The Bloodbath

[Arrows]

May 15, 2020 2:02:52 GMT -5 Arrows said:

[Remus / Post #9 <> Attack / 1075]

[Remus / Post #10 <> Attack / 1028]

REMUS

The first time they put a gun in Remus' hands was when he was twelve. Remus pulled the trigger once before spending the rest of the day sobbing from the shock wave it sent shooting through his body. He got used to it though, the powerful jolt that came before the flying metal. Arms training was mandatory for all soldiers, even scouts. Remus was never a marksman, even with both eyes. In fact, he often stuck to the switchblade he carried with him on Assignments instead. Right now though, Remus wishes he did have that gun again.

As his sword tears into Henry's arm, Remus' face grimaces alongside the other boy's. He doesn't deserve this. He has spent the last three years of his life in prison enduring torture. He shouldn't have to die a slow and painful death because of Remus' skills with a sword. Yet here they are on a field of ashes and that is exactly what is happening. Where is the mercy that Remus' Father used to talk about? He can't find it anywhere inside of this bloodstained hell. 

“Get me in the heart, Remus, I know you’re missing an eye,”

Henry's hand moves to his chest where he crafts a scarlet 'X' over his heart.

"Aim here."

The other boy whispers as his own blade barely skims across Remus' skin. All the blonde boy from District Four wants to do is scream or cry out against this all, but that's not what Henry wants or needs. Remus has to put himself aside for the Assignment, their last Mission. Instead of screaming, he rolls his eye and pokes the edge of his sword onto the mark Henry has placed.

"Exactly, aren't I the one with one eye? Maybe you should trying aiming a little bit too."

A smirk settles over Remus' face as he steadies himself and withdraws his blade. The songs of the past are still swimming in the streams of Remus' mind and he can feel them filling him. He can see the shadowed shapes of soldiers singing while bombs explode in the dirt above them. He can see the bullets burying themselves into Levi's back. He can see the swarm spilling out of the sky with their stingers ready. He can see them all in the sheen of his sword as it swings. Remus' eye falls on the red X painted in pain. Maybe it's just like plucking a red rose, a very important red rose.

"Everything is going to be better...I promise."

Remus attacks Henry Hughes :: Sword
Dw1KprGLz4sword
{Severed Something}
Stabbed Through Heart :: Per Cass' Request

sword

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

May 14, 2020 23:54:22 GMT -5 D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] said:

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #12 | 5189]

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #13 | 5155]

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

Daisy Holliday

13. Spring Flowers

So much for being all fancy with my words.

I go to headbutt Juno and she blocks me easily. Darn body bleeding out is making me so much slower than I was when I was fighting earlier. This ain't good for me. No ma'am, not one bit. I'm here heaving with every breath and getting blood on everything in a 3-foot circle around me, and she's standing there looking so poised and deadly next to me. I ain't a betting gal, but I think anyone watching would be real stupid to bet against her in this fight.

She speaks to me again as if I didn't just run head-first at her in the middle of our conversation. She says "I think I know where the end is, but it isn't happy, Daisy, it isn't happy for anyone." Damn, why does she gotta speak so poetically? She's so good with her words, and I sure as hell ain't.

She takes a moment to think about things I've got no business knowing about, so I take this moment to catch my breath a bit and think of all the ways my goose is cooked. There ain't much room in my brain for any other kinda thinking. Just fight or die. Or both.

It's do or die, and I'm getting closer and closer to the die side.

Her quiet moment of thinking passes and I hear her say "The end won't be happy, but it can still be good." Quick as a flash she's got her sword out and set to skewer me. Well, there we go. This'll be the end of Ol' Daise. Turned into a human dart board in my final moments. Instinctually I turn away.

By some sort of miracle the blade misses me completely, and her sword-wielding arm bangs into my broken one. Holy mackerel I'm still breathing! I ain't a fool to think it's my own skill though; this was blind luck and we both know it. Now she's left herself more open and I have another shot at trying to get her before she can finish me off. Adrenaline is coursing through my entire being (minus an arm), and I know it's the only thing keeping me standing at this point.

There's no time to think, I just need to act. Do or Die.

I need to do.

Or I die.

Daisy headbutts Juno (unarmed attack)
P|5y2C8t85unarmed
RESULT: 5155 -- Bruised Left Calf -- 2 damage (Unarmed)

unarmed

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

May 14, 2020 16:38:34 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 8 | no attack ]

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 9 | 1157 + 1022 ]

You've always been infinitely curious about the shape of fear.

