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

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

Welcome to the 74th Feast, tributes! Some rules:

1. A GM will begin the Feast. Included in the introduction will be a list of items available (in unlimited quantities):

Full Purified Jug of Water
Bundle of Firewood
Bundle of [3] Medicinal Plants
Roasted Groosling
Jar of Tar
Helmet (+5 Head)
Shin Guards (+5 Legs)
Combat Boots (+3 Feet)
Gloves (+3 Hands)
Medkit
Express Mail Envelope - send a letter from anywhere!
Mysterious Rock

2. Feasts require an introductory non-attacking post. ALL tributes must post an introduction before the fighting can commence. Every post in the Bloodbath or a Feast must be either an intro, an attack or a skedaddle.

3. Posting Order will apply, as will the two attacks per round rule. Posting order as follows:

Sacha
Pillar
Bolts
Maye
Reese
Ansgar
Hyacinth
Deja
Samira

4. There is no required amount of posts to select an item. However, two deaths are required before anyone can skedaddle.

5. After the two required deaths, everyone may skedaddle. If a tribute opted for double healing, they will need 3 skedaddle posts to do so successfully.

6. When skedaddleing, a tribute may select 1 item from the above list. The last alliance standing (singleton or otherwise) may select two items.




As the tributes congregate in Rift Valley that morning, static fills the air. A few thumps, as though someone is banging on a microphone, follow and finally, they hear a familiar voice. "Is this thing on? Oh! There it goes. Good morning, boys and girls. Your favorite Gamemakers thought you might be hungry or thirsty or like, what's the opposite of having no fire? Wet? Whatever. Anyhow, Zaya, Azure and I were worried about you so we got you all these really cute gifts. I wanted to wrap them but Zaya said no. Just between you and I she can be kind of a bitch." The static reigns again for a moment. "Okay I like gotta go but enjoy your presents and remember that this was all my idea!!"

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

☆

S a c h a

You were safer from the sun tucked away in his chest – safer burning your hands with kisses like blisters, solar flares, blindness, and forgetting yourself in some kind of dizzying orbit around the person who had planted cornflowers and butterflies in your stomach, bloomed a bleached home, a daydream – and let it all rot two years later before the valley of falling things.

And maybe, he could be watching; he could be in District Five waiting for you to come home to a cobalt dichotomy, a petrol blue, a metallic colour in his eyes. He could still be the sunspots on the wall, spring, the air, everything but this.

But there is the possibility he had never loved you at all.

The harshness of light opens your eyes.

There is a cavernous ache that crumbles inwards. A chasm in the place of missing, deep and dark and Polaris. You had forgotten the sun until this morning, this daybreak of a girl leaning over across the bruised sky, her gold hair r a d i a n t before you.

You look up at her, lying still so to quiet your dying heart.

You left her body.

A red star, uneven and shaky, shines from her head, drips onto the floor before your eyes. Left, stumbled, and you spent the next hour emptying yourself to the sunset, losing all the fragments that Seve had discarded into you a winter ago.

You have grown from him. Distorted and crooked from what you were,

you
have
grown.

Maybe,
you will die to the sun.

But you stare at each other. And perhaps – as there is no knife in your chest yet – it is safe to look past her to see the other figures in the rift, sitting up with the memory of peaches and rooftops on your lips, some week ago when you were still just a boy with a name and a pulse.

Ryan made no promises.

"You can be scared of what I do, but you shouldn't be scared of who I am."

Starkid – the dark never scared you until now.

You were not so afraid of the axe she had lodged into the mythical flesh of monsters, the blood she’d spilt from her hands, or the hunger of a victor – as you were the hazy softness of the moonlight behind her. The constellations of her face signed some kind of doom in the preemptive missing you knew to feel.

It stays with you when you see Sam.

She reminds you of leaving home.

(But did you ever have one?)

You want to tell her to take you back to the train station of that day.

There is something dangerous in giving yourself away like this, to let strangers hold your heart in the hopes that they won’t drop it, or use it, or throw it away – but just to be able to hold it more carefully than you could ever, that you have ever in your eighteen years of always tripping, falling, picking yourself up so carelessly just to do it all again.

His hands are gentle over your face, and you don’t cry – you don’t, you promised yourself – but there is a wetness clinging to your eyelashes, a sadness that blurs the colours of Reese who saved one Summit.

“Sorry,” there is no shake in your voice. “I’m sorry.”
“You feel handsome,” he laughs.

And you can’t do anything, but sit there and cry.

{ x }

The valley narrows, constricts your airway as you walk. There’s no sanguinity stitched here in the folds of the hope you had held four days ago, now learning to expect less than nothing from this arena.

There are accidental pieces of you forgotten in District Five, scraped and caught on the edges of a transition place, a transient space. There is half of your heart given away to a boy that disappeared and left you melded to his spaces – formed around his touches and words and everything that was never yours.

It was a lot to give when you’d only ever had half of anything.

But this where you will leave yourself.
The air rings static and you know what you will miss.

You are so, so tired.

And this is not afternoons underneath covers, this is not his chest, this is not the family you wished for in all those years in the orphanage, looking for you own history pressed and lost in unwritten stories. This is not even District Five.

