a tale of heroes and tragedies {FH vs. Aeths vs. Mor, Day 6}

[Python]

Tighten your tie
You're something to die for

_______________________________________________________

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

_______________________________________________________

Hat boy. Claire. The bastard. Moss. What kind of stupid name is Moss?

There were too many familiar faces tonight, enough to make her squirm at their makeshift campsite cloaked in shadows as Willis passed his bottle around. When it reached her tiny fingers one sip was enough to drive her senses haywire with disgust, and she practically spit the bitter poison and pressed her knuckles to her lips. A haste shake of her head and the strained expression flashed as she swallowed was enough to convey her displeasure with the substance adults seemed to be so hooked on. ”That was gross,” she coughed, reaching for the charred cow meat in her bag to bite into it and erase the flavor. She was long overdue for a meal anyway, her stomach shrunken painfully against the notches in her spine – at least that’s what it felt like beneath the itchy wound across her stomach. The meat was a welcome comfort to her suffering organ, and a delightful taste that made her forget that there had already been enough cooked meat in the arena today. She retreated to her tent afterward, expecting a pair of familiar eyes to greet her.

She found nothing.

Once upon a time she slumbered in silence before the Sycamore house crashed and burned beneath malicious flames. Creaking floorboards used to be her only lullaby, but when she shared ashy space with Edgar before the donations granted them a new home she had learned to lull herself to sleep with the sounds of soft breaths and the sight of a chest rising and falling as gently as a butterflies’ flapping wings. Here it was Claire’s breaths she had learned to appreciate, every evening bringing her a sense of security. Now the absence of any signs of life by her side made her uneasy. She was sleeping in solitude, vulnerable to anything that might come wandering into her tent. Days before this disaster she could rely on the knowledge that there was a teammate by her side with a sword within arm’s length, prepared to defend whenever possible. Now it was just Laila, just some little girl wearing a cape and trying to fulfill impossible wishes. A child, that’s all you are.

She didn’t sleep for long.

The black smoking tower was an ominous landmark to wake up to. It seemed to promise nothing but torture and death, fire and blood, yet she could not convince the boys to move. She tried to tell herself that she was here for Claire’s sake, but why? Her body would not be buried here – it would be lifted by a capitol hovercraft and stolen away from them, melted flesh and all. She wondered if Claire had a family, and if there would be a big funeral for her. She wondered if they would bother looking into the casket to see the statue of ash and bone that didn’t resemble Claire in the least. She wondered if they blamed her. Or maybe she doesn’t have a family, maybe she has nothing. She couldn’t know these things, and it frustrated her. She should’ve paid more attention to the other tributes. How could you be so stupid, Laila?

She scowled and shoved the sloppily-folded tent into her bag as aggressively as possible. When she glanced back up the damned mountain was still mighty with its presence, hissing at her with heat laced with malevolence. Sooner or later it would drive her away – preferably sooner, because she hated this place. This was where the bisons had ripped her open. This was where a dragon had swooped from its perch and tried to roast them alive. This was where Claire had roasted alive because of some damn kid.

This was where she was going to die if she didn’t get the hell out.

As they abandoned their little camp (merely imprints in the soil from where their bodies and items had rested), somebody invaded the territory. Four of them were approaching head on – black silhouettes against a bright canvas that Laila wished she could bask in rather than the treacherous shadow of the volcano. ”This is bad,” she muttered, because this wasn’t just a duo of kids or a single dragon. These were eight capable hands, four wielders of bloody weapons that could overcome her. As they grew closer, she recognized three of them with a start. Soap was among them, and she became consciously aware of the note that was still tucked away on her person. ”Chin up!” she blurted out, primarily out of impulsive fear. She didn’t want to fight so she tried to delay the clash of metal with trembling words. She knew it wouldn’t work.

Claude was there, too, the crazy bastard. I like that crazy bastard. He was her district partner, and she wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or disappointed that he was still breathing.

Then there was teddy bear girl, missing an entire fucking arm. Laila cringed at the sight of the stump. This was the girl who had helped her in the training center, who had gentle hands and talent with threads and needles. Now she had only one hand, and Laila instantly felt heavy with regret at her own realization: Things are different now, and one arm makes her weaker.

”We can’t help each other anymore,” she said, her tone surprisingly flat for somebody who was quaking with terror.

We can only kill each other.

_____________________________________________________
template by chelsey

[attacks Savannah – katana]
mMtmYw7bsword
Deep Gash on Right Bicep -- 8.0 damage

sword

[Deleted]

SI.

WIP WIP WIP I AM SO SORRY.

[Attacks COLGATE with CLAWS (KNIFE)]
|mMHG|2_knife
[Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage]
[Poisoned]

AM.

WIP WIP WIP I AM SO SORRY.

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

knife�knife

[rook]

willis keeni

afterlife. oh my god, what an awful word
after all the breath and the dirt and the fires are burnt
and after all this time, and after all the ambulances go
and after all the hangers-on are done hanging on in the dead lights of the afterglow

I am split in two.

