apathetic to the devil ; nevermore v. woodsmen ; day 2

[tick 12a / calla]

I think the lack of cannon fire put us all on edge last night. I know it made me antsy, itching to get up and get going, because it meant that there was still twenty-three roadblocks to get through. Twenty-three little chess pieces on the board. And someone's probably started to hunt them already.

Not that that's my problem. With all the shit we got from the bloodbath, the other tributes will think twice about trying to track us down. The extra padding strapped to my chest solidifies that. And if we can find a place to lay low for a while, let the others meet up and fight it out, maybe even turn the other alliances against each other? Then that's just less blood on our hands.

Less blood on my hands.

But we had to move first, as soon as the light comes, because the stupid swinging bridges we spent the night on draw too much attention. They're rickety and barren and unless you're in one of the buildings or shimmying up a tree, there's almost no coverage. No protection.

And so when the sun rose ,we headed out.

But it's hot and it's humid and after the view from the village, the blandness of our destination gives me the creeps.

"Why are we going so slow?"

The bugs won't stop biting and the sun won't stop beating down, and I swear we've barely covered any ground. There's a crick in my neck from sleeping upright against one of the hut walls, stupidly paranoid with my backpack cradled in my arms and a weapon against my chest. I don't know why the dark made me think that Noel was going to go back to her career roots and betray us, or that Laurent was going to use his tar to set the buildings ablaze and take off.

But it took me a long time to fall asleep.

So maybe I'm more cranky than usual, more impatient, but complaining usually gets me everywhere, this little game of playing baby brother and being doted on.

Except we're still not moving any faster.

So, careful of his crossbow, I nudge Ikaros out of the way and barge past the three of them, round the shaded corner of a hill and run smack into something solid. But it's breathing, moving, and I stumble back when I realize it's body, hold my hammer a bit closer when I look up and up and up and realize it's the guy from Ten.

Shit.

"NOEL!" I yell for her, mind blanking, panicking when she isn't right beside me and doesn't immediately step forward with her blade like did yesterday. It feels like every ounce of bravado leaves my body in one shaky exhalation, because at first I thought it was just the heat, just some kind of mirage, but Ten's whole fucking band is behind him.

Shit shit shit shit.

I take a step back and scream Noel's name again, lash out all wide-eyed and staggering, and see every single one of my plans fall apart.

phi attacks silas ; warhammer

o5Mhit4xXIspiked blunt

STABBED IN STOMACH -- 9.5 damage + 1 strength

spiked blunt

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

Dreams.

Normally they evade me, but ever since my name echoed throughout the square for all the District to hear my mind has been rampant. A whirlwind of colors and sounds, but most of the time it was the same. A pure white dove, sometimes lost in a field of crows, sometimes flying high above the clouds.

But mostly she's alone.

Searching for someone or something.

Searching for a way out.

Maybe one day she'll find it, but today is not that day.

The sun and humidity is just as brutal as it was the day before, if not worse. The sweat drips down my neck and the bites that cover my body are insanely itchy. They had a field day last night, all the others went unscathed, but I was the lucky one and now you can connect the dots to form a map of Panem on arms. The other's complaining was irritating to say the least, but instead of snapping back in my heat filled rage I bite my tongue and roll my eyes.

"We're all facing emanate death, maybe we're just savoring the moment."

A smile spreads on my face and a laugh escapes my lips, but they're wiped away almost immediately when Phi pushes to the front of the group and screams my name. I can't tell if it's filled with fear or desperation.

Or maybe both.

Without hesitating I run towards him, shoving the other two out of my way as I go. Maybe they've fallen, maybe I left a bruise, I'm not sure and I don't care. He calls out again and I run faster I can't let him die. I won't.

Not like Bell.

I get there just in time to watch Phi swing his warhammer straight into the boy's stomach. My breath is hard and heavy and I take a minute to catch it, but the smile returns on my lips.

"Looks like you don't need my help after all."

A mother who's baby birds have left the nest, that's exactly how I feel. I know they came to me for a reason. They weren't useless, no matter how much they wanted to believe it. I survey the surrounding enemies, recognizing each individual both their name and their district. Phi had gouged Silas, the boy from Ten, and next to him was Sophie, the girl from One.

District One.

Ridley was from One. She took her weapon and raked it across Bell's neck. They killed her.

And I'll be damned if I meet the same fate.

"A Fray. Hoping to live up to your family name? Don't worry, I can help you with that."

My fingers tread gently against the handle of my voulge, ready to swing.

Dreams.

My fingers are still crossed that this is one.

( noel attacks sophie fray ; double ended voulge )
nNX2v|yLAcglaive
( sc on stomach - 4.0 )

glaive

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

you think you want the best for me
but nothing really matters
if you force it won't come
i guess i'm feelin numb

He needed a god damn cigarette. He'd been right in calling One Princess- even from the distance he forced himself to keep from the others, he could tell she was ignorant to the way the world worked: Pampered and prim and proper, whining about bugs and humidity as if she was the only one who had to suffer through it and as if that was the biggest threat in the arena.

Martyr was as quiet as expected; more than once he'd caught her staring at him like he was a wild animal who hadn't realized his cage door was open yet. Like she was always one move from burying something sharp into him and running in the opposite direction if he moved too quickly.

Fiend was, well, honestly, a breath of fresh air. A hint of familiarity, someone whose living room floor he could easily have seen himself passing out on. Even so, there was still the truth of their situation: they couldn't both live. Feeling drawn to him only made Silas more cautious, more willing to push away.

He stayed behind them all, or to the side, or far in front. Mostly, to drown out the Princess babble; her monotonous tone seemed like a face she wore to appear braver or disinterested, but she sure was quick to offer her opinion in any given situation.

