Oh How You Have Lost Your Way [Clusterfuck]

[Kire]

[presto]

sorrowing man,
look how worn you've become

Danny's revelation yesterday had jarred me. I had noticed little signs but had never paid any attention to them until she had screamed at Basil and me that we had to live. Everything dropped on my head like a sack of flour, exposing the tracks and traces around the three of us so that we couldn't look away from the truth. Danny was dying, whether or not she was being bled by the other tributes, and Basil was a broken man. Me? I was terrified of losing either of them, and more than anything I was afraid of losing myself. The trouble was, I had already felt myself slipping away. When my knife had plunged into the eye socket of the skeleton muttation, I had felt a rush and the thrill of slaying something. I had killed, if not someone then something.

"You're a smart boy, you'll know what to do."

My father's words ring through my head but I'm not sure if I believe them.

"Son, whatever happens, I'm proud of you."

That's all I can hope.

We traveled from one flooded area to another. Thankfully this time there were semi-dry patches of earth where amongst the mangroves had only been a shallow lake. Shaking the water out of my shoes, though it did little good, I trod on. Moody and glum, I was once more silent in the morning. It seemed like I was falling into a patter. Sour in the mornings, determined in the afternoons, and raging in the evenings. At least I was predictable - in the most unpredictable way.

I was always coming back to thoughts of Delta, her face melting behind my eyes as I hear her scream in pain. The fire is still hot on my skin and I still can't hold her in my arms for the heat. All I wanted to do was comfort her because I had known as soon as the blade had struck that she was lost to us, lost to me. In her last moment I had just wanted to hold her but I hadn't even been able to do that. A second time I had failed her.

When fighting I could push the image aside, or rather let the specter hang behind me, the angel a faint shape over my shoulder that watched as I continued on. Delta, even, was with me and I still needed to protect her and Danny and Basil. My hand clenched around the four gems in my pocket: my heart in the form of a ruddy ruby, my match in the form of a cool sapphire, my perspective in the form of a comforting emerald, and my guardian in the form of a glittering diamond.

My other hand shifts to my knives as I get the feeling of being watched. Turning, I try to spot where the nagging sensation is coming from. It takes me a moment, but eventually I lock on. Eyes peer at us from a figure silhouetted against the lightening sky. The hilts of my knives fit comfortably in my palms, ready to spin end over end at my target. Turning the rising hostility in my gut toward the shape of our latest foe, I lace the knives in my hands with some electricity from my core. Quickly I spare a thought for my parents, set to watch me draw more blood.

Forgive me mother, I am going to bleed.
Forgive me father, I am going to sin.

[/presto]

E z e r o
L a f f a n

Target
Amerika

Attack Roll
CAm6O8oithrowing knife
1-50

Result
Miss (knife lost) -- 0.0 damage
+ extinguished

Accuracy Reroll
throwing knife
Miss -- 0.0 damage
-.-

throwing knife�1-50�throwing knife

[Avalon]

[presto][/presto]

The aching of the deep gash implemented into her stomach had subsided, she restitched wounds shut tighter as some had come more loose as each day drags along. Watching as Dane laid the final blow upon the revolting trolls head, she'd hesitated on flocking to receive its meat for their next dinner. Celia allowed Dane and Kite to the meat if they so pleased to take the risk, but she had gathered edible and medicinal plants-- she came from District Twelve, where people practically starved as a game, and though she came from wealth, it wasn't much food wise.


The ending of this day was lurching over her shoulder, the allies took one last check of resources to gather, before ultimately paying respects to Timothy. ( She is no politically correct allegory. ) Celia hovered away from the body restlessly, and while Dane and Kite were practically in shackles of mourning over the one who'd just fallen right before their eyes-- his head lost in the clouds, and it's no where to be seen again. Though, in all reality she'd dropped it within the swamp puddle, as it sputtered, and gently kicked it off to the side in her anger, she could feel the limp head in her hands as she groped his face for mere seconds-- his cold features against the skin of her finger tips. The blood of her ally rests on her palms, though she wasn't the one who had to cause it. To Celia, that's at least one relief that struck her harder than the lightning on day one, sending a shock through her spine and branching within the fiery veins throughout her body. She didn't think she could kill them without even a hint of regret, especially the blind one. ( Isn't this something new? )


The sun had set and the night sky of painted purple on black, speckles of white trickling beyond, had traversed the horizon and filled the closed atmosphere with its deadly presence. Not even a wince of pain or a hesitant hand before Celia drove the needle and thread to sew up the wounds the blades of swung weapons marked upon her. This past day she had the fortune of not being attacked, they proved they were the stronger side despite losing an ally early stage, but they slayed the beasts and monsters with two more swings of their weapons. Only one cannon had fired, and she knew there were still a shit ton of people remaining besides them, and that was the only negative outlook on this situation. She just wished they'd fucking die already.