Half of me is crippled. What is left of me is a wreck, as bad as I was before the Games, maybe even worse. I can't see the point in trying anymore. We're all dead anyway. This time yesterday we were relaxing around the campfire, sharing laughs as Eye span Laila around. I saved Claire's life, and she was thankful for it. I felt good. I felt like I had done something useful for the first time in my life. Now Claire is dead. Stone cold dead and buried. I couldn't save her - But I avenged her. I killed that boy for what he did, and I'll never forgive myself for it. I'm a killer now, and that can never be undone. It is branded into my skin in eight blistering letters: Murderer.

We're gonna die anyway, right? I mean, at the very least, two of us will die, and one of us will win. That sure as hell ain't gonna be me, but still I don't want to see Laila or Eye die. I'd rather die before that happens. What's that, boy? This time yesterday you were sayin' that you'd rather be dead than be a murderer. See how that turned out. False promises, but do I care anymore? I'm a monster. What's one kill next to a hundred kills? Blood is blood, and once it's on your hands there ain't no way to wash it off. Gonna die anyway, so why does it matter? May as well just lie down and wait to be killed.

But then there's this-... There's a-... What is it? I struggle to find any other ford for it than anger. It is absolute and corrupting, capturing my every trailing thought and painting it entirely black. Yes, I do feel that continuing with this charade is futile, but I also don't. There is a brilliant hatred inside of me, and I'm doing everything I can to protect it, because if I lose that one ounce of emotion, then I truly am damned. It's the fuel to sustain my momentum and stay alive. I have to keep on living so that I can prove everyone wrong. Willis Keeni is weak, and he always will be unless he bites the bullet and keeps fighting. I need to be strong. I'm weak and I need to be strong.

[Willis uses Tar and Flint to set six shurikens on fire]
[Willis attacks Claude, Gypsy (Flaming Shurikens)]
WoD7xQC8200+9000
[Knife in Bicep -- 6.0 damage
(Thrown Knife)]

range 1-50
[Moderate burn -- 4.0 damage]

i’ve gotta know - can we work it out?
if we scream and shout ’till we work it out. can we just work it out?
but you say "oh, when love is gone where does it go?"
and where do we go?

200+9000�range 1-50

[[nyte]]

act 1: scene 6
0.0

Make it stop.

The death, the pain, the inferno which blazes inside of me. The sight of my friends, leaking a bright crimson from deep gashes and one at the hands of the boy from six. Willis. Hadn't I defended him? When that awful escort had taken away the alcohol. Ungrateful jackass. I could smell it from here. The acrid tang on his breath as strikes out, throwing something in the direction of the boy.My boy. It was an orange blur leaving his fingertips. I could only make out what it was when it hit him. When it hit Claude. I know it hurt him. And I know it hurt him badly.

Make it stop.

I want to scream, to throw my fists upon the ground and kick my legs. To once again be a child and with good reason to be. I don't want them to die. Not Savannah, whose hair, matted with blood and dirt, still managed to shine in the orange morning light. Whose body had moved in such a mesmerizing way last night when she and Soap danced before the anthem

Soap, so awkward and in the same way, so kind. I'll never know what got him that twelve and it doesn't matter. Not now, not ever. 'Cause he's hurting too. And Claude... 

I can't think about them right now. I can't think about anyone but the boy who has yet to attack. I couldn't bring myself to strike out at Willis. He was the last bit of home I would probably ever have. As much as I hated him, for simply being alive, I wouldn't attack him. They'd hate me. My district. My home. It seems so much more of one the closer I get to returning. And the girl, the little girl. She couldn't have been more than fourteen, and probably younger. I knew she wasn't innocent. I knew there was blood on her hands as much as there was blood on mine. 

But she's a little girl. 

She'll kill me if I don't attack her. 

But she's a little girl. 

I extend the fan, eyes lingering on the newly cleaned blades. They were mesmerizing in the orange dawn, casting a shadow upon the cracked flooring as the sun rises behind me. Who was I, to survive this long? Why was it me still alive six days after that gong sounded.

as much as i've changed, each day must've been a year. 

Right here, right now i've never felt more alive. The adrenaline flows through me like a drug, the needle deeply embedded in my vein. Everything hurts, yet I've not been touched. I know what I must do. I know that I must once again kill. 

And this time, I know they're not mutts. 

"I'm truly sorry." it escapes me in a gasp, as I try to meet the boy's eye. I am. I'm truly, truly sorry for what has happened. I'm sorry I couldn't attack anyone else. I'm sorry that girl who was with them died. I'm sorry that you're here. 

But i'm not sorry for what I'm about to do.