More than once, he'd flicked a bug from his shoulder, not nearly as put off by them as some of his allies. He'd stayed, and lived in some pretty disgusting places: a few bugs was usually a part of the package. He'd just flicked one off, watched it sail through the air and land somewhere in the dried up terrain around them, when he first heard them coming.

Solid exhale.

They shouted to one another, wolves of a pack closing in on prey.

Yeah, he thought, a cigarette would be fucking great right now.

He'd hastened pace in an attempt to catch up to the others to no avail, the boy from Seven's warhammer swinging around a mound of dirt before Silas even fully recognized he was there.

He felt sour instantly, like nausea but worse, as the center of his shirt began to stain with blood. He doubled over, cough escaping him and a noise of disgust somewhere between a gag and a sigh involuntarily tripping past his lips.

"Fuck!" he groaned. He shoved past the boy, done easily enough even in his weakened state because, well, Silas was huge.

He finally made it to the others in a stagger, his brain telling him to just fucking go while his brain reminded him he couldn't. Not here, and not in these shoes.

He wanted to hurt the boy. Not just injure him, not even just kill him. Hurt him. Take away everything he had so that by the time Silas came for him, he'd welcome death with open arms.

"Your friend just got you into a world of trouble, partner," he snarled. His eyes were dark in a way that had always frightened those around him, like he was too okay with letting darkness overcome him. His words had a tendency of taking something from the other person, and if they weren't enough, his fist usually was.

He gripped the axe tighter, hunched over and borderline berserk.

His mouth hung open as if he were rabid; Maybe Martyr was onto something, after all.

He lunged.

( silas attacks ikaros, axe )
8FHp|Y5Js_axe
( 11048 -- Severed Right Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage )

axe

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

i'm hurt, i'm hurt you didn't know
that there's no pretty way to tell you so
i'm tired, so tired i'm letting go
i've been b u r n i n g flags to let you know

She awakens like a spring day.

Lovely, and slowly.

A rare flower in bloom.

Light catches in her hair, blurring out all of her scars and bruises. Her skin is shining — but it’s just the bug spray. She still blames it on the sun. “That was the worst sleep I ever had.” Her allies are already on their feet, shadows under their eyes and red welts on the boys’ arms. It seems like they’ve endured worse.

Sophie takes her time getting ready, combing her fingers through blonde knots and packing her supplies neatly. When she is finally prepared to travel, the morning has given way to day. She doesn't apologize. When she passes by Juliet, she takes the girl's wild mane in her hands and frowns at it. "Never sleep with your hair down. You look feral."

And then she begins her march, stopping every few feet to spray the air in front of her. "They'll die when they fly through it," she explains to her allies, coughing as she walks through the thick mist. "That's so gross." This becomes the routine — an endless monologue of complaints and opinions. It's a wild sort of peace.

Her body has healed remarkably, and only the ghost of pain remains. It obviously doesn't hurt to talk anymore. There are pale bruises down her arms and legs, but all her scars have begun to close. She doesn't let herself think about the promise her mother made to her — that she would not be harmed in the arena. She had been, and a fast recovery doesn't change that.

It just makes it easier to ignore.

Until the world gets loud again, louder than her own voice — and then a boy is shouting for help, and Silas is bleeding, and an unfamiliar girl has appeared out of thin air. All Sophie can do is blink. It's a coping mechanism, a way of freezing herself when things become too fast to keep up. Silas is in trouble, but she doesn't move until the blade is pointed in her direction.

"A Fray. Hoping to live up to your family name?
Don't worry, I can help you with that."

Sophie narrows her eyes, channeling all of her teenage fury into a single glare. "I'm not interested in this story." She has a powerful surname — and maybe this girl has one, too — but that doesn't change the fact that she is her own person. The only thing she has in common with Justice is that she's going to win. And the others?

Well, Sophie makes for some damn good TV.
It's in her genes.

"Tell it to someone else."

There are heroes, and there are villains, but don't underestimate the cowards. They also have a story to tell. And it starts with Sophie shrieking as Noel lashes out, the edge of the older girl's weapon cutting her stomach open. The pain is nothing more than a faint sting, but it's still pain. It's still a reason to be furious.

With who, Sophie can never quite figure out.

She runs to Silas' side, almost limping. The cameras will play it off as a heroic moment, two allies standing together against common enemies — but really she just wants protection. And he's big, and terrible, and on her side. This is the kind of advantage that she deserves. She draws her sword, but there is no grace in the movements. She parrots the words of her guardian.

"Yeah. A world of trouble."

And then she tries to kill a boy whose name she doesn't know — just because he's the closest target. Because he's already wounded. This time, the numbness she feels is real. She doesn't want to feel this. She doesn't want to feel anything.

But she has to — and it's so unfair.

( sophie attacks ikaros ; sword )
T483HuyDNBsword
( Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage )

sword

[Tom]

Evening comes with no faces marking the sky.

Zero deaths.

The gamemakers wouldn't be pleased with that. The silence fills him as he sprays bug spray over his body, letting himself breath in the humid air. Bugs started to come out now with a taste for tribute blood. A laugh falls from his throat as he stares into the night sky, seeing the stars, even if they're man made, they glitter with a way he's never been able to see before. Pollution blocks out most of their stars, dulling them to nothing more than a dream.

For a moment, he stares up at the sky, through the trees, watching them glitter for awhile longer. His heart aches for his siblings. Would they be okay? Is he a monster in their eyes? Would they forgive him? A frown fills his face before he breaks from the sky, staring into the trees of the jungle, watching the forms of little bugs buzz off through the leaves. The jungle wasn't a quiet place. Life lived in the trees as bugs buzzed and the sound of creaking wood fills his ears. Eyes reach Laurent, who seems to be struggling to keep his hair kept. A laugh fills his throat before he approaches.

