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

When Ines held her hand, Maggie closed her eyes.

For five long days, she’d been kept steady against the undertow that threatened to drown her and any chance she could have at survival.

That had been her whole life, really.

To have to show vulnerability would mean she’d have to trust, and to believe, that the people around her wouldn’t just abandon her. What in her whole life had ever prepared her for such a thing? A mother who, when presented with a new life, a little girl who marveled at how she’d put beads in her hair, who tugged at her skirt and giggled at the voices she’d made reading stories at night, could not find the strength to stay?

A father who, when the world had told him he had to be enough, worked himself to death? In a district where so few went hungry, and so many had true wealth unseen beyond anywhere save one or the capitol, and he had to stretch stew with flour or had them sleeping in a bus station when they didn’t have enough to pay for a roof over their heads. Whether he’d wanted to be there for Maggie, the world had let him die.

And that had been life – underneath the cruel hand of a place that turned from child soldiers to child gladiators – to give in to hope was to become a fool.

She’d squeezed Ines’s hand, tight.

Marguerite had not turned to cruelty, even when it could’ve been so much easier. She cocooned herself against any such hatred at all by seeing life matter-of-factly. She had to live, and others would die. One woman couldn’t change the world. And one person could never upend a hundred years of hatred.

There was no reason, then, to perpetuate the pain or suffering. It would always exist when people chose the same life they’d always had.

She could calculate what would save her. She could spend her strength on staying alive, rather than living in fear of what she would become. And that meant not wasting it on what other said or did around her.

The stars brought the face of the girl who’d been blow apart by lightning. Then another career – the same one who’d seemed to value taunting over anything else. She didn’t recognize the other two, but at her count, that left ten others.

“Let’s get up at sunrise. Maybe we’ll have a little time to talk?” Marguerite offered to break the stillness of the fold. “There’s some things I wanted to ask you.”

But there could be no sunrise for Marguerite Harvard.

No moment when she could risk showing off scars. To try to break her rules, finally, and to see not what, but just who Ines was.

The heat had melted away the arena, and it shed its skin with a terrible crack. For no sooner had Maggie awoken to the wet and the cold, the flood, and chaos of the avalanche, she’d been forced over the rocks and to the sands of the beaches.

“Ines?!” Her voice carried echoes through the wearying mist and sand.

Marguerite staggered across the sludge at the mouth of the beach and drew her glaive. She hadn’t forgotten where she was, and that the gamemakers wanted nothing more than to bring about the destruction of anyone that remained.

She couldn’t protect Ines, then, and would have to hope whatever strength she’d built over the last five days would carry her through. She wanted to say she had faith, but wondered now if Ines was made of steel or porcelain.

Of the crowd that had gathered, Maggie had her reasons to strike each of them.

Marceline had murdered Azure in the bloodbath. It’d be reasonable to take her down now, avenge Azure, and come out looking a hero. Except five days had felt an eternity. She scarcely remembered Azure and her heart didn’t beat for vengeance.

Axyl offered to stand with her the day prior. They hadn’t been allies, but she couldn’t say that they were enemies.

The boy from nine was a mystery to her. She didn’t trust her chances with him yet as she hadn’t seen what he could do.

And then here was the empty-headed boy who’d been a fool in the mines. Lionel had somehow survived to day six, and she had to give him credit for that. But of all the remaining people on that beach, somehow, she imagined her odds might’ve been best against someone who might’ve confused his right from his left.

“Five.” Maggie turn back on her left foot and lifted her glaive. “Why don’t we get this started?”

ELEGANT

[marguerite harvard attacks tribute selected below with glaive]
7qTfBWkUlcglaive
[result:13186 -- Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage]
1-4

tribute target #:
1. Rhys Peace
2. Lionel Estrada
3. Axyl Willougby
4. Marceline Jeon
glaive·1-4

[parsnip]

R H Y S
P E A C E

      Rhys’ last words to Garnet were that he’d always have his back. Well, look how that turned out. Not only had the Gamemakers sought to wreck all he had on their way through the darkness of the mines and the snows of the lake, they had to take the last thing keeping Rhys in a place of hope. Without hope, there was only his training. Only the idea of hunting down the rest of the tributes so that this may finally end.

