Round One: Amalthea vs Carlos (D8)

[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 Eight tributes: Amalthea Marrow versus Carlos Chees!"

---

Weapon: Sword

Amalthea Initiative - 71.15
Carlos Initiative - 67.4

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.

[4m dagger thane 🗡jay]

When I was still just a girl wanting for something more, I used to dream of what was beyond Eight, beyond the war creeping at our doorstep. In my mind, it would span farther than the eyes could see, the horizon being more and more of the stretching city with sprawling towers that felt the clouds against their walls. There would be no smoke seeping into my lungs, gunshots would turn into a foreign sound, not the singular song you've grown up hearing.

And now, I've seen that reality. Tasted it taking the train to my death sentence. I felt something blossoming in my chest in my visit to the Capitol, I saw my future in  glass of the train car. It was marvelous. Who knew having your named read out like an omen in a crowd of half-dead kids would be my salvation.

The kid standing across from me didn't know that. This tiny, doe-eyed boy who reminds so much of the kids on the street back in Eight. Maybe he's one of them - was one of them. He didn't know that when I look at him, my heart doesn't sink. I don't feel a twisted thing in my gut, like it was a cruel joke to pit me against a kid. In his eyes, I see my future. In his death, I secure it. It's as simple as that.

"Chin up...kid, I'll make it quick," I boom, my voice loud and clear as glass.

But not for him, for me. I want to buy my first house by tonight.

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

He counted five rats before sunrise.

Carlos had pressed his ear up against the concrete wall and closed his eyes. He listened for the soft scratch of feet against sand and the little squeaks that echoed through the darkness. He thought of his courtyard back at the estates and the towers of skittering rodents.

Two of them came into a dust up somewhere a ways off. They screamed at one another before running off into the unknown. One scampered across the sand not far from his own cage, the padding of feet ringing up from the corner and across the ceiling.

He slept in fits and starts that night. Mostly content with listening for the sounds of wildlife out in the distance and ignoring the fact that he had been put to death for reasons unknown.

Well – perhaps not entirely unknown. Because they were big and he was small. And that people had committed some sins years ago that had left eight brutalized and powerless. Which meant that no matter what his lot in life had been, his name still would’ve been pulled out from that bowl all the same.

When they came to change him into the toga and strip him of his shoes, Carlos fidgeted and pressed his back up against the wall. He snarled a set of pearly white teeth and hissed, but they made short work of him. He was at best a hundred pounds soaking wet and had just broke five feet the year before.

If he had paid better attention in school, he could’ve recalled what the white cloth was from or why the arena had been shaped like some sort of stone structure with overgrown hedges. But he did not go to school, not even for the days his teacher would push play on a cartoon movie so the other boys his age would shut up. School had been an undue burden for someone that dealt with the world better by staying at the edges.

When his cage had risen up and he’d been put face to face when the roar of a crowd, Carlos stayed put on his butt.

Much like the critters he watched, he knew better than to go charging off and instead to survey every angle of the situation.

He noted the doors around him, which presumably led to other parts of the structure. He could the announcer calling out their names by district, which meant they first had to face those they’d come with to have any hope.

He didn’t mind that so much because he hadn’t bothered to learn anything at all about the young woman who’d come from home with him.

If he’d felt any sort of loyalty or attachment to another person – save his mother and father (who felt less like people and more like, well, those who provided) – he might’ve had some compunction to beg they find a better way through this.

She was entirely in agreement, what with the threatening promise.

He flashed his teeth and flicked his fingers as he shifted onto all fours.

Carlos pulled his legs back and let his toes run through the sand. He dug his hands into the dust and side-stepped on all fours with a grin.

“Ssssssssssss…” He hissed out at the girl who’d come with him from eight because she did not deserve words and, like the rats he’d seen time and time again, wanted her to know he meant business. He ambled over to grasp one the handle of a sword at his feet. “Ssssss…”

[4m dagger thane 🗡jay]

I didn't breathe in the air around me, or turn around and drink my surroundings in. I was a woman on a mission, I don't believe I've ever felt so centered, so at one with my own thoughts. It's odd how this whole thing has brought me clarity, has taken that piece of me, that little girl who yearned for so much, for everything, and washed her away. Because I know the world is almost at my fingertips, that the universe is soon to be swimming in between the webs of my hands.

