the ascent | cool kids vs three of wolves vs crawlers

[august vance d7b [Bella]]

⤜ x o v - ♥ - t h a o ⟶

Xov was born into a world of stories and their morals. A life thick with meaning; every day a ritual of waking intention, giving thanks. She woke with the sun to tend the garden, follow her mother like a little duckling as she was told the way the world had been put in order. Tidy, like a gift wrapped in paper and ribbon. Everything that could fly, walk, or swim fit into a place where it was meant to be.

Maybe that envelope of love and belonging was why she tried so hard to make friends with everyone. It filled her up and poured out of her, fountain-like. She noticed flowers blooming in the eyes of all the people she met, some part of them worth keeping. As she practiced making her lists of gratitude, they got longer.

Even in Twelve she’d been sheltered by that love. The mines never touched her family; she was lucky in that way, though she had been unlucky in others. But even when she broke a bone or cracked her head on a rock, as she was prone to doing, there were so many hands to tend to her cuts and bruises. That world had soft edges; it cradled her.

This world was chaotic, cold and cruel as the ice that covered every corner. Its lessons were of lack. She lacked training, lacked strength, lacked time, lacked warmth. Lacked the words to tell her allies how much they meant to her before they put themselves in danger. Lacked the promises, which she wanted to make so badly but couldn’t, not here, because there was nothing now that she could guarantee. Wishes abounded, half-spoken hopes floating on the wind to nowhere. But no answers.

She felt like everything here had teeth that took bites of her from all sides, piece by piece. The wind, the mutts, the tributes. It wasn't that she had expected the arena to be a picnic. But it was one thing to prepare for the worst one could imagine, and another to experience it.

"Then watch me kill him. Trust me, I'm doing you a favor."

Xov watched helplessly in horror as Gunner's javelin pierced into Marcus's skin, tearing a ripple of shredded flesh. Tears clouded her vision, chilling in the wind. Lucky tried to make a deal with Marucs she thought would sound too tempting to him. Watching the spear hurl towards his face, she yelled, "Marcus, please! Get behind us!" She might as well scream at a brick wall.

Xov didn't want Marcus to die, especially here in the cold, making some heroic last stand for her life. How could she live with that, knowing how easily he had looked down the barrel of a shotgun for her, while she was so afraid of the water underneath her she could barely move three steps without her knees going weak?

It was like being underwater all over again. Lucky's and the girl's chiding voices echoed in her ears, muffled by her pulsing heartbeat. "Kinda just makes me want to hurt him more." A wink--at least she thought it was one, the one eye fluttering--that made her want to vomit. The mutts took another piece of her, claws tearing the skin from her wrist. She cried out. Struggled to focus.

"Seems like your district partner has a weak stomach," said the girl who had attacked Juno. In the back of her mind, Xov noted that she wasn't wrong. She felt like she was going to puke. "I have a feeling your allies might be of better use dead than alive. I think we might doing you a favor."

Were these people even human? What did they mean, doing her a favor? How could anyone think something like that? She shook her head, nursed her bleeding wrist against her side.

"You couldn't do anyone a favor if you tried, " she told the girl. "Juno's right, and careers are a bunch of cowards. Always plucking us lower-districts into your ranks just to let us die first." She nodded to Gunner, but her eyes were fixed on Lucky. "That's all Gunner is for you, right? A bodyguard?"

Her voice was hoarse. "Fine. You hurt mine--I hurt yours. But the difference is, I actually care about the ones protecting me."

But she had noticed that boyish levity in Lucky's voice when he spoke to Gunner--saw the way he looked at him, possessively. Maybe this would pierce that jumbled mishmash of leather armor, which she thought made Lucky look like a medieval torturer.

Widening her stance on the ice, she swung for Gunner’s throat.

[attacks gunner, pike (axe)]
QsrbswKqRMaxe
(11025 - severed right forearm at elbow - 9.5)

[sd on crawler attack]
3-8

axe·3-8

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

👹

laptop crashed and is being repaired so have this temp filler until i get it back!

- attacks marcellus
dart gun, (1/4 darts)

q3cb9_|uwrthrowing knife

9062 -- 4.0 damage
(Thrown Knife)

sd on xov’s last attack

3-8

throwing knife·3-8

[Python]

j u n o
b r i m s t o n e.

Juno was learning that blood reflected anger. The more red they could see, the more they spoke down to him. "Why do you care that he cares what I think?"

