seek & destroy // mirage vs. haizea vs. theo

[Python]

"Idiot."

Mirage rolled her eyes at the anthem. Itzal's dumb face stared back at her, sandwiched between four other corpses. She shouldn't have expected anything more or less than getting himself killed as soon as they parted ways. Once again, she wondered if it was on purpose. If he truly feared her betrayal, he missed out on the merciful death she would've awarded him. Loyalty reaps benefits, after all. If he walked away and got himself mauled by gemstones or another Nikolas, that was his own doing. All she could do was sit and wonder the truth. If he ended up lost in the fog and this was all an accident, then that was unfortunate for him. Lesson learned; watch your back in the fog.

She did not rest easy. Vision rolling in and out made her feel on edge, and she tucked herself between two rocks in the hopes that she would be camouflaged. Sleep was unfortunately as crucial as ferocity. If her scars continued to eat away at her core, she would be in no shape to fight tomorrow. Seven tributes remained by her count. The finale was around the corner, she could taste the blood in the air. It was her own, but she imagined it was somebody else's. If fate was kind, it would bring Nikolas' corpse to her feet, and his death would seal her victory. A sweet joy that would be.

After waking up so many times, she decided to move her position. The peak was a sight to behold, but what was the point in beauty if it was shielded by fog? She couldn't see a damn thing, and she didn't plan to keep wandering by the edge of the highest point. She found a slope downward instead, a safe one. She didn't stop until she spotted something new - a building that looked like it didn't belong. It was withered and torn, like it was ancient. She knew that had to be impossible; arenas were designed, not festered over centuries. Shelter was shelter, however, so she sought refuge in this interesting landmark.

As she stepped inside, she heard the echoes of extra footsteps. Company. She quietly unsheathed her katana and watched shadows cross the floor. Haizea Rose-Izar was a name to remember simply because of her family's history. It was an unforgettable legacy, even if the tributes themselves were sometimes painfully forgettable.

And then there was Theo. She didn't know anything about him.

"Hello there," she stepped forward, blade still encrusted with Elm's blood, "I seem to have lost my dog. Did either of you kill him? Itzal Usoa."

It was curiosity, that's all.

"Not that I care about him. Just wondering."

[attacks haizea - katana]
onhXX_mBK9sword
Deep Gash on Right Thigh -- 8.0 damage +1 Blades

[attacks theo - katana]
sword
miss

accuracy on theo:
sword
miss

sword·sword·sword

[Deleted]

She slept terribly, to say the least.

Haizea Rose-Izar woke on the 7th day with tears drying on her face, still. Pierce Littleton had become a good friend over their time in the arena, something she never expected to find here. Something she was warned not to, and in the despair of night she understood why. It was unlike Ama, who she watched go in a mercy killing - she had no idea what become of Pierce. What fate unfolded on the likes of him, or of kind Maverick for that instance.

She stayed at the cave base all morning, blindly wishing Brennan would somehow, someway find her there and they could finish this thing together. That she wouldn't have to do it alone, please, but he never came. She didn't blame him, for all she knew the Gamemakers could be pushing him in a different direction entirely.

All she knew was that she would never see him again.

It was truly her against the world as she reentered the ancient ruins, a death trap since its beginning. It seemed this place was a beacon of bloodshed, for she felt Mirage's strike before even registering her words, her leg burning something vitriol. She seethes for a second, spitting out a "no, but I wish," as she grimaces, grabbing at the pain before straightening out with her katana.

"Dyno took the kill, but I tried my hardest to take that bastard down myself," Itzal's name alone hurt. What a disappointment, she really wanted to like him, truthfully. Mirage was a mystery though, living up to her name - she hadn't seen her once up until Mirage's attack on Haze. "You look terrible, what happened?"

Let me add a few scars.

