sinners play as saints [di vs dt]

[kousei ♚]

► ► ►

Scatter my humanity across the stars; the sky has become a canvas for shades of red. I've dipped my hands in this bittersweet river of our family tree and tarnished my white wings in darkened shades of red, a red nebula drips from the edge of my wooden stake, one hand clutching my side as my feet drag along the the dirt and my other hand whitens at the iron grip around my weapon.

Killer -- she falls to the ground like the pillars that held my stable sanity upright, a red star system spilling from her face as her back hit the ground for the first and final time and I became something despicable in the withering shadow of my fragile humanity, I don't know if I truly expected it to stay.

Something despicable in the eyes of the sane and the powerful.

(Fuck, fuck, fuck)

She meant something.

A forest fire burns upon the surface of my skin and my heart a supernova; yet I'm so cold. Here I am, giving pieces of myself for organs that function for the sake of man less than human because at eighteen years old I feel more comfortable in the presence of a dead mean than the warm breath of the living. Eighteen years old and I need to stare into the photographic eyes of a murderer just so I can remember what it meant to be loved, I still need to touch the corner of that picture periodically to keep the pillars supporting my sanity from collapsing.

They ran from me, the boy from One and girl who broke my ribs and I hefted my spear in the biting heat of the moment. Remembering that I am his son, that there wasn't a noose around my neck and trapdoor beneath my feet. Nothing to stop me thrusting the point of my weapon forwards into that girl's back, piercing the back of her neck and out the other end and watching another crimson universe fall from her trembling flesh because that's just how I move and that's just what I should see.

Yet when the moments of temporary madness fade and sanity resumed I saw Serena on the ground with my red signature carved into her face I knew that the taste of the first kill was bitter, not sweet. Yet I never dared to apologize, killing the baseless word laced with hypocrisy before they could see the shadows of the night.

Now the sky is a canvas, scattered with the remains of my humanity, crossed with the remnants of my decency and crushed beneath the judgement of the fallen.

Yet I don't know what's heavier, the weight of two wounds carved across my body in bloody vengeance or the weight of two heartbeats thrown across my shoulders like the sky. Every breath taken was once taken for two people, Doctor Khiev and myself, now they've been snatched by the girl from three and my one piece of home I severed with a single thrust of a spear.

I move with in synchronization with my allies, matching step with step and wondering if they look at me with the common question from home written on their tongues.

("Does the rotten apple fall from the rotten tree?")

Eighteen years I build this hidden halo over my head, two minutes and two spear thrusts I took to shatter it. Now a common riddle comes with a simple answer and I do not dare to confirm what the men and women from home already know.

We move in the direction of lights, hoping to find something worth salvaging and when we come across a hollow tree, Sirrah and Alfie return with items. "Must be something in there," I mutter, timidly putting my hand into the tree and feeling for something; a weapon, a sign, an escape route.

Yet I find nothing, only eighteen year's worth decay.

We rest against the tall trees that night, beneath phantoms from the Capitol. And I don't look up to find the two faces matched to the two cannons, I only look down at the bitter nectar that coats my hands and tremble. "I'm not going to sleep; I'll take the first watch." I tell them, biting my lip and not daring to look up from the ground. I will not admire the sight of the humanity buried within the stars and hidden behind dark clouds.

Instead, my heads close around him and pull him from my pocket. A paper kingdom, stained and charred, and I stare into his dark eyes and let my thumb brush across his dark hair. I almost forget who he was, sometimes, but never the way he made me feel -- ("psychopathic murderer with no remorse.") My mother's voice is the cold gale of the ice tundra within my veins, cold biting and my nerves and reality wrapping around my heart.

The rotten apple does fall from the rotten tree after all.

"What do I do?" I pose the question no louder than a whisper as a fallen fennel tattoos itself across my vision. A sinner's shadow looming over mine.

I get no answer, only that fallen fennel.

"Look away, all of you!” Daniela's voice breaks my chain of thought and I look up to find her clutching a dress, a change of clothes. My cheeks instantly flush red.

"I'm, er, I'm going." I say, turning and walking in the other direction.

---

We wake to the sound of thunder in the distance, a burning kingdom in the back of my mind.

We find our way from the maze of tall trees and into the heart of serenity. I glance at a lake, sharp unease quickly taking over at the full moon in the distance. "Guys I really don't like this place," I say to them, letting my footsteps slow down to a soft halt. Chills roll down my back and I'm uneasy, despite the promise of hydration and the soft respite from the metallic ache in my leg and rib cage.

One foot in the grave, the shadows of seven horsemen circling -- I don't belong here. He does.

I wonder if Doctor Khiev saw a fallen fennel too.

I freeze, footsteps four new pairs of footstep quickly setting my frozen heartbeat to scattered intervals and an untouchable velocity. I recognize those faces; I saw them with the dead girls, blood soaking the sand and silver steel glinting beneath the sky. I remember the boy from seven, cut from a stronger stone than me with a ten tattooed across his chest and the weapon of a titan in his grasp.

I'm not a titan with the a double digit world on his shoulders.

I let my thumb brush against the corner of father's ear and step forwards. "No one just walks away from each other here."

Teddy please -- "It's either you or them."

I scatter humanity with my blood.

[ansel khiev attacks quillon blackfare; spear]

uli7tcxwspear

[3101 -- Block -- 0.0 damage]

Accuracy, Day 2

spear

[gdi mate]

spear�spear

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

A bloodsoaked song played itself out in his head, to and fro, waves of ambition fading into hopeless thoughts he didn't dare voice aloud.

