Cut to the Feeling [Cachi/Derecho Day 7]

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

*

‘I’ll see you in a minute, okay?

I like to think that we had grown up these past six days. That for all the violence we’d seen, we couldn’t be at war with one another – not yet.

But it’s a goodbye, isn’t it?

We had spent the night under clouds and lightning, picking at our wounds (a back laced with scars and a chipped shoulder) and laughing at what we couldn’t fix (the pride and my heart). For the moments left alive, I’ll curdle with nostalgia for the time we could still smile, could still taste the air and think we’re almost free.

Outside all of this, there’s a boy watching, a young man who’d sure as the heavens streak with lightning, he’d wrap me up in his arms so I could melt back to normal. I’d burn off all the blood and guts, all the anger I’d ever had to sow just to get this far. And my sisters, too, gentle but strong, children still but not without sense, they’d piece back all the pieces that’d fallen off.

It’s that nostalgia that burns a few through my limbs, keeps me grounded against whatever infection has spread through my body. It’s not gone – I don’t know if I’ll ever be rid of the slight twitch that had me ready to reach for my sword. But I can still close my eyes and imagine the creak of the wood porch or the sound of a stubborn goat ready for his feeding.

If I never see any of them again, I hope it’s that they remember me like –

Like a thunderstorm, or a full moon.

You could sit through a thousand thunderstorms in your lifetime, but it wouldn’t matter. You’d still have all the goosebumps, still be able to run in the rain and think how wonderful, powerful, strange and sweet it was. Not that five minutes after it disappears just as soon as it’d gone.

Because a thunderstorm is not tied to its longevity but it’s wonder. Nature could prove that all we’ve ever known did not need measure by time; we’re all people, memories tied to a set of hearts, still beating long after we’re gone.

I don’t follow Cordelia toward what was certain doom.

Not because I’m afraid, but because I know that it’s not my fight.

If we see each other before the day’s through, it might be the last time we could ever pretend like the universe around us wasn’t crumbling.

Good thing she found someone so willing to exist in chaos.

The river’s too quiet today, with me on my knees at the edge, staring off at the reflection of the sun at the surface.

There’s a shadow, one that cuts right through the sun.

And my heart beats into my ears, my throat tightens.

I wished I could say I had a clue who the kid was, but I guess it’s better that I don’t.

“Glad you’re not Cordelia.” I manage, because I can still be honest. “Though I can’t say I know who the heck you are. Cachi. Ten. Blah Blah,” I give a fake little bow before getting up from the river.

“You sick of how all the days run together here?” I offer. My right hand glides over to my sword and I begin to take it out, “Makes me miss Ten. But I guess we’re all homesick by now.”

I can hear my pulse again.

“I didn’t think losing Charlie would have me thinking so much about getting home but, well.” What did it matter what I said anyway? He probably just wanted this over with, as did everyone else.

I just hoped that for whoever was watching, I didn’t disappoint.

(Come on, did I ever? Confidence!).

“You caught me at a bad time. Cordelia told me to sit tight or kick ass and well, I’m done sitting tight. Sorry bud.” I give a grin. Well, not really.

How does it feel to fly?

A bit like running to your death. Just forward, up, and on.

“HRRRRRG!”

[Cachimorro Olentzero d10a attacks Derecho Sinclair d4 with his sword]

wURWRbNLMRsword
[+9.5]sword

[Knuckles]

d e r e c h o .

"the weight of the world is pullin' me down
(where are you now, where are you now)
every breathe feels like i'm gonna drown"

Just a few more remain.

Just a couple more days.

Then I'll be home. I'll see my family again. I'll see where I belong.

All of it rings true, yet home is so far away. Knowing the numbers are dwindling down, knowing that very few tributes remain, all of it brings Derecho to his knees praying to a god above for guidance and strength to carry on when all he wants is to find a way to get rid of this terrible crown. This crown is the bane of his existence. It's tormenting him, bringing him down lower than he ever imagined possible, and yet he still tries to find a way to survive, a way to keep going despite everything.