The ways in which is shapes and changes a person whether it's there or it's not. The presence, the absence, the utter denial of its existence—it says a lot about a person how they handle their fears. Maybe it's because as a general rule of thumb people always say that you should be approached in the manner of a feral animal: steady-on, refusing to let your gaze wander, and most important of all—fear bit the fuck back.

This girl, if your past is anything to go off of, should have been dead at the end of your blade the second she cried out for mercy, the second she started to sob and repent.

But you've never been anything other than unpredictable, so you suppose that even Angel could have seen this particular moment coming.

Even better still, he knows exactly what you're going to do when the boy with the forest of matted curls thinks that he can sneak up behind you, thinks that he can invade this moment you've created, the one that you're trying to honor in the ways that only you know how.

With the truth, and with blood.

They're the only things you've ever really paid much attention to.

"I fucking see you," you spit, whirling around. You almost teeter off-balance, and if the other girl hadn't been right on the brink of death, you would probably feel something about turning your back on her, but as it is she's almost in Death's arms and she's sobbing, begging to be welcomed into her new home, and fuck. He is not going to ruin this moment.

[ 9f xime 'attacks' 3m eros, sword ]

HWu1oo4b6Ysword

[ 1157 - dg right thigh - 8.0 ]

[ 9f xime 'attacks' 3m eros, sword ]

sword

[ 1022 - miss - 0.0 ]

[ permission from jay for the double roll on a peaceful trib x ]

You are all just children, in the end.

Your sword digs into his thigh the first wave, but trying to attack twice sends you all kinds of off-kilter and you half-snarl to try and right yourself. It doesn't quite work, but it's the energy that you need to try and sort yourself out.

"Did you think you could sneak up on me?"

sword·sword

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

May 15, 2020 8:26:09 GMT -5 D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza] said:

juno del air / post six / 1127

juno del air / post seven / 1092

But time decides against Daisy's ending, which is okay, that's fine, but it creates a stir in my mind about what happens next. Because I look at her and see someone helpless but not hopeless, and there's still sparks oozing from every inch of her body but I stay careful to make sure I stay unburned.

There once thick air seems much more distant in these moments, and though there are surely the voices of other tributes looming over my shoulder, looking into Daisy's eyes creates a silence that wins the fight over sound. This feels like a sonic summoning of some sort, a call to arms because she's stood there, threatening to be a survivor despite everything, and I'm stood here, a killer who just wants to live. And perhaps this all-encompassing silence is something like what Lark experiences on the daily, because there's something frightening about standing in a place that could shatter in a second. There's something scary about being here and watching someone over there and being too fearful, too accepting of fate to try to change it.

Dust gets kicked into the air when she lashes out against my leg, the impact point set to create a violet bruise that'll bloom into blue like a flower in the spring. But not even the sandy particles manage to break the silence between us, and it slowly moves from encompassing me to trapping me and there's a part of me that wants to choke to prevent the world from closing in anymore.

But I am Juno and she is Daisy, and there isn't much I know about her and there's not much she knows about me. But that's doesn't mean I should erase this broken serenity from such a severe moment; this is not even my moment to live because though it is her moment to die, it also her moment to endure. There may not be much time left for Daisy Holliday, little things can still be good, even if they are broken, even if they are twisted and sick, even if they are the last.

I wonder if this silence comes from the peace of knowing the world is ending. Because I think about how my sister died and the uncertainty of it all, the unpredictably and surely there must have been panic in the last few moments she lived. She would have only had a few seconds to come to terms with never seeing the sunset again, never kissing us goodbye or never living the life everyone has a right to live.

But this is a world of wrongs where people fight for a broken justice. Peace is fleeting, like how you remember your dream in the morning but forget it a moment later. Somewhat ethereal, but always gone in an instant. I don't think I've known real peace; no silence or perfect night sleep can ever compare to soldiers laying down their armour and giving out bullets to little girls and little boys to play dolls with.

And though seemingly unbreakable, the broken is what breaks this mighty silence. The sword sings so sweetly in my hands, but I choke it to try and get it to stop, and I tighten my hands so tight that I feel that silence all over again. Only this time, it is deeper and darker, and the peace it once held is nothing more than just another memory.

I am just Juno, but I am so much worse.

