Stone faces, haunted places {Stars vs. Argos}

[Python]

The atmosphere was thick with haunting whispers and tension, following Demeter like the company of an unpleasant friend and pestering her every moment as she ventured beneath the whirlpool of death and its glistening golden center. The waters forever tainted red with tributes’ sacrificed blood - eight so far - warned her of the dangers it concealed, its most treacherous lying within the cavern leading to an underground portion of the arena. Since the beginning she had vowed to make only intelligent decisions regarding where she and her allies would travel, however with their containers filled to their brinks with perhaps the filthiest water Demeter had ever laid her eyes on they had wandered into the foreboding caverns and down into what appeared to be a garden littered with stone statues. While caution was supposedly one of her closest companions, there was no resisting her urge to explore the darkness beneath the arena and perhaps, in the process, taking a few lives while she slowly disposed of the three shields trailing behind her.

Mutts, tributes - they could hide within every shadow. The slightest movement could signal danger, the smallest disturbances trigger something lethal concealed beneath the statues. At this point, anything was possible - she just had to prepare herself for the unexpected.

Sleep had somehow managed to wriggle itself into her system the previous evening, the gentle flow of the river’s waters somehow calming her despite its content holding the life force of forgotten tributes. It was not the ideal location to camp out for the night, especially considering its close distance to the cornucopia and potential hunting packs, but worries pushed aside the girls had turned in for the night and relaxed while the stars twinkled above their eyes. The anthem’s loud blaring had disturbed whatever pathetic excuse for peace was luring Demeter into sleep, and with a start she had opened her eyes and diverted her attention to the skies to find out which names would appear soonest upon gravestones. The familiar visage of Atlas Cornell was the first to greet her in the darkness, and the sight of it prompted her to quirk an eyebrow in a mixture of surprise and amusement. Atlas, a member of the career pack, murdered on day one? That was something even she had failed to anticipate. So the career pack is down by one. This was encouraging news. Fewer careers meant fewer threats. With them out of her path, the road to victory would be clear and empty of all obstacles. The crown is within reach The dream was so close, close enough to tempt her with its luxurious riches and golden aura, but far enough to leave the pit of her stomach empty and churning with a searing hot desire for power through bloodshed. It was a war against a makeshift world, and within the next week Demeter Glory intended to conquer it like a queen.

Several insignificant faces had flashed in the black skies after that - a district three she cared little a about, the strange career from district four, the little boy she met in the training center. Such a fragile thing he was, easily intimidated by her presence and reduced to a trembling weakling beneath the pressure of her cold stare. She had predicted that his death would fall upon day two at the latest, and she had guessed correctly. The image being projected above her was an object of the past, a visual illusion - the lights of his eyes had been extinguished hours ago, and with his expression fading out she had realized it was the last she would ever see of him. It was an intriguing thought, dwelling upon the deaths of fellow tributes because of a few petty emotions. She couldn’t find the will-power to care, though the death of Atlas was causing a rather strange bubbling of concern to rise in her system. A drop of anxiety, it must be. District two tributes normally performed quite successfully in the games, but her district partner dying on the first day? The situation was not promising if it signaled her demise. If rotten luck was stalking the district two tributes, Demeter needed to keep it off of her tail. She could not afford even a sprinkle of bad luck to soil her chances. This is my life we’re talking about. One small error and the next light of day teasing her eyes would be basked in the flames of hell. It was time to achieve perfection - to reach her highest limits, and claim the crown that was rightfully hers.

White splotched with crimson encased the young prostitute seductress dragoness, the soft fabric caressing her bruised figure as her fingers brushed against the statues scattered about the garden. The environment was quiet to an eerie extent, as if whispers in the air were the only disruptive sounds to be found, and even those were illusions of a mind that craved activity. A silence proven too disturbing for comfort never signaled the arrival of something pleasant. Relying on instinct and past experience alone (watching the games in the comforts of her withering home) she was able to anticipate an event that would temporarily halt them in the midst of their seemingly endless journey across a vast expanse of mysterious plants and figures. The four of them could not simply wander about an open area without the risk of confronting danger. But confront it they would, and this time under no circumstances would she allow the cowards of four and eleven fall out of her grasp unless it meant a plummet to their inevitable deaths. Ailis had already stolen a life and claimed a glorious prize of well-earned respect; what was malfunctioning in these two? Did they fail to remember that fight-or-flight could not be applied successfully to the games? Fight or flight was bloodbath terminology. In the true battle for survival, it was fight or die, and if Demeter had to be the one to sever their heartstrings, so be it.

A rustle snapped her out of her contemplative trance. She halted in her footsteps, surveying her surroundings as she raised her blade defensively in case of a sudden (but anticipated) attack. As if on cue, the blur of a figure swooped past the left field of her peripheral vision, prompting her to leap off of her heels and swing her weapon like a feral butcher at whatever the creature was interrupting their peaceful stroll and gambling its own life in trifling with a beast released from its cage. Time for the dragon‘s next meal.

[attacks Kiera - Xiphos]
[dice=200+1000]
[Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage]

[rand=25565171986818314331139353802427657412570291198798094858219847083]

[Nofo]

The weight of the arena was more of a plucking sensation than a quiet panic. Ultimately it was everything she had ever learned and everything she would never be weighing on her shoulder but there was a peace in that. (In everything, really.) She would never realize love or enjoy the open forest but the truth was in her pending doom as a drop of ink on paper. There was nothing her mentor could do to save her. In the cold of the arena, her bed was made and ready for her at the end. Nothing else could be true in a place built on the graves of twenty-three and she would be one of them. The gentle pull of murky waters lapped around her hips as she followed it deeper into the arena. In that peace uneasy thoughts came to life putting her further from any other tribute. blink

mega wip
[attack Kiera; Xiphos]
[dice=200+1000]
[1053 -- Stabbed in Forearm -- 8.5 damage
(Sword)]

Normal
Other
Thoughts
Other Speaking
Speaking

[/color][/size][/center][/blockquote][/justify][rand=26220285731615733492883234031588263249872456225416580589925001721]

[chelsey]

I will not fall.
Once more I'm called.
Time comes for all.
Then dark is whole.

I feel my tattered self cracking at the seams of my conscious. It fades away, flittering away into the wind until it is atomic to the naked eye. I wish I could grab it back with my bloody hands and use it wipe away all I have seen, heard, and done in the past day. I want to erase the filters of my blackened mind until every slate is clearclearclear as daylight. But, even in this morning’s sunlight, dew drops of blood lazily swim through the golden rays, and from the moment I stepped off the metal plate, my innocence was gone for good.

When the eight faces of the people who (just yesterday) walked the same earth as I did appear in a synthetic halo above our fabricated skies - the tears I shed are not mourning for their deaths, but for the guilt at my untimely relief.

wip wip something about not being able to speak and omg no0o0oo if i don't have my voice i have nothing.

something about descriptions and feels and then following demeter's command ("This is no time to act like a coward.") and then seeing people and watching demeter attack and following after her more feels this wip makes no sense WIPPP

[/justify][/color]

[attacks Kiera - Harpoon/Spear]
[dice=200+3000]
[Block -- 0.0 damage (Spear)]

But oh my heart was flawed.
I knew my weakness.
So hold my hand.
Subscribe me not to darkness.

[/color][/center][/size][rand=314326146617531824063691031187773070102415047585967050523573998362]

[Wonder]

I wait on the Emerald Isle for you to come and rescue me,
from every step that I take. Feet don't you ever break,
drag me over that line, halfway around the medicine ball is far enough
to blow me back, like you broke the bank on the ticket
worth every damn nickel, you got me that time.

One, two, three. The numbers were so easily counted up on ones fingers, the flick of numbers. Four, five. They'd ended the bloodbath on five, five deaths caused mostly by the Argonauts. Four of those kills, four were them, a slice, a hack, a kill, the blood surrounding the bodies of those who'd been sliced at the tip of my glaive. Serenite, who sits so close to me, so close that should the time come - I could grab her and take another swift stab, cause another death. No longer could they sleep without wondering if they would awake in the middle of the night to screams and howls, and more death, more more death. Six, seven, eight. Blood, blood, blood. They'd hunted, we'd hunted, each of us, and took off three more cannons, boom, boom, boom. We'd killed by the river styx, we'd killed and let them drown their sorrows away in the river, letting them scream their final goodbyes under the water surface.