"You need help with that?"

Eyes meet and Ikaros smiles at his ally.

"What, you think you can tame this wild mess?"

IKaros Vallanso has seen it before. His little sisters struggling with their own hair, messy and always falling in front of their eyes. Mornings spent tying their hair into buns or ponytails because no one else would. A smile on his lips as he chatted with them about their excitedness for the day. Careful fingers parting hair and soothing his own worries about them. A smile fills his lips as he speaks confidently.

"Definitely. Let me try?"

A shrug of his ally and a reply is all he needs.

"...Alright, go for it"

Gently, Ikaros pushes his hair all back, gently twisting it until it forms a bun, letting it be bundled there tightly, but loose enough that there won't be any tangles, at least from what he's done with his sisters. The calming air of the jungle filling his senses before he's done with his task, letting it fill his vision before he speaks in success.

"That should at least keep your hair off your face."

"If this tangles tomorrow, I'm blaming you."

The grin fills Ikaros' heart as he almost mutters the word cute under his breath, but instead focuses on his own hands, gently rubbing at one of the knuckles, letting himself breath in sober breaths. No wings upon his back. A rush of a headache over his forehead as he lets himself push it off.

"Thanks."

Grinning back, Ikaros lays himself back staring up at the sky.

"No problem. Guess having younger siblings comes in handy for something."

Night grows darker as the feeling of sleep begins to wash over his senses. The tiredness of the day filling him once more.

"You've got siblings? How many?"

His siblings; he hoped all of them were sleeping fine. He hoped they were surviving. They had to survive. A smile up to the sky as if it were meant for someone somewhere else. A guardian with black wings, feathers falling like a crow's to this place of existence. Softly, he replies with a yawn.

"Yeah, there's eight of us. None of us are sure if we're all half or full."

They were all family.

They always would be.

"Eight?? Damn, that's a full house! I only have one brother myself."

A chuckle fills his lips as Laurent continues.

"You must've been a busy guy."

A heavy laugh filled with tiredness and truth to it. He's been a busy guy in his family for a long time. Days spent working for their sake. Days spent lifting heavy machinery for the funds to feed his sisters and brothers. Laughter used to fill his ears, but all he can hear now are the thoughts of failure in his ears.

"Yeah, it's quite a full house. The house was always busy."

A pause as he takes a deep breath.

"What's your brother like?"

The reply is heavy. A tension filling the air as Ikaros just shakes it off as the talk was much more personal than he thought. Eyes glancing to the boy from three, who was full of surprises. A shift of the air before he can hear the reply.

"The best. He's all about storytelling, wants to be a writer."

Stories. His youngest brother would have loved to meet Laurent's family. A smile on his lips as he replies with a smile and actual interest. Memories of times at parties listening to stories and not actually listening because he wanted to get something from them. This time he listens for the first time. He listens to Laurent because he values him, even if Ikaros was nothing more than a wildcard. A dead man in waiting.

"That's really cool!"

A quick pause before he can feel the way his own heart beats with wanting to know if he's not alone.

"Do you miss him?"

The answer is obvious, but he can feel the homesickness already bleed from himself and his ally.

"Like crazy. Feels like I'm never gonna see him again, you know?"

Silently, he replies.

"Yeah..."

A want of seeing his brothers and sisters fills his chest. The dreams will come where he wants to be home sleeping in bed, waiting for his youngest brother to cry and crawl into his bed. A calming energy to fall from his form as Ikaros gently pulls his pack closer to his side, trying to hold himself steady from the homesickness.

In the end, he passes out with his arms wrapped around the rucksack.

---

Morning is silent as he packs up his stuff. The humidity feels heavier than the day before, but it's probably not. He couldn't really tell. Moving out of the village and towards what had to be the most grotesque of creations, he can feel the sweat across his forehead. A crossbow, a whip, and the warhammer at his grasp, he's ready to face the day and whatever the gamemakers have created. A feeling washes over him as he can hear Phi complaining about them walking too slow.

Silently, Ikaros moves aside, putting his crossbow on his back, attached to the rucksack. The warhammer would be better for this place. Closer range, more places to hide, and he had more reach with it. Eyes staring at his allies one by one, until he can hear Phi cry out for Noel. Blood begins to pump through his veins as he can see Silas from District Ten there. His whole group behind him as Ikaros feels his heart sink. Death looms over them and this is what the gamemakers wanted after all.

Phi moves first with an energy he's never seen before. The warhammer slamming into Silas' stomach as blood begins to fall from the wound. Eyes glance over to Noel as she shouts to Phi, moving before he could. The way his hands begin to shake once more as he holds himself higher once more. Wildcards weren't meant to make it farther than the gamemakers wanted. Fingers tighten around the warhammer as he pushes forward for a moment.

"Looks like you don't need my help after all."

A chuckle falls from his lips as he holds the warhammer defensively. Silas and Fray seem to be ready to move, but Noel goes first with words upon her tongue. Swinging for Sophie Fray, he can see the glint of that metal in the air. A crossbow would have been useful now, but he's already put it on his back. A groan from his lips as he realizes his mistake immediately.

"A Fray. Hoping to live up to your family name? Don't worry, I can help you with that."

Careers.

They were something else.

