The Bloodbath

[pup]

May 12, 2020 18:28:54 GMT -5 pup said:

[arc dorado | attack #9 | 1114]

[arc dorado | attack #10 | 1194]

I finally get another strike in against the boy, my sword stinging deep in his flesh. The end is near for one of us, I can tell, and I don't want that end to be for me.

In pitiful, weak fear, I had become disillusioned just for a moment, that I was the one who was at his mercy. That moment was the one that had pulled me to the brink of death. To the point where I was so close to dying it felt unlike everything that I had ever felt before. I was thinking about whether this is what my father had felt when he was on the brink of death. Did he finally see that his pointless war was all for nothing? Did he finally see that what would have left him a better life would have been to just look out for himself and his family.

But then again, if he hadn't left I would have never seen the truth of life. I might never have seen this.

The boy is talking to himself, obviously worried. I'm not sure how the capitolites feel about our misses and scratches, but I could barely care at this point anyways. We had both lost a lot of blood, and all around us, tributes were falling like toy soldiers knocked to the ground. Except, unlike soldiers, we weren't fighting anyone else's fights. We were fighting our own.

"Oh shut up already," I say, pushing myself back up with my sword. Readying myself for another attack after his scratch. I can still turn him into my prey. I just need to pull myself together for one last stand.

That spot in my blurred vision better be him.

---

[attacks Alistair 8m with sword :hellkim:]
vFXbTCFTcqsword
[stabbed in foot - 8]

[arc sues ripred]

sword

[ali]

May 12, 2020 7:30:08 GMT -5 ali said:

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #5 // 1013

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #6 // 1047

Desdemona Shaw

That I'd fallen for a lie
You were never on my side
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?

Her blade digs into the skin of the girls thigh as she stumbles back, over something dark and round against the blood speckled sand. Desdemona thinks- as she catches a glimpse of the object Petra stumbles over- for  a second that it is a head but it seems so distant, and dreamlike, that her mind doesn't seemingly react to it, the jagged edge of flesh. and sinew draped againt the platform, a pool of congealing blood. Her heart beats, but it feels as if it is someone elses heart beating. 

Desdemona tries to dodge the girls weapon, but her body growing sluggish as blood slowly runs down her belly and to the earth. She feels the blade slice into her skin as she tries to move her own sword to block the attack- it doesn't sting. The Sun does not feel hot against her skin and the sand is no longer biting her open wounds. With each exhale she can feel the world growing heavy- am I dying? she thinks to herself Is this what dying feels like? 

She sniffs, her tears clinging to her cheeks in long lines down her cheeks. She tilts her head softly, staring at Petra for a long moment. Still her body shakes with anger, boiling inside her from the memories that have shaped her like she were made of clay. Rough hands have formed her, and her softness has been worn away but she feels far from fragile and delicate as she stands there, in the heat of chaos around them.

"Don't you think I want to live!! I never had the chance!" Desdemona finds her voice is loud, it thunders over the noise around them. "I want to live! And I won't let you get in my way!!!"

Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks Petra Vanburen, D1F [Dars] with Sword
unChoM1dYksword
[1047 -- Stabbed in Stomach -- 9.5 damage]

lyrics: no time to die by billie eilish

sword

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

May 12, 2020 10:20:08 GMT -5 umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] said:

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Six | 1011

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Seven | 1044

"Don't you think I want to live!! I never had the chance!"

Petra no longer bothered to hide the discontent on her face, features narrowing into a judgmental snarl. That wasn't Petra's fault. They all wanted to live. Petra wanted to live. Petra was going to live. That was it, that was all there was. Everyone wanted to live, it just came down to who wanted it most.

"I want to live! And I won't let you get in my way!!!"

The words were accompanied by another attack: a deep jab at Petra's insides. White noise, red pain; she was certain something of vital importance was probably out of commission because of this. She gasped for breath that wouldn't come, crumbling to one knee with her free hand pressed against the wound.

