Straight on until morning [TFF v AOH v Shadowless day 1.5]

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

Cesare Crocetti

I'm running as fast as I can in whatever stupid contraption the Capitol put me in. I hate it because it's embarrassing, but not nearly as embarrassing as a career running from the bloodbath. I have nothing but my fists. Nothing to help keep me alive. Nothing to eat or drink, and yet I'm still running. Trying to figure out the best way to maneuver through this mess. I left the kid from six behind, and truthfully, I don't really care what happens to him. One less tribute standing in my way is all I need.

I'm out of breath, and I pause long enough to try to regain my focus. Fighting comes easy, but running isn't something I do all the time. I'm more of a sprinter, not a long distance runner, yet here I am sprinting full speed for as long as I possibly can. My heart's racing, and I keep hearing sounds behind me, and I don't know where they're coming from. I'm not afraid of fighting, but if someone comes up behind me with a weapon, I'm done for. I only pause when I see a change in the way the arena looks.

It looks kind of cool, and I want to explore it all. To figure out what's going on and maybe by some chance find a weapon. Something to use to keep myself alive, but I have nothing. No way of cutting some wood or gathering water. No way of doing anything right now. I spin around only to come face to face with the kid I left behind at the bloodbath. My heart leaps into the back of my throat for a moment before I swallow everything down. Doesn't he know never to sneak up on someone that's fighting in the hunger games? Does he realize that I could've killed him if I had a weapon? He mumbles something, and I just shake my head. It isn't worth trying to explain to him the potential consequences of his actions.

I sigh just for a moment before my eyes rest on the axe sitting in his hands. I want it. I want to use it. I want to slice people up with it. I want to spill blood. The corners of my lips twist into a wicked grin as I slowly take my gaze from the axe in Ezekiel's hand. I'm about to ask him for it when others pour into the area, and I don't know what else to do. I guess I'll just have to knock someone out with my fist. Popping my knuckles, I laugh slightly. I'm ready for a fight, and it's time to show that they need to stay out of my way.

79th Hunger Games

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

Cesare attacks Dove Elsu | Unarmed

BPyPew6Gunarmed
5168 -- Bruised Left Thigh -- 2.5 damageunarmed

[Knuckles]

should've stayed, were there signs, I ignored?
can I help you, not to hurt, anymore?
we saw brilliance, when the world, was asleep
there are things that we can have, but can't keep

A frantic heart clawed at his ribs begging for an escape as he tore from the bloodbath with nothing but a battleaxe in hand. Nothing made sense, and every rule his parents taught him went flying out the the door the moment the gong sound. It was a nightmare, and Zeke was stuck inside pretending he was in a world where people didn't matter. They were nothing more than a mere human being locked inside a hospital dying as the world stood around watching, and he was one of those people. Blood didn't bother him, but not once in his eighteen years of life did Zeke imagine he would be forced to injure someone instead of trying to save them.

It went against all he knew. Right and wrong didn't matter. It was wrong that him and twenty-three others were tossed into this mess. Killing was wrong, but trying to stay alive, trying to survive was the right thing to do.

Tired eyes darted back and forth trying to figure out where to go. Cesare wasn't anywhere in sight, and Zeke didn't want to spend all day looking for him because he didn't have all day when his life was teetering on the tiny fence of life and death. Moving was hard, and the ugly pajamas didn't make it any easier. Yet he kept running trying to stand on his own two feet for as long as he possibly could. But he was alone in such a beautiful place, and it terrified him.

A sharp stabbing pain shot through his left side, and he froze. Breathing was difficult, and even being in decent shape wasn't working. Resting his hands on his knees for only a moment offered some relief, but the relief wouldn't last long because the longer he stood still the higher chance of becoming a target. The higher chance of dying, and even though death knocked at his door, Zeke wasn't ready to answer. It wasn't about making it home to his father alive, no, it was about making him proud.

Once the pain subsided, Zeke took off running once more, and he continued to run until the scenery started changing around him. The trees near the cornucopia was gone, and now he stood in front of something massive. His chin dropped to the ground, and his eyes opened wide. Gold and gems and everything he never though existed rest before him.

What is this?

Looking around everything was slowly falling apart, and his eyes darted around. In that moment, Zeke was nothing more than a young child left alone in a candy store with only a little bit of money. Sometimes people took things for granted, and for the Capitol to create something like this only went to show how the rich grew richer while the poor starved to death and died. It was a cruel reality, and now Zeke was living it.

One step forward, and Zeke didn't know what else to do. Cesare was standing there looking around, and why not have a little fun? Surely sneaking up on someone wouldn't be that bad, right? Oh how wrong he was because the moment Cesare turned around, the entire world froze. It only took a moment, but he was certain that man could've just crushed his skull without thinking twice.

