Don't Let Me Down // [Feast Day 4]

[Kire]

Ansgar Todd

In the span of a breath the gathering had gone from an uneasy tension to a shattering chaos. His allies were for a moment beside him before everyone began to move all at once. Bolts lunged forward, tossing a knife as one whizzed past him. Knives flew from one person to another, screams erupted from Maye as she was separated from her leg. "RRRIpred, Twitchtip and Lapbloood!" The invoking of his father's name calls him forward and within an instant he is at her side. She is not one who seems to truly follow Ripred, nor give the faith that he does to the god, but he will aid her nonetheless. He, after all, is Ripred's weapon and thus he will aid where aid is needed. In his pocket, the rat chitters. She is upset at the fighting, but burrowed safe in her pouch she is able to almost forget about the mess that is going on around her. As the boy whose company she was in did, she sent a small prayer up to Ripred. In this terrible place and at this terrible time every voice was needed.

He looks down at the girl, still managing to chatter despite the loss of a limb. As she crawled away he shut his eyes for a breath and cast his mind out to Ripred in search of guidance. Help her. Squeaked the rat in his pocket. A javelin flew clumsily from where Maye was, leaning against a rock and breathing hard. He continued to let the words and sounds around him fade as he focused solely on the girl's target. She had been his mark for some time now. Earlier he had attempted to serve her Ripred's justice after she had taken the life of an unwitting foe. Now, he once more had the opportunity and he could not let that go to waste.

Ripred, in this time I shall show you my strength. I will act as your spear as you have trained me, and I shall bring justice to the girl who I never knew. I had no chance to save her before, but now I can save her memory. With this attack I take the sins of the girl I could not save and transfer them unto me. I take her burden and use it to power the cleansing strike that will mend the terrible deed of the girl before me now.

He hefts his spear, gripping it in two hands as he had trained. In his pocket, the rat burrows further against him. One quick look reveals Hyacinth approaching the red headed girl from Bolt's district. Removing his distractions one by one he refocuses on the girl before him. She is a source of darkness in this arena, not as a servant of the devil but a loss of light that comes from the lost. Perhaps he can guide her back to the light of Ripred, perhaps he could redeem her as he drained the darkness from her veins. Each wound she had dealt would be returned unto her and thus would remove the taint of her misdeeds from her flesh. Once she was pure once more he would deliver her to Ripred.

The breath leaves him in a slow stream that continues for what feels like several minutes but is really only a number of seconds. There, without breath, without sound, he is filled by the light and presence of Ripred. Go on, my brother, strike with the power of our Father. Strike with the power of Ripred. A small, thin face peeks above the top of the pocket, her high pitched voice the only thing in his mind.

Strike.

Ansgar attacks Samira Hart with Spear
m0NM8l1tspear
Miss -- 0.0 damage

Accuracy reroll
spear
Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage

spear�spear

[Python]

H Y A C I N T H  M O R T U U S

There were a bundle of heartbeats here to hold within her hands, but she didn’t want them. The prizes at the end of his battle? She didn’t want them either. This was a death party, and all of her allies were invited or else. As Bolts and Ansgar sprinted forward, creating an invisible fork to separate and divide up the slaughter, she recognized that this was something she could not turn away from. The Gamemakers were watching from the skies, perched on their thrones of gold and hunger for entertainment. Losing a career was not enough, apparently – they had to arrange for an entirely new scramble, a second bloodbath Bolts tossed his knife into a boy’s chest, and Ansgar tried to spear a girl through the neck. Two heartbeats, faint and out of her reach. She wouldn’t bother them.

The loud mouth, Maye, was also here. She was an endless sputter of words, like a broken spigot, but her heartbeat was thunderous. It was not something to be taken freely, yet it seemed the others would try. She sprung leaks across her chest, painting the earth with the first festive decoration. Oh, it was a party now. Her screams were the cheering children begging for birthday gifts, and her amputated foot was another present to be giftwrapped in a coffin when her heartbeat lost its vitality.

She counted the bodies – not enough. Mitchell and the other heathens from the day before were not here. Why not them? Why spare certain heartbeats over others? If she were to be the queen of hearts, there had to be equal opportunity.