A change of character? Maybe.

His visage was more grim, and his eyes seemed darker or at an increased depth. His hair was ragged, but he still looked like Rhys. Only if Rhys hadn’t eaten or drank properly in days now.

His sword arm was heavy, and when he saw Marguerite taking her pick of targets, he knew in that moment there was only one thing he could do to survive. He either needed a new ally, or he needed to follow up her attack with another, just for good measure.

He didn’t know Lionel. In truth he could only recall Marceline. He wouldn’t blame her for attacking him. Revenge is sweet, after all. But Rhys can’t get his revenge on the avalanche that took his last friend in the world. He just hoped his strikes would sing true so that Garnet wasn’t his last friend forever.

“This is the way it has to be, pal” he said, to quell his guilt.

[Rhys Peace attacks Lionel Estrada with Glaive]

M7_YrOTHXdglaive

Severed Right Calf at Knee -- 9.0 damage
(Glaive)glaive

[k!ah]

There was a grin plastered across her face that almost stole all the air from my lungs. The laughter that accompanied it threatened to have me gasping for breath as I watched as she and Misty soared around us as the world collapsed below. It was so rare to see her so unguarded. So rare to see that unrestrained delight and excited that consumed her as she welcomed the feeling of the wind against her body and I was slowly becoming addicted to wanting to see each and every part of her. The thought was enough to have my skin that mirrored her own slip a little, a frown knitting at my brows.

Misty and Felicity sweep away from Mouse and I and I watch them for a moment longer before my gaze snags on Eight. Marceline. I had learnt her name last night as I had tried to ignore just how close Felicity's body had been pressed against my own once she collapsed into the bed. Our murmured conversation has only last a few moments before sleep had embraced her tightly and the sound of her breathing evened. It had taken me much longer to drift off as I become all to aware of each spot our bodies connected. It had taken a mental scolding for me to ignore it and forced my eyes to close presenting that the body pressed against me was not Felicity but, i don't know, anything else.

A wicked grin splits my lips as I urge Mouse to dive for the girl, sweeping above her as his talons gelt scrape at the crown of ice that circled her crown. Mouse lands before her, his wings sweeping wide as they send a gush of air and sand during around us as I climb from his back and unshaven my sword that was still stained her her blood. "Helloooo sweetheart," I purr as I love to circle around her, my gaze flicking into the sky for just a moment to look for Felicity and Misty. "I've come to collect and what I am owed," I say quietly as I give my sword a casual flick, smirking as my eyes sweep across her before looking behind and around us for Mr. Broody. "Not hulking brute to protect you today, I see."

Anticipation fills the air between us and I have to bite my lip to stop my grin from growing into something crueler. I am so distracted by the girl in front of me that I miss the sound of Mouse's warning growl and the rabid dog from the mines lungs for me, their knife biting at my chest. I give a hiss of pain but that is cut off as a blade soars for my leg and I dive out the way just enough to stop it from tearing straight through muscle and bone.

Anger tears through me so quickly that I cannot contain the growl that escapes my lips as my eyes land on one of the tributes that I hadn't bothered to notice before. I noticed him now though and my eyes weeped across him my smirk turned cruel and twisted. "I'm not here for you today, kid, but once I am done with little miss Marceline," my gaze moves from the stranger to Marceline and back again, "your next."

lionel attacks marceline,

H_n60pYgWgsword

3.5

sd against rhys
3-8

sword·3-8

[pogue]

He's grown accustomed to refusing to look at ghosts of his own creation, head tucked in between his knees and feeling the ice of the arena nip at his skin. The anthem blares above him, constellations written in red and irises staring at him in blue, an array of faces written in the stars as a final reminder. It's teenage naivety that pulls his focus away from it, gaze to the dust and the dirt below, desperately hoping that if he doesn't get one final glimpse of them that he won't remember what they look like when he finally closes his eyes.