"Sorry." His voice was low because he wanted to remain calm, but the career stood there shaking his head, and before Zeke had a chance to do anything, he watched Cesare focus his gaze on the axe. It was a good weapon. Something to use. Something to keep himself alive for just a little longer.

Before anything could happen, Cesare moved forward ready to fight, and Zeke gripped the wooden handle of the axe. Defending himself was one thing, but right now he was about to flat out attack someone, and it bothered him. A cracked heart shattered into millions of tiny shards as he lifted the axe into the air, and despite his mind begging him to apologize, his lips remained sealed because the words of his father floated through his mind -

"Never apologize for something you aren't sorry for, son."

Table by Calla <3
lyrics: One More Light - Linkin Park

Ezekiel attacks Zion | Axe
mo_uoJYVaxe

{results: 11185 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage}axe

[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Zion1Container"]

[attr="class","Zion1Title"]

now we look up in
into the eyes of bullies breaking backs

[attr="class","Zion1Content"]

Hippity-hop goes the boy in pretty pink bunny pajamas. There’s a blood stain on his left thigh and it puts a hitch in his step as he tries to keep his weight off that leg, unused to feeling pain. It shouldn’t be a significant enough wound to affect him in this way, but he is a spoiled child used to having his skinned knees kissed better by his mother as his hair is smoothed back and he’s told that everything will be okay. How can anything be okay? No one reassures him and so he is certain this is enough to kill him. Of course this will kill him.

The sight of blood makes everything feel so dramatic that it distracts him from the much deeper wound upon his cheek that is out of sight and, as the cliche goes, out of mind. Out of his mind, out of his mind, he’s going to go out of his mind like everyone has always believed. How is this only the beginning? One arm is clutched to his chest, holding onto a plush alligator and the strap of a dangling backpack that he can’t bring himself to hold any closer to him. It contains his worst fears. The glitter dusted fairy wings are strapped onto his back in place of the bag and they make him feel better when he stops to remember them, to remember his sisters who must be watching and weaving their prayers into armor for his protection. Nothing else could explain why his bones aren’t shattered or his lungs torn from his chest. Any time the velvet that was applied to the tip of his nose begins to tickle, he’s positive Rio is whispering to him. None of this is comforting enough to stop his free hand from worrying at the cut in his onesie, at the cut in his leg. “I don’t know how to sew,” he murmurs feverishly to himself, “however will I fix it when I never learned to sew? Oh, dear.” It’s unclear, even to himself, which thing he wishes he could stitch up. Both. Neither. Everything and everyone in this wretched place. There was a cannon... “Why didn’t I realize before that this was a sewing competition?” Useless.

An incredible tree rises up above all others, Queen of the Forest. Here bodies grow smaller with time, but when the heart lives, the heart lives long. Zion swears he can feel the pulse of the tree thrumming up through the ground, knocking on the soles of his feet as if sending out secret codes for children more clever than him to decode. Everywhere are gemstones, everywhere is gold and the corner of his lips crooks up with memories of his mother’s necklaces, glittering and familiar. His fingers run across the jewels the same way they pressed at his wound — with an awareness that he has lost something. He is so lost. “I love you, momma,” he whispers in hopes that she might hear him. Maybe if his voice is genuine enough it will make up for being unconscious when she came to see him in the Justice building, unable to say a proper goodbye to her son and unable to feel him hugging her back one last time. The pain of regret hurts worse than his wounds.

As if begging to differ, an axe slices into his hip out of — apparently — nowhere. The fog of memory clears from his eyes but the tears do not and he cries out from more than just the blade cutting into skin and muscle. A guttural sob clutches his vocal chords and tugs them all the way into his stomach, curling his spine and setting his body off it’s balance. One ankle twists and the weight within the backpack that Zion does not know how to carry sends him careening into —

“I’m sorry!” He cries out, “oh gosh, I really didn’t mean to...” The apology dies in his throat with delayed realization. Absurd. The fall has been intercepted by another boy — bloodied axe in hand — who looks much harder around the edges than the ball of pink fluff that is Zion Lyons. “I-I-I—“ As if a mewing kitten wouldn’t look tough next to him right now. “I didn’t mean to bump into you.” He completes the pathetic sentence because it’s the only thing he can think to do when looking into the eyes of the kid who attacked him, other than to begin keening, which he does. Excessively. “I don’t know what to do,” he whimpers to himself with all the syllables drawn out, clenching his eyes shut and desperately hugging his alligator plush. Hippity-hop goes his wounded heart, trying to keep its weight off the damage. “I really don’t know what to do at all.”

I Was Married by Tegan & Sara.