But you have no crown.

She suddenly remembered her place. District Twelve female, sister of one of the worst Games fiends in recent history, and a criminal originating from the poorest District. Her home was arguably the least interesting. There was no equal opportunity to kill. She had been cast into this fight because she was worth sacrificing. Just another pawn on the platter. The Gamemakers were the true queens, but perhaps Mitchell’s illusion could still mean something to her.

She could still control fate. Not her own, but another’s. Lowering her bag, she scanned the narrow pass between two rocky towers for a heartbeat. Red hair leapt out at her, reminding her bitterly of the girl who helped murder Cai. It was not her, however, simply a stranger. Probably another girl who just wanted to survive. If Celia were here in her stead, she would seek out the weakest heartbeat and squeeze it between her hands until it burst. She lived to serve her own bloodlust, and died by the hands of a simple boy who also wanted to survive.

She was not her sister. She would not torture.

But she did not care who tasted her sword today.

[attacks Deja - sword]

FTMU2BKXsword
Deep Gash on Cheek -- 8.5 damage

sword

[*]

Deja Hatcher Too many people have come to gather here. Bolts is fine. He was my district partner. We ate and slept in the same pent house. Maybe even the two that he brought alongside him, standing at attention all in shiny protective gear. Has Bolts changed since leaving me in the common rooms of the district three training room? How is it that when I begged for safety, he didn't seem to comply with a promise? In a single moment, his face grew grim and I knew my fate. He can't save me; he won't. No one can truely save me. It's going to have to be me, again. I am the only one who can truely make it out of this hell hole just like I did last time. I wish it wasn't this hard. I wish I hadn't escaped now. At least with the drugs, I was taken care of. I was babied and kept tucked away. Did I really give up that prison for this one that incurs certain death? Unfortunately, I did... Blades are brought out by Bolts quickly and before I knew it, I was watching the battlefeild erupt and ooze with blood in a matter of moments. The weird girl with that skull was the first to take the strikes. Her body being subjected to sheer pain as the metal sliced into her skin like a hot knife through butter. And I sympathized with her. My missing limb throbs even though it isn't there to see her fate. The same fate as I had to endure. Somehow, I survived it all thanks to a special bloodbath angel. He's dead, but his spirit remains with me as I had asked him to. My eyes deceive me though in a matter of moments. The blades that left Bolts' hand penetrates the boys body with ease, digging out his life in one sharp move. A nod in his direction is given for sheer pleasure that he has kept himself safe but only for one moment. A return attack and he's injured just as much as his victim. "Bolts!" I scream outwardly, and I'm fumbling with the crutches to leap across the threshold of the rift only to be met with someone I had lost track of due to negligence. Sheer pain rips through my face, tearing into my skin and muscle; severing nerves and making my eyes water. My crutches catch my falling stance to keep upright and with one look at her, I tear away from her as fast as I can. Adrenaline pushes me through it all. "Bolts..." I scream again, with an instant plea bargain for him to hear. "Tell her to stop... Tell her I mean no harm to them- please?" For reasons I cannot fathom, I am helping the one who belongs to that monster who tried to slay me. I have no other choice because there is no one else I can even come to remotely trusting. It's just because he's from home. I have no other way out of this except to try to show my obedience. A few feet away, the crutches collapse at my foot and latch onto the weapon in my bag. The heavy metal nearly throws me off balance; however, it swings with everything I can give.

[Deja attacks Reese - to show his alliance, she is worthy]
Rqws_AMKspiked blunt
14069 -- MISS -- 0.0 damagespiked blunt

[✨ zozo.]

S A M I R A  H A R T

 

Blind leading the blind, we are. Reese's hand in mind and Pillar up ahead and Sacha following suit, they claw at the girl from Six and I watch her fall. (That should could be me.)

My hands don't shake anymore. Heart beat manic like my thoughts. (They did something to me.) Calm before the storm washes over me and I fall into my usual lull, wandering aimlessly in to chaos, dragging Reese in with me because I am selfish and still want him close to me. My lucky charm, my broken-boned boy, I cling to him and inhale.

Exhale.

Let him go.