[attacks eye saw-razor fan]
uzps49frknife


[fire]
1-50

attacked Eye Saw: Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 [+2 fire]

knife�1-50

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Soap O'Leary
8.0

FILLER

-Soap sets 6 throwing axes on fire w/tar-

Attacks Eye - thrown axe
yEIjcp4othrowing axe
10125 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage
(Thrown Axe)

fire
1-50

attacked eye: result - 9.5 (thrown axe) + 8.0? (fire)
not sure about the fire dp D:

throwing axe�1-50

[Kire]

Take
5.5 damage

In a world that is full of greed and pain
Where the politicians have free reign
To wear you down
This is what I've found

Yesterday was a blur, blood and cuts and stinging that made no sense in my head and even less in my heart. All I knew was that we were still breathing. Savannah and Soap and Lyric and I, we were still alive and moving somehow. Now all that made sense before me was the heat that grazed my skin, a never ending roasting that left me almost wishing for the rough grasp of the water that had tossed us so carelessly around yesterday. The ground beneath my feet warped and wavered, turning into something that looked more like tar than ground. I stumbled, trying to keep my feet and just barely managing. My desperate eyes searched for signs of the others, my mind having shut them out in its effort to keep me from falling. I was battered and dizzy, trying my best to not just flop over and give up - I really did feel like giving up just then.

But my luck has been weird, and right now whatever strange driving force I have been under the influence of was deciding that no rest for the weary was a great idea. We were approaching three people, shapes that blurred before my eyes and made it impossible to tell who they were. I lifted my arm up to grasp the hilt of my katana - my one saving grace and never ending curse - to draw it. The steel stood tall and dangerous in my hands, yet I felt as dangerous as a kitten. My left arm was incredibly sore, the deep wound in it stinging whenever I moved any part of that arm and causing me to hiss or curse more often than it should. Falling asleep before tending to it was not a smart move, in fact it was coming back to bite me in the ass. I wasn't the only one of the four of us with wounds to lick, so there was no reason why the others should have tended to me. The pain was my own fault.

They will never lay a hand on us
They will never understand in what we trust
Is so much stronger, oh
I don't know if I'll make it through

I lurched forward again, grumbling to myself about being lucky I was right handed, when I nearly stopped short. In front of me, running closer with weapon outstretched, was Laila. Little Laila, the youngest survivor, was not the person I was expecting to see out here - and yet how could I have not known this would happen at some point. A pit of guilt, fear, and sadness socked me in the gut and nearly toppled me over. It was too much, and yet that guiding force tugged me up by the hair and shoved me forward. Stumbling a couple steps I reached back with a curse - my arm stung with the horrible feeling as though it was tearing in half - and rummaged around in my pack until my hand clasped around a small jar. I yanked it out, quickly popping off the lid and slathering the blade of my weapon in the sticky black goop. That done, I lit it up - the sword catching like a torch - and dropped the jar at my side.

My back straightened and I shucked off my pack, hearing the thud as it hit the dirt behind me. "Why do you have to do this?!" My voice rose in a shout but I had no idea who I was yelling at, my allies or my enemies or the gamemakers or the world. I was just yelling. "Four people died yesterday and yet you continue to throw us at each other like this was a cockfight." I swung my blade around at the sky, as if daring someone or something to come at me. "Well I've had enough of your rigging and betting." I tried to make myself seem taller, bigger, stronger. I knew in my heart I had probably failed.

Is it all in my head, all in my head?
These memories gone bad
Don't turn away from your past
Am I the enemy

My eyes locked on Laila, who was now so close. Her own sword - much like my own but without the lick of flames - struck out to catch Savannah on the arm and draw blood. The wound seemed much the same as mine, almost an exact copy, and I moved before I knew what I was doing. I ran forward, my blade stretching and longing, wanting to strike at flesh and burn skin. I was a sizzling warrior and I wanted blood. Even the blood of a young girl, a girl who I had talked with on the train but days before. "I can't protect you any longer, I never could. Protect yourself from me if you dare." My words were for her, but a ring of truth sounded in my own head for each ally I had. I was more of a danger than I was a friend, I was nothing more than a weak link - rusty and broken just waiting to give a wound and infect it.

I wanted to be reforged, I wanted to be changed. I was never going to be anything more than a hazard - the guiding force above me touched a hand to my cheek and pointed for me. I followed the invisible hand, moving forward to slice down. The only way to protect her is to take her away.

Take her life away.

[attacks Laila--sword]
f2C6NwgXsword
Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage

[fire]
1-50
Extinguished

I'm reaching out to you
I have no doubt that you'll pull through
So take your place
This is a game we play

attacked Laila: Deep Gash on Right Forearm - 8.0
I don't know what this is. o-o

sword�1-50

[Stare]

{ chapter the fifteenth }
9.5

this one's for the faithless
the ones that are surprised
they are only where they are now
regardless of their fight

The music is still humming through my veins when my eyes drift open in the morning, but it is joined by a deep ache in my chest with even my shallow breaths and a burning tingle in my bad shoulder. I peel back the bandages around my torso to see that bruises have blooms over the pale skin, several different shades standing out where the beast hit me. I grimace, turning my attention toward my shoulder. It must have started bleeding again during the night, for I can see areas of dried blood sharply contrasting the snowy bandages.

I don’t complain as I rise, though. Dancing last night was my idea, and I would be lying if I said I regretted it. The pain was worth seeing the sunlight in Lyric’s smile, the hesitant warmth in Claude’s eyes, the self conscious shuffle of Soap’s feet. I would have hated to die without seeing them smile as a family one last time.