[Zion falls into Ezekiel, unarmed]

JtV89n4Runarmed

[5127 // Bruised Right Foot — 2 damage]

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[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

ollie

A petite hand remains clenched in another’s, in a friend’s despite it being known by all that such should never be pertained in this land. But anxiety and trust weaves through the Blonde’s fingers, as her tiny feet desperately seek to remain by her new guardian’s side - for her sweaty palm of fright to stay linked with the female’s from five. Pain rumbles through her legs, though determination numbs her from the overwhelming sensation. A haven of momentary safety is being craved, while it’s truly only silence that roams through her thoughts. Questions seek to pierce from her tongue. Strength is hungered to be grasped. It’s understood where she is, yet never fully absorbed. All she can concentrate on is running, running from the field of violence behind.

A mystical surrounding engulfs them on their journey, while none of it can be comprehended amongst the chaotic shouts within the Youngster’s thoughts - and even those are incomprehensible, with a mere understanding of one agreement…run. The previous nightmare from a few nights past seems to reappear in her frantic race, enveloping her in a cloud that hushes her thoughts if only for a mere moment. Maybe you’ll wake up? Though before the ultimate desire of waking up back in her home, in the pound, surrounded by her siblings, can occur, the violence of this new reality strikes once more.

Realization of company doesn’t even protrude until… “Dove!” Cries from Ollie in a plead, as if Dove actually contains the ability to alter this occurrence. Tears well in the Blonde’s eyes; but the voices of her Siblings pressing for her to be strong echoes in her head, and those salty droplets begin to dry in denial of being released. Someone has braved the act of harming innocent Dove, but then again others carved for Ollie herself earlier. Surprise can not be afforded. Understanding another’s ability to inflict pain upon the meek does not matter, while gaining the strength her siblings begged for her to have does. But before even that can be reached for, more scurry into the new destination for blood spill.

The tiny hand refuses to release Dove even now. Her heart pumps in a desperation to her muscles to yank Dove away, yet her bones refute the order. At least one thing’s comprehended, that there is truly no escaping from the truth of this environment. Finally she releases her guardian’s hand, readies her newly claimed instrument of destruction, aims at Dove’s offender… But in the commotion of new intruders, her frights transfers her target. Without even consummating her decision, she strikes without realizing it was Dove’s very own district partner she directs for. But every one will be a threat eventually…even Ollie herself.

{Ollie Brooke attacks Zion ~ Flail}
I7MgQiJ|flail
{12113 -- Broken Rib -- 7.0 damage
(Flail)}flail

[Arrows]

When in chaos or peril, rationality falls to instinct and panic. The attributes which bring about morality within the thin skins of human existence are eliminated. In a storm, a dog once docile will snap driven dangerously by the fear fueling its actions. In a fire with flames devouring once fruitful forests, a mother bird will abandon her chicks in order to prevent her own devastation. In the Hunger Games, children once contained by morality will give way to internal instincts drawing them into darkness. Humans are no exception to the drive to survive, but why do I not kneel to this rule. 

Pressure pulses from heated hands connected in flight from the forced fighting. Ollie young and brightly brimming with innocence sprints stained by freshly delivered danger. Her blood bonding to the tears in her golden pajamas burns guilt into my gut. Driven by delirium drawn forth by pure peril, those who now live within this world with us struck out at innocence itself. Meanwhile, my skin stays unstained, untouched by the horrible hunger of metal. I was by her side holding her hand while I watched them fling flesh from her. I watched while they mutilated the one who's eyes follow me for guidance. I watched because the only instinct igniting in my mind was to flee and not to fight. 

Amid my cruel contemplation the world warps from war to shimmering softness. A realm representing peace lies deceivingly in all directions. Fascination funnels into the entranced eyes of one so young but worry burns brightly in my own. The most wonderfully welcoming places inside the arenas hold the darkest demons. I want to retreat and find another route but going back is too risky. Behind us a horde hauling the bloody bounty of the bloodbath hunts for those less equipped than them, hunts for us. I also need to start sewing Ollie's slices before they stay searching for infection much longer. I decide that the dangerous deceit of this tree outweighs what lurks from where we came. 

Slowing to a still, I bend before the blonde girl gentle like my siblings and brave like them too. I begin to start asking for her to show me her cuts but instead am cut off by pain. Sudden and shocking a foot flings into my thigh. A shriek of warning and for my little nestling brings our hands instantly binding back together. Who stands before us sends chills cold and cruel seeping down my spine. A career with desire for death brimming the illumination of his stern stare. As a mother, although already proven to be weak, I pull Ollie behind me. My skeleton is shaking but this time I refuse to let my feathers fall into the flames of fear so easily again. 

Steel shaped as a spear falls into my unsteady grip. Breaths break from my body but I don't fly from this fight, even a Dove has talons. But before I bring them fully forth more madness merges into the scene, a face familiar and heavy with home. Zion filled with confusion crumbles into the center of the chaos. Eyes search for the girl who was by his side earlier but I am unable to find her. I don't know why but my voice for the first time enters the arena alongside me.

