what we left behind | day 3, vanguard v. chupacabras

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

Cage me like an animal
A crown with gems and gold
Eat me like a cannibal
Chasing the neon throne

LAS PLAGAS UNDEAD

Morana, #1 — She is the first to sense their presence. And she is still, and she is silent; and all things that are warm and living have no place in her territory. She growls to alert her sister of the intrusion, who has lost herself to her hunger and continues to feast on their latest kill. Morrigan releases the carcass with a quiet snarl, but even she cannot deny that a fresh kill always has a richer taste.

Morana approaches unseen, body poised to pounce and claws ready to destroy. Her savagery is beautiful, her stealth a legend in its own right, and no creature ever sees her coming. She is a tiny terror, ugly and foul and something to be feared — but she is a goddess of her domain. All these bones are the foundation of her kingdom, and there is no beast that she cannot conquer.

Let them tremble now, let them bleed;
let them realize that death has come for them.

( #1 attacks Eve, claws/knife )
GTxAEdtr4knife
( deep gash on right calf ; 8.0 )

Morrigan, #2 — She follows her sister into battle not because she has to, but because she's starving. If Morana is a god-queen, then Morrigan is her executioner. She collects the corpses that build the walls of their great empire, and it is by her fangs that skin is torn from bone. It is not in her nature to be calculated, to strategise and to show self-control; she is a blade fit for revealing the inner truth of a person.

Ribs hide secrets and livers hold regrets — all are a delicious treat. Her teeth are red as she circles their prey, sharp tail whipping through the air. For their small size, the chupacabra sisters are not to be underestimated. Nothing in this arena is more deadly than them. You can see the reminders of their many conquests in the blood streaks that stain the ground, in the rot that festers all around them.

If Morana wishes to expand their keep, then so be it; Morrigan will gladly gorge herself on memories.

( #2 attacks Temple, tail/blunt )
blunt
( bruised left wrist ; 2.0 )

The air is silk
Shadows form a grill
If I lose control
I feed the beast within

table: darren
song: human ; of monsters and men

knife·blunt

[sbeeg]

Two faces appear in the sky, and I recognize both of them. I had asked Faux Rhodes to watch after his district partner. I was positive after vandalizing the training center that little Carmen Stirling would be set upon by a back of mutts and ripped to pieces. He was one the eldest tributes and he was kin to a victor. I never thought he'd have to worry about, well, anything. I was wrong. Maybe, Carmen should have looked out for Faux. Maybe I should of...

No Temple. You aren't responsible for everyone.


Carter Laws face flashes across the sky. We had spent maybe all of a minute together in the elevator traveling up the many floors to the lower district floors. Two boys, both made a target by their family relations. I can't help but grieve for their families, especially the Laws. To lose two sons to the same evil must be heart breaking.

I think of Ma, and I pray I don't break her's.

Whereas sleep came easily the first night after a day of adrenaline and exhaustion, the second night is harder. I lay on the thick grass of the vineyard, looking up at the artificial stars. They don't twinkle like real ones. They blink at a steady rhythm like a video on repeat.

When I finally drift to sleep I dream of the Capitol's anthem blaring. Eve, Bette, and Wander's faces shuffling through the sky before ending on Kahinta's.

***

The next day is full of walking. My tongue is as dry as sawdust and I'm desperate for a drink. Another day without water and I may not even live long enough to be murdered.

We march through the vineyard until the rows of bright leaves and purple fruit end. The landscape gives way to forest. At the edge of trees a small bat carcass lays scattered through the grass, it's insides strewn over the ground.

My first instinct is to run, but Bette convinces me otherwise. Whatever is eating these creatures will be better dealt with if we know where it is. I want to turn back, but the rawness in my throat pushes me forward.

It's dim within the trees, their great branches blocking out the sun. The trees are giant and as tall as houses. Another carcass, this time it appears it was formerly a rat of some kind, is splattered against a tree trunk.