[attacks mirage]
4yXvXwqHnK200+1000
[1118 -- Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage + 1]

She swings wide, throwing her body weight behind her lunge instead of calculating some kind of attack. Picking an angle, something of the sort, instead she just carelessly throws herself at Mirage, sloppy in the week's time. Still, she turns on her heels at the sound behind her, messy but not careless, she knew better than to leave someone unattended around here. "Hello, Theo," she says curtly, already panting at the pain in her leg.

"If I'm being honest, I hoped you'd die before we met again. You must understand," a tribute with a vendetta might just be as bad as a tribute picking a rivalry with you. Haizea had plenty of those still left hanging around, one presenting himself right in front of her. Theo was still standing though, right in front of her very eyes. Let's change that?

[attacks theo]
200+1000
[1087 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage]

200+1000·200+1000

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

Despite the light that Elm’s face provided in the sky, my world felt dark. Alone. I felt that death’s doors were gnawing at me. As the numbers get smaller and the end gets closer, a part of me worries about what’s to come. I can almost count on one hand the number of bodies that remain.

I’ve never had to fight on my own, and god damn, as Elm fades away, it’s real. I have nobody to back me up. As we’ve reached this point in the Games I’ve killed nobody. I worry that I’ll never get to, that they’ll get to me first. I stayed up with the fear of death gnawing on me like a hungry mutt. The only thing that calmed me was the sounds, and the smells, and the rocks I could feel my hands grazing as I felt the ground. It’s something that my father used to recite to me. The deepest roots of my veins were always angry. Ready to fight, defend, live. As a child, I never considered my options before I punched. My mother liked it. My father, not so much. He would tell me different strategies to calm myself. “Grounding,” or whatever, is the term he used. Counting down from five, he’d make me analyze my senses.

Five things I can feel.

Rocks, pebbles. The wind brushing my face. My sloppy sewing job that, if I paid attention in school, would probably work better. It bent and strained with my muscle movement. I feel the torn, blood-crusted clothes on my body. I feel the tight grip on my spear.

Four things that I can hear.

The wind, once again, howled like a wolf. The sound of grass and trees being kissed by the wind. My estranged, whispering, wheezing lungs if I forgot to inhale again. I heard the estranged crackle of thunder, ominous, warm, yet fear-inducing.

Three things that I can smell.

The distant cherry blossoms have danced throughout the arena. Their aroma is soft. I smell my breath, an unseasoned cup of noodles—something my mother would have never given me. My head dips, and I smell. No fuckin’ wonder she wouldn’t cook for me until I’ve showered.

Two things I can taste.

Copper. The dried-up blood on my lips, that when I lick them, the blood finds the moisture it lost. I taste the air, it’s empty, and tense, and warm. It feels like being muffled. Like a hand over my mouth, the warmth it traps and the shortness of breath it accepts.

Something I can see.

Nothing.

And that is so fucking scary.

My dad would rub my back throughout a seven-year-old boy's huffing and red-cheeked, fat-lipped babbles. He’d whisper confidence, telling me that I was doing good and telling me to take deep breaths. I wish I was doing good, but statistically, I’m not even doing okay. How frequently do victors make it this far without life on their blade? I relay the numbers again. Five, four, three, two, one, and I wish my dad were here. I always have. But he was the one who could soothe me as a child. My mother would just wrap my bandages and call me stupid. Sure, I don’t think. But it’d be nice to get told I was okay. But it’s not okay. I’m so fuckin’ scared, but I didn’t come so far to lose. I never made it out of Eight for the league, I gotta get back to it.

The morning brought me to another duo. In the same place that I first met Haizea and Brennan, it only felt fitting that we square up again here. I recognize her. But, the other girl, Mirage is her name I believe. All I remember is that she got a high score and that shit intimidated me. But Francine got the highest.

I helped her die yesterday.

