glass and patron; wyllucas vs. fallron [ day 1.5 ]

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

 

People become blurs in the madness; Lucas and I slip between the tangled threads to a safer place. We have each other and though it is little, it is enough. This hellish place is sewn with serenity, despite being filled with chaos. I used to get told that every cloud has a silver lining, no matter how black or grey the cloud is—I think the silver lining to this cloud is knowing someone will have your back as you will have theirs.

The starfish had my back but slipped away between the seams of the skies so sweetly, so silently.

My fingers are stained with the colours of the scramble; blue and green and red—this is the beauty. Colours are simple, but are a security above all. There are soft associations with the crayons: pictures of happy families and drawing dream homes, giving your imaginary friend a face and bringing the black and white world to life. It's almost as if they are a cushion to the pain and hurt going on around me. Perhaps I am the centre of all tragedy and all these other tributes just orbit the bald girl who clutches to every straw because she just wants to keep her life in her own hands.

I gave myself to the Capitol, not my life. Bravery started with self-sacrifice but it has been a long and telling journey. I've been to place that are the works of wild dreamers and destroyed parts of myself, I swore, were at my core. Bravery started with self-sacrifice, continued with surrender and ends with survival.

Right?

Right, I tell myself—my mind is now free from the chains of a ghost.

We run together, armed only with ourselves. Weapons, schmeapons. It's not like I need one anyway, I am one. Falling between the mess created prior to this peace, our feet pitter-patter against the stairs in a tremendous house. It is fit for royalty and is filled with ornate decorations which aren't like anything I have ever seen before. A grandiose facade that fades to illusion at it's core, I turn to Lucas warning him not to get lost.

"Stay close Lucas, the stairway can be treacherous."

I don't even think the starfish, my starfish, would be wise enough to navigate the countless stairwells which litter the mansion's heart. But as we weave between the screams which bounce from wall to wall, struggling and longing to escape, we are faced with treachery of a different kind: tributes. And they are much bigger, much better than a girl who is no taller than four feet, eight inches (and three quarters).

I take a sharp intake of breath, but quickly let it go with the breeze that carried my starfish away.

Small doses can be explosive and I am my own weapon, and that is treacherous too—I put my fists up. Fighting isn't something I'd ever thought I'd need to put myself through, but the moment is here and now. Between these clenched fists are a reclaimed childhood. Lucas stands alongside me, an easy silver lining to find.

But I find myself falling back onto words which my mother used to say.

Our cloud has a silver lining, but our cloud is a storm cloud too, and lightning?

Mum told me that it kills.

table by dars

W Y L L A • L Y S A N D E R

{ wylla attacks fallon; fists }

c0364of7unarmed

{ 5104 -- Bruised Back -- 2.5 damage }

unarmed

[Stare]

it just takes a second
for my world to come crumbling down
oh i'm sure in the distance
you can hear that awful sound

There was an earthquake in the Arena, but no one else seemed to be able to feel it.

Fallon clung to Tamron almost as much as he clung to her, forcing her feet to keep moving despite the fact that the edges of her vision were crumbling away like ancient ruins. Every step trembled, a roll in their plane of existence that threatened to throw her to the ground. She could tell Tamron was confused at the way she kept bracing herself against the shock waves, and maybe that was why she refused to let him go. If she did, he might try to escape her.

Very few ever wanted to stay once they figured out what she really was, and those who did threw pity at her like daggers.

And then a quake hit that not even she could keep her footing against, and they were tumbling down and then sideways and then upside-down. "Tamron!" Fallon cried out, keeping her grip on his shoulder, because even worse than him leaving was her losing him in this maze.

When their feet finally found some kind of solid ground she sucked in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her free hand flew to the pocket of her trousers to ensure that Lorenzo Not-Ruined's cigarette hadn't fallen out in her tumble. It was still there, the small shape of it a strange comfort. Her eyes scanned their new surroundings and her chest tightened because she could still feel the quaking. Fallon was used to seeing things that weren't right but everything in this Arena seemed wrong, and she knew it wasn't just her who could see it anymore.

She was scared. She was so, so scared.

When she'd been young, she didn’t see the monsters as much. She saw other things instead - fairies, beams of sunlight trapped between flower petals, tiny birds that could fit in the palm of her hand. As she grew older, though, the light faded and darkness invaded. The fairies had died off years ago, and she only saw the birds once in a blue moon.

The part that had begun to worry Mama was that she still looked for them.

It wasn’t the monsters that had finally convinced Mama something was wrong. The monsters were always dismissed as nightmares (even though they weren’t, they were real), but she couldn’t explain the good things as easily. And even when she was told to stop, even when she was told she would never find them, Fallon kept looking.

Even now, surrounded by confusion. Limpingly, Fallon kept looking.

Something took advantage of that weakness. Fallon felt a blow to her back and gasped as pain bloomed through her spine, pitching forward and nearly taking Tamron with her. Her eyes darted to her ally, terrified and desperate. "Tamron," she whispered, hoping he would help her because she had helped him. Her voice was shaking. Her everything was shaking. "Please don't leave."