"Stay here," I whisper in his ear, hand squeeze, falling back to his side. Back soon, I promise, only temporary. (He can't see me clench my jaw and look to the sky for another saviour.) My hands don't shake anymore. Maybe that's because of him.

Maybe I'm an addict and I've found salvation in his arms.

Withdrawals kicking in, I step forward -

Silver against my vision, I stop breathing. I fall to the ground and so does Reese.

Turn to look at him, don't breathe, can't breathe. Shock, terror, agony - there's a knife in his chest.

I scream.

(Fighter.)

He grits his teeth and lives.

(Survivor.)

"Where? Where is he?"

"LEFT!" I think, I don't know, it's getting hard to breathe, "Ten o'clock!"

Silver in my veins again and I bloom, swerving from death, a dance with the devil my body calls second-nature. Pain licks at my skin, wanting more, but I've done these steps a thousand times.

Scared little children dressed in silver and scarlet, they all wait to take my hand and dance to the song of death.

Get in line, I think - and swing.

D I S T R I C T F I V E

sam attacks deja // morning star
nOa6aUwJspiked blunt
block 0

accuracy day 4
spiked blunt
miss 0 i hate myself

spiked blunt�spiked blunt

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

☆

S a c h a

Lost lambs scream in the night -- and there's a danger to fragility, slicing your fingers open on shards of broken glass. The world is still and the ground is silent, but there's blood dripping down your face and the terrifying thing is that it's not yours. The girl from Six has a bleeding chest and the knife that she pulls out was sent flying by your hand, and the realization of what you've done shakes you to your core.

You stumble backwards, taken aback by the cruel instincts that you've displayed, and there's voices all around you -- but you can't hear them; you can't focus on anything but the rapid rising and falling of your chest that threatens to crack the marrow of your ribs. You part your lips to tell the girl how sorry you are, but you're not, and that causes you to take another step back.

A hand flies up to your head, clutching at dark locks. You notice the boy from Ten slashing Samira's neck with his spear, and you can't hold back the scream that crawls its way out of your throat. "Stop!" you shout, but your voice is hoarse and you can only hear the faint echo of your words. "Leave her alone, please--"

But your throat stays dry and closes up tighter, and you look down at shaking hands and you realize that you're already holding another knife. You look at the girl with the torn chest and missing foot and you nod. The sadness of your face betrays the murderer that you're becoming. You don't want this
-- you don't want to kill anyone.

But everyone's dying at a different pace, and you know that you have to finish what you've started.

"I wish I could tell you that I'm sorry," you say to the joking girl, and part of you wishes that you were in on the punchline of her morbid humor.
"-- but I'm not."

[sacha attacks maye, throwing knife]
Hh_LLUCJthrowing knife
[Shallow Cut on Forearm -- 3.0 damage]

throwing knife

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

P I L L A R  F R A Y

 

She watches from a distance as two of her allies are targeted, gasping when a knife plunges itself deep into Reese’s chest. A gloved hand flies up to her mouth, and although she's physically shaken at the sight, the sudden jolt of fear starts to fade when she sees that the boy from Seven is fighting against his pain. When he asks Samira for directions and goes after his attacker, she nods in approval of his bravery. But the inclining of her head is stopped when the boy from Ten comes into the picture, slashing at Samira’s turned neck with his spear and bringing Pillar back down to the harsh reality of the feast.

She parts her lips to call out to her ally, but a javelin flies past her and causes her to take a quick step back with a grunt. It crashes near Samira with a  clumsy thud, and she looks over to find the girl from Six supporting herself on the stone wall that surrounds them, a trail of blood leading to where she’s standing. She realizes in that moment that the girl's intended target wasn't Sam — it was her. And suddenly the wolf snarls in offense when the lamb kicks out in an attempt of defending itself. 

A hand runs itself through her hair as she stops to catch her breath among the chaos, and she stands with her sword held limply at her side. She looks down at the severed limb that rests near her feet. She stares at the drying blood and the cracked bone, and there's a part of her wishes that she was more shaken by the image. But she's been seeing nothing but red for the last four days — watching skin swell with blisters and bodies twitching in their last moments. It's not the mangled foot that bothers her. It's only when she hears the older girl speak that she feels blindsided, lifting her head with wide eyes. It's the first time that someone she's attacked has spoken to her, and it suddenly makes the young woman seem so much more human.

