Dark Circles [TLB v. WG]

[brad bradford ★ d5b [arx]]

I didn't even realize just how tired I was until the anthem began, signifying that I had in fact survived Day 1 in this dark, endless maze. Without the sun, I had lost sense of time all together. The only thing that would tell me the time now would be the anthem. The faces of the dead flashing in the night sky are acting as the sun.

The first face in the sky is a familiar one and a part of me wishes I had never talked to anyone back at the Training Center. Because now there was a piece of me aching for a lost soul (Haha, get it? Kia Soul?) that I was sure didn't deserve to die this way. But then there was the stronger and more dominant piece of me that felt guilty for not carrying about the faces in the sky. That part of me that wanted to go home and knew that every new face in the sky was one step closer I was to the possibility of home.

It's funny how despite knowing my fate I refuse to give in to it. But I suppose that isn't to far out of the ordinary. Everyone fights for things they just can't have, everyone fights against the inevitable. I've seen those fights over and over again happening in the eyes of my family - (Ripred that word is so silly. Family. Why do I use it? They aren't my family, they aren't, even if I wish they were!) - and seen them losing those battles nearly everyday. Each of us had learned early that we just can't win.

But still I can't make myself feel all that sorry for the faces in the sky. I can't even suppress my grumble when the anthem ends after just 4 faces flash in the sky. I deserve an award for heartlessness or something. Then again, I haven't killed anyone yet. And as far as I can tell, I'm not sure I can manage taking a life, no matter how much I want to return home. I shouldn't have told Ruth it would all be okay. Definitely should not have promised that I would be okay. Even if I were to somehow manage to come home alive (this sliver of hope I have really is the stupidest, most ridiculous thing - if. Pfft.) there is no way I would be okay when I got back.

As if I was ever okay to begin with.

I cling to Twelve and Fishboy like a lifeline, though I know that neither of them really knows where they are going. I call them idiots for that, but I know I would never be able to do any better - I won't admit that to them though. It was hard enough admitting that I couldn't swing a sword. Admitting I was no good with direction? Yeah, how about I just throw every bit of my masculinity out of the window, start dressing like the Capitolites, and admit that pink is indeed my favorite color. (You know that pink that is sometimes there at sunrise and sunset? Best. Thing. Ever.) But I won't ever be telling anyone that. Not anyone in here at least.

But I swear if I get the chance to keep living beyond this damn labyrinth I will scream it to the world unabashedly. ("I love pink!")

But today certainly isn't that day, so I keep everything to myself, hoping silently that we will stop walking soon. My feet hurt, I'm tired. And after all the pie eating contests and endless buffets of food for the past two weeks I have found that I am hungry. Not starving - I know how to correctly use that word - but I am hungry. And thirsty. But I keep myself from complaining. Not only to keep my dignity, but to keep the hidden cameras for catching any of my words. No need to have anyone back home worrying more than they already are.

That's when I hear movement that is not my own or my allies. I let go of them immediately and clutch my axe with both hands, abandoning the iron baton. "Guys, you hear that?" And for a moment it is silent again and I think maybe I had imagined the noise. But then I whirl around as I think I hear more movement on the opposite side of me. "Shit, shit, shit..." I mumble to myself, turning in all directions, trying to hone in on the culprit, finally seeing a light bouncing off the walls.

I just sit and wait, the sweat on my brow running down my face. (Just swing, Blaire. Don't look just swing.)

And I do.

---

{Blaire attacks Cha Leviane with his Stone Axe}
Xzv|RFSiaxe
{Block -- 0.0 damage}

---

Blaire Sycamore - District 5

---

axe

[Kire]

♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆



J I M D E E R

♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆

Says, Thinks

We are a string of scared creatures in this dark. I'm still leading for whatever reason and I almost know that we're still going in circles. Even with my knowledge of navigating the tunnels of the mine I still find it easy to get lost in the darkness. I wouldn't be surprised if we ended up in hell for what little direction I can tell. If I wasn't used to being underground I may have started to lose my grip of what was up and what was down. Sure enough, I see the shape of the cornucopia looming before us, and I feel the expansive cavern with the change in the air. It's then that I recognize the fact that I am seeing.

Searching for the light source, my gaze zips around to pinpoint the exact location. My hand - my left hand - tightens around the iron cudgel that I have and now I ready for a fight. Blaire is muttering beside me, then swearing, and I now can make out three shapes in the light of a torch. Grumbling, I ready my weapon and nudge Jay hard. If there was any time where we really needed a Career, it would be now. "What's Blaire call you, Fishboy? Well let's go, Fishboy." I moved forward, raising my weapon to strike into the light, searching out a form to smash.

♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆ ♦ ✦ ◆

(Jim Attacks Fionnbharr Stoddard - Wrought Iron Cudgel)
H5McqG1Eblunt
Broken Left Femur -- 7.5 damage

(I apologize for this post, I'm super tired and a little loopy. I'll rewrite it once I'm more awake.)

blunt

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

  JAY  KREARNS 

district four tribute

The darkness of the night was the worst thing. He had to cling to Jim and Blaire, who if Jay had to admit were kind of annoying. Jay was tired already. He wanted to sleep and wake up in the morning. Maybe then they'd get light. His mind was fearful of the darkness and what was out there. He couldn't get much sleep to begin with, but as soon as the anthem blared, Jay's eyes immediately looked for who was dead. A feeling of sorrow for the ones who had died. His mind was racing and thinking of Mason in the bloodbath. Many of the tributes were bloodbath bait and killed in bloodbath. Jay's eyes focused on the sky, the only light that can be seen in the darkness for him.

The first two faces were both from the same district. Number 3. The only reason he knew that was because they had been two faces that he easily remembered. Also the fact that it said their district on the bottom. Jay felt the guilt of District 3 being out already. Klaus Goravich lost two more tributes again. His eyes tried focusing on the sky, but they started getting heavier and heavier. His eyes were about shut, when the next face appeared. One that would haunt his dreams that night. Zelphyr. Jay felt his hand move into his hair and he moved them frustrated. One sentence echoing in his head, "I'm okay with dying." And another one rings in his head "All ripped and career-like. I don't stand a chance against him, or anybody in that case..I...I..." Jay felt the guilt in himself. He could have taken her under his wing. He could have helped her, but now... now she was dead. He wasn't a hero in all the stories or the knight in shining armor. He was a mutt. He was created to kill. He was a monster. Just like Davy had said. A monster to the end. Jay's eyes closed and the darkness was even darker.

Jay and Jim were leading the way in the morning. Jay had woken to the darkness and that made his morning even worse. It was a bad day for Jay. He had little to no sleep from his paranoid state of someone sneak attacking. He found out Zelphyr is dead. He even was a bit chilly, but there was nothing he could do. The numbness on his fingers as he clutched the sword was prominent and would not go away until later. The darkness was everywhere. Jay was never afraid of this. The darkness. The darkness was a brand new twist and it made him feel awful. The feeling of never knowing who was there. Never knowing who ever attacked you. Jay was walking in his alliance, who were all clinging to each other like always. The air was cold and a breeze could be felt. Blaire was quiet. Jim was quiet. Jay was quiet. The eerie silence annoyed him. Jay was about to speak, but something else came.

"Guys, you hear that?" Jay immediately gripped his sword tighter. Whoever or whatever it was, Jay was ready. He was the career here and he had to prove that he was a valuable asset to the two. Jim looked better than the day before and Jay's thigh was healing a bit. Jay's eyes tried finding whatever Blaire was freaking out about, but then he sees it. A light shining. THe next thing he heard was Blaire, "Shit, shit, shit..." Jay saw the girl, who looked quite creepy in the little light of the torch, but then his eyes caught the other guy and girl. The guy was who was interesting to him. The one who caused his injury on his thigh. Jay smirked and was ready to attack, but a thought stopped him. "You take care of the nasties in there for me, yes?" Jay took a deep breath and whispered, "These are the nasties. I gotta take care of them." Jay moved forward to see Jim break a bone in the guy's leg and this just added to Jay's happiness.

That's when Jim yelled at Jay, "What's Blaire call you, Fishboy? Well let's go, Fishboy." Jay glared at Jim. He was already angry enough and Jim was making it worse. Jay clutched the sword pissed at Jim already for leading them back the same way. Jay charged at the male and swung. He yelled at Jim, "Jim, Shut the hell up. I've already had a bad day." Jay's mind was in full speed. His only thoughts were kill or be killed. Kill or be killed. Kill or be killed. He was a mutt. He was a monster. He was the one who would terrorize these games, even if he was on his last drop of blood. He'd fight and kill and be the mutt that the capitol would want. Jay smirked and whispered, "Bye Bye, Mr.8."

template: che1sey

(Attacks Fionnbharr Stoddard with Bone Sword)
dNn6ZWJssword
(shallow cut left shoulder 3.5)sword

[Deleted]

[presto][/presto]

C H A  L E V I A N E

{ lyric
hurr
ayy ;

The night brought with it nothing but petrified, limb numbing fear and darkness. Lots and lots of darkness. She had slept on a hammock of rocks and dust, on a cold, ice cold floor that shook with the sounds of monsters (and tributes) somewhere deep, deep inside the arena. Her body was rigid, limbs frozen, not from the cold air that swept through the arena but from her own instinct to remain as straight, as rigid as possible, bone knife laced between her fingers, her arm slung across her backpack and pulling it into a hug that would never be broken, that could never be undone.