He would sleep in a place of eternal darkness, only to find there was no light upon walking. Midnight all around, always. His eyes stared up at the sky, at the moon glistening above them. Silver soldiers slept all around him, black-blooded and iron willed.

A shadow's thought process crept its way into his mind, and suddenly the nail-ridden bat in his hands felt lighter. He could have done it.

No.

They called him restless back in Seven, just because he refused to let his feet take root in a single place just for the satisfaction of calling himself grounded, but he had always known there was something missing. And people did not raise their hands when a firing squad asked who was next, but perhaps, Tobias thought, if it meant filling the holes in his existence and answering questions no one else could, it was worth it.

He focused on Quillon's breathing. Even. Quiet. It could have just been the games that put him on such high alert. It could have been the idea of willingly sleeping when the cracks in his armor promised to protect him while he rested. But even in the training center, Tobias had noticed a darkness in Quillon, and he was afraid to ask what had caused it.

He was, by no means, Reese LaChance, but Tobias liked to think there were certain lines he would not yet let himself cross.

After another hour, he nudged Clementa with the heel of his boot, offered a quick, "Your turn; it's been quiet so far," before he unrolled the sleeves of his shirt and leaned against the base of a tree and drifted to sleep.

———————————

When his eyes opened, he wondered how many hours he'd slept. He wondered what time it was, hated that there was no way to tell. His sleep schedule hadn't been something worth preserving in the first place, but having a number always helped. Three hours. Decent. or, Less than an hour. Shit.

He groaned, rubbing his eyes as the others got ready to move. Part of him loved that they were on the move so suddenly. All of those grounded people in Seven who looked down on him would have been hard pressed to pull their roots up and replant somewhere else. Maybe that is why District Seven never fucking won.

Eventually, the trees began to thin into blankness. He was grateful to stop looking over his shoulder at low-hanging branches he swore he saw move, but being in a fog of shadows and fear and loathing wasn't much better.

His skin shivered with the slightest change in the air, his breath a splay of gray-blue fog in front of him.

"Fuck all," he said with a groan, breathing into his hands for warmth.

And then he noticed a something among the nothing. Perhaps they had found the edge of the world, or the edge of the arena? A second moon peaked up just below surface level, perfect clone of the one in the sky above it. It took Tobias longer than he cared to admit that he was actually looking at a reflection in a perfectly still body water. It glistened inky black as a body, but he supposed it would have to do as a water source. At the very least, he would get some in a bit and boil it to see the results, but just as he was about to dip his bottle into the surface, he heard a foreign noise.

"Weapons ready," he whispered, hefting his baseball bat over his shoulder as he scanned his surroundings. After what felt like an eternity of silence, a boy broke the barrier, sending a spear soaring at Quillon as his alliance stepped into the light behind him. Tobias shoved Quillon out of the way just as the spear flew past him.

"Hello to you as well," he mouthed, racing towards the nearest tribute.

[Tobias LaChance attacks Sirrah Birnam; spiked blunt]
5KxuL78Dspiked blunt
[14057 -- STABBED IN HAND -- 8.0 damage]

spiked blunt

[✨ zozo.]

'cause you know the truth hurts but secrets kill
can't help thinkin' that i love it still
still here, there must be something real

Two faces in the sky and he really should feel worse about the whole situation, he should, he knows that. They lift you up and put you on a pedestal and tape over your lips, hook the sides of your mouth, staple string to your limbs and force you to smile and dance and laugh but if you didn't break in this place you're heartless, hopeless, a reason for the districts to look at you like you're a fucking piece of shit.

Suppose it'll be easy for him, staring up at two dead girls and shifting uncomfortably -but that's all that evokes within him. It'll be easy to take the hate when he already hates himself, it'll be easy to walk away from Tobias and Jacinta and Ment, it'll be easy to kill them. He's killed before. Led people to their deaths. Second-nature. Right?

Quill turns on his side, away from the ghosts in the sky, and falls asleep with his demons and Tobias' golden eyes starting right into his soul.

The morning brings a chill that stirs him from sleep. It lingers on his skin and Quill wonders if it's merely the cold or ghosts clinging to his limbs, begging to be brought back. He shakes them off, hand tight around his glaive, swinging it around his body for good measure. The weight in his palms keeps him grounded, clear-headed, and ready for a fight.

But it's no good being cautious when you're unaware, caught up in your thoughts and your demons. A whistle shrieks across the air and before he knows it, Tobias shoves him toward the ground and it's a cacophony of panic - "Fuck-" he hits the squelching dirt of the ponds and seethes.

"What the fuck-?"

It's an enemy spear, stabbed into the ground where he once stood. Relief, he breathes and lets his heart catch up to his being alive again. 

"Thanks," he breathes, grabbing Tobias' extended hand and refusing to meet his gaze, refusing to acknowledge the hammering in his chest when their hands touch, refusing to remember all those nights ago. "But I can handle myself, y'know."

Actions speak louder than words, so he aims for another chest and pictures more faces in the night sky.

'cause you know the good die young but so did this
and so it must be better than i think it is
gimme those eyes, it's easy to forgive

quill attacks sirrah with glaive
aVRz|t_hglaive
Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage

glaive

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

[googlefont=Baloo Thambi:400]

D A N I E L A

Dust in the ground that is where Jenoah is. A concluding chapter, the book is closed and that is how the finale unfolded for his story, that is the reality of death. One cannon, two cannons; Mr Six and his wooded blade, the wielder of death to two girls. Two deaths but there is only one empty carcass here and its name is Daniela Rasoio. Light has been thieved by the gamemakers and so has time. Tick tock tick tock, the countdown clock still remains in my head, how long ago was it when it struck down to zero? How long was I alone for in those moments?

This isn’t a life anymore.