He's wrong, he's always wrong.

That night is no different, tossing and turning in a coffin of his own design, clutching the spiked bat and feeling nails press softly into the upper parts of his chest in the darkness. Every creak of the forest pulls him back awake, torture at first until it becomes something of a blessing- he doesn't know if it's easier to not know what's in the darkness around him than to know what comes when he closes his eyes and falls into sleep. 

All alone he says his final prayers, whispering curses into the night for nobody to hear, soft enough for the cameras to miss it but loud enough for whatever lurks in the night to know he's not worth devouring.

Already gone sour, running from his own demons and soaked in blood that ain't his own.

A walking tombstone turned running, it's in the wake of the morning light that he wakes up to the feel of the earth groaning beneath him, bag falling from nearby rock to the ground and puking out its innards. Bennie lifts his snout to the air and sniffs danger, roars once and bares his fangs to a predator neither of them can see. "Yeah- yeah, I agree." Axyl mutters, brow furrowing at the sudden feel of warmth that washes over his skin. There's slush that clings to his clothing, water turning red as dried blood dissolves into nothing within it.

He'd consider it a blessing if he could, later. Washed clean of his sins, ready to carve new ones into the dust and the dirt before he kicks the bucket. For now he does what he knows best, sweeps items into a duffel bag and hops onto the back of a beast twice his size and wills it to go, anywhere but there. 

He catches glimpses of those remaining as he makes his way towards the safety of rising waters, clutching his only weapon and feeling each rumble of the ground shoot through his stomach. Butterflies erupt from the pit, breaths ragged and caught in his own throat at the sight of what he knows is to come. It's the name of the Game, carving your name into the dirt just to fill it with red, running like rats into the spike of the nearest weapon. Axyl gulps, swallows, rubs the head of Bennie as the creature makes its way onto foreign ground. "Alright boys-" He mutters, chewing on the words for one last time. "Stay here."

There's an array of faces that arrive to the sands at the same time as him, some new and some recognized, none good. Marguerite comes with her own ghost, Ines Izar nowhere to be found in the wake of their skirmish the day prior. "Ines gone?" He offers in a shout, digging his feet into the sand and tightening his grip on the bat. Axyl doesn't know if she's gone, truly, he'd refused to watch the Anthem for fear of what it might tell him. "Way it's gotta be..." Axyl repeats after Rhys, chewing on his own words. Hard pill to swallow, especially after he'd fled death so easily so far, but he knows it's true. "Let's get this shit over with, then."

No running from this one, he's learned that through and through by now. It's only when Lionel swings first that Axyl follows in the footsteps of boys who deem themselves giant, a follower born to run and forced to fight.

Ghost of Hugo in his peripheral, watching and waiting for Axyl Willoughby to join him. Cowardice takes hold, swinging at the only person he doesn't know, hoping he never gets the chance to.

[attacks marceline ; spiked blunt]

yLv9MbV3RCspiked blunt

[block]

[accuracy]

spiked blunt

[miss hehe]

spiked blunt·spiked blunt

[andromache s. ⚔️ [d1b] sucy]

Marceline hates herself for thinking it, but it’s somewhat relieving to look up at the sky and not be responsible for a single one of the faces staring down at them. She sleeps easier tonight than the night before; during the day, she can pretend all she likes that she’s steeled herself against the ramifications of the games, but at night Marceline’s real feelings push up to the surface.

But sleep takes her, exhaustion pulling her under, before anything can explode, and she’s happy for it.

Morning rumbles below their backs — she and Hal are left with no choice but to pack their things and run. Sleep is instantly a world away, unimaginable to her now as she scrambles up onto the back of her friend the giant owl. Maybe she should name her little companions after all. That can come later on, once they’re back on land, providing she survives the apparent collapse raining down on them.