"Celia,"

Kite's voice rang out quietly, almost like a mouses squeak. An initial reaction would to stomp it out until nothing else remained, but he'd sort of grew on her.

"What are these? Can you help me?"

Looking with consideration, she took the trinkets laying in the palm of Kite's hands. Feeling them with her fingertips, she suspected that they go between the holes of their shoes. The ones he has are kite shaped trinkets, with large buttons on the back to hold them in place. Though it was unlike her, she nodded her head and proceeded to assist the blind boy in his task.

"Sure-"

The sounds of crickets, bugs, and animals rustling through the water, grass were the only sounds that echoed against the scenic landscape. The two of them were particularly silent, take for small communication to pass the time as they both remained on watch until it hit sunrise, and then they'd all have to move. Dane-- he took a shift all on his own, and Celia had agreed- insisted- on staying awake with Kite as he needed the assistance. She never underestimated Kite in any sense, with his vision gone his hearing heightened, and like with many other disabled tributes in the games before their time-- they proved to be just as, or twice as useful.

"We should get moving.

After this go wake Dane

And I'll start packing."

Pressing the remaining trinket into place, she sent him on his way as she grabbed the supplies. Her stitches and treatment wore on her, draining her just a bit, though she sure as Hell wasn't weak. She sure as Hell wasn't going to let anyone know she was growing in pain from the past few days since entering this damned place. From lightning strikes, to stabbed in her stomach, to blood on her hands, and to poison ivy, she was wearing thin on tolerance for anybody, really. Though, she had made it clearly known that she would be the one to plant her axe in the skulls of those who jumped her within the dead of night. Perhaps she's so mentally focused on such a task that she laughs and grins at the idea of any of the four of them dying from her and Scout's torture.


Minutes pass to quiet hours, and the scenery changed to flooded grasslands. The rays of the rising sun spill over the distant treetops and cornucopia that's faintly in view. In the middle of plain sight, where there's no where to hide, Celia spots several figures moving in at once. ( "Well fucking shit, what do we do now?" - "What you've always been doing, Celia. You fight to kill." ) She didn't smile, didn't laugh, didn't grin, didn't move, didn't even make a snarky remark. Her first reaction was pulling out her jar of sulfuric acid, uncapping the lid, the figures became recognizable people ( even if only by a little ) and in the slow instant she whipped the liquid from within the jar, aiming it towards the cow girl from District Six. It was a surprise, she could faintly hear the cow bells ringing as she did so, and the acid only splashed a bit of the surface of the girl, though, ultimately doing no severe damage whatsoever.

"Oh, you fucking bitch."

She cursed, spitting in her direction. Taking her jar of tar from her backpack she laced both of her throwing axes, only planning to dual wield them, instead. Sparking up a fire from her flint, she only hoped that she wouldn't blow this one out. She'd done enough damage to her family line already, and to her- to what she saw on the TV screen- they'd all been dead.

[presto][/presto]

table by elegant

[ celia mortuus attacks amerika ; acid ]
UvivSiWc1-50
[ result ]
[ lights both axes on fire with jar of tar ]

1-50

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

DANE _______ ALLORE

He left behind an empty space. Dane felt it all around him when they left Timothy’s body to be carried home. Emptiness and silence go hand in hand, and they are utterly enveloping. He tried not to let it suffocate him.

That night, he felt like less of a warrior. He had slayed the mutt that killed Timothy—the scales were balanced, but his blood still stained the ground. He was still dead, and nothing could ever change that. He had slashed at the creature without mercy, with a fury kindled by the anguish burning in his heart, but the blood he had spilled in Timothy’s name could not grant him salvation.

He had heard Timothy’s cannon fire, setting it in stone. He was dead, he was dead, he was dead.

There was a heaviness in his neck. It bowed before the emptiness, forced his gaze to the ground. Dane was accustomed to death and destruction—he had watched his friends steal four souls, and he himself had brought it upon countless beasts. He had slain them without blinking an eye, and he did not feel remorse close in on his chest.

But Timothy was no beast.

When the sun rose, when it poured its warmth over the swamplands, Dane felt strangely cold. As he gathered his things and set off with the others, he should have felt courage, like a flame, in his body. He was breathing, walking, pushing through the swamp—he was alive. (Timothy was not.) And yet he felt like more of a shell than anything else.

There was haunting silence, with the exception his own footsteps in harmony with his allies’. But then he heard it shatter—he heard a rustle.

”We’re not alone," he said.

And then he felt the fury again—it animated him, brought him to life and sent him drawing his weapon to spring into battle.

There was not a moment of hesitation.