But this looks like an okay place to f a l  l

[sacha enters feast]

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

P I L L A R  F R A Y

 

She collapses within the stone labyrinth just before sunset, blots of orange starting to stain the expanse of blue that hangs above their heads. Her legs burn from fatigue, fingers shaking and wrists stinging, but she lets loose a sigh of relief when she slides herself down a rocky wall to catch her breath. She shoots a glance to Reese, thanking Ripred that his permanently searching eyes are closed and that his breathing is now relaxed. He rests beside her, safe and sheltered, and Samira is lying against him, still unconscious from the trauma. His hands cling to Sam’s form, like he’s not broken and hurting, and the younger girl envies their connection. He keeps Sam close the way the wind holds onto a bird, and Pillar deems it safe to let herself rest now that they’ve made it away from the mountain and the Hell that unfolded there.

She unties her braid for the first time in the arena, wincing as aching fingers weave their way through dry hair, until blonde strands splay out across her shoulders. She’s not sure how she did it — how she drug a lost girl away from death and lead a blind boy to salvation, but she did. She chooses not to dwell on it, reaching into her satchel and taking out her supplies. Her arms sting faintly with each movement, but it’s nothing that she can’t handle. As her allies sleep, she slips free of her jacket and grits her teeth. She has no reason to hide her tears, no one but the audience to watch her break, but she still clenches her jaw and steels herself against her emotions. All that matters in this moment is that she’s alive. Nearly four days into the Games, and her heart’s still beating beneath an armored chest. No one can take that from her

— from them.

---

When Sam and Reese wake, Pillar doesn’t listen to their conversation. The words aren’t for her, and she respects their privacy. She cleans her sword with the fabric of her ruined jacket, watching twilight slip through the cracks around them, and there’s a certain beauty in it — but she doesn’t look at the waterfalls of  saturated light, nor does she see the distorted face that flashes in the sky. The sound of cymbals crash, but she’s heard it too many times to flinch. Her neck cranes up, while Reese comes closer to shorten the distance between them. She counts three faces that kiss the bleeding sky and its awakening stars, and she makes a mental note of their districts and what she knows of them. When the silence comes after, Reese doesn’t hesitate to break it.

“Who died?”

“Three,” she starts, returning her attention back to her sword. “The boy from Four—”

“He was the biggest threat in the arena?” Reese interrupts with a confused voice that makes his statement seem like more of a question.

“I guess the others saw it that way, too. The boy from Six also died,” she responds, feeling a bitter taste rise up in her throat because they both know the next name.

“You said there were three, though.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, wastes no time in being gentle with his heart; there’s no point in being soft anymore

— “Ryan’s dead, Reese.”

---

Sardonyx had bathed her in moonlight as they slept through the night, and she now walks under the morning sky's naked rays of sunlight feeling refreshed from what happened the day before. A handful of edible plants soothed the growling that had been ravaging her stomach, and as dawn breaks the grey that surrounds them, she looks back at her allies with a small smile. Reese leans against Sam, though who's leading who is up for debate. Sacha stands on the sidelines, and she nods at him with a comforting grin. He's home to Sam, the only piece of Five that she has left, and Pillar couldn't find a reason to leave him on his own after losing his only ally. He doesn't threaten her, but there's a quality to him that causes her muscles to tense and her senses to stay alert. She wants to keep him safe, for whatever reason and despite her selfishness. She sees parts of herself in him, that same determination and fragility

— and she refuses to let anyone steal that from him.

She turns back to carry on with her path, parting her lips to address their plans for the day, but a sharp crack and rumble is all that she hears. The world shakes around them, splintering lines running up and down the walls, while the earth beneath their feet splits open. She doesn't waste the time needed to scream that an earthquake is happening, barking at her allies to stick to the sides of the narrow passage. She clutches the smooth surface in front of her for dear life, looking away and seeing only stone until the earth stops its screaming fit. She looks behind her once it does, sighing in relief to see her allies all above ground. Although a tear runs between them, it's not large enough to swallow them. She checks her bag, cursing under her breath when she realizes the last length of her bandages had been jarred out of her satchel.

"Fuck — what did you guys lose?" But Sam and Sacha's faces tell the story without words, and she purses her lips. Only Sam's weapon and an empty bag remains, all of its contents slipping out during the commotion; just the same as with Sacha. Reese's bag still has the look of being full, so she says a silent prayer that he at least didn't lose anything critical to his survival. "Guys, it'll be okay — we'll get more. Maybe someone will sponsor us what we lost, y'know? It'll be okay. C'mon, let's just get out of here." And they do, sliding past the crack and walking with tentative steps until they reach a portion of the rift valley that hasn't been destroyed. She goes to suggest resting, but then a shrill screech of static fills the air, introducing the voice of one of the Gamemakers who announces the arrival of a heap of crucial items in the area, inviting tributes to come for them.

"It's the feast," she whispers, before shaking her head and tucking a stray strand of blonde hair out of her face. "Guys, it's the feast. We have to go. It'll be risky, but only two of us even have items now. I say we give it a shot," she continues, voice stronger than before. No one shares their thoughts before Reese turns to the attention of noise, realizing they're in the exact spot of the feast. He knows that tributes are coming, and he readies himself with more courage than Pillar would have thought possible for a newly blind man. He speaks with passion, suggesting they stay and fight, and she nods in agreement. 

"C'mon, guys, we can do this. I know we can. We stay, we fight, and we get what we need. Don't be afraid."

— but then she looks at her allies, broken and bruised and bare, and it's funny to hear a dragon preaching to royalty that they should not be afraid of the fire.

---

[ pillar enters the feast ]

D I S T R I C T  ●  O N E

[Chevi]

BOLTS SPARK

DISTRICT THREE

Bolts stared up at Cai's face on the darkened sky. It felt like he was watching over the three of them. The picture clashed with how Bolts remembered him... with how he wanted to remember him. The picture had been taken before the Games stared... in a way, it was the past. Cai before the arena. Before the blood and the fear. He had become part of the past now, and Bolts was not sure he would ever be okay with that.

