collide like tectonic plates // FH vs 2 Appa [Day 3]

[rook]

willis keeni

for everyday robots getting old
when our lips are cold
lookin’ like standing stones
out there on our own

Shit.

I feel like I've fallen five-hundred feet and crashed into the ground at terminal velocity. My body throbs. Each heartbeat is magnified inside my head, and pumps hot blood through my broken system. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my temples and through the gaps in my hairline. I have to admit, I did not expect to get a full night's sleep, but then again I also didn't expect to get drunk last night. Consequence to every blessing, I guess. Catch 22.

The alliance is mentally broken. We are tired and (let's face it) afraid. As I exit the tent I shared with Eye, I look around our makeshift camp, and notice how much clearer my vision is. Obviously the alcohol is leaving my system, but that won't happen without me getting a hell of a hangover first. The headaches will start soon, and then the shaking will come back. I look at Eye, and then peer into the other tent, to check on my sleeping comrades. I smile, they look so peaceful and human. I grab my sword and slash at the air a few times, happy with the steadiness of my hand. That won't last once I sober up.

I don't remember much of last night, it usually works out that way. My memories blur as much as my vision did, and it all sort of mushes into one crazy haze of activity. We're alive and safe though, that has to count for something, even if no one kept watch last night. Maybe I said I would, and dosed off. Sounds like something I would do. Eye looks troubled in his sleep, which is not nice to see. I wonder if he is having dreams of Ewe, or nightmares about the arena. Maybe that's just his vacant expression. I don't think I've ever seen him in between frowning and smiling, he's usually one or the other. Laila and Claire are harder to read - They just look normal when they sleep. I get a strange urge to run away, whilst I'm the only one awake. I'm no good for these kids. I've been a liability from the start, and I only made a fool of myself by getting drunk in a Hunger Games arena, for Ripred's sake. I'm an embarrassment. I laugh, biting my lower lip and letting my tears pool in my eyes. That's the thing, though. I'm too much of a coward to leave them. I'm so scared, I can't even move. I have never felt more vulnerable.

The headache comes on quickly, and so I have to sit down so that I don't wobble and fall over. Dawn rises over the plains of the 66th arena, painting us bright yellow. The sun is searingly bright, and my sensitive eyes have to look away. This is a headache I can never get used to, that's for damn sure. I sit for about twenty minutes, keeping guard and waiting for the others to wake up. When they eventually do, we pack up the two tents, and what other supplies we have and head north, towards the massive volcano that dwarfs the Arena. Seems as good a destination as any. Perhaps there we will get a good vantage point.

Our trek is like a death march. We are tired from broken sleep, or in my case a hangover. The last thing we want to do is run into another pack of Tributes, and risk our lives in a mad scrap, where anything could happen. It's safe to assume that none of us are optimistic about this, but no one has a better idea, so we're going with it. In our last days, when it comes down it, there's nothing else we can do but wander around, trying to postpone our inevitable deaths. Who knows? Maybe one of us will make it out alive, but will that actually be a good thing? They'd be aiming bitter salutes at the azure flags of the almighty Capitol for the rest of their lives. I don't expect to survive this, but if somehow I did, it wouldn't do any favors for my condition.

Ripred, I'm not even through this hangover and I want to drink already.

We reach the volcano. I was hot before, sweating out the alcohol in my body, but now the heat is unbearable. I try to find pockets of cool air, but there simply are none. This section is designed to make us uncomfortable, for sure. There's no wind here either, not like where we slept. There was air there, at least. Air. I look at the fire and brimstone around me, and then over my shoulder to the glimmering horizon, at the ocean. It's a theme. Sometimes, when the Capitol wants to be artistic, they'll make a themed Arena. I run to a high edge of rock and hop up, getting a good view of the whole Arena. Now that we're at a higher altitude, I can see most of it. To the east is a dry wasteland, full of crags - like a shallow canyon. Four areas, four elements. That's the theme.

I run back to the group, having fallen behind. Shit. The sound of shouts, and metal clashing with stone rings through the dense, hot air, and that can only mean one thing. A fight. I've let them down again. Too busy sight-seeing to remember that we're here to kill. I quickly grab the grubby jar of tar from my rucksack and pour it over my sword. I hope to hell this works. I grab the stick of flint I was sponsored and strike it against the brimstone, sparking my sword into life. I guess we're in the fire section, so I guess it's appropriate to burn things. Guess I am like my cousins. I start to cry, and I'm not sure if they are sad tears or happy ones. I look up to the sky.

"Hope I do you proud, Pyrian..." I laugh, before rubbing my eyes and charging towards my fate.