Even when the visions and nightmares haunt his dreams during the night hours, Derecho finds the strength to look forward to something. Right now, even the idea of a future at home is barely keeping him going. It's barely giving him enough strength to keep going.

But I never surrender.

As the sun sets, he prepares himself for the horrible sights to come, but it doesn't help him at all because as soon as everything happens, it's like his brain tries shutting down and forgetting how to function. All he can see and hear are the screams of people he cares for dying over and over, and this time it shows himself laying on the ground covered in blood, and not a single person remembers who he is.

It's one of his worse fears because all he's wanted since volunteering is building a legacy for himself, and maybe nobody cares about him. Maybe nobody even knows his name - what if I did this for nothing? Of course, the answer will never come in death. The only way to know for sure that people remember him is to live, to make it out of this mess alive, but it seems so far away and impossible.

But I'm so close.

Making it this far won't matter if he's just a person shy of surviving.

A heavy sigh leaves his chest as he curls up trying to find a dry place to rest, a place to relax, a place to let the visions drown out the night as they've done every single day since placing the crown upon his head.

It's proof that I am worthy of the crown at the end.

Maybe sleep isn't a good thing, though, because all it takes is one moment of closing his eyes for a loud crack of thunder to rip through the sky to bring him to his feet, and soon he's moving trying to navigate through the darkness without alerting anyone else to his presence. Silence is needed, it'll give him a chance to survive, a chance to make it out of this mess alive if he's lucky and strong enough to succeed.

Vibrant flashes of lightning light up the sky, and for the first time Derecho sees the purple rain drops saturating everything.

I know what I'm capable of, and I will do as I can to survive.

It motivates him, gives him the strength, yet it also gives him the desire to spill blood, to turn the grass a crimson red.

Even hearing the sound of the rushing waters from the winding river can't bring him back to the reality he desires. Instead, it turns him around, and he's looking in every direction wondering which way to go. While the sun starts rising for the day, Derecho keeps looking and searching for anyone standing in his way. People have to die -

And it's not going to be me.

That's when he sees him, and he hears him talking, and in that moment, Derecho doesn't even care what the tribute is saying. None of it means nothing. He's a stranger, he's the enemy, and Derecho will do whatever he can to make sure that his face is the last face this stranger will see.

But thinking about it all makes him realize he's too slow.

The sleep deprivation is holding him back, it's making it impossible to think, impossible to react, and maybe that's why he feels the blade slice deep into his skin. Blood gushes from his mangled arm, and in that moment, Derecho knows this isn't just a walk in the park anymore.

"You talk too much." He says calmly as he lifts his trusty hammer and holds it close to his chest. "We have no time for formalities when we both know how this has to end."

Shaking his head, Derecho draws in a deep breath allowing himself to focus again. Fear will only bring him down, and it's his hope to release it all with a soft exhale before striking knowing what he needs to do.

elegant

lyrics: Human - Krewella

attacks Cachimorro| banhammer
dVYKiIxR89spiked blunt

{ 14036 -- BROKEN LEFT FEMUR -- 7.5 damage +1 banhammer +1 strength }spiked blunt

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

*

Hell yeah!

The blade cuts deep and there’s a fresh spray of blood across the grass. You know, it would be just like Cordelia to miss when I find my footing and lay someone out on their ass, now wouldn’t it? Though something told me this kid wasn’t going to go ass over tea kettle right into the tip of my sword.

‘You talk too much.’ His voice cuts through all of my bullshit, and I can tell either I’ve touched a nerve or he’s got a stick up his ass. Either way, I’m immediately not a fan. Every single damn person in this arena is so damn serious all the time. Talking like they actually studied in class, telling me that there’s no room for games, no space for any of us to handle his like kids instead of adults.