Meanwhile, by some inexplicable chain of events, he had survived one more day. Another fight, a truly ugly one, another wound (on the same arm, none the less, it made flexing his fingers hurt like hell), another part of the arena failing to kill them all in one fell swoop. The Games went on. There had to be programming for another day... Bolts wondered who had sponsored him the tar and the flint. He wondered what kind of people they were, and why they thought he should have an advantage... Maybe they were just in it for the spectacle.
The thought (and hunger) made his stomach turn.

They made their way back to the rift the next day. The water skins were mostly empty, and they didn't know if there was another source... so they went, and what awaited them was beyond imagination.
Beyond nightmare.

A feast.

Bolts saw other people moving in their direction. There were things there, things they all desperately needed, things they would be willing to fight for. But was he willing to die for... any of them? Bolts glanced at his allies. They were still here. They still had his back. He had to stand by them. Once again. The world had looped itself into an endless string of battles of people he didn't know and didn't want to hu...

There was a flash of red hair beyond the rocks. Bolts' stomach plummeted.

"Deja, no..."

The earth had opened up, ready to swallow them all. The rift walls towered over a feast for the dead. Bolts suddenly understood why they called all this the Hunger Games. It was not that kind of hunger.

There were only two ways this could end. 

BY CHELSEY

[Bolts enters the feast]

[charade]

Maye

Water had never tasted so good, and she was already sad that it was all gone. But it couldn’t be helped. There was always the chance that she’d find more water, or be able to steal water from someone, but she couldn’t really think about that. The anthem was due to rear its ugly head at any moment and she needed to focus. The first face in the sky was Mordecai, the male career from four. Maye shuddered. It was disheartening to see this many careers eliminated early, because it meant she had no idea who the bigger threat was.

He was replaced by none other than her district partner and Maye squawked in horror, covering her mouth with her hands. They’d managed to keep their promise to each other. But he was still dead. “Goodbye Jackson. Thanks for being nice to be on the train.” She said in a small voice. That was it then, her last link to home gone, replaced by the girl from seven. Banana-Ryanna she corrected herself. Maye hugged her knees in misery. Another girl gone. At least Torka and Rolf had helped her out, though she didn’t think they’d be as kind if they figured out the switcheroo she’d pulled on them.

The anthem faded away, leaving Maye in darkness and wondering if she’d run into any of the other fourteen on the morrow.
--
Somehow, the ground started to slope downward, turning the flat into a valley that seemed to cut across the entire arena in both directions. There was land across the gap, but no way to get over other than by going down and then up the other side. Maye took a tentative step forward, seeing no other way down. “Hey, this isn’t so bad in these heels.” She said aloud, before taking another step and losing her footing completely. “Ohmigawdfuckshithellballsssss!” she wailed as she went rolling down the slope.

Thankfully it wasn’t too far of a distance to roll, and she patted herself all over to check if she was intact and if she had all her stuff.

She was, and she did. Even if her head hurt. But that probably the infection. Then she saw someone.

The little girl from three was loping along on crutches. Sad. Maye decided to say hello.

“It’s DJ Hatchet! Wikka wikka wikka!” she said, miming a turntable with her hands. She took a step forward and then noticed another person. And another, and another. Omigawd forget what I said about not seeing anyone, this is too much but I guess it evens out the three days alone. “Omigawd, By!” she said with a little wave. The girl from twelve hadn’t done much more than eat breakfast with her, but she was a familiar face. Tater Todd and Dolts were still with her. She waved at them too.

Then she saw the retinue coming from the other side. Sack and Sad Mirror from five, the Last Chance and Phallus. Nine tributes in all. Something is a little off about this. Maye’s eyes scanned the crowd of tributes. Some looked about as terrible as she felt. Others looked relatively unscathed. Everybody looked to be varying degrees of uncertain.

That was about the time she noticed the pile of items in the center of the ravine. Medicine, armor,… a rock. Then Capricious King’s voice screeched through the valley like nails of a chalkboard. She babbled on about how the tributes had nothing, and that they were obviously hungry, thirsty, and horny, although Maye thought Capri might have meant cold. However, it was more fun to just roll with it. She talked about unwrapped gifts and then cut out. Maye gave Capri the middle finger and looked at the pile again, and then at the eight tributes in the valley with her and back again to the supplies.

Oh, this is a feast.

Oh, this is a feast.

Maye sighed wanly, tightening the sheepish skin cloak around her neck and took Yorick out of the bag so he could see everyone.

“Say hello to my little friend!” she beamed at the crowd as she pulled a javelin out of the strap on her back.

“He’s a real bonehead. But he’s right about one thing.” She snickered.

“We’re all wearing the same outfit, but I'm the only one that makes it look good.”

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

reese lachance

Chaos and crimson.

Murder. Death. And red: it was the only color he saw. Blinding, screaming, hissing all around him, like the world had a fever or the sun had exploded.

And sometimes, he thought he could see shapes.

His eyes opened and red. Different shades of red. A red blob lying next to him. He could tell from the breathing it was Samira, her face only inches away from his own. Everything had been so loud before, so overbearing. Chaos. Chaos and Crimson.

And now it was quiet. Perfect, like the calm before the storm he was sure would soon come.

He wondered if the rain would look like blood to him.

"Samira," he whispered, the girl next to him already awake.

