Unsightly Fowl [raven v ex day 7]

[cameron]

“You're going to be okay,” he said, hopping forward and dragging his stump leg in the mud. Savior's bones pierced the soft earth for a sense of stability, but the heavens cried for Saturn Rhodon harder than he. Thunder cracked. The ground shook. It folded in on itself, twisted skyward, opened up. Hours of gradual travel wearied him of the changing maze in his path. But again he said, “you're going to be okay,” and he wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe it was all going to be okay, but it wasn't, and the drowning rains drove that home.

It was what he'd told Saturn, too, before he left his body alone and cold and waiting for the chilling metallic clamp. Ex's arms curled up around the boy's chest from behind. Hands pressed into fists and pushed against collarbone, and he filled the dying planet's ears with too much and nothing at all.

“And we'll honeymoon in Seven - you can see the trees!” He grinned, “I sure can't.”

Saturn's torso heaved. Remnants of a laugh. Ex's fists pressed harder, an ache spreading through his bones as realization sank in. He was going to miss him. Shit. He was going to miss him so hard. Even though One's shallow ass self only invited Ex over for sex, Saturn churned something inside him that he could never stifle again. “You're going to be okay,” he said, tears beginning to well in his sockets and no doubt sprinkling his lover's neck.

And he said it again as the rain unleashed by gallons soaked his clothes to his skin. Inside his bag Beverly shivered, cold and wet and hungry, but a mysterious chunk was missing from Mr. Cactus Friend that she swore she knew nothing about. And he said it again.

The way he saw it, and he didn't see much with any success, at least this way he'd protect Jayne. She was the last person left who'd treated him as human in every interaction, and with him trudging his away across the arena by its epicenter there was no way his curse could claim her, too. Death would come later for the girl from twelve.

For him, it would be sooner. “You're going to be okay,” another time as he hopped forward into a hay bale, toppling over, the world telling him he was a shit liar. He laid stretched out, back along the bale and foot on the ground, and let the rain punch him in the face over and over. “You're going to be okay,” he mumbled through choked breaths. “You're going to be okay,” he reminded his friend in the bag, and his mom at home watching him on the big screen of town square.

Exover pulled out his jar of tar, and a bolt of lightning smashed the ground beside him. Hay bale after hay bale caught on fire, and it was the first thing he'd heard outside the thunder and his mantra in its infancy. Boom. Dipping Savvy's bones into a flaming bale, he turned and swung the weapon high above him, blindly in the neverending night of his life. "I'm going to be-"

"-OKAYYYYY!"

Exover lights spiked blunt on fire and hits raven cuz he swangin
fp9iGMexmGspiked blunt


1-50


Accuracy reroll
spiked blunt
Broken shin 7.0 + 1 strength

spiked blunt·1-50·spiked blunt

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Silence succumbs the likes of us in an eerie comfort. No words need to exchange between the two of us whom remain for us to understand the sorrow collapsing upon us. Heartache is overtaking us equally in manners to never be expected, though it should have been predicted. The cigarettes of ease had come and gone over the period of several days, while within a couple of hours we’ve polluted our lungs with inhaling at least half of the box of cigars. Muted screams cry from my throat as I absorb yet another puff, scarcely breathing in actual air between drags. That numbness from the beginning has returning, drowning me in the depths of true darkness once more.

One by one opponents, who had altered into friends, and even warmed into family, presented their final breath in the ultimate unforgiving gift. It was bound to occur. To please my blood family at home it had to occur. Part of me knew it was going to occur. Though what I didn’t know was the emotional toll it would take. As I witnessed Rora fade with us surrendering her in her send off, as I cradled Sev against my chest and forced my lungs to not heave with sobs, I felt like Dove was leaving me all over again. Another inhale of a cigar expands my ribcage, the smoke exhaling with my breath like a desperate plea to release of internal pain overwhelming me.

Eyes pierce over to Ronan, as he stares off into the distance - nearly a statue of stillness and quiet, aside from his lips’ occasional pull upon a cigar of his own. My irises remain glued upon him, as though if I stared long enough I may deceiver his thoughts word for word. The wrinkles upon his features clearly indicate his interior agony over losing both the Threes, while he’s not as vocal about it as Sev was when we lost Rora. He feels it just as harshly though, there’s no doubt about that. But does such pain urge him to separate into isolation before he loses another? Or is he as dire to protect me as I am to protect him?

“It’s not your fault Ro, don’t blame yourself. We did all that we could to protect them. But they’re too good for this place, they weren’t meant to stay in it.” Eventually my voice breaches the silence, with words I know I needed to hear - and perhaps he does to.

Without a second of a warning an unruly storm breaks upon us, nearly flooding the air with its downpour and soaking everything within its reach bone deep. An unspoken solution draws us to our horses, to ride off in search for a refuge. Two sets of hooves stampede against the growing mud, the rain increasing with further blindness with every moment that passes. My gaze remains squinted, desperate to locate any form of a haven from the storm. All that sounds is the beating water droplets against any and all surfaces, and our horses trots pounding against the ground. Then with as little warning as the storm gave, it’s solely my horse’s steps that my senses registers.

“Ro?” Urgently I yank back on the reigns to pull my unnamed horse to a halt, my blind vision turning around with assumptions that he simply stopped. But even through rain of obscurity I see no figure of my last remaining friend. “RONAN!” Suddenly I’m screaming, without a care of who else may hear. My eyes hastily shift every which way in desperation to spot him, but all I witness is a kindling fire. There’s no visible evidence of him or his horse amongst the flames, but with anxiety riddling me to find him I command my horse to venture towards the infamous blaze.

