precious metals // homemade dynamite [TH vs. AV - Day 4]

[shrimp]

As the voices turn tense, the light sparkles across the tunnels and refracts - all warm golds and cool silvers. They echo against the tunnel that stands as old as time, as if the slightest budge could send it collapsing down.

Bette knows it won’t happen - the Gamemakers know better than to kill eight in one tremble. But the prospect doesnt help, and the rumble is the last thing she wants to relive. Still, an impasse lies before them as Bette stands, stone-faced, one of her arrows nestled in the ground: she'd fired one as they saw the light approaching - hoping, praying, whoever it was would turn and run.

Clearly, the opposite has happened. Wander’s District partner stands across from them, her allies with her. Parson from Six: loud and brash; Hellion from Twelve: fire and brimstone; Angel from Seven: elegant, mysterious. Bette doesn’t shake that 10 from her memory, but all of them are threats, a quarter of their foes standing straight ahead.

Arrows coated in the putrid mixture she collected two days ago, she shoots Eve a pointed look, eyes steel cold in the dim. Temple stands beside her, stance at the ready with the shield she'd crafted late into the night as the anthem blared, stripping away the jagged edges with her knife, twisting branches into sturdy wood with tape and her pliers. Wander, ever the mediator, negotiations crumbling.

An armistice only works if there’s something gained; and in a zero-sum game, there’s nothing to come from that. As the chatter turns to a roar she narrows her eyes, takes a quick breath.

Then a barrier, broken with the click of a trigger.

[bette dips arrows in sloshed blood]
[bette attacks parson; bow]
tdEg45eqJbow
[miss (arrow broken)]

accuracy reroll

bow
[miss (arrow broken)]

bow·bow

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

"hang in there, mo. the twelves are catching fire again, you have a new victor to rival against."

Hell Mo was nobody who was destined to die. However, every day so far felt like she was destined to die. She felt like no important rival to face.

Like a myth being slapped out of consciousness, her immortality got demolished daily. Her mortality was like a flame. It starts off bright. flickering and dancing back and forth. She was alive, and so was the flame. Over time, the wind may blow harder and thrust it down, making it known how little endurance it has. Her flame would die down some days, almost just a spark at points, a blaze barely breathing. On other days, she was alive. Flame thrashing back and forth and as wild as the eye could see. Right now, her flame was calm. Ironic, really, that she could be compared to a flame. Her name was Hell after all; Hell is the embodiment of flames, and as discussed, she is a flame.

One arrow was fired into our direction as we marched down the cave, maybe an attempt to scare us, maybe an attempt to snipe one of us in the forehead before we could even see our foe. Maybe they wanted to take down the blazing District Twelve. Our fire would not die.

District Twelve's flame once lived, it then died, but now it's alive again.

I guess that arrow was the shot that was heard around the... er, arena? Our world, I guess.

One shot, that's all it takes to start a war.

One flame, that's all it takes to keep hope alive.

[lights sword on fire with flint & jar of tar]
[attacks temple, flaming sword]
bDP2d7Z2Lsword
1-50
[dg - 8.0 + 1.0 blades, +1.0 rivalry]

sword·1-50

[sbeeg]

My eyes were still raw and sore from the day before. The dimness of the mines didn't help either. The dust inside scratched at them and I kept rubbing my face onto the sleeves of my jacket to clear them.

It was bound to happen eventually. After three days of relative peace we'd finally run into tributes. Living tributes. Whereas sitting beside Yusei had been sad but peaceful, this was the complete opposite. My heart was stuck in my throat, my fingers trembling against my dress.

Bette notched an arrow and I quickly took out the shield she had crafted for me. Thick branches tied together and held in place by duct tape. No one would ever now how simple its materials were, she was that good. I hold it in front of my body, huddling behind it grateful for something to block from view just how much my fingers are shaking.

