baby, baby ; p vs. b vs. t ; day 7

[calla]

p e r r y

" i am
i am
i am "

The mushrooms grow softly as Perry gracelessly hacks her way through them. She cuts through an orange, murky stem and doesn't bother backing away from the spores that puff up from it.

She's losing her mind - there's not much else this place can do to her to make it worse.

So, she stomps her way across the arena as she always has. Fairly unapologetically. Certainly loudly. She relishes in the idea of a fight now, she'd welcome it. She left Larissa and Bellamy with her bloodlust still high and skyrocketing. She keeps running her tongue over her teeth, feeling the strange cold ache of them. At least it feels like the fever's broken. Her skin is still too warm, but now at least she can see straight. Her lungs don't feel like they're on fire anymore. Anything terrible left over is purely her own.

Krueger Gamble." She grumbles to herself as she goes, "Stupid ass name. Stupid ass place - I hate it here."

What the hell ever happened to vacation?

"Took my fucking foot. That's not okay." She suddenly reaches into her bag to pull out the first thing she touches, that stupid little empty vial, and she hurls it directly into the sky to where she imagines the Gamemakers are watching, "That's NOT okay!"

Silly little mean girl, fallen from grace; barefoot and screaming at the clouds.

One of them lands beside her.

Perry narrows her eyes at the gryphon.

"Why, hello traitor."

Myrtle just ruffles her neck feathers haughtily, seemingly unimpressed by the lacklustre welcome her return has brought. Serves her right for just leaving. All this time she could've been helping, using her beak or her claws, or even just helping Perry get away. Because hello?? What was the point otherwise? She's certainly not a pet.

As if hearing the thought, Myrtle's beak clicks opens, and then she drops the mangled corpse of a bushbunny at Perry's feet.

Foot.

"Ew." She says flatly.

Her heart rate begins to pick up, even as she nudges the corpse with the end of her spear and wrinkles her nose. Perry clenches her fist at the sensation, thinking of maggots and gore and other gross dead things that shouldn't make her pulse jump.

And then - "This isn't Bellamy's, is it?"

She knows it isn't. This one is soft tawny brown. It looks more like the boy than his rabbit.

Myrtle digs her claws through the earth a few times, huffing with impatience. She pushes at the rabbit so it flops over and reveals the glistening red gore of its stomach.

"I don't want it." Perry does a very bad job of refuting. The sensation has suddenly become unbearable. The bunny's long dead but the heartbeat still somehow thunders through the clearing, pounding against the back of Perry's skull like a kettle drum.

The hunger bursts alive and vicious in her throat.

***

Relationship repaired, Myrtle becomes quite amicable to Perry riding on her back again.

It's nice to have someone to complain to, even if it is a giant man-eating gryphon.

"There." She points out, a grin spreading wickedly over her face, "Land down there."

She's off before they've even touched down, spinning her spear and heading straight for her dearest little beau. She can see them again in her mind's eye - last night, Perry on top of him, her spear against his throat, pushing pushing pushing.

No Larissa to save him this time.

She's on Bellamy immediately, gaze hovering around his mouth, spear tip hovering around his carotid.

"Hey babe." She greets viciously. "Didn't think I'd let you go that easy, did you?"

God, she wants to devour him. Wants to use his blood to paint her bedroom walls and string his spine up as a chandelier.

Perry drags one gnarled claw down the side of his face, watching his eyes flash a kaleidoscope.

"Silly little Bellamy," She breathes, her tone tinged with something soft and horrible, "I'm going to eat you alive."

Seven days have led up to this, this mock embrace that has Perry nearly shaking from the effort it takes to not immediately lean forward and rip his larynx out with her teeth. It's the pride that stays her, the pride that makes her want to dance this out and play with her food.

It's the pride that makes her whip around the sound of another person, immediately annoyed at the interruption. But then her expression goes from frustrated to intrigued. Interested.

She turns back to Bellamy and pats him on the cheek, not too gently, "Wait here, sweet thing."

Bellamy may be on her list, but so is that little shit Ulysses.

She's got a little favour to repay.