Which gamemaker hit the avalanche button?

Her owl takes off before she has time to pull Hal on with her. She calls out for him to no avail — they rise too high, too quickly. Below there’s nothing but destruction. Marceline holds on tight, screws her eyes closed. She’ll trust her bird to choose a safe place to land.

When she feels solid ground beneath her, Marceline pries her eyes open, heart in her throat. She’s never been so high in her life. She doesn’t think she ever wants to be again, especially since it seems she can’t trust her bird to pick an appropriate landing spot. They’re surrounded. Tributes all around, none of them friendly. Markedly one of them is very, very unfriendly. Yesterday’s wounds still sting both her and Lionel she supposed. Marceline gestures for the owl to fly away, which it agrees to do without much hesitation. The atmosphere is hostile. Even a stupid birdbrain can tell that much.

Speaking of birdbrains —

Marguerite and Rhys, weapons bared at him, barely register on Lionel’s radar. He’s dead set on Marceline. Calls her little miss Marceline. She’s all of a sudden aware of her childishness here. That she’s the runt of this year’s pack of tributes. Shit. He swipes at her, hits her damn leg to try and finish yesterday’s job.

Another boy… who? She can’t remember, only identifies him by his misplaced swings of his sword next to her, swishing by her ear. He jumps in after Lionel. Copying him? Marceline barks out a laugh.

“Think for yourself, much?”

marceline attacks axyl!

cPWn8oZn|Xsword

3.5 - sc on left hip

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

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

The cut of her glaive barely registers for Lionel, and Maggie hung back to watch the show.

She’s used to blending in with the crowd. Keeping her head down had served well for survival. Work hard, do well, and survive – maybe even get a chance to live – her father had taught her. Here, even in the hunger games, she’d become a tool of destruction but never a factor. Even Ines had managed to kill Harley; no one had died at Maggie’s hands in six days.

Maybe that was better for her eventual guilt.

No one had to scorn her and she didn’t need forgiveness. Not that she would have ever apologized for what she went through in the arena. That shit felt weak to her. Why would she ever say sorry for the choices she’d made to get here? Yes, she got the ultimate conflict of self one faced when the dust settled, but that all could wait until they opened the door to the arena and she was kicking it on the outside.

‘Ines gone?’ Axyl's voice cut across the sand.

His cropped hair and pale skin reminded Marguerite something of a scarecrow. Was he hollow too, or just stuffed with whatever leftovers had been on offer?

“She made her choice to go one way. I went the other,” Maggie offered in reply.

‘Way it’s gotta be…’

Maggie nodded in agreement.

At some point they’d had to split off from one another. Next time she saw Ines, her face would either be in the sky, or she’d be staring down the length of her blade.

Marceline took to Axyl then, her aim truer than his. Blood scattered to the wind, and Maggie pushed her blade in front.

She hadn’t forgotten that this was life or death, after all.

She wondered, then, watching him, how empty Lionel’s head was to not lay a finger on either of the people that cut their blades into his skin?

Even if it was a battle she could win, maybe even unscathed, did it matter how it had been done?

“Six may have two braincells, but I’d guess he’s at least twice as smart as you,” Maggie answered Marceline’s taunt to Axyl with a grin.

Fuck the calculated. Maybe chaos was more fun anyway.

[marguerite harvard attacks marceline jeon with her glaive]
z2xkqmGamGglaive
[result: 13127 -- Deep Gash on Cheek -- 8.5 damage + 1 blades]

ELEGANT

glaive

[parsnip]

R H Y S
P E A C E

      Calling her little miss Marceline was a great way to anger Rhys. He didn't even need to know her to understand that being so flippant during a life or death situation was arrogant. At least, that's how the kid from Nine thought about it.