"Zion! Get back!"

I scream for his safety like a weakling would. I see the shapes of my brothers' faces filling his and I can't bring myself to let a career carve into him. I can sense the streets of home in his presence and I don't know why, but its something I need to protect. Its something like the life still clinging to my hand which compels me to push past fear for the sake of something bigger, something beyond explaining. 

The hold falls seconds after Ollie starts striking him, striking home. It's anger which motivates my words but desperation on protecting what's precious.

"Let go Ollie."

She does, and I don't hesitate any longer above the clouds. I dive to save not just Ollie, but him as well. To save them is what lets the steel slide from my fingers. 

Dove Elsu attacks Cesare Crocetti // Javelins
v78jrSPRjavelin
{Shallow Cut On Chest -- 4.0 damage}

javelin

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

The ground shakes, knowing it holds the weight of twenty-three tributes' hopes and dreams. Whimsical in nature but fierce in practice, I look out to the horizon and sprint as fast I can; the bloodbath holds no prisoners and goes straight in for the kill. I don't care if a group of uppity careers snatch the prizes in the Cornucopia. They need to compensate for having nothing between their ears somehow.

The inner angel within me is slowly being burnt away in favour of a more devilish side. Good, I think - weakness can be turned easily to ashes and I won't let that side take over. The worst thing anyone can be is a coward. It's a crime against yourself, others and to the world you live in. A coward will always choose their emotional well-being over their physical self and that is what turns them to dust. Survival is about determination and bravery, having the spirit of someone who believes in the slim possibilities and holding themselves like a warrior who has returned from war. Protective but brutal; they never forget what they are working for.

Our feet carry us beyond the blood and to a ferocious freak of nature. I glance up to the skies and see a towering figure above me: a tree, sure, but it becomes more than that. Personal, an individual - she evokes darkness and light and wisdom and courage all at once and it is a lot to take in when you are left feeling so small in her shadow. Her silhouette acts as a shield of judgement over us and, for a second, I feel afraid to move. As if, somehow, her roots would rise from the ground and wrap themselves around me and stretch and strangle. The surrounding illuminations could easily be illusions; all that glitters does not have to be gold. I am not a fool, and I know better than to fall for material.

So I stick to Zion's side - he's no protector but if he is to provide any sense of relief in this hell, it is tat of escapism. Company. His heart has not been hardened and honestly, I don't think it will ever become rock solid but there's a fragility and delicacy in him that I want to protect. Roles reversed, when I first saw him, I wanted to take him under my wing. The naivety reminded me of my younger self; the confusion and uncertainty that makes your bones feel brittle and sends a shiver down your spine. I've learnt from that, picked myself up and moved on. Even if he doesn't go on the same learning curve as me, I figure he is useful in this setting. A body as a form of protection, a weakness to my strength, and in that, we are balanced.

He cries apologetically into the warm air and I just want to reach out and can his words. No space, no time, no room for apologies in this world; everything is on the line and you are supposed to fight, you are supposed to show that you are not sorry when shit hits the fan. When an axe slices at his side, and then a flail hurls itself into his chest, I vow to protect his heart for him. I refuse to let him have his life taken away just yet. I find an odd sense of comfort in taking on responsibility where it isn't necessarily needed, and though perhaps it is feigned importance, it proves I am at a standing point between monster and human.

Zion continues to sing himself sweet nothings, but I can't settle for this viciousness. Retaliation to the opposition is what people are watching for, it is what turns the wheel of the Hunger Games and I realise that I don't care about 'falling victim' to a regime or becoming 'a piece of the puzzle' if it means I get to stay alive. I keep my head up and show them that silence is deadly - that no words often convey feelings the best.

I just throw myself into the scene. It's me against the world and I'm set on changing it - for my better.

[ cassia oretio d12 attacks cesare crocetti d2m ; battleaxe ]

0zhazUQfaxe

[ shallow cut on back of head -- 4.5 ]

axe

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

Cesare Crocetti

I almost feel bad for the boy from five. He's crying and almost begging, and he's apologizing. I just don't understand why. Oh well just some person standing in my way for now. A confident grin slowly makes its way across my face, and I feel myself growing more excited with each passing second, but the moment I connect with the girl from five, I watch her grip a javelin, and in that moment I'm backing away because I do not feel like being speared through the eye. Everyone is fighting, and I love it. This is what I trained for, and while I have no weapon, I'm not backing away completely.

