this is a call to { a r m s } // Savannah

[Stare]

{ chapter the last }

my love, the drums are calling
a red sky, a warning
no sense in hiding from the front lines
they've been here the whole time

I’ll kill every last one of them.

I’ll rip them apart until their insides are their outsides, until their own mothers wouldn’t recognize them. The world will weep for them if only in pity for all the pain they suffered. They will scream until their voices are gone, until every part of them is begging for death. I will shred them to pieces so small they could be lost upon the wind or buried into the ground. When I am finished with them there will be nothing left but the blood they spilled in their agony and the distant memories of all that they were before they suffered my rage.

They knocked me down, and for that I will destroy them.

Ash smudges across my face as I hit the ground, mingling with the blood already splattered across my skin. Even coming from the depths of poverty I’ve never been so filthy, soot lining underneath my fingernails and staining my hair black. My eyes flash, fingers curling deep into the ground as the cries of my allies fall upon my ears. I’m too angry to wonder at the way the pain positively screams, even more loudly than when I lost my arm. Too angry to notice the way my hand trembles when I use it as leverage to drag my bleeding torso from the ground. Too angry to notice the way the scarlet life runs from my wounds in a way that is too fast, too thick.

“Hang in there,” I call out to them, forcing one leg beneath my suddenly heavy body. “J-just give me a second.” Everything hurts and my three good limbs are leaden and weak, but the fire shoots through my veins and it burns in the sweetest of ways. I’ve come to depend on the rage, my own personal drug, but I’m too far gone to wonder if I should be worried.

But then my leg slips beneath me, I crash to the ground, and the realization finally dawns on me.

I can’t get up.

i sleep to keep my mind at ease
i wander through a dream of what i once believed
no rest until we face the truth
and draw it to the light

I’m not the only one. On the opposite side of the fight I see Lyric attack, and Eye falls. He falls in the same way I fell and I know - I know - that we’re dying. I flash back to the moments before this hell, when our heartbeats weren’t a countdown and our thoughts didn’t revolve around blood. I remember the texture of canvas beneath my fists, the way his gaze felt against my back, how my eyes narrowed in irritation. My heavy breathing delivered sweet, sweet oxygen, not pain. My mind was on the beatings I suffered at home, not those I would come to face in the Arena. I had two arms.

“You bloody idiot!” I shout, though I’m not sure he hears me. “Get up. Get up.” I’m not sure if I truly want him to live or if I want proof that I can do the same if only I try hard enough, but then I see the blood I know he’s not strong enough. Neither of us are. We fought together, once upon a time. We were two of a kind. Not that any of that matters anymore.

Ripred built us both to last, but not through something like this.

At that thought my head tilts backward, jaw dropping into a shriek of fury. “You come from hell!” I’ve been insulting them for days now but only now do my words hold the weight of my entire life. Every ounce of my energy is dedicated toward raising my voice and being heard. I’ve only got so many words left, after all. “I hope all your sons and daughters suffer the way I have! The way we have! I hope you burn, you hear me? You will pay for this. And when the axe falls on your neck, I will be there with all the other souls you destroyed in this hell. We’ll laugh.”

My words cut off into a deep cough that causes blood to leak from my mouth, staining the backs of my teeth and my lips. I shudder on the ground, my body spasming as it desperately seeks some sort of life. My teeth grit tightly together, legs curling into my chest. One by one my muscles seize up against the onslaught of pain until it feels like I might turn myself inside out, and the only thing that keeps me anchored to the world in that moment is the thought of my families watching me writhe upon the ash.

“Get - ” my voice shakes and then cuts off into a cry as another wave of agony rolls through me. As soon as it eases, if only slightly, I try again. “G-get out - out of here. P-please.”

this is a call to arms
will you embrace me
before it’s too late?

Someone’s arm slips beneath my knees, the other supporting my back, and I chew on my tongue to muffle the cries of pain as they lift me up slightly. I feel myself being shifted and then settled back against their chest. It’s how I would hold Lucy when I carried her up to bed. I suddenly feel very small and vulnerable, held like a small child. My eyes are screwed shut, anticipating the next wave of pain, but it doesn’t come. My body’s given up fighting against the inevitable, and I feel myself begin to relax, tired body sinking back into the person holding me. It’s over.

Now a new kind of pain awaits.

