Round Three: Western Fight (Bambam v Romeo v Marcus)

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

Another day fades to night time in the maze, but even with food in some of their stomachs for the first time in almost a week the tributes do not feel any safer. They've seen the dangers lurking within the winding, twisting tunnels of the maze. They gave up trying to memorize their pathing ages ago, fingers desperately fumbling to unlock doors they don't even realize they've unlocked before.

Slowly, the tributes travel in a circle, ever working their way closer back to the middle, as if drawn by current or gravitational pull. All they know is nothing: the crowds can be heard and seen watching them as if they were characters, like their every thought and action has been pre-determined by some template. Like they are all made of glass, and capable of being seen right through.

Only six of them remain, though. Five deaths left to cycle through seems like such a daunting task at this point for Harlan, because the downside of showing the world the true capabilities of these kids is that now the world wants success for all of them. But the win only waits for one, and that has been true since before Harlan agreed to play this part.

When the sun crests back into the sky high enough to reach past the tip-top of the arena and the seating is back to being at full capacity for the third day in a row, Harlan's familiar voice croons into a microphone:

"We've come so far with our beloved tributes at this point, haven't we?"

There's an almost somber sense that washes over the crowd. They feel as though they've accomplished something in watching others do what they could never do. He's seen similar things happen to people watching his movies: it's always about convincing them it is their job well done, not your own. What does it matter that the six of them have killed to make it here when someone spent half his paycheck to be in the front row when it happened? How is it supposed to be Ullr and Delta's tragedy to have been eaten by such horrific beasts when the crowd had been dying to see the creatures make their debut since they were first teased?

"But there is more work to be done! Welcome to Day 3 of the Hunger Games, everyone!"

This time, the tributes don't even get an open area to fight in. Instead, they'll each find that they've been locked in a long, single path within the maze, either on the eastern or western edge of the arena. Any gates the tributes find will be locked and no keys will seem to work for them until they are the only survivors in their respective fights.

---

For this fight to conclude, 2 tributes deaths are required.

Participating (in order of initiative):
D4M: Romeo Wilder - 46.20
D10M: Marcus Emberstatt - 17.2
D2F: Bambam Ramshackle - 0.0

Weapon: Sword

This fight will be using the 1v1v1 fighting system, meaning every tribute will attack both other tributes in the fight in every post. Attacks should be in order of initiative for the fight, from highest initiative to lowest.

Retro Engine Link: Here

As always, 24 hour posting rules are in effect and will be enforced.

This fight will conclude once the mandated death requirement has been met, and you will all have until Friday, 12th of May at 8 pm pst to finish them yourselves, or extra measures will be taken to finish the fight on time.

Tagging for notice: eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris pearl mcclain d4 [ryan] aya

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

Romeo runs the palm of his left hand along the hedge wall as he follows the narrow path, enjoying the coolness of the leaves against his bare skin. He has always been able to find the beauty in the darkest of things — even the architecture of his prison. Four metaphorical walls, twenty-four very real tributes trapped inside, and one horrible and cruel request placed before them all. And in a matter of two days, all but six of them have already failed to rise to this challenge.

Survive.

Covered in the dried blood of Mouse and Greer, he knows full well what survival truly means. The cost is not one to be taken lightly. He has already felt the dual edge of that sword drive through him. And he has learned, at least for now, he is capable of enduring that, too.

Against his chest, he cradles his right hand like a wounded bird. His fingertips tingle as if missing the friction of guitar strings / as if the nerve endings have been severed. There is a long strip of his tattered toga wrapped around the deep gash that the horrifying creature raked across his knuckles. Worse still, the wine shade of the sash bandaged around his torso has deepened into a rotten plum. It is a void expanding. A black hole in the place of his most vital organ.

Romeo looks like a boy who has had his heart ripped out.

And yet here he stands on two feet.

Even wounded, even a murderer twice over — he knows the importance of keeping his calm. And more than this, he knows just how crucial it is that he gives himself willingly to the whims of the Capitol. Manslaughter has inspired no arrogance in him, no pride in a strength that he has had no other choice but to use.

