[inside] is >not> a HEART; [templar v. snowin]

[shrimp]

Set me free, leave me be.
I don't want to fall another moment into your gravity.
Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I'm supposed to be.
But you're on to me and all over me.

Another wound, and then yet one more. Blood trickled down her neck, seeped from the deep cut in her forehead. The pain, which had been torturous before seemed to intensify, something that she couldn't even fathom. Words seemed to flow in and out of her head, melding themselves into something that simply wasn't comprehensible. The girl had spoken, her allies had spoken; but none of it reached her brain, flowing through her head like a stream of water, never stopping, always flowing in and out. She slowly lifted a hand to her forehead, wiping away the blood that had obscured her vision, sniffling once. Oh, how her parents would mourn her for a time, later telling their next child (it was obvious for a time that her mother had been expecting a child, not necessarily to the 17-year old's liking) how both siblings had failed.

To them, she had failed. But in her own mind, was there a sense of accomplishment hidden somewhere? True, she was almost gone - she could sense the spirits coming to take her away, drifting in and out of the real world. She was quite certain that one last hit would send her over the edge, spiraling into the afterlife. So in that instance, yes. She had most definitely failed, an accomplishment that had been felt too many times in her short life. "Stupid girl, never doing anything right." "Either do it right, or stop trying." "You're experienced, you shouldn't be making these mistakes!" "Do I have to wave an award in front of your face? Do it right, goddammit!" Memories of her instructors screaming, of the disappointed look on her parents' (were those her parents? It was becoming hard to differentiate person from person at this point) faces, all of it coming back to her.

True, she hadn't wanted this. She hadn't wanted to go into the games. But her parents wouldn't think of her as the same, slightly competent daughter that they had rarely spoken to before. She was yet another one of their failures, another rift in their already fading marriage. "Just like Eliza," they would say. "Didn't make the right decisions, wound up dying on the second day. And you don't want that to happen to you, right?" Yes, the same tactics that had been used before would be utilized yet again, make the child scared of disappointing, of following in his or her sisters' footsteps. Perhaps they'll get a champion next time, she thought, her switchblade dislodging itself from her firm grip, landing on the volcanic rock without a sound.

"Stop." The word echoed through the battle. Perhaps they did halt, or maybe they didn't, but she was through with trying anymore. It was painfully obvious; she was the dead one. She was the one who was dying today, right here, right now. Her heart beat feebly, attempting to prevent the inevitable, but sooner or later it would give out, and her corpse would be lying on the mountainous terrain, blood oozing out as the remnants of the dull sparkle in her eyes, of the soft laugh that was not even used once in the arena, all faded away into the smoky air above. These four might care - Storm and Heron probably would care to a certain degree. She had, after all, become "friends" with them for some time now (if you counted a few days as a substantial amount of time - it really had been only 2 days since she had been in the sparkling town with overly-gaudy colors and ridiculous people and exquisite food).

Maybe Soren and Winona would care too - if they survived, that is. She hoped that Storm and Heron would just leave after she died. That way they'd escape unscathed; she was the only one to have suffered from injuries here, and hopefully she'd be the only one to die in this battle. She took a quick glance at the two armored- ones wondering how they'd react to her death, The first kill almost always brought things that were better left unseen into the hearts and minds of tributes. One of them would kill her, that much was for certain. And she wouldn't see how everything turned out. Because her body would be laid out on the ground, eyes staring blankly into the distance.

She dropped the satchel on the ground, hearing it land with a slight thump. Turning towards Heron, she slowly limped towards her ally, slipping the ring off of her finger as she did so (her mother would be mad at her dead daughter for possibly losing the pathetic excuse for a family heirloom; it was apparent to her that it had been recently made, too new to be timeless). Weakly pressing it into the palm of Heron's hand (she assumed that it was left there, not released from her grasp), she smiled once; a short quick smile that really didn't show much emotion, like the kind of smile that she would give to a rather annoying chatterbox (such as her mother). Of course, she didn't mean it in this way, but she simply didn't have the strength to do anything else. She looked at Storm, nodding her head once, then limped towards her murderer (she was going to die anyways, pain in her foot hardly mattered anymore), a stoic look upon her face. If she was to die now, let it be done. She would accept it with grace, with complete certainty.