After a few moments I manage to peel my eyelids back. The world is fuzzy at first, shapes and colors bleeding into each other like a watercolor painting, but eventually everything stills. My good hand shakily rises to brush the hair out of my eyes and I blink up at Soap’s familiar face, blackened by soot. It takes me a good five seconds to realize he’s the one holding onto me. Without really trying my lips twitch up into a ghost of a smile. “Hey there, Bubble Boy.” My voice is hoarse, weakened by my earlier screams.

Cool fingers find mine and my head falls to the side, meeting Lyric’s gaze steadily. I’d like to say that I can see everything right there in her eyes. That I can pull forth all of the pain and heal it, just like I did for my sisters. I can’t, though, and so I simply arc one eyebrow. “I thought I told you to get out, Blondie.” I attempt to shake my head. “You’re all fire and no common sense, you know that?”

My eyes look over her shoulder and I make out Claude’s face, though it’s slightly out of focus. “You too, Cloudy.” My mind flashes back to when he held Lyric and I, just after I lost my arm, and my gaze goes distant for a moment. “Although you never were the kind to leave people behind, were you?”

take care of all the love you spend
it’s wasted to nothing
beware of wolves who hide their teeth
they’ll take you and leave you

A sudden gush of blood oozes from my wounds and I shudder, curling back into Soap until my face is pressed against his chest. Everything hurts and I’m so tired - so bloody tired - but I can’t leave now. Not with so many unspoken words still hanging in the air.

My mind drifts to memories of my family, of long afternoons spent listening to Nora spouting poem after poem while Eva drew fantastical pictures to accompany them. I would sit off to the side in Mom’s old rocking chair, keeping one eye on my two little artists and the other on Helen, who would play with Lucy and her dolls. During thunderstorms I’d help them build a fort out of pillows and blankets and the five of us would burrow inside until long after the rain had passed. Those sun-drenched afternoons and stormy nights were what made us a family.

I’d never call myself a mother, or even a mother figure. I was irresponsible, short tempered, and impulsive. I had yet to grow and learn. At the time, I didn’t worry about raising five siblings. They weren’t mine to raise, or so I thought. Perhaps, subconsciously, I did nudge them through their childhoods, but I never realized it. Things were easy back then. Black and white. My sisters were sweet and pure and good. My father was cruel and angry and bad. It was right of me to stand up to him but wrong of me to punch him back. It was right of me to support my family but wrong of me to steal. Life was conflicted but there was always that distinct separation between the light and the dark.

The lines blurred quickly once I entered the Arena. Lyric comforted me just after she killed a girl. Soap was an awkward, self-conscious boy with blood on his blade. Claude was my insane friend who always kept his head. And me? I constantly danced on the edge, watching the good and bad, the right and wrong, the black and white bleed into each other until my world became a mass of gray. Was it right of me to try to kill others if I was trying to save my own life? Or was I cruel for valuing myself above them? Did my love for my newfound family justify my intense fury when fighting for them? Now, as I bury my face into Soap’s worn shirt, I see everything in a new light. The world is not so simple anymore.

I guess it never really was.

should i be like a russian doll?
a statue in the cold, as empty as a shell
or make a final stand, go back to what we had
i’m stepping out from my defenses

After a few moments I manage to turn back toward the world. Toward my family. The world blurs, going in and out of focus for a few moments, before I finally manage to lock my gaze on Soap’s face.

Colgate O’Leary. (”The most intimate thing I’ve ever done with a girl is murder her.” “I think you’re hopelessly awkward and a total lightweight.” “You’re not gonna get anything useful done, looking like you’ve already died.” “Good thinking, Bubble Boy.” “It’ll be okay, we’ll fix you up.” “You’re - you’re okay.” “Hell yeah, I am.” “Come on, Bubble Boy. I’ll show you how.”) I force a smile onto my face, untangling my fingers from Lyric’s to reach up with my good arm and run trembling fingers along his jawline, as if trying to convince myself that he’s real and not a hallucination. That I’m still alive. "You're amazing. You're bloody amazing, okay? No matter what you think or what anyone else has ever said, you're a handsome, caring, incredible person. I was lucky to have known you, Bubble Boy." I feel a tear catch on my fingertips and I gently pull my hand away, shaking my head slightly. “Shhh,” I say, like I would have when comforting Lucy. I’m not sure he hears me. “Shhh. Don’t cry.”

