i felt a funeral, in my brain, [ c-4 - day two mutts ]

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

C  A  R  S  Y  N

Grief makes us human, I’d said to myself over, pressing the tip of the needle first against my skin, and then into it. Even as I pushed the anti-serum through myself, I could think only of the time I’d spent less than that, which was really to say I couldn’t figure out what know what I had been less than at all.

But I must have been less than human—those hours between the ascent into the arena and the here and now, digging the needle around in my own veins to give myself evidence—more evidence—that this was a way back to the before, that time before time in which we are not forced to think about what we might want to return to, and why. Grief makes us human, I had whispered into the night again, the needle slipping out of my skin and down to the ground beside me, and that’s never made us pure, I had thought.

*

When we wake and stir, the air is cold enough to mean something, but not enough to touch the bones inside. I feel the pressure anyway to shrink into myself—that fundamental urge to make smaller, to conserve. As the two of them rumble around me, I feel as though I am myself, lost at the mouth of the cave, and I am standing at the edge of the world and know that all around me beasts are hibernating. Spring is coming. This is the pivotal moment of decision for the next season, and the next after that.

I know I cannot afford it, but I have long resigned myself to following their lead—Coyote’s and Cantara’s that is—and I fall into the pattern now, plodding behind them, tracking my body in the spaces between theirs and seeing how our footprints align. The earth beneath us is soft and so willing, holding us as we walk so that with each step there is a moment of flight so prolonged that there becomes pieces of me, temporal and scattered, that are unsure of the identity of the body they are returning to.

When the noise overwhelms us everywhere and all at once, I cannot bring myself to think it’s anything but the water roaring past.

[ table: pogue ]

[ carsyn bowers attacks baleel pack ]
iqnFGWZDZiknife
[result]

[ accuracy; day two ]
knife

knife·knife

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

The moment they selected a campsite and set a watch, Cantara collapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep. When she woke - minutes or hours later - she found herself belly up, staring at the inky night sky. She tossed an arm over her eyes only for it to come away slick with sweat. That wasn’t unusual for her, not after the competition in Six. Most nights she woke up shivering, sweating, teeth chattering. Tonight just the sweat remained, and something new: the hairs on the backs of her arms had grown in thick and coarse.

She sat upright, necklaces clattering. In the dark she could make out the other two lumpy forms of her allies. So much for a watch rotation. “Is it my shift already?” She snarled. Cleared her throat. Coughed.

Her voice sounded nothing like her own.

It was filled with gravel and grit and rang at a far lower register than she’d ever known. Without a doubt she was ill again. But how gravely? Hand to her forehead she considered her options and quickly realized that she might be sick, but she did not have to appear frail.

Up to her feet she surged. During the pre-dawn hours she busied herself with inventorying what she’d claimed from the Chapel and what had come her way in silver missives. It was a respectable haul. That meant that some people in Panem still believed in her. While her allies slept - or didn’t sleep, she didn’t check - she tended to her own wounds.

Come dawn she was feeling much better.

Much more alive.

Cantara Kanansis thought nothing of it as she snapped the tenth claw cap over her elongated, thickened nails. “We ready?” She barked. Her neck and lower jaw had extended to accommodate her new vocal chords. If she wanted to, she could howl loudly enough to echo throughout the arena. But who would that call?

Certainly not her allies.

If she had been suspicious of them before, now she looked at them with unchecked wariness. Cash, in particular, smelled strange. Sweet. Cloying. Like the way the hospital tent had smelled right before they’d given her painkillers. She did not want to get too close. So when he picked a direction, she followed, loping in the sunshine. At some point in the journey they sorted themselves into a more comfortable order: Coyote and Cantara separated by Carsyn. She felt, acutely, the absence of Terra.

They made their way towards the sound of cascading falls. Even from afar it was clear that the liquid pouring down wasn't water, or at least, wasn't unadultered. The closer they drew the more Cantara's stomach turned.

Instinctively she lifted her snout into the air. Breathed in deeply. "Blood," she murmured.