[Willis covers his Katana in Tar, and then uses his Flint to set it on fire]
[Willis attacks Appa #1, Pyrian (Flaming Katana)]
iMpkfSSisword
[Stabbed in Foot -- 8.0 damage]

range 1-50
[Minor Burn -- 2.0 damage]

everyday robots just touch thumbs
swimmin’ in lingo they become
stricken in a status sea
one more vacancy

sword�range 1-50

[Python]

And after midnight we're all the same
No glass shoe to bring us fame

_______________________________________________________

L A I L A S Y C A M O R E
DISTRICT5 | THIRTEEN

_______________________________________________________

The winds were a constant roar that whipped the boundaries of her tent, its voice as incessant as the throbbing in her leg. It was fucking irritating. She shifted and twisted in search of the most comfortable sleeping position, hoping that her weight and Claire’s combined would keep the tent anchored to the ground as the gusts tried to sweep it away and cast them aside. It had been a disappointing day to say the least, and she couldn’t catch a blink of sleep due to the howling weather. The anthem had confirmed only two tribute’s deaths – some weirdo kids she didn’t give a rat’s ass about. She hadn’t voiced her concerns aloud earlier, but she had wondered if she should feel guilty for silently wishing that there could’ve been more lives wasted than just two. Why wasn’t anyone else killing each other? She didn’t want to have to do it. It would be easier if they all wiped each other out until only her alliance was left. Wouldn’t that be nice?

Laila scoffed into her arm. What kind of childish wish was that? As if they could simply frolic about the arena without encountering a single tribute. It was only the second night, and there were plenty of souls still wandering. They would be snug in their tents as well, or perhaps exposed to the harsh environment instead. She hoped that it would kill them, as long as the winds here didn’t try to snatch her up with them. I’m tired, a voice in her head reminded her of the heavy weight of her eyelids, but her wound had a voice of its own. It burned when exposed to any amount of friction and tested her patience with every breath she took, destroying her hopes for a blissful slumber. She knew Eye and Willis were in their designated “boys only” tent, and one of them would be awake to guard their beds in the windstorm. She wished she could crawl into the tent and curl up next to them. It would be safer in there. Eye was a career she could trust, and somebody she dared call a friend. Willis had helped mend her injury, so that had earned him brownie points today. She was grateful for the care, even if he was a drunken bastard.

Instead of complying with her own wishes she buried her face into her bony arms and closed her eyes, waiting for her thoughts to disperse. A forced slumber was never a peaceful one – tonight it felt as if she were awake more than asleep, in a dreamless existence with only the howls of the wind to function as a lullaby. It also happened to be an alarm clock as well, for when dawn arrived it wasn’t even her allies’ voices that made her stir. When she groggily stepped out of the tent she was greeted by one of the malformed trees, spine snapped and branches stretched as far as the wind could drag them. She didn’t care what Eye or Willis said – there was no way she was staying here any longer. She was tired of the wind whipping her cheeks like she was some child to be chastised.

Fortunately nobody was eager to remain trapped and abused by the windstorms, so after packing their belongings they set off on a new adventure. Within minutes she realized they were heading in the wrong direction; the mountain was facing their noses, a black tower that cast a vast shadow across the surrounding lands. This area was physically darker than the rest of the arena, and she knew it wasn’t just her imagination. Everything about it spelled trouble, but nobody spoke a word of complaint. Should she keep her lips sealed, then? Would voicing her concerns just be the acts of a whining, paranoid child? I won’t be the weak one. She frowned and swallowed any protests. She needed to be brave, yet she couldn’t ignore the anxiety stirring in her stomach. They were willingly walking into a bad place. A trap, most likely. She wondered if the Gamemakers were smiling at their foolishness or their courage. Is it even considered courageous to do something this stupid?

There were shadows everywhere. The bitter smell of something strange burned her nostrils, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. Puffs of smoke permeated above the mouth of the mountain, hovering like black fog and coating the sky in darkness as if the mountain’s purpose was to shade them from the sun and smother all hope of light. Laila wrapped her arms around herself, katana unsheathed and painted with dry, cracking blood, as if she could possibly appear threatening with her eyes frantic and her breaths heavy. She wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light (or the dark, she should say), but she could’ve sworn that her panicked gaze had spotted a shadow moving in mid-air. When her eyes took to the polluted skies, she spotted a speck. No, two specks. Wait just a damn second –

”Guys!” she shrieked in a haste, both hands fumbling to grasp the hilt of her sword. Those were not specks, those were two giant mutts soaring straight at them. Their silhouettes expanded and expanded (and she quickly tossed down her backpack to sift through its contents and withdraw the jar of tar and the flint that Eye had described how to use in a situation of desperation) and she felt her heart shrivel. Fuck, she didn’t want to do this. Fuck, they were huge. Ripred, help me. Her silver was slick with tar, now, a black to match the skies. She used the flint the way her friends had taught her to and struck a flame. Smoke hissed from the orange that danced across her blade, but for once she did not feel nauseous. She felt power.

Maybe she could feel courageous after all. Or maybe I’m just stupid. Either way, when the unmistakable giants swooped down from the shadows, she didn’t hesitate to unleash her war cry and lash out with her flames as hard as she possibly could.