A rock catches my attention, tucked away in the corner of my vision. It's blue grey, light the sky right after a storm. I kneel down, pressing my palm against the chill surface. It's not smooth to the touch, but it doesn't splinter like wood. I look closer, making out the grooves and notches of a tree beneath the glaze of time. Like a tree turned to stone.

"Guys, come look," I say, my eyes glued to the interesting stone. I run my fingers across it, running into hot liquid. I blink, looking at the fresh blood on my fingertips. "Wha-"

Before I know what is happening two small creatures leap out. One flies past my shoulder and the other smacks itself into my wrist. I snatch my hand back, holding the bruised bone.

They're small little creatures, not even as tall as the length of my hand, but they sure do pack a punch. I slip a knife out of my coat, not trusting the axe to be as precise as I need it to be. I keep an eye on the little creature before slamming the blade down into the hardened wood.

Table credit griffin^^

[Attacks Morrigan (#2) with knife]
dSD15jUA_knife
[Stabbed in Forearm -- 8.5 damage + 1 from mutt tamer]

knife

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

It takes a long, long time for the numb feeling in my brain to fade away, for the world to stop its twirling, for my thoughts to rise from where the bats buried them with their.. their poison.

I don’t know if that’s the right word, but it felt like poison. To have my brain be taken on a journey I never asked for, to feel my own limbs struggle to find stability in the world around me, to become numb to the very real and terrifying reality--

.that’s poison, plain and simple.

The thought lingers:

I failed

I failed

I failed them all,

but we’re all alive, somehow, due to some stroke of luck, and the night settles and the anthem blares, and there are faces in the sky--

But not ours.

Not ours.

NOT OURS.

We’re still breathing, somehow.

The stars shine bright as the anthem ends, and even if they’re not real, they remind me of the real thing.

.(If you feel your heart swell for the idea of home, for the joy in those old memories, is that happiness? Or is it nothing but a reminder that the happiness has gone away somewhere you can’t reach it?)

As the numbness from the poison fades and my emotions return like an army coming back from war, I decide not to think about it.

There’s too much quiet, too much time to think.

It’s for the best, though -- we drift off quietly as the night gets darker, all of us hoping that nothing horrific will find us in the shadows. I like this place, the vines, the rows, the flowers, the fruit. If we stay quiet, perhaps we’ll hide from the evils of the world.

It’s a foolish thing, to hope that all of the looming dangers might forget about our ragtag group, but in a world full of cruel things that want to see us fall, I can only dream of the bad things coming to an end on their own.

Helplessness, learned.

I nestle into the grass between rows of vines, curling into the flag that doesn’t quite keep me warm.

I can pretend it’s like a blanket,

or a sheet,

pretend that the soft grass is my own bed,

or the yard outside my home,

or the space beneath the tree I used to read beneath.

The pretending helps my thoughts drift away,

down,

down,

down,

until they become dreams.

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

In the morning, we move along, as we always do. We move with a purpose today, searching for the relief of water. I feel fine, somehow -- not thirsty, not hungry -- and I wonder how that could be.

I almost feel reassured.

Until-- until the bird arrives.

I think at first that it might be a mutt, but it doesn’t strike.

It lingers, circling above my head,

a vulture,

waiting,

following,

patient.

This is not the only bad omen of the morning. We find remnants of corpses as we walk, decomposing flesh and broken bone and the vestiges of life once lived. They’re animals or mutts, and they didn’t just fall. They were fiercely preyed upon and left to rot.

(But by what?)

What could have done this?

The vulture descends, sniffing at the blood and bone, but it doesn’t devour the meat.

I swear, it looks straight through me.

Bette, perhaps the bravest of us all, decides that we should follow the trail. I want so desperately to say ”Guys, hey guys? Isn’t this a bad idea, traipsing towards the killing thing? Can we go the other way? Leave it alone?”

But I don’t, because I am also afraid of being weak, and some fears are always going to be stronger.

Instead I say ”This is eerie,” eyes shifting from carcass to vulture, and we press onward, deeper into the forest.