“I’m going to be…” There’s no doubt who’s voice that belongs to, I’ve heard it far too many times to mistake it. “OKAY!” A flaming weapon bites into my leg, leaving an unforgiving crack and sizzled skin in its wake. The blind boy certainly has some lucky aim, and definitely has a mark of death carved by me after all that he’s done.

Despite the engulfing ache now consuming my leg, I dispatch from my horse - dedicated to sparking the revenge that he deserves. On countless of occasions he’s implanted his cruelty against my baby from Three, surely being one who pushed him towards his ultimate conclusion even if he didn’t deliver the final blow. “Are you going to be okay, though?” A sincere question sprinkles past my tongue, for him to register who’s he encountered. It’s not a threat that curls from my voice however, but rather a genuine wonder.

“Are any of us going to be okay?” I ask as if he pertains the massive wisdom that Severus did, or the pure kindness that Rora did. Flammable goo spreads across my own weapon, determined to make this fight as fair as other’s wish to not have it. “One of us is going to die soon Ex, and it may even be me - and that is okay.” A blaze engulfs my blade, as I attempt to stare at him through the downpour that has me nearly as blind as he is - though not entirely. “I’m not going to try to take advantage of your lack of sight, though I’m sure you’re too smart for that anyways. I’ll keep making it obvious where I am, and make this as even as I can. But I won’t give you my life, just as I don’t expect you to give me yours.”

Hopefully he can respect that, surely he’s a smart kid. “We’ve both taken things from the other in unforgivable ways - and at least one of us will get the revenge that we seek.” And with that my own raft rips through the damp air, seeking to claim such revenge as I’m sure that Sev, and Rora, and even Dove, would wish for me to have.

{Breathtaking Table done by the Beautiful Dars <3}

{Raven lights her Hatchet on Fire}

{Raven attacks Exover ~ Flaming Hatchet (Axe)}
76vIcv6ZGbaxe
{11197 -- Deep Gash on Right Calf -- 8.0 damage
(Axe) +1 Strength}

1-50
{Extinguished}axe·1-50

[cameron]

There was a familiar wet crack, Stanley's creation meeting something - or someone - midair, bone shattering bone amongst the storm. His arm returned to his side as he stepped back, but the heat of the flaming hay bale burst through the rain and kept him forward. Exover didn't know what wanton foe awaited him, couldn't smell through the putrid fumes of new mud and upended earth, the sick scent of burnt hay smoking fiercely and paying no mind to the downpour from above; but when its feet hit the earth, strong and planted despite the break, fear sank her teeth deep in his neck, permeating his veins with a icy numbness that didn't lend well to action, to response.

He froze.

A chill originating in the hollow of his skull dripped down him like the weather, rolling over shoulder blades and dancing down the ivories of his spine. The cold was a concert pianist, like his mother had been before That Day, before Ex inherited the title “man of the house” and fell short of his duties before he even started. The cold was calculating and ill-tempered, like his father, who cut with words and knives alike, who exploded into outbursts unexpected and untamed, whose bottom fell out and the worst was unleashed. The cold was him, Exover Endor, rash and emotional, precise and restrained, the king of isolation and the prisoner of fear, of her wicked bite. His ears rang, metallic and shrill, and the trickling numb reached his toes, the handful he still had, and his body screamed for the end.

The day before he wished he were deaf, to end the drawn-out dramatics of Ronan, but now steel wool scratched at his ear drums, a terrible, grating buzz that drowned all else out. One hand reached for his head but the ice refused him the freedom of his limbs, debilitated by fear, and all he could think was why would love treat me this way, and Severus's words mixed into the static, “love here never lasts,” scraping of silver on silver, sounds that shrieked louder than he ever had, “it only kills its hosts.”

Maybe the kid was right. Maybe, after all his theses about math and righteousness and the Aurora borealis, he was right all along about everything, about the way the world worked and how it spun regardless of their presence. But he was wrong about that. He was wrong about that one thing.

Love would not kill him.

Love would send him home.

The clanging in his head persisted and the glacial tingle remained throughout his whole, but he stepped forward slowly, a pained and difficult movement while terror gripped his innards and gnarled them. Again he used Savvy's bones to balance, to pull his stump leg to the other, to remember the love his first three allies graced him with, the love that still bellowed from his heart if he so allowed, and a warmth sprang forth from that previously shrouded cavern, a heartbeat stronger than his own pulsing through him, and their love wiggled all five toes and stood his hair on end.

They were there with him. Their hands held his firmly to the spike, his means of survival that was passed through each of them, and they breathed fresh life into his lungs. One ghost hand squeezed his hard, and for a moment he told himself he was absolutely crazy, but that moment faded the second he heard Finley's voice. “Saddle up, sheriff. There's work to do.”

His nose was stuffy and his cheeks puffed and red, but a thin lipped smile grew, bottom lip quivering out from wherein it was sucked. He reached in his bag and brushed the back of Beverly's head, right between the ears where she liked, and retrieved Saturn's hat. Sitting it atop his helmet's eye stalk, he straightened up his sheriff's badge and heard the voice of his enemy clearly for the first time since fear commandeered his body for a death he wouldn't allow. “At least one of us will get the revenge we seek.”

War. War was the beast before him, with her affinity for hashing up his calves with her axe, and he wondered if that meant she'd killed Ronan and ditched him in the thunderstorm.

But that didn't matter. She sought revenge on him when he avoided her and ignored her numerous attacks, and for some reason she assumed he sought the same. And maybe he had reason to, in some capacity, hold a grudge - she'd had a hand in laying all his allies in their graves, after all. War couldn't know their hands still clung to him, hopeful and powerful and fearless. If love didn't thrive with fear on its heels, it was impossible for fear to swallow him with love keeping him above the water. The rain hit his face but it no longer punched him. It washed over him, cleansing, new like the mud and twisting skyward.