A chess piece in a game of fools, all twenty-four sworn to survive but here lays the two whose chance is over. Ansel the thief, not a murderer but the bandit of life, irony with the number Six sewn to his name, no medicines will revive the fallen.

And then it is all over.

Survivors scuttle away and the predators nod before departing. I am left with the bandit, self-defence and boy from Twelve, who I have yet to figure out. Only Sirrah looks to be the one I can squish with my thumb as he breaks away from us. There is nobody here to sit at the feet of, eyes wide and begging for gifts, only Ansel and his hoard salvaged from his robbery. Tainted items, stained with a haunting chill, I’d rather not have contaminated objects in my reach. Only the lantern looks to be ideal, something to take down the darkness that swarms us.

”Oh damn! Just give us some freaking light.”

There is a tantrum in the air; one foot connects to the ground as my vision is directed to whoever is watching from the sky. A demand probably filtered and ignored, there is no way I am getting what I want in here…

It is just endless wandering, the boys as my guides; silence infects us likely picked up from the chaos. ”You are such great company…like really.”

I have too much self -doubt.
A string of illuminating colours, now taking post as our tour guide; looks like my demands can be answered here too. Father sitting on his throne, only to replaced by the fist that is going to switch off my life.

"Look, another game for us to play."

One thing after the other, I demanded light but they have given it with a price. Waving food in the face of the starving, my father with his stacks of loans for poor; obvious bait but we keep moving. "A game, great."

Everything leads somewhere.

A wig and hot coffee. The boys fall for the bait, anxiety falls from biting my neck as gifts are pulled. A pulsating pink light and my arm drops right into its mouth…nothing. I step back and emptiness is my only gift. ”What kind of magic trick did you two pull?” Bandit dips his hand in after me and nothing is revealed when he pulls back. Is this the reward for the bad?

There is no dusk in this arena, everything has been stripped away from me, even the last view of light; it is all looking up from here. This next step, the first ‘night ’ at least it is not alone. Three boys, forever will they be strangers.

Emptiness fills the air, no motion or audio, even from my company. Irritation would have possessed me by now if this was home. If only my mind wasn’t swarmed, the only distraction from this silence. A weight on my shoulders, the only rest from this heavy head is the tree that my back leans against. Even planting my eyes on something to keep me entertained is near impossible in this shield of obscurity; the faces of my company are barely visible as we prepare for a restless night.

”I am not going to sleep; I’ll take the first watch.” Ansel volunteers to be the watch, trust dropped into the hands of the bandit, a wise decision as his wooden stake and stolen loot crowd him but whatever. The right to make decisions slipped from my hands as soon as I stepped onto that stage. Just one decision of my own, locked all the rest to come.

Beep

I was nearly there, drifting into the next world, peace for four hours but as predicted, the Capitol has dragged away that chance. A brown square package, wrapped in an ivory string floats besides me with a little parachute expanding on the ground. I immediately tear away the paper; a small card is the first thing to drop out.

‘That maid costume does not do you justice – MA’

A similar dress to my own lined with a pattern of skulls and splashed with ebony and maroon. A headband with maroon flowers signs it off. ”Look away, all of you!” I drop my stained costume and replace it with the new on, finishing it off with the accessory. I’d thank my benefactor but I have deserved this.

Attempt two, I have a two time killer watching over me, will I sleep tonight?

II

Light used to break through the amber curtains at home, a natural wake-up call for whenever I had the energy to drag myself out of my bed.

I don’t know what has woke me up just now, darkness still remains and so do the three males that surround me in these woods. Just one more hour. If only I could salvage more sleep but another minute in this position will tear my back apart, I can already feel the muscle pain creeping up to my shoulders.

Cooked eggs and a glass of milk, the only persuasion to pull the covers from my body at home. Instead my mouth is dry and my stomach cries, hunger is not going to be the thing that ends me. ”I think you should…I mean we should, find some water.” It all used to be handed to me on a silver platter, now it is my turn to do the searching.

Hairs on my arms begin to reach out, the cold prances across my skin, goose bumps scatter across the surface. ”You could have sponsored me a coat too, MA.”

Another journey and we all venture from the hoard of trees to a clearing, the body of water teases me, anxiety says it’s a mirage but the ripples are too realistic. The air is still cold here but there is something extra in the air, creeping up from behind.

A familiar company, our comrades in the hunting just yesterday, will we cross paths or just walk on by?

LaChance and Lowe, I don’t want to repeat history on this day, Jenoah’s accolades are not mine to remake. ”Well this is awkward.” I am back in the dining hall in the Capitol; a forced night spent with all the tribute relatives, the tension here is similar.

Daniela Rasoio attacks Quillon Blackfare | Wooden Stake (Spear)

JVrSYMI_spear

[3166 — Shallow cut on forehead — 4.5 damage ]

spear

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

how much longer
'til this safe is cracked
my feet are cold
and my hands are shaking bad

Despite the flame of the campfire, Clementa Lowe trembles in the icy breeze that blows through the Arena. Jacinta is curled up in a tent she made out of leaves and wood — she had made sure to shake the materials free of insects and as much dirt as possible — and is using her old uniform as a blanket. Her plaid shirt is unbuttoned so that it serves as a wider blanket; for once in her life, she actually appreciates flannel. It would not be her cup of tea were she not freezing in this place. (Her personal preference regarding fabrics has always been satin or velvet or cashmere — in District Seven, she never would have been caught dead with plaid.)

By the firelight, Clementa's hair is drenched so golden and red, more than it already is, that it looks as if it too is a part of the fire, one of the flickering flames. Seeing her is so odd — just last year, Jacinta watched her mirror image in the 76th Games. She would have been a ghost to Jacinta, just like how everyone else seems to see her, only she has bothered to notice that Clementa Lowe is nothing like Emberly once you get past her face.

