we can't be friends [m v r v l v a v m]

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

m a r g u e r i t e

Me and my truth, we sit in silence
Baby girl, it's just me and you
'Cause I don't wanna argue, but I don't wanna bite
My tongue, yeah, I think I'd rather die
You got me misunderstood, but at least I look this good

Maggie lurched backward and swung wide.

Of course, her overconfidence had been the death of that. She should’ve known better than to put any real passion behind anything.

Disappointment often lurked behind the moments when she was most sincere.

What had saved her time and time again was the calm, cool, and collected head that swam above the waves of teenage drama surrounding her. Who kissed who, who hated who, what daily drama came out the mouths of the people around her was nothing more than noise. Even here, the sniping at one another served only as a distraction from what it truly meant to survive. She had to drown out all of it if she was going to walk away from this fight.

The boy next to her changes tactics, and he musters a hit that glanced across her. Marceline followed, and Maggie chewed on the words that threatened to shoot from her lips.

She wanted to curse the choice the boy next to her – the one getting away scott free or that Marceline had someone who’d half bled out in front of her – but instead she offered only glares and sidelong glances at the both of them.

What difference would her words mean if she wound up dead here and now, so close to the end.

She had to dig deep within, find the same strength that had always coursed through her family’s veins.

Where was the same fire that had allowed her mother to choose independence over anything else? Or for her father to keep headstrong and rise above their need and want for something greater.

Maggie took a deep breath and shifted her position. The most protected points of the body were the chest and head. Marceline likely hadn't the practical experience against someone like her to know to protect her flank or limbs. Maggie drew near once again, and launched forward with her glaive, eyes narrowed.

[maggie harvard attacks the following target with her glaive:
1- lionel estrada
2- marceline jeon]
r0tD0nC9fB1-2
glaive
[result:13121 -- Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage + 1 blades]

ELEGANT

1-2·glaive

[parsnip]

R H Y S
P E A C E

      Rhys couldn't bring himself to harm Marceline, no matter how many inquisitive looks were thrown his way. He just couldn't. No, he wouldn't.

His only choice left was to defend her, just as he did Garnet. Whether she liked it or not, it brought him a warm solace akin to the melting tundra-turned-vacation spot.

Marguerite was the obvious target. Career. Similar weapon, and ultimately, the person who was attacking Garnet's buddy. Some might think it's a change in his mindset, but in reality he's just getting his feet.

Fool he catches Marceline spit under her breath. She was right, of course. He was a fool. Who could be so foolish as to let their ally die to snow. Jericho was dead because he'd lead them into The Fold. Garnet was dead because Rhys couldn't protect him like he promised. The guilt was a crushing weight, but nonetheless he would rather impose that weight on someone else.

[Rhys Peace attacks Marguerite Harvard with Glaive]

4|fLXoBb0bglaive

Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage
(Glaive)glaive

[k!ah]

He could almost taste Axyl's blood on his lips, the anticipation enough to have his lips pull back into a savage grin. But then the swift little mother fucker is jumping just out of reach and I cant hold back the groan of frustration that escapes my lips as I glare at him with enough heat that I was sure he would be able to feel it searing into his skin. He shifts away from me, his bat striking out at Marceline and for the briefest moment my annoyance is alleviated as I watch her body take the impact and blood begins to rain down onto the sand beneath her feet.

I smirk at her, my eyes tracking the growing stain of red on her uniform. "Once I kill you I am going to find your brooding friend-"

Pain consumes me, crashing into me like a tidal wave and I stumble, howling as my eyes widen in shock as I stare down at my left knee cap. A blade protrudes through the flesh, the bone, and I cannot stop the way the cries slip past my lips as I rip my shredded leg from the end of Mr. Forgettables blade. My broken foot hung uselessly, the tendons that held together my leg screamed as though they had been set on fire as they fight for dear life not to fully break free of my body.