She wants to ignore the fierce will to live that flashes behind Maye's watering eyes, but she can't bring herself to dismiss it. She has that same fire within herself, and a corner of her lip pulls up in approval at the sight of their shared inferno. 'Good,' Pillar thinks to herself with a weak laugh. 'That's going to keep you alive longer.' She sighs, the cold breath burning her throat as it exits, and she grips her sword and weighs it in her hand with a biting of her lip. She tosses blonde strands out of her face with a jerk of her head, clenching her jaw and squaring her shoulders as if she's something to be feared.

“I don’t want anything of yours,” she says as she kicks away the bloody foot in her path, walking over to where Maye stands on a shaking leg. The words are sharp and vicious, but her voice is surprisingly soft — the way a child consoles a dying bird before they crush it between their palms. “And the only person who can decide if you’re an easy target is yourself

— so prove to me that you’re not.”

---

[ pillar attacks maye with her sword ]
lfZjmZkmsword
[ Deep Gash on Neck -- 10.0 damage ]

D I S T R I C T  ●  O N E

sword

[Chevi]

BOLTS SPARK

DISTRICT THREE

His knife embedded itself in the boy's chest easier than Bolts would have expected. He could see the moment the pain hit, and Reese's attention turned towards him. It was a battle now, a fight of life and death. Nothing poetic, entertaining, or slow-motion about it at all. Somewhere Bolts had always know that the Capitol broadcasts were lying.

Deja screamed his name. It was the desperate call of some young abandoned creature, and Bolts' head whipped towards the sound for a moment - just as another throwing knife, almost identical to his own, flashed through the air and tore into his back. Bolts cried out, more of surprised than pain - he was almost used to cuts and wounds now, or at least expecting them at any moment. A small, detached part of his brain wanted to congratulate Reese on the throw, but he realized that it would have sounded ridiculous.

Deja cried out again. Bolts, readying the next knife, saw his own ally lash out at the red-haired girl. Nothing, nothing made sense anymore. 

"Hyacinth, don't...!"

He wasn't sure if she'd even heard him. He could tell that both Hyacinth and Ansgar were carrying wounds, deeper than the ones that were visible. Losing Cai changed the story. Changed all three of them who lived. And it changed the fight too.

Deja attempted to hit Reese; Bolts guessed that she wanted to show that she could help them, if they let her live. She only had one leg, and she was still fighting that the fierce little flickering flame she was.
There was only one way to cut through the tangled knot this moment had become.

Bolts threw the next knife at Reese.

BY CHELSEY

[Bolts attacks Reese with throwing knife]
aLHK_m|Vthrowing knife
9169 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage

Accuracy reroll Day 4

throwing knife

9093 -- Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damagethrowing knife�throwing knife

[charade]

Maye

“I wish I could tell you I’m sorry, but I’m not.”

The boy threw another knife at her and since she saw it coming this time, she instinctively put up her arm to block it. It cut her, none too deeply but it hurt. Nowhere near as much as the stump formerly known as her left foot though. “Yeah, well,” she said as she grit her teeth. “I’m sorry. Sorry that I never told a certain boy how I felt about him.” The fight raging around them was in full swing, blood going everywhere and people crying out. And yet, these two still had her cornered.

She’d seen the career’s eyes flick over to the javelin’s near target, seen her face twist with fury. Ah, caring about one’s allies. The greatest weakness for any tribute. Pillar’s already dead, she just doesn’t know it yet. You couldn’t afford to care about other people in the arena. Maye had learned that the hard way, watching Marchello get abandoned by those bitches and crying herself to sleep. 

“I don’t want anything of yours.” The career said, kicking her foot away. Rude, Maye thought dimly as she watched her former appendage roll away. "And the only person who can decide if you’re an easy target is yourself — so prove to me that you’re not.” “I don’t have to prove anyth-“ she started to say, cut off when Pillar impaled her throat with her blade with such force that it pinned her to the rock wall she was using as support. The hand that clutched the javelin tightened instinctively around it while the other grasped feebly at her neck, eyes bulging with suffering.