Clementa is walking fireball; that is the best way Jacinta can describe it. A beautiful, flaming ball of light and fury.

Jacinta closes her eyes in an attempt to get some rest, but Clementa's teeth are chattering and in the eerie silence of the night, the sound is as loud as gunshots to her. After a few minutes of trying to ignore her and drift into sleep, Jacinta finally opens her eyes and sits up.

"Hey, can you try to keep it down over there? A girl needs her beauty sleep," she says to Clementa.

Ment turns to her, teeth still chattering. Her eyes are tired but wild with something, perhaps anxiety or fear. "It doesn't keep cold like this in Ten," Clementa replies. Her voice is distant, like for a moment, she takes herself back home. "Besides, who needs beauty sleep?"

Jacinta crosses her arms over her chest plate and raises an eyebrow. "I do. You should try it — keeps those dark circles away," she jokes, a slight smile tugging at the side of her lips. And then a thought forms in her mind, one that she can't push away. It's come across her mind before, only fleetingly, but now it seems fitting for the situation at hand. "If you don't want to freeze to death, you could share my blankets," Jacinta suggests.

"That'd be nice," Clementa says. Jacinta can't quite decipher her tone, but she wishes that Ment would at least smile back at her. But she gets the feeling that Clementa doesn't do much of that anymore.

"Come over here, then."

As Ment walks over to Jacinta's tent, she thinks to herself, Is this really happening right now? She's never shared a bed with anyone before; she always had her own and never had a reason to invite anyone in. But sleeping beside Clementa Lowe doesn't sound unappealing to her at all.

Jacinta lifts up her blankets as Clementa lies down next to her. When she covers the two of them, she instantly feels warmer and she hopes that Clementa is as comfortable as she is. Without thinking, Jacinta wraps her arms around Clementa so that they lock around her waist, pulling her closer to Jacinta's chest.

Her lips are so close to Clementa ears when she says, "The closer we are, the warmer," she explains. "It's not um — meant to be — an advance, or something. Just, survival stuff — you know," Jacinta stammers, suddenly feeling the need to justify herself. Her actions could easily be seen as more romantic than she meant them to be, but they really just for survival — of course.

"Then go to sleep," Clementa says.

And she does. Jacinta falls asleep with Clementa Lowe in her arms, thinking about how warm and soft she feels, how her hair still smells like roses and soap.

---

She has only said "sorry" once in her life and she didn't even mean it. Jacinta was not taught to say sorry; she has always calculated her moves and actions, and when she made a mistake, she was taught that it was never her fault. A Salazar never takes the blame; someone else is meant to carry that burden.

Yesterday, she helped kill two people. She didn't make the final blow herself, but she does have blood on her hands now. She broke Alice's leg with her fist alone — surely, it impeded her from escape and may be part of the reason why she is dead.

Instead of thinking about Serena Fennel and Alice Sullivan, Jacinta tries to gravitate her thoughts toward Clementa Lowe. She is a nicer thought than all of that blood, with her soft hair and pretty copper eyes. As they pack up camp and begin to travel through the ominous woods, Jacinta finds herself looking back at that golden red hair and thinks about how she'd braid it if Clementa let her.

After about an hour of aimless walking, they come across a vast pool of darkness that reflects the moon in its surface. That moon never fades, no matter how much time passes or where they go. She wonders if when she does, that silvery moon is the last thing she'll see.

Twigs snap and leaves rustle; Jacinta is quick to draw her axe from her belt. Her other allies have also caught on. Tobias groans and says, "Weapons ready," but Jacinta was already one step ahead of him.

A spear strikes out at Quillon from the boy from Six, who appears with his allies from the forest. Ansel Khiev, the boy Jacinta helped kill those two girls. Yesterday, she and her friends had fought alongside them as almost comrades, but today, they face them as enemies.

"So we meet again," Jacinta says. "It's a shame that it's under worse circumstances than before." But they were never her friends — she always knew that they would be just be faces in the sky to her someday.

[Jacinta Salazar attacks Alfie Larson; axe]
jcFk0vKwaxe
[11019 -- Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage]

how much longer
'til the cops arrive
to point their guns
and catch us in a crime

axe

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

i am flesh, bones
i am skin, soul
i am human
nothing more than human

I have lost every way to say “I love you” external to myself.

Fallen out of practice and desolate, I have resorted to talking to the trees and the pebbles we pass as we trudge onward. I follow behind Daniela, but we never speak. Perhaps she has heard me whispering to the world around us and believed it was aimed at her her body her being in its full essence.

It is not, has not, and will not be so.

I find myself lusting after something less than love and more than sex— a world of in betweens that finds leisure in dangling people in purgatory. I am being dangled by the belt loop and I believe my hips have just dislocated from their place of due residence to outside of my skin.

Falling would be the most desired form of release, but I am inclined to remain and bear witness to the aftermath.

Our group of four has been walking for what seems like hours, and almost all of it has been spent in practical silence. We all come to a sudden stop when lights flicker before us, and at first I am hallucinating— seeing the blood red spots of the dead girl we left behind, all broken bones and useless identity.

But the lights shift colors, and I am no longer aware of death for a second longer than I anticipated.

One by one, we follow the lights as they dance forward, and we arrive at a place where two worlds have seemed to collide, caught in civil war with no hope of an armistice. We look at each other for a moment, but I am the first to shatter the glass silence, “I’m going to stick my dick in it.”

