{cinq en rose} speakers/sd/a+g

[shrimp]

anise himura

Et dès que je l’aperçois
Alors je sens en moi
Mon cœur qui bat

She awakens with her head on Gabby's thigh. Brown eyes blink once, twice, fingers rubbing at the corners; slowly she sits up. Her neck aches - she stretches, slowly, closing her eyes once more. The muscles groan before finally relenting to her will. She breathes, feeling the air rush through her lungs and into her bloodstream, listening to the sounds of pocket whales murmuring in their dreams. The orca nuzzles her thigh before settling back down.

When she opens her eyes again, the sun is just beginning to rise. The mauve and citrine decorate the sky as they pack up their camp, and Anise can't help but recognize the same hues in Gabby's iris. The silence is different this time - less rigid, warmer. The pocket whales come out to play, nibbling and pecking at each other as they float among the breeze. And when Gabby offers her hand and a shoulder to lean on, Anise takes it. Next time they stop, they figure, they'll work on reinforcing the brace.

The shadows shrink as they walk; they know they've seen most, if not all, of the arena - their flight through the air told them as much; was it really three days ago? It's a lifetime since she was at the training center, eons since she had a decent cup of tea. And for once, as she takes her path step by step, she doesn't miss the flowers that bloomed outside of her window.

Perhaps it's the smell - the air is sweet today, the perfume wafting through her nose. And as if on cue, roses float down from the heavens. Anise takes one as it passes, rolling the silken texture between her fingers. "Huh," she murmurs. This isn't natural - nothing's natural in this arena, and perhaps this is danger that she doesn't recognize, but for the moment no one seems unnerved; the whales seem to be enjoying their obstacle course, weaving around as they glide.

It's when the roses keep falling that it becomes an issue, and as the whales dart back into Anise's coat her senses heighten. At this point the petals are clustered around their feet, but whip around them in a whirlwind. It begins to fall in waves, and she hears the world around them tremble and panic, muttations running alongside them as the storm careens through the arena. It's hard to breathe, the petals choking her and blinding her vision, making the ground difficult to navigate. - Anise grabs her partner's hand as they march forward; they may lose their senses today, but she won't lose her. Ahead of them, Gabby spots the mansion and they glance at each other. Anise flashes back to a day of falling this way and that, hurdling through the earth and back out again.

Screw it. As fast as they can, they hobble towards the front doors, the storm right behind them as their walk turns into a lopsided sprint. There's a thwack to her right but Gabby is still moving, and Anise can't see her amid the vibrant reds, pastel pinks, presidential creams. The mansion doors are open wide, beckoning them into the maze but there's no time for pleasantries as they dash through the doorway. They stop for a breather as the roses rush in, Anise's lungs moaning and heart running doubletime.

It's then that the mansion rumbles, ascending as quickly as it sat the other day. Immediately Anise grabs a hold of the nearest column, but Gabby isn't so lucky, stumbling backwards as they rise and rise and rise - Gabby's feet leave the ground her back tumbles back out the door as the roses flood their senses and Anise lunges forward, pressure all on the left leg as she grabs Gabby's hand and yanks as hard as she can.

They collapse in a heap as the doors slam shut, the mansion's rotations sending them sliding across the floor. Anise lies there for a minute, panting. The mansion is eerily quiet, save for the sounds of the rolling muttations traversing the stairwells. Slowly, they help each other up, and look at the towering mass of stairs ahead of them, spiraling in every direction. Anise turns, looking at Gabby for a moment before shrugging.

"Up or Down?"

After reinforcing the brace, they move. Gravity forces them onto staircases they hadn't seen, floors that had moments ago been the walls, but step by step they scale the beast. Anise glances to her left, to her right, the peripherals of her vision working overtime. She focuses on the sounds, of the footsteps that begin to echo in all directions, of the doors that open in the distance. "Keep your weapon ready," she whispers, as she slowly unsheathes a throwing knife and wields it for whatever comes next.

What's next is tributes, as she hears them around the corner. But right before them is Saummerand Demheaux, and she stares at him incredulously with an eyebrow raised. Out of all the tributes from 2, she expected him to perish before the proud and looming Hammerfell, certainly before Hela Loptrdottir and maybe even before Dreamurr - but here he is and here they aren't. There's a reason he volunteered after all; maybe Anise should have looked into it more thoroughly.

Slowly she peeks her head around, watching them make the same journey - they look worse for the wear and for a moment she contemplates them sneaking away, but that can't work for long. The walls may be marble and the rooms furnished for a queen but she might as well be back in the forest, neon lights flashing around as they dashed at Raven Barker; or in the land mirrors as Molly Malachite fell out of one universe and into another. She ducks back behind the wall and turns to Gabby. "Three tributes, all armored. The 12 year old from three, and the boy from nine. D10 girl's missing a leg."

It doesn't matter who they are. It can't matter one bit.

Anise turns to Gabby, making a quick glance at Saummerand from a distance. She doesn't know what this boy has up his sleeve, but if he wants to live it had better be something good.

"On the count of three."

Silently, she counts.
And silently, she attacks.

