with one lung [charlotte vs erebus, day 6]

[Deleted]

That night she cried; she cried like each bawl emptied some dam and eventually it'd run out, but it never did. And she realized this is what pain is, not the scars built into her chest and leg and arms but the feeling of those cuts being the least hollow part of her body, because those can be healed but this missing can't (her mother always said that time could heal all, but she didn't have any fucking time left, not her or Aelia). She left them alone for one day, and Aelia already got herself killed like it was so difficult to come back to her; the only thing that hurt as much was that she didn't know who's fault it was. Owen was supposed to keep her alive, to protect her until Charlotte could come back and do it herself, but fuck's sakes of course he couldn't keep up his side of the deal. Why would he, fucking useless.

But she was just as much. Here she was, this career status girl in the top 8, trapped against one wall with only one leg and another bloody stump. If it wasn't for Leon - it forced shivers down her back to say it, even mouthing the fact that she needed help from him again was like the plague - she'd still be pinned under Dan's body and corresponding nub of an arm and gallons of blood painting her hair together like glue. She'd be dead. And she refused, but fucking hell did she even have a choice. Death kissed her neck with every passing second because the time was coming, beforehand she knew that her time was pressed most likely; that she would have seven days at best. But here it was, day six, and odds are she wouldn't see day seven.

Just her luck too, Aelia didn't see day six, but Owen did, and Leon did, and herself managed too. And that mattered somewhat, right? Every heartbeat powered by the catalyst of her most vital reminded her that she was alive, that she could make it out, but really, could she. What was the chances that she could take them all out; Gavin, Dan, Jem. All dead along side with that rat and Aelia, and it was a miracle her face wasn't beside the likes of them last night. That fucking vulture pecked at her and it made sense a little. Death was still around her, because Vultures were like the reaper's pets, and they knew death like that back of their hands.

There wasn't a chance she'd live.

That was the main thing she knew, even huddled against old, cracked bricks harder than her head before the games, she knew that it was coming to be that time. She shook through the night like the dust swirling around feet away, dying hurt right? Wasn't it supposed to be this like, intense tightening and then release.

Free.

If it all ended, she'd be free from this fucking pain, and this damn missing leg, and she'd be dead but more alive than she'd been these past six days, right? It'd be okay. She wouldn't have to be such a bitch all the time just to get by, and that was what terrified her the most of it all. She wouldn't be anything but dead. The thing she sought out not to be was the path all along, some nameless causality. And the only way around that was to fling around this arena with one damn leg, and whatever she had left.

The boy from the feast, that other one-foot monstrosity, he was barely feet away, crawling just the same. They were two of the same in a way, fucked over by the odds. But there was only eight left, just a simple eight; flipped sideways that was infinity and that brought a chuckle to her throat.

Nothing was infinite.

[attacks erebae]
ttelURniknife
[2124 -- Deep Gash on Right Bicep -- 8.0 damage]

"I'm not sorry."

knife

[sbeeg]

Erebus Turner

Siren Baitwell and Leon Krigel saved his life. The pair from District Four had helped him limp out of the line of fire of the giant mutt and set him up inside the Saloon. The female part of the couple helped Erebus patch himself up, tying off bandages and sewing up the giant holes cut in his skin. The boy's mouth was dry and the sun had turned his shoulders and cheeks an angry red. Glancing over at the empty bottles that littered the counter he saw his reflection warped in the glass. It didn't look like him and not just because of the bottles' curves. His hair was filthy streaked with blood and coated in dirt. His face had taken quite a beating, the new gash along his cheekbone made his usual baby face seem harder. Or maybe that was from how little he had eaten since arriving in the Games. In fact, he hadn't eaten a thing since his breakfast before the Bloodbath. Unsteady hands reached into his satchel and pulled out the meat Nocturne had cooked for him. He had forgotten all about it, but once it was in his hands it was gone before he thought about how safe it might be to eat.