There were no words, even the joke about giving head flew away from her mind, not that she’d have been able to formulate words with the hole in her neck gushing red. The blade came out with a horrid sucking sound that ended in a pop. Maye slid down the rock wall, leaving a streak of red behind her, suddenly feeling very tired. She was running on fumes. She’d always known was she was useless in a straight-up fight; she was a pickpocket, her best work was done with sleight of hand.

She just hadn’t expected the truth to hurt this much.

They let her be for a moment, not pressing the attack; probably because they thought she was dead.

Their mistake.

Maye laughed, a horrible sound as she gurgled on her own blood and gave Pillar the finger, once again unsteadily forcing herself up the rock wall, leaning on the javelin for support as her free hand clutched at the side of the valley.

She was dying, there was no doubt about it.

But then, district six had never had much luck in the living department anyhow.

She wanted to say something snarky. Anything. But she was denied even that.

This time she purposefully threw the javelin at Samira, and then waited for someone to deliver the death blow, smiling smugly at her attackers through bloody teeth.

Does that prove it? She thought savagely.

God, I hope it does.

-attacks Samira-
t5jWcCj6javelin
-- SHALLOW CUT ON NECK -- 4.0 damage

javelin

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

reese lachance

One hand stayed glued to Samira's: holding on for his life, praying she wouldn't feel it when his heart stopped beating. (Praying he wouldn't feel hers stop beating, either.)

Attack on Reese, the sky began to burn as fire rained down on his back. Blood. Pain.

Fight.

"Fight back, Reese. I'm tired of running." He unsheathed another knife; "I'll kill and I'll kiss," Ryan had said-- Reese would do the same.

A sound somewhere between a growl and a cry escaped his lips as he spun on his heels, directing his hit toward the beginning of his downfall. King-- No, Kings ruled the world: Prince of the broken. His kingdom was shards of glass and teardrop taste, and his kingdom burned.

Pine and oak. Mice and Birds. (The ground beneath his feet was particularly cold then.)

This was not a place for a Seven. Maybe Ryan had only realized it first, and she had chosen to tap out instead of pretending to be something she would never be. Reese wished he were that brave.

Pillar. Samira. Sacha. Three people who mattered; three people with pulses. Three people who did not deserve to carry the weight of a blind boy who did not belong upon their aching shoulders.

"Leave us!" He called, and the other boy could make it rain fire.

Reese could make it rain silver.

wip again haha SORRY zoe done got me #SHAKEN

[reese attacks bolts, throwing knife]
FgxegIXSthrowing knife
[Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage]

coding : elegant
graphic : azaleah

throwing knife

[Kire]

Ansgar Todd

There is a moment when the world slows down. The touch of Ripred shifts the position of his shoulder slightly, offering the guidance he sought by adjusting his aim. Where his original strike would have missed, his weapon now connected with the side of her neck. A line of red sprang into being under the point of his spear. The wound was not fatal or final as he had originally intended, but perhaps Ripred's aim was not for him to take the life of this girl, at least not yet. Nearby, Maye continued to speak, weakening by the second as another knife leapt at her. The district one girl flung herself forward toward her wounded opponent, cutting deep into the flesh of the other girl's neck.

This girl who called for your aid, and for mine, Father. I fear she's on the edge of death. She will join you soon, so in this moment I ask for you to welcome her home. For all she speaks of frivolities and sin I sense her good intentions, and her regrets. Ripred, let her pass on easily and in peace. He touches one hand to the rat skull pendant around his neck for a breath's time before returning to the task at hand. There are no yells from his allies, no signs they are in danger. In this time he can focus solely on the will of Ripred.

Voices are chiming around him like those of a clock. Time is coming to an end for Maye, and potentially for more of them. As though answering this, a loud BOOM echoes through the valley. He does not flinch, though his companion did. She is nervous, scared of the loud noises that meant death and doom. Just as she was getting comfortable a BOOM shook them all once more. Instantly her small head peeked up at him as though making sure neither cannon had been for him. With a gentle touch he stroked her head. No, he was not dead. Ripred had not called him away just yet.