For her name was Anastasia Fortescue, daughter of Ross and Evangelina Fortescue, sister to a deceased tribute, cousin to another, and it was her day to die.

[∂αмєη]

S O R E N x D R A G A N x R Y D E R

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Sympathy was the last feeling that you should feel in the Hunger Games. When you take your sword or spear and send it towards your opponent, digging it deep into his or her back, you should never feel sorry for the person. But Soren Ryder felt that sympathy when he saw Anastasia Fortescue brought down to the weakest she would be. Memories of their small conversation in the Training Center flooded back to his mind, pushing everything else out. This girl was supposed to be somebody who he could trust in a way. Somebody who was initially off limits when he spent more time with York. And now that was done. He had broken that promise that was never made. It meant a lot to him though. He always wanted to be truthful.

The girl breathed a request for them to stop. And it took all Soren's strength to try and ignore the need to pull him closer to the end. He wanted to eliminate everybody that got in his way or his alliance's way. And unfortunately, Anastasia was there. She was an obstacle that needed to be passed. "I'm sorry Anastasia. We can't all win. And I need to make sure my alliance is safe." He muttered, lifting his sword higher. But part of him didn't want to. Part of him wanted to just run and flee everything. Winona would be left to fight for herself. That's what held him back.

Until her words cut into him. Winona's words that describe his apparent personality. The one that she only JUST met. "I'm leaving." The boy muttered, trying to find a way to leave. And there was his chance, just in between Storm and Anastasia.

[[Anastasia ; Unarmed]]
5060
[consent given]
[[Result ; Tripped. 0.5]]

It's really funny how irony works. The one time that somebody wants to be realistic and flees from a fight, they only do worse. And as Soren's foot hit Anastasia, he knew everything else would go wrong. Turning on the spot, he watched in horror at the chain of events that occurred.


[[ooc; sorry for the crap post. i need to get some sleep and Shrimp is going on hiatus so i needed to post it. so yeah.

anastasia fortescue, you will be forever missed :[ ]]

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[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

If sympathetic pain even existed, Storm was definitely afflicted by it. Every gash that was placed on Ana, every attack that had been inflicted on her, Storm felt it too. Of course, it did not affect him physically as it did Ana, but it was enough to drive Storm mad. And by mad, he was going insane. As to why he was reacting in such an erratic manner was beyond his knowledge but he knew that he couldn’t let it happen. Only two days of keeping each other alive (or attempting to) built strong bonds. He had carried her away from the Bloodbath; to him, that meant a great deal.

Storm wanted to prevent anything else from hurting Ana; she looked so ready to give up. But she couldn’t. He would never let her do that. Even if she couldn’t fight, she couldn’t give up either. He would fight for her just to give her the time and energy to heal. He would fulfill the revenge Ana wanted on Soren. Before he could strike again though, he noticed something odd. She was limping away to Heron, her hands moving as if to—Storm’s heart dropped a few feet as he realized what she was doing. She was giving up.

No, to the district 1 girl, she would have made it sound more honorable than that. But in Storm’s eyes, and he supposed his family’s, she was giving up. She decided that it was her time to die and Storm couldn’t let that happen. Something kept him back though, keeping him where he was standing. It almost felt like time was freezing, constraining all of the tributes to their present positions.

The moment their eyes locked, Storm lost control of his emotions. He hated her—no, he hated Soren—no, that wasn’t fair either. He hated the whole lot of them, the Gamemakers who would kill off Ana like she was nothing more than a piece of meat. He bit his lip, furious at the Gamemakers, as he tried to hold back all other emotions. It would do no good to show anything now, and Storm could not fix it no matter how much he wanted to; Ana had already made the decision.

His eyes watched Ana move towards Soren, and Storm braced himself for the impact that Soren would strike Ana with. He knew that Soren would take that opportunity; it just seemed to be his personality. So when Soren decided that he would be going (he had muttered that he would be leaving), Storm nearly dropped his battle axe. He…he’s giving Ana a chance? But all good things had to be balanced with bad and this time, that saying was never as true as it had been before.

