The Bloodbath

[mat]

ram tapsol; attack three; 1081

[googlefont="Srisakdi:400;"]

ram tapsol
-=+=-

His vision fades in and out like the flickering lights during the storms back home. Eleven never had the luxury of secure electricity, secure warmth.. secure anything. When the light faded in and out during the rebellion, there were two options: open your window for a breeze and risk the wind blowing your candle out, or keep the windows closed and spend nights in bed tossing and turning in order to be in the right position to fend off the heat. The past seven years have offered no bliss. Gunshots, fires, odd changes in the weather. No place was safe.

The Rebellion was supposed to fix that.

Instead, the Rebellion created Pandora's Box, filled to the brim with uncertainty and likely bloodshed.

Soon enough, Ram sees lights through the blurry clouds. Letting out one last spit of whatever he ate or drank last, he picks himself up, letting his sword drag and screech like chalk on a board for the viewers' "pleasure."

Nothing has changed. Foes are scattered about, spewing words of apology or hatred towards one another. What was once a childhood game, the local youth battling with handcrafted paper swords, has turned into a bloodbath that'll leave more than just a few papercuts. Scars. Limbs. Pints of blood that could tend to dozens of hospital patients. All gone to waste.

It makes him mad. He watches as the two girls are still continuing their battle, standing tall despite their injuries.

Another limb leaves a thud no more than a few yards from Ram. He doesn't flinch. His intuition about not getting greedy in battle was right. The mind works quickly to familiarize itself with new experiences and reach acceptance. The pit of his stomach must not have been on the same page, begging him not to get closer to the piece of her arm.

There's no courage in turning back now. A father who leaves a mother to fend for their child all alone is nothing but a coward.

A true gentleman would clean up the problems that he, in part, helped to create.

He's returned to their triangle once more, just in time to hear the girl, now in three pieces, speak. {"Go on, be the capitol’s pawn. You're really putting on a great show,"} her words resonate with a bit of hypocrisy. Only minutes ago, it was the long, dark-haired girl who made the critique of Ram and the associate as Capitol dogs, which the associate, still fully attached at the time, didn't seem to take all too well.

{"Here’s your standing ovation."}

She swings and misses. The heroic, off the cuff statement, falls flat as someone's ear a ways away.

Then, nothing.

He speaks up, "Excuse my absence. When you've gotta vomit, well," he looks back at the puddle he created behind him, "you've gotta vomit." He hopes his humor subdues the high running tension in the area. After all, they're all in it together.

All that's left for Ram to do is reorient himself and choose a side. Both look relatively weakened, worse than Ram at the moment, but one has an extra limb left over. She might not be easy to overpower in the future when he's alone. At the same time, though, he could manage to put his differences with her aside and the two could rush forcefully throughout the colosseum. Together.

Memories shoot back from District Eleven, where brother turned on brother, friend on friend, in order to be spared by the Peacekeepers wrath.

Don't get ahead of yourself, Ram. There's no telling what these people might do. Many are traitors, and there's no reason why they won't continue to betray.

He chooses to stick to his past and go after the same girl. Ram might just be able to get a leg up on her later on.

Quite literally.

His sword takes a long slash, and Ram's stomach begs it not to crack through more bone.

[ram tapsol d11m attacks dahlia wolfsbane d9f; sword]
sRQ7WhOxbqsword
[1081 -- Severed Right Forearm at Elbow -- 9.5 damage]

His stomach turns.

sword

[Arrows]

[helena crane / post 5 / no attack]

helena crane

His words are like breath into lunges Helena didn't realize she had closed off. They carry notes of tragedy and of prayer, decency and confusion. As he speaks in sentences that only tighten her hands' grips to his arm, she leans closer to him. His warmth is like the sand, soothing. How can she even think about this as the violence of humanity continues to create chaos around her? She knows the answer. She can feel it in the way she is starting to weaken into the shape of a little girl grasping to her older brother.

Helena's eyes float from Jonas to the limbs and the screams. They're all muted to her now, becoming more distant with every beat of her heart. There's nothing more she can do here, she can't save anyone else. She sees her sword still laying in the sand, half covered in blood. She releases Jonas' arm as she stumbles for it, reaches for its handle. Her mind falls back to the beginning.

Ash and dried blood still stuck like a layer of skin to Helena as she tripped her way through the broken sidewalks. The next street over, through the broken backs of buildings, Helena watched as images of white shot down images of shifting shadows. She was silent, uncaring about those being butchered by bullets. Only an hour earlier she had been silently staring at the crater that used to be her brother. Only an hour earlier she had been scrounging through the rubble for even just a limb. She had found nothing, and she couldn't afford to spare an ounce of herself for those who had turned to violence so willingly.

That day, Helena Crane was in search of serenity, of sanctuary. She hadn't heard the airstrikes in area the night before. She was too dazed to notice the amount of destruction on the surrounding park. She had walked from where her brother had been blown to smithereens for the window of painted glass. To sit behind its colors and to be reminded of euphoria, of any kind of happiness. She found a burning frame, her church turned to rubble. And where the window once was, nothing more than a single plank of wood reaching out towards the sky with anger.

