strife walks with you | [larissa v ulysses, day 7]

[hesper hart 🐺 d9f]

The rain wasn't anything too terrible, but it made travelling impossible for someone who was trying to only do so via gryphon. She supposed it was possible she could still run into Perry and Bellamy up here, if they'd ended up deciding to stay together just a bit longer. They both still had pulses when she left them, and neither of their faces had accompanied any of the cannons she heard throughout the day, so they were both still alive. She thought of the sick feeling she'd get, seeing the two of them stepping out into the open holding their weapons and walking toward her. She thought of how it would've broken her heart right up until their throats got close enough for her to slit.

She was a cruel girl. There was no denying that now. She would've been the most wretched of women if she lived and, well, she intended to do so. If she was cruel, and wretched, and selfish, then so be it. Larissa would live long enough to see Panem's last breath before she went. She would make sure that every building she could see from the rooftop of the training center was reduced to ash. She would make sure her enemies were buried in unmarked graves. For every man in power who'd forced her into respectful handshakes, she wished to sever those hands and wave goodbye with them. For everyone who ever thought the Le Roux birthright was not her own, she wished to stand at the top and peer down at them and see their faces when they realized how wrong they were.

She wasn't worried about the crown, so much. She'd worn so many in her lifetime already. But the power that came with winning- that made this all worth it. Even if she could recognize Perry's breathing by sound alone, and even if she wouldn't ever forget how bright Bellamy's smile was. She hoped she didn't find them again. It was sick, and she was grateful for the rain to hide her emotions, but she accepted what she was really wishing for: that they'd die before she had to be the one to kill them.

She touched down in a place where the trees were well-maintained but offered plenty of relief from the weather. Her hair was a matted mess, clinging to the back of her neck and her forehead. The tops of the trees were each decorated with brightly-colored fruits, plump and delicious and too good to be true, hanging from the branches like holiday ornaments. A fairy orchard, she realized. She thought she remembered reading a story as a child about a girl who ate a plum in fairyland and could never go home as a result. She wondered what would happen here that hadn't already.

Even though the rain wasn't bad, it was clear that the forest floor was in dire need of a drink here. The topsoil quickly saturated into puddles, the tallest blades of grass seemed to stretch as tall as they could so that the whispers at their tips could still be heard over the cascading streams of water which slowly began to fill the area up like a bowl. She was most of the way to a decision that she should take her chances on Icarus and find some place safer when the plants all stopped talking at once. They'd been telling her something about the Blight Lord, and his connection to the fey queens before, when a cherry tree with a particularly perky voice stopped mid-sentence and her sisters quickly followed behind her.

More friends.

Icarus shivered, trying to keep his coat dry despite being just about as soaked as he could be. She wasn't even sure he could fly in this weather anymore. She was waiting for a moment when the rain would let up a bit more, but now she may have waited too long. She debated. Running was okay if she made it look like it was incidental. But then the trees had warned her already, so if the cameras already showed that then everyone who saw it would know. Staying meant- She knew what staying meant. And she also knew its what the Capitol and the world wanted of her.

If she wanted to survive, she had to play the game. That was how it worked- no one ever made it far by spitting at the feet of the Capitol, no matter how incidental they tried to make it seem. Fuck.

Just about here, a peach tree chimed in a charming District Ten-esque accent. In the final moments before he rounded the corner, Larissa drew her weapon and sighed. Screw it.

Shh, the trees all began to say, Here! Here! And they were right: stepping into the open flood ground was the tribute from 11 whom Larissa saw protecting Torian several days ago. The one who took Perry’s foot. She considered saying something: apologizing for what would come, maybe, or a warning to give up now to make the suffering minimal. But it'd just open the door for the other tribute to chastise her in some way, or try to use it as a teachable moment, or god forbid, get into some playground insult war where they just traded low-hanging jabs at each other until one of them died.

She'd done that enough already.

If he was going to kill her, there was no point in talking about it first. She would gain no solace from it. It wouldn't make her feel better to know why. She knew why. They were all just teenagers who wanted to live. So she decided it was best to just get right to it.