While Soren ran away, he had managed to catch the feet of Ana…and away she went. Storm couldn’t believe what he was seeing as Ana kept falling and falling and falling. Not knowing what else to do, Storm grabbed her satchel, hoping that there would be something inside to patch her up. As he ran after her, he took another swing at Soren, not really caring what damage he made as long as it was something. He would deal with that boy later. But first, he had to get to his ally, to prevent her from being gone forever.

[attacks Soren; battle axe]
[dice=200+11000]
[Miss; 0.0]

When he reached Ana, his worst suspicions were confirmed as he saw the bloodied, bruised up face of his ally. She was the one who held the alliance together, who made sure that Storm and Heron could at the very least get along. He had once held her in his arms but she was only weak and unconscious then; now—Storm couldn’t even bring himself to say it. He would have to leave her body, he knew that, but he wasn’t sure he was ready to. No, he would do it, because that’s what he was supposed to do. Duty…honor…protection…he was a failure in all three.

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[cameron]

Really didn't wanna do this. Stupid parents. Filler.

Basically, Winona watches Ana, freaks out a great deal, sees Soren walk away, gets pissed, runs after him.

Then she fills up her water jugs, even though she has enough jugs to last the next three months. Andddd she wraps her wounds with her bandages and does first aid since she took that. Yaaay.

Swear to fuck I'll fill this in tomorrow.

Anddd she leaves the area.

[shrimp]

I wish I were pretty
I wish I were brave
If I owned this city
Then I'd make it behave

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To be brutally honest, she had never expected her killing blow to be consisted of a light tap on her ankle. Anastasia was always one of those balanced, coordinated people, who had easily been able to step over another person's foot, or weave in and out of crowds without batting an eye. Tripping had occurred so rarely that the girl even forgot how it felt like; the slight drop in your stomach, the surprise that one felt from the sensation of colliding with the earth. All of that had become foreign to her, eliminated by rigorous dance exercises to help her become more graceful, or training exercises so she could watch where she was going. And now, her life was ending, all because she was simply too tired to dodge the foot that had accidentally blocked her way.

And down she went, landing on her side with a muffled noise of pain, the momentum enough to send her rolling down the slope itself. She slid down for a while, eyes closed, breathing faint, before she fell down a ledge. The roller-coaster sensation intensified for a few seconds, before she hit the ground with a loud SLAM. Ana heard a faint cracking sound as she hit the stone, signifying that something wasn't right at all. But the pain was already unbearable, so the fact that it increased by a few notches didn't faze her at all. She knew she wasn't moving anymore - she had fallen a ways down, the likelihood of getting up after being injured so profusely was unlikely. No, she would stay here until her feeble heart finally gave up, taking her soul to whatever came next.

Breathing became even slower and shakier, a tear or two leaked from her eyes, a small sob here or there was heard as well. She wasn't quite dead yet - she would bleed out on the ground, covering this terrain with the rest of her blood (even though it was a rather small amount - it seemed to never stop flowing back near the summit), some of which would probably dye the area red. Ha, perhaps it'll become some sort of freaky tourist attraction... Her mind was wavering slightly - the deep cut on her forehead was getting to her, making her thoughts wander back and forth. It scared her - she wanted to have a conscious mind when she finally left the earth, not have a rambling train of thought the moment that she disappeared. If she was stable throughout the whole thing... Then it would show that she wasn't completely done. Sure, nobody else would know this, but it would allay the girl's fears to be able to think coherently for the rest of her life, even though only minutes remained.

Will I be remembered? No, she wouldn't. Her parents would remember her, and some of the trainers as well (perhaps they would use her story as a training lesson; never let your guard down, or you'll die early), but would anyone else really... Care? Had she done anything worthwhile in her life to really be worth mentioning in the history books? Probably not - she'd just be talked about as one of the 1,311 tributes who had died over the course of 57 years. So would her sister, and all of the ones before them. They were all forgotten, occasionally brought up in passing when simply talking about strategies, or recalling moments of insanity. To the Capitol, tributes were everything. But to the rest of Panem, tributes were worthless, easily forgotten. Maybe this year, Storm or Heron would be in the same boat as her - at least one of them would be. She hoped they would get far though; they deserved to live, both of them. But they can't. Because this is the Hunger Games. And you die in the Hunger Games, just like me.