Blood, and enemies.

Cantara snarled at the mutts, happy to speak their language. Her gold tipped claws snatched at empty air.

[Cantara attacks the Baleel Pack; Teeth (knife)]

QndAaU8jltknife

[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

[accuracy -- day 2]

knife
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

knife·knife

[pogue]

C   A   S   H

His shoulder still aches when they set up their campsite for the night, nestled deep in the forgotten shadows of the Cathedral's outskirts. They are tattered and weary, bruised and beaten but alive nonetheless. He knows their own ally could not say the same, would never get the chance to, and it's the guilt that he fears the most when he offers to take the last and longest watch of the night, alone with nothing but his thoughts and the moon.

Surprisingly, thankfully, the guilt never comes. Not because it is not there, but because something far more deadly comes first.

It's on the third hour of staring into the void, feeling it stare back at him like predator does to prey, that he feels the same prickling dig into his bones and slice at his veins beneath tissue paper flesh. He blinks it away at first, then scratches at the surface of his skin like it will do anything to stop it. Relentless, persistent, unavoidable he feels a sickness etch and claw at what is left of his soul before it takes over completely, grasping at his teeth as gums split open and he feels something sharp dot along the edges of his teeth. Sensitive to the touch and waves of fire exploding out from fried nerves he bites back the cry of pain that threatens to rise from his throat and out into the midnight sky.

It takes what feels like an eternity for the pain to wear off and another before his allies begin to stir once more, watching the moon slowly lose a never ending battle to the sun, hidden behind an ominous veil of gray clouds. The pain wears off just before they all rise like zombies in the daylight, feeling their bones ache and wounds half-sealed threaten to rip open once more. Above everything else, the losing of an ally and the losing of flesh on his left should and-

- he thinks of Terra, then of what he did.
The losing of his own morals.

Above any and all of that it is the silence that gnaws at him the most as they make their way away from the shallow graves of the Cathedral, its bodies written in crimson and scarlet across the grounds. His own thoughts dance around judgement that he'd prefer unclouded, reminding him of everything that he is and all of what he isn't, all that he has done and all that he will have to do before he goes home. The silence does nothing but strengthen them, until it feels as if he can do nothing but claw at his own flesh until there are nothing but scraps of sins left over, take himself out of this arena before the rest of them can.

It's the sound of the water that saves him. Then, it's the smell.

Adrenaline washes over him with anger and fury, a tidal wave of sweetness and pounding drums and the smell of something red, something he shouldn't like. It's like a switch flips inside of him and the newly grown fangs that dot his teeth suddenly echo and ache as if longing for the liquid of the cascading falls before them. From his place in the rear of their dwindling pack his eyes shoot to the way Carsyn and Cantara's veins poke out from the soft flesh of their necks, a line drawn and an x marking the spot where he knows he would bite. He loses himself, if only for a moment, in the way his senses pop and twist and overwhelm him entirely and his own judgement threatens to fail him, drive his claws into the necks of his own allies and drink.

Luck has him in its claws, fortunate and furious the arena answers his call before he can act on it. "Blood", Cantara mutters.. he grunts in response and feels his claws sharpen in his hands. 'No use just standing there-" He says in a voice that sounds like sorrow, that's how Terra died, something in the back of his head says to him...

he knows it's a lie.

[cash attacks baleel pack ; acrylic nails hunnnnn]

v4lQhjRcEIknife

[4.0]

knife

[lance]

The Bloodborne Chorus

They glide effortlessly through the red, drinking in the overwhelming iron scent, peering lazily through a crimson haze. Few of their kind dare venture up here, so close to the land, so far away from their protector, yet even amongst the baleels lie a few who grow weary of the same old sights. Up here is new and exciting and oh is there so much potential for fresh prey.

And when there isn't, well, the lifeblood of the falls themselves will sustain them, much like it does their protector.

