//a whirlwind reaching {down}\\ [cornucopia megamutt fight]

[Python]

oh and she hits like ecstasy
comes up and bangs the sense out of me
it's wrong, but surely worst to leave

When he cut across the career’s shoulder, he thought of butchering Petra. Humans didn’t deserve to be hacked away piece by piece like raw meat, especially while they were still breathing. The arena was a place where those morals could be set aside, hiding in the shadows of swords and blood puddles. In this case, it was the shadow of a dragon. With each stamp of its bones into the cavern floor, Machaon felt shaken. His nerves were seizing in panic and his blood vessels were consumed by hellfire, forcing the blood between his ears to buzz until his focus dissipated. He couldn’t avoid a dragon and tributes simultaneously, and he couldn’t watch Justice’s back either. He was a deer, stunned in the midst of a forest. Not yet hunted, but it could happen at any moment.

The career from Two snarled at him. ”You get attacked by a dragon and go after me? Either you’re mentally deficient or you think revenge is going to offer you a nice little reward.” He thought of Percy, small and fierce, the day she clung to his leg and refused to let go. She was a stubborn child who deserved an entire world. Hell, most of these tributes deserved everything the Games would never offer them. Peace, happiness, love, a fucking family – and he couldn’t talk, he did have his family. They cared about him, raised him well, and he was grateful to have at least experienced that privilege. He didn’t know anything about these other tributes, but he was pretty sure they deserved anything but this. A fucking dragon hovering above their vulnerable faces, threatening to chew them to mush at any moment.

He wouldn’t wish that hell upon anyone. Not this career, not strangers – nobody. Revenge didn’t fuel him, no matter how badly he wished Percy could return to them.

”I might be mentally deficient, who knows,” he grumbled, and he could see that the career’s anger was justifiable. It’s my fault, he thought. He was a coward. He would rather turn his back to their biggest threat – a monstrosity of a mutt – than face it with confidence. Everything about its existence sent chills through his bones. It wasn’t a living, breathing creature, but a robot carved of realistic skeletons. It didn’t feel, it didn’t bleed, and it sure as hell wouldn’t die. Every swing created another small fissure in its structure, but that was all. No real damage was done, so what was the point? He knew he couldn’t dent the damn thing. It would eat him alive.

He could hear Atlas’ backlash and the venom behind it. Machaon didn’t want to mention Percy and think about petty revenge. Welcome to the fucking Hunger Games was right. He would have to do things he didn’t want to do, see things he didn’t want to see, and die a way he didn’t want to die. There was no golden crown in store for him; it was melting somewhere with Stevie’s blade. The Hunger Games would drive him into killing, just as it had yesterday. Why? Fear of death, longing for life, human instinct, all of the above. He had his reasons for attacking the career. He didn’t know if they were justified because he was cowardly, but guilt wouldn’t force him backward. It was too late, and Petra’s face flashing behind his eyelids was a reminder of that.

”So if you’ll excuse me, I have a dragon to slay, boys.”

The career’s sword left a mere scratch on the dragon’s ribcage.

”Doesn’t look like you’re slaying it to me,” he drawled. He didn’t think slaying it was an option. A better idea was to run away, although in such a cramped cave there was probably nowhere to hide.

Their strongest gamble was to stay and pray for the best.

and she hits like ecstasy
so free up the cheaper seats
here comes the greek tragedy

[attacks heathcliff - sword]
3Y7MChkXsword
Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage

sword

[arx!!]

justice
fray 

every wound
will shape me

"Maybe you ought to fix your aim, Justice."

Just a small flash of a memory distracts me as my axes clips flesh and collides with the ground. It's like I'm back home and my brothers are laughing at me after flipping me on my back or knocking the air from my lungs. ("That the best you can do?") I can see my parents glaring with disappointment from the sidelines, not caring enough to even yell at me this time. And as the heavy breathing of the dragon fills the cavern, my mind settles on the memory of broken ribs, bloody lips, tears stained cheeks, and bullies towering over me with sneers—("Aren't Frays supposed to be tough?")

Spit hits me below the eye and I keep my eyes closed as my jaw clenches and my fists reflexively twist tighter around the handle of my axe. This little bitch wants to die, don't they? I slowly lift my tank top to wipe away the spit. Every part of me knows it's better to stay calm, to be the one who makes the calm, cool, and collected decis---

"Because unlike you I don’t rely on other people to do what needs doing."