His was the love of a life unknown and unpromised, a life that had escaped him for years. It wouldn't get away anymore.

Her axe barreled into his calves again and he buckled, face meeting earth. But he bore his weapon into the ground and sprung forward, launching himself toward the girl of lamentations. “I don't need revenge, War!” He jerked his arm back and swung the flames in her direction. “I need to be alive, I need-”

“-LIIIIIFE!”





Exover attacks raven with flaming spiked blunt
Dfrfxe4bY0spiked blunt


1-50

spiked blunt·1-50

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

The flames of my weapon are whisked away in a farewell, unlike the blaze roaring about us and upon my Foe’s bone of a weapon, as if the Game Makers above were denying my grasp upon light. But the force of my will at least maintains my clench upon life, as the edge of my axe-thing pierces bitterly into the leg of my Opponent - almost as though unintentionally seeking equal revenge. My own continues to silently scream out in ultimate agony, pleading for leisure that’ll never arrive, and threatening to unforgivingly snap beneath me at any moment. But for now it remains with no further snaps, limping me backwards as Ex himself collapses to the mudding ground below; refusal directing me to never strike another while they’re down.

For the briefest moment stillness floods upon me, solely the beating rain and cracking thunder registering in my senses, as I hold my breath in a wait. Will a canon growl across the lands with his fall? It was only a slash to his leg… The wonder only last momentarily, as he swiftly yanks himself back to an upright position like a true warrior - lunging for me with extreme determination. “I don’t need revenge, War!” It feels to be so long since that nickname was given, or even used, despite it being purely a few days ago, that I nearly had forgotten about it.

His weapon of dancing flames prepares. “I need to be alive, I need-“ And then his dedication strikes. “LIFE!” But the neck of my own weapon automatically pulls up for protection, rejecting the brim of his destruction from kissing my skin - though the fire gently does. Guilt practically plagues my core, feeling as though blocking his desire to live was taking advantage of his lack of sight. But with the dead and alive alike are pleading with me to survive, I can’t succumb to the guilt wishing to overtake.

“Life was taken from all of us the moment we were born, Ex.” Brutal honesty pummels from my lips unexpectedly, as though I have no control over my own words. “And even more so when we were brought to this forsaken land. Yes, one of us will escape this place with their breath still intact - but they’ll be just as dead as the twenty-three they’re leaving behind.” Surprisingly my voice didn’t fade with every word that passed, but rather remained firm and stern with the unforgiving truth.

The hilt of my weapon bounces with the flicks of my wrist. At least with that perspective I’ll be dead either way as I’d hope, whether I reunite with my siblings back in District five or with Rora, and Sev, and especially Dove - I’ll be dead either way. A gulp slithers down my throat, as if swallowing the guilt that’s trying to rise. If Kestrel, Eagle, and Falcon weren’t witnessing this from the town square of my homeland, and if Rora, Sev, and Dove weren’t observing this from wherever they now are, I’d give this boy of naive hope my life for his to take. But they are all watching, the dead and the alive are pleading with me to survive.

“Use the rain to your advantage, Ex. Listen to the droplets bouncing against my weapon to hear it coming. I’m going to strike now, and I’ll be right here in this same spot when you’re ready to hit me back.” But just because so many wish to see me escape this nightmare, I won’t take such a chance from the innocent boy before me. Both of us deserve to live as the dead, for the dead, and who ever manages to was meant to.

{Breathtaking Table done by the Beautiful Dars <3}

{Raven attacks Exover ~ Hatchet (Axe)}
k53PjsIJZhaxe
{11083 -- Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage
(Axe)} axe

[cameron]

“Life was taken from all of us the moment we were born, Ex.”

Her weapon held his inches from her face and the old cheese on her breath crept up his still-bruised nostrils, along with the seering stench of smoke, of fire in her lungs. But around them the fires burned hotter, stronger. The hay bales sizzled over the percussive rainfall, a sound like fireworks, like Finley. A sound like home.

Not the home he'd known forever, the little wood-paneled windowless shack he'd grown in and slept in and hid himself away in. The home he'd made there, in the arena, the one that flung him out on his ass and let him figure the rest out on his own. The one that sang with him and kept him forward and alive, kept him moving. In ten, he'd been stagnant. A boulder untouched, left to his own devices, left to sulk and sit and sulk some more. But this was new, and the rocks had rumbled and fell into the ravine, and he had a chunk of thumb rock in his bag to prove it. He was no longer alone; and, even though he was, in that moment, alone, he chose to keep moving. He chose to stay above the rising floods, to remember the words of his friends.

“And even more so when we were brought to this forsaken land.” War's words bounced through the walls of his head, hollowed and hard, but none found a destination. Ex was focused on so much more. Words continued to pour from her lips, and they felt sweet, gentle like the breeze. That breeze blew right through him, honeybees trailing behind, and he inhaled long and deep.

This forsaken land.

This forsaken land, that taught him who he was. Taught him that Exover was kind, and sarcastic, and temperamental, and way too easily angered. Taught him he cared about so many things, about sharks and water and washboards and men and sisters he never met and hell's wrath and nicknames and men. This forsaken land had all but forsaken him. Before he stepped blindly into his destiny without any idea of what was to come, he'd never dreamed of a fire ignited within. There was nothing but ice, but cold, the frozen over remains of a young boy with a wide, goofy smile.

But in this land he learned to smile again, to be happy in the moment when happiness was due or earned or, frankly, just fucking needed. He didn't have to stew on his pain, refuse any relief of anguish. Exover could be.