"You attacked me!"

Her voice was unfairly weak and pained. Hollow, as she gasped for air. Maybe afraid.

She kept having the urge to spit, as if it would help to expel the pain. (It didn't.) She stood. Somehow, this fight that had started so strongly in Petra's favor was now close. Somehow, in typical Petra fashion, she'd fucked something up. Somehow, she might have died in the next few seconds.

She hadn't realized until now how real of a possibility death was.

She didn't want to die.

She hated her weakness, wished to banish it from herself like all the other weakest attributes of her personhood. Exhale it like a breath she'd been holding, lungs now free to take on whatever she wanted next. She hated the thought that kept creeping back into her head, over and over and over again: I wish my brother were here. Because he would've known what to do; he would've done this so much better. He did everything so much better.

She gritted her teeth and tasted blood. She didn't even know what the source of the tears was. Fear? Frustration? Hope?

"Youcrazybitch!"

Her heart hammered in her chest so much that it hurt; she let it happen.

It was a reminder that she was still alive.

[ petra attacks desdemona shaw, 2f ]
lgMCYzvhEOsword
[1044 -- Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage]

sword

[Arrows]

May 12, 2020 20:20:54 GMT -5 Arrows said:

[Remus / Attack #4 / 1143]

[Remus / Attack #5 / 1177]

REMUS

The sword sinks its teeth deep into the boy's chest and Remus' fingers tighten around its handle. For a second he thinks he has stabbed the other boy's heart, but then he stumbles backwards off of the blade. This dark haired boy has already killed in this Colosseum so, it's going to take more than one attack to kill him. Remus on the other hand has only dealt damage. He's left a terrible trail of red rivers running through the sands, but he hasn't been the one to stand over a body yet. This boy is already there, that's how Remus knows he's up against a real fighter this time. If only he would answer Remus'...

”Um, to kill?"

Remus' skin shrivels as it shivers. Those words don't seem right in connection to the other boy's concrete composure. There isn't a trace of ice inside the eyes Remus is looking at, he's simply stating his reality. He's killing because that's what he does, what he has always done apparently. What for though? Remus can understand the action, the murdering of another. Remus can't count the number of times he led Capitol soldiers straight into Rebel squadrons for instant and unexpected execution. However, he had always had reasoning within the decision. Does this boy? Or has he been burying it with the dead for so long that there's nothing left but a boy with a primal instinct?

"Okay."

Remus responds with more of a sigh than sound. He can't judge him, he could have just as easily been him. The remaining Rebels took Remus in after the last of his family was fired in the crematorium's flames. Some are just like this boy, all they see is what they've done and what they still need to do. For the war they turned themselves into killers, but when the war ended they never turned back. Is this boy like that? Could he have been fighting too? 

”I’d maybe duck if I were you,”

The other boy says just as Remus hears the near-silent steps slinking through the sand. Solely based on the new intruder's shadow, Remus takes the other boy's advice and lightly ducks as the sneak attacker's sword swings through the air. Remus' own blade counters it briefly in a block before the first boy who had told Remus about the incoming attack practically insults the other boy for missing. This fight is getting bigger by the second as others are finishing with newly added members of the graveyard.

"Thanks," Remus admits matter-of-factly to the boy who he had only just stabbed in the chest moments earlier, "For what it's worth, and it isn't much, I was a killer before this too."

Only now does Remus allow himself a second to take in the boy who had tried to attack him. He seems strong, fit, and like he has something worth fighting for too. Remus will have to keep a close eye on him as the fight continues to unravel.

"He's got a point though, I was standing still."

Remus isn't entirely sure why he adds the remark, but maybe because it makes everything less real. It feels more like three boys on a soccer pitch pushing each other with snide remarks instead of a blood sewn Colosseum where Remus' sword is searching for more skin to cut into. 