Something changes, and I feel like maybe I backed too far away, and these little things are swarming me. What a fool I must look like flailing about trying to get this things away. I can't imagine what people are thinking back home right now, but it doesn't matter because I don't plan on getting eaten alive by some harmless little creature. Apparently they offered the distraction that the girl from five needed because I can feel a javelin barely slicing across my chest. And even that distracted me more because I feel a blade opening up the back of my head. I've always heard that distractions are dangerous, but I never realized just how dangerous until now.

I take a deep breath, and I push myself ahead. My eyes darting from person to person trying to figure out the best thing to take place. I have to land an attack even if it's just pushing them back enough to keep myself alive until I can get my hand on a weapon. Part of me wants to steal the javelin and turn it into a spear, but I decide against it. I much rather prove that I have what it takes to go unarmed in a war right now. It'll show my strength, and it'll prove that I am better than anyone else in the arena, and just maybe it'll make someone fear me. "I don't need a weapon to snuff the life out of any of you."

79th Hunger Games

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

Cesare attacks Dove Elsu | Unarmed

fKlDlBJyunarmed
5064 -- Gash/Bruised Left Foot -- 3 damageunarmed

[Knuckles]

should've stayed, were there signs, I ignored?
can I help you, not to hurt, anymore?
we saw brilliance, when the world, was asleep
there are things that we can have, but can't keep

Tiny droplets of blood dripped from the tip of the axe, and his heart dropped and only stopped once it land against the ground waiting for someone to crush it. Standing tall in a moment like this was difficult, and yet Zeke fought to keep his head held high. In times like this, it didn't matter, and once the worlds infiltrated his ears, Zeke's heart plummeted even further. Apologies for bumping into him - the pain of a bruised foot didn't compare to the pain lingering inside his heart - tumbled through his brain, and he didn't know what to do. Frozen in time he watched the others fight, and he watched the tiny girl he sat beside carving messages into the wall swing a giant ball into the ribs of the man who just apologized.

Sorry meant nothing, and he wanted to speak, yet the words were glued to the tip of his tongue. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't any of their faults that they were placed where they were, but Zeke couldn't bring himself to function. This wasn't the hospital back home where helping hands tried to save the individuals dying each and every day.

"I'm sorry." His head dropped forward as the words slipped into the air around him.

Zeke was in hell, and the only way to return to heaven on earth was to win and kill those standing in front of him, but even that didn't make anything any easier since he had no clue if heaven truly existed. It was in the stories his mother shared when he was just a boy, but now he couldn't help but wonder if it was all just a myth used to spread a false hope.

A single tear rolled down the side of his face, and he couldn't even raise his gaze to look at anyone standing around. Their lives meant nothing, and soon stories would end as some went home in a casket ready to rot beneath the cold, hard ground. History was in the making, and living to tell the tale was the hardest part of all. Survival instincts lived in every single one of them, and while it wasn't to Zeke what his trait was, it didn't matter. His will to survive was proven to everyone around him by the endless hours he spent working in the hospital just to make ends meet for him and his father especially after his sister died. And now he had to prove it again and again.

The world was a terrible place, but nothing would ever change.

He took a breath trying to regain his focus, but soon everything went away as a swarm of angry little mutts attacked him. It wasn't their fault they were forced into this world thinking every human being that walked by was bad, and they were more annoying than anything. Yet the axe almost slipped from his hands as his arms flailed about trying to knock them away. After all he was standing in their home invading their living space. What difference did it make?

As quickly as they came, they were gone.

Lifting his gaze, and tightening the grip on the axe, Zeke slowly looked around. Time was ticking away, and it was up to him to determine what would happen. Sorrow filled eyes locked on the female from five knowing what he had to do. Attacking a girl was wrong, but being in the hunger games made it the right thing to do.

Right?

Table by Calla <3
lyrics: One More Light - Linkin Park

Ezekiel attacks Dove | axe
Ae6ZE2h0axe

{result: 11068 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage}

accuracy reroll
axe

{result: 11096 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage}axe�axe

[L△LIA]

[attr="class","Zion2Container"]

[attr="class","Zion2Title"]

they seem so very tough
they seem so very scared of us

[attr="class","Zion2Content"]

The keening continues, Zion’s body humming itself into numbness. This isn’t real at all. It can’t be. Things like this only happen in bad dreams. What an understatement. If anyone knows the possibilities of a bad dream, it’s the boy in the bunny pajamas — as if tucked in and ready to go — whose night terrors are so persistent they finally seem to have crossed over into his waking life. He always knew they would.

More than the weapons seeking out the softest places on his body, it’s the swarm of pixie wasps that convinces him this is just another nightmare — a golden tornado of flowers whirling around him with enough momentum to lift the skinny boy to the tips of his toes. They’ve come to feed upon his tears, biting his face and attempting to suck any memories of joy from his fingertips. There’s only so much exposed skin for them take advantage of, but no opportunity is missed when the flesh that’s found is this sweet. One even manages to sting the tip of his tongue as he screams, attempting to make a dive for the exposed inner hollow of his throat. A well timed cough forces it back into the open air as Zion does his best not to choke on the deceptively beautiful creature or the bile retching up from his stomach.