Because he's one of us.

Really, he didn't have an answer to speak aloud. He didn't know Gunner well enough to know his motives or his feelings. He could be using the careers for protection, as Xov suggested, and for that he had to respect the hustle. It wasn't something Juno could stomach himself, given Xylia and Lucky's unhinged behavior, but maybe that was what set certain tributes at a higher bar. Sacrifices had to be made to win, and maybe this was Gunner's.

Xylia claimed she had a good chance of winning. Juno didn't agree, but he didn't have time to argue with her spear in the back of his leg. It hurt like all of the times he sliced himself on scrap metal, but this one would leave a real mark.

"No deals," he breathed, as it was all he could manage in the chaos. His own pain combined with Marcellus falling apart and Xov calling them cowards was overstimulation. He reminded himself that he needed to focus on one thing, and one thing only. It wasn't Lucky's taunts, Xylia's delusions, or Gunner's plans - it was just hurting Gunner, because Gunner probably was the weakest link. Juno didn't like thinking that way.

He could always be proven wrong.

[juno attacks gunner - greatsword]
lWOfM2ZiQSsword
0.0

accuracy
sword
3.5

sword·sword

[mat]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

"Somehow, I feel like that's a load of crap."

Lucky cocked his head, spear raised against Marcellus's cheek. True. If everyone wanted to be a martyr, who was he to tell them no? The battle raged with an idea on each side: upper versus lower, career versus commoner, a microcosm in their eyes of the 'heart and soul' of Panem. Juno mentioned it first that a career hadn't won in the past few years, then Xov chimed in with the cowardice of their acts.

The creatures that chased them to this point had made their way back into the fray, bones cracking as they stare down his flesh, barely torn open. It swiped at Lucky's waist, its rigid and angled to rip apart his stomach. Lucky dragged his spear back across the front of his body, the creature's claws latching on and sliding across and away without touching his skin.

Xov stared directly at him, eyes marked accusingly. Gunner. His bodyguard. It simply wasn't true. He picked Gunner to be his ally because of his unflinching valor in the heat of the moment– proven now as he levied his gun at Marcellus. He's too selfish, anyway, to be one in the first place. And even if he was just using them at first, that wasn't true anymore! The tossing at night taught him that. Lucky doesn't care about the ones protecting him– Gunner and Xylia. Just himself. That was the one thing he promised to see through now– protecting them. I promise I'll take care of you. Over a week ago now, Lucky still sought to keep it. They still had time to spare as allies before they'd inevitably need to turn on one another.

Was wanting to protect them real, or just something Lucky convinced himself of to get through each day?

His anger carried on toward Xov, unknowing.

As Gunner readied another shot at Marcellus, Lucky lowered his shoulder, doing his best to block Xov's chances of throwing him off. Juno took his chances at the same time. Each of them turned down his deal. It appeared they might have to take things the old-fashioned way. "No one's making you swing that axe at him, Xov. You're the one cannibalizing the lower districts you care so much about."

Lucky pulled back, readying another lunge toward Marcellus. "Gunner's freaking awesome, for the record." Could he have gotten in with them if he tried hard enough in the training center? Sure, but the geopolitical politics they all brought to the table was revolting. "Sorry he's not some pleb."

He turned back to see how bad Gunner looked. Lucky's eye gave him a quick scan– bad. He looked like he was the last man of his army standing, boodied and ever so bold in his mismatched armor and gun raised without weary.

"Run." He muttered. Three days ago he poked fun at Gunner for doing such a thing, but today he pleaded. "Just run."

The spear broke through the fold and toward Marcellus. "You heard him. No deals."

[ lucky nachtnebel attacks marcellus ; hunter's spear ]
xnB7Ty3rIvspear
[ 0.0 ]

spear

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

sorry i need to filler to keep the fight moving, i work tonight and tomorrow!!

"Better to die useful than forgotten."


( xylia attacks juno ; permafrost )
40P3jdhEx8glaive
( 13080 -- Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage )

glaive

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

filler to keep it going mawmaw sorry

He didn't owe antone a promise anyway. Promises are for good people, people with a spine. He is not one of those people.

[attacks xylia, spear]
ii55t14MVWspear
[result]spear

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

They chitter and celebrate the sound of blood landing on the ice. Rust curls around the wind, metallic and sharp as any blade. One of the Crawlers sniffs their red soaked fingers, and the other gazes furiously at the boy who blocked its blow. Milky, translucent eyes glare forward, all at once seeing nothing and everything.

