from Eight. He is taller than you, but has a nervous disposition about him. He doesn't quite stand straight, and he looks a little uncomfortable in the spotlight.

(Physical Instrument): It's time to get your hands dirty. A bit of fist on bone, the sting of blood on your mouth. It's all too familiar to you. A thousand miles away but standing on this duct-tape cross you could be back on the streets of six. Make your mark.

You are smaller than him, and less agile too, your average build doesn't lend itself to either speed nor power. You're an out-of-shape slob who drinks too much.

(Conceptualization): No. You are a leviathan at the eye of the maelstrom. You feel everything around you falling apart, and yet you are at peace. You feel it's raw power tearing up reality around you, but you don't burn with it, you endure. You smile.

(Physical Instrument): That's right. You're a primate. Rip off that tacky tracksuit and flex your muscles. Enjoy your body. Show him your power.

Wordless, you swing for the lanky kid.


[jack attacks tyrone]

nss44ovBXQunarmed

[2.5 damage]

unarmed

[mat]

TY HOPE-LESS

"no power in his bones
and faith beyond return.
his glass house shattered by stones
leaving a soul exposed to burn."

At some point, he'd need to learn to fight. Tyrone didn't want to, though. It was stupid for him to volunteer, knowing he could not meet the task at hand. He keeps his arms crossed as they wait for further instruction on the sparring. His fingertips dig into the skin of his elbow. His father would certainly laugh if he were here. He's already failing and he hasn't begun. Ty's taller than his opponent who has a Six strapped onto his arm, yet he remains unsure. Size doesn't matter in the Hunger Games; it's where your fist lands and your body bleeds that counts.

The trainer assured Tyrone that they'd stop if things got out of hand at any point and that he could give up at any point he desired. They warned him, however, that looking weak in something as simple as practice would make him easy to pick off in the Games.

Maybe that's okay, he thinks, waiting for the official call to start. After all, he didn't volunteer to survive the Hunger Games. Tyrone volunteered to survive his father and escape from him. He'd rather his demise be the strike of an enemy's sword than the strike of a familiar's fist and their words.

{"And remember, you never know who might be watching. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor!"} One of the Head GameMakers let out their cheer and the fight began.

Tyrone keeps his fists at the ready, but the other boy strikes first, knocking him in the leg. The collision of knuckle to knee dares him to yell, but he stays silent for now. Don't let them see you sweat. Don't let him see you sweat.

Tyrone takes a go at the boy himself, hoping not to make a fool of it all. He can't lose so soon.

[tyrone attacks jack]
tONLvRwym5unarmed

5184 -- Bruised Left Calf -- 2.0 damage

^this table was also made by ele but I forgot to copy/paste the entire thing and I don't want the dice to change somehow so x

unarmed

[rook]

that's disco, baby!

Your first hit isn't clean, and neither is your opponent's. Two light connections as you both bounce about, trying to keep safe distance from one another. You're sizing him up, trying to assess his reach, his speed, the power in his punches.

(Authority): Don't worry about him, let him worry about you.

(Half Light): Get on the front foot here, follow through your punches.

You've been in many a fist-fight before, you know what you're doing here. Usually you're more of a hit-and-run kind of guy, put a few blocks between yourself and the threat, as they usually have a gun or a knife. This kid though, you know you can take him.

(Logic): He is tall and thin, he's going to be able to lean away from your punches easier than someone your own size. If you aim for the legs then he's more likely to go down, he's top-heavy.

(Half Light): A stiff breeze would knock this kid over. Take him out.

"What, they not teach you how to punch in Eight?" You half-grin.



[jack attacks tyrone]

ak2qmbv8|Xunarmed

[3.0 damage]

unarmed

[mat]

TY HOPE-LESS

"no power in his bones
and faith beyond return.
his glass house shattered by stones
leaving a soul exposed to burn."

His opponent throws his fist once more, hitting his chest. Tyrone doesn't like the feeling of pain, not one bit. Even if it is just a fist rather than an entire blade cutting into his skin.

{"What, they not teach you how to punch in Eight?"}

Six's comment leaves a smirk resting on Tyrone's cheek. Of course not, what did they teach him, anyway? Encourage creativity as a means of escape, not of happiness. Suck it up when bad things happen. Accept that running away to an unknown place like the Capitol is the most attainable resolution to his problems.

"Not how to fight, that's for sure." Tyrone pushes his fist back out at the boy again. "Guess it's not that necessary in a place as good as Eight." He blinks as he lies, keeping back a tear from the past and the present. Tyrone could never understand how the tributes spoke with one another as they fought. So impractical, but if the words may be his last, they might as well be meaningful ones.

[tyrone attacks jack]
Xn1gG15nW4unarmed
[5117 -- Thrown to Ground -- 0.5 damage]

elegant

unarmed