But when she turned to face her attacker she realized that Tamron's betrayal wasn't the one that would have been the most painful. She'd never spoken with Wylla Lysander, a girl with something blazing in her eyes now. But she knew that person just behind her. For a moment the world stopped trembling and she flashed back to the barricade they'd built in front of Training Center to protect the rest of the tributes.

"Lucas?" Her throat constricted, trying to hold back tears. She took a stumbling step forward, glad the boxing gloves hid the fact that her hands were anything but steady. Lucas would protect her, just like he had that night. Wouldn't he?

But people always left her when they realized what she really was.

"Lucas, she's hurting me. Please, don't let her hurt me."

She was a weak link who still believed in good things.

how i plead for an answer
plead for an answer from you
but if you give me an answer
that just makes no sense then what's the use?

[Fallon attacks Wylla Lysander, unarmed]
VXv3FOuQunarmed
[bruised left hand, 2.0 damage]

unarmed

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

Tamron Rhodes

Too many parts of my body were starting to hurt that I began to float no, I am still on the ground and I am still alive, and it took all of me to hold onto Fallon as she anchored me in place. At times everything started to blur was it my mind or my body doing this?, and I could have sworn that Fallon was holding onto me just as much as I was holding onto her. Yet the sensation of falling did not stop when our feet had landed on the rooftop for the floor gave way and we were falling once more.

I wanted to answer her. I wanted to yell her name so she knew that I would be with her no matter what and that I would never let go just as she was holding onto my shoulder. I won’t let this harm you. I’ll stop the fall. And I believed it. I believed that I could be the person to rescue her despite my side leg arm all hurting and feeling out of place. Just as she had anchored me, I had to anchor her before we ended up dying by fall.

The end of the fall was as bad, if not worse, than the sensation of falling itself. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of my chest again, any deep gasp just causing more pain. How can I protect her when I can barely keep myself together?

It was so sudden, so unexpected, that when Fallon pulled me forward, I thought that she was now trying to sabotage me, trying to get rid of me because I was so useless. But she’s calling out to me. Perhaps it was the fear in her voice, perhaps it was the pleading, that made me feel disgusted. How could I have doubted her like that? How could I have thought that she would abandon me like a scrap piece of paper? I felt ashamed for letting those thoughts cross my mind and I hated myself for it. “I won’t leave you, Fallon. I won’t ever leave you.”

She spoke again so suddenly or maybe I was just lost in my mind again that I turned around suddenly, my vision blurring for a second. I had to be mistaken for there were two tributes standing there and one of them looked ready to fight. I didn’t believe Fallon would do it, not after the words she spoke to “Lucas” but she lunged at her attacker with a ferocity that I never expected from her.

Am I supposed to hit her too? Am I supposed to protect Fallon and attack her attacker? It hardly seemed right to be involved in the fight, but Harbinger had done what he needed to do to make sure his allies survived though that ended up taking a different turn towards the end. To protect Fallon, I had to attack him, the boy who was with that girl. To protect Fallon, I had to get them both out of the way.

I can’t leave her.

[Tamron attacks Lucas; unarmed]
qJurk64Kunarmed
[Bruised Right Arm ; 2.0 dmg]

unarmed

[lance]

l u c a s   o ' h a r a

They ran, high heels and leather boots alike clapping down the tiled roof, away from the carnage and the chaos of the rather poorly named bloodbath.

Little blood had fallen when fists were the sole weapon of all, and yet the cannons sounded regardless.

One. Two

Thr-

and the ground disappeared from under their feet for the second time in the hour, and together they fell as one-

but the journey was far shorter this time, and he barely had time to register the fall before he landed, rear absorbing the brunt of the blow and sending a shock of pain through his system.

And there he sat, registering the events of the past half hour till the pain ebbed away. Shakingly, unsteadily, he got to his feet (a monumental task even without the bruised tailbone, given his shoes). Wylla was there too, a small, quivering ball of energy hovering somewhere around his waist.

But Lorenzo and Anton were nowhere to be seen.

A fourth cannon sounded, muted and distant, but he barely noticed, for his mind had drifted to more pressing matters.

The thought flashed blindingly at the forefront of his mind, that of his stylist noting the can that she had put into his bag - a bag that now rattled with two crayons as well.

But even the crayons were easily brushed aside for the moment, as his first gaze onto the can brought a smile, broad and genuine, to his face.

Glow in the dark body paint.

It's as if she read my mind.

The thought, and its very real implications, is nevertheless shoved aside like all the others, and as if on autopilot, he begins to strip. First the floor-length coat, then the gown. The bowtie he decided to leave where it was, and after a second's consideration the gown joined the ribbon in an expertly knotted loop around his waist.

"Stay close Lucas, the stairway can be treacherous." Wylla's voice piped up from somewhere off to his right, earning a chuckle from him.

"Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, Wylla," he responded absently, gaze refocused on the paint kit.

He gave the can an experimental test fire, earning a PSHHHHT and a spray of neon blue.

Nice.

"In fact, could you watch my back for a bit?" he asked, almost as an afterthought. "I'm going to be a bit busy for a sec."

The grin grew wider.

Then, he got to work.