She sobbed, for two hours clutching a piece of stone like a child against her chest. Held the cement so tightly that her chest began to bleed. In that moment, Helena prayed for another bomb to come glinting out of the sky and obliterate her. It never came. Instead she sat there until the night time breeze forced her to stand. Yet she discovered something beneath where she was sitting. A single, barely intact, shard of purple glass. Her fingers latched to the treasure as her tears finally dried. Even with everything lost, Ripred was still with her always.

She nearly slips again as she starts back towards Jonas with the sword. Will he stab her through the heart before she can even get close to him? Fear not of death, but of whether this boy will wait for her words rules over Helena's thoughts while her fingers clean the blade against her coveralls. But the boy's blow never comes and soon she' standing shakily before him, only inches from his face.

"It's a beautiful prayer, one of the first ones my Mother taught me."

Helena tenderly, cautiously, lifts her hand to place onto Jonas' cheek. It's so much warmer than her touch, she almost feels guilty about the chill she must be giving him.

"Let me share another with you."

Helena even manages to smile slightly as her voice vanquishes to a whisper.

"When the day is dark and our path forward is hidden, Ripred, give us but a single spark of light. We will find it and follow wherever it may lead us."

Slowly dropping away her hand from his face, Helena answers the rest of his points.

"Yes, Peace is a virtue that comes from freedom, like you said, from death."

Suddenly Helena's hands are growing tighter around her sword, she knows the time is coming. She's going to do it, her mind was made up the moment she let go of his arm.

"You don't have to suffer, peace takes the form of the one who looks for it. First find your own peace, that is the start to finding  the solution."

It's time. Helena steps as close as she's been to him and wraps her hands over his which she wraps around her sword.

"You're welcome, now hear me. This is my own solution. Give Helena Crane of District Eight her freedom."

The world falls away into the background as she leans in close to one of his ears and whispers her final words.

"I pray you find your solution too."

A prayer for someone else.

Helena gives her sword to Jonas

[esther kim d3 {lance}]

Jan 19, 2020 1:20:13 GMT -5 esther kim d3 {lance} said:

Jan 18, 2020 21:51:05 GMT -5 esther kim d3 {lance} said:

ajax craine | attack five | 1040

ajax craine | attack six | 1198

ajax craine | attack seven | 1014

Your blade lands but a scratch on the other boy's hip, and you lament that you didn't have the skill, the strength, the speed to turn such a blow into a neat bisection at the waist. It's unfortunate, but hardly damning. Even the slightest cut and lead to a victim that bled out in the end, every bit of effort-

You don't get a chance to justify yourself anymore, for the other boy speaks some words and then swings. And it is only through pure primal instinct that you manage to dip your head fast enough so that the blade cuts through your forehead instead of blinding you in one fell swoop.

As it was, you nearly die right then and there. The pain that erupts through your skull is far, far greater than anything you'd felt since your father had passed away.

You stare at the taller boy, all expression of joy wiped clean off your face. But even that is an image you can only maintain for a second - for your lifeblood began to leak from the chasm opened up by the other's blade, and suddenly your vision is blurred and your eyes are on fire and-

You can't win. Not like this. The high has been evaporated with a single swing, the smirk literally sliced right off your face. And killing rebel scum was always going to be your goal, but this?

This was suicide. And you cannot die until you've shoved your blade right through Adder Ames' self-righteous beating heart.

You stumble, free hand desperately wiping away at your eyes, at your forehead, coming away redder and redder each time. Fuck, fuck, fuck, not fucking again.

You hate feeling weak. Feeling useless. You thought you'd burned that part of you out of your system with the baptism of your father's blood. That you were strong. Whole.

One pathetic fucking rebel scum would not return you to that abyss. Not here. Not now. Not fucking ever.

The anger grows, burns, ignites into a fever bitch. One hand clears the eyesight of one eye, holding at the still bleeding gash on your forehead. That is all you need to see a disparity - two girls, one strong, one heavily wounded - facing off against a third. More rebels, more vermin, grouping together to burn away the weak.

You are not among the weak. You won't allow yourself. You cannot allow yourself.

With a roar, you charge towards the duo, feet kicking up dry, dusty earth with each bound. And with a single swing of your sword, you find prey that won't put up so much of a fight. Prey that might actually die when you strike at it.

Is it the coward's way to strike that who is weaker, more vulnerable than yourself? You don't fucking care right now. All that matters is survival.

And the only good rebel is a dead one.

ajax attacks aisha; sword

UpljLO3Ulnsword

1014 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage

sword

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Tector D10m / 4th post / 1004

Tector

Escaping seems very unrealistic, and even thinking of it gives him this small amount of hope that they'll actually succeed. It's incredibly difficult to even think about especially since the walls are so high, and a small boy like himself doesn't stand a chance to climbing all the way to the top and even getting out. Thinking about what's on the other side isn't the easiest thing in the world. For all he knows, Peacekeepers are waiting outside this arena, or maybe he would find himself lost in a world with no return.

When Emmi asks to stand on Sigrun's back, Tector looks at her. If she manages to reach the top, she has the chance to run leaving them behind. Would she even come back for them? It's a question he doesn't know the answer to, but it's a thought he tries pushing away, but it remains etched into the back of his mind.