Lyric Woulf. (“How lovely it is to be entertainment.” “Hang in there, Blondie.” “Don’t hurt them!” “Let’s patch you up, yeah?” “You did good, hothead.” “I’m s-sorry. I’m j-just… I’m sorry.” “I love you. All of you.” “I - I can’t.” “I got you.”) My head drops back to the side and I once again seek out Lyric’s hand, clutching it tightly. I’m ashamed at how I only just now realize how beautiful she is. Does she know that? I hope she knows that. I don’t waste words on her physical attributes, though. I’ve come to love something more more important. "You take care of yourself, understand? They aren't going to let you live another day without a fight, so you fight them. Give 'em hell for me, okay? I know you've got the fire." Her eyes are bright as she leans forward, her lips feather soft against my forehead. My eyes flutter closed for a split second and I feel so at peace that I almost leave right then and there, but then her voice reaches my ears, drawing me back. “I promise.”

Claude Aeger. (“I also think you’re crazy and it kind of freaks me out.” “Don’t do anything foolish… please.” “I feel your pain, Cloudy.” “We’ve got company.” “I will rip you limb from limb if you touch him again!” “I won’t let you go.”) Claude is more distant than Lyric and Soap but I can still feel his presence. He’s brave - so brave - but I can feel him wavering now. I want to crawl over and embrace him, to tell him everything will be okay. I want to protect him, like I always have. I can’t, though. Not anymore. "Cloudy, you keep fighting, too, okay? No matter what those hallucinations of yours say, you need to stay strong. Even when it hurts. Even when you don't want to. That's what being strong means." He looks up but his eyes are distant, glazed over and sad. Still, he nods. He’s heard me.

This is my family. We’re battered and broken, but still good.

I love them.

this is a call to arms
will you embrace me
before it’s too late?

The world is shrinking, gently falling back into a gentle hum of sound and sight and touch. I no longer feel so heavy in Soap’s arms, floating as if in a dream. There’s something wrong with my vision - it’s getting harder and harder to see through the blurriness and darkness that creeps in from the edges. I make out the outline of Claude’s face, the pale color of Lyric’s hair, the dirt smudged beneath Soap’s left eye. I falter, swallowing back the panic and forcing myself to focus on the comfortable numbness has fallen into. There’s a strange rocking sensation, as if I’m on a boat or in a mother’s arms.

“Remember those dances?” I attempt a smile for them, to make them happy, because they always did the same for me. “There was… there was this one that I really loved. It was… s-slow. You kind of swayed back and forth... Come on, you three. I'll show you how."

The darkness swallows me before I can.

(Savannah’s cannon fires.)

She did not go to hell, as she was always so certain she would.

Savannah Carrey was not, in fact, a sinner. She wasn’t a saint, either. She was something in between, a beautiful word the mortals call “human”. Things were never easy for her. They were never supposed to be. She hurt and was hurt, loved and was loved. She committed acts of cruelty and was selflessly kind. She was a girl of contradictions, never at peace with herself of her life, but she always soldiered on. She experienced life to its fullest despite dying young, and perhaps that is why she was saved from the inferno of eternal agony.

In the afterlife she frequents a bar that is familiar and cozy. The beer there tastes like ambrosia. She isn’t alone as she sits on the stool by the counter, often conversing with a bartender with golden eyes and wrinkled brown skin. She’ll talk for hours with him about all that she once was. She talks about a little girl with a teddy bear, a timid little warrior, a talkative poet, a daydreaming artist, and a gorgeous socialite. She talks about a young woman with blonde hair and fire in her eyes. She talks about the bravest boy she ever met, who faced insanity on a daily basis. She talks about the one who held her as she died, with no idea just how strong and incredible he was. "I loved them, you know," she says, and the bartender often smiles. As she talks, she’ll sometimes glance toward the door as if expecting someone to come in.

Eternities pass, and she waits.

my love
the drums are calling
a red sky
a warning

(OOC: I would like to thank everybody who supported Sav throughout the Games for being so absolutely awesome. I can't name all of you, unfortunately, so I hope you know who you are and that I adore you <3 Specifically I would like to thank Tristen and Chaos, both of whom listened to me ramble and muse about Games things without complaining once. I would also like to thank Rook, Python, and Elegant for providing me with some fantastic threadage before the Games which helped with Sav's development immensely. South and Ro are next on the list for being awesome Gamemakers and answering my sometimes confusing questions ^^ Finally, I absolutely, definitely need to thank Thundy, Nyte, and Kire, my fantastic alliance. Words cannot describe how much I adore you three. You tolerated my desperate need for fluff in the Arena, you listened to my crazy ideas, and you were more than willing to provide Savannah with the family she needed to stay sane in the Arena. Good luck to the remaining tributes and, as always, may the odds be ever in your favor <3)