"You saved me." was her reply-- and he was not sure what she meant at first. His mind was a mist of Myara in a bird cage, Ryan with her bleeding eyes, Reese himself drained into darkness. But before, when the tracker jackers came--

He wondered how much of it was real. He tried putting some weight on his left arm and burned like fire. The hit was real, at least. He wondered if Samira had really been the culprit.

And the diamonds. The diamond demons. He dug his hands into his pockets to find two large rubies-- one eye from each of the beasts. Also real.

"I didn't deserve that." Samira said.

Reese felt for her hand, grabbed it when he found it at last.

"You deserve the moon and the stars, Samira Hart. You just don't realize it."

---

"Who died?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.

Pillar, sharpening the blade of her sword, said:

"Three. The boy from Four--" Reese choked on air.

"He was the biggest threat in the arena?" He spat, and it was true. He couldn't remember the boy's name but it was no secret that he was meant to be in the finale, pushing through on the final lap. But he was dead.

"I guess everyone else saw it that way too. The boy from Six also died."

Reese couldn't remember his face. Sometimes he thought he couldn't even remember his own face.

"You said there were three, though." Reese stammered.

Bloody-eyed, pointing at him, dirty faced and crying.

He hallucinated three people: Myara, a dead girl, himself, a dead boy, and her.

He knew who it was before Pillar said her name.

"Ryan's dead, Reese."

---

He remembered being terrified, but a different sort. Then, it was fear of the unknown. Now, he knew what this arena was like. And he knew that every day death would challenge him and his friends until, eventually, only one of them was left.

("Please don't leave me here all alone.")

She hadn't been crying and he, embarrassingly enough, had been. They were all alone on the train with no mentor to guide them, with no light to be offered in the deep dark cave they would both be thrown into.

"You realise that if I die, which I don't plan on doing, you have to win, right?"

He remembered thinking: good. District Seven needs a Victor like her.

"You think you can kill?" He had asked, because he didn't think he could. (He was wrong.)

"Yes. No one is innocent now." Again, he wished she had been wrong but she was right all along.

A heart was a hindrance. It wore him down and made him jump into swarms of tracker jackers, or hold a dying person upright while he should have been running away. It made him--

Human.

"Don't lose who you are, Ryan."

But he knew then that it didn't matter-- none of it. Panem remembered her. And nothing would take it away. She was forevermore Ryanna Summit: a label more than a name.

But to him, she was a human, a person.

And her soul was not a bargaining chip, no matter what she said, that much he knew for sure.

---

They had adopted a new boy: Sacha. All alone; Samira's District partner. Part of him envied the two, wished he had found Ryan in time. Reese's fingers felt across the boy's face.

"You feel handsome." He joked, then he laughed because it was the only fair thing to do. He wouldn't cry anymore. Not over his lost vision. The red was anger and passion and it might have helped him somehow, but he would not cry over it again.

Sacha was a lost boy like him. Reese knew what it was like to be alone--

("Please don't leave me here all alone!")

-- And Sacha would not feel that feeling.


"They're coming." he said. He didn't know who they were exactly-- but he heard them. One thing about being blind was this: his hearing was pretty fantastic.

It was a change in the air, a silence among the other silences that did not quite belong. One hand gripped a knife, the other gripped Pillar's shoulder.

"We'll meet them head on." Reese decided. "I'm tired of being hunted."

And onward charged the light brigade, into the rift valley of death.

And this time, he was not scared.

He was angry.

"For Ryan."

[reese enters the feast]

coding : elegant
graphic : azaleah

[Kire]

Ansgar Todd

He does not stop praying for Mordecai until after the sun rises. The sacrifice of his sleep for the safety of his ally's soul is more than a worthy trade. They are all subdued in the morning, no one wanting to talk and break the perfectly balanced silence. He stands, managing to hold off the exhaustion, at least for now. Overhead, the sky is a pale orange with a tinge of pink at the distant end. Morning has come, and now they must go.

The body of their ally had been taken away in the night, but the blood that had been shed yesterday litters the ground like place makers on a stage. Each pool, each smear of blood denotes the terrible thing that occurred yesterday. Ripred willing, Mordecai's soul would be far away from here by now, somewhere that he would be happy - somewhere he would feel safe. The rat perches carefully on his shoulder, small nose twitching next to his ear. The touch of whiskers on his ear lobe feel like breathy whispers and he stops for a moment to listen. Mordecai is not lost. He is not here, but he is not lost. The rat moves closer to his ear, still speaking, You must care for the others now, they need you here with them. Ripred will guide Mordecai now, you need to guide the others.

In truth, he did lead the others that day. Hyacinth, normally in the lead at all times, had sunk back to walk behind him. She was affected by Mordecai's death the most of the three of them, and he didn't need to ask to know why. The sharing of carnal knowledge before marriage was a sin, but in this circumstance he would offer absolution and forgiveness. Loneliness was not a sin, though it was as painful. He missed his family and suffered his own loneliness. While he would not give in to temptation as Hyacinth and Mordecai had - he had the light of Ripred to drive back those shadows - he could forgive them both.

The rift seemed more like doom as they walked down into it. On the day everything began they had gone down to the depths of the arena in much this same fashion and not ended up in the pits of hell. Today, however, something had changed. The sinister sensation that hadn't quite faded from yesterday now rose up his spine like a warning. As though answering the cue, the voice of the devil's pet chorused through the rift, causing a small tremor. This was the woman who had interrupted his meal, and that of Hyacinth's, on the first day to drag some girl along and tease the three of them. Only the fact that he did not believe in conjurers, for they went against the nature of things and therefore could not exist, kept him from wondering if he might be one. At the thought of the girl, he heard her voice - though he could not discern the words for they were coming in much too fast of a rush. Maye was here as well.