[ d3f juno del air attacks d11f daisy holliday ]

_WxbqGlYyTsword

[ 1092 -- Shallow Cut on Neck -- 4.0 damage ]

sword

[cass]

HENRY -

There's a night and then a raging sea
With a boat to anchor or sail
Of the two, which will it be?
The thunder has begun
The storm is gonna come

Just as he tells Henry that it’s going to be better the blade struck home. It passed through his flesh and bone to reach his heart. And then it stopped. Henry’s sword dropped to the dust, and he looked up at Remus, hands hanging by his side. This was it, he was done, it was all over. Behind Remus was four men, they stood like a group of friends, hands around shoulders, smiles lighting up their faces. Mason waved at him, and Henry felt the tears well up in his eyes.

His house with his ma and pa had never been a home, he had always been a monster to them. They had never accepted him for his desires. They had never understood that it was instinctual, an unstoppable force within himself to hurt things. To him, it had always been a mere fascination to kill, to break bones and see animals and people writhe in pain. It fed him, and they had never understood.

The squad that stood before him had been made of broken things and monsters just like him. That had been his family, and they had taken him under their wing and looked after him. He could see Mike, beckoning him forwards, wrapping an arm around Dan’s shoulder.

”Remus,” Henry looked away from the men, focusing his gaze on the Rebel soldier in front of him, “you’re almost there.” It wasn’t enough, they were too far away, he wasn’t dead yet and Henry Hughes was ready to die. The pain that came from his movements was nothing in comparison to the bliss he could feel beginning to group into his legs. They were cold and numb, and they shook as they struggled to keep him upright.

He grabbed the blade, skin digging into blood coated metal as his grip tightened on it. “Just a little more,” he pulled on the sword, grimacing in pain as it cut into his palms, striking bone. He wanted it to go all the way into his heart, not scratch it. It had to end here and now, he was tired, his body was being held together only through determination and now there was none left. Henry was ready to sleep, ready to join that group of men -his family. They had waited so long for him, they had seen him suffer, seen him get tortured. They were here to take him home.

Henry’s hands weren’t strong enough. They could hardly move the blade. “Help me, Remus,” he gasped. Remus looked at him, there was a deep sadness etched into the other boys' frown. They were both tired. For two people that had barely started their lives they had been aged by their worlds. The boy’s would have liked Remus, they’d have thought he was a bit soft, but they would have liked him.

“Just a little more.” He whispered, mirroring the other boy's words, and together they pushed the blade deeper into Henry’s heart. He felt it go, felt it pierce through his body. “You’re almost there,” he could hardly hear the words that Remus spoke, his eyes shifted past him, looking once more to Mike’s smiling face and Mason’s stupid grin.

“No more pain,” Remus’ words were a whisper that followed him into the darkness.

- HUGHES.

[shrimp]

May 14, 2020 23:40:08 GMT -5 shrimp said:

[zephyr] kestell | post #7 | 1095

[zephyr] kestell | post #8 | --

[attr="class","w460"]

_\|/_

You give them time. It is all you can do. The pain both sharpens and blurs: your senses scream and you wish to run, to hide, but instead you plant your feet and listen to the jeers of an audience, hear a tribute scream out as they are cut down, hear voices layered with malice, or with the seething overcoat of agony. Now, swept along the current, you wipe the blood on the remains of your cape.

They speak.

"The floor is wood under the sand here. It's not like they worked with us on that. They don't deign to work with. They come and they take. It's not a partnership."

Of course, the Capitol is not as elegant as they think they are. They raid and pillage like their ancestors before them, and then deem their massacres as manifest destiny. For the gall of neutrality your district works to pay a debt: in the glint of a diamond and the stitch of a doll's mouth. Seven--you gather--does so through the branches that spiral towards the heavens and fork out in fractals. How old were the trees that now line their coffin? How long until there is nothing left but the stumps of what once was?

And how many generations, as time swims forward, will pass before this tragedy is nothing more than a happening? Already Panem's culture of death feels omnipresent, though perhaps it's because an entire generation has grown up with the sounds of bombs falling outside their doors; so when twenty four deaths, sensationalized and disparaged, do not matter, what does? Nothing will stop Seven's sisters from fading into history without a footnote, their actions tossed aside like spare kindling. You think of [Anchorage]'s fate, buried under the tomes that she held so dear as the university trembled and crumbled, destroyed with malice; you think of her name, listed as a casualty when it was truly an assassination.

There is nothing you can do about those whose work lies underfoot. But "if they built this, or if they didn't, they deserve better." Now, the only solace you can give them is their sibling's quick death.