Remus attacks Henry Hughes :: Sword
ihrKwEJ6N|sword
{Miss -- 0.0}

sword

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

May 12, 2020 14:03:13 GMT -5 D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] said:

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #7 | 5114]

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #8 | No Attack]

[googlefont="Great Vibes"][googlefont="Caveat"]

Daisy Holliday

8. Dry Soil

When I go to headbutt the girl, my balance ain't exactly tightrope ready and my head smacks her in the arm. It looks like it's enough though; she falls down and doesn't get back up. That headbutt threw me off balance enough that I smack into the ground too. But I'm still kicking, and not standing is helping the world stop spinning. Falling got a bunch of the weird dirt in my arm hole though. That ain't good, but what can you do?

I don't know if you've ever killed a young lady before but it doesn't exactly leave you feeling warm and fuzzy inside. I mean, I've got a whole whack of wounds that ain't making me feel great, but this is a different kinda bad feeling. It's more like a bad feeling in your soul instead of your body. Heck, I didn't even know her name! But she's dead and it's because of me. That's something I'll just have to live with for the rest of my life. Considering I'm sliced up more than a loaf of bread though, that doesn't look like it'll be much longer.

I finally take a good look around the arena. There's a few dead bodies now spread out among the sea of body parts like there was a bad explosion at the people factory. Lots of people still fighting, many of them missing a part here or there. At least I ain't the only one missing a part.

This is when I notice there's some names carved into the walls of the arena. At first I thought it was some kind of fancy pattern, but I recognize a few of the names from old Hunger Games. Old tributes that didn't win. Now, I'm no mathematician but I can add 2 and 2. The weird dirt we're all fighting on? I think it might be those tributes. We're fighting on dead people.

I got dead people in my arm hole.

Yuck!

It ain't looking that great for me though. I'm definitely losing a good chunk of blood and can't stop thinking about how nice it'd be to just close my eyes and sleep. Pretty sure if I do though I ain't waking back up. So for now, I content myself with lying there, hoping my energy comes back to me before another tributes decides it's curtains for me.

Daisy takes a breather (no attack, she needs a minute)

[ali]

May 13, 2020 11:03:31 GMT -5 ali said:

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #6 // 1047

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #7 // 1077

Desdemona Shaw

That I'd fallen for a lie
You were never on my side
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?

Desdemona watched as her blade sliced into the girls stomach, blood spilling from the wound as she withdrew the sword, glistening golden from sunlight and ruby with the girls blood as the girl lets out a gasp and crumbles to her knees, her pale hands clutching at her stomach. "You attacked me" Petra says, accusingly, an edge of surprise laces her voice between gasps. Blood bubbles from her lips as the girl spits at the Earth, blood spattering against the sand. Desdemona stands there, staring at her.

What have you done

The voice is small and distant inside but she grits her teeth. She doesn't care if she has done this- she doesn't care- all she can feel is the anger bubbling and swelling inside her despite the numbness fills her body. The anger feels warm inside her, welcoming- perhaps it is death but she does not consider it- as adrenline pumps through her veins. She doesn't care what she has done, because for once she has not failed- not yet- despite her previous failures tattooing her skin.

Desdemona only feel the searing pain as Petra lunges, growling and spitting her words like a caged beast. The girls blade slices into her calf and she feels the blood blooming from her wound and the hot blood dripping down her leg and pooling in her sandle. As the blade slices through sinew and tissue, Desdemona lets out a huff, a heavy breath as the cold starts to leach into her bones. I will not...I will not die! She says to herself as she grips the hilt of her weapon, her fingers stained red from Petra and her's blood. And as she exhales again, she lets out a gutteral cry, deep and primal as she drives her blade forward.

Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks Petra Vanburen, D1F [Dars] with Sword
sGcwL5w3Gesword
[1077 -- Deep Gash on Left Forearm -- 8.0 damage]

lyrics: no time to die by billie eilish

sword

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

May 11, 2020 22:08:43 GMT -5 thompson harvard - d2b - arc said:

[ d5m september yorgos | post #6 | 1065 ]

[ d5m september yorgos | post #7 | no attack ]

{ september }

My opponent had cast her view to another side of the arena - a girl giving some spiel about hope. How there isn’t only one way to solve a puzzle. Like every piece of the puzzle didn’t have an exact design for its counterpieces. It was a beautiful speech. If I was at home I’d maybe even raise a glass to it. However, standing here, I couldn’t. I couldn’t nod, or smile or grin. I couldn’t bat a wink to the idea that peace was an option here. Where would we lay down our sword and lie happily when the blood of our foes has already filled that space? We have no option but to fight. Moments later the eye of peace and triumph got stabbed.

We were all blind to the potential of peace.

”Is that cowardice to you?” Well, yes. More foolish than cowardice. What were we supposed to do? Hold hands? Some people don’t even have hands anymore, let alone their own body. Would we hold the fallen head by its hair, start a circle prayer for the dead and somehow hope that we all get pulled out by the God that sent us in here in the first place?

A look puzzled my face when she let out a frown to then get her sword and cut off a piece of her cape to then waddle it up. "Catch." The cape then got pelted at my chest. "Tie it 'round tight. Maybe this will keep your thoughts straight." My lips pressed together to prevent a comment I would find my death sentence on as she turned. She then turned back. "Not cowards. Just trapped." Like animals in a cage that knew no better. Like the elephant chained from birth that never knew her full potential. My opponent then walked away like nothing happened. Like our bleeding wounds were normal, but they should be in this environment.

I was alone now. Looking around the arena to see if anything was of worth, there was a girl laying on the ground, looking around slightly. Like she was trying to enjoy the sunlight in her last moments of life. She looks so, so tired. But she wasn’t dead. I lumbered over slowly - too slowly, really, it would’ve made an easy target to kill. She seemed like she had just finished a thought, but I didn’t want to startle her. I didn’t want to kill her either. It felt like kicking a dog. It was odd, though. Should I just end it for her or just let someone else do the cleaning? I clean horse shit, not blood stains.

”Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Probably about how she was going to die.

[looks at daisy like a museum exhibit since shes kinda just laying there]

[umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]]

May 13, 2020 11:19:21 GMT -5 umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars] said:

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Seven | 1044

Petra Vanburen, 1F | Post Eight | 1079

Death looked a lot like nothing to her. As she tiptoed between consciousness and a lack thereof, she saw flashes of white and pitches of darkness. That isn't supposed to happen, she thought, trying to blink them away. She didn't have the energy to pretend she wasn't scared anymore: she was afraid, she was afraid, she was afraid.

Even if it took dying to make her realize it: she was afraid.

For only a moment, she considered giving up, falling back to her knees and accepting the final blow. It would've been easy. A blink and then a lapse, and she'd be gone. Dead.

But death looked a lot like nothing to her, and she was afraid that she was right. Maybe she didn't deserve the something more people always talked about. Maybe the things she'd done, the people she'd hurt, the lies she'd told... maybe they were each strikes against her light and now all that was left was darkness. Black and cold and unfeeling.

So in death as in life; she supposed it was only fair.

A whimper escaped her trembling lips; staying upright required so much effort.

She had to fight, but she didn't even know if she could anymore. Blood loss and trauma and also genuine shock of the audacity of this bitch. Don't start a fight, her father had said, always be prepared to win one.

Deep breath in; it felt good to know she still could.

"I may not kill you," she said, happy to find that she sounded amused.

"But you won't live much longer."

She tried to take a step forward and faltered, staggering to the right and using her sword as a crutch to catch herself.

"Meet me in hell, bitch."

