Round One: Veala vs Reno (D5)

[hesper hart 🐺 d9f]

The tribute stands with bare feet in loose dirt and mud below the dark, damp arena. If they look up, they see light and dust pouring in from the cracks in the wooden flooring. And already, they can hear the cheers, the calls for death. A man-sized bird cage comes to a stop at the ground in front of them and if they aren't wise enough to step in on their own, the peacekeepers will shove them inside. Once the gates are locked behind them, they'll know for sure though: this is officially it. No amount of hope will save them now. Only sharpened steel.

As they rise into the arena, the crowd's applause grows overwhelming in its noise, bleeding into a force of sound like a wall, pushing the tributes further into their cages.

"What an exciting show we have planned for you all today!" A voice the tributes may or may not recognize as belonging to Harlan Godfrey booms over any other voice to be heard.

The tributes will notice that they are standing in a courtyard, with a lush green carpet of grass, and they're surrounded on all sides by a gigantic hedge maze. If the tribute bothers counting, they'll also notice 12 different gates encircling the area, each with a bulky padlock the tributes will be able to make out with ease. As if calling to them, the key ring at their hips grows heavy.

They also notice another cage like their own on the other side of the courtyard, occupied with their own district partner. At the same time, both cages will open. As both tributes climb out of their cages and into the arena, they'll both notice a table nearby, full of rather basic-looking swords of all sorts of different shapes and sizes, though some are obviously missing. They'll also notice a few of those swords have been left lying in random places on the grass, undeniably covered in blood.

"Up next to fight, our District Five tributes: Veala Jones versus Reno Xayahs!"

---

Weapon: Sword

Veala Initiative - 11.11
Reno Initiative - 63.14

Retro Engine Link: Here

Reminder that tributes have not been granted any stations for this games including weapon modifiers, accuracy, first aid, or even stealth. As a result, both tributes will need to make non-attack intro posts before they begin attacking. If tributes refuse to fight each other, please let me (Dars) know asap so that I can schedule mutts for your fight. As always, 24 hour posting rules are in effect and will be enforced.

This fight will conclude once either tribute has died, and you both have until Friday, 28th of April at 6 pm pst to finish them yourselves, or mutts will be deployed to finish the job.

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

"Do I have to take it off?"

Reno complies with the Peacekeeper's request to change his clothes for the arena. They're dirty and torn up. The thought of staying in the same rotted clothes that his family last saw him in makes his stomach ache. He was too scared to say goodbye to them, too embarrassed to do anything other than stare as the keepers tucked his head through the train door and locked it behind.

There's one part of his attire that he won't give up: the glove. Reno holds it down as one of the Peacekeepers requests him to hand it over. He pleads with them, "I don't think the audience is gonna care if I leave it on. Please." The pair of keepers turn their backs on him, consulting between themselves on what to do. "It's not a big deal." They turn back, shaking their heads again. One grabs Reno by the shoulders and forces his arms by his side while the other unstraps the glove and pulls it off. He groans as the fabric, stuck and close-fit to his hand, rips off his palm.

Immediately, the Peacekeeper throws it to the ground and wipes his hand, disgusted by what he saw underneath. Reno's hand is deeply red and swollen. A wound never that was never stitched up or resolved had continued to get worse and worse. He lost his job, he lost all of his money. His hand, up to his wrist, is tender and warm to the touch. The infection has been progressing slowly over the last few weeks. Pockets of light orange and yellow leak from the creases. The hand has gotten stiffer by the day, eventually rendering itself just an eyesore to anyone who saw it. Reason number two why he never went back home after the cow incident? His parents would've noticed and tried to do something about it. Reno thought it was fine at first, that it would heal with time. And when it didn't, he thought he could get a new job and pay to get it taken care of when he had the money. And then, he was reaped. Now, he hopes that the one-in-twenty-four chance of survival comes with fixing up wounds from past and present alike.

The Peacekeepers stare at the infection until Reno turns his back to them for the final time. He won't watch them again, their complicit solemn demeanor feels so unnecessary in these final moments. They stand on his right (the infection is on his left hand) and delicately place a headpiece, resting just above the ears. The giant contraption comes soon after, shaking midair on a crane. It's a cage, unlike the hospitable niceties provided by the Capitol over the past twenty-four hours. Reno steps in. When one foot has more pressure than the other, the cage swings in that direction. He hates the feeling of instability. It's why he's done everything possible to ground his family in some sort of security. He chooses to sit rather than stand, and he's grateful for it as the cage starts to pick itself up and sway again.

The cheers from the crowd, the throbbing from his hand, the thoughts of how-to in his head… it's all overstimulating. Reno has always lived simply, keeping his head down and working on what needs to be done. The complex array of demands and emotions catch him off guard. Fight. Kill. Survive. Win. Love. Pain. Finalities. Whatever happens today will be an irreversible ending. Get better or get nothing at all.

Reno notices all the things different about this arena: the updates, the color, the divisions. They're making the Games an event for the Capitol now rather than a punishment to the districts. He never cared much about pro- or anti-Capitol sentiments. He was too young to understand the war when it happened, and now that he's old enough, both the celebrants and dissidents of the war feel off the mark. Everyone is stuck on vengeance for the past on both sides and the present and future remain so unsteady.

His ride ends at the corner of a courtyard. Clear across the way is another cage, swaying at the abrupt stop.