For now, he forces himself to focus on this moment because Emmi is climbing up on Sigrun's shoulders, and when she asks for him to make sure she doesn't fall, Tector simply nods his head. "Okay. I'll try." His words are lost in the rest of the chaos scrambling around.

What happens next happens fast.

Emmi is falling, Sigrun is flailing, and before he knows it, Tector is folding in on the blade of a sword. Blood trickles down his stomach as the air exits his lungs rapidly. Tears pool in the corner of his eyes, yet he tries blinking them away out of fear of being made fun of. At school his classmates found any reason to poke fun at him, and right now is the perfect moment.

When the sword is free, the fifteen year old stumbles backwards trying to keep his balance. Trying to make sure everything works out fine. Trying to keep himself alive because time is running out. It's hard to stand, but the flailing arms aren't helping the matters anyway.

Where had he gone wrong?

Taking a deep breath, and closing his eyes, he tries running away only to trip over his own two feet. This hasn't worked out for the best, but maybe it'll change in time.

"Watch out!" He screams hoping his words catch the ears of the two gathered around in time.

Tector accidentally attacks Emmi with sword
BXGYY2hO0Vsword

{ 1004 -- Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage }sword

[*]

Avonlea Angevin - INtro/Attack #4

Making that boy pay for takin my arm happened in the blink of an eye. The strength I had been testin for years has finally paid off. All the amount of fighting I did with my brothers growin up and wrestlin with 'em is where I got my skill, my speed. Even now as I watch these two foes bleed out from what I did with this sword makes me feel oddly refreshed. I hate that this kid felt like he had to get involved, but it wasn't my choise, nor was it my place to let him beat up on those skilled higher than him. Somethin the first boy says makes me glare. "I ain't wrong. You are. The whole capitol fuckin' us over and now this? Don't you see everything they do is WRONG? Makin us kill. Fight each other. I don't wanna go back home, but I sure as hell don't wanna become one of what they make people." But he still thinks that the rebels are to blame. Well, I blame him for not helping us fight. "Maybe you should have fought and help'd. Maybe that would have tipped the scale, dont ya think?" A cut appears on my stomach because he still feels like it's his place to punish what the rebel's did. The curly haired boy works with him for some reason. Why he feels like I"m too blame comes out all too naturally until I mentioned my makin the bombs. Then he stops. He freezes for some reason and I ain't got a clue as to why. So I hold my sword and sway as I stand. My vision dots with every blink. Blood loss I can only think. "Trust me, I know exactly what I'm doing." "No, ya fuckin don't little kid. You didn't fight like I did. You didn't see what those white clad motherfuckers did to my hometown. How they barreled through my home and destroyed everything. They took my best friends away. They took my father and brothers away. I'd still be makin bombs, but they took my stores away from me, too. Kept me under house arrest. They kennel everyone and only allow what they want to and when they do." I hold out my sword and it quivers in my wake. I stumble where I stand. "I'm going to die a rebel's death - and you know what that is?" I huff at him, spitting at his feet. "I'm gunna die with honor fightin for what I believe in. We are meant to be free. Not kenneled and muzzled." A moment later, I feel him hit me and it hurts and sends shockwaves through my bones and nerves. Even if it was the wrong side, it elicites a painful groan and the sword falls at my feet. I watch it fall and I know I have to strike before I can do anything else. I won't fall a coward.

[Seeing who is to be attacked]
9WN_nYi2Co1-2
1. Jett
2. Axel

unarmed
5165 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage1-2·unarmed

[Kire]

[3M Catullus Brown, post 6, 1025]

Catullus Brown
district 3 male

My indecision is still a battle. I'm stuck next to two boys who circle each other like wolves, snarling and snapping. I know I am not ignored because every so often either one of them looks at me as if daring me to get in the middle. I don't.

Still, the more I watch, the more my hackles rise. Nutso is not the type of person I want to be anywhere near, and that is becoming clearer by the moment. Tree is miles beyond my capabilities and willing to spare me for the moment. I can't fuck up this chance, this moment for me to make my exit. I have to leave these two behind.

Around me, the fighting is changing. People are shifting targets and leaving groups behind. This is a moment I can use. Still, something is holding me here. The crazed gaze of Nutso is a bolt of lightning down my spine. I stand ramrod straight like he ordered me to attention. I could only guess what was running through his mind right now. He'd want me to stay, to help him kill each rebel one by one. Or maybe he wouldn't want help per-say but an audience and a sidekick. Even without me here, he had an audience. I search the stands for the one dark-clothed shape among the tide of white. Adder is still watching.

I can't let this boy think that I am his minion. Tree had told me to leave and I really should. Everything Nutso was doing had my stomach roiling. I need to get out of here before he turns on me too. I knew it was only a matter of time. As soon as he didn't find another playmate to taunt or rebel to vanquish he would be after me. I had to beat him to that punch.

What was that saying about friends and enemies?

I didn't want anyone close to me, especially not a madman with a sword and the weight of an obsessive vengeance. Instead, I buck up my courage and take come advice given to me only a few moments ago. If you know what's good for you: get lost. Not without making a point. I am my own person, and while I agree with Nutso that the Capitol did more for us than the rebels ever did, I can't stand idly by as he brutally tears people apart.

I am no one's sidekick.

