the darkness within | [laurel/fangor/maggie v hollow] day 2

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

4-L1C3

She heard them coming, the three of them. Ushered in like cattle. Her circuits began to whir- her older brother hiccuped to life next to her and her sister followed suit. Model 4-L1C3. Called Alice affectionately. One of the latest models. Tallest of the female models, with blonde hair and a babydoll dress.

Her fingers closed around the hilt of an axe mechanically, one by one, and gears stuttered as she turned to look at her brother.

"Have they come to play?" she asked, voice modulated to sound so innocent.

She peered up at one of the girls.

"Do you like games?"

[Alice attacks Laurel, Axe]
VzLfx75TNBaxe
[11133 -- Block -- 0.0 damage]

1-V4N

His model had been dropped in favor of a later one- they said Ivan was too tall to have the same cuteness factor as his kin. While it was true that he stood head and shoulders above his sisters, he wore a onesie and his hair was childishly disheveled and when he spoke-

"Are you my Dad?"

He sounded like a child none the same. He'd been holding a bear trap with a dead rat stuck between its teeth- dinner, until now. He dropped it in favor for the sword sheathed on his back. He took a step forward towards the boy, as if afraid, as if curious.

"You won't hurt us, will you?"

[Ivan attacks Fangor, Sword]
sword
[1053 -- Stabbed in Forearm -- 8.5 damage]

0-L1V3

Famed for being the tiniest, Model 0-L1V3 appeared to be no more than a preschooler, stumbling over her own feet, with pudgy little hands and an over-sized nightgown. Her gas mask, unlike those of her brother and sister, seemed to be needlessly large, as if she could barely keep herself standing upright at all times. She offered a small wave at the last of the humans, then brandished a spear that was twice her height.

"Wanna see my toys?"

Unlike her siblings, Olive wasted no time with hesitation, rushing forward with a whimper of a war-cry and leaving fear somewhere behind her. Hungry, she thought. The others always ate the bulk of the meal. If she took this girl down, maybe she'd get first spoils.

[Olive attacks Maggie, Spear]
spear
[3060 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage]

axe·sword·spear

[kap]

"I am a fuckin' machine
I'm always strong and
I will never be weak"

♛

The night was one during which I got no rest. I couldn't sleep among the trees. While I sat there, leaned up against one of them, there were a few occasions on which I thought I saw a tree move, or perhaps that I had witnessed a pair of glowing red eyes peaking out of one of them. I tried my best to ignore this and just go to sleep, but to no avail.

Come the morning, it was time for travel, my axe in my grasp, my newly found gloves on my hands, and carrying my recently obtained basket containing my other supplies. I made my way to an abandoned-looking town after traveling a little ways, and decided to start to survey my surroundings. I'd explored plenty of abandoned places back in Nine so that I could have somewhere to stay for the night when I didn't want to sleep out on the streets on cold winter nights, but this was a bit different. This was an entire town, not just a single empty building among many others that were inhabited.

There was a small layer of snow on the roofs of the houses, but the things that was the strangest was how quiet it was. In the forest, I'd at least hear a scuttle or some rustling here and there, but in this abandoned town, there was nothing but silence.

It took a little while before there was any sound or motion in the little ghost town. When there was, however, I noticed two other tributes nearby. I didn't seem to be able to recall either of their names, but I knew that one of them was from Eight and the other was from Ten- the female tributes from each. At first, I thought that they were planning on attacking me, so I had my axe at the ready, but the attacks that did come were from another direction.

What I heard before the sword sliced into my forearm was seemingly the voice of a small child.

"Are you my Dad?" it asked, curiously.

Its sword was unsheathed, however, and even though it had asked, "You won't hurt us, will you?", it was clearly ready to hurt me. The gash from the sword brought a burning pain, but it also brought adrenaline. There was something for me to fight.

With this little child-mutt creation that had attacked me were two others, going after the girls who were there, too. I spoke to the girls, hoping they would listen.

"Don't worry about each other right now, we need to get rid of these things first!"

Then, I raised my axe to the one that had attacked me, and swung.

word count: 441
lyrics: "War Cry" by Diamante

Fangor attacks Ivan with axe
U96atFdSgLaxe
[11175 -- Severed Right Forearm at Elbow -- 9.5 damage + 1 for mutt tamer]

axe

[mat]

[googlefont="Rancho:400"]

maggie mae

By the time night falls, Maggie Mae finds herself nestled in between a few of the trees. Little chirps from crickets and bugs are the only things that keep her sanity, even if just for a second. As if they're playing music, she listens to the rhythm, tapping her fingers together with the beat. This is the part she'd never thought of that perhaps gave her the most to worry about: passing the time. She'd never really.. imagined that it was possible. When she watched from the television screens in District Ten, they refused to show it. Snipped and clipped together were the most action-filled, terrifying pieces of the Games that the dream catchers could find. Never once did she hear the story of the tributes counting sheep in the middle of the night. And so now, Maggie sits, drumming her fingers on her thighs to try and convince her mind that it's okay to sleep.