First the face, eyes closed yet grin still in place. Then the neck and shoulders, shifting from neon to a darker midnight blue. Then, down his stomach, flecks of fluorescent green standing out against the dark backdrop.

He was so focused on his work that he hadn't realized that Wylla had moved when he spoke his next words. "Hey Wylla, should I get my arms or my legs next?" he called out, back still turned towards her.

But instead of words, it was a fist that responded, smacking into his right bicep with a force that surprised him. Eyes widened and a small cry of shock erupted from his throat almost instinctively, and annoyance flooded through his system as he turned around.

"You know, you could have just simply told me instead of-oh." he began indignantly, before his eyes caught up with the scene unfolding in front of him.

Wylla had moved, lunging at a girl -Fallon, he recognized with a start - with nothing but her fists, a strike which the girl from Five had clearly countered with one of her own. She spoke his name - "Lucas!" - and a plea - "Please, don't let her hurt me."

Something beneath his breast shifted, and he almost responded, almost called out to Wylla to leave them alone.

But then his own assailant shifted, movement caught in the corner of his eye, and he turned to find the brother of Harbinger Rhodes staring him down.

Huh. Interesting.

His attention shifted from girls to boy even as two and two were put together. The gears inside his head spun and click, and he spoke.

"You know, that was quite rude of you," he began, same indignant tone lacing his voice. "Attacking a guy while his back is turned? Really?"

He stared at the other boy for a moment, sizing him up.

Then, he laughed.

"I forgive you though, don't you worry," he continued, grinning. "After all, my guess is that if you were really trying to kill me, you would have hit me in the back of the head instead. So allow me to thank you."

He stepped forward, closing the distance between himself and the Rhodes boy. "Y'know, you look a bit...drab, really, if you ask me," he mused aloud. "Like, you're the brother of a victor, and yet you don't really look that impressive to me."

He stopped, a mere five feet separating the two boys. "But luckily for you, I have something that can help with that," he added, blue-stained grin turning into a smirk.

"Why so serious, Mr. Rhodes? Why must you look so bland and scowly when you can be so much more?"

He shook the can of paint in his right hand. "Allow me to brighten up your day for you, then. Free of charge!"

His arm raised, paint can nozzle pointed directly at the Rhode boy's face.

PSHHHHT!

lucas sprays tamron in the face with spraypaint

aka, there is no dice roll sike

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

 

Whispers turn to cries, and the cries are laced with desperation and a thirst for belonging. The girl weeps out for me to put my fists down, but when you are the weapon—there isn't anywhere you can go. Lucas responds only with a puzzled expression; part of me thought that he was going to say something, do something to make me stop.

But I find myself looping back to the thought when the Rhodes boy attacks, and he just stands there. I blink. Lucas was supposed to be the silver lining, the storm and the lightning. But he has fallen silent and fallen short of what it means to be an ally. 

I turn to him, my face twisting to a frown. 

"Get busy fighting or get busy dying, Lucas."

Butterflies are unleashed into my stomach like a whirlwind. I'm already my own weapon, do I need to be his too? He is placing a heavy weight on a small girl in this moment, but my shoulders have seen the world and been through it all—they are strong enough, now.

He should be thankful.

My attention turns to the girl who took the first bullet of my gun. There's a part of me that wants to stop the madness and change gear and go into reverse; there's another part of me that wants to set alight any signs of weakness and turn them to ash. Perhaps I've never really been at war with a ghost.

Perhaps I've always been at war with myself.

I shake off the thought. There's a clear mind in my head now: the rain has gone and the fog has rolled effortlessly away. The aftermath of all my mother's bullying has sunk too deep into my mind for me to suck out. If I could put an end to wanting war, then maybe I would—but now, I just don't have it in me to stop.

"We're all just bad people trying to be good. You're fighting too, so accept it." I tell her, my feet pacing forwards slightly. Her voice lingers between my ears; it was a plea for me to stop, a symbol of distress. Her face is drawn with pain as paint, but she has learnt to endure it. She's a big girl after all, and big girls can sleep night after night without being anaesthetised by the darkness.

She's just in her winter, and though her spring will come, I have to try and stop it.

"Little girls don't cry, so why are you?"

She's a big girl, after all.

And Lucas is supposed to be a big boy, but the responsibility falls to me. He sprays colour like it is venom, but I spit words that are poison. 

A cannon shoots in the distance, the sound breathing life into the carcass skies which lie above. I shudder slightly, but I know that the other rejects are safe and sound. They are somewhere nice, and somewhere safe. The boom echoes in time with my pulse—Lucas is still a statue and I just know I'm going to have to carry us through this, I just know it.

Fists up: they are an escape route for the bottled up anger, and fear, and passion that has kept me prisoner for all these years. It was my mother's doing, her dirty work put me in unbreakable chains.

But I volunteered, I set myself on fire and I broke them.

If anyone tries me now, I'll be breaking more than chains.

table by dars

W Y L L A • L Y S A N D E R

{ wylla attacks fallon; fists }

3xFAwkJDunarmed

{ block }

accuracy reroll

unarmed

{ block }

unarmed�unarmed

[Stare]

it just takes a second
for my world to come crumbling down
oh i'm sure in the distance
you can hear that awful sound

She’s not violent.

