in the face of pain, there are no heroes // zane v. sinead

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

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

It's easier than I would have thought to leave him come nightfall. When I was younger, making sure I didn't place down roots was practically second nature, had to be, because the second you grew comfortable and complacent out on the streets was the second you found yourself fucked over in one way or another. Still, Cedric was the first bit of human interaction I'd had since the Games began that hadn't ended in murder, and I'd grown lazy in the last few months leading up to this, what with Gunner showing me I could, in fact, lower my guard when there was someone I could trust to have a place for me.

But I digress. There's eight of us left, myself included, a place I never thought I'd get anywhere close. The crown, once an impossible dream, is suddenly a couple of lucky fights away from falling right into my mud-stained fingers. And, well, every sign that I was meant to die in a way that fit my own specifications has fallen flat at my fingers. The bloodbath, when not one but two Careers found themselves incapable of hitting me, let alone giving me the quick and painless end I so earnestly yearned after. The mutts, two beasts incapable of human emotion or reason, butchered because I have standards when it comes to who kills me. The return to the Cornucopia, where the Ten kid gave Arthur from Three the very death I crave - only I was too late to the show to sign up for it myself. And then the last two days, where twice I tried to goad Bastian Fray into sending a pound of lead through my skull and the best he could do was a self-immolation instead.

So yeah. I could have stuck around, goaded Cedric into ending me himself, but if the past has set any sort of precedent to the present, well, that's not going to be the ending I want. And maybe I'm selfish. Cedric is the one person left in this arena who I have some sort of connection with that never delved into anything resembling antagonistic, ironically. Maybe I'd rather not find myself let down by yet another person my bleeding heart decided to latch on to.

Or maybe it's just the coward in me speaking, avoiding the responsibility of killing him myself and hoping one of the other fuckers in this place can do it before I'm forced to. As if there is an easier path in the fuckin' Hunger Games.

Whatever the case, I stand over his sleeping body, listening to his quiet snores. The Zane of Nine had been in situations like this before, when he'd stolen from the wealthy asshats who'd taken him off the street for a night or two at the price of his own dignity, claiming some material possessions and never seeing them again. But the Zane of the arena is different.

There's nothing I'm stealing from Cedric except my own fate.

"You know, you're the only good thing that happened to me in here," I whisper, testing the waters. When he doesn't move, I take a breath. "And I can't put my blood on your hands. It's better for both of us this way."

Translation: I'm too much of a coward to lessen my competition by one crucial number in his moment of vulnerability, because my damn bleeding heart got in the way of rationality again.

But, I had been forced to cross the line I said I never would multiple times. And no doubt that if I'm going to make it out of here I'll be forced to do that again. But this? This is my one moment of reclamation, my one moment of control. This is my one moment where what the Capitol wants and what I want meet in battle, and where I come out on top.

By the time the sun rises, I'm once again on my own. But Cedric's life remains mercifully free from the burden on my shoulders.

---

I'm not sure how long I stand there, watching metal and flame wage their war against one another, waiting for a sign that somehow, against the very odds of nature herself, that this was just a sick joke, that Bastian Fray would walk out from the wreckage, dust himself off, and give me one of his million-watt smiles, just like that.

But people don't work like that. You get blown up, and this isn't some sort of vintage cartoon where you can just shake that off. You get blown up, and you fucking die.

It's a wonder that none of the others in the area find me with my yelling, and it's a wonder that by the time rationality shoves grief back into the box I'd long since assigned it to, no one has bothered to interrupt me. And it's only with rationality that I remember shit, Cedric was on that jeep too and I frantically start to look around and-

-and the motherfucker is just standing there, watching me contemplatively, munching on a handful of mushrooms. Fuck's sake.

The adrenaline drains out of me just like that, and I can't help but gape. And I should be mad, or at least annoyed, but nah, this is Cedric in a nutshell. I knew what I was signing up for.

"Well, at least one of us enjoyed that," I say tiredly, the usual snark that would accompany such words absent from my tone.

"Don't mind me, I was letting you have your moment." Cedric, for his part, looks unrepentant. Typical.

Yet I can't muster the energy to snap, or laugh, or anything, right at that moment. "Thanks, I think," I mutter, before I turn back to the flames. I've never minded his particular way of going about things - it was actually one of the things that had really piqued my curiosity regarding him, back at at the training center - but right now, unraveling it and trying to understand what makes him tick isn't worth the effort.

But maybe he is capable of surprises, because I can't be looking back at Bastian's pyre for long before his familiar presence is at my side instead of behind me. "Didn't know you had history with Fray," he quips, and yeah, I guess I never did elaborate on that before I jumped right into the jaws of the beast. Typical Zane, act first, think later, only now there's a witness to my madness.

I'm not sure how that makes me feel.

So I chuckle, but the sound, the feeling, it's all hollow. "It started out much like you, actually. He was hot and interested, I wanted to have fun in my last days, you can guess the rest." The fire crackles in the background, but I'm no longer looking at it - my feet have since found themselves in possession of a greater magnetic pull. "Difference is he then tried to kill me, but couldn't follow through. And when shit started to break me a few days ago, well, I thought he'd have the decency to do it quick."