He liked Siren and Leon. Despite them being enemies and all that. Leon had known Nocturne and that made the boy more comfortable around the older tributes. They had wounds of their own they were nursing. Leon had a stump instead of an arm and Siren had a few gashes herself. Normally, Erebus might have stared at Leon's missing hand but it was no longer a rarity to him. What was rare was the boy from Four's hair. It reminded him so much of his families' trademark gene that he almost felt at home. When the boy turned around he almost thought it was his long lost brother. Of course, Erebus never had a brother only sisters. He had a brother once, one from District Nine but that felt oh so long ago...

The pair from Four shared their kindness but soon went their separate ways and once again Erebus Turner was left alone with all the ghosts that must haunt this sad little town.

When the Anthem began to echo through the Arena, Erebus hopped along with one hand on the bar until he was on the porch out in front of the Saloon, looking up at all the faces in the sky. He started to count out the tributes on his hand but ran out of fingers since his thumb had been hacked off. A total of five faces flashed against the sky ending with the hard eyes of the District Seven boy before disintegrating into darkness.

After spending nearly a week in the little run down town, Erebus was beginning to loathe the rotten wood and worn down signs that appeared at every turn. He tried to take a swig of water from his canteen only to remember that it was empty. His lips were chapped and he hardly had any saliva to wet them. Instead he took to chewing on the peeling skin. His mother used to yell at him for gnawing on his lips that like but she wasn't here. No one was here anymore.

Hopping along to wooden boards to the back door of the Saloon, Erebus tried to balance himself against the door frame enough to be able to pee without falling over. Feet were more important to basic functions than the boy had thought, and he hoped whoever was watching the Games appreciated feet more after watching him struggle to urinate without tumbling into it.

Another trip of hopping across the Saloon, another glance into the bottles, another disappointed sigh at finding them empty. There was shade from the sun in the building but the air was stuffy and threatened to suffocate the tribute. He was tired of the scenery and he was tired of waiting around for kids to come and kill him. Sliding his satchel over his shoulder and grabbing his walking stick, Erebus starting limping out the door. Even if he ended up falling into the sand and dying of heatstroke it would be better than dying from a blade in the heart cooped up inside some wooden shack.

Hobbling between the buildings, Erebus felt better than he had in days. He had made it to the sixth day of the Hunger Games. He was in the top eight of tributes, which meant that his family must be being interviewed back home. He wondered what Lethe might be telling all the Capitol reporters. She had cried as much as he had during their training week, and he hoped to hobble his way back to her. Lethe Turner had been through enough to last a life time, a dead brother would only add to her pain.

I'm coming home, Lethe. I'm trying. he thought, making his way toward the edge of the town. However, before he even left past the jail house a blade caught him in the arm tearing his shirt and skin and all the confidence he had built during the night.

"No," Erebus said, throwing his walking stick into the dirt and yanking his knife from his belt. "No more of this. I'm sick of it- leave me ALONE!"

[Attacks Charlotte]
TzOpGnUpknife
[Block -- 0.0 damage]

knife

[Deleted]

Blood morph around her bowie as she dug into his arm, the jacket and undershirt and skin tearing across her swipe, yet she couldn't muster a smile or a gaff or anything. She felt void, like clouds filled her lungs and the air around her was still and frigid and as Aelia and Darius and the girl who's knife dug him there and the decoy career who's only importance was that he came from the same place as Aelia (but they were both back there now, huh, so what was the point). Seconds ago she could feel her heartbeats' ricochet through the tips of her ears, but now she could pass off for the dead, with the bass of her body attempting so desperately to kill her still alive substituting as whispers. All she could notice was the red coming out of his skin like it was some damn self-defense mechanism and it felt estranged a sight. The record of her time in the arena was infected with hits so similar, but she never stopped at where all that was left to focus at was the base of their life.

"No more of this. I'm sick of it- leave me alone!"

Each syllable of the other gimp's plead licked against her skin to form a rash in the same way Charlotte's knife mashed against its twin.