The Gamemakers are guiding its hand. It knows exactly where to aim its next blow.

Perhaps it's the sound of cannons in the distance that is the most frustrating for the beasts. Somewhere, far from this thin sheet of ice, tributes are dying. Bodies are being feasted on. The Crawlers are desperate to have their turn, opening their mouths to click and chitter and revealing their rows of thin, finely pointed teeth.

Most of them remain on the sidelines, gazing patiently at the fray, watching man turn against man. Even the mutts enjoy the entertainment of great television.

This is the purpose of the Games, after all.

If they are not putting on a show, they must be disposed of. And the only show that's being asked of them is to be locked in combat. They watch carefully to see who isn't being pierced by blades, whose skin is still intact and fresh and so desperately in need of a wound. Luckily for the Crawlers, the two at the front are already standing by the ideal targets, sniffing the air around Xov and Lucky and relishing the scent.

  

A claw is raised, a chitter is spoken through thin, wolfishly curled lips.

And like dance partners, the pair lunges in the direction of their prey.

Crawlers attacks!

Xov
qvvZTdSigTknife
3.5

Lucky
knife
miss

knife·knife

[august vance d7b [Bella]]

⤜ x o v - ♥ - t h a o ⟶

Her senses were a blur of noise and blood. One of the mutts sprang for her again, hungry for more. She jumped back clumsily, almost losing her balance on the ice.

Lucky retorted, ”No one’s making you swing that axe, Xov. You’re the one cannibalizing the lower districts you care some much about.”

Cannibalizing. Xov hesitated, catching his eye. That was how it was, dog-eat-dog. In her family’s tradition, like in many others, it was an unforgivable crime. Theft of another’s flesh for the benefit of your own.

In Twelve there were deer you couldn’t eat. Xov had heard her father talk about it–some years, they became so overpopulated, and food so scarce, they would start to kill and eat each other. It caused a virus that made cavities in their brains so they would walk around drooling, eyes vacant like glass beads, their bodies cursed with disease.

Holes in their brain, like the one the river rock gave her. Where her soul came out.

Was that what was happening now? Every strike of her weapon making a little hole inside her?

One thing she knew was that every time Lucky spoke to her, she became more confused, like being in a dream where all logic was abandoned and the pieces just wouldn’t fit together. When he spoke, he sounded so sure of his own convictions. In comparison she felt seasick, tossed in the current of a slippery morality, nothing of her old world to stand on.

At the sound of a cannon, her head whipped around to be sure Marcus was still standing. He seemed to be holding on, if barely. Juno too, though he was bleeding even more now. It occurred to her she could lose both of them here.

”Please hold on,” she said weakly. To them, to herself, to her soul.

Maybe she had already lost it.

She just wanted it to be over.

[attacks gunner, pike (axe)]
GNOTIqKfrWaxe
(11086 - sc on cheek - 3.5)

[light step on crawler attack]
1-10
(success)

axe·1-10

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

👹

The world pulsed like a flesh bruise.

And every part of him followed. That same beat of pain, rhythm of agony, thrummed through his veins in a steady thud thud, thud thud, threatening to shatter. But his heart defied each one. It kept on beating like a drunkard reaching for another drink, an opioid for another needle, an asshole for another chance. Ever since he was young, this stubborn heartbeat was all he had. And even though he had little left now, it kept on beating doggedly.

What had he fucking survived? What had he lived through? Squalor, poverty, days of clawing for scrapes on the street to fill a stomach, of scavenging in backalleys and gutters. And then worse odds. Firefights, cheap bullets, shiv wounds, gang violence, peacekeeper crackdowns, the list goes on. The odds were impossible.

And yet, and yet.

The world dealt him a bad hand, sent him off to the wild with no childhood, devoid of love, and yet he lived through its cruelty. He learnt how to be cruel in return, how to fight back, how to rebel. All for what? Death at the hands of some lower districts eager for the grave?

“None of you fucking deserve life,” he snarled, the anger very much well and flaring. “You want to live? To be spared? Then, come on!” His foot stomped on the ice once, twice, spiderwebbing dark lattices of cracks outwards. “Fucking. Fight!”