The fire has died out by the time we leave, reduced to a pile of ashes and wisps of pale smoke. We’re moving again by sunrise, though our steps are more wary and stilted as we try to urge the stiffness from our bruised bodies. There was a time when I remember moving with ease, trying to understand why I hadn’t yet been injured. That was an arm, two ribs, and several toes ago. Now I wonder at my ability to stay standing as we soldier on, beyond the winds and plains to the familiar soot and sulfur smell of the northern Arena.

It isn’t long before the ashen air begins to burn my lungs, and painful coughs rip through me. I stagger along, though, determined not to crumble when we haven’t even discovered what horrors the Gamemakers have in store for us today. There are ten remaining and I know it would be foolish of me to believe that they will allow an alliance as large as us any peace. The thought makes me lift my shoulders and set my jaw. I promised myself long ago that I would die for my family and I will allow that promise to ring true, regardless of how it hurts. They’ve always done the same for me.

I hear their unsteady footsteps before I see them - three figures with pale skin darkened by soot and ash. They are silhouettes in the smoke but I know that a fight will be unavoidable, and my stomach churns when I recognize their shapes as distinctly human. The last humans we fought cut off my arm. There are three of them, and while I know it isn’t a great advantage I take comfort in knowing that we have four. One hand reaches for my axe, grip tightening on the handle.

I recognize them just as they stumble upon us, and my lips tug up into another grimace. I want to cringe away, to flee, but I know I can’t. These are the people who hate me. I see the way their eyes tug toward my missing arm and I manage to smile humorlessly. “Funny how things work out, huh?” They hate me. I know they do, despite all that we became (acquaintances? friends?) in the Training Center. I know they do because their eyes still burn with rage at the sin I committed days - eternities - ago. I know they do as Laila lashes out, her blade digging deep into my flesh. I let out a cry of pain, pulling away sharply as my blood spills onto the ash beneath my feet.

Ripred, I wish I could hate them, too.

Instead of spitting out curses, though, I stagger forward, dragging my wobbly feet forward until I am almost kneeling before her. I know I’m exposing myself, making myself vulnerable, but I need to make sure she understands. “This is my family,” I say quietly, proud of myself for only trembling slightly. “I love them.”

And then my axe is swinging back and I’m attacking the girl I once swore I would look out for.

SAVANNAH attacks LAILA with AXE
2Gusqq9_axe

this is for the ones who stand
for the ones who try again
for the ones who need a hand
for the ones who think they can

attacked laila: deep gash on forehead - 9.0
"this one’s for her.”

axe

[gamemaker kelsier]

I was patchwork of wounds and ruins last night, an effort to see clearly gone awry. My hands were red, they still are, stained with the blood of a dragon. I am covered in it still, head to toe. We could not move last night because we mourned. My breath tasted of smoke and my lungs burnt in hatred for a boy who was already dead. We set up camp around the ruins of a friend, watched as her ashes scattered away in a sudden gust of wind, as if the arena was cleaning it's self up, preparing for the next round. Our friend was dead.

I could not find it in myself to cooperate last night. It's regular for me to shut off for a while after a death. When Ewe's came along I screamed so loudly and for s long that I emptied an entire district square. I have never gotten sad before at the death of someone I cared for, I have only gotten enraged, so angry that I can not even see straight. I feel it boiling within me now, as we sit around the campfire. The katana is still gripped tightly in my hands, as if I am ready to snatch the heart of any foe at any given time. I will not be caught unawares once again.

Willis passes me a bottle of something or other that he's been hoarding. I'm dead thirsty after all that smoke and my jug has been empty for hours. It's only when I'm clutching it in my hand and raising it up to my lips that I realize it doesn't smell like water. I consider taking a sip anyway, but with no water, and not having eaten, that puts me at very high risk of dehydration as well as getting drunk off my ass after a couple gulps. I pass the bottle on, not realizing it's been passed to a little girl and not Claire.

Angrily, I stood up then and walked away. I didn't want to sit in a place that held a ghost as well. It doesn't matter where I go, I suppose this place is already filled with them. The anthem lights up the sky and we are almost struck by the stars that take their place hungrily afterwards. Claire is dead, she really must be because there was her face, fading out in the sky like a star that has blinked out ages ago, finally having made it's light travel all the way down for the last time. She is dead.

Alright.

I use the edge of the katana to try and scrape some blood of my clothes. It's not really working in the fact that my top is starting to loose some threads in the process. I sort of like to watch the blood flake down and rain away anyway. It's like watching red snow. When I was little, we used to make patterns in the snow with fish blood. It was quite cool looking and was frozen anyway, so there wasn't really much of a mad smell. When spring came, the blood would melt away with the snow anyway. I would like to make the patterns in the snow once again. I would like to get myself back home.

I guess I have got to get used to my friends dying. I've got to acquaint myself with the idea of me dying, once again.