In the next few moments it was clear that there were a good number of others here. A red headed girl flickered along the edge of the wall like a flame and instant memories of yesterday came to him. Only after a few moments did he realize this was not the same devil girl. Advancing toward them was a group of others. He recognized one. He, in vengeance for a life taken without care, had struck at her. The other girl that had done the terrible deed - his own district partner, the girl of utter temptation and seemingly utter sin - had shown in the sky two nights past. While she had met her justice, it seemed that her compatriot hadn't. That could change.

Maye was nattering on, as usual, but he paid her no mind. Casting his eyes skyward he sought the steadying presence of Ripred. Oh Ripred, yesterday's test was more than I thought I could bear. For all my trust in you, I felt only fear and heartbreak in those moments. I didn't believe you were there with me as Mordecai was struck his fatal wound. I had asked for your protection, your strength, your guidance, but he was killed anyway.

The rat has told me he is safe now, somewhere he belongs and feels happy. Let him be with his brother again, at least for a short time. Tobias, that was the name he would mutter at times. Let him go to Tobias. If I must sacrifice my chance to see my brother before joining you in order for Mordecai to see his own I shall do it. My family's faith and love of you shall tide us until we meet each other again under your skies.

My doubt in you is a part of my test, this I understand. Some must always die, and to believe that you would interfere on my behalf was blasphemous and selfish. I will take my revenge on the devil girl, the demon boy, and even Jenoah. O Ripred, I had had hope for Jenoah, but now I feel that hope slipping away. If I can redeem him, show me how. But now is not the time for redemption, now is the time for justice.

Ripred, in this time I ask for the strength to bear what comes next. Give me the wisdom to know what I must do, guide me to the path that is best. This time, the protection of my allies comes from me alone. I will not ask you for selfish things anymore. I have learned my lesson. Ripred, Father, my love for you is greater than the love I hold for all others. Let me demonstrate that love by banishing those who demonstrate hate.

In this time of need I ask only for that which I have earned.

In this time of war I ask to be the hand of your justice.

He retrieves his spear, balancing it in his hands as he mutters one final prayer over the weapon. This time, he would not fail.

Ansgar enters the Feast

[Python]

H Y A C I N T H  M O R T U U S

She found reality.

Twenty-four children sent off to war, their lives reduced to meaningless entertainment. The swipe of their blades served only one purpose: survival, which meant the death of every other person here. Hyacinth could argue that she was killing to protect her friends, but what did that mean? Keeping them alive for someone else to pick off later? Delaying inevitable pain? She couldn’t blame Mitchell’s allies for slaying Mordecai; the game was black and white, win or lose, live or die. That was the reality. There were no heroes or knights in shining armor, just regular kids who wanted a break. They were selected and molded by the Capitol to be soldiers. What did they leave behind? Families. Unburnt and unbroken legacies.

She valued life over legacy, and she was sure Celia’s corpse would agree.

The hyoid bone was in her leather pouch, nestled somewhere beneath Buttercup’s fur. A piece of her twin kept for bitter sentiment. It was as light as a feather, yet it carried the weight of their sins like an anchor dragging itself to the core of the earth. Death had wrapped its ghostly hands around her sister’s throat, but it was never enough to fracture this delicate bone. She didn’t know why she brought it as a token. It wasn’t to summon Celia’s spirit; that type of evil should be banished from this world. It wasn’t to honor her either. Perhaps it was simply a reminder. A touch of reality, revealing the image of her sister’s death over and over again. Her own potential fate.

Mordecai’s fate.

Her sword had cracked Asha’s helmet into pieces, protecting his skull from obliteration, but C ai was not so lucky. The handsome boy veered his blade toward the tortured career and painted the rain puddles with his blood, the red swirling like ink. She lowered her sword and stared. Corpses all looked the same – frozen chests, unresponsive limbs. She didn’t need a cannon to tell her that Mordecai had bled out. She knew death; they were practically neighbors.

”I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He was deaf by now, and her voice was swallowed up by rainfall. ”Cai!” Bolts shouted, but it was far too late. There was no time to confess regrets, no time to reminisce about the warm nights they spent together. He was the first boy she ever wanted. Nobody was foolish enough to call that love, but it was a connection. There was trust, affection, and support. She didn’t have that with anyone else, and now she didn’t have it at all. (How typical of death to steal happiness from the living). She tightened her grip on her sword, but that was all. The window of time for revenge had slammed shut over her fingernails, now caked with dried up blood. Probably Asha’s.

Everyone was gone, leaving only words hanging in the air. ”Don’t die, Hyacinth Mortuus.”

She couldn’t make any promises.

The queen of hearts didn’t have time to mourn. She could collects the hearts of many men, but her own was frozen solid. They sprinted away from Mordecai’s body, past slippery rocks and deep puddles, seeking shelter to mend Bolts’ wounds. When all was dry and quiet, Buttercup crawled out of his shelter, fur damp and matted. Would he miss Mordecai too? Or did he know better than anyone that most creatures didn’t make it out of this arena alive?

She stroked his fur absent-mindedly, craving a dead man’s voice and a dead man’s touch. The sky was burning with rich colors, dyed sunflower yellow, rose petal pink, lipstick red, and a breathtaking lavender. It felt as if nature was celebrating the gift of sacrificed lives, but then she remembered that this wasn’t natural. The sky was an illusion. The ground they walked upon, the air they breathed, the rocks they brushed by – all of it was fabricated by Capitol science. This was not the earth.