[attacks Riven; throwing knife]
29led4epthrowing knife
[9111 -- Knife in Forearm -- 5.5 damage
(Thrown Knife)]

throwing knife

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

I slept like a baby. Funny that I did, since during the other night I couldn't stop crying over Diorite. I couldn't be any happier to see the face of Marcus Fletcher flash on the skies' in a blue hue. It was an accomplishment for me to kill the first of my many demons. I would face many more in my story that I've set myself out to fulfill. I can't really tell what the story's theme is so far. Conquering your fears? Defeating those who told you that you couldn't? Friendship is temporary? Maybe it was a mixture of them all, and the biggest moral was yet to come. The story has only just begun, of course there's more to come.

{ or that's what he hopes for }

When I woke up, I felt confident in my ability to kill this day - I had done it yesterday, so what made today different? Unless the one weapon gremlin gave me another visit I should be fine with fighting. I looked around my little home I've set up for myself and I tried to locate all my items just in case. Bag? Check. Crayons? Check. Armor? Check. Water? Check. Weapon?

..where the fuck did that little shit take them to now? It's literally impossible to sleep without something disappearing. It was like a bag of candies that you've claimed as your own. You leave it there and go off to do something, expecting that it's been left alone and you can enjoy those candies in peace. When you return and they're all gone, you're outraged. They were your candies, they were supposed to be eaten by you.

Who the hell had the audacity to eat the candy? They were mine.

"how rude of them.

My thoughts provoked a small chuckle from my mouth, finding it funny that I compared a set of throwing axes to a bunch of candy. But it fit, really, because some could see candy as their "life line" of sorts, and those axes were supposed to be my life line for this day.

Supposed.

So, fuck it. I'll just use my hands to fight, I didn't do that bad with them at the beginning of this crazy as hell journey that I've embarked on. I've learned that you have to deal with the punches that have been thrown at you, just punch back harder. Deal with the punches, deal with the blows. Just be you and hope that God appreciates that (because sometimes, he's the only form of hope we can have).

I took my bag and went on with my day, figuring that eventually I'd run into some poor bitch to fight or fight with. Whatever got thrown at me, I'm just hoping that any of the cannon's that sound aren't mine. I may be weak and broken, I may be alone. But that doesn't mean I won't stop fighting. Quitting is for losers.

And I am not a loser.

Anise Himura is the last woman I expected to meet in here, and definitely the last woman I expected to give my ass a quick blessing of not attacking me. She seemed surprised to see my face aswell, her raised eyebrow in surprise explained her shock well enough. The woman gave a quick glance around the corner upon the sound of approaching footsteps and she turned her face back. She turned her head back to her ally, mumbling something and then I watched as she threw the first knife of many to be soaring today.

From a distance I could tell that there were three people; the girl from three, the woman from ten, and the male from nine. I figured that they would go after the one that had no leg, Anise did attack her after all. That left the male from nine and the girl from three.

I may be heartless, but I'm not a monster. Guess that made my decision easy.

[attacks lucas, unarmed]
yuPeTLkAunarmed

unarmed

[lance]

"You don't look too bad. Find your boyfriend again?"

Wylla was as blunt and to the point as usual, and he couldn't help but chuckle at her words. "Found him, yeah, and that was fun." He didn't elaborate further on that topic - she was twelve, after all, and even if she could guess at exactly what occurred between Helios Delacroix and himself, that was a conversation he didn't need to have.

So instead, he plowed right along, not allowing any chance for her to interrupt. "And then, after that was all said and done, I got my head covered by an indestructible piece of cloth and attacked by one of these things." Here, he raised his right arm, thrusting the strange ringing mutt that now occupied it into the spotlight. "So yeah, that was not fun."

"I lost a bit myself." Riven's voice sounded next, her soft voice speaking in stark contrast to Wylla's rough-edged tone. And though the humor behind the words was morbid - she was, after all, missing one of her legs - he still cracked a real, genuine grin in response, for morbid humor was almost as much a hobby of his as creating art and casual romance.

But then the weak smile faded from her face, and the lightheatedness in her tone followed suit. "Eva left," she spoke, a note of bitterness now lacing her tone. "I killed Gentian and she left," - and it took him a moment to comprehend the statement because Gentian Hope had fallen on the first day, and then suddenly it clicked as she continued - "And then...and then I...I killed Atlas, and Salome left."

So Izar had found a Career to latch herself onto, and Wylla and Eva and Riven had ran into them, an encounter that had evidently ended in the death of said Career.

Interesting.

"Seems nobody likes me these days," she said suddenly. "That's understandable though, nobody likes a killer."

It took three seconds for the words to sink through his skull into his brain, and another two for his reaction - a light, easy laugh - to emerge from his lips. Then, he squatted, shifting all of his weight to the balls of his feet, so that he was looking the girl from Ten almost directly in the eye.

"Nobody likes killers, eh?" he responded, words shaped more like a statement than a question. "If that was the case, wouldn't it have made sense for Wylla and I to leave Eva behind after her spear entered Leticia Wheeler's chest?" He smiled, not unkindly. "Because in that moment, she became a killer, right then and there."

His grin grew slightly wider. "But we didn't, for even though she was a killer, she was still Eva. Just like you still are Riven." One hand reached up, attempting to scratch the back of his head but encountering only helmet. "So you killed her cousin, yes. So what? Surely she realized that if she was ever going to leave this place alive that it was inevitable."

He wobbled slightly before regaining his balance. "And, you killed a Career as well,"
he continued. "That's not something that every lower district kid like you and me can claim to have done."