The woods are a comfort and a blessing. Though the vast expanse of trees shields us from view, it also hides great secrets. Where are the evil things? Lingering in the branches? Just out of sight, around the bend? Hidden by the foliage on the forest floor?

”Guys, come look,” Temple says, and my heart clenches in my chest.

Nope, absolutely not, I do not want to look. The mysteries of the arena can leave me alone.

I hang back,

teeth clenched as Temple moves forward,

.curiosity pulling me onward, fear holding me still,

and I’m somewhere in the middle when Temple mutters ”Wha-”

A small thing darts out from the underbrush.

I knew it, I knew it, the forest with all of its secrets and its hiding places, shielding these creatures from us.

Two small things, terrifying things.

One of them lurches toward me, and I don’t move fast enough. I can never get my body to work in the way it needs to, and I’m halfway through reaching for my weapon when the beast tears through the flesh of my leg.

As I crumble to the ground, not forever, just for a moment, the vulture flies lower.

”Leave me BE,” I shriek at it, gripping the handle of my weapon as I shoo the scavenger away with my other hand.

Strengthening the grip on my weapon and my courage, I spot the evil thing on the ground, and my fear mingles with an anger I didn’t know I had.

”DON’T.

HURT.

ME."

[Eve attacks Morana, #1, spiked blunt]
6Yf1cyZXGspiked blunt
14189- Crushed Skull - X

spiked blunt

[shrimp]

She doesn't know Faux Rhodes, and part of her is glad she didn't. It makes it, seeing him - already a man, someone who deserved to age out of this miserable game - easier to stomach. The next one is the opposite.

The floor, she remembers, was smooth. As if it had never been touched by anyone who had worked with the earth. No sand, no grit, just a crisp white marble.

"I wanted to say," she had uttered, the gold and maroon sari a little tight on her shoulders. "Congrats on the score. I suppose we'll have to watch out for you."

That hadn't landed well, she admitted as much. Perhaps it was the nerves of finishing her interview, or just her being unsure of what to say. And now, staring at Carter's frame in the sky, she wonders if all of her calculations were off. But if hers were off, so were the Gamemakers. So no, she decides. She wasn't incorrect.

Carter had sighed. "It's nothing special. Just a number. Mitchell didn't do so well despite his score."

"Scores are just numbers. But a good one says a lot. Even if he didn't... live, as long as you wanted."

It did say a lot, she thinks. And as his face fades, she lies awake with card tricks shuffling through her head. She flicks the hammer of her pistol, the familiar resistance calming amid the chirping of bats and the sickly sweet smell of grapes on the vine.

Ace, she thinks as the words soar overhead - a better nickname. Fly Home.

---

It was her idea to follow the trail - she can't recall a prior games with this type of carnage, and it would be much easier to avoid whatever was causing this chaos by knowing what it actually looked like - but as the walked along, a dead bat or squirrel splayed out against trees and among the dead leaves, Bette knows that it's distinctly not what her allies were looking to do. A sorry rings out in her head, but there's no point in uttering it out loud. What would it do?

They could turn back, but then they would have just wasted an hour of daylight. And she can almost swear that she hears the faint sound of running water.

"Guys, come look," Temple says, snapping Bette out of her thoughts. "Wha-"

Her hand leaves the stone with red dripping down and Bette's eyes widen. And it takes her a few seconds to understand what is happening, not until there's a loud crunch under Eve's spiked club and a guttural demand.

Bette turns towards Wander, quickly scanning ver for any signs of being attacked; seeing none, she turns to Temple's knife, sliced into what seems to be a miniature figurine, stone-like, screaming and snarling. She darts forward.

"Watch your hand," she says to Temple, soft and rushed, as her fist slams down blade first.

