to the drum of my soul // [FWTDS vs Perennials]

[aya]

[have the outline of my post cause I gotta go to work and it's friday]


"Hey Savvy, Savvy -- you ever met a bitch named Karma? I swear I’ve never heard of her."


"Now that you mention it," she chuckles, "I've got a cousin named Karma, actually." The first few weeks after, when her extended family realized they could get their fifteen minutes of notoriety in by removing the distance they'd put between themselves and her parents, she'd been passed around between all manner of household — aunts and uncles, childhood friends, third cousins's niece's neighbor's barbers — while the adults bickered amongst themselves over what is to be done with that poor girl? The worst was her aunt and uncle. Well, the worst was Karma Powermaker, who — in a bid to remain the only precious darling child of the household — had taken it upon herself to make the week that Savvy lived there worse than the one she'd just had. (The one where Savvy's parents and eleven of their friends drank poison in a ritualistic suicide pact that didn't kill the little girl, but instead left her reeling in a dark basement filled with their thirteen corpses for several days days.)

"...and you know what, she is a real bitch."


"Making fun of him is my job!" complains Lady Death, and Savvy snickers as she sidesteps the next cut that Eyebrows at her. "Of course he's got a dedicated taunter. Wouldn't want his delicate sensibilities to get upset by the kids he's trying to murder!"


"Not like you could take down those mutts, after all, you didn't even try. At least Stanley attacked one, you just hide behind a rock. If you were really as high and mighty as you think you are, you would have a kill under your belt."

"Hey Fin! Can you imagine thinking that you're better than someone because you're too stupid to run away from dogs?"

Blood streams down her calf, the scythe tearing a ribbon of flesh right over the hole that was gouged open by some pitchfork on that first day. She grits her teeth — that shit hurts — but rolls her eyes all the same.

"Is that why he's your willing little bitch, Lady Death? Cause you're so much better at this than him?"




[attacks ronan, right arm shards club (spiked blunt)]
Sw|OwIQeOvspiked blunt
[14044 -- BROKEN RIGHT FOOT -- 6.5 damage +1 rivalry]

spiked blunt

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

”Now, I’m not one to talk, but I think you’re right, Sav. There’s a fine fuckin’ line between bravery and stupidity. And sometimes I’ve got better, stupider things to do, ya know?”

”Like right now. This nonsense is testing my fucking patience.”

[Finley attacks Severus, spiked blunt]
j|mruNO9kkspiked blunt

14067 -- BROKEN RIGHT SHIN -- 7.0 damage
(Spiked Blunt) + 1 Strength

[filler because I’m at work and I don’t want to hold anything up.]

spiked blunt

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Another minor impact derives from the force of my seek for other’s destruction. Again my eyes roll in response, though for this it’s due to my own stupidity. Perhaps the harsh truth should weave from my lips to energies my desperate needs; as Severus does so and the charge to his strength dives a deep carve against our mutual enemy. The maturity of his innocence is beyond understanding, as his tongue doesn’t whip for a returning insult - but to the power of the truth. Maybe my lips should remain sealed, as such wisdom could never brew from my core as it does within him.

Sweetness coils from Rora next, as she advices the blind boy as though foes did not mark us all against one another. But he solely snarks sarcasm back at her in response, as though she had offended him. Clearly we’re the bad guys, despite the pureness of protection fueling our motives. All that consists of Rora’s protest is for the others to not tease Ro, and a suggestion that they should perform what they’re good at - running away. Instinctively a laugh brims through my throat despite attempting to hold it back, quite amused by her ongoing comebacks. And of course the Talker has to return to his soapbox, and prolong his never-ending rant.

Hopefully he’s been diagnosed with death, anything to simmer the speeches. There’s nearly time enough for me to spread out a blanket and achieve a quick nap with how much everyone enjoys the sound of their own voice. So I lean against my black Mare while he questions if we’ll be murdering each other and then crying about it later - it’s quite considerate for him to believe us four will make it to the end to have to do that, his faith in us is beautiful.