”Hello there,” Mirage spoke up, stepping forward with a blood-encrusted blade. ”I seem to have lost my dog. Did either of you kill him? Itzal Usoa.” I remember him, now that I reflected to the anthem last night. We did one of those fight simulator things together. Dude was cool, but I have no cigarette to owe to him. ”Not that I care about him. Just wondering.” Her blade misses my skin, and I breathe, realizing that today did not excuse me from death. Haizea responds, saying she tried the hardest to kill him herself. The bastard more specifically. I guess she’s allowed to talk shit, but according to her buddy from three, I shouldn’t know anyone kinder. She swings her blade at Mirage, then turns away to find my eyes.

”Hello, Theo,” Haizea held a cold bite behind her voice. Like my father’s grave. ”If I’m being honest, I hoped you’d die before we met again. You must understand,” and somehow, I do. We all hope each other dies sooner than later, bringing us home from this place that will illuminate our nights and fill our medicine cabinets. Her blade meets my thigh, and I wince and grit.

”Hi.” I use it as a response to both tributes, unsure where to place my weight between the two. Haizea was quick to swipe at Mirage, leaving a river, and I think it’s a good enough place to start. Survive. With how most Games go, I just need to survive two more days, two more fights. ”Mirage, yeah?” I spent most of my time training with the buffet. Or the alcohol, or whatever limited private training I could get. I didn’t find it necessary to bond with the enemy too much. Finding a balance in my body, I try to use it to my best in her direction.

[attacks mirage, spear]
yrBa5ZzjrCspear
[3175 - sc - 3.5]

I turn to Haizea, holding more words for her than the girl from nine. ”Your buddy told me the same thing.” I exhale, remembering the kindness he spared her. ”The alive one. Not Pierce.” He must feel cold without having a body to hold him, to make him feel alive in his deathbed. Now Brennan has to hold the air and hope their spirits have welded enough to fill the gap. ”He also said you’re the most loving, caring, and warm person in this arena.”

Whatever that’s worth.

”Take that as it is, though.” My arm bends, returning to the fighting instincts my father once turned me away from. ”You might want to cherish his life before you don’t see him again.”

[attacks haizea, spear]
spear
[miss]

[accuracy reroll, haizea]
spear
[block]

[kaitlin]

spear·spear·spear

[Python]

Happy Fucking Hunger Games!

She remembered Dyno shouting those words into the void before the Bloodbath started. It was blurted after a boastful justification for why he wouldn't be staying for the wealth. As a career, he had a leg up on the others, but just as Mirage had decided, he did not leave his life in the hands of fate. The Bloodbath was a collection of chaos, and all it took was one lucky hit and you were dead on the ground. This year, nobody had died so quickly, but it proved that Dyno was smart. She had almost forgotten about him. To think he was out there somewhere proving his point, and Itzal had been unfortunate enough to cross paths with him. Idiot.

A distraction was her goal - she raked the edge of her blade across Haizea's leg. Whatever happened yesterday, Haizea managed to survive an encounter with Dyno. Maybe he wasn't so impressive after all, or he was weak after days worth of fighting.

You're one to talk. Izar pointed out the state of her body, and Mirage didn't bother to look down. She hadn't seen her own reflection in days. There were no ponds to feed her such information, and she didn't want or need to know . What mattered was how she felt. There was pain, there were aches in her leg that probably needed professional medical attention, but riding this delusion was how she planned to win. She was perfectly fine. Seeng herself look like an abused voodoo doll would only hinder her.

"I got into a lot of fights. Won all of them. You should see the other guys." She smirked and pointed to the sky. All of them had been broadcast in the anthem - Ivy, Johnny, Elm. A starry graveyard for their inevitable departures. She wondered if the sky had been chosen to make people feel like the tributes were watching over them - or maybe it was just easier that way, being in a dome and all. Best not to overthink it. She didn't believe in heaven anyway.

Theo came barreling in, and she deflected most of the damage. Her arms had felt like needles for days now. He said something about Haizea's friends and how she was such a warm, kind person - which was exactly why Mirage had written her off has nonthreatening in the beginning. Weak traits did not bring forth victory. Something must have changed in her. Let's see what it is.