_____________________________________________________
template by chelsey

[Laila uses flint and jar of tar]
[attacks Appa #1 – flaming katana]
zNIg17fwsword
Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage

1-50
extinguished

sword�1-50

[gamemaker kelsier]

“I’m warning you just in case (listen carefully)
It’s dangerous now (so dangerous)
Stop provoking me (there’s going to be trouble)
I don’t even know myself”

I'm glad I'm such a badass because if I wasn't, I might be freaking out right now. Everyone keeps dying and I think I might be helping this along a bit with my katana. How many will I kill before I am through, before I am buried by someone else? Not enough I think because if they knew what I was, who had done this to me, they would understand. I think what happened is that someone took my heart and made it into fire. I am no diamond in the rough, I am a piece of coal that has been translated by a tongue that has misinterpreted me. I am more of an idea that a stability, I can't help thinking that I deserve to be this, the shell of a boy who used to love so many things, all I can do is hate.

I'd never really thought about what someone's limb flying off might look like before now. I mean, I could see it on the television of course when it has happened hundreds of times in the games. It's one thing to see it on the television and another to get hit by the spray of blood that accompanies it. I should be freaking out, probably. Luckily, I do have career training, I've been taught how to deal with this. So in fact, I'm not even bothered.

Does that make me a terrible human being?

It doesn't, because I already am one, so I cannot be made into one. I guess it just validates it.

Hollow as a wraith, we are.

I slice and dice.

[Eye attacks Appa #2]
6dkwvdo5sword
1083 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage
(Sword)
sword

[loren]

[ c l a i r e p a r t r i d g e ]

. les quatre cavaliers .
. elle est la mort .

"We can't escape, there's no way.
They'll call our names through the speakers.
When they find you they'll retrieve you,
take you where sphered domes will freeze you"

I blinding try and cut something. 

It's weird that a few measly hours before  I was ready to stab Laila and Willis to my death when I thought they ate Eye. And here I am, trying to end a life.

I really can't. I really, really, really can't. I gave fucking life to pulseless porcelain, I can't stop a vein of a child or a beast or anything that might've had a dream. I don't have the strength to, or the will to. I was hoping that being in the games would ignite something in me. That the lighter fluid within me would catch a spark and light up something volatile inside I just needed a call to arms to discover. To awaken.

But the truth is, you go into the arena who you always were. Just this time, you don't have anywhere to run. You have to confront yourself and choose to fly or die.

I'm a coward.

And this is why I'll die.

" These beautiful moments we shared together
All end now
They'll make me drink this potion
I'll sleep forever, until I wake under the
t h e  g l a c i a l  g r o u n d  "
x

[ t e m p l a t e b y z o ë ]

[Claire attacks Appa #2]
OeXcX5lWglaive
13084 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage
(Pole Sword)
glaive

[Deleted]

PETE.

As the two Appa floated gracefully (or at least as gracefully as two giant bison-falcon hybrids could float) above the Arena, all seemed well. Pete and Patrick had been grazing all day, exhausting most of the grass in their immediate area before they decided to take a flight and a nap before the evening, when the loud roars came from the sky and the human faces masked the stars. However, such peace was not to be when a horde of humans intercepted their landing space. Snorting a warning, Pete swiped at the nearest two, a clear signal for them to go nest somewhere else.

[Attacks EYE with RUSH (BLUNT)]
8HC4bdgQblunt
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

[Attacks LAILA with CLAWS (KNIFE)]
knife
[Deep Gash on Stomach -- 9.0 damage]

PATRICK.

Patrick and Pete were the two best friends that Appas could have, ever since the two of them could remember. They had been calves together, grown up grazing the same pastures and flying the same paths. So when the humans began swiping at his friend with their odd claws, Patrick, a usually peaceful Appa, was having none of it. Anyone who messed with his buddy was going down. Down. In an earlier round.

[Attacks CLAIRE with RUSH (BLUNT)]
blunt
[Broken Right Arm -- 6.5 damage]

[Attacks WILLIS with CLAWS (KNIFE)]
knife
[Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage]

blunt�knife�blunt�knife

[rook]

willis keeni

for everyday robots getting old
when our lips are cold
lookin’ like standing stones
out there on our own

Caught in a mindset, like a helpless insect seized in the web of a harrowing spider. The silk strings are wrapped so tightly around my wrists that my circulation is cut off, and my hands are numb - Yet still they shake. I can feel the cobweb wires tugging, making me perform to the thousands upon thousands of viewers watching across Panem. I am a puppet, forced to do things I don't want for the sick purposes of oppression. I feel like a slab of meat on a bone, so tender that I might fall away at the slightest of provocations. So weak. I envy people like Eye, I envy their strength and resolve. I'm so feeble that it makes me doubt myself. I'm certain that the Capitol's grip on me, and my reluctance to break free of that will ultimately lead to my downfall.