Every breath she took was silenced, and each time she blinked she made sure to do it as quickly as possible, because she never knew just how fast the monsters around her were, she never knew how fast they could kill her, catch her and tear her to shreds just like the body, just like her spirit. She laid, eyes glued to Finn and Stella, a feeling somewhere between motherly instinct and paranoia rising in her stomach every time she saw one of them move, every time the limbs twitched every time they breathed. She could not sleep, she couldn't sleep she couldn't let it happen and just as sleep is about to pull her into it's clutches a fire lights up the dark, dark ceiling of the cavern, stalagmites rustling a little at the sudden shock.

There are faces, there are bodies in the sky.

There is music, there is music in the sky.

They flash and they flash, parading along to the music of the Capitol, their faces flashing with fear, with lifelessness and with a deathly hue. And as they flash, lights flashing through the arena her eyes squint and focus, trying to match their faces with the one she brushed with her fingers, the one who's death still lingered on her body, the one who's body was cloaked in darkness.

Her hand raises, fingers straining as if to touch the faces up in the sky, hand twitching and mouth half open.

For a few fleeting seconds, she can see her hand and the death it carries, illuminated by the faces of the dead themselves. But then, the music cuts out, the faces disappear and her hand is cast into darkness again.

It remains in space, though, as if it is weightless, floating on air. And she continues to stare through the darkness, desperately hoping that her own digit would light up in front of her again, desperately hoping, desperately wanting.

But it never does, because the cloak of darkness that surrounded it could not be pierced by the daggers of her own eyes, and after what felt like an infinity of star studded madness, her hand drops to her side, and she is shook from the focus of the dark sky ceiling almost as soon as she had been put into it. And in that moment, as she truly, without fogged over eyes or a hazy mind, looks around at the darkness, at Finn and Stella's sleep cocoon forms, and finally at the neverending ceiling above her, she realizes one simple thing.

There are no stars in this arena.

Her essence, her blueprints, her connection to life are gone, gone gone gone gone. They are dead, flickered out of existence like the cornucopia fire, and with them they took her only entertainment, her only view of the world as she knew it. They took her. They stole Cha Leviane from her home, and stole her soul from it's body. 

She trembles, shuddering at the thought and as her legs pull to her chest, her head drooped into the middle of it all and tears sliding down the much too rough skin of her cheeks, she decides one thing. One very simple, but truly frightening thing.

She'll do anything to see the stars again.

She cries herself to sleep.

____

There is no morning (night? afternoon?) sun to wake her the next morning, but instead there is darkness. An alarm clock of darkness, shaking her from her sleep. Her limbs are sore, locked into place like her position in this arena and as she tries to bend back her back groans in protest, pain and soreness from being in the same position for however many hours she'd slept taking their toll. 

But it is not the pain she thinks of first, it is her first instinct to cast glance at Stella and Finn, to make sure that  they were awake, alive and- relatively well. 

It relieves her that they are, it pains her that they are.

They set off on foot with whatever blood stained items they could fit onto their creaking, pressured backs. 

The darkness consumes them as they make their way through the arena, snaking into it's depths, into the black hole of soul ripping and deathly tunnels. And for what feels like hours on end, blanketed by silence (or perhaps Finn and Stella talked, but no words escaped from her sewn on tongue), they walked. And they walked and they walked and they walked.

But when she heard a horrifying, mind-numbing universe ending sound, she stopped. 

She did not know who they were, for her mind had not considered the memory of them important (and it was far easier to do that than to remember them), But as she watches them, or whatever it is in front of her come into view, she gulps, and her white-tipped knuckles wrap hardly around her knife. 

And with a single glance at Finn and Stella, she releases a trembling and desperate swing.

[presto][/presto]

{Cha lights torch on fire (2 uses left)}
{Cha attacks Jay Krearns with torch}
bflD0Bb2blunt
{Bruised Right Collar Bone -- 2.0 damage}

Fire
1-50
{Extinguished}

blunt�1-50

[aya]

With Cha's torch going out, the fight is thrown into darkness. All attacks from here on out are randomized. Tributes must roll for whom they are attacking AFTER their attack, i.e. roll=weapon] followed by roll range="1-6"] and not the other way around.

If you roll to attack your own tribute, you may re-roll the target dice ONLY until you attack someone else. This must be done in the same post, and must be added at the bottom of all other rolls.