[larissa attacks ulysses, glaive]
7y76mIlsrtglaive
[0]

[larissa uses her jar of acid on her glaive]
1-50
[nope]

[accuracy]
glaive
[back, 4.0]

glaive·1-50·glaive

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

U L Y S S E S.

My untied shoe slides further and further as I walk. About ten minutes ago, it became too much of a hassle to keep stuffing them underneath my heel. The laces fly out five steps later. Strings flap around, slashing my ankles as I move. "Torian?" I've gotta see him one last time. Watching him run away in the hologram wasn't enough. He's gotta know some things. How proud I am of him for making it this far. How I know it's going to be tough, but he's gotta keep trying. How I need his help to tie this fucking shoe. "Torian." A hopeful whisper through the blighted woods.

It's dusk when I hear a whisper. "Psstt… over here." Torian. I turn in the voice's direction, on guard after two days of pesky whispers leading to a fight. I don't see anything until the mirror within my sword flashes an antler from the bushes. Those antlers, oh those fucking antlers! "Tori-" I can't finish the thought before I'm pulling him out of the bushes and into an embrace. "You're not hurt, right? I saw the holograms and you looked bad, but…" I inspect him up and down. It was hard through the hologram to see what was a real wound and what was fake. It feels like one of those moments where a panicked father who lost his son sees him at long last. "I got stabbed a few times since I last saw you but I'm fine. No infections either....oh, and the guy who threatened me is the one who died. I got away."

"Yeah! I watched it all while I was fighting. You did really good. I'm proud of you." Proud doesn't begin to describe it. I'm proud and grateful, thanking each star in the sky for aligning to protect him the way they did. I pull back, holding onto him by the shoulders. "Really, really proud." My pendant glows a brighter blue when I'm close to him, and his a more vibrant yellow. Sun and moon, back together after two days of being separated.

"You won then, against Lillybird? That was real…"

"Yeah!" Fight still fresh in my mind, I smile. "Her chess board got completely wiped out." I'm not sure if Torian is big on chess, but if he heard any bit of our battle, maybe he'll understand what I'm referencing.

Torian talks about how everyone that he's met over the past couple of days has enjoyed the fighting, Lillybird included. He fought her the day before. "Is that normal?"

I've talked about the more complicated side of that answer enough times to make a novel. "No. No, it's not, this is not normal. It's fucking bonkers!" Normal people are being forced to do cruel things. You see it on television and think it has to be acting. But Luna… Lillybird… all the others. The fighting spirit is real. And it's not going to stop. "Listen. I think we just need to split up. I wanted to talk to you one last time. They're not going to force us to hurt each other." They'll kill me before I lay a hand on Sunshine Torian Vice, even if we're the last two people in the arena. I won't do it.

"You think that's what's coming next?" We've been in here long enough to freely talk strategy with one another. Where's the best place to go? How do we evade fighting with other tributes? How do we avoid fighting each other? Putting the pieces together, I nod. "They've done it for two days with the pixies, they're gonna try it again."

"So the pixies bothered you too?"

"Mhm… almost caught me mid-piss." In terms of gear, I have more left over than Torian. Gloves, a chest piece. Without another thought, I start to pull the gear off, holding them out for Torian to take.

"Why are you giving me this? Don't you need it?"

If I wanted to live over you, maybe. "No! No, I don't need it," I tug at my collar. I could give him some bullshit excuse about how his body needs more protection than mine because he is less developed, but I won't lie to him about my intentions. I'll just withhold admitting the full truth aloud. "It's getting a little too stuffy with all this stuff on." I hold them out against his chest. "You can have it all."

"Are you sure?" Torian inspects the armor. Everything's still intact, unlike my helmet and second chest plate. Those are long gone. "You need to be safe too."

There's something simplistic about the way Torian speaks. Honest, observant, genuine, and always a bit perplexed. Perhaps he knows deep down that I'm hiding something. Ah, the way he pulls at my heartstrings. I think on a response… I know I told him I wouldn't lie, but I think the truth, that I want him to survive over myself, would hurt him more at the moment. "You know, I've always liked living on the edge. Don't worry about it. Just keep that stuff on and stay safe."

"I'm gonna try. You need to as well."