Kids are messy. They’re stupid and bitter and make a joke of everything. They’re creative and put their whole heart and soul into something because at the end of the day, that’s all they have. We aren’t pressed down into some little box. We haven’t traveled so far down the road we can’t see who we are. If anything, we’re just trying to get a good glimpse of who’s standing in the distance or where we’re going. We’re not natural killers, at least, not all of us. Just people willing to play pretend, until we either get snuffed out or stop existing.

‘ We have no time for formalities when we both know how this has to end.’

“Well fuck me sideways, dude,” It comes out involuntarily, with a bit of a laugh and a cheeky grin, part because I know I’m not going to shut the hell up. I’d rather burn all the air in my lungs if I’m in the battle to the death than go out without having said a word. Besides, I don’t know if I can shut my trap even if I wanted to.

“GOD DAMN!"

Of course, he has some sort of weapon that rocks my shit because the next thing I knew I’m seeing stars, leg with crack, busted with one hefty swing of his hammer. And I laugh, because it hurts so damn much my head is spinning, I’m practically wheezing as I stagger back toward the river, sword at my side.

“You (fuck)… you got quite a swing,” I put a hand on my knee and take in a deep breath. “You got to be careful with that thing, you might really hurt someone with it.”

I gave a grin and laughed at my own joke, not because it was funny but because if I didn’t I’d be fucking pissing myself crying.

I never said I could handle the pain, just so we’re on the same page. And maybe when you get a cut across your skin there’s something more alive about it. But when you can feel a piece of your own bone move, nah man, that’s not anything I want a part of.

“Also – I don’t need to be formal, I’ll be as informal as you damn like. Fuck you.” I took my sword up in my hands and tried to keep an eye on where he might have left an opening.

If I could get to his stomach or the neck I might be able to end this easy. I had to be careful not to get myself bashed over the head like a moron – though knowing how I fought, that’s just what would happen.

Well –

Here we go, then.

Here we go.

“All right kid,” I took another breath to focus on putting weight on both legs, to hell with the pain. “How’s about we cut to the chase!”

Just fly.

“GRRAAAAAH!”

[Cachimorro Olentzero d10a attacks Derecho Sinclair d4 with a stab of his sword]

xAoaCB5hr6sword
[+8]sword

[Knuckles]

d e r e c h o .

"the weight of the world is pullin' me down
(where are you now, where are you now)
every breathe feels like i'm gonna drown"

He smiles as a bone crunches under the weight of his trusty hammer. It's a sound Derecho wants to hear all the time, one he desires, and one that's music to his ears.

But listening to the enemy talk makes him wish that he would've swung higher and harder. Some people never learn to shut up, and maybe that's where Derecho will succeed. Being quiet and letting the enemy talk himself to death. Yeah, that's the plan.

One thing is true, though, this guy knows how to get under someone's skin because every word is something that is meaningful, yet at the same time meaningless. Derecho simply shakes his head and readies himself, readies the hammer, readies his entire being for the pain that has to happen in order for him to find success and make it to the next stage of the game.

Formalities mean nothing. Being informal means nothing. Not in a place like this, and it's beyond his imagination why anyone would want to make friends at this stage of the game. Talking will do nothing except draw them closer together, and maybe even distract Derecho from the ultimate plan of winning and taking home the grand prize. Seeing his name in lights as people chant honors and praises to him. That's the goal.

Yet standing here watching someone from district ten swing a blade with success means that he has to be more careful. A lot of times it's the lower district tributes that can find the upper hand against cocky careers, and while Derecho is a career and he's cocky, he knows that letting that stand in the way will only end in his defeat.

Maybe that's why the blade slices into his skin again, but this time, he's ready for it, and he can't control the laughter that escapes his lips. It's just a tickle in the midst of the rain as blood gushes from the brand-new laceration.

It means nothing though.

I can't be cocky. I can't let him get to me.

Taking a deep breath, Derecho calms himself, and he listens to the rushing water, the thunder, and the rain, and it brings him a sense of calm. It reminds him of home. It's his strength.

I know what I'm capable of, but I don't know if anyone else does.

