me and karma vibe like that [EA Leisure Day 3]

[ryan]

the cannon throws her off for a moment, she puts the torch in her hand instead of cradling it between her back and the ugly bag she had grabbed from the cornucopia. she was slightly perplexed, trying to figure out who might have perished in all the commotion. elle was a little uncomfortable, but that was because of a mix of pain and self loathing. she knew that she was already supposed to have a list of kills. her family expected that much of her.

secretly, she didnt give a shit what her family thought of her. she was okay with taking her time, because that meant that other people would do the work for her. she was the high queen bitch, but she also knew that letting pawns take care of each other was always the best move. it was always best to protect the big pieces on a chessboard. another death was just another pawn falling.

the goal was taking the king.

she found a big expanse of the den, well lit and full of plants growing in the distance. elle could recognize that they were safe varieties, including ones that would help with the pain that was searing through her chest. she put the torch in one of the rungs in the rock wall and took a seat as she grabbed the last of her med kit. she looked up and gave a concerned look as she realized that she only had 5ft of bandages left. she sighed as she grabbed them and removed the shawl that she had on. she began to wrap some of the bandages over her chest, taking a deep breath as she applied pressure.

thats when she heard the parachute coming down, she couldnt help but sigh in relief. someone had seen her face, and that probably saved her life. the parachute flew right into her hands, and when she opened it, she found a fresh needle and thread and another set of bandages. she picked out the note and it read "stop getting mauled by mutts and stay alive. -A" elle shook her head and raised her middle finger up to the sky, "easy for you to say bitch." she was directly talking to anatalia morrisen of course. she was surprised just how much anatalia had taken interest in her. from what she could remember, anatalia had said many times that she wanted to take a step back from mentorship. maybe elle struck a chord with her.

she didnt know, she didnt care, she was however, thankful.

as she sealed up her wounds, she heard footsteps in the distance, and a part of her was slightly worried, but the axe was already in a hands reach, and she was not going to let anyone get the jump on her.

"if youre trying to sneak up on me, youre doing a shit job of it." she said plainly into the moonlight. the axe was already in one hand and her head had cleared up immensely.

she was seeing clearly now.

[kaitlin]

[elle does actions that will be posted in maint]

[pogue]

C   A   S   H

Almost as soon as they make their way away from the fight and towards the sunlight the Den swallows them whole once more, winding and curling passageways making their path out of there look more like an awkward stumbling forwards into the darkness. Cash's hand is still wrapped tight around Cantara's arm in both loyalty and selfishness, a desperate clinging to his own ally and a selfish need to feel the way he blood drips and curls down his own arm.

In his mind is a constant replaying of the sight and smell of death, a wave of blood cascading across thinning flesh, the sound of splatters as it hit the ground, the cannon in its wake. It all mixes in the forefront of his mind until all he can think of is the smell of metal and the taste of the same, his mouth watering at the thought and his own heart telling him he shouldn't crave such things as that.

But this is a place of darkness, desire, death and destruction. He's watched three people fall now, heard their cannons bounce and carve their memories into the walls, rattle his bones and shake his heart. Morality has been scraped clean from the arena and, in its absence, something darker has taken hold. It's why his humanity loses out to poisonous instinct, hand slipping free from guiding Cantara so that he can slide his tongue against the scarlet trails that coat his own hand, staining his teeth red with blood and salivating at the way it burns against his lips.

It tastes like sorrow, sadness, rage and fury and-

abandonment. He casts a glance back towards Cantara and catches her staggering in her own footsteps, gaze away from him as if she's looking for someone else, something new and something found and him forgotten. His gaze charts the path of the wound on her limb and weighs his own options. Leave or stay, kill or be killed, to trust or to die for. It takes him a heavy moment, looking towards his only remaining ally and wondering what to do with her, before he feels the number Five burn into his back, bringing with it memories of home and of his own family, of trust. He wonders what they think of him now, if they can bear to think of what he is now.

His gaze steels, voice shaking up from his throat and words staggering into the darkness between them. "Eyes up, Cantara. We need to keep moving."

It's only when her gaze turns back towards him that he is able to find solace in his decisions, empty stares shared between them and turning ahead towards the winding passageway in front of them. "I think I see sunlight up ahead- might be a way out." He mumbles, gripping his axe tighter and feeling golden claws dig into his palm. They move as quick as they can muster, his senses focused solely on the way Cantara's blood drips and splatters agains the passages, blurring his thoughts. "Two kids from Five still alive by now-, bet no one would have thought-"

His congratulations is interrupted by a swallowing of sunlight, flame bouncing off the walls and illuminating the tribute in front of them. "If you're trying to sneak up on me, you're doing a shit job of it."

