The Bloodbath

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

Jan 18, 2020 13:01:41 GMT -5 marguerite harvard d2a (zori) said:

[antigone boyé | attack 1| 1155]

[antigone boyé | post 3| ----]

act i. scene i.


(exterior – cacophony of sound. swords swinging, slicing through flesh, shouting, a blur of motion.)

(antigone pulls back from the one that stands in front of her, to stare at the dribble of blood down zir forehead. she grits her teeth and holds the sword in front of her)

choragus. a part of her wants to swing again, to cut through the person in front of her. fray had been the trigger happy one, though. he was the one that thought bravery and courage absolved him from foolishness. a part of her had admired her brother for always choosing to be brave, even when she could see through the depth of his heart that he’d never been anything but afraid. it was just that he would never have to admit his fear to antigone that made him strong.

chorus. but she thinks of her brother lazrus, of how he would tell her that if she wanted to survive, being a hero would have her killed. the boys and girls that put their lives out for others, that drew attention to themselves were the first to fall. strong as they may have been, their defenses could only hold for so long. they would come crumbling down if they ran headlong into battle with a disregard for the wounds they’d sustain.

choragus. she knows all the ways to kill a man, how fragile the human body truly is. a deep enough stab with her sword will destabilize the pressure in zir chest. with a big enough hole, the lung will collapse, and no matter how strong ze is, will have all the markings of a wounded bird after. the crestfallen wings and shrunken croaking song.

chorus. or that by cutting the back of zir hamstring ze wouldn’t walk, but leave a trail of blood in his wake.

choragus. it feels fresh, the urge to kill, to maim and attack. act and react, she remembers lazrus say, cleaning the end of his gun. indecision was not the same as inaction.

chorus. antigone could remember sitting atop the rocks and watching the men below, marching in a line. she held the gun in her hands, could see that there were those that in one moment would be alive, and those that would not. that she would have to choose where to shoot and when, and who would likely fall and who might get away. she wasn’t god – she didn’t think herself a higher power – only an agent there to exact payment. they would die because they had to, and when she pulled the trigger and a man’s head blew apart like a melon dropped from the roof onto pavement, she would let out a long breath. she’d watch the remnants of his brains scatter onto grass before she pulled the scope off of her gun, and moved back to the camp.

(aisha). jodete! (a pause, her face like fire) no te volveré a decir…

(another boy breaks through the haze and slices into aisha, shattering antigone’s thoughts and dragging her back toward the fight. she thinks of taking a swing at him but he retreats, and turns back to face the two that remain)

(samiyuq). urwaq!

choragus. for a moment, antigone’s sword loosens in her grip, and she turns her head to stare at the both of them. their words are not that of the capitol; they’re freely speaking a part of their truth to the world. she knows her mother and father’s words stick with her, honey and sweet out of her own mouth when she can manage them. she knows that they are etched across her, as much her shadow as it can follow behind her. and she wants to know – wishes she had time – to understand what part of them they hoped to keep, if it meant the world would lose them forever.

(samiyuq). era une soldade. con—con los rebeldes. (unsteady but certain, words building to echo through) lo siento, no sabía que eres de nosotros.

chorus. they have no names to them but she is smart enough to know – soldade, rebeldes, soldá, rebèl – that they have no quarrel with one another. at least not now, while they could have the numbers.

antigone. (quiet, lowering her sword) li bon. li bon, yeah.

(aisha moves to address them both and while antigone lowers her sword, she doesn’t leave her guard)

(aisha). vamos. conmigo. juntos, sí?

(antigone looks from the one she attacked and back to the girl. she gives a nod)

antigone. nan kou, yeah, together. your back, (she points to her own back, then to her eyes) i’ll watch. ok?

choragus. she knows little of the world, but enough to see when to trust. they have no choice but to kill or be killed and antigone long ago discarded the fear and has buried the moral uneasiness to be afraid of murder.

[antigone takes no action]

[pup]

Jan 18, 2020 15:17:12 GMT -5 pup said:

[iris oak, not attack, post #3]

[iris oak, attack #3, post #4, 5044]
[googlefont="Zhi Mang Xing:400"]

iris oak

i spit out another glob of blood. he slices my calf. i barely feel it. the stabs of pain from every other part of my body reaches a crescendo.