No need to respond to that. I'll do what I can, but knowing how the Gamemakers act, the best way to protect both of us is to stay as far away from one another as possible.

I pat him on the back twice. "Stay bright, Sunshine." I turn back, scampering off toward the ascending moon. I can't tell him goodbye. Nope, no goodbyes. No, I'm not strong enough for that. But I'm a few steps away when a pair of arms wrap around my ribs. It's Torian, with a hug goodbye.

"Stay safe."

"I'll try."

I pull back from Torian's embrace, just to trip as I step away. "Oh, wait. One more thing. Do you think you can, um," I point down at my shoelace, untied. I don't want to admit aloud that I can't tie them. It's always been a little embarrassing. He shoots a warm smile, bending down and knotting them up. "Thanks, dude."

I turn back, for good this time. "Stay safe."

"I'll try."

Torian's face fades in the mirror of my sword. I move quicker now, my mind buried in the thoughts and feelings I didn't have the guts to say to his face. Once far enough away, I whisper them into the lonely space. "Torian, he's the brightest, most intelligent person I know. If I could do my entire life over again, knowing what I know now, I'd want to make myself more like him. Innocent but so real at the same time. I want him to win, I think. Give him forty, fifty, sixty years and he'll become the wisest victor of the bunch. Me? What good am I gonna do with that much time? Torian isn't just a good person. He brings out the good in others. Me, Jayson, Caspian, he did all that." I bury my head in my palms. "He's got to fucking win this shit, man. He has to." Far away from him now, I look back at my sword. He's not with me anymore, but I still see his face on the edge of my sword.

I wander through the night, tears in my eyes from thinking about it all. Thinking about the future: pain from the thought of Torian not being in it and pain from the thought of not getting to see Torian grow up for myself.

---

I don't think I've explored this side of the arena before. The orchard is filled with promising trees. I pull an orange down from one, but with the rainfall it almost melts, gushing in my hands. Of course, the food would be too easy if they left an entire orchard. Who'd want to leave this part of the arena if everything was what it appeared to be? Oranges, apples, bananas, peaches, all of them have the same deal. Nothing good to eat, even with a desperate appetite.

I pull as many of the fruits as I can down from their tree, leaving them in a pile. Maybe there's an opportunity to build a trap within the pile of food. If the fruits are soggy enough, digging into the pile with enough force… maybe hiding some sharp knives or glass from the mason jar could give someone some nasty cuts. I move the fruits from the tree into the pyramid stack in pairs. Bananas on the bottom, then the apples, then the peaches. I'm back to the orange trees when someone rounds the corner of the line of peach trees.

Larissa. The one Torian mentioned helped him to learn how to trap things in the Training Center. One week in, bartering with connections like that won't save my skin. I pull an orange off of the tree, one that very well might be my last. Without saying anything, she approaches, shining glaive in hand. And I don't move or run away. If this is what it takes, then I'll get it done. When push comes to shove, there are few people that would spare another so late into the game. And her two allies are alive. Torian and I are low on her list, even with his connection to her.

The green acid on her blade sizzles in the rain. She swings and I glide backward, only letting the dull end of the glaive cut at my back. In return, I throw the orange at her first, hoping it'll at least catch her off guard some. But I've got my sword in the other.

I'm glad she said nothing. It's comforting because we can say so much through silence. Words are fun, and talking is fun, but after stepping away from Torian for good, I think I'd rather say nothing, too. Our eyes tell the story to each other: so be it.

I look at the reflection in my sword. Torian is still there, in some haunting spirited way. And my pendant still glows. He's still out there.

This is for him more than it is for me. I look away from the reflection and just swing.

Table by Rave

ulysses attacks larissa ; sword

taJaOTAUcqsword
[ 1180 | right thigh, 8.0 ]sword

[hesper hart 🐺 d9f]

They didn't get this far by luck, it seemed. She'd been hoping for as much: for this to be easy and for the memory to remain as small as possible. It was much easier to repress that way she found. If this was going to be another Xaahira death which ended in the Eleven tribute crawling into the bushes just to go die in a hole thirty yards away, Larissa feared the last few strands of both her humanity and her sanity would be severed.