I force myself to stare back at the flames, to see if I can find something left of Bastian amongst them. "Never even considered the possibility that he'd taken this shit even worse than I."

Cedric hums in what sounds like acknowledgement. And okay, I know that I just said that trying to understand the inner workings of his mind was too much for me right at this moment, but that's just it - he's so unlike anyone I've ever met that I just can't not find myself drawn to the want to understand. There aren't many people I've let close to me, but each of them would have received that news differently. To him? I may as well have been commenting on the weather instead of declaring my own contingency death plans.

"....so you two both wanted to die then?" There's no judgement, just curiosity. It's strange, for a someone who speaks with as much candor as him.

And it makes me think. Because I did want to die at one point. Or I thought I did. But for someone with suicidal ideations, well, I've certainly done a shit job at achieving them.

"I don't know if wanted to die is the right way to describe it for me," I decide after a moment of contemplation. "Fuck knows that if that was my only goal there were more than enough opportunities for me to just toss my sword down and let fate have her way with me. It's more like I'm realistic. I never expected to get this lucky, yanno, especially without one of those temporary pacts that tributes usually form because of emotional constipation and safety and numbers and all that shit." Tears burn at my eyes and I sniff to stifle them - heh, emotional constipation who, now? "But then I killed a boy and wandered half the arena and nearly died more than once throughout all of that. And I decided that when my death comes I'd like for it to be quick and painless, so of course I kept looking for an opportunity because I was too damn scared to fall on my sword myself." I chuckle again and oh, that was a bad idea because it was far wetter than I would have liked. "And the last one I could think of, well, he didn't have such reservations of that nature."

The indication towards the flames is bitter and full of resentment, and yet Cedric remains steadily calm despite that. "Is a quick and painless death even possible now?" he asks, like I haven't been trying to figure that out myself this whole damn time.
"You look like you've been run over a few times, no offense."

The deadpan snark, at least, was familiar. So when I laugh again, it's brighter, drier. "Just a few times? You flatter me, Hardin," and okay, if every time I've winked after flirting with someone or another is that exaggerated then I understand why it was only partially successful. But the moment passes, the smile fades, and the melancholy in the air resumes its chokehold over me. "Honestly, I thought a quick and painless death was the best I could ever hope for in this hellhole," I admit. "But then the Careers couldn't kill me, the mutts couldn't kill me, the elements couldn't kill me, and then when I offered myself up on a silver platter for Fray to claim, he proved that Careers are much more fragile than they look instead." I shudder as a sigh, deep and visceral, escapes from within. "So who fuckin' knows anymore."

"From what I've seen, careers are strong until they're not. It doesn't always take a lot to kill someone's spirit. You might be alive because you're lucky, but you might be alive because you're just better than everything you've faced so far." The words are so unlike the boy I'd known back in the training center, the boy I'd literally just fought alongside right now, that I can't help but gape.

Who are you and what did you do with the wisecracker I found myself drawn to?

But I'm a little more tactful than that, so what I say instead is "Since when did you become a motivational speaker, Hardin?" And if my face is red and my demeanor is flustered, well, no it isn't

"Motivational speaker!" Cedric bellows out a laugh of his own. "That's funny. I'm just a fuckin truth teller. I could lie and say you suck, but that's no fun."

And wow, okay, I knew I was starved of positive reinforcement as a kid but wow.

"Who said anything about me sucking being a lie?" I grin and waggle my eyebrows, but even the familiar motions of flirting with anything that has a pulse finds itself affected by the heat on my cheeks. Damn Cedric. Always keepin' me on my fuckin' toes.

"Good one," he says with another chuckle. "Are you avoiding the topic?"

Yes.

"No."

He looks at me but decides not to press it, and for that I'm thankful. "Cause' we could just get outta here and sit for awhile. I'm bleeding like crazy."

And oh, yeah, his shirt definitely was not that red at the beginning of all this. Shit.

Well, if he was as much of a truth teller as he claims, I'm sure that if it was a problem I would have known. But still.

"Me?" I say, all wide-eyed in my best impression of innocence that a sinner and murderer like myself could hope to aspire to. "Avoiding talking about the sudden discovery of my praise kink? Neverrrrrrr." When I laugh, it's freer than I've felt in a week. "But that's a good idea, can't have you bleedin' out on me now so, how bout you get that shirt off, will ya?"

It's nice, really. One last moment of innocence before all hell breaks loose.

---

I'd say it's a coincidence, but I've learned by now that with the Gamemakers, things like this are usually anything but.

"Figures I'd leave one Twelve only to run right smack dab into the other," I mutter under my breath, the words lost to the wind before they would ever reach an ear, mine included.

I'd hoped that by leaving early, by heading in a direction that I knew I hadn't traveled last time, that I'd avoid the hardships and trials that had plagued me the last time I'd left the birdbrain's former home. And I did, sort of - it's raining like no fucking tomorrow and the wind keeps knocking me off balance but at least I'm not roasting alive or freezing to death. At least I'm hydrated and have food in my stomach. At least I'm not chained down by my own misgivings.

But this meeting didn't happen just because. The Gamemakers saw all. They saw me refuse to kill one Twelve so they sent the other my way to ensure that I still knew my place. Either I'd prove myself or let the knowledge that I was unworthy all along become common knowledge.