"i've been tortured by monsters like you before." i spit at his feet, aiming to try and get my blood on him. he's a maniac. he talks about cleansing and using anger. this is the type of person the capitol loves, the type of person i would have become if i had stayed. i can't imagine what would life would be like if i had, if my father didn't join the rebellion. would i be at home right now, watching the games? would i be in the stands with my peacekeeper father and my mother? mom. would little carya be cheering for her favorite tribute? would it be the boy from district two standing over me, brandishing a sword? would it be the boy from district three who prepared his sword readily for another attack.

"can you hear yourself? this is insane!" i yell up at them, still on me knees. then there is another yell, coming from the center of the arena. a boy is standing there, yelling that we need peace, that we shouldn't be fighting each other. fat chance. he obviously can't see my arm laying on the ground feet from me.

however, im not going to go down without a fight. i know im about to die. im not going to let this psycho just kill me. that's not what dad would have wanted. but that's what happened. he didn't fight. he didn't fight because of you.

i push up onto my knees, he's just close enough for me to aim for him. the blood is continuously pouring out of me. my vision blurs. im seeing spots of color flash through my vision. it's not like im going to live much longer. i swing my arm out with as much force as i can muster, desperately trying to connect with one of his legs. hopefully another rebel will take up my cause and fight for me. we can't let the capitol win, and we can't let those who support the capitol win. if i am to die, i need someone who will fight to win, someone who can make sure that no one else is hurt like this.

[attacks ajax unarmed]
SLugKQ7Lebunarmed
[miss lmao]

my arm fails to connect with him. i guess it's time to die. i close my eyes and accept my fate. "don't let the capitol win." i breath out.

unarmed

[Knuckles]

Jan 18, 2020 13:30:34 GMT -5 Knuckles said:

Tector D10m / Intro / no attack

Tector D10m / 2nd post / no attack

Tector

Just looking around makes the entire world fall apart. People are fighting, limbs are falling lifeless towards the ground. Nothing is making sense, and yet Tector keeps trying to find a place to hide only stopping when he absolutely has to. It's so loud, and all he wants is a chance to hide. A chance to escape from the world he's found himself thrown in. Nobody is safe, and he's so afraid of making a mess and losing himself in all of this.

"Why aren't you fighting, Tector? Don't you remember what they did to us? How can you just stand there?"

His eyes rest on the eyes of his district partner trying to figure out what to say. She's somewhere close by, but she's fighting and she's missing an arm, and Tector wants to run.

"No. I'm not playing their game." His voice trembles, but he keeps on going trying to make it away. Trying to find a place to hide, and when he stops moving, someone stops behind him. Tector turns unsure of what to do, but her words calm him. She's not there to hurt him.

"It's so very chaotic and overwhelming here."

But his words are cut short as he noticed someone else hobbling their way. He wonders what she's doing. Tector turns towards the girl from earlier hoping she doesn't run away. Right now he needs a friend, and she's the closest he'll find here.


{Tector doesn't attack}

[lance]

Jan 18, 2020 15:26:03 GMT -5 lance said:

Jan 18, 2020 13:22:19 GMT -5 lance said:

ajax craine | intro/attack one | 1086

ajax craine | attack two | 1088

ajax craine | attack three | 1165

You're no more competent with your blade the second go around than you are the first. But it does not matter - the rebel scum in front of you seems ready enough to die with or without a blade in her heart.

You've never seen death like this before. Heard death like this before. Smelled death like this before. The war was always on the horizon, vaguely threatening but never in actual danger of overrunning the district like so many others across the nation. The last time your senses took in death like this, it was when your father was bleeding out from half a dozen bullet wounds - and you'd only noted that from a distance.

This? This is something else. Blood flows everywhere, no longer within bodies but freely. Another arm from another girl in the distance is chopped off. Shouts and screams and bloody murder fill your ears.

But your gaze has become singular. Your obsession, undeterrable. You will not be denied. You will have your penance paid in full.

"Don't let the capitol win," breathes the girl, her last, desperate hail mary with her remaining arm coming up short.

