it's the art of the fall {#squadghouls day 2 vs mutts}

[Lyn𝛿is]

[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]

mila breukelen

"Ezen, it's okay. Just breathe."

We're safe for now, or so I think. I don't hear anyone nearby; in fact, it's almost eerily quiet before the sound of trumpets shatter the silence and two faces light up the sky.

Alice Sullivan, District Three
Serena Fennel, District Six

My hands tighten around my weapon in anger. Serena had wanted me to name it, but I couldn't remember what she'd suggested. After today, however, there is only one name that is appropriate.

Vengeance.

That had a nice ring to it.

I scan my surroundings, newly named weapon clutched in front of my chest. We can't afford to let our guard down in here, not even for a single minute. I think back to Bruce's crestfallen face, the Four (he was one of the two Tobiases, right?) with his words of support - it was nice to know that I wasn't alone in hating him, because for a few sickening moments in those woods I'd lost count of the ambushers' faces, and felt as though every other tribute in the Arena must have conspired to kill us together.

I doze fitfully, no more than a handful of minutes at a time, waking at every noise in the fear that it's the ambushers again, come to finish us off. In those few short stretches of sleep, the nightmares nonetheless seem to last forever.

Ansel, Eleven (Serra? Syrup? Alfie had told me his name, but I never heard it clearly), and Alfie are laughing amongst themselves like old boys, their spears at my throat. Bruce's body lies in front of me, a single javelin piercing his heart. I turn to Alfie, a plea for mercy at my lips, but his Seam-gray eyes are cold and empty.

"Riff-raff like you deserve to die first," Eleven hisses at me. "Once you're gone, then the real fun of the Games can begin."

Then Ansel swings at me.

There's no sunrise. When Ezen and I awake it is still the same dusky, gloomy night that it has been this whole time. There seem to be ghosts everywhere within these woods, Alice and Serena joining the souls of those who have died, and I'm glad to be out of them until I realize we're standing in front of the gravestones again.

Alice Sullivan, District Three

My hands curl into fists, and I lean closer. But I've only misread it, and when I blink it's a slab with Anise Himura, District Two standing in front of me. I tear my eyes away and begin walking towards the center pumpkin, trying hard not to look at the Atlases and Mortuuses and Alexanders that pop out at me.

But we're not alone.

A gray bird circles the gravestones, letting out an unearthly scream that shakes my bones and gives me the eerie feeling that it is Death itself incarnate, come to collect the two souls Ansel had failed to take. I glance back at Ezen, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes at his obviously hungover state and cursing the apples that had claimed my allies' senses of survival.

I will not allow this mutt to take my soul, even if I must fight it alone.

Running at it, I raise Vengeance, and swing.

dark its wings across a pitch-black-sky
death will come for me, but not tonight

[Mila attacks Banshee with spiked blunt]

ChpzArtvspiked blunt

14027 -- GASH/BRUISED RIGHT HAND -- 3.0 damage
(Spiked Blunt)

spiked blunt

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

______________________

Your albatross, let it go, let it go
Your albatross, shoot it down, shoot it down

No no no no no.

The sound of cannon fire reverberates in my chest.

I stop running, hunch over, and vomit in the dirt. Whatever was left of my breakfast is now splattered across the forest floor, and my eyes water from the force of it, snot leaking out of my nose. I spit into the dirt to clear my mouth and end up coughing frantically, and I find solace in a tree to my right, hunching into it like I would a hug. I hold on tight to something, anything to clear my head.

The image of Serena Fennel on the ground causes more roiling anxiety in my stomach and forces bile up my throat. I bend over and get sick on the tree’s roots, and it splatters onto my shoes.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mumble to the tree, pressing my forehead against the trunk as I stare down at my own vomit. I cling to it for dear life, world spinning from the alcohol spreading through my bloodstream. I press my forehead so firmly into the trunk that I think I might start bleeding, but I don’t care.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

My body’s at war with my own common sense, stomach roiling and hands shaking and mind reeling. I should turn back, I should find my allies, but I stay stuck to this tree, hoping for my body to calm the war with itself.

I stay there for a long time. Or a short time. It’s impossible to tell.

After an indeterminate amount of time, I hear shuffling in the distance.

Fuck.

I turn and hide behind the tree. I don’t dare peek out in fear that the ambush party is hunting for me, done away with my allies and searching for more.

Instead, I hear a familiar voice.

"Those fuckers, fuck them."