Each breath brings him to life, and in the moment, Derecho knows he's strong, that he's brave, but sometimes bravery doesn't do anything except destroy those who care.

I cared, but I don't anymore.

Making a legacy for himself is important but surviving and making it home is more important because living to see the spotlight is where the legacy begins. Dying in here would make his legacy unknown, and he wants to live to see it.

Turning back towards his opponent, Derecho lifts the hammer into the air. It's gotten him this far, and he puts all his trust into it. This weapon hasn't failed him yet, and it's his hope that it doesn't fail him now.

Without a word, he springs into action unafraid because he refuses to let fear of dying hold him back.

I know what I'm capable of, and it's time the world knows too.

elegant

lyrics: Human - Krewella

attacks Cachimorro| banhammer
hDarSTiQa0spiked blunt

{ 14032 -- DEEP GASH ON BACK -- 8.5 damage +1 banhammer +1 strength}spiked blunt

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

*

“Oh now you think I’m funny, huh?” I snap back when I hear him laughing because there’s nothing funny about the situation we’ve been put in but still completely ridiculous. Two kids batting each other back and forth until one of them falls over in a pool of their own blood. And the problem was that this wasn’t over, not by a long shot. Because even if we succeeded here, we’d still have at least another day, maybe even more before we reached the end.

“I haven’t even told you any jokes yet!” I pulled by my sword, now fresh with his blood. It’s a short lived victory, of course. The moment I think I have the kid at the edge of his rope, he swings that dumpy hammer so hard I swear it takes out a chunk of the skin on my back and then some. I stagger forward, coughing while the copper taste fills my mouth. Knocked back but not out.

“You fucking dick,” I spit out across the grass and wheel back around, sword in both hands as though I’m going to be able to any of his blows. “You do got a lot of nerve, I’ll give you that. Strong and silent type huh? Guess that’s why they put us together. Someone’s got to fill all those brooding silences, right?”

Here we are, river raging behind us and clouds overhead, playing rock ‘em sock ‘em until one of us didn’t up or lost their heads.

A part of me wants to throw my sword right into the river.

Not because I want to give this cheeseball an easy victory. Nah, because it’s a lot harder to slog through a back and forth like this knowing you’re going to have to do it all over again.

Dig back down into that anger, right?

Except that’s not gonna solve the problem, taking in that anger and spinning it into fool’s gold. Maybe for a minute I’ll get a rush of adrenaline and push myself past the brink. Would be useful when your life is on the line. But how many times did I have to do that before I shattered?

Bitterness curdled. Especially when you thought something was owed.

I already knew I was strong enough. Bold enough. Funny enough. They didn’t have shit on me, none of them, and I wasn’t about to tap into whatever they’d tried to put in my veins to win.

No – I’d fight for me. Not out of spite. But for a chance at something.

This one’s for you, Tolsa.

And what the hell – you too, Xavier.

This kid could try clipping my wings, but I wasn’t about to stop flying.

I swung my sword in a circle and moved back toward him. My leg throbbed but this time, I wasn’t going to leave myself so open. Maybe I’d channel Alpha and get his head, or go right through the heart. Either way, I wasn’t about to lie down.

“It’s a vibe, not talking. Works for yah, stud.” I gave a wink to my would-be killer. “Though with us not sure it'd do it. I’m more of a screamer anyway.”

I could survive him.

Wings up and fly.

“GRRRRRRAH!”

[Cachimorro Olentzero d10a attacks Derecho Sinclair slicing his sword]

pqqWGo_qfisword
[+3.5]sword

[Knuckles]

d e r e c h o .

"the weight of the world is pullin' me down
(where are you now, where are you now)
every breathe feels like i'm gonna drown"

Nothing about this place is funny. No, it's simply hearing the sounds of bones breaking, of feeling the weapon cut into another person that brings a smile across his face because this is what he trained for. Maybe those who haven't trained will never grasp just how funny this is. It isn't about joking, no, but the idea of having something to laugh about, even at the sake of another person, gives Derecho a reason to keep going on despite his body begging him for a break.