She didn't deserve to live though. She had given up, allowed herself to be pushed, shoved... Tripped by the D12 boy, sent falling down the mountain to her own demise. If she had attacked just one more time... It could have ended, she could have gotten away and then everything would have been okay, somewhat. Perhaps she would have been able to get ahead, go far, help them go further. After all, she had never been betting on herself winning the games. She was too fragile, to nonchalant about so many things that she was barely even a person. Molded and twisted to fit her parents' desires, her instructor's desires, her fellow careers' desires. Perhaps she simply lost herself along the way. Smiles had disappeared for many years already, as did laughter, and she only regained that again at the Training Station, with all the other tributes. And now they were all going to die.

And if I were fearless
Then I'd speak my truth
And the world would hear this
That's what I wish I'd do, yeah

[/i][/right]
It was the Capitol's twisted ways that had done this, screwing with the minds of all people of Panem, making the Games a sacred thing, letting their loved ones be killed, or kill each other, coming back empty and hollow inside, with 23 of them stuck in caskets, buried 6 feet underground, slowly eaten away by maggots and other decomposers until there was nothing left but bones, littered as far as the eye could see. Perhaps if the District 1 graveyard was unearthed, you would see about 100 or so bodies that were merely teenagers who had been in their prime at the time of death, who hadn't deserved to be vanquished in such a way. All victims of the Capitol. Perhaps she hadn't realized this before, but it was slowly becoming clear to her now. She had never even wanted to participate in these "games", and now here she was, losing them, and 23 other, amazing, kind teens would lose as well, eyes forever focused on a single point in the distance until someone was courteous enough to close their eyes.

Perhaps Storm or Heron would close hers, if they wanted to touch the broken body without a soul that was formerly Ana Fortescue, changed into something that she didn't even recognize. While her parents were off doing whatever they pleased, she was forced to be constrained to this... This archetype of the perfect Career. Stoic, cold-hearted, aloof, skilled. Yes, she followed this rule to a T at some points in her life, trying not to care about anything or anyone. But these games had brought out her humanity again, which had been trapped in the confines of a maze of sorts. It would have been better if she had regained this before the games actually started, but it was always better to regain (or in her case, simply gain) your personality, than walk without it for the rest of your life, regardless of the advantages.

She didn't like them as much now. Her parents, that is. They were the ones who had told her to stick with what she knew, to follow their orders when in reality they weren't even very nice people. She had witnessed this firsthand. They were cheaters, both of them. Her father had screwed around with one of his good friends, telling his wife that "he was just going out for a walk", or "going to go watch a movie with some guy friends." One day, the girl had followed him, trying to "bond" with her father, to get him to finally take her somewhere, to be nice to her, to talk to her. Instead, the ten year old (she had been ten at the time) had seen the makings of a sexual encounter - the murmurings, the noises... It haunted her for days on end, nightmarish situations of what her father could be doing with another behind closed doors... It was her first encounter with this type of stuff, and petrified, she kept her mouth shut.

Her mother was simply careless, leaving behind a trail of breadcrumbs of a sort that Ana desperately cleaned up for her. Disturbing (to her, at least) messages on the answering machine, long trips while her father was out of town. Things simply seemed odd to the girl, like her mother was reliving her adolescent years. She seemed different too, more secretive, jumpy, yet more energetic at the same time. So she followed her as well, fear and guilt gnawing at her stomach until she finally realized that she too, had been committing adultery. Now, this kind of discovery would break the marriage up for good, so she kept it from both of them, covering their tracks whenever they messed up. Of course, they never thanked her, especially that they hadn't known how stupid they were, especially when her mother had announced her pregnancy, her voice slightly shrill and shaky, not like how one would normally act when pregnant with their spouse's child.