Nine.

There'd been nine deaths caused by this arena. Eight for everyone else, but nine for me. Nine deaths, the eight tributes whose names I couldn't say if my life depended on it (which it may) and one, my father. My father, Zircon Myler. The man who'd taught me the difference dark red of the garnet stone and the lighter red of ruby. The man who'd shown me the different colours and meanings behind each and every gemstone that had ever been brought into the store, from the peridot itself, to the diamond, and emerald. All of the gems, all of the tips and tricks my father had taught me every single day since the store had been opened, all the things he taught me so I could run the store one day, so that one day I may be the man who was slouched over the glass cabinets, rubbing the gems clean so that they look as beautiful as they truly are, were - all of it was gone to waste. Not only had my father died, but every trick, tip, lesson, gone, none of it was useful here, there were no final words that I could linger on to that he whispered to me in the justice building, like so many other kids here had, he was simply gone. Zircon Myler was now the part of my life that no longer mattered, and nothing killed me more inside.

The night proved to be darker than expected, without the bright street lights of the Capitol, or the dim city lighting of District One, the world seemed so empty. The stars came out, sure, but whether those were real or not was a question that would fry one's brain, and I'd had enough of thinking for tonight. There was no fire to tend to, that was a signal, that was certain death, there'd been enough of that today. There was nothing to do but roll around and hope, hope that no one would come along and kill us. Kiera lay asleep, the little monster looking so peaceful in her slumber, as if nothing could touch her there like the wounds she'd gotten today. Aria lay across from her - the two hadn't gotten along, I don't think I expected how little they would care for each other despite how much I wanted them to, I wanted them to care for each other. I wanted them to be friends; I wanted us to be family. "Crystal." The word swirls through my mind, crystal clear. If Aria stepped out of line, it would be a simple strike for Kiera to take her out, but their deal was crystal, crystal clear. The light crystals pop through my head now, any memory of home was a good one, and I'd spent many a day polishing the pure white crystals. Making sure they were clear as day, but the thing was, they grew dirty as the days wore on, how long would crystal be crystal?

Footsteps approach rapidly, through the dark it was impossible to tell who was coming at any given time. Footsteps, crack, the dirt underneath the feet coming quickly. My right hand grabs for Serenite before I even know what's happening, only for Wes to peak out of the shadows. "Oh, you're still up! I would have thought you of all people would be resting for tomorrow..." Rest, like that was going to happen tonight, I explained I was looking after the girls, watching them, making sure Aria didn't sneak off into the night. It was all too easy to lose track of someone in the dark, lose sight of where they were going, where they went, if you would see them again.

"Four become three, become four. Funny how quickly the Games turn, huh?" The words slip out of my mouth, the notion seemed so bizarre. They'd lost someone, and gained someone. How often would this occur by the end of the games? How many of the original Argonauts, would still be Argonauts by the end of this battle. There was already one gone, and now there was a new one, how often would they replace someone? The thought was scary. Wes didn't seem to agree. The boy was fearless, ruthless, more so than I was. He was perfect, the perfect career who wasn't a career. Though I was the only one with any formal training left, he was better than me. I'd never help up well in training, but I can only imagine what Wes would be like in a training center for more than a week.

We bickered, Wes and I. It wasn't really bickering really, but discussing Aria, the new girl, the little girl. Little girl, little girl, what trouble you've caused me. I didn't trust Atlas... Equally this Wolfe girl needs watching... She's cool. She's just as willing to survive as the rest of us. Just as willing to kill. That's what worries me.

[/color] Worry, worry, worry. As if there weren't enough to worry about in the games besides the little little girl from District Eight who'd tagged along in their rag tag group of careers. Worry, worry, worry. Wes was worried and nothing made me feel better personally, to know I wasn't the only one worried, the only one scared. Perhaps this would be the perfect conversation by a fire, with the embers burning and the heat surrounding us, but in this world, we weren't given those small pleasures. The two boys from the Argonauts opening up and becoming friends, friends, there was that word again, the thing that had eluded me for so many years and now were here, friends. "You can't win if you don't kill." Wes mutters. You can't win if you don't kill, it was so simple yet so difficult. Perhaps that was why careers always did better in the games, we'd all been taught that it was alright, it was perfectly fine to take a life in the games, and we were ready. Us, the original Argos, we'd all had at least one kill, all at least one.

"It's just all one big game, isn't it? Kill or be killed. But we four, we're the kings and queens." I turned to the boy, we were the kings, with the majority of kills and no one dared touch us. We were the kings and queens.

"There will be more bloodshed tomorrow, friend.... Be sure of that..." There it was again, friend, friend, friend. We were all friends now. The eight cannons had only brought them closer and closer together until now we were all buddies, friends, chums. Hand in hand, we shared death and turmoil, we were the kings and queens, and we were friends.

"Four become three, become four, and maybe become three once again." I look towards the dark rushing waters, listening to their crashing. The waters were so loud, it was perfect protection. No one could hear our harsh whispers under the torrential river. But we couldn't hear them either. "Scary isn't it?"

"Fear is an impurity.. That's what makes you and I different." Wednesdae Drummond leaves. The anthem blares and he walks away, where he went I don't know, but probably somewhere perfect for him. Somewhere with someone who wasn't impure as I was. But perhaps that made me different. That made me human. Up in the sky, Atlas says his final goodbye, and with one last salute, I tuck in, ready for the next day and what it brought, ready for killing once more. With the fall of the music, I sleep.

--

The morning comes quickly in a rush of getting up, and ready to go. Everything is packed within minutes, and aside from the overall tiredness of the group, the momentum goes good, quickly. We follow the river until we find a cave, and follow it down its twisting and turning pathways, the darkness mimicking that of last night's. The turns end soon enough, or so it seems. It was impossible to keep track of time within the caverns, especially in the arena as a whole. For all I knew, we could have been walking for a full day. But, it's amongst statues we find ourselves. Tall, grey statues, I recognize a few myself, tributes of the past. This garden is where we would soon end up: tributes, immortalized in stone, but nothing more. Dead.

The screams come quick, I hear them, and I'm sure the rest of the Argonauts hear them too. People being attacked by something, it had been hardly any time at all since ending up in this garden of statues, and there were already people here for the killing. But the question was, who? Who was here in the depths of the darkest cavern for us to kill? I drop my pack quickly and run through the statues, row after row, looking for those who were there. I find them quickly. The two girls from hunting, the Libertine girl, and another girl, a girl I didn't know or care to know. They begin attacking before I can do anything, attacking Kiera, the girl whose wounds had hardly healed up yet and she was already being attacked. The two girls who hunted, the woman who were ready to survive. But, not today. We were the kings and queens, and death would not come again on day two.

The Libertine girl caught my eye. Her small stature meant nothing to me. We all watched the Games last year, Penelope was small and fragile, but that girl packed a punch. A Libertine wasn't supposed to be underestimated, today she would die. Today she would fall. There was no need for someone to stick around who was already playing to the crowd's favour, it wasn't fair for the rest of us to see her live easy as the rest of us struggled. "Might want to cover your eyes little Libertine." I call out to the girl with a sly smile. "Don't want to die like your sister did." Serenite in hand, I run towards the girl, it was kill or be killed. We were the kings and queens, and I said goodnight.[/color][/blockquote][/justify]

[Peri attacks Learna with Glaive]
[dice=200+13000]
[Severed Right Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage][/size][rand=37541872171350443006782420842272208241034327746419254974176595805279]

[Deleted]

KIERA NIAMH DEMPSEY

i will not speak of your sin, there was a way out for him
the mirror shows not, your values are all shot
but oh, my heart was flawed
i knew my weakness
so hold my hand, consign me not to darkness

The morning dawns murky and oppressive, a thick, cool mist of fog hovering at the level of Kiera's eyes as they slide open. It's warm where she is, though, warm underneath the rich red velvet of one of the cloaks from the Cornucopia with Wednesdae's heat pressed against her back, one strong arm slung haphazardly around her waist. In this Arena of antiquated lore they are as Zeus and Hera, the matriarch and patriarch of those they hold dear and the destructive ruination of those that aren't so fortunate. She remembers pain and popped stitches and the taste of blood on his lips, but on the whole his nearness is something a little closer to intimate now, arm tightening around her as she rolls over with a groan of sleepy discomfort and brushes the hair from in front of his eyes. "Up and at 'em, Wes. We need to get moving."