Unfortunately my own ally is a talker to, as Ro claims the soapbox from the other one. Least he has the strength behind his words, unlike the enemy he somewhat compliments with the point that he did attack once yesterday. The lean upon my horse breaks as I return to the predicament. “Ro, why are you giving these fuckers the time of day with your words? Do you really think they’re absorbing any of it?” Questions out of my pure annoyance to all of this. And sure enough, that one who I’ve tattooed as my target addresses her ally as if none of us are even here. Again a chuckle seeps from my lips.

And of course little miss is encouraged by the other one. Fine line between bravery and stupidity she claims as though she knows the difference. “If you’re all smart enough to know when to run away, why is it that you’re still here?” Wonders aloud from my thoughts rather nonchalantly, before I press my weapon to prepare the continuation of this battle. Can only hope everyone’s finally ready to get their feet out of their mouths. If they’re not willing to scurry away like the cowards that they are, it’s time to be the killers that we have to be.

{Beautiful Table made by the lovely Tom}

{Raven attacks Savior Powermaker ~ Hatcher (Axe)}
sLkscldHZ8axe
{11169 -- Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage
(Axe)}axe

[Arrows]

I didn't mean to make you cry,

if I'm not back again this time tomorrow,

carry on, carry on,

as if nothing really matters

The sensation is abnormal, the way ice replaces blood. Beneath Severus' skin the warmth of his outer shell sheers way into snow. The only trace of heat still resting inside the cooling cavern of Severus' chest is his heart. While he chooses to freeze out the fires of emotional restraint he preserves the core of his personality. In acceptance of the truth his scythe sews there is strength, the same strength the others hold, a strength he has to acquire.

The thunder cracks.

Scythe meets skin driving deep beneath its surface. In a single swing blood bursts and tendons tear, Severus' scythe fulfills its hunger. The scream of guilt which once would have crippled Severus' thoughts now stays silent. Instead cold eyes, empty of emotion, stare at the wound. A slight discomfort stirs in Severus' stomach but he holds it down. Becoming a boy of ice in order to protect a heart of light will take some adjustment.

The success is short felt as two loud cracks crest over the rest of the clashing metals. Severus' face contorts with convulsions as pain pulses in streaks up his spine. Nearby a flash of red flips by as his ankle now stands shattered by her blast. Severus' hands quickly balance him as adrenaline rushes to cut off the terror of the newly damaged piece of his body. Slowly as the fight draws onward he is appearing more and more as the mirror reflection of one fucked up voodoo doll.

A hot wind rustles through the bloody battle.

A soft touch reaches Severus' shoulder as Rory reminds him that she is still standing by his side. His eyes follow her's to the bleeding boy from Eight. By now he is looking far from fine, a film of fading diluting the illumination of his eyes. Severus swallows hard understanding what it is to come next. His hands grow sweaty in their tightening grip on his dripping scythe. He breathes in deeply and remembers.

Twenty three will equal one.

Little high, little low, 

anyway the wind blows, 

doesn't really matter, 

to me, to me

Lyrics: Bohemian Rhapsody by Queen

severus attacks Stanley with Scythe{Sword}
Dt44x5JtiRsword
{Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 Damage}sword

[Stare]

'cause i would walk through the fire
and i would give you
every last breath 'til there's nothing left

Aurora LaChance hates death.

She hates how familiar she is with it, hates that she knows what it's like to watch the life flicker out behind a person's eyes. She hates it when it's sticky and messy and gasping. She hates it when it's cold and quiet and sighing. She hates that even before the Games she saw it everywhere, haunting everyone. She hates that it can come slowly, letting a girl whither away into nothing on a hospital bed before finally claiming her. She hates that it can come quickly, at hands of a girl with a horseshoe who has absolutely no idea what the hell she's doing.

And as the girl from Nine once again taunts her with their oh-so-clever nickname, Rory hates herself, because she is the one who must deliver death or else invite it into herself.