Bette's arrow misses its mark and I swallow hard. These are not little bats, these are people. They will either kill me or I will kill them, and I'm not sure which idea terrifies me the most.

There's a eruption of flames and the district twelve girl stands illuminated by the flickering beast consuming her sword. She lunges for me and while the fire does not survive the move, her target does. The edge meets my leg and I bite back a scream. I'm used to feeling pain, and I'm used to holding it back. However, it's always pain blooming from accidents. From falls, and barbed wire and disgruntle cattle.

This was a person actively trying to kill me. I grip my shield tighter and I raise my axe. I will not give them the satisfaction.

Table credit griffin^^

*Temple has equipped Bette's Bitchin' Shield*

[Attacks Hellion Mo d12f with Axe]
PR1Nr39ddaxe
[Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage]

axe

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

The night is clear as the heart beating in my chest, I walked away today why? That is what is written on the paper neatly folded between the white bird’s beak as it floats away to its recipient. I doubt my request will be returned, this isn’t a game of help but a battle of tearing down others. Yet here I am, asking a girl who has brought me close to death relationship advice for a boy who I only have days left to spend with…

I just slump down on the ground, away from the sticky tar that we have all collected in the empty jars that were sponsored a few days ago. I guess they knew we would end up here someday, a bit of flames dancing on the television screens will be exciting for the audience.

Soon I will run out of bandages, there is a need to change them but tomorrow could bring more gashes to protect from infection. Fuck, what makes me the target in all of this? Guess I will have to keep my mouth shut tomorrow, hide behind Hellion and push the mighty Annie ahead with her throwing knives while keeping the promise with Angel.

"Does it still hurt? I'm not so good with my hands in this scenario." Angel’s concerns are always so unexpecting, a guy like him caring for a guy like me? Honestly, there must be better out there for him. I just shake my head, shoving the medical provisions into the handbag. ” "It hurts even more now, it's ok I'll sort myself out."

I guess yesterday’s events have been flipped over, it is me who is the walking is wounded today, even if Angel’s ears haven’t miraculously grown back over night. Each of us has taken our fair share of battering, it is surprise none of us have fallen.

"I am such a coward, Parson. What I promised was a shield, but what you get is far from it. I am weak, and frail, and I let Lex attack you."

Again, I shake my head, letting the sigh escape. It really is a re-telling of yesterday, my failure of not ending a mutt for myself and now this. "Nahh you are not shut up man! It is payback for those ears." I point towards him, a half smile appearing on my face.

"No, it isn't payback, just my broken liability. i don't want to lose you, parson, but because i am fucking cursed or something, the things i do not want happen."

Fuck. That is just life isn’t it? A plagued existence with nothing that we asked for.

“You and me both Angel. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to lose anything but life is just that mean.” Gone are my friends. Gone is my mother and soon it will be me or him. It is just the damn shitty truth that life likes to slap onto me. The worry just sits dormant, occasionally making a wave that it exists. Damn. Crappy truth this is.

“Everything feels like a scene from a trashy soap opera." Angel edges close to me on the little spot that I have called my cot tonight. What the fuck is a soap opera? This guy and the shit that comes spewing from that mouth of his. ”Hold me?”

”Come here.”

My arms wrap around Angel, I hold in the bursts of pain as his body leans against my wounds. His warmth must heal these scars, just being with him sends the blood flowing through my body.

"If the time comes, would you kill me, Parson?" Silence holds us both for a moment as the big bold Yes paints itself onto my mind. How sickening the deep truth is. I want out of here. Life has sacrificed many things over the years. Is Angel next? Oh, fuck that thought seriously. ”You don’t have to answer it right now.”

”I don’t ever want to answer it.” I just pull him closer to me, trying to contain the thought that could easily slip into reality. “This is a quell isn’t it? Maybe they’ll let two people win.” A perfect detour and something that needs answering. This is a quell, where the fuck is the twist? All those fifty something kids volunteering into the last one and the one when I was just a kid, reaped from anywhere? Well, three days and still no surprise?