Her wounds from the previous day's fighting are better, but not entirely healed. There are still moments when the hastily patched hole in her stomach spasms in pain ad she has to lean on Wednesdae for temporary support as the Argonauts work their way through the murky river's shallows. A shadow passes overhead and her gaze snaps upward, a hand flying to the hilt of her sword as thoughts of winged mutts and Gamemaker traps flit through her mind - three deaths. Three of those faces in the sky last night were hers to claim, nearly half, and that kind of destructive force puts a target on her back. But rather than someone else crying for her blood, it is salvation that comes down from the sky, a floating silver parachute that falls into her outstretched hands. Prying open the container with a curious quirk of her head, Kiera reaches in and pulls out a fresh medical kit, holding it aloft.

Peri, Wes, Aria Wolfe, herself. She looks at the amount and severity of wounds on each of them. There's no question who this is for. Sighing gratefully, Kiera turns her face skyward, hoping there is a camera nearby. "Thanks, Topaz."

There isn't room in her backpack with all the weapon-trophies from yesterday's kills, so Kiera digs the flail claimed from the District Six boy from the canvas satchel and chucks it into the deepest part of the river, shoving the medkit in its vacated space before shouldering the pack again and waving her alliance forward. Soon enough, they emerge from the waters onto a spiraling pathway, going down, down, down into the chilling depths of the earth before emerging into an eerie wasteland of unmoving figures. Statues. Statues of fallen tributes and Victors alike. She can spy years of forgotten faces, some fresher than others. Not too far away, Atlas' face meets her gaze, strong and proud and gone in a way that's so eerie she can't help but paw at the uneasy shiver at the back of her neck.

"I don't like this place," she mumbles, unsheathing her blade with a quiet, metallic whisper as her feet pad silently through the half-dark. "Too much potential for an ambush. Whole area of human-shaped statues? Damn good place for someone to hide and wait for - son of a bitch!"

The pain comes from nowhere, first in her head, a torrent of blood falling to sting her eyes and obscure her vision, and then in her arm, a deep cut that scrapes the bone and makes her screech in pain. Wiping the crimson haze from in front of her eyes, Kiera manages to bat away a spear coming for her, the thundering footsteps of her alliance coming to her aid roaring up behind her. Peri's glaive snaps forward mercilessly, shearing off the hand of the little girl from four with deadly accuracy, an ironic smirk on his lips. "Might want to cover your eyes, little Libertine. Don't want to die like your sister did."

And despite the pain screeching through her entire being, Kiera laughs, because there's hope for Peridot yet. He could transcend his human bonds and become something to be worshiped and feared, something like Wednesdae and herself. Despite the feeble attempts of mere mortals to impede their progress, they could rule over this Arena with a terrible force, wielding fear as a sword and superiority as a shield. Grinning with a chilling flash of teeth and chuckling somewhere low and dark in the back of her throat, her tongue darts out to lick the coppery tang of blood that's stained her lips a violent vermillion, grip on her Xiphos tightening. "Awww, baby Libertine. Looks like you're having a bit of trouble. Need a hand with that?"

Cackling in spite of the agony that shoots up her arm at the action, her blade sings through the air, flashing steel cutting a glittering arc that illuminates her prospect of glory.

{Kiera attacks Learna Libertine with her Xiphos}
[dice=200+1000]
{Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage}

[/color]

so crawl on my belly till the sun goes down
i’ll never wear your broken crown
i took the road
and i fucked it all away, and in this twilight
how dare you speak of grace?

[/size][/justify][rand=453901309129409850925282163834094760740070410884747019082387442964]

[rook]

me and my GOD COMPLEX, watch us go

i'm torn in opposite directions
the plot sucks
but these killings are gorgeous
god damn, these killings are gorgeous

[/i][/right]

DUSK

The day was long and tiresome. Hours of relentless chasing and violence had taken affect on all of us, and we were very tired indeed. If there was ever a time to attack our pack of hunters, it would be now, nearing nightfall. I remind the others to stay vigilant, even if we're running on empty. What we need is food. My stomach growls in protest. Each complaint is a reminder that even in this hell, keeping a good diet is vital. I need meat for protein, whilst plants will help my digestion. Some Carbohydrates wouldn't go amiss either, but bread and pasta is hard to come across without sponsors, there wasn't even any in the Cornucopia. Maybe they want us to be deprived of energy...

We press on with the evening. Amber strokes paint over the spreading purple-black, giving us what remains of daylight to go with. The distant hoot of an owl pierces the wind that whistles by my ears. I stare into the nothing that engulfs us and the nothing stares back. For a moment I glimpse yellow eyes stabbing at me, I wonder if I am seeing things. Tiredness has a habit of messing with peoples minds. Paranoia isn't good for a team, especially in the Hunger Games. Maybe night will be kind, concealing us as opposed to blinding us.

We follow the rush of the river, it guides us in a constant circle, a wide radius that doesn't take us away from our Cornucopia prize, yet allows us to scout the area for defining landmarks. The fading light hinders our patrol, any places of importance will be blocked from view by the cloak of night. Hence we all come to an agreement to stop for the night. We trail away from the river, searching for some form of shelter to take rest, yet all we find is wasteland. Not wanting to get lost, we find our way back to the river.

It's a good place to camp, due to the gushing roar of the Styx serving as a buffer for our voices. We have no means to light a fire, which is a concern given the rapidly dropping temperature. The air is moist though, and holds promise that it won't get much colder than this. The Gamemakers didn't usually like climate deaths on Day 1, as those were more likely to come later on. The Capitol had seen enough death today, with Peridot, Kiera and I racking up five deaths between us. I do not fear intervention.

Night falls. The last of the orange is swallowed by purple, which in turn is taken by the relentless and inevitable black. Stars litter the skies, with faint traces of the grid too. The anthem would play soon. The anthem was designed to inform Tributes who had fallen that day, and who was left. I always wondered what it would be like to look up and see the faces of those who died because of you. I guess in time, I will find out.

Kiera's stomach wound is bad. Things have been quiet since romance sparked, but I'm sure in the morning she will be more talkative. Ripred knows we're all tired. She curls up and falls asleep pretty quickly, as does the newcomer, Aria. I don't trust her. The Wolfe girl annoyed me even before we stepped off those platforms. Her interview was directly before mine, she seemed the sort who would kill for her little brother. Why else would she leave him if not to kill us? I keep a third eye on the unproven blemish that is apparently now my teammate. Peridot seems to trust her, but in my eyes she's not pure enough to replace Atlas.

I walk over to the river next to our makeshift camp, taking my spear with me. Without my weapon, I would be naked. I stare at my distorted reflection, swearing under my breath. The moving water makes my image unclear and impure. I wish to look at my form and observe perfection, but the Styx denies me.

It hits me that we killed my District partner. Kiera got the fatal blow on the girl from Nine - I can't even remember her name now. She represented all that was wrong with District Nine. I let her escape from my conscience pretty quickly. Still, I think of home. When I return, I will be a hero. Do they already celebrate?

I turn back to camp, the girls rest, yet Peridot sits in the dirt, staring. I walk over, lowering my spear.
"Oh, you're still up!" I say with what is almost surprise, "I would have thought you of all people would be resting for tomorrow..." I sit down on the dirt beside Peridot, his figure is impressive. He has fought well today, and deserves the rest he refuses to take. The watchman, that is his unspoken role. Parallel to him, I share the burden, or at least lighten it with conversation.