In the pocket of his overalls the rat has dug herself back down to nestle against his flesh. Her presence is a comfort and a motivation. He regrips his spear, adjusting his stance to give himself balance. A flash of sliver mists its way over the girl's skin, directing his aim. He shuts his eyes for a moment, letting out his breath. Lungs empty, his eyes opened and he jabbed at the shining silver guide.

Ansgar attacks Samira Hart with Spear
jPksUPCYspear
Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage

spear

[Python]

H Y A C I N T H  M O R T U U S

Silver must’ve tasted like blood, and she wondered if this girl had swallowed it. Celia would want to open a red smile across any tribute’s face, gloating about its atrocity, but Hyacinth didn’t pride herself on maiming. She meant to claim hearts and skewer necks, but she did not wield swords the way careers could. Her weapons were subtler, softer, like the peach fuzz on her cheeks. She seduced men with batting eyelashes and black dresses, smiling through the misery of it all. Pretending to like people was one of her strongest weapons now, but here she didn’t have to use it. Every decision could be dictated by the honesty in her cold heart. How did she really feel about swinging her sword?

Nothing.

The girl cried out to Bolts of all people, and suddenly it dawned on her; they’re district partners. She faintly remembered watching the girl’s interview with Caesar before fading her attention entirely. Learning about every tribute was not something she wanted to partake in. Strengths and weaknesses would reveal themselves here, not on a stage beneath bright lights and flashing cameras. She would see the truth in everyone when they bled, when they realized they were not immune to death. Panic surfaced from the depths of their bones. ”Tell her to stop…” Or maybe it wasn’t panic, simply a plea. A cry for help. Perhaps Bolts was the one tribute she had faith in, and he could save her.

Mordecai’s ghost reminded her that saviors didn’t exist. If they did, why were they hiding? Where were the saviors when Olive was dragged out of their home? Bleeding knees trailed to the Square, where Hyacinth was forced to kneel beside her brother and watch the Peacekeepers torture him. Lash after lash, scream after scream, she had seen the cobblestone turn red and nobody dared to save them. Helpless citizens stood at the sidelines, gathering like a cautious herd. Why were two of the Mortuuses being punished? The answer was as clear as every scar etched into her back; Celia.

There were no saviors, there were no saints, only the sinners and the souls trapped between. This girl, Hyacinth thought, must’ve fallen somewhere between. ”Tell her I mean no harm to them – please?” she begged, but Bolts was not a savior.

”Nobody is going to stop,” she said, voice as hollow as the wind sweeping between the narrow pass. Somewhere to her left, Maye was fading. More blood, softer heartbeats, the earth fed by violence. They were in the deepest crack of the world, suffocating. A blind boy was scrambling around trying to take orders from another girl while Bolts hurled knives at him. This was indeed organized chaos, but it didn’t scare her. Mordecai wouldn’t be scared, Celia wouldn’t be scared, and she had known worse feelings than this. Phantom whips upon her back, kissing her scars. She shuddered.

She couldn’t listen to Bolts. Everybody had to die here, sooner or later. If you wanted her safe, you should’ve kept her closer.

”Nobody can save anyone.”

[attacks Deja - sword]

bBjG16zJsword
block

accuracy reroll
sword
Stabbed in Calf -- 8.5 damage

sword�sword

[*]