No, they never had known their daughter's role in their love life, the nights spent crying in her bed from the horrible fact that her parents were being really bad people. She had vowed never to have a relationship after that, seeing them as things that would only lead to hardship for both parties involved. Ana had never even had her first kiss, something that many teenagers her age had already been gossiping about in school, even going farther than that (there had always been a significant population of pregnant females in District 1 - perhaps it was a side effect from having more time on your hands). She was simply stuck on the fact that relationships always led to trouble, and that always led to adultery. Sad, but that was her view on romance, being a witness to its horrible events.

If my hands could hold them you'd see
I'd take all these secrets in me
And I'd move and mold them to be
Something I'd set free

[/i][/right]
"I can't take it anymore." Words, spoken by some other tribute, she believed, but in an entirely different manner. She despised her parents right now - loathed their pompous attitudes, their smug way of walking, and especially the proud smiles. Oh yes, the smiles that made her go warm inside and almost believe that they were in fact, normal, perfectly good citizens, who didn't go and cheat on their spouse every week or so. But they weren't wonderful, they weren't good either. They broke each other's hearts, as well as her own. Had she known how frustrating and heartwarming it would be to have to cover up for someone else for months on end, she would have spewed out the secrets before, not now.

"I hate both of you," she whispered, her voice barely audible in the slight cacophony of movement that was occurring (in her eyes, the battle was still raging. She hoped Storm and Heron were alright). "You two... Make me sick. I can't..." She took in a deep breath, lungs heaving with the large amount of energy it took to simply survive now. "I can't believe I ever looked up to you two." And it was true. At points in her life, she had loved them, wanted to be like them, have a life, a "happy" family of her own. But that was all myths now. Life wasn't a fairytale, there were no happy endings. It all ended in heartache and death, pain and sorrow, nothing good would come out of it.

She wouldn't tell them what they did wrong - Ana would let them figure this out for themselves. It'd probably drive them mad, trying to learn why their daughter was so angry and was filled with so much hate, that she had the nerve to insult her parents in such a way. They're not the ones dying, she thought as she slowly noticed the pain ebbing away. It was slight, but it struck fear into her heart - she still didn't want to die, needed life in order to continue on the same path that she had been on for all of her life. She wasn't ready for this change, for this entrance into the Great Unknown. I don't want to know what comes next. I just... I just want to go home. But home was never home. She had never considered District 1 to be her home - it was too stuck up, too much like the Capitol to really be a place that she loved.

So where was her home? It most certainly wasn't the arena - it was simply too unforgiving and hot and unwelcoming for her to designate it as the place where she'd long to go back to. But if it wasn't District One... Then was she simply a wanderer of sorts, forced to spend eternity only having known places that weren't even partial to her? Despair lingered in her thoughts, snaking its way through the crevasses and lodging itself in the center of the brain, emitting waves of sadness and of longing and emotional pain. She wished that she had more time. If somehow, that was granted, she would have made sure to be happier, smile more, use her passions (dance really was her passion, even though this girl could no longer perform routines without falling down in agony), find somewhere that you feel happy in. Such things were lost amidst all of the turmoil in her life, and now she simply felt like it had been wasted on training for something that only resulted in a waste of time and effort.

A figure approached. Her unraveling mind simply thought Death. slowly, she glanced upwards, expecting to see something not too similar from a man dressed in a black cloak, with a skull for a face, brandishing a large blade. But it wasn't. She didn't recognize her for a second - she wasn't any of the tributes, that much she was able to discern. But the brown hair, and the eyes that were so much like her fathers' green ones. And the slight cleft chin that was noticeably less prominent than Ana's... You're hallucinating, she told herself, but the mind still played very believable tricks. Why is she here? She could only stare in awe as her sister stood before her, in the 12 year old body that she had held before her death. She held out her hand, maybe it was even twinkling in the blaring sunlight. Her eyes were closed in little half-moons and there was a small smile on her face. She beckoned to Ana, words seeming to appear in her mind.

Come, Ana.
What? But you're not talking...