But this kid has a small role in my dream, a small footnote at the bottom of the page as the first person Amalthea Marrow had ever killed. The first person she'd remember as a scar on her skin. And don't take that as barbarism, I didn't want to kill anybody. I didn't ask for this, but like hell would I just let this opportunity pass me by. I could be anything just for putting a few bodies in the ground.

He didn't see that.

No, he'd rather scuttle on all fours with the sand pooling around his clenched fists and feet. He had a wild glimmer to his dark eyes and an untamed grin, his sharp canines poking out from his cracked lips. Maybe he actually was one of the kids who got a bomb dropped on their head, this seems like something only radiation could cause. Or maybe he was just insane.

The hissing was quite frankly over-the-top. You had to make a name for yourself somehow, to secure your future, but I don't know if I'd want thousands upon thousands of recordings of me in a bathrobe, on my hind legs, hissing at a girl. I think I'd rather die.

"Consider this an act of mercy," I roll my eyes, the sword heavy in my hand. "For me, not you. You're just fucking weird."

marrow attacks carlos | sword

KXF_Mz36qgsword

[ 3.5 ]

sword

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

He crawled to the left and skulked closer to Amalthea.

Weird. He flashed a toothy grin. She didn’t know the half of it – he had more in common with the rats that had left him riddle with scars than any of the children in this arena. And even as she glanced her sword across his body and drew blood, he still let out a hiss at her.

This was do or die, he was strange but not stupid. One of them would walk free of this cage and the other would be buried in the sand (if they even buried him at all).

He would study the decomposing rats that had laid in the courtyard. Their soft little bodies unmoving, eyes closed, fat tails tucked down underneath their undercarriages. He’d been sad at first coming across one of his dead companions, but as the years went on, simply kept a tally of all those who’d fallen.

Most of them died from some sort of sickness, age, or both. He found that violence did not happen in the safety of tall grass or the edges, but front and center. When the rats crossed one another was when they’d cut one another to pieces. That meant in the winding tunnels he built they lay most prone to danger.

He’d run a hose now and then to wash the blood stains from the mason jars and metal cans that lined his tunnels. Not because he wanted to keep them pristine or to erase the memory of the violence. Rather, he kept close watch over where the rats were tangled most frequently so he could devise an alternative route.

Amalthea would have to be made to understand that despite his size or his decision to remain low to the ground, he could be as violent and vicious as they come.

“Graaaaar…. Hisssss…” He grumbled out with a twist of his neck as he gripped the sword tight between his claws. He launched himself forward so as to drive the weapon right at the girl’s stomach.

That was where anyone was most vulnerable – the easiest target, where the flesh was soft and the body was weak – and so he would strike.

[Carlos Chees attacks Amalthea Marrow with a sword]

jDdS4NIkgrsword

[result:1067 -- 9.0 damage (Sword)]sword

[4m dagger thane 🗡jay]

Carlos trims the back of my head with his sword, the blade digging into the soft skin. Nothing a blowout won't hide. It knocks the wind from my lungs, my vision  blurring and blending together, it's like staring into a kaleidoscope. But it fades after a second, only a second. I right myself, digging my heels into the sand  and staring back at the four-legged freak.

He's still grinning wide and proud, as if he's accomplished something by getting a scratch in. I think that's the most he's ever done. A low hissing sound vibrates from his throat, it's starting to echo in my brain like a scratched record player, shrill and repeating.

I've never been violent, never been cruel, only self-sufficient. That was the only way to survive in Eight with no luxuries. You kept your hair long to stay warmer in the winter, you swiped all the little things you could without eyes boring into your skull. You did what you had to do. So no, my nature isn't violence, but I kind of want to rip his throat out right about now.

It is a blood-sport, right?

"That was cute," I snarl, my grip tightening on my own sword. The steel is red with his blood, but it needs to be drenched in it. "A nibble is all you're going to get, I don't give out scraps."

marrow attacks carlos | sword

z77JbvJrTtsword

[ 9.5 ]

sword

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

He didn’t celebrate his victory. He chose to scuttle back and shifted to his knees to survey the damage.

A fine trickle of blood from the back of the girl’s head told him that he could land a blow, even never having used a blade on another person.

Of course, that didn’t free him from what she could do – and prove – in the moments he left his own undercarriage open. He let out a yelp when she cut across his stomach. All across his stomach grew warm and sharp, even though he’d been cut open, his stomach tensed.