Why aren't they running, if they think it was such a bloody good idea yesterday? Raven's question is the only bit of sense Rory can latch onto in the whirlwind of crunching bones and blooming bruises. Maybe the big damn heroes believe just a bit too much in their own nobility, or maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they aren't nearly as noble as they want to let on.

She shifts back toward Severus and places a hand on his shoulder briefly, trying to be reassuring. Then she locks eyes with Nine, and she isn't smiling. She isn't bitter. She isn't joking or taunting or jabbing or arguing. She's dead serious. "Don't call me that."

Not unless you want a reminder of how I got the damn name in the first place.

The fact of the matter is, what happened yesterday doesn't matter. What matters is that she told them to leave Sev alone and they didn't. What matters is she told them to let off of Ronan and they wouldn't. What matters is that she tried to smooth things over with the broken nose and they didn't give a damn.

Sometimes, her mother would say, you could give everything you had and it wouldn't mean a thing. Some people just can't be changed.

Rory hates death. But she cares about her allies more, and she doesn't owe these strangers anything.

So again, she lunges forward and strikes.

[lyrics: walk through the fire, klergy]

(d3f aurora lachance attacks d8m stanley schuster with officer's rapier [sword])
ZN6X|nEUnLsword
(stabbed in stomach, 9.5 + 1 blades)

sword

[cameron]

“I mean are you guys blind or something? No offense Ex.”

“None taken.” His fingers held tighter into his ally’s side, a sign of affirmation as much as a plea not to leave him. From the sound of it, Stanley was taking a considerable beating from the assholes with horses; but, for whatever reason, Ex was avoided like the plague. Even his attacks hadn’t hit their mark, blocked by clangs of armor and words of malice. But despite the enemies’ cruelty to all (except Finley, who seemed to be mutually respected as the Honorable Sheriff), their blades didn't claim his blood. Not even the boy who broke his nose aimed his direction with anything beyond his stinking pig snout mouth. The other girl - not the one known as Lady Death, who offered him encouragement while stabbing his friend and pushed her voice just hard enough to seem strained, uneasy with the task at hand, uneasy with something she'd done before and would do again and again - attempted to reign in her cohorts to no avail.

He liked that one. War, maybe, was what Stanley called her, and so far Stan hadn't led him astray. If anything, the boy from eight was his leading lifeline in the games, someone who'd, especially since the day before, stepped up to the plate to take care of Ex in all his shattering, splintering fragments of his glass body being dropped to the floor over and over. It was hard making up for five years of inaction and stagnation in one week, but he was trying, dammit. He'd let previously unheard of emotions in, and they'd let him out with a little inhibition. On the other hand, War herself was veiled. Her sleeves were cuffed to hide sentiment, to muffle expression. That screamed of comfort, but comfort and familiar were no longer his home. Exover was a boy of unchecked restless edge and dread now, and there wouldn't be time to revert. He was jealous of War, unheard by her allies while they continued slinging insults like bad comics or shitty fry-cooks. His former invisibility was shredded with the friendship of his allies, the friendship these four absolute strangers with horrible daddy issues bestowed upon him despite him being undeserving and unwilling to move himself forward. They brought him out of isolated obscurity. Was it wrong to want back in?

A string of critiques poured from Stanley, whose waterfall of words wasnt unusual, and Ex determined he preferred most when the newspaper kid banged away on his washboard. He'd get carried away in the soul of the song, and Ex was always left with a faster heart beat and sweaty palms. “ Diagnose me with dead?” and “you unsalted sticks of butter!” and “calcium deficient jack-wipes” were all phrases he'd never heard or contemplated, but definitely would leave a lasting impact on him. Specifically because he never knew butter came pre-salted, and that thought really messed with him. But that's where Stanley was wrong - their opponents were plenty salty. Pig boy confirmed that moments later.

"Sorry blind boy, no blood for you. Maybe you'll enjoy seeing your friend's blood? Can you save the Savior? Tell me, Ex.”