Peridot is biting his lip, thinking hard about something. I don't take him by surprise. He has probably been watching me with caution. "I thought I'd keep an eye on the girls."[/i] He says eventually, gesturing to the sleeping beauties. "Four become three, become four. Funny how quickly the Games turn, huh?" He adds, my eyes are drawn to Aria almost immediately. Obviously his concept of funny contrasts with mine.

I reflect on Peridot's words. Change is a dangerous thing, no doubt. I shoot him a sideways glance, the mention of Atlas brings back flashes of my District Partner killing the Career from Two.
"I didn't trust Atlas..." I confess. Ever since he interrupted Peridot, Kiera and I, he just reeked of wrong, "Equally this Wolfe girl needs watching..." I add, voicing my concern over Aria. At least my trust in Peridot is growing by the minute.

The Career is almost taken aback by my comment. He doesn't share my concern after all. "She's cool." He mumbles, trying to get more comfortable on his flat throne of dirt and rock. He gives Aria a distant stare, like she is thousands of miles away, which she may as well be in slumber. "She's just as willing to survive as the rest of us." Now he looks at me, but he knows I sit right next to him. His smirk is a spark in this growing darkness.
"Just as willing to kill."[/i]

Now I find myself staring at the sleeping wolf, so lost and far from her pack. This is her pack now, and she is still to prove her loyalty. Tomorrow her test will come. Still, I don't like her. She was necessary, yes. Without her, there is a gap in this power alliance, a chink in the armor. Bran is what concerns me. Her love for Bran can't have just vanished in some selfish surge for power. I consider that she is doing this for his protection. Maybe she thinks that she can influence us away from her brother. It doesn't work like that, not on my watch. I'm more concerned that she'll kill us in our sleep. Well, I'm not sleeping tonight...
"That's what worries me..." I say eventually, my face an icy stare into the black. Perhaps I am looking for something in that perfect nothing. I haven't figure out what it is yet.

The Career smirks, fighting back a laugh. I am confused. The fact that I'm worried about a girl who tried to kill us earlier in the day isn't funny to me. "If you need to worry about how she'll kill, maybe you should be worrying about Kiera." He suggests. I don't worry about Kiera turning on us as much as I worry that she'll get herself killed in some reckless surge. "Both you and I have a notch on our belts as well." He adds, and I nod in agreement.

I consider Kiera's three kills, that she may well be favourite for these Games, even if I remain entirely untouched. Blood is on everyone's hands, but it is all necessary.
"True..." I ponder, thinking of how I felt nothing when I killed Dragan. Just another number being crossed off a list.
"That's what it's about though... You can't win if you don't kill..."
Winning isn't a comfortable topic to discuss considering the circumstances.

"It's just all one big game, isn't it? Kill or be killed. But we four, we're the kings and queens." He shuffles. The topic is uncomfortable. Peri tries to pick up the mood by stating their grande position in these games. I certainly feel like royalty with my cloak and spear. For a while I do not respond.
"There will be more bloodshed tomorrow, friend.... Be sure of that..." I think of the other alliances, or what's left of them. A cornered animal is most dangerous, moreso when wounded.

I use the word friend, even if it's in passing. I guess I've never really had someone I can call a friend. The closest thing to it was Christoph Carlisle, yet even he was more of a rival to me than an actual pal. Call him a frienemy. Peridot is not my enemy (yet), so he can only be a friend, right?

"Four become three, become four, and maybe become three once again." Peridot's deep eyes look far into the distance again. His attention span is almost concerning, "Scary isn't it?" He adds eventually.

What did he mean by 'could become three again'? True, we might lose another tomorrow, one of the girls more likely, but this is no time to be negative. The Anthem cuts through the silence in all it's cheerful mass. I sit in silence, watching the faces of people I have killed and watched die. Their umpire blood is on my hands. I smile, for I wouldn't have it any other way.
Scary? No.
"Fear is an impurity..." the words come out of my mouth robotically, my eyes do not move from the skies, staring into the features of Dragan, "That's what makes you and I different."
Now I know that Peridot Myler has fears.[/color][/size]

---

DAWN

I wake up with Kiera at my side. I must have dosed off whilst sitting guard, and yet Ki somehow found herself at my side. My arm hangs over her and she pulls into me with my cloak wrapped around us for warmth. It's strange that I have no recollection of how I ended up like this, but it's not out of the ordinary considering that we have this passionate surge for each other now. She understands me, and I need to protect her. Why else would I snuggle up to her at night? Love? Pfft. I am alien to love.

"Up and at 'em, Wes. We need to get moving."[/i] Comes the voice of my Goddess, and I obey with a groan. I push myself to my feet and follow the already moving mass of Aria and Peridot. Did the District One boy sleep last night? For our sakes, I hope so.

We travel for a long while, twisting and turning through the wasteland, following an invisible path. Eventually we come to a ruin of statues, all frozen in horrified poses. It's strange, but I feel like they watch me. We press on, as I try not to think about the imperfect state of the broken stone. That's when it begins.

Kiera yelps out as a group of four tributes ambush us, I swear viciously and find my spear. I look to Peridot and know the plan. We have done this before. It is just like the Cornucopia. We target another pathetic wretch of a child and strike them with our arsenal. They don't stand a chance, not a chance in hell. My eyes flicker with the nagging nagging nagging to stab stab at the lowly peasant.

We are Gods in this land, standing high above the mere mortals that the other tributes are. Blood clings to me like a disease, the white toga is no longer it's original color, but a mess of dirt, water and the mixed insides of Dragan and Theseus. I wonder what people back home think of me. I want Christoph Carlisle to be watching and know that he could never be what I have become. I am a hero.

I tense as blood splats in my direction again. Kiera's. The blood of a goddess profaned by mortals who dare to spill it. There's so much of it, spilling over her skin and taking her vitality with it. I need a break but I know that we must carry on through the storm - We have a reputation to uphold now, we are the ones to beat in this Game. Not only is it enough to humiliate the opposition into fleeing, but it has become a game of cat-and-mouse, where we seek out the dirty cowards that run away. I am still for the cleansing of these lost souls, I am glad to have sent one tribute to his better place, but it's not enough. The constant nagging in my head tells me that there's more to do, more to bleach, more to kill, kill, kill.

Watch me, Christoph. Watch as a real Tribute fights, not flees. You would be running, running for your life as people like Peridot hunt you down and slit your throat. You're scum, no better than the low-lives that I have killed today, and will kill tomorrow. I am a thousand times the person you will ever be, and you'll never forget the day that I saved your life by volunteering, the day I became a God.

I sense the theme of Gods. The way we are dressed and the scenery of ruin and old statues. This is some ancient land that was once ruled by people like me. Now it is the home of the Sixty Second games, and the old Gods are being reincarnated through us... Through Peridot, Kiera and I. We are as powerful as they once were, I feel the ancestry flow through me. With this power, we turn at the cowards that run for their worthless lives.

"Awww, baby Libertine," Kiera coos despite her wounds, a wicked smile on her face as she slashes at the little girl's leg. "Looks like you're having a bit of trouble. Need a hand with that?"

"Oh, I don't know, Ki," I say with a smirk, raising my spear once more to strike. "I think she can handle it."

[Wednesdae attacks LEARNA, Spear]

[dice=200+3000]

[Block -- 0.0 damage]

it's like a bad dream
something from the back of a magazine
black and white
and cheaply put together

[/i][/right]

[/size][/color][/blockquote]

---

notes: edited in night watch.

theme:[/color] "Pulp Fiction" - Motion City Soundtrack[/color][/size][rand=411390631643486934269308512147306996709837465071842870456978999155]

[✨ zozo.]

I swear it feels like
The last few nights
We've been everywhere and back
But I just can't remember it all
What am I doing?

[/i][/center]


Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

The canons fired. The anthem played. My brother is still alive.