Reno steps out as soon as the cage opens. There's blood scattered through the green, swords, and skin scattered in the corners. "Up next to fight, our District Five tributes: Veala Jones versus Reno Xayahs!" Judging from that cheerful comment, they must be going district by district for these Games. Might as well make it a full-day affair.

Reno remembers Veala Jones clearly. The "WANTED" posters, the rumors, the arrest, the aftermath. The Cow Liberator of District Five. What chaos she caused in District Five by running around in the middle of the night and freeing all of the livestock from their pens and barns. His working hand curls into a fist.

Put two and two together: what happens to the farm boy who tends to the cows when all the cows disappear?

He'll show her no mercy for the self-serving things she's done. Ruins crumble from all sides and destroy at every angle. Even if she thought she was doing good, Reno knows the pain that she's caused and will be responsible for it if he doesn't get home.

Reno speaks with authority. "Ma, Daddy, if you're watchin' at home right now, look away and turn down the volume." He doesn't want them to see him like this. The crowd's hushed whispers wonder what he's about to say and do. His stomach growls and the infection swells as his pulse beats faster. Reno opts for one of the nearby swords instead of the ones at the center table. This might be the only time he wields it without reluctance. "All that shit you did in Five? It's going to cost a lot of people their lives. Including yours." Including his. "I'm speaking for all of them when I say Fuck You."

[lance]

Honestly? I'd be lyin' if I said I was surprised at how this shit all turned out. As I said, what do you get when you take someone who's the daughter of a rebel, give her a set of beliefs that run counter to those of the state, and the nerve to act on said beliefs unlike so many of the cowards that stick their tails between their legs and decide conforming is the way t'go?

Well, you get the female tribute for the Eighth Annual Hunger Games is what y'get.

But hey, it's not the end of the world or somethin' like that. There've been kids that have gone in having committed far greater crimes than freeing the oppressed from their tyrannical liberators that have made it out with their lives. Hell, Sami and Mo both had direct connections to the rebellion - if I remember correctly Sami was a child soldier themselves and Mo's just like me in that he was unfortunate enough to be too young to join in on his mama's fight - and they both made it out unharmed and unscathed. It's like the arena is some sort of soft reset in that whatever crimes you commit before enterin' are erased should you kill enough kids and prove you're still able to be a Capitolite pawn.

Heh. Maybe it is my lucky day after all. I don't know about y'all, but for a nature frolickin' cow lovin' gal like me, spending day in and day out inside of a dank little cell got old after a while. It was worth it for all of the poor cows that finally got to see some freedom, don't get me wrong, but it was far from pleasant.

Honestly, I'll take whatever I can get after that. Live or die, I've already won. The rest is just fillin' in the details.

Truthfully, I'm not sure what to expect when I'm finally thrown into the arena after a boring ass interview and a forced makeover, but when I see the tall boy who'd been glowering at me ever since we'd stepped foot on the train, I'm not entirely surprised. Anyone with eyes could tell that he had some sorta bone to pick with me (which, get in line, dude, that's been a thing ever since I'd raised my hand in kindergarten and replied 'here!' when my name was first called) but I'd mostly ignored it. Whatever feelings anyone has towards me are irrelevant, but even a blind deaf comatose lobotomy patient could feel the one-sided animosity coming off of him towards me. And I've watched enough Games by now to know that if there's one thing the Capitolist bastards like, it's some good television.

So I can't deny that I'm perhaps just the littlest bit curious as to why this boy was far from pleased to see me as we gradually get our bearings. Childhood bully I'd forgotten about? Envious of my beauty? Capitolist bootlicker who knows of my mama's reputation? Plain old misogynist?

The answer, as I find out through spitted venom, is none of the above. He speaks of costing people their lives, and claims he's speaking on behalf of the entire district when he curses me out, and honestly?

I laugh. Because it's fucking funny. Like, get with the program, dude.

"I see my reputation precedes me," I drawl once my laughs ebb into more managable giggles and chortles. "But please, do tell me - why, exactly, should I give a shit about what the good people of Five think?" My gaze catches sight of a bloodied sword not more than ten feet away from me, just ever so slightly off to my right, and slowly I begin to inch my way over to it. While monologuing, of course, because the longer I can stall, the more likely I can skewer this guy and get out of here before things get too dicey. "Y'mean the same people who made my life a living hell ever since I could toddle away from the crib? Y'mean the same people who treated me little better than the livestock that they exploit and slaughter for no other reason than they're lazy little bastards who want to remember what it's like to suck on their mama's tits or to get the reward of cooked meat without havin' the courage to go find it themselves?"

Almost....there....

"Go on, call me crazy cause I think cows are better than people ever will be. Insult me because I had the courage to act on my beliefs instead of sittin' safe inside the same four walls every day outta fear of what could happen to me. It's nothin' I haven't heard before." Now! I dive, gripping the hilt of the sword and somersaulting back up into a standing position, all while only taking my gaze off of the boy for half a second. "Doesn't change that you're not gonna get an ounce of regret from me. People are nasty, vindictive creatures who tear each other down for fun. Cows? They're just poor sweet little souls who had the misfortune of spending their entire lives in servitude. And people wonder why I always considered 'cow lover' to be a compliment."

The boy's armed himself, too. Gotta be careful now. Yet my reckless monologuing ass can't help but poke the bear one last time - after all, anger is easier to exploit, ain't it? "Now, I don't know who the hell you are, but you clearly know me. And that means that somewhere along the line, somethin' I did upsets you. So my advice?"