He wobbled again, and ultimately decided that squatting was futile. So instead, he took a different stance, plopping down onto his rear and tucking his legs in a cross formation. "Yes, you're a killer now, Riven, and nothing is ever going to change that." More words, spoken kindly and soothingly in what was perhaps the single most compassionate act he had ever partaken in. "But it isn't as bad as one makes it out to believe. Sure, I'm not one to talk yet," here he chuckled again, "but from what I've heard and seen, few kills that take place in this arena are meant out of malice or bloodlust. You killed to survive, Riven, and there's nothing wrong with that."
The sun dipped below the horizon, and the sky lit up in stars.

---

Rose petals fell from the sky, the mansion pitched and heaved, and yet he barely noticed.

Five faces had shown in the sky that night - Lumiere, a Four, two Sevens, - but it had been the last one, the glittering, stoic face of Helios Delacroix, that had affected him the most.

Helios is dead.

Not forty eight hours prior had they been locked in each others arms, lips locking and tears flowing and quiet words whispered to calm stuttering heartbeats.

And now his soul was as extinguished as the rest, leaving nothing but cold hard flesh in its place.

At least he's with his sister now, he thought.

Then, almost as an afterthought, though the girl in question was anything but, and Zanita too.

He knew from the moment he had stepped on the train that he had never supposed to have been the last one living. Not between Zanita and her strong, fiery soul that burned brighter than a sunset, not between Helios and a body that yearned for eternal sleep but a soul too innocent,
too caring to cause any harm to another.

He was the odd man out, the boy who loved drawing and fucking and little else, the boy who had
a fascination with death and had volunteered even while knowing with a one hundred perccent certainty that he would not be escaping with his life.

And now, he was the only one from his home that still drew breath within the arena.

It was never supposed to have been him.

And yet, it was.

The mansion lurched again, and then was still.

And then a knife appeared out of nowhere and embedded itself into Riven's vambrace.

His head snapped around to the source, a pretty girl whose name eluded him but whose face -
and district - did not. Cassiopeia's last remaining female district partner drew another knife from her arsenal, and from behind her he spotted a second figure, another girl-

And then a fist slammed into his face with enough force to coax out a cry of pain and surprise from within.

He stumbled back, one hand raising to the point of contact while the other fumbled for the hilt of his weapon.

The face of the last surviving male from Two - whose own name, unlike the crippled Hammerfell boy, also eluded him - stared back at him, an unreadable expression on his face.

Slowly, gingerly, his other had dropped from his face and joined the first in wrapping around the pink hilt of his polearm.

Then, he grinned.

"You know, as much as I enjoy being fisted, I do believe I've had enough of that for one Games, thank you very much." The grin this time was unlike the kind smile he had given Riven the previous evening, instead taking on a more feral form this time.

He raised his weapon before continuing. "Trust me when I say I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I'm going to have to kindly ask you to fuck off now."

The boy might appear unthreatening without a weapon, but he was still a Career, which made him dangerous no matter what he was wielding.

Even fists could be deadly in the right hands, after all.

lucas o'hara attacks saummerand demheaux, naginata
S3Ybka9kglaive
13016 -- Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage

glaive

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

WYLLA LYSANDER

The cold came again, just as it did before. We had a habit of walking for—however long before the sky started to dim and we found ourselves wading through the thick of night. But it was fine, it was nice; there weren't any demons to devour us, no shouts or screams or trembles. It was just us. Just us, together.

I don't know about the others, but I quite like it.

"Nobody likes killers, eh?" Lucas says after Riven pulls her heart from her throat and shows the world how she feels inside. "If that was the case, wouldn't it have made sense for Wylla and I to leave Eva behind after her spear entered Leticia Wheeler's chest?" I tilt my head to the side, teeth biting into my bottom lip. "Because in that moment, she became a killer."

She was a killer, yes, it was and is still true; but these games are dangerous, lethal, deadly and if you're not on the winning side then you are left for dead. I don't want to be left for dead, I don't want any of us to be left for dead so we have to play the game. It's brutal but it is crucial; survival is bravery.

And I'm brave, I know it.

"But we didn't, for even though she was a killer, she was still Eva. Just like you still are Riven."

"You're still my Riv." I say to her, bringing a finger to my tongue before rubbing it against my boot. There's blood on it, not mine, though—I think it belongs to the boy who Riven killed. If I ever see him again, which I pray I won't, I'll let him know that I found what he lost.

Twilight wanders aimlessly through day's graveyard as I lie back and stare up at the sea-sky-thing. Riven and Lucas are still talking, but their words are deeper than I am tall. I might be a little girl who has big words, but there is a time and place and from what I can tell—it's twinkling now—this isn't the time, this isn't the place.

But it doesn't stop me from speaking little words.

"You killed to survive, Riven, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"That's good." I say, eyes frozen shut. The back of my eyelids are far more peaceful than the sea-sky-thing. "You're still alive. That's good. You're brave. That's good." I tell her, thinking back to the day where there was a sting in the wind and a fire in my belly which made me pluck up the courage to make something of myself; to prove that little girls can and will.

Night comes for the day again; it's a brutal murder, it happens daily, but somehow I manage to lose myself in the freedom of the soft night breeze and float away to a place that is getting eerily darker as time goes on. A unicorn impaled another unicorn in my last dream.

I think that makes it a nightmare.

---

Rose petal wash in, carried through dawn's breath with vigour and force; it's pretty, though. The red and white petals each find a partner to dance with and it is almost as if they are performing a classical dance with one another—they hold their shape, they are like statues, and they move quickly before dancing on and dancing away into the distance.