[*roll range="1-6"]
1 - Blaire Sycamore
2 - Jim Deer
3 - Jay Krearns
4 - Cha Leviane
5 - Fionnbharr Stoddard
6 - Stella Calloway

[Deleted]

fionnbharr stoddard.

Sleeping that night wasn't all that harder than I had expected, just the clicks and hisses rubbed me weird.

I heard from Matilda that day two of the games was supposed to be gorgeous, though; I heard that it was supposed to have a beautiful sunset and a nice glow and overall be peaceful, no deaths, it's supposed to be beautiful. It wasn't. The only light was Cha's torch, and throughout the morning I felt nothing but the bags under my eyes, and I swear to swear I thought I had died for a second through all the dark. We never left the first room, I don't think, I'm almost positive we've ran in circles the entire time we spent walking around, and yet never refound the cornucopia.

See, this is usually the time were I start rambling, talking on and on and on on whatever I felt - the weather, the food or lack thereof, somebody's hair, just something. Except there was nothing to talk about, there was nothing to say to Cha or Stella as we crept through the room. They were the only faces I saw, because I didn't watch the anthem; I refused. Jael would've told me there was no good to, and I think I would've understood him a little less than I do now. There's no good in the anthems though, the dead in here aren't cherished, they're celebrated. They're forgotten, because they're numbers falling from ranks like angels cast out of heaven.

I just pray I'm not the last to stay.

The dead were gone too, the onetwothree four, and I'm happy I didn't look, because I don't want to know who are dead. Just how many. It's a little easier that way, you see, to not know who's falling, just how many. I feel a little better I think too, I didn't have a single cut on my body and not a single mend on my heart after a full twenty-four hours. Maybe I'll be able to die clean after all.

It's quiet for a whole lifetime it feels like, in the dark, except for the clicks and clacks and hisses and hoots vibrating through skin and bone as always, but circled around Cha and her torch I feel okay. And for a second, I feel like we're gonna be okay, with Stella's mended wounds and Cha's fire and my great communication skills, we'll be okay. A second later though, there's a swipe through the air, and for about a fourth second I swear I feel the pull of gravity sway me back as a crack hits my ears before my body, and I'm on the ground.

At first I wasn't too sure what was happening until I heard a man's voice, leviathan.

"These are the nasties. I gotta take care of them." and if it wasn't for my lower body feeling like a tree house fell over it, I probably would've peed myself laughing right there on the spot. But as it is, I'm on the verge of collapsing off the balance of my elbows and back onto the ground, and the white I feel every time I try to move takes me back under. I feel a dig into my shoulder, and I smash against the ground.

They're leviathan, I know it as soon as Cha strikes at them and it all goes dark. I can't see Cha anymore, my sun is gone, and replaced with leviathan. But I'm clean, white, salt, and even though I'm biting my hand as hard as possible until I can almost see my own teeth imprints on my hand through the pitch black, and there's a metal taste in my mouth, I take my spear in my other. I'm not leviathan, and I pray I'm just strong enough to fight one.

[um it's the dark so gotta roll for who i'm attacking]
[also this post is really gross sORRY]
Fb8NfMCB200+3000
[result]

1-6
[lol me gotta reroll]

1-6

200+3000�1-6�1-6

[Cait]

stella calloway district eleven

Last night I had lain beneath a starless sky, looking into the darkness as reflections of strangers cascaded across galaxies, and I wondered whether I would make it through the night to see another day. The anxious feeling of the possibility of betrayal had eaten at my mind, festering like a pomegranate seed until the fruit had turned rotten with negativity, and sleep was nothing more than a laughable falsity. The dark circles under my eyes throb from a night of restlessness, because when I had looked into the sky, it wasn’t my face there. When I had looked into the sky, it dawned on me that I was not yet dead.

For that, I should be grateful. But I am not.

Even when Meghan’s face flashed momentarily before blinking out like a dying star – (I had wanted to look away, I didn't want to see her, see what I'd done, see what I'd become, see the sheer terror light up her face as she accepted her fate) – I still watched the night sky, waiting for Belle’s face to be illuminated and haunt me like it had each night since her death.

But her face did not show. The absence only reminded me of how alone I truly was.

Beneath my shirt is a heartbeat that is not mine. A stolen organ that was never mine for the stealing. Within my own chest I carry the thudding rhythm of a dead girl, and whilst I keep telling myself to ignore its monotonous beat – void of life, void of warmth – each step is a reminder of the sin that beats its drum to the syncopation of heavy footsteps. Buried within the valves and ventricles lay untold stories of love and death, success and failure, never to find their way to the surface of a bleeding arena, for the shedding of blood would be the only tangible essence of the humanity of each child.