He smiled.

War's axe scratched his chest, and she'd said something of going easy on him, of playing fair due to his weakness. But he didn't want that. He wasn't the blind kid. He was Ex. He was a Sheriff and a Friend and a Lover and a Fighter and a Fool and a Rat Mom and a Hormonal Pig and all sorts of other things, but he would never again resign to Blind Kid.

He was more. He opened his mouth wide and sang along with Stanley, whose hand still gripped his own, whose laugh still lit up his heart and tethered him. Who was home.

“Weeeellll, I don’t mind if I ain’t got time, but that don’t bother me! I’m a hillbilly girl in a hillbilly world, but that don’t bother-”

“-Meeeee!”





Ex attacks raven with flaming boner

n7ZqTa4z_3spiked blunt
Broken tailbone 6+1

1-50

spiked blunt·1-50

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Skin splits beneath worn-out clothing of gruesome history, from the incursion of my blade’s determination. Blood seeps before my eyes from the result of own my fingertips; red staining what’s practically rags of a shirt left from the journey through this nightmare, mixing in with different hues of dried blood and varies textures of dirt and grime. Never before had my irises truly honed in on the damage my desperation causes. And though it’s scarcely a scratch compared to the death blows I’ve witnessed, it is a baby step closer to igniting yet another canon, it’s another step towards the survival I don’t even know if I actually want.

A smile licks upon my Opponent’s features, despite the chaos erupting around us - and infant injury now bubbling against his chest. Ungraspable thoughts appear to be dancing through his head, my stare tunneled upon the expressions coursing his face. And suddenly his lips part to allow a song to barrel past his tongue, leaving me with no certainty if he’s tempting to lighten the mood, distracting a gruesome mind, or if he’s simply untuned to this mayhem he’s been in now for days. Perhaps madness has overtaken him, as I’ve seen happen to so many within past Games.

Fire crinkles from the side in a roar towards my nearby direction, forcing instincts to swallow my body and turn me from my Foe - despite my promise to not move. But the blaze of his own weapon collides with my lower back, inducing yet another bone to crack in my dismay. Teeth clench against teeth, feeling as though I may break my own jaw with the attempt to absorb the agony rumbling through my senses. Even standing upright feels to be next to impossible, expanding worse with every second to pass.

Clearly this kid is in need of no assistance, blind or not - good on him.

A low growl pierces through my throat as if trying to release of the pain. It did seem that it’s the unfortunate who know how to thrive with no assistance. Hunger became apart of my life from the earliest memories; while my hands would never spread in a plead to others for help, as the more fortunate children had done at the slightest inconveniences. When a bad card is placed before you, you either die, or you learn, adapt, and eventually thrive - but you never cry out for help. Clearly Ex knows of this all too well, and clearly thrives with the burdens placed upon him.

The music of his voice continues to play, while there’s no certainty if that’s memory repeating in my head or him refusing to stop his carol. Senses fade from the muffle that the pain had inflicted, alertness flooding me back to this cruel reality. “You don’t need help, huh, Ex?” Perhaps I was foolish, or even insulting, to offer it to him.

Breaths heave from my lungs with no promise of a break from this chaos. Flames prolong to kindle around us, lacking yet more promises of rest. “I get it, I don’t like help either. I think I can understand you more than anyone else I’ve come across in this damned place.” Once more my weapon is brought up, preparing to battle for this life that so many others wish for me to maintain. “And at least we can agree on one thing, neither one of us is just going to hand the other their life.” If I did that Dove would surely kill me all over again, Rora would stare at me with such grave disappointment, and Sev would lecture me with his bundle of unexplainable wisdom.

And with my dedication to just simply not choose the preference of my fate, I allow my weapon to do it for me - and again I strike.

{Breathtaking Table done by the Beautiful Dars <3}

{Raven attacks Exover ~ Hatchet (Axe)}
IdALJThbbVaxe
{11009 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage
(Axe)} axe

[cameron]

Five days he struggled to break the skin with Finley's pitchfork, making a mockery of himself and his sheriff, but now, with the power of three in his grasp, he was powerful. Another crack split the storm, and the rain fell like bones. War growled, and it stirred him.

Maybe it was more than just his weapon. Confidence, shiny and new, lined his cheeks with roses, and a determination he'd never imagined filled his head with thoughts of colors, shades of green and red and anything but gray. Things he'd long forgotten and given up returned to him in his last days, a tease of what could have been. Before, that would have brought the boy to his knees, incapacitated him for hours. Not anymore. That tease only propelled him to capture as much life as he could, no matter the time remaining.

“You don’t need help, huh, Ex?” Her question confirmed it for him. He didn't. He didn't need special treatment, for he was whole, and he knew that now. “I get it, I don’t like help either. I think I can understand you more than anyone else I’ve come across in this damned place.”

But if she understood him, in his core, she would know this place wasn't damned at all. If Savior had been to hell, this wasn't it. War could try to ‘get’ him all she wanted, but until she saw the arena as the holy ground where he first lived she would miss all the guts of him. The gritty truth of Exover Endor, dead throughout life and alive in death. Thriving in death. She could see it in his eye sockets, in the eyes that bounced atop his head from the helmet he'd had from their first encounter. She had to see it. Strength. He pushed up on Savvy's bones, standing taller, prouder.

“And at least we can agree on one thing, neither one of us is just going to hand the other their life,” and she was right: he agreed. He couldn't hand away something he'd just found. Finders keepers and all that. Her axe found him then, but he pushed off with his stump leg and she missed the guts of him, slashing his hip instead. Ex fell into the mud again, weapon still upright in the ground, and he laughed.