"Oh my, is there beef between you two? Do tell. I love to hear a good story while I'm killing."

[attacks haizea - katana]
qMRckM44ewsword
Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage

[attacks theo - katana]
sword
Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage

sword·sword

[Deleted]

It nearly unnerves her how natural she snaps back into combat. The essence of it beckons, and she gives into it without a moment's hesitation - that's the only way to do it, really. You play the game or the game plays you, the longer you wait, the worse it gets. Killing has changed her in a way she's scared can't be undone, but she'll worry about that when she can. When she's out of here, perhaps, or when she's wherever her God will meet her halfway. 

But he's not here, here there is no God or law or morals, just whoever plays the Game best. For a while it was them, the starlords rising higher and higher in the arena, but in this moment she's just as low as anybody else could be. Stuck between a Mirage and a Theo, an uncompromising place to be; still, all the better than where she was yesterday. She didn't expect to die here, not by these two. 

Doesn't mean it couldn't happen. 

"Your buddy told me the same thing. The alive one, not Pierce," he says, and Haizea winces at the thought of her dead companion. 

"Ass," she mutters under her breath, recoiling strikes with her katana as Theo speaks. All bark, no bite it seems, she didn't want to fuck around and find out. Still, something in her softens as she thinks of Brennan and his kind words about her- so he didn't leave me? The fog was so thick, she wasn't sure what had happened, only that one minute it was the both of them, the next he was gone. "He's wrong. That girl is dead, and I don't plan on seeing him again," she says, in a way to dismiss the feelings fluttering inside of her. There's only one outcome of them seeing each other again, and she refuses to; not again Brennan. 

You shouldn't underestimate me - as she's turned to Theo, Mirage cuts at her shortly. Just enough to break skin, to draw her attention back out to her. "Oh my," she starts, "is there beef between you two? Do tell," good thing it isn't that long a story. Haizea grips her arm until the pain fades a pinch, eyes trained on Mirage until she's ready to speak. "Long story short, three days ago Theo killed my ally so I killed his," she holds onto her katana now with both hands, centering herself in a way. 

"Well, he didn't kill anything-" Haizea darts her eyes at Theo, wondering if he's managed to kill anything at all, "-Svetlana did, but he had a whole lot to say." Yet he's standing and she's not, all you've got to be quicker than is one person. There's always a second of silence before another attacking, the wind up versus the bracing for it, it's uncanny when you know to look for it. 

[attacks mirage]
6SUEsK94Ub200+1000
[-]

"The alive one," she scoffs before swinging at Theo one more, "his name is Brennan." She aims to take his eye out, but the height difference alone makes that feat daring. She hardly scrapes his cheek, the blood drawn like a single tear before turning towards Mirage again. Swinging wide and swinging loud, Haizea redirects momentum and stabs at her, lunging with her body weight into the girl from 9.

[attacks theo]
200+1000
[1120 -- Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage]


[accuracy on mirage x]
200+1000
[1075 -- Stabbed in Bicep -- 8.5 damage + 1]

200+1000·200+1000·200+1000

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

The world felt so empty. It felt like looking out at the Exy fields after a big game and there’s a calm, an emptiness to this once-celebrated place. It’s weird, knowing that seventeen people have died already, yet it’s never enough. My blade glides against Mirage’s body, and Haizea remains untouched from my spear. Trying to kill people is a lot more difficult than I thought. It’s easy to knock a tooth out. Let it bleed, let the gap act as a momentary reminder that you’re not as invincible as you thought you were. But your body and spirit are completely different fuckin’ things. Where I can lick at my teeth and feel the missing canine, if I’m dead, I can’t lick. I’m just… gone, a lost player on the field, a jersey that gets hung up. Because that’s all I was - and still am.