[Catullus attacks Ajax Craine with Sword]
DUWecXRNQ6sword
Severed Left Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage

^{Legend
Tree: Era
Nutso: Ajax}

sword

[Kingston Cesaire D3A [Tom]]

[Jonas De Lange D4M | Post #4 | Attack #1 | 1059]

It's quiet.

Oh so quiet, when he watches her move with a grace that's almost angelic in nature. As if she were walking along with angels, holding a certain aura about her that makes him freeze up and just stare in awe. Soft like the waves of a breezy day in four, confident just like his Ma's determination to not be afraid, and brave in the ways he was not. The way she reaches the hilt of her blood soaked blade sends him almost into a panic, but the glint of the sun smiling back at him. This girl reminds him of all the siblings he's ever wanted in his life. Someone brave and confident in their own beliefs to help him steady his heart, but now, he can see the faults in the armor she wears.

The wounds leaving a red stain in the sand as she marches with sword in hand back towards him. A silence that fills him for a very long time as he just stares as her with a heavy heart, knowing another beautiful soul will fall in this place. Another soul to be taken to Ripred and passed on to a serenity that only they can have. Ma used to whisper that Ripred would guide him and sure, he believed her, but he didn't always. It took a long time for him to truly let himself believe that faith isn't all bad. His heart had been closed for a long time during the dark days, but he's still found a way to be more open to accepting of people.

She stops in front of him with a shaky step, cleaning the blade of any blood before a stare appears a few inches away from him. His heart aches with the need to try to heal her. He aches with the need to help her from this suffering, but even his trained hands couldn't patch up these wounds, no matter how hard he tried. There wasn't enough supplies and he didn't have enough time to do so. Frantically searching for option in his brain to save her from this, he's coming up empty before she speaks to him breaking his train of thoughts.

"It's a beautiful prayer, one of the first ones my Mother taught me."

The girl's hand comes up to touch his cheek. The first thing he feels is cold. Her hand is colder than it should be. Death lingers somewhere and he can see the pain in her eyes. He can see the loss in those irises. A silence takes him for a moment, at the eye of the storm, silently holding himself on the edge of her words.

"Let me share another with you."

A slight smile that vanquishes his worries for a moment as the whisper reaches his ears.

"When the day is dark and our path forward is hidden, Ripred, give us but a single spark of light. We will find it and follow wherever it may lead us."

A prayer.

It rings in his ears for a moment as if the prayer would be the last thing he hears from her. A spark of light in the dark to follow. A path to escape the endless pain in the world even if it's just for a moment and he can feel himself noticing the way there's a spark in her voice, as if she were the light of this arena. A sign of a way to escape from this arena, but he can already read what she wants and his heart is racing in his chest. He can't. He can't.

"Yes, Peace is a virtue that comes from freedom, like you said, from death."

Her hand fell and there's a tightened grip on the hilt of her sword. Eyes glance from the sword to her eyes. A silence fills him as he knows what she is going to ask. He's freaking out inside his head. Death. She wanted him to kill her. She wanted him to end her suffering. She wanted him to do the impossible. A chill runs up his spine as he nods along to her words.

"You don't have to suffer, peace takes the form of the one who looks for it. First find your own peace, that is the start to finding the solution."

Find his own peace. He doesn't have to suffer. A solution is in the path he takes in order to find it. A chill runs down his spine as she wraps his hand around her sword, he leaves his sword stabbed into the ground as he wraps both hands around the hilt, her own hands wrapping around his own and he can feel the shiver that goes through his skin. The panic of holding a weapon up, as if he were going to do it. As if he were going to break his own belief. He couldn't. He can't. He's not going to. He's a healer, not a fighter.

"You're welcome, now hear me. This is my own solution. Give Helena Crane of District Eight her freedom."

This girl, no Helena, wanted him to do this. She wanted him to give her the freedom she wants. The only solution she's found and he's already letting soft tears fall along the edges of his eyes. Jonas was just a lost boy from four. He's seen death at it's worse. He's seen men and women lose themselves to war. He's seen death before, but right here and right now, this is different. Helena is different.

She's been pushed to her limit.

A limit of wanting to find peace on the other side.

"I pray you find your solution too."

The whisper warms his ear and he's already crying because he's not sure he can do this, but he can feel the certainty in her voice. The way she leans on him for peace. Jonas has always known this game was always going to lead to death, but he didn't know he would be pushed to the edge of his own limit. A salvation to find for him and others, but right now, he knew there's no other options. This wasn't their choice anymore.

They weren't just kids trying to survive anymore.

When did he become a piece in someone else's game?

As he holds her sword out gently, he lets himself fall into the pain, the grief, the loss he still carries. He lets himself cry for a second with tears in his eyes. He lets himself break for the world and Helena to see. Once he does this, he lets himself take a deep breath, absorb the rest of her being into this moment. He brings himself to stay silent for a second as he holds out the blade with his heart on the end of it, scared of what will become of him.

A nod as he wipes away the tears with his sleeve, sniffling in the sand of the arena.

A prayer on the tips of his lips.

"Ripred, please give Helena Crane of District Eight comfort in the next world. Let's your spark guide the way for her in the dark she is about to experience. Let us find strength in your faith."