”We could hope.” Two victors, two different districts. What chaos will that bring onto Panem? Maybe they must come from the same District, that Quest best still be alive then. I should send her one of those mail birds next. Make sure she is still fighting.

"You're the first boy I haven't discarded after a one nightstand, consider it a big deal."

” Well you haven’t got far to go in here.” I chuckle, it was time to break the serious tension between us with a little laugh or two. ”I hope it can last a long time, this thing between us.” Be it just the hours of the night or the days to come, I am going to relish every moment. Even if it will be between me and him in the end.

“if one of us is bound to sleep six feet underground, I think sleeping together above momentarily is allowed. I won't forget you, parson cham. you will always be the first boy I count."

“And I will never forget you. Honestly glad we chose the same games to volunteer into to. I think I am going to try and sleep now. “

”Good night, Piss Boy.”

I hope that isn’t the name they etch onto my tombstone.

---

Honk!

Barely have the sparks ignited onto the sky, another awakening from the retched feathered beings. Surely Denali has not answered my request already. I rub the sleep from my eyes, careful not the wake Angel as I slip from underneath him. I still lay on the ground as I stretch my hand out the bird, not quite aware of the world yet to get onto my feet. ”How artsy of you Denali.” So my suggesting of being pen pals has set in stone, another postcard and with a little doodle. Let’s call things even. Yeah right, I’ll believe that if her knife isn’t stuck into me again the next time we meet.

Stirring begins in the camp, the others welcome the next day and I have already packed away everything of my own. I just sit and watch the others, no energy to help them.

“You know parson, you’re a lot stronger then you seem.” Annie out of the blue with her comment, barely have we talked and now this. “I might have protected Hellion but you have Angel. And make sure you protect him.” Oh ripred, not one of these kind of talks…”I’ll protect all of you.”

”Uhhh thanks?” I push myself off the ground, my legs trembling as I do. Nerves across my body tingle, even though my limbs are untouched they are carrying the weight of the agony. “Honestly didn’t expect the pep talk from you.” Another dose of these so called inspirational words, Angel already injected me with them last night. “I didnt expect to be giving one.”

I rub my forehead, swinging the handbag over my shoulder preparing for today’s shitshow that I am reluctantly admitting myself into. ”…but here we are.” Here we are, limbs missing and our intestines hanging out of our stomachs. What a fantastic bunch of tributes we are. Surely, we are the laughing stock alliance, the walking wounded who will fall with just one gush of air blown at us. “Weve made it this far, missing limbs aside, lets keep storming the seas like the pirates we want to be.”

” I guess playing fantasy pirates is the only thing I can do with a gaping hole in my stomach...and back.” My hand holds my bandaged abdomen. The white shirt that I entered the arena in remains unbuttoned now, no point hiding the wounds. I have ditched the bowtie and vest, but the orange suit jacket remains, neatly stained in my own blood. ”How much did losing your hand hurt?” Curiosity kills the pep talk, yeah I am not in the mood for that this morning just the nit and gritty, better prepare myself for a stump if worse comes to worse.

“I.... I dont know. All I could think about was my mother and the day I lost her when I lost my hand.” All this honesty from a girl that I have barely connected to. Do I really look like the one to be the shoulder to cry? The comforting cushion to swallow up emotions? I am no teddy bear. “After that I kind of just went numb.” She looks away from me. “But then I looked at you guys, and realized I had something to protect.” All this damn protection talk, I am not even living up to that score and still they beg to be the bodyguard. What draws us so much to this defensive position? When this is every man’s game?

“This is an every man for himself game.” I pull out the notepad from the inside pocket of my jacket, flicking through the pages as I do. All these faces that have played this game, did they protect themselves or others? “I don’t see why we’re so inclined to protect each other.”