You’re not missing much, Cai.

She closed her eyes and tried to believe it was true.

Sleep didn’t come easy. Mitchell’s queen of hearts card lay buried beneath her soggy bag of cat food (which Buttercup didn’t seem to mind). She didn’t know much about classic card games – only gambling, introduced by greedy Peacekeepers – but she knew the queen of hearts was something important. Was it some sort of sign that he was on her side? Still fighting her battles to help her win? It was too selfless of him. If she was the queen of hearts, she didn’t want his. Take it back. The Mortuuses had enough of them already.

Ansgar’s prayers droned on and lulled her to sleep. Without Mordecai, she was attached to her allies by a frail, thinning thread. An odd sense of obligation kept her grounded here, and so did the mutual support. They probably didn’t like each other, but they had a surplus of supplies and every means of using it. Why not stay together until the very end? It would work in their favors.

The morning led to aimless wandering. Beyond the crooked mountain, beyond the trees, and toward the earth’s gaping mouth. She felt uneasy returning, but they had soothed their parched throats with water the night before. It was time for a refill. Mordecai’s missing spirit left her empty and silent, his face from the anthem haunting her as much as Celia’s did. It was a fresh hollowness in her chest, but she could replace it with the pain of the Game, because they were in for a treat today.

Static raised the hairs on her arms. Buttercup mewled in protest as a voice halted them in their tracks, only seconds before they reached the final step of their descent. It was their ridiculous Gamemakers, announcing the delivery of “presents.” As she stepped into the core of hell, listening to the echoes of running water among several pairs of footsteps, she realized what it meant.

A feast.

”It’s a party,” she said, recognizing faces in the approaching shadows. She pulled out her sword.

Time to decorate.

[*]

Deja Hatcher His head remained in my lap for the longest time. So long, that I kept my hand on his head to staunch the flow of blood until it stopped. I know that it stopped for one reason, though. His heart no longer had the energy or the function to keep pumping his life sustaining liquid through his body. That's when the realization hit. I was a murderer. I played the capitols game and became their puppet to destroy an innocent life like the Steins did me. I manipulate him. I broke him down with emotions and fed him my sob story. He came willingly to me when he felt he needed to save me and then I broke him. I did more than Annabell did to me. Instead of torturing him day in and day out, I ended his life. He looked peaceful laying there in my lap. His head using my knees as a cushion. That special penny of his tucked away in his pocket just like he asked. I did him a favor though, in the end. I kept him from having to deal with anymore pain; more regrets. A small girl like me was able to kill someone like him not from sheer pleasure, but from such a painful past. For all of those times that I wasn't able to help myself, now I was self sufficient. As for the rest of the games until my death, it was going to have to be the same way. The only way to be free would be to rid myself of anyone that stands in my way. Softly, I shifted hs head from my lap. I let him lay on the ground as the darkness started to engulf us and that's when I finally left him where he was. He was at peace, it looked and I collected a few trinkets that he no longer needed and fled. I only looked back once though. "Thank you, Jackson Samuels of district 6. May you rest in peace." The crutches had began to rub my arms raw from using them since day one prompting me to not travel as far to find a spot to lay and rest. I needed to recollect my feelings and my thoughts. The blood has dried on my face, mixed with the tears that I no longer shed. It feels crusty, and tight. It's a good feeling though. I am still alive. Camille must be watching me so I look up to the sky to let her know I'm alright. Even though the sky is black, the last thing I see before dozing off was the look on his face when I told him my name. It was a release that he needed and so did I. And painful dreams began to seep into my mind. The anthem was no where in my mind to watch. The only person I knew that had died was indeed going to show and I didn't need to see his face smiling at me. No, I need to keep that look of his face in his final moments. I need to remember who he was in the end. "Jackson Samuels. Will you watch over me today?" I whisper as the light protudes through the rift. "I will not let your death be in vain." My things are collected, brought together into my sac when a slight rumble appears, but nothing more happens. Vibrations tickle my feet alerting me to something goiing on but it's over before it even starts and the day has began with my heart racing and going forth to notice something big happening. Movement. Bodies emerge beyond every corner of the rift, and then I see him. I notice the redhair first, and then his unscathed body. He looks great. He looks healthy for the most part but he's too far away. Too much distance for me to feel safe running over to him because there are more around him. "Alliance?" I whisper, happy that he has had someone to talk to for days whereas my last conversation was with a dead man. My lips turn upward for him and our eyes meet. His mouth moves. "Deja, no..." My heart is gone. It's beating so fast that I can't tell if it's beating or one steady rhythm of fear. My eyes go large and then I mouth the words "Save me..." in his direction. My brows furrow and then a voice appears beside me. My voice squeaks out as I ready my weapon, but instead of attacking, I take note of who it is. She isn't fighting me and it jolts me that I didn't react. No words come out. I'm unable to breath. Something spooks her immensely and then I'm left with a solemn goodbye and she disappears. More bodies appear and the grip on the death star tightens. I did not wiped the blood off the spikes from Jackson's death. Instead, I will use this as a visual display of what happens when someone tries to hurt me. Maybe, they will not notice someone who has been hidden since we arrived? "Atticus... please read my letters and stop the Steins." I beg. [Deja has entered the feast]

[✨ zozo.]

S A M I R A  H A R T

 

The stars come out to greet me.

Blue-tinged world, the same dull throbbing - this time, in my leg. My mind is blank. There's a hole in my head and it's not where my ear used to be. My heart hurts. Maybe they carved it out of me in my sleep.