{zoe}

[dane attacks amerika, axe]
uPhWS9w2axe
[result]

axe

[Stare]

falling from high places
falling through lost spaces
now that we're lonely
now that there's nowhere to go

Her eyes were still heavy when she blinked them open, struggling to gain a sense of time in the seemingly eternal twilight. Sleep, heavy and sweet, was almost enticing enough to drag her back down into sweet warmth and ignorance. There was something stronger, though - a memory that started vague but slowly became clear, an instinct that had been burned beneath her skin after only a few days in the Arena. Keep moving. The warm humidity gave a false sense of lazy safety, but as the world came back into focus she remembered Delta, the skeleton, Ezero’s shouts, Basil’s foot. There was no such thing as safety anymore.

When she stretched, everything hurt. Part of it was the poison - the antivenom had started working immediately, drawing her back abruptly from Death’s abyss though she still felt the lingering effects - but most of it was going so long without the medication. She’d always hated the pills, small and white and bitter, but she’d taken them because she’d been told they would ease the symptoms. She was only just beginning to realize what a crutch they’d become, and what exactly they’d been saving her from.

They left the darkness behind. She helped Basil up wordlessly, a blurry memory of a loud splash and arms dragging her up above the water nagging her in the back of her mind. She wasn’t sure which of them had put themselves together enough to give her the antivenom and she’d been too tired when the poison had left her body to ask. They’d let her sleep. Only now did she wonder why they hadn’t killed her in her sleep. The whole world knew now, after all. It would have appeared a mercy to kill her quickly, when she couldn’t feel it.

But they respected the fact that she clung to what little control she had left of her fate, and it made her love them that much more.

Moving was slow with Basil, but she didn’t mind much. As long as they were moving. She didn’t dare push him and was grateful that Ezero seemed to have the same patience. Every now and then there was a hesitating stumble and she would swing back to steady him, keeping a careful eye on his face to make sure he wasn’t giving up on himself again. “Hey. Just hang in there, Trouble,” she’d murmur, not sure if he could hear her or not. “Take your time.”

She didn’t care what the Gamemakers or any other tributes said. They would take their time because it was the last thing they had left. They would set their own pace, march to the beat of their own drum. They all had their reasons to kill each other but they didn’t, and that was what made them strong. That was what liberated them from Gamemaker manipulation, at least for the time being. It was a small, hollow victory, but it was something.

And Ripred, but she wished Delta was there to feel it, too.

Though Danny welcomed the light, it made her more aware of how exposed they were. She kept closer to Basil so that she could feel and hear his every movement, monitoring him while her eyes stayed glued on Ezero. She no longer tried to hide the fact that she cared about them more than she cared about herself. They knew whose life she fought for, and it certainly wasn’t her own.

But that gave her strength, too. And when she sensed the presence of another, she immediately bristled, gripping her knife tightly in her hand and turning toward the sound with narrowed eyes. A realization hit her suddenly, accompanied by a flood of adrenaline. She wasn’t just protecting them anymore.

She was increasing their odds.

where you been hiding lately?
where you been hiding from the news?
because we've been fighting lately
we've been fighting with the wolves

|5Lupd5fthrowing knife
”1-50”

accuracy reroll:
throwing knife

Danny uses jar of tar to light up knives
attacks Scout with throwing knife (1)
result: miss, 0
accuracy reroll: deep gash on cheek, 8.5
fire: +2

throwing knife�”1-50”�throwing knife

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

<>Eryn Sconosciuto<>

District Seven Female Tribute

A

deeply rooted scab tarred across the flesh of the sky in a deadly canon. Only a single stolen soul marked the foggy night before. Only. Three fourths of the Tributes remain; and a nauseating thirst for blood must drool from countless vicious lips, viewers and opponents alike. Twenty-four souls will be destroyed in any form they escape this Arena, because life isn’t just about surviving. A victim has yet to disturb my path. Yet somehow guilt over the fallen already plagues my damaged spirit. Only. When only one can prevail, the deceased quickly fade from the massive. Only one.

Pain drips in steady drops of blood from the bandages embracing my wounds. Mountains of insect bites, burns, and wounds mark my sturdy exterior, while somehow I continue to trail on. Do not give up on me just yet. Countless of injuries may join me, but my fight is far from over. There’s so much more to conquer.

Edyn’s teachings demand blood to pool from Tributes due to my blade. Rayne’s breathtaking allurement persuades me to simply return to her in any means necessary. The strength of my Elders endorse me to persist forward no matter what the cost.

Compared to the ancestors that capture my past, we’re rebels without a cause. The Capitol is the major villain, while controlled Peacekeepers are demolished for minor retaliations. And when the yearly Game comes about, Districts are enhanced to despise each other, as their’ innocent slaughter one another. Though still my feet battle against the murky path, searching for that step closer to my reunion. What I will be encountered with next is only for fate to decide.