But he is acutely aware of the show the audience is hoping to see out of him, and even if he might be nothing more than a puppet on Panem's most terrible stage, it does not hurt him to admit that the Capitol is in control of his strings. By this point, he has learned that they choose when he hurts and when he feeds. His pain tolerance is far higher than the limits of his hunger. And above either of these, his mind is sharp and clever.

To escape and have some semblance of a good life, regardless of the amount of lives he takes here, he must remain in their good favor. Even if that means three more stabs on the other sides of his heart. Call it feline grace, but Romeo thinks that if he can land on his feet once, he can do it again. Over and over, if that is what it takes. Eventually, this nightmare has to end, either with a blade through his body or his own skewered through another.

As troubling as all this might be, what's on the other side of this hedge maze is all the more reason for him to keep going. He can hear the quiet roar of the crowd, growing ever louder with each step closer, but somehow still quiet like bees trapped in a jar. Buzzing and buzzing, but the sound is only a whisper on the wind. He has three rings of keys tied to his waist, and it seems this is where they have brought him. Right to the edge of an ending.

When he comes face to face with a stranger and a girl he once sang to, once cut into, he has neither the time for pleasantries or music. He brandishes his rapier, reminds himself that five more people must die for him to return to his home. If two more sacrifices are the price, Romeo will pay it. This ground is an altar beneath his feet.

And lashing out not once but twice, he will see it soaked in their blood.

romeo attacks marcus | rapier

oqWFAtR3eEsword
8.0

romeo attacks bambam | rapier

sword
3.5

sword·sword

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

the huge mutt had consumed the boy from six right in front of his eyes. marcus could only stand there in horror as he watched on. the screams became minute, and then ceased.

the crowd had erupted into applause, and then marcus had seen the padlocks fall off the gates, them raising, and then marcus didnt flinch. he ran straight for the door. there is a embarrassing quality to this, but that did not matter. marcus wanted to survive, and he did not like his chances.

when he felt like he was far enough away, he took a deep breath and leaned against the wall. he realized that this was just another long winding maze, he needed to keep going. get far enough from the two other girls that had survived along with him.

he could spend time later, freaking out about what he had just done.

---

time passes, and he is sure that he has thrown everyone off the trail. he took a seat finally, just trying to keep himself from going mad. he hurt, but he was alive. after a couple minutes, one of the stones had moved forward and fallen onto the ground. marcus jumped at first, the sword held out. then he noticed a tray being put in front of him with food, water, and bread.

marcus couldnt even describe what was given to him, because he had nearly scarfed down the food. he didnt realize how hungry he was until he finally saw it with his own two eyes. the water came next, but he took his time with this. slow sips to regain his sanity, and then he picked up the glass and started to hold it away from him. he picked up the piece of bread and placed it in the craddle of his blood stained uniform.

he could at least save it for later.

he guzzled the water and placed the glass back on the tray. he turned on his heel, feeling like he was himself again.

thats when all the horror really started the settle in.

---

he never expected to run into another tribute while walking around, but marcus had also been taking his time trying to rack his brain around the fact that he was now a killer. luja was from seven, she seemed to be somewhat remorseful, but marcus on the other hand, he had already accepted the fact that if he gets out of here, he will be known as a killer.

they dont spend long with each other, because marcus had a feeling that something was going to happen if they did spend too much time together. the way she carried herself, marcus knew that he would have had his hands full trying to survive.

---

as he walks across the uneven ground, he hears footsteps behind him. he is unsure of what or who could be around him, but he doesnt want to look back. he keeps going, thinking that if he goes far enough, he will be able to slip out just in the knick of time.

and just like that, he runs into a room, where there are nothing but padded locks. the footsteps behind him grow louder, and before he can even say something, they are already too close.

thats when he turns around, and it is the two other tributes. marcus is quick to look up and try to figure out who these people are. he sees a number smeared in blood, and is able to make out a four, as well as a two.

he was mortified.

the boy from four does not waste anytime. the blade cuts deep, but marcus can only think about what was waiting for him if he had gotten out of this alive. he wanted to get out of this alive. he was not going to let the death of two be in vain, even if he didnt make a promise to the second one.