Just as planned. Curtis would look after him. Ellea, too. Maybe even Red - though with 8 dead already, I doubt we'll be looking out for each other any more. 15 have to die. 15 have to die to get home safely. I don't think I can kill 15 people. Not Bran, not Needleboy. Not even Kiera or Wednesdae. I can't bear to even let a toe sneak out of line. Not now. Not today.

My eyes stay firmly shut and I keep my breathing even - tricks I've learnt when I was racing for bed before my Mother could catch me. I "need watching", so the boys take it in turns to keep an eye on me. Drifting to sleep is hard, especially with the impending dread that I might not wake up. The ground is hard and uncomfortable, and I find myself longing for a bed. Longing for home. There's no home here for me, amongst these Careers. But whether I return home with a wooden box or a crown on my head, well, that's up to fate.

The last thing I distinguish before I drift off into slumber is Wednesdae muttering "You can't win if you don't kill."

And truthfully - I don't think I can.

----------

I awake - still alive - to a rush of getting up, getting ready, setting off. There's no stopping in this arena. There's no breaks, no times to rest or catch up on breath, thoughts, sanity. Sanity doesn't belong in an arena. Not if I want to win, that is. "You can't win if you don't kill" plays itself like a broken record over and over in my head. I have to show them that I'm an asset. I have to show them that I belong. I can't just be here along for the ride - to steer them away from my old allies. They're not stupid. They'd figure it out soon enough, and it's obvious Kiera would take any excuse she got at to slit my throat. Better stay in line, then.

Scrambling for my backpack and it's contents, I clutch needle and trek after the rest of them in silence. The sky is murky and overcast, and I dislike it. It looks vague, unclear - not letting any secrets of today's events that will eventually unfold be heard. As it disappears from view into the lower part of the Arena; I find myself chasing thoughts around my head as the staircase we descend spirals just as quickly. They've all killed. I haven't. Better hurry up, Wolfe girl. I can't cry wolf for much longer.

Gripping Needle, I arduously pass the statues one by one. Children I once glorified in my head, becoming knights and warriors and helpless victims of battle now stare through me with eyes of cement, as if to scream why, Aria Wolfe? Even the victors stand above the rest of the collection - eyes still as lifeless, as cold. My body shall too turn to stone, one way or another. Bran's, too Their eternally fixed gazes haunt me as I pass them - stopping at two faces I recognise in the darkness. Shrol and Yaron - side by side, Yaron's hand on her brother's shoulder, his fists clenched together. Will you stand by Bran too, Wolfe-girl? Or will we be separated by more than just my will to keep him safe?

A shriek from Kiera causes me to jump out of my freezing stance, gripping Needle uselessly as my limbs shake from adrenaline. "...bitch!" I hear her yell. At first, I think she's talking to me, so I scramble to reach the rest of the pact with a million apologies at my tongue and a million reasons to run like the wind. Turning the corner, I almost slam into Red and her group, all taking turns to attack Kiera. Thinking it would be a good idea to start earning my keep in the group and Kiera's not-so-bad-after-all book, I march up to little Libertine with a growl.

"Not today" I spit at her with a swing of my sword.

If you think I'm gonna quit
Before I die, dream on
When it hits, you feel no pain
Am I really this cold?
I'm really too young to be feeling this old

[/i]

[/center]

[/justify][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Aria attacks Learna with Spear]
[dice=200+3000]
[Shallow Cut 3.5]

[/size][/center][rand=4633250727467662633446988264565014486014808908764145669892490772724]

[Tattletale]

.// learna antiopa libertine

[/center]

“This is no time to act like a coward.”

It’s hard not to, and you can almost feel Heather’s shaking soul nod in agreement. The river had the blood of the fallen, all knocking in my mind’s door pleading “Let us in! Let us in!” but this time you had the lock and it was secured. Or so you hope.

Demeter’s last words resound in your head and you grit your teeth in an effort to be strong, to be more than what you thought you were. The numerous teeth that were biting on your skin were becoming too hard to take, but you just harden your grip on your sword even more. It was useless to fight off these — you weren’t even sure on what they were called, but they were painted with so many colors as if the beauty could ease the pain. That was what everybody fooled themselves into thinking, and this time you made a silent pact that you won’t be part of the rest anymore. This time, you’ll fight off if you can. But you can’t breathe when you’re already drowning, can you?

Brushing these colorful — insects? — insects didn’t prove to be anything, they stuck on you like glue. The thought of smashing them with your sword wasn’t any better, either. It was just like that time where you thought you could wave away spirits with your newfound skill in sword-fighting, but the blade could only slice the air and nothing more.

A minute passes by, and the scarabs finally scramble away though some are persistent and insist on clinging on to your skin, and among your allies, too. You part your lips to release a question, but you see it in Demeter’s eyes — the silent kind of fear that only the brave ever has, because materializing their own fears won’t help when they’re stuck with a bunch of lost good-for-nothings —

[/color] that despite the annoyance that was tugging her eyebrows together and the corner of her lips downwards, something was wrong.[/color] Ailis was clutching her throat and Heather gulped. Yes, Learna, you’re right: something’s wrong.

None of you can speak.

This time, you follow Demeter’s command and not a single one of you whimpers or breaks down. Instead, you all look at her frantically and with only a minute, you find yourselves gathered and on your feet, though you still steal a glance at those bugs that hung by your skin. But you moved, with your feet thinking for you, because you were far too off wishing that there would be no more attacks this time. Dear, you’re thinking too much like Heather. Maybe she’s dying and some part of her soul was seeping into you.

Or maybe you’re the one dying.

You could’ve been tumbling in your faraway thoughts forever, but (thankfully) you were sent plummeting back to earth and into your own body when Ailis looked around, mouth agape.

Statues. Everywhere.

Welcome to the Statue Garden, dear. Garden of the Dead, call us that if you want. Perhaps your 'home.'

It doesn’t take long for you to see Penelope’s statue — oh dear, sweet Penelope —[/color] and you look away and just press your lips, though it proves to be less than useful when you already have no voice. If you had, you would have to do anything in your meager power to prevent that whimper stuck in your throat. They had turn your nightmare into stone, and there it was again — Penelope, oh such a beauty, with gaff plunged in her eye —

Demeter stopped and you all follow her, scanning the surroundings (while you try your best to ignore Penelope cemented in mid-death and Fitz, stabbing someone like he’d never been afraid of interrupting resting corpses — you knew those Ripley boys were always bad news but you didn’t smile at his Death. You mourned, but you thought it was time life got to them) until you see the other signs of life, and once again you’re thankful of bugs, though with their horns they look like the little devils that they are. With no sound, you’ve got the advantage. No one that hear the stars as they creep on with the night. Hopefully it’s the same with you falling ones.

Demeter strikes.

“— bitch!” The raggedy-haired girl shrieks out in pain, the rest grasp on the courage left lingering in the air. Ailis strikes, Heather too. Maybe there is more when we don’t waste our time with words,[/color] you thought. Maybe, Libertine. Maybe.

Your hands try to grab your sword from the makeshift sheath, made of your dress with the hem now above your knees. Improvisation is the way when you flee from the bloodbath quite too early, but there is no time to cover the fear flashing across your young, oh your pitiful face when you see the golden-haired boy ready to strike.

“Might want to cover your eyes little Libertine. Don’t want to die like your sister did.”

There was this funny curtain that covered his words, you noticed, like Kraken when he fumes in anger and Ursula when she doesn’t get her way, and alone those two you were ready to curl up in ball and roll all the way to your room or better yet, force the door open and just run like hell. But those were your siblings, and they know you. This was a stranger, and by Charon’s boat you will not run away. So what do you do instead?[/color] You drop your sword and cover both your eyes with your palms and stick out your tounge. Childish plays, everyone. Youth has not left this girl, not while there are spirits guarding to make sure you take care of yourself for us.

You drop your hands, reaching for your sword — and then a swish and a slice and a rush of immense pain riding up your shoulder —[/color] there you see your right hand torn away from your body and it falls on the ground.

