burn it all {Day 3 -- TLD vs HH}

[cass]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 050505; border: 000000 solid 2px; width: 450px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 25px 25px 0px 0px;] opal shore. It was with the anthem that she found comfort. Brown eyes turned skywards, the loud, blaring, completely horrid music of the Capitol anthem playing its sorrowful, foul tune for all the tributes to hear. Part Of her wanted to look away, part of her wanted to shut her eyes tightly as she had done last night, not wanting to see the small horrors before her. She did not want to know who had succumbed to death; she did not want the idea of their horrid bloody deaths on her mind. Because when she slept her mind would shape them into little scenes were they would turn into nightmares, where she would watch it all happen and try to pretend the same fate did not await her. But this time she looked, eyes plastered to the seal, which was quickly followed by two faces. One of them was a total surprise. Dimit… Deesup- Dimoose or was it Diemuth? Well, anyway, whoever the hell he was he had been a part of the powerhouse alliance, the ones that had dominated in the bloodbath. The ones that were meant to be the most powerful. Where here, right now, sat her four allies, all of them having had survived the day. But then the thought of his death sent a small, unexpected smile to her lips. It quickly became reassurance, not in the most comforting of forms, but more in the way of harbouring the knowledge that no matter how powerful you are you will fall. It would hardly make Opal sleep better tonight, because that also implied that she had just as much chance of dying as anyone, which was not really what she was hoping for. Thankfully, however, all her allies had agreed upon the course of action which meant that they were going to leave the godforsaken tar pits. Her dislike for the gooey, awful, black substance was growing and growing. Hell the smell had reached a whole new level of disgusting and black crap seemed to have found its way into her shoes –which she despised greatly- and from there somehow onto her arms. And of course anything that ended up on her arms ended up on her face. Drace had, early on in the day, pointed out to her that she had dirt on her face –not a particularly unusual occurrence— and when she had gone to rub it off she had found it to be tar. That had sent her into a small mad frenzy of annoyance as she vainly tried to scrap every last bit of that poison off of her skin. After hours of what seemed like painful picking and scratching she had been satisfied enough to feel more comfortable with her state. After that they had started wlaking and now they sat at the edge of what appeared to be the tar bits and the start of an area that looked a lot like flat, plain land, bits of grass here and there and something big off in the distance. Opal was delighted. She did not care one little bit that there was nothing but dirt, because there was even a tiny bit of life in the bits of scraggly grass. And, most importantly, there was no tar, at all. The anthem seemed to last a million years, playing in front of her eyes like the television she had never looked at at home. The only time she had ever watched a thing was the games, but even then it was no more than a glimpse a day. She preferred spending the days outside and away from the idea that there were kids in an arena killing each other; she had not watched Cricket win the games previously. Hell she had not even learned who the victor was until almost a week after the games. Her family had been raving on about it all, the wonderful showdown, but none of them had talked to her about so she had had no clue what so ever on what was happening. Now she was stuck in the unreal world of the arena. With another flash and the final notes to that awful anthem the arena was silenced. Again, the world seemed to hold its breath and again there was that silence as though the glass that had shattered with the blare of the music was slowly mending itself. And as quickly as it was there it was gone, to be replaced by odd little sounds –insects and bugs she knew not, as well as the familiar ones that allowed her to keep that small comforting smile on her lips as she drifted to sleep. She was unsure of how far they had walked since they had gotten up. The process of waking up had been more difficult then she had expected. Oddly enough she had found herself sinking into an unnaturally deep sleep last night. Pyrite hangs from her hip and her hand fumbles over the hilt, before grasping it. This time yesterday her alliance was attacked by two giant mothertrucking elephants. That had been their first battle with just the four of them and it had left Drace in a bad state. They moved forward, each step causing Opal’s mind to clear and her body to tense. Within moments she was standing tall, ready to attack at any moment, no one was going to catch her by surprise. Not this time. That was when she saw them. Three figures in the distance but coming closer with every step they took. [attacks Akasha- Dao] [dice=200+1000] [Severed Right Forearm at Elbow -- 9.5 damage, blades 10.5 damage] [dice=50] [Immolation -- x] [Opal uses jar of tar and one match to light her sword on fire] I'm waking up to ash and dust I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust I'm breathing in the chemicals I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus

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[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

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[bg=090004][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true] I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones enough to make my systems blow welcome to the new age, to the new age welcome to the new age, to the new age whoa, whoa, I'm radioactive, radioactive The vast assortment of trees that surrounded us as we trudged forward seemed so random. One thing felt the same, though. One thing seemed to resonate throughout the swaying branches. Life. Something like that might have been over looked, had I not been so close to death, but it was so obvious. Even if I couldn't see anything, I could feel it. I could tell we weren't alone, though. We were supposed to run. We were supposed to be safe. I guess we hadn't been running fast enough. We all seemed to hear the footsteps at the exact same time, as we all grabbed our weapons and began scanning the surrounding area within seconds of one another. Opal's hands moved like lightening, pouring black tar on that perfectly straight blade of her's and pulling a match out of her bag all in a matter of ten seconds. The thing burned with life, and I wondered how she managed to keep her hand so close to it. As for the rest of us, Locust and Xanthus both seemed completely ready, standing in defensive positions. Xanthus stood close to me, as if ready to attack anything that came my way. I didn't mind, hell, I was actually grateful. It made me feel like I wasn't completely alone in this thing. If my alliance played it's cards right we could be the last ones standing. I seemed like the only one that had been surprised by the blade that burned with the hatred of the sun, and I tried to act less surprised as the footsteps got louder. As soon as they are in sight, the red pitchfork I had pointed in their direction dropped by my side. Sierra. She was still with the same pair of girl I saw her with in the bloodbath, and by the looks of it, they had been doing their jobs of protecting her far too well. Good. Sierra was better than all of this, and I felt a bit of respect for the girls for noticing that, and taking care of her. Opal wasted no time, charging forward and swinging her fiery blade toward the tallest girl. "Opal, no!" She kept her weapon on a steady course, despite my protests, and as soon as her sword made contact with the girl, who had barely even had time to react, she was completely engulfed in flames. The horror of it all made me throw my hand over my mouth in shock. It couldn't have really happened! Yet, she still yelled for help, in the time she was allotted before the flames claimed her life and the sound of a cannon erupted throughout the arena. The flames seemed so happy with their work, still dancing along the still corpse as her allies stood near by with the same look of bewilderment I had plastered on my own face. She was dead, just like that. I knew a calm approach was out of the question now. I knew that the only way I was getting out of this now was to fight. I wasn't going to hurt Sierra, and I wasn't going to let anyone hurt her. I also wasn't going to attack any of my allies. The other girl, the one that had been taking care of Sierra until now was my only option. I couldn't believe what I was doing, even as I charged forward with the sharp end of my blade soaring through the air, my heart had not completely wrapped itself around the hasty decision my head made. A loud grunt left my lips, one that was more of an apology cry than one of battle. "I'm sorry!" The words vibrated through the air almost as loudly as the cannon as soon as I was close enough to attack her. I couldn't decide if the tears that were already falling down my cheek were from anger and resentment or sorrow and disappointment, and I no longer cared. I was done pretending I understood anything. I didn't. I had no control over what was happening around me, I wasn't even in control of my own actions anymore, how in the hell was I supposed to understand things like that? I wasn't. [Drace attacks Luciana, Pitchfork (Spear)] [dice=200+3000] [3047 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage]