In reality, though, it's all just a catch-22. Pass the time, catch yourself off guard, go to sleep, and perhaps never wake up again.

Maggie chooses to do it anyway.

Other than the occasional bug biting at her (or in one case, zapping her, in which she held back her scream extraordinarily well), she sleeps through the night with relative ease. No swords piercing into her stomach, no arrow landing inches away from her right eye. Under these current circumstances? She might even call it a good night.

Biting her tongue, she holds that thought deep down in her mind. Never call anything in these circumstances a 'good' anything, Maggie. That's a pretty dangerous game.

Maggie chooses to wait until the visibility far away is better before she starts to move once more. The lantern might have helped her get a move on earlier, but the far-sighted power on it isn't very valuable. Plus, she wanted to conserve its energy. One never knows when they'll truly need something until they wish they hadn't wasted it away in the first place.

She tracks in a different direction from where she came to a clearing in the woods. It's a town: boarded up planks, brick walls, a thin dip of glimmering white on the grounds. But, to her, mostly importantly, an opportunity to search through the houses and find additional useful loot. She takes her blade out from the basket and raises her hood up. She peeks into the window she passes at each opportunity, searching for anything they may be of use. Specifically medical supplies. Understandably, there was a shortage of any of that in the middle of nowhere in the forest.

Her search is disrupted when she hears a voice call out to her.

"Wanna see my toys?"

Immediately, she turns around to see a small girl, wielding a weapon three sizes too big for her, push the weapon at her stomach.

Other voices follow. Her eyes readjust to the situation. There's three of them. Three little children, each cornering one of the other tributes. She knows neither of them.

Her blade is ready to swipe, when she hears the words of the male tribute call out for the other two: "Don't worry about each other right now, we need to get rid of these things first!"

She nods in approval of the temporary ceasefire.

Maggie readies her saw, but hesitates for a second before taking her shot. The little girl reminds her of the kids at the orphanage. Small, clothes too big for them. Little kids simply wanting the bigger kids or adults to understand them and love them.

But they're monsters. Deep down, with those peculiar masks off of their faces, that's all they'll ever be.

"You must not have read the label on that toy box, sweetie," her voice is plagued with nerves. The term 'small, but deadly!' could be very relevant here. "It said ages twelve and up."

She swings the handsaw at the little girl, aiming as low as possible.

As the saw passes by the little girl's mask, a number of faces appear: Minnie, Norbert, Piper, Lorenzo, Ollie, Rogue. Young and old, they all take the face of this poor little orphan. With the blink of an eye, the gas mask at firmly back on the girl's face.

The Pound is miles away, buried deep into Maggie Mae's past. She was the (sometimes passive) aggressive, bold, moody teenage girl in the Pound, haunting the dreams of the other kids. But now, they haunt her.

A lovely way to start the day.

[Maggie Mae attacks Olive with handsaw (sword)]
m6vDf4ba8Fsword
1148 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage + 1.0 BLADES
sword

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

DO NOT SCREAM OR CRY. FORGET REVOLUTION AND INSTEAD FORCE EVOLUTION, FOR THIS IS THE GROWTH YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED. BLOOM FROM THE GOOD TO THE BAD AND WATCH AS THE WORLD IS LEFT HAUNTED.

There are no faces to mourn, not that I would mourn anyway. But the fact the sky stays motionless makes this feel less like the arena I have become used to; it feels like it has not tasted the death it was made to savour, and the flavour has instead been replaced by an unseasoned dissatisfaction.

Stars do not dance, they freeze with the night's chill, and when I roll over, I do the same. 

Everything is scared when I wake up. There isn't a sound, not even a rustle of leaves and it is like everything has died for the night out of fear that something wicked this way comes. Eyes wide, I stare out like a predator awaiting prey; goosebumps on my skin because the silence has a sense of sickness that makes me uneasy, yet there's an acceptance in my mind because this is the hell I have wished for.

The horizon calls my name, a bite in its breath and I am forced to cut out the surname it offers me, yet I take the bait so willingly, so easily, because this arena knows that I want to sever the tie.

