so it goes // the careers v. wendihoes v. axyl | day five

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

The canon sounded.

One. Two. Three. Four. Eight times. Eight tributes dead, one of them her ally. She knows she shouldn’t care, she didn’t care. But there was something deep inside her that twinged with something. Guilt? Sadness? Xylia forced it down further, stomped on it, daring it to rise to the surface again. There was no room for feelings.

Not here.

Not ever.

The ground was stained crimson, and as she grabbed Lucky’s arm and pulled him away from the carnage, she didn’t dare look back. Xylia knew her blood dripped from her wounds, turning the ground red, leaving a trail of their exact path. But she didn’t care. Let someone follow them. Let them dare approach her. She was out for blood.

Now more than ever.

After she deemed them a safe distance from the other tributes, she finally dropped her remaining ally’s arm, but didn’t dare to stop walking. Something chilled her spine, and she couldn’t shake the odd feeling that they were being followed.

”We need to find somewhere to rest and stitch up these wounds. Preferably somewhere warm.”

”Sure.” His voice was short, flat. Nothing like the Lucky she was used to. She couldn’t have him shutting down, not now.

Xylia’s eyes narrowed and she folded her arms across her chest. ”Listen Lucky, you need to get your shit together. I know losing Gunner sucks or whatever but-“ A branch a few feet off cracks. She grabs her weapon from her back and flings her arm out in front of Lucky to push him behind her. Her breath froze in her chest, until finally a short, blonde girl bobbed out of the brush. Xylia felt herself exhale as she looked at her District partner.

”Holy fuck Rita, you think you’d be better at sneaking around by now.” She tried to keep her face neutral, but a small smile twitched at the edge of her lips. Things were just getting started.

The Games were finally beginning.
__

The next morning didn’t bring darkness…but finally some light. The sun finally decided to peak over the horizon, casting her and her allies in a morning glow. It was peaceful and brought an odd sense of hope.
But Xylia knew Death still waited just around the corner.

”Rise and shine,” she said with a smile while nudging Rita and Lucky with the toe of her boot. ”It’s a beautiful day to spill some blood.”

The sun seemed to dance in response.

It didn’t take long before the trio came across a curtain of darkness, one that looked deep enough to block out the early morning sky. A sigh escaped her lips. Catching a break in this arena seemed impossible. Xylia approached the darkness, her footsteps too loud in the newly melting snow. She dared stick out a finger to touch it, a chill down her spine as the screeching of creatures came from the other side. She did not think she would be able to pull away quick enough.

”Well, I don’t think there’s a way around. Everyone ready?”

She braced herself for the coldness that was about to consume her, but turned on her heel when the footsteps approached. A wicked smile played on her lips as two tributes approached, a third not too far behind.

”Well, well, well. Didn’t your mentors tell you to stay away from the Careers?” Her fingers gripped tighter around her glaive, the ice and frost wrapping itself further up her arm. ”This should be fun. Would you rather us make it quick? Or pretend you can put up a fight?”

And she lunged.

There would be more canons today.

But none would be hers.






randomized attack:

1-ines
2-marguerite
3-axyl

8que0a2ok11-3
(axyl)


(xylia coats permfrost in poison)
(xylia uses flint and tar to ignite permafrost)


( xylia attacks axyl ; permafrost )
glaive
( sc on back - 4.0 + 1.0 poison + 1.0 frost damage )

fire;
1-50
(+4)

1-3·glaive·1-50

[sidney]