How bloody.

And it could’ve been your eye.

This is no time to act like a coward. Right now, her words were the only buoy to keep you afloat, to push you back up when your knees start to tremble with the gruesome sight. ThisisnotimetoactlikeacowardThisisnotimetoactlikeagoddamncoward. You stand up, and before you reach down to pick up your sword you raise the bird at him, an honorable gesture taught to you by Demeter.

“Aww, baby Libertine. Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble. Need a hand with that?”

Another slash, mere seconds before you pulled your arm higher, left hand trying to get used quickly to the weight of the sword. It was a pathetic attempt to cut off your other hand, you thought, but instead a cut on your thigh. Sure, why not cut off my leg, too, you thought sarcastically and pouted at the girl in mockery.

“Oh, I don’t know, Ki,” He raises his spear, and the urge to cower and run becomes too overwhelming. Where do you find courage now, Libertine? Not under the rocks, not behind the statues— “How come you’re not afraid of the camera, Learna?” Nessie’s voice, hoarse and tiny in her fear, comes back to me, and I remember being confused because there she was, older and bigger than me, but scared of a simple camera and being in photographs. But now, looking at these statues, I had a feeling Nessie had a worthy reason of being afraid. There was a chance for you to be stuck inside a stone figure, a photograph — and all I ever wanted right now was to get away.[/color]

“I think she can handle it.”

Another attempt to cut your leg and a bad joke, but another fair-headed boy was bad in handling the spear. A girl attacks, wielding the same kind of weapon within her hands, and it’s again a cut for you. But the spear belongs to us.

This is no time to act like a coward,[/color] and you strike.[/justify][/color]

{ Learna attacks Kiera using her broadsword }
[dice=200+1000]
{ Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage }

[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size][rand=163903579814359551820401684381067871719426289200786900851968675852]

[Python]

Our screams fade to silence.

A chorus of high-pitched chirping and incessant buzzing reigned dominant above the shrieks of her panicked allies as a swarm of vibrantly-colored creatures created a haze in her vision and latched onto her skin likes leeches to drain her of any hopes of keeping her sanity conquering the arena without challenge after challenge (first your cracking bones, and now this?). Lashing wildly at the obnoxious insects with her dirtied blade, she gritted her teeth in frustration and parted her lips to release an animalistic growl - except, when it was time for the dragon to roar, what came was a stream of silence, as if the bittersweet velvet of her voice had been captured by the ghosts of the gardens in an act of malevolent torment. Demeter clutched at her chest, her voice caught in her throat with no method of escape as the insects swarmed and abandoned them the moment a second group of brave soldiers wandered into their garden. Fearful expressions warned her that she was not alone; her allies too had suffered the loss of their voices, and with no method of communication Demeter could only glance at them with the flames of wrath flickering in her eyes before she had lunged at a face all too familiar with her deadly sword - Kiera Dempsey

Streams of beautiful crimson spilled down the face of the tribute everyone believed to be invincible. Not for long, sweetheart. Seconds after she launched her attack she spotted her allies copying her moves, pouncing on Kiera like the jungle cats they should’ve been. Ailis - her most valuable asset. The one who had captured death within her own hands, the blood of a nobody dripping down her blade as she claimed her first prize and the act proving her worthy with her ability to kill on impulse rather than allow fear to seep into her system and persuade her otherwise. The thought brought her back to Heather and Learna, who despite their previously cowardly decisions were following her physical commands and slashing, stabbing, killing the ruthless district one career. It seemed they had received her warning with the utmost understanding - a wise choice, considering the hell they would face if they dared abandon her again.

Eyes alight in seething rage and dancing hellfire, Demeter thrust her blade against the district eleven’s throat as the waters churned beneath their waists.”What the hell was that?” Heather knew what she referring to - they all did. ”This is no time to act like a coward!” Her little stunt during the brief battle with stray tributes, scurrying from a fight rather than facing it head-on? Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic. Shields or not, her allies needed to prove themselves capable of fulfilling the most basic requirement of the arena: attacking.

Heather’s eyes were reddened and moist with tears, disappointing the dragon further as she kept her blade steady. ”Save your tears, you’re not dead.” She paused for a moment before a hint of a playful smirk crossed her lips. ”Not yet.” She lowered her blade and took a step back, surveying both Learna and Heather with cold, narrowed eyes, as if she were a mother scolding her children for behaving badly. An accurate portrayal, except for one small difference; this mother would leave her children for the wolves. ”Heed my warning - if the two of you step out of line one more time, I will leave both of you crawling in the dirt like that cripple from eight, and when I do you will be screaming for the for the careers to end you before the mutts can find you and rip you apart like pieces of raw meat in a butcher shop! Do you understand me?” Their expressions told her that they had, and with that being said she turned around and began to wade through the waters once more.

”Remember this, you two. The only thing you should fear in this arena is the name Demeter Glory.”

The gentle “thud” of the severed hand at her feet told her that one of her allies was falling, and falling quickly. Like a pack of vultures they were picking her apart as if she were already a corpse, playing with their food like it was a miniscule human toy squeaking beneath the sharp pressure of their blades. Demeter clenched her sword tightly, preparing to launch off of her heels and attack the hungry animals that were eating her ally alive.

But then she paused.

Learna’s blood painted the statues crimson, the rivulets of substance cascading down her fragile skin and spilling onto the pure floor of the haunted garden. It was four against one, with Demeter and her allies cast into the background like insignificant pawns on a chess board. But was that necessarily a bad thing? She examined the perimeter, second guessing herself. Should she flee? No, that would make her a hypocrite, a coward, a weakling. If Demeter was anything, she was fearless, bold, strong. She was not to be taken lightly - however, would continuing her charges toward the Kiera bitch girl pose as her wisest decision? They were a merciless pack, the careers, as ruthless and cruel as she was, except their chances were higher, their bonds stronger. If she attacked her now, they might turn on her. And then what? She barely survives, and crawls through the garden with one or two of her allies, perhaps even Learna, who was already growing more useless by every swipe of their blades? No, no. That couldn’t happen. She was a victor - she needed her strength and her blood, all of it. Learna was dead. They were teasing her, mocking her, toying with her, making her feel every inch of their blades under her skin. They were torturing her, and in the end, she would die a terrible, agonizing death.

But that’s why she was lucky to have Demeter.

Don’t worry, little Libertine. Mama Demeter is here to end it all.

[attacks LEARNA, Xiphos]
[dice=200+1000]
[Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage]

[rand=825674820691347123937822366133332094410807127133018710977802984416]

[Nofo]

It was gone. Her voice had been stolen in the morning by rainbow beetles. If she was anywhere else, she'd find that thought amusing. Voice stealing beetles would be something found in dreams. No, her voice was gone and lost within the pits of hell. She'd been marching through a field with statues everywhere you could look, past tributes and the dead from this year's Games. Her eyes focused on Vitani's statue lunging at her with the xiphos Ailis now held. Squeezing the handle softly, she was now holding two swords, one in each hand. Double the power over other tributes, she thought as she continued through the garden. She had only followed Demeter, knowing that they would be better off working together in the fights. Kiera Dempsey, the girl who had given her the cloak, she'd cut her arm to the bone. If she could speak, she'd say she was sorry. Forcing the apology through her eyes proved difficult as she saw the large career alliance with a new arrival, Aria who they had saved, attack Learna. She knew that this was the right thing to do to survive. Learna didn't deserve to suffer and this would help Ailis and Demeter, wouldn't it? Demeter was injured and could easily be attacked just as easily as the tiny girl from Four.

Demeter lunged at Learna and Ailis knew at this point there was no turning back. She'd be breaking the trust of Learna by helping them kill her, but she knew nothing would stop the careers from killing her. Strength found it's way inside her heart as she walked closer to the smaller girl. Raising her two xiphos, she readied for the attack. There's no other option.