“It is, and there will be a point when we all will have to fight each other, but for now, let’s just live in this moment”. There is a sigh with her words. Maybe I hit a chord with her, being a career and all that, bet she feels the need to be so high and mighty. “For all of our sakes”.

“Besides, there is strength in numbers. And we have it.”

“We have numbers, but we are falling apart.” A laugh follows my words as I point to Angel and Hellion. “No ears, handless and honestly Hellion whatever problem she has.”

“Still got our feet. And our wits about us. As long as we stick together, no one can take that from us.”

My god, she won’t stop, will she?

“No use thinking negative thoughts, we got people we need to meet again.”

“Alright alright, pep talk over!” I exhale, hoping this seals the end of this chatter between us. No wonder we have never spoken this much before. Oh, I hope Hellion doesn’t start. “Do you even know how to relax Annie?”
Of course, she hasn’t.

“Never afforded that luxury.” From a district like four? “But thats okay. Maybe you can show me sometime.”

“If Teddy sends me some relaxing medicines, you can be the first to try.”

”Thanks.”

I will not be wasting precious morphling on her.

---

An inferno has already been awoken in the tunnels, the sharp Hellion is the first to trigger the flames. The light ignites the whole tunnel, making each face clear as the day outside. Just as I turn to the District one, her arrow takes flight right past my ear. Nearly turned me into Angel there.

Here we are, reuniting with District partners except it is Annie’s turn today. The others, a bunch of career district tributes and a District Ten. To say the least, against this mix, we are fucking screwed. Hellion’s sword contacts the District Ten, the first hit to set in stone where this commotion is turning to. The Ten retaliates with her axe but it not enough to take down the mighty Hellion Mo, jellyfish slayer and District Eight murderer.

I pull four knives from my hand bag, popping open the jar of tar and dipping each one into it. With a flick of the flint, the sparks prance onto the metal and it is now my turn to take part in this flame throwing show. It has taken four days to prove myself, lets hope today is it.

The silence between us is like poison, we have all fallen into the trap of tearing up each other. A boy like me, manner less, at least I have some respect for the upcoming dead. ” You all really are rude y’know.” I am careful not to drop the knives as I toss them from one hand to the other, seeking out their target. ”Friendly introductions aren’t necessary but lets at least y’know, exclaim our hate and need to burn the shit out of each other. Like you little kid, got yourself stuck in this big kid game haven’t ya?” It’s not like I am the one to make the first move but I know Angel is going to recite some poem and deliver his speech soon enough.

Uses jar of tar and flint to set fire to four throwing knives

Parson attacks Eve Renner | Flaming throwing knife [1/4]

gtFi8e9Znthrowing knife

1-50

Accuracy re-roll

throwing knife

9178 -- Severed Finger -- 8.5 damage
MINOR BURN, +2 dmg

throwing knife·1-50·throwing knife

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

Parson Cham's arms are warm, and not rotten with death. I trace circles upon the scars engraved on the skin after wrapping bandages ineptly around its diameter. “Does it hurt still?” Whenever I speak to him, there's a softness to the shards of my voice, velvet hidden under a broken glass tongue that's reserved for the other only. “I am not so good with my hands in this scenario.”

He's restless, a boy dressed in ivory of bandage and the brick-red of dried blood. “It hurts even more now, it's ok I'll sort myself out.” At his comment, the thick guilt within me comes gushing out from where it's been suppressed, trap-wire activated. “I am such a coward, Parson. What I promised was a shield, but what you get is far from it. I am weak, and frail, and I let Lex attack you.”

Frail, lily-bellied Angel who cannot save anyone. A sob pleads to be exhaled and I permit it to, not shocked at how akin the sound of utter hopelessness is to my ears. “Nah, you are not shut up man! It is payback for those ears.” He retorts and my fingers absentmindedly caress the left ear, bandaged and devoid of pain now. Truth does not resonate from his words to me. “No, it isn't payback, just my broken liability. I don't want to lose you, parson, but because I am fucking cursed or something, the things I don't want happen.”