He recognizes the features outlined in the torchlight, a girl he does not know and two tributes she could easily kill standing before her. Instinctively he wants to step backwards and let Cantara claim her role as alpha once more, coyote in sheeps clothing waiting to strike. But she is too injured now, shaking limb and bleeding wound and he knows that if he lets Cantara take the lead her words, daggers in their own right, will get them both killed.

"Whoa, whoa now. No need." His hypocrisy burns into his statement, one hand still clutching his axe. "We ain't looking for a fight..." He says, as if it matters. There's a silence that follows, long and deadly and begging to be broken. He complies, an offer of peace and a feigned surrender, his axe lowering to his side.

"We're just lookin' for a way out of here. Like you.."

[Maint. stuff]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

All at once Cash releases the pressure on her arm. His timing is excellent; the wound has mostly clotted. It won't need more than a stitch or some makeshift bandages. She gives it a little sniff to check for infection (all clean) then lifts her yellowing eyes to thank him.

Only to catch him gobbling up the traces of her blood.

She stumbles, averts her gaze. It's better this way, skyward, lifting towards the great beast she saw in the Den. The who felled the other wolf. The leader.

"Eyes up, Cantara. We need to keep moving."

Cantara scowls, bearing sharpened teeth. "Two kids from Five still alive by now-, bet no one would have thought-"

Her hair, which is coarser, thicker, grown longer from the serum so that it almost touches her shoulders and lifts into a crown above her head, rattles as she shakes her head. "People don't think that critically," she began. She meant the scientific definition of critical, e.g. deeply. She knew better than most that others always thought judgmentally as well. But if anyone in Panem was actually following the odds, calculating their advantages and disadvantages, hypothesizing about their chances -- well, that would be unusual.

And she didn't think they were the worst off in the arena, despite their losses.

Her heart squeezes a little at the thought of Terra and Carsyn.

Then, a welcome burst of brightness. She lifts a gold tipped-claw to block out some of the torchlight. Her fingers are relaxed, claws open. "We ain't looking for a fight..."

"Are not," Cantara corrects quietly in the dark. Then, gravel-bound voice lifting to just shy of a whine: "yes, a way out. And the other -" she stops here, suddenly, as though it had not occurred to her before to actually name the thing that they've become, that saying 'werewolf' aloud would cement her insanity. Instead, "the big tribute. Did he make it out alive?"

[Cantara collects stuff from the Den and sponsorship.]

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

I WANT TO CRY.

But I can’t. I shouldn’t - why am I the one mourning when I just killed a pack member, a family member, a friend? I do not own any allegiance to the tribute. Is it sadness out of playing the games, becoming an official pawn? The idea of being a part of their games officially made me sick. Maybe I’m just scared of what Dustin thinks of me now. The idea of my little brother, the fifteen-year-old boy who clung to me the day I got sent here, being scared of me. Fearing me. Not recognizing what - or who - I am now. Let alone the cat, who I can’t imagine will be able to treat me the same if I look like a dog coming home.

Being so lost in my thoughts, I just ran. I wanted out of there. Not near that center of the dead. I want out of here. The arena, the Games. Though I don’t want to die, despite it seeming the closest option to getting out. The store needs me.

GET ME OUT OF HERE.

The walls of the tunnel bend and twist in the worst way possible. I don’t know where to go or how to get out of here - I just want to leave.

Voices were heard in the distance. I don’t know who, or what. The part of me scared of my ability to kill wanted to leave. Avoid it. I don’t want to add to another corpse. But, the wolf inside of me overtook once again.

JOIN THE PACK.

Following my scents, my tracks led to the voices getting louder. Familiar. "the big tribute. Did he make it out alive?" I hear a voice, and I peer out around the corner. I can’t speak to let my presence be heard. It’s a duo from the fight that I just finished as it started. The concern from the other tribute was heartening. Maybe it was more of a concern for themselves rather than for me.

To give way to my presence, all I could muster was a small yip. Nothing of volume or power, just in to preserve some face. Maybe if I don’t bark as loud they won’t be scared.

ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT ME?

[/font]

[does the things!]