[Attack Learna; Xiphos)
[dice=200+1000]
[1100 -- Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage
(Sword)]

Normal
Other
Thoughts
Other Speaking
Speaking

[/center][/blockquote][/justify][rand=4975344845333889881882340092238819614051732802217420065196116297]

[chelsey]

I will not fall.
Once more I'm called.
Time comes for all.
Then dark is whole.

“Might want to cover your eyes little Libertine. Don’t want to die like your sister did.” “Awww, baby Libertine. Looks like you’re having a bit of trouble. Need a hand with that?” “Oh I don’t know, Ki. I think she can handle it.”

[/color]

My anger and fear swim down the currents of my purple veins, pulsing in it’s bed of raw pink skin and washing away any remnants of confidence Demeter’s words might’ve once given me. Learna’s hand is still when it drops to the ground, and even when no scream can elicit from my open mouth, I stumble back one, two, three steps until I fall over on my own feet. And, even then, I am still scrambling to get away. Hot blood drips down from the gaping hole planted in the Libertine’s wrist, while more hot tears sting the back of my eyes as I crawl as fast as I can away from there. Blood stains the soil we stand on, and no matter how much we’d dig over it’s thorny roots embedded in the tainted earth, it’s seed will spread and rot the greenery with a blinding red.

In a weak attempt of defense, Learna raises her blade with her remaining hand and strikes the same girl my own blade had struck from seconds before. (Little Libertine is so lost and so weak under that heavy weight of her sword that she must carry.) In her moistness gathering around the lids of her irises, the image of Ava and Atimia reflect back in the sea that is her eyes. (And in that sea, my dear sweet cousins drown, drown, drown - and they lose themselves in the raging storm of her losses.)[/I] In Learna Libertine, I catch a glimpse of my home.

And then Demeter attacks.

A pulsating rage beats within the silent cave of my mouth, my lips forming the shriek, “No!”, but the actual words never being voiced. The tears on my cheeks evaporate from the steam boiling behind it, now, because we are were allies, we are were a team, we help helped each other. But, the bond is shattered the moment a second blow from Ailis falls upon Learna’s arm.

I think back to yesterday, where Learna and I had tentatively tried to repair Demeter’s wounds. (“Save your tears!” She screeched at us, a mother reprimanding her children. “You’re not dead. Not yet.”)[/color] And if I had known any better, I would have told Little Libertine to run - run once the darkness of the night seized us all in the form of a shadowing slumber and faceless nightmares.[/I][/color] We could have escaped the claws of the deceitful dragon. We could have escaped the battle we fight today.

But, still, we must fight anyway.

In an instinctive and furious rush to salvage the last glimpse of home I may ever see again, I raise my blade with closed and tear filled eyes.

If killing is the only way to fulfill Demeter’s wishes, then I’d rather choose to be a coward. [/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify][/color]

[attacks Ailis - Harpoon/Spear]
[dice=200+3000]
[Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage
(Spear)]

But oh my heart was flawed.
I knew my weakness.
So hold my hand.
Subscribe me not to darkness.

[/color][/center][/size][rand=3061044679488987940429554320871862205729610286657377765991259366]

[Wonder]

I wait on the Emerald Isle for you to come and rescue me,
from every step that I take. Feet don't you ever break,
drag me over that line, halfway around the medicine ball is far enough
to blow me back, like you broke the bank on the ticket
worth every damn nickel, you got me that time.

Little Libertine, Little Libertine, shake your head if you will,
it will not be my face up in the sky tonight lying frigid and still.
Shake your head if you please, and give that sly grin,
but it will be me who is smiling when I tuck you in.
Little Libertine, Little Libertine, where is your sister now,
I'd say her eyes are on you but then I’d ask how.
She's sleeping in stone, six feet below.
Little Libertine, Little Libertine, for me, say hello.
Little Libertine, Little Libertine.

Oh Libertine, where has your time gone, Little Libertine? Where has your hand gone?

The blow sliced right through her wrist severing off her hand in an instant, with a single blow I became greater than ever before - maybe I am the best, maybe I am good, maybe I did deserve that eleven. But that wasn't for me to decide, no, I wasn't the crowd, I wasn't the Capitol - these weren't my Games, I was just in them. And for God's sake, I would do my very best, oh yes I would. When did I become leader of this motley crew? Kiera and Wes, and Aria followed suit right after me - striking three more blows to the little girl with no hand, if Atlas wasn't here to hold up the sky, did I have to shine brighter than the rest? Oh no, that's not what I signed up for.

I was the only legitimate career left - besides the Amazonian woman who stood before me, tall and proud and indestructible. But she wasn't even a career - no, we hadn't even invited her along for the journey, in her place sat Wes and Aria, two lower District kids who had no place in a pack, but yet they were still here. You could see her rattled, frustrated, stuck with a group of kids who could barely wield their spears and swords to take down any of us. Stuck with those who were incompetent, losers, the worst of the bunch, Little Libertine, the District Twelve girl, and the girl who thought she could fly, how pathetic they all were standing before us trying to knock us down. No, this was the Argonauts arena - this was our place to shine, not theirs.

The statues loomed around us, a constant pounding notice that these children had all died in this place, well, not necessarily right in the spot where I stood, but in an arena. Whether it was hot, cold, muggy, tropical, the arena was the arena, blood was spilled no matter the place. If anything it was nicer in a place that was ugly and morbid - death seemed more natural here than to destroy the paradises that they'd had in previous arenas. Statue after statue, death after death, only one standing tall, the victor, the winner of this mind game, physical game, emotional game, that would be me. Victor. The word seemed to sizzle on the tip of the tongue and send a chill down the spine, if anyone was to win, it would be me, me, me. District One Male, eleven in training, why shouldn't I win? Why shouldn't I be the God to go home and see my family once again, to bury my father? Why couldn't that be me?

Because people like Kiera and Wednesdae still walked these grounds, still better than me in every way.

I was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Little Libertine stuck out her tongue at me and laughed her silent laugh, if these girls couldn't talk - they'd go on mocking us nonetheless. Little Libertine, you can't mock me, you are nothing, you hear me? Nothing. Just a girl lost in a world where she doesn't belong. Not even worthy of being called a District Four. How dare you mock me? How dare - after Aria strikes the Amazon girl turns and strikes again, this time at Little Libertine. Oh girl, you are so stupid and you don't even know - a smile creeps onto my face as the twelve girl follows suit, attacking the girl who'd just mocked me. She would learn, learn to mock a God.

[/blockquote]

[Peri attacks Learna with Glaive]
[dice=200+13000]
[Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage][/size][rand=7385446187108755424702942837029769346995837986476987195364199579]

[Deleted]

KIERA NIAMH DEMPSEY

i will not speak of your sin, there was a way out for him
the mirror shows not, your values are all shot
but oh, my heart was flawed
i knew my weakness
so hold my hand, consign me not to darkness

Baby Libertine's sword bites into her already-wounded arm, a small cut by comparison but bringing with it a wave of such agony that Kiera screams through clenched teeth, doubling over and pressing a hand reflexively over the laceration, warm scarlet staining her skin as she snarls up at the little redheaded girl. Only the most foolish of mortals willingly invoke a goddess' wrath, and for their presumption they will be punished. Breath coming in ragged puffs, she pulls herself into an upright, dignified posture, the set of her shoulders authoritative and strong as the grip on her sword tightens. "Oh, Baby Libertine. I was going to be be merciful, but just for that, you're going to suffer."

And suddenly, the little girl's alliance turns on her, lashing out with blades identical to her own and drawing more crimson essence that paints her death-pale skin, matching the violent flame of her hair. The girl from Two, tall and strong and proud. The girl from Twelve, the one whose kill she'd stolen and then offered her cloak as compensation. They both have had dealings with Kiera's divine malice before (they saw the girl from Ten fall beneath her blade, saw how she ripped District Six's throat from his body as though his skin was merely paper), know that it would behoove them to defer to her in the matters of who lives and dies. Only the wide-eyed, skittish girl from Eleven holds any sense of loyalty to Baby Libertine's already-lost soul, lunging at District Twelve and opening an ineffectual wound along her arm. She is weak, District Eleven, clinging to the feeble bonds of human attachment that don't exist in places like the Arena. The other two show promise, but Kiera adds the sniveling little blond piece of fluff to her ever-expanding to-do list of souls that would be better off commended to the next world before they become too tainted. The statuesque Amazon that led the attack on her, she seems like the leader, the would-be Kiera of their fragile band of inadequate might, but she has the most potential of any of them. Twirling her sword expertly in her hand, Kiera lets a wicked grin bloom on her face in the temporary lull in the carnage that follows the alliance's betrayal.