And for some reason, you find this not only funny, but goddamned hilarious.

"Stupid girl," you hiss through a snake's grin as you raise your blade. "The Capitol won before this ever began."

And now, I too shall know victory.

ajax attacks iris; sword

yw6L7QVJ8Ysword

1165 -- Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage operation badass death to whatever puppy wants!

sword

[Python]

Persephone Vega, D11f, Intro

The wallflower of District Eleven remained as such - silent, observant, hesitant. But here she could not hide from anyone. Here, she could not breathe. Persephone had never seen a place so devoid of beauty; there were no flowers, no trees, no plants, not one touch of home that could bring her comfort in her final hours. She didn't know such a desolate place could exist - then again, you thought you knew a lot, didn't you? So many foolish assumptions.

"You'll always be safe here," mother claimed.

She must've forgotten that war had unexpected casualties.

Now she sat in a prison cell. An innocent bystander, the average citizen, a girl with no ties to the Rebellion yet here she sat as part of the aftermath's cruel propaganda. She was being punished for the passionate mistakes of others. She felt cheated out of a good life, because everything had been fine up until her name was called in front of that stage. How quickly her heart had sunk like a cement block, dragging her to a destiny she never once thought she would meet. She didn't care about rebels or capitol-worshippers. Her business was her own, her life was undisturbed, yet here she stood in the midst of their eternal blood feud.

It wasn't fair. And whose fault was it? Was it worth it to blame the rebels for fighting, or the Capitol for their extremism?

Would either of those options save her life?

Even as they suited her up in gray coveralls resembling those of factory workers, she realized she was powerless. Last year's hunger games had been a fight to the death, one victor standing. She was now expected to accomplish that - a girl with gentle hands, a calm spirit, and a mouse's voice.

No, she was expected to die.

The stadium swallowed her whole. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't hear over her own heartbeat in her ears, but she could see the eyes bearing down on her - or were they looking at the other twenty three kids, and she was just another girl blending into the background? It was impossible to hide here, but to be forgotten was a different story entirely. She didn't know if she could sit with the idea that her death might go unnoticed.

Too bad she didn't have a choice.

As everyone charged into the stadium, she grabbed her sword and waited.

I just want to disappear.

[percy grabs her weapon and hesitates]

[tick 12a / calla]

Jan 18, 2020 14:34:28 GMT -5 tick 12a / calla said:

d12m jett davies | attack 2 | 1136

d12m jett davies | attack 3 | 1001

j e t t

Her arm comes off. I had taken a swing at her, a field of vengeance in my mind's eye, and her arm came off.

There's a pit sitting low in my stomach, an awakening, maybe. Something born out of blood and pain and suffering. The boy lashes out at her too, the one who reminds me so much of Joah, the rebellion is fucking dead, he hisses and that swirling thing inside me crows.

Perhaps he has the spine my brother never did.

It feels like there's a pile on rubble on my chest, a year playing in reverse. It feels like I'm on one of those old record machines, spinning and spinning and spinning but instead of music, there's just screaming.

Shouldn't you be under your momma's dress?

My heartbeat suddenly slows, sticky sweet like molasses, or maybe it quickens, maybe everything just gets tinted red and the sound of blood rushes louder, crashes like a tidal wave through my ears.

There's a dam splintering, somewhere deep, deep down. I think of the way my father used to crack his knuckles when he was worried, habitually, without even noticing, and how I used to think, in a period of naivety, that the sound came from his bones breaking.

Now I know that's not what bones breaking sounds like.

"It was rebels like you who killed my mother." I snap out, something in my voice that I don't ever remember being there before, some kind of breakage, a shake in the vowels. "How many innocent lives have you taken? What could they have possibly done to you? How many families have you destroyed?"

And I can feel five months of turmoil simmering in my veins, a cocktail of petrol and ammunition.