"at least we all understand whats at stake here." he says to the boy before brandishing his bloodstained sword. the same sword and himself and luja had both looked into to realize that they were the villains all along.

"to them, whats another couple deaths." marcus poses a small but seemingly impactful question.

"to us, we think the same way huh?" marcus knows that he is the villain in this story.

hes accepted it.

[D10M marcus emberstatt attacks D4M Romeo Wilder | sword]
|iZUhTy2_asword
[9.5]

[D10M marcus emberstatt attacks D2F Bambam Ramshackle | sword]
sword
[9.0]

sword·sword

[aya]

I stabbed that guy in the arm. Then I stabbed him again through the throat. Then he hit the ground and I forgot all about it. That's called survival, baby. Cut a bitch, move on with your life. I haven't stopped moving. I can't. Something nips at my ankles — and I don't think it's all of those stinging little paper cuts people keep putting on my legs — I think it's in my head.

The fucked up thing is I don't think it's hunger.

I was never gonna feel an ounce of anything over skewering that Highland-ass kid from One, that's the truth of the matter. Maybe it would've been different if I hadn't spent the night before feeling your corpse grow rigid in my arms. But I don't think so. I don't think it would've been different if some Highland-ass kid rode the train here with me, and I had two elegant sophisticates doing pirouettes that I could call Moneybags and stab right through the chest. It wasn't about you, Holt. I think I just don't feel things right.

I had a thought last night. I know, I know — first one, right? Yeah. First thought ever. It sucked, too. Won't be making that mistake again.

It's just — I realized that no one's gonna miss me. Not one single fucking person. You might've, once upon a time. Would you have missed me if it was me and some Highland socialite instead of me and you? Would you have even watched me drive my sword through his fucking heart? Or would you turn the TV off — too ashamed of what you did to look at my face from who-the-fuck-knows how many many miles away? Too embarrassed to admit we used to be friends? Too afraid I might come back with a crown, strutting up and down Quarry Road, calling like we're kids: come out, come out, wherever you are! Too worried your ma might change her mind about me with a gilded brow?

Fuck, can you imagine? I'd be so obnoxious with that thing. It's not like I've got anywhere to stash it; I'd be wearing that shit 24/7 just to make sure it doesn't disappear on me. You know that shit would be catnip for sticky-fingered shitheads like us — maybe that's why Shotgun Ames tossed hers on live TV the first chance she got. I know you and me would've gotten into some trouble trying to filch it otherwise.

Maybe you had it right about family all along. I know your ma and pa and brother are all torn up about you right about now. Holding some kind of wake or something, probably. Sickingses from all over bringing loaves of bread and casseroles and shit. Your picture on some kind of easel — I bet your pa even put one together, huh?

I think my brother wrote me off as a floater in the quarry lake the summer I ran away from home. Doubt he's still kicking. He'd probably be shocked as shit to see me at the reaping; he wouldn't've bothered to un-mourn me, though. What's the point?

I don't wanna die here, alone, with no one giving a single shit about it.

The thing is, I don't know how I'm gonna go home without you. No one gives a shit about me there either.

I think I'm thinking in circles. I know I'm walking in 'em. This maze is making me restless. I know that's the fucking point — torture us to death, draw it out, make it shitty — and I resent that it's fucking working. Joking that I'm built different doesn't count for anything — I'm not, not in any way that matters. Tired flesh, angry bones, and a brain that fucking hates me.

When I wind up down an alley with two other dudes — I've never been scared of a guy just 'cause he's bigger than me, and I'm not about to start now — I'm not so mad about it. At least when I'm fucking people up, I'm not thinking. Thinking is bullshit and I fucking hate it — wish I never started. Wish I could turn it off.