And it should be easy, right? I'd killed the boy from Two, Iden Averill. I'd very nearly killed Bastian Fray, too, before he took matters into his own hands. The girl from freaking Twelve should be a cakewalk by comparison.

And yet Twelve had a number of victors in its own right. Twelve was the only district where both of their representatives made it to the top eight this year. And I knew nothing about this girl except that she'd been vaguely present as having existed at the same time and place I had in at least one major fight before now. Kinda like when you're at a major gathering and you see the same person in the background multiple times so you're part of the same circle but you'd never really interacted with them before, only now you find yourself on a blind date and know that they're vaguely familiar and this is not a situation you can fuck up because if you do that's the end.

It would be really fucking ironic if I died just now, right after I'd found my will to live for the first time all Games. The Zane of before would appreciate that. The Zane of now? He just wants to fucking live.

I had my moment yesterday, my one brief second of self-autonomy. Today, I'm back to being the Capitol's puppet, with every step I take and every swing of my sword.

And today, I decide, if that's what it takes for me to live, to move on, to survive, in honor Cedric's memory or Avriel's sanity if not my own selfish aspirations, then that is perfectly okay.

The Zane of today is a fresh start, a new person, filled with a determination lost to the winds. That's why he doesn't beat around the bush, yell a witty quip into the storm in an attempt to gauge the girl from Twelve's reaction.

That's why, when the Capitol regains control and orders him to prove himself or die trying, he doesn't even hesitate before he sends his blade towards his opponent's form.

elegant

zane attacks sinead; machete

2RA0gPupMOsword

1145 -- Block -- 0.0 damage

accuracy, day seven

sword

1101 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage

sword·sword

[bailee]

She had decided that she was nothing but a background character, a mirage that came and went and that was the only reason she had survived this long into the Games. She wasn't a notable target. She wasn't like Bastian - whom the gazes of the audiences or other tributes had locked on. She wasn't like Whiskey, who came in guns ablazing with a barbed wire jeep screaming about his family destiny. She wasn't like Nixie, who had solidified her second kill the previous day. Abel was basically a self-proclaimed prophet - he was already sure of his destiny.

It was pure luck she was still alive - although the gashes on her legs had begun to heal, her bones ached and her ribs poked through her skin. She felt like a dead man walking, yet she somehow still had some will to go on. She had outlived her brother by almost a week now. She couldn't stop now, as much as each of the steps she took through the barrelling rain was more painful than the next.

She slipped through the fight like a ghost - no one acknowledged her or even raised their fist at her. She wasn't surprised in the midst of the chaos she was able to slip out from the chaos, as Nixie's blade fell upon her second prey.

It was funny how Sinead had found comfort in Nixie over the past few days, yet she terrified her more than anyone else in the arena. She was a force to be reckoned with - she was cool, confident, and unlike Nylon she shared compassion and if she squinted, maybe even a little sympathy for her. 

Sinead missed her, but she knew her decision to slip out from her alliance was for the best. There were only eight of them left - four of them being herself, Abel, Nixie and Whiskey. It was just a ticking time bomb before they began to turn on each other.

She wanted to minimize the damage a little. Remember each of her allies in the best image she could before she died. 

And Cedric - if she did the math right, they were the only two remaining district partners left. The Gamemakers were probably losing their minds as to how they let two unorthodox District Twelve - none being particularly that interesting - tributes remaining this late in the Game.

As she reached the familiar concaved valley, she signalled to her pterodactyl and sent each of her allies a note.

good luck today.

She didn't need to sign off on it. They would know it was her.

---

The cracking of rain hitting the basin and the occasional thunder signalled to her that something big was about to happen. If Sinead had remembered anything from watching Games, it was that rain brought death.

And it also brought an unknown figure in the distance, the rain blocking the visibility, The figure slashed at her, barely grazing her hip as their blade comes to a standstill. She doesn't even recognize who the person is until their blade is already lowered by gravity.

Sinead doesn't hesitate to raise her bow and attack the unknown target.

Sinead attacks Zane, crossbow (1/10)
EOBCGvWdlZbow
S4043 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage
(Bow)

The arrow barely grazes their thigh as the figure reveals themselves to be the boy from District Nine. She recognized him as Cedric's ally - the one who seemed to particularly take an interest in Bastian Fray, and perhaps even the one to lay him to rest, too.

"Did you kill Cedric, too?" she shouted to Zane, her voice quivering from the cold. She wasn't close with her district partner - he was here for some sort of sadistic entertainment, while she was here only because her name was drawn out of a bowl. But when you come from a shithole like District Twelve, you had to have your loyalties somehow. 

At least if Zane had killed Cedric, she wouldn't have to do it herself.

bow

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

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

It's painfully apparent that when I'm not in the zone, I can't bring undeserved harm onto another person to save my own life. (Heh). In one world, I have the nerves of steel, the strength of will, to cut this girl clean in half, ending her in one fell swoop. In this one, that same swing of the blade almost misses her entirely - is it lucky or unlucky to leave but a mark on your opponent's form when you're torn between wanting her dead and finding the very thought anathema to your very existence?