Harsh lights cut through the petals and we are reminded that disaster stroke countless times yesterday. It wasn't necessarily a disaster for me, it's helpful in a way, death, it just means I get to go home sooner. Going home sooner means that I get to grow another three inches, hopefully more.

But Lucas' lover boy cuts a wound in the rose storm and from it bleeds pure emotion which combats the gale within a heartbeat.

"Oh." I say, a single word slips through my filter as I look at Lucas. I think that he is hurting, but I'm not feeling the same. It just means that I get to go home sooner. Going home sooner means that I get to find water beyond the fence with a dowsing rod.

Mum would say that dowsing rods were completely useless and originated from old wives' tales, but of course, I never believed her. She was a pathological liar, I'm certain of it.

The manor stands for a moment, staring into the distance as if it is in a trance. I feel sorry for that mansion, you know—I don't think it is too happy about having it's land invaded and turned into a battlefield. I imagine that when it was unspoiled, it was beautiful, a sight to behold.

But now, there are bloodstains everywhere and footprints which seem to be etched into the landscape; that house is going to need a very talented landscaper after all of this is done. My grandmother had a friend tend to the flowerbeds by her porch once—apparently her friend was losing her marbles though, and was watering the plants with a chamber pot, not a watering can.

The flowers died, and so did her friend. It was probably for the best, after all, Granny couldn't—

—a knife slices through my memory, tearing it in two halves before finding a place to rest in Riv's armour. My eyes quickly widen in response, desperate to find whatever, whoever did this as they are sure to get themselves stuck in the mud.

But two faces seem to appear at once: one, a pretty girl from Two. I can't remember her name but she is pretty, that I know. And two: a pretty boy who is from the same district as the pretty girl. My eyes flicker between for a moment or two, and then Lucas acts sharply, quickly, darting with strength towards the boy—boy?—no—man with his weapon.

"You know, as much as I enjoy being fisted, I do believe I've had enough of that for one Games, thank you very much." Lucas says, his words swelling. "Trust me when I say this in the nicest way possible, but I'm going to have to kindly ask you to fuck off now."

My mother would spin in her grave if I ever said that word. I hated the woman, I hated her a lot, but now just isn't time for her to spin.

"Yeah." I say, golden spear raised at him as I follow in Lucas' giant footsteps. "Frick off now." My front two teeth bite into my bottom lip.

Six was afraid of seven, but Three has never been afraid of Two.

{ wylla attacks saummerand; spear }

kYG7tctpspear

{ 3168 -- Deep Gash on Back -- 8.5 damage }

spear

[sadniss everdeen]

Gabrielle Bellamonte

              elle est entrée dans mon cœur
                                            une part de bonheur
                                                                    dont je connais la cause

You don't sleep much, but this time you don't mind.

It gives you time to think. Absently, you run your fingers through Anise's hair, matted down by days under a helmet. She makes a tiny noise in her throat when your nails find her scalp and you find yourself smiling before you can stop it. The weight of her body on yours isn't entirely a new one, but without her guarded gaze looking back at you, it seems... softer, almost. Kinder.

And in a place like this, isn't that a miracle all on its own?

The pilot whale murmurs from its place, tucked into the hollow of your clavicle and wrapped in your sweater. The others chirp in their sleep, hovering lazily in the open curve of your helmets or swimming through the folds of Anise's jacket. Your last tenuous link to the ocean.

(You touch the storm that brews in your chest every time you look at your partner and wonder if it's really all you have left.)

From under the canopy of the silver-leafed trees, night turns quietly into dawn. It goes almost without notice here, outshone by the multicolored rays that fracture the two of you in an amalgamation of vibrant hues; there's red across your knuckles and green broad over your chest, and from the massive mushroom that shelters you both Anise is caught in blue and purple and white. You let your fingers play in the light she's bathed in, rippling like someone down deep and looking up at the surface. It feels a little like drowning, but you don't mind.

It's the closest to the ocean you'll ever get her. The colour looks better on her skin than it ever had on yours.

As if she hears you, she stirs. The pocket whales attached to her clothing mutter when she sits up - a bright sliver of gold snakes across her closed eyelids and burn in the rising dawn. You take the time to stretch out your numb leg and sigh when she eventually struggles to her feet, knowing whatever half-reality had hung between you two since last night has burst open with the light of day. You close your eyes for a second, willing to go back under the cold stare of the stars, but she helps you up and the two of you make your way like you have ever since this nightmare begun.

There's nowhere else to go for the two of you - you've seen all there is, split the blood you could and kept it when you shouldn't have. Neither of you have a destination in mind and normally it would make you uneasy, but the air is sweet and calm and rose petals drift to get caught in your hair and the collar of your sweater. You laugh as your narwhal skewers a petal with his horn, bringing it back to you like a gift.

"Thank you," you chuckle, taking it from him. It's a large one, three or four stuck together, and you roll it between your fingers before tucking it between the straps that run through Anise's armor. "A pretty flower for a pretty girl," you say with a wink.

Anise blushes, barely visible under the shadows cast by her helmet, before looking to the side and spotting something in the distance. Her hand reaches out and in her palm deposits a full rose, having escaped the destruction of her siblings. She silently threads it into your hair and you burn from the roots of your scalp to the tips of your toes.

(By her almost-invisible smirk, she noticed.)