I'm embarrassed to admit the guys get the jump on me, but here we are. There's two of them — the songbird from Four who bullshitted me about the ocean the night before last, and some guy I've never seen before, who looks like he's proud of his peach fuzz and feeling some type of way too.

"At least we all understand whats at stake here," says Peach Fuzz, "To them, whats another couple deaths. To us, we think the same way huh?"

His sword swipes across my forehead, trying to open up my skull like a dented tin can — I'll give you botulism, don't even try it — and hey, Holt, I bet we're twinning even harder now.

"Yeah, uh," I say, red rivulets running down my face, "Day One I killed the only person who ever gave a single shit about me, so —" I laugh a little here, even though nothing is funny and everything hurts "— understand that when I kill you and sleep like a baby about it, it isn't personal."

Brandishing my sword, I return the favors.

"I think your lyrics are better today," I quip, nodding at Songbird. "Pretty sure I've traced this path about a thousand fucking times by now. Stupid hedges."

[Bambam attacks Romeo, sword]

SSWdnTwcUssword

[1069 -- Deep Gash on Neck -- 10.0 damage]

[Bambam attacks Marcus, sword]

sword

[1195 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage]

sword·sword

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

If he is the ripper,

then he is torn, too.

He faces two vestiges of himself — human beings who have been forced to fight for their lives in front of a live audience. Even here, shrouded by the greenery and shadows along the narrow path, he can hear that quiet thunder. It rolls over the space; the crackle of hands applauding, the whoosh of giddy laughter. All around them are signs that their suffering is nothing more than a joke to the Capitol. This is the punishment, and eight years on, and they are still receiving it.

His quiet ambush is met with loud rebellion — "At least we all understand what's at stake here." The other boy fixes his gray eyes on Romeo, making a move to counter his strike before the sad song enthusiast can tap into her own reflexes. Gray and Melancholy, he'll name them. It seems suiting for the atmosphere. This moment is a particularly sorrowful one, at least in some way for each of them. His blade drips blood along the sand, but so do theirs.

Gray drives his sword through the slash across Romeo's chest. What's the point in causing new wounds when you can deepen one that already exists? He gasps from the pain, biting down and swallowing whatever sarcastic response comes to his mind. Obviously they all understand what is at stake here. They can each feel the point of the metaphorical dagger that's been pressed against their throats — and they've each felt how easily skin can be ripped apart.

As quickly as the weapon enters him, it is removed, lashing out against Melancholy and drawing an equally concerning amount of blood out of her, too. Somewhere, within the panic, and the rage, and the delirium — Romeo is transfixed, watching the red spray disappear like fog dispersing. He can smell the rust on the air, tasting it with every swallow. He has become all too familiar with this sensation. When he is home, he can spend his days washing out his mouth. Now is not the time for healing. He will live in this hurt as long as it takes for him to get out of it.

"I think your lyrics are better today." Melancholy speaks with the utmost candor, and Romeo even finds his lips twitching into a smirk at the girl's response to Gray. He remembers their first meeting through the iron bars — realizing that for the last three days, he has encountered her each time without fail. Maybe their tragedies are intertwined. If he can hear the clock ticking down to detonation, does that mean she can, too? Either way, regardless of the differences between the songs they sang, there are no mountains or oceans anywhere in sight to comfort either of them.

Only the endless hedge maze, and their swords, and all the blood.

"It's a little late to become an optimist now." His body still aches, a chest trying to close itself tearing open once more, but he maintains the honey warm tone of his voice. A lure, a trap, the sweetest death sentence. "But it's comforting to know that murder doesn't stand in the way of character development. Welcome to the correct side." If life were kinder than this, he would be able to show her the sea he once boasted so proudly about. The look of wonder in her eyes alone would be worth it.

Now, he seeks to close them forever. He will rob her of every good fortune.