His taunts came with a hint of smog, something deadly lacing his lips. There was a sickness in the boy Exover was scared of, a sickness that reminded him off the times he tried to walk to the town square for groceries and had to return home empty-handed due to ‘calcium deficient jack-wipes’ much like him, who hooted and hollered and poked and prodded till the boy had no choice but to ditch.

That choice wasn't presented to him anymore, and he didn't think he'd bail now regardless. He was going to fight for his friends, whether it terrified him or not. He was going to protect those who protected him. At all costs.

A sick, wet noise met his ears and Stanley strained out a low “Ex, I don't feel so good” before releasing his life-grip on the blind boy's shoulder and falling to the ground. There wasn't yet a cannon, and Ex held out hope for his friend, but he wasn't going to run away. He turned to the swine, his bruised nose curled up in disgust despite the pain, and he growled.

“Maybe you'll enjoy your friend's blood, TOOOOO!” With the final word, he turned towards the kid who cut off his foot, balancing without it and swinging the pitchfork as hard his direction as he could without stumbling over.


Exover attacks severus with spear
dJWwjIQqDAspear
Shallow cut on stomach 4.0

spear

[Tom]

Smoke clouds fills his lungs to capacity.

Crimson sweeps across his vision in a red gaze of war. Pestilence or Famine. After all this time, the choice in which one he was came to him. Blood, armor, wounds, harsh words, and assholes. Ronan Keeni-Einfallen was the disease of the Eighty First. A boy who no one else liked, hell even Rory and them didn't put up with his shit. A disease that no one could get rid of, unless they purged all pestilence from the world. If pestilence disappeared, Rory would have a better life. A hum of his throat comes as he pulls the scythe back into the air with black, silver, and red glittering across his vision.

Ronan is an opened plague upon the world to many others. A fire that's ever spreading into the red hearts of others and blackening what he can before running. Coward or brave. Neither. Both. His mother would call him a coward. His friend would call him brave. Caspar would call him an asshole. A hum in his head as he lets out the smoke from his lungs once more. The cigarette still going barely, but not enough to give him a whole lot more. Instead of putting it out like a normal person, he flicks the ashes towards Exover. A moment of his own to take in the scene around him before High and Mighty starts bitching again.

"Hey Fin! Can you imagine thinking that you're better than someone because you're too stupid to run away from dogs?" All he wants to do is scream at her, but he's not going to let her get under his skin. Not now. He can't let his allies down by letting some bitch from nine get under his skin. Powermaker was trying to make a power move in this games. Despite this, he wasn't going to let her. He wasn't going to let her get him angry. "Is that why he's your willing little bitch, Lady Death? Cause you're so much better at this than him?"

Fuck that.

He is fucking pissed now.

The broken sound of his bones in his foot rings in his ears as the pain flares to life on his foot. The pain blossoms like a flower on fire into the ashes that were his bones. The pain was a lot, but he's had worse. He's been through a lot more than anyone will ever know. Broken bones mean shit when it comes to actually taking a life. Instead of moving, he hears Finley.

"Now, I’m not one to talk, but I think you’re right, Sav. There’s a fine fuckin’ line between bravery and stupidity. And sometimes I’ve got better, stupider things to do, ya know?"

Ignoring them hadn't made anyone, but them more confident. Arguing didn't do shit either.

"Like right now. This nonsense is testing my fucking patience."

Severus' leg breaks. Ronan feels himself grip the scythe just a little bit tighter than before. Severus was hurting. Ronan knew what that hurt was like. Severus reminded him of when he was a kid with dreams so big that the world couldn't harm him. Unfortunate for Severus, who will live in a world where twenty three lay under him or where he'll die too soon.

"Ro, why are you giving these fuckers the time of day with your words? Do you really think they’re absorbing any of it?"

A laugh from his lips before smirking back at her. The idea of wasting his breath was there, but something else seemed to outshine that a little more.

"Guess you could say, I've always been the kid who enjoys playing with his food before eating it."