R I T A

i don't think people love me
they love versions of me i have spun for them

Rita was silent as she retreated, trying to conceal herself as best she could - so she didn't get jumped trying to flee. Coward, a voice said in the back of her head. Condescending and cuntier than she'd expected. Shut up, she replied with a huff, tossing her long blonde locks over her shoulder with a sour look on her face.  It wasn't wrong; she had been a coward. And for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why.  To live, the voice replied. But that just made her more annoyed. Yeah, she'd made it out alive. Yeah, she'd live to see another day in this frozen hellscape - but at what cost? Had throwing Harley to the wolves been worth it? That had been the plan all along, hadn't it? Its a few hours before Rita emerges in a new place, so many thoughts on her mind that she's shut down a bit. She doesn't even notice as Lucky and Xylia approach. He's different, her Lucky. He's not excited to see her, doesn't wrap his arms around her and lift her up into a hug. He doesn't seem happy at all, in fact, he looks devastated. And then it hits her.  There's no Gunner. "Oh, no..." she whispers, immediately trailing off as Lucky turns his head away into a thousand-yard stare. "What happened?" There's no answer, but she continues on. Rita tells them both exactly what happened. How they pinned Harley down and slaughtered her without a second thought. How they let her go and that it was the biggest mistake of their lives. How it's just them now. Just Lucky, Xylia, and Rita against the rest. The next morning is rough. Rita wakes fully thinking when she rolls over, Harley will be there asleep. And when she isn't, tears sting in the corners of her eyes and she feels it all over again. So much so that it exhausts her and she turns over for another hour or so of sleep, or at least until Xylia's shrill voice pulls Rita back to consciousness.  Its a warning, though, to look alive. To prepare for the arena's changes around us, revealing more than any of them thought was there. The permafrost began to thaw, and Rita took off her ski helmet for the first time in days. The sun on her face was something she hadn't known she needed so much - had missed so much. But damn, she had.  Something approached, though. Or rather someone. Several of them. Those two, that voice in the back of Rita's head snarled. At the sight of Maggie and Ines. Killers. In cold blood, no less. Rita's grip on her sword tightened as she watched Xylia take the lead. For all the time Rita had spent with her, this was the most she'd ever heard the girl speak. She was all bark and all bite, filled with venom and made of knives.  Rita was impressed. Amped up. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as the three of them squared up against the others. Xylia ignited her weapon, drew blood, and spit poison at her target all at once.  In a flash, going for the jugular without missing a beat. Her best bet was just to pile on, to hit the same person.  In the arena, Rita was learning, it wasn't just about getting that kill. It was about strategy. It was about knowing your enemy and striking before they ever got the chance. So that's exactly what she did.

[ rita attacks axyl, sword ]

TLjCZ5oPmhsword

[ dg left bicep, 8 ]

sword

[Cait]

Somehow, I register the world thawing. The snow stops falling some time through the night. I see the moment the storm settles into a light flurry before the sky turns still altogether through the misty haze of my shedding corneas. I see every artificial change of the weather the Gamemakers put us through, because I don’t sleep all night.

Maggie stays awake with me for most of the night, but she’s smarter than me, eventually deciding to retire. She knows she’ll need her energy for tomorrow. I guess I realise it too; I guess I don’t care. She spends her waking moments trying to distract me with stories of her life back home. Her family. Her past. And I listen, hanging onto every word, wishing I could have given Harley the same respect.

I thought surviving in here meant distancing myself from everyone around me. But now that she’s gone, I want to know Harley more than I’ve ever wanted to know anyone before. I want to hold her memories close and carry them through with me to my end. My punishment feels watered down to have met her as a stranger.

“My mom’s watching this out there somewhere.” I breathe Maggie in, breathe Harley out. Think about my own mother – mothers, the adoptive and maternal figureheads I have known and yet not known at all. Maybe one day I’ll be able to talk about them, too. But that day is not today.

Morning comes, and I’m no more weary than I was the day before, surprisingly. Maggie watches me like an anxious parent as we walk on the defrosting slush. She’s stopped trying to talk to me; I can’t speak anyway. Still haven’t stopped crying, either. But I’ve reconciled with the fact that I might just leak grief until my body dries up completely, and even then, I won’t really be free of the bitter emotion, will I?