It must have been some strange effects of the blood draining from her cranium. Hadn't many teenagers witnessed very strange occurrences right before their death? Take the district 8 boy from the 54th - he started babbling to his family in a nonsensical manner that made her father laugh (she on the other hand, felt rather awful and had to leave the room for a second). Maybe this is what he had seen, but in a different form. But the sun still was blazing at the same intensity, the background still apparent as being the arena. The only difference is that there was an extra tribute here, one that had died long ago, and she was clearly calling for her sister to join her. Ana, come on. Please?

She looked urgent for Ana to join her, like something would happen if she were to deny the request. For a second or two the girl pondered, the pain ebbing away faster now until she could barely feel it. Blood was on the ground, spread out in a puddle along the contours of her frame, still nourished from the previous days. She was just about ready to join Eliza, starting to feebly stretch her hand out, almost in grabbing range when... She stopped. "You're a lot like her, you know that?" The memory of her father, one of the only times they had ever spoken returned, settling itself into her brain, which was quickly becoming useless with the almost empty-of-blood body.

But he had said something to his wife that day. It had been subtle, in the private company of their own bedroom, but she had heard it all. "Why can't she be more like her? More understanding, accurate, maybe Ana would be able to use the bow better had she been more similar to that girl." That day... Hadn't she resolved to be more like her deceased sister? Hadn't she tried to work harder? Listen more? She lost her personality that day, deciding to please others rather than focus on herself. As kind and perfect as Eliza was, it was time for Ana to figure out just who exactly she was, even if it came just a tad bit too late.

I have to do this myself. I need to face whatever comes next on my own.

I'm sorry, Eliza

And with a sincere, sad smile, her sister faded from her view as the light faded from her eyes, eyelids finally too heavy to stay open.

I want to darken in the skies
Open the floodgates up
I want to change my mind
I want to be enough
I want the water in my eyes
I want to cry until the end of time
I want to let the rain come down
Make a brand new ground
Let the rain come down
Let the rain come down
Make a brand new ground
Let the rain come down
tonight

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[Tsarashi 2.0]

It was terrifying, watching Ana rolling down the mountainside to her death. There was blood everywhere and Heron knew that there was no saving her now. It wasn’t the fact that she was out of her reach that terrified her, but the fact that it was going to continue to happen until there was only one person left. She didn’t want to die! She had her entire life ahead of her! She wanted to have a family! She never wanted this.

Heron froze, her eyes fixed on the lifeless body of her companion. Who was she talking about? Herself, or Ana? Was there even a difference between them anymore? District tributes from one and twelve fighting side by side, only caring who they were not where they were from. They were no different, just kids in the Gamemakers’ game. Ana wasn’t just her alliance member, she was her friend. And now she once again had one less friend to look out for.

The pain that gripped Heron’s heart was too much for her. The inky black hate was poisoning her blood, drowning her. Who was to blame for this? Sure, Soren could have easily been blamed, but he was just like them, just a pawn. There is no such thing as a guilty child when you give them a knife. Only the person giving the weapon is the one to blame. And in a way, wasn’t it better for her to have died by a fellow tribute’s hands than to be subject to the Gamemaker’s heinous plots and pets? No… she shouldn’t have even died at all. None of them should have to die. But there was no changing that now.

Heron’s voice seemed to be caught as she forced her gaze away from Ana and back to Storm and Soren. She clutched the strange ring in her hand. Why had Ana given this to Heron? Did she want to leave a part of herself behind with her and Storm, or did she just not want it sent back home to her family? Regardless of her reasoning Heron held it close with what little memories she had of Anastasia so she wouldn’t just be completely forgotten. It will be a reminder of her for all of Panem for the remainder of the games as it lay on the forefinger of the girl from District twelve.

Slowly she made her way over to Storm’s side, her feet dragging on the ground. The weight of the day on her shoulders was almost unbearable, but she managed to keep on her feet. ”Storm… Let’s just go.” She said, her voice cracking as if she hadn’t used it in years. When she reached his side she reached out to squeeze his hand, which was more of a support to her than to him.

Letting go she started to walk away. Not run or ‘flee’, just walk. For a brief second she stopped and turned around to look at Soren. Her eyes felt dead and emotionless, but sad at the same time. ”Forget about him…” She hated her voice, and she hated even more that she was leaving Soren. But she had to choose. And she did as she turned and continued walking away from them, expecting Storm to follow her down the mountainside and away from Ana’s body which would soon be lifted away.