I grin a predatorial grin - ironic, considering cows are peaceful herbivores who could do no wrong. But, that's why they were exploited in the first place, and that's why I'm here, to stop that very exploitation.

"Grow up and get over it. And I'd do it fast, because I don't know about you, but I'd sure hate to die with regrets."

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

Having three younger siblings taught Reno how to balance multiple things at once. When each of them got to be around six to eleven, it became a new ball to juggle in the stack. Listen to stories about their day, play catch in between math homework questions, and occupy them when Ma and Daddy crunch numbers for the bills. Veala's speech gives him enough time to practice wielding the sword while listening intently to her justifications.

She doesn't care about District Five as much as Reno. To her, it's a place of bad people who deserve less freedom than the cows were given. He heard quick stories about the Cow Liberator and her life story, but never enough to change his opinion or the rationale behind it. He practices a parry with the sword against the hedge lines. He buries the sword as soon as Veala calls humans nasty and vindictive creatures. The sword shakes in his hand, the grip Reno put on it proving to be too loose. He holds it tighter, pulling it back toward him, along with it a few stray leaves and twigs.

Each sentence is another tooth clamping shut on his tongue. She's getting under his skin. He hates the calm tone in which she speaks, "somewhere along the line, somethin' I did upsets you." Not that she cares. She's made that abundantly clear during her acrobatic journey to acquire her own sword. "Grow up and get over it."

Reno's shoulders sink as far as they'll go, relaxing and conserving the energy for when they start to fight. "All the vigilante temper tantrum shit because people weren't nice to you? My advice?" His knuckles roll against the hilt. He pulls the same words back at them, "Grow up and get over it." Reno's heartbeat picks up when he makes the first step toward Veala, faster and faster with each one.

"If someone wants steak or beef and can pay for it, who am I to judge? Let 'em eat meat!" Reno thinks about his family, and how they haven't gotten his paychecks over the last few months since he was fired. It's been impossible for him to retain a positive reputation when his previous employer tells every other farm employer "Reno Xayahs is an unreliable kid, we lost all our livestock cause of him." Without that money, Reno wondered at night if they were still doing okay, but he never went back home to ask. Doing so would mean he'd know that he was at fault if they were suffering. "If you have enough time on your hands to be an activist, you should consider why other people might just keep their head down and do their job."

Reno breaks into a sprint. The gust of free air against his infection leaves enough comfort to weigh that side of him down. He makes up about half the distance from Veala, around the table with all of the untouched swords. He stops to catch his breath and focus again.

"I took care of calves and cows on the farm. I gave 'em a good life and loved 'em until it was time for them to go." His footsteps are heavier like a stomp now, and his stride is slower and longer. "I was never a butcher." Thoughts of anger and thoughts of his family complicate his mind. Reno prays that his family heeded his warning. "Til now." He looks at the sword. Whitney, Henderson, Vegas, Carson… Ma… Daddy. If you haven't already, now would be a good time to close those eyes and cover those ears. Reno hopes that it's not inappropriate to say that he's doing this for them.

[ reno attacks veala ; sword ]
DOUA09O5czsword
[3.5]

[ reno attacks veala ; sword ]
sword
[null]

sword·sword

[lance]

It's cute, really, how out of our depths we are. Back home, no one takes me seriously enough to engage me - or, on the other hand, took me too seriously and got me arrested. And this boy, whomever he was, is quickly revealed as someone who didn't have it too easy himself - I don't know many farmhands over the age of thirty, but I know of even less who got their start before age eighteen. And yet he engages with me as an equal despite the venom spewing from his lips, turning my own words against me and planting his own flag into the sand like he's posturing the same way I am - someone who was brave enough to rage against the machine and stand for what they truly believe in, damn the consequences.

But no. That can't be right. Because he's just a farmhand, one of hundreds, so ordinary and forgettable that I can't even remember his name even though it was just shouted over the intercom a mere few minutes ago. And me? I'm the one and only, the motherfuckin' Cow Liberator, trademark.

And I laugh again. "Yes sir," I reply, making sure that the latter syllable is dripping with every ounce of sarcasm I lace my words with whenever I address my traitorous old man in the same way. "I became this way because people weren't nice to me. Because I decided I wasn't going to roll over and take it. Why should I owe my abusers anything other than the pain they inflicted on me tenfold?"

Careful, now - that kinda talk could easily be reinterpreted as treasonous, and though I might be stupid I'm not dumb nor am I suicidal. I do still want to get out of here intact, thank you very much, and insulting the Capitol would take me down the same path as it did my dear mama - that is, to the grave.

So I bite back the retort I was gonna say next, about how no, there is absolutely nothing wrong with sitting back and growing fat off of the fruit of someone else's labor, no siree, because then my talk would go from ambiguous to treasonous real fast and somethin's tellin' me that this big ol' brute wouldn't listen to me anyway.

"Way I see it, the folks who keep their heads down and outta trouble are the folks who are too scared to do anythin' about what's makin' em suffer." I laugh again, mocking, trying to rile him up, because if there's one thing I learned about big dumb men, it's that they're at their most exploitable when blinded by rage. "Is that you? Some kid who grew up dirt poor and instead of treatin' the root of the problem decided to stick a bandaid over it instead because he was too much of a coward to do anythin' meaningful with his life?"