"Your friend just got you into a world of trouble, partner,"

Pain erupts from his hand as he can feel the weight of the warhammer crash into the ground. The heaviness becoming more as his eyes glance to his wrist, where there's no hand anymore. The pain bursting forth as he swears he can feel the warhammer in his grip, but he's shocked. The first reaction that falls from his lips is a scream of pain as his eyes water over and the pain echoes along his skin. Silas took his hand. The hand he used to tie his sister's hair. The hand he used to cook his siblings dinner. The hand he used to make enough money to get the Vallanso family food to ear.

"Yeah. A world of trouble."

A sword cuts into his shoulder, blood pouring out from the wound and Ikaros can feel it. He can feel himself feeling faint. His right side becoming covered in blood as he can feel the way his hand clenched tightly to the warhammer now stuck onto the ground in his left's grasp. Midas was watching him. His siblings probably could see the way he's fallen now. A hand left behind as e had asked for this. A wildcard with no plan. Trouble. He was in trouble. Softly, he pushes himself back up to a standing position as he hefts the warhammer up once more.

"Fuck. Y'all really know how to start a party, don'tcha."

Eyes glance to Sophie Fray as he glares. Minos still fresh in his head as he can remember the way Justice Fray cut him down to pieces. Wings bloom from somewhere else and he swears he can see the black feathers. Soft, thick, and full of dread. Eyes glance to the termite tower nearby. Chaos. Wildcard. He had to do that. A smirk upon his lips as he pushes himself forward, lifting the hammer up with all the strength he can muster.

"Gonna try to kill me, Fray? Gonna follow in Justice's footsteps and kill a Vallanso?"

A painful laugh escapes his throat as he glares at Sophie with all of his anger. Minos died eleven years ago. Minos wasn't special. He died trying to protect the people he loved. Ikaros would do the same thing for his siblings. Ikaros would do the same thing for Laurent and them. He's the wildcard. He's not needed here. Death looms in this field of towers and blood. Humidity continuing to push sweat across his forehead. Words continue to fall from his lips with the fire he's feeling in his missing hand and shoulder.

"Your friends here, Monaghan, got you in a world of trouble."

A pause to heave the warhammer forward.

"C'mon Fray. I thought you're supposed to be killers?"

The swing is wide as he pushes all of his muscles on his left side to swing it forward. One of the towers of termites is where it crashes into, sending debris and termites flying all around them. The swing goes straight through the tower, pushing himself to hit Monaghan and prove that he's the ultimate wildcard. The wings of black bloom on his back as he strikes with all the fire in his chest. The pain of his right arm searing now, but he doesn't have time for it.

Ikaros wasn't going to let the pain kill him.

Minos was watching.

And he hated to disappoint.

(Ikaros attacks Juliet Monaghan with Warhammer |spiked blunt|)
0p7AzEp0Qispiked blunt
(Stabbed in Chest 9.5 +1 Strength)

spiked blunt

[Python]

As they settled into the canopy, Laurent felt paranoia kicking in. It was like a buzzing between his ears, warning him of oncoming danger that never came. Each time he glanced into the darkness between the trees, the sensations washed over him. He had to force himself to look down and focus on his campsite tasks. Set up the bug net, spray himself down, and find a suitable place to sleep. Fortunately, Ikaros arrived as a distraction, catching him in his worst moments as he wrestled with his own hair.

"You need help with that?"

His stylist had insisted on chopping it off, but Laurent was stubborn. He coined it as his signature look and refused to change himself in the face of peer pressure. What else was he supposed to hold onto from home? They had him in different clothes, eating different food, speaking to different people - enough had changed already. It was a stupid sentiment to defend, but it granted him a small sense of pride. He never was the brightest bulb of the bunch anyway.

"What, you think you can tame this wild mess?" He challenged. If it was an excuse for the flirtatious Ikaros to put his hands on him, then perhaps it was time to give him what he wanted. When he accepted, Laurent shrugged and relaxed his shoulders. "Alright, go for it."

I'll be damned. He managed to tie it in a bun. The taming of a wild hair beast in the midst of this humid jungle. Ikaros was his new hero. "If this tangles tomorrow, I'm blaming you," he teased. "Thanks."

He followed the boy's gaze to the stars. Fake as they were, it was still a captivating sight - and no deaths to report in the anthem either. Laurent should've felt disappointed, but he didn't. The Hunger Games wouldn't feel real until somebody died, and he was happy to postpone that reality for as long as possible. He knew it would be the ugliest wake-up call of all time.

When Ikaros mentioned younger siblings, Laurent perked up. Although he had mostly avoided the subject of his sick brother since he arrived, he was interested to know how many others had brothers and sisters back home. How many of these people, careers included, were actually human? The logical answer was all of them, but somehow it didn't feel that way. Maybe that was a good thing, if Laurent was meant to kill some of them.

"You've got siblings?" He asked. "How many?"

"Yeah, there's eight of us. None of us are sure if we're all half or full."

Laurent nearly whistled. His own little brother was enough of a handful. He couldn't imagine eight Elijah's roaming around their tiny house. "Eight? Damn, that's a full house. I only have one brother myself. You must've been a busy guy."

Maybe having more siblings would've kicked Laurent into purusing more responsibility, instead of wasting his life the way he had.

"What's your brother like?"

Laurent tried to act like it was an everyday question. He hoped his expression didnt't give himself away - that something was terribly wrong. "The best. He's all about storytelling, wants to be a writer." He smiled at the thought. The boy had a whole career ahead of him, yet his body wouldn't allow him the opportunity. Not without an expensive intervention.

"That's really cool. Do you miss him?"

"Like crazy. Feels like I'm never gonna see him again, you know?"

Fuck, that hurt.

The mood shifted, conversations dissipating. With newfound heartache, Laurent said his goodnights and fell into restless sleep.