Well alright, that's not too hard. I came to terms with it ages back. What would I do with a life lived anyway? I'd tell the girl of my nightmares that I absolutely love her and then I'd do what I love most. I'd fish. Yup, that's it. That's my dream. I just want to fish again. Thoughtfully that night, I took the plants that Claire had given me out of her bag and then I chew on them. They taste decidedly like plants, and not like meat. It's disappointing, but to be expected I suppose.

The next morning is kind of hectic in the fact that Willis is obviously not sober at all and Laila is probably not very happy. I can't see her being happy. I'm not very happy, but I'm choosing to be. This is going to be the day that I die, I can feel it in my bones and it has made me reckless. I smile at both of them, certain of my discontinued existence. The hard and baked ground only smells of roses to me.

Four heads appear in the distance and I think I understand. The hands that attacked me before are back to do so again, a part of me steals it's self. I am a dragonslayoer, mere men cannot make me afraid. I am not afraid. I have never been afraid. Fear is not even a real word. I'm fine. I see that Savannah chick, the one who broke my leg is missing an arm. It pleases me. She deserves that. They all deserve the pain. Don't we all though? We're all murderers. Except me, of course. I've killed a dragon but my body count pertaining to tributes is at a resolute zero. Maybe I'm happy about that, or you know, maybe not.

A sly grin mangles my features and I press my heal into the ground. It is then that I receive the greatest of pains across my chest. Two in one go, I feel like they're trying to cut me open, which they are but it has some sort of hilarity to it. "WHAT ARE YAH?" I shout at them, anger making it's way through the burn of pain, "FUCKIN' SURGEONS? YEAH WELL FUCK YOU." I bend down and wipe tar all over my blade. Fire has never been kind to me, but there's something altogether soothing about lighting it up anyway. I bring my flint to the sword, trying to ignore the burning pain of being cut open once again by these bastards. I swore revenge on them, so long ago. I intend to exact it.

[Eye eats one bundle of plants]
[Eye uses one jar of tar]
[Eye lights his katana on fire]
[Eye attacks Claude with flaming katana]
xGhvllFUsword
1145 -- Block -- 0.0 damage
[fire]
1-50
extinguished

sword�1-50

[Python]

But don't hold your breath now
You're just killing time

_______________________________________________________

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

_______________________________________________________

They made it look easy.

The tributes on television who attacked friends or backstabbed allies – they performed the maneuvers of betrayal so swiftly and gracefully it was as if there was not a drop of guilt thrumming in their heartless bodies. Laila tried to convince herself that gashing teddy bear girl across her only remaining arm was an act of pity because there was no way she could win, but hearing a familiar face scream from pain weaved by her own little hands was not as easy as she had imagined it might be. Rather than feeling her chest swell from triumph she felt her chambers shrink with self-loathing and regret, yet there was nothing she could do to mend the damage. Teddy bear girl was struck, her blood was on Laila’s hands and she felt awful – worse than when she had beheaded the faceless boy whose name she could hardly remember. Feeling her slippery palms slick against the hilt of her katana, she knew she couldn’t pretend that this was some act of sympathy for the living. Tributes with severed limbs survived all the time.

This was an act of a predator, aiming for the handicapped weakness of the group. It was the act of a selfish child who was slowly losing her sense of morality. I’ve lost too many things. A house, a friend, and now somebody she had vowed to help rather than hurt. Next, I’m going to lose blood. That much was certain. They were outnumbered four to three, and escaping this storm unscathed would be an impossibility. She could see it in the girl’s eyes that she was not safe, that she was determined to do something and she doubted that something involved cherishing the life of the child who just opened her flesh to a world of ash. Savannah wobbled in front of her, wounds up close and personal, but despite the prominent stump of healing flesh being a distracting sight for sore eyes she found herself gaze-to-gaze with this former acquaintance. ”This is my family,” she said, and Laila’s eyebrows furrowed. ”I love them.”

What?

The opportunity was not wasted; Savannah’s axe swished through thick, ashy air and scraped the bone of her forehead before she could react to the puzzling confession. A scream tore through her and sticky blood poured from her forehead and drenched her skin in warmth, pain splicing her like a burning headache. Her feet staggered back and she landed on her behind trying to wipe the blood away from her eyes. It smeared across her hands and cheeks like finger-paint, and if she wasn’t so occupied by panic and pain she would whine about how she was now a filthy mess. When she finally opened her eyes and blinked away the blurs of tears she hastily rushed to her feet and gripped her weapon like a lifeline. Past the coating of blood she hoped nobody would see her eyes watering.

”Are you stupid?” she shouted harshly, scratchy voice laced with rage and agony. ”These people aren’t your family. They’re a bunch of strangers you don’t know anything about, and they’re all going to die!” It sounded like a threat, but she knew it was the truth. One victor, twenty-three deaths – there was huge chance that Savannah’s “family” would all end up six feet underground beside her. What was the point in investing your love in a bunch of walking corpses? Laila had her own friends, she had Eye and Willis, and she used to have Claire. But did she love them?

No.