Alice.

I gasp and scurry out from my hiding place, but I stop short when I see the scene in front of me. There’s a lot more struggling than normal walking, and that’s because Alice is –

Oh.

Oh no.

She’s got fire in her eyes, but the blood at her neck, spilling onto her uniform, that’s different. As I approach them, I think for a second that it might not be hers, she might be fine, she might have conquered the world and killed all of those motherfuckers and saved us all –

But it’s hers. I can see the way the wound opens, the uneven flesh of her throat, the way she struggles to move and breathe.

“Oh, Alice,” I say, my face contorting something awful. It looks really bad. I press my hands to my forehead and turn away, resisting the urge to vomit again. My heart weighs heavy like a rock in my chest, squeezing tight with my struggling lungs. I can’t get the rhythm right, I can’t, I can’t, I –

Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe –

I take a few steps away and cover my mouth with my hands, trying to cover the sound of my struggle. And Alice keeps telling us she’s fine, she’s fine, she’s FINE, and eventually she gives up on telling us so.

“Go on, I’ll catch up,” she says weakly, and I shake my head. I don’t have anything to cover her wounds, nothing to make it better. But I sit with her.

“Alice, you’re – “ dying I want to say, tugging at a piece of my sleeve.

As I sit with her, I remember our conversation in the broom closet. I was hiding from my District Escort because of my abysmal training score, and Alice stumbled upon me there while I was worrying about the entire world.

"Moreno? The fuck you doing in here?”

She shoved her hand through the door, holding a bag of something. “Want some chips?”

I declined, mostly because I didn’t trust… well, anyone. I thought she might poison me, which seems stupid in hindsight.

I didn’t really know what to say, but she filled the silence anyway.

"What's with you? Come out of the closet."

“Uh, no. I’m hiding.”

"From what? Nothing's gonna murder you today. Is an escort all up in your butt or something?"

I gave up and told her about my 1, about how the escort was disappointed in me, about how I’m going to die for sure because I can’t fight. I told her more than that, too. I decided it didn’t matter, so I told her about my family, about the times I’d nearly died, about how I was always afraid because my house was not a home. I’d grown up in fear, enveloped myself in it, and I still worried about what they thought of me. Even a world away.

“I think you need this more than me,” she said. She gave me a cider then, and we passed it back and forth.

(To be honest, I didn’t trust that it wasn’t poisoned.)

"Real talk though, your family can go fuck themselves. Are they the ones fighting to live? No, so fuck ‘em. They don't fucking matter. You do."

I remember feeling uncomfortable, opening up about my life like that.

“What about you?” I asked.

She told me about her sister who died in the Bloodbath, about her father’s murder, about the sister she still has. Her family fell apart after her dad was killed, and her life hadn’t been the same since. It felt nice to know that someone else’s life wasn’t perfect, either. It felt like solidarity.

“I think we're all scared, Moreno,” she told me. “I mean, not as much as you because I'mma fucking destroy everyone and everything in that arena, but it's not like we're all having a cakewalk."

She reminds me of my brothers, the ones who pretend they’re unstoppable. But no matter how much Alice Sullivan pretends, there’s no doubt she’s a stronger soul than I am.

"Say the word though, and I'll punch whoever you're afraid of in the throat, mkay?"

I nodded and took a big swig of cider. My head felt lighter, and I decided it was time to stop hiding from everything.

It helped that I had someone in the Arena who would have my back.

Now here’s Alice, bleeding into the dirt.

There’s a tightness in my jaw where the sadness settles, clenched to steady my breathing and stop the tears from blurring my vision. I tug at the sleeve of my uniform and busy myself by staring at the treetops. Alice’s breathing is uneasy, but she’s still fighting, and that gives me hope. She’s too stubborn to die, so it won’t happen.

“You can’t die,” I tell her, staring down while she struggles. “Who else is going to punch the bad guys?”

There’s a pause (she’s fighting against death) and I can feel the bite in her tone even now, even on her deathbed.

“You, you dumbass.”

Alice Sullivan stops fighting.

-----------------------------------------------

We walk for a long time, not talking. I’m still crying, still struggling to breathe, and it gets worse as the alcohol leaves my system. I end up pulling the bright fruit from the branches and eating as many as I can. I want to make my head feel fuzzy, to distance myself from the here-and-now. This is the only way I’ll be able to function.