"You're that runt. The one with Cas and Jayson." Perry says thoughtfully to the new kid, Torian, "I've been looking for your other little friend. About this tall, kinda pathetic, took my foot off a few days ago? Ring any bells?"

perry attacks bellamy ; festerwood spear
KjuKJRSlRespear
[3.5]

perry attacks torian ; festerwood spear
spear
[0.0]

(accuracy day 7) perry attacks torian ; festerwood spear
spear
[3.5]

spear·spear·spear

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

Imagine waking from a nightmare to learn it is real life.

He remembers the way the trees had swayed in the darkness, the whistle of the wind through naked branches, static dancing on his bloodied fingertips. Only hours before, Perry had pressed a spear to the hollow of his throat, and Larissa had demanded peace in the birthplace of madness. That night, no appetites were sated. The denial of all seven sins was committed in one fell swoop.

But still a presence emerged from the woods, and in response, all that pooled inside Bellamy's mouth was silence and not honey. He sat there and he watched, awestruck and hallowed all at once, thinking of the candied words he spoke prior to this ill-fated meeting.

"Perry," he gasped the name like a memory, a trickle of blood cascading down the slope of his neck, resting his fingertips against her form with a rush of nostalgia. She could see the flush of pink in his gaze, as much as he could feel the urgency of the iron biting into his skin. If he could trust just one thing about her, it was that she knew as much of the truth as he did. Their hearts waltzed on golden threads, dodging scissor blades. If not then, then today.

Then like a flash of dawn, he was reaching for Larissa, speaking promises he had already promised to someone else, chancing sunlight to rest in the palm of his hand. But it always retreated, always flitted to the opposite corner of the room in favor of dimming itself. Where he and Perry had collided with this inevitably with a hard thud, he and Larissa had long mapped out this exact path to devastation.

Spectacular as she was, it would be a falsehood to claim he hadn't already plotted out how best to kill her if they were unfortunately paired in the days to come. Like a golden viper, he was certain her strike would be as precise as it would be lethal. And to his credit, he didn't fancy standing still long enough for her to turn all his ambitions into a mess of brain matter in the tall grass.

Either of them.

If not then,

then today.

The thing about spending your life awaiting calamities is that you forfeit the right to be shocked when they finally arrive. Blood cakes his skin like fungus on the trees, he thinks of the most terrible things he has said in this cave of a prison, a mixed bag of sugary sweetness and an acidic pang of sour taste forever stained on his tongue. When the antlered spirit kneels before him, placing the flowering, decaying crown at his feet, it feels like this is the only moment he has ever existed in.

"All hail the Blight Lord."

It would be a lie to say that the title does not excite him; that the recognition doesn't make his soul break out in song. The flowers and the mushrooms are quiet in his presence, and they no longer make melodies about all the awful ways he could die. The entity backs away into the darkness in the moment he leans forward to grab the circlet, spores rising into the air just from one brush of his fingers against a black leaf. His radiance has already been dimmed behind the sheen of blood on his skin and clothes.

Who is he dressing for now, if not himself? What does it matter this late in the game if he reveals himself as a horror?

When he places the crown atop his curls, he wakes from what he assumed to be a dream to find himself standing in the very same place. The plants and the fungi alike are all drooped and bowing to him, glistening with dew and death, and he can see the path that the creature took upon its arrival and its farewell. He blinks, a throb of pain as he tries to remember what he cannot; even if he can't relive the action, and although there are no pixies to be found, he knows that something has lead him astray once more.

Reaching up a tentative hand, he is not quite as shocked as he should be to feel the cool touch of moss growing along his scalp, the rustle of leaves and spores dispersing as his head tilts, crown shifting among his dark tendrils of hair. The Blight Lord glances down at his hands, gloved and ready for war, and he feels the weight of the bow at his back, the drag of the glaive hanging from his waist. To get what he desires, he knows what more he must want. There is a beast within him that he has fed two days in a row.

He will make this a craving.

Tinker squeaks from behind a vine choked log, and channeling what remains of his empathy, Bellamy crouches to the forest floor and runs his palm along the top of the bunny's head. "Don't be frightened," his voice is as warm as it has always been, a spark igniting into flame. "When I win the Games, there will be so much for us to explore. You don't even realize how big the world truly is." His smile is stitched with melancholy and hope, but his eyes are a singular shade of blue. "But we'll chart every square inch of it, buddy. You and me." He scratches behind the bunny's ear before nodding to the edge of the forest.