In the winter of it all, he fumed as a hot summer in Nine would; he burned. But the way an orange fire turned azure when intensified, his anger began coalescing at a point of blazing blue until it was singular, linear, focused. Until it could be channeled. He smelt the fury, or imagined he did: a tinge of sulfur and gunpowder. He tasted the blood pooling in between his gnashed teeth, hot and invigorating.

“Run,” Lucky deplored from somewhere far. He laughed a sharp note, winked through the red clouding his sight. “In your wildest dreams, lucky blue. Where you’re probably dreaming of kissing me, again.”

The ground beneath felt unsteady. The only force keeping him upright now was, in truth, his stubborn beast of a heart. Again its beat hammered at his chest, again its beat thrashed against his ribcage, like a trapped bird homeward bound for the sky. Dove feathers fell behind his half-lidded eyes. He heard wingbeats. It sounded to him a herald of all his past sins, come to drag him to the spirit realm.

But they wouldn’t have him quiet and they wouldn’t have him docile. They’d have to drag his shrieking spirit all the way along.

Xov’s axe flashed.

He turned at the last second before it made purchase, the weapon instead slashing off his ski helmet to expose his bloodied face as he spat a globule of blood at hers. The weapon had torn off something else, too.

A red thread, now severed, carried by the wind.

His soul, unbound, took control of the shotgun.

Guns. What a beautiful and terrible creation. Why was a gun crafted, if not to be shot? Why was a bullet created, if not to be fired? He felt similarly, more part gunmetal than flesh, because why was he born, if not to live to the fullest?

The barrel turned, not to the boy martyring himself but to the other who lashed out at him. He grinned, shrapnel smile, a loaded smirk. The odds were abysmal, impossible by a long shot. And yet that was indeed his trade.

A shot in the dark.

His last one.

- attacks juno
dart gun, (2/4darts)
narratively, fires his shotgun! 








2Lm|bAF|a7throwing knife

9152 -- Deep Gash on Bicep -- 8.0 damage (Thrown Knife) + 1.0

light step on xov’s last attack

1-10

“Ah, fucking hell.”

throwing knife·1-10

[Python]

j u n o
b r i m s t o n e.

Posting from my car at work bc I won't be home for several hrs...so sorry
Juno gets shot, ow. But then,

"You don't get to decide what we deserve."

[juno attacks gunner - greatsword]
Qd7lxNG6oZsword

sword

[mat]

l u c k y
nachtnebel

"In your wildest dreams, lucky blue." Lucky's shot at Marcellus whiffed as Gunner spoke to him. "Where you're probably dreaming of kissing me, again." He wanted just that, terribly. He wasn't sure he had dreamed since that moment in the mines, but he obsessed over it with every waking moment. Why wouldn't he just walk up to Marcellus or Juno and blast them head-on? It let them get too close, swing after swing of their swords and axes sending strands of red through the fogged air.

Of course, Gunner only moved to get a better shot. Not run. Lucky bit his tongue, "Fucking prick." If he could catapult Gunner away, he would. Xylia was fine at least, despite the hits she'd been taking. They could finish off two of them alone, why won't he run?! The mutts around them swiped again. They glided past his knees, trying to catch his balance but only caught the ice sheets beneath.

The day's cannons began to sound. Fallen kids, finally. With each one, his eye twitched, waiting for Gunner to shoot from the backlines. Lucky did not want to turn and come to terms with whatever fate his friend might succumb to. He told him to run and stay on his game.

Run or shoot. Dying was not an option. Forcing one another to grieve amidst battle was a seething mistake. Lucky knew that, and he hoped Gunner did too.

"If he's not gonna run, then let's make sure he doesn't need to." He spoke to Xylia, whom he shared the front line with now.

He moved toward Marcellus again, waiting for the cue from Gunner. Lucky whispered in contrast to Xov. "Don't listen to her, dude. It's perfectly fine to give in and let go." He scuffed the sole of his shoe against the ice to set his feet. "I wouldn't judge you," he said, judgingly.

BANG!

It was a rapid-fire sequence of events. The gunshot at close range, the muttered words of who deserved what, the chittering calls of the surrounding creatures. The widening of his arm, its descent to Marcellus.

Time strained. Nothing else mattered but hoping it was enough to save Gunner.

Lucky never thought he would care this hard.

[ lucky nachtnebel attacks marcellus ; hunter's spear ]
ZNW1FKsEcJspear
[ 3075 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage ]

spear