“Ezen, it’s okay. Just breathe,” Mila tells me. But she’s lying, she’s lying, it’s NOT okay. It’s not even a little bit okay. I just shake my head, and we keep on walking. We travel onward until night sets, and then we curl up on the forest floor. It’s not comfortable or warm in the slightest. I wish we had blanket or sleeping bags, something to keep us warm. But I don’t care. I can’t sleep anyway.

Every time I close my eyes, I think about what Alice said.

You, you dumbass.

I don’t think I have that kind of bravery in me.

Eventually – I don’t know how – I’m able to fall asleep. Exhaustion and fear will do that to you, and I drift off in bursts, dreaming of death and strange noises in the night. Each time I wake, it’s another reminder that this is real, and I struggle to find sleep again.

The morning arrives before a good night’s sleep does, and we move on. I ask Mila where we should go, but we’re wandering, lost in the reality of this Arena. The forest seems to stretch endlessly, so we couldn’t plan our destination if we tried. My brain whirls from the apples, and it takes all of my mental energy not to be sick.

The trees eventually thin, and we’re back where we started. Pumpkins rot on the ground, but nobody’s here. The battleground of the previous day is a silent cemetery now, marked by the gravestones of our predecessors.

As we near the Cornucopia, I find the gravestone of one of my brothers.

Reyes Moreno, 60th Hunger Games.

Reyes didn’t have to worry about being brave, I think.

I touch the headstone just as an infernal screech sounds through the air. My heart seizes, and for the first time I notice a giant bird hovering above us, a muttation of cruel Gamemaker design.

“Mila!” She’s running at the creature with her weapon, fighting it alone. “Stop, you can’t – “

Can’t fight it alone.

No no no no no no no

Every ounce of my body wants to run, my feet unsteady in the dirt.

I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

Who else is going to punch the bad guys?

...

God dammit, Alice.

[Ezen attacks Banshee, axe]
nchl2kUuaxe
[doesn't matter]

[Hangover roll (1=lands, 2=misses)]
1-2
[Miss]

axe�1-2

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

NIGHTWING TROLL

Eeeeeeeeeeeeeheheheheheehehe all this TIME and all ALONE and NEVER AGAIN! One grave, two grave, three grave, SMACK! Ow, my hand. To the sky! To the MOON yes my love I will gather them for you, lay them out and count their innards. These graves won't remain empty for long, I DECLARE IT SO!

Such a quiet night with you, my love. Can we not follow them? Will you not show me the way?

BAT WINGS!

Crunch, crunch, crunch. A yummy snack.

The sun is rising and I know you must go. Look for meeeeeeeeeee and I will have a SACRIFICE for you, my moon.

Yes even this stumbling one will do! OH!

[Nightwing Troll attacks Ezen; spiked blunt]

YWF2Re7uspiked blunt

[BROKEN JAW -- 7.0 damage]




BANSHEE

She finds the noise of her fellow gatekeeper disturbing. He cannot seem to help announcing his presence to the world. How, she wonders, will they ever find any prey with him squawking and dancing upon the graves? A true predators waits in silence. So she does not reprimand him during the velvet night and freezing dawn. Instead she surveys her new home, which called to her in blood.

She licks her talons at the mere memory of the smell.

At last she cannot stand him another moment and takes to wing. The fog ruffles her feathers, soothes her throat. She screams at him, thinking she is safe, cocooned by the elements. But the tributes find her anyhow.

Metal swipes her claws. She wheels, narrowly avoiding the second tribute. He wobbles. Easy prey she thinks and circles back to him.

[Banshee attacks Ezen; talons/knife]

knife

[Block -- 0.0 damage]

spiked blunt�knife

[Lyn𝛿is]

[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]

mila breukelen

Not tonight. I will not allow the specter of death to steal my soul tonight.

My heart is pounding like fire, the acid of anger and rage and grief eating away at it.

I hate Ansel; undoubtedly, he'd smiled that smug remorseless smirk of his as his spear sliced through Alice's back.

"Not without you!" I shout back to Alice, dodging the point of a spear as I grab her by the arm and start hauling her away from them.

"God you're such a moron," she mutters, struggling to free herself from my grasp.

"I don't want you to die too -" I begin, but suddenly Alice jolts in pain and stops struggling, and I'm forced to shift my balance quickly as the entire weight of her body slumps onto mine.

I look over my shoulder, seeing only his shadowy figure disappearing into the woods.