Pain quickly turns to rage as my eyes narrow on the boy and I spit at his feet. "What is your name, asshole?" I growl as I stumble towards him, my hand flexing so tight around the hilt of my sword that they ached furiously. "I want to know what to call you as I rip you to pieces and feed your body to the mutts," I hiss as I close the distance between us. Fuck Axyl. Fuck Marceline and Hal and the rabbit girl who had tried to snap her teeth at Axyl way back on day 3.

Screw them all.

I would kill him for this.

Or I would die trying.

My vision flashed red and white as I breathed through the pain and I felt my fathers gaze sear my skin as though he was beside me. I could feel the weight of his disappointment heavy on my shoulders, I could hear the whisper of his poisonous words as they tore into my flesh almost as deeply as this asshole's blade. I opened myself up to them, allowing the memory of his hate and disgust and disappointment of me wrap around my throat until my rage became the only thing that I could feel.

"You're going to be begging me to kill you when I am done," I snarl, aiming my sword at his throat.

lionel attacks rhys,

cMteD_BaXjsword

4.5

wtf I responded to post one of this mandate like an IDIOT lionel (mostly me lol assignments are kicking my ass) is fucking delulu. I wrote this post like YES INSPO but I fucked up lmao sorry

sword

[pogue]

Filler #2 because family is in town and i’m playing tour guide ! And I’m bad at it!

[attacks marceline ; spiked blunt]

OlPtv3XYErspiked blunt

[8.5]

spiked blunt·1-10

[andromache s. ⚔️ [d1b] sucy]

Marceline stumbled out of reach of Marguerite's  glaive just in time. She'd like to say it was intentional, but that wouldn't be honest. And surely honestly meant something, still? It had to. Six convinced her as much, when she held up a mirror to Marceline's face; the expression hard on her deceptively soft features. She was unsteady on her feet, but still ready to jump -- which she did, lunging for Lionel yet again. The disrespect he kept throwing her way stung nearly as sharply as the slights of the blades slung her way. 

She had a thought. She did, she just couldn't pin it down. Garnet was gone. Hal may as well have been a distant memory. Rhys from Nine, who just a day or two ago, was struck by the end of her blade, now stood next to her, behind her, a tall tree, barren like the trees she'd run to for safety back on that first final day of hers.

Her first final day? The last day she'd really been alive, maybe. She traded her right to life that day, given it up for Azure's death. Marceline should've eaten the brain matter that slid across her hands that day, consumed the girl, made her into herself fully. She was in her already, from the second her beautiful skull collapsed on itself beneath the palms of her hands she'd been in her. Same with Six. These girls she'd killed. Their memories hovered over her, breathing down her neck. Like Rhys, behind her, using his sword for her. All of them were Marceline. 

Lionel's blood, splattering on the snow, on her boot, was hers too. She'd earned the disrespect he pelted her with -- it was the quiet part out loud. It was what Marceline knew herself to really be: a little girl. Haunted, willowy, lanky limbed, but a little girl nonetheless. Blood in her teeth, Marceline smiled for the second time in the arena, thinking of her older sisters and her parents. Her nieces. Her nephews. They better not be watching. Maybe in three or so years, was it three? Was it four? Maybe they'd be in her place, wearing their mother's wedding ring too.

The ring clinked against the hilt of her sword as she stepped back from Lionel again. Her mother would never wear it again, Marceline knew that now.

light step on maggie’s attack 13121

He9wPpcJnO1-10

marceline attacks lionel!

sword

table credit to napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. !

1-10·sword

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

m a r g u e r i t e

Me and my truth, we sit in silence
Baby girl, it's just me and you
'Cause I don't wanna argue, but I don't wanna bite
My tongue, yeah, I think I'd rather die
You got me misunderstood, but at least I look this good

Sorry friends, family is here for easter. filler #1

[maggie harvard attacks marceline jeon with her glaive]
PyKG7PW7Kvglaive
[result: 13141 -- Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage (Glaive)]

ELEGANT

glaive

[parsnip]

R H Y S
P E A C E

     
The beach, once a picturesque haven of serenity, was now transformed into a chaotic battleground where the clash of steel and the cries of combat echoed against the backdrop of crashing waves. The golden sands, once pristine and untouched, were now marred by the stark contrast of crimson blood.