"I think there's a reason we're all here." I steady my hands and raise the blade again. "I'll show you yours."

jett attacks avonlea ; sword
IxiFt3Pv2wsword

shallow cut on back -- 4.0 damage

sword

[d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel]

Jan 18, 2020 13:16:08 GMT -5 d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel said:

d12f emmi coulter | post 3 | no attack

d12f emmi coulter | post 4 | no attack

I am like them up above us, useless souls spectating the demise of innocents. I see no bodies, but they will be falling soon, and the applause will become much louder than the occasional cheer as a limb falls and a sword is embedded into the skin. I turn my back to it all, my eyes focused on the red headed boy.

I do not know what to do.

I am going to have to do it, the sword I drag along by my side. It will have to meet with the skin of another. To tear away an arm or to leave a strong enough mark so that I can be at the bedside of my brother. I exhale, fighting the reality inside my head as this is the most painful decision I have ever made. All my life I have just gotten on with it. Except every deed I have undertaken does not result in guiding a sword into the heart of a kid like me.

”It is so vile, why did they have to choose children to do this? Children are the true innocents of a big man’s battle.” I let some of the anguish flow from my tongue, I cannot keep it all bundled up inside of me anymore. ”Do you want to go home?” I wish I knew his name, just my ignorance of not learning who my killer may be has taken away any chance of me learning about the true neutrals in this war. ”I do and I guess there really is only one way but I just can’t…”

Of course, as soon as I turn to face the chaos, my first promised guardian meets the end by the hand of the one who struck fear into my chest. I have never been so afraid before, so afraid of a person…

You need to fight Emmi, don’t let all those bullies walk over you. All those bullies have well and truly scarred me with their footprints. A permanent reminder on how useless I truly am. A delicate mind who allows every villain in my story to tear out the pages. I don’t know how to care for myself…I do not know how to defend my dignity.

”I’m Emmi by the way…there must be a way to survive this without playing their game. Is there a way out?”

[Emmi does not attack]

[*]

Jan 18, 2020 15:10:21 GMT -5 * said:

Avonlea Angevin / Post #2; Miss

Avonlea Angevin - INtro/Attack #3

It isn't nice to butt in where you don't belong. Momma always told me that she better never hear of me stopping to pause just because something wasn't fair. Life was not fair and that was so true especially with daddy and my brothers gone. We've heard no word of 'em in two years and with each passin day, I wonder more and more if they're dead already. If that's so, then Imma be joinin them before this battle is over. I just wonder who's gunna hafta bear the blood of many when they didn't fight us all. Which one of us are they going to tote back to the capitol and make into a queen or force them to be the jester. Sure as hell ain't gunna be me. I don't want it. It sure as hell ain't fair to be fighting with numbers like this. This little skirt hiding boy and the one I went after first are the least of my worries. The bigger picture is the others fighting around us. We're all sprung from the same little cell with the same fate in mind for each one of us. I shake my head as it spins. If my momma was here, she'd tell me to lie down and sleep it off. If my little brother was around, he'd try to make amends and step up on my behalf. I'm glad he's not here because I can fight my own fuckin battles. "Two against one, my kinda odds but I prefer a battlefield of soldiers over one of my homemade bombs, if you don't mind." I chuckle and grip the sword. I might have missed when it tried to attack the one looking for revenge, but this kid standing in front of me is about to get what he deserves, whether it's from me or someone else. Might as well let him taste a bit of my rebellious ass. "I didn't kill district folk, if that's what your thinkin about. I fought those bastards watching you try to play big boy like you know what your doin and hurt me."

[Avonlea attacks Jett with the sword]
5jZWRg8hU5sword
1053 -- Stabbed in Forearm -- 8.5 damagesword

[Noah Vau - D2 (Cato)]

Jan 18, 2020 13:32:17 GMT -5 Noah Vau - D2 (Cato) said:

Sigrun Vau|Intro/Post One|No attack

Sigrun Vau District Two

Sigrun Vau | Post 2 Chaos ensues, and all I can do is stand by and watch right now. Having a limp makes me weaker, and right now I can't focus on that. I'm watching limbs fall towards the ground, and I'm looking towards others that are just running away. They're the ones I want to follow. They're the ones I want to fight because they are weak. They're not good at what they're doing, and all I can do is drag along trying to keep myself alive. I use the sword as a cane because it's incredibly difficult and incredibly hard to even keep myself standing and steady. I can help people. I can help myself. I can do what I need to do in order to succeed and keep myself alive and going. I fought the front lines of this war. I've watched people die before my eyes. Even people I tried to save. I can't save everyone, and that is the case here. With a sigh, I start moving towards the one I saw from earlier. I wanted to follow him, but he's so much quicker than I am. So much stronger despite running faster than me, and then I see someone else along side him. This is perfect, but now if I want to attack I am outnumbered. I won't be able to keep myself going if they both hit me. That's okay though. I look around trying to figure out what to do, and then I slowly make my way towards them. One step after another after another. I want to be here. I want to fight, but I don't want to play this game. Being anti capitol means I don't fight on their terms, but if I do fight I want to do what I want. I stop a few feet away and lean against a column holding myself up wondering when they'll notice. Sometimes it's best to have a sneak attack and just let myself go unnoticed as long as I can. Maybe I'll speak. I don't know, but I am no longer afraid.

OOC notes go here

[googlefont="Rock Salt:400"]

[Kire]

Jan 18, 2020 13:48:13 GMT -5 Kire said:

[3M Catullus Brown, attack 2, 1030]

[3M Catullus Brown, post 3, no attack]

Catullus Brown
district 3 male

There are certain feelings that can't be described by words. Emotions are often classified this way, but the shuddering of a blade through bone is something I will never be able to describe. The horrible moment where the blade gets extremely heavy and slow, only to cleave through and lighten again. I had seen the damage all sorts of weapons could cause, but now I was here doing that damage.

The girl's arm lays on the ground in front of me, paling by the second. The girl herself is pale, too, in sharp contrast to the vibrant red that surged from her elbow. I nearly dropped the sword in my surprise, but the death-grip I had left my fingers locked around the hilt without my trying. They felt frozen there, though the air was far above freezing.

The young girl initially hiding behind the rebel blanches. Immediately she starts babbling apologies, as though she had done this. This wasn't her fault, she hadn't done anything. This was all on me. I look away as she throws up, feeling like I might do so myself.

I'm not watching the churning crowd around us anymore. The nebulaeic condensing and dispersing of bodies as blades are swung and retreats made. We are a constellation of youth, death, and desperation. Someone shouts for the fighting to stop. No one listens.

The girl I attacked is raving. She's screaming how the Capitol didn't care, how no one cared. She screams about how her family was killed. Then she simply screams, with no words. "What do you think this is? The rebellion would have never created this fucking mess." I'm stunned still, frozen in place like a statue. I feel as animate as the walls surrounding us. Still, something in me rises. She continued to fail to understand.

"You think that the capitol is noble? Because they kept you starved? Because they threw you in here to die for something you didn't even do?" She's turning from me, looking at the other boy. He terrifies me but he at least sees the truth. The rebels were the real cause of the problem. She calls us brainwashed, I feel that's ironic.

I feel like there is something I should say or do but I don't. Instead I watch as she fumbles an attack, dropping her sword. My own has its point dragging in the dust, too heavy to continue to lift in my moment of shock. The other boy circles like a shark, whispering to me about how well I was doing, how I should continue to kill them. He finishes his speech with a rise in his voice and his blade. I think she's done for.

Then she dodges, not far enough to escape entirely but she was still alive. She keeps talking bravado, like it will protect her, like it will deter a boy fervently attempting to kill her. I watch as she tries and fails to take a swing at him. She is his now, it's clear to me. I can't help but take a step back, doing my best to keep a grip on my sword and slowly failing. "Don't let the capitol win."

"Stupid girl." I feel the sword slip out of my grip one centimeter at a time. "The Capitol won before this ever began." My blade clatters to the ground as the boy deals the final blow. The girl is limp in moments. I stare for a moment then quickly go to pick up my sword. Saying nothing, I simply stand and watch, trying to keep my guard up as my eyes are continually drawn to the face of a girl I helped to kill.

Fuck.

[Catullus does not attack]

[mat]

Jan 18, 2020 14:48:32 GMT -5 mat said:

ram tapsol; attack one; 1177

ram tapsol; attack two; 1036

[googlefont="Srisakdi:400;"]

ram tapsol
-=+=-

His swing misses.