I was a free man last night, but only for the briefest of moments. But wasn't it the sweetest feeling? Bliss, yes. I could be myself, released from these chains by liquors potency. I have the bottle on me now, all I need to do is drink some, and then I can live again.

What good will that do, Willis? I'll be drunk in a moment where my friends are depending on me. Yeah, I have better aim when I am drunk, but I also can't think straight. I need to decide whether clear-thinking or reckless aggression would be best for us in this fight. I'm damned if I do, because if they die whilst I am drunk, it will be my fault for not being able to make the right decisions. I'm damned if I don't, because I'm helpless when it comes to fighting. I'm a coward. I'm a coward who cannot win, no matter what he does. It's so pathetic that I want to cry.

One of the giant flying creatures swoops down, trying to lacerate the skin from my bones. I raise an arm to block the creature, and it cuts me. I fall over with momentum, scrambling over the hot brimstone to get to a safer distance. I turn on my heels, gripping the handle of my sword with both hands. The blade is on fire, pulsating into life like a crazed pyromaniac. I name the blade Pyrian, for that reason. Py always used to watch over me, back when he was a tad more sane, so it makes sense that he'll be doing that here, in the form of my sword. Nothing makes sense, but roll with it. I find myself angry that I didn't use the oriental blade to block the Muttation's strike, but then I suppose there was the risk of losing my weapon. If you're unarmed in this Arena, you're as good as dead.

I watch from afar as the strange six-legged creatures swoop down, striking my allies with an unexplainable wrath. Muttations are always aggressive, there's no trying to calm them. Still, even for Mutts these things are vicious. Maybe it has something to do with the amount of deaths so far - There haven't been too many. The viewers are getting bored. Fuck the fucking viewers. I watch helplessly as Laila is struck in the stomach. She swears, keeling over in her pain. Claire tries to avoid the attack of the other creature, but her trailing arm is caught by the creature, and it bends back awkwardly, and I hear a snap.

It's enough for me to keel over and vomit up last night's whiskey.

Vulnerable. Why aren't I dead yet? I'm so weak that you'd think someone would have picked me off by now. I've thrown up twice in the Arena, and I've been drunk. I'm a walking travesty. My cannon should have gone off, and I would be just another face in the night's sky, but somehow I am alive. Somehow I'm not dead yet.

I throw up a little more, still clutching at my blade, Pyrian, like it's the only thing real enough to cling on to. I hear the screams and shouts of Eye, Laila and Claire, and here I am on the edge of the battlefield, throwing up and wallowing in self-pity. I'm a disgrace. I don't deserve to still be alive. Something brews inside me then. I can feel it in my quivering bones - A loathing. I hate myself, and I hate what I'm doing to the others. I hate that I'm letting them all down and sending to them to their deaths because I'm not acting. I've got to do something, to prove to them that I'm not just an eternally inebriated liability. So, I'll save their lives. That's what I'll do.

I wipe the bile from my mouth with the back of my sleeve, glaring over my forearm with such malice that I could burn this volcano to the ground. I twirl my brilliant orange blade, sending magnificent tongues of fire over my shoulder. One step, two step, and I lunge forwards, driving Pyrian's burning steel into the flesh of the Muttation, screaming all the while.

I didn't chose the level-headed decision making that comes with sobriety, neither did I choose the rash aggression that comes with being drunk. Instead I chose a third option, one that I overlooked. Anger, and all its friends.


[Willis attacks Appa #1, Pyrian (Flaming Katana)]
uewjlZYTsword
[Deep Gash on Right Calf -- 8.0 damage]

range 1-50
[Extinguished]

everyday robots just touch thumbs
swimmin’ in lingo they become
stricken in a status sea
one more vacancy

sword�range 1-50

[Python]

Nobody to take the blame
We're falling apart

_______________________________________________________

L A I L A S Y C A M O R E
DISTRICT5 | THIRTEEN

_______________________________________________________

Laila clashed with the beast sword to talons, its descent providing her excellent aim to a vulnerable chest. As the blade bit deep into flesh and muscle she was jerked backwards, warm blood spraying her hair and oozing down the lengths of her wrists. Her hands would leave crimson fingerprints against the hilt of her blade, and the dripping life force would seep into the fertile soil beneath her feet. For a split second she was caught in the illusion of victory that she had penetrated the beast’s heart and ended its life in the blink of an eye. A child’s stupid fantasy. The triumph was instantly shattered when the beast’s groaning vibrated through her bones. In a matter of seconds the sword had been both thrust forward into flesh and yanked back, but there was no time for her to escape. Its talons were upon her a moment later, and then her body was flat against the ground.