“I don’t want to lose anything but life is just that mean. You and me both Angel. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Everything feels like a scene from a trashy soap opera.” I remember the musical segments the old mayor's television used to air in the tiny interval of time between live Games broadcasts and re-runs.

The orphans would gather near the window and stand on their toes, watching, and no one would disturb us until the evening wades in. Grandiose they were, in music and visuals, but unsavory in dialogue and story. I try not to envisage me and Parson on the silver, our faces splattered across a moving screen. I try not to fathom about how even the tiniest and most cursory of our movements are recorded.

“Hold me?” His arms open at that, and he beckons. “Come here.” I crawl towards him and rest the round of my skull against his chest, ear against his rib-cage. The batter of his heart remains ripen with life despite the wounds he carries. Lullabied by its song, I let the forsaken question leap from my lips and then regrets it. “If the time comes, would you kill me, Parson?” Having freed a snake from its prison, it's anxious to see if it will show its fangs or run. “You don't have to answer it right now.”

“I don’t ever want to answer that.” His arms pull me closer, and our gravitational fields meet, profusely, crossing into each other's territories. It would take death's morbid claws to pry us apart now, and ironically, that isn't far for the both of us, or one of us.

“This is a quell isn’t it? Maybe they’ll let two people win.”

“We could hope.” But that breeds eternal misery, or so the phrase goes. “You're the first boy i haven't discarded after a one nightstand, consider it a big deal.”

“Well you haven’t got far to go in here.” His chuckle rings through the starlit quietness. “I hope it can last a long time, this thing between us.” Me too, I say to myself. Me too, I wish it every time the thought manifests in the spacious cathedral of my head – already full of your ghosts. “If one of us is bound to sleep six feet underground, I think sleeping together above momentarily is allowed. I won't forget you, Parson Cham. You will be the first boy I count.”

“And I will never forget you. Honestly glad we chose the same games to volunteer into to.” He speaks, as if the stars went into seamless alignment for us but no, stars aren't kind, just the opposite of it. They are cruel for keeping our destinations hostage, wicked for not being the Deus Ex Machina of this tragedy. I stare at the sky, bright and littered with the coruscating lot.

“I think I am going to try and sleep now.“ A soft nod is made, as a hand scouts for his. When it finds its other pair, the two intertwines, lost puzzle pieces achieving completion. “Good night, piss boy.” I press a jest and a kiss to his temple before slumber seizes my bones also. But, of course, the anthem stirs me awake for its loud duration. Sable's face gazes down at us, technicolor-bright against its backdrop of tiny celestials. Her eyes are opened — whether in peace or judgement, I do not know.

I wake up to cool drafts of air and pungent stench of Anatalia's rotting memoir. “Please throw that hand away, Annie. It's starting to reek.” Hellion doesn't seem so close to death anymore. “Hang in there, Mo. The twelves are catching fire; you have a new victor to rival against.” Reassurance, or at least, a pleasant attempt at it.

We head west and are greeted by tunnels and a silver arrow from the thin darkness. Precious metals laying around, the old Angel would covet all, but I'd shed skin. Eyes register the foes: an equal four, with two tens. Knowledge is a hamartia in the arena because it hinders the much-needed violence, for I knew of Wander and Bette to an extent.

“Let's just turn around, okay? Nobody was ever here.” Ve suggests, but it is too late. The battle-lines are drawn, the tar sparked, and the monarchy's patience has shimmered for long. Entertainment and bloodshed are what they craved, not white-flags and armistices. “I wish we could do that, Wander, but our fates are cruel prisons - sealed. We couldn't escape them, even if we tried.”

Fingers lock around the four spears, one from Parson and one from Anatalia. I'd memorized, from the Mayor's churning silver screen, how countless tributes handcrafted a flare. It's a destructive element, all-consuming, raging. Smear the tar over the spearheads, give abrupt friction to a cool flint, and it ignites: a thicket of dark, alive marigold. 