But even being silent doesn't stop his opponent from talking.

He keeps going on and on, and Derecho wants nothing more than to tell him to stop talking, yet he knows that won't get him anywhere because he's already tried. So, instead, he simply ignores whatever Cachi is saying and focuses on fighting since that's what'll bring the honor and glory home to him and his family.

Maybe finding humor in this is a bad thing.

He never even considered it. Not once. All his life has been spent training for this moment that even grasping the concept of killing another goes above his wildest dreams, but it's the only way.

Laughter eases the pain, but some will never understand.

It helps him cope in the worst of situations. It takes away the pain for only a moment, but for the moment, laughter reminds him of the desire he has, of winning this game, and that means laughing when others suffer because they have to.

I have to. I've suffered long enough, and now it must go on.

Volunteering for this meant coming into a game where he had to suffer. It means that he has other option except to watch people die, to see them cry out in pain, and none of it matters because of none of them affects him. And now the only thing to do is finish what he's started. Without knowing how many days are left in this, if the gamemakers want to end this soon, or if they want to draw it out even longer, but the end is coming, and Derecho is prepared. The only thing standing in his way is this tribute that talks too much.

A heavy sigh leaves his chest, and in that moment the only thing on his mind is winning no matter what it takes.

I'll never apologize for surviving. I'll never apologize for laughing because this is me, and for the first time in my life, I am proud of who I am.

A large grin spreads across his face as another burst of laughter leaves his lips. If that's what it takes to distract the enemy, then that is what he'll resort to as long as Derecho doesn't distract himself in the process. Focusing is important but keeping his strength alive is even more important.

Fear doesn't belong here.

It never has, and it never will.

He faces Cachi and hoists his hammer into the air. It's helped him many times, and right now he needs it more than ever.

Just let go and believe.

elegant

lyrics: Human - Krewella

attacks Cachimorro | banhammer
S_Lav4lMCNspiked blunt

{ 14068 -- BROKEN RIGHT COLLAR BONE -- 6.5 damage +1 banhammer +1 strength }spiked blunt

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

*

"Shit..."

I can hardly breathe after he hits me full force with his hammer. We’re not evenly matched in firepower, and it’s beginning to show. His hammer cuts deeper, hits harder than anything I could muster with my sword.

I suppose I could get angry – that when I get so close to the end, here comes this asshole to knock me into the ground (literally) and make me realize there was never any chance that I was going home.

Charlie was supposed to be here. He was the hero, right? The sort of type that you’d find in fairytales about good and evil. Strong, brave, easy on the eyes, and ass that wouldn’t quit – of course it all was too good to be true. He’d gone and died and left me to pick up all the pieces for district ten. What would Mace say, or Saffron, seeing me covered in my own blood and flagging against this kid?

Home trickles through all of it, as sure as the river runs long behind us. I know the girls are watching, praying, probably cursing (they are my sisters, after all) that I can’t get my footing against this guy. Xavier probably raging at the broadcast, telling me not to treat this as a joke. Except how could I not? There’s no sense in thinking any of this should be the way it is, a kid with a sword and no training holding his own against something that could saw him in half and break him to pieces.

I guess it’s my hope that’s kept me holding on. After all, Cor’s gonna hear all about how I bounced back from this and I’d give her shit for thinking that I couldn’t do I again. I mean, I’d got the bastard’s throat last time. How about we chop him off at the neck? Or even better – right through the heart. Though I know to temper my own expectations. So long as I can still fucking stand at the end of all of it is kind of all that matters to me.

“Thanks for the laughs,” I reply, grinning. Even if he was laughing at me instead of with me didn’t matter. The kid either was cracking up or thought that I offered something most of his fights probably didn’t, a punch line, and I intended to land that shit. “You know, I’ll be here as long as this lasts, so I hope you’re enjoying the show.”

Cor and I had proven ourselves cockroaches again and again. Now was the time we scurried around in the light, did our business, and went right back under the rock again. Just keep moving, keep flying.