No one denies me this privilege, but Sirrah moves forward first to gingerly stick a hand through the void. He draws back, and in his hand now is a blonde wig. I scoff and nudge him aside, unzipping my pants in the process and half-considering urinating before inside before reaching in. However, I push back the thought and gingerly move my hips forward until the tip is just past the plain of a world of yesterday’s, and with this I look towards the other three, “I bet my mother is incredibly proud of me right about now.”

The world turns from shades of eerie pink and flashing colors to burning red, and my penis seems to be the strike box for the match that’s lit the fire. I jerk backward, about knocking Daniela over in the process, before sticking my hand out to grasp whatever it was that caused the throbbing. A goddamn cup of coffee rests in my palm, and I shake my head in disbelief.

“Y’all, I don’t think I can drink this. My, like, penis has been in it. But if any of y’all want it, just let me know.”

I am so enamored with the caffeine that I pay no attention to Daniela and the boy from Six, and when we are all satisfied with our belongings, both old and newly acquired, we find our way to a pond— all bright and shimmering and afraid of the sun.

Here, we rest, but I do not believe that any of us sleep.

When we awaken, the water has lost its beauty, and so have we. The faces of those found the day before in mutual agreement now march forward to a different beat, and the boy from Six does not hesitate to lunge forward and attempt to injure one of them. He fails, and this gives enough time for one of the boys to stab clean through Sirrah’s hand. The other boy follows suit, only he hits with less grace and strength than the first.

It seems revenge is best served when others do what your heart desires.

Daniela lunges forward, but I do not see the outcome of her rage for my thoughts are cut short by dull throbbing in my left shoulder. Blood trickles down in tandem with cold sweat, and the salt burns new light into my mind.

If the world turns red, I do not wish to see it.

But instead of sight of her I am met with the sound of her voice. It is just familiar to strike acquaintance into my thoughts but not familiar enough to be met with quiet dignity, “So we meet again. It’s a shame it’s under worse circumstances than before.”

I shrug.

Circumstances mean little here.

i am sweat, flaws
i am veins, scars
i am human
nothing more than human

[ dars ]

[alfie larson attacks clementa lowe; spear]
7POPlevnspear
[deep gash on left bicep -- 8.0]

spear

[Kire]

Sirrah Birnam

fair is foul, and foul is fair

The night was first lit by christmas lights, blinking and stuttering like a nervous heart. Daniela looks at the flashing strings with interest, having just demanded light and been granted it. "Look, another game for us to play." He tried to peer into the forest but wasn't able to pick anything out beside a few more point of flickering light. "A game, great." He was more than a little skeptical.

They followed them despite the knowledge that it might very well be horrors that they came across. A strange tree greeted them, glowing eerily. The split in the trunk beckoned them, asking for them to retrieve what was stuck in its heart. Going first, knowing that he might save them from being wounded by whatever kind of trap this was, he stuck his arm into the hole. He closed his fist around the first thing that brushed his hand, slightly nervous of the feeling of it.

He dropped it the moment he saw what it was, yelling and jumping back. The other three looked at him curiously as he nudged the pile of blonde hair. Realizing, slowly, that it was a wig and not a real scalp, he picked it up again and the dirt off of it. Giving the others a bemused look, he stuffed the wig into a pocket of his pack - in this place who knew what would come in handy.

While he had been occupied, Alfie had decided to do things a little differently. "I’m going to stick my dick in it." Before he could stop him, the older boy had done just that. "I bet my mother is incredibly proud of me right about now." After a seconds's pause he jerks, nearly taking Daniela down as he practically leaps backward. Quick thinking, though, he reaches in and snags what had startled him. The moment the coffee came into view he winced - the thought of that coming anywhere near his own crotch was uncomfortable.

Alfie turned to the three of them, cup of coffee raised. "Y’all, I don’t think I can drink this. My, like, penis has been in it. But if any of y’all want it, just let me know." Shaking his head at his ally, he missed Daniela reaching into the tree until she had withdrawn her hand and looked at him and Alfie with some frustration. "What kind of magic trick did you two pull?" He could only shrug at her, even as Ansel came up empty handed as well. Apparently there were only two gifts to be gotten - though what a blonde wig and a cup of coffee were meant to help them with was beyond him.

Once they had decided on a place to spend the night they fell into a strange silence. The anthem was the only thing to break it, and even then it almost seemed to strengthen the spell rather than destroy it. That was, until Ansel spoke. "I am not going to sleep; I’ll take the first watch." He looked at his ally, wondering if the events of day had already taken too large of a toll on him.

Daniela interrupted his thoughts, clutching a new costume to herself and giving them each a look. "Look away, all of you!" Getting her gist immediately, he spun to face completely opposite of where she was. He glared at the other two guys, especially Alfie. Ansel seemed to be embarrassed at the thought of Daniela stripping, but Alfie looked mildly curious. He focused his attention on the boy from Twelve, hoping to protect Daniela from the eyes of at least one person, even knowing as he did that the whole country could be watching her at this moment and he could do nothing about it.

He finally fell asleep after having done his own errand, satisfied just enough to ease him into slumber. Despite Ansel's promise to watch over them, he wasn't completely confident they would be safe in the night. At the very least, one approach was ruined for any would-be hunters.

_________________________________________________________________

The dawn found them whole, if not rested. He felt as though the ground pulled on his legs and made it difficult for him to walk. Trying his best not to drag his feet, he had little attention to spare for anything but making sure he kept moving. Despite his best efforts, he fell behind a bit. Hoping to keep them in sight, he pushed to gain a bit of speed. Sadly, he had waited too long. Instead of being the first to greet trouble as he had wanted, he was the last one to catch up as a fight broke out.