Maggie was the one who saved me yesterday, dragging me out of the cabin as soon as my knife burrowed deep into Harley’s chest. The mutts had vanished as soon as her cannon sounded – I remember that much. I remember Rita, too, but I can’t see her face through the fog of regret. I don’t know the extent of her rage towards me for killing her ally.

Killing. The sin bubbles up inside of me, inevitable, and I knock Larsen out of my way as I dive for the side of the path and dry heave the meagre contents of my empty stomach.

Maggie is at my side in an instance, pulling my hair back out of my face, whispering to me under her breath. I shake my head at her – a protest, don’t help me, this is what I deserve.

I wish she had been the one who killed Harley. I can’t pretend there’s not a faint trace of resentment at her for making me be the one to do it.

Really, I didn’t want it to be this way. It’s naïve, and stupid, I know, to think you can get through this nightmare with your humanity intact. I saw Maggie and Azure as warrior princesses, far stronger than me, ready to take on the world and cut down anyone who stood in their way. I thought the best way to survive was to lay low, do as I’m told, ride someone else’s coattails. Now I realise I was only delaying the inevitable.

I wipe my mouth on the back of my hand, willing my stomach to settle as the only memories of Harley that I have play on repeat: her crawling up the stairs, stuck somewhere between wanting to live and accepting defeat. The horror in her eyes as the mutant dolls parroted at us in eerie, distorted voices, before the light finally left her once and for all.

Maybe I would have noticed the other tributes closing in if I wasn’t so fixated on the last twenty-four hours. But maybe this is just the rest of my punishment. Maybe this is exactly where I need to be.

The Careers descend on us immediately – if I didn’t recognise them from the Bloodbath, it would have been the shiny spiky weapons and hoard of armour that gave them away. And if there was any doubt remaining after that, the air of arrogance and entitlement was the final nail in our coffins. The blonde head of Rita swims into view, and I feel myself stagger on my feet, held up only by Maggie’s tight grip. The rope that bound us a few days ago as we navigated the mines sits untouched in my bag. It’s something reassuring to know we don’t need the flimsy thing to keep us grounded to each other, yet I can’t bring myself to throw it away quite yet.

“Maggie,” I start to speak, to beg, knowing how this game works. “I can’t...”

Please don’t make me do it again.

It’s her turn to shake her head at me. “You need to tighten up.” And that’s that. She charges forward to meet their waiting weapons and barbed words, sneers spread across all their faces. The girls lash out at... Axyl? On my right, alone now, no trace of Maggie’s district partner in sight. I’m half expecting to see Lionel and Felicity pulling up the rear, coming to the rescue, and maybe then it would be a fair fight. But there’s nobody else emerging from the darkness.

The second wave of the war breaks out; we’re on the losing team. Does Maggie know it yet?

I’m not ready to fight. I’m not ready to die.

I’ll never be ready for the way this ends.

GRIFFIN

[mat]

Losing an ally in the Hunger Games shouldn't feel this way.

Lucky barely spoke to Xylia as they moved across the melting glacier, careful to avoid any more traps in the sheets of ice they swept across. The stuffiness of his nose caught him every few breaths. He was crying as he tracked slightly behind Xylia, arm in arm, doing the best he could to excuse it for the cold weather.

He knew why it felt wrong to be furious and sad. The first lesson they taught in the academy was not to care. Not to get attached to the people you exploit to survive. That was why he played. As Harley said, he was the boy next door. Until something didn't go his way. Then, he pouted. Cracked. Lucky allowed the plan to unravel for feelings. Those feelings scratched at every centimeter of his flesh, burying his mind and letting himself be guided away by Xylia.

When she finally let go, Lucky fell back a few steps, slowly picking the dried-up blood off the sleeves of his coat. "We need to find somewhere to rest and stitch up these wounds. Preferably somewhere warm." His companion's complexion grew into the sun's array with excitement, its body leaning forward in his shirt's pocket as if it had the force to make him move faster. Lucky anxiously picked at his nails. "Sure."