[∂αмєη]

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Life hangs in the balance, held up by a small string of choices. One choice could support it with another string while another could swoosh by and cut through the intertwining pieces. Choices were the base of the world when all the hatred and manipulation and love and joy was removed. Bad choices would make things worse and good choices would help you. Simple to remember and simple to understand. But Soren Ryder made the wrong choice, maybe even the wrong calculations as he pushed himself forward. One more step to the left and the District One Female wouldn't be tumbling down the volcano like a rag doll who was dropped down a bunny hill. And when her body finally disappeared by falling off a ledge, Soren knew that it was all his fault and that he would now be considered a target.

But then Storm missed, his axe swinging right by Soren. The boy must've cared for the girl who was laying further down the volcano. He must've been distracted. And then Winona left, leaving Soren all alone to fight off the other two. He was positive Heron wouldn't hurt him. Districts come before alliance members. He was sure she felt the same way. But she left too. That left Storm Wie from District 5 to be the only thing that stood in the way of him leaving. Epinephrine burst through his veins, heightening his senses, dilating his pupils, pushing the blood faster through his body. The anger surges too. The anger always surges. "I'm sorry about Ana. She was nice. Maybe a little too nice. Now, she can be friends with hot molten lava. Want to join her?"

But the words he said didn't belong to him. The darkness inside had pushed its way forward, begging to just burst out. And the weakness of the boy showed the most as he lashed out with his weapon. But before he hit, he gained composure. He knew he needed to leave, so he turned away and ran off. But hot water was nearby, so he filled all of his jugs to have water.

[/blockquote][/justify][rand=506179835181683301966379140503704584914467739872637329031093977392]

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

The thought of just leaving her there was difficult, but as he stared at Ana’s body, he knew that there was nothing else he could do but accept it. As he felt a squeeze from another’s hand, the hand of the only ally he had left. She had said something to him, something about going, and he had to agree with her. It would do no good to dwell in this area, especially with Soren and Winona still there. Plus, the Capitol would have to collect Ana and do whatever it was they did with her body. He cringed at the imagination that came up in his mind but waved it off. Ana was just—No. While it was highly ineffective to think of her as just a tribute, Storm knew he would have to maintain a sense of detachment in order to survive. Of course, everything about the Games would be easier if he didn’t think about any of the deaths at all.

Storm looked behind him to see what Winona and Soren were doing. He had half-expected one of them to attack him since he obviously most vulnerable at that moment, but he could not see them. Thinking that his small eyes were tricking him, Storm contemplated on whether it was worth checking out or not. But if they had remained and were out to get him, surely they would have already made themselves seen by him. In fact, there was no direct advantage for them to hide and wait for Storm; at that point, everything was about the offensive. After making sure that he had not been deceived, Storm turned around to follow Heron.

Before he had left the scene though, he grabbed Ana’s weapon. He placed the switchblade into her satchel which he slung over one shoulder. The contents were rather heavy as they cluttered around in the bag, creating a random combination of sounds as something soft and heavy hit each other. Holding on to his own bag, he followed Heron, withholding the temptation to look back. Finally, he caved in and took one last look at the girl he knew as Anastasia Fortescue. So young…everyone here is too young for this.

Yes, Storm would have to forget about Soren. He would have to forget about all that Soren had done to his alliance. At least for the time being, that was what he would do. Storm could never forget about everything, but it would only be better for him and his ally if he did not pursue it any further. There was no guarantee that Heron would help him anyway.

One foot followed the other as Storm made the trek down the mountainside. He rushed over to Heron, hoping to keep pace with her. He had a few things he needed to give her. Reaching into the satchel still on his shoulder, Storm pulled out the remaining 10 ft of bandages and jacket. He carefully placed Ana’s switchblade into the middle of the jacket and wrapped the jacket up so it became a small bundle. Adding the bandages on top of the bundle, he handed it to Heron. “Here. I’ll hold on to the rest of the items for the time being.”

((Storm has left the fight.))