As dawn awakened, Laurent found himself lingering toward the back of the pack. They ventured away from the dizzying heights of the canopy and into another horror entirely - mounds and mounds of tiny bugs, towering above them. The Gamemakers really outdid themselves with this shit, huh? "Love the decorations - " he started, but was abruptly cut off when Phi shouted for Noel up ahead.

Everything happened in the blink of an eye. Bodies sprang into action, weapons drawn and flying. Laurent recognized Silas as he doubled over, bleeding. "Your friend just got you into a world of trouble, partner." He blinked and Ikaros' hand disappeared.

"Oh, fuck," he groaned. "Shit. This is the real deal, isn't it?" This was a real fight. The raw, violent Hunger Games battles on television that always ended in somebody's gorey demise. And somehow Laurent knew over half of the people here. Fuck.

He didn't care for the career banter. They had their own odd rivalry that he wanted no part of, so he followed Ikaros' lead instead, aiming one of his spears at Monaghan's chest. What else was he supposed to do?

"Let's be civil about this, yeah?" he said, fully aware of how stupid he sounded. Yes, let's all calmly kill each other and walk away.

But really, all of the mockery was unnecessary.

Guess that's the nature of the Game.

[laurent attacks juliet - javelin]
kGqbbQUp9njavelin
Block -- 0.0 damage

javelin

[✨ zozo.]

was i stupid to love you?
was i reckless to help?
was it obvious to everybody else?

I insisted on taking first watch. Not like I was going to sleep anyway. Thinking about Noah, and James, and all the rest of them at home. Thinking about Justin, and the boy in this place with me that reminds me so much of him. Of Eight, who reminds me of Noah. What will I do when I find the rest of them in others faces? What will happen when they surround me? How am I going to go back home with blood up to my elbows and expect them to find shelter in my open arms?

I've damned them. I've damned us all. But I've damned myself the most, lying awake underneath the mesh of the net I found with my hands clutched around a spear. I am here because I love too much. I hate a lot. I hate a lot of things, and I feel tired all of the time, and I grit my teeth in my sleep because I'm a fighter. But I worry that my love trumps that, and when it comes time to kill I'll falter, for them. For their image of me.

I'll look after them, Jamie muses in my head.

A silent tear falls for him and I wipe it away underneath the moonlight.

No weakness, he whispers.
I know.

Drifting in and out of thoughts and semi-consciousness, something pinches at my leg. A mosquito, I think at first - one of the buzzing bastards must have gotten in through the net. I kick out, biting down on my lip as the pain gets deeper, swelling into the rest of my leg as I thrash my foot about on the ground and whisper a sharp "What the fuck-?"

It releases, whatever it is, and scurries away. To my left they slumber quietly - to my right, darkness. I don't trust any of them, especially not the largest, but whatever tried to take me wasn't a tribute. Too tired to worry, too exhausted to reach clumsily for the backpack beneath my head and search for treatment, I fall into shallow slumber and wait for my love to damn me.

----------

I try to stand and find that I cannot.

"Woah!" a stumble, a scared wave of arms to try and catch my balance. I must've slept on my leg funny, tingling from my ankle up. "Shit," I steady myself against the stand and straighten my posture. No weakness, I know. It'll come right again, I just need to keep moving.

We trek on, and my foot feels no better. I can't tell if it's because I'm trying my best not to hobble or if the thing last night has fucked all feeling in it but it throbs with pain, muscles straining against bone and fatigue. The air is thick and humid like a disgustingly damp summer, shirt fabric on my back sticking to my skin and rubbing a rash. We walk - not for long, but long enough for me to become bored. I don't mind talking, but I'd rather not give them a reason to kill me quicker than they already want to. I have a feeling Ten is on to me, his eyes boring into the back of my skull.

The thought only makes me work harder, thighs screaming underneath the extra effort to look normal. As I'm practicing lies on a rolled ankle or sore muscle someone swears - and it's not one of us.

Shit. My body freezes, hands gripping tightly around my first spear. Everything in me, even Jamie, tells me to run. So I do - for three steps, before my foot refuses to co-operate and my good knee finds the sand below.


"Your friends here, Monaghan," he's a stranger, appearing as I turn my head and squint into the sun, "got you in a world of trouble."

"They're not my fri-"

I finish with a gasp, and then a cry, as the blade of his strange weapon boulders into my chest. Everything explodes in me, and for what I can no longer feel in my leg I feel all at once in my chest.

Tears spring to my eyes forced shut from blinding pain. A roar builds in my throat and fills the damp air, choking on my own weakness as I desperately try to stop myself from garnering any more attention. Ten, of course, catches on - of course he would, I think in a desperate panic. Of course he wou-

But Ten does not finish me off. He cuts off the stranger's hand instead.

His hand spills to the ground with my blood, his own staining the yellow sand below us. I gasp - from shock, from pain. My mouth hangs open, no words fit enough for this. They're all shouting now but I can't hear them. Adrenaline drumbeats in my ears, my chest, I can still feel his blade carving up my muscle and bone and nerves. It sits heavy, weighs me down into the sand, all I can focus on is his hand.

His hand. In the fucking sand.

BettermethanNoahbettermethanNoahbettermethanNoah-
JULES LOOK UP Jamie screams in my head, and I do.