The salty sea breeze whipped through the air, carrying with it the tang of salt and the metallic scent of blood, mingling in a potent mix that filled the atmosphere with an unsettling intensity. The azure waters stretched out into the horizon, their gentle waves providing a surreal backdrop to the carnage unfolding on the shore.

The cries of the wounded mingled with the shouts of combatants, creating a haunting symphony of suffering and defiance. Blood seeped into the sand, staining it a dark, ominous shade, a grim testament to the toll exacted by the relentless struggle for supremacy.

--

As the battle raged on, Rhys's resolve hardened, his determination to fulfil his debt to Marceline driving him forward. With each clash of steel and each evasive manoeuvre, he pushed himself to the brink, his mind consumed by the weight of his choices. The echoes of past alliances and broken promises mingled with the cries of battle, creating a cacophony of turmoil within his soul.

Despite the chaos surrounding him, Rhys remained steadfast in his pursuit of Lionel, a beacon of determination amidst the swirling darkness. Each swing of his weapon carried the weight of Marceline's expectations, a silent oath to honour the debt he owed for the lives lost and the sacrifices made. And as he fought on, locked in a deadly duel with Lionel, Rhys vowed to emerge victorious, not just for himself, but for the bonds of loyalty and the debts of honour that bound him to Marceline and her non-existent trust.

Come what may, the boy from Nine was clearly desperate for finality in this parade, attacking any who would come close.

[Rhys Peace attacks Lionel Estrada with Glaive]

BBQPMTUeuZglaive

Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage
(Glaive)glaive

[k!ah]

easter Sunday filler x

lionel attacks marceline,

CV0pNEaolqsword

8

sword

[pogue]

Filler #3 because family is in town and i’m playing tour guide ! And I’m bad at it!

[attacks the following target ; spiked blunt

1 - Rhys
2 - Lionel]

jlzO3JpzNn1-2

spiked blunt

[7.0]

1-2·spiked blunt

[andromache s. ⚔️ [d1b] sucy]

Marguerite doesn't let up. She supposes she deserves it, the same way they all do, which is to say they don't. Well, they didn't. A week ago, they didn't. Just two weeks ago, Marceline was tucked away in a sky high building, crocheting a pair of handwarmers for one of the most bloodthirsty ones of them in here. He'd liked them, worn them, and she'd been happy. She'd been happy that even though they'd all be dead soon, she could make him smile the way she knew best. She was still happy about that, sort of. She was still happy Lucky Nachtnebel made it to (maybe) one last birthday, and that she'd gotten to go to her first and last birthday party.

And she was happy that she'd tasted goodberries in the arena, because she knew what they were because of Xov Thao. She only wished she'd had some more, maybe to share, maybe to share between herself and Xov and Váli Forrester, to make them all friends. Ah, but they'd only fall through the bottom of poor Váli's neck, which would then fall too, plopping beside them, dried out now like the rest of the things in the arena. They'd both been so kind, in their own ways. Her first girl friends, her last. For a moment, on a very different scale, she'd experienced the kind of school clique war woes she'd always sat on the side lines for back home. The kind of thing her sisters always complained about, that Marceline always considered so unimportant. 

It was, she'd been right about that, and ultimately it'd all meant nothing in the arena too. But that was okay. Nothing was nearly better than something. All of the somethings in this place were burdensome.

Lionel's sword tears open her calf. Like on day one, she muses. Not that she manages to tell him that. All he hears is a cry, a death rattle clawing out of her throat. She squeezes her blue eyes shut, wonders if they'd change back once the last of the life was drained out of her, and staggered across the beach. 

She'd never been on a beach before. She had a sudden urge to feel the sand beneath her palms. It's coarse, it gets in her wounds, sticks to the blood all over her. Her slight chest heaves slower and slower, rising lower and lower with each breath as Marceline delicately lands on her back. Her head lolls to one side, the right side to see the water. Some of it is still covered in ice, but some of it is glittering underneath the facsimile son above them. Like a dress, like a pretty blue dress, hand beaded. A thought flashes, lighting a dimming bulb up red. 