[ petra attacks desdemona shaw, 2f ]
M|I35sgvo2sword
[1079 -- Block -- 0.0 damage]

sword

[aya]

[attr="class","w460"]

alexei daine

Brave to the point of stupidity — or stupid to the point of bravery — Alexei draws her first blood. A little scratch on Jasen the Executioner's shoulder, half as deep as the red river that runs down his bicep below it. She's not sure what she was aiming for, besides retribution. To cleave his head from his shoulders? To pare his arm from his body? Either would've been its own sort of justice, but karma favors the wicked. That or she's not as strong as she thought.

A flash of steel in the corner of her eye draws Alexei's focus away, and she wheels around in time to watch her would-be rescuer's other hand drop into the dust. She opens her mouth to cry out on the girl's behalf, vision tunneling, but can't muster a sound past the clenching in her chest. An apology dies on her tongue. She didn't ask for an intervention, but her guilty heart is impervious to reason and her empathy is unshakable.

A taunt from behind her falls on incapable ears — one filled with blood, the other with remorse for this stranger who'd been rewarded for her misplaced attempts at kindness with Alexei's most relentless nightmare. The bite of Jason the Executioner's blade slices her cape down the middle and a river down her back beneath it. This time her cry makes it out of her throat. She drops to one knee, heaving, only propped up by the point of her sword buried in the dirt. Blood dyeing the sand at her feet, she waits, and waits, and waits — to regain her composure, to wake up in her bed drenched in sweat, for a killing blow that never comes — and finally she realizes that no one else is going to do any of this for her. If she wants to prove something to somebody, she can start with herself.

With one more deep, steadying breath, she pushes herself back up to her feet, the sand damp with her own blood beneath her toes. It sticks, not quite mud, but she digs her toes in until she can feel the wooden subfloor beneath them. In this foreign hell, the lumber hidden just out of view is a better home than anything else. It feels secret, personal, something just for Alexei. She roots herself to the felled trees, just for a moment, deep breaths drawing her composure from the air.

She spies him again from across the pitch, paring limbs from bodies, his name on the lips of the crowd, and she burns.

Survivor's guilt? No. Survivor's abandonment issues.

Being left alive is not at all the same as being left at home, but it picks at the same scab on her self-esteem. Near the bottom of a twelve-sibling roster, Alexei is all-too-used to being ignored, being last priority, too unimportant to bother to kill properly or anything else.

Under her breath she growls, stalking across the arena, five fingers clenched around the hilt of her sword as if to strangle it. I wasn't finished with you yet.

Her tattered cape whips in the wind, silken tripwire, and sends her sprawling in the sand. When she regains her feet — again — she's lost her bearings and her petty streak of self-destruction. Better not. Sand stuck to the blood on the side of her face, Alexei slinks over to the arena wall, looking for a place to lean to take some of the strain off her wounded back. Squinting through the grit in her eyes, she finds an easier target, and wonders if it's fair enough that she strikes the marble in warning before striking at the silhouette in front of her.

[attacks zephyr - sword]
3I3uy6B_FRsword
[1198 -- Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage]

[newclass=".w460"]width:460px;[/newclass]
sword

[ali]

May 13, 2020 14:19:00 GMT -5 ali said:

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #7 // 1077

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #8 //

Desdemona Shaw

That I'd fallen for a lie
You were never on my side
Fool me once, fool me twice
Are you death or paradise?

I am so tired.

No.

Not yet. Desdemona thinks as she withdraws her blade from the dying girls body, the arm of her bone white and pure beneath the bubbling fountain of blood that erupts from the new gash she has just drawn on Petra's body. The air is so thick with their blood, it is all she can tast. The iron in her mouth, bitter and drying. She craves fresh air, not this polluted one her lungs filled with- not this one filled with childrens screams and blood and sand and grit. The one she could inhale at the edge of the District- where the fence met sprawling flavellas and the forest beyond. She inhales and coughs, blood spattering onto the ground before her.

That is my blood.