That was what Mama had said, what felt like years and years ago. Mama had lots of ideas about who Fallon was and who she wasn’t. In her eyes Fallon was a proper young lady who knew who to respect and how to speak and she wasn’t crazy, thank you very much. Mama liked to try to make them all into people they weren’t. The truth was, they were all broken, and not even Mama could fix them.

(I don’t think Mama knew me at all.)

Fallon kept her eyes glued on Lucas, waiting for him to respond. Waiting for him to tell Wylla to stop and leave her alone. Waiting for him to at least look at her, as if she weren't a lunatic he regretted ever knowing.

"Lucas," she choked out again. "Lucas, I'm scared."

I'm scared. She'd admitted that to him the night they'd built a wall to keep out the monsters. But Fallon was getting better at knowing when people had given up on her, and as the ground rolled beneath her feet again she felt her last trace of hope flicker and extinguish.

Bottom lip trembling, she took a step away from Lucas and closer to Tamron.

And the girl, that Wylla, she was yelling at her. Accept it, she said, even though Fallon wasn't quite sure what she was accepting. Little girls don't cry? She was speaking in riddles, words becoming a swarm of bees that vibrated the air in time to the quaking of the ground so that Fallon's entire world was trembling.

"Tamron," she said, because he was the only steady thing she had anymore. Because he was the only one who hadn't left her. She had the urge to walk right up next to him and grip his arm to let him know that she was there, she was with him and no one else anymore. Instead, she offered him the briefest watery smile. "Thanks for staying."

The tears began gliding down her cheeks, and she turned back toward Wylla, trying to lift her chin like Mama had taught her. "I'm not a little girl," she recited. "I'm not scared of monsters anymore."

Mama had taught her many things, but lying to herself was the lesson Fallon liked the least.

how i plead for an answer
plead for an answer from you
but if you give me an answer
that just makes no sense then what's the use?

[Fallon attacks Wylla Lysander, unarmed]
kI_wusCIunarmed
[broken left shin, 7.0 damage]

unarmed

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

Tamron Rhodes

A lecture. The boy had the nerve to lecture me about attacking him before he made a 180-flip and he started talking about forgiveness. Maybe I’m still in that dream because none of this makes sense. Had I really not been trying to kill him? When I had lunged, my intention was to remove them from our path but to kill? Maybe I still didn’t have it in me to commit such a terrifying and horrible act.

I would have done it for her, though. If it meant saving her life, I would have risked my morality to protect her. I had gone into the Games with the intention of being a friend, a protector for Salome, yet I found myself protecting Fallon as if she was from home. Was it because she offered me a semblance of friendship? Or was it because she had helped me in my time of need that I felt the necessity to reciprocate? So maybe the boy was right that I hadn’t really been going for the kill, that I didn’t want to harm him.

It didn’t stop me from throwing up my guard when he was one step to close, critiquing? how I looked. Yes, I might have been the brother of a victor but if this boy had any sense, he would have known that Harbinger was never about the opulence of Victorship. None of us would have been able to discard our upbringing in the slums of District 11, where famine took more of our family members than we cared to remember. Brighten what? His words made no sense and yet his actions displayed signs of attack.

The spray directly into my face was not something I had expected nor anticipated as first the sensation, then the smell hit me like a moving vehicle. My eyes started to water, my nose stung, and it was at that moment I was glad I had kept my mouth shut for I had a feeling that the taste would have burned through my tongue. “What…what the hell?!” This boy was bizarre as bizarre came and I looked back at Fallon to try and find some reason to him.

She was in her own battle with the other girl, the girl who was taunting her, and yet there was truth in her words. We were all fighting though really Lucas is the only one not fighting—unless spraying me in the face counts? and it didn’t look like there was going to be an end. It was the same as it had been on the rooftop; we had all volunteered to be in the Games and knew that we would have to fight, but it was the situation that we were put in that brought us to swing our fists. I still didn’t like the taunting, however. I didn’t like bullies no matter how true their words were.

I turned my head to face Fallon when she said my name, wondering what she wanted to tell me. She was so far away yet she seemed closer as she gave me a smile. I gave her a smile of my own, wishing I could do far more for her than what I had to offer. The sharp sound of something breaking told me that she was going to do just fine against the other girl, leaving me with the crazy boy.

“Speaking of not nice things, that stung.”

I didn’t have a speech for him. I didn’t have a defense as to why I was so “drab”. I already felt colorful enough with my ridiculous costume with accessories that were far flashier than I ever wanted. The last thing I wanted was to look like him. Perhaps my first attack had been with the intention of attacking for the sake of Fallon, but this time I threw my fists because my body was already hurting and I was done with the pain.

[Tamron attacks Lucas; unarmed]
1Uw0czXYunarmed
[Bruised Right Wrist ; 2.0 dmg]

unarmed

[lance]

l u c a s   o ' h a r a

It was a direct hit to the face of the Rhodes boy. Pale skin was replaced with neon color, and his opponent backed away, stammering and cursing.

Smirk transformed back into innocent grin, though he knew as well as the other that he was far from innocent in this regard.

Though, perhaps, he was moreso than his opponent. After all, the latter had struck first.