Beginner's luck, he thinks. Give him a box of matches or a lighter, and he'd put on the show that all the onlookers are dying for.

Just warming up. You do better with the scorching heat, anyways.

The sword returns to him, and he attempts to catch his breath. The first Games had baffled him: there was so much waiting, so much hesitation with many of the tributes. It's as if they want to prolong the misery for one another. Once again, the rebels, the 'boot-licker' pro-Capitol players, and the normal citizens find themselves falling into the trap that the Capitol has set out for them. Kill, but slowly, so everyone back home can watch you suffer. Despite knowing that it's exactly what they wanted, Ram follows the tradition, for if he doesn't, he might lose the morality he planned on maintaining. For mother. For the family.

{"You look just like him, you know. Almost identical."} The words come with a haunting smile from a girl with thirst in her eyes. Now there's four of them, at least for the time being, all cornering off in their own area. Ram didn't recognize her, so it must have been some sort of mistake. The gene pool that made Ram, despite some advantages, was coming back to haunt him in the form of a sword and blood hungry wielder. {"He ruined my life. I vowed that I would get revenge, and you're the closest thing. I'm sorry."}

She thrusts her sword, once again cutting it close to a fatal blow. The tips of his hair shiver as the blade whips right at his, drawing blood on the forehead. Had she been inches closer, or swung inches lower, his brain might have been sliced into two or his throat slashed. Just like that.

He squints his eyes and tightens his grip on the sword, but it only seems to make the pain louder, the ringing in his ears more constant.

Whoever she hates, Ram knows it's for real. Half of him wanted to retaliate in an act of self-defense, but the other side of him sympathizes. Betrayal, and the pain that comes along with it, is incomparable. To walk away, to abandon those one cares about for their own self-interest, Ram knows the hurt that comes with betrayal all too well.

"I know what that's like. Realizing the one person you hope count on doesn't see you as a priority." He puts his sword to his side, approaching her. "When you need them most, you knock on their door and they don't seem to answer."

Dad, you left her for a problem that you're half responsible for.

Grandpa, you'd sooner burn inside that stupid fucking shack before coming outside to see your own descendant in the flesh.

"There's no such thing as a fair share of types of toxic, self-serving men. Fuck them," he smiles, attempting to mask the irritating pain that came with her slash. Push through.

He hopes that although his words come with complete honesty, it's enough to get her to take a step back and find somebody else to torment with her problems. Anything to preserve himself for a second longer.

{"These two are capitol-loving dogs hungry for my blood! Please save me from them!"} The other two girls, his initial assailant and his somewhat-savior, now spar on their own. She's referring to him, as a Capitol loving dog.

{"Fine, my name is Aurora, I guess I'll put you in your grave."}

Aurora. His somewhat-savior's name. She struck at the girl again.

"She has a point. I don't think anybody who's thrown into the Devil's Playground could possibly be a 'Capitol-loving dog.'" The statement has no irony then, little could Ram or any of them predict what might happen in the future, when children volunteer to be thrown into the pit.

If he is a dog, like she suggests, Ram's more than just bark.

He swings at her to show he has bite.

[ram attacks dahlia wolfsbane d9f; sword]
2|EVjpOEVSsword
1036 -- Severed Right Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage

sword

[Arrows]

Jan 18, 2020 12:33:22 GMT -5 Arrows said:

[helena crane / introduction attack 1 / XXX]

[helena crane / attack 2 / 1113]

helena crane

She wonders whether this is the feeling of being torn apart, just like her brother had been. As she stands swirling in a world reborn red by her blood, she winces but does not cry. She will not give them the satisfaction. Not the boy, the brute nothing more than a beast, who stares at her with the same emptiness that fuels every pointless killer. Not the audience, who she can see beginning to stir at the sight of a fresh kill. Not the girl, who comes for a moment to bear her blade and then vanish into the fray. Helena Crane will not give them a single ounce of enjoyment, she will fly above them until she eclipses their Sun with her wings.