He lunges on the tail end of tellin' me about how he raised cows and calves for years, how just because he never swung the knife itself absolved him of any crime, making him stupid at best and willfully ignorant at worst, yet when it mattered most, he got the drop on the fight, not I. And now I have a slice in my side that was easily avoidable and oh, okay, I can get serious too.

"Yeah, I see why you never became a butcher," I hiss back, any traces of mirth gone from my face. "Butchers need skill, precision, and conviction. It's why I hate them the most out of anyone. People with all the skills of the hunter who choose to enact their atrocities on the innocent instead of the worthy."

The blood on my blade is old and has long since dried. I decide now is the time to change that.

"You?" I say, tensing because even though this is easy in theory - take the sharp pointy thing, stab the other person with it - I've never actually struck anyone with anything but my own hands and feet before. "You're just a coward, sticking his head in the dirt and blaming the one brave enough to do something about it for everything that went wrong in his life."

Don't worry, boy. I can turn that fiction into fact real damn fast.

veala attacks reno; sword

vbXq9Ls5sysword

1103 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage

sword

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

Reno stumbles as the sword curves from Veala to the other side of his body. It's not enough for the indistinguishable voices surrounding them to quiet, nor is it enough to bring Veala down. She mocks him for just wanting to do what he's told, "yes sir." He's said it many times before to Silverfield, every time he asked for a favor, no matter how grueling or tiresome it would be to complete. Sure thing, sir. Of course. No problem at all. Being employed under a man like Silverfield often felt like being more than just a farmhand. Looking back on it, he was a farmhand, maintenance worker, and personal assistant all at once. He grunts while his opponent goes on about revenge ten times worse than how she was treated.

"Is that you? Some kid who grew up dirt poor and instead of treatin' the root of the problem stuck a bandaid over it instead because he was too much of a coward to do anythin' meaningful with his life?"

Reno lies, shaking his head. He knows that the system screws people like them over. It's broken for people who aren't lucky enough to be rich. What Veala wants isn't just a rebellion, it's a revolution. He's sure of it, the way she talks about revenge and flipping things on its head. For one side to win a war, the other must suffer, though. And it's not even a guarantee that the poor side even has a chance.

His strike isn't enough for her to waver at all. She tells Reno as much with her comments on the quality of a butcher and how he possesses none of them. Butchers do what they need to feed the people, no matter how much it makes stomachs turn. "You? You're just a coward, sticking his head in the dirt and blaming the one brave enough to do something about it for everything that went wrong in his life." She tries to catch him off guard with an insult, but Reno hops back a few inches to avoid the shot entirely.

"If your problem's with the top, I hate to break it to you, but your stunt didn't do nothing to them." They'll rebuild, they can and will get stronger. People like the Silverfields just bought more cows from the Capitol or other districts and repopulated. Everyone got hit by money problems during the Dark Days, but it was the rich that rebounded the fastest. "You're more like the butt of the joke than a revolutionary."

Reno lifts the sword again once last night's loaf of bread gives him the energy. He's physically fatigued. "I'll put rolls upon rolls of duct tape on a problem if it means we'll stay above water. I'd do anything."

He appeals to the crowd of people watching: the wealthy Capitol people from last night, the comfortable crowd, Samiyuq and Mo, and anyone listening who's got a penny to spare. "My family's not gonna survive without someone plugging in those holes. It took everything I had to convince 'em to let me work." Reno's gut tells him that survival isn't likely, but he'll still do what he can to give his family a shot. He speaks to Veala, but he's just loud enough to make it a plea to the people able to listen. "They don't want to ask for help, but they need the money."

"Revenge doesn't put food on our table. Am I a bootlickin' coward cause I don't want them to starve?"

Whatever sympathy he can garner from this experience, he'll take it. Reno is a worker through and through, whether he's on a farm or in an arena. He curves the sword again to Veala.

Silverfield told him in the first month of working on his farm that doing what you're told is the best way to get what you want. It's not always fun. Sometimes, it's miserable, frustrating, deprecating, even humiliating. He's been all that before. The rich are cruel but they're rarely dishonest.

He'll work the Hunger Games if that's what they want. He'll take the role of the killer and make the last-ditch effort to help his family in the spotlight.

[ reno attacks veala ; sword ]
AhaNi2Mda3sword
[1072 -- Deep Gash on Stomach -- 9.0 damage]

sword

[lance]

Boy says the obvious, that for all of my posturing and cow-freeing tendencies, I haven't really done nothing against the true folks at the top, the ones who created this child-murdering mess in the first place. And like, duh. As I said earlier, I'm stupid, not dumb. I do the crazy reckless shit but I'm not aiming to die a martyr or whatever, right? That was my mama's job, and her leaving me behind with the traitor, the stepwhore, and things one and two was unforgiveable.

Some day, way in the future, when I've won and done my part to bring the Capitol down and everything is safe, then I'll have my kids - the real human ones, that is - and raise them peacefully amongst our best friends, the local animals. And I will never, ever leave them to do the work I should have finished.

"The 'top', huh?" It's hard to do air quotes when there's a whole ass sword in one hand, but somehow I manage without cuttin' myself. "Now why would I want to fuck with them? You're not daring advocate I do somethin' treasonous now, do ya?"

Because that's the thing. I genuinely think that animals are unjustly exploited by the common man, especially back home in Five, but I was smart enough to never, ever suggest that by freein' them, I was fucking with the Capitol's food supply. Nah, I was just the crazy girl who snapped and decided to do somethin' with her fringe yet ultimately harmless beliefs instead of scream 'Death to the Capitol!' while riding one of those majestic beasts like some old-timey cowgirl. The best lies have a fair amount of truth mixed in with 'em, after all, right?