Ansel was the first to move, wooden stake swinging as he called out in a hostile greeting, "No one just walks away from each other here." One body collided with his target, though, knocking the would-be victim out of the way just in time for the swipe to pass by harmlessly. As he drew closer he began to recognize the forms of the quartet they had spent time with yesterday. From the start he had felt that their moment of peace would turn into war, he just hadn't realized it would be so soon. Had they followed them here?

He might have had a mind to listen to the talk that was going on, but before he could realize what was happening he had lifted his hands. It was a second later that he knew why. A blow that surely would have come down on his skull instead planted itself into his hand, leaving a deep puncture into his flesh. He had no time to react to this first assault as another attack landed on his body. His arm was cut, thankfully not deeply, by a long-handled blade. Leaping back, he tried to see how bad his hand was. It didn't look like it was bleeding too much, but there was no way it was going to be a fun time to deal with that wound. Thankfully, adrenaline had already kicked in and he could barely feel anything at all.

Except fear, he could feel fear.

The bloodlust and elation from yesterday wasn't there this time. He almost wished it was, just so he might be able to do what he knew he had to with a bit more ease. Even so, fear was a powerful motivator. Watching Alfie get attacked as he had, he went to stand by the older boy. When his ally surged forward to slash deep into the bicep of the girl from Ten, he knew he had to help. This wasn't bloodlust, this was survival. He had known it from the beginning: it was kill or be killed.

He couldn't afford to feel guilty when he and his allies were under attack, whatever the circumstance. In a place like this, life was better than sanctity.

[Sirrah attacks Clementa with Bloody Axe]
hp4hcEigaxe
Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage

[googlefont="Marck Script:400"]axe

[Deleted]

filler bc im a bitch brb !

[attacks alfie baby]
1NxlOSMe200+14000200+14000

[kousei ♚]

► ► ►

It's not a loss of resolve or a lack of will that causes my spear to meet thin air rather than sink into the flesh of Quillon Blackfare. A dead boy in the sky could never compare to the two eyes that bore down on me the night before. The skies remind me I'm a murderer, blood on my hands and not a shred of humanity to be held in this red hands of mine.

Yet when Tobias' hands push Quillon out of the way of my spear, I do nothing but blink and stumble. Unsteady feet carry steady resolve with the promise of death a fallen star in the corner of my eye, confusion distorting my features -- yet despite the unsteady churn I do not fall. I twirl on my heels, moonlight illuminating my features and I half expect the seeds of retaliation to grow for I have clearly over extended. Another broken rib, a new gash across my legs -- the cycle never ends.

So I bite my lip, and step back, half expecting the expected to come into play but it's Sirrah that screams instead of me, spikes embedded in his hand.

(move stupid)

We're dying here.

Without warning, I'm met with a spray of crimson that sprays from his forearm, a gift from a dead man walking's glaive. Daniela retaliates, opening a similar wound across his forehead with a single stroke. A step better than me, but still a step too low short to warrant the sound of cannon fire.

My heart races, a cyclic throb that once moved in rhythm with his now replaced with panic and turmoil. It isn't helped by her barely audible words, the one who cut Serena a split second before me. "It's a shame that it's under worse circumstances than before." She says yet I don't move. Not when she spills Alfie's blood with a flash of steel and not when Alfie retaliates by sinking his spear into the bicep of the girl from ten.

"We were never friends," I respond simply, pressure mounting as I step forwards with a bloody hand but clean weapon. We were never friends, I never had friends. Only a judges, juries and executioners. A riddle I could never solve, but a question I answer every time I spill blood, every time I open wounds; every time I remember their faces in the sky.

It could have been that boy next, the dead boy walking with Sirrah's blood dripping from his blade. I look to Tobias. "It's strange, how you were willing to to protect him without a second thought," it's a strength I envy --

(seven sins with my foot in the grave)

-- but not one I can bring myself to admire. Not since the opening of that trap door and the tension on that rope became a catalyst for empty grief at iron justice. I told them that Sirrah wouldn't die while I lived -- brave words for a boy with nothing but a number nine and two crimson tallies branded across his skin. Words spoken mere moments before I shed my humanity and struck down pieces of home just so I could see another sunrise, I don't know how much weight those words had anymore.

I would've admired it, once.

"Why?"

Number nine, blood on my hands, seven horsemen; I suppose my admiration lost meaning with two cannon's twenty four hours old.

I become a catalyst for reason and swing.

[ansel khiev attacks quillon blackfare; spear]

9gpHRepespear

[3196 -- Stabbed in Bicep -- 8.5 damage]

spear

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

"Thanks," Quillon said, even as he took Tobias's outstretched hand and pulled himself back onto his feet, "But I can handle myself, y'know."

Only seconds later, the girl from Eight managed a cut on Quillon's forehead.

He groaned, ("Then do it, for fuck's sake!")

Rasoio.

Now, that was some bad blood. Families at war knew know boundaries as cut and dry as District boarders. Blood of her blood had ended the life of Tobias's brother, and he couldn't blame Daniela for what her brother did for a number of reasons, the first of which being he didn't even know Reese. He couldn't help feeling he hadn't communicated that well enough to the outsiders. He never met Reese. He never spoke to him. He never shook his hand, or listened to his stories. He was a ghost before Tobias knew to look for him while he still had a pulse.

The next reason, Daniela had absolutely no control over who her brother targeted, blind boys or not. Cheap shot, yes, and Tobias would never, ever have trusted this girl for that very reason, but his uneasiness hadn't been justified in any of her actions until now, when she raised her weapon and scratched up a quite handsome canvas.

Quillon would have to wear that scar for the rest of his time in the arena, but Tobias supposed it suited his aesthetic, at least. Ripred knows that Tobias would've been ruined should he mark up his own face. Jacquelyn and M had made that abundantly clear.