Did that answer her question at all? No. Xylia turned back to him, arms folded and ready to scold him about moving on. His mouth opened, ready for an argument when she grabbed him and swung him back behind her. It was probably for the best, given she was twice as level-headed for a fight right now.

But there was no need to fight as it was Rita who swept through the foggy bushes. Lucky's gaze drifted. Not Rita. When he's like this? Anyone but Rita. He sent the message about what happened to Gunner without saying a word. She updated them, too, about what happened to Harley. Lucky barely found it within him to say "I'm sorry" to her. Despite how much he disliked the girl from Three, she mattered in some sense to Rita. He was just grateful it wasn't her.

Lucky slept in his tent a few feet away from Rita, back planted firmly against the microfiber bottom. He stared there a hole in the tent's top as the anthem played. So many people died today, a vast improvement from the past three days and only Azure's death on the board. Good, he thought. Silent. Harley and Inga, his district partner, were among the dead, and Vali too. He blinked, wondering how she died if the gods were defending her first and foremost. Gunner's face came midway through. His slick smirk, his close-cut black hair, and the red stitching on the sweatshirt he insisted on wearing throughout his time at the training center.

Tears inked the left side of his face as Lucky tried to contain himself. He couldn't cry and be weak, especially when Rita was one tent over. He thought of sleeping with her, trying to take his mind off things, but only moments after Gunner's face graced the sky, he was embarrassed to allow her to see him out of sorts. Lucky wanted it all but ended up with nothing at the end of the night but a painful sleep where he felt every thorn in his weeded dreams.

In the morning, he tried to smile and hide the pain. Was it possible to revert to the way things were? Lucky still felt the connection between Rita and him, Xylia and him to a more platonic extent. He stuck to Rita after he rose, and gave Xylia more than just one or two words as a response. He could do the Games with half his sight, and he could do this with a half-broken heart.

It was warmer today than the last two. The ice sheets and snow they walked across turned to dirty water and slush. The purple fog, with the screams of bemoaning creatures inside, was the only way through according to Xylia. Or, Lucky thought, turning back to the endless ice, the mines. His head slowly turned back. Nah, anything but there. Spear raised, Lucky decided he would rather take his chances.

He focused on his hearing, body shifting at any inhuman sound. Thankfully, Xylia was on top of it. She called them out, doing the heavy lifting in terms of striking fear into them, a skill Lucky once honed with pride but could not muster up the energy to utilize today. He admired her for it but hoped the frostburn of her glaive would do the trick. Rita followed suit, taking on the same one.

Lucky wondered why Rita did not take a shot at the two who killed Harley. It surprised him how bold Ines had gotten since the bloodbath when the ice pick in his hand missed her by mere inches as she made it out the door. And then there was Marguerite, Maggie to some, but he was never on informal terms with her. It was Ines who got the kill, but Marguerite was the one who held Harley down according to Rita's story.

Which was worse? Which would make Rita happier? Because that's what he wanted, justice for her. Something to feel good about. Ines stood still, not attacking. His spear strayed in the direction of Marguerite, settling on her as its target. Maybe it would prove to Xov that he didn't have a hatred for anyone below Four. He was simply in it for whatever served him best.

Take that, Xov. Wherever you are. Dead, he hoped.

Lucky lunged full-strength her, no snide remark in sight. There was not enough energy in him for it. He bit his lower lip instead.

[ lucky attacks marguerite ; hunter's spear ]
W58sNSzCA_spear
[ 3110 -- Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage ]

spear

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

m a r g u e r i t e

Where there's a will then there's a way
And I'm damn sure you lost it

[NOTE – Marguerite activates camo and negates Lucky’s attack]

Marguerite didn’t celebrate after Harley’s death.

In the dying light of the afternoon, hunkered down against the snowstorm, Maggie had cast a tarp over an open window in a bedroom and spent hours scooping snow off the floors. She worked through the sweat and the hunger gnawing at her stomach. She didn’t bother opening whatever wound killing Harley had given Ines.