That is a sad truth to have to face.

I wish to know her story – who her family was, what made her smile when her world came crashing to the ground, what her parents were like, why she volunteered. There is a need for knowledge and truth – human traits to sustain the guilty conscience. But it is a thirst that cannot be quenched. A need that cannot be filled.

(I’m so sorry.)

The silence had woken me from the shallow banks of slumber where I had spent the hours prior to daybreak trapped, following countless failed attempts to succumb to nightfall. There were neither birds to harmonise with nor neighbours passing by to converse with. Everything was still. I had not moved until my allies began to stir, and I am grateful for the spur of energy when we commenced our journey once more.

I hold Finn’s hand as we walk. The thought of the televised display of weakness causes me to cringe inwardly, but I am grateful for his warmth, his support. It is a reminder that I am still alive, and he was still alive, and that bad people deserve to live just as much as good people do.

It is Cha who leads us through the dark, her torch a dim beacon of light cast into the pressing unknown. She walks with shortening strides as an infinite number of invisible constellations rain down on her shoulders, fallen stars swimming inside her mind. Cha was the closest thing to a mother I would ever have again, if I’d ever had a mother to begin with.

Ahead of me the light stops moving; where it had once bobbed cautiously through the air, there is only stillness. The inevitable pause thereafter allows me a moment to let my eyes adjust to a sight that is entirely familiar and foreign all at the same time.

It is the Cornucopia.

But it is not the Cornucopia.

It is empty.

Picked clean.

There are no bodies.

There are no items.

There is no blood.

It is calm.

It is peaceful.

The serenity of the moment encapsulates me for a few moments, my mind boggling at the impossibility that less than 24 hours ago, I was here and I had killed. It almost seems that we may be able to spend the day scavenging for more items, remaining safe, uncorrupted, moral compasses still intact. Staying hidden and undetected from prospective tributes and mutations alike. (I’d seen what both did to tributes too dim-witted to notice the dangers until it was too late.)

But life would never be so forgiving to me.

All it takes is a moment of carelessness, an instance of weakness, a second of solitude, for the world you knew to turn itself upside down.

There are three of them, and that is all I know. That is all that matters, for when they begin running and attacking and hammering and swinging, they are a threat that would not take me down as easily Belle had been. There is a throbbing in my head that utters kill, kill with a stolen heart in my chest pulsating kill, kill and as I let go of Finn’s hand (it has gone cold and clammy and my own is already trembling with fear and anticipation) the light fades, and darkness is my only friend once more.

I scream.

I do not know who can hear my screams for all around me is scraping sounds and droplets of blood splashing to the ground and the darkness is disorientating in a way that makes me question whether I had ever screamed to begin with.

I run.

I cannot see, yet I run, aware of the consequences, unsure which reality I would prefer to be faced with today. Death, or murder.

In the dark, they cannot see the tears that roll from my eyes as I swing.

But I know where they fall.

[attacks with spear]

gT|0VTPS200+3000

[attacks cha WHYYYYYYYYYYYYY]

1-6

[shallow cut on left bicep - 3.5]

200+3000�1-6

[brad bradford ★ d5b [arx]]

My attack doesn't land.

And I know I shouldn't take the time to breathe a sigh of relief but I do.

My axe collides with nothing and I end up twirling away from the fight for a moment, recognizing who we have run into. Or at least, I know I was in the Training Center with them for two weeks but ... I only know them by the nicknames I have conjured up for most everyone. The Eights: Chawski and Prettyboy. And that other girl, smaller, my age, district something ... (I should be attacking what am I doing?) but all I can remember is that she volunteered and she looks like she isn't even old enough to be Reaped at all.

I watch from a distance as the little light of the torch sort of floats around like it is its own being and isn't being carried by anyone at all. Sort of magical when you look at it, especially since I haven't seen actual light in what seems like weeks, though I know it has only really been about a day now. (Why are we even fighting?) I don't even really see anyone's face being illuminated. I hear the echoing of footsteps and it is almost calmi-----

And then I see an iron bar come down, slashing through the light to crash into a thigh. I can hear the crunch of bone. That was Twelve. The tip of my axe - which had been resting in the dirt as I stood, watching - was up in the air again and I was clutching tightly to the handle with both of my hands. If I could see my knuckles I am sure they would be white to match me face which I could tell was paling if only because I felt like I was going to be sick. Fishboy's sword glints in the little bit of light that there is and I am certain I see it come away with a bit of blood coating the bony blade.

I back away into a nearby wall.

And the last thing I see is the light hitting Fishboy's shoulder, illuminating his face just for a moment - and then darkness.