Half a second later my spear bats away one aimed directly at me and then I see him, another stranger with one less spear than he arrived. It's an instinct to throw mine back. It's second-nature. It's a risky decision, a panicked one, without any thought or planning. But I'm bleeding in the sand, and I cannot run, so I simply fight without thought and hope it is enough to keep myself alive.

jules attacks laurent, javelin (1/4)
AUDfjZj9ZRjavelin
SPEAR IN STOMACH -- 9.5 damage

javelin

[maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]]

dust the dust up
off your shoulders
you’ll come round
and be h u m a n again

His hands were not a surgeon's. They were numb, white knuckled around the hilt of his axe; he stared at the blood pooling at his feet and trembled. Too many familiar faces hid among the strange but they were wrong, more feral than they had any right to be. He'd hoped their opponents would look more like monsters than men, still their fangs tore into Silas, Sophie, Juliet. His knuckles went whiter.

Old blood kept them burdened, they justified murder with names that did not belong to them. Not anymore. Fray, Vallanso, Hailsham. Only fools cared for a ghost's revenge. His eyes fell to Noel as her weapon ate into Sophie and he tried not to be sick. And then Silas severed a boy's hand and that became a whole lot harder.

Juliet's chest was weeping, blood came faster and faster and that definitely needed stitches as soon as possible. From the looks of it, that wasn't going to be any time soon. They were caught in a sick stalemate, playing a game whose rules Beck didn't remember learning. But, oh, he knew how it ended. They'd crown a loser, broken and beautiful, then spend the rest of their days trying to forget their name.

"Holy shit," His scream was surprisingly subdued, escaping in a choked whisper as his eyes found the limb cooling in the dirt. It wasn't bleeding as much as he thought it would, a small stream feeding into the ocean deeper wounds had created. He couldn't find it in him to fear the boy from ten or what he was becoming. Soon enough their scars would look the same. Beck wanted to help, he wanted to hurt. He wanted, desperately, for it to be them and not us.

Noel spoke of regret, her words set his veins alight better than the liquid gold he could never stop wanting. She had hoped not to hurt him yet, Beck supposed he had hoped for much of the same. He narrowed his eyes at her, wearing a smile instead of a scowl, "I don't know if I think you're lying or I hope you are."

He didn't want to do this. His legs shook, eyes darting back and forth in search of an opening. If they ran away they could sew Juliet closed and pack Silas' wound. They could stop the pain and forget it ever happened. That's all Beck was good for. That's all he knew. That's all he wanted.

That wasn't an option now.

"Maybe it's better this way," He couldn't keep his voice from trembling. How desperately he wanted to be strong or angry or desperate or anything other than scared. He couldn't look away from Noel, lofting his weapon above his head and willing himself to strike.

His arms wouldn't move.

"Fuck, fuck it!" He turned away from her and leveled his blade at the kind boy from three. Laurent. Beck regretted learning his name, he regretted sharing drinks over a purring fire that glowed more golden than red. He regretted that empty promise he'd made when all of this seemed much less real. "I guess this means those drinks are on me, huh?" That sounded better than I'm sorry, though it meant just as little.

{beck attacks laurent; axe}
0ba95SZGfMaxe
{Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage}

axe

[tick 12a / calla]

The hammer swings into his gut, silver coming back red, and the weight of it sets me off balance. I’ve never made anyone bleed before, not physically, and it sets off something in my chest.

But Noel is suddenly beside me, "Looks like you don't need my help after all." She says and I half-grin at her, tasting something metallic, something vicious stuck to my teeth, until the world tilts and I'm stumbling, falling, scraping my hands against the sand.

I don't know what's happened and why there isn't a blade embedded into my back until Ten steps over me and towards Ikaros.

"Your friend just got you into a world of trouble, partner."

And isn't that what I wanted?

He swings his axe wide and I flinch from my place on the ground. There's a disgusting sound, a shearing and a thud, and when my eyes land on the jagged edge of Ikaros wrist I can practically feel my stomach twist. It doesn't click at first, that the hand lying on the ground is his, there's just a beat of silence until everything erupts into chaos.

I know it’s all my fault, a routine set in motion, but I can’t bring myself to bask in it yet.

When Ikaros raises his warhammer I scramble back to my feet, trying not to look at his limb on the ground. But he doesn't swing it in Ten's direction. He doesn't even swing it towards One. He crashes into a tower and I duck, cover my head to avoid the debris because what the shit what the fuck.

They hit Laurent hard and then they hit him harder.

I find Noel through the heat waves, my best chance at survival, and stay close to her. She and Ikaros had been taunting the girl from One, but she’s a career, a killer, so I keep my mouth shut. Except she had only scratched at Ikaros, and he had called her Fray in a tone I've never heard from anyone but Aries. Noel had swiped her weapon across her torso with enough force to draw blood.

Maybe they both want her dead. And maybe helping them will help me.

When my brother got into a fight with our neighbour's daughter, I slipped june bugs into her locker and told everyone she was a whore.

Maybe it’s just the little things.

phi attacks sophie ; warhammer

4mOKEpxdGCspiked blunt

DEEP GASH ON RIGHT BICEP -- 8.0 damage + 1 strength

spiked blunt

[gamemaker sloane ♕ kaяi ♕]

This is a straight up filler because i have to be up at 4:30 and haven't finished studying for micro pr physiology yet c':

will fill in tomorrow!

( noel attacks sophie fray ; double ended voulge )
HObnKAzh_kglaive
( result )

glaive

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

you think you want the best for me
but nothing really matters
if you force it won't come
i guess i'm feelin numb

In a single swing, he'd separated the boy's hand from the rest of his body and it fell to the ground with a sickening thud. Silas smiled, not at Five, but at Seven. The one who'd started this. Silas had apparently succeeded in scaring him away from trying to attack him anymore, and he saw the look of guilt swarm his expression for the briefest of moments.

You did this, Silas told him without words, a snide smile spread across his face akin to something like a viper, just as venomous and cold.