Her mind is a daze, it feels heavy and she can feel the heaviness of sleep threatening to envelope her. Blinking furiously, gritting her teeth, she refuses to give into it. Just like poor Petra. Desdemona's eyes rise to the girl, half doubled over, her skin so pale that her emptying veins are stark beneath its surface. Blood and spittle drip from her chin as she raises her head to look at Desdemona. She is dying and there is a moment where the girl who walked into the arena, tear filled eyes, shows herself. For that breath heartbeat, she feels pitty for the stranger.

Then the crowds cheering drags her back to reality. Desdemona's fingers twitch, tightening around the hilt of the blade even though they cannot really anymore. Scalding tears prick at the corners of her eyes, as the girl named Petra whimpers, the small noise passing her pale lips as she her voice hollow and empty. Desdemona knows it- knows that Death is coming for her. She can feel it and to deny that would be foolish- She wanted to go home, she wanted to survive, to show her parents she is not a disappointment; but maybe- she thinks- if she were to kill then maybe they would fear her.

Even in death.

Desdemona's chest heaves with a laugh as Petra reads her last rights. "My name is Desdemona Shaw....ask for me. They'll call my name..."

Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks Petra Vanburen, D1F [Dars] with Sword
ysXFJh24Ucsword
[dmg]

lyrics: no time to die by billie eilish

sword

[gamemaker kelsier]

May 12, 2020 11:30:02 GMT -5 gamemaker kelsier said:

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 6, 1008]

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 7, 1047, 1168]

b a b e .

"I'm the lesser of two evils
Or am I, am I tricking myself nice?
If I'm a lesser of two evils
Who's this man, who's this act I hide behind?"

His blade barely leaves a scratch and Babe hates himself again. If he could just keep one promise, he might be satisfied but the failure eats at him but maybe it's because all he think about is his father, moving too fast for Babe to dodge, aiming his gun at his chest and shooting.

He remembers death, kind of. The way he just lay in the dark of his own head and heard a last hiccuping breath leave his brother's lips before another gunshot rang out and there was the sound of his father's body hitting the floor too. It had been quiet for so long then, just the sounds of his own ragged breathing moving in and out and the muted sounds of battle outside. His body wouldn't move and Babe had thought then that he was going to die too and he'd decided that was alright because he could feel the slightly sticky feel of Cy's blood slowly soaking into the leg of his pants.

But there had been the sound of feet in the hall and a shocked cry, fingers on his neck and pressure on his chest so suddenly that his eyes had opened and he'd cried out in pain and he'd lived.

And Babe wants to tell the girl in front of him that sometimes it isn't worth it to survive a massacre but he can't find the words.

“You think it’s okay for all of us to die? All of this, just for nothing?”

The question grabs his sword and holds it in place, a small hand on the blade like a catch in the machinery of his movements. "No," he tells her, "That's why I kept fighting for so long, why I didn't lay down my weapons even after the so-called treaty, this is wrong but this is where we are and the only way out is to kill and you can't."

"It's not in you, not yet."

Maybe one day it would be if Babe failed to finish her the same way his dad had failed to kill him but he can't wait that long.

He sort of gets it now too, gets why he's never fully been able to label his father as a monster because maybe he sees it now. The decision he'd had to make four years ago was impossible. How do you protect the small, precious things when the enemy is the world you live in?

"You don't have to do this."

She pleads with him and Babe knows why his father chose a gun, there's no time for that, just the whiz of a single bullet and it's over. She stares at him with doe eyes but Babe doesn't look away, he won't. He knows what he's doing, that he's killing her and he won't pretend that he isn't.

He can put pretty labels on it but there's no point, he's the monster that has haunted his dreams for three long years. He's in the room with the skylight, the weathered man with a gun pointed at the woman he loves making a difficult choice so that she doesn't have to. Maybe it's not his right to do that here, he doesn't even know this tribute, but he is doing it anyway.

"I do," he says calmly, "No one else will."

And this time he brings his sword down like he means it.