"That's not how this works," she wanted, begged for her retort to come back in some second hand sass, but the words that shook out of her mouth tasted bitter and painted with the petrified look on her face as she nearly fell to the ground instead of grasping against the wall aside her. This boy was at least one of the few tributes she knew the name of - Erebus Turner - and if it wasn't for the last name, she wouldn't believe someone as unremarkable made it to the top eight. Erebus Turner, he should fucking know the games, how familiar the pains are because each carve his sister went through is nothing to what he would go through.

Because he wouldn't live.

Lethe lived with a missing eye, but he would die before he got his one foot and nine fingers (thumps are fucking fingers now) onto that victor's stage next to his sister. Hate was buried into her stomach like it was an organ of her's, but the empty was gone and all that remained was the fact that either district one or five wouldn't walk out of this fight as she clenched her fingers against the steel of her weapon. Odds are she may not make it out of this fight (and it almost came as a relief to think of the ending coming so soon) and odds are if she didn't kill him now he wouldn't make it any farther than the saloon before his cannon went off as well. He was a pet by another name, and allowed to "no" his way this far. And Charlotte was allowed to put him down like one of the other mutts in this fucking sandbox.

"That's not how this fucking works." She spit the words onto the ground to mix the second amputee's leaking arm; nobody can slid this far without their share of sins, and she'd make sure his toll was something higher than just a missing thumb and a ghost foot.

"I though your sister-"

[attacks erebae :C]
SyUexkDeknife
[2105 -- Deep Gash on Left Thigh -- 8.0 damage]

"would teach you fucking something!"

knife

[sbeeg]

Erebus Turner

She was right. That's not how the Games work. That's not how life works. Just because you're down doesn't mean others can't kick you. Rules mean nothing and pity is fiction. Even still, Erebus wished the world would pity him.

The pain of her blade buried in his leg forced his teeth to slam together and his remaining fingers to curl up into fists trying to bite back a scream.

"I thought your sister would teach you fucking something!" She did teach him. From a young age Lethe had taught Erebus to be kind. Despite the fact that she couldn't remember his face for most of his life, she taught him almost everything he knew. Lethe showed him how to groom the horses the way they liked, how to please mother and all her requirements. She taught him how to be soft and open. She taught him how to love.

All of that was useless in here, but he wouldn't have it any other way. Erebus Turner would rather die a gentle, quiet boy then live to be a monster. Killing takes a cold heart and that was something the Turner boy would never have.

Tears were already in his eyes and the boy yelled, rubbing the heel of his hands in his eyes to wipe them away. Why did he always have to cry?

Despite all his disadvantages, Erebus didn't feel like dying today. The Turner boy might be one to mope about but right now a flame inside of him was burning bright. He might have been handed the shortest end of any stick available but that didn't mean he wasn't going to grab it and smack someone over the head with it.

You can be gentle and strong. You can defend yourself and not be a monster. You can be yourself and still make it home.

That's what Erebus planned on doing.

[Attacks Charlotte]
Dg8fZlr_knife
[Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage]

knife

[Deleted]

Turner's cut caught Charlotte less off guard than the scream omitting from his throat slicing the air like that damn Scorpion's pincers straight through her leg (she still felt it, she felt her leg, she felt the pain, she felt everything ever since) and the tears that followed - in which had Charlotte more tempted to drink rather than console the boy. It was pathetic in a way, he opted the most prepared for the games than anyone else; he felt the games come and go, yet he was fucking cry as if he'd never been cut before. He was supposed to be this amazing trophy victor to be, right? The improved Turner, but all he was was alive. Alive in the sense that every breath he took counted towards something, but he wasn't some alpha career, he wasn't a victor.