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ooc: table/graphic made by shrimp.

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[gamemaker kelsier]

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[/color]

"I want to lose familiarity and feeling.
Become cold and numb and wise." ;[/b][/size][/color][/font][/center]

He's still thinking about the flamberge on his back as they trek across the land today. After Drace gave it to him, he'd buggered off somewhere to think, but there hadn't been much thinking to do. Or at least no thoughts would translate themselves through his mind. He didn't know why Drace had given him the better weapon. As Xanthus saw, he hadn't been all that good at it, that was true, but it was still the better weapon. Drace shouldn't have given it to him, he felt wrong about how pleased he was to have it.

In the night, the boy that Xanthus had punched in the face was in the sky. He felt an odd sense of loss at that. Not that he would miss him, but he had a rather punchable face and the other boy had given him a nasty gash in the back. Of course his enemies were bound to die before he could get near them, but he'd still wanted to taste their blood. The small amount, the tiny drip he had tasted from Drace yesterday was hardly sustaining. He needed something more, he felt like he could drink a whole body at this point.

And blood isn't alcohol. It isn't insulin. Blood is blood, and he doesn't drink it because he wants to, but at this point he needs it. He knows that he'd feel stronger, if only he could get some of that life force in him. The sticky warm substance has become something beyond vile to him, since he first tasted it. It has always tasted thick, of iron. Before when that used to disgust him, it only makes his mouth water in want. It's an acquired taste, not to be trifled with, it's not a game. It is, however, an addiction. It is something he needs because he is reliant on it. It is not something he one day just chose to drink, because it is not a choice. It happens to you, just as death eventually does.

Death was a familiar concept for Xanthus. He had already been a part of it numerous times back in one. Nine, to be exact, or was it nineteen? Nine confirmed times his eyes had watched something alive through the raven locks of hair that always hid his eyes, and nine times he had seen it disappear. He didn't feel bad for it. Maybe he should have, but that was how the world worked. Things lived, and then they died, and nothing was ever going to break the system because it worked. The more light there was in a situation, the more shadows were cast. Where there is good, there is evil. The two are a package deal.

He had decided that the only way he would feel comfortable for the rest of his time in the arena was if he kept an eye on Drace at all times. It seemed like any time he looked away the boy managed to obtain a new cut so deep that the streams of crimson poured out in large pools that made his mouth water. He needed blood in order to survive, and not just his own. Each time he wrapped the boy from three's wounds in cloth, or sewed them shut, his hunger grew stronger, and his ability to resist weaker. He kept himself within arms reach from Drace at all times, which was becoming more and more difficult as they walked deeper into the large canopy of trees that surrounded them.

Last in line, he was just in time to see Opal decimate a tribute before the screaming began. Hefting the sword, he strode forward as well, never one to sit back while everyone else worked. He wanted their blood. He would take it.

[xanthus attacks luciana with flamberge]
[dice=200+1000]


[1071 -- Severed Left Leg at Hip -- 10 damage] + 1 blades

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[Python]

Gaff Grimsdottir.

Her district partner, the little engine that couldn’t. He was a career in his early years, still learning yet bursting with arrogance and a craving for unnecessary brutality. He was a vicious insect that was all bark and no bite, and she had been surprised not to find him among the corpses on the day of the Bloodbath. Spying his stoic face in front of the stars she felt indifferent to the loss. Others may find it cruel that she did not support her own district partner, but why waste her worries on a hopeless little boy? Twenty-three were destined for failure, and if she was to emerge victorious her partner and her allies would have to perish, if not by her hand than perhaps the hand of an inexperienced killer or the paws of a poisonous mutt. She didn’t care how they died or what caused their demise, only that they were swept from this earth one by one until she was the last standing. She knew that in order to achieve that goal she would have to kill again, and that was why she could not afford to channel her energy into worrying about such petty opponents as Gaff Grimsdottir.

Deimos Lasner.

The flutter in her stomach told her that she was pleased with this discovery, but the small, icy prickling in her chest warned her of the missed opportunity. As she recalled, Deimos had been the boy who stole one of her precious possessions in the Bloodbath. The blame for her impaired hearing and constant distraction by muffled background noises in the tar pit could all be directed to him. On the outside she was grinning, glad to see that the Games were progressing and hoping that he had suffered before his cannon fired. On the inside she was disappointed that she had not been able to seek vengeance for her unfortunate and painful loss. In the end she decided to look upon the event through a lens of optimism. The boy who so longingly followed his district partner - fueled by what seemed to be false hope for romance and happiness - would be buried, and that was that.

The tar pit proved to be a successful cover for the evening. When the sun vanished beneath the horizon their tar-spattered bodies blended with the black shadows until they were safely camouflaged. Hunger pangs gripped at her insides, reminding her that the capitol’s kindness was crueler than she had anticipated, and thirst scratched at the back of her throat. The fog condensing into her water jug had seemed like such a small blessing, yet it meant more time to search for a real water source once they earned a good night’s rest - or as good as one could achieve when lathered with sticky tar on a bed of dry earth. When dawn reached their eyes they did not hesitate to choose a direction of travel and scramble out of the tar pit. After fighting the mutts and unintentionally rolling in the filth they were all eager to escape the atrocious steaming pit and venture into unexplored, greener territory. The grass shifting beneath her feet was preferable to the barren soil, and the trees rising in the distance were a welcoming spectacle compared to the eyesore that was a pool of bubbling black goop. There was one tree in particular that captured every one of their eyes as they trudged through the grassland. It was a thick tower with appendages branching off at many angles, some brushing the surface of decaying plant matter on the ground and others high enough to use as a perch for a bird’s eye view of the vicinity. As soon as she spotted it, there was no steering her away from it.