He has dreamt a thousand horrors and each and every one has been as gorgeous as this. Ugly things are often full of kindness, but few evils are worse than the deception of something pretty enough to tempt fingers to reach out in false hope, in greed, in lust. It is only the unexpected that seeds madness and begins the slow and steady rot of a soul into torment. Zion should have seen this coming as if he has spent his life training for it, but the creatures are too fast, too terrible for him and they’re gone before he can remember how to move.

It is in this moment of paralysis that he sees the tiny girl with a flail in her hands and recognizes another vision of deception staring him down. She must be Rio’s age, he thinks as his heart withers and dies within his chest. The empty space that remains swallows itself over and over again, like a snake eating its own tail, and the burn of biting down echoes into infinity. This child is prettier than his youngest sister, but their hair shares the same curls; he would cry if he weren’t already. Instead it’s as if the gasp of the empty space within his chest sucks his tears back into his body and he caves into himself, quietly and with perfect stillness, as she swings her flail at him. “Zion!” He doesn’t think about moving out of the way, although the part of him that caught the warning signs knows that he could. “Get back!” Instead he maintains eye contact, consciously allowing her to break his rib. If a girl so much like his littlest sister thinks that he deserves to be hurt like this, then he must. He can’t imagine the thoughts, events, or choices that would need to occur to cause Rio to break someone’s ribs, but somehow this is surely his fault. It can’t be hers. It could never be hers. It could never be her.

The feeling of a bone cracking apart from itself is new to Zion. He has never broken his leg from climbing a tree or slammed a finger in a door so hard it tried to break free from his body. Never before had he contemplated his bones and how they felt. It is the strangest, cruelest sensation of pressure, as if he’s being crushed alive at the same time a small explosion detonates beneath his own skin. Inward and outward. In every way it feels less like this has been done to him and more like he has betrayed himself — treason for which the penalty is death. He’s going to die. This too young girl will outlive him and she should. How can he harm someone when it wouldn’t change anything for him?

When the delayed realization of his name being yelled finally reaches him, it feels so far away. Eyes pulled to another girl, he recognizes his district partner, despite the way he has been trying not to know anyone in this arena well enough that it will hurt too deeply as they sink their weapons into him. She looks upset at the sight of him and all he can do is attempt to smile at her, a small wobble of persistent trying. “You’re too pretty to look so sad,” he says to Dove and back in District Five Denali Lyons screams so fiercely that the wind blows Zion’s hood down and tries to yank at his hair in frustration.

(”You’re too pretty to look so sad,” he would say whenever he found Denali looking stricken over the baby bird, garden snake, butterfly, three-legged fox that had found her just so it could collapse and die in her helpless hands. There was never anything she could do to save them, just as there was never anything Zion could say to his sister to make her feel better about being unable to change they way life had decided to run its course. He used to say, “it’s not your fault, you couldn’t have changed what happened,” but then they would fight because she could have tried. Always she insisted, there had to be something more she could have tried. She didn’t know how to accept that it wasn’t about her, that she just happened to be there, that it wasn’t a choice for her to make and so he would say, “Denali, you’re too pretty to look so sad,” but what he meant was —)

Little Dove, it’s not your fault. You couldn’t have changed what happened. It was my choice to make. And yet her hand releases the girl who struck Zion because the fighting has not stilled in the same way that he has. There are more choices to be made. “I don’t need a weapon to snuff the life out of any of you,” taunts the Career making his move against Dove and suddenly it occurs to Zion that he might be the one who needs to accept that this isn’t about him. Maybe he can change what happens. Maybe there’s something more he should try. Zion throws the axe, held close to the bottom — (the trick is not to throw it too hard) — before he even knows it’s in his hand. It’s only then that he realizes what a deceptively pretty face has tempted his fingers into doing in the name of false hope and just beneath his onesie and above his broken rib a bruise begins to bloom like the first sign of rot.

I Was Married by Tegan & Sara.



[Zion attacks Cesare, throwing axe]

nbAdF8A_throwing axe

[10146 // Miss (Axe lost) — 0 damage]



[accuracy re-roll]

throwing axe

[10063 // Severed Ear — 8 damage]

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[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

ollie

A scream filtered the air in a manner even more powerful then the howls ignited at the start of this nightmares back from where they ran. An even more bone-chilling scream unlike anything Ollie had ever heard before. And without approval, her wrist inflicted her very own weapon towards that bloodcurdling shout. The noise of chaos refuses to allow the volume of the crack, but she feels it nonetheless - another person’s bone snapping at her cause. Tears threaten to pool her eyes once more in a stinging mess, but again she refuses them. Guilt protrudes her conscience in a matter that can’t be numbed, while only slightly does her features exhibit such. This is no place to be the twelve year old little girl that she was. And even as the petite needles of torture begin to peck at her own porcelain exterior, she seeks to remind herself of such.