Garnet, are you under there? she asks the lake. If all of them ended up here, then maybe the avalanche had forced him just a bit too far. Maybe that beautiful sleigh cracked the ice beneath him. Maybe he's under there, hardening into a handsome ice cube. How ironic, how unsuitable an end for that torch of a boy. It would've been nice if they could've been friends back home. Behind closed eyes, Marceline imagines them eating lunch.

Her eyes flicker open again. Overhead, her bird circles them. Nameless, but her companion nonetheless. You can eat me, she tells it, better you than those things from the Fold. Let her nourish one last thing, let her do what she can for love even in death.

In death? Yes, in death. That's it. But what about poor Hal? Oh, Hal. Marceline's useless arms manage to push her body up. She manages to stand, hunched, empty handed, harenace headband left on the sand. Marceline shouts.

Hal, you have to win this for us. You're going to.

It's true that she and Váli had taken point for most of their time as a trio, but hadn't it been Hal that brought them together in the first place?  He'd been so good to her, time and time again, and she'd barely done a thing for him in return. She'd fallen so easily into the role of younger sister as usual, and now Hal is going to be alone. She tries to scream even louder, praying he'll hear her support one last time. 

All that escapes her is a pained, high pitch howl, as blue in sound as her shameful eyes. She turns around, manages to pick up her sword in her non dominant hand, flings it at Maggie with the last of her strength.

marceline attacks marguerite !

_ZdELbgdg8sword

table credit to napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. !

🧵 ✂️

Marguerite's sword opens Marceline's empty stomach to the air. It vomits blood, more dribbles from her lips, though it's all indistinguishable from the rest in the end. As she goes, she's warm. She closes her eyes, loose leg joints failing her one last time as she folds up on the ground, a little pile of scrap fabric on the sand, a swimsuit left behind after an ill advised romp in the sand. Marceline Jeon repeats her name to herself over and over in her last few seconds, willing for it to escape and travel across the arena, carried by the Gamemakers's winds into the minds of each of her still living peers.

Bright blue eyes, pitch black hair, blood slippery on her lips. A ring on her finger. She can believe she's dying, but can't accept that it's like this.

...

She thinks she hears a cannon. But how can that be? There's nothing like that here. It must be some sort of exhaust omission from one of the other factories. That doesn't concern her though. It's four in the afternoon on Marceline's day off, and she has a cardigan to finish knitting. Her nephew is starting school tomorrow, and she promised him she'd make sure he looked smart.

sword

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

m a r g u e r i t e

Me and my truth, we sit in silence
Baby girl, it's just me and you
'Cause I don't wanna argue, but I don't wanna bite
My tongue, yeah, I think I'd rather die
You got me misunderstood, but at least I look this good

Filler #2, with parents, will fill this in tomorrow or later tonight.

[maggie uses light step on marceline's last attack]
oeqc_JFb7y1-10

[marguerite harvard attacks marceline jeon with glaive]
glaive
[result:13045 -- Deep Gash on Stomach -- 9.0 damage + 1 blades]

ELEGANT

1-10·glaive

[parsnip]

R H Y S
P E A C E

      It wasn't right.

Rhys didn't quite know where to look. He'd put all his hope on Marceline making it out of this fight, and for what? The bloodbath he saw before him was the first time he'd see something real happen in the Games, except for Garnet - who'd defended himself until he was the killer the Capitol wanted him to be. In The Fold, with Jericho's passing, Rhys saw nothing but shadows. He barely even knew what happened. With Vali, he could only feel the resistance on his blade before the bittersweet release.

He couldn't stay.

He'd found the perfect opportunity in the chaos to step away from those around him. The Beach was no longer safe, that's for sure. He would end up elsewhere, anywhere, so that he could escape this hell.

There were no familiar faces among him any longer. He'd made swipes at half that remained, and he certainly could see what would happen if he remained any longer himself. So, fleeing, he turned on his heel and slipped away from the sand. The crumbs of the fight weighing on him in the form of sand and blood.

[Rhys Peace flees]