This was her domain, her paradise. A tree with so many branches to scale and hiding places to use was an irresistible temptation that she refused to ignore no matter what her allies protested - not that they had much to say about it. They seemed as relieved as she was to see something so alive, despite what might lurk between those dangling branches. She was cautious as she approached it, eyes scanning for skittering creatures and tributes that might be climbing or lurking. Finding nothing of the sort, she immediately gripped two notches in the trunk and heaved herself up to the lowest branch, paying careful attention to how much noise she created. She smiled at how simple it was and started leaping from branch to branch like a graceful feline on the prowl, rucksack still slung over her shoulder with her Halberd sticking awkwardly out of it. When she found a suitable resting point she dropped to her stomach and concealed herself from sight whilst checking the area below for other tributes. It wasn’t long before her eyes caught something worthy of her attention. Three tributes - all female, all familiar (of course) were approaching from the side. She looked to her allies below in hopes that they would notice before it was too late. Fortunately they were quick to respond once the three were upon them.

As she climbed to her feet and withdrew her weapon the flash of a blinding, orange light illuminated what the sun could not. It was Opal’s weapon wielding a glorious flame thanks to the tar she had smeared across it, and no sooner after she lighted it did she lash out at her newest opponent, swiping clean through flesh, muscle, and bone until an arm was severed from the owner’s elbow. Locust stood transfixed as the roaring flame caught onto the material of Akasha’s clothes and spread to every inch of her body until the heat consumed her whole. Within seconds she had become a human torch, screeching as the flames chewed through her skin until they scorched bone. It was terrifyingly beautiful for someone like her - for someone who craved such destructive mischief. It wouldn’t be long before Akasha’s cannon would sound.

In the meantime, there were still two tributes present, each with a dangerous weapon in hand. They were clearly outnumbered and had only two options remaining: flee or die. As Drace and Xanthus ambushed Luciana from both sides, she leapt from her perch and hoped for the latter.

[attacks Sierra - Halberd]
[dice=200+13000]
Miss -- 0.0 damage

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[Stare]

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[florentine, d4b ❁]

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[/color]
the girl who broke[/b][/size][/color][/font][/center]

Wave upon wave crashes onto the sand, chasing me forward. Never do they reach my toes - the torrents of blood simply stretch their terrible fingers toward me, begging for my embrace. Why do they want me so, when they already hold the tears of ten beautiful souls? I kneel down in the ashen sand, and hold out my jar of wishes to the ocean.

"Make a wish," I tell it - and cross my fingers that it doesn't wish for my life. Not yet. It's inevitable, and it will come - but surely I deserve another minute, another day, another try? (But I have lied many times in my life, and I am still unsure as to whether this makes me a liar.) Little specks of sand rise from the ground, one by one, filling the air around me with darkness. My mouth opens to scream for help, but the tiny shards suffocate me. Fingers clutching at my neck, I let the waves snatch me up and steal me away.

My eyes open, and I am greeted with sunlight. Beside me, Luciana sits with her eyes wide open, staring at something I don't see. (But surely she cannot see the solid shadows that crisscross around us, coming closer and closer from every side? These things are only in my head, but they seems ever so real.) "Luci?" I whisper, "is it still called dreaming, if we're awake?"

"In here?" she replies without pause. "I don't think there's a difference anymore." Understanding, I nod. It's no longer about what's real and what's fake, what's fact and what's fiction. The hold of irrelevance has already taken over - things are simply as you believe them. (What other see has no consequence, not now.) The forest has become too restrictive - and besides, there are too many dark places that could hold any mannor of horrors.

The walk we take is short, but the world refuses to comply with the rules it should. Everywhere, I see clocks - they tick incessantly, a furious cacophony reminding me that time is running out. From the trees, they slide, from flowers they blood. "Yes, yes, I know," I mutter, speaking to my own feverish mind more than anything else. I close my eyes and count down from ten, begging the effects of the poison to stop spinning webs of lies inside my mind.

They do not comply. A rabbit in a waistcoat bounces out in front of me, wrinkling it's nose as it meets my gaze. A laugh bubbles inside of me, spilling out before I can surpress it. Of each and every thing my delirious mind could have conjured up from my past, it has stolen the essence of an insane little girl from a timeless book I begged to be read as a child. "Don't you go getting any ideas," Meela said with a giggle as she read about the wonderland that Alice found down a rabbit-hole. "Mama wont be happy if you don't stay above the ground."

I am transfixed by the playing cards flying through the air and dancing in the great tree when a scream demands my attention. I am quick to turn, but not quick enough to see the others arrive at our side. (Opal, Xanthus, Drace, Locust.) My heart leaps and a grin springs to my lips. "Friends!" I declare gleefully. I make to greet them, but before I can take an enthusiastic step toward my fellow tributes, fire bursts from Opal's fingertips.

Another hallucination. I watch as my mind tries to convince me that my friend is burning - oh, Aka, watching this hurts my heart, but I know that as soon as the poison in my veins fades you will be whole again. (Lies, lies, everything I see is a lie and this can't be happening but it seems so real.) I swear I can feel the radient heat and smell the smokey scent of burning flesh, but I shake my head. I am stronger than the nightmares that plague me.

It is only when Luciana's leg falls to the ground that I cannot fight the urge to do something. I don't care if it's a dream, my allies are hurting and my world is burning and I don't know how to breathe anymore. Each gasp is a struggle, and there is nothing I want more than to run as far from the confusion as I possibly can and wait until it passes. My feet are fixed, unmoving, not responding to my command. The white rabbit laughs gleefully, and the Queen of Hearts drops a perfect rose at my feet.

"Please," I beg, "don't. Just... just stop - make it all stop, make them stop, I don't want to see them anymore." The ticking noise increases, getting louder and louder until a deafening drumming sound pulses in my ears. "I want it to be quiet in my head! Please!" My words are snatched from me as soon as they leave my mind and I cannot be sure if the others can hear them. (Is anybody else here? Are they in my mind? Am I alone, after all?)