“Scraps…” He repeated her then. Not anything he wasn’t used to his whole life. But those who could survive on bits and pieces were the real survivors. The people who could claw their way through junk to the other side were the ones that would get out of this mess.

His low expectations and hunger to defend himself would stifle the pain for now.

And there was something about proving that underestimating him was at her own peril. The big and the strong could fall to the small and the weak. It was about seizing the right moment, pressing for the kill, and knowing that this was just one spot on his path to travel.

He reared back again before throwing himself across the sand in a tumble. He kicked up dirt and drew his sword once again. This time gritting his teeth as he charged upward, ready to run her through.

[Carlos Chees attacks Amalthea Marrow with a sword]

gj6okIyxiusword

[result:1140 -- 8.0 damage]sword

[4m dagger thane 🗡jay]

I see him as something less than human, and I'm not sure how I got to that conclusion.

My blade finds his stomach, slicing through his emaciated skin. I can feel his flesh squelching around the steel, it's vile yet I can't stop listening. Blood spills out like an overflowing faucet, I can taste the copper in the air. I see him as just a body to bleed dry.

Is this cruelty?

No, no - it's something justified.

He deserves it.

His fate serves a greater purpose, a greater future. A selfish one, sure, but that's what life always comes down too. The ones that look out for themselves, the self-interested and self-sufficient are the people who win.

My leg sears up with pain, my mind a comet crashing back into  reality. It's like fire licking my skin, crimson dripping down the pale skin. I haven't seen my own blood in so long, in years really. By now, it's a foreign feeling, knowing that I can bleed. That I'm just as much a body as Carlos, just as easily bled dry. And it's a scary thought, him driving his sword through me, ending my dreams before they began. Ending my story before the happy ending.

But I can't let him notice the way my hands tremble as I grip the sword, or the way the rhythm of my breathing is now frantic, rapid. I know how to mask those things, though, Being a collector in Eight has it's skills, like keeping a comically stoic and defeated look on your face, it blends in with all the monochrome factory workers. So I tighten my jaw and furrow my brows, staring back at Carlos with a snarl.

"It's fitting that you yelp like a helpless dog, you're more of an animal than they are."

marrow attacks carlos | sword

vLUgLsuDfpsword

[ 0 ]

sword

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

When he’d been teased mercilessly by the bullies and left beyond by his teacher, it’d been his mother that told him empathy would serve him better than anger.

Forgive them, she’d wanted him to do, to teach them you can be stronger than any words they’d hurl or bruise they might put on his skin.

Easier said than done, and what was forgiveness worth when kids lost their life for sport?

He’d rather have channeled his survival skills and strike back just as hard against anyone that dared raise a fist against him. Though as small as he was, Carlos took a lesson from the rats that danced through the courtyard. Strike only when the timing is absolutely right. Don’t waste the energy against an opponent that could rip his entrails from his body. Believe that in the flick of a wrist or the half second that passed from the slice of his sword could the young woman in front of him run the blade right through his heart.

Survival was not about wits or brains, brawn or endurance. It was the determination not to let go; to step forward and continue, step after step. To sprint was to miss that life would forever be a marathon, save for those that wanted to burn hot, bright, and short.

Carlos did not care whether he meant something to anyone; they were all just rats clamoring through a garden. There would always be boys and girls to push through these games. And no matter how special their stories may have seemed, they were interchangeable and replaceable. Not legends but histories, tales that collected as sure as a grocery list rather than some tablet scrawled epic.

His district stepped forward, and this time, Carlos threw his body back against the ground and away from her blade.

She cut wide, away from him and into the air.

“Rather be an animal than human,” Carlos shot back with a snarl. “Killing’s a part of life for them. Not just a game.”

[Carlos Chees attacks Amalthea Marrow with a sword]

NgW9n6Lkr_sword

[result: 0]sword

[4m dagger thane 🗡jay]

He doesn't understand.

It is just a game.

A spectacle.

Rats in a cage for them to gawk at, to throw their money at. It is just a game, but that doesn't make it any less real. I understand that to them, I'm nothing more than a chess piece. I also know that I can outlive that title, that perspective, and I can evolve into a fascination. But you have to play their game to do that.

I want to bathe in diamonds, I want toss my money like it's something trivial like they do. I have dreams. The games will grant me that: a brighter, shinier future.

He doesn't understand that.

It's personal to him, like his death means something. Like his pain means something more than just satiating a hunger. I'm smart, observant, I know what they want. What the audience wants to see, and I'll give them that. I'd chop his body into a million pieces if that's what it took.