Instead of the forest, I become a fire which uproots it.

[ sets four spears alight via flint and tar ]
[ angel attacks ‘EVE RENNER’ | flaming javelin ]

UBMXK8Xy3javelin

1-50

[ accuracy re-roll | day 4 ]

javelin

[ 15010 -- SHALLOW CUT ON HAND -- 3.0 damage + 2 | javelin + minor burn ]

javelin·1-50·javelin

[WT]

You should reach out a hand to Temple and Eve right now, say something nice, ask Bette if she needs anything because you don't think she would tell anyone if she wasn't okay about this. You should be a friend. Instead you stagger to your feet with the cannon still echoing in your ears and run before the stiffness fades from your knees or anyone has time to answer your rough "I'll be right back," because your stomach roils and your eyes burn but if you're moving you aren't gasping with the effort of vomit or tears your body has no water to produce. If you sprint fast enough, maybe you can outpace grief altogether, carry yourself back to and over the heaving water to a place where none of this matters.

You didn't spill the flowers far enough away for that.

They're not enough; they never could be. A spray of scattered rainbows around Yusei can't pull the blood and breath back into his body. Roses can't even hide the wounds—too many of the latter, too few of the former, his skin too obviously grey in between. But they're enough to say that the four of you were there, and someone cared.

---

No one has to die here today.

Wander is optimistic, not foolish; at best, seven of this group do have to die sooner or later. But not here, not today. Everyone can walk away without so much as a wound to lick. And that's cowardice, fine, meandering off into the dark with their torches to fight more muttations and while away another day—write postcards and take photographs, call into the dark for no better reason than to marvel at the bouncing echoes, while someone else out there does the dirty work—but Ripred, Wander doesn't want to watch anyone else die right now.

For a few hopeful, buoyant moments, ve even thinks the others might agree. Certainly none of vis own group are itching to fight for the sake of it, and while Wander only met Angel in passing and barely recognizes Hellion or Parson except as other people's District partners, ve trusts Annie's judgment as much as nearly anyone's. They can't be friends, but if they're with her, they can't be too bad.

Not that a cordial conversation on the train and a handful of peaceful days cohabiting in the District Four rooms quite make Wander and Annie friends, either, but ve hopes they're not not friends. She's scarily competent, but nice enough, and in much the same way that Wander never expected that surge of anguished pride over District Four—for the old songs and the maze of roads still half a mystery after fifteen years, the familiar food, all the things ve took for granted vis whole life—it's surprisingly comforting to know that one other person here knows what their home is like. Her losing that hand scared ver almost as much as Eve passing out in the cart; even after several days without her face in the sky, it was such a relief to see her walking today that Wander burst out "You're okay!" before anything else, grinning spontaneously for the first time since yesterday afternoon.

The rest of the meeting hasn't gone so well.

The worst part is that anywhere else, it might have. Bette would have seen the approaching threat more clearly; she wouldn't have had to fire into the dark, or if she did things might not have devolved from there so soon. Down in the tunnels, it only takes a couple people to turn a conversation into a cacophony; they have to raise their voices to be heard over the echoes, again and again until the volume spirals into an argument that never needed to happen while dozens of flickering shadows press in on all sides.

By force of will Wander keeps vis javelin relaxed, pointedly aimed at the ground and a little behind ver, but ve can feel vis grip on the wood tighten steadily with the stress. Eventually ve raises vis own voice too, knowing the chaos will only swallow it but at the end of vis rope and out of better ideas. "We're all fine, can we take a step back and—"

One light shifts as ve speaks, reorienting the shadows and with them the atmosphere—the sword, Wander sees, and his heart plummets even as ve forges ahead with vis plea. Then Bette answers the move with a second arrow, one that lands as harmlessly as the first but with a sharp snap that collapses the shaky balance.