He was a face. Not a boy. Not a real contender for the crown. Just something to look at.

Well, fuck that.

The boy who led the onslaught caught Tobias's gaze, and the force of separate galaxies clashing together was almost enough to tempt Tobias into looking away. But he didn't. This boy may have been a super nova soul with bad intentions, but Tobias was the sun. He even had three people's worlds revolving around him: a fucking solar system of the disturbed and unruly.

He was not haunted by moral dilemma, and that made him so much stronger.

"It's strange, how you were willing to to protect him without a second thought," the boy voiced, circling the four of them with the rest of his gang of sharks. They weren't prey that would easily be won over, though.

"Why?"

Tobias searched the deepest parts of his mind for an answer, came up empty handed. Fair fucking point.

"Good to look at," Tobias decided, circling the attackers back. He gripped his baseball bat a little tighter, "So I'd suggest keeping your weapons off of him."

As retaliation, the boy jabbed his spear deeply into Quillon's arm.

I thought this kid was dangerous, Tobias thought, gritting his teeth.

Deep breath.

"I might have to kill you for that."

[Tobias LaChance attacks Sirrah Birnam; spiked blunt]
9hvQodWEspiked blunt
[accuracy, day two]
spiked blunt

spiked blunt�spiked blunt

[✨ zozo.]

Screams pour from his skull, their sound searing the skin above his eyes. Knocked back, dazed, the girl from Eight's arm arcs across the air, her blade coated in Quill's blood.

Boy from Six speaks and his words are hollow, inquisitive, deadly.

"It's strange, how you were willing to to protect him without a second thought. Why?"

"Good to look at," Tobias answers, and Quill isn't sure if he's playing a game or if the game is playing him. It's all back to front, front to back, like he's looking straight into the eyes of his twin and his own reflection grins back - eyes wild.

And he cries out as the spear punctures the skin in his arm - his good arm - screaming bloody murder. Damned from the start, his luck ran out in the chest of a dead girl and sits curled in her decaying rib cage. He hears it, all those miles away, but the tears that crease his eyes aren't those of absence.

They're of pain.

"I might have to kill you for that."

But his saviour is no use, Tobias swinging blindly at the air around the boy from Eleven who strikes Clementa down.

("Guess I'm not that good looking, huh Tobias?")

They collapse, crumble, Quill, Clementa. Two halves of two wholes - but Clem is the stronger half, the half that Quill always lusted to be. She's got the same look in her eyes the way Radley did - furious, passionate, exhausted.

A ghost of a girl, and Quill knows all too well the feeling of staring at your corporeal reflection - knows all to well the empty space a lost twin leaves. Radley's smug voice echoes through the screams his nerves produce and Quill grimaces - fighting his brother's memory.

Fighting, fighting, fighting, it's all they've ever done.

"I see the crow still isn't a falcon"
"Fuck you, you fucking cu-"

"Say uncle! SAY UNCLE!"
"Fffffuuucccckkkk yyyoooou-"

"I didn't come here to apologise."
"Good. I don't want your apology."
"I'm not stupid, Q."
"Yeah, but I am. Stupid fucking Q, huh? Stupid fucking q off to die."
"...You have a chance. You're.. A survivor, Q."

"I was trying to protect you"
"Yeah well, look at me now huh."

So he fights. It's all he's ever done.

quill attacks sirrah with glaive
lufABGe3glaive
dg on thigh 8


thank you liam for the radley dialogue <3

glaive

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

[googlefont=Baloo Thambi:400]

D A N I E L A

A thief of three lives, the soft prodigy that fell before me. All the men knew that he would never draw blood, not when he was home. Yet they still honoured him, looked up to as if he was already stepping out of the shadow and into the spotlight. A new era of the Rasoio operation, the boy with the shiny compass, leading the way to a new path. Just the wind blew him off course and a maniac from Ten tore the map in half and that was that. I am now the aftermath of it all; there will be more aftershocks after me.

My wooden stake prances across the boy from Nine’s forehead, just a little kiss from me to him. Barely a mark left behind, even the bandit’s attempts leave no trace of his attack behind. How quickly friends turn to foes. There is no pray for us to lay our weapons on, instead we are forced to point them in each other’s directions. It won’t be long until it will be Sirrah, Ansel and Twelve at the receiving end. The thief among us, he will be the one I have to flee before the days break and the tributes dwindle.

Words mix in with the attacks, questioning of actions, when the answers are already floating in the air. Sirrah and Twelve receive the force of the opposition, the thieves that deserve it, standing unscathed but that is how reality is. My hands are clean, it may as well be the unfortunate that are getting dirty.

History is repeating itself but some key facts are out, a Lowe, LaChance and Rasoio, I bet some Capitolite is wetting themselves with the nostalgia of a games that stole my brother. Just names with old stories, we are the new characters with a different tale, except Eleven and Twelve are trying to end it for Clementa.

All the talk is aimed at Ansel, my existence is skipped by, just a part of the scenery it seems. I keep the single stake close to my hip, a short break from my attempts at maiming Nine. Forgotten in a mist of red, I want to break through it and not by just drawing the blood of the newly crafted enemy. ”Hey Ansel, stop with the flirting, you too Sirrah…shut up Alfie.”

I shake my head, moving the stake away from my body, my eyes travel from each boy to the other. ”Yeah of course we not friends, none of us are, we will never be friends. We will be freaking dead soon. So if you are going to elope, do it already. If you are going to kill each other, just do it already.”

A taste of death is to come, Ansel’s robbery, I only witnessed for a split second before I fled. Here will be the real moment, can I be brave enough?