Today, they are lucky. A small herd of prey - three of them, to be precise - have stumbled close enough to the shoreline in order to draw interest. It is not as tempting, perhaps, as a lone stray, but the prey is merely three, and they are many. They are predators, the mighty songstresses, and the prey?

Well, one prey snarls at them, a declaration of war. They can lower themselves to more primal, savage songs too, if needed.

but the chorus isn't their only weapon of war.

the chorus swarms towards carsyn, threatening to overwhelm her with their song; teeth

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2033 -- Block -- 0.0 damage


the chorus snarls at cantara, meeting her battle cry with one of their own; teeth

knife

2126 -- Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage


the chorus admires cash's nails, yet cannot suffer any rivals to their slay; teeth

knife

2138 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage

knife·knife·knife

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

C  A  R  S  Y  N

Filler #1 while traveling!

[ table: pogue ]

[ carsyn bowers attacks baleel pack ]

degFRI4Z2Jknife

[8.0]

knife

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

"No use just standing there-"

She wants to rejoin: like you did?

Like I did?

And it's not that she's afraid of the fight that would inevitably follow. She craves that. It's that she won't believe him, no matter what he says. The silence that has grown between them since the Bloodbath yawns like an open maw. To tilt, even the slightest bit, towards it would be to drown.

So, she keeps Terra Casimir on her lips.

When the tangle of mutts growl at her, nip at her heels, Cantara bears her teeth. She knees, claws extended, and tries to rip their heads off. "We need to recalculate," Cantara hisses over her shoulder.

[Cantara attacks the Baleel Pack; Teeth (knife)]

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[Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage]

knife

[pogue]

C   A   S   H

Filler bc Halloweekend AND work AND insurance issues! Yowza!

[cash attacks baleel pack ; acrylic nails hunnnnn]

k5gVGhk35cknife

[Result]

knife

[lance]

The Bloodborne Choru

They fight, and glide, and strike, to varying levels of success. One prey avoids their teeth entirely, one merely gets scratched, and it is only the third one that any measure of success comes through, with one lucky extension of their will leaping up and digging into the prey's arm. Yet the prey fights back, deadly as ever - one piece of their conscious goes dark when the first one, the skilled one, slices one of their bodies in two.

That will not do. Prey is prey for a reason, and that reason is not to kill baleels.

it's time that the prey learn their place for good.

the choru screams at carsyn, yearning to take revenge; teeth

isGMXNrAZ5knife

2133 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage


the choru shimmies up to cantara, and their hissing drowns out her own; teeth

knife

2040 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage


the choru smells cash's blood, and strange as it may be, they want more; teeth

knife

2047 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage

knife·knife·knife

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

C  A  R  S  Y  N

Filler #2 while traveling!

[ table: pogue ]

[ carsyn bowers attacks baleel pack ]

3zBvpMun7wknife

[3.5]

knife

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

Hiss his s growl growl filler #1

Cantara attacks the Baleel Pack; teeth (knife)

F9a9IeX8uZknifeknife

[pogue]

C   A   S   H

Filler #2

[cash attacks baleel pack ; knife]

vs4rWLa2qPknife

[4.5]

knife

[lance]

The Bloodborne Chor

Another one falls, under a combined assault. They grow weary, think that perhaps, the pay may not be worth the cost inflicted.

Yet they strike forth again, nevertheless

it's all they know how to do, after all.

the chor gnaws at carsyn, hoping to even the odds; teeth

|a9IsIgRhkknife

2050 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage


the chor hisses at cantara, hoping to assert dominance; teeth

knife

2013 -- Shallow Cut on Left Shoulder -- 3.5 damage


the choru slurps at cash, hoping that maybe this time, he'll truly pay; teeth

knife

2051 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage

knife·knife·knife

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

C  A  R  S  Y  N

Filler #3 while traveling!

[ table: pogue ]

[ carsyn bowers attacks baleel pack ]

bBhIFGHgsbknife

[9.0]

knife

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

Filler #2, eek!

[Cantara attacks the Baleel Pack; Teeth (knife)]

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[Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage]

knife