Control. She would be relinquishing her own. She could feel it already as a dizzying bite from a sword drug itself across her thigh. She groaned out loud, the base of her throat constricting in the nauseating rhythm of her pulse, and she hissed to will the pain away. She was strong. She was strong. She was stronger than just one hit. She couldn't let on that she was injured- that gave someone ideas, like going for the same spot over and over again. It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for someone to keep going until the limb was removed entirely.

Speaking of.

Now that she thought about it, how had the tribute before her managed to slice off Perry's foot? How had this person, with the porous peroxided hair, from the lower district managed to dodge a hit from Larissa just now that would've normally stopped his heart? How? Sizing herself up in comparison, Larissa knew for sure she'd fought worse monsters in District One for years. Perhaps it was a natural gift after all, violence. Perhaps not everyone had to earn their way into heartlessness. Perhaps some were born with a knack for it.

It sounded crass, but in a place like this it was so necessary that Larissa found herself envious of it. If she could've gotten away with having some semblance at a normal life while still getting elevated enough in her training to be successful, she would've been unstoppable. The moment came when she considered an alternate version of herself, one who decided not to volunteer because something loved her back. You see, it'd always been her own job to do that: to love. That's why she chose to love something as impossible to be loved in return by as the past: history was unchangeable. It was always already there by the time they called it history, and her family's own was this: They knew what was right, even in a time when most didn't. And they suffered for it again and again and again. But if one lion remained, the pride remained, and now here she was nearly a century later still trying to fix something that history already declared unfixable.

Gritted teeth, she forced her features to stay level, sleepy golden eyes still keen and alert despite.

The fight was only just beginning.

[larissa attacks ulysses, glaive]
N1pwW774Gsglaive
[bicep, 8.5 +1 blades, +1 rivalry]

[acid roll #2]
1-50
[nope]

glaive·1-50

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

U L Y S S E S.

The orange misses completely. It was just a way to gauge the wind in the area, though. Or at least that's what I'll tell myself when everything settles. The sword, on the other hand, slices through the fabric of her clothes and into her thigh. It's just a little something that my spar with Xaahira in the training center taught me. Know when to miss, when to hit. I thought that her struggles had taught me when to fight and when to give in, but the week's worth of unnatural hell across our faces and bodies isn't enough to deter me from fighting.

The blood of Perry, Luna, and Lillybird stayed on my sword for hours until I got the courage to clean it off. But the rain rinses Larissa's into the dirt. Blood is water in this place, keeping the rotted cores of the fruit in their disguises. I check my backside for more citrus ammunition, but the rain showers have already flattened the pile.

This is the most intimidating battle left. In our previous two meetings, she and I didn't have much time to interact together. Caspian decapitated Numair, and all of the pressure the day after came from Magi and Lara. Being from District One, she knows all of the right things to do when maneuvering a fight. The angles, the flicks of her wrist, the positioning, everything that the trainers spoke about that flew miles over my head. How to be competent in this game. Aside from killing Lillybird and taking Perry's foot, I haven't done much in the way of competence. I've talked people's ears off, maybe, probably more than I should have. But at the end of the day, the killing blow is all that matters whether it be a knife through the heart or a flick on the temple.

Still managing that silence, Larissa's green sword burns through the upper part of my leg. I pull back before the layer of acid slides down into the wound. A squeak comes through my lips as I do my best to resist the urge to say something witty or clever. It didn't amuse Luna, it didn't amuse Lillybird, and it sure as hell won't amuse someone as focused as Larissa. I drag part of my torn pantleg down to cover the wound from the muddy puddles splashing with each footstep.

I take my sword, wiping the last few drops of her blood (and maybe some of mine, too,) off the blade. The light wind pushes the rain against the side of my face, instigating me to get closer to Larissa and the cover of the trees. I grunt from the pain, flailing my sword toward Larissa again. It has to be this way, as tiring as it may be. With resignation in my eyes, I look at her, refusing to break the silence. Focus. Focus. Focus. Maybe someone of Larissa's prestige and mindset might appreciate the straightforwardness of the moment.