Rhys had managed to momentarily slip under the radar in the huge fight that'd burst out. That didn't for a second mean he was safe.

In amongst the chaos, Rhys held true to his target. Lionel may be a nice guy, but Rhys will never know. It wasn't rage or hatred that took over his body, allowing him to cause the damage he did. The desire for freedom and safety from the storm of swords around him, yet he was a main participant.

He thought of Garnet, of Jericho. He thought of those at home.

He wondered how it might look, how the reflection might land upon his sword, from the camera lenses fixed on his dance.

[Rhys Peace attacks Lionel Estrada with Glaive]

IJbac2lk76glaive

Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage
(Glaive)glaive

[k!ah]

so sorry to do this but I am not feeling very well. :( I promise to fill tomorrow after work <3

lionel attacks marceline,

hLYUWeNttMsword


3.5

sword

[pogue]

Swing and a miss.

Swing and a mother fucking miss.

Axyl's frustrations spill out from his mouth in a crimson shout, chewed up split up lips and spit dribbling down his chin as the spiked bat laced within his digits finds only air once, then twice. It's still foreign to him, swinging at the heads of giants and hoping he lands a lucky blow- knowing he never will. 

He bounces backwards from the fight in the wake of his own failure, teeth pressed to teeth as the last remnants of a busted up knee still cling to his form, embers spreading up the side of his body from the sudden movement. They bicker amongst themselves like teenagers were born to do, insults and shouts tossed into the fray in the wake of blades and daggers. Axyl watches it from what feels like the sidelines, pulled into participating even though all he wants to do is turn heel and run.

But he knows what happens if he does that- the image of the Career being struck down in a flash of fury bounces to the front of his mind before he can take measures to bite back against it, shouts of pain and the smell of burnt flesh carving itself into his memory just like it had the entire night before. Piece by piece he sees their shadows dance on the ground in front of him, coated in red and stuck here forever.

Axyl knows it's better to be forgotten in the name of a fight than it is to be forgotten in the arena itself, knows his heart is still beating if only because it feels like it's about to burst from his own chest and spill his sins and innards out into the world for all of Panem to see. It's why his face is pale and the dried blood that still coats it.... Hugo's, his own, the blood of kids he would never know... sticks out for the world to see in bright contrast. 

The blade of a sword pulls him out of his own rot, paper cut carved on the side of his hip as he turns wildly away from the weapon in a desperate attempt to save what's left of his own skin. The bat was useless against a fucking sword, and Axyl curses himself at the fact that he'd jammed his axe into a rotting tree as some sort of stoic protest, leaving himself with only a weapon that had paid him dust in return.

"Six may have two braincells, but I'd guess he's at least twice as smart as you." 

Maggie's voice cuts into the air between him and the tribute, and Axyl looks to the two of them with something between bewilderment and fear on his face. "Honestly, I don't even think I have the braincells left." It's the truth, even though he shouldn't say it. But he's never been good at biting his tongue or watching it either- even now it burns with the acid he's spewed throughout his life, penance for everything he's done and everything he hasn't.

His own shadow follows him forward as he once again jumps into the fray, taking advantage of the only opening he can find and swinging wildly, all in a desperate attempt to get it over with, in a plea to be able to run from the inevitable once again.

[attacks lionel ; spiked blunt]

hVVGhR1IRrspiked blunt

[6.5]

spiked blunt

[andromache s. ⚔️ [d1b] sucy]

Marguerite’s taunt has barely sunk in, a scowl has hardly formed on Marceline’s face, when Six bemoans his own intelligence. Six, she thinks, why have the ones from Six buzzed around her like this? Brief interjects into her time in the arena, but stinging sharp nonetheless. For a second, she’s speechless — and that second is all it takes for Lionel’s sword to glance off her again. She spits, backs up, does her best to create space between herself and the others.