Agony overwhelms me as the filthy liquid prolongs to drown my feet. Power from my Elders struggle to envelope me, while I strive for the durability to cope. Threats may be longing, but it’s isolation that provides the undesired conclusion. When so many Tributes remain, how many Mutts can be conquered until fate is sealed? The foes to come are endless. With mud inhaling my ankles, my destination appears sealed.

Life. No death finally breaches my trail. Weapons embroil other Tributes in a combat to maintain a breath, and there is no fleeing from this turmoil. After seclusion suffocated me with Mutts, company must be clawed for. Despite the fact that the ultimate result is undefined, many beg for that very conclusion.

Delicacy from six is being brutally carved by many. Familiar faces welcome my desperation for another soul, only to illustrate why I initially vanished from any team. Murder is all that lingers in this dome. But as the humorous notes flutter across Danny’s features, as her flaming knife sizzles across the bad ass from one’s cheek, a target is set. I must fight along side with the single soul that made me forget, if only for mere moment, that the Capitol has its nails encircling my throat. All must parish, but evidently blood demolishes from solely a few at a time.

Eryn Sconosciuto's Actions Below

{Eryn attacks Scout (Razor Fan}}
E1BWJ52xknife
{2198 -- Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage
(Knife)} knife

[cass]

Scout Fray --

She recognised one of those faces in the sky last night. It was that kid she'd decided was alright. He was a part of Celia's group. With her new wounds wrapped up and clean she'd help her allies find somewhere to sleep for the night, but shortly after Blondie had disappeared. She hadn't cared, even though it was now extremely frustrating to have broken leg cow with her. However, it was for one night, she'd be gone by the morning, she wanted to find Celia, she decided. But as the sun rose and she shifted her ass into gear she was quickly interrupted by the disgusting sound of squelching mud.

Jerking upwards she gripped her axe in time to see a fuck tonne of people appear. "The fuck you all come from?" She grunted, shifting upwards as someone she didn't recognised raised his weapon to strike at someone who had appeared behind her. Ripred how had she not noticed that eight people had appeared. How? Mr fancy over here was swinging his thing around and missing like it was a good thing. Cow face had a broken leg; if that wasn't enough to even give you the advantage on attacking her you were fucking worthless.

Then suddenly Celia was there and Scout smirked, but before she could even straighten herself up fire burned itself across her cheek. And her lack of rage was a spark that ignited, doused with kerosene. She whirled around, hands wrapped tightly, and angrily around her weapon. "You fucking hit my face." She snarled, stepping towards the pathetic piece of shit that had dared hurt her. "You damaged my perfect face, you son of a bitch." She said, tone a blazing fire of wrath. Her face, this god-created piece of perfection had been damaged by nothing more than a mere worm. How dare this little creature think thy had the right to even look at Scout, and here they were hitting her face. Did she want to die? She'd just signed her own death warrant.

She raised her arm ready to swing, but as she moved, someone else, in her rage got passed her defence, and suddenly there was more blood slipping down her back. "Oh really now? You think you're tough?" she growled, lips twisted into a contorted smile. Her eyes swivelled towards the maggot that had interrupted her; if looks could kill she wouldn't have to get her hands dirty. But then where was the fun in that?

[attacks Eryn - Axe]
5dYiGVftaxe
[Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage]

axe

[chelsey]

[googlefont="Playfair Display:400"]basil anatola

HELL TAKES ALL THE CREDIT

It’s cold for the rest of the night.

Basil tucks into himself, shuddering and spasming almost violently in his sleep. He drifts in and out of consciousness, like a ship refusing to be sunk. When the ocean swallows him, though, it swallows him whole. He’s on his third round of falling asleep by the time Roland appears in his dreams.

“What are you doing?,” he asks him, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

The first thing Basil notices is how clean he looks. There’s a soft, healthy glow radiating off his skin. Not even a single, purple blemish colored onto his neck. He looks whole. Alive. But, there’s still no relief that washes over Basil; instead, it’s the panic of knowing that this is something that won’t last.

The second thing Basil notices is his own shame radiating within him. It’s an ugly thing that he can’t ignore with the way Roland stares at him. I’m sorry, he wants to say, but you don’t know how it feels here. You took the easy way out. I wish I could do the same.

The third thing Basil notices is how this is probably not the right thing to say.

“What are you doing?,” Ro asks again, and Basil has known him long enough to tell when he’s trying to not show that he’s angry. But, he is. And, just like that, Roland is no longer a part of a dream - he’s the whole nightmare. His eyes grow hollow, and the skin on his cheeks sink into the caverns of his skull. All of his flesh grows taut and dried up, so that you can see the way his skeleton presses against it. He’s dead, again, and he looks like everything Basil dreads to be. Roland’s voice is hardly there when he says, “You can do better than that, can’t you?”