Calmly, he feels his heart ache as he pushes forward, arm reached out to her as he pushes the sword towards her with all the strength that he can muster, trying to give her the peace she desires. A sword as the guide to Ripred and a way to give Helena Crane the one thing she's always deserved in life. Peace.

"I pray you find your peace, Helena Crane of District Eight."

There's a spark.

He's going to follow it.

Even if it means breaking his own will.

"Goodbye Helena."

[Jonas De Lange attacks Helena Crane D8F; Sword]
|BLCKBCro_sword
(Severed ear 8.0 or whatever Arrows wants!)

sword

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

Jan 19, 2020 15:51:18 GMT -5 revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay said:

d9f dahlia wolfsbane | attack 4 | 1081

d9f dahlia wolfsbane | attack 5 | 1030

     

dahlia ♔  wolfsbane

district      nine        female

Dahlia's strike slashes through bone and Aurora's scream is like a melody of swan songs. This girl has been savaged beyond relief—but it is not enough. She can still see the gentle rises of her chest through the worn fabric - a fiery heart that won't stop burning. Her eyes are a void, an epitome of shadow and bone.

"Go on, be the capitol's pawn. You're really putting on a great show. Here's your standing ovation." Her words fall on deaf ears, such a witty remark for no one to hear. Dahlia blocks her sword, the sound of the metal on metal produces a loud clang that makes her cringe. "I don't need your standing ovation, the world is already clapping."

Then the boy who vomited at the sight her severed hand speaks, "Excuse my absence. When you gotta vomit, well, you gotta vomit." His humor speaks no volume, the tense air between them compressing even further. He flings his sword at her in a swift motion and she moves her own to deflect -- but it was too late.

For a minute all she saw was the light. She could feel death breathing against her neck and this time he doesn't go away. The air left her lungs and these glass cities came crashing down. Her whole body burned like a thousand stars, the tang of copper singing her nostrils. It was now her sun that is setting, but it's not over yet.

"You're pathetic. A little boy who can't stand the sight of blood. The only way you're making it out is in a casket." Her words rasp and blood spews from her lips. Even in death her words are poisonous, her garden of bones.

And she swings her sword like an executioner's axe - her final performance.

[  attacks aurora delphine d5f  ]

xcjEbQs_Adsword

[  severed left forearm -- 9.5   ]

sword

[esther kim d3 {lance}]

Jan 19, 2020 18:02:07 GMT -5 esther kim d3 {lance} said:

Jan 19, 2020 1:20:13 GMT -5 esther kim d3 {lance} said:

ajax craine | attack six | 1198

ajax craine | attack seven | 1014

ajax craine | attack eight | 1030

You'd underestimated how much having your vision cut in half could impede your judgement. Your conviction. Your skill. Not that you'd had much of it to begin with, clearly. Your best strike thus far had been tearing open the back of a boy who had died but moments later, a boy who had never even seen your face.

So much for revenge. So much for survival. So much for the fucking Capitol giving you the means to your salvation, only to tear it away in a heartbeat.

You snarl, not even bothering to gauge the reaction of the girl you'd just tried and failed to slay, before suddenly you've lost feeling in your sword hand, all feeling except that of pain pain pain pain pain pain pain-

You scream with the frustration and agony of a boy with eighteen years worth of pent up anger and frustration and hurt locked up inside his form. For sixteen years you'd told yourself you weren't weak. You weren't useless. For two, you'd fought with tooth and nail to ensure that became a reality.

And as you fall to your knees, you know only one truth. One reality.

You fucking failed.

Rational thought kicks in seconds later, and you all but tear off the sleeve of your now useless arm right at the shoulder, binding it around your stump to impede the bloodflow and numb the pain. But it's difficult to do with one hand, and the result is just the same as the rest of you.

Useless.

But the anger still smolders. And as your remaining hand grips your sword, you get back up to your feet, and you turn to face the fuckwit that struck you from behind - always fucking behind - you're almost surprised to see a familiar face.

And then you realized that that was the entire point.

You chuckle, but there's no cockiness behind the expression of mirth this time. "Nice work," you say, grudgingly but with no fabrication in the respect laced within the tone. "You almost fooled me into believing you were trustworthy."

You advance upon him, as menacing as a half-dead one-handed boy could be in such a state. "But see, you made one mistake. If you were gonna cut off something of mine-"

And when you swing, you pour every ounce of that pent up rage boiling within behind the blow.

-"You should have chopped off my fucking head."

ajax attacks catullus; sword

oWvlJRmqHTsword

1030 -- Severed Left Forearm at Elbow -- 9.5 damage

sword

[Kire]

[3M Catullus Brown, post 7, xxxx]

Catullus Brown
district 3 male

A sensation I never wanted to feel again ripples up my arm. The soft thud of Nutso's hand hitting the ground sends me reeling and I feel like I might be sick. Trying to breathe deeply to keep the bile at bay, I stare at the damage I've wrought once again. A hand, a cruel hand coated in blood, lays between us. I should move, run, but my feet won't work.

Nutso turns to me, feral with pain and bloodlust. "Nice work," I can almost believe him, his tone sounding grudgingly admiring. "You almost fooled me into believing you were trustworthy." I'm coming to myself now, trying to force my legs to move. I manage one step backward as he comes toward me. "But see, you made one mistake. If you were gonna cut off something of mine-" My feet move a couple steps more but it's too late. I watch the arc of the blade, waiting for it to come down on my head. "You should have chopped off my fucking head."