I rip my axe from where it has stuck in the ground and hold it at my side, drawing closer to Two with nothing but full blown rage driving me forward. I recognize the girl from Seven as she steps into my line of vision, but I don't bother listening. She's gone as quick as she showed up anyway, heading back to the beast that the Gamemakers clearly intended as a distraction. It's keeping most everyone's attention. But not mine.

"Oooooohohooh, I'll show you how it's done you little fucking c--"

I stop short at the sound of my name—"Fray." It's barely a whisper, barely anything at all. But it carries like a warning and I turn just in time to slash a blade away from my back.

My eyes catch on Scout first who has already moved on to swinging a sword at the creature roaring at us. Gold ink twists through my memory as I recall the night she invited the familiar names to join her. She had meant it to be a night of ranting, but all I had done was admire the curve of her hips and smoothness of her legs--- damn. I really did like her left leg.

Her district partner on the other hand looks much better with one less, hairy limb.

I have to laugh. What a sorry excuse for an opponent.

"You can do better than that, and you know it."

I glance over my shoulder again to see Two giving Stranger Danger a grin. I'm so sick of these District Twos.

I force another grin onto my face, pushing the rage away for the moment and exchanging it for a steady heartbeat and strategy. Though it won't take much strategy to take down the nearly useless Career in front of me.

"Hey, Krigel! Mind telling your pet to play nice?" I shout in her direction, hoping she's too distracted by her lack of a leg and the fire breathing dragon to actual take notice in where my blade is directed.

"So, uh, where's the peg?"

I point my axe to his lack-of-a-leg with a grin.

"I can chop off that mess of a hand for you," I smirk. "I'm sure they'd sponsor you a hook."

every scar will
build my throne

[Justice attacks Roger w/ axe]
ExeipqcKaxe
[Severed Left Arm at Shoulder -- 10.0 damage]

axe

[L△LIA]

[attr="class","ScoutContainer"]

[attr="class","ScoutTitle"]

on the warpath
because I love you just a little too much

[attr="class","ScoutContent"]

There is a notebook filled with Scout's hopes and dreams, secrets and sins. It is strapped to her heart. Spare bandages bind it to her chest because her limbs are no longer trustworthy and she won't give up these pages until she dies. Wearing her hand drawn comic book like armor, she has come to battle by accident, but that doesn't mean she won't fight, only that she doesn't want to. However, if she has learned anything about herself since coming here it's that she has spent a lifetime being wrong — there is no prince, no pirate king, no one in all the land that will come to her rescue. The fair maiden Scout must save herself.

If only she knew what from...

Fire fades, the cocoon of smoke releasing her in time to witness Roger take a swing at the only other person here Scout feels closely connected to. "Roger, no!" It's impossible to reach him in time to stop the attack, but she tries anyhow, her panicked sword catching the incredible bones of a god by accident. This is when she realizes that the fire did not come from hell itself. The fire came from — "A motherfucking dragon, oh my god!" A scream follows, but it is more joyous laughter than fear, the incoherent babbling of a girl who has drawn moments like this one upon the hidden walls of her heart. She might have come here willingly from the beginning had she known that her daydreams live side-by-side with her nightmares.

Adrenaline convinces her she has grown wings from her back because how else could she suddenly feel this high? The air whirls and the Pegasus Queen swears she is not pretend, she is real and this dragon is her captor and her fellow queen all at once. "Roger there's a —" Frenzied excitement disintegrates into horror as Justice seeks his namesake and retaliates by cleaving her district partner's arm off. Pain echoes in her own. The attack sends her limb flying nearly the same way it sent his, except hers is soaring toward the boy she thought she'd never want to hurt, bitchslapping Justice Fray with the full momentum of her flayed emotions. "You lizard-eared scumbucket!"

Yes, there are dragons within Scout's drawings. There are also imps, faeries, magical sting rays, unicorns, and sparkles in everyone's eyes. Despite being flat and greyscale, there is an undeniable implication that absolutely everything is pink and very, very fluffy. Even the scariest things are doodled to be suspiciously adorable. Roger the Pirate King is glided with as much implied glitter as everything else and his story is kept side-by-side with the others upon her heart. The name Fray means something to the Krigel girl, but not as much as the boy Justice just tore apart.