[babe attacks robyne with sword]
1BE5ifbtIJsword
[Stabbed in Stomach -- 9.5 damage + 1 blades]

[babe attacks robyne a second time with sword because she's a peaceful trib]*
sword
[Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage]

*permission was gotten from Cait for the second attack! uwusword·sword

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

May 13, 2020 13:36:28 GMT -5 D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] said:

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #8 | No Attack]

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #9 | No Attack]

[googlefont="Great Vibes"][googlefont="Caveat"]

Daisy Holliday

9. Branching Out

It was kinda nice just lying there for a while. Just being able to take in life for a bit since I don't have much of it left. I'll miss hearing things, seeing things, feeling things. I'll miss Ma and Pa and the rest of the family. I'll miss Whelan Fray. I won't miss Hazel Sloane. I'll miss hating her though.

I'm lost in memories about the time I punched Hazel in the face after I caught her making out with my boyfriend at the time when I hear someone ask me "Watcha thinkin' about?" Shoot, another tribute realized I'm here. Guess curtains are coming soon for me.

I decide to turn and see who was talking to me. It was a boy; another cute one too. Ma always joked cute boys would be the death of me. He seemed to have made it so far in much better shape than most other people. I wish he'd seen me with both arms. He seemed to be hanging back though. Why wasn't he killing me?

Maybe he didn't want to.

Shoot, there was still a chance for me! Maybe he just wants a bit of conversating. Probably knows as well as I do I could easily drop dead of my own accord. Heck, if he kills me or not, no harm in doing a little talking. Ain't got much else to do.

I say to him "Not much, just death an' stuff." I try to sit up a little bit, which is hard considering one arm is broken and the other is lying a few feet away from me. But eventually and painfully I get there. I nod over at the girl's body and tell him "She did a real number on me, that one." I try not to think about the number I did on her. Usually I'm good at not thinking about stuff, but I can't seem to shake this from my mind.

The boy in front of me has his sword in hand. I could see him standing a shot at winning this damn thing. I don't know if he's killed anyone yet or not though. Or if he's capable of it. But heck, I wouldn't have guessed in my whole life that I'd be able to kill a little girl I just met and I did that easy enough. Maybe he could too.

I look him in the eyes and I ask him "You here to finish me off?"

Daisy has a chat with September, no Attack

[Deleted]

May 12, 2020 20:24:07 GMT -5 @fabulousraven said:

beauden mortuus d12m / no attack / 6th post

beauden mortuus d12m / no attack / 7th post

b e a u d e n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

If I could breathe, I would have said something to her better than "eat me." There were crows above my head as is, squawking at their own right and calling for my flesh. Every pound of it. 

It's hard not to choke on my blood at this point, frantic panic in my arms and I swallow down something ugly. I can't keep myself from crying, from the screams of their swords cutting into my, cutting out of me. Cutting my ass apart, this was a lot more five minutes ago if I must admit. 

The blood burn sinks in, my eyes teared between my own disgusting sobs, eat me. And my own pity. Fear strung up along my rib cage and the only thing holding it down is the boot of district ten male on my throat, fucking eat me. Chop me apart, decimate me, it's just a body. It'll be less worth than the ash it'll be burned into and my own regret at this point is not registering as an organ donor. 

"Fuckin' kill me already, lover boy." 

5SlaaBiV30
1-69

fucking very bitch!!!

·1-69

[sidney]

May 12, 2020 19:50:28 GMT -5 sidney said:

jasen hargrove / 9th post - 9th-10th attack / 1038 & 1176

J A S E N

His sandal clad foot presses into the boy's trachea, his toes flexing against the sole, pressing even harder against his writhing and whimpering. It feels like a turning point. He could very well lift his leg and extend his hand and pull the tribute on the ground back to his feet. Jasen could slice away a piece of his shirt and press it to the dozens of cuts and scrapes and gaping wounds to try and staunch them. If he wanted to, he could lay down his sword and save this boy's life. It would be the empathetic thing to do. It would be what the girl who'd just had her head stabbed through would have done. 

She would have offered peace. 