I turn, and is it luck or chance when a projectile clips my leg instead of sinking into my heart? The girl's got a crossbow and normally that'd be fucking suicidal to charge into with how fast those things can fire - there's a reason their ammo is called bolts - but for once the insane weather actually works to my advantage. 'Cause as hard as it is to run, to swing, to strike physically when it's rainin' cats and dogs, I can't even imagine how hard it is to try and shoot someone instead.

Still. Gotta be wary. Those things can kill ya instantly but they can kill you slowly, too, and with my damn luck any chance of a quick and painless death burned up alongside Bastian's corpse.

(But, do I even really want that, anyway?)

(Do I even want to die when a chance to live is so, so tantalizingly close?)

"Did you kill Cedric, too?" For a second I can't tell if it's my mind playing tricks on me with the screech of the wind or if the nameless Twelve girl has found a voice, but then a flash of lightning illuminates her features and oh, yeah, that was no trick of my mind. And maybe it's damn lucky that I decided to do the smart thing for once in my life and strike first 'cause I think that I would have been shot at regardless.

It makes sense, sorta. The last time you see your district partner he's with some strange untrustworthy fuck and the next time you see that strange untrustworthy fuck he's on his own, your district partner nowhere to be seen. A logical conclusion, when you don't know what I know.

"Are you joking?" I call back into the storm, caring not if my words are carried away into the wind. "Cedric was the only damn good thing that happened to me in here! Killin' him's the last thing I'd ever want to do!"

Fuck if I just screwed over my future self, should both of us survive, but I'm tired of lies and deceit. I could have told this girl that yeah, I killed Cedric, and I was happy about it too, but what'd that do? Piss her off more? Yeah, right. I'm trying to earn a quick death, not a torture session.

Doesn't mean I can't still act, though. So I grin my megawatt grin, bring my blade close to my face, thankful that because of the deluge it'd be that much harder to see how forced it all is. "Fact is, I'm doing him a favor right now, killing you!"

And fuck, maybe that is true. No more district partner equals no more ties to home, no crisis of consciousness when it comes to pleasing a potential mentor. Fuck knows if she was still here I'd be fighting for Aneesa instead of myself, cause fuck knew that girl made more in the two weeks she spent away from home than I would in ten years of my future.

I kill Twelve, and Cedric fights that much harder to get home, fights that much better in an attempt to avenge whomever slighted his district's honor. Or maybe that's a lie I'm making up to convince myself that this is all worth it. 'Cause the fire of fighting for myself is sputtering in this storm, but maybe I can tap into all that energy that lifted my spirits yesterday if I just change the focus.

After all, I've never believed I'd make it past thirty, even before these damn games took away my freedom of choice. But Cedric? He wouldn't just survive - no, he'd have a chance to fucking thrive.

It's that euphoric thought of the future that sends my blade swinging towards his district partner with renewed vigor and enthusiasm. Cause murder for myself is boring - but cutting away the chains that bind someone I care for down? Heh, that's a cause my bleeding heart can get behind in an instant.

elegant

zane attacks sinead; machete

WDDEZifTbCsword

1034 -- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage

sword

[bailee]

He seems offended by Sinead's comment, which is aptly met with his sword grazing her forearm, adding to the monstrosity of scars, bruises and blood that littered her body. Even through the rain shower curtain, she could see a glimpse of anger and determination in the other boy's features.

In that moment, she realized they were both fighting for the same goal, and that was to just live to see another day. Sinead didn't want to kill this boy - but right now, he was standing in her way of going home, and there was only one way for that to happen.

She had come to learn that mercy didn't come in the top eight. 

She knew surviving this long meant she would have to come to terms with the act of killing, the act of inflicting harm amongst those had been her shield earlier on that week. She thought that maybe if this irrelevant boy from nine had killed Cedric, maybe she might be able to find a reason to kill him, to feel the murderous urges that she felt she should've been feeling by now, to be able to take her bow and lodge an arrow square in between his forehead -

Yet, when she looked at Nine, all she saw was another kid trying to survive, and it pissed her off. Why do I have to be so normal? Why can't I give into bloodlust? Why can't I just... kill him?

"Nine, it doesn't seem like you're trying to kill me," she yelled at him, her voice filtered by the dropping of rain around her. Sinead raised her bow towards the illusion of Nine, but the rain was so thick and dense she couldn't clearly see her target.  "Do you even want to live until tomorrow, Nine?"

She choked in between her words, her dampened and cold skin finally giving way to sickness that brought soreness up through her lungs. It was only a matter of time before the forces of nature captured her and ended her short life.

"Because I do," she added, still scanning through the filter of the rain dropping off of her hair and onto her eyelashes, sending bullets of water onto her skin, stinging every open wound she had accumulated over the days. "I don't want to kill you, and I don't really think you want to kill me either."

Her finger quivered over the trigger of the crossbow, as she struggled to find a good shot. She was running out of time. It was only seconds before Nine took her hesitation and sunk his machete right into her heart.

"But I want to go home, and right now you're standing in the way of me doing that," a glimpse of the boy shone through the shield of the rain, "so I will if I have to."

And her finger clamped down on the trigger.