[attacks Morrigan, knife]
x3VCv4th9knife
[2166 -- Severed Left Ear -- 8.0 damage]

knife

[WT]

Any trace of good spirits Wander managed to gather that evening—chasing birds with Temple, laughing gently at the stately way they accepted their cargo, then again and more loudly in delighted disbelief when Bette managed to get one by holding her hand out—crashes down with the opening notes of Panem's anthem. Yesterday no news was good news, but they all remember the canons today; at least two have died, maybe more if they missed a boom in the chaos, and Wander can do nothing about it but draw vis knees against vis chest with vis arm and wait.

For the second year in a row, the first portrait jumps all the way to District Eleven. Wander doesn't know much more about Faux than that; he was Carmen's District partner, a tall guy—or maybe only tall compared to Carmen—who seemed nice enough but who ve never had any cause to talk with.

They had planned to stick together, Wander thinks, and ve wonders vaguely how Carmen is doing, but for Faux to appear first, she must be hanging in there. For that matter, it means Annie and Quest are also alive for now.

It does not, ve remembers half a heartbeat too late to not gasp sharply at the next portrait, mean the same for Carter.

Somewhere under the artificial stars, a bird is circling, looking for a body that must have been collected hours ago. It was the quiet one of the two, a soft bundle of grey fluff almost smaller than the flower it carried, and Wander has no idea where it will go now. To his allies, maybe, offering them a rose they might not realize was never meant for them, or maybe simply back to its own life. Maybe the homing instinct is strong enough to keep it searching, carrying the last vestiges of a conversation on useless life support, until a bored Gamemaker calls it time to collect.

Somewhere further out there, well beyond the walls of the Arena, his family must be mourning. Faux's, too.

Wander hasn't cried since the train, and ve doesn't now. But when ve lays down after vis watch, it's a long time before ve finds any sleep.

---

In the morning, with their wounds soothed by rest and Eve and Bette steadier on their feet, they set out.

Despite yesterday's debacle, Wander doesn't want to leave the vineyard. Ve woke to a throat and a headache demanding water with mounting desperation, and the thriving vines must feed from something. A quick dig uncovers no obvious irrigation channels, though, and ultimately ve has to concede that it's best to move before something or someone sneaks up on them in the heavy morning fog.

Almost the moment they pass the first line of trees, another world engulfs them, one stiller and quieter than the vineyard despite the persistent dry wind and distant honks. Bette hadn't been kidding about the size of some of the Arena's trees, that first day, and they only get larger as they go, the leaves flying further and further out of reach and the trunks stretching so wide that Wander thinks all four of them, hand in hand, couldn't encircle some. It reminds Wander—vaguely and counter-intuitively, but powerfully—of staring into the empty horizon from the deck of the Forecast. Ve can barely see ten feet ahead for the trees, let alone to the edge of the world, but has that same disorienting, thrilling sense of standing amid something infinitely vaster than any human who could live to touch it.

That feeling might be a comforting touchstone, if it didn't make the scattered carnage all the more jarring. Wander agrees with Bette about following the trail—only the vineyard they already resolved to leave waits behind them, and vis throbbing hand and forehead make strong cases for not letting another ambush take ver off guard—but pacing through low, dappled light, examining increasingly fresh tattered carcasses with no sign of the hunters, sets off a relentless foghorn in the back of vis mind. Temple looks like a ghost story, vivid against the shadows in her torn and bloodstained dress, and Wander can only imagine ve looks the same. Peaceable as it seems, the vulture trailing after them doesn't help matters; it turns its beak up at every chunk of flesh, leaving Wander to worry what could taint meat so badly that even scavengers refuse it. Poison? The butcher's smell? It's sticking close to them, so the problem can't be that they smell like humans, right?

It probably can't be. Maybe. Wander hopes not, anyway. Not that ve wants to fight anyone, but ve especially doesn't want to tangle with any human who would do this.

"This is eerie," Eve says eventually, a summary so succinct that all Wander can do is hum in agreement as ve crouches to roll over the latest piece of the trail: a huge, short-snouted head with only one sightless eye remaining. Its blood is cool to the touch but less clumpy than the last one's. Aside from that, it gives up none of its secrets, and they leave it behind.