Table by Rave

ulysses attacks larissa ; mirrored sword

cPNH1deZjEsword
[ 1052 -- Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage ]
sword

[hesper hart 🐺 d9f]

Despite having a helmet on, his blade miraculously managed to slice Larissa's forehead open.

It wasn't anything crazy- the wound was more of a scratch than a cut, but it was enough to send a line of blood down her right temple. From certain angles, she could've been crying the blood as rain washed it down her face. Something wasn't right here. Something that should've been going right by now wasn't. She considered the feelings she got when the arena forced her to leave her allies a couple days ago, and how out of control of herself she'd felt when she realized that her decisions weren't her own in that moment. Was that what was happening here too?

She'd been taught her entire life that gamemaker interference was real and something to account for, but she also usually could pick up on it when it was happening: two friends crying as they killed one another, because when they tried to walk away their feet refused to carry them. Tributes slicing heads off of dragons early in fights the gamemakers wanted to be dramatic, so they just programmed the beast a new one and kept going like it didn't happen. Cameras cutting the feed to a particular tribute just long enough that when they came back on, we had no idea how said tribute died exactly. Usually, gamemakers were about as subtle as a gun. But something like this, like giving them pretend armor that didn't work but looked like it would, that was something that Larissa might have even missed herself if she were watching back home. Every hit would just seem like a lucky one. She would be thinking, wow, how surprising, what expert placement!

This person started the fight off by throwing fruit by way of defense. Expert placement? Please.

But then, why the hell would the Capitol want another victor from 11 when she was standing right there? A District One tribute, the highest score in private training sessions, a member of the only still in-tact alliance at that point, a legacy tribute, a victor relative: what more could she have done to prove herself to them? What possibly could she have done to dissuade them from choosing her as their winner? Should she have followed Xaahira as she died? Should she have just stabbed her then and there and been done with it? Should she have gone after Magi when he tried to run? Or kill her allies when she ran back into them yesterday?

No. She refused to accept any of that. She refused to take blame for whatever was happening. If the gamemakers changed their mind about her, it was because of some outside influence. Maybe they thought two victors from the Le Roux family at once was too much given their history. Maybe the concern was that Ridley's past actions might be Larissa's future ones. Or maybe Aunt Eury was unimpressed and paid off the officials to make it look incidental, but to make sure Larissa didn't leave this place with a pulse.

Conspiracy. She felt it in every fiber of herself. And if she died in this fight, it wouldn't be from blade or blood loss. It would be from not knowing.

Ulysses wiped the sword blade coated in her blood away, she steeled herself. They'd have to do better than that if this was how Larissa's end would come. She refused to stand still and await the inevitable.

[larissa attacks ulysses, glaive]
tNycxrqAuRglaive
[bicep, 8.0 +1 blades +1 rivalry]

[acid number 3]
1-50
[sksksk nope!]

glaive·1-50

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

U L Y S S E S.

Maybe I should have listened better to the trainers. None of this has been good enough to make her second guess a thing. Come to think of it, no one hit against another tribute, aside from the gash to Lillybird's side when I needed it most, has been good enough. It was the creature within the portal of the Cornucopia that sent her hivemind after Luna, entombing her in their swarm. It was Torian who bravely dealt that final blow to Lara. And when it came to Perry, even without a foot, her giant gryphon protected her. One successful play in six days worth of them.

The roots wrapped around my chest droop as the vines that once gnarled the chest piece together come undone. It falls into the mud, splashing dirty water halfway up my leg. Now, all that's left are a few thorns and twigs stuck inside my coat and my pockets, poking with every deep breath in. I've been in messier positions before. Back home, we tried doing tricks and stunts over the ramps on our bicycles. I could pick up a lot of speed going up and down those things, so much so that I went too fast over a ramp. I fell all the way down the backside, landing face-first in a huge puddle. Dirty as hell, but at least that was fun. Here, worn down, it's bothersome for a moment. Contrary to what others have said, the memories feel good. You don't realize how good you have it until it's taken away.