Sinead attacks Zane, crossbow (2/10)
nm43fjvyNUbow
4087 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage
(Bow)

bow

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

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

Damn. What is it with kids from Twelve and bein' able to read you like a fucking book?

My second swing ends up much like my first - turns it out wasn't a question of motivation so much as it is a confirmation that my luck reserves are running out. But then I again it's not like I've been consistent throughout this entire run anyway - the first day I was running on pure adrenaline, and killing Iden Averill came almost as an afterthought to the pure rush I felt at dancing so close to death and escaping after the fact. The second day was survival, the third day was "survival" with quotation marks because for all of its annoyance I don't think that rodent was actually physically capable of killing me, the fourth was self preservation with a healthy dose of fear, the fifth was desperation, and the sixth was acceptance. My own twisted five stages of grief, all detailing motivations towards killing or attempts at it, really.

Nothing in common, only a lack of genuine desire for bloodshed. And though the storm raging around me is mostly external this time, Cedric's partner has seen right through me anyway.

I really gotta ask him how they do it if I see him again.

"Does anyone who finds themselves in here really wanna kill, Twelve?" Man, my voice is getting hoarse. "Well, anyone that doesn't come from a Career district and isn't batshit insane, anyway?"

Do I want to go home? Is there even a home to go back to? Has Gunner already moved on with my absence? Has Avriel already given up on me and moved on to the poor fucks he's gonna have to mentor next year with or without my help? Was Nine even ever considered a home?

"I don't have a home to go back to, really," I shrug, and I guess there is one benefit to duking this out in the rain - my blade is shinier than it has been since I first bathed it in Career blood. "I'm just your ordinary fucker who's too scared to die and too human to kill without hesitation."

Maybe it was easier to strike out in the past. In the past, I'd only ever fought living beings that were actively trying to kill me with an inhumane glint in their eyes, or Bastian, who literally chose to blow himself off than be goaded into finishing me off right then and there. This random girl that's done nothing but find herself in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like me, isn't a murderer. She's just a kid with unfortunate luck.

Just like me.

But the difference is that I've ended a life. And she hasn't given me that same vibe. And that, I hope, is what makes the difference in the end.

"But see, I can't really afford a catch-22 while you're firing that thing at me, so..." The muscles in my neck pop as I tense and relax - no play-acting this time, just a genuine want - no, a genuine fear. "I guess I can promise that if you stand still I'll make it fast?"

Trying to get it over with failed. Trying to do it for someone else's sake failed. Maybe this time I just need to accept that it's gonna suck and tear off the bandaid - one swing, just like that.

Dying is scary, I think as I advance. Don't do it.

Fuck knows I'm trying not to. But clearly, I need to try harder.

elegant

zane attacks sinead; machete

UA4UVLWH5dsword

1172 -- Block -- 0.0 damage

sword

[bailee]

"Does anyone in here really want to kill, Twelve?" Nine's voice is heard over the boom of thunder.

He sends his machete in Sinead's direction, but her body is able to react quickly enough to block it with her bow, the ear rattling sound of metal on metal sending screeching through the air. The arena brought out the bloodlust in everybody - Nixie, although a career, found pleasure in taking a life. Bastian showed no remorse after taking the life of a thirteen year old girl. Abel believed he was being commanded by God to kill. Cedric found entertainment in being here. Sinead thought she was the odd one out - the only one without a destiny, a goal in the arena. She was here to survive, and that was it.

She guessed her and Nine had more in common than she thought. She assumed that he was like Cedric - after all, he had already taken Bastian's life. She assumed he found joy out of being here - like the arena was one big game, and winning was just a bonus. 

It occurred to her that she knew nothing about the boy from Nine. Not even his name. All she knew that her and the boy from nine were just two unlucky kids in a shitty situation. And perhaps they were the only two left here that still had an ounce of humanity left in them. 

"If you have no home to go home to," she cried through the sounds of crashing wind and thunder, "then why are you still here?"

"Why are you still fighting?" She lined up her bow again, although the combination of starvation and rain dropping down onto her eyelids blurred her vision, preventing her from making a fatal shot. 

She wasn't even sure if she wanted to make a fatal shot.

"I do have a home, Nine," she told the boy, "it's not much, but I have a home and a family in Twelve."

Affron would be proud of her, she thought. She had made it this far and she continued fighting. She wondered if this was what Sage felt like in his final moments. Just hopeless and desperate to make it back home. 

"In all honesty, I'd rather it be the other way around," her vision cleared for a split second, and she released the trigger on the bow blindly into the air, "it's just a matter of who wants it more, I guess."



Sinead attacks Zane, crossbow (3/10)
EFODJa_ErSbow
4040 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage
(Bow)

Day Seven Accuracy
bow
4190 -- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage
(Bow)

bow·bow

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

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

Twelve standing still, as it turns out, does not make it easier for me to kill her in one fell swoop. Instead, my blade catches on the base of her crossbow and is shoved off, just like that. No skin bitten into, no nothing. At this rate, we might as well call it a stalemate and walk off in our separate directions because we'll be here until the end of time.