The welt in her leg was long forgotten as a new, unimaginable stream of agony struck her like a tidal wave of flames. The delicate skin of her abdomen was violently lacerated and leaking copious amounts of fluid, the human blood mingling with that of the beasts in her hands. Now her hands were sticky with the blood of not one, but two beings that would writhe in agony. Nothing could’ve prepared her for this. Her vows never to cry were lost to her, and her shame a distant memory. Everything had vanished to make room for the pain. A steady flow of tears stained her cheeks and mixed with the droplets of blood, dripping past her lips and into a mouth that could not register the flavor of salt and iron above the screams. Her sword was forgotten near her crumpled form, smoking rising from the charred remains of failed tar. The flame must’ve been extinguished instantly, perhaps vanquished by the blood. She had never seen so much blood in person before – why did it even surprise her?

She was a pathetic heap, curled up and whimpering and soaked with both blood and tears. Somehow she could detect the sickening crunch of bone in the distance, and when she lifted her head she managed to spot Claire and her awkwardly-bent arm. It reminded her of one of the mangled trees, manipulated by the windstorms in the green pastures they had slept in. The bone had definitely snapped, damn it all. The only one who seemed to be faring well was Eye, and it wasn’t saying much considering his femur was still broken. Why are we all broken? Willis was heaving his guts out in her peripheral vision. They were all a fucking wreck – but they’re still fighting. She could see Willis rising with his sword still at the ready, still willing to slay the beasts. She should be on her feet too, but it hurts, it fucking hurts and I can’t stop crying. She cradled her stomach as one of the mutts reared its ugly head in her direction. Tears blurred her vision and she tried desperately to blink them away, to see through salt and pain so she could just find out what the fuck was going on. That’s when she saw its black eyes staring at her like she was prey. Oh, fuck no.

She willed the rage to take control, to make her its puppet. Let it fill every nook and cranny of her system and let it spill like her blood. Let it fucking overflow. Consume. She clenched her teeth and growled in frustration, arm reaching awkwardly for her sword. With it she struck the soft soil and leaned into it like a crutch, propping herself onto one knee. The forced movements summoned new waves of pain, and she had to stop. Hurry up, damn it. She used the sword to push herself to her feet and cried out again. Then she saw the creature charge at her – the fucking audacity. ”Y-You..” she stained the hilt with ugly fingerprints, and broke off into a clumsy sprint. She couldn’t ignore the pain, but right now the rage was much much stronger, and that’s all she ever needed to throw a tantrum. She had promised the Gamemakers a tantrum, hadn’t she? Let them have one.

”YOU MOTHERFUCKER.”

In a single screech she spat blood, tears, saliva, vulgarity and fire, hoping that she could be as powerful as the volcano looming behind her.

_____________________________________________________
template by chelsey

[attacks Appa #1 –katana]
qZGNbzSZsword
Block -- 0.0 damage

[accuracy reroll]
sword
Miss -- 0.0

sword�sword

[gamemaker kelsier]

“Then I'll take this love
down with me”

Bitch ass beasts trying to pull something.

Finally Ripred laid off pissing on me for four damn seconds --maybe he was still laughing his ass off at the fish incident who knows-- and gave me a hair's length breathing room between me and what looked like another broken bone in the tragic saga that is my life. But don't worry, you there sitting at home on your goddamn lazyboy recliner in your luxury electric blanket with sleeves, everything's still shit. Willis took a lick to the arm in a watercolored red and was now illustrating his own portrait of human frailty across the arena floor with his vomit. And of course I laughed a little, silver linings, guys, silver linings. 

But there is no silver lining when your skies turn to scars, hot white with lightning and blood crimson with the mark of the world's end. Suddenly the air runs thinner than your breath and your skin begins to scorch whilst your blood runs arctic leagues below zero. And maybe I'm lingering before the gates of hell or the end or whatever, but not the Devil himself could drag me down in with the most tortured of talons. I'm going to greet that bastard Death on my own terms, on my own time. And today, I'm just not feeling it. So the blood pouring from the demon's grin carved across Laila's stomach can go back down to its maker and tell him I've been delayed, and I'll meet with him shortly some other time, some other day. Today, I have to punish two flying shits for their sins and send them into the inferno in my place. Unforgivable. Unfathomable. The wrath I contain is more than enough to fuel an army, let alone a fire. Let them feel the flame, let them burn from my touch. I want them to shrink and hide from me, I want them to know me and understand that I utterly despise them all.

Ain't nobody messing with my motherfucking clique.

[Eye attacks Appa #2]
FT|VWk5Wsword
1034 -- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage
(Sword)sword

[loren]

[ c l a i r e p a r t r i d g e ]

. les quatre cavaliers .
. elle est la mort .

"We can't escape, there's no way.
They'll call our names through the speakers.
When they find you they'll retrieve you,
take you where sphered domes will freeze you"

I'll try and describe the pain to you as best I can.

When it happened I kept thinking of strings. I thought of a harp, specifically. A big, oaken, old fashioned harp. A polished cherry wood spine, strings so thin you see right through them because they had no burden, no regret, nothing to hide or run from. One of those angel wing shaped ones that weigh as heavy as a sinner's heart  and would sound just as solemn when you strum it.