The only option presented to them is this: destroy. Somehow, an unspoken agreement is made between them, that only one tribute will walk away from this encounter. Melancholy is as quick and biting as he imagined she would be — and when her blade kisses his skin for the first time, it does so by tearing into his most precious instrument, just narrowly avoiding a major artery. Romeo stumbles back, pressing a palm to his throat. No matter how many times they carve away at him, he refuses to bleed out in their presence.

To prevent him from going forward, he must be erased entirely. And he is not foolish enough to think that his foes are incapable of stealing the winning hand from his grasp. They are worthy adversaries, and they should not to be taken lightly.

So when he strikes once again,

he aims for their heads.

romeo attacks marcus | rapier

rRmnz6h47gsword
3.5

romeo attacks bambam | rapier

sword
8.0

sword·sword

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

it is fury he feels right now. not from himself or his hands or his own inner demons, but from the people that had been enclosed in this small enclave with. the greenery, hedges as they called it had concealed just enough. their screams wouldnt be concealed from anyone, but he wondered if anyone could actually see the blood pouring from their wounds as they cut into each other.

they are visceral and very real in this moment, ready to do what needed to be done in order to preserve their own futures in this arena. marcus shared his own insight, and the girl from two seems to echo it in a way. she tells them that she wont lose one bit of sleep, even after killing someone that she cared about, and marcus can only echo that in a small vein. she slices into the boy from four first, telling him that his song wasnt enough this time. from marcus's point of view, he thought she was trying to take out his very throat.

marcus is distracted, his doe eyed gaze almost only focusing on the blood pooling out of the other boys neck. he had a thought about wretching, right then an there, but a small slice against his skin brought him back. marcus had sliced off a girls arm, twice in two days. there was no more getting sick. even though he wanted to think he wasnt desensitized to all of this pain and gore.

it was just slightly easier because he was inflicting that pain onto others.

"glad im not the only villain here." marcus can find solitude in that. he has a feeling that none of the tributes here believe that they are the hero in this story. how could any of them be? he did make a promise, and while he was evil right now, he knew damn well that he was going to keep it. his determination separated them from being too much akin. marcus has holding his sword up, he is trying to keep his eyes on the boy from four, he can tell that he is calculating his next move.

its all in the words.

he also slices into marcus, but the cut is faint, almost like he was being cut by air. the sword that he had seemed to have a smaller blade, but he had already seen once that it was just as mighty as his own, or even the girls from two. they are trying to make their own stories here, just like marcus is as well.

"murder is the only thing we can control here i think." marcus hates that he utters that phrase to both of them. marco is probably grinning about all of this, that shit eater is going to taste fist once marcue gets out of here.

if he gets out of here.

"i dont know if anyone can be optimistic in a place like this." marcus pulls back his arm, looking at both of them and signing a contract that he needed to fulfill at this point. "but we sure can pretend and be killers instead."

and he swings.

[D10M marcus emberstatt attacks D4M Romeo Wilder | sword]
CYM1u1Vq0Zsword
[9.0]

[D10M marcus emberstatt attacks D2F Bambam Ramshackle | sword]
sword
[4.0]

sword·sword

[aya]

I think Songbird is mocking me, but I'm not sure how. Optimism and character development he says, but the thing is, mountains don't change like the tides. I've been a realist to my core for as long as I can remember — growing up in an active war zone will do that shit to you, or so I'm told by the people who didn't — and I don't know what murder stands in the way of, but I sure saw a lot of shit that it didn't. Didn't stand in the way of people standing up for themselves. If anything, murder made 'em double down on what they already believed. Correct side? There's no right — only left.

I want to be left standing when this shit's all over, too. I do. I don't want to die and I never have, and I'm not gonna apologize for it. Seems Peach Fuzz isn't either. "Glad I'm not the only villain here," he says.

Am I a villain? If we're being honest with ourselves, I probably am. I came out fists swinging at the reaping, cursing up a storm, putting that shiner on your face before anyone knew what was happening. We sure got chewed out for that one, didn't we?