I gasp, not really meaning to, only to be greeted a spectacular array of echoes. And despite having seen everyone just moments ago, I can't manage to pinpoint a single person. I calm my breathing and slump to the ground, wondering if it is possible to just ... disappear.

And then I hear feet near me - or maybe not? - but it is all instinct now. Just wild swinging in the hopes that I don't die here.

"Stay away!" And I swing at nothing.

---

{Blaire attacks the dark with his Stone Axe}
KCZZm7Ghaxe
{Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage}
1-6
{Stella Calloway}

---

Blaire Sycamore - District 5

---

axe�1-6

[Kire]

I apologize for this filler but I need to get to school and I want to make sure this fight moves along. Jim is flailing in the dark, yo.

[Jim attacks someone with his cudgel]
gxv7b4V7blunt
Gash/bruise - 3.0

1-6
Jay D:

blunt�1-6

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

  JAY  KREARNS 

district four tribute

One minute the light was shining right next to him, the next, it goes out from the impact into him. Jay pushes past the small pains here and there. The darkness was their weakness and their strength. They could easily hide in the darkness. They could easily fight to survive in the darkness. Jay's thoughts were jumbling around him. There was so much going on. Jay could have sworn he heard Jim and Blaire trying to fight in the darkness. Jay would have to also. He may not be able to see, but he could attack still. Jay smirked as he remembered the creepy cousin that told him to kill. Miles was more of his reason to kill than anyone else. He needed to get home to him. He needed to survive and teach Miles how to be a great man. Even though, Miles was already a great man.

The whole place was dark and Jay was holding the sword tightly. He was spinning in circles trying to find people who were going to go at him. That's when Blaire's voice echoed off the walls, "Stay away!" The words were haunting to Jay. It could mean Blaire's in big trouble or that he's afraid. Jay would hope the second one. Blaire was too young to die just yet. Blaire had a lot to live for. He may be an idiot, but he was Jay's idiot. Jay was walking slowly now, trying to find someone he could attack. It was dark and he hated this anticipation of everything. "Kill or be killed." The words echoed through his head. Kill or be killed. Jay was a mutt. A mutt that the capitol could control. He'd fight just because he had to. He felt like he wasn't in control of himself. The anger and misery he's been through fueling his wanting for blood.

The next thing that happened was Jim hitting Jay. Jay only knew it was Jim because of the weapon that hit him. The feel of a hard cold metal striking his skin. Jay just withstood the pain. He was trying not to feel it. The adrenaline was helping. Jay said, "Danmit Jim! Hit me again and I'll take your head off." Jay was running now. He was running towards something that was moving. As he was getting closer and closer, he swung. His sword feeling perfect in his hands. The feel of the powerful swing feeling nice. Jay's only thought was that he was hoping it wasn't Jim or Blaire. It would suck if he did hit them. The darkness was shrouding and Jay was strong. Nothing would stop him. Not even being blind.

template: che1sey

(Attacks someone in Darkness)
u6vsWnMisword
(Shallow cut on right thigh 3.5)

1-6
(lol me Re-roll)

1-6
(Stella Calloway)sword�1-6�1-6

[Deleted]

[presto][/presto]

C H A  L E V I A N E

{ breathe
in
sorrow;

She's a fire weaving star, kindled up into a shell of a body and forced to swing a wooden stick at figures in front of her. Her breaths are shaky and her eyes tremble each time the light crosses it's path. She see's figures, faces smeared with an ugly facepaint of dust and desperation, and she see's Stella and Finn, their hands now torn apart, heavy air separating the two digits.

It's her lifeline, this ball of flame on a stick. It's her only way to see, it's her only way to find the stars, it's her only way to get home.

But somewhere in between the place where she had held it and the boy from Four's shoulder, the caves damp hands find their way to the flame, cupping it as it swings, and then right before it hits, connecting fire with the boy's digit, it breathes.

And then, there is darkness.

Complete and utter darkness. Mind numbing, bone chilling, monster housing darkness. But it is not silent, for as soon as that light goes out and the darkness cups it's hands around them, there is a single moment in which she hears nothing but the breaths of the people around her. A wall of silence, cracked by the panicking, fear emanating tributes inside of it. She relishes it, that single millisecond or however long it was, her legs carry her backwards (or is it forwards?), back out of the fight or into it, back until her legs trip over her own fear and she hits the ground, torch rolling to her side and cold, rocky floor meeting her bottom. 

She panics, because she can't see a ripred damn thing.

She needs the map, she needs the map.

Her fingers fumble, twisting and tumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to get to the one thing that could guide her and finn and stella and their remaining shreds of unity and grace. 