Her momentum continues after the small collision as she spins on her single leg, caught off balance and continuing to twirl. Trying to catch herself, the arm that is also playing make believe as her other leg whips out with sword-crutch in hand. The real plot twist isn't simply that Scout is not a damsel in distress being rescued by the Pirate King who volunteered to follow her here, it's that she's the true hero of this story, always coming to his rescue... even though she never meant to.

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[scout attacks justice, bone sword]

UgINA4Kwsword

[Deep Gash on Back — 8.5 damage]

sword

[aya]

[attr="id","postBody"]

[attr="id","headerPic"]

Roger Strangways-Teach is all right.

He drops to his knees — knee — and howls. Yesterday's pain was unimaginable. But Day Four's iteration of Roger Strangways-Teach knows all too well the searing — the crushing — the all-consuming agony of losing a limb.

Something that resembles a career's instinct kicks in. He throws his mass forward, careening into a crooked somersault, bearing his lessened weight on his right shoulder.

Four fingers curl clumsily around the knife that hit the rock when his severed limb did. He is going to die — soon, by the torrent of blood spilling down his side. But not here. Please not here. Roger doesn't want Justice Fray's stupid fuckboy smirk to be the last thing he sees before he dies.

In desperation, he clutches at his weapon, certain that it's his last hope. Scout Krigel proves him wrong.

[attr="id","rSpeech"][roger attacks flemeth, horn knife]
Z8DzKKcKknife
[attr="id","rSpeech"][result]

[newclass="#headerPic"]background-image:url('http://i.imgur.com/bBQJERC.jpg');width:447px;height:150px;[/newclass]
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[newclass="#rSpeech"]color:#000000;font-weight:bold;[/newclass]
[newclass="#smallestCaps"]font-size:14px;font-variant:small-caps;[/newclass]knife

[sadniss everdeen]

[attr="id","dragonAppear"]

[attr="class","byeDragon"]

You don't need the whip to break someone broken.

His arm spirals out in an impressive spray of blood. It paints you in haphazard crimson, a red compliment to the blue that dances along all parts of you, and you have flashes of Before and the taste of metal as the blade cut through and along and down and you were spitting it, choking on it, but then it was pain and pain and nothing. Darkness. That empty, silent void where gods go to die. The guardian will taste the blackness soon and you know this like one dead thing knows another, but while his heart still beats he has the chance to pay forward this flesh offering. The earth hungers for her children in a way that the cosmos does for entropy, a yearning to reunite and become one. Perhaps if he satisfies her, she will stem the red river for another day.

(Though, truly, living with parts cleaved and cannibalized is hardly worth the energy. You would know, your metal muscles so cold and heavy against your bones.)

The guardian was weak and now he is a guardian no longer, but the other stinks like there is a rot inside him, hidden in his core. He is not worthy of the title he will gain when the other falls. You will rend the cloak his words give him with your teeth if it will expose him to the light.

attacks Justice with JAWS
6agIUdIBsword
result: deep gash on stomach, 9

The others do not care for inheritance. They know only your mass and how the cobalt turns their swords into gemstone, a living monument that will last only as long as their heart can feed the stone. The one who barely escaped your talons the first time digs her axe deep into your head and there is an itch there, an ache you cannot escape. Your circuits spark and fizzle as they are exposed to the damp, thick air of the outside and something... foreign touches you. A feeling so fleeting you wouldn't have known it unless you used to, once. When you were more like them.

You don't want to remember. You won't. Not when it made you weak.

attacks Emmery with CLAWS
knife
result: deep gash on right forearm, 8

But it doesn't make the ache better. It deepens, spreads, turns into a burn that is different from the one rumbling in your chest. The machines in you scream as they try to fix what she has wrought and you roar in tandem, an answering fury that causes the ceiling to shake and rattle. You will sear it out of you if you must, you will take whatever you were and burn it to ash if it means you rise from it again as whole and holy and new.

The blue flame gathers and rages in your chest until you burst with it, with all the misfiring junctions the axe has caused and it only makes it hotter, bigger, more more more and the hunger in you becomes so large it will outgrow you, in time. Creep past your ribs and into this hell like the blackness that took your thoughts away.

"Despair!"