She couldn’t stand the sight of careers gloating over lives they’d taken. It reminded her of hyenas laughing around a slaughtered carcass: fools covered in the blood of prey.

It wasn’t worth expounding what the rules of the game were. She’d seen enough of her own people die. Did Ines really need Marguerite to explain why she shouldn’t have cared. They had to keep moving, keep striving, and soon – they’d come out of the storm.

So, she busied herself with anything that could’ve made both of them just a little comfier.

Night set in and she allowed herself to be swallowed by the silence. Ines was good for that. The girl didn’t offer much about eleven. Didn’t probe Maggie with questions about life at home or turn rosy cheek and misty eyed with what she missed.

Ines had a strength that folded into itself. Maggie had noticed the echoes after the bloodbath, but now it drifted along in the chorus of howling winds. Ines carried much more than the trepidation at her lips. If she’d turn that strength outward, she might outlast the rest of them.

“My mom’s watching this out there somewhere.” They’d been settled across the queen bed, wrapped in blankets and huddle close. The longer she wandered the arena, the more Maggie wondered if her mother bothered to pay attention. Did she care about the sort of woman Maggie had become? Did she think her too cold, or brave for handling what others couldn’t without a single fracture?

She drifted away to the sound of the tarp tapping softly against the empty windows.

Warm.

For the first time since she’d entered into the arena, Maggie felt as though she didn’t need to wear the ridiculous ski mask that had covered her face. She pulled off the blankets and slide the tarp away from the window. Droplets of water scattered down across the porch, and in patches along the edges of the cornucopia, Maggie could see green.

They tucked away their odds and ends and head out into the rolling fog.

Now and again, Maggie would pause to listen to the sound of falling water. She heard the trudge of boots and soft echoes of packs jostling over shoulders.

The fold opened in an instant.

Xylia’s flame came first, but not for Ines or Maggie. Instead, the boy from six. He’d lost Hugo – her district partner – it made sense to go for one that was already wounded. Rita came next, full of vigor that had been missing yesterday. And then the other – boy from four? Lucky, taking a swing at her as though he didn’t have a death wish.

“Not today, four.” Marguerite danced back, glaive at the ready.

‘Maggie… I can’t… Ines whispered, frozen. Even if the world had thawed, Ines had not.

“You need to tighten up.” Marguerite hissed. She had no time to go two on one with careers for the second time these games. Not when they’d nearly cut her in half in the bloodbath.

The odds for six were grim no matter which way she sliced it. And – it wasn’t any skin off of her nose if he died today. All that mattered was that she survived. They could regroup and try to fend off the careers another time when they weren’t all together.

She considered Lucky as she pushed her left foot back and right foot forward.

He’d picked up enough armor that looked as though he had scarcely been touched in days. Even with her glaive Maggie would have a hard time to best him. And with their height difference, she didn’t trust who would come out on top.

It’s how Maggie survived: assessing the odds and never betting on herself in a fight she couldn’t win. Call it cowardly, but she’d laugh when she woke up at sunrise the next morning.

Xylia was occupied with Axyl, but she presented the same problem as Lucky along with the lovely addition of a flaming weapon.

“That’s no fun, two on one,” Maggie clutched her glaive. If she aided Axyl, maybe there was something in it for her. An enemy of her enemy and all that – they could cut back at a career and lessen their stranglehold.

Rita hadn’t put up much of a fight the day before. She’d gone running to the remaining careers, and here, too, went for the boy from six.

And she didn’t have any of that fancy armor protecting her precious underbelly, now did she?

Would she draw their fire? Would she regret this?

Somehow, while she pulled her blade forward, she liked the odds.

“HNNNNG!”