'Sides, I'll say whatever bullshit I can to throw this boy off and get home with breath still within my lungs. Free cows or no, I have too much shit left unsettled in my life to go about losin' it here.

So I swing. And unfortunately, I miss, because, go figure! Swinging a weapon you've only ever seen on the TV is much harder than one might think. And even more unfortunate, the boy does not, and I can't help but scream as my stomach gets carved open like, well...

Don't say it. Don't you dare say it, or this fucker here won't be the only one choking on their own blood before this day is done.

Something something duct tape, plugging holes, analogies, family-

"Heh." The pain throbs, my shirt soaks crimson, yet my strength remains, my will unbroken. "So not just a coward, but a fool, too." I spit, thankful that for now, it's still clear. "'Family'. You've fallen for the oldest trick in the book. Weakening yourself for the sake of people other than yourself, yet you still find yourself shocked when you break because of that."

My blade is still woefully dry. I really need to change that, or else I'll- heh, no rhyming today. Nice try.

(Fuck.)

"Tell me, boy." That's right, we might be of similar age, and he might quite literally tower over me - but nothing, nothing gets a teenage guy's panties in a twist like talking down to them. "What has that family of yours done for you lately?"

I shrug. A big target like him - no way I miss twice, right?

"Cause whatever it was didn't save ya from bein' sent right here with me."

Right. Because I'm not stuck in here with an overgrown dung-for-brains.

He's stuck in here with ME.

veala attacks reno; sword

Z4W80o6jiysword

1160 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage

sword

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

The accusations from Veala that Reno's encouraging her to commit treason against the Capitol state leaves sweat beneath his brow. It wasn't his suggestion at all, but she has a brilliant ear that nitpicks and twists anything he says into something scorching or painful. Whether she says it or not, that's what she meant when she ran 'round on horseback smashing fence gates and opening up stable doors. Reno wonders if Veala's been so confined that she hasn't seen the effects beyond just food supply or if she doesn't care about it at all. Everything has been rethought: food, money, safety, trust; they're all in scarce supply. Everyone suffers for that.

Another sheet of blood soaks the sword, leaving behind a cut on Veala's chest as it returns to Reno's side. Red drips from the tip, a faucet leaving behind splashes of red on his bare feet. His eyes widen, frustrated as she calls him both a coward and a fool. Family. His head turns as if warning her. She knows nothing about them and has no right to speak as if she knows the whole picture. Reno is broken and weak, she says, because he's dedicated to them.

"Tell me, boy. What has that family of yours done for you lately?"

"Nothing." He retorts, instantly. Despite how close they remain now, her sword weaves to the left of his frame. "I don't ask them to do anything for me." Reno was the one who asked his family to let him work and persisted against their protests that it was too soon and unnecessary. And it was his decision to give up most, if not all, of his paycheck to them.

He swings his sword upward, the still leaking blood from the tip of the sword splattering a straight line of blood from his ankle down his foot. For now, he's bloodied only by someone else's pain. "Family isn't a damn social transaction. If you grew up thinkin' that you needed to give anything more than love and care to each other, that's a shame. For us, that love is unconditional, even if we fight sometimes." He walks forward, slowly pushing them into the corner where there's less room for either of them to run. Reno wonders if his family thought he'd given up on them when he didn't show up at home for the past three months, deciding that love was no longer worth it. Don't worry, family will be worth it to Reno to the grave.

"Sounds like no one loved you, though, so you decided it was better if everyone hated you instead." Either or; black or white, with barely a sliver of in between. "' 'Least the cows love you! Wait– how many of 'em got away, you think? And how many of 'em are on people's plates right now for lunch?" He swings across her frame again. If Veala wants to frustrate him, it's working. He'll be nasty and hurtful with his words, too.

"Congratulations lady, you're one with the cows! Because you're both dead meat."

[ reno attacks veala ; sword ]
Uyh|t3_TdHsword
[1177 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage]

sword

[lance]

I decide that if I get out of here (here being subjective, as I'm not sure if that means this little fighting room or the entire damned arena itself), I'm going to take this sword, break it over my knee, and toss it into the pits of the trash compactor where it truly belongs. Because okay, I get missing once, but missing someone who's essentially the human version of the side of a barn twice?

Yeah. Anyway. My martial prowess might be lacking, but I seem to be winning the war of words as finally, finally, I see some true, genuine emotion from the farmboy. The sweat on his brow when I mention treason, the way his pulse quickens and his stability cracks when his family is brought up - bingo, soft spot detected.

And when he swings for a third time, it's slower, sloppy, predictable, and even with my stomach wound still leaking onto the dirt, it's no hard task for me to dodge. Nor is it one to retort to the fellow's attempts to get back under my skin - family isn't a soft spot for me the way it is for him, not when I've had damn near a decade to turn it into my armor.

"You think you know me so well that you can deduce that my family didn't love me?" I ask, feigning seriousness for all of five seconds before I can't take it anymore and break into another loud cackle. "Because bingo, you're exactly right! What, you think a well-loved kid like me decides she relates most to the farm animals exploited for their milk and meat because she has a choice, hmm?"