"Hey, District Two. You get tired of hanging around with this riffraff, you give us a call. You've got potential." Still her blade dances, twirling and catching the sparse light from Above until it blurs into a deadly phenakitioscope, glinting silver stained with the scarlet of three (four?) lives. She could run the half-dead little girl from Four through right now and no one would stop her - Fourth District, fourth kill - could commend her soul to a place where it won't have to be sullied with violence and betrayal and all the downfalls of man. And yet, the nagging sort of awareness at the back of her mind whispers that it would be selfish to do so. After all, she is not the only divine being in this Arena. Her blood-tribute has been met, but there is one other that still demands a sacrifice. Grinning savagely, she grabs Baby Libertine by the shoulder and pushes her backwards, up into the stone embrace of her dear departed sister. This is the only mercy she will grant her, that the marble arms of Penelope Libertine will hold her as she dies.

"See, I could kill you, Baby Libertine, but it'd be over too quick," she ducks down to whisper in the little girl's ear. "I'm gonna let someone have you who isn't nearly as nice as me."

{Kiera attacks Learna Libertine with her Xiphos}
[dice=200+1000]
{Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage}

The sharp edge of her sword snaps forward, embedding itself through Baby Libertine's toga and flesh, sticking into a fissure in the stone body behind her and effectively keeping her still enough to serve a purpose. Kiera must look like a vision of old, she thinks, a Goddess of War painted in blood and emanating a steely wrath as she walks back to her beloved God, loops a languid arm around his neck and presses his lips to hers in yet another kiss that tastes of blood, this time her own. "Take her, Wednesdae. She's all yours."

Perhaps in this time of strife their celestial wrath has become greater, more augmented. Kiera never considered herself a sadist before, but maybe things are changing as she stands on tiptoe for her lips to ghost along the shell of his ear, a quiet whisper for him and him alone. "Make her scream, babe."

so crawl on my belly till the sun goes down
i’ll never wear your broken crown
i took the road
and i fucked it all away, and in this twilight
how dare you speak of grace?

[rand=556312200160721840950235902495989144406811423357322731622731179]

[rook]

me and my GOD COMPLEX, watch us go

i'm torn in opposite directions
the plot sucks
but these killings are gorgeous
god damn, these killings are gorgeous

[/i][/right]

The Libertine girl blocks my strike. I snarl like an angered native of this underworld. No one makes Wednesdae Drummond look weak, especially not dirty relatives of impure failures. I want to leap at her, pin her down and hack at her face with the razor edge of my spear. I want to see the dirt turn a mixed brown with her blood an the gray of the earth. I want to, but I can't. Such a move would leave me exposed to critical attacks. I stop snarling, readjusting my grip on the spear.

The mass of people shift like a school of fish. Learna surges away, more bodies circle her. I am surprised to see that her own friends and allies leap at her with their instruments, cutting her where we never could - In the heart. Betrayal, that would be the last thing that Learna Libertine knew. I look to my allies now and think of betrayal. I would never betray Peridot or Kiera, and now even Aria has proven herself on our side. The lone wolf within a new pack. She has filled me with bubbles of confidence despite my previous doubts.

I go in again to attack, but hesitate when Kiera lashes out before me, more eager than I. With all of this chaos, I need to be careful not to hit an ally. Unlike the remainder of Libertine's so-called friends, I have no sick form of mercy that releases a soul to the next world. No, mine is more a drive to erase. Yet I am careful not to lean too heavily on the delete key, in case I lose control and abolish the very people who keep me sane.

I have lost my chance to strike, too much time spent inside my own head. The pack moves through the cornrows of stone, and I flow with them, picking out a target from the bloody bodies that streak in criss-cross lines. The shifting gray form is the Libertine again, a hazy mess nearing death. Let me help you, child.

The forge comes to mind again. I built myself like I was part of a metal frame. Just like I formed metallic creations in that workshop of fire and steel, I also crafted myself - A creature made from obsession and suffering. Hours of clanging steel and hot molten sparks, forming a well-built teenager with the perfect Career mindset. The Career more worthy than Atlas or Peridot. The mindset more deadly than Demeter or Kiera. I am ultima, and nothing can stop this inferno.

My fingers are white in this chilling underworld of dead tributes immortalised in stone. They make a ruin,  something I can't stand: the final collection of impure, unworthy, failed tributes. The set of filth laid before me. I feel sick thinking about it. Of all the places to take Wednesdae Drummond, this is the worst. We must walk through this field of stone, because there's nothing left for us here, nothing we can gain from dead people. Kill these four and hightail it to the next gang of hopefuls and erase the faith from their eyes.

"Enough!" I yell, my spear tipping at the perfect angle in my palm, my neck twists and my faces locks on Learna, "Find a way to say goodbye, Libertine... This is goodnight!"

[Wednesdae attacks LEARNA, Spear]

[dice=200+3000]

[damage]

it's like a bad dream
something from the back of a magazine
black and white
and cheaply put together

[/i][/right]

[/size][/color][/blockquote]

---

notes: will code soon :3

theme:[/color] "Pulp Fiction" - Motion City Soundtrack[/color][/size][rand=1417420841753482800668391981162130884150603762827815853380458429456]

[✨ zozo.]

I had a way then
Loosing it all on my own
I had a heart then, but the Queen
Has been overthrown
The dark is too hard to beat

[/i][/center]


I can't do this.

I can't rip someone from their life. Plunge them into eternal darkness, drive Needle through their mangled bodies until they take their final breath. Peri slices, Kiera dices. He can't kill her, either. Or at least, he doesn't want to. But he has no excuse not to - why shouldn't he? He's already done it once. He's a Career - he's supposed to know how to do this. To want to do this. This is madness. No, this is sparta. Complete and utter madness.

I was once Nymeria, great warrior - Aranica, great Victor - Aria, great Career-Slayer and knight in shining armour. I thought I was brave, I thought I had what it takes. I could win this, they said. If anyone can, it would be me. You can't win unless you kill You can't win unless you kill You can't win unless you kill but I've made it this far, haven't I not? I can't win unless I kill.

Not today, anyway.

"I'm Aranica from District Twelve, hear me roar!" 9 year old Aria screamed as she flung herself from the table onto the couch, landing on Sarita with a thud an a protesting squeal from her sister. "Fear me, Great Victor, slayer of all Careers!"

"Aria, I'm pretty sure she didn't slay any-" a voice suggests as her Father picks her up off her furious sister, still squirming in his arms with a branch for a 'sword' as she cuts the comment off. "Silence, peasant!" she barked. "I could slay them Careers any day!" [/i][/blockquote]

[/color]Could you really now, Wolf-girl?

When Wednesdae strikes Little Libertine down onto the floor of statues for her body to sprout from the ground in stone, I cannot help but flinch away. That could so easily be me, falling to the ground for the last time. Little Libertine, little girl, little wolf child.

We're all the same, are we not?


{ooc;}
{aria uses first aid on kiera for -3 damage}
{aria grabbed a bundle of firewood}
{aria flees}

You show the lights that stop me turn to stone
You shine them when I'm alone
And so I tell myself that I'll be strong
And dreaming when they're gone
Cause they're calling me home

[/i]


basically:

creys i can't kill someone
this is madness no this is sparta
bb libertine D:
dammit peri you had one job
everyone here is nuts
~when i was a girl i dreamt of the stars~
idk when she was little and thought she could slay careers yade yade yaaaa
FLINCHING
[/center]

[/justify][/blockquote][/size][/blockquote]