A cage falls from the sky, trapping me inside. On the other side of the heavy bars, the fight continues, the others fierce and cruel. Luciana, the last member of my dwindling flock, is alone out there, battling against the people I thought I knew. (How foolish, how wrong.) I raise my weapon and swing it against the nearest bar. The cage disappears, just like that, and I curse myself for believing it was ever holding me captive. Steadying myself, I wipe a tear from my cheek.

"How- how could you?" I stammer, looking at the three brave souls who perhaps aren't so brave anymore. "How could you hurt them? How could you hurt me like this? I would never do that to you!" Sobs erupt inside my chest - great, heaving, shuddering waves of disbelief. My fingers tremor, and although I am untouched, my mind has been tampered with. (My heart, too.) "Everything is wrong!" I should, burying my face in my hands and rocking backward and forward.

The birds are mocking me
They call to be heard
The birds are mocking me
They curse my return

How am I gonna get myself back home?

[/i]




[Sierra attacks the walls of her cage Drace]

[dice=200+13000]

[3.5]

template by chelsey

[/font][/color][/blockquote][/justify][/size][/td][/tr][/table][/center][rand=76782844751141979024900398217142455274562584236264324743009638041]

[cass]

opal shore.

Pyrite, her Dao she had named Pyrite of all things, sliced into the bone and the flesh and into the life of Akasha Labinnac. And in that moment she had never wanted to change her mind and do it differently then she had in those few spaces of a heartbeat. The world slowed, time seemed to pause and she held her breath, biting back a sharp, painful apology and biting back any way of saying she was so sorry for what she was doing. She hadn’t been sorry during the bloodbath; she had not been sorry yesterday when they attacked those big beasts. Instead she had lunged forward, ferocity and a fiery passion driving her blade into that beast, until it was dead. And even then she had been unable to wipe off a small smile, evident delight that the high, the exhilaration and lust from spilling blood was glorious. Not this time. There was no glory in driving her fiery blade forward into the arm of Akasha. Instead there was the tightening of her chest and the willing of a mind that was about to crack. She could feel the strain in her head, the need to move away, but it had been too late. The blood had taken hold and it had devoured her, Akasha Labinnac’s arm slipping free of its hold within seconds.

For the briefest of moments there was silence, Drace’s cry, his pitiful, useless, cry echoing in the air, echoing in her mind. (You should have listened. Now look what you’ve done. Listen, girl, listen to what they say.) But his words vanished, and with it that silence was shattered, a million, trillion pieces of peace cracking, breaking and bending until they tumbled to the ground. It happened so slow, it happened like the way the world moves in a nightmare, always too slow. And you know that no matter how far you run you can never wind, the terrors always catch up to you. (You can’t run little girl. You can’t run from this now, now watch it is the world burns before you.) It did just that. The fire from her blade caught onto Akasha’s clothes, a sweet, sizzling crackling beginning to hum its sombre, feral song. Then the world stopped. Opal did not breathe, she did not move and instead she watched, wide-eyed, not truly believing what she was seeing as Akasha Labinnac caught on fire. As her clothes were swallowed by the greedy, dancing tongues of the flames. They reached upwards, engulfing her in a brilliant, horrifying picture. Grabbing her and holding her, before pinning her down.

Then she disappeared, no more was there the girl that had stood there moments ago. No more did the beautiful, strong and courageous girl stand. Instead she had been replaced by a fiery ball of pain and agony. Where fire covered every inch of her once flawless skin. It would not let her escape, and Opal Shore could see death ready and waiting and she willed with her all her might for it to take Akasha. But it did not.

And that was when the screaming started.

This time the feel of her blade in her hand was heavy and it slipped and slipped and slipped until it was no longer in her grasp. She did not hear it clatter to the ground, nor did she feel her legs collapse from underneath her. Then she was on the ground, the screams of pain and agony tearing into her mind, kicking and screaming and bashing at that fine wall of hers. Soon they swallowed her and she knew she could not escape them and she knew she could not run away from the pain she had caused. The screams echoed through the morning air, they filled the arena, they spilled past the arena and she so dearly hoped every single person in Panem was hearing Akasha scream. (They can hear it, and everyone knows it is your fault.) She so hoped that the pain that sprang from those terrified, agonised screams, of pure, pure torment, anguish and suffering were not only piercing her soul and mind, but those of the eyes of the world as well. They leaked into her, they stabbed and jabbed and tugged at her heart until she could not take it anymore. She had done this; she had set Akasha on fire. She had sentenced Akasha to the worst death possible. She would burn; she would burn and burn until there was nothing left of her. Her skin would blister and peal, it would bubble and scream and burn. And the pain, she knew, would be torture – worse than torture – there were no words in this world to describe that type of distress.

(“Hear those screams, Opal? Hear them? Listen to them, you listen and you feel them. You did that, that is all your fault. You should have cut her head off, killed her with a swift strike of that blade, instead you are a coward and you let her burn. You gave her agony and pain. You made her suffer. You coward. Too scared to finish the job off. So you listen to her scream and know you did that. You disgust me. Emerald was always the better one. Even she knew what humanity was.” “But Mama-“ “They’ll break you, girl. They’ll destroy you. You disappointed this family.”)

Unable to control herself, unable to stand the screams for a moment longer she pressed her hands to her ears. Her eyes screwing up tight until she was seeing stars dancing across the blackness of her mind. Drawing her legs up she dragged them to her chest, where she pressed herself into the ground. But the screams penetrated through the thin walls. Breaking easily though that small protection and crushing her tiny bit of defence. Akasha was screaming because of her, that pain was because of her, all because she could not kill her properly and write now she did not even hold the courage to end it. To end that pain. (Do it, end it for her. No) Instead she lay on the ground, unable to hold herself accountable for what she had done. But the suffering would not let her go and instead it reached outwards, it grabbed Opal, and those screams dug deeper into her mind. Whilst the whole time she begged for it to stop. (Kill her, stop that screaming. No, I can’t.) She begged and she pleaded, silently wishing for the girl to stop screaming. She had not meant for this to happen. She had not asked for this. Opal Shore did not want this. She wanted easy, she wanted to kill and to know she had done it swiftly; she did not want it to last. She did not want Akasha to burn. She’d not wish that kind of death on anyone. Not even Pyrite Shore. Not even her worst nightmare, not even the devil himself. (Do it! NO!)