I pace footstep after footstep, the harvest sun casting a golden glow over my skin and imprinting a gloomy shadow on the ground. There's a coldness that is inherent in my darker sister's body because she does not hold the same glow from the sun, and instead, the sun has taken her warmth and replaced it with a chill that goes beyond the bone. It penetrates her core, and I stare at her mimicking my movements on the ground, mockery in her motion, action in her reaction, and I cannot help but dig my axe into her behind me and drag it through her coal as I move.

A shadow is the voice inside my head that I do not need, it is a reflection of who I am and not who I want to be. If I could kill it, I would.

Temporal pain will have to suffice until the night comes again, and I'll wait up for the second I am left truly alone, content in my own silence and collected in the thoughts I have filtered and deem acceptable for my life to depend on. Ignorance remains bliss for the time being, so I turn a blind eye to what lies in my wake, forcing a piercing tunnel vision on whatever lies ahead.

The vegetables die to bare grass and slowly the grass builds itself into humble abodes that could house friendly faces. It grows slightly into a small village: frostbitten at the edges, yet still it maintains a feigned sense of warmth at its core. Just because it appears to have a heart does not mean I will spare it—the things with hearts are ultimately the worst because that means they have themselves to live for too, and I for one know that self-interest can and won't stop for anyone.

Carefully, I move through the village. I peer into the house and find them empty, not even bodies on the floor to tell a twisted fairytale of what could or might have been. Instead, the silence remains unbroken. The sun bleeds yellow over the walls and I breathe fire through the air. Disturbed by my own disaster, I intend on making this innocent scene a battleground. My own calculation is key.

And then the heart of this place shows itself—innocence in the truest sense of the word: children. I hear the voice before I lay eyes on the being, her words pitched and twitched to resemble the harmless sounds of a child who just wants to play. I spin in its direction and glare emptily past the mask on its face to its mechanical middle. It attacks and the facade is broken: childhood trauma bleeds from her fingertips and the disguise of innocence falls to pieces. I move, cautious of the danger, but ready to embrace it all the same.

More voices follow: technically perfect and broken—when I turn this time, I am accompanied by two other tributes and for a second, I'm not sure who to prioritise. The opportunity to take down true competition and reap their goods for all they are worth is definitely tempting, especially given my condition, yet the issue of fake children pressing themselves to leave mental scars on our minds somehow feels more dangerous than a human threat. I drop charges against the two tributes when one of them makes the first move and I realise that even apart, we are still in this together.

"I never liked children anyway," I say to them, readying the weight of the axe in my hand. Children are a responsibility that I never want. "No games, kiddo. I'm nobody's mother."

[ laurel attacks ivan ; axe ]

setUZCJdZqaxe

[ miss ]

[ accuracy reroll ]

axe

[ 11022 -- shallow cut on stomach -- 4.0 damage ]

axe·axe

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

4-L1C3

Alice peered quite curiously, craning her neck and tilting her head to one side as if analyzing the situation. All the later models were designed to be more thoughtful, to be more careful. Perhaps that was why she remained untouched, while her brother and sister seemed to not be doing so well. The axe drug the ground behind her and she took calculated step after calculated step, circling the humans.

Her mission was to kill them.

"No games, Kiddo. I'm nobody's mother."

Her mission was to hurt them.

A childish giggle escaped her, automated as it was and muffled by the gas mask to boot. Her free hand caught the hem of her dress and she bowed to the girl, slowly, awkwardly jilting as the circuitry beneath her skin began to bend in ways it had not bent in quite some time. The axe was pointed right at her- right at the human Alice had chosen as her own.

"But you're already playing, Mommy."

[Alice attacks Laurel, Axe]
XRrJO1sz6Naxe
[11043 -- Deep Gash on Left Thigh -- 8.0 damage]

1-V4N

"IIIIII- sfsfsf-" static in the place of speech. His father took his right arm, exposing the sparking wires mixed with inorganic red blood beneath. Protocol: Switch Style. He stuttered in place for a moment, seizing while standing as another girl caught his abdomen with an axe.

He went still, inhumanly so. More static. Then he looked up at his father, down at the sword, at the hand still closed around its hilt. With his free arm, he reached down to shake it loose, and jammed the sword into the area where his forearm used to be.

"You hurt-urt-urt me, Dad-d-d-dyy." Mechanically designed to sound brokenhearted.

The blade was so long that it almost dragged the ground as it jutted from his bleeding stump.

"Why?"

His steps were so fast now that he left dust in his wake, twirling in his last moments. One last ditch effort to see the mission through. Hmph. Perhaps it would have been more wise to settle for the rat he'd captured before; perhaps, if he'd been human, he would've run away while he still could. But beneath the childish, bloody appearance, Ivan was no more than a system of pre-programmed responses and an innate ability to kill.