"—calm down," Wander finishes, trailing off helplessly. "Oh no."

Temple doesn't scream, but Wander jumps anyway as Hellion's sword crashes her armor and the rush of motion snuffs the flames. They have too many weapons and makeshift torches for losing one light to plunge them into darkness, but new shadows swoop across Hellion, and if Wander could stomach the thought of leaving Temple and Eve and Bette ve would run then and there, back to where the way light moves makes sense and no one has to die today.

Temple lifts her axe, though, and Wander made vis choice days ago. Ve takes one step back, shifting vis weight against the javelin's as ve finally levers it forward.

"You all really are rude y’know."

Wander sputters with frustration and the spear dips again. "You—I've been trying t—" With vis free hand ve waves vaguely at the knives Parson is juggling, then around to all eight of them in a series of confused, aborted gestures. "What!"

Angel, at least, hears, answering vis first suggestion—to leave, to pretend they never saw one another—as shadows dance on the old walls under Parson's flying lights; "I wish we could do that, Wander," he says, "but our fates are cruel"—and ve believes him, but the rest is lost as the pattern of Parson's knives shifts.

For the second time Wander moves too slowly to knock a weapon from Eve's path, but where the first pass of the axe only grazed her, the knife takes a finger with it when it clatters to the floor. Wander makes a wordless noise underneath Eve's own cry of pain and raises the javelin again, aiming properly this time. Apologizing—to Eve, to Annie and her allies, to anyone—wouldn't change anything, but Wander can't help but look to Annie for a fraction of a beat, expression anguished.

"This sucks," ve mutters, the understatement of a lifetime wrenched out almost unconsciously, and pushes the javelin forward as Angel's own leaves his hand.

[Wander attacks Parson, spear]
9qv8l3_J6spear
[Stabbed in Neck -- X]

If the spearhead makes a sound hitting flesh, Wander never hears it, but the weight of resistance against vis hands screams.

Ve can't recoil quickly enough to make a difference.

spear

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

It’s not so easy to tell when things are going bad,

not when there’s constant pain,

ceaseless worry,

persistent bad luck.

The bad things aren’t apparent until they become immediate, overwhelming.

We’ve trekked into the tunnels with faint light,

.descended toward the fear,

the darkness,

the unknown.

And here is what we’ve found:

Four faces, lit by flame, mirroring our fear.

We’re in the thick of it now, holding ourselves in a standoff that isn’t going to lead anywhere good. Bette gives me a pointed look, and there’s something mysterious behind that glance. Does she see my fear? Does she see how my hands shake around the handle of my weapon? How I stand behind the others, trying to become invisible?

I don’t know what that look says, not really, but right now I need it to say everything is going to be okay.

It’s not lying to yourself if you don’t know one way or the other.

”You all are really rude, y’know,” I hear, words grating against my ears.

I cling to the uncertainty, now.

I delve into it, holding on tight to the understanding that the world doesn’t make sense,

and I could come out of this alive.

The world’s a crazy place, so maybe this will turn out fine.

I hold onto that hope as the poisonous words are flung my way:

“Like you little kid, got yourself stuck in this big kid game haven’t ya?”

Time slows down,

my heart clenches,

the uncertainty drives me onward, powerful.

I don’t know how this will end,

as their weapons tear into my hand,

as I cry out,

as torn flesh exposes bone,

as the fire singes through my sleeve,

I don’t know how it will end, but I hold back my cries

.and step forward anyway.

Ready to live, ready to die, depending.

”This sucks,” Wanders says,

and then,

oh, then,

Life, death, uncertainty, fate--

They all happen at once.

[Eve Renner flees fight]

[pearl mcclain d4 [ryan]]

Hey guys, I dont want to hold this up any longer.  So I will filler for now.  Ive been so stressed that it has put a bit of a bind on my writing for now. I will try to attempt this after school!

For now Annie is broken inside. She doesnt know what to say or do at this point, she is currently at the side of Parson, wishing that she was able to protect him from this tragedy.