He laughed and he laughed and he let go of his push-up pose and rolled to his back, arms and legs wide and flapping, splashing and slinging mud every which-way, and he laughed. Years ago he'd jumped in the mud puddles on a rainy April afternoon with his dad, and it had been good. His mom was angry, footprints all over, but they just laughed, he and his dad, and she wiped them up behind them. Things were good then.

They were better now.

“Well it ain’t this town makes the world go round, but that don’t bother me,” he sang, loud and obnoxious, the way he first felt about Ronan. But he was lighter than the boy from six, giggling over the lyrics and the joy of his memories. Dad Salads were together for only a short while, but their light burned on, brighter than the hay fires around them. Their light seeped out of him, like honey on his tongue. “Cause the times too slow when I’m on the go, but,” he paused his song, a rumble of laughter escaping his chest, “that don’t bother me!”

Ex set up on his elbows and stared ahead, blankly. Before, he would worry about the embarrassment of looking at nothing but thinking he was talking to someone. But War herself helped him see, pun intended, that none of that mattered anymore. Fuck if he didn't look people in the eye, he didn't know where their eyes were! And even then, he thought he was doing just fine, thank you.

“I would like some help, actually,” he reached forward and grabbed around till his hands met his weapon, and he heaved himself up, mud flinging ahead as he did. “Help singing this song!” He meant it. Smiling, he continued with the next line. “And the dirty old road that nobody knows-” and he uprooted the bones from the earth and hoped War knew the rest of the words, swinging up to the heavens.







Ex attacks raven w flaming SB
tRuHB8r9f0spiked blunt
Broken femur 7.5 +1

1-50

spiked blunt·1-50

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

The brunt force of my weapon feels to be diminishing with every second to pass, almost as if in sync with my legs losing strength to accept standing. Somehow still the blade of my axe manages to connect with my Opponent, engulfing him back into the flood of dirt below, while surprisingly I remain upright upon my own two feet. But the radiance of confidence seems to be shinning from the boy within the mud, as he transfers to his back as if to make snow-angels within the watery filth. Youth glistens from him like it did from Severus, freezing me in place to simply observe from afar in patience for him to rejoin the battle about. The severity of this place appears nonexistence from his core, laughter ringing from it instead, almost as though he’s been granted access to a luxurious dream where death doesn’t reside among every corner.

A sigh of confusion curls past my lips, uncertain of how to handle this brewing chaos before me. Has he simply accepted the nightmare, even succumbing to relish in it despite? Or has madness actually coaxed him as it’s done to so many within the past? The carol continues to scream from his throat of acceptance, chuckles intertwining with every tune - while I simply stand here amongst the blazing fires of reality, dumbstruck by what to do. Does every strike of my weapon dive him further into the mayhem, or direct him back to reality? Should I even care?

The music of his voice pauses as he steadies himself to sit up upon his elbows, almost as if to watch something ahead of him in heavy observation. “I would like some help, actually.” He claims, widening my eyes from the unexpected request. My hand extends before me, like he may be able to sense its presence to grab for assistance back to his feet. But he stumbles back up all on his own, claiming my mistake of his need without a word - until his true request follows. “Help singing this song!” A smile lifts his cheeks as he continues his carol, and his strive to break my physical existence until death collapses me from them.

Again the ability for me to stand is questioned, his makeshift weapon cracking another part of my leg. This time it’s my own self who’s welcomed into the filth below, a hefty grunt landing me, with no guarantee if I’ll ever get up again. And he wishes for me to sing with him? It’s difficult to dissect if its sweetness weaving his words, or sickness twisting them - as he seeks to sing while we strive to murder each other. A huff barrels from my lungs, tempting to convince myself to keep trying despite the crumbling desire of my snapping bones. But I have to, for Kestrel, Falcon, and Eagle, for Severus, and Rora, and especially for Dove - I have to try to live for them. And at least if I’m unsuccessful, I tried for them.

Arms of dedication push me from the mudding ground, to stumble me back onto my breaking legs. “I don’t sing.” I mutter through the pain, with no disrespect towards the boy who smiles within his carol. Dove used to sing, especially so on the nights where days passed us without a crumb of food - and defeat silenced us Elsu siblings in the dead of night. And I had to watch her die thousands of miles away without me there to see her off. Severus sang for us on the day the Game-Makers generously granted us a moment from the chaos, and I had to cradle him to his final breath. Fuck singing.

“Good for you, Ex - to see the optimism within this nightmare. But I’m not the type to see the good in shit. I can’t stay positive while I try to stay alive and kill you to achieve that.” A shrug bounces my shoulder as though he could see such. Perhaps Dove could remain optimistic through all this, and maybe that’s what killed her. But I promised my family I’d at least try to make it back to them, and try I will - whether I deserve it or not; my weapon flutters to defend all that I have left, the promise I made my siblings.

{Breathtaking Table done by the Beautiful Dars <3}

{Raven attacks Exover ~ Hatchet (Axe)}
zTAz0Zc5piaxe
{11022 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage
(Axe)} axe

[cameron]

The rain was relentless but so was he, another crack of her bones ringing out. His smile didn't falter, all teeth and whimsy even as he heard her fall, heard her push back up. War raged on, and he liked that. Liked that she was a fighter, that she didn't just let him win. It wasn't many days ago that her ally had offered him nose care advice, pretending like she had the most gracious generosity to spare him some suffering. Against her, maybe Ex would have won by then. Maybe Lady Death would've bowed out and refused to fight a lowly, sightless sod like him. Accepted her name for its truth. But instead he faced down the quiet one, who had cut him to pieces time and time again, who he'd even then barely noticed next to loud and unruly acquaintances that clung to the light like bugs at night.