"Samira."

No, wait - there it is.

Quiet voices stirring underneath the twilit sky and I turn to face him, bodies almost touching (not quite). There he is: my Reese. Same lips, same face, same freckles against his nose - but there's something different about his eyes. I don't correct him. I don't want to.

I like the sound of my name on his lips.

I remember the rain pelting me to the earth, a reckoning for my sins. Fear and panic, heart racing, crucified against the gravel path. Death laughed. Pillar vanished. And Reese -

"You saved me."

My words exhale between us and I remember.

Oh, Reese.

"I didn't deserve that."

Fingertips find my face. I am the catalyst for his destruction, selfishly grasping at his soul in the hope that he'll save me despite knowing all too well I am not worth sanction. Drug-addict pill-popper runaway gutter girl who leaves boys she's kissed in graves and on rooftops, running back to the ones with heartbeats in the hope she can hear her own.

He holds my hand anyway.

"You deserve the moon and the stars, Samira Hart. You just don't realize it."

Blind boy with his kind words and his broken girl breaking hearts. I fall asleep with my hands in his and I've never felt so whole.

----

"Wait."

They freeze in their stance, hands at their weapons upon the sight of a lone figure upon the morning horizon.

"Don't hurt him" I speak in to the wind.

"Why not?"

I turn and smile.

"He's home."

Sacha sleeps by our sides that night.

----

The world tips violently as the ground opens up beneath me. Spinning and shrieking and Reese-

My bag slides dangerously towards the edge of death. So does he.

I make a choice.

Skin on skin, my body hauling him to safety, watching my life spill in to the depths of the rift like blood pouring from my body. First the jug, then the plants, antivenom - my heart falls. His life over mine - as it should be.

"Fuck."

We stand there for a while, statues in my graveyard, a silent goodbye to my hope and a solemn hello to my demise. His pulse in my hands erratic, I form a prison with my arms and hold him close.

"Don't ever do that again, Reese."

I don't let him out of my grip until he speaks again.

("Tell me, are you a fighter, or a survivor?")

Morning star in one hand, Reese in the other.

I fight so he can survive.

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

sam turns up 15 minutes late with starbucks, drops it on the pavement, cries.

[lucius branwen / 10 — fox]

☆

S a c h a

The earth shakes and you fall, scattering names and balance and bones. And as gravity tilts you unsteadily towards a sky of watered ink and sunshine, the colour leaving you blind for just a second, you forget yourself to the chaos of everything here. (Like you always have to the slightest pushing of your heart.)

If you could crumble to this disaster with your name, lose your pulse, relinquish the two things that dead men don’t have, let the chasm fall you all the way to a dusty ground –



more to come in a few, fillering rn yah

[sacha attacks maye, throwing knife]
0GiV1TxDthrowing knife
[9150 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage]

throwing knife

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

P I L L A R  F R A Y

 

She recognizes faces as they emerge from the shadows, but the names that blur across her vision mean nothing to her; there are even some that hold no identity, and there's a part of her that wishes all of them were just the same. She takes notice of the items that surround the forming group with a craning of her neck, locating bags that hang from the stone walls, and a heap of essentials that rises up only a few feet away from where she’s standing.

She realizes that it’s not going to be some simple feat of walking over and picking something up while sliding past her fellow tributes with a whispered ‘excuse me.’ Adrenaline courses through her veins and she knows exactly what the feast means. Death is unavoidable here

— but she doesn't have to die today.

She readies her sword and listens only to her own breath, watching as Sacha leads the first attack — and she smiles as he charges forward, feeling a certain kind of pride towards the fire and determination that is now evident across his features. The ground can crack open and hungry monsters can come crawling out of the depths, but it seems that’s not enough to deter the boy from his path. And it’s not enough to sway her, either.

Sacha slashes the girl from Six across the chest, and Pillar follows suit — because wolves have a pack mentality, and there’s no cowardice in striking someone when they’re already down and bleeding. Not in the arena. She doesn’t call it mercy when she swings her sword in Maye's direction, nor does she dismiss it as anything less than pure bloodlust and the chance of taking advantage of an opportunity; there is no home for justice or morality in this place. She understands that now. Serpent or wolf or sacrificial lamb, it doesn’t matter what breed of creature she is

— they all lash out when cornered.

{ And then there are those beasts like her,
who sink their teeth into the ones that are trapped. }

---

[ pillar attacks maye with her sword ]
hDBup7y4sword
[ Severed Left Foot at Ankle -- 9.0 damage ]

D I S T R I C T  ●  O N E

sword

[Chevi]

BOLTS SPARK

DISTRICT THREE

"Save me."

No one had prepared Bolts for this. Atticus certainly didn't; all the way through the training, it was somehow Bolts and Deja, Deja and Bolts, District Three, even though there was never talk of an alliance between them. He just simply knew he would not hurt her, and she... she just wanted to live. She was almost the same age as Joules, and she just wanted to live, so desperately that she had come to the Feast even missing a leg. He could see the moment in her face when she realized her mistake, and her determination turned to desperation. He felt it in the pit of his stomach.

I can't.

There was no way he could save her. A thirteen year old girl in the arena, battered and alone, missing a leg... it was a surprise she had made it this far. She was stronger than anyone thought. He remembered her, from the train, all the things she had said that sounded crazy at the time. She was strong, and he was not. He couldn't even save Mordecai, and they were allies, fighting side by side, and he did try to kill, for him, and he failed. How could he stand by his allies and also save Deja?... It was too late for her to escape unnoticed.