For the fourth time that night, Basil wakes up.

_______

He doesn’t go back to sleep. At dawn, he finds himself staring at Danny, instead - something he’s not allowed to do. But, she’s pretty, and Ezero’s asleep, and so is she, and no one knows that he’s even looking except for him and the rest of the world watching. He doesn’t think about them, though. Instead, his eyes trace over her tired features - softened from the morning sunlight and sleep - and his hands itch for a paint brush and a blank canvas so that he could paint them.

Then, he feels a scratch where his left foot should be and he’s suddenly itching for a whole other thing.

It’s Danny that supports him as they trudge out of the mangroves and into some flooded fields. She keeps him leveled and balanced and from falling over onto his axe. He’s grateful for that, but every time he stumbles, she turns to meet his gaze and murmurs some string of sweet nothings that don’t really comfort him in the way she hopes it does. “Take your time,” she tells him, as if time weren’t a foreign concept in this arena. As if she didn’t know that, here, you don’t want to look at the clock - you’re trying to beat it.

But, Time is mankind’s oldest enemy, and he wears the same face as Roland’s corpse and every other corpse that has died before him. It’s a familiar face. And, as soon as the grasses are low enough to see through to the other side, Basil can see it.

Tick tock, Basil, he taunts as Basil drops to the ground as soon as Danny lets go of him to swipe her dagger into a girl’s cheek. The dirt that slams into his face reminds him of his roots - reminds him that those born into the dirt die in the dirt and are buried beneath the dirt. Basil Anatola is fucking tired of dirt. Instead, his fingers fumble sloppily over each other as they reach into the rucksack he carries. With shaking hands, he manages to drape tar over the blade of his axe and light it on fire.

Tick - He forces himself to get up. - tock - It hurts. - tick - He lurches forward. - tock - He doesn’t even bother to see who it is. - tick -

Maybe he doesn’t want to see.

Tock.

uses tar to light axe
attacks dane
3Ic2w0BMaxe
[Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage]

1-50
[minor burn (+2 damage)]

axe�1-50

[Muffinface]

And I'm calling for my mother
As I pull the pillars down
It's a different kind of danger
And my feet are spinning around
Never knew I was a dancer
'Till Delilah showed me how

She leaves, and I stay.

It's the same story, written a thousand times over the course of thousands of centuries, through millions and billions of lifetimes, but this one is different. This one is mine. It's rather unfortunate- my life was short, but bright, and to have to leave not one, but two beds empty in the Eckhart house tonight gives me a cool, satisfying relief, even though my skin itches and burns from tiny pinpricks of hate-filled creatures. I fantasize about showers, but I know I can never take another.

This is the end for me, from those with biting swords and gnashing weapons, with teeth of fire and slithers of pain and anger. I'm going to end here; I've known it all along. I am not Jack or Wyatt or anyone substantial worth saving, I have nothing.


I am nothing.


But sometimes, nothing can be the most dangerous thing.


For instance right now; I have nothing in my arms. Nothing but an umbrella, a backpack, and a spear, and I can hear them coming for me but I'm not going to hide underneath the branches this time, I'm not going to accept no for an answer and so help me god if she calls me a bitch one more fucking time-

Something snaps- I feel it, the crimson specks on the edge of my vision converge inwards, and my small hands ball into tight fists. "Don't you fucking talk to me that way!"

My hand lifts to my face and I feel it digging in but it doesn't hurt- I've never hurt myself before. Tiny pools of crimson form below my disgusting nails as my hand drags down, leaving three vertical slashes in my face, as if I were trying to peel away strips of perfect flesh.

"Get the FUCK away from me! Leave me alone!"

The voice is not mine. It comes from a much more primal place, and the ruby converges around my eyes, my fingers lifting and tearing at my hair while I scream at them- "Get away! GET AWAY" but they creep closer and closer like pacing wolves advancing on sick prey.

[Amerika attacks self with fists (no dice)]

[gamemaker kelsier]

[presto]

K i t e
D 4
1 8
"you take your time
y o u n g   l i o n"

[/presto]

That night he lay there, pack under his head after his turn at watch. His feet were decorated with little kites; that's what celia had said they were at least. Kite couldn't recall what a kite looked like. He'd felt the little pieces with his fingers, digits wrestling with the strange surface of them, trying to understand the shape.

"They billow in the air like sails on a ship, Kite."

Kite wished he knew what that looked like, not that he could see. He didn't want to see this place or the metal cuff on his wrist attached to nothing but empty air.