Never before had she been inflicted by a bee or a wasp’s bite, though she’d run from them all the same when one was intruding nearby company. The reasons for such terror unfolds upon her in tenfolds, as unknown mystical creatures nip at her skin. Pain engulfs her in physical empathy of why that scream from another commenced to begin with. Tears seek to well once more. A whimper pleads to be vocalized. A beg wishes to breach to be elsewhere. But none of that will deliver any good, but sign her as weak…as the opposite of what her siblings challenged her to be.

But the agony of the situation increases even further. Terror engulfs her harsher then before, as the danger returns to that of Dove. Welts start to decorate Ollie’s physical existence gruesomely, yet that’s far from her current concern. The guilt of harming another continues to scar her core, but that can’t be her dire burden. Other’s are craving the destruction of her only present companion, and it’s twisting her veins far worse then her own demise ever could.

No. Stop. Please. Stop, tempts to speak from her ajar lips - yet no voice follows through. That would be weakness. Weakness was not requested by her siblings. Her bottom lip trembles in need to scream a plead for them to halt. Her heart quivers with every rapid beat to convince them to conclude. Free fingers tremble in desperation to do something, anything; as the ones secured upon her weapon clenches even tighter in determination. But rather then blabbering loudly in a null and void beg, her armed palm decides to take initiative again without permission.

{Ollie Brooke attacks Cesare ~ Flail}
LJfKN893flail
{12156 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage
(Flail)}

{Accuracy Roll}

{Ollie Brooke attacks Cesare ~ Flail}
flail
{12126 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage
(Flail)}flail�flail

[Arrows]

Black branches breach the setting sky concealing the creation of cruelty beneath their barricade. A summer's swelter settles through the rustling leaves upon a foreign breeze. With the fading of light leaking lower, trespassing deeper down the appearingly ancient tree question quiver inside my mind. Will death succumb myself to sleep before the pull of harmless rest? Will innocence ignited in real youthful radiance be snuffed out by blows of sorrowful steel? Will a boy with a face wet from the water of his making find his final shelter in the shadows of this living dome? Endless question all quelling with the sinking of the sun. 

In an instant I am far from the waging war. A voice cries out for help and my hands hold its maker softly. My fingers fix the damage dealt by a fall to my sister's knee and in her grimaces the pain pricks me as well. In absolute opposition our souls were split from the same seed. One bound with freedom as her wings to fly upon and with true talons to fight for the future. And one sewn with softness to nestle down and deliver kindness and care. Two mirrors of perfect physical perception, yet two entirely different emotional existences. Two twins joined genetically, now separated in life. Yet I wonder if she too feels the pain of my sliced skin. 

They come in scourges screeching from the shadowing skies. Unsure if memories are now muddling with reality I watch them furiously fill the fight. Shock sears the faces of children now pets to be slaughtered and I watch with widening windows of disbelief. Bites brew blood and stings spur screams, a scene stolen straight from the heart of horror. Not a single speck turns to tear into my skin before the swarm of sudden madness migrates beyond the battle. For a moment the fight freezes with confusion still crippling the attacked. 

My hands search in swift sweeps over her frightened figure. Welts begin to rise and ripen over her soft skin already as reminders of the world we now serve as prisoners within. Invisible, yet certainly present, are our chains all connected to the core of our involuntary participation, to the manipulators of our reality. We are the physical pawns and pieces of the Games those in the Capitol choose to create. We are the fires that fuel their sinful success. We will become the familiar yet forgotten names which lines their resumes. We are not humans to them, but objects for obliteration. 

Cease fire spurs back into combat as in front of innocence I let myself be crippled. I let his foot find my foot blocking her from his charge. I let his axe angle towards my body before breaching her's. I stand strong despite living with a soul sewn together for peace and not for war. I stand strong and unwavering because I know that if I can get her just one more day of light, then I can still stay who I am. I can still fly above the smoke and above the fires of the terrible temptation to turn on fellow children. That is what we all are after all, children paying for someone else's war. 

Ollie emerges without words from behind me and I watch her move with a miss towards terror himself. I spot Zion badly beaten yet breathing safely for at least another second, and I'm relieved. For at least this second home is still nearby, my family is still nearby. So I meet his smile of pain with one of my own before flying into the fray after Ollie.

Apologies echo from the lips of the boy by the beast's side, and I stare towards him. There is truth in his tone and honesty in his eyes, but weakness in his understanding.

"Don't ask for forgiveness which is not warranted to be given."