I pressed closer, my ankle dragging behind me as I came into position.

It’s go time, you son of a bitch.

I bounded into a swing and let ‘er rip.

“HNNNNNG!”

[Cachimorro Olentzero d10a attacks Derecho Sinclair d4 with a heavy swing of his sword]

AqIKJaXgmGsword
[+4]
sword

[Knuckles]

d e r e c h o .

"the weight of the world is pullin' me down
(where are you now, where are you now)
every breathe feels like i'm gonna drown"

Another crunch of a bone snapping beneath the weight of his trusty hammer, and for the first time Derecho realizes surviving may actually become a reality, but of course, he knows not to get too confident and cocky because that's when someone loses. He's seen it many times before, and he doesn't want that to become him.

"Thanks for the laughs."

It's strange that someone is thanking him for laughing at his pain, yet Derecho doesn't change his facial expression even as Cachi grins. If a show is what he's asking for, a show is what he'll get. But it all seems near impossible to please everyone. Hopefully those back home are enjoying the action presented before them. Hopefully those who counted him out realize that he' stronger than he's ever been given credit for.

So many times in life people have counted him out, they've said he wouldn't amount to anything, that he's wasting his time training.

How wrong they are.

And now he has this chance to show them, to prove that he's more than capable of schooling every single one of them in any hand-to-hand battle.

But I must stay calm.

Keeping a calm cool head is important and making sure he's always prepared for the next move. Sometimes all it takes is learning how his opponent moves before figuring out what exactly is needed. Most of the time walking into the unknown is a bad thing, and all it takes is looking at his mangled arm to realize that he's made a mistake that could cost him gravely.

Part of him wants to speak, to break the silence he provided himself, and now he doesn't have the chance to since it seems to be working. It seems to have knocked his opponent off his game, and that's exactly what Derecho needs. And now, now's his chance. A chance to give himself the upper leg that's needed despite the fear of death holding him back.

Volunteering for this was a mistake, and the only way to fix it is to win.

A black crown lays upon his head, but Derecho wants to replace it with the crown at the end of the game. A golden crown purified of all wrong doings, one that's stronger and heavier than the weight of this one. Being strong enough to hold the weight is important. It's nearly broken him, but now Derecho grows stronger with every passing breath. Not to mention the roaring of the river and the rain bring him the peace that's needed.

Nothing can stop me. For I am stronger than I ever imagined.

Raising the trusty hammer into the air, he takes a steady breath. Right now, the best thing he can do is make sure he trusts his gut and follows his training because it's all he has, and that is the only thing that can keep him alive.

elegant

lyrics: Human - Krewella

attacks Cachimorro | banhammer
JLkFqUSUcispiked blunt

{ 14155 -- STABBED IN CHEST -- 9.5 damage +1 banhammer +1 strength }spiked blunt

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

*

It’s not that there’s fear.

Should there be fear?

I know that I’m dying – that much should be easy to see with the blood pouring out my arms, stomach, and legs. It’s a strange here so close to death that I have some sort of comfort that all of this is ending now. Even with the canons firing around me, I can’t quite place what I should be feeling.

You always hear people lionize the dead but in the moments before dying you don’t feel much like a hero. Or at least any sort of saint people refer to after. I’ve already got blood on my hands, too, so I’m not sure how much they’re going to go into the details. I’m young enough that that gets forgiven, right? For my sister’s sake, I hope they do.

I wonder why he doesn’t say a word.

It’s not bad – probably would up my blood pressure if I had to hear someone go on and on about themselves. More eerie, than anything. He’s a man on a mission and I could respect that. Don’t want to die for it, but it’d be a better outcome than in most cases. He knows what he wants, how to hit, and I’m only standing in his way.

My gloves are the only thing standing in his way, and now I feel as though there’s nothing. Just him or me, staring down the end.

And I’ve already sort of thought it might’ve come for me before, so why now?

It’s worth deciding that I’m not giving up. Because fuck that.