It's the map, she wants the map.


And in the process of pulling out the map the knife weasels it's way in between her fingers, nicking her finger to signify it's presence, and as she rises, knife in one hand and map in the other, it takes every bit of self control left in her to even take a step forward, and it takes every bit of wildness inside of her to raise the trembling map to her eyes, staring at it long and hard, as if some magical pathway out of the arena would guide her to safety, to light, to the stars, to herself.

But it doesn't reveal it's secrets, at least not yet, and before she can slip it back into the pocket of her backpack there is a single horrifying, unity of slices.

One paper, one flesh.

Both equally terrifying.

The halves of the star map Shelby gave her tumble to the floor, floating in air but dragged down by weights of shame and shock.

And then she bubbles. 

Boiling, boiling, boiling anger, enough to surpass the cut on her arm, enough to surpass the fear and the shame and the shock and the fear, enough to make her grit her teeth and for acid to boil inside her mouth, clinging to the words she speaks, clinging to the breaths she takes, clinging to her lungs and her heart.

"Someone is going to fucking die."

Her voice remains monotone, unchanging, un phased, but still deadly. They cut like a knife, they sting like a dart, they bruise like a torch, they burn like fire. And deep inside of her, the star that had gone from burning sun to empty back hole rekindles, a small spark, and somewhere inside of her mind she trembles , but it isn't with fear of the darkness, it's with anger, and it's with determination.

Somewhere inside of her, there is a big bang.

And a universe of determination filled stars is scattered, cosmos' of concentration weaved, and in the middle of it all a beating heart of a sun burns, relit by two pieces of torn paper that were once one.

"They're all gonna die. The Gamemakers, the capitolites, the darkness, and most importantly, you." 

A piece of spit escapes from her mouth and lands in the darkness.

"Whoever you are."

It's the most words she's spoken in a long, too long time.

She swears she can see the whites of her knuckles on her knife as she swings blindly.

[presto][/presto]

{Cha attacks The shaaaaaddddeee with Knife}
z7KIxD5Yknife
{Block--0.0}
1-6

knife�1-6

[Deleted]

I hit something, I know that much, it's just I don't know what I hit that scares me. I could've hit a wall or an arm or even an egg, man I don't even know, I can barely see my own fingers in front of my face. I can't even see my legs, they're somewhere behind me on the ground almost in a separate entity from the burning fuzziness in my legs oh god oh god it hurts it hurts so bad oh god why does it hurt so bad and the rest of my body. After splitting something, my spear falls to the ground, out of my hand but only an arm's reach away, I'm scared. Good. That means I'm still sane right? To fear for my life means I haven't slipped into the darkness as much as I have physically, right?

To be scared means I'm okay, right? I pray so.

Between my hands I'm near gagging on my own throat to keep me from screaming, I'm nearly choking myself just to make sure I don't yell and let them know I'm wounded. They're leviathan, and I'm (weak scared sane clean wounded) wounded. If I scream, they'll get me that's for sure, and Jael'll know I'm hurt too - Jael, Sunny, Matilda, Lydia, Zack. They'll all know that I'm all talk, that I'm still a little kid trying to keep up with all the grown ups. With Stella here though, I'm not alone, she screams, and oh god, I want to think she's okay. I want to think that she's safe and screaming because there's a spider in her bangs or a clicking in her ear, not because there's a spear in her arm or a sword in her heart. She has to be okay; we have to be okay.

"Stay away!"

We were here first, I want to say, I want to say monotone and clear and brave and with my chest pumped so high it wouldn't make me look like I'm cowering on the ground stuck between my own legs. But I can't, it's hard, like the darkness it clogging my vocal chords and all I can do is cough, which is taking all my power not to. We were here first, so just leave us. The one that hit me, the one with the hook nose says nothing while Fishboy chews his eyebrow into two. I want to fight, I want to kick and crawl and punch and stab at them, I want to help Stella and Cha. (I want to not be useless, this one time.) I want to do something, but all I can do is hold onto my stomach to stop me from throwing up all that remains from two days ago.

"Someone is going to fucking die." It's Cha, Cha, saying those things that would make my mother bring out soap, and for a second I feel a flash of embarrassment, as if I said the thing by association but nah, all I'm doing at the moment is grinding my elbows into the ground to reclaim my spear. "They're all gonna die. The Gamemakers, the capitolites, the darkness, and most importantly, you." And for as much as my opinion is worth, I don't want them to die. Not all of them, not Stella or Cha or myself or the giant from eleven or Asa or the boy from five who's sister died here two years ago or Leon Krigel or Pearl.

I'm scared for them, for myself, but that just means I'm okay, right?

I pray so.