Undoubtedly, it'd be the harder choice. It'd be the human thing to do. Perhaps it'd even deem him a good man. But the mere thought causes bile to rise in the back of the throat. Maybe once upon a time he would have made an argument for that label: a good man. Before he was faced with war and hopelessness and betrayal. Whenever he donned that Keeper uniform, he felt as such. Like he was justified and determined and good. 

Now he just feels like a monster, with more bloodstained notches on his belt than he'll ever be able to count. There's no use in trying to be good any longer. So for the second time today, Jasen says:

"Your wish is my command."

( attacks beauden )

HR0k7XZCrIsword

[ Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage ]

He sinks his blade into flesh, wishing more than anything to just fucking end this. He's sick of wasting time talking to a dead man, and there's so many more left yet to kill. So many other kids left standing between him and victory. 

He's not even sure that's what he wants—to win. He knows anyone in this arena would say he doesn't deserve it. All he's done since he entered this fight was spill blood without remorse. Does such savagery make a victor? Only time will tell. But what he is completely sure of is that it's this boy's turn to die.

( attacks beauden )

sword

[ Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage ]

( permission from rave to attack beauden twice slash slash!! i may edit this dependin on rolls we'll see lmao)

sword·sword

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

May 13, 2020 15:13:55 GMT -5 thompson harvard - d2b - arc said:

[ d5m september yorgos | post #7 | no attack ]

[ d5m september yorgos | post #8 | no attack ]

{ september }

The first time I saw life’s curtain call was when I was a young boy before the war. We never really sold off our horses when they got older and the hourglass of sand faced them. We just let their time come. If we felt it was needed, like they kept going on and on and on but never falling, we would consider alternate options. But in our heart we felt that nature should capture nature, as life and death were nature’s colonies in spirit. You came to life, entered death.

One day when I was seven years old I remember going out with Mum to check on the horses. There was one horse that had specifically grown old, but to me they were just tired. Like how Gramma had grown all of those wrinkles on her face. I always thought it was their skin being so tired. Our skin is so precious and holy, clear. I often thought the reason my skin wasn’t wrinkled was because I was full of energy. Gramma always moved so slowly, so tired. The horse moved that exact same way, so I assumed she was tired. That’s what I thought death was at the time. You just got so tired one day that sleep was the only option, and you went to this never ending sleep.

Our first check of the day the past few weeks had been that horse specifically, Mum wanted to make sure she was okay and I hadn’t known any better to think much of it. Mum normally lagged behind because my little feet always got so excited to see the horses, give them a pat and a carrot. I was always so happy and joyful to see them because I saw them as family. Upon getting to her cage - Adeline - I noticed she was lying down, which was rather unusual for most horses. Mum got there and she let out a small, audible gasp and then concentrated herself. ”Well, it was bound to happen eventually.” I looked at her, confusion written in my eyes from the comment. She then explained to me the cycle - that they were in theory sleeping, but you don’t close your eyes to sleep. They had completed their cycle and it was time to go.

-

She turned and looked at me with a blank expression for a moment. Like a corpse. I thought she was actually dead and it was just gravity lolling her over. She then speaks; ”not much, just death an’ stuff”. I see her then struggle to sit up with the half of an arm she has. Not that it was cut off, but a broken arm is pretty damn useless when the other one is a few feet away. ”She did a number on me, that one.” The girl then nodded at the limp body a few feet next to her to follow by looking me dead in the eye. ”You here to finish me off?”

”Oh.” I hadn’t even thought about that. With my sword in hand and my tall figure standing over her, it then was apparent to me how much of a killer I looked to her. I was perfectly fine compared to her, and quite frankly, the rest of the arena. My eyes saw a whole world of hurt, and as each body fell, all the audience would do is cheer it. ”Well, I wasn’t exactly planning to. But that’s up to you I guess.” I looked down at her with a light shrug.

I thought you could need a hand.

[he do be doing nothing doe]