[Ivan attacks Fangor, Sword]
sword
[1125 -- Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage]

0-L1V3

Olive's rage was merely a byproduct of her creation. She was one of the first models, tiny little thing. The furiosity settings were far too high; she almost became animalistic, leaping on top of her mommy's back and growling. She turned her volume setting up as far as it would go and screamed right in her mother's ear- guttural and primal and inhuman but, at its root, still close enough.

"RAAAAAAH!"

She clawed and kicked and scratched, maneuvering herself around Mommy until they were face to face.

"MY MODEL IS FIFTY YEARS OLD!" she declared, kicking herself off. She ran- on all fours- back to her spear, hoisted it up and spun.

Mommy wanted violence. Mommy was the reason there were sparks igniting the fabric of her nightgown near the area of her wound.

"Mommy will taste delicious." She hissed. Though the Hollows never needed sustenance, Olive was almost excited to taste her as she bolted forward.

[Olive attacks Maggie, Spear]
spear
[3044 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage]

axe·sword·spear

[kap]

"I am a fuckin' machine
I'm always strong and
I will never be weak"

♛

Luckily, the two other tributes who were there with me in the abandoned town when we were jumped by these mutt children were in agreement that we needed to attack the mutts at the moment and not each other. I had made the first attack, my axe cutting one of the mutts’ arms in half. The partial limb fell to the ground with a thump.

The girl from Ten leaves a deep gash on the chest of another one of the mutts with her sword and the girl from Eight cuts into the stomach of the mutt I’d attacked just moments before. Then, the creatures swung their weapons again, some of them speaking with a fake sound of pain in their voices. The one with the sword whose arm I had cut in half cuts into my calf with its weapon, and speaks to me, sounding distressed.

“You hurt-urt-urt me, Dad-d-d-dyy.” I was no father, and especially not to this thing that was attacking me.

“Why?” it asked me.

“I hurt you because you hurt me.” I readied my axe again. “You should expect to be treated the way you treat others. Didn’t your mother ever tell you that?”

I thought of the fact that this next blow may kill the creature, and for some reason, I didn’t feel any guilt. I felt excitement. I was full of adrenaline. I was ready for more blood to spill from this empty child. My life was changing. I was changing. This is what I wanted.

It wasn’t like when I attacked the mutt in my private training session. I wasn’t torturing an innocent being this time. I was defending myself for the sake of survival, and I wasn’t going to give up. It was time for these mutts to go away. It was time for these mutts to die.

word count: 315
lyrics: "War Cry" by Diamante

Fangor attacks Ivan with axe
G_nB6N9CLNaxe
[11043 -- Deep Gash on Left Thigh -- 8.0 damage + 1 for mutt tamer]

axe

[mat]

[googlefont="Rancho:400"]

maggie mae

Her blade cuts deep through the little girl's chest, ripping and tugging at her gown. For the first time, this saw gets a taste of blood over the sawdust that it is meant to inspire on a daily basis. Maggie pulls it back away from the girl, and back to her side. The little doll-like monster flails its arms and legs all over the place in an attempt to regain its footing in the white-coated snow. And it eventually jumps onto her, pulling up her cloak and onto her back. Piggyback rides would be fun, in theory.

"My model is fifty years old," the scream pierced every bit of her left ear, despite the gas mask offering a slight barrier from the little girl's mouth.

Piggyback rides would be fun if the person on Maggie's back wasn't a spear-wielding maniac with every intention to rip her apart limb from limb.

The little devil falls off of her back with a graceful hop, running back to get a better angle to attack again. Maggie takes the opportunity to catch her breath and tuck her cloak back into her pants. Worst case scenario would be this devilish little mutt learning how to strangle someone by the throat.

Sparks dashed from the girl's body, reigniting the notion that these little things are not human, not like the little boys and girls at the Pound. They're just a trick: a perfect illusion to mess with their minds in all of the confusion.

All guilt removed, she hears the little monsters all mutter their own dialogue in some sort of unison. The little girl in front of her, at least from Maggie's perspective, is the most haunting. "Mommy will taste delicious." The girl and her spear make a lunge deep into her leg, connecting, and tearing into flesh.

Her first major battle wound.

She races to nurse it, but upon immediate touch, it stings.

So instead, she follows the burning sensation with a witty remark, sure to trigger the little girl again.

"I'm sorry, little lady, but if your controllers want me to starve for a week, there's no way in hell I'm going to let you get so much as a crumb."