Obediently, Tinker squeaks and bounces off toward the underbrush, protecting himself from the gaze of predators and the cruelty of man. Bellamy stands at full height, securing his grip on the glaive at his waist and positioning himself in an attack stance. Something thrums on the air, a chorus is reaching the crescendo, the day has only just begun. The first thing he notices is the familiar boy emerging from the distance, a life he had so recently tried to snuff out, come to chance fate once more.

But all his focus goes to the sky when the storm makes itself known.

Perry arrives like a downpour, flooding his every sense, speaking to his heart and his hunger all while dragging her nail across his cheek. If she splits the skin, he does not flinch. And if she is surprised to see him in this state, blight-blessed and crowned, she does not show it. He is confused about what to feel, kaleidoscope eyes flashing, but her will and the anthem have both made the inevitable more than clear. "Didn't think I'd let you go that easy, did you?" His honeyed words are poured back into himself.

Now he tastes the way they burn going down.

"To eat me, we'll have to find out just how much you can swallow." He does not say this cruelly, but he does not budge from where he stands. This is not because she demands it of him. "I'm a bit sharper than glass, my lovely."

His gaze flits to Torian before he makes his choice to play the reaper, mantis hidden on the blossom preparing to strike. Whoever stands in the way of his goals will be steamrolled into nothingness. Why mourn when you can eradicate?

"Hey, stranger," he says this playfully, gesturing at himself and the beautifully gruesome girl now directing her anger at the other tribute. "If you didn't enjoy the shit talking in our last fight, then you should cover your ears. That's my ex trying to kill us, and I'm sure things are about to get really personal." His blade catches the light as he lunges, and it does not let go. This steel drinks more than just blood.

Might as well try to take out two threats in the place of one, hmm?

( bellamy attacks perry ; glaive }
gsc87R6Fd4glaive
( 8.5 )

( bellamy attacks torian ; glaive )
glaive
( 3.5 )

glaive·glaive

[Python]

It took every ounce of restraint to stay silent as he watched Ulysses walk into view. He had to second guess himself in this place, lest they attempt to trick him with an illusion. He watched the figure, searching for signs of static in a hologram, and heard it call out - "Torian?

That sounded real.

"Psst....over here!"

Suddenly he was being pulled into an embrace, and it was definitely real. The bumps, bruises, and blood stains were too harsh to be fake, and Torian was elated. His heart couldn't be happier, and if it could, it would explode. Death by heart attack wasn't ideal, so he took a deep breath as Ulysses recapped. "You're not hurt, right? I saw the holograms and you looked bad, but…"

He was very hurt. He felt like a ragdoll with days' old cuts stitched together by willpower - if willpower were bloodstained bandages and botched first aid. At least it was enough to prevent sepsis.

"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."

It had been awhile since he heard that phrase. When was the last time? His mother, his father maybe? A twinge of longing burned in his chest. He wanted so badly to go home, but the cost was greater than he could've ever imagined. Losing the game of statistics was hard enough, but knowing he would lose again once he was gone was harder. Statistics would make him a number, a nobody. At best, a museum display. Maybe they would cut off his antlers and encase them in glass, carving a small plaque that simply read his name.

He didn't know how to take a real compliment, so he changed the subject. "You won then, against Lillybird? That was real…"

He wondered why the Gamemakers had shown him that hologram.

"Yeah! Her chess board got completely wiped out."

Torian was good at chess. If only the Games were that easy. Lillybird had been such an odd person to meet, only for Torian to meet two similar tributes the next day. He didn't understand the concept of enjoying killing 'to survive.' That wouldn't just be for survival, that would be for pleasure and survival. And don't get him started on the ego-chasing...he didn't have the heart to tell Ulysses that two guys had been fighting over Jayson's kill.

"I met her yesterday. She said she enjoyed doing this, and I thought it was strange. Bellamy and Thomas are the same way. Is that normal?"

"No. No, it's not, this is not normal. It's fucking bonkers!"

Torian was glad he wasn't insane.

"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."

"You think that's what's coming next?" He asked, pained at the thought of leaving after he finally found Ulysses again. All of the searching for these past two days and they would have to split up again and fend for themselves. It was weird to think that far ahead. Torian had no concept of the future because his brain wouldn't allow those scenarios to form. There were too many, none of which made sense to him. He was still in disbelief that he had outlived Caspian and Jayson.

"They've done it for two days with the pixies, they're gonna try it again."