He was a kid. Like Aelia, he was just drafted here instead of somebody begging for the glory, and the shock hung in Charlotte's hanging mouth that came along with his yelp. He was a kid, the realization that even the ones bred for the games or related to victors or the like weren't meant for the games. But these were her games, and his print into her left arm meant it was too late to leave (or attempt to leave with her nub and all) and that her first kill would have to be this kid. Like Aelia. Could she have killed Aelia? No. She couldn't have, Aelia still had the entire ocean to explore, and Charlotte herself still had to protect her. Maybe Erebus had his own ocean, or his own Aelia, or somewhere else in this arena was someone willing to jump in a pit for him.

No, he was just a kid (like Aelia) and he would die (like Aelia) and whoever was looking for him would be without (like herself).

"I'm not sorry."

The words were all she had, because every bit of her existence felt like quitting (she still had so much life though) and letting him live and go back to his whoever, but she couldn't. These were her games, and she'd be damned if a kid beat her to them. She wasn't sorry. She was alive, like him, but her breaths meant more than his would, because with every second of her still living meant only that she wasn't dead. His breathing only meant that one more cut might do him in, to kill him (like Aelia).

Grit rubbed across her hand from sliding against the building against, prepping to launch back at the boy (but it was so fucking hard, when did it get this hard just to cut something) while evidence of her living paced back and forth through her lungs. The flimsy little thing in her left hand felt so unremarkable (like Aelia) compared to the spear from yesterday; she could've made off with it too. It rolled off somewhere, lost between the vulture digging through her arm and the boy from two slicing at her remaining leg and his arm splashing into the twigs of her hair and Leon dragging her off into a building.

Erebus settled back into silence after releasing his throat and attempting to dig at her, and she'd love to do the same. Silence, the word felt like medicine in the back of her throat, she missed Aelia's aimless rambles and Owen's retorts and Rene's everything. And if it wasn't for the breaks of speech, she'd be stuck in them. She'd be stuck in only one train of thought and she wasn't sure if it was better to be fully focused or not.

"but you have to die."

(like Aelia.)

[attacks erebae]
vZYl|HcPknife
[2139 -- Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage]

knife

[sbeeg]

Erebus Turner

It was no mystery that Erebus was out of his element. The child did not grow up with spears and swords nor was he taught how to kill someone nineteen different ways with only his bare hands. He had grown up like most children do, innocently. The kind of time when they chase butterflies and giggle over clouds. Erebus slept in straw and had his mom pinch his cheeks. He wondered if the girl before him had the same luxuries.

Erebus knew about "Careers" the population of kids born and bred to fight in the Games. The girl in front of him- Charlotte, her name is Charlotte- was from One and there was no doubt in his mind what background she had come from. Did she ever have free time as a child? Or was it all drills and training?

It may have selfish of him but he didn't want to know. His mind wandered that direction but he refused to think of this girl's story and what hardships she might have faced. If he knew Charlotte then he would feel horrible about fighting her. He did not need to pity the girl who was killing him.

Pity. Erebus Turner thinks about pity an awful lot. I don't blame him, after all you'd think about pity too if people looked at you how they stare at Erebus. Brother of a victor- lightning doesn't strike the same place twice. Handsome face- but such a scrawny body, he won't last long. A good family name- but look how he cries, he's weak.

Weak, scrawny, useless, shameful, dead man walking. Would it bring shame to his family to have him die? Would Lethe be tarnished by the fact that he couldn't pull through like her? Would the ones he loved be punished for his downfalls? One already had. Nocturne was dead because he couldn't fight back.

It's a stupid thought to have seeing as only one victor could be crowned but he wanted to believe he could have saved Nocturne. It was all make believe because all Nocturne did was save Erebus' sorry ass. He was the one killed every mutt they had encountered. Vargas had been the one to share his gifts. Vargas had done everything and what had Erebus done? Let him die.

Erebus flinched as the girl's knife sliced open the wound Siren had helped him sew shut the night before. The gash on his cheek was bleeding again, trailing red tear drops down his jaw.

He would not let any of this be in vain. Not Siren and Leon's kindness, not Lethe's tears, and especially not Nocturne's death. He may be a child, and he may be weak but he was not done hobbling across this world. Not yet.