Deja Hatcher I'm a failure. In the eyes of the capitol people, I am a failure. In the eyes of the tributes, I am a toy just waiting to be broken and torn apart. Even now, as my words of plea to Bolts to help me, he denies me that little bit of dignity that I might be worth something to him. What faith or trust I might have had, even by default, is lost. Just like everyone else I've tried to give that chance. Two words is all I am worthy of toward him. Death is cruel. At least in death there is dignity. That last breath would be the essence of my soul leaving my body. This monster in front of me, this armor clad beast has no feelings or remorse. This reproduction of capitol vomit. She suddenly think that killing the smallest tribute in the arena would be enough to put them into a higher position, they are wrong. Camille would spit at her feet if given the chance. Does she even bleed? Is she even real? "Hyacinth, don't...!" Bolts can't stop her. No one can? Even though I see no way possible to get out of this fight alive, helping Bolts further would be like sentencing me to my own death. He never understood the amount of misery I underwent. How the strings were constantly pulled in my life. How much torture it was to be subjected to solitude and captivity. The reigns were not mine to hold. Her name portays a flower, one of many meanings. I used to dance among them at home. Those and the morning glories that went into hiding when the sun came up. Till the rays of the sun appeared by touching my toes and declaring my moonlight sonnet done. Oh how she tarnishes the flower's name. "Nobody is going to stop." Her voice echoes into my soul. Around my body, I feel the icy breath of death forthcoming. I didn't feel this when I ended Jackson's life. Quite the contrary, that battle was won by sheer determination to go home and lost trust. This fiend will not stop until I have painted the ground with my blood. This monstrosity has no morals. "Do you even care?" I blatantly grumble out not expecting a civil answer. It isn't even enough for her to answer. I don't even want to hear her voice anymore. She's nothing to me at all. She's no better than Annabell. If anything, Annabell was an angel wanting to save me from this moment. I escaped heaven to experience hell. "Nobody can save anyone." Glinting metal comes toward me, urging me to succumb to the bite of her weapon. It finds its mark on my only functioning leg. My only stable rod to balance. The ignition of pain lights me on fire and blood begins to pour down my leg. Streaks of red start to tickle and coat my skin, trailing puddles at my ankle. I don't scream. My breath hitches in my throat. I glare at her with poison. What is it that would make her tick? She has no soul already, that much is apparent. I never saw her before the games began, so her face is hardly enough to remember. "You don't scare me." My voice doesn't stammer like it used to a year ago. My leg quakes beneath me, waning as I keep my balance on its weakening muscles. "You're wrong though. I can save myself." The morning star in my hand feels heavier than before for unknown reasons. I'm tired. I'm in pain. Though, none of that really matters to me anymore. It doesn't matter in the whole. Right at this moment, I am forced into a decision. Live or die. Breath or succumb. What would my parents think of me right now? Are they here with me...

[Deja attacks Hyacinth - because she needs to show she's not afraid]
vT71kHYtspiked blunt
14062 -- BROKEN JAW -- 7.0 damagespiked blunt

[✨ zozo.]

S A M I R A  H A R T

 

They try and take his heart out.

(Pulse underneath my fingertips.)

Red rains down from my body to the ground as if I were a bleeding sky. (This is what happens when I kiss boys and make them cry.) Wounds burst from my chest in places their blades have never touched and as they try and carve out his heart, my own bleeds.

(I laugh - a forgotten feeling.)

Canon fire.

"Stop-"

Another knife to the chest. Dead girl aims, fires, white-hot at my throat, life spilling down my chest in rivulets of scarlet.

(We're spinning on the rooftop.)

"Reese-"

Canon fire.

(His hands in my hair.)

"Look at me, Reese-"

Canon fire.

(Eyes I could fall in to.)

"Look at me!"

Furious, I grab his shoulders and shake - not from fear, or lack of. With desperation.

(A sinner and a saint - I kiss him anyway.)

Brown eyes empty, my own glazed in anger. I wonder if he sees me for who I really am. I wonder if he sees me at all.

I don't know which is worse.

(I cling to him - then,  now.)

I always knew I'd die dancing. My skin, black and blue like a night sky above us, with furious fists wrapped around weapons of death: I play the conductor to the symphony of my fate. Starlight spilling from my wounds as I split down the middle and let go of Reese's trembling frame, spinning to shelter him from the storm hailing down on us both.

(And then I walk away.)

I'll dance with my own life instead, Death as the audience begging to take my hand for the last time.

For now, I keep him waiting.

D I S T R I C T F I V E

sam attacks deja // morning star
mEPTlbJXspiked blunt
broken left wrist 6.5

spiked blunt

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

☆

S a c h a

There is a weakness in you – real like an organ; warm and sunshine and afternoon bed sheets, moving languidly underneath your rattling bones. There is a watery weakness shaped like Seve, the taste of a rainy sky lingering from yesterday, your first moonlit kiss – like all the imperfect things you had been before this moment.