He gasped. "So the pixies bothered you too??"

He thought it was his own fault the group had split up!

"Mhm… almost caught me mid-piss."

There was little time to react to that statement, as Torian found himself with armor pieces in his hands. Gloves, a new chest plate - "Why are you giving me this? Don't you need it?" He listened to Ulysses talk about how it was 'stuffy' and make an excuse about 'living on the edge.' The energy to argue wasn't there. He took the armor and put it on without further question. "Stay safe," Ulysses said.

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

He patted Torian on the back. "Stay bright, Sunshine."

It felt like a goodbye. A forever goodbye. His stomach felt like cement the same way it had in the training center. He pulled Ulysses back before he could walk away, and threw his arms arond him. He was not saying goodbye without a hug. If he was never going to see Ulysses alive again, he needed a real goodbye. "Stay safe."

"I'll try."

And the last thing Torian did was tie Ulysses' shoes. He was happy to laugh at his request, because the other option involved tears. He didn't want Ulysses' final memory of him to be a mask of pathetic wet tears over someone he met three weeks ago. He couldn't help it; Ulysses had been such a good friend at his worst times. Better than his own friends from home. He was a kind spirit, a twinkle of light in an otherwise dark reality. Torian didn't want to leave him and face the evils of this place.

His last words to Ulysses were a reflection of what he said earlier. "I'll try." That was all they could do.


--


After a violet moon spelled mysterious omens, Torian wandered until he found himself surrounded by mushroom towers.

And then surrounded by monsters.

He spotted Bellamy first - a familiar face, and the last person he wanted to see after Ulysses. Peregrine showed up after. What a coincidence. "You're that runt. The one with Cas and Jayson."

A fair insult, he thought. He was a bit short, hadn't hit his growth spurt yet. She claimed she was looking for Ulysses. It sounded like she had a vendetta against him for slicing her foot off. That was also fair, but Torian felt defensive. Ulysses was not pathetic and he would never tell her where he was, even if he did know.

"Haven't seen him." He said, flatly.

He wondered what the odds were of finding himself in such odd situations. Bellamy and Peregrine were dating at some point, and now they hated each other? Or something? Torian didn't have much experience in romance, but dating and the Hunger Games didn't sound like a healthy mixture.

Torian had to think about what the heck he was doing here.

Slash, hack, slash, it began. Blades swiped him from more than one angle and he didn't plan to go easy on anyone if he could help it. "Sorry, I'm involved now! But for me, this isn't personal."

If he was lucky, they would focus on killing each other, and Torian would find an opening to slip away like the little deer everyone wanted him to be.

[attacks peregrine - glaive]
nCJie0dRddglaive
sc neck, 4.0

[attacks bellamy - glaive]
glaive
sc neck, 4.0

glaive·glaive

[calla]

p e r r y

" i am
i am
i am "

Bellamy's either smart enough, or stupid enough, to go for her good leg. Perry stumbles against her spear, she laughs, she shakes her head, mocking, cruel.

"Aww," She coos behind the grimace, "Baby's biting back, huh?"

She turns on him - forget the kid with the horns, this is the real freak show; the both of them standing in the rain, pretending and pretending and pretending. Perry's hair is plastered against her back. She's half-wild, all terrible, heart racing like she's just finished a marathon.

"Oh, is that what you've been thinking of this whole time?" She asks coyly, readjusting her grip, "How much I can swallow?"

Pretending to be scandalized, she stage-whispers and points over her shoulder, scolding, "Bellamy, there is a child present."

Then like a coin drop, her entire expression drops, the mirth suddenly replaced by a simple blankness. The dead-eyed shark swims through her, jostling its way across her sternum, sinking its teeth into the meat of her bicep - "You're not as sharp as you think, Bells."

It took him seven days to finally turn on her. He should've gotten rid of her the first time her teeth touched his throat. Now here they are, having to do things the hard way. But if he wants, personal, then Perry can give him that. Not a problem!

"Myrtle," She calls out to the gryphon, not taking her eyes off the boy, "Why don't you go find Bellamy's little bunny friend? You deserve a treat."

And Perry barely even has the time to watch her go before the forgotten child of divorce comes darting for her.

"I'm involved now." He's saying, and Perry shoots back hand on her neck, "Yeah, thanks, got that."

She glances at the blood on her palm, exhaling hard through her nose.