There should never be love in a place like this. Romantic love, family love – fuck it all, and fuck Claude with those narrowed eyes. She could see the intent behind them even when she recognized it a second too late. He barreled toward her, and she couldn’t leap from his path - his sword’s vicious bite was enough to prove that weakness within herself. Her scream was less feral this time, more so a whine than a cry or a screech. That was her good arm, her right arm, and now blood was leaking from there too. Red waterfalls would paint her for the rest of the day, maybe forever if I die. She gulped air and realized that she tasted iron, probably from the split skin in her forehead pumping and pumping precious scarlet all over her face. There was no stopping it – each time she grimaced, the muscles squeezed out even more blood. She couldn’t maintain a level expression, and she would suffer for it.

”Screw you!” she spat at Claude, whom she had hoped would at least spare her the pain since they shared a district. Apparently he was an asshole too. All of them were assholes. She didn’t even know what was happening behind her, but she could hear grunts, voices, and cries of metal against metal. Eye and Willis would be fighting for their lives back there. ”Screw you and your imaginary friend!” She lunged, all hopes of peace treaties gone. Sorry district five, but your asshole boy tribute hit me first. And now she wanted to gut him for it.

_____________________________________________________
template by chelsey

[attacks Claude – katana]
VS5pdJ_Nsword
Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage

sword

[Rosetta]

I AM MORMO NUMBER 1

[attacks Lyric]
xANOl2vYknife

I AM THE SECOND ONE

[attacks Claude]
knifeknife�knife

[rook]

willis keeni

afterlife. oh my god, what an awful word
after all the breath and the dirt and the fires are burnt
and after all this time, and after all the ambulances go
and after all the hangers-on are done hanging on in the dead lights of the afterglow

Don't blossom in my soul. I forbid you from seeing what I am inside. The demons dance their wicked dance, shrieking at the pale purple sky. The two unionists stand with their bleeding rosettes staining their perfectly pure shirts with impure crimson. The beast lashes at my back again and again, pushing me into the dirt. The people can see me exposed as the pathetic low-life I am. They watch with disgust on their faces as he mutilates me again and again, over and over. A memory stuck on repeat in my mind, diluted by the potency of alcohol, but even then it is strong.

The story is a circle, round and round it goes, and I'm stuck in the loop.

Pain, suffering, humiliation. Disappointment. Regret. From start to finish, my life has been nothing but a string of sad stories, tied together with barbed wire.

Round and round we go, looping and looping. You think the alcohol fixes this, Willis? You think it makes it all go away? I don't know. I really don't know anymore. You're making it worse. Fuck off. Just fuck off. I don't need my conscience telling me what I can and can't do. This is my fucking death and I'll deal with it how I want. I've had enough now. I just want to die. Is this the end? Is it finally the end?

No, it's not, because I'm in a loop. Round and round I go.

And around again.

I violently throw up the contents of my stomach, retching onto the brimstone. I feel the toxins leave my body, and the thought of that makes me vomit all over again. Vulnerable. I look around through teary eyes, trying to make sense of everything. What the fuck is going on? Last thing I remember is drinking at the camp.

"Wh-... Wha-?" I put a hand to my mouth, stopping myself from blubbering. The tears sting, but I can see clearly through them. I can see my friends dying.
"Guys?" I barely whisper. My hands shake terribly as I sit back on my knees, palms in the hot dirt. Not even fighting. Watching like a fuckin' spectator. They're out there on their own, fighting a battle that I'm not involved in. Why? Because I was drunk, damn it. I was drunk. How did I allow this to happen? I swore I'd never touch another drop, 'cause last time we nearly all died. Well look how that's fuckin' turned out you fuckin' useless piece of shit.

The tears corrode my hollow cheeks. I have failed them.

Eye Saw's face rushes red as he takes blow after blow from the well co-ordinated alliance. I sit helplessly as a sword slashes across Laila's face, spraying blood in my direction. I let my left hand trail to the crimson-black stain. I dab a finger and stare at the red smudge on my skin. She's dying. I watch as Lyric cuts Eye across his chest, scattering more precious blood. Do something. My hands shake and my lip trembles. I'm useless. Why don't they kill me? I'm the one sat on the sidelines, drunk and confused. I'm the most vulnerable.

Lyric has survived this long? She was the girl on the train, also from my District. She got me alcohol when I needed it. She helped me convince Trina that I was dependant on alcohol. She was a good person. I liked her. I liked Savannah too - We talked in the Training Center. Even Soap and I had a conversation whilst I was throwing knives. So much for that strategy. Haven't so much as found a knife. They're good people. They're people who I could relate to. They ain't on my side, not in here. Only people I can trust are the two people I have let down. Pretty soon I'm gonna have no one I can trust.

Someone save us. We're broken, fighting a losing battle with only one outcome: Death. There is nothing we can do. I watch helplessly as the alliance takes chunks out of Eye and Laila. I am on the sidelines, watching. Watching. But what can I do about it? I can't fight, I'm too afraid. I can't run, because I'm afraid of that too. I'm pretty close to vomiting again. Can't we go back to last night? Undo all of this by not letting me drink. If I was sober, I'd be in a better shape to defend my friends.