And that harp was in me. And as the beasts descended from the sky like some kind of wrathful rain it played a song that sounded like panic. Its vibrato wailed like a brokenhearted blues singer as I bounded over the grass and stretched out my legs for all they were worth.  Mad sounds hung heavy in the air like the smell of death. Panic sits in the sky like a militia of laundry pinned to a clothesline. It blinds you, obscures your vision from what's most important. It severs off chunks of your world like it's a block of cheese until all your left with isn't nearly enough to save a life, maybe enough to sustain a life if your lucky stars could shine through the terror sheets concealing them.

The harp told me to look ahead and run.

Hysteria blinded me from the devil on my back.

My arm snapped in two.

Someone took a hot metal rod and branded a fucking constitution in my marrow. Someone took the most potent of poisons, the most acrid of acids, and rewrote the ballad of my bones into an enigma without a solution. Someone took a talon a tore out all my harp strings mid-chorus, and now the choir was screaming for murder.

I want it off.

I was writhing on the ground in senseless pain.

Some one please.

And I was crying out in a tongue of my own design.

I don't want it.

You could give me a thousand lifetimes, a thousand colors, and a thousand easels and you will never know.

I can't have it.

The pain transcended words.

Someone cut my fucking arm off! Please! Please please please! I begging you, please!

My limbs jerked in every possible direction as my brain tried to make sense of this new found agony. And I suppose I should be grateful the anguish of it all was so searing and fried the wirings of my mind into something undecodable. If I had even half an ounce of control with a side dish of sense, I'm sure I would be using my kamas to dismember myself as opposed to stabbing at the sky.

" These beautiful moments we shared together
All end now
They'll make me drink this potion
I'll sleep forever, until I wake under the
t h e  g l a c i a l  g r o u n d  "
x

[ t e m p l a t e b y z o ë ]

[Claire attacks Appa #2]
gBR2|ayBglaive
13075 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage
(Pole Sword)
glaive

[Deleted]

PETE.

Pete was a very territorial Appa (despite being shorter than most), especially when it came to his friends. So when the humans started swiping at Patrick for no apparent reason, Pete became very obviously infuriated. The two of them had already landed good hits on the smaller creatures in the moments before, and so there was hope that they might make it out of the fight relatively intact.

[Attacks LAILA with RUSH (BLUNT)]
Daf_nf5Ablunt
[Bruised Left Wrist -- 2.0 damage]

[Attacks EYE with CLAWS (KNIFE)]
knife
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

PATRICK.

Patrick wasn't overly fond of hurting other living things. He had a gentle disposition for an Appa, more inclined to the herbivore side of their omnivorous lifestyle, and seeing other creatures in pain had never been fun for him. However, it soon became clear that the two of them would have to fight in the name of self-preservation, and as much as Patrick disliked fighting, he disliked dying more.

[Attacks WILLIS with RUSH (BLUNT)]
blunt
[Broken Left Knee -- 7.0 damage]

[Attacks CLAIRE with CLAWS (KNIFE)]
knife
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

blunt�knife�blunt�knife

[rook]

willis keeni

for everyday robots getting old
when our lips are cold
lookin’ like standing stones
out there on our own

If there is a God up there, then I'm being punished. The followers of the almighty Ripred always seemed so delusional and hypocritical to me. They preach equality, every lamb of the flock must receive an equal and unbiased welfare. Yet the same priests who practice these ideologies are the ones who are taking money from the church so that they may eat a little better and live a little more comfortably.

I went to church many a time back when I lived with my real parents. My father was big on religion, oh yeah. In me, he saw the devil. Of course he did, he was looking for a reason to justify his years of worship. He wanted something to take his frustrations out on, and that was me. Obertan McKee was not a nice man, and I've never considered him my father. Not really. I'd go to school, barely six years old, covered in black and blue bruises. I'd get picked on by the other kids, because of it. It was horrible, and when I went home, it didn't end. Old Obertan was waiting for me.

So fucking unjustified. Pig headed nutter. I hope he's watching now. I hope he watches me drink and swear and kill.
"Ain't no son of mine becomin' a sinner!"
Yeah. Good luck with that, old man.

My sword - Pyrian - has lost it's fiery edge. So much for that advantage. The two gigantic Muttations are showing no signs of leaving us alone, despite taking heavy blows from us. Scrambling through the dirt, I manage to steady myself on a ledge of brimstone, and I allow some time to catch my breath. They ain't dying. They're think skinned and brimming with an unnatural determination. The Gamemakers have made them more aggressive than is natural, I expect. I grit my teeth, trying to assess my next move.

Leaving to live with my cousins was such an easy decision. Willis McKee was fast accepted into the family, and I got on so well with kids like Gypsy and Zebera. I considered them brothers and sisters before too long, and it was so ideal, for a long time. Of course, it goes without saying that things changed when Pyrian and Gypsy were Reaped together. That's when the madness, the alcohol and the tremors began. The 65th arena is as much a hell hole as their 63rd arena. I suppose this is where it ends. Everything comes full circle.