I hate Eleven; I don't even know his name, but the only thing I do know is that he stole our meager abilities to comfort ourselves in this arena by charging into our clearing and leading the ambush. I must not trust the illusion of safety again while they're alive.

And I hate Alfie. My district partner. He was perfectly nice, if quiet, on the train - but that must have been all an act; he may have a convincing tongue and words like alcoholic apples, but any decent person wouldn't be so willing to strike against a weakened and defenseless opponent.

(But you'd be willing to kill Ansel in his sleep, wouldn't you? a little voice nags at the back of my mind.)

A crunch sounds behind me, and I turn to see a second mutt, lumbering and green, its weapon - a spiked mace just like mine - striking Ezen in the jaw.

And I hate this creature, too.

Bullies, all of them, preying on the injured, the weak, the ones they can easily target without repercussions. No different than the people who gossip about me back home, but now it's with weapons instead of words.

At least with mutts, you couldn't expect them to know any better.

Ezen swings and misses, and part of me clenches in anger and hatred towards him, too, angry that he'd eaten the stupid apples with the other two and now they were dead and he was useless and I'm left alone with these two mutts.

(But who hasn't been fifteen and made some dumb choices? Maybe if I'd been thrown in here three years ago I'd have drowned out my surroundings with an apple, too.)

"You want a fight?!" I yell. "Pick on someone who's fighting back, you oversized crow -"

I'm not afraid of taking them both on.

(If I tell that to myself enough times, it might become true.)

it's the art of death
give me your best
give me your darkest

[Mila attacks Banshee with spiked blunt]

5PKFmihrspiked blunt

spiked blunt

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

______________________

Your albatross, let it go, let it go
Your albatross, shoot it down, shoot it down

Courage is not bestowed upon someone like the granting of a wish. It doesn’t emerge out of nowhere, and it doesn’t stay for long.

As I stare at the monsters ahead, I realize that nobody faces this perfectly. Not the Careers, not the best fighters, not the most courageous. Face-to-face with deadly beasts, even the bravest heroes falter.

I can’t do this, I can’t do this, I can’t do this, my brain whispers to me. I shy away from the monsters as they bear down on me, screaming at the top of my lungs.

“NO. NO,” I yell, backing away frantically. A giant mutt with huge wings overtakes me, and all I’m thinking is I’m going to die, this is it, I’m going to die.

One of the mutts smashes into my face, and I hear the crushing of bone.

I don’t feel it, not at first. Then the pain hits. I cry out, but I can’t move my jaw right, and every twitch of my face sends a pain shooting through my head. My hand flies to my chin to survey the damage, and I think that thing broke my jaw.

STOP, STOP, I want to yell. But I physically can’t. I bumble backwards on awkward legs, hurrying away from imminent death. The axe hangs heavy in my hand, unwieldy in my unskilled grasp. I don’t know what to do with it. I don’t know how to fight. I can’t get my brain to do what I want it to, or my feet to move the right way.

Mila draws away their attention, brave as she is.

I’m a miserable ally in comparison.

She fights one of the beasts, bone crunching beneath her weapon. I want to help, but I don’t know how. My heart pounds in my chest, but the adrenaline pumping through my veins isn’t calling me to action.

Fear keeps me steady in the dirt.

Fear will kill me.

Terrified as I am, Mila can’t fight this alone.

I have to help.

I have to move.

Go, go go.

(My feet don’t move.)

GO.

(Still.)

EZEN, FUCKING MOVE.

[Ezen attacks Banshee, axe]
8RObI3VAaxe
[doesn't matter]

[Hangover roll (1=lands, 2=misses)]
1-2
[miss]

axe�1-2

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

NIGHTWING TROLL

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

ahahaheheheehahaheahawhawhahe

And a little HOWL for my mood goddess!

[Nightwing Troll attacks Mila; spiked blunt]

hhBqZEz3spiked blunt

[GASH/BRUISED RIGHT ARM -- 3.0 damage]




BANSHEE

Crow? She doesn't know what that is but she can tell from the tone and context that it is something lowly. Something from below. She flaps her wings, hisses even as the prey draws out her blood. Pathetic. She was built for so much more than this! With a mighty push of her wings, she lifts up. A little perspective - that's all she needed.

And pounces.

[Banshee attacks Mila; talons/knife]

knife

[Stabbed in Chest -- 9.5 damage]

spiked blunt�knife

[Lyn𝛿is]

[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]

mila breukelen

The mutt's talons sink like knives into my chest, and I stumble backwards, gasping for breath.