Her vision darts back and forth, moving from one potential target to the next, before finally her eyes settle on Rhys. In the midst of all the chaos she’d failed to so far notice Garnet’s absence. Alarm bells rang. She looked at him insistently, eyes wide and blue. Behind her own blinks, Marceline senses their wildness.

“Rhys,” she croaks, chest heaving with each breath. Rhys, she prays, can forgive her taking swipes at him just a day or so ago — at least long enough to answer her this. “Where the hell is Garnet?”

Where’s Garnet? Where’s Hal? Where’s Five’s little girlfriend? Where’s anyone? Every question she could ask, including the one she did ask, is redundant. They’re all stuck here, in this man made no man’s land, each clawing at one another to try and stake their claim. It doesn’t matter where Garnet is. All that matters are Marceline’s feet, planted firmly in the newly uncovered sand underneath. 

(It matters where Garnet has gone. Without Garnet Beauford, the only thing that proves District Eight was ever real is her mother’s ring on her finger.)

Marceline digs out one of her ice picks. The pack that’d started on her aren’t unified by any means, but she’s not eager to let them continue as they are. On an exhale, she throws.

self defense against marguerite’s attack 13127

U9nV8MVgSo3-8

marceline attacks with ice pick (throwing knife)…

target roll: 1 = marguerite, 2 = axyl

1-2

attack roll!

throwing knife

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

3-8·1-2·throwing knife

[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

Her blade was true, like always.

She had never had trouble finding her mark. Countless hours of studying without distraction, Maggie tuned out the thoughts in her head to focus. She buried herself in a cloud of smoke outside of class and couldn’t tell you who her friends really were. Was anyone from the Harvard house a friend?

Lionel takes his lumps and Marguerite wondered if he’d be the one to stay standing. Between him and Marceline she wasn’t sure where to place her bets. To her it was interchangeable; as much as she knew about them as competitors, them falling here or advancing felt inconsequential. She hadn’t come across either in some days.

Though she could’ve blamed Marceline more for killing Azure. It would’ve been the easy thing to do. That, and the young woman threw her knife almost square into her face.

Maggie jolted back so that she caught a gash and nothing more.

“Not too bad.” She replied. She could recognize talent when she saw it. Especially someone that had as good a chance as any to make it forward.

Axyl mumbled something but Maggie had lost interest in him now. The other boy, too, out of sight and out of mind.

She turned her glaive back toward Marceline and pressed forward.

Times like these she wondered if her mother was watching. If she thought maybe, well, would it have always turned out like this?

“HNNNNG!”

[marguerite uses self-defense against marceline’s attack 9002]
ZbRT2jIytf3-8

[marguerite Harvard attacks marceline jeon with her glaive]
glaive
[result: miss]

accuracy, day 6
glaive
[result: miss]

ELEGANT

3-8·glaive·glaive

[parsnip]

R H Y S
P E A C E

      “Where the hell is Garnet?”

Garnet's district partner called out amidst the fighting.

He didn't have a proper answer for her. "One minute he was there" he tried to start. "The next minute, an avalanche."

Rhys didn't think before; Garnet's passing looked entirely suspicious. If it wasn't for the witnesses, maybe people started to view him as the killer of both Garnet and Jericho. But, it wasn't true for a second. The only blood he truly had on his hands were that of a god.

"I'm so-" he was trying to say. The swing from Marguerite swooped in front of any chance he had of finishing his conversation. Thankfully, Marceline seemed unscathed. "I'll make it right" he commented, rotating his glaive a fair couple of times, before launching it now at a different target.

[Rhys Peace attacks Marguerite Harvard with Glaive]

fsA03yXlhMglaive

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

[k!ah]

My blade barely skims her flesh and I pout in a rather childish way as she dances out of my reach. Yesterday my blade had keen to bite into her skin deep, and with each moment that passed between us I felt that need grow until I could almost forget about the other tributes who surrounded us. For days now tributes had singled me out as a target. Right from the bloodbath where I had been beaten so thoroughly that it had pissed off Xylia and Lucky that they hadn't managed to break me. And the days following hadn't been much better... Only... Only I had had Felicity beside me.