I will never be someone other than the punk-ass from Eight. Unfortunate, as some may say, but I was always going to get fucked over eventually. The world just… does it to me sometimes, and all I did growing up was bare it. Wear it on my arm or on my face with a busted lip. I was always a punk to the rest of the boys in my part of the district. But, if I live, I’ll be the winning punk-ass from the block which has a much better tone to it. Haizea speaks up, noting that the kindest, nicest, sweetest girl in the arena ”is dead, and I don't plan on seeing him again,” which I’m sure Brennan would love to hear after his fuckbuddy died the night earlier. I’ll keep note of the confession. Folding it away to a conversation for another day, I realize her relationship with the boy may be just as transactional as mine with Svet and Elm. Sure, I appreciate ‘em, and we fought side by side for days. But they aren’t shit. Nobody is. They’ll be dead. What can I do with a dead body?

Mirage pulls some words out, trying to be bold, or brave, or powerful for doing what got us all here by now. "I got into a lot of fights. Won all of them. You should see the other guys." And I can’t, but, I know that their faces are in the sky. Hung like a jersey for a few holographic moments, and then swept away to focus on the next day, the next season. Every jersey has a body that can replace it. I just want to be able to wear mine again.

My comments about Brennan and his special words of appreciation must have rang a bell to Nine. Maybe they need something for us to bullshit on to get a good hit in, which works, as her blade licks my back. She’s interested, a dog with it’s tail up, a cat that has it’s teeth bared. "Long story short,” as if it was much of a story, it’s the game that we play. ”three days ago Theo killed my ally so I killed his." I didn’t do shit to her little friend, who was it, Amaterasu? She fought with the blade that both Svetlana and Francine died with. And now that it’s fallen to the hands of Brennan, I hope the trend continues. It was peaceful, almost, seeing such a quick downfall to a group of people who’d soon turn into a pain in my ass. "Well, he didn't kill anything-" her eyes dart to me, and a pang meets my chest at the reminder that I haven’t done shit in this arena. "Svetlana did, but he had a whole lot to say."

And I still do. I want to yell, scream. I want to release every anger I have at the world. I want my dad to open the door to my home in the village, that way I can release the storm of pain, hurt, anger, confusion, betrayal, loneliness, to the man. But I can’t even promise myself that he’s alive. I can only feel my heartbeat, watch the blood that leaves my scars and know that he is with me. And because of it I want to die more than live. End the bloodline of a man that doesn’t even grant love to his spring.

But now, I can’t say much.

She takes a moment to hold onto her weapon, her world, before she strikes at Nine. I open my mouth to speak, wanting to spew some shit toward her way, but what.

"His name is Brennan."

Did I ever give a damn about his name? I shouldn’t, at least, if this girl was so quick to displace the generosity he spared her. They spend so much time defending each others’ title to refute their own. She spits his name out like a venom as her blade lands a kiss on my cheek, harsher than Woods, but softer than my father’s. In my mind, I’m racing to find a reason to speak to either of the women, but I can’t find the space to think. When the end is so close, I don’t want to sacrifice time in a fight. I’ve struggled enough lately to take a life for my own, and soon enough, that ain’t gonna work.

My hands are firm on my spear. My mind doesn’t have the same grip.

’Just shut up.” I mumble, looking at her, and then Mirage, and back at her. ”I don’t care about any of you, let alone your names.”

I only care that they die.

”I’ll have a notecard to read off of when I have to.” Victory tours have those things, right? Or is it all on the spot? Regardless, I don’t have a damn word to say to Haze, let alone Mirage. My body continues to fight for its' passage to victory, but I can't find it in myself to commit.

[attacks mirage, spear]
|Zgsqj5v6Hspear
[result]

[attacks haizea, spear]
spear
[result]

[kaitlin]

spear·spear

[Deleted]

“Well that’s one way to quiet her,” better her than me xo peace sign “sorry you’re so miserable- no I’m not” flees thread