His words are a scream of anger and desperation, launching a furious attack toward my neck. He was about to take his own advice but my instincts finally kicked in and I raised my arm to block.

The world was filled with fire and screaming. I couldn't see for the burning that took over my whole body. Somehow Nutso had lit me on fire, or so it felt. After a few distant seconds I came to the realization that I had been the one screaming. My mouth clamped shut in that instant and I blinked back tears to reveal the world as I had known it before, or almost. Now, instead of a lone hand on the ground, I stared at a frighteningly familiar arm.

It was when I went to pick it up that I realized I had no hand to grab it with.

My right hand was still gripped around my sword, white knuckles nearly popping and nails buried deep in the flesh of my remaining palm. What goes around, comes around. I never thought I would experience that to this level.

Nutso is still in front of me, breathing heavily. I can't stay here. I back up a handful of steps, keeping my eyes on him, before turning and running as fast as my unsteady legs allow. My stomach is churning and I'm about to throw up but I keep going out into the mass of others, trying to lose myself once more in the center of the storm.

I find myself standing in the middle of a trio. One boy is missing an ear and has a deep wound on his leg. The other two are squared up to him, the causes of his injuries. I shift myself to stand closer to his side, raising my sword. My greatest hope was to try and gain the protection of someone else, someone who might hopefully be able to deal with Nutso when he came looking for me next. Why I decided to put the weight of that hope on a boy already bloodied so badly I wasn't sure. Maybe because I still clung to a need for fairness.

"You," I'm whispering again, unsure if I want him to hear me or not. It's Pip, from before. He had attacked the rebel girl alongside Nutso and I, helping to kill her like I did. He, unlike me, had run from Tree and Nutso when he had the chance. Seems he ended up here. Maybe he was a coward after all, attacking only those who were already being attacked. I supposed I was one to talk, though, seeing as I had followed in Nutso's shadow until I chopped off his arm.

I say nothing more to him, turning instead to the girl he stood near. She had a calculating look and cool demeanor that didn't flinch from the horrors surrounding us. Rebel. And maybe a coward too.

Knowing I couldn't simply stand to the side and do nothing, not now that I had attracted attention, I took my moment and went in for an attack.

[Catullus attacks Harley Sinclair with Sword]
DyyicXyAwAsword
Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage

^{Legend
Tree: Era
Nutso: Ajax
Pip: Anderson
The girl: Harley}

sword

[cameron]

grover d9m | 1013

"i have bite too"
you mean it when you say it, when you bare your teeth and face your foe.
the dust settles around her and she laughs

it's small but strong,
something familiar but long-forgotten, tiny and victorious;
even now, the song's the same.

even now, sliding into sand,
with the wolves watching above, howling in the winds
and praying for bloodshed

with the sea of white
the sea of purity and power no doubt placed up high to remind you
of your humanity

(of the humanity you'll soon lose.)

even now, the song's the same.
your new song, the one you were proud to shout,
is nothing more.

you may have changed the tune
but the melodies still carry that same message.
you sing for life.

why you thought it was different here
where your voice stretches to hold you afloat
where all is bleak

why you thought it was different here
is beyond you, for the need for light in the pitch black dark
will always be paramount.

"over the years, i've learned
that most of the time someone's bark doesn't match their bite."
she swings; your head rings.

there's a moment, a pause:
the tinny shriek rolls around your head, metallic and cold,
but soon so very warm

your hand stretches,
cupping the place your ear used to be,
holding yourself afloat.

the wolves got what they want,
on their high peaks so close to their lord the moon.
they got their red and dirty

while above, they sit in white
and know that they are better, that they are worthy
and know that you are not.

you didn't notice
but a boy runs up and stabs your leg
and there's even more red than before

your hand falls from your ear,
a slosh of red in its place, and you let it go
lose it to the sand below,

(like the humanity you'll soon lose.)

arms fall all around
a thunderstorm of lost limbs littering the ground like fresh snow.
but the white is still above.

and you are still below
with the song you've sung for years pressing out the cage in your chest:
you sing for life.

"my bite's different,"
you guarantee, a smile across your face drenched in blood from your ear,
where your ear once was.

"when i bite, you know,"
you swing your blade, let it sing for you,
"you won't forget."

grover attacks harley Sinclair 4f
Q8ii5B9__Csword
shallow cut right thigh 3.5

sword

[marguerite harvard d2a (zori)]

[antigone boyé | attack #3| ----]

act i. scene iii.