I swing sideways, praying I don't hit Cha or Stella or myself, because I don't want to be useless, not right now.

oHXuS3YU200+3000
[3076 -- Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage]

1-6
[2 - Jim Deer]

200+3000�1-6

[Cait]

stella calloway district eleven

My spear breaks skin – I can feel the shudder that runs through the handle as it connects – but there is no way of telling whose skin has been pierced at my own hand. Pausing to pull the spear close to me, I carefully touch the end of the blade, where the faintest trace of tarnished blood has taken shelter. The sticky liquid feels warm, and despite the horrors I’ve already endured, it makes me want more.

Destabilisation floods through my veins with the impact of such thoughts, coupled with the pain of attacks that send violent tremors through my already shaking body. There is nothing to hold on to as I fall, being pulled under layers of thick grass and dirt that bite into the wounds that have reopened from yesterday. (My legs are still moving, still running, I’m not falling, still alive.) Finn and Cha are alive, too, and I know this for the absence of a canon’s boom is a sound of liberating silence that I do not attempt to fill. Not yet. I know they are alive when I hear Cha’s growls tumbling awkwardly from her sewn tongue, and despite the fact that I am no longer an innocent, that I should be brave and wicked, it is terrifying to hear her internal screams, for they remind me of a home I once knew, falling apart at the seams. I know they are alive when I feel the rush of Finn’s spear like a gust of wintry wind miss my ear by millimetres; the motion calms my racing heart.

They’re okay.

(But are you?)

I wouldn’t leave them.

I couldn’t leave them.

Whether it was due to the fear of being alone, or the need for closeness and friendship in an arena void of all warmth, it did not matter why I stayed.

(Admittedly, deep down, I already love Finn and Cha too much to leave, for if we were separated if anything happened to them, it is a certainty that the tears streaming from my face would only become permanent scars of misery.)

Crusader.

He said he’d be here, and even though returning home is a reality more cruel than surviving past the arena, he said he’d protect me and he isn’t here. We are submerged in darkness; being saved is no longer a possibility, so with each hit that lands shallowly upon my body, another cry escapes my throat and I hate myself a little more.

Through the sobs is a heart that whispers kill, kill.

Through the sobs, I swing once more.

(I swing because I need to kill.)

[attacks with spear]

jvfFgmak200+3000

[attacks jay]

1-6

[stabbed in calf - 8.5]

200+3000�1-6

[brad bradford ★ d5b [arx]]

I hit something. Barely, but I felt that little bit of resistance as the blade of my axe cut upwards and met something. Now whether or not it was an actual human being or not is all speculation - it could be a mutt, a wall, the Cornucopia, another weapon, a---What am I doing? I'm in a life or death situation, listening to others bursts of pain or fear or, Ripred, maybe someone near me is even enjoying themselves, and I am sitting huddled in the darkness in a neat little ball of thoughts, debating whether or not I hit a human being or not.

Of course I did. That's what we are supposed to be doing in here, murdering each other. It's a good thing that I sliced someone with my axe. That's how you win this thing, that's how you leave this place, that's how you go home. This is what I want and so yes, it is good to cut people down with my axe.

(It's good, it's good, it's good...!)

But as I sit, hidden away from the attacks of others (at least for the damn moment), I can't help but recognize that no matter how often I tell myself I want to go home and that to do that I must kill, doesn't change the fact that I am a coward who will always run away from the things that frighten me most. And I guess there isn't much that can change that. Even a promise to my sister.

"Damnit Jim! Hit me again and I'll take your head off."

Right. My allies. Though they didn't sound too much like allies anymore as they bickered in the darkness, falling victim to each other's weapons. (Should I call to them? No, it'll give away my posi--)

"Someone is going to fucking die."

The voice seems close to me and I scramble furiously away, away, away, I need to get the hell away from this girl. My axe scrapes across the ground and I try desperately to refrain from cursing, but I end up mumbling a few colorful words to myself anyway. (Should I swing now?)

And then I hear Jay. And Jim. And I am on my feet so fast, axe at the ready, that I don't even hesitate at the darkness that threatens to swallow me whole - I just take another swing into the dark and hope I'm hitting an enemy.

---

{Blaire attacks the dark with his Stone Axe}
PZDxdBdUaxe
{Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage}
1-6
{Stella Calloway}

---

Blaire Sycamore - District 5

---

axe�1-6

[Kire]

Yep, this is another filler. Oops. I will fill in at least one of these soon...

Jim goes flailing in the dark.

(Attacks nearest noise)
W1wrLJ9dblunt
Bruised Right Hand -- 2.0 damage

1-6
Cha Leviane

blunt�1-6