I have no heart. No compassion. If I truly cared, I wouldn't have drank last night. That was selfish. It's like I wanted this to happen - I wanted to die, and I wanted to let them down. Well that ain't the case. I don't want that. I am the king of self-inflicted consequence, but that doesn't mean that I'm gonna give up. I refuse to lay down my sword. The world around me may scream red, and the bodies of my friends may lie broken on the ground, but I'm not a quitter. This is a game I can't win, but I have to at least try.

I have to face my fear. That is more important than to carry on living.


[Willis attacks Savannah, Gypsy (Flaming Shurikens)]
z5Q24wuX200+9000
[Miss (knife lost) -- 0.0 damage
(Thrown Knife)]

[Accuracy re-roll]
200+9000
[Knife Deep in Stomach -- 9.0 damage]

range 1-50
[Extinguished -- 0.0 damage]

i’ve gotta know - can we work it out?
if we scream and shout ’till we work it out. can we just work it out?
but you say "oh, when love is gone where does it go?"
and where do we go?

200+9000�range 1-50�range 1-50

[[nyte]]

act 1: scene 6
4.0

I can feel it, coursing through my veins as soon as it connected with me. The pain was unbearable, searing through my veins as I cried out. It's only a shallow wound. it's only a shallow wound. But it's so much more than that. I know I'm dying. I know it's killing me slowly, and without the antidote I'll be dead before the anthem. Quite honestly, I couldn't give a fuck. I don't care about me, not anymore. I don't care about my life, my lungs. I don't care about anyone but those who fight with me. Who are so gravely injured and who I must help.

The thing beating within my chest doesn't seem to be worth much anymore.

"Stop." it's a hoarse, desperate plea. To those who are killing my friends. "Please... a-attack me instead. Kill me instead!" my eyes are warm, the heat surrounding this plain leaving an uncomfortable burning sensation. And the tears are far too hot, seeming to evaporate upon the cheeks which they fell. I don't want them to die. They can't die, they can't leave me here. They wouldn't.

Stop this thing, which abused me. It's pounding echoes in my ears so furiously, as though it knows I'd give it up for them

But, I don't care. I don't fucking care about it. Not when having one has caused me such pain. Not when it's so meaningless. I was going nowhere. I was a lost cause. That's why I'm here. That's why I'm supposed to die. But not them. Not my friends. My family. The tears are rapid, a steady stream of my soul, leaking through red eyes. As hope is cruelly ripped from me, replaced by desperation. My mind is swimming, I can't seem to focus on anyone but the boy in front of me. The boy who I'd attacked only moments prior. All I can think of is his death.

It hurts far too much to look at the creature which had done this. The bloodlust is far too strong to even take the time. I'm scared, for them. I want to be the one who makes sure that by the end of this, one of them goes home. Ripred, please.

I'd never believed in it, the thing my parents supposedly dedicated their lives to. Who they worshipped and prayed to whenever things got rough. I never believed in it. Yet, here I am, begging this thing to spare them. To spare my family, those who fight beside me. Because I needed them. Because I didn't want to let the go.

I'll be damned if they die here.

If there's ever a time to show yourself, it's right now.. Not bothering to wipe the tears away, I lunge. As much as my body protests, I push onward. I'm not a quitter, and I'm not one easily put down. They made a mistake, attacking my friends. They had hell to pay.

I would deliver them, personally.

[attacks eye-razor fan]
k0yxJkJmknife

[fire]
1-50

attacked Eye Saw: block- 0.0 [+4 fire]

knife�1-50

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Soap O'Leary
8.0

Lyric Woulf is nobler than I’ll ever be.

Really, she is. I can see it in the way she fights for others, can hear it behind the words: ”Stop! Please... a-attack me instead. Kill me instead!" and even though I’m not sure if she means it, I know that there’s always the chance that others will oblige to a request like that, which is exactly why I don’t open my mouth to say something. I don’t need to ask people to try to kill me.

It’ll happen eventually.

Right here, right now? I’ll fight like hell. I’ll tear every single one of them apart if it means keeping my allies intact. I’ve already seen them go through too much pain and suffering, already seen too much of their blood shed in the dirt. What’s left of their clothes is soaked through with red, and I don’t like seeing it. I don’t like seeing them hurt.

But do I wish it were me?

I’m not quite so noble.

What do they say, though? Offense is the best defense. And so far, that’s been more than true. More than once, I’ve helped kill the mutts that were throwing themselves in our paths, killed them before they could cause us any damage. The number one fool proof way to protect you and your allies against attack?

Attack first.

Attack fast.

Attack so hard the axe goes straight through the throat.

Attacks Eye - thrown axe
r6emWP7lthrowing axe
(Thrown Axe)
10099 -- Bruised Ribs -- 3 damage
(Thrown Axe)

Fire 2/6
1-50
Extinguished

attacked eye: Bruised Ribs - 3.0 (thrown axe) + 0 (fire)

throwing axe�1-50

[Kire]

Decisions
27.5 damage

I'm bleeding again. Somehow I had blocked the District four boy's strike, watching with satisfaction as his fire fizzled out. My own had died, with a part of me despising the waste, but I had still managed to land a blow on Laila. Ripred, Laila. What was I doing attacking her, she's four years my junior at least and I am now trying to kill her. It's for my own sake. It was the most comforting lie I had ever heard, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't just kill a girl like this could I?