(exterior – persephone swings back at aisha, aisha is hit by a boy near her, and antigone rushes to get out of range. she hears the voice echo)

persephone. stop! get away from me!

choragus. you didn’t blame her for not wanting to have any part of this. back when she was twelve, the only thing that mattered was passing her exams, and doing better than the boys in her class. they told antigone that she was “gone” because that’s what they wanted – her out of their class, out of their lives. the way she pronounced things, the way she dressed, her hair, her being just a reflection of all that wasn’t like them. she was easy to make an enemy, a girl in a room of mostly boys, wanting to fight and struggle alongside them. she didn’t want to struggle with them, and somehow they failed to see the difference.

chorus. but your brothers shone brighter – they offered an out of this life. she didn’t want to be like her mother in the kitchen, dozing away, a life that’d gone from dreams of all that she could to, to dreams that became so small she could scarcely see them. oh – how we dream when we’re young. the added years have tarnished what once was silver and gold to the unrecognizable.

choragus. she won’t know that her mother would see a monster on screen away from the girl she raised. if you’d come back to her when you’d been to three, she’d have had the warmest hug, two heavy arms around your small body, embracing in a wave of love and sadness. she’d have washed you, clothed you, fed you, made you get out all the tears you’d never let yourself have.

chorus. but those tears never came, and now you’re alone. antigone has been worn weary of the world, and she must do what is required, her duty, to survive. was that not what she was always taught? to do what was her duty, to not question or carry on but to move forward. to be better, to live and exist, to take up space.

choragus. except now she cannot take up any space at all. not unless she is to survive.

(antigone holds the sword in her hands and takes a step for persephone)

antigone. you think i’m going to stop? (she smiles down the girl from eleven) you think they’d let any of us stop? you think the world will just let you crawl in the corner and forget about it?

choragus. there’s a flame of rage, of all the thoughts of your brothers, blown and torn to bits. the boy sthat should’ve been able to be men. instead they’re names on a list, soldiers without graves. boys that wanted to be free, and maybe – perhaps they did die that way. better than this.

antigone. go on and have a good cry. find your god, or something to believe in. (she moves to take a swing) i’m taking my chances here and now.

[antigone attacks d11f persephone vega with her sword]
BtvWfQVJr1sword
[result:1062 -- Block -- 0.0 damage (Sword) ]

sword

[*]

Avonlea Angevin - INtro/Attack #5

If my daddy were here, he'd be tellin me to straighten up and put my big girl panties on. It was always a joke when he'd say it though. Always made a mockery of it, givin one of my brother's a mock wedgie. It was somethin that always made me laugh, in a weird sense of humor type a way. His voice echoes into my mind. It's not much but more of a faint type of memory that I have of him. His face is all but faded for me, but I remember key things about his appearance. He and I are similar in so many ways. Most of his old clothers were tailored to fit me. I wish I had something of his that I could have taken with me to this dreadful place. And just like that, somethin catches my eye. I look hard to the right, watchin some boy fall at the hands of some other district person. I don't know what they did, but that person don't move. Fearin the worst, I know that they are dead. The person who kill'em moves on and that's when I glance to my left. Again, a girl falls. Limbs missing just like my own. The good thing about it? It doesn't hurt anymore. It's numb and I find a way to releive myself of my top, on one side, drapped it across my front and tie it around the missing limb. It does sting when I put pressure on it. I hiss like an alleycat and bite into my lip. Death will be comin for me sooner then I know. What I wouldn't give for a grenade. Something to throw and just end the hell this has become. "You know, stranger - I need to know. What was your part in the war? Did you fight with your hands? Or were you considered cowardice?"

[Avonlea attacks Axel unarmed]

|K0ZRn|m7hunarmed
5084 -- Gash/Bruised Right Shin -- 3 damageunarmed

[mat]

Jan 19, 2020 17:35:07 GMT -5 mat said:

ram tapsol; attack three; 1081

ram tapsol; attack four; 1035

[googlefont="Srisakdi:400;"]

ram tapsol
-=+=-

Whatever contents left over in his stomach pinch tight as if he's sticking two pieces of paper together with white glue. He can hear the sword push through her like a child taking a bite from a candy bar. Ram holds it all back, both the second wave of vomit and the tears. You're killing her, your own hand. It's not the same as back home, where he watched people's homes burn to a crisp within viewing distance. Before, he lit a match and let it do the rest, but now he's the ember, and wherever he goes, chaos and pain is sure to follow.

More of the girl's arm drops to the floor. He's unsure how either of them are working through the pain, yet just a glimpse of it, not even living through the horrific sensation, draws him ill.

She directs her anger towards him rather than the associate.

Her sword rises. The show that both of them spoke of was about to end, but not in the way either one had expected. Ram knew what would happen: the girl would raise the sword, and turn on the boy. That boy being Ram Tapsol. Two main characters stuck in a stalemate rivalry, while the man who acts as the supporting role takes the fall. A perfect way for the sequel to begin, a cliffhanger for a part two between the ladies.

He braces for impact, shutting his eyes and readying his sword to make a deflection.

A tear falls and he tries his best to prevent it from turning into a sob.

Neither the clash nor the sensational pain he expected arrives.

He opens one eye.

The girl took her frustrations out upon the associate. Her arm falls gracefully to the ground like a premature apple falls from a tree. The only difference in this case is that the apple tree doesn't crash upon the ground with it. The associate falls, unresponsive for a moment, each limb spread out delicately beside her grey suit.

Ram exhales. She's gone. Her show has reached its finale.

He turns.

There's another girl is accepting her fate, allowing a man to sink the sword into her.

He turns.

A puddle of blood continues to spread from another's corpse.

Again.

Others appear to make unintentional mistakes, bringing chaos into what seemed like a peaceful situation.

Again.

He sees his vomit.

Immediately, he turns.