Then before she fully understood what she was doing, Opal herself was screaming. Hoarse ragged cries tearing themselves from her lips with an animal like greed. ”No, please, stop. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She cried, her teeth biting into her lips to hold back a sob. ”Stop screaming, just stop screaming.” She clung to her face tighter, her words just as pain riddled and fearful as perhaps even Akasha’s. Her screams still echoed in the air, her screams still called to her and forced her to cry all the same. Opal screamed again, her terror filled cry just a fraction of sound that came from Akasha, whose animal like cries sent chills down her spine. “Please, please, please. Just make it stop, please. I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” She breathed, her eyes flickering open before she slowly moved her hands away from her ears. The screams still tore into the air, leaving behind fire trails. And the sky smelled of burning, blistering skin. It was foul, and made her eyes water and her throat burn and every inch of her being to want to curl back up and into a ball and to let the pain engulf her and to scream some more. To release that guilt, cowardice and anguish, but she could not. She wondered what she must look like. A sobbing buffoon, curled in a ball on the ground after having her first kill. Was this how she was supposed to react? Locust had never responded in such a way, but then Locust had not sentenced a girl to the kind of pain Opal had. Neither had Drace and not even the elephant had faced the kind of torment that Akasha was.

They could not possibly know who much worse it was, they could not possibly understand how it felt to set someone on fire and to know you had cursed them to scream, to burn, to sizzle and cook until the meat fell of their bones, until they could not scream, until they count not move. What must it be like being swallowed whole by lava? As though you were being pressed down onto burning coals or being bathed in boiling water? What could that possible be like? They would turn to ash, there would be nothing. Locust Lovelace had not done what she had done. Locust had killed a fat buffoon; she had slaughtered a man already half dead. Drace had killed a girl that could not stand and Xanthus had banished a beast to the grave. But none of them had sent a living soul to the very pits of hell. A death that no one should ever have to suffer. No one deserved to burn. No one deserved to have to smell their own flesh cook on their bones, or to hear their own screams as their hair fell off, and as every inch of their skin was covered in white hot, flames. That was pure agony, which was torture, that was pain and that was suffering. And here Opal sat, curled in a ball pretending. She was pretending to feel what Akasha was, but she could not. No one could.

Slowly she turned her eyes down to her hands. Slowly her hands came into focus and she was left gazing at the palms of two lean hands. In front of her, in her lap were her two hands. Neither contained a single drop of blood. Her eyes flickered upwards, there was no blood on these hands. There was not a single drop of blood on her hands. She looked up and then she looked down and slowly her gaze moved to the burning figure of Akasha Labinnac. For a moment they stayed there and she watched. Then she looked away and once more down at her hands. Slowly she drew them up to her chest, closing them into fists. She flipped them over, no blood. Only the killer has blood on his hands, only the murderer has the blood on their hands. And these hands had no blood. No blood meant she had done nothing wrong, right? She used this thin, useless bit of knowledge, the only thing her mind could grasp as she gathered her feet below her and as she stood up.

Her hands wrapped around the hilt of her Dao – Pyrite – and with an expressionless face she turned to Luciana and Sierra. She moved as though she were being forced to rather than having to do it. She stepped closer and without thought or feeling, she swung.

[attacks Luciana- Dao]
[dice=200+1000]
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

[dice=50]
[extinguished]

Maybe Akasha's death had effected her more then she expected. But for whatever possible reason there was out there, she was grateful her shaking hands had missed. And the flame on her sword flickered and burned, and died, just as it was doing inside of her.

I'm waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
I'm breathing in the chemicals
I'm breaking in, shaping up,
then checking out on the prison bus

[/blockquote][rand=93961583916097884097712610382586799006988550536337802360558416694]

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

[bg=392437][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true]

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[bg=090004][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true] I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones enough to make my systems blow welcome to the new age, to the new age welcome to the new age, to the new age whoa, whoa, I'm radioactive, radioactive My attack was a solid one, and I guessed I was supposed to be happy about it. (I was, wasn't I?) Yet I only felt regret. Xanthus was right behind me, and as soon as I pulled my weapon out of the way, I watched as the sword that was once mine, and Locust's before me, and someone else's before her, sailed through the air and claimed the girl's leg. My eyes widened with shock once more. This fight was easy. These girls weren't mutations with protective skin. They weren't enormous, actually they were both quite small. The girl that we attacked lashed out, and brought the grisly looking ax in her hand to my arm. For a moment, I wondered if, like her and the girl that was now smoldering on the ground, my limb was no longer attached to my body, but when I flexed my fingers they moved. Another blade licked my flesh, and although it wasn't nearly as bad as the first, it was enough to get my attention. I turned and saw Sierra's tear soaked face and immediately confusion poured itself into my mind. She was attacking me? I didn't understand at all. As soon as I met the fragile girl I felt an undying want to protect her. (Because she reminded me of my sister.) And yet it was her that had just attacked me. Maybe it was a good thing. If she killed me now, or the other girl did, it meant that she would go further, right? She- She could go home to her mother, who had already suffered too much loss. She could finally afford to have the surgeries that would heal her. She could be okay. But I wanted to go home, too. I turned to the other girl, the one without a leg. She looked like death worn over, but I guessed I looked just the same, or maybe worse. But I felt alive. For the first time in the arena, I was ready to fight. I was ready to attack. I was ready to kill. My grip on Xanthus's pitchfork tightened, and I raised the thing above my head. Through the cloudy mist, not a lot of sunlight was reaching us, but the thing still managed to shine crimson, even where the bloodied blades ended and the shaft began. I remembered when Xanthus received the glitter, something that seemed pointless, and he quickly applied it to the once dull weapon. It seemed to lift his spirits a little, so I never said anything, but now it was lifting mine, and I was glad I didn't. I glanced over at the boy, who bit his bottom lip like some sort of animal. Those were the very same lips that kissed me yesterday. So soft at first, even if he had caught me by surprise. Then, before I could even pull away from him, The boy's teeth ripped themselves across the soft flesh on the inside of my lip, and then was gone. I couldn't lie and say it was pleasant, it hadn't been. The two strip of flesh he brought blood out in filled my mouth with the metallic taste of rust for at least ah hour. (Maybe I understood why he liked it so much, after all.) If I was being perfectly honest, the taste wasn't all that bad. It wasn't something that made me crave more, but it really wasn't that bad. But the ones like him were the bad guys. They were the ones that preyed on the innocent people that still had entire lives, vampires were. And sure, vampires weren't real, but Xanthus was very close to making them real. Did that mean he was the bad guy? All of these questions seemed like ones I should have asked a long time ago. I snarled at the girl, and forced my weapon forward. I wanted to to kill her. I wanted her to die for this, for what she did to me. I was so tired of bleeding, and so tired of looking weak. I wanted to appear strong, just once in this fucking arena. I couldn't be a victim anymore. I wouldn't be. I was going to be like the rest of them. A predator. I could be an animal that was constantly on the prowl for it's next meal, and all this time I hadn't allowed myself to. It was obviously the wrong decision to make, because I was the only one in my alliance that always seemed a few seconds away from death. These games were heartless, and like the fog that surrounded us, they sucked out every bit of sunshine their powerful claws could find. I had to be strong, now. I had to do what my friends would all watch in terror because of. [Drace attacks Luciana, Pitchfork (Spear)] [dice=200+3000] [3025 -- Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0 damage]