Soon, the drizzle picks up into a roar. They lick at your booted ankles and disappear into your clothing, brushing over your cheeks like fingers. The pocket whales vanish inside your bag. In the distance, the panicked bellow of the muttations sound from every direction, and the two of you graduate from stroll into a light jog. Even right beside your partner it's almost impossible to see her, but it's ever more impossible to miss when she grabs your hand.

Get it together, your brother snaps, and you can hear Q's chuckle float deep in your brain.

The mansion looms ahead, a great grey mass against the swirling blackout around you. Pink...out? You don't know, really, but it's hard to think with the wind ripping at every exposed piece of skin and the petals choking now, no longer a wonder but a threat - it doesn't take long for your mind to be made up, your strange and loping sprint long and measured after so many days of practice.

Half-way there and something slams into your stomach, takes the wind straight from your lungs to be lost in the maelstrom, but Anise is still pulling you along so you have no choice but to follow. You stumble into the mansion, heaving and panting, shaking from adrenaline and and exhaustion alike. The thing that had struck you glints purple, and hey, didn't you--

"My chestplate!" you exclaim in disbelief, "shit, I thought I broke that." It's worse for wear, lopsided and full of holes, but better than nothing. You strap it on over your sweater this time (you've learned that lesson) and turn to show Anise, but the house doesn't appreciate your loud tone and surges to its feet in one fluid motion.

Less fluid, however, is how you stagger clear out of the doorway.

Watch out! Q cries too late, drowned out by your incredulous thoughts. Are you fucking kidding? After all that, this is how I'm gonna die?

The hand that darts out and grabs your wrist is vice-like, reversing gravity and sending you flying forward instead. The two of you tumble down, skidding across the floor, bouncing over a mutt that hisses and growls at your collapsed forms. You groan, your face smashed against Anise's shoulder. "I've fallen for you and I can't get up." A pause; you lick your lips. "Also, I'm pretty sure I swallowed a rose petal."

An exhausted, exasperated laugh that rumbles against your cheek. "You almost died, and that's what you choose to say?"

"My life for humor, chérie."

"I'm not a chair."

You lift your face from her torso, eyes narrowed. "I can't even tell if you're joking or not."

She blinks back, expression blank. With a sigh you help her stand up, looking warily at the mass of misaligned stairs. If Anise lands wrong on one of those, her broken leg could just...

You pale at the implications. You take a few strong branches from the firewood she collected and make quick work of reinforcing it, lashing it so tight you're surprised she doesn't complain. It proves useful - the second the two of you step forward, you're swept clean off your feet and sent spiraling into the far wall.

Not this shit again.

It doesn't take long for something to get in the way of your struggles. You've long memorized the sound of Anise's footsteps, and those most definitely aren't hers. There's another boy approaching who she seems to recognize without a weapon on him - both dangerous and stupid. You don't trust him, but Anise seems to trust the people in front of her even less: her knife whistles as it flies through the air, striking the girl with no leg (ouch, poor bitch) and shattering her vambrace, leaving little more than a scratch behind.

You hadn't intended to go in so quickly, but your good mood vanishes as quickly as the storm had once the doors closed. You'd forgotten for a moment that this was your life now, that this was who you were now. For someone who came here to die, you've been terribly preoccupied with living.

But... as you draw your weapon, flitting behind the pillar and re-emerging at the other side, something prickles the back of your neck. She's outfitted head to toe in armor, compensation for a missing limb, but there's something in her you recognize. It's hard to place until you get right in front of her, and not until you swing that you realize it.

Your brother laughs in your head, a cruel and unrelenting sound. She's got ghosts in there, just like you.

It's hard not to notice when someone has the same eyes.

[attacks Riven with butterfly knife]
PBj46amDknife
[shallow cut on right hip, 3.5]

1-100

[solo]

through all my make believe, there's some reality

Riven Fowley

I always thought Lucas looked like my brother. Always, I suppose, isn't exactly the correct word in this case. I haven't always known Lucas. In fact, I only really started spending time with him a couple of days ago.

It's only now that I can see the difference. Only now, when he crouches down to look me in the eye, ignoring my stump of a leg, laughing quietly, smiling. The smile. It's different. There's something different about the laugh, too, but it's the smile that sinks in and etches itself behind my eyes. I can't quite put my finger on why it seems so different, I just know that it is. And I know that it makes me feel like I still have a chance.

"No one likes a killer, eh?"

I let out a partial laugh, more a sudden rush of air out my nose than anything else. I don't like being a killer. I'm sure my family likes it even less.

"If that was the case, wouldn't it have made sense for Wylla and I to leave Eva behind after her spear entered Leticia Wheeler's chest? Because in that moment, she became a killer, right then and there." his smile grows as he talks. The scene flashes back in my mind, staining my vision red for a split second, but I shove it aside. I've dwelt on Leticia's death enough. I have no desire to think about it anymore than I have already.

"But we didn't, for even though she was a killer, she was still Eva. Just like you still are Riven."

"You're still my Riv." Wylla pipes up and I glance sideways, catching her eye and offering a grateful smile. I can't remember the last time somebody put a my in front of my name. It helps. It reassures me that I haven't lost my grip on reality just yet.