"Get busy fighting or get busy dying, Lucas." Wylla's voice sounds off to his left this time, as if she were the elder one and not the twelve year old. He turned to find her trying in vain to deal some form of damage to Fallon, though the girl from Five was, for the moment at least, holding her own against his ally.

His grin grew wider, taking on a shit-eating undertone before he responded. "Hey, just because I'm not fighting with my fists doesn't mean that I'm not fighting." He turned back towards the Rhodes boy, who had mostly regained his composure by that point, before continuing.

"Just gotta brighten up the opposition a bit first, yanno?"

But it is not Wylla that responded next, but Fallon, another plea for his attention chipping away at his heart of stone in a tone that he hadn't even known had existed.

"Lucas," the girl who had valiantly attempted to trap the demons in the training center cried, voice so full of fear that basic instinct overtook trained indifference deep within his chest, wiping the grin from his face in one fell swoop. "Lucas, I'm scared."

I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm scared. I'm scared.

The closest thing Lucas O'Hara ever had to a conscience had died the day he had thrown himself into the slaughter of what would become the District's greatest body count in the endless war against the Capitol since the end of the Dark Days. That was what he had told himself when he had shared intimacy with Zanita and shown Helios the religious boy a whole new world of wonders. That was what he had told himself when he had connected with one District Eight in the sheets of her bed and another beneath nothing but starry sky. That was what he had told himself when he had flirted with one District Four and drawn another in nothing but his birthday suit, what he had told himself when he explained his reasons for drawing with the youngest District One and chatted about boys with River Destin's daughter and debated viewpoints of the Games with the Summit girl.

He had come here to die, wanting nothing more than a beautiful death for himself and anyone else that crossed his path.

But Fallon...

He was still unable to discern just how or even why such an innocent soul such as herself had mustered up the strength of will to send herself to her own death. And to hear her spilling her heart out to him, baring her very soul and insecurities to him of all fucking people, well...

He wasn't so sure that his conscience had died in the District Square back in Nine after all.

And as he watched the fight between the girl he had taken under his wing and the girl that he had grown to pity in their time in the training center, he almost wavered.

Almost.

He watched for what could only be seconds but felt like hours at the same time, as the two fought, before he shook his head in something almost akin to sadness.

"I'm sorry, Fallon," he spoke after what felt like an eternity. "I really am, truly."

And for the first time in years, he found that he was completely, perfectly honest about voicing an emotion other than lust.

But even honestly could only do so much against the cold hard truth that they all were faced with.

His gaze never once left the girl he had grown fond of in their brief interactions, even as she blocked a second round of punches thrown by his ally. "But there's nothing we can do about that now," he continued after a moment. "We all signed up for this, and now we must suffer the consequences."

He paused for a second, before adding, "Fear is irrelevant. What truly matters is how much you want to live."

And as the crack of a bone breaking echoes through his ears, the hint of a grin returned to his face. Barely.

"Besides, you seem to be doing pretty well for yourself already."

The sound of movement from somewhere behind him reaches his ears, and he turned to find the Rhodes boy, face covered in paint but otherwise very much alive and unharmed, facing him.

“Speaking of not nice things, that stung.” The boy's voice is more annoyed than anything, and as the words sink into Lucas's brain he lunged, fist connecting with his wrist and knocking the can of paint out of his hand. Another jolt of pain traveled up his right arm, teasing forth a wince and a momentarily grimace to his face.

"Ow."

His attention was now fully focused on the Rhodes boy yet again, for better or for worse. A chocolate gaze, filled with annoyance, locked with his own pair of pale blue orbs in a battle of wills.

"My head is right here, you know," he spoke suddenly, left hand raising up to tap his cranium. "I'm pretty sure you know what you're supposed to do next, Rhodes."

Then, without waiting for a response, he struck, left fist flying towards the Rhodes boy's own skull, as if to prove a point.

lucas attacks tamron with his fists yo

8C0VALqIunarmed
5140 -- Bruised Head -- 3.5 damage

unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

 

"Lucas," she says, sad eyed and sad faced. "I'm scared."

I've already had my own fair share of fear; notably when my mother was dying and I scrambled through her ribs to find her heart. To cradle it, to hold it and to promise it that I would never leave. It was a promise I would live to regret—fear makes people carry out strange acts. They do not think before they do, they do not second guess or doubt.

Alas, she is scared of me as I was once scared of my mother. Perhaps there are similarities to be drawn between the situations; I was scared of loss and she is scared of me because I have the power to cause just that. Eight years old and I thought the Capitol's deadliest inventions were the animals that ripped flesh from bone, but at Twelve, I think us tributes really are evil.

My conscience becomes a slave to repetition. We are all just bad people trying to do good things—I'm right. There is no escape from the hell we have thrown ourselves into; caught in a swirling black hole where no kicks or punches will set us free. So why do we do it?

Glory, I figure, because it is the only things that is certain for those who fight.

I've been through the required guts already: my mother's and I even tackled my own. This arena forces me to do more damage, the put up fists capable of causing a storm with thunder and lightning. Exciting for those in the Capitol, a rush for those who put their fists up, but a sight to stir the stomach for the big girl.