Again, im sorry. Ill will make sure I fill this in after school.

For all intents and purposes Annie is "fleeing" but she is not really cause she is staying by Parsons side.

[shrimp]

The fire burns my irises.

It envelops the embers as the flint strikes, three times over: rose, now emerald in its brilliance. It’s beautiful. It’s terrifying. It’s... unexpected.

Hell rages towards Temple in timbres of Opal and Navy, Peacock blue as the blade hits. Parson’s words, goldenrod and umber, spite marbled with a warbled hue. An essence, of...

It doesn’t matter. Hold your ground. My fingers reach for another arrow as time turns, slowly but not slow enough - another slash of blue, Eve’s hand blooming.

A note of Wander, amaryllis in the darkness. Then, red.

The arrow falls, clattering onto the ground in ear-scraping olive.

Wait-



God.






It’s the fading lilac of Eve’s feet that bring me back. My head turns, once then back, eyes locked onto theirs, fire licking at our skin.

I try to speak, but for once, I have-

“...”

“I-“

-too much to say.

Blood, pooling on the ground, a trail dripping away into the dim. Eve.

I run after her.

[bette flees]
[bette does not collect the arrows mentioned in this fight; will have 7 arrows moving forward.]

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

filler because i dont want to hold up the fight. hellion is gonna be stone-faced, something like "didn't care ab that douchebag much anyways". might get emo when he says to protect angel

but yeah, filler. sorry!
[hellion flees]

[sbeeg]

Chatter echoes off the walls of the mine, the flickering of light and the joining of voices and metal attacking the senses. I grip my shield, preparing myself for the full force of the fight to come.

Wander strikes, vis blade finding its home in Parson Cham's trachea. I gasp, watching the blood pool and dribble over pale skin. I cannot shake the feeling of being in trouble. Like I've walked past a Peacekeeper stowing a hidden bag of rice beneath my jacket. Like I've been caught sitting by the creek instead of in classes, or snoozing in the field instead of repairing the fence.

My stomach twists, and my eyes cannot find any other focus other than the body in front of me.

Eve turns and flees and Bette stumbles after her. I can feel tears prick my eyes and I blink them away. I didn't even strike the blow but I feel the repercussions echoing through my chest. The weight of the javelin hitting flesh reverberating through my bones.

I falter, ridiculous Capitol dress shoes slipping against the mine's dirt floor. My shield falls to my side, my axe forgotten as the hilt slides into my belt.

I can feel the others' pain. Their eyes wide, hearts panicked as their ally falls in the dim cave of an Arena miles and miles from home.

I blink and see Bette with her throat ripped open, Eve's cold lifeless eyes. I see Wander with vis own spear jutting from vis neck.

I start moving, grabbing Wander's arm as I go. We have to leave. They're distracted and we need to get out before they decide revenge is a dish best served now. I yank Wander down the mine shaft, feet pounding against the dirt.

Running from the scene of the crime.

[Temple Jones flees]

Table credit griffin^^

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

Filler.

[ angel comforts parson ]
[ angel flees]

[WT]

Death in Wander's world is a chore, never meaningless but as methodical and predictable as the tide: spike in the brain, blood in the water, artless but tidy.

This is someone else's world, still artless and anything but tidy.

Vis mouth opens of its own accord, shaping the beginnings of words that never find their way out. If apologizing was useless seconds ago, it's worse than that now, an insult as Parson reaches out and Angel reaches back and the spear drips, burning in vis hands as if to answer the still-flaming weapons, and—

Something pulls at vis arm. Wander remembers how to breathe as ve stumbles back, half prepared to fight and half prepared to lay down and wait, but it's Temple, yanking with so urgent a grip that Wander has no choice but to follow if ve doesn't want to take her with ver when ve crashes.

The canon roars down the tunnel behind them as they run.

[Wander flees]