[Attacks Charlotte]
onr_kkQ6knife
[Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage]

knife

[Deleted]

A new lash carved into her skin barely fazed her due to the fact that she was getting used to the pain considering her collection of scars already; Leon's tattoo'd upon her arm, that buffalo's imprint on her chest, the scorpion taking half of her leg like play work, compared to those the new slice on her face was a paper cut (she could still feel each attack like they were brand new too, the rips in her shirt, the rips in her skin, needle and thread and bandages can only do so much). Each body can only take so much until they topple down - she knew that first hand, Dan's arm or lack thereof spraying over her before watching him fall, the corpses of the boys Darius and Gavin both taking only one hit to knock them down - and with every dig into five's skin felt like the one to finish it.

Yesterday she almost killed him, she was so damn close. That bowie of her's dragging into Erebus's back so clean she was actually somewhat proud before having a vulture burrow its fucking beak into her arm, but she could've killed him back then instead of a second mutt. Except today, there was no vulture, and there wasn't any other tributes; just the two of them, and she'd leave him face down in this fucking ghost town like she planned yesterday; she could finish him.

And she would.

It was like she was a broken record with the amount of times she repeated the phrase to herself, but maybe chanting Erebus' death to herself was better than the silence coming from him. Through attempting to jump from five's cross hairs and sliding against the building just to stay upright, a snarl set free against her mouth and the ripped ends of right sleeve soaked up the fresh cut. Yet, for the first time in days, she felt calmed. She felt the air cycling between her throat and her lungs and back out, and her left hand stopped shaking and she felt calm.

Because it was just the two of them, and she no longer had to worry about Aelia getting hurt or killed because it already happened. And as the echoes of her heartbeat vibrated through Charlotte's skeleton, all the pain Aelia burdened was released at the same time she was, and she's healthy and whole and dead, and the pain is gone, and maybe by not protecting her she was made whole again anyways.

If maybes were bricks, Charlotte would have already been able to rebuild this entire town, but the bricks of fantasy were the most she had left outside the weapon in her left hand and the tribute in front of her. And maybe he and his family would be made whole again, if she could kill him.

And she would.

[attacks erebud]
XPfPnb4Oknife
[2078 -- Stabbed in Back -- 9.0 damage]

knife

[sbeeg]

Erebus Turner

He managed to nick the girl's cheek; a small victory for a small boy. Charlotte's knife wedged itself between his shoulder blades and this time Erebus let out a scream. It echoed between the buildings and over the the empty dry earth. Every yelp of pain he had held back, every scream of anguish he tried to control was released in that single wail. It dissolved into sobs as the boy dropped to the ground, trying to see through the red dots that were taking over his vision.

Trying to force air into his battered lungs, Erebus watched blood drip from his lips to the ground forming tiny scarlet ponds. A cannon shook the arena filling his ears and shaking the ground beneath him. Was it for him? No, no it couldn't be. He could still feel pain scratching at his insides. People always said that when you die you don't feel pain anymore. Of course no one knows for sure, but Erebus always liked to believe in things like that. Useless, paper thin speeches to make people feel better. He used to find comfort in them but he couldn't find anything now but empty words.

Closing his eyes, Erebus tried to hold back the tears that kept coming not matter how much he wished them to stop. What was it his mother told him? "It's okay to cry because it hurts. No use pretending it doesn't."

Kneeling in the dirt, Erebus felt so small. The thought of his mother's voice made him feel like a little child again. He wished she was here now. He wished he hadn't spent the last few years pushing her away so he could be older and independent. The boy would do anything to have her fix his collar or fix his neck tie again. He wanted to feel safe in her arms again but all he had was the hot dry air and his killer looming over him. I'm sorry mom, I'm so sorry I couldn't be like Lethe. I'm sorry I failed.

Despite all the dark feelings swirling around in the boy's mind, a little memory filled his head like a lantern through a fog. It was when Lethe was in the Games, the night before the finale would take place. The odds had not been in her favor and The Turner clan hadn't slept a wink. Erebus and his sisters started crying and that's when their mother had swooped in to comfort them despite the tears in her own eyes.