Shit, Holt, that was the last time me and you got in trouble together, wasn't it. The pride of Shear Hill — or the scourge of Shear Hill, depending on who you ask — sitting our punk asses down to say serious things like Be mindful of the cameras. You had it right, I think. Worst-case scenario, what? We die? Okay. That's already on the menu.

Worst-case scenario, I go back home and you know how people will look at me? Not a damn sight different than they did before. I've been a villain all my life, I think. Even twelve years old, all the neighborhood grandmas eyeing me in their bingo hall like I was up to no good. Was I casing the joint? I'll give them that — yeah, I was. For a place to sleep.

Your ma's a smart lady, Holt Sickings. A real asshole, but a smart lady. She knew. She knew from the jump. I'm no good. I'm no good at all.

Everyone's been saying it all my life. I've always been too stubborn to believe them.

"Speak for yourself," I spit. I'm trash, through and through — proudly trash — but I've never been anything more or less than that. Never had enough agency to be a villain. I'm seventeen, I've never had more than a fucked-up frankenbike to my name, and I went from years of dumpster diving and scheming and scrounging to getting handed a sword and plopped in a maze. "I'm a real piece of work, but I'm no villain."

I don't have that kind of control.

"I don't know if anyone can be optimistic in a place like this, Peach Fuzz echoes. Again with the optimism. Glass half empty, glass half full — who gives a shit when the glass is full of industrial runoff that's gonna give you like eight different kinds of heavy metal poisoning? "But we sure can pretend and be killers instead."

"Who's pretending?"

I'm not.

[Bambam attacks Romeo, sword]

OmqWyn_uDIsword

[1030 -- Severed Left Forearm at Elbow -- 9.5 damage]

[Bambam attacks Marcus, sword]

sword

[1082 -- Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage]

sword·sword

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

his head his hurting more than ever. his father called it a headache, thats what he had before the girl from two had sliced right into his scalp. he pursed his lips together for a moment, thinking about everything that has led up to this moment. he cannot see anything around him, besides tall shrubs that led to a way out as long as someone perished here.

his eyes widened for a moment when the boy from four had a limb chopped off cleanly, blood spraying everywhere, including on marcus himself. the horrifying sight was more than enough to make marcus squeamish, even though he had done the same thing to both of his own victims. there mustve been a difference in his mind between doing the action himself verses watching the action being done.

there was no healthy way to watch someone get slaughtered.

the boy from four had fallen, and thats when he realized that maybe, just maybe the doors would open, and both of them could escape and get out of here. he wouldnt have to see the girl from two for just long enough to recover from all the blows that had been done to him. he was woozy and untrusting and full of quiet rage.

but they didnt.

he knew what that meant, even in his blood loss induced stupor.

they wanted only one of them to walk away.

"who says you are in the hero in this story anyway?" he responds to the girl from two, who made it very clear that she was not pretending to be a villain in this situation. that made it easier for marcus to justify going in for a killing blow. while he knew that he wasnt going to save anyone here, he could at least justify these murders in his mind. he was stopping worse villains from getting out of here alive.

it just sucked that he had to be turned into a villain himself in the process.

"you were the villain in that boys story, and probably the villain in others stories here too." marcus is trying to justify his own actions to himself, just as much as he is trying to get the other to understand as well. "youre my villain too, but it doesnt have to be a bad thing." he is spiraling and trying to make sense all at the same time.

"for what its worth, i dont want you to be the villain in my story." marcus smirks for a moment, his blade brandished and held up in order to make a point through all of this.

"thats my own damn job obviously." he is wicked and accepting of the fact that this whole experience is going to change him in a way that he probably wouldnt recover from.

"killing is the only thing that keeping us alive." marcus gathers his strength. "so i hope you better not be pretending."

he gives the girl one more look, one of demoralization and trauma. he needs to make it out of here.

he needs too.

[D10M marcus emberstatt attacks D2F Bambam Ramshackle | sword]
akHc5waYmDsword
[leaving up to aya, but for practical purposes, this is 10 damage]

sword