Maggie swings her hand saw once more, now with confidence, hoping to deactivate the little girl.

She wouldn't get so much as a crumb.

"You won't get a single crumb. Not even the tip of my thumb."


[Maggie attacks 0-L1V3 (olive) w/ handsaw (sword)]
ITLAMT17eksword
1068 -- Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage

sword

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

DO NOT SCREAM OR CRY. FORGET REVOLUTION AND INSTEAD FORCE EVOLUTION, FOR THIS IS THE GROWTH YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED. BLOOM FROM THE GOOD TO THE BAD AND WATCH AS THE WORLD IS LEFT HAUNTED.

The robot creaks in analysis; her movements becoming more and more mechanic as time goes on. It is like, as each second passes, the illusion disappears with it, and behind the voice that has been pitched and twitched to create the seemingly perfect imitation of childhood innocence, there is a nightmare that is so perfect, it is scared of itself.

She circles, I circle back, and we dance a dangerous dance together. Waging weaponry of different style and grace, there is truly no place for any childhood naivety or doubt in this fight. Because the Capitol cannot replicate a feeling they will never feel—that glistening sensation that comes with growing up and thinking everything is possible only to find that the opposite is the harshest or truths—they will never understand what it is like to feel such warmth to only have it replaced with a freeze that penetrates straight to the core. Stopping for no wish, stopping for no goal until it eventually consumes hope whole.

I feel nothing when I look at the robot. It is not a girl, merely a collection of wires and metal plating to try and make me feel anything other than fury and rage. But I will never give up so easily, not even when faced with something that tries to worm its way into the depths of my heart and sit prettily waiting for my care to come out and keep it company. The axe strikes down against my thigh and the pain only fuels a hunger for its combustion and does not distract from the duty I have given myself.

It tries to make me feel, but I won't let it—I might not be a woman, but I am not a girl either.

"But you're already playing, Mommy," it whines, the modulated voice ringing through the air like an alarm. The final word of her sentence hangs heavy in the air for a few moments, almost like the air suspends itself around it to try and make me see how it shines with a sense of superiority, because being a mother is supposed to be the greatest experience of a woman's life, because being a mother is perhaps the only superpower a human can ever possess. Yet the words are like glass and it only takes a second for me to realise that I am able to define superpower in my own way, and subsequently I can bring my admiration away from motherhood and bring it to survival.

To breathe, in times like this, is the best superpower.

"I'll play cat's cradle with your wires when I cut them out of your chest."

The other two tributes continue on in their own conversations with the robots; their interest peaking only at the metal warrior attacking them. Perhaps I am wrong for lending a hand to take down the devils they face, perhaps I am being too good to them for letting my own monster continue to live on unharmed. But I figure that strategy is more than just performing exceptional physical abilities and looking out for yourself—it's about relationships and the audience, ultimately, it is about getting people on your side.

So I look between my robot and the one attacking the other girl and size her up. Tall, dark, pretty; a danger that drips from her eyes and lungs that breathe an air of caution to all those who come into contact. She is what the Capitol want from a winner, because the juxtaposition of a pretty face against an ugly interior makes for the best story. She's surely already got a hundred men and women in the Capitol wanting to keep her alive—maybe they could keep me alive too.

"You do look delicious, dark eyes," I call out to her, watching as her sword comes down against the robotic leg. "But don't worry, I won't let it get a taste."

[ laurel attacks olive ; axe ]

oX6B4lywwFaxe

[ 11030 -- shallow cut on right hip -- 3.5 damage ]

axe

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

4-L1C3

She gritted her teeth, furious as her brother and sister died. Such old models; she should have expected as much. Still. Her programming forced her to care for them. Or at least forced her to think she did. If she had tear ducts, she may have turned them on, but she didn't. She did have speech capabilities, so she let out a high-pitched whirring sound that was akin to a cry. Her body was rigid and unmoving. Her dress billowed in the wind as if it were dancing, hair whipping across her face and getting entangled in the gas mask.

She stood there, watching.

"Bad."

She said simply. She squeezed the hilt of her axe so hard that it began to splinter around the edges of her hand. Her nails dug beneath the surface, embedding her fingers into its hand until it was as well attached to her as it could be. She held it up in front of her, the blade curved and lonesome.

"Eenie, meenie, miney-"

Her eyes flicked to the boy who killed Ivan.

"Moe."

Like lightning, she bolted.