One of the bison creatures swoops to my left, so I mobilise as quickly as I can, hopping down rocks to rally with my allies. The strange Muttation flanks me, and I am forced to the right, but I'm not quick enough. The horned beast lashes out, forcing most of it's weight down on top of me. My leg is caught more than anything, in the crush, and I feel a sickening crunch. I cry out, the pain shooting up my leg and stabbing at my brain. Fuck. I've broken it. My knee is broken.

You gonna let that stop you? You've come this far, you pathetic bastard. You may be weak and broken, but you ain't a quitter. You swam that ocean, nearly drowning to get Eye to safety. You drove that cattle away from Claire when she looked in trouble. You stabbed the bison in the foot when it got too close to Laila. You're a fighter, Willis Keeni, and no fractured knee cap is gonna stop you from helping your friends.

Right.

I use my sword to steady myself, before twirling it around and pointing it at the incoming bison. It's now or never.
"You best watch yourself..." I say to it, as it charges towards me, "'Cause I'm a sinner!"


[Willis attacks Appa #1, Pyrian (Katana)]
Wvbog86Ksword
[Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage]

everyday robots just touch thumbs
swimmin’ in lingo they become
stricken in a status sea
one more vacancy

sword

[Python]

Every story's a waiting game
A flower for every name

_______________________________________________________

L A I L A S Y C A M O R E
DISTRICT5 | THIRTEEN

_______________________________________________________

The bison was considerably agile for something so hefty. Her katana sailed past the creature’s bleeding hide and licked nothing but air as it dove out of her line of fire. It must’ve been intelligent if it knew how to evade her attacks – or at least she hoped it was, because if it was capable of possessing thought she wanted it to realize how screwed over it was once she shoved a sword through its face. She also wanted it to suffer regret; she wanted it to wish it had never crossed paths with Laila fucking Sycamore, the thirteen-year-old not to be trifled with. I want it to be scared of me. She knew she was short and petite, like a walking stick figure. She knew she wasn’t intimidating, but none of that eliminated her from posing as a threat. She had severed somebody’s fucking head yesterday. That had to count for something, right?

The echo of a second crack almost made her flinch – another broken bone? When she twirled on her heels she found that Willis was the victim this time. Something about his leg was off, maybe crooked, she wasn’t sure. There was too much happening to focus on one limb, but his cries were warning enough. She didn’t want to hear her allies scream anymore, and she didn’t want to hear herself either, yet the carving across her abdomen would not stand for silence. She whimpered with every movement, the gash like a burning, gaping hole spitting blood into the dirt. It still hurt like hell. It burned like hell. It squeezed sweat out of her pores and emptied her tear ducts, trying to drench her in whatever it could. Meanwhile these bastards were currently getting away with tearing her open like that. Not on my watch.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks, smearing the blood and salt across flushed skin. The volcano’s inescapable shadow consumed them all, but even in the apparent comforts of the shade the heat was still present and sizzling them to the bone. The air was thick and acrid and disgusting, clogging her windpipe with pollution and poison. In certain areas she could see orange pools of liquid fire – she forgot the word for what that stuff was called, but she knew it was hot to the touch. She knew it could disintegrate bone if anybody dared dip their hands into it. It would be nice if she could just shove one of the stupid bisons into it. That would solve all of their problems – but Laila was not nearly as strong as she wished she could be. Her rage was more powerful than her muscles, her emotions able to strike fear while her twig of a body failed to intimidate anything. Sure, being a child might prompt others to pity her and show mercy. It might even spare her life in the future. But would any of that matter if she let herself get killed by some stupid bisons? This was pathetic. They were far from being any sort of infamous career alliance, but they should be able to kill some bison, wounded or not. Broken or not.

She waited for the perfect opportunity. The bison she wanted to butcher with a vengeance tried to lash out at Eye, and she felt her heart spasm in fear as its talons narrowly missed its target. Now it was nice and close to her, and she could hopefully sneak up on it without straining herself too much. She had no idea how much blood she was losing from this gash. Don’t think about it. Just fight.

”Hey, ugly!”

_____________________________________________________
template by chelsey

[attacks Appa #1 –katana]
Y7|DALRrsword
Deep Gash on Neck -- 10.0 damage

sword

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto][/presto]

“I'm waiting for the call, the hand on the chest
I'm ready for the fight and fate”

Fucking hell, I'm right up to here with this sissy shit.

I am serious, if I can't man up and cut a bitch properly soon I am going to turn this sword around and stab it through my neck. I'm no help right now with all these shallow ass cuts trying to show how badass I ain't. I'm the motherfucking career of this little possy and I haven't even landed one good hit. Who cares about how badly my leg is fucking me up, who cares about all my hurts. I don't want to see my friends hurt so this isn't working out one bit, this body of mine rebelling and being too weak to even land anything good. Sure, they're giant ass cows with six legs running at us but I ain't never been a little bitch before this. I don't know where this is coming from. I'm tired of this shit though.