As if the sun were glaring down at them, the chaos of sound filling his ears and the sound of his heart beat reaching his ears, he breaths for a moment. Hobbling by his horse for a moment as he stared at the group of assailants and their alliance that still stands strong with crimson on their blades and strength in their bones. They burn like the fire on Tempus, warm and ever consuming. Together for this entire moment and he can't help but feel himself growing a little bit more fond of them.

A weakness that could be used to exploit, but here and now, he just lets it sit in him before going back into the fray of battle. Instead, he can see Rory's hand on Severus' shoulder. The sound of the name that they had given her rings in the air. Something hangs for a moment as he watches her with something in his chest. Admiration for someone who was similar to him, but stronger than she would know. Rory was a strong individual in every way possible. All he could do was watch her stab into Stanley and he knew that would be it.

"Maybe you'll enjoy your friend's blood, TOOOOO!"

Ex is the first to move after Rory's strike.

A smirk fills his lips before he focuses back on the other two. Finley and Savior. The two loudmouths who have been doing nothing more than barking than biting until a second ago. A moment as he balances himself and holds onto the scythe with a grip of confidence. Nothing in his chest feels on fire. Nothing in his words that could be better for this moment. Death doesn't mess with him as much as the others, he's sure. Days spent in a hospital made him normalize death in its purest form. Unforgiving and vulnerable. Death surrounds six like a fog that rests every damp morning.

"A fine line between bravery and stupid? Looks like you guys were on the stupid side this time. Really that tired of us Finley? Maybe you should wake up before it's too late."

A moment before he turns back to Savior. The girl from nine made his blood boil and his anger flare up like a burning ember. As if his skin were alive with flame, always hot with his temper. The scythe glitters with silver, black, and the red of her blood. He doesn't do anything more, except speak to her while throwing his cigarette to the ground and smashing it with his other foot. No more time for smoking, only swinging at this bitch from nine who thought she was better than him.

"Don't call me a bitch. It'll be your last fucking regret, Nine." A glare pointed towards her. "Better or not. It doesn't matter. You're still gonna be fucking dead."

Death doesn't bother him. What bothers him is watching this other alliance tear up Severus. A boy with dreams bigger than every single one of their fucking brains. And he would not let them take that away from the world.

Lurching forward, avoiding the pain in his foot, he strikes with crimson in his eyes, black in his heart, and silver on his tongue.

(Ronan Keeni-Einfallen attacks Savior Powermaker; scythe)
dufw783m9Usword
(Severed right forearm at elbow 9.5 +1 from Rivalry)

sword

[aya]

"If you're all smart enough to know when to run away, why is it that you're still here?"

Have you ever outrun four assholes on horseback? Dragging a one-footed blind boy behind you? Not fucking likely.


Lady Death rejects her moniker and then earns it anew, plunging her rapier into Stanley's guts. He tumbles to the ground, and Ex howls loud enough to drown out the canon, and even still Savvy knows he's dead.

"Don't call me a bitch. It'll be your last fucking regret, Nine." She regrets nothing. "Better or not," better, she thinks, so much better, "it doesn't matter. You're still gonna be fucking dead."

Like she hasn't died before.

They swing at each other, but sword meets flesh before club meets skull, and down, down it tumbles with searing deja vu. Her vision swims and her mouth opens to scream but no sound comes out. Or maybe the sound of a thousand demons fleeing the yawning maw of hell is too high-pitched for ears on this plane. She staggers forward, throwing her whole weight head-first at Eyebrows, the desperate fury of spent adrenaline enough to will her walking corpse into a cudgel. How else? There is no fisticuffs without fists, no arming herself when she's been rendered armless.

Then she tumbles to the mud.

"Finley," she pleads, chest heaving and twin stumps flailing in an attempt to rise and keep balance. If she's not mortal, she prays to whatever cruel god abandoned her in the dark all those years ago to take back that gift. That curse. "Fucking end me."