I move towards him not out of malice, but out of the hope of drawing his monster of an ally's attention away from Ollie. I don't even bring one of my steel spears forward as I strike. I don't desire death, but I don't wish it upon him either. 

Dove Elsu attacks Ezekiel Alexander // Unarmed
bAk4nH9_unarmed
{Miss -- 0.0 Damage}

Accuracy Reroll
unarmed
{Bruised Right Shin -- 2 damage}

unarmed�unarmed

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

i like dollars i like diamonds i like stunting i like shining i like million dollar fillers wheres my pen ***** im fillin

[ cassia oretio d12 attacks ezekiel alexander d6m ; unarmed ]

3ZFEY8IPunarmed

[ miss ]

unarmed

[ miss ]

unarmed�unarmed

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

Cesare Crocetti

It's frustrating right now, and yet my mind is racing rapidly. My words don't meet my attacks, and I simply play it off that I'm holding back. Yeah, I want to kill someone, but why make it easy? Why snap their neck when I can play with them? That's what makes this entire thing fun. The cocky grin grows larger, and I keep moving around trying to figure out the best thing to do. Everyone is taking damage, and it doesn't matter to me. Even the foolish boy from six is soaking up some attention. Better him than me.

I stayed put too long, and an axe goes flying by my head with a whoosh, but I feel the pain, and the sound around me changes. A bloodcurdling cry echoes past my teeth as I raise my hand to figure out what damage was done, and when my hand touches where my ear once was, I wince again. I bring my hand towards my face, and I see the blood covering it, and it's flowing down the side of my face. I wonder if the healer can do something to fix that. A small burst of laughter echoes from my teeth because I imagine most people running away from that, but I choose to stay and fight. Pain is only temporary, but my pride will live on forever.

I pop my knuckles, and I shake my head trying to fight the tears forming in the corner of my eyes. Crying isn't something I want to do, but the pain is more than anything I've ever felt before. Yet I still feel my fists clenching tight, blood seeping between my finger tips. It's such a lovely feeling, and it's one I want to feel more off. I want to look people in the eye as their life flees from their body. I raise my gaze, and I turn looking at everyone standing around zoning in on my target. Someone will pay for what they've done, but I can promise it won't be me.

79th Hunger Games

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

Cesare attacks Dove Elsu | Unarmed

AspgExdSunarmed
5157 -- Gash/Bruised Left Knee -- 3.5 damageunarmed

[Knuckles]

should've stayed, were there signs, I ignored?
can I help you, not to hurt, anymore?
we saw brilliance, when the world, was asleep
there are things that we can have, but can't keep

Every part of his being begged him to run, yet Zeke stood frozen in place watching the chaos evolve around him leaving him wondering why nobody was running away. Why weren't they fleeing when they're lives were slowly ticking away? The answer for him was simple: as long as Cesare was standing his ground fighting, Ezekiel would fight along with him, but it didn't make it any easier. It didn't change what was going on, and the last thing he wanted was to kill someone.

He was nothing more than a weak coward apologizing for what he had done wrong, yet it didn't make a difference. Dove's words embedded themselves on a record player stuck on repeat. Asking for forgiveness in a place like this was probably the dumbest things someone had done, but he couldn't help it. Fighting wasn't his strong point, and trying to hurt people because he wanted to live only made it worse.But this was the reality now, and it slapped him hard across the face.

His stomach churned, and his heart sank even lower into his stomach only to leap into his throat as violent screams tore through the air. Turning around, Zeke found himself staring at the career. The one who swore he wasn't afraid, and his heart dropped even lower. Blood gushed down the side of his face, and he wanted to tell him to just run away. To get out of here, but the scream turned into laughter.

Every hair stood on end. Cesare enjoyed this. He enjoyed hurting people and didn't mind being injured in the process. A pixie glued Zeke's feet to the ground as his lower lip dropped leaving him staring like a fool - perhaps he understood why someone from district two would volunteer, but even then winning wasn't guaranteed.

Were the games worth more to them than just making it home alive?

A heavy sigh left his chest, and with a heavy heart, Zeke lifted the axe into the air. Running away would only make him look like a coward, and right now all that mattered was making his father proud.

"Perhaps you're right." His eyes locked on Dove for just a moment before returning to the ground once more. "Who am I to apologize and ask for forgiveness for these unfortunate circumstances that placed us all here?"

But deep inside the sorrow remained as he fought to not say another word.

Table by Calla <3
lyrics: One More Light - Linkin Park

Ezekiel attacks Dove | axe
Qnso57LCaxe

{results: 11149 -- Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage}axe

[L△LIA]

Filler. Zion is ridiculously upset that he attacked another person and doesn't know who he is anymore. Axes are scary, does he have to touch them? Maybe Cassia will carry the scary backpack for him. Fleeeeee~