In all regards, she was the most like him in the arena. Surrounded by the liveliest of souls, three people with vibrant voices and all sorts of opinions they had no problem sharing. But they'd been in the backseat, largely observers and not inciters. He couldn't remember a time either of them started the violence that followed them like shadows. A time they both hadn't merely acted in kind with their allies, or reacted to the bloodshed that started before they realized.

Even when Saturn joined the picture, he was the one who taunted Ronan, who Ronan taunted back, despite the unfinished business the boy from six had with Exover. Ronan was a huge part of Ex's time in the games, a force in beckoning change and transformation, yet the importance wasn't mutual. He meant nothing to the smoking asshole who claimed the arm of Savior not in his hands, who wrestled him among the very hay bales now on fire.

“I don't sing.”

Well, neither did he before he was reaped. Until Stanley nudged it out of him. But the silent boy who hid himself from the world was dead, his only confirmed games kill, and Ex's new self sang all the time. He danced and jumped and fell down too much. He had lavish parties and so many friends he needed a couple more severed arms to count them. New Ex was alive.

He was alive.

War slashed his stomach, catching him off guard. Daydreaming during a deathmatch was probably not encouraged by any of his mentors, but he hadn't spent enough time with any of them to benefit in a meaningful way. He mostly cared for Mace's sister back home, running the district and watching her charity case stumble along on the big screen. He hoped she could see the change in him. The boy she knew would never sing in the rain or break anyone's shin. He'd never allow another inside his body for the world to see. But she didn't know him; he was stronger now. Grabbing at his fresh wound, he smiled even bigger.

“I'm glad it's you, War,” he said. His hand moved up from his slashed stomach to his sheriff's badge. Fingering the corners of the star, he thought of Finley, and she laced her fingers in his. I thought you lost all your limbs, Sheriff, and she laughed a big, hearty laugh, and gripped him tighter. “But I've got bad news.”

As he slung his flaming weapon towards his match, he cried, “this town ain't big enough for the both of us!”





Exover attacks Raven with flaming spiked blunt
TCHg1zOm6kspiked blunt
Miss Block if u nasty


Fire
1-50

spiked blunt·1-50

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Another mere slice sketches across his front - minor yet still another step towards one of our demise. Again blood spreads a stain across his core, coloring his aura with the hues of this Game. A sharp inhale gently expands the likes of my lungs, as if tempting to absorb the truth of all the chaos amidst. If only I could be as metaphorically blind as Ex is, accepting of this reality and even enjoying of its cruelty. Steady eyes of mine stare as he clenches at his fresh wound, a grin spreading across his cheeks as though he didn’t possess a care in this Panem.

Gratitude lifts from his voice, while he grants a break from his singing. “I’m glad it’s you, War.” A statement accepts from his lips in a meaning I understand all too well, yet am entirely baffled by. Surely with the need for a battle this is as pristine of a setup as we could request for, while still that need for it is what we curse at with raised, balled-up fists - knowing all too well our disapproval won’t and will never change a damn thing.

For whatever reason my irises remain glued upon his hand’s grasp of his wound, which then transfers up to a badge upon his chest. His fingers scratch at the corners of this star of a badge, with ‘Sheriff’ written again the metallic texture. With the way the eternity of hisself nearly halts at the feel of this item, it’s blatantly clear the importance is contains. It almost brings a true human face to this person who shines behind a mask of laughter and songs. “But I’ve got bad news.” Point proven, as his words twirl back into the humor he’s determined to maintain.

The blazing weapon of his’ prepares once more to strike, stretching my back tall to face whatever he may bring. “this town ain’t big enough for the both of us!” No surprise there, as he returns to his side of jokes and optimism before a true comment of sincerity could even breach from his lips of sarcasm.

Instinct pull me over once more, as the neck of my weapon returns to protect me from his raft. Guilt doesn’t flicker within me this round however, knowing too well within a matter of minutes that Ex is far too strong to deserve special privilege. So my weapon holds to prevent his from colliding into my skin, even if the flames of it breezes against my skin. Optimism radiated from Rora and Sev alike, and they’re dead now - while the two souls of dark energy remain. Perhaps being happy is the greatest disadvantage of them all.

His weapon of choice is flung from my area, just as a canon flares through the atmosphere. Was that the darkness himself, Ronan leaving me as the others had? Vigorously my head shakes in denial of such thoughts. More likely it’s my own sounding through the airs, and I just haven’t realized it yet. Ronan is far too pessimistic to leave this place.

“You’re too smart for that bullshit, Ex.” Stumbling I step closer to him, as if preparing to take his life with my own hands. “We’re not in a damn town. There’s grass, and hay, and dirt, and fucken fire, but there’s no damn town.” It feels as though with every word I’m growing into our mom, when she would be so exhausted and tired she’d lecture us over the pettiest things. “Now get your shit together, stop playing games, and fight me! People are dying all around us, and it’s the good who die first! Do you want to be good, Ex? Or do you want to live!?” And before he has a chance to answer such, my blade ignites towards him.

{Breathtaking Table done by the Beautiful Dars <3}

{Raven attacks Exover ~ Hatchet (Axe)}
BhAA630QGRaxe
{11173 -- Severed Right Leg at Hip -- 10.0 damage
(Axe) +1 Strength} axe

[cameron]

When he told her the town wasn't big enough for them both through sour breath and yellowed teeth, he said so with the hopes of her imminent eviction wound tightly round his tongue. Confidence, that shiny new thing he wore proud like a badge of honor, betrayed his just-gained trust. She who claimed to go easy on him recused herself of that charge, blocking his movement again, and he couldn't help but smile even more.