"I can make it personal if you'd like." She suggests, sickly sweet, "Because I don't believe you. I think you know where Ulysses is, and I think you're protecting him."

The spear spins in her hand as she shifts, teeth shining, "Don't tell me you're in love with him too."

"I'll tell you what I'm gonna do then, to save your imagination. I'm going to kill you-" She levels the spear at this, then she points it to the thick forest of mushrooms, gesturing vaguely, like she's talking about the weather, "And then I'm going to go find him, and rip him apart."

Her voice turns pitying, patronizing, as she winks at him, "I'll tell him you put up a good fight."

perry attacks bellamy ; festerwood spear
L184AL5OKdspear
[8.0 + 1.0]

perry attacks torian ; festerwood spear
spear
[0.0]

spear·spear

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

If he must play the villain, then that is a worthy price to play the victor.

He watches Peregrine move in the way that only she can; like a dark shadow, like an ink stain, like spite wrapped in flesh. Even with a shattered smile, eyes as pitch black as her hair, Bellamy finds the beauty in her ferocity. Especially when she walks away from him and turns that anger on poor, unsuspecting Torian, proving right then and there that she's not playing favorites. Anyone can die by her blade. First come, first serve.

His fingers run along the scratch she left on his cheek like a lipstick mark, the sting reminding him that he is still alive. That's what the pain has come to mean to him now. As long as he is bleeding, that means there is the chance to see another sunrise. And as long as there is a girl with a broken heart threatening to end his life, well... He's still the same old Bellamy. Taking the time to wriggle his fingers and toes, he glances at the missing foot of his former ally and thinks himself grateful. Bodily horror is not his thing.

Save for his wounds, there is so little to show just how much he has changed.

But even scars are attractive in the right light, and there's something to be said about boys with a haunted look in their eyes. The moss and the fungus flowering from his curls might be a turn off, but who could deny a lord? The spirit named him so, and therefore the gamemakers must believe it to be true, as well. He is a privileged monster, haloed by his own golden light, nestled safely in satin and velvet and other luxurious materials meant to keep the terrors at bay. In this cocoon of arrogance, he cannot be touched. Not in a way that can harm him.

It makes him frown, listening to how Perry speaks, how she so violently and viciously cuts through this moment. Hopping from one boy to the next, Torian following with his steel in tow, there's too many cooks in this kitchen for his tastes. The worst part is when she steps close enough that he can't help looking her in the eyes, smiling on impulse. There's another girl watching at home who he hasn't even thought about how to apologize to yet. And then here's this one, a rare bird of prey he should have never closed his hands around.

"Baby's biting back, huh?"

He sighs, not loosening his grip on his weapon, but he steps closer and speaks in a hushed tone. There's honey in his eyes, the smell of it wafting on the air, he speaks warmly. "You know as well as I do that you have to die for me to live, Perry." He does not mean for it to sound cruel, only rational. There are too few people left for him to truly listen to the knots of his heartstrings. "But do you really think I'm enjoying this? You, Larissa, and Tinker are the most important things to me in this arena." There's a pause, a metaphorical arrow being notched.

"It breaks my heart that only one of you is able to come home with me." He looks to the underbrush where Tinker hopped away to safety, making his choice right then and there. His story had never meant to be intertwined with Peregrine, nor Larissa. He volunteered for this very fate that now glares back at him; he has no confusion about the sacrifice that must be made. He will count twenty-three corpses in order to count a single crown.

"You're not as sharp as you think, Bells."

That makes him laugh, a little bell chime sound that dances in the grove like a melody. "Yeah, I know." He glances down at the glaive in his grasp, tilting it so that it catches a ray of light and shines in the girl's eyes. "That's why I have this." Despite his attempt at humor, the tension keeps building, but even when Torian and Perry both take their turns striking at him, each drawing blood in shallow and deep lines respectfully, he manages to hold fast to his cool demeanor. He keeps his breathing calm, his aim steady, his gaze calculated.

And then Perry tells her mongrel to go hunt down Tinker for a snack.

He considers just lashing out at her, trying to carve a warning across her flesh with the edge of his blade, but he reconsiders. If she must die, and if she wishes to be so downright heinous, then really... What does he have to lose here? Shaking his head, scoffing at her audacity and hatefulness, he levels her with a piercing crimson glare. All of his fury on display. He will shatter far more than just her smile.