"So you killed her cousin, yes. So what? Surely she realized that if she was ever going to leave this place alive that it was inevitable. And, you killed a Career as well. That's not something that every lower district kid like you and me can claim to have done." he loses his balance, drops down into a sitting position. I think over his words, realizing that he's got a point. I'm not sure how Eva expected her cousin to live. And when I think about it, there's not much else I'm sure of these days. Lucas continues, voice calm and level-headed, working through everything as logically as I would have before I got myself into this mess. "Yes, you're a killer now, Riven, and nothing is ever going to change that. But it isn't as bad as one makes it out to believe. Sure, I'm not one to talk yet, but from what I've heard and seen, few kills that take place in this arena are meant out of malice or bloodlust. You killed to survive, Riven, and there's nothing wrong with that."

"That's good." I look up. I thought Wylla had gone to sleep, but it seems like she's still awake. At first I wonder if she's sleep-talking. But then she continues, and the idea flickers out of existence. "You're still alive. That's good. You're brave. That's good."

Good. Can we really call things good anymore? Or is it all too far gone to even come close? I think that perhaps I might be too far gone to be good, but I don't want to solve that mystery right now. Pain is seeping through my skin, and I need to rest. I sigh, leaning back on the bag I've been carrying around with me.

"Thanks for the advice, old man." I tease, aiming to tap at Lucas's knee with my remaining foot. The movement takes effort and I wince slightly. My voice is tired, amused but weak. It's a joke one of my brothers would've made, telling me I was sounding more and more like Gramma.

Night arrives quickly after that, and I'm almost too exhausted to watch the sun dipping below the ruler-straight horizon. It's beautiful, I'll admit, but I need sleep more than anything else. Slowly, bit by bit, I relax, almost forgetting where I am and what I've done.

Almost.

---

I t's the mansion shifting beneath us that pulls me up out of sleep. My eyes flicker open, the ground lurching, my weight falling where it shouldn't. Everything is off due to my leg. Or rather, lack thereof. A few stray rose petals float by and I wonder vaguely where they came from. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I was pretty sure we didn't leave the door open last night.

My thoughts are put on hold, because suddenly, metal clangs against my armored wrist and shatters it into more pieces of pink wax than I care to count. I scramble for my weapon, small hands grasping at the handle. Fingers wrap around it in a vice-like grip, and something about that reassures me. I don't want to fight again. But it looks like I'm going to have to.

I hear a hollow thud next to me, and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lucas rising to his feet. I go to do the same, then remember I'm down a limb. Well, crap. But on the bright side, how much worse can it get?

I don't have much more time to think, because there's a blade cutting into my side, reopening the wound created by Atlas Lumiere only yesterday. Atlas. The boy who's soul I'm destined to drag around with me until the day I die.

You killed him, why can't you kill another?

The voices of my ghosts echo around the inside of my skull, reverberating and fading in and out of reality. I can't listen to them. I won't. But right now, in this moment, I don't have time to fight them. I'm too busy fighting something, or someone, much more real.

My eyes lock with those of a stranger, and I feel my blood run cold. Hands move to attack before I tell them to.

"Get off me!"

[attacks Gabrielle Bellamonte || spear]

8U7c3E4hspear

[3109 -- Stabbed in Neck -- 40]

in your reflection, there's much more than you see

spear

[shrimp]

anise himura

Les escaliers de la butte sont durs aux misereux
Les ailes du moulin protegent les amoureux

With a crackle the knife wedges itself into the girl's armor, splintering and shattering into wax fragments that twirl on the floor; some are picked up by the current and sent spiraling into the opposite stairwell, dragged into dance. She turns the corner with a second knife in her hand as Gabby races ahead with a knife outstretched.

From her vantage point, Anise has a clear view of the battlefield, and as she heads forwards she spies out of her peripherals, Saummerand with a fist outstretched. Is this really his weapon? Has he managed to survive four days in the arena with his fists alone? バカ野郎.

As Anise runs to throw her second knife the air lifts her up, slamming her into the wall on her right, where paintings jostle and a wall no floor no wall lamp flickers. Her shoulder cries out, she grits her teeth. Her steps turns into a roll as she tries to get out of the gravity field that's turning the world around and around - she can't move fast enough, even though she can hear the clash of metal against wax, and then-

"Gabby."

The floors reverse yet again and she's rolling, pressure on her hands as she uprights herself and runs as fast as she can, her mind knowing that it's not enough, can't be enough, not to bother but she won't listen as she pushes the girl from 10 away, grabbing Gabby's arm, supporting the back of her neck that spills like the waters that she must have swam in back in four, where the air smells like salt and the water nibbles at your skin. Anise tries to put pressure on the wound, fingertips encased and lungs heaving Breathe in breathe out breathe in breathe out

Feet smack against the tile in a rigged race. Like a hare, she dashes anyway.

[leaves]

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

His fists caused a stumble and a cry; no surprise to Saummer, he was a dangerous person. Every time he was near people, hearts got broken. People got killed. Cannons fired. It seemed like that was the environment that Saummer gave upon his entrance to any fight. People normally didn't like him. He'd be shocked if anyone liked him at this point, but that was besides the point. Saummer was the presence and whispers of death, the ones that coax you into the reaper's arms, and he did damn good at it according to the sudden cannon that echoed throughout the room.

The body falling? Eh, God will catch them.

(hopefully)

The other male spoke, his voice mimicking the evil grin that planed itself on their face.
"You know, as much as I enjoy being fisted, I do believe I've had enough of that for one Games, thank you very much." Good, you probably deserved it. "Trust me when I say this in the nicest way possible, but I'm going to have to kindly ask you to fuck off now."