It's different when that little girl decides she hates you too. "Screw you." Her voice struck out at me as her weapon did. "Screw you and your imaginary friends!" Her lunge came at me from a bad angle and I knew she was going to hit before I even moved. The blade connected with my right arm and I swore. "Fuck you, you little bitch. I'm doing this for you!" I leaped back from my two assailants, holding my blade up more like a club than a swords, paying too much attention to what was in front of me and not enough to the little cat things that had been drawn to the fight. Before I had realized I had trodden on one of their tails I felt a searing line being clawed down my leg. Cursing, I looked down.

"Fucking flea-bitten doormat." Admittedly doormats aren't very viscous and intimidating, but I was intending on trodding all over this little shit. Hobbling slightly, blood tracing deep red lines down my leg, I went to kick at the skinny bag of bones. It had fled already, off to go attack someone else, and I kicked at a rock instead. "Fuzzy fuckers." I turn to my opponents again, trying to wipe away the fact that Laila and the boy were kids like me. Only kids don't go around decked out in other people's blood and try to kill more people. Surely all that mattered was that my family got through. A look at Soap told me he had suffered from one of those damned cat things too, and Savannah was facing Laila just as I was. I watched as the other mutt launched itself at Lyric, claws out to strike her in the chest. I contemplated going to her but I knew I couldn't abandon Savannah. I had to stick with my decision - I had made the right one, I had to have.

"She is trying to kill you too, you know." K had finally shown up, and I wasn't sure whether I was glad he had or not. I turned to him, my eyes huge I knew - wide and desperate and staring. "Help me." I was not one for begging, usually, but K seemed to ignore that. He simply nodded and put a hand on my arm. "Follow my lead." In his hand was a stick, like a make-shift sword, and he ran forward at Laila as if to stab her through the heart. I didn't see if he hit her or not because I was already running, already with my sword up, ready.

I was ready to kill again.

BPiFin0msword
Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage

attacked Laila: Shallow Cut on Left Calf - 3.5
I don't know what is up with Claude...

sword

[Stare]

{ chapter the fifteenth }
19.0

just a stone's throw
from the old place
where the brave face
she carved from bone

“I’m sorry you think that.”

It comes out as a groan, as syllables stuttered and slurred together to form words, my arm wrapping around my stomach where Willis’s blade slashed deep into me. Willis. The boy who I’d offered to find alcohol for. Laila. The girl who asked me about Lucy’s teddy bear. Eye. The boy who showed me what a proper punch looks like. These are people who I might have been friends with outside of the Arena.

My words are directed at Laila, but I don’t meet her eyes. I don’t meet any of their eyes, because they don’t understand what they’ve done. They had my sympathies before. They had my pity. Not anymore. They’ve attacked those I love, and I will not let that go unpunished. My eyes narrow at her, teeth bearing in a bloody grimace. “At least I won’t die alone.”

I refuse. I will fall and they will be there for me. Claude, with all his demons and ghosts nipping at his heels, who only now is beginning to crack. Lyric, with all her passion and love, who healed me when I wasn’t worth saving. Soap, with all his awkwardness and strength, who is constantly spouting encouragement to anyone who he thinks needs it. They are my family and I know them no matter what anyone says. I know the sound of their laughter. I know their cries of pain. I know the things that make them smile, the things that make them quiet. I’m still learning to heal them and it hurts to know that we only have days - heartbeats strung together into something that seems longer but really isn’t - to perfect the practice of being their tonic.

It doesn’t matter that they’ll be the death of me. It doesn’t matter that leaving them will rip my heart right out of my chest. I’d rather fall for them now than suffer a lifetime of knowing that I could have saved them. They’re mine and I care about them because in truth, they make me happy. They make me happy in a place where happiness should not exist. They make me happy when I should be crying.

And I’m foolish enough to believe that they love me too.

I stumble forward another few steps - always forward and never away because if I even glance behind me I’m afraid I’ll flee and never return - and shove my shoulder toward her, a familiar fire beginning to simmer deep within me. “Look at me,” I hiss, fingers shifting restlessly on the hilt of my axe. I raise what remains of my foot so she can see the missing toes. “Look at me. I’m broken, but they fight for me anyway. They care, which is a hell of a lot more than any of you ever did.” I sweep my gaze over them, eyes bright with rage now. “I might have loved you, too, you know. All of you. You don’t deserve it, though. Not anymore”

I am an animal, a monster, a creature born of the deepest, most rotten kind of darkness. I know that I don’t deserve love - to feel it or receive it. I do, though.

I love, and it hurts.

SAVANNAH attacks LAILA with AXE
VMSCV4Yfaxe

a bit of bad luck, about a rock gut
fight is back foot, what's gone is gone
then i found out, found out right here
won't you come back? what's done is done.

attacked laila: shallow cut on neck - 4.0
idk if Sav’s angry or sad or what

axe