[marguerite harvard attacks rita jakov with her glaive]
Okb0LPVAAoglaive
[result: Severed Left Ear -- 8.0 damage (Glaive) + 1 blades]

ELEGANT

glaive

[pogue]

"This should be fun-"

Heart beats in hollow chest, hidden amongst the storm.

"- would you rather us make it quick? Or pretend you can put up a fight?”

Hugo feels the pain before it even comes, sees it in the eyes of his killer as she lunges out towards him. The ashes soak his skin in shadow and ember, darkness of the

He's not a man of miracles, but one manages to find him.

The careers blade just misses his body, fire licking at his skin, ember and disgust rooting itself at the source and begging to tear him piece from piece. It's enough to scare him from the shadows that he's cloaked himself in and onto the playing field. Hugo's blood clings to him like his own sins, dried and crusted over on his uniform. Buried in the folds of his shirt are his own tears, long since cried and long since dry, leftover from a night spent tearfully mourning a boy he hardly knew.

Now, Hugo clings to the surface of his own sins. He'd donned the ashes he'd scavenged in some futile attempt to hide from him, from everything and everyone.

It hadn't worked.

He knows it as soon as he stumbles out of his hiding spot and into the fight, manages to raise his bat just in time before the other career slices him in two with her sword, hardly managing to parry some of the blow and feeling red slide down his arm. He gasps as his camouflage turns crimson, seeping to the shadows in disgust as he stumbles backwards.

Ines, Maggie, Careers, himself- Hugo.

But that last one is gone as soon as he appears, nested in his peripherals and vanishing into nothing as he turns. "Hugo-", he starts, but there's an emptiness that roots itself in the pit of his stomach that tells him everything he already knows, everything he has already seen and heard.

He'll be haunted until the end of his days by ghosts of his own design- hopelessly running until he joins them.

It's spit and bile that rises up from his throat as he steels his gaze and points the bat towards the nearest target. Maggie swings first, and Axyl watches as a part of the girl's ear is pulled from flesh and falls to the dust below.

He swings in the wake of the blow, lashes out with spike and nail and guts and glory. No more running, only the end, only red.

[Uses camouflage to negate Xylia's attack]

[attacks rita ; spiked blunt]
hALikXhY1gspiked blunt
[block]

[accuracy]
spiked blunt
[result]

[Self Defense - Rita's attack]
3-8

spiked blunt·3-8·3-8

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

filler flee! work soon, traveling tomorrow.

[Cait]

filler flee

GRIFFIN

[mat]

It happened in an instant. His spear drifted away from Marguerite's side as she pulled herself toward Rita, Axyl, and Xylia. Her glaive sliced Rita's ear. "Hey–" Lucky ordered, catching up from behind. It appeared that Axyl took their side, marking Rita's lower body. "Don't– stop!"

He readied his spear, prepared to body whichever one of them looked to harm her next. Axyl, Marguerite, Axyl, Marguerite.

But the thin wisps of the Fold had other plans for them. The magenta and purple haze curled inward and up atop the fight. Electricity crackled overhead, sparks naturally charging in a way he'd never seen. His body froze as the flash of light descended from the corner of his vision. The lightning connected with the ground with such force that Lucky fell backward with the side of his head slamming against the arid ground. Something heavy slammed against his body. A hideous and painful shriek shot past, the last sound he heard before the dense ringing in his ear charged past. The scent of scorched flesh carried in the air that brushed past him.

Lucky rose, wiping chips of the earth's crust away from his eye. He counted them– Xylia, Marguerite, Axyl, Ines.

Where was she? "Rita?" He croaked out the words, unable to hear more than muffled syllables come out.

It was her. The body brushed against him before seemingly descending into the pit behind them. Lucky turned back, seeing a mix of ash, crackling blood, and champagne fabric below.

Lucky rushed to Xylia and grabbed her arm. "Come on!" There was no point in fighting after that. He couldn't hear himself think.

His words were muffled confusion entirely. Was it even coherent? He didn't know. They just had to regroup.

[ lucky flees ]