I saunter around the boy, forcing him to keep me in his sights or else risk getting stabbed in the back. "My mama was the only one who loved me, but she's dead as a doornail." I shrug, as if the statement was me commenting on how damn loud the audience is instead of referring to, you know, my literal lifegiver. "And my traitor of a dad," (yes, the accentuation on the word traitor was intentional, if only to make sweat bead on his pasty white bald spot just a little more than usual) "found a new life with the stepwhore and the two devilspawn she popped out not five years later, none of whom ever wanted anything to do with me except, let's see." I pause, pretending to think deeply as I count the fingers on my sword hand. "Oh wait, right! Absolutely nothing, except, you guess it, to exploit me." I raise my hands and my voice in one go. "And people wonder why I relate so much to those poor cows!"

Perfect. Now some bleeding hearts back at the Capitol might think I'm just a poor tortured little girl who tried to find love wherever she could, and made a couple of poor choices in search for the love she'd never been given as a kid. You're really too kind, farmboy, giving me these tools to weave my own narrative so. It's almost a shame I have to kill you for them.

"So see? We're not so different, you and I," I say, turning my attention back to the boy in question with a snake's grin on my lips and in my eyes. "My family hasn't done shit for me lately, your family hasn't done shit for you lately, even though we're just kids who had to grow up in the midst of a goddamned war."

I grin, I tense, I focus-

"But at least I don't feed myself delusions that they want anything other than the worse for me. I'd try it out, should you not die in the next five minutes. You'll be happier for it, trust me."

-I lunge.

veala attacks reno; sword

UZG3me|Rjisword

1109 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage

sword

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

After a few decent chances, he misjudges the swing with all the movement around the courtyard. Reno's arm pushes as far as it can, but the distance would only be enough to make up if he'd sent himself midair to try and land it. Veala only has to fall back on her heels to make it away.

He was right about her family having little love for her. The ones that are still alive, anyway. One mother dies and another tries to take her place, but those connections are never seamless. He gathers through her laughter that she's gotten these kinds of presumptions a number of times, like lashes of admittance across her back.

Her life has been challenging, Reno won't take that away from her. Everyone is stuck in place, even eight years after the Rebellion. It's harder to get away than it was before, and harder to move on from the things that ail them. "And people wonder I relate so much to those poor cows." They're trapped, more or less, but Reno doubts they know much better. Reno takes note of Veala's theatrics, the waving of her arms, and the height in her voice. The foliage blows with the eruptive combination of wind and shouting chants of the audience. Just as he did moments before, she pleads with them to take her side. The difference is, though, that she's asking them to root for her while Reno's asking them to root for his family. Reno's family is more than just his relatives– they're his kin. Kin altruism manifests in a person's subconscious when they become willing to do whatever it takes to protect the bloodline.

As complicated and muddled as his kin are, Reno has that over Veala. Her empty glass thoughts about his situation don't make him second guess that.

She pounces on the word trust, leaving a cut two or three inches wide on his leg. Not too deep, thankfully. "Why should I trust you when you do that?" He says, only half seriously. Reno refuses to look at the cut for more than a second, seeing his hand progress to the point of its uselessness has been a frightening experience, and he doesn't need to think about his leg that way. Not right now.

"Ma and Dad wanted the best for me, always. If anyone's to blame for how I got to where I am, it's me. They didn't want me to go n' work. I think it took everything in their heart not to forbid it."

Reno's eyes wander for a moment, repeating affirmations about them from when he was on the farm. "I'm too proud to tell them if I'm strugglin', ever." Why, as he raises his sword, isn't he struggling now? Two lives cupped up in the palm of his hand, and Reno has the choice, more or less, which to drop and which to hang on to. The decision, as well as the means it'll take to get there, doesn't feel much like a difficult choice at all.

"My guess is that your family is an outlier. If everyone's happy 'cept for you, maybe you're the outlier. The runt of a litter." Whether she'll understand a reference that doesn't have to do with cows, Reno's not sure. He leans in closer this time, though, careful not to let a safe distance be his downfall.

"I don't see any runts ruining their packs left and right at home. Do you?"

[ reno attacks veala ; sword ]
q39EDczGERsword
[1113 -- Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage]

sword

[lance]

Finally, finally, I manage to accomplish the bare minimum and scrape the side of Mr. Barnyard Wall here with the tip of my blade. Useless, my ass - now at least I can say I've gone down while providing something of a fight.

(Just something, though. Because gaslight, gatekeep, and girlboss as I might, I'm not blind to the fact that that is one scratch compared to one- ow, no, two solid hits on me now. I gotta get my ass into gear and hope for some failures on his part, or else I'm as dead as the poor cows I failed to save.)

"Why should I trust you when you do that?" the farmboy asks, and okay, I can't help it, I snort. Sense of humor aside, maybe he really is just that dumb. "What, is a gal like me not allowed to act in self defense?" I tease, half biting, half amused. "No, wait, don't tell me, I bet you're one of those farmboys who like your girls all sweet and demure and housewife-y, right?" I always had fun mocking those types as we grew up, and I had and still have a pretty decent imitation - one that bring out now, hands crossed at my front, eyes wide and blinking as prettily and innocently as someone like me could manage. "Oh no, the pretty girl is fighting back against certain death? However will I be able to trust her now?"

I laugh again, though it's harder than before. My stomach hurts. My leg hurts. My heart is starting to skip a beat as fear begins to prick it with its icy little claws. But I ain't a quitter. When the option is fight or flight, I don't run away - not when it's freeing the poor downtrodden cattle from their shackles, not when the Peacekeepers come to throw me into prison for three months, and not now, when a bold but misguided farm boy is trying to butcher me like the very animals I pride myself on protecting.