[Alice attacks Fangor, Axe]
d315R5giagaxe
[11093 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage]

axe

[kap]

"I am a fuckin' machine
I'm always strong and
I will never be weak"

♛

The child-like, gas masked mutt I'd struck with my axe fell to the ground lifelessly after my next hit, cutting into its thigh. Then, the girl from Ten and the girl from Eight attacked another one of the creatures, the girl from Eight successfully managing to end the life of their target. Now, only one mutt remained, which charged towards me quickly after a quick 'eenie meenie miney moe', deciding that it was going to cut into me with the axe it was holding. A cut appeared on my neck from the axe this little, obnoxious child mutt was holding, and I gripped my axe tighter.

Many people may have been reminded of small children in their lives when they saw these mutts and been deterred from attacking them, but not me. I wasn't afraid. Instead, they filled me with adrenaline, making me want to fight. They were the closest thing to humans that I'd buried my axe in so far, and I was ready to continue to do just that, killing each one of the three little gas mask children that the Capitol had created to try to kill us.

I'd already killed one of these things. I wasn't afraid to kill another. With the artificial blood of these creatures upon my axe's blade, I was ready for more. I was ready to rip these little ones apart limb from limb, just like I had with the first one to fall to my weapon.

I wondered if my aunt and uncle were watching what was happening right now. Hell, I wondered if they had even realized that I'd volunteered for the Games until now. They never paid much attention to me, hence why I was stuck living on the streets with no one but a bird for company back in Nine. Maybe this fight would get their attention. Maybe this would show them that they should've have ignored me and left me for dead.

I focus my attention on the one remaining Capitol-created creature. I was ready to kill it, now. Then again, I'd been ready to kill all three of the mutts since they first approached us and one had swung its weapon into my flesh.

"You've made the wrong choice, coming after us, little one. You should have just stayed home," I told it with a smirk on my face.

With both hands firmly around the handle of my axe, I swung it towards my mechanical foe.

word count: 405
lyrics: "War Cry" by Diamante

Fangor attacks Alice with axe
b8BWDNnByAaxe
[11088 -- Deep Gash on Right Thigh -- 8.0 damage + 1 for mutt tamer]

axe

[mat]

[googlefont="Rancho:400"]

maggie mae

Her saw slashes through the little girl again. The sound of gears clashing and wires sparking rings through Maggie's ears as she pulls back. But still, the little girl moves, screaming and flailing her robotic arms left and right. Still, her eyes look at Maggie with hatred and an abnormally large appetite.

"You do look delicious, dark eyes. But don't worry, I won't let it get a taste."

The girl who took on one of the other little children moves closer to Maggie now, her own ax flashing down on the little girl. Only a few inches away. If she really wanted to, the girl (who she deciphers as the girl from eight) could have simply hit Maggie instead. After all, the mutts simply seek to kill. Maybe if one tribute meets their demise, the kids would run away. Regardless, though, the girl from eight takes Maggie and the boy up on the truce. Sparks fly from the little girl's torso, and she falls down onto the ground.

A moment of relief sets into Maggie. One or two moments are enough to catch her breath. The pain re-enters her mind for a moment. The pain is like a swing: she feels as good as a kite, flying sky high at one moment, but in the next, everything falls and her stomach drops. No matter how much the pain of dropping sickens her, though, she's not able to hop off just yet. No. It's a ride of a lifetime and there's no chance to unbuckle a seatbelt to get off. The only way it falls is if the chains on the sides snap and she falls.

"Thanks, babe," she says to the other girl, who perhaps saved her life. "The only people worthy of a nibble are these two right here. At least they'd do it with an ounce or two of regret."

Only one of the little children remains. Her model is an exact opposite of the other girl. Tall, slender. It's hard for Maggie to determine which is the scarier figure.

"Eenie, meenie, miney.. moe."

The girl's axe swings at the boy.

Maggie retaliates for a shot of her own at the girl.

"Enough of the petty games, little lady. We have more important business to attend to."

[Maggie Mae, 10F, attacks ALICE w/ handsaw (sword)]
4ZrKos8peDsword
1168 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage

sword

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

DO NOT SCREAM OR CRY. FORGET REVOLUTION AND INSTEAD FORCE EVOLUTION, FOR THIS IS THE GROWTH YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED. BLOOM FROM THE GOOD TO THE BAD AND WATCH AS THE WORLD IS LEFT HAUNTED.

It creaks before cracking, the robot fizzing from the joints before falling backwards slowly, coming to the ground with a thud. That comes as confirmation that there was no child behind such mask, that there were no true feelings stuck in that cage of a chest; only the inner workings of a mechanoid that has been created with the purpose of seeking and destroying.

But it has fallen flat, thankfully, through our war, it finds itself amongst the dirt it belongs with. 