They've been silent for a while when Temple's voice rings out, a little lighter than most of the day's conversation. "Guys, come look."

"Hmm?" When Wander looks around, she's tracing one hand over a pale rock. Ve starts toward her, eyebrows raised curiously.

"Wha—"

Wander jumps out of vis skin as she jerks back.

At the same time, something tiny and dark flies past to tear through Eve's leg, sending fresh blood down her off-white pants before Wander even gets a second hand on vis javelin.

Good news is, it's not humans, but for the baby Silksharp's sake, can every single thing in this Arena stop ripping into Eve?

Eve, understandably, decides she's had enough of that, too, and smashes the thing under her spiked club with an almighty holler and a solid crunch. Wander whistles, high and impressed, and levels vis spear at the second, tracking it carefully with the point but not striking yet for fear of hitting Bette as she moves in. It's a grotesque little thing up close, some kind of spiny upright... creature, who knows—"That a lizard?" ve asks distractedly as Bette's knife takes a chunk off its head—with black eyes and claws way too long for something small enough to sit in Wander's palm. Temple and Bette had the right idea, reaching for the smallest weapons they had, but the spear will have to do.

[Wander attacks Morrigan, spear]
Bz38OAHbjspear
[Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5]


An incomplete list of puns this generator suggested as boat names, all of which delighted me and none of which, unfortunately, Valentín Linares would ever, ever name his ship: Sea You Later, Yacht In The C, Endolphin, Gettin' Nauti, Devocean, Knot Too Shabby, Reel Success. Also, not a pun, but Fish Feeder made me snort. (Also also, I'd be lying if I said I didn't half-consider The Kingdom Come, but this is the wrong character for that reference.)

spear

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

Cage me like an animal
A crown with gems and gold
Eat me like a cannibal
Chasing the neon throne

LAS PLAGAS UNDEAD

Morrigan, #2 —
She is screaming, and she is breaking; but her kingdom still stands. Morana's corpse lies mangled in the distance, some sort of sick metaphor that the surviving sister doesn't want to understand. The pain she feels is deep, like shards of glass in the pit of her stomach, but a beast does not mourn. And the death of a queen does not mean the end of an empire. War is the foundation of this place.

A body is just a body — as long as there are souls to eat, the warlord has a purpose. Morana's blood makes the ground that much redder, her bones raise the walls of their keep that much higher; and Morrigan has ceased her howling. Even as their blades close in, splitting her skin and impairing her senses, she makes no sound. She does not falter from her path.

This is what it means to be a glutton —
to starve even when you're already full.

( #2 attacks Wander, claws/knife )
T9Wkep0w3knife
( shallow cut on back; 4.0 )

The air is silk
Shadows form a grill
If I lose control
I feed the beast within

table: darren
song: human ; of monsters and men

knife

[sbeeg]

My blade finds its mark, slamming into the creature's arm nearly pinning it to the strange blue rock behind it. The other has leaped pat me and dug its dirty claws into Eve's leg. She responds by cracking open its head. The small cavern of its skull opening like an egg shell against a bowl, small pink brains dripping out onto the grass.

Bette wastes no time slamming her own blade into the creature I've already wounded.

"Watch your hand." Her voice is calm and soothing as her blade rips into the creature's flesh, part of its head sliced off by the motion. Her words and actions felt so drastically different. Her voice like Ma's sitting by my bedside when I'm sick, singing until I fall asleep. Her hands moving as deftly as any Career's, nearly breaking open this one's head as well.

They were definitely... interesting little animals. The one before me barely seemed like a threat. It wriggled and snapped, but I didn't feel the same terror as I did with yesterday's round of muttations. These weren't slapping their winds around my face, so I liked them a lot more.


They're just so small. I yank my blade out of the stone wood, and watch Wander's spear slash at its head. Blood dribbled onto the storm colored rock, a dark crimson almost black.

I shake out my wrist, the initial throbbing of being struck slowly ebbing away, and bring my blade down.