Twelve year olds aren't meant to be scary, but I am anyway.

But this girl spins my words into violence. The truth is not pain and though my mother is now dead, she told me that being a realist was something people admired. Owner of a guilty conscience, locked up in chains for lies, was not the type of life that was worth living. I told myself that you can have hope, but nobody says it has to be childish.

She beats me black and batters me blue—it's a good thing I've got the wonders of the world as my armour. Her fists cause a snap, and the snap sees me fall from the cloud with a silver lining. Lightning girl falling through the skies, she only really has herself.

Lucas seems content with his actions. I am too when he finally puts up a fight and knocks the Rhodes boy in the head. Perhaps that is what most of these tributes need—a knock in the head—they might finally see sense.

"That's more like it," I say, building a mental barrier to keep my attention off of the pain in my leg and on the battlefield ahead. 

Rhodes says the paint is stinging. I tell him, "go cry somewhere else." Rain was nothing but a nuisance in a storm.

I fall back to the big girl who speaks her mind but it goes unheard. "I can't lie and say I'm sorry."

"We are volunteers, this is what we do."

table by dars

W Y L L A • L Y S A N D E R

{ wylla attacks fallon; fists }

mGkOwANuunarmed

{ gash/bruised left collar bone - 3 }

unarmed

[Stare]

it just takes a second
for my world to come crumbling down
oh i'm sure in the distance
you can hear that awful sound

During nighttime it was the monsters that Fallon feared the most, but during the day pity was the greatest beast she fought.

(Mama says we shouldn't react the way we do to the people who just want to help. It's a blow to our pride, but she says it does no one any good to be proud. The people who pity, who apologize, who offer sympathetic but hollow smiles, they don't know any better. They pity others so they're too busy to pity themselves.)

But for Fallon that sympathy was a barbed sting, because she knew why people felt sorry for her. Those that were kind enough to pity would never call her crazy to her face, but that's what they thought. Their minds were just too quiet, their hearts too soft to believe in the monsters that threatened to tear out their throats or stop their hearts while they were asleep. They pitied her because they thought what she saw wasn't real, but it was. She'd thought Lucas understood that.

But now, even worse than ignoring her, he treated her with the commiseration she hated more than anything else.

"I don't want sorry." She swallowed her tears in an attempt to open her throat so her voice didn't crack. "I never wanted sorry."

Plenty of her siblings would have tossed anger at him like daggers for his betrayal. Fallon didn't. She wasn't sure she could ever be angry at the boy who built the barricade. But something was crushing against her ribcage, working its way stubbornly into her heart. There was something brokenly sincere in his tone, in her eyes, and even though she wouldn't accept it she couldn't ignore it, either.

Because Lucas had this little yelling girl full of fire, and she had Tamron. Wylla was a weapon, a flame, a storm in her own right. But Fallon had lived in a world with fire and storms, and she'd come out battered and scarred and alone. (They hadn't even said goodbye.) Tamron was something different. He was something steady and trustworthy, someone who hadn't left her even though she knew she was endangering him. And maybe it was just her clinging to desperate hope, but she didn't think that Tamron looked down on her. That mattered more than sympathy, more than sincere apologies. That mattered more than barricades.

And she had faith. She had kindness, and hope, and a few rays of sunlight tucked away in a cigarette in her pocket. She had the strength to keep fighting against the shaking world, and the courage to stand on her own and face those who would rather see her fall.

What did Lucas have?

Fallon took pity, and she turned the blade the other way.

"I'm sorry for you."

how i plead for an answer
plead for an answer from you
but if you give me an answer
that just makes no sense then what's the use?

[Fallon attacks Wylla Lysander, unarmed]
q2bmnMZTunarmed
[tripped, 0.5 damage]

unarmed

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

Tamron Rhodes

He says he’s sorry? I had half a mind to throw another punch at him, but held myself back in case Fallon decided to accept the “apology”. I didn’t know what type of interaction the two of them had but if she had called out to him earlier, then maybe it wasn’t something I should have been interfering. But he kept on talking does he never shut up? and he ruined any hope of reconciliation between the two of them.

Apparently he did not appreciate my punching skills, prodding me with a reminder where his head was. That wasn’t enough for the boy as he proceeded to lunge at me before I had time to react and struck me right in the head. Already the rest of my body was aching, but I knew my head was going to hurt the worst. “Haha, you must be right handed because that barely hurt,” I responded, a grin appearing on my face. “Looks like I got your message, though.”

Whatever focus I had on our fight was disturbed by the sound of heavy contact that bodies were not meant to tolerate. My head whipped back to see the small girl attacking Fallon, striking so close to her throat but missing it by a mere inches. A sigh of relief escaped for a moment, but I knew that Fallon was going to be hurting from that blow anyway.

I was unsure what was meant to hurt more, the words that were flung around or the fists that followed. The tone of betrayal, hatred, and anger started to fill the air as it became clear that none of us were backing down. I blamed the little girl entirely; she had been the one to strike first, of course. But none of us were free of blame and the only thing we could do was continue the fight: Fallon against the girl, I against Lucas. Any underlying inhibition I had was gone the minute that Fallon stepped away from Lucas, realizing that he would not save her. It was two against two, and I had to do my part.