Another alliance burst into view, ready to attack, showing no sign of hesitation. Bolts pulled out his throwing knives. Maybe he could help Deja by fighting someone else... He glanced at his allies. They were one unit, still, at least until the Gamemakers decided that was too boring. For now, they would fight shoulder to shoulder. 

Throwing weapons at people was becoming frighteningly normal. 

 
BY CHELSEY

[Bolts attacks Reese with throwing knife]
uvDwlMDIthrowing knife
9116 -- Knife Deep in Chest -- 9.0 damage (+1 Target practice)
throwing knife

[charade]

Maye

Tragically, the other tributes were too busy being sad to notice the skull. Either that, or it wasn’t the strangest thing they’d seen all day which meant she needed to step up her game. Maye shrugged and stuffed Yorick back into her rucksack. There was an uneasy silence permeating the area, people drawing weapons, fingering blades and looking at each other as if trying to gauge the biggest threat. The easiest meat. For a moment, nobody moved, then sack of fondant’s hand twitched and the world was pain.

“RRRIpred, Twitchtip and Lapbloood!” she shrieked, clutching at her chest in agony and horror.

Maye gurgled in pain, hand wrapping the hilt of the knife. It seemed like a bad idea, but she did it anyway yanking the knife out of her chest and sending a splash crimson into the air. She could feel rivulets running down to her stomach, but it was hard to focus on with the sudden influx of movement around her. She tried to think or a joke, something to ease the pain and coughed blood instead.

Oh god, it hurts. Rock men and sheep have nothing on this.

“If you’re gonna stick me,” she gasped. managing a thinly sultry glance, “I can think of a better place and a better weapon.” She started to aim the javelin in her hands when the career from one rushed her. Maye stumbled back a step and tried to block with the shaft of the javelin but the career swung low; white-hot pain blinded her for a second and then she was on her back, looking up at the sky. This is just like that party at Ricky’s. She started to get up in a daze and saw that one of her boots had come off. Odd. Then the pain caught up with her brain again and she realized her left leg ended in a stump that blood was issuing forth from.

Oh.

Maye screamed, a deafening banshee wail that the other eight tributes assuredly heard as it echoed off the walls of the valley. Either that or the ensuing fight around her kept the tributes from pressing the attack, because she had enough time to collect herself. Tears of pain, anger and fear streamed freely down her face. Marc…was this the hopelessness you felt when you lost a leg? Or did you hold on? Oh, God I think I’m dying. This is it. This is how I go out. Marzo I lied.

Marzo…

Yorick had also apparently rolled out of her bag as if he wanted to watch the fight. She regarded this dimly as the tributes closed in on her. A throwing knife hit the boy from seven in her peripheral vision. Thanks for the help, Yorick. “I’m touched,” she gasped to the pair. “That I am perceived as such a THREAT. Unless,” she gasped again, crawling to the rock wall and slowly hoisting herself up.

“You think I’m an easy victim. In which case, I’m insulted.” Maye chuckled weakly and hurled a javelin at Sacha’s district partner. She’d been aiming for the career, but well, blood loss and sudden unending agony had a way of messing with a person’s vision.

“Ladies first, you dickhole! ” She said with a half-crazed laugh in Sacha’s direction.

-attacks Samira-

icKbserTjavelin
miss

The javelin sailed pass her and clattered to the ground. Maye hung her head in defeat and pulled another one out of the strap, sniffling quietly and retching blood. "Well." she said in a clipped tone. "If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna do it in style." she pointed the javelin at Pillar and Sacha. "Come on. I've still got another lung and another foot. You gonna take those too?"

javelin

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

reese lachance

"Stag Boys do not feel pain."

It was a saying he recalled upon his very earliest memories.

"Abadeer does not raise quitters-- it trains success."

Reese had always been an embarrassment in his home.

It was true: Abadeer prided itself on producing some of the most successful boys in District Seven. Mayors, Business owners, entire families whose names became synonymous with the sound of a cash register opening. Reese was meant to be a Stag Boy, and his broken bones and purple skin had slapped away any chance he had at ever being like his so-called brothers.

"I'm sorry." he had once said, holding his fractured arm close to his chest, "It just happened."

Bad luck had a way of finding Reese LaChance in the end. It was why he never hoped for victory in the arena; He knew something would happen. Perhaps his friends would die, or he would be stung by insects whose venom caused hallucinations. Maybe he would go blind.

Maybe he would die.

The blade buried itself square in his chest, and he felt fire and ice pour from the hole left by it. He could not breathe for a few moments, and that was more terrifying than the knife. Take away any Stag Boy's vision and his breath, and expect him not to be scared.

Reese laughed.

Maybe he was a Stag Boy after all, in a place like this where no one would ever really have the upper hand.

He coughed, tasted copper. He knew blood and drool were hanging from his lips.

"Where? Where is he?" he called, hoping his friends had not already left him behind.

"Left!" a voice said. Samira's voice.

"Ten o' clock!"

Stag Boys did not quit. Abadeer raised successful young boys.

In that moment, those were his thoughts, the very thought meant to be burned into his memory since day one.

"You are no Stag Boy." a boy had once told him.

"We'll see about that." he had replied.

wip soz just gotta get this out; don't wanna hold up the fight.

[reese attacks bolts, throwing knife]
M4RnmZquthrowing knife
[result]

[accuracy reroll, day four]
throwing knife
[Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage]

coding : elegant
graphic : azaleah

throwing knife�throwing knife