[headbutts ronan (unarmed)]
nk9q5215founarmed
[5028 -- Bruised Left Forearm -- 2 damage]

unarmed

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

This whole fight is a mess of immaturity, all of them children grasping at the concept of violence as it tears them apart. Finley isn’t hurt, and neither is Ex. But from a world away she sees the way the sword pierces Stanley’s stomach, the remains of Savior’s arm in the dirt, and she thinks they’re doing an awfully good job at playing war.

Finley O’Hara has seen the worst horrors of the world within the violence of her home. Though she no longer feels a strong connection between herself and the danger that lingers in the battle, she doesn’t like seeing others hurt. This is what makes her pause, what makes her cling so tight to her comfort cactus that the needles prick through the skin of her shirt.

”Finley,” Savvy says, staring at her with a pleading gaze, eyes gone wild in pain.

Finley isn’t daunted by the blades surrounding them.

She is terrified by the look in Savvy’s eyes.

”Fucking end me.”

Her heart clenches, and the needles on the cactus press tighter. She bites her lip and drops her weapon, reaching for the handle of the axe.

The true Executioner.

Wasting any time for words will only prolong the suffering. She works hard to aim true, to do this kindness correctly for the Girl Who Couldn’t Die.

Maybe it will be enough. Maybe not.

”Anything for a friend.”

Finley attacks Savior Powermaker, hatchet (axe)

q729wAy1rJaxe
11199 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage
(Axe)


[result]

axe

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Within the span of a blink or two the atmosphere shifts dramatically. Amongst the babbling of insults, the ones rapturing upon death’s door had gone unseen - until suddenly it’s too obvious to be blinded from. Half way to the Reaper himself, the baby of Three refutes to crumble to such fates, deviating to another swing against our enemy instead. And immediately following, his district Partner delivers the final blow to the recently dying boy that I knew as the talker. His elongated speeches will now seize from the rumbling dry lands. Though annoyance forever ached my head at his ongoing words, a part of me will miss his spiels consuming the battles with spoken volume.

But the battle doesn’t halt for the likes of an almost corpse, it can’t. Days will limit the Capitol’s patience before they increase a deadly strictness to meet their final Victor. Threats still linger, enemies lurking the land as if feening for revenge for their fallen comrade. Dangers embark upon them further however, disadvantages marking them with almost certain death against us. Opposing the underdogs is never a place I’d imagine myself to be, yet here I stand. Perhaps we are the bad guys. And like empowered underdogs they tempt to fight against us despite.

And before another blink can register, another certain death collapses a second. The darkness of my irises darts desperately in every which direction, in search of checking on the others. And though Sev and Ro aren’t in the best shape, it’s not them sprawled amongst the unforgiving ground in greeting of their end. But the one who’s snapping back from the concluding blow isn’t one of us either. The girl from Four ended her own ally’s life, after being requested of such. Confusion raffles my eyebrows in an arch, as I’m forced to swallow the surroundings.

First they talked a lot of smack about our high horses, and now they’re caving to the defeat with no energy left to keep fighting. Perhaps a part of me understands such despair, while my veins pump for me to never give up as I used to. Claiming the end of this battle is within my reach however. “Come on guys, I think we’ve all had enough death for one day.” Brushes from my tongue in a hush, with just enough volume to reach the others. Vision darts to Sev, who’s already being assisted by Rora - leaving me to support our other bruised comrade.

Instincts carry me in a rush to help him back to his horse. “Told you one day I’d save your ass.” His life never breached to such a drastic point, but I guarded him enough to play a little cocky. “Someone else stole my thunder, or I would have definitely saved you today.” Jokes rather quietly, as if louder words may press the dying back to the living. And without a single crave to prolong this demise, I push him to his horse - knowing further aid will have to wait until later. Once myself and the rest are settled upon their saddles, we venture to the next unfortunate adventure.

{Beautiful Table made by the lovely Tom}

{Raven Flees and assists Ronan in Fleeing}

[Arrows]

Another quick filler to be filled in shortly!