If he died there, swallowed by the morphing mud and uprooted earth, scorched by the hay bales that remained ablaze through the torrents from above, he would die knowing it was a fair end. One brought about with respect, with a passion to go on rivaling his own, and he couldn't resent War for wanting to live. Nothing she could do would change his mind, not as she slung his weapon away and deigned him defenseless. She fought him as if he had eyes, and he never wanted anyone's pity, less than anything else.

Exover was above kindness due to civil duty or maligned morals, but equality in bloodlust was righteous and freeing, even in the face of doom, haunting and powerful and present. And its presence made itself known, a cannon cracking over the rain, and Ex got to thinking - he never once asked how many people, or even which people had fallen on any given games day, and he wasn't fully certain exactly which day it was then, either. Eight or nine, he thought, but time moved in such varying speeds and rhythms, shuffling him along quickly through the moments he treasured and holding him hostage through those he despised. There was no way to be sure, unless...

He opened his mouth to ask War, the benevolent but ferocious, but she spoke first, trampling his inquiries with her curses. Too smart for what shit, Finley's final request before parting eternal ways? Pretending away the morbidity for a chance at coming alive in a world that would never be welcoming of those already disadvantaged? But it was a town, it was their town, all of theirs. The twenty-four of them made their marks there, lives written forever into the rocks and terrain, words whispered to the grasses and flowers. The finality of their world was there, whether War wanted to hear it or not.

So I was wrong, he thought then, as she begged him to fight for his life. The town was big enough for the both of them after all. It was big enough for them all, and they'd all live there forever, pressed into every breath of air and littered along the breeze. The arena was their home. Before he knew it, War brought her weapon down on him, and the blade swiped clean through his leg, and he collapsed back into the mud, and a mosquito-like buzzing deafened him, rattling in his head, suddenly heavy, suddenly fuzzy, and whiteness drenched his thoughts in a thick blanket and the buzz grew until there was nothing.

A sharp breath sat him upright, gasping for air and confused of his whereabouts for just a moment, before everything returned and the buzz petered out. He'd passed out before, sure, but usually when he came to he wasn't missing a whole, entire leg.

Things were different in the hunger games. But they wouldn't be different because of his eyes.

Smiling, he reached back in the mud and grabbed Savvy's bones, pulling it toward him. “Ouch, War,” he said, using the bloodied craftsmanship of Stanley to push himself up onto his one stump leg. Pain spiraled through his body from his hip, but he wouldn't be pained much longer, he knew. “That just might bruise.”

The arm without an iron-like hold on his weapon felt forward for his foe, brushing her shoulder and resting there briefly. “I did mean to ask, how many are left now?” A quick addition: “Tributes, not working legs between the two of us.” Ex smirked, fingers squeezing her before returning to his weapon. You're going to be okay, he told himself again, before throwing his whole body into his war on War.





Ex attacks raven with flaming spiked blunt
YILBbVXIrqspiked blunt
Gashed right femur 4.0


Fire
1-50

spiked blunt·1-50

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

The rims of my eyes enlarge beyond capacity, baffled in disbelief like never before. Surviving was surely the prime desire, for the others if not for myself even, while demolishing someone limb by limb literally was not amongst the preferred. Guilt plagues the rhythm of my pulse, despite refuting to pity the man before me simply over the disadvantage he’s altered into a strength. But the entirety of his leg is dismantled from his being, due to my raft of fulfilling a vow. He collapses to the floor, and there’s surely no guarantee of his return. Should someone be pitied over a severe disadvantage you yourself have cursed him with?

The entirety of my breath is held until he finally releases from the mud below, sitting up with the determination I’m learning more and more that he fully contains. His weapon is reclaimed, unwilling to crumble from this battle until breaths are not held but lost - and like my learnings of him, my respect of him grows further with every minute that passes. “Ouch, War.” He continues to joke, just as determined to remain himself as he is to survive. And with that dedication he forces himself to stumble upon his last remaining leg. “That just might bruise.” A laugh crumbles from my own lips at his comment, despite the sorrow flooding me.

His freed hand grasps onto my shoulder, and there’s not even a flinch to push him away. Surely he won’t succumb to defeat, while I won’t deny a shoulder to lean upon. “I did mean to ask, how many are left now?” He questions, before clarifying. “Tributes, not working legs between the two of us.” Another chuckle forces across my tongue surprisingly, almost desperate to find his humor within this hell.

Again his weapon collides into my leg, it’s blaze kissing a goodbye, almost as though revenge was directing his blind aim. Compared to the breaks of his other collisions against me, it’s scarcely a scratch - not even delivering a grunt from myself. “Glad you clarified, because working legs between us is questionable.” It’s almost as if the overwhelming pain is transferring into humor like Ex’s, gentle laughter curling past my words.

“Eight I think, but I’ve heard some canons - or it was thunder, I don’t know.” Acceptance of defeat seems to contort my tone, struggling to remain upon my legs despite the evident difficulties upon another being far worse. “Seems like we both like going for the low blows, huh?” A pure joke tempts breaching, though it’s not nearly as well formed as Ex manages to on the spot.

“You’ve shown me true strength through this however, Ex.” A sigh heavily deflates my lungs, craving for a conclusion no matter its end. “I thank you for that, but of course I won’t go easy on you for it - something tells me you’d kill me for doing that.” And again something contorts me to continue the comedy, while still I again slam my axe into his direction.