I'm just tired of it all, to be honest, playing at war isn't as fun as I thought it would be. All we do is fight muttation after muttation. I want to stick my blade into the little coawrds who did this to me, I want to reap my revenge on the knee caps and shin bones of some other children. That's what I'm here for after all.

At the very least I am doing a hell of a lot better at dodging this giant mammal king of the animal kingdom. I'm starting to feel like my old self again as I jump away from some talons that are intent on grabbing my ass. I'm the motherfucking gingerbread man, you feel me? However, the sounds of my friends crying out in pain really makes me see red. I get it, they are animals after all, acting on instinct and what have you, but that doesn't mean they can touch my bitches, they're my bitches. They have gotta go and find their own bitches to mess with.

I suppose I should look around and see what we have become, I've always been a realistic person. However, I still see them as they were, standing in the training room, looking like children holding weapons. Of course that is what we all are. Yet, they gripped those weapons tightly and I could see it in their eyes that drive to live that I did not have. I could see how they were on the inside, brave and strong and that is why I wanted them over any career. I wanted them because I could taste their stubborn loyalty, in the way that Laila hugged the strawberries to herself, in Claire's clueless sorrow, in Willis' self-loathing manner. All of them, stubborn as mules.

So I trust them, even when chaos falls all around us, I know that they have my back because they have got to know that I have theirs. No matter what, I will never stop fighting for them because they have given me something far more valuable than my own life. For the first time in what seems like a decade, I have people who I can rely on to have my back.

That is what keeps me fighting even after Laila and Willis take down the first beast. Willis has become broken, he won't be able to run away with only Laila to help him for she is broken in the middle herself. If I stopped fighting now and hightailed it, I would be leaving them to their dooms. Even though the mammoth of a beast is coming back to charge us all, I will not leave behind the only items that are still precious to me. I nod grimly at Claire and clutch the katana tighter in my grip. It's surface glistens with blood against silver, no tar to mar it's beauty. I can only hope that I can keep what is precious to me safe. I'm trusting Claire to have my back as we charge the enemy together.

"Come on Claire," I say as my feet begin to take flight into the air, "It's high time we fuck this little shit up for good."

[Eye attacks appa#2]
kMtTxZftsword
[3.fucking5]sword

[loren]

[ c l a i r e p a r t r i d g e ]

. les quatre cavaliers .
. elle est la mort .

"We can't escape, there's no way.
They'll call our names through the speakers.
When they find you they'll retrieve you,
take you where sphered domes will freeze you"

I would say thank Ripred I had a delirious seizure the moment a fist of giant claws came for my face, but no. Fuck that guy. If there even is a Ripred, which I highly doubt. 

I can't imagine a being that could make something as beautiful as angels' breath rainbows could also fashion the typhoon before it. It doesn't make any sense. Why would someone bother making something such as "hello"s and "I love you"s if he knew "Goodbye"s and "leave me alone"s would undo all he worked for. Unless he was just cruel. But that's a lot of work for someone who just revels in cruelty. Building 50-foot city walls just to wreck them all down with the slight of a titan's hand seems like an awful lot of effort. 

It would've all been a lot easier if I had never known the good feelings in the world. If I had never known the smell of fresh baked bread then the rusted scent of the blood pouring from Laila's abdomen would've have brought me to vomit unto the ground. If I had never known the sound of flutes or violas or French horns then the sound of Willis' knee cap shattering like a porcelain teacup wouldn't have made me flinch. And if I had spent my entire life writhing in dumb delirium and shock from severed nerves and pierced skin

Then the arena could've been my heaven on earth.

"Come on Claire," I can hear him over my own screams but his words are lost in a mesh of the distorted terror orchestra filling the air.

"It's high time we fuck this little shit up for good."

I force myself unto my knees and nod at Eye's wavering figure through my tears. 

"....agh."

" These beautiful moments we shared together
All end now
They'll make me drink this potion
I'll sleep forever, until I wake under the
t h e  g l a c i a l  g r o u n d  "
x

[ t e m p l a t e b y z o ë ]

[Claire attacks Appa #2]
iU6SGpfXglaive
13131 -- Deep Gash on Cheek -- 8.5 damage
(Pole Sword)
glaive

[Deleted]

PATRICK.

THIS IS A FILLER BECAUSE I HAVE TO WORK A 7 HOUR SHIFT IN THE NEAR FUTURE WHEEEEEE.

[Attacks CLAIRE with RUSH (BLUNT)]
2CIC2hTAblunt
[Bruised Right Foot -- 2 damage]

[Attacks WILLIS with CLAWS (KNIFE)]
knife
[Severed Finger on Right Hand -- 8.5 damage]

blunt�knife