It erupts from your mouth and for a split second of twisted, tumble-down eternity, everything is light.

attacks Iris with FIRE
1-50
result: moderate burn, 4

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[Deleted]

T R A V E R S

One foot after another flew, staggering across the rocky outcropping and underneath the metallic sheened flesh of the dragon. Sword met bone and skittered across Flemeth’s stomach as the beast soared by Travers. She lurched forward before she felt the familiar sting of a sword finding its target. Blood trickled down her arm and she lost her footing, dropping to her knees. The world spun around her, heart beating, throbbing into her ears. There was no stopping the motion of madness, not when the world was on fire. She breathed deep and felt the pain across her skin, in her bones, through her muscles. And yet she would not die—she willed herself to stand. The sound of her sword echoed as she dragged it loosely across the ground.

Hey Mach, think this asshole remembers they killed your ally's district partner or did they assume we were all gonna hold hands and sing nursery rhymes. Welcome to the fucking Hunger Games, Two!

When Travers had killed Percy, a debt had been paid. The circle began with Renee and ended with Percy but now—they were simply returning the favor, because her blood was more important. After all, what was her life to them? But that was reductionist and simple; any child would have the same response. Children were they all, caught up in a game to the death. And yet—they had mistaken the shadows on the cave wall as their reality; what was real was only what they created themselves. Life, death, justice—she was no villain any more than one of them would be a hero. History would be written by none of them, only the ones that were outside of the arena. And what did history matter to the dead, when life was meant to be lived? And so she said nothing in reply—history would have to guess what mattered to her, then.

Both her allies were bloodied; the invading boys were worse for wear but not done in by the beast. She watched Flemeth soar and shake the arena. Still they fought one another, rather than bring down the beast. Perhaps there was a sense of comfort in choosing who lived or died. Machaon was not evil. Quite the contrary, he was caught up in the machinations of the game; just as he could have taken any of the others, Travers was fodder, a body, a face in the sky. He had not learned revenge is not a legacy, nor did he have the strength to take on the creature circling above. Would Scout’s strike on Justice tip the scales? Did that matter, when Travers was spilling blood across the ground, dragging herself from one attack to the next? She lifted her sword and coughed.

Justice had sliced Roger’s arm clean off, the pathetic excuse for a career now half limbless. She could have left him to die; there was no affection between them. They had shared one night atop the roof, far less than her lifetime in the arena. And yet. Who had taken their swords to Travers? Who cared more for the taste of blood than living to see another day? There was no justice in the world, there would never be. There would be men and women who made decisions for themselves and themselves only; the honest and the good were punished no less than the bad and the wicked. She was no judge, no higher a power than any of the children in the game. She was only Travers, one who wanted to live and breathe her truth.

And in that moment, where fate was so fluid she could feel it brush her fingertips, Travers turned away from what was easy—the boys bickering behind her—to the dragon at her front. What had she said just moments ago? She was going to slay a dragon, make a legacy, and ignore them. She wanted no part in killing Machaon, that was too easy and too childish. She had no interest in Atlas; she barely knew who he was. But her eyes settled on the dragon above and she pressed one foot forward and one behind. Her sword raised and her breathing steady, she gritted her teeth. There was no justice in the world, save for the boy so named. But there was mercy.

“Fuck it.” She would not die that day, and because repetition bred confidence, she spoke again. “Fuck it. Fuck you. Fuck your game. I don’t want to help you live and I don’t want anyone to live but me.” Saying it all was freeing; she was electric now. “You can try to kill me but I’m not dying at the hands of a sniveling child from Eight.” She rushed past him, her heart pounding, her sword up. She closed her eyes and swung.

[Heathcliff Travers swings her sword at Flemeth]

12QaTbBLsword
1091 -- Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage

(Sword)

Made by Frankel

sword

[jess]

E M M E R Y

pre-italy filler, sorry!

Made by Frankel

emmery attacks flemeth with axe

k1QKL23|axe
[dg on back - 8.5]

axe

[pup]

iris flower-oak:

Justice goes off an totally ignores me. He's more of an hottieass than any tribute I've seen in these games. Same with his allies too. There is a dragon looming over us, wanting to kill us and possibly eat our spleens, and what do they do?! They get the great idea of: 'Oh, I'm going to go and attack/chop the arms off of people who could possibly help us kill the larger threat instead of just destroying the larger threat first before trying to murder other innocent children.'