This is only further accentuated when she sends another bolt my way and only catches my arm by pure chance instead of any real skill and god who thought it was a good idea to put a street rat and a soft girl in the same fight and expect it to be productive, let alone entertaining. Gunner's fantasy's of striking down evil and dying a martyr's death have never seemed further away than right at this moment.

She asks, then, why I keep fighting. And I stop and think for a moment, because why am I? Sure, I have Gunner back home, but whatever is building there is just that - still building. A relationship of months, born in fire, never really tried and tested without that passion fueling it. And Avriel - heh, my bleeding heart may have latched right on to Avriel but come on, I knew that guy for all of two weeks before I was sent here to die.

And she mentions a family and a home with fondness in her voice and I just-

can't relate.

And that's when it clicks. Because Twelve? Twelve's fighting to keep what she already has. And me?

Well, I guess I'm fighting for what I could have, instead.

"Because winning is my chance at a real life for once, Twelve." That's why it clicked. That's why while I craved death, I could never follow through. Because hope? Hope is an addictive drug all on its own. And yeah, I had my childhood ripped away from me due to circumstances beyond my control but somehow in the last few hours I've turned the sourest of all lemons into a tantalizing lemonade that lies three more days' worth of survival away and suddenly, I wonder if this is why so many kids volunteer themselves year after year.

Suddenly, I wonder if this is what Gunner had been wanting all along.

"I came from nothing before I got reaped." It's easy to admit, as it always has, but it feels freer this time, somehow. "Had nothing and no one of my own. I spent seventeen and a half years living on the streets and six glorious months with a roof over my head because a guy I knew took pity on me and let me into his life." And because I'm good in bed, I silently add, but Twelve here looks like one of those girls who would be scandalized by such a thought so that one doesn't get voiced.

"And I'm glad you have a family and a life to fight back for. I'd have to be a right cynical hateful old fucker to begrudge you for that when we're both stuck here in circumstances outside of our damn control." The rain pounds against my face, a perfect act of symbolism for the rawness of my exposed soul. "But I'm also selfish, and if I rolled over and died every time I had to make a choice between myself and someone who could potentially have it better, than I would have croaked long before Lady Luck tossed me into this hellhole."

And maybe that's the determination I need. Maybe that's the rationale, the motivation, the feeling. Not mindless adrenaline. Not selfless devotion. Not even the iciness of fear.

But the calm, warming embrace of hope.

I swing my sword once, twice, to better get my feeling. I'd killed Careers with this before, and it's just a matter of remembering how. But before I strike, I look the girl from Twelve right in the eyes, and I make a vow.

"When I meet your family back in Twelve, I'll make sure they're taken care of."

And honestly? It's the most genuine promise I think I've ever made in my entire godforsaken life.

elegant

zane attacks sinead; machete

rql6XttHPnsword

1098 -- Stabbed in Calf -- 8.5 damage

sword

[bailee]

Nine finally lands a solid hit and stabs his machete deep into her calf, the same one that was littered with remnants of scabbing and teeth marks from the pitfall lizard just days before. Those days, she probably would have screamed at the pain of Nine's machete making a home in her leg, but now she just felt numb. Sinead thanked whatever higher being there was that it was her calf and not her heart.

He seems genuine when he tells her that her family would be taken care of, so genuine that she almost half-considered giving up then and there and letting Nine take her life. End the never ending pain and let the warmness of death take her. 

But no, she couldn't, she had so much to fight for and she would make an ass out of herself if she just let Nine take that from her. She had the chances and opportunities that Affron was never given. She had made it this far and she refused to let this boy from Nine be the reason she couldn't fight any more. 

It was funny how they were they were so similar, yet so different. They were just two kids wanting to survive, just two kids with no agenda or message to prove, just two kids who's luck ran up when their names were pulled out of the bowl.

Yet she was pampered compared to him. Her mother fought to prevent her from having a life like Affron or this boy from Nine did. She didn't know what hunger was because even in the most destitute of times, her mother would manage to find a plate full of food for her at the end of the day. Her eyes had never seen the bleakness of the streets, her body hadn't been beaten and bruised and abused from the years of just trying to survive.

So she sympathized with him. He didn't have a family like she had. No home to go back to. This was truly his best chance at living a real life, even with the mental scars the arena was sure to leave behind. 

And she understood why he wanted to go on.

It was unfortunate for him that Sinead felt the same way.

She pursed her lips. The rain washed away the blood that oozed from her calf, but she ignored it and raised her crossbow once again.

And then she decided to ask a genuine question before pressing down on the trigger.

"What else are you gonna do with your life if you win?"

Sinead attacks Zane, crossbow (4/10)
QMFn9mqhn_bow
4044 -- Miss (arrow broken) -- 0.0 damage
(Bow)

bow

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

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

There's a renewed vigor in my limbs as for once, my aim hits true. Metal hits flesh and doesn't scrape, doesn't glance off, but sinks into it like nothing. And you'd think that after a week of this shit, I'd have gotten used to having the idea that metal forged in a certain way is deadly and there's a reason it's been used in these barbaric arena fights for damn near a century.

But it doesn't. My sword tears through flesh and muscle like nothing, and it wasn't the blade that was having problems, it was me. All I needed was a reason, a mindset, one good hit. The mental game has been won - nothing the girl could say or do could break me now, live or die.