Daniela Rasoio attacks Quillon Blackfare | Wooden Stake (Spear)

uquQz3h5spear

[3171 - Stabbed in stomach - 9.0 damage]

spear

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

how much longer
'til this safe is cracked
my feet are cold
and my hands are shaking bad

gonna filler bc we're short on time

[Jacinta Salazar attacks Alfie Larson; axe]
e3JnoVbWaxe
[11185 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage]

how much longer
'til the cops arrive
to point their guns
and catch us in a crime

axe

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

i am flesh, bones
i am skin, soul
i am human
nothing more than human

Filler because concert time!

i am sweat, flaws
i am veins, scars
i am human
nothing more than human

[ dars ]

[alfie larson attacks clementa lowe; spear]

j2yzTKpdspear

[3171 -- Stabbed in Stomach -- 9.5 damage]

spear

[Kire]

Sirrah Birnam

fair is foul, and foul is fair

The shock of impact was different this time than when he had last swung his weapon. Perhaps this was because the last time he had only gotten two glancing blows while this time the blade of his axe bit deep into the arm of the girl from Ten. His eyes searched for hers, wanting to apologize even as he knew it was foolish to do so. He had accepted yesterday, or maybe even before then, that this was solely kill or be killed. Having embraced it, he had taken part in two deaths the day before, and was now working toward being a part of three.

This girl - he vaguely recalled her last name, Lowe - would either know this already or would hate him vehemently. In either circumstance, he wouldn't blame her for it. If anything, it might be better to think someone was aiming to kill you for a reason beyond simply not being the one to die. The thought that maybe you were enough of a threat as to be a target was as much perturbing as it was comforting. After all, it meant they recognized you for what strength you may or may not possess. Instead, the blind swinging of a weapon, a strike aimed at a number and not a person hurt all the worse for the lack of feeling. You meant nothing to them but a stepping stone.

In this fight there was no direct hostility, or at least it hadn't started out with any. Now, though, after the first round of blows had been exchanged, the tension was clear between the two groups. They had fought on the same side only a handful of hours earlier, even if not side by side necessarily. A common enemy, a common target, was enough to bring them together and now the lack of one was more than enough to separate them again.

Ansel's next jab sank deep into the arm of the boy from Nine. He jumped back as Seven swung at him in retaliation for his ally's attack, narrowly missing being smashed in half by the strike. He wasn't as lucky with the next blow aimed his way. The boy from Nine sank the blade of his pole weapon into his leg, cutting deep. He now hobbled, not permanently crippled but in pain beyond all past experience. The only thing keeping him upright was the knowledge that this was nothing yet, that there would be so much more that was so much worse before it was over.

Stinging in palm and thigh, and reminded distantly of the cut in his arm, he tried to steady his breathing. Daniela, young but no less furious with it, looks frustrated at the lack of attention paid to her. He was glad for this, though, and would gladly steal all of what she might think was her spotlight to keep her safe. The knowledge that it was either his flesh that would be rent or hers gave him the strength to keep standing and moving and attacking.

The sound of his name distracted him for a moment. "Hey Ansel, stop with the flirting, you too Sirrah... shut up Alfie." He halted, confused, and blinked at Daniela. She had stopped looking at him now, though, and was swinging her wooden stake into the boy from Nine, almost a perfect imitation of Ansel but a little lower and a little more centered. He flinched as he watched the weapon plunge into the other boy's stomach. Perhaps he wasn't protecting Daniela as much as he thought he was. He should have been able to keep her from having to fight at all, not just avoid being attacked. Already he was failing at what he had set out to do.

A blur in the corner of his eye made him turn. Alfie was trying to fend off two attackers of his own, but one slipped through. The girl from Seven ducked under his defense and cut into his hip. The wound wasn't deep but the small cuts could sometimes be the most distracting. Alfie, however, didn't seem to be caught off balanced by it as he sent his own weapon snaking toward the girl from Ten. Lowe was caught in the stomach just as Nine had been by Daniela. He wasn't sure whether a sword made of bone or a wooden stake would be more painful, but was glad that he didn't have experience enough to judge.

He couldn't leave Alfie to deal with two attackers alone, even if he was being battered by his own two aggressors. He would have to leave those two to Ansel and Daniela. Seeing that Lowe was clearly more hurt and more susceptible than the girl from Seven, he took a deep breath and hefted his axe once more. Someone was clearly going to have to die before this would end, and he hoped it wouldn't have to be either himself or Alfie. If it came to it, he supposed he would try to throw himself in front of Alfie and be the one to be slain instead - trusting the older boy to take care of the other two. Even so, there was a steel in his spine at the thought that he wouldn't be there to help protect them. No, it couldn't be any of them that would die.

That would mean one of their opponents would have to take the fall. The girl from Ten, Lowe - he would really like to know her first name and not just her lineage - seemed like his best prospect at the moment. Once more a qualm went through him as he thought about actually killing someone. It was one thing to bloody someone, to tear through their flesh and send them reeling; it was quite another to be the one to steal their last breath and leave them unmoving on the ground as a cannon sounded far above your head. Ansel had done it not once but twice yesterday, so he supposed that he could do it if it came to that. Yet, secretly, he couldn't help but hope Ansel managed to draw upon whatever dark talent he had and once more be the one to end the fight.

Sensing his opportunity, his opening, he knew that waiting for Ansel would neither end this fight sooner nor protect any of his allies from further wounding - be it physical or mental. He would have to take his chance and take his swing.

[Sirrah attacks Clementa with Bloody Axe]
JBDnwygdaxe
Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage

[googlefont="Marck Script:400"]axe