In most cases, Saummer would have kept fighting. The other one (from nine? Saummer didn't really have a need to care) had no real effect on him. He was no different from Marcus, the way he was speaking.

What made him stop was the girl.

"Frick off now."

{okay.}

He took the moment of stunned surprise between the group that the future peg-leg killed someone to run away. Saummer would listen to the girl, she was young. Saummer had no reason to fight when they wanted him not to. He was no monster, and he would not cause nightmares.

not any more of the ones that she already has, of course.

He understood the nightmares that she already had, and Saummer didn't want to be the source of another. So he ran away- trying to become an even faster runner than he already was. Saummer arrived back at the green room in time to receive two crayons of a gold color, reminding him of the color that medalists would win at the Olympics. With hands still shaking and pained from punching the male from nine, he shakily drew a vambrace onto the left arm with the gold one, and took the other gold shade to draw one onto his right. Gold was a treasure, and these things were things he'd treasure.

He took the copper crayon and tried to use something to cover his damaged torso and back, the scars from past fights and battles still there, and the girl's mark of death still imprinted on the back. Fresh and dripping, he didn't care what wounds were left, all he cared about was protection. Shin guards made out of a brass-like color, he felt like a metallic robot. A machine made for the games, and the next job he was made for would come tomorrow.

Taking the charcoal-like color, he drew a skull engraved knife. It represented the deaths of everyone in this arena, and the ones that were to come. It was a sign, a signal for those who wanted to be warned about death. Because wherever Saummer went, death was there. Wherever people traveled, Death was present. They'd have to escape at the right moment like he has done before.

he ZOOMIN

[saummer flees.]

[lance]

A third figure materialized from behind the pretty girl from Two and lunged forward. Dark hair flowed past a pale face, and the last living female from Four joined the fray.

Two Twos and a Four.

Such was the composition of their opposition that day. He didn't know the name of this particular girl from the fishing district - or any of them aside from Brooke, for that matter - but names were hardly the thing to worry about right now.

And two twos make a four. How quaint.

No, his mind was clearly focused on far more serious things at the moment.

She watched as she veered towards Riven, her lack of two usable legs causing her to lag behind himself and Wylla, and as she drew within striking range alarm bells went off within his head.

So, with a mind equally divided into one part adrenaline and one part sharp, cold fear, he found words leaving his throat and entering the air between him and the Four.

"I'd be careful around her if I were you, Four." His voice rang clear and strong,
projecting itself with an unusual steadiness for a boy attempting to attract the attention of a girl who could likely shank him in five seconds flat.

"You saw Lumiere's face up in the sky yesterday, didn't you?" he continued, adrenaline now flooding ice cold through his veins. "Well, that was her doing, you know. Stabbed him right through the chest - and that was after she lost her leg."

He was bluffing, of course - he hadn't seen Atlas's death with his own eyes, and neither Wylla nor Riven herself seemed willing to divulge any more information aside from the bare minimum.

But when the quiet girl had claimed that she had killed the last living representative from One with her own hands, he hadn't detected a sliver of lie in the statement.

His taunt seemed to have worked, for Four's silvery knife failed to land across anything important, instead barely grazing Riven's hip instead.

So, the adrenaline fueling his courage, he continued once more. "So, that being said, I'd stay away from her if I were-"

Then Riven's spear found Four's throat, and the unsolicited advice was rendered moot.

"-you." The final word died in his own throat as his brain struggled to comprehend just what had transpired.

The stoic pretty girl nearly broke her composure, and in her own form of desperation she lashed out at Riven with not her knives but her fists, creating just enough room for her to grab her fallen ally and flee.

More footsteps sounded, and he turned to find the lone male amongst the enemy rush from the field of battle as well, his own flight taking him in a completely different direction than the two girls.

From deep within, some part of his brain that had memorized the many battle tactics that had been shown on his television over the years screamed at him to chase the boy from Two down and end him while he was weaponless and alone.

But then his gaze shifted to Wylla, and then to Riven, both with their spear tips coated in blood.

And he knew.

Knew that the next time they parted ways, it would be for the last time as friends.

And surprisingly, that wasn't something he was ready for just yet.

So he lowered his polearm and turned away from the fleeing boy. A glint of silver caught his eye, and his gaze shifted to focus on the fallen girl's weapon.

A weapon that looked far too solid and metallic to have been created from a crayon.

Gingerly, he bent down, brushing fingers over the cool metal surface.

Yep. Definitely not crayon-made.

Fingers wrapped around the grip of the butterfly knife, and a grin slowly spread across his face.

He straightened back up, gaze turning towards the two girls that he still called allies.
"Well, that was eventful," he spoke aloud, tone light and airy as usual. "Where to next?"

A strange question to ask so soon after a kill, but not a surprising one.

After all, the day was young, and his spirits were up.

lucas flees dab dab

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

WYLLA LYSANDER

Six was afraid of seven, but Three has no reason whatsoever to even be remotely afraid of Two, or Four, for that matter.

A second girl fades in from black, keeping tight to the pretty girl who first appeared and threw the knife into Riv's arm. She's pretty too; rolling long hair with a light bounce and a face like a doe who will do anything to protect her love.

Though she fades from black, she remains in full colour as she too launches a knife through the air, past my shoulders and to Riv. She's been slow recently; we can't blame her, though, she has lost a leg.