"That, Perry." He gestures at her, at the insult she just made against an innocent creature. There's irony in this exchange, but he ignores it. He is, and will forever be, a huntsman lunging for the kill. "That's exactly why I could never love you for long."

( bellamy attacks perry ; glaive }
wEyFaerWszglaive
( 8.0 )

( bellamy attacks torian ; glaive )
glaive
( 4.0 )

glaive·glaive

[Python]

Torian regretted involving himself in others' affairs. Sure, there was no choice but to meet steel with steel, and hope that blood spilled, but he didn't have to open his big mouth. He wasn't cut out for whatever this type of exchange was. A display of threats, of power, of confidence. He didn't want to sit silently like a deer in headlights, but speaking on his own behalf drew too much attention to himself. The girl was a vulture waiting to devour roadkill. Revenge was on her mind, and Torian was a key to unlocking her next goal.

She was wrong. Torian remembered the last place he saw Ulysses, but he didn't know where Ulysses was right now. He could be anywhere. Technically, wasn't lying.

"He's somewhere not here. That's all I have."

What she said next puzzled him. To assume he was in love with - what an odd thing to think about! Even if such feelings manifested, it would be the last thing on Torian's mind. He was trained to be a thinker, not a feeler - most of the time, anyway. The logical pieces of his brain would not allow such considerations. Ulysses was his friend. A best friend, even. Someone he would never see again.

Someone he couldn't allow Peregrine to see again.

"I can't tell if that was flawed logic or projecting. Who falls in love here?" He stared at them pointedly. It was human nature to develop feelings and attraction to other people, but time and place. Context, people! He didn't mind outwardly judging these two for their weird behavior. To be in love and then killing each other? Weird!

"No offense."

He wouldn't let her words cut him deeply. She could find him and rip him apart, but what if Torian stopped her first? What if Bellamy stopped her? All they had to do was kill her. Easier said than done, but someone was about to die here. He had to save himself and save Ulysses.

Suddenly, cannon fire.

Don't think about it. It could be somebody else. The objective was clear - get rid of these two, and get away.

The most messed up assignment ever.

[attacks peregrine - glaive]
Jdh0Kd9rNbglaive
sc hip, 3.5

[attacks bellamy - glaive]
glaive
dg cheek, 8.5

glaive·glaive

[calla]

p e r r y

" i am
i am
i am "

"You, Larissa, and Tinker are the most important things to me in this arena."

"Well, good to know I rank above the rabbit." Perry mutters flatly.

It's turning out like a sad, stupid stage play. Perry keeps adjusting the lines, trashing the set, slipping on the rainwater.

"Boo fucking hoo. If you're not enjoying it, you're doing something wrong."

Isn't that what this whole thing was about? They were all just distractions for each other, right from the get go. This entire volunteering decision was a distraction. Bellamy likes to come up with pretty words for it, but they ultimately mean nothing. He's empty and brittle, like some shiny shell that's washed up somewhere along the beach. He reads from his own little script, his own little narration, and doesn't like when others deviate. Perry never promised herself to him. She'd be stupid to.

She only ever promised to be terrible, and she's done a fine job holding up that burden. Whatever fantasy Bellamy's come up with on his own is just that - a fantasy.

The anger comes off him in waves, and Perry finally perks up. She feels the red hot heat of it, recognizes the suddenness of the blow like a mirage over asphalt. Bellamy stumbles a little bit more like this, falling away from that facade which turns him into something important.

He's just a boy like this. She's just a girl.

Perry points at herself innocently, a sort of who me? action. She places a hand on her chest, over where her heart should be.

"Oh, you loved me? She asks liltingly, jutting her lip and tilting her head just to be condescending, "That's so pathetic it's almost cute."

She smirks to Torian like they're in on the same joke, "There's the answer to your question, by the way."

Get a load of this guy, right?

"Sure, we had fun, but you have to know that's all it ever was. Honestly, you expected me to fall for you? I mean, really? Me? For you?"

She titters around the subject, cruel for the sake of cruel.

"Poor, poor thing, what kind of a delusion have you been living in?"

The canon comes like a thundercloud, lighting her nerves and making her glance up.

"Well newsflash, loverboy. I'm not playing fair maiden and laying down and dying for you. Take your confession and stick it back up your ass." She snarls it, beast-hearted, "Or better yet, I'll do it for you."