His eyes return to a living creature standing over a dead one. Assailant and associate.

This matinee has no Act Two. Just one, and Ram stands before the final obstacle.

{"You're pathetic. A little boy who can't stand the sight of blood. The only way you're making it out is in a casket."}

The comments trigger delicate memories to resurface once again.

His mother had walked outside one day, only to find herself caught in the crossfire between the rebels and the peacekeepers. She almost got herself killed trying to run into the market to get the night's food. She did not return that night, and she wasn't there to wake him up in the morning. Terrified, Ram still went to school, knowing that's what his mother would want him to do. Get an education, prove himself, and get a job managing the fields instead of working with them.

He wept at school that day. And wept, and wept, and wept.

Ram's River of Tears, they joked, {"This river will never run dry!"}

He didn't stand up to those kids who couldn't understand what it might feel like to think you've lost the last person who truly cares about you.

His mother returned later that day, excusing her absence because she was afraid she might step into more danger. Ram cried in her arms, and they both promised each other that wherever they went, they'd come back.

Come back alive.

Ram looks at her, dead on in her eyes.

"Don't be so dishonest with yourself. I know you're scared, too," He readies his sword, wiping away each tributary line before they catch into a stream. "I would rather shy away from the sight of blood a million times, in hatred of it, than see it a million times and learn to love it."

Ram does not love blood. In fact, he despises it, but he knows damn well that it's the only way to fulfill his promise.

It's the only way to come back alive.

He takes his shot.

[ram tapsol d11m attacks dahlia wolfsbane d9f; sword]
|8Pl3puHEZsword
[1035 -- Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage]

sword

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

axel moreau | attacks avonlea | 1188

A X E L      M O R E A U

The boy drops his sword, and my breath halts.

I don't know what it is about him that has drawn me to him like this, cannot possibly fathom what it is exactly that makes me so scared to see him weaponless, but it takes over me like something vicious. I've never had a younger sibling, never had someone smaller than me really that I took under my wing and protected. If anything, I was the small one, the one with no weapon, being drawn under a solder's wing and told what it was to wage war, what it was to wage change. I think that maybe it's that I see something of who I used to be in him, someone tenacious, someone willing to die head fucking in and protect someone that they've never met before. He saw this girl come at me when I wasn't ready and the first thing he did was swing his own sword at her.

If only he knew that maybe, just maybe, I don't deserve protecting either. That maybe, just maybe, I am scared and angry and have just as much blood on my hands as this girl does.

I might even have more.

I hear him whisper. You make the bombs, and my throat closes up. I know that pain, know that anger, the kind of anger that's quietly burning under the surface, eating you alive.

It wouldn't take a soldier to recognize it these days. Everyone knows someone like that after the war.

He charges headfirst at the girl, as fearless as he is reckless, and I wish that I didn't understand, wish that I hadn't spent years watching soldiers giving up and giving in and falling to their anger in more ways than the war could keep up with. "COÑO!" I curse, watching him throw his small fists at her. "Qué haces?" I hiss at him, using my father's tongue without even thinking about it.

"I did help," I hiss at the girl. Goose flesh rises all across my body at the admission, at the truth. The boy's fists land, just barely, glancing off her collarbone, but it's clearly enough to cause her pain. "What the fuck is the point anymore?" I ask, feeling every nerve ending in my body setting itself on fire.

And she misses.

I think that's when I start breathing again.

"Fucking hell," I exhale, watch the boy sway back and away from her blade. "Pick up your weapon," I say to the boy, ready for him to turn it on me as soon as I speak. She's in pain, I'm sure of it. She has to be. I think that I can see it in her face, see it in the way she's slowly giving in, slowly staring to fail. It's a strange thing, one's body giving out on them. I've watched it more times than I can count.

"You want to know what my fucking part was?" I ask, eyebrows raised, and I know my expression is too cruel and all too familiar. It's been a long time since I felt like this, since I fought like this, but it comes back between one breath and the next. "I saw exactly what the Keepers are capable of—but I sure as fuck saw what we were capable of, too. Mierda," I have to curse, frustrated and almost unable to fathom this kind of zealotry. It's not patriotism anymore when it's blind to its own flaws. "Are you so naive as the think that none of us ever went into a Keepers home and took their kids as a hostage to get the right information? You think we didn't take a nail gun to a Keepers hands until he talked? You think we always fought with honor?" I shake my head, can feel my whole body trembling. "Tell me what about this is a rebel's death," I spit, demanding. "Attacking first, throwing your sword into the fray the second the Keepers say go—where is our rebellion in that? Can you tell me?" I don't wait for her answer. "You can't. Because our rebellion isn't there; it died a year ago, maybe even before then. You, standing there, attacking me first—that's you wanting to live."

My whole body is on fire, and the blood on my face is mixing with the sweat on my forehead. I can feel it dripping down the side of my face, and I'm sure I look like a monster.  

I suppose that's not new.

I gesture to the stands, let my eyes flick to them and think that maybe I make eye contact with Adder Ames. I spit on the ground, try not to think about how it comes out tinged red, and then look back at the girl.

"That's you being their pawn."

 

CANARY IN THE MINES

axel attacks avonlea, sword

C8dqQMAu3Bsword

1188 - miss - 0

sword