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[rand=1227847135160118337935094209387999669593386352065024607491213828]

[gamemaker kelsier]

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[/color]

"I want to lose familiarity and feeling.
Become cold and numb and wise." ;[/b][/size][/color][/font][/center]

A loud snarl blasted from his clenched teeth as the girl's leg fell to the ground. She yelled out in pain as the ground was painted crimson with the same substance that kept her alive, and he only smiled. He half expected her to give up. To just fall down, like her now dead friend, and let her blood cover her in a scarlet pool. She didn't however, and before he could deflect her attack, the steel blade of her ax cut deeply into the surface of Drace's arm. Of course, the one moment he turned his attention away from him the boy managed to get into trouble. Xanthus exhaled, and pulled the blade of the sword he once owned up into the air.

He enjoyed the way it danced through the air, knowing exactly what to do as his hand maneuvered it around. He still remembered the exact moment Drace handed the thing over to him, and as a reward Xanthus had given him his pitchfork. He also gave him a kiss, but the temptation had grown too strong, and he had only gotten selfish. He pulled himself away before things got too bad, which seemed almost impossible to do at that moment. Even with the tiny bit of blood he received from the boy's delicate lip, he seemed to obtain a new drive, but it also reminded him just how hungry he was. It had been ages since he fed, and he had been careful not to hurt Drace. But that meant he didn't get enough of the elixir he needed to keep going.

The little girl Xanthus liked, the one he talked to back in the Capitol didn't seem quite right in the head. She shouted things that made no sense, and even managed to get in a quick attack on Drace before he could step between the two of them. The poor girl had lost her sanity, and was no longer the sweet soul that he remembered. These games did that to those that weren't ready. They got inside of people, and destroyed them from the inside until death claimed them.

Plenty of times Xanthus had watched as tributes slipped into madness. They were unstable, unsafe. They were even a danger to themselves at times. He remembered one girl from a few games back, the one from his district, killed herself without even realizing it. Everyone thought she would be the one that won, and she ended up taking her own life. A pity, really, but it happened more often than it should have. He was already far too used to it. Sierra was just like them, and it was only a matter of time before she was so far gone that she did the same thing the others did.

He was stronger than them. He knew what it was like to live in hell, the only difference was that here, he was rewarded for killing. The people he killed back in one, they wouldn't be missed like the ones in the arena, though. And people didn't know about the ones back home. The entire country was watching him here. Not that it mattered, anyone in his situation would kill. Humans were selfish creatures, and the want to survive was so powerful in each of them that they could all kill, and never even think twice about it. Even little Sierra.

He didn't want to hurt her, but realization that letting her live now only meant killing her later and the fact that she was no longer sane were enough for him to swing the heavy blade her way, rather than toward the other girl. She hurt Drace, and even if she hadn't meant it, she deserved to be punished. Her fragile mind was already so far gone that return didn't seem possible, it was Xanthus's job to let her body go as well.

[xanthus attacks sierra with flamberge]
[dice=200+1000]
[1061 -- Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage] + 1 blades

[/blockquote][/justify][/size][/td][/tr][/table][/center][rand=3027027270291000611315819527953863145038090180605659037580692674965]

[Python]

Another scream pierced the veil of focus she had hoped to retain as the sharp edges of her weapon sailed passed the head of Sierra Birdrook. She landed with a graceful thump in the grass with her weapon balanced in both hands, eyes locked in a predatory glare at the little girl in motion. Her lips were moving and words were spilling out, perhaps in the form of a plea or a shout but her voice did not reach Locust’s ear above the shrill screams of Luciana and the fading cries of their most recently fallen victim. Akasha’s blackened corpse was crisp to the bone and reeking of the terrible odor of burning flesh - something she never thought she would be forced to experience in such a foggy arena. The echo of a cannon’s explosion told her that the girl’s immense suffering had come to a bittersweet conclusion, but she could not say the same about Luciana Trevers. The skin on her bicep was separated by scarlet seams and pouring blood into the grass where it would only absorb into the hungry soil or dry into a flaky crust to warn others that this tree was not a place of hiding, but a place of death. To make matters worse for her, Xanthus sliced clean through an entire leg, leaving her unable to escape without any amount of assistance. The odds were definitely in Locust’s favor now.

With the brawl having reduced the numbers to four against two, Locust willed herself to tame her rapidly beating heart. The thrill of the battle was distracting, and if she had any hopes of leaving a mark she would have to gather her wits and channel everything into a thin line of concentration. A sneak attack from the skies meant nothing if the tributes were scrambling like panicked rabbits, especially when her target happened to be the nimble girl from twelve. They had spared her once, hours after the Bloodbath when she had fainted by their makeshift campsite. After Opal found her body Luciana had come stumbling into their territory, and Locust’s first instinct had been to attack. Her allies’ fondness for the smaller girl had stopped her. Once, she had thought, only once will I spare their lives. Her hands had itched for the handle of her Halberd because she did not trust her allies’ judgment in releasing the two of them with no consequences. Now the girls were once again intruding, but this time there would be no hesitation. She could not afford to be merciful.

As Xanthus turned on Sierra and grazed the back of her head Locust surveyed the chaos. Luciana was babbling about being killed while blood sprayed from the nub on her hip, a burning corpse was layering the area with unpleasant odors and Opal was on her knees screaming apologizes for her actions - actions that Locust did not consider unforgivable. This was the Hunger Games; there would be death everywhere, and not all deaths would be quick and painless. There would be those who suffered days before they starved or succumbed to dehydration. There would be those who died from poisoning or from ferocious mutt attacks. There would be those who lost their heads, their limbs, and all of their blood. There would be those who would experience excruciating agony before death silenced their screams. The torture was inevitable - there would be tributes who witnessed it, caused it and suffered under its touch. There was no pointing trying to avoid it, nor was there any reason to mourn over the inevitable. If Opal was a sensitive soul, then so be it. Locust would not blame her for what nature caused, but it was affecting her ability to fight. It was evident in the way her sword missed its target and the way her powerful flames faded into nonexistence.