I heave my axe up and over my shoulder, eyes glowing with my own fire from attacking and feeling that success; the other two tributes stand still for a moment, waiting for retaliation from the final robot—of course, it is the one that tried so desperately to turn me into something I am not. I glare it down from across the way, weighing up its motion to try and predict its next move. Yet there is no predicting the savagery of feigned childhood games, and so the robot's voice sizzles with suspicion, counting between us before striking.

The boy finds himself with a small wound on his neck, nothing too serious, in fact, nothing major at all. Perhaps if it had been a few inches left or right, the wound would have been a gash. It is difficult to stop a bleed in the neck, especially a large one—I ponder how so easily he could've met his demise and there wouldn't have been anything either of us could do. Dark eyes and I would've had to watch, I don't know, maybe try to dull the sharp pain by wishing him onto the next world well. That seems to be what other tributes have done when someone has died.

It seems to be what they do when they kill, too. Call it human, I find it hypocritical.

Alas, he stands dandy and lashes back out at the bot with sheer strength that knocks it down a peg. The high horse of childhood naivety canters away and the robot is left exposed, in the open, facing three tributes who will not stop until they are satisfied the job is done. I have learnt through my family ties how important it is to follow through with a deed, no matter how dark or deadly, and though there was once some hesitation in agreeing with that, I now find it set in stone with my other morals. Because being with something until the end shows courage—people like courage. Facing fear is fascinating.

There's no place for courage where there is no fear, though, and with the robot girl sparking as dark eyes makes her attack, I can see her systems shutting down.

"Enough of the petty games, little lady. We have more important business to attend to." Dark eyes says so valiantly, grit in her tone which makes her words admirable, like she is a leader to two soldiers. But I am not a soldier of anyone else's regiment, not a soldier at all—instead just Laurel, just me, trying to prove that you can still have bloodlust without your own blood.

"Dark eyes is right." There is no place for a mutt's games when we have our own to calculate and carry out so carefully. Circumstance forces our performance; the sky falls to our feet in this arena because the world is made for us.

"These are our Hunger Games, not yours."

[ laurel attacks alice ; axe ]

ckN1BtjQz_axe

[ 11075 -- Severed Left Arm at Shoulder -- 10.0 damage +1 stength ]

axe

[kap]

"I am a fuckin' machine
I'm always strong and
I will never be weak"

♛

The girls bounce words off of one another as they each dig their weapons into the remaining child mutt. Eight's axe cuts off the arm of her target and the Capitol's creation, now with one less limb, falls to the ground, lifeless without another word. That 'without another word part' was just a bonus on top of it all, as, although the girls seemed to be having fun sassily arguing with their foes, it was a bit annoying to me that the darn things wouldn't shut up. I will admit, however, that I found the back and forth between my fellow tributes to be a little bit entertaining.

As soon as the mutts were dead, however, I took one last glance towards the girls who'd assisted me in fending off the mutts, and gave them a nod of thanks before running off on my own. It was about time I found somewhere at least somewhat safe to get some rest and my brain back in order. I was a bit scattered after an unexpected fight with mutts. I'd more expected to fight against other tributes, rather than mutts, which is likely what threw me off. I couldn't let myself be thrown off like that again, though, as it could potentially be my downfall.

It felt good, having survived my first fight. It also felt good to have taken down one of the mutts with my own weapon, rather than letting the girls do all of the work. Sure, it was definitely helpful to have them there, and I may not have survived all three of the mutts if I were fighting them on my own without their assistance, but I was just glad that I didn't let them take care of absolutely everything. I was always more of an independent person and was quite used to taking care of things on my own. Help wasn't something that I usually asked for, either.

Fangor Redtail was the name of a young man who usually worked on his own.

That's why I had gone into this arena without forming an alliance or making many friends ahead of time. I wanted to be able to make my own decisions. I didn't want to have to rely on others to get things done. I had to make sure that I was doing what I wanted to get done, how I wanted it done.

word count: 395
lyrics: "War Cry" by Diamante

[Fangor Flees]
[collects some items/does healing/other things in trib maint]

[mat]

[googlefont="Rancho:400"]

maggie mae

"Dark eyes is right. These are our Hunger Games, not yours."

The other girl's words are in near perfect unison with her swing. One fell swoop, and the final robot falls apart on the floor.

Then, silence.

Maggie is uncertain. For seconds, nobody moves. She questions whether the fight is really over. There's no telling if what the girl said was true: would they continue the Hunger Games with swings at each other now that the monsters have fallen?