“I suppose I do know what’s next.”

One of us will have to get out of the way.

[Tamron attacks Lucas; unarmed]
AGIItx4uunarmed
[Bruised Head ; 3.5 dmg]

unarmed

[lance]

l u c a s   o ' h a r a

His fist smarted from the contact with the other boy's skull, and he backed away in response to assess the situation.

But words, again from Fallon, reach his ears first.

"I don't want sorry." The girl's voice was choked with emotion, though he cannot tell if it is anger or sadness that laced her words. "I never wanted sorry."

He blinked, turning around to face the girl in a mixture of wonder and confusion.

Hadn't she been pleading mere seconds ago for him to call off Wylla, to pause the attack and let bygones be bygones?

But then her next words speak, and the puzzle falls into place.

"I'm sorry for you."

And he understood, for she thought he was pitying her.

A light laugh bubbles from within his chest, not unkind and not in jest. "Oh, Fallon," he chuckled. "Please, don't pity me, for your efforts would be as pointless as me trying to return the favor - an action, which I might add, was not done intentionally."

He tilted his head onto one shoulder, grin toothless but genuine. "Why, I was simply apologizing for my lack of ability to call off my young friend here," he clarified. "Though, on the other hand, I do trust her judgment, and I can't blame her for striking first." Here, his grin once again turned cheeky in nature. "This is the Hunger Games, after all."

But that left one question unanswered. Both parties were clearly incapable of killing the other quickly, and neither side seemed to be armed with anything other than their fists and his own spraypaint.

So why were they still fighting?

He shrugged it off as he turned back towards the Rhodes boy, who had once again shrugged off his meager assault and seemed to be coming back for more.

“Haha, you must be right handed because that barely hurt,” he said, words more taunting and arguably more lighthearted than those of his ally. “Looks like I got your message, though.”

"Ambidextrous, actually, but that appears to be a moot point anyway." His own response was equally lighthearted, as if they were merely having a casual chat instead of trying to bludgeon each other to death with their bare hands. "Not all of us can have victors for brothers, after all," he added, winking playfully.

He began to circle around to his right, the overall goal being to put both Fallon and Rhodes in his frame of eyesight at the same time (constantly having to shift focus from one to the other was starting to get tiring, and he was honestly surprised that Rhodes hadn't taken advantage of his moments of inattention), but before he walk much more than a couple of feet, his opponent spoke again.

“I suppose I do know what’s next.”

The words penetrated his skull seconds before a fist smacked into it, momentarily catching him by surprised as the direct hit registered in his system. He stumbled, balance already compromised by his high heels, and it was only through sheer force of will that he didn't go sprawling on his behind from the assault.

It took him a moment to regain his composure, and when he had accomplished that, he gazed upon his opponent with newfound respect.

"Not bad, Rhodes," he admitted, grin creeping back up his face. "You're going to have to try a bit harder than that, though."

Not waiting for a response, or even another attack, he lunged forward.

lucas attacks tamron with his fists yo

Jz9Vc58gunarmed
i literally just rolled this dice smh 5140 -- Bruised Head -- 3.5 damage

unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

 

Tamed words fill the air but they hit like a swarm of wasps; they sting with each syllable and turn the skies into a deeper war zone. I need not complain—I've gotten used to excessive voices, as sad as it is. I've learnt to battle them with metaphorical axes and break them, bend them into something useful. Passion. The big girl unleashes bitter apologies towards Lucas, and she does not miss. For a moment, there is little retaliation. A recognition of sorts before coming up with his own toxic response. The air is filled with sentences that make us seem defenceless, but we are building palaces.

At least, I am.

Lucas changes his footing and he moves around to the right. I can sense thick destruction billowing through the windows of this exquisite place; it seeps in like smoke and soon enough, it'll try to choke us. Close our throats and cut us off—it can try, it can. But we would put up a fight just as we are now. Lucas' lining has faded to bronze but has slowly regained it's silver status through sheer force.

My words packed a punch, just like his fists do to Rhodes.

This house of madness is starting to feel like a second home. Admittedly, madness is a word I have learnt to love—it's been thrown at me like sticks and stones for years but I don't let names hurt me. Crazy is serene, really, and I think the normal are missing out.

They'd call me crazy, I'd call them a mouthbreather. A simple exchange. They don't understand me. They haven't seen the things I've seen and heard the things I've heard. Thinking about it, I don't even think people back home even know my name.

Nobody understands, nobody tries to. But here, I have a platform. Open eyes and ears like just beyond the cameras, and there are open hearts too. Wriggle, worm your way into them and they'll help me be brave.

Help me survive—but no hearts are an armour against luck.

Luck: it's the stuff that puts you on cloud nine and sees you fall, the stuff that makes the world go round. It divides and conquers, it turns you to a woman from a girl, it takes ahold of heads and hearts, confusing the two just so the reigns can be taken from both.

Frankly, it's a pain.

I don't need luck, here, I figure. Big girls are already scared of me and I've barely touched them. This is destiny, fate. I've been through my guts, my fair share and more, I'm just waiting for the glory which is playing a really good game of hide and seek.