Severus flees with assistance from Rory

[Stare]

'cause i would walk through the fire
and i would give you
every last breath 'til there's nothing left

There are no good guys or bad guys, but as Rory takes a moment to step away from the chaos and corpses she feels suspiciously like a bad guy. Her heart is hammering so loudly she can't hear herself breathing - who knows, maybe she isn't - and the blood beneath her palm makes it difficult for her to maintain her grip on the rapier's slippery hilt. There hasn't been a day yet that she hasn't taken a life, but this one feels different. This one was slow.

Even though Alex is an immeasurable distance away, Rory can feel her disappointment.

Still staring at the fallen tributes, she nods her silent agreement with Raven's statement. She doesn't feel like talking anymore, so instead she simply makes her way over to Severus and loops his arm around her shoulders, hoisting him back onto his horse. Her gaze pointedly avoids his, worried at what he'll see in her expression.

Before she can lift herself onto her own horse, though, something shimmering in the air above her catches her attention. Sponsorship? She reaches up and just manages to catch the parachute, staring at the crown that hangs from its strings. A note is attached, and a quick scan of the elegantly written message makes her stomach twist.

To our deadliest go the spoils. Let your enemies know there is royalty in your blood as you wear this crown. - Bea 🐝

Rory wants to drop the crown and let it be trampled beneath her horse's hooves, but the undertones of the note haunt her. They know. And they're proud of her. She remains frozen, knuckles white and shoulder blades taut.

And then she remembers the way both Severus and Ronan's bones crunched under the weight of others' weapons. She thinks about her mother's shaking hands and Alex's hair falling out in clumps and the cures that lay perfectly within the Capitol's grasp. She hears her name echoing out in the Square, a curse that is horrifying but also irrevocable. Rory can't change the past, but she can carve out a better future.

"You want death? You'll have it." She keeps her voice low so the others can't hear but raises her eyes to the sky. "But I'm no lady."

She slowly tucks the crown into her disheveled mess of hair, starting and dropping her rapier when a matching sword suddenly manifests in her hand. Damn Capitol technology. It's so clean and smooth that she catches her fractured reflection in the blade. Battered, exhausted, half-starved nobody from Three.

Until now.

"I'm a queen."

[lyrics: walk through the fire, klergy]

(d3f aurora lachance flees and helps d3m severus ward flee)

[cameron]

He swayed with his weight, unable to keep balanced without the strength of Stanley steadying his body, and the pitchfork barely grazed whoever he hit. Exover fell to the ground, his elbows baring into the dry earth. Weakling. The word screamed through his skull like a firecracker, whizzing and loud and altogether frightening. Weakling, weakling, fucking weakling, what good are you? A question he craved an answer for, but years of searching and he was still empty-handed in his pursuit. Shifting weight onto his hands, he lowered his head to make sure the cameras couldn’t see his tears, the only water in the lake bed besides the blood of his friends seeping into its cracks and holes. He wished there was a way to go back. To go back and throw himself in front of his friends, to offer himself as a sacrifice, let the four assholes of the apathetic dice him into bits and pieces like the kid’d already tried, let Finley and Savior and Stanley get away to fight for something they could actually achieve.

Everyone knew he wouldn’t last. Lady Death didn’t offer him kindness to save him; she pitied him and his weakness that made him lesser than she, pitied him as she plunged her weapon into Stanley’s stomach. Probably pitied him then, with his face against the dirt and the trembling of his shoulders.

But Stanley didn’t.

Stanley died for him. Holding him up instead of devoting his all to defending himself. What was at first dark and jarring suddenly became clear. If he laid down and died, his friend died for nothing. Not that they all weren’t dying for nothing but cheap thrills and gambling addictions, but that was neither here nor there.

Ex glued his pieces back together, the cracked glass of his fragile shell, and pushed himself over to Stanley. “For you now,” he whispered, resting his cheek against the boy’s forehead for a moment before grabbing hold of his pitchfork and lifting himself from beneath. He could no longer be a weakling. Not with the legacy of a brother on his back. With a gust of wind, though, the boy wobbled and realized this one last time he would have to depend on Stan. A blackened, infected, mushy stump gingerly pressed into the boy’s body, and he was balanced enough to fight back.