Her movements track back the way she originally came. Away from the boy and girl, both of whom landed the last hits on the little children and might seek to keep the momentum going. What better way to survive than start their killstreak earlier. Clutching her leg tight, her feet drag backwards through the dusting of snow.

The boy nodded before running back into town. Now, all that remains are two feisty, surprisingly well-articulated under the circumstances, women. The girl's axe has been vicious today, while Maggie's weapon has been, at best, subpar. Just by that alone, the thought of another fight right after this one scares her. Survival, to Maggie Mae, is making decisions that only serve to benefit you. Pick and choose your battles, but know that if you lose even one, you're near certain not to win the war.

Keeping her eyes on the girl, Maggie tucks her saw blade back into her basket. Her gut tells her that this is a battle in which the best case scenario is a night's worth of pain and the worst case is death. Not today.

"Well, darling, I hope you'll accept a rain check for the rest of our little fight. Maybe another time?"

Without any more thought, she throws her red hood up again and is on her way. As she said before, nobody else would be getting a taste of her for now. Not a single nibble or crumb.

Once again, she throws her face towards the windows of the buildings, checking for anything that might help her going forward.

One final glance back at the girl, Maggie leaves her with a few words.

"And as much as I love the mystique behind dark eyes, the name's Maggie."

Listening back for a response, Maggie falls back, heading west toward the soon to be sunset.

[maggie flees. icon.]

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

DO NOT SCREAM OR CRY. FORGET REVOLUTION AND INSTEAD FORCE EVOLUTION, FOR THIS IS THE GROWTH YOU HAVE ALWAYS WANTED. BLOOM FROM THE GOOD TO THE BAD AND WATCH AS THE WORLD IS LEFT HAUNTED.

With one last strike, the robot falls to the ground. The childhood naivety facade fades away and the scraps of metal lying on the ground could in no way resemble the glint of gold that comes with being a hopeful child. It looks cold and barren—more so than before—but that is, after all, what death does.

I sling my axe back over my shoulder, counting two deeds done for the day. Two of the robots had suffered a cruel fate by my hands, and I figure that shows I am capable of pulling off what people want—albeit these mutts are not people, not created with stories or histories or the conflict that makes them human. But still, there is something about tasting mechanical death that drives a hunger within. The metal in my mouth is bright like a spark, and as it travels down my body, I can feel it lighting up my insides like electricity.

There is some mechanical nature to my being, now. Programmed to search and destroy, ready and waiting for the next silhouette to show itself from the shadows. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the blade of my axe: mother's eyes, father's mind—yet there is something about both of those characteristics that I wipe from my memory. Perhaps it is the integrity and love that comes with drawing lines through the family tree, or perhaps it is the warmth that comes from feeling part of a family, of feeling part of a home.

Razors sewn into hats—it all means nothing now. That is what I remind myself when I look at my reflection, because Rasoio is just another name that has been thrown into the fire too many times. It has become burnt under the heat, singed completely and there seems no way of restoration that would satisfy all involved. So it becomes just another word that the Capitol is familiar with, another word that once held sentimental value to a girl who felt part of something bigger and darker than herself, just another word that loses all the meaning it had for the sake of survival.

Rasoio and murder are similar in that sense. I can't let the word murder have any power I cannot possess, and so it becomes meaningless too. Just a word for an act, nothing more.

The boy runs away before anyone can get a word in. Maybe he's just the true loner type and keeps himself to himself because himself is all he's ever known; I've always thought of those people as weird, but that weird becomes the new normal when I too am in the same position. Because trust does not exist in a place like this: it is made to be broken, and though many take the risk, it never pays off. No matter how big the crown of a victor, they will always frown, because they too have lost.

"Well, darling, I hope you'll accept a rain check for the rest of our little fight. Maybe another time?" Dark eyes twirls her blade away in an effortless fashion and I stand across the way from her staring in an attempt to size her up. What beast is this—one of beauty and brutality rolled into one?

The worst kind, I tell myself, because temptation in an arena is torture.

"And as much as I love the mystique behind dark eyes, the name's Maggie."

"I like calling you dark eyes more," because putting a name to the face gives it a weight I don't want to hold should I have to kill her. The aura of a nickname creates a sense of mystery that has intrigue, sure, because I'm sure there's a story behind those dark eyes—but a name evokes emotion. There's significance in that, a significance that involves responsibility and responsibility for anyone other than myself is treacherous. I am in this with me, myself and I; there is no time for anything else.

"You might want to learn how to kill, I'm not going to do it for you next time." I take a few steps to signal my leave before turning over my shoulder and shouting back to her as we part. "Dark eyes can only get you so far."

[ laurel flees ]