With no intention to let their opponents escape with their lives she grimaced and lunged at Sierra Birdrook, knowing that she had been spared once before. She did not want it happening again.

[attacks Sierra - Halberd]
[dice=200+13000]
Block -- 0.0 damage :)

[rand=828935167752206329736386798322235186740383505828139447388239205]

[Stare]

[th][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i39.tinypic.com/fa5sfl.png); border-right:10px solid 7F7981; border-left:10px solid 7F7981; border-top:0px solid 7F7981; border-bottom:0px solid 7F7981;] the nightmare lies in the mourning when the birds are bleeding and you hope the day will come but you’re never gonna live this down I ‘ M . S O .tired. The axe in my hand is heavy with the weight of the bloody steel and lives that it has taken, and suddenly I realize how leaden my lack of sleep is on my shoulders. My muscles protest every moment, lungs fighting against every breath, heart stuttering in an attempt to fuel a body part I no longer have. It’s funny, because it doesn’t really hurt as much as I thought it was. I’m bleeding out and Aka is dead and I should be dead, too, but I’m not, and that’s what really strikes me as painful. And... and isn’t one death enough? Aka’s light will never shine again. Why aren’t they upset by that fact? Don’t they realize what they’ve done? Or are they just numb, like so many tributes before them? I wish I was numb, but I’m not. She was on fire and that scared me, and then she was gone and that made me cry, and then they started attacking me and that made me angry. But them? They don’t seem to feel at all. “I... you’re scaring me,” I tell them. Then I realize they might think it’s because they attacked me and took my leg and oh, that’s right, I’m dying, so I continue to clarify. “My sister just died. That’s sad. But you aren’t.” A pause as I ponder this for a moment, trying to make my feelings into real words. Human words. (I’m not very good at being human.) “You’re already dead. You don’t realize it, but you are. You’re dead the moment you stop feeling. That’s why no one makes it out of the Arena alive. No one.” Another pause, as I hop a few steps back and then wobble precariously. “I’m not sure if you’ll be able to live again, but you should try. It hurts to be alive - “ (Ripred, does it hurt) “ - but it’s always worth it. You're dead where you stand right now, but you don't have to be.” Says the girl who comes into the Arena to die. I bite my tongue, though. That’s different. They have lives to live. I can tell. I don’t. I’m a necessary sacrifice but that’s okay, because I’ll finally be able to fly. So then... why do I fight them? Why am I fighting them right now? Four reasons. I glance at what's left of Aka's body. Three, now. But no, I killed Mama and the birds yesterday. Sierra. One reason left. One. Is one reason enough to fight for? I stare at my opponents for a moment before shrugging weakly. "I'm sorry. You were the ones who attacked us and you took my leg and killed my sister, but I'm sorry. I'm fighting for a dying cause, and you got hurt because of it." I'm dizzy, confused, and not making any sense anymore. (I should go. I've lost too much blood - I need to leave before they make it any worse.) FILLER because I know I need to post and life is crazy atm, I’m so horrible sorry </3 Luci just rambles in her head as usual and then turns to Sierra and whispers “We should go now. We... we should go.” [Luciana performs first aid on herself and collects a bundle of edible plants somehow before fleeing with Sierra’s help] wish it away with the blame you could just stop breathing now you didn’t want it enough and you tap and you cut
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[florentine, d4b ❁]

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the girl who broke[/b][/size][/color][/font][/center]

I want to go home. Please. This was a mistake, a misunderstanding, an adventure I never should have begun. And to what end? I'll pay the price for my lies - saying, "I want to go, I must, this is how it should be." I was wrong, and Mama was right, and now even with my hands wrapped tight around my tiny, fragile body and my eyes pressed into my knees where I can see only darkness, I am quite sure I will never feel safe again. (Let me go home, I'm scared.)

I watch with wide eyes and trembling lips as Opal and Drace swing their weapons toward the injured Luciana. Surely this is just an illusion? I can't truly believe that. My mind has cleared a little, and the smell of ashen flesh is all too real. (This is not how it was supposed to go. Not at all.) I collect myself, peering from behind shaking hands and bloodied fingers. The look of cold-blooded ferocity in their eyes shocks me - how can a human lunge toward enough, entent on hurting them? Why would anybody want to cause Luciana pain? She doesn't deserve it.

"No! Stop, please, she's - she's my friend," I do my best to explain, but my stammered words cannot express the heavy weight lodged upon my chest. Perhaps their swinging spears were a slight of the hand, a mistake, an accident. (Surely good people could not grow into monsters so quickly?) "It's alright! I understand - everybody makes mistakes, you don't need to feel bad! We can- we... we can stitch her up, get some bandages - she..." I trail off, confused by my own words.

Still, I am willing to forgive them for their sins when Xanthus lunges toward me. He is very nearly twice my height, a towering, terrible shadow looming right above me. Time slows, and for a long second there is nothing I can do but wait. His blade strikes the back of my head, deliberate and precise. There is no kidding myself he didn't mean to hurt me. As blood begins to flow, I notice another glint of a weapon as their final ally attempts to bring me down.

"Wh-what are you doing?" I cry out, disbelief dripping from every word. I recall the night in the training center that I found Xanthus sobbing in the hallway, his whole world crashing down around him. (He doesn't look so distraught now.) I fought the urge to walk away - despite his size and intimidating title, he was human, too. He, like everyone else, just needed a hug. And so I held him until he was better, and we spoke. Doesn't that mean anything? "I- I trusted you!" I am speaking to Xanthus, yes, but to Opal and Drace, too. Three friends I used to know. A trio of monsters I cannot look in the eye.

"I suppose it serves me right," tears stream down my cheeks now, a torrent of reality. (Why did I expect so much from the humans that surround me?) "Always trusting people." My words are not bitter - simply plain, broken facts that I cannot truly bring together in my mind. It isn't their fault for wanting to live. I look through watery eyes at our attacks and take a step back, wary. There is nothing to stop them killing me, right in this moment. I am fragile and exposed and damaged - Luciana has no hope of protecting me.