Table credit griffin^^

[Attacks Morrigan with Knife]
7FVwnzQaHknife
[Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage + 1 from mutt tamer]

knife

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

A devastating crunch sounds in the air, and when I pull my weapon back, the mutt that tore through my leg is practically pulverized.

It takes me a long moment to realize what just happened. I see the others move in quick succession in my peripheral vision, but I’m left staring down at the crushed creature, its mangled body reminding me of something else.

The training center.

The faceless dummy.

My bloody fists.

“Holy shit, you guys,” I say, and then I cover my mouth, looking around for cameras that aren’t easy to find, anyway. ”Sorry, Mom,” I mumble under my breath.

The biggest grin spreads across my face, and I feel a heavy relief flood over me as my allies make quick work of the other mutt.

They’re small creatures, but this doesn’t feel like a small victory.

This is a first step.


[Eve leaves the fight]

[shrimp]

After it stops squirming, Bette takes a closer look at the figure, splayed out like its prey against the stone. No, not stone, as Temple had pointed out before this skirmish, but wood long dead in a silent forest.

A reptile by the look of its remains. She prods it with her knife, turning it over to examine the spines running along its body, the frame nimble and obscure. She glances once more at the remains of a word discarded twenty feet away, carved open messily, but with blades as sharp as a surgeon's. Her hypothesis seems solid: they were lucky.

Still though, luck is luck. Bette turns towards the smallest of her companions as she curses in.. astonishment? Pride? She laughs softly as Eve covers her mouth, apologizing to her mother - this moment will be replayed across the country throughout the day, she's sure. And it's well-earned, in its twisted way.

"Nice job," she says to Eve with a small smile, eyeing the remains of a monster that are stuck to the girl's weapon. Then her eyes linger on the calf, still slowly oozing. "Let's patch that up."

In the silence a howl is audible. Soft, but not far. Bette narrows her eyes.

"Quickly."

[bette leaves]

[WT]

The second creature whips around Wander and launches itself silently ver Wander back, where its claw rattle on the rhinestones but bounce harmlessly off the armor beneath. Temple's knife follows it to the ground, and that's that. The whole thing takes a matter of seconds.

After the long, unnerving hour tracking, their showdown with the forest's sinister butchers feels... pretty anticlimactic. Wander's limbs buzz, still alight with adrenaline, but the threats already lie bleeding or splattered on the forest floor with their final ravaged victim. Cautiously ve lowers vis spear, eyes flicking from person to person and into the shadows and finding nothing.

"Holy shit, you guys."

Eve's voice rings into the still air, settling Wander's nerves—not least because if she sounds that relieved, the gash in her leg must be bearable. Ve relaxes vis stance the rest of the way grins at her as she covers her face and Bette laughs softly. "Sounds about right." Bette's not wrong that they need to take care of that wound, but next to yesterday's prolonged struggle, they came out of this practically unscathed.

A howl dampens the mood a little as Bette speaks. Automatically Wander looks toward the sound; there's nothing to be seen through the trees, of course, but it sounds close enough to offer a sobering reminder that other things lurk in this Arena. "Yeah," ve says to Bette's quickly, voice a little softer in the wake of that howl. "Eve, what do you need?"

[Wander leaves the fight]

[sbeeg]

The creature goes limp and just like that I've killed another living thing.

"Holy shit!" the words are odd coming from the mouth of someone so young. I want to turn around and softly remind her that Ma doesn't approve of cursing in the house. But we're not in a house, we're not with my Ma, and she's not my sister.

Bette starts to clean her up, the nasty gash in Eve's leg looking worse than it probably is under the dim gray light of the forest. I wipe my knife off on the sleeve of my jacket and shove it back inside.

A howl softly slips through the trees, more like a dream than an actual noise. A shiver runs up my spine and I tug my jacket around my shoulders a little tighter as if the brown fabric could shield me from a animal's teeth.

I pick up my bag and throw it over my shoulder, my skateboard under one arm. The day is still young.

[Temple Jones flees]

Table credit griffin^^