"HNNNG!"

[Cachimorro Olentzero d10a attacks Derecho Sinclair d4 with his sword]

kr8ySDfsWRsword
[+8]sword

[Knuckles]

d e r e c h o .

"the weight of the world is pullin' me down
(where are you now, where are you now)
every breathe feels like i'm gonna drown"

The weight of the crown holds him down, tethers him to this earth, but the want to live, the desire to crawl to the top keeps him going even though his body is begging him to stop.

Spots flash before his eyes, and he's tired, but Derecho can tell that Cachi is close to the edge, yet he knows not to doubt him before it's completely over. So many times people have thought they were ahead, and then their opponent struck back right on the brink of death. Everyone is alive until their cannon sounds.

He's covered with blood, and he doesn't even know if it belongs to him or Cachi, but in this moment, it doesn't matter because it means he still has a chance to live, a chance to survive, a chance to make it out of this madness alive.

I'm so close, yet so far away.

It's terrifying and thrilling at the same time. It's something to keep him going. Something that gives him the courage and motivation to fight through whatever is pressed before him.

A frantic heart is clawing for an escape, and he tries calming himself down as the blade slices across his skin again, but it doesn't hurt anymore. His entire body is numb except the throbbing of a mangled arm. Nothing matters anymore, and all he cares about is living. Part of him wants to apologize for being an asshole, but deep down, Derecho doesn't care what he says to anyone here since everyone knows only one will make it out of this mess alive.

That person is going to be me.

Each breath feels like an eternity, but his eyes focus on the hammer, and at the same time, they focus on Cachi knowing that each movement is important. One wrong movement can end it all. One wrong movement is all it takes for this entire thing to come crashing down.

I'm almost there.

Reminding himself that this is almost over keeps him going, but most importantly, he fights for his friends, to keep their memory alive once this horrible game has come to an end. Kaius and Quinn taught him it's okay to have friendships even in the darkest of places. It doesn't matter where one comes from, but where the person is going, and that's the reason he's pushing through.

I fight for them as well as myself.

But most importantly, Derecho fights for his family because he wants his name to be known beyond the realm of the games. He wants people to see him for what he truly is and see exactly what he's capable of doing.

Listening to the rain and the rushing water, he steadies himself and lifts the hammer again. This is coming to an end no matter what happens. He just prays that the winner is him.

elegant

lyrics: Human - Krewella

attacks Cachimorro | banhammer
t7Y0FLDijxspiked blunt

{ 14020 -- MISS -- 0.0 damage }


accuracy reroll

spiked blunt

{ 14147 -- GASH/BRUISED LEFT HAND -- 3.0 damage }spiked blunt·spiked blunt

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

*

I have to laugh.

A sort of full throated, gargling that happens when I'm still standing and my whole body hasn't crumpled out from underneath of me. Ha. Haha. Ha.

It's kind of a joke to die, come back, and die again, isn't it?

That sounds just like something I'd do. Man - I wish Cor could've seen this.

I have to believe that one of these canons is from whoever she wrecked, and she's going to come just around the corner with that grin on her face. Probably ask me why I haven't finished yet. And here I am, still trying to survive, not just take him down. Though with the laughing and the flushed face I can't help but feel good? Hey, maybe he stabs me through the stomach and ends me, but I've stood my ground here. No one could've expected Cachi to still be on his own two feet a week in, staring down this sort of kid.

"That's a nice hit," I spit out another loogie of blood and give my best shit eating grin. He was going to break me apart, but not before I got to twist the needle one more time. "How's about I return the favor?"

Not that he had much to worry about. A broken shin, cracked ribs, bleeding stomach - I was more spirit than flesh at this point. But I wasn't going out without another swing.

You come to a point where you stand on the ledge and know there's nothing but down. But you gotta jump anyway. Because standing's not going to get you anywhere - just leave you broken.

"HNNNGUH!"

[Cachimorro Olentzero d10a attacks Derecho Sinclair d4 with his sword]

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