{Breathtaking Table done by the Beautiful Dars <3}

{Raven attacks Exover ~ Hatchet (Axe)}
zA71Zkrwoiaxe
{11121 -- Severed Left Ear -- 8.0 damage
(Axe) +1 Strength} axe

[cameron]

War laughed, and though Ex barely scratched her leg he laughed right along. His chest creaked like the floorboards of his old house. Not his new home, surrounding him on all sides, the mass of rock in a pitied thumb-like heap. With each breath he became heavier, weighed down, dense. Death knocked, spindly fingers rapping against his heart, thumping wildly, as loud as the rain, but he turned a blind eye and kept laughing with the enemy. She was not the reactive grizzly bear like he'd thought; she was soft once bitten, just like Ronan before her. Like Saturn had been.

His laughter died and his brows furrowed. Saturn. A predator because he'd been prey, preyed upon and spat out and turned hard. But there was always a tenderness like a peach, warm and easy. His hat hooked around one of his helmet's eye stalks, and Ex hesitantly reached up to touch it, fingering the brim. He missed him, the boy from one, who raised the hairs on his arms and diverted the direction of blood flow to one central location. They were getting married, after all, and it hadn't been discussed but they'd planned to ask Ronan to be flower girl. War could've had a role too, bore their rings or proposed a toast to the happy couple, but instead they leaned on each other, broken bones and missing legs, bringing about each other's end.

After this, neither had a chance of walking out of the arena alive and in tact. But if he could, Ex would crawl out, and nothing stood in his way. That he could see, anyway.

She probably felt the same way, he thought, for she was every bit the fighter he was. If not more. War had fought with the vibrance of the storm since the beginning. His thunder only just rumbled, and he was inexperienced. He'd never chased a storm in his life, was scared of them till he was - “eight I think, but I've heard some canons.” Her voice broke through and his face twisted back to a smile, hoping to have gone unnoticed. “Or it was thunder. I don't know.”

So she heard it too; she knew his thunder grew. Maybe she'd survived storms before in five, but never like him. She had the blessing of seeing it come her way. The worst things came when one's back was turned, though, and nothing ever prepared anyone for that reality. Soon it would be hers. He knew it. “Seems like we're both going for the low blows, huh?” Was she reading his mind?

Very little blood was left in his body. He faded in and out of consciousness, dreaming about the fight vividly, but he was definitely sleeping…. Right? His hand struck out, grabbing at air, and he didn't know whether he willed that in a dream or in the games, and he didn't know which was which anymore. They'd been the same for so long, one agonizing walking nightmare, all pitch-black and heartache. He grabbed at his face, pulled his bottom lip, and yep he was awake, thumb rolling over an ulcer he'd just found. Ex was strange, but he'd never once dreamed of ulcers.

“- something tells me you'd kill me for that.”

And she was right.

She'd given him the ulcer, right at the edge of his lip, and he would in fact kill her for it. He just wanted to sing, to stand on the hay bales and scream into the abyss, the falling sea a backdrop for his melodies. But no, no, they had to fight, and nothing fun, because a piece of his ear had just been sliced off, and holy shit, he was really bleeding, a lot, holy shit. She cut off part of his ear.

Then a sliver of Saturn's hat drifted down, past his face, and he turned cold again.

War cut his hat. Sure, she cut off his ear, too; but she cut Saturn's hat. Beverly peeked out of his bag, scurried up his arm, and perched on his shoulder to lick his neck. He smiled once more. The rat was right. He was being drastic. He needed to lighten up. So he took a deep breath and belted, “oh give me a home, where the buffalo -”

“-ROAM!”





Ex hits raven w spiked blunt
Yt5a6M6tSIspiked blunt
Gashed right collar bone 3.0


Hot trash alert, happy 4/20

spiked blunt

[Cameo {RIP Charlie}]

Metal shatters to complete destruction with intensity as severe as a snapping bone, or a bleeding wound, or a dying soul. But the conclusion of protective gear is not all that my axe manages, slicing off a sliver of my Opponent’s ear clean through as well. Not even sadness lowers the likes of my eyes any more, guilt refuting to extend to the boy who’s far too powerful for such, as it becomes more and more clear to me the life or death situation before me. There’s still no understanding of which fate for myself is preferred, while I lay the decision entirely upon our waving weapons alike. If he survives he was meant too, if I do… I don’t know.

The breach of death towards each of us is beyond evident however, creeping towards us closer and closer with every swing of our tools of ultimate conclusions. Tremendous agony should be overtaking me to every wicked degree, and surely will if my breath prolongs me, while currently its solely determination straining my keen concentration to the task at hand. A vow was set to the siblings still alive back in District Five. If I portrayed them they’d never forgive me, Dove would never forgive me, I’d probably never be able to even forgive myself. And something tells me Ex would never forgive me for not giving my all.

It’s nearly an ecstasy that’s controlling my senses, numbing the pain, and willing my drive. A song returns to Ex’s lips, before he delivers his bone of a weapon back to my decomposing skin. The collar of my bone splits to a mere gash compared to others, and again the feeling is absent from me. Yet another sigh exhales from the tightness of my chest, understanding all too well that the conclusion of this is beyond nearing. It appears that Ex himself is fading in and out of reality, almost as though checking out early - and conflict purely baffles me momentarily.

“This sucks Ex… Someone as strong as you are against the disadvantages the Panem cursed you with, doesn’t deserve this. You’re too good for this place…” Just like Rora was, and Severus, and there’s no doubt where they are now because of it. “I have to try though… I have to try to make it home to my siblings who can’t lose another sister… I’m sorry.” And with that the flick of my weapon retrieves back towards Ex, determined to keep that promise it feels I made so long ago.

{Breathtaking Table done by the Beautiful Dars <3}

{Raven attacks Exover ~ Hatchet (Axe)}
ihnoc4VbGWaxe
{11023 -- Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage
(Axe)} axe