"Are you afraid?" this to Five, who struggled to keep a grip on his weapon.

"When you fall from a tree and break your arm, the bone heals eventually. Why doesn't the fear of heights?" A single instance, a scar that remained forever. A memory of pain. Once someone got burned, they tended to stop playing with fire. Silas maneuvered himself, stepping in close, swinging his hand up and sending the boy's weapon flying into the dirt. No more of that. Silas had to duck his head so that they were eye to eye. He held not even the slightest bit of compassion; people start fights, others finish them. One survivor, yadda yadda. He didn't see the need to justify killing in a place like this. If anything, this place was the greatest excuse a person could have: them or me, one or the other.

"I'm not the broken bone," he said, his voice hardly a whisper, "I'm the fear."

If Five lived past today, he'd live looking over his shoulder and expecting to see Silas behind him. And after him, another, and another. And he would save Seven for last so he would know he was coming, and he would make him scream louder than any of the rest.

He pushed him away, enough time to pull his axe up and swing.

"I'm not goin' anywhere."

The familiarity of it should've made him sick, but the withdrawal did instead. Five was just a bystander, skinny and weak in the way Silas had been too many times before in his life. And if he had any kind of heart, it would've bled for him. If he had any kind of regret, it would've shown for the briefest of moments after Silas took a second limb with a second swing, gone in an instant before he was back to being the walking nightmare he'd been forced to become so long ago. He kept his breathing steady and smeared his face clean of the blood splatter that came with being in such close proximity.

"I'd suggest runnin' while you still have legs."

( silas attacks ikaros, axe )
Lu71iUr90Kaxe
( 11144 -- Severed Left Forearm at Elbow -- 9.5 damage )

axe

[eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris]

i'm hurt, i'm hurt you didn't know
that there's no pretty way to tell you so
i'm tired, so tired i'm letting go
i've been b u r n i n g flags to let you know

Voices keep talking — and pain keeps burning.

The stranger girl is joined by her ally, the one that summoned this chaos, and their blades bite into Sophie's skin. It's cruel, and unfair, and genius. They're doing exactly what she's trying to do, and it seems like they're succeeding. Blood pools down her arms, and the wind slices at fresh wounds; the agony echoes.

Her target has his own weapon, a tongue like iron and rust. "Gonna try to kill me, Fray? Gonna follow in Justice's footsteps and kill a Vallanso?" His words belong to a dead man, but not his fury. It burns so bright that she stumbles backwards, narrowing her eyes from the strain. He's handless now, but still standing.

"C'mon, Fray. I thought you're supposed to be killers?"

She doesn't want to be a murderer, but she wants to be an accomplice. "Silas is picking up my slack. I can afford to be a little lazy." She holds her sword limply, swinging with only half of her strength. She turns to face Noel and Phi, but she's already looking away by the time she speaks. She is focused on her prey.

"He'll kill you two next.
Choose your enemies carefully."

---

Will add more as fillers are finished!

( sophie attacks ikaros ; sword )
E8YfucrVqFsword
( 1114 -- Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage )

sword

[Tom]

"I'd suggest runnin' while you still have legs."

An echo of the past forms in the strike of blood and bone, breaking down his body piece by piece. A hurricane of shock and guilt eating away at his chest as he knew. Eyes glancing to the arm attached to his warhammer, left upon the ground where termites scatter from his explosion of a swing. The paleness on his cheeks growing with the blood swirling around him. A wildcard no more, but a boy meant to be a body bag, pieces disassembled like the dolls his sisters used to pull apart and put back together. Ikaros Vallanso was going to die here. He was going to die the same way Minos had.

Broken, torn apart, and thrown away like the garbage human that he was.

The scream shatters his own ears as he lets out a guttural cry from his chest. Blood pools in a swirl of the drains he used to wash dishes in and care for his younger siblings. Born from pain, he lets himself fall to the ground, curling what little body he had left. Piece by piece, tearing away the man who he used to be as if Silas Merchoff and Sophie Fray were meant to treat him like a discarded toy. Left on the floor to watch his life bleed away. His father's cry follows in his scream, bleeding into his head in a way that sends him spiraling farther and farther away from this place.

Ikaros Vallanso signed up to die.

He wasn't going to cry through it.

Instead he grits his teeth, pushing his body to its limits, standing up with the thickest laugh he's able to muster. Blood soaked camo, no longer a blue, but a deep purple. Vallansos were meant to die. Ikaros was meant to bleed. No one will change this fact. Fives aren't meant to survive. Fives are meant to suffer. Suffer for the bullshit that their past creates. Suffer for the generations before them. Ikaros Vallanso wouldn't be remembered. His siblings might, but it'll fade over the years. The realization of his chaotic nature filling in where the drugs were and his mood swings filled.

Fear.

A single word, a single concept, and a single boy. Fear used to hold him in place, bleeding through his veins until he gasped for air. The thick tar of worry and fear pulling him farther and farther down into the mucky feeling of fear, until he broke free with his own will. Fear's what made him stronger. Fear isn't something to be afraid of, it's something to force them to rise up with a new strength to keep fighting. To keep fighting until the last breath falls from his body. Ikaros laughs louder. He's losing his mind. He's losing himself.

And it feels great.

It feels right.

Ikaros Vallanso was nothing more than a boy who was going to be a body bag.

Might as well add crazy to his name.

"Afraid? Of you?"

The heavy laugh fills his chest as the pain goes numb and he's feeling much weaker, but he doesn't give a shit. His body feels on fire, but that fire bursts through him with a new determination to not give in. Not let them win. Not let a boy who he shared weed with tear him apart. Not let a silly girl from a career family lazily tell him he's nothing more than trash, deserving to be tossed aside.