Larissa's movement is so unpredictable. Her glaive catches me again, tearing my pantleg in two now rather than just a few splits here or there. I look down through the slit to see the damage and eek does it look bad. The way she's aiming, I wonder if she's going to chop the thing off entirely. Two jabs in and I think she's digging for the bone. The saying goes as long as I'm still standing, I'm alive, and I believe she's trying to make that real. On the bright side, the acid poison stuff that once caked her weapon has mostly rinsed off of the metal, clumps of smoked green sizzling now in the puddles. That's one part of the challenge out of the way, outlasting that stuff. I saw the type of damage it did to Luna with my own jar of it.

On reflex from yesterday, I look past her for a moment, hoping to see those holograms pop up again. At least maybe then I'd be able to see if Torian's doing well or not. Is he fighting out there? Did he stay in the bush? The blue of my pendant continues to pulse with the heavy drops of rain like a little heartbeat. I'm selfish for hoping to see him again. If I could see him, it means he'd be able to see me. Fighting Larissa. And at this rate, losing. But I pray anyway that his antlers poking out, or maybe getting caught in one of the apples.

I mouth his name twice, Torian, please. Torian, please. I don't believe in a god, but I'll pray to one anyway. Oh omniscient wise badass sexy stud of a greater power, please protect him. He's a good kid. Someone's gotta do right by him in here.

It's a big brother thing. They'll call it a bad influence if they don't look further than the shallow.

Table by Rave

ulysses attacks larissa ; mirrored sword

6c|zgQX|Omsword
[ 1148 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage ]sword

[hesper hart 🐺 d9f]

Even though it had originally made her feel like shit for doing it, Larissa was grateful in the moments that followed that she took the time to track Xaahira and take her armor. While it might have seemed cruel, or selfish, or disrespectful, it was the only reason she was still alive, and all it took was one instant. It happened right after her own assault, and judging from 11's form, it was purely out of animalistic retaliation. That was the voice in one's head which took over in times of severe crisis. The same voice that told a person trapped in something's jaws to claw at it. The same voice that knew in the moment that losing a foot was worth it if losing a life was a possibility. The sword ripped through the frigid, misty chest piece, its blade stopping at the hard icy layer within just as the armor was designed for. She knew from the pressure of the point that if the armor wasn't there to slow the pierce down, her heart would've just been skewered.

Even the impact was still enough to rob her of her breath and (momentarily,) her resolve: "No! Nononono-" She forced her feet to keep up with her even as she fully threw herself back in the opposite direction from her attacker. That was twice in as many days someone tried to stab her in the heart. When they warned her that she'd have to beat the boys away with a stick, she'd imagined something much more produced. How strange that it had to be a place like this where her mother's completely irrelevant teachings turned out to have some semblance of a meaning. Larissa would have to let her know about it when she got back to One.

You know, right after toppling Capitol power by razing everything contained within its walls to ash.

Out too far for her opponent's blade to really run her through anymore, she allowed herself to reset. She was okay. She was strong. She was stronger than just two good hits.

Her glaive was long and slender, the tip of it stained red with the blood of 11. She held it tightly, as if being tethered to the ground by it. Her knuckles burned white hot, her teeth clenched so tightly they hurt. The entire area was covered in several inches of water now, the floodplains creating small streams of water in which rotted fruit marched further down the hill like a parade of decay. She saw a bird bravely step out from its nice, dry home in a tree trunk, swoop down toward one of those streams as if hunting fish. It would've been a lovely sight if, at the last minute, the creature's entire head didn't split into three ungodly sections in order to envelope a golden yellow pear in a single bite.

She hated this place so, so much.

All at once, her feet carried her forward.

Again, and again. Same place. She ripped the clothing where the wound was, so now it stood out that much more. Almost like a bullseye. She wouldn't stop until she had to, and that wasn't even a choice anymore. He took Perry's foot. He owed his own pound of flesh now.

[larissa attacks ulysses, glaive]
KaEP3gsBufglaive
[severed leg - 9.0 +1 blades, +1 rivalry]

glaive

[LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio]

U L Y S S E S.

I thought I caught her for a moment, my sword chipping away at Larissa's chest. I push harder, each piece of armor chipping and cracking like a lock being picked. I grunt as she tries to deny the sword from piercing her chest. It's the first time either of us have said anything intelligible aloud today. But it's her who wins out; the big, daunting Leroux legacy name.