"It - it just... it hurts, you know?" I bite down on my lip to stop it shaking so - but no amount of twisting my hands in front of me can calm my racing heart. There is something lodged in my throat - something left behind from believing in the people standing in front of me. It aches far more than it should - we made no promises to each other, after all. I expect people to be nice, even though my whole life has been spent watching humanity to be so much less than that.

Finally, I manage to gather the courage to look the other children in the eye. (That's all they are. Children.) "I'm sick of being the only sane one. Even now - I'm seeing stars and I'm the only person here who can honestly say they aren't broken." I lift a finger to my head, pressing it against my temple. They're crazy. All of them. Fighting each other, racing to the grace. For what? "W-when you die - and you will, I promise you that. Do you want to be the one who killed Akasha Labinnac?" I glance at Opal, my eyes sad.

Next, I turn to Drace. "Do you want to be the boy who slaughtered my best friend?" Finally, my eyes rest upon Xanthus, and I shake my head. "If you want to break me, once and for all, that's fine. It's why I came here. But make sure that's the person you want to be when you're lying in your grave with no company but the thoughts inside your head."

I turn to Luciana, help her up and support her as we move away as quickly as possible, away from the monsters who like to call themself human.

Actions
[Sierra flees, dragging Luciana behind her.]
[On her way, Sierra collects 1 x firewood]
[She also accepts Opal's pocket watch]
[Sierra accepts a full water jug from Luci]

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[Python]

It wasn’t fair.

Locust didn’t want to resort to such childish thoughts, but her mind was currently scrambled with irrationality from her frustration in heat of the battle. She had been trained with knives, daggers, smaller weapons that were simple to handle, difficult to evade and lethal when used properly and cleverly. But the weapon she had claimed in the Bloodbath was not suited to her methods or her combat skills. It was longer and heavier than any weapon she had ever wielded before - in fact, it was something her sister would choose, a weapon of brute strength and power. It displeased her to possess such a thing because she could not mimic her typical maneuvers. It was awkward to carry and to brandish, especially when avoiding sailing weapons and bleeding, scurrying bodies. It was not impossible, either, but it was proving to be more of a hassle than anything. There was no other explanation for her attack being deflected by a tiny girl with brittle bones, and the only thought that crossed her mind was that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that she was embarrassing herself when she was supposed to be proving herself worthy. It wasn’t fair that she could be belittled for her lack of accuracy, when in truth she could slit someone’s throat in matter of seconds given the right weapon. It wasn’t fair that she could be so helpless. They always told me I couldn’t win the Games with my strategies. I’m supposed to be proving them wrong! She was thinking like a temperamental child, and now her anger was seeping through. Snap out of it.

With a snarl she veered away from her target and brought her arms back in preparation for another strike - then stopped suddenly when Sierra’s tear-streaked cheeks turned to face her alliance and her lips moved frantically in retaliation to their violent ambush. She spoke of sanity, of death, of murder, of best friends, of pain, of breaking. It was fascinating to say the least, listening to a girl ramble about such morbid subjects when the truth was staring her in the eye. This Game started with death, pain and destruction and it would end with death, pain and destruction. What occurred in-between would be death, pain and destruction, and this was the law of the Games. She could ask them a thousand times if they wanted to be the ones to kill fellow human beings for the sake of their survival and the capitol’s entertainment, but the answer would always be no. At the same time, however, there would be no stopping them from doing so. Despite any formed friendships the Games would always end with betrayals. There was no room for sentimentality. There was no reason to trust. Sierra was able to admit her mistakes, but would she aim to reverse her natural tendency to trust? Or would she be betrayed again? There were only so many times a person could be betrayed before their sanity cracked. If that was Sierra's goal, then that would be her fate.

Locust’s blood boiled at her allies’ decision to resist pursuing the damaged duo. There were four of them and only two enemies, one of which was missing a leg and leaving a vivid trail of blood in her wake. What was stopping them? Was it guilt, exhaustion, shock? It was a mixture, she presumed, one that she might just understand. While there was no time for guilt there was a shock factor connected to the harsh image laid out before them; there was the charred corpse of a girl whose screams had made the tree branches quiver, a severed leg with jagged bone clearly visible past blood and sliced tissue, and the body of the piece’s owner fleeing the premises. It was a shock, even for Locust. Human suffering was not an unfamiliar concept, but watching it on television was different than experiencing the chaos up close and personal with all five senses contributing. At home, everything was glorified on her television screen. The gore, the competition, everything was treated as if it were part of a sport, and everything was encouraged. But this was far different from what most imaginations could conjure. Here, there were no commentators. There was no edited footage. There was no censoring. Everything she witnessed was real, raw, and scarring to a mind so obviously tricked by the capitol. She would appear unfazed to this ordeal to protect herself from scrutiny and weakness, but she knew the memories would follow her into her dreams. For how long, she did not know.

Turning to her allies, she tucked her Halberd away and tried to conceal her anger with a mask of apathy. Shocking or not, the situation called for more deaths; the sound of another cannon was evidence of this, yet not single one of them had chosen to pursue Luciana. She wouldn't last long without her leg, especially with such a small girl carrying her around. They could've put her out of her misery, and Locust wouldn't feel a shred of guilt about it. It was worse to leave somebody alive and maimed than to kill them while they fled. Leaving her to writhe and cry was unnecessary brutality, but it was far too late to prevent it now. She expected to see Luciana's face in the sky very soon, perhaps even in a day or two. She would blame everybody but herself for the girl's inevitable suffering. "If you need me, I'll be up there," she said, pointing to the branches danging above their heads. And with that, she moved to climb the banyan tree and return to her hiding place among the leaves, searching for any kind of distraction.

[Locust flees]
[uses first aid on Drace for -3]
[receives 1 bundle of plants from Opal]
[boils her water with a fire made by Drace]
[collects 2 bundles of firewood. Sharpens one, keeps the other]

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

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[bg=090004][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,400,true] I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones enough to make my systems blow welcome to the new age, to the new age welcome to the new age, to the new age whoa, whoa, I'm radioactive, radioactive filler because yeah. [Drace makes a fire] [Drace purifies Opal and Locust's water] [Drace receives edible plants from Opal] [Drace receives his empty water jug] [Drace receives first aid from Locust] [Drace uses first aid on himself] [Drace uses five feet of bandages]

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[gamemaker kelsier]

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"I want to lose familiarity and feeling.
Become cold and numb and wise." ;[/b][/size][/color][/font][/center]

filler <3

[Xanthus uses first aid on himself]
[Xanthus receives first aid from Opal]
[Xanthus flees]

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