"I fear no one. I asked to die. I volunteered to die. You'll never be as frightening as myself."

A smirk as he can feel the blood splatter on his cheeks and the tension in his arms.

"You are nothing more than a boy who will become nothing more than bones."

Father had called him much worse. Forced him into isolation from himself. Broke the only connection he had in life to his siblings. Forced his hand to throw away his life because Ikaros wasn't a strong man. He's never been a strong man. The facade was stronger than the him. Pretend to be happy because the world doesn't deserve to feel his pain. Act like a dick because he doesn't know how to handle others getting too close. Silas Merchoff would never know what it's like to want to die flying high above the sky so his father will never be able to hurt him.

"So end it already! Kill me. Make my despicable father proud. Make my mother turn away for good. Make my eight siblings cry. Burn down the legacy I never had. Just. Fucking. End. It."

A pause.

"I don't give a shit anymore. I don't give a shit about this games. I don't give a shit about anyone else."

If he had fists, they'd be clenched with the anger boiling his blood that spills.

"I'll be there always Silas. In the shadows, watching you break apart because you're just like me and we all break."

The kick is sudden, but lacks the energy from before. The words hanging in the air as he wanted them to. He wasn't going to go down without leaving his mark because if there's anything Ikaros Vallanso was good at it was tearing people apart with his words. A laugh falls from his lips as he stops, holding what's left of his arms out, knowing he's nothing more than a dead body.

"End this pathetic game."

Blood soaked camo, lost functions, and a broken boy from five.

"Five isn't meant to win. I'm meant to die."

There's no time to die anymore.

"That's just how these things are meant be."

(Ikaros attacks Juliet Monaghan unarmed)
t0gxBxL1h9unarmed
(bruised left calf 2.0)

unarmed

[Python]

Laurent micalculated, and he soon regretted it. This fight was the real deal - sharpened edges grazing against smooth flesh, slicing and dicing until he could count the pieces of Ikaros on the ground. As his own spear bounced harmlessly away from the girl, she reeled her own weapon back and hurled it at him. He couldn't react in time - hell, he wasn't sure how to. He assumed instincts would kick in, but found himself doubled over as it gutted him in the stomach. His nerves exploded with pain. It hurt more than he could've ever imagined.

Stumbling to one knee, he cried out and grabbed the spear with both hands. Chaos brewed around him, and he knew he couldn't sit here and suffer peacefully. Every second wasted whining was another second bleeding out. Ikaros was in far worse condition than he was, so he couldn't afford to run or give into the pain. Suck it up.

And then a moment later, his head spun.

Stars spiraled in his vision as he felt a hot, searing pain carve the back of his head. As he managed to free himself of the spear, he suffered another wound. Somehow this was worse, and from Beck of all people. It shouldn't feel like a betrayal; they weren't friends, only temporary drinking buddies. Yet it made his chest ache all the same. "I guess this means those drinks are on me, huh?" This is how he knew the Game was real - nice people morphing into killers before his eyes. How could he be mad about it? He mirrored their movements, aiming to throw another spear at a girl who didn't deserve it.

What a world this was.

[laurent attacks juliet - javelin]
EuevW_I5zWjavelin
DEEP GASH ON LEFT FOREARM -- 8.0 damage

javelin

[✨ zozo.]

just goes to show
that the blood you bleed
is just the blood you owe

It lands in his stomach and my throat closes up.

Go, Jamie demands. Get out. Crawl. Any way you can. He won't stop until you're dead. But there's no feeling above my knee and the tingling has begun in my other foot, creeping from my toes to my ankles, so all I can do is haul myself backwards with my hands and wince at every movement.

Pain screams from across my ribs into my arms and I collapse at its bidding. The heat burns, salt trickling into my wound. People are shouting, talking, and the mosquitoes keep buzzing. In the chaos I take a chance and try to crawl flat in the sand, seven seconds later there's a spear in my left arm and I howl into the sand.

I'm not escaping. Not yet.

Fingers sticky with sweat and blood unlatch from the wound in my arm and pick up another spear beside me. Aiming hurts, hurling the thing toward the boy is a pain I've felt like no other. When he bats it away like it's nothing my heart sinks, although I'm not surprised. My throw was weak, sloppy. Nothing like the first.

Ten blocks my view of the boy and I'm draped in the shadow of his enormous frame. He buys me two seconds to catch my breath, heaving in damp oxygen like they're my last breaths - at this rate, they might be. Another thrash of his hand and there goes another hand, his victim's violent arms now nothing but bloody stumps spurting red and bone.

Bile lurches in my throat and I choke on it, coughing up clear nothing into the sand. An arm and a hand join the first in the sand and I can't even think about thanking him, too scared if I make a noise he'll do the same to me. Hand-less boy kicks out at my leg but if he made a mark I can't tell - there's no feeling both knees down.

All I can do is whimper in the sand, clutching a spear in one hand and a sharpened hammer in the other, and think of nothing but my family.

Fight, says Jamie. I can hear him so clearly, it's like I'm sitting in our living room with him. All those years we'd sit side-by-side, Noah to my left. Jamie to my right. He'd seethe at the ones who cowered in the corners, the ones who fell too early. We despised them, pitied them, rolled our eyes and called them weak. To think of him now, looking at me with that same disgusted glare - I close my eyes and weep. I have failed him. I cannot run and I have failed them.

Fight, Jules. If you can't run then fucking fight.
Okay, I promise in my grief. Okay.

I open my eyes, grit my teeth, and exhale.

jules attacks laurent, javelin (2/4)
euyGJMhA|tjavelin
block 0

javelin