You're going to die here, a chorus of voices hiss, and it takes me a moment to realize I'm only imagining them, imagining the rest of the tributes laughing at me as the banshee tears my body apart.

I choke back tears. Half the night I'd spent fantasizing about revenge, but if a pair of mutts was such trouble, what chance did I have against a pack of tributes?

"Ezen, get your fucking shit together," I can't save you, I can't even save myself -

When I was a child, I fantasized about a world free from want. I would tell stories of a land with effortless harvests, where people had no need to fight or oppress each other. A land that in spring would be filled with fragrant blossoms and in fall laden with such bountiful fruit that one could gorge themselves and still spend all day afterwards pickling and making jam from the rest.

My brother said that such a land would only make men weak. That there was no point to a life without struggle.

(Was he right? Was that what One was, a life without struggle?)

And if I held on to such fantasies here, I'd never survive. I'd be slaughtered remorselessly by mutts or Ansel or Syrup or Alfie, just another nameless weak tribute who died early.

My brother spent none of his meager minutes in the Justice Center on words of love and comfort, offering solely exhortations instead.

Only power holds meaning. Only strength holds sway.

I must seal away my peaceful and nurturing instincts, and become hardened like my brother, if I wish to see my children again.

now I'm closer, closer to the edge
closer to experience
all of life and all of death
oh I'm falling

[Mila attacks Banshee with spiked blunt]

xGQO_YjAspiked blunt

14014 -- BROKEN STERNUM -- 7.5 damage
(Spiked Blunt)

spiked blunt

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

______________________

Your albatross, let it go, let it go
Your albatross, shoot it down, shoot it down

The blade of the axe misses the beast by a mile, and the force of my attack makes me trip over my own feet. I stumble forward, axe dropping to the dirt, and it takes me a few seconds to gather my bearings.

In those few seconds, the beasts divert their attention toward my ally.

Someone brave might pull their attention away. Someone brave might take them on alone, saving the one ally they have left. But I’m not brave, and that’s not what I do. I stand in fear, hands clammy from sweat, and I watch as if in a dream. The beasts charge at Mila and tear into her flesh, and it’s not me, it’s not my pain, but I cry out for her.

“Mila!”

My feet are glued to the dirt.

The last brave move I made was one of desperation, and I can’t muster the will to fight.

"Ezen, get your fucking shit together," Mila urges, and I begin a game with myself.

In three seconds, I will move.

3

2

I WILL move.

1

I take a step, and then another, and then another. And now I’m running towards the beasts just as Mila cuts one of them down.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” I yell, swinging with all of my might.

(Which isn’t much, sadly.)

[Ezen attacks the troll, axe]
1uBJuylKaxe
[doesn't matter]

[Hangover roll (1=lands, 2=misses)]
1-2
[miss]

axe�1-2

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

NIGHTWING TROLL

Rockabye babyyyyyyyy rockabyeeeeeeeee

My love, my MOON

The pest is gone, we PRAISE thee!

But now this hallowed ground is a little less protected, a little less consecrated. Shall I baptize this earth in your name?

LUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUNNNNNNNNNNAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[Nightwing Troll attacks Ezen; spiked blunt]

nFvEtAu3spiked blunt

[BROKEN LEFT SHIN -- 7.0 damage]

spiked blunt

[Lyn𝛿is]

[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]

mila breukelen

The banshee falls as my weapon crunches into its body, frail bird bones crushed by the spikes, and for a moment I feel powerful, feel the rush of blood in my veins. I lift my weapon above my head in victory, turning to the second enemy.

The troll and I lock eyes, and as it raises its own weapon we stand facing each other in perfect symmetry. Go ahead, challenge me, I think savagely, I'll cut you down just like I did that demented bird -

But Ezen charges in front of me, screaming a bloody war cry as he rushes toward the troll, planting his axe straight into...

...the ground.

If When we survive this, I'm confiscating each and every one of those apples I saw him put in his bag. In fact, I have half a mind to rip them out right now and chuck all of them at the lumbering beast, but I resist the temptation, knowing that will only anger it and waste precious time and energy.

I hear the crunch of bone. The troll has responded by slamming its weapon into his leg, and as I let out a gasp my chest throbs in pain. The warm trickle of blood stains my shirt, and I feel nothing but anger, for even with horns and green skin I can see the troll's face morphing into that of Jacinta Salazar.