I've got a legacy, too: Daniel Ulysses III, Dan for short, just like my dad and Grandpa. But it's not as powerful as Larissa's. There's a wince behind my first name. That's why I don't like to use it very much. I haven't said that to anyone in this arena, or anyone at all. Hearing his name called in the funeral home and seeing his headstone in the cemetery, was all jarring as a little kid. "You are Danny's son, no?" … "Lord, please welcome Dan into the gates of heaven." … Father. Son. Brother. Daniel Ulysses Jr. There is so much power in a name, but when you lose someone, the use of the name can bring just as much pain. The pressure of a legacy, even if it's not a notable one, isn't what I wanted to live by, and it's not what I want to die by either. So I chose Ulysses. Just as much my name as the other parts, but the part that hurts the least. (Plus, the kids at the playground thought it was badass to be called by your last name.)

One of the fruits splatters when bitten into, the juices of the peach and blood of the creature that bit it burst through the sky like some sort of time bomb. Gruesome way to go, killed by forbidden fruit. But at least it's not by a glaive charging forward. Larissa's back again, same time, same angle, same place. Third time's a charm, one, two, three. Her blade, perpendicular to my body, slices cleanly this time, cracking bone and sending me onto the ground. The puddles of mud and rainwater are deeper than they appear from standing straight. Every twitch of pain buries my knee deeper into the flood.

I don't know if I'm going to stand up from here. My leg isn't completely chopped off, but it might as well be at this rate. I slide my weight onto my good leg's side, doing whatever I can to keep the mud away from the rip in my leg.

Larissa spoke first. She might win the battle between us, but I kept the silence the longest. A game neither of us agreed upon, but I'll brag about it to my grave. So… what can I say now that that game's over?

At close range, I look up to her. "To the skies." I quote Larissa back to her. More for myself than anything else. "I really liked that line." With one last ditch effort, I swing my sword, the hilt flying out of my hands by the end of it all.

Table by Rave

ulysses attacks larissa ; mirrored sword

TyMTE|DRODsword
[ 1122 -- Deep Gash on Right Calf -- 8.0 damage ]sword

[hesper hart 🐺 d9f]

She was a creature of intention. Her father told her that once- that there wasn't a thing worth doing if it wasn't deliberate. At the time, she'd taken it as his way of saying she was too particular- too hard on herself. Maybe she was. But on the other hand, she supposed what he said was true, regardless of his intentions in saying it: Larissa was, indeed, a creature of intention. She thrived on routine, hated the unexpected. She planned things months in advance and got irritated when plans were changed.

Structure: her childhood lacked any real form of it, so she made it for herself. As much as she liked to think that this burden was thrust upon her by the inactivity and unsuccess of her predecessors, but she knew the truth: no one had ever asked her to be the one. It wasn't something that got brought up at dinners with her in mind. It was always another. Someone older at first, then when that wasn't a problem, someone younger. In complete honesty, she'd only been eager for the opportunity to be the savior everyone was waiting for because-

Well, because no one ever believed she could be.

A creature of intention: she said Ulysses would pay his pound of flesh, and with a swipe of her sword he did just that. It didn't sound as clean as it looked- the snapping of the bones and the stringier, more stretchy bits made it sound positively sickening. And along with the leg, Ulysses fell.

She blinked, not from the rain but from- something. Horror, she thought. She was afraid of looking into the water, lest she she glimpses of the girl she was having to be in order to survive reflected back at her, haloed in golden light like she was something special.

"To the skies," 11 said, "I really liked that line."

She smiled. And it wasn't to be cold. It wasn't to be cruel. But because for some reason, it felt like a mercy: a solace siren, wailing its goodbyes.

He thrust upward with his weapon and she, down.

His sword stabbed into her chest this time with nothing there to protect it, but her own blade finished the job with thunderous applause from a cannon somewhere far away.

To the skies.

"A quick death, then. You deserve that much."

And so much more than he would get if she wanted to live.

[larissa attacks ulysses, glaive]
6V|oJ7hSpMglaive
[forearm, 3.5]

glaive