And because she's not a complete monster, "Avert your eyes, kiddo."

perry attacks bellamy ; festerwood spear
HMoYPes2q0spear
[0.0]

perry attacks torian ; festerwood spear
spear
[0.0]

spear·spear

[d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris]

As quickly as the scarlet flows into him, it turns to glass. Clear, numb apathy stares back at a girl who thinks she can leave a scar on him. But her emotions, however she might try to tame them, are clearly getting the best of her. Now that she has shown the jagged edges of her teeth, he doesn't the see point in hiding his intact, sharp, biting smile. "Well, good to know I rank above the rabbit."

He just stands there impassively, head tilted to the side, a droplet of rain caressing the curve of his jaw as it slides down the side of his face. "If you're not enjoying it, you're doing something wrong." All he felt when he killed Jayson and Thomas was a simple, resounding sense of purpose. This game has become a duty to him, a killing streak that he hopes to continue, an aura of strength that he wishes to exude. He has shot a boy in his chest, and he has stabbed another where he knew the blood would stop gushing out.

And with that same hand, he has curled his fingers beneath not one, but two girls' jaws in the last month, whispering sweet nothings and words saturated with wild honey. Being promoted to team captain on his Exy team was the happiest moment of his life. Winning homecoming royalty with Priya was the happiest moment of his life. Volunteering for and winning the Games will be the happiest moment of his life. But even though his eyes do not flash blue, or indigo, he knows the truth of the sadness that rests like a void inside him.

If all the happiest things in his life now taste like rust in his mouth, then what is he left with? Blood?

Do not think him a fool; know that he is producing his words carefully, structuring an edit that can be cleanly structured if, and when, he takes the crown. Do not mistake that he has done terrible things, but look away from it and see instead the beauty in his ability to love in a place that is so terrible, see the way he took care of his allies, how he strived to move so peacefully among nature and its creatures. He is the Blight Lord, and he will turn all of these people into mulch in order to succeed, but he must be loved for his dreams to come true.

It's easy to convince himself that when the world is screaming his name, he'll finally, truly, be happy. Enjoyment means nothing in the face of victory.

And he knows full well that he can be just as cruel as he is charming, as ill-intentioned as he can be kind. She speaks of love like it's black tar pooling out of her mouth, a black stain that neither of them will ever be able to wash away. It is spat out at his feet, turning the earth black, rotting what is already dead. Of course he isn't foolish enough to think that he had his claws in Perry long enough to make her love him. But the cameras only know the truth that is acted out for them.

"Poor, poor thing, what kind of delusion have you been living in?"

The beautiful thing about this tale, regardless of which role she demands that she will play in it, is that only one half of this couple can potentially make it home. And when he's on his Victory Tour, crown atop his curls, smiling down at an adoring audience — he'll recraft this girl into something more likable than what she has become. People love angst as much as they love suffering, and there's something so poetic about hearts breaking in a place where hearts are normally stabbed clean through. He wants to show his humanity.

His humor, his charm, the way he loves so openly. It's okay if the bits and pieces make him seem gullible, or secretive, and it's even okay if a few cruel moments make it into the cut. He's only eighteen, after all. And he will do what it takes to grow beyond this moment, even if that means trapping the both of them in this tainted, tragic youth. Torian speaks like background static, but his blade roars across his skin. It is more difficult to dismiss the pain, searing through him in white hot flashes, but he trains his focus intently on Peregrine. He listens to the tar that spills from her mouth, not catching fire in the rain.

And when she misses her attack, he laughs right in her face. He leans forward, rotating his weapon in his grasp, drawing back like an executioner ready to behead the queen. "Don't forget you kissed me first," he sing-songs like a bullet through her ear, pulling back away so that she may see the entirety of his sickly sweet smile, the glint of his metal about to sweep through the air and attempt to end her life.

"And I'm sorry, Perry, but you're wrong about one thing." The rain shines like dew in his hair, his beautiful face and warm words are there own kind of weapon. "I care about Tinker and Larissa far more than you. You rank third of three."