"If Lethe dies children, If that career from Two ki- ends her life, it doesn't mean she failed. It doesn't mean she's lost. It means she did her best and I don't want anyone thinking that her best wasn't enough. It was enough. Your best doesn't always mean winning, it means staying true to yourself. And we'll all be proud of her, won't we?"

He hoped they were proud of him. The boy hoped that his strong, Victor sister was pleased with her little brother who stumbled through the games the best he could. He hoped his mother was proud of both her daughter and her son. He hoped... he hoped he hadn't disappointed anyone.

Hauling himself up with the help of his walking stick, Erebus forced his eyes to stay open. They were ringed with red and had a hard time focusing on the figure in front of him, but he was standing and he was alive. Another cannon pierced the the air; another one not for him. 

Do you see me, mom? I hope I'm everything you wanted me to be.

[Attacks Charlotte]
B2tUiTK6knife
[Block -- 0.0 damage]

knife

[Deleted]

The tip of her knife dipped into his skin like she was digging into the ground instead - grains of blood beading off instantaneously down her point until soon blooming into branching patterns of red smearing into the palm of her hand and the tattered clothes on his back. Iron of Erebus's blood melting against the sands under their soles filtering through Charlotte's nose as it painted against her hand, filling the prints of her hands like dams. Shock pang in her veins as she continued up his back, yet her lungs shook with a jagged breath from the off-balance of sliding around the boy and fading back against the bricks behind him. A sigh rattling through her throat and up into the matted clumps of hair resting in front of her face once her body slammed against the wall, fight to position her one leg back into place in order to actually fucking attack again now that she circled around her wailing prey.

With the nature of the games and its nooses narrowing down around each of the tributes' necks, there was barely time for Charlotte to go through with anything she wished, she didn't have the time to make up to Aelia, she didn't have the time to chew out to Owen, she didn't have time to personally square her fist into Glamour's nose. But she was still able to see to it that Erebus never waddled out of this town, and the opportunity to see the story unfold always sat in her mind; she swore with her being minutes ago she would make sure a second Turner didn't slip out alive. And now the chance was here, crying in front of her into the sand as blood dripped from his cheek and back and lip and leg and arm and off the end of Charlotte's bowie

and his release was here.

(cannon.)

Here, in her left hand. She could end it, end the pain, end him, and it'd be as easy as driving her knife down into his skin one more time. Her fingers clenched around the word, the thought, death. Darius, Aelia, Gavin, Jem, Erebus. They were all just extensions of his name, two of her allies, Leon's loss of innocence and the beginning of her fall. Death kissed them all just the same and away from Charlotte and kissed her wrists as she dug into Erebus like it kissed Aelia so many times before, and she wanted her back as much as she wanted this boy dead.

But in a way she didn't want him dead.

(cannon.)

His knife pointed at her once again, striking at her right eye and the presence coming warmed her face and in a perfect world it would've struck through and bit into her soul and she'd be finished. That cannon's name would've been her's instead of a different one and her left arm would've hesitated instead of blocking the blow and it'd be finished, and she wouldn't be left in the face of death again. She'd take his hand and greet Aelia once more and the chime of her knife's repercussion wouldn't have existed to bite at her ear drums.

Dying was supposed to be the easiest thing to do, just sleep and never wake up again and wait for the freedom to be left with only a void, and the hardest part was the ones that would be without. But Charlotte had nobody if she lived or died, her hand while she wasted would only be waited upon by death himself, and there'd be no words after and it'd be release. Erebus had Lethe, and Erebus had others, and Erebus had himself, and the void grasping at each word he breathed would be nothing but himself, and the others would be without.

(cannon.)

(and I'm truly not sorry, Erebus)

[attacks erebus]
2VxblGmpknife
[2168 -- Deep Gash on Right Calf -- 8.0 damage]

(cannon.)

knife