This is a bloodbath, but there is no option to flee.

So it's just between you and I, Mr. Troll.

let the earth cover me
angels will call for me
but in time, not tonight

[Mila attacks Troll with spiked blunt]

AjkGqlxBspiked blunt

14024 -- BROKEN LEFT FEMUR -- 7.5 damage
(Spiked Blunt)

spiked blunt

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

______________________

Your albatross, let it go, let it go
Your albatross, shoot it down, shoot it down

My axe lodges itself deep in the dirt.

For FUCK’S SAKE.

I want to yell, scream, curse at the wind or my luck or whatever the hell is happening here, but I can’t move my jaw without wanting to die. Blood is dripping down my chin, mixing in with the red of my obnoxious uniform. Drops of it fall on the handle of my axe, making it slippery as I try to wrench the weapon from the dirt.

Which… isn’t easy. I lodged the blade so far into the mud that it takes all my strength to retrieve it, and I’m so busy trying to get the fucking blade out of the ground that one of the beasts surprises me with an attack. It barrels into my leg, and I feel something crunch in a sickening way. I can’t even scream properly with a broken face, and I end up making some kind of noise between a grunt and a yelp.

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

Here I am, and here’s the monster, and here’s the reality of the situation:

I’m a complete failure, and it fucking hurts.

Bravery, I learn quickly, has nothing to do with success. Sometimes you’ve got to have a little bit of accuracy.

I fall to the ground, clutching my broken shin. The beast looms over me as it moves toward Mila, and I’m left to do all that I can:

I swipe at it from my pathetic spot on the ground.

[Ezen attacks the troll, axe]
9GSR1wIXaxe
[Severed Head - X]

axe

[Lyn𝛿is]

[googlefont="Great Vibes:400"]

mila breukelen

Something large and round flies through the air in the corner of my eye and falls to the ground with a loud thunk. I jump back, the troll's carcass barely missing me as it crashes down in a spray of warm sticky blood and bits of pumpkin rind flung into the air by the impact.

The head of the troll lies several feet away, cleanly severed from its body. For a moment, everything is silent except the sound of my own pounding heart and heavy breathing. My arms won't stop shaking, and my weapon quivers in the air as I slowly lower it, senses still on edge for another potential attack.

But none come. There are no more tributes, no more mutts. Are the Gamemakers impressed by us now? Had they expected us to survive the pair of monsters, the two lowest-scoring tributes in an alliance halved by the first night? Had they sent them because, as some commentary about the Four male from last Games suggested, tributes who got drunk in the arena were wasting their chance and deserved to die?

Hot shooting pain flares through my chest where the banshee had stabbed its talons, and with the pain came another surge of anger. But I can't stay angry at a dead girl for her poor decisions. Instead, I turn to Ezen.

"I am not letting our alliance be this unprepared again!"

I set down my weapon before lunging for his bag.

"You're stressed. I know. We're all stressed. That means we work together! We try to survive together! You don't go off and get drunk on apples and - " I double over, gasping for breath at the feeling like acid burning through my flesh - "and just let the mutts attack us while you stumble around out of your mind! I thought I'd have to kill them both by myself!"

My hands plunge into the bag, rummaging around for the apples I remember him saving.

"No more of this! No more getting drunk! Got it?"

A silver parachute floats down next to us, and I reach for it eagerly, staring in wonder at the antitoxin and medkit in the package. Somebody out there - someone was watching me. Someone cared enough to send such expensive gifts.

Maybe we still have a chance after all.

With the supplies from the medkit and herbs from around the Cornucopia, I patch the two of us up the best I can, indulging in the sweet relief that comes when the banshee's poison is flushed out. We take what we can use from the dead mutts - I strip the banshee and wrap its black gauze as a shawl around my shoulders. Although distasteful, troll flesh is nonetheless edible, so we cut the meat from its bones and add that to our supplies as well. (It can't be that much worse than the wild dog stew that shows up around Twelve in the winter.)

It's slow and repetitive, just like cooking at home even though it's not. Nonetheless, my hands slowly steady as the pile of meat grows and when I look up from my work -

Huh. I could swear that... whatever it is... wasn't there during the Bloodbath.

"Hey, you don't remember that being around yesterday by any chance, would you?"

it's the art of the fall
that comes for each and all
but I'll keep it waiting for me

[Mila does actions in maint]

[attempts to catch Delivery Word]

UIVQa|XD1-4

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