Idiots.

I stare up at the dragon as my knife swings past it's huge figure. It looms over me, sending a huge blast of fire my way. I narrowly avoid getting totaly roasted, but then I roll onto a bunch of spikes poking my side painfully. I look down to see a backpack, the ghosts of sharp spikes poking through and poking at me.

My fingers swiftly and uncaustiously rip open the bag, revealing a huge bat lined with spikes. Maybe it could help me.

I look at Justice again, a look of anger on my face for attacking people I should be protecting, but no. Now is not the time to be launching my self at a much hotter stronger foe and act like a hypocrite. Now is the time to act.

I look up at the dragon again and grimace.

"Oh look, a dragon." I say, keeping my voice slightly annoyed.

"Im gonna kill it."

I raise the bat and look at it for a moment, remembering a game I used to play with some friends when I was little. I look back up at the dragon and my trembling arms raise the spikey bat, and I speak in a low voice towards it, "Swing batter batter batter swing."

The little mantra a friend of mine used when I was little rings through my voice, and then I swing.

[Attacks flemeth with spikey bat]
Dkohmbonspiked blunt
[result]spikedblunt

[[nyte]]

yoyoyo sorry my gays i will fill this in when not busy love u

[attacks emmery -- spiked blunt]
lFPEK6d4spiked blunt
[BROKEN RIB -- 7.0 damage]

spiked blunt

[Python]

oh and she hits like ecstasy
comes up and bangs the sense out of me
it's wrong, but surely worst to leave

Hell was too red for his liking.

The dragon’s fire was red like a tropical sunset, a sight he could only behold in the quarters of his old capitol bedroom. The walls were alive with dreams and places he would never visit, places he never knew existed. As much as he would love to behold such spectacular sights, hell happened to be another place that existed, and it was his destiny. Destiny was a funny concept; he wasn’t meant to be here but the luck of the draw had dragged him here, and nothing would’ve ever changed that. This hellscape was his path to death and along the way the roads were stained red with dragon’s fire and human’s blood.

There was red in the career’s words as well, and red blossoming from the scratch he left on their shoulder. ”I don’t want anyone to live but me,” they admitted, and Machaon couldn’t decide whether to feel impressed at the bold honesty of the statement, or disgusted that a human being could think this way. That was the problem; he wanted everyone else to live. Even Justice, the asshole he was, had to die, but no part of him craved that. He wanted Justice to go home, for Atlas to go home, for himself to go home, but it was impossible. Facing reality had never been his strong suit. Perhaps he was simply a sniveling child from Eight, too immature to look demons in the eye. He would rather turn a blind eye than acknowledge the ugliest truths.

The Games didn’t give him much of a choice. He could turn his back to the fire-breathing beast, but in the other direction was Justice hacking through a tribute’s arm. Blood decorated the rocks at their feet. Justice was truly a career, fierce in his attitude and his movements. A broken arm meant nothing to him. A severed arm was among them and it made his stomach churn, reminding him of poor Petra’s hand. They were butchers, all of them, but they couldn’t be blamed for it.

The ache in his foot was lost to fear and adrenaline. Hunger pangs were forgotten. All he could focus on was the looming shadow of the dragon as it raked its jaws across Justice’s stomach. Blood poured like fountains from more than one person, and for a moment he thought Justice was dead. Then he was up again, charging for the career. Machaon knew he was ready to follow suit. He was no match for a dragon, and a dragon was too mighty for his sword.

And he was too cowardly to force a change within himself.

and she hits like ecstasy
so free up the cheaper seats
here comes the greek tragedy

[attacks heathcliff - sword]
_oufPLrFsword
Shallow Cut on Left Shoulder -- 3.5 damage

sword

[arx!!]

justice
fray 

every wound
will shape me

this be a filler hoes

every scar will
build my throne

[Justice attacks Heathcliff w/ axe]
bPiFd|Epaxe
[Severed Right Leg at Hip -- 10.0 damage]

axe

[L△LIA]

FILLER FLEE BC :ANGELFACE:

[sadniss everdeen]

[attr="id","dragonAppear"]

[attr="class","byeDragon"]

this, bitches, is a filler.

and also the end of this thread.


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