He wondered about Timothy's home. He couldn't recall what district he was from. He was afraid to ask now. Maybe the others would think he was stupid if he did. He didn't mind if they thought that, it was okay to be stupid. What he minded was that he didn't know that about Timothy, where he'd spent his life. He wanted to go there and then leave to feel what Timothy must have felt when he saw it disappearing behind him underneath a thin wispy smoke trail.

It was strange to think that he was dead.

it was strange to think that he would be dead soon too.

Kite slept very soundly that night after his watch with Celia was over. He woke up feeling rested, at ease. He wondered if it was because Timothy had been in his dream that night. He'd been happy in it, not just a disconnected voice. Kite used his imagination to put a face to his friends. They were very pretty to him.

Kite knew that he was not the same.

The acid that they had poured into his eyes had hurt him badly. There was thick scarring beneath the sunglasses he wore. His face was not a pretty thing to look at and he had been told before. He was happy with this, it was ok. He liked to have the comfort of sunglasses perched on his nose, he liked to feel the warmth of the sun on his face despite the angry mutilation.

Kite was pretty easy to please.

He was pleased by the warmth of the night, pleased by the sun on his face in the day. When he got up to pee that day things felt strange without Timothy attached to his arm but it was a little less awkward. It was just lonely.

That day was strange.

Kite thought at the time that maybe there was something dawning or setting or the moon was out of movement because things became crazy all at once it seemed.

There was shouting on all sides and out of the mess Kite tried to pick friend from foe. The splashing of feet and yells of outrage were loud, almost too loud. He couldn't hear properly, he dropped to his knees, holding his javelin in front of him, not afraid but not certain. He didn't know what to do.

He strained to hear Celia and Dane, strained to understand who was who.

Then from the dark came shapes and sounds.

Kite smiled in the blood around him.

"Danny?" he said to the broken place in front of him.

"Basil?"

A scream came, he tightened his grip on the weapon.

[Kite attacks Eryn with spear]
rrSuj4rqspear
[3147 -- Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage]

“spear”

[Kire]

[presto]

You once were Lord
of the barren sea

The flames on my knife die long before the weapon flies past the girl's head. I want to blame her shrieking for disturbing my aim but I think it was actually my heart. The thought of my parents watching me kill someone made my chest ache. Familiar faces surround me, the crowd of people who stormed into battle on my side - for that short time - when we each took a swipe at three unlucky fellows. At that point I had been freshly electrocuted, scorched on my back and energized in my core. The crackling lightning drove me to take blood, gashing deep into flesh. When everything had calmed again I wanted to forget that I had taken advantage of another's helplessness. The thought was too late, though, and the three unfortunate individuals lay dead under a collapsed tree.

The next day I - we - lost Delta to fire. Cecilia had stolen her from me with a lit knife, removing first her finger and then her life as the flames caught and spread. I couldn't hold her, couldn't put out the flames, and I don't think I can forgive myself for that. She is my guardian now, though, the specter hovering behind my shoulder. Perhaps she was the one who had manipulated my throw. This time, guide my throw. Let my blade fly straight and true. Why would she have stayed my hand? Looking at the mess of a girl before me I wondering if perhaps killing her might be an act of mercy rather than bloodlust.

Perhaps my angel had wanted me to know this before I believed I was doing a terrible thing.

Last day I had been able to drive one of my knives into the eye of a skeletal mutt. If I could manage that, surely I could put this poor girl out of her misery. I could think she was a threat to Danny or Basil if I had to, for that was what had given me the power to slay the beast yesterday. Not like that would be much of a stretch. By definition, everyone outside of our little trio was a threat to us. In fact, we were threats to each other too. Even so, I know that each of us would do everything in our power to protect one another. We've already done it, and we would do so again.

I have to think that in the end we wouldn't turn on each other.

For them I have killed, for them I have cut and slashed and stabbed, for them I have bled and been scorched. While I was unable to sink my last knife into the screaming girl before me, I would have to center myself and try again. This is an act of mercy. She's clearly suffering, so why not end it for her. By that logic, we should all be free to kill one another as a show of mercy. This place is torture and death is the only thing that will alleviate it. Of course, it felt different somehow when I thought about someone taking "mercy" on Danny or Basil or me. I suppose you can dress killing up in as much lace as you want and it's still a messy business.

There really is no right way to go about any of this. You can only go forward. In the end, everyone here has blood on their hands.

[/presto]

E z e r o
L a f f a n

Target
Amerika

Attack Roll
XBZpKvmAthrowing knife
1-50

Result
Miss (knife lost) -- 0.0 damage
+ extinguished

throwing knife�1-50

[Avalon]

[presto][/presto]

Maneuvering from the strikes of a battle waging between nine of them. Celia was firing between her own crosshairs, though she'd managed to be left unnoticed, and perhaps those who were being affected only wished to be in her position- she took it as an offense. Eyes travelling through the crowd of people who flocked from seemingly thin air, she spotted Scout only feet away from her caught between the blades of foreigners who'd invaded marked territory.