Time will tell and I'll find it eventually. The world is getting smaller and smaller, for I am getting bigger and bigger.

The little bald girl who is her own weapon, her own thunder and lightning—come to think of it, the big girl would look pretty if she were bald too.

She'd look prettier black and blue. That's the definition of beauty in the Capitol's eyes.

But she doesn't understand me, or any of this. She's probably calling me crazy in her mind.

"Mouthbreather." I mumble.

Pretty, terrifying and savage. I really am my own weapon, I really am just like a storm.

table by dars

W Y L L A • L Y S A N D E R

{ wylla attacks fallon; fists }

4B2QmbR4unarmed

{ bruised back - 2.5 }

unarmed

[Stare]

it just takes a second
for my world to come crumbling down
oh i'm sure in the distance
you can hear that awful sound

(No one ever called you useless to your face, but you got used to being treated like something broken, didn't you?)

(I'm not useless. I'm not broken.)

Fallon had been told many times about what she couldn't do. She couldn't touch sharp objects because she'd hurt herself, she couldn't go into town by herself because she'd wander off, she couldn't speak when company was over because she'd confuse them. When she was younger, about Wylla's age, she'd obediently worn the unwritten rules like bracelet-shackles.

It was the passing of time that taught Fallon lessons Mama never could. She thwarted the monsters every night, keeping them from killing herself and her family, and yet she wasn't allowed to leave the house alone? Rebellion was a flame in her chest, kindled more and more with every passing year until disobedience finally revealed that she could do the things she'd been told were impossible.

Fallon didn't wear bracelet-shackles anymore. She didn't believe in them.

She glanced in Tamron's direction, grimacing. She was beginning to ache, bruises spreading like galaxies over her skin. Mama said bruises were badges of honor, proof that you'd survived a blow, but here in the Arena there was no guarantee of surviving anything. She couldn't imagine how her ally was feeling - broken, battered, tired. She would take care of him, though, because he was the only thing she trusted anymore. Chaos and Lightning had disappeared, she hadn't seen Zanita since the Bloodbath, and all she had of Lorenzo Not-Ruined was the cigarette in her pocket. But Tamron was still there, still fighting. He was all she had left, and she wouldn't let them have him.

"Lack of ability." The mimicked words should have sounded angry or even irritated, but instead they just sounded tired. "You're saying you can't protect me?" Her chin lifted stubbornly. "You've done it before."

That was why Lucas wasn't Tamron. Tamron didn't turn his back on her. She wanted to reach out to him, to assure him that she'd chosen her side just as Lucas had chosen his. Instead, she sighed. She was so tired. "You're fighting all the wrong monsters, Lucas."

She glanced again at her ally, then steadied herself and returned her attention to the girl of fire. "I know what I'm fighting for."

how i plead for an answer
plead for an answer from you
but if you give me an answer
that just makes no sense then what's the use?

[Fallon attacks Wylla Lysander, unarmed]
8e0ccT4|unarmed
[gash/bruised left arm, 3.0]

unarmed

[ᕙʕ•ᴥ•ʔᕗ]

Tamron Rhodes

Whatever game Lucas had been playing earlier he was no longer playing as he delivered another blow to my head, and this time I could really feel it. Instantly I felt dizzy, like all of my senses had been knocked right out of my head, and I felt the sudden urge to throw up. It was a good punch, one I would be feeling throughout the night and perhaps the next day. I wasn’t afraid to wince in front of him, not when I had more matters to worry about like how difficult it is to breathe right now.

He provided me with the effort and want to do better with my own fists, to show him that he couldn’t just leave Fallon like that. I knew I was trying to protect her but maybe it was more than just the attacks; maybe I didn’t want to see her hurt in any way and that was exactly what Lucas had done. Or maybe I just wanted to show her that I was going to stand by her side, that I would help her to the best of my ability because I needed her just as much as she needed me.

Just give me the word and I’ll attack her, Fallon. But Fallon didn’t need my help. She was holding on rather well which left me with my oddly personal fight with Lucas. Maybe it was the words he said. Maybe it was because he wouldn’t stop mentioning my “Victor brother”. Either way, I had never felt my blood boil before, never felt like I had been brought back to the ground so violently. Between the pain and this boy, my mind couldn’t escape into a refuge and for the first time, I was grateful.

Escaping with my mind would have meant leaving Fallon vulnerable. It would have left me vulnerable, and while I didn’t doubt that I was weak, I became determined again to move on. To protect Fallon. To find Salome. To tell my family that I’m okay. I just wanted to go back home. I wanted to go back in time and watch silently as Salome accepted her spot as the sole District 11 tribute.

I couldn’t have done that to her, though. No matter how much I wanted it, I couldn’t have let Salome go into the arena alone especially now that I know her more. “For you, Lucas, I’ll try harder.”

I’ll keep trying until this ends.

[Tamron attacks Lucas; unarmed]
dEGVwvxeunarmed
[Block ; 0.0 dmg]

ACCURACY RE-ROLL:
["Tamron attacks Lucas" 2.0; FALCON PUNCH!!]
unarmed
[Black Eye ; 3.0 dmg]

unarmed�unarmed