She gives the girl nothing more than a shrug. She's right, that between the two of them there is nothing more than their shared circumstances of sacrifice. Helena doesn't watch her go, she looks instead into the massacre. Blades, blood, and humans. Only humans invent better ways of torturing one another through violence. First a war, then the children. Her brother wanted to bury the Capitol, but she doesn't doubt that had the roles of victory been reversed that the rebels wouldn't have done something similar. Helena senses that same unstable, unrelenting, ruthlessness from this boy still driving himself at her. 

A body breaks her thoughts. The first gone, fallen into a shallow sandy grave. A cough spills blood onto Helena's sword, and she stares at her own dripping scarlet. Just how soon will she follow that girl? She runs her fingers along the blade to clean it, she doesn't care if they see her bleed. However, she swore not to give an ounce of herself to any of them. Not even an ounce of her blood as she swings for this boy's heart.

"Stabbing someone in the back of the head when they aren't looking isn't strength, it's cowardice."

Helena says not even letting him have the chance to look her in the eyes.

Not even an ounce, she reminds herself.

"You're just another person who fakes bravado, even though you are driven by nothing more than selfishness."

The world tumbles for a moment as Helena staggers to catch herself, she can feel her suit filling with the blood running from her head. She thinks she can hear the drumming of feet in anticipation for her demise, but she realizes it's only her heart trying desperately to fight off death. Her body may fear the after, but her soul doesn't.

"To answer your question, I don't have bravery or strength, I have faith. A faith that can't be broken by some boy and his false ideals."

Despite the pain, Helena pushes herself to move. Wills herself to ask for Ripred's help. Forces herself to never quiver. 

"A faith strong enough that I don't let my fear turn me into a monster."

Helena attacks Tarquin / sword
HQF9ECRwJlsword
{Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage}

sword

[kap]

Jan 18, 2020 13:15:51 GMT -5 kap said:

[D6M Tarquin Athenian | Attack 2 | 1033]

[D6M Tarquin Athenian | Attack 3 | 1182]

[googlefont="Girassol:400"]Tarquin Athenian
As I attack the girl again, a boy comes out of what seems like nowhere and hits me with his weapon. I expected the girl to hit me, as I'd hit her first, but when it came to this guy, however, I didn't expect it, and scolded him in response.

"I wouldn't be so quick to hit a rebel soldier like that," I said. "We have a bit of a bite."

I couldn't focus on this other guy quite yet, though. I shifted my attention back to the girl I had spoken to, and I heard her words as she spoke to me in return.

"Stabbing someone in the back of the head when they aren't looking isn't strength, it's cowardice," she told me. A smirk crossed my face. I wouldn't have called it cowardice, rather, smarts, perhaps. I had caught her off guard, after all. Her words continue, calling me selfish before finally answering my question. She says she isn't brave or strong.

I suppose I could tell, as she was using words to try to make up for what she lacked in physical ability.

No one was allowed to call me a coward, though, and for that she would pay. I readied my sword to strike her again. I was going to take her down. I felt a thirst for her blood. I don't know what was different inside me, but the Games had changed me. The war had changed me, too, but in a different way.

I guess no one stays the same forever.

Her blade cuts me this time. She had actually managed to connect. I do my best to ignore the pain, though. Whether or not she thought so, I knew I was strong. I wouldn't be going down without a fight. If I had the opportunity to kill this girl before dying myself, I would do it.

"I'll let you believe whatever you want," I told her before swinging my blade toward her again.

[D6M Tarquin Athenian attacks D8F Helena Crane with sword]

uM1oZkDitDsword

[1182 -- Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage]

sword

[lance]

Jan 18, 2020 16:48:25 GMT -5 lance said:

Jan 18, 2020 15:26:03 GMT -5 lance said:

ajax craine | attack two | 1088

ajax craine | attack three | 1165

ajax craine | attack four | 1133

Bang. First blood, first death, first kill is on your hands. Blood sprays out of the wound on the girl's chest, onto your face, and you do little more than blink.

Your grin never faded during your successful attempt at butchery. And why should it? The feeling....

It's euphoric. Ecstasy flows through your veins, your heart pounds as the life of one of those traitorous rebel scum has become yours for the taking. Her heartbeat stopped, her blood torn from her body, all because of you.

One less traitorous breath to pollute the air you breathe. One more notch on your path towards your true goal. Only twenty two more to go.