He blabbers on (rich coming from me, I know) about his family more, how it was his choice to leave them, how it was his choice to go to work and find a job and whatnot.

It's an honorable statement. Relatable, even, sorta. I might have almost felt bad for him, if, you know, he wasn't trying to kill me to death.

Then of course, because I can only fluctuate so long on my dedication to kill him, he has to go and call me an outlier, a runt of the litter, as if his fucked up family dynamic that he'd just shared is all well and good because at least they love him and people like me and my found family are anything less. And then I realize that maybe, just maybe, this farmhand isn't just ignorant, he's a little bit stupid, too.

Shame on me for taking so long to figure it out.

"Nah, I don't see any runts runnin' about either," I respond, and though I'm grinning I can't approach this strike with the same careless abandon that I had the last few. I need to make it count, or else I'm fucking dead. "Know why? Cause the runts aren't just the neglected members of the litter, they're the weakest, too." I laugh again, for the umpteenth time. Look, I laugh a lot when I'm scared. It's a defense mechanism, okay? "So tell me, could a weakling have beaten up as many of your fellow farmboys and freed as many cows as I did all on her own? Could a weakling have survived without any love from any sort of parental figure for as long as I have?"

Maybe if I get him while I'm still talkin'....

"Could a weakling even do-"

Now.

"-this?"

veala attacks reno; sword

WRsYkrJVFhsword

1148 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage

sword

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

Confidence builds and falls back apart with every hit. Veala landed her first on Reno and he noticed a glow beyond her wounds, but his sword knocks the joy of her first hit away. "I bet you're one of those farmboys who like your girls all sweet and demure and housewife-y, right?" What Reno said earlier was all in jest to pass the time, but the tone of Veala's mocks makes him wonder if she's playing along or actually offended. Of course, neither of them trust each other. He's sure some of the other districts have gotten buddy-buddy with one another, finding some sort of camaraderie through the deathmatch. Not Reno, though. He can't trust her and it's not because she's a lady (a pretty one, at that.)

Under other circumstances, had either of them made different choices in life, maybe the two of them could've been friends.

She watches Reno with a good argument about runts being weak. He knows that she's not. Reno hates what she did but it can't be ignored the boldness and flashiness it took for her to see it through. Even if it was stupid and consequential for every breathing being around her. "Could a weakling even do…" He gives her some benefit of the doubt as she speaks, a gentle smile to let her know that he's at least appreciative of the show. Whether he survives or she does, it'll help them some-

"this?!"

Her sword dives into his chest. Reno's ribs save him for the most part, but he can hear them rattle like fingers running down the line of a cage. "Gah.." He tries to dislodge the sword immediately, but the struggle over the blade only ends up making the gash across him worse. His infection prevents him from getting anything more than a shove off on Veala to get the sword away.

"Clearly they.. can!" Reno sizes her up against his own wounds. Neither of them is looking too hot right about now. "Runts still got sharp teeth and claws."

Reno circles back to what she'd initially been talking about in the exchange, how he must have some sexist and coiled image of how a lady must be. "I don't think about girls very often." he says, his elbow tucking in on the wound to take some of the hurt away. "Never kissed one, dated one. Might've had a crush on someone before, but that faded." He thinks about Silverfield's farm, his contract, his threats. Look at his daughters the wrong way and he'll drive Reno's nuts up a wall, literally. He sighs. "Pretty lame, now that I'm sayin' it aloud."

Reno aims his sword ahead at Veala again, right in the same position in hopes that muscle memory will kick in and he'll be slashing skin in no time.

"I'm sure all the boys go feral for you."

A smirk.

A swing.

[ reno attacks veala ; sword ]
aAdlY8HwYJsword
[1033 -- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage]

sword

[lance]

Something's shifted. It's almost like we've gotten the anger out of our systems and are realizing for the first time just what a fucked situation we've gotten ourselves in. Whatever personal grievances this boy might have with me, for whatever reason, are melting to the wayside in the face of potential doom.

Ironic, given that my last hit very nearly killed him. If I'd been just a little stronger, if my blade had been a little closer towards his heart...

"Runts still got sharp teeth and claws." Yet even the word runt seems less like an insult and more just a simple descriptor, now. Even the way he holds himself is less I hate you and more I will do what I must.

It's scary, honestly. The second this stops being self defense and becomes me versus this poor boy who had no more control over his circumstances than me is the second I lose this. Because crazy as I may be, I'm no murderer. Quite the opposite, in fact, given that the whole reason I'm here was literally to prevent it.

And then farmboy talks about girls, and the lack of experiences he has with them, and fuck if the sympathy in me isn't fighting with the very real scenario that if I don't kill him, he'll kill me.

Even if his last strike seemed almost halfhearted by the way it merely scrapes my skin instead of pierces it.

When he brings up boys, I can't help it - I laugh! And really, what else do you expect from me at this point? Plus, it's funny!

"You're funny," I tease, but there's less of a bite behind it than before. "Me? Seriously? The crazy cow-lover gal, making boys go feral? You're kiddin', right?" But then again, if farmboy here hasn't even had a kiss, then I can see why he might think that.

Fuck.

With the greatest effort I've yet needed to muster, I shove my bleeding heart down into the pits of apathy, and flourish my sword at the farmboy's direction once more.