The world moved at a much faster pace than the previous day. She'd watched with her eyes in slow motion, seemingly endless and brutal, at the sever of her allies head in one single swipe of the skeletons sword. Eyes wide and the body of Timothy Feldon. her ally from District Nine, fell to the swamp ground with a sputter of warm crimson blood mixed with murky water. His head rolled to the soles of her feet, and she picked it up only to gaze into a pitch chasm, where the light could never reach the bottom. ( "Better him than you. Can you really afford to die, Celia?" ) Shaking her head for a second in reminiscence to only be thrown back into a whirlwind of chaos piling on top of the region around her. For a second- just a second- the world seemed to not revolve around her. What a mistake they'd made.

"You fucking hit my face."

"You damaged my perfect face, you son of a bitch."

The bark of Scout roared through the crowd, grabbing her attention by it's being and dragging it along for the wild ride. Gripping her flaming axes, she threw a glare at the girl from District Three, who somehow managed to leave a deep mark of Scout's own blood drawn across her porcelain face. And with that- the bitch would pay.

"Who the FUCK do you think you are?

Don't you ever fucking lay another petty hand

on the only other person who's worth anything."

Curling over her shoulder. she looked back to lay another strike on the girl who'd been at it alone. The boy from the opposing alliance apparently had the same idea, however he couldn't seem to lay a strike for the life of him. The fire of his flaming knives sizzling back into smoke he'd blew out himself once they hit the swamp water. Her axes still lit and flaming with ferocity, she pointed it out to the bow, locking him dead in the eyes with her own frosted gaze.

"And you.

Leave it to someone
who can actually hit their target.

Perhaps give the blind boy a chance to teach you.

He's actually proven as more useful than this."

With remaining words bitten on her tongue, she twisted her hand around her axe before playing target practice. Her axe was marked for its destination, and she planned to send the blade to it.

[presto][/presto]

table by elegant

[ celia mortuus attacks amerika ; axe ]
dAS|bao4200+11000
[ 11010 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage ]

[ fire roll ]
1-50
[ axe #1 - extinguished ]

200+11000�1-50

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

DANE _______ ALLORE

There was a second of emptiness waiting for Timothy's attack, waiting for the cold air to be split by his weapon. Dane's ear yearned for it, to pretend that he hadn't lost a friend but an axe to the back makes you realize shit. Even now, surrounded by eight other faces, he had felt the cold sting of bitter, ethereal shock of death; the feeling of an undug grave's lullaby like a siren's song. 

It was shell shock. 

Dane was on autopilot, breathing and bleeding as easy as walking and talking - numb. Oh so numb, his body became still water, the thick of the heat around him making him sick. Every step made it feel like he could just melt into his fugly ass crocs. His soul melted into just a bystander's. 

Fuck.

He bleeds, as easy as he functions. 

The thick of it sticks his shirt to his back, the cut exposed to suffocating air - fuckin hell. The fog of his brain bled red. For a second he waited still, for Timothy's attack to land but the air was never cut by cool blades, the sting of his back enough to break the patience. They're jumping Scout, he inhales; Celia and Kite are okay. 

For now, he exhales.

There's a moment where he tries to force eye contact, to at least understand who's killing him and who he's killing - to match up the one eye of his mother's and the one of his father's. But he lost the patience, at least, he's working on it. 

(For now.)

Dane swings, no longer waiting for Timothy's. 

{zoe}

[dane attacks basil, axe]
zIqgbiafaxe
[result]

axe

[Stare]

for there's a corner
out amongst the white
where someone is waiting
for you to arrive

Danny drew back from her own attack as if it were her flesh that was torn, burnt, and bleeding. Her stomach clenched, the corners of her vision swimming dangerously. Her hand was shaking. Distantly she heard things being shouted at her - perhaps the consequences of what she’d done to that girl - but her ears seemed to be numb. She pressed her lips together tightly, sucking in a deep breath and seeking the habitual discipline she had learned to find over the years that she’d spent watching the bruising get worse and the colds come more frequently. The world slipped, then steadied. She waited for a few heartbeats to ensure it stayed that way, her eyes darting around between faces.

They were too familiar. Her heart pattered between her ribcage nervously as she felt all morality slip into the gray, the lines she’d drawn for herself blurring quickly. Her priority had always been to protect those she’d come to care about. She was alive only because of her unspoken promise to Aiden and her affection for Basil and Ezero. For the single-footed painter and the broken-hearted book boy. But the faces she saw shifted that priority. She saw Eryn, who had written drunken letters with her, her expression fierce and unyielding. She saw Kite, who’d she helped up from the floor of the girl’s bathroom while still flushed and embarrassed even though she knew he couldn’t see her.