"I'd be careful around her if I were you, Four." Lucas says, voice like iron bars ready to capture and hold the opposition prisoner. Their heads quickly turn and my skin fizzles with goosebumps when I realise that this collide is going to, again, be a deadly one—but I'm not one to complain. 

It just means that I get to go home sooner, and there isn't anything bad about that. 

"You saw Lumiere's face up in the sky yesterday, didn't you? Well, that was her doing. Stabbed him right through the chest, and that was after she lost her leg." When Lucas puts things into perspective, he reminds me that Riv is a force to be reckoned with. There is so much blood on her hands now that she can't ever wash it off, no matter how hard she tries. She's sentenced people to death, and for the time being, her reward is a sentence to life.

To struggle, or to be content with the actions she has carried out. I haven't killed, yet, but I know that it'll be a while before I come to terms with what I've done, it'll be a while before being a murderer sinks in. I've watched the games before and I've seen kids become killers; Mum would say that they needed immediate help before they completely, utterly go bananas.

I don't think I'd need help. I'm brave, I'm strong, and that is something I am sure of.

And I'm also sure that Riven should not be challenged. There is an immense sense of retaliation which seems to build up inside her, just like yesterday when she killed the boy in an instant; it's like it is natural for her. Normal, despite the extraordinary consequences.

"So that being said, I'd stay away from her if I were—" there is a short pause between the sentence and the final word. It's happened again, happened all over and I feel those worms in my stomach eating away, gnawing, churning away at the life in this treacherous mansion.

And then it succeeds, within a second or so, and the girl fades out as quickly as she faded in.

The consequences are cold. Cold enough to cause cracks, to cause someone to wither and fall and break and just—disappear. The first girl, the original pretty one lowers her defences and offers them to her dying friend, shielding her with her own body as if she is made of stone.

Our spears drip with blood simultaneously; a small pile of blood spreading out across the ground. I take a step back, not wanting the crimson to get on my shoes because the last thing this house needs is a set of bloody footsteps looping left and right. It has a body to take care of, or worse, bodies.

By the end of all this, that house will have been to hell and back. But that doesn't have to necessarily be a bad thing.It can be a good thing, it definitely can, because it betters my chances, and survival proves to the world that little girls can be brave.

"Well, that was eventful." Lucas' voice reverts to his average tone. No stress, no strain, no cracking or breaking. "Where to next?" The dead girl's knife twirls between his fingers.

My mother used to use the kitchen knife as a means of entertainment when I was younger; she'd spin it around and balance it on the palm of her hands. Of course, I, was enthralled, beyond entertained. 

That was until she threw it into the air, in an attempt to make me laugh even harder. She caught it one second too late and her hand wrapped around the sharp metal edge. Needless to say, it was a mess.

And this place is a mess, too.

"Away from here. This place is done."

But I'm not afraid. Never have been, never will be. I don't have any reasons to be; I've seen it all before now.

{ wylla flees the fight; helps riven flee }

[solo]

through all my make believe, there's some reality

Riven Fowley

I t's strange, the way I move. Reflexive, automatic. I'm not panicking this time, I'm not afraid. Well, to be more specific, I'm not afraid of her. I'm afraid of me. Afraid of what all do. And there must be some sort of justification to that fear, because sure enough, it happens again. I remember the feeling, I remember how my hands moved, I remember where I aimed.

"I'd be careful around her if I were you, Four." Lucas's voice cuts across the chaos unfolding around us. My hands are up, protecting myself, but I have a split second to glance sideways at the boy I've started to call my friend. "You saw Lumiere's face up in the sky yesterday, didn't you? Well, that was her doing, you know. Stabbed him right through the chest - and that was after she lost her leg."

It's a half-truth, I suppose. He's made me out to be far more terrifying than I truly am. It was an accident, really. Or at least, that's what I keep telling myself. But there's something in the back of my mind, telling me over and over and over again, you did it for your own survival. My selfishness, my greed.

My fingers tighten around the black handle of my weapon. I turn back to my opponent, gaze growing cold, the weight of a killer's tool in my hand.

"So, that being said, I'd stay away from her if I were-"

I lurch forward without thinking. My weapon connects with skin and I feel something hot spray across my face.

"-you."

"Gabby."

Someone's hands connect with my shoulders and send me sprawling backwards, my back colliding against the cold floor of the mansion. The ground rolls beneath us again as the house settles.

Gabby. Her name is Gabby.

"Well, that was eventful."

My gaze drifts down to my hand, speckled with red against my pale skin. My body feels heavy, and even if I had two legs again, I don't know if I could stand up. Souls are heavy, and I'm carrying three.

"Where to next?"

"Away from here. This place is done."

I have nothing to hold me up anymore, my spear taken by the girl I think I may have killed. My breaths come in slowly, filling my lungs, rushing back out in a long, heavy breath. I find Wylla's arm and lean on her for support.

This place is done. We can't stay here. I won't, I can't, I don't want to be in the place where I tore another soul away from the earth before it had a chance to live. Walking is difficult, and I try to focus on that instead. But even so, I speak, my voice quiet and absent-minded, like I'm not really there. And perhaps it's true. Perhaps the real me has gone somewhere else.

"Her name was Gabby."

[Riven skedaddles with help from Wylla]
[uses f/a on self, eats med plants]
[uses n/t and bandages from gabrielle's medkit]

in your reflection, there's much more than you see