Then there were jumping sounds, and galloping hooves met his ears and turned his lips upside down. He wasn’t done fighting. He’d only just begun.



Exover yeehaws Ronan with studded lasso
QVhviOii20”1-3”
Success! Blind boy yeehawed the bully!!

”1-3”

[Tom]

The sound of her arm hitting the ground is haunting.

Savior's mouth opens as if she were to scream, but he can't hear anything. No sound from her body, no sound of people clashing, nothing at all. All he can see if the only arm of Savior's left falling to the ground with red blood pooling and his scythe glittering back at him. Death doesn't bother him, but this felt different than death. All of it felt different, but he can't help but feel himself rise up more and more and smile back at Savior as if the villain was there. The villain that they had wanted him to be. Death was coming for Savior and nothing could stop it.

"Fucking end me."

The headbutt is weak. Almost pitiful against his arm, but still stings slightly as a reminder of Savior Powermaker. A last ditch effort to hurt him before death. Ronan's seen enough people on their death beds to know when someone is ready to die. A moment is all it takes for the words of Finley to reach the air. "Anything for a friend." The axe cuts into Savior's last thread of life and he wants to scream. Scream at Finley for taking the only thing he wanted to show the gamemakers. The only thing that Ronan Keeni-Einfallen was good at. Violence. Anger seeps into his blood as his grip tightens on the handle of his sword. The message of the prairie pup coming back to his mind.

A moth with the darkest of wings.

I hope you will discover warmth in hell.

Hell wasn't coming for him yet. A moth was weak. Weak in the eyes of the gamemakers. Weak in the eyes of his allies. Weak in the eyes of Savior Powermaker, but he wasn't weak. No. He was strong. He had to be strong, otherwise his entire life was pointless. He's been through enough shit to be stronger than Savior Powermaker's words. He fucking had to be. Words seem to flow from his lips angrily.

"That was supposed to be my fucking kill, Fucker!"

The end of the battle has come. Ronan can sense it in his bones as Raven says the words. Over is not what he wanted now that Finley's taken his kill. He wants to kill her too. She deserves to die just like her fucking friend, but he can't feel his leg anymore. The numbness sinking into his foot and up his leg. A sigh comes from his throat as Raven approaches him, helping him onto his horse. Fucking lucky, that he doesn't even dare try to fight it.

"Told you one day I’d save your ass." A weak laugh comes from his throat as she jokes loudly. "Someone else stole my thunder, or I would have definitely saved you today." A nod in agreeance as he prepares to gallop far far away from this fucking nightmare of a fight and let the anger dissolve down into nothing more than ashes of a new beginning. Hope the gamemakers were happy with their display. After all, he could see the new crown and sword Rory had gotten and the words of queen leave her lips. He'd tease her later about that. He's too exhausted to try and d it right now.

The sound of something comes rushing behind him. The fight wasn't over. Someone wasn't ready for it to be fucking over. The rope wraps around him and Ronan can already tell if he doesn't remove it quickly, it'll yank him off his fucking horse. If there's anything he doesn't want, it's getting pulled off of his horse and onto the fucking dry ass ground that would hurt his fall. Fingers move to the rope as he shoves it back over his head quickly and successfully. Eyes glance back to blind boy, Ex. A smirk on his lips as he speaks into the air.

"Don't worry, Blind boy. You'll hear from me again. Whether it's tonight in your nightmares or another day when I kill you and your fucking friend. You'll see me again."

A laugh leaves his lips as the horse takes him far far away from there.

As the sky begins to dip and Ronan begins to sway on his horse, all that's left is him pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

A blow of smoke to the sunset as another performance ends and the next one begins.

yVj437tCDA1-6
(escapes and flees with help from Aurora Lachance)

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