“Danny?”

She nearly choked on her thundering heart.

Please. Please don’t say my name like that.

“Kite,” she whispered. “Oh, Ripred, Kite, get out of here. Get the hell out!”

But who was she to give him orders? She was attacking those he cared about and watched others go after Eryn. They had been her friends in the Training Center, and yet here she would allow them to be cut down? The world began to slip for entirely different reasons and Danny swallowed hard, backing toward Basil in a silly, pointless attempt to protect him while she watched Ezero desperately swing at the others.

She was fighting for them. For her boys. Because if not them, then what?

(A small, dangerous part of her remembered Aiden’s words, and she almost suspected herself of clinging to them. What if -? )

No. She would not allow herself to have such thoughts, for they stained her permanently black like ink dropped into water. The moral ground she stood on was already shaky. She would not allow it to crumble away completely.

“It’s a lovely face,” Danny heard herself agree, surprised by her own casual tone. “But you lost all chances of having it spared when you insulted my book boy and attacked my painter. I’m a bit sensitive where they’re concerned.”

Basil and Ezero weren’t hers. She knew that as well as anybody. But they were hers to protect, and that was what she told herself she was doing when she steadied her hand and let another knife fly.

i could not ignore the call of the night
to return to the haunt you would have me deny
no, I could never tell you where I had been
for you could never answer them

iPq2bE9uthrowing knife
”1-50”

attacks Scout with throwing knife (2)
result: miss (knife lost), 0.0
fire: +0

throwing knife�”1-50”

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

<>Eryn Sconosciuto<>

District Seven Female Tribute

B

lades etch across each of my cheeks with the unforgiving razor-tip embrace they’re designed to deliver. Blood slivers across my lips, and harsh metal contrasts against bitter taste buds. This is the destruction that feeds the Games. When a sole survivor is the key to Life, death finally combats before my vision. Without an army, or a battle plan, results are stored for the very closing. Anything may occur, and I’m prepared for all outcomes.

Words force an intertwining with the creation of wounds. “Maybe a little.” I jokingly comply to believing I’m tough, while the slices decorating my face provide a grin. “Are you saying I don’t smile enough?” A question is generously returned just as the attacks are. Might as well maintain comfortable small talk, keep the humor where there’s a fight to live. The blind bit my face for damn sakes! If I’m unable to chuckle over that, who will?

“Nice aim.” I mutter, disgusted by my own defense. “You must have eyed that really well.” Laughter stretches my irritated features, and the rupturing damage ignites me to continue. The weak must be consumed. It may appear to be the Four missing a sense, but the deeper injuries truly embody someone else.

Concentration never falters from the threat that balances my existence.

More faces must dance among the misty Stars tonight. The competition has to be eliminated. As warm company finally enriches me, I need to strive to be isolated once again. Red will stain my palms this round though, or a blade will shatter the heart I’ve misplaced. A single aspect is determined; a further conclusion will be breached. For my house of misfits, and especially for Rayne, I will devour any to witness tonight’s answer. For my Life, blood will be answered by my fangs.

Eryn Sconosciuto's Actions Below

{Eryn attacks Scout (Razor Fan)}
|J6Hnbtqknife
{2172 -- Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage
(Knife)} knife

[cass]

Scout Fray --


"Who the FUCK do you think you are?
Don't you ever fucking lay another petty hand
on the only other person who's worth anything."

She couldn't help but stretch her torn up face into a grin as she heard Celia shout above the chaos. She could clearly remember screaming out something very similar in the last fight they'd been together in. That had turned out wonderfully, Quadrys kicking the bucket, Celia coming out alive. Scout shuffled around the two that had turned their weapons on her, keeping one eye always on Celia, knowing that the moment anyone went for the district twelve tribute she'd be on them regardless of her own situation. She could handle tweedle d and tweedle dumb here. Blondie on her left didn't seem too bright, or capable.

She had no fucking clue whatesoever blondie over here was talking about. Paint boy? Book boy? Who the fuck were they? The only guy she'd actually attacked in these games had been Dane, and that had just been to shove him off so she could kill Quadrys. Ripred she didn't have time for idiots who spat nothing. "Wait so the fuckwit to your right has a dick in her pants? Because unless she's a guy then I don't know who the fuck you're talking about." She drawled, twirling her axe, as the prissy blonde threw another knife only to miss her entirely. She allowed a quick look to see how far off the knife had gone, only to have to hold back a snort of laughter as it disappeared out of sight. "I'm surprised you've lasted this long."

[attacks Eryn - Axe]
5vWkbVwHaxe
[Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage]

axe