( bellamy attacks perry ; glaive }
6|djMSeW1fglaive
( 4.0 )

( bellamy attacks torian ; glaive )
glaive
( block )

accuracy | day 7

{ bellamy attacks torian ; glaive )
glaive
( miss )

glaive·glaive·glaive

[Python]

Torian wondered what kind of life someone had to live to end up where these two were. He was a victim of the odds, and one would call it misfortune. Peregrine and Bellamy, if he remembered correctly, had both volunteered for this position. On top of that, they possessed their own flavors of cruelty, and had no qualms displaying them to the world. Shameless malice. They seemed like people who did not realize their actions had consequences. People who thought themselves above the world. They were more important than everybody else, and the rest of the population was meant to follow in their footsteps and choke on their dust.

Instead of feeling humbled, Peregrine reacted with rage toward the person who crippled her. As if she should've expected anything less. She spoke to Bellamy like he was lesser than her. "Pathetic" was a strong word, and not one he would use to describe either of the tributes in front of him. Watching her belittle him did not bring him joy, even if Bellamy was a bit of a bully himself. At least, in Torian's eyes, that was the most accurate way to describe him. They had only met briefly, and Bellamy had spent that time bickering over who killed Jayson. Not a good first impression, but not an overall judgment of his character. He could say the same thing about Peregrine, but she was not making it easy to feel any other type of way.

It was a head-scratcher. Were these two people exactly who they seemed to be, or was it an act? A character for the world to place in a special bubble or category. The heroes and villains and antihero narratives did exist in the fanbase, but it was something Torian didn't partake in. Such concepts did not exist in their purest form. A hero is a hero one day, and making mistakes the next day. A villain is a villain one day, and loving someone the next. Love, hate, protection, justice, selfishness, everyone had a bit of everything. What was the strongest? Torian didn't know himself as much as he thought he did. He didn't know these people either.

He did know that he was extremely uncomfortable.

They seemed more focused on one another than on him. By first glance, that was obvious, but then Torian managed to avoid a spear and a blade within a matter of seconds. They were bleeding each other out and not yet hyperfocusing on him. This could be used as a tactical advantage.

This is the moment he shuts up.

He could tell Perry she's being too harsh, he could apologize for judging Bellamy so quickly.

He didn't.

[attacks peregrine - glaive]
Qn12N2wEp8glaive
dg cheek, 8.5

[attacks bellamy - glaive]
glaive
stab stomach, 9.5

glaive·glaive

[calla]

p e r r y

" i am
i am
i am "

It's embarrassing, how quickly this all turns on her.

Bonafide career, girl extraordinaire; she's been too busy holding her pride up by the neck to realize that the ground's giving out beneath her. Blood on her hands, blood in her mouth, blood in her hair - she can't grip her spear properly in the rain of it.

"Don't forget you kissed me first."

"Yeah, and?"

It's almost ridiculous at this point, dancing around this subject, getting fucking nowhere. Perry doesn't see the point in entertaining him anymore. Sure, he can say they were in love. Sure, he can go on waxing whatever poetics he wants. He can write his sonnets and make out with his own hand from now on, it doesn't change the fact that Perry is the type of person simply incapable of this. She exists in the moment, can't be bothered to tie herself down for something as silly as love.

Did she love Laura? Maybe. And look where that fucking got her.

She burns when she smiles, seven days culminating into a vision that sees her setting fire to this entire flame and watching the char on Bellamy's bones. Her laugh is short and breathy, incredulous at the scenario they're in, clawing it's way out of her throat like a warning.

"Don't tell me that you and Larissa were screwing behind my back that whole time." She pouts, but there's something real in it this time, something clawing and scratching at her, "I'd be hurt you never let me join in on the fun."

Where is Myrtle.

Torian fades in and out of her peripheral, and that's good. That's a smart thing to do. Great for him. Maybe he'll be the one to actually get out of here, slip out while her and Bellamy rip each other apart and scurry his way to the exit.

It doesn't really matter anymore, anyways. Perry stands there with the metaphorical knife in her chest, twisting it in herself and pulling it back out, seeing her own blood on the blade and only feeling weaker for it. She is scorned and awful and angry, venomous, weighed down by the shadows creeping around them.

"For the record," She adds on, speaking lowly like it's a secret, "I'm glad it was you. Here, I mean. Dying. Larissa would make a much better victor."

perry attacks bellamy ; festerwood spear
28|36WK03Ispear
[9.5 + 1.0]

perry attacks torian ; festerwood spear
spear
[0.0]

spear·spear