Fight 3: Backrooms

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

district seven female
☢︎  Amber Bosch  ☢︎

"If you're going to kill me, just fucking do it!" Only on your part, this slow death may be for lack of trying.

At least the boys from Ten and Four have remained steadily on the offense, but you find yourself dancing between targets with your hummingbird heart drumming inside your ears. One moment you're pouting, the next you're preaching, in a flash you're swiping with your knife and shoving with your hands. The last intention you have is to kill someone, but that doesn't take away the intent that fits in the space of your palms. They have to die. All of them. And when you lunge, you cannot deny that you are doing so with the urge to harm.

Maybe you don't want to kill anyone, but if one of them slips and cracks their skull on the wall, well — who's culpable? You are covered in filth and specks of blood, your stained knife a lifeline you refuse to loosen your grip on. But you've waded too far into the muck to just turn around and run now, the loose ends must be tied. And try as you might to play chess with human pawns and convince strangers to finish the deed for you, it becomes terribly clear that the only person you can rely on here is you.

Whether that's a blessing or a damnation remains to be seen.

Dagger and his wicked sword are proving to be adjacent to useless, or maybe he's simply playing strategic and trying to pretend that he's not as skilled as he truly is. Maybe once you and Nolan have tired yourself off gutting a flailing fish, he'll reveal himself as the shark you're sure he is. There is no guarantee that after this girl is finished off, you won't be the next morsel on the menu. Not unless you prove yourself to be something akin to an omen, poisonous ivy climbing over the walls of a rotting house. Stay away from me, your soul sings, I'll only bring you ruin.

Lonely as you've always been, so eager to do everything in your power to attract attention and love, there's a power that exists in knowing you can stand on your own. You can handle being alone. The books you read over and over have nothing on the truth; the war is real and you're standing right in the center of it. There's nothing beautiful to say that can erase the terror, there's no pretty face you can pull that will make these predators give you a free pass. You are a part of this as equally as the rest of them. If they're villains, then so are you. And if you're a hero, so are they.

Together, each of you are Atlas, and the weight of this burden must be shared.

To one you're a coward, to the others you're an annoyance. You've already carved this target into your own back, so you shove between the boys silently and damn the consequences. When your eyes meet Max's, knife raised high and sure, you are careful to make sure there is no pity in your eyes. You say nothing — no lullaby of a statement, no cruel rebuttal. You just gaze down at her in the silence, bringing up an index finger to your lips before she has the chance to spit out more hatred.

You quiet her, you quiet everything. You are so completely tired of this calamity.

And you swing down with your blade with the intention of finally ending it.

Knowing so much worse is yet to come.

amber attacks max ; knife
ryRHL3Abb_knife
3.5

knife

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

T H A N E

at work filler!

but yaddayadda feels a little bit less guilty when max lashes out a him, but who can blame her fr? more emo born torn heart inner monlogue that leads to him missing a point black, at advantage, 99% accuracy attack

dagger attacks max 🗡 sword

csZOhAJEmQsword

roll null, max has been attacked twice this round

sword

[k!ah]

This is a filler! No attack! Just starting work x

[k!ah]

This is a filler! No attack! Just starting work x

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

"NO ONE GOODE"

In your hometown, Death can be kind.

A survivor is a survivor, even when you watch them fall. A horse with a shattered metacarpal might meet the barrel of a gun, but no one can take from her the way she once rode the wind. You remember when your grandma died, coughing and wheezing through that illness, makin' jokes about how Dad really ought find some other job near home instead of working out on the sea drilling oil. There was light in her eyes until the end, even when treatments ran out and supply lines got cut off by crowds of soldiers. There was no taking the fight out of her though, and you remember thinking how calm she looked on her deathbed, peaceful enough to simply be dreaming.

That's the image that comes to you now, mouth going dry as you watch Amber lunge forward once, Dagger quick on her heels. No one says anything. Somewhere, someone writes a poem about that and discovers they can't find the words.

You keep waiting for it to make your stomach turn, the smell or the situation, you aren't sure which; it feels cruel to take something so precious as a life, but still no remorse stirs for the sins you'll commit this day. So you keep resisting the urge to cover your mouth, to cover your nose.

You need both of your hands today.

From somewhere unidentified filters out the rotten smell of dead and decaying things, or maybe it radiates from everything down here, the sum of its parts already ruined. The putrid scent filth beneath your feet rolls off of the floor in waves with each of their steps, the smell of excrement and stale sweat mixing together a nearly toxic concoction. The broken florescent light above crackles with static, the plastic cover shattered in one spot allowing a stray wire to dangle down. You catch a glimpse of its tail in the glimmer of artificial light, and slash out at it. Sparks rain down around Max, around Dagger, around all four of you, a cascade of light making pinpricks in the dark.

Damp and bleeding, any innocence Max had left shatters at your feet. Hair slicked with sweat, she looks so very terrified in the dim light. You could have been kinder. You could have made Death kinder.

There will be time for that later.

nolan attack max, knife

nDzyrF1WOJknife

3.5

knife