Yet curiously, I notice, she doesn't seem to care. The next bolt she sends my way goes wide, and whether it's intentional or not I honestly cannot decipher. But the pursing of her lips, the tightness of her face, those aren't the actions of someone who is pleased by the developments.

Maybe I should be genuine more often, if this is what comes from it.

She asks another question, asking what I would do at the end of it all, and for a second I pause.

What would Zane Holbrook do with a victory? A victory that, for once, doesn't seem as impossible as it once was? So focused I had been on ensuring I had a death to my choosing that I'd never once contemplated as to what life might consist of instead.

So I admit as much; "I don't know." Because honestly, I'd never even really given the topic some thought - I had, after all, just made this earth-shaking revelation that life might be preferable to death minutes ago, and the battlefield was hardly the place to seriously contemplate such matters. "For the first time in my life I'll have the power of choice and the ability to do whatever I want."

And that mere thought alone is almost intoxicating, yet my focus remains unbroken as I send my sword towards the girl yet again.

"That, I think, is enough for me."

elegant

zane attacks sinead; machete

oJEa76bQEZsword

1013 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage

sword

[bailee]

Her arrow narrowly missed Nine, a consequence of the sympathy she felt in the moment. Even though they were trying kill each other, Sinead felt human in the company of Nine. She knew this would impede on her ability to kill him.

If only she could turn on a switch that allowed her to temporarily dispose of her humanity, she thought. That was what all the victors seemed to do. At the cost of their sanity, they were able to remove all of the thoughts that kept them human in order to go home.

Sinead didn't know if the cost was worth it, in all honesty. At least Affron died in the arena with her humanity still in tact.

She hesitated for a moment and listened, as his blade gently grazed her thigh once again. She knew this was a losing battle. As much as she wanted to go home, she was close to giving up. 

Shit, no, she thought, as she raised her bow towards Nine, her hands quivering with the cold. Remember home. Remember mom. Even dad. You want to go home.

"Will you truly be able to do whatever you want, though?" she asked him, her hands trembling amongst her bow as she struggled to keep it in line with her shot. Her hands slipped slightly on the neck of the crossbow as she frowned.

Why can't I just shoot him?

She knew being a victor had its consequences, especially being from a lower district. You would be held down by more riches than you could ever need, yet you were still surrounded by poverty and starvation, unable to do anything about it. You would be haunted by the memories of the arena, of the blood you took on your journey.

It was funny how just the act of surviving almost seemed selfish.

Her grip tightened on the crossbow and her expression turned into a frown as she found one small opportunity of focus.

Aim.

Fire.




Sinead attacks Zane, crossbow (5/10)
d9beasYvMkbow
4064 -- Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage
(Bow)

bow

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

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

I settle for a simple thing, and my resolve falters. Whether sinking my blade into her leg was a lucky hit, a fluke, or just required the stars aligning or some shit like that is beyond me, but whatever formula I had perfectly replicated to achieve such a blow has eluded my attempts at maintaining a permanent grip on its formula.

The girl's blood has already been washed clean from my blade when she questions my dream and very nearly sends a bolt straight into my chest. But luck or fate or simply reflex saves me and I still live to draw another breath, to swing another strike, to answer another question. Exhaustion is starting to peak around the edges of my consciousness - I never was much one for unnecessary physical pursuits, being a street rat who needed to conserve as much energy as possible, and this fight is already lasting longer than just about anything I had done since the bloodbath.

But still, I persevere. But still, I push forward. But still, I answer.

"Oh, I'm sure there will be structural red tape and a strict oversight and about ten to twenty years of therapy to exorcise the ghosts out of my head that will limit me if we want to get technical about it." And this conversation is proof, really, that I can only stay serious for so long - this last shot Twelve had sent my way had kickstarted my heart into overdrive as it realized just how close it had gotten to getting shot right out of my chest, and I use that manic energy for good instead - smiling in the face of death, bouncing on the balls of my feet, shaking out my limbs, staying light and loose. I've never seen a boxing match in person, but I've seen them on Gunner's TV, and this is what I'd imagine they felt like.

And like a boxer, I strike quick and fast, a clap of thunder accentuating my next strike. I don't even care if it's critical at this point - all I have to do is outlast this girl until she runs out of arrows or drops dead.

"Still worth it for me." Cause fuck, I've already killed once. The sin is laid bare across my shoulders and will choke me towards the end of time. And if I can still talk and laugh and fight at the end of all that - well, maybe there's fuckin' hope for me after all.

elegant

zane attacks sinead; machete

dEokCC9|Drsword

1162 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage

sword

[bailee]

Nine's machete finds a home, scraping by her belly and tearing her tattered vest and button up, his blade making its home in her flesh yet again. Her jaw grinded in frustration - she was cold, wet, and the stabbing pain in her calf began to fire up, and it seemed like the fight would never end. Each of their weapons barely made a scratch on each other - yet she had never felt more unbearable pain.

This fight needed to end, but at this point, she didn't have faith in herself to do it.

The way Abel effortlessly put his javelin through the girl from Nine's eye made it seem so easy. How did he take a life so easily? How was he able to survive another two days without so much as a hint of remorse?