Almost instinctively I move to step back into her body, craving the warmth of her comforting presence. Only when I moved my body connected with a blade that cause a hiss of pain to escape my lips as a fire that was becoming all to familiar let through my limbs hungrily. I shoot a glare at Mr Forgettable once again, my lips curling in distaste at the thin line of blood that had begin to form across my bicep. "Stop interrupting me," I pretty much growled as I stalked away from him once again attempting to close the distance between Marceline and myself.

"Now where were we-"

Pain erupts in my already fucked up leg as I whirl around to the sound of a new crack as Axyl fucking Willoughby slams his club into my foot. "MOTHERFUCKER!" I howl as I stumble, fighting to keep my balance as the bones that had just begun to settle become reminded of the pain that had haunted me for the last 5 days. Breathing unsteadily, pain blinds me as Mouse closes in behind me, pressing his back to me the way Felicity would, his wings flaring as he growls furiously in Marcelines and Mr. Forgettables direction.

"Dick. Move." I spit at Axyl around pants as I fight to control the pain that surged through me in time with my flaming pulse. "Looks like I might have to put down the guard dogs master," I snarl, Marceline temporally forgotten as I lunge for Axyl. "I did promise that you would see him soon."

lionel attacks axyl,

8F4a7tpnKbsword

Severed Left Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage + 1 rivalry

sword

[pogue]

Fillering for now!

[attacks marceline ; spiked blunt]

w||zFNT6Q8spiked blunt

[hehe]

[light step on lionel’s attack]

1-10

[Success - 10.5 damage removed]

[/quote]
spiked blunt·1-10

[andromache s. ⚔️ [d1b] sucy]

"One minute he was there. The next minute, an avalanche."

An avalanche. Marceline has no choice but to believe him. Suspicious as she is, if he asked about Hal, her answer would be the exact same. They’ve all been ripped apart from their allies, if they’re still lucky enough to have them. The new beach is vast; maybe Hal is there, beyond the horizon line. Maybe he’s fighting with Garnet again. She doesn’t have the time to observe Rhys closely, to pick apart his face, but –

Marguerite’s glave swipes past her, once, twice, but neither times breach skin. Marceline feels the urge to yell something. To bark at the other girl. To point her towards the big guy from Nine in front of her who, for all his gentle giant behaviour, still managed to take Váli Forrester’s head clean off her shoulders. Oh, Váli. Her unwavering, entirely misplaced confidence had helped Marceline more than she realised.

"I’ll make it right."

Marceline jumps back, looks at him hard. So they hadn’t just gotten separated like she and Hal had.

Five’s attention is all on the guy with the spiky bat and no braincells for now. Marguerite’s glaive still dripped with Marceline’s blood. Spiky Bat with No Brains tries to make a go for her, but comes up short. A stroke of luck, because for that instant, Marceline is as still as a mannequin. She swears the ring on her finger pulses – reminds her to move. Make it right, he says. Stupid, stupid Rhys. How could he possibly fix this? People have taken plenty of blood from her so far, but he drew his vial straight from the heart. Marceline allows herself to balk at him for a second longer before she springs back into action.

She only has one word for him.

"Fool."

Still, the intent in his words, in his voice, does something for her. Despite her anger, her sympathies are roused. Fool. Poor, poor fool. She can’t even stand to look at him, let alone waste her energy on him now. He reminds her of her older sisters. Pretty girls. Skilled girls. Well intentioned girls. Ultimately, useless. Kidding themselves every waking second of their lives. She whips away from him, teeth gritted, to look at the others. The others make much easier targets – no conflict in her heart aches over them. They’re sandcastles, left abandoned on the beach by giggling gamemaker children.

marceline attacks… 1 = marguerite, 2 = axyl, 3 = lionel

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sword


sc on right shoulder - 3.5

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

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