I step toward him, the sword raised and pointed at his crouching body. A snarl sits upon my lips, both as a facade and intimidation. And I've become tired of him. Of the strange little boy scurrying around the sand on all fours, growling and hissing and avoiding death like a plague.

"Good," my eyes narrow, "animals are easier put down."

marrow attacks carlos | sword

1DBSWyYSTZsword

[ 8.0 ]

sword

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

His sword clanged against hers and he’s forced back.

Maybe she was stronger, or faster than he was. It felt all the more obvious when she sliced through him again.

Blood scattered across the sand. He could taste some of it at the back of his throat. He wondered if it was looking more like a cornered rat than a vengeful one at this point. Flecks of sand scattered through his hair and along his sweat stained face. The robes they’d given him already in tatters.

This was merely the first trial and yet where one moment he’d had the upper hand, she’d persevered and pushed through.

“Kill or be killed,” He shot back. That was the way of the courtyard as far as he’d been concerned. Rats scrambling to find their way, to get back to the safety of where they’d come from. Not to be the ones that wound up bloodied and gone by the end of the day.

Lucky were the elders that died peacefully in their sleep in the grass.

But the fight had not yet gone out of him.

No matter how badly this young woman cut into him, he would fight back, until he could no longer hold his sword.

After all, what would it have meant to give up when he had so much longer of a journey ahead of him?

[Carlos Chees attacks Amalthea Marrow with his sword]

1D1IAwzRZzsword

[result: 0]sword

[4m dagger thane 🗡jay]

My blade carves a line of red into his skin, it dribbles down his arm and pools into the sand. Crimson marks the entire courtyard, copper hangs like death in the air.

It's the final minutes. Carlos isn't so quick now, I can hear the sound of the steel cutting through the air beside my leg as he strikes. Maybe the exhaustion is setting into his bones or maybe it's the wound on his stomach, finally bleeding him dry.

I close the gap between us, dragging the sword through the sand to dramatize the moment. Like I said, I want my future to be secured, I want the Capitol to want me. The steel scrapes against the grains, it's an unnerving sound, like the sound of feet dragging at the gallows. I hope he can feel it too, I hope the sound seeps into his skin.

"I guess you're just going to have to die then," I raise the sword above my head and swipe down like a guillotine.

I was never born to be an executioner, but I'll gladly fill the role if it  means becoming something greater.

marrow attacks carlos | sword

AAok9LnO7osword

[ 3.5 ]

sword

[ 8.0 ]

sword·sword

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

Using the heavy sword was harder than he’d bargained for, and missing once again was going to cost him. Not only did his district partner gain the upper hand, but he was left with fresh cuts up and down his body.

His breathing slowed as he stared up at her.

This was it, wasn’t it? If he didn’t do something soon, she’d run him though and he’d die in the dirt. Which felt as though it might as well come to pass – no one would care for another rat put down – her taking on the role of exterminator if not executioner.

Still, that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give his last breaths to this. He gnashed his teeth and glared back at her. What did the rats do when they fought but ducked and weaved, and threw themselves upon the ones that stood in their way?

So it would be with him.

He gathered the last of his strength. He opened and closed his toes in the sand and counted a few second in his head. And then, without so much as a sound, set himself off toward the girl.

He hurled his little body with as much force as he could muster, raised his sword, and brought down a heavy blow, left, then right.


[Carlos Chees attacks Amalthea Marrow with his sword]

YEQD7XnQ4Bsword
[result: 4.5]

sword
[result: 3.5]sword·sword

[4m dagger thane 🗡jay]

His sword is a wasp, stinging my skin as it slices through my flesh. I grit my teeth and gnash my teeth together, spitting out a glob of half-blood, half-saliva onto the sand.

"Just like a paper-cut," I remark, feigning strength. All of the cuts and bruises still burn across my skin, like hell is bleeding from my wounds. But I just furrow my eyebrows and clench my fists, my palms turning a pale white around the hilt.

I only think of Eight as I raise my sword, of everything it robbed me of. Everything it never gave me, everything that I deserved. His death will rewrite that fate of mine. And so I swing down, for perhaps the last time in this courtyard, my future swimming in his eyes.

"Rats are never meant to survive in the end."

marrow attacks carlos | sword

2UpxrXVEyZsword

[ 8.0 ]

sword

[ 3.5 ]

sword·sword