This is different from your father. This time, the smell of war, of death is up close and personal. It's terrible and wonderful all in the same inhale, and with an exhale you look anew at the world around you.

The boy who'd sliced off the girl's arm in the first place has dropped his sword. You glance at it near his feet, then back at his face, a lopsided grin that isn't completely sane crossing your face. "Pick that up, you'll need it," you exclaim through teeth bared in the grin. "There's still more of those rebel fuckers to kill."

Still more, still more. But whom, when, and where?

Your gaze falls on to where a boy is lashing out at a girl. There's a certain look in his eyes, a certain determination that follows his movements that you've seen before. Soldier. A look not replicated in his opponent.

You know the rules. None of the loyal, the innocent that entered have training. But the girl strikes back with a desperation that draws blood, holding her own against a superior foe. But blood leaks out of a gash on the back of her head - a coward's blow - and without direct intervention, she will be butchered like all the rest.

The decision after that is almost too easy to make. Let's see how this fucker likes a taste of his own medicine.

If the rebels don't hold themselves to morals, why should he?

So he waits until the rebel has swung, committed, before lunging forward and bringing his own steel to strike.

ajax attacks tarquin; sword

huwpnr22Z_sword

1133 -- Deep Gash on Back -- 8.5 damage

sword

[shrimp]

Jan 18, 2020 13:23:16 GMT -5 shrimp said:

[8m era altyr | post 1 | no attack]

[8m era altyr | post 2 | 1080]

era altyr
he/him | d8 | rebel | traitor

He is no fool.

When he slaps the kid on the shoulder ("Just breathe, man. Deep breaths."), it is not to rally him to freedom, or inspire him to riot. It is to prevent his last moments from being paralyzed. They are all marked, now, to be executed in a sea of white: some from doing nothing at all, some from the work they wrought with passion and desperation. If they are to die standing still, it should be their own decision.

Across the way, directly at midnight, a trio fights—then sheathes their weapons. A girl at 7 o'clock pleads for help, for a hero to lead away Capitol dogs. The girl who tap dances runs with her sword like she's being chased by wolves. It is the same as the visions on the screen: of Volk's quips and Jack's strength, of their deaths: brutal and undeserved.

At least this time, he thinks, he agrees, he knows, they picked the right person.

To this day, he does not know what his captors look like. He tries to remember their faces, but all he sees is a blur of white. He knows they asked him question after question, on training schedules and team formation, tactical plans and commanding officers. He remembers saying nothing, or lies that flew off of his lips like dandelion wisps. He remembers them taking notes, and a pit forming in his stomach.

When he returned, the remaining rebels sat him down, gave him hot coffee and listened to his story, then let him go to his empty home. They did not defend him in the town square, did not protect him when his compatriots sneered. They did not visit him, to check in on a boy who gave them his all. The rebellion just fell, taking everyone with it. And they all found someone to blame.

It feels useless to fight for it now. But it is all he knows, all he wants. He sets his sword down, rests the blade on the ground, and peers up to every face. He will remember none of them but one: a single dot of ink on a fresh sheet of parchment. The world turns and he locks eyes with her, a girl who fought and screamed and killed and survived, then was reduced to a playing card, a common garden snake.

Victory does not exist. This is a punishment for those who dared to stand up, and everyone else who got caught in their wake.

So what will he do about it?

"Right," he mutters to himself, to the spirits of his fallen. "Not much longer now, eh?" And he turns: not to midnight, or 7, but to the sounds of bravado, of sacrifice and pride. A boy kills a rebel, screams his allegiance to the Capitol, and Era charges, makes a choice.

For now that is enough.

[attacks 2m Ajax | sword]
WcYlV8fStdsword
1080 -- Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage
(Sword)

notes:
the kid: Jonas
@12 o'clock: Samiyuq, Aisha, Antigone
@7 o'clock: Dahlia, Aurora, Ram
Tap dancer: Maeve

appearance notes: 6'3", broad-shouldered and lanky, messy short dark hair, light brown eyes, tan skin and a light dusting of facial hair. The uniform is too small on him: it looks like he is wearing capris.

sword