"Well then, let's finish this," she told Zane, as she lined up her crossbow once again. Wet hair stuck to her cheek as she took her time, trying to find a sweet spot in between his eyes.

All you have to do is shoot.

Shoot.

Shoot.

Goddamnit, shoot.

Her finger froze over the trigger. The shot was right there, but her body prevented her from taking it. 

"May the best man win."

Shoot.

Shoot.

Shoot.

Fire.

Sinead attacks Zane, crossbow
reJy7SbaRObow
4093 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage
(Bow)


As her finger presses down on the trigger, her arm jerked and sent the arrow in a different direction, just barely grazing his arm. She let out a slurry of curse words as she lowered her bow, waiting for his reaction.

She was dying. It was only a matter of time before Nine brought a fatal blow down on her.

She truly was too human for these games.

bow

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

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

Persevere. All I gotta do is fuckin' persevere. Cut, cut, block, stab, cut, cut, cut, not get my eye or my heart shot out by a stray crossbow bolt. If this is what the Capitol constitutes as entertainment, seeing two kids utterly fail to end each other, well, then they're getting their fuckin' money's worth, all right.

But it doesn't matter if I can't bring myself to deal a killing blow, or even if it's physically capable for me at this point. Just outlast the bolts, outlast the girl, deal more damage than I'm given. I can patch myself back up just fine afterwords, and it'll all be fine.

I got this. For the first time in my entire damn life I have a reason to live, and I sure as hell am not going to squander it here and now. If I die before I reach the end this time, then, well, it's not going to be because I was looking for it.

Twelve, it seems, finds herself out of questions even as yet another bolt (and damn, I really should have been counting them, huh, if I wanted to make some sort of grand move after our war of attrition), with a simple declaration: may the best man win.

I could be serious. I could treat this like every pound weighing down on my shoulders means something. I could make another vow, like I had a few minutes ago.

"Don't worry, I plan to," I say instead with a shit-eating grin before once again, I swing with the intent to kill.

Yeah, seriousness for extended periods of time never really was within my capabilities. And if I fuckin' die, well, at least I was true to myself till the bitter end.

elegant

zane attacks sinead; machete

iUOJsWGLKUsword

1071 -- Severed Left Leg at Hip -- 10 damage

sword

[bailee]

Pain, pain, pain.

One fell swoop and Nine takes her leg, the same one that the pitfall lizard had sunk its teeth into, the same one he had sunk his sword into just earlier. It was like he was trying to taunt her, by severing the same leg he had stabbed earlier. Her nerves sent angry messages to her brain.

The fight was almost over, but she hadn't given up yet. As she lost her balance and begun falling to the ground, her instincts fired up and she loaded a bolt into her bow. The pain shooting up through where her leg used to be threw away any chance of her aiming anywhere fatal, but she put her finger to the trigger anyway.

This was a clear message, and it was that Nine was done dancing around each other, playing a game of who will strike who first, who will lose their humanity first before killing the other, the game of guilt and sympathy and who wanted to go home first and what they would do if they won.

The war had begun, and it was clear to her.

She was losing, but it wasn't over yet.

"If you're going to kill me, Nine," she grunted, in between her tears and uneven breaths, "do it."

And she pulled down on her trigger, hoping that it would make its home in Nine's heart.

Sinead attacks Zane, crossbow (7/10)
GTGiD88l8mbow
4066 -- Arrow Deep in Bicep -- 8.5 damage
(Bow)

bow

[lance]

[presto][/presto]

z a n e .

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

It's fucking jarring, to say the least, how quick the switch in my head flips. One moment I can't get so much as a decent hit on the girl and the next I've just cut through skin and bone and muscle and it's the bloodbath all over again but instead of Nylon Gingham's hands it's an entire fucking leg-

-and I don't know what 'not suffering' is supposed to look like but this can't be it, why couldn't you have just done it through her neck Zane, why did you have to make her suffer-

-and clearly I underestimated the girl's drive to survive because suddenly my arm explodes in white-hot pain and I scream, and look at my arm and see a bolt has pretty much pierced my bicep and fuck why did I lose my concentration and I scream again because fuckity fuck fuck that's hurts-

But I come to, and while the pain ebbs into a throb my body doesn't go through the motions of shutting down like I'd heard comes with near death. And all traces of my cockiness are gone, wiped away in the face of Twelve's determination - a challenge, to kill her if I can, my victory not assured yet as long as she hangs on to that damn crossbow and still draws breath.

Well, fine. I do have my own morals to upstand, and who am I to deny such a heartfelt request?

"I did promise I wouldn't let you suffer if you stopped moving," I hiss through gritted teeth. Damn, you'd think after getting shot with literal bullets that a crossbow bolt would be easier to bear but nope. "And I'm a man of my word."

It's slower than I'd prefer that I stumble over to Twelve's prone form, but there's no hesitation in my swing as I bring the sword down.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry for cutting your dream short, Twelve."

Empty words they might be, but a genuine sentiment it remains nonetheless.

elegant

zane attacks sinead; machete

Cwzb0p6Asysword

1028 -- Severed Right Foot at Ankle -- 9.0 damage

sword