"Tell ya what, farmboy," I propose, as I debate where to hit next. Chest again, to tear open that wound further? Arms or legs, to inhibit him? Head, to get this over just like that? "If ya die quickly for me, I'll make sure you don't go to the afterlife kissless."

I make my decision, and I swing.

veala attacks reno; sword

IaQ2o9ad9xsword

1083 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage

sword

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

"You're funny."

The smirk only gets bigger. He'd like to think so. With all the time on his own, Reno began to think everything he did was humorous, from making jokes to the cows to an album full of whistled tunes he'd sing around the farm. He loosens up as the grit between their exchanges fades. She seems to think he wasn't being serious about boys finding an obsession in her. Reno shrugs because her intuition is right on the mark. Neither of them is top-notch partner material.

Veala raises her weapon again. The smile on his face fades as the serious situation creeps back into reality. It was nice, the moment of relief they shared with one another. Reno picks out his next move while she speaks, looking for the angle that'll get the job done, but not too painful. After some thought and consideration, she doesn't deserve that. And neither did the people of Five after what she did, but two failures don't make a success.

The jest continues when she offers Reno his first, and perhaps only, kiss before he dies. He leans forward, pretending to consider it for a moment, and Veala takes the chance to strike his neck. "Damn!" He should've known better after her last swing, not to get caught off guard, and Veala should have learned that she needs to swing harder to get more from him. "I didn't know kisses hurt like that." Reno winks, wiping some of the blood that's swarming in his collar.

Reno looks to the crowd that seems to get less and less satisfied with the beginning signs of camaraderie between the two. While he's more content and comfortable than before, and certainly a lot less angry, he's unsure if that'll be enough for them to support his family. Drama, theatrics, and fighting will be rewarded here, not smiles and promises of a first kiss. The Capitolites expect a lot out of them after the screaming matches earlier in the fight. Disappointment won't help his family. The way his sword dangles with ease from an arm that has overextended joints, muscles, and bones

Proving himself means playing the game well enough to impress the people that can support his family. His intensity around Veala has softened, but that release of tension will never outweigh the needs of Ma and Daddy n' his siblings. Keep up the act… you still have to hate her for the onlookers.

Reno bites the inside of his lip. "I'm offended that you'd think I'd want to kiss you." And he doesn't, by any means. He hates what she did and hates her a smidge less now. "Cow breath? Pass." His tone is serious, but he hopes Veala's intuition comes through again to get a hint of jest. Reno puts his right foot forward and slashes down with the sword again. "Hard pass."

[ reno attacks veala ; sword ]
0_t4spVLzOsword
[1167 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage]

sword

[lance]

How the hell did we end up like this?

How the hell did we go from me fighting for my life against a boy whose life I'd apparently ruined to this almost back-and-forth playful camaraderie occasionally marred by the swinging of bloody blades?

How the hell did I have the perfect chance to ensure that farmboy would choke on his own blood and yet, despite that, I hesitated long enough for him to escape?

And how the hell did my joke about smooching him fluster him enough to not only tease me, but straight up miss my injured form?

What the fuck is going on?

This isn't just a fight for survival anymore. I'm learning about the heart locked in with the boy, what makes him tick, what his thought process was. I'm empathizing with him more than I have another human in years, cause really, aren't we similar deep down? Just two tortured kids forced to grow up far too quickly because of the war and our own families?

Can I really live with myself if I strike him down now that I know who he is?

The name that I'd heard twice over, the name that I'd forcefully done my best to ignore this entire time because naming things makes them matter, makes it harder to cut them away, flashes in front of my eyes in solid red letters. Reno, they glare, reminding me that this isn't just some nameless Capitolist pawn that I'm screwing over, but a boy with a life, a family, something to live for.

And shoot. I'd never expected to live that long, not really. Orphans, be they self-made or otherwise, don't last long in Five. People who don't fall in with the status quo don't last long in Five. And certainly, girls with a flair for the dramatic who free hundreds of cattle in the midst of the night and boast loudly about it don't last long in Five.

The Games were - no, are - my chance at a new life. The chance to live past twenty without having to look over my shoulder, should I choose it. But I never had that life before. Who am I to rob someone else of their own.

Shit. This is why I became the Cow Liberator, not the Farm Owner Murderer. Not only does it not ring as well, it's much easier to justify that I'm doing the right thing as the former.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet as much as I fear killing, I fear dying even more.

And yet as much as I've learned about Reno Xayahs in the last few minutes, I've had eighteen years to learn myself. My wants. My desires. My dreams.

And yet.

Maybe I don't want to be just the Cow Liberator anymore.

Maybe I want to be a girl who has a chance of living a life on her own terms, without a mother who chooses death for a greater cause over her, without a father who chooses his own hide over her.

Maybe I just want to be Veala Jones for the first time in this godforsaken life.

But to get that, I need to win my dance with Reno, verbally and otherwise. And so I breathe, steel myself, and put the mask back on.

"Yeah, that sounds like all the boys I've ever known," I smirk, because what else am I supposed to do at this point? Breaking down isn't in the cards for people like me. I must be strong, steadfast, show no signs of weakness, or else it's all over. "'Specially the farmhands who thought my love of the cows was something we could bond over. And you know what I said to them?"

I swing, as hard as it might be. I swing, and I aim to kill.

"Better cow breath than manure hands!"

veala attacks reno; sword

6Hh_jgueaBsword

1168 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage

sword