There is weakness in you that shatters, crushes into pieces as you fall away from your knife. There is the garden you outgrew, emptied yourself of when you left Ryan, a weakness Seve planted in you and bloomed overnight, a thing that you had treasured with what feeble strength there was for a boy who only ever had half to give.

You had two mysterious things the morning you’d told yourself you would die: the cryptic place of syllables and a fluttering pulse. Somewhere, you had forgotten all the things you'd lost,

and found them here.

She screams. And you watch her leg fall away without her, a trail of red glistening like a galaxy.

“I’m sorry. Sorry that I never told a certain boy how I felt about him,” She says. And you watch Pillar’s blade slide into her throat, cutting her words into ten thousand fragments that scatter and land like dust before her feet. And you wonder how will she ever tell him now?

And maybe you aren’t sorry for protecting Sam, but you are so very sorry for this.

You grew around him,
(and he made you what you were.)

Before him, you had switchblades for protection, broken bones for shelter. There was no stability for a boy who hid in a stable, nursed no history with some kind of make-believe.

At the bloodbath, you had wondered. And in the quiet of the barns with Seve sleeping next to you, you had wondered what part of the story you would become – the kid who stole pretty, soft things, and tripped over his feet, and broke his hand into flesh, and was never careful enough with a bruised heart. But he was seventeen to your fifteen, and you believed him to be so, so much older, so much braver,

so much of everything you were not.

You carried band-aids in your pockets, and learned the names of the stars. You became the moon with ivory lungs, and breathed to the sound of solar beats. He gave you flowers and butterflies in your stomach, and you had something magnificent in the decay of District Five.

But now, here you are.

Fifteen, stealing beautiful things, open wounds, and a dying heart. And Maye smiles like she’s laughing to some great, fantastical joke, but maybe this is.

You cannot say anything to her,
And you cannot console yourself for leaving the best part of you he’d gifted in this valley.

[sacha attacks maye, throwing knife]
Jw|v4AtDthrowing knife
[Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0]

throwing knife

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

P I L L A R  F R A Y

 

When she hears the sky scream out twice, she thinks that she's killed the girl from Six. But blood and an unfinished sentence drips down Maye's chin, and Pillar takes notice of the weak rise and fall of the older girl's chest. The young woman is not yet a causality of the Games. There's still a bird that's singing in the cage of her ribs.

She looks away as she removes her sword with a sickening sound that causes her lips to purse in disgust, feeling something wet and hot hit her sleeve in a spray of red, but she doesn't dare move her gaze down. She finds her allies in the crowd of fighting figures and scans for any signs of death, but she swallows dryly once it hits her that the two dead tributes do not come from this place; that the feast hasn't yet taken the lives that it is owed.

Maye is standing on a shaking leg when she turns back to face her, and Pillar raises a brow in surprise of the sight. She's impressed by the girl's will to live and her lionhearted courage, and Pillar's eyes follow the javelin that is slung with a craning of her neck. This one hits its intended target, slicing Samira's already bleeding neck, but Pillar's face doesn't express any anger or offense when she returns her attention back to Maye. Her features remain flat, sending a sharp nod in the direction of the girl who smiles despite the mix of blood and drool that fills her mouth. 'Maye's proved that she wasn't an easy target,' Pillar thinks to herself — 'and she fought hard.' Even if the older woman's standing on the edge of death, Pillar would never take Maye's determination away from her.

And yet, the girl from Six still comes crashing down when Sacha throws his knife into her stomach

— and perhaps that's how Icarus fell.

{ This portion of my post is a WIP until I get to read Sacha and Maye's parts in all of this, so that we don't have anything that conflicts. }

Pillar steps away from the dead girl with a sigh, and although a third cannon starts to howl in the distance, she doesn't flinch at the sound. She grips her sword and she inhales, feeling the inside of her chest burn from a mix of raw adrenaline and fatigue, and she walks forward into the chaos to find her new prey

— because the wolf always hungers for more.

{ I'll finish this shortly! I don't want to hold the feast up! }

---

[ pillar attacks bolts with her sword ]
45j3Un21sword
[ Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage ]

D I S T R I C T  ●  O N E

sword