[zephyr] attacks alexei | sword
H6C18iArIzsword
1075 -- Stabbed in Bicep -- 8.5 damage

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

[Arrows]

May 15, 2020 12:53:27 GMT -5 Arrows said:

[Remus / Post #10 <> Attack / 1028]

[Remus / Post #11 / No Attack]

REMUS

Oh-

Remus feels the sword stop, its teeth deep beneath the 'X' on Henry's chest. Everything suddenly sighs into silence, the singing goes mute. Remus' eye stares into the lights of Henry's watching while their flickerings of life extinguish. Remus can feel his teeth tighten to bite back his bitter urge to cry. Now is when he needs to find the strength of the soldier his sword is slaying. He needs to stand tall as he watches Henry's sword slip from his hands and into the sand forever. He needs to stay standing for them both now.

"Remus,"

Henry's voice startles him, but he dares not move an inch knowing where his blade is resting. What is he supposed to do? What can he do to make this easier for him? How does anyone make dying easier for someone else? Remus' fingers begin to shake just as Henry continues to talk.

"You're almost there. Just a little more. Help me, Remus."

Remus feels the breath leave his lunges in a subtle sob. There are no tears, but every inch of Remus' body is shuddering, shaking with tension. He searches Henry's eyes for something other than the sorrow he feels as the other boy's hands wrap around the neck of the sword. He finds it, a peaceful center to this storm of sadness. Henry's eyes are heavy, tired from the short life he's lived. He wants to go and Remus has to let him. Remus forces himself to speak on the breath of a waning whisper.

"Just a little more," Remus echoes sliding the sword just deep enough to feel the final fragments of resistance fall away, "You're almost there."

He goes, his hands falling forward. Remus catches him, cradling him in some small embrace. Remus can feel Henry's blood seeping into his clothes, but he doesn't care. He holds him as tightly as he held his brothers because at the end of the day, Henry Hughes is family. The rebels were all he ever knew and now his fight can finally end. He can go on to find the ones who went on before him. Remus can be the one who's left behind, he always has been.

"No more pain."

Henry Hughes dies a moment later.

Softly, as if not to disturb a sleeping child, Remus lowers Henry to the sand. Even in death he seems at peace, almost as though his soul has swam from his eyes and into the skies. Remus closes his eyes for him and puts his brother to rest. Wow, Remus thinks to himself, it feels like the world just got smaller. His eye finally releases a single tear from its well. It always does. 

For the time he spent with Henry, Remus completely lost track of the rest of the world. The Games are winding down with wounded standing over slaughtered. Exhaustion is the mask of every tribute still standing on these sun baked sands. Remus' focus falls to a girl who he watches cover a corpse she has slain with a cape. Has her world been shrinking in this slaughter as well?

Walking over to her is more troublesome than Remus expected. The wound on his leg is agonizing with every step and he even has to stop once to readjust himself before continuing. However, he does reach her just as she is standing up from laying the cape. Why does it feel like words are meaningless and so important at the same time?

"You didn't have to do that, lay the cape over them."

Remus says staring at the covered corpse before drawing his eye up to the fellow survivor.

"Thank you. I've seen too many bodies left like nothing. They deserve better than that."

Remus lays Henry down and closes his eyes.
Remus approaches Zephyr and talks.

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

May 15, 2020 10:23:37 GMT -5 revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay said:

eros desrosier | post 6 | no attack

eros desrosier | post 7 | no attack

EROS

Kings were never supposed to be afraid, they were supposed to accept fate as it is given — but in this moment all I felt was fear. It was strange and foreign, the only thing coursing through my veins being fear. Once I heard her voice I felt it, a feeling of hopelessness, a feeling that I was about to die.

There was only cruelness in her voice, a certain darkness to her tone. Maybe I was afraid of her, of death. But maybe I could be ok with that. "Did you think you could sneak up on me," she barks, her sword digging into my thigh, and before I can brace for her second swing, I feel her sword glide by my face. I couldn't help but sigh, as there was a certain relief from her off-kilter swing.

My knees cradle the sand when I fall, my sword falling out of reach. The sun causes me to squint - to block the blinding light with my hand, even through the pain that jolts when I do it.

If I was gonna die, I wanted to see her, to stare her in the eyes as I take my last breath. If I was gonna die I want her to know that I wasn't afraid, even though I knew that wasn't true.

"Get on with it," I exhale, tilting my head to the side to get a look on the girl who begs for death, "looks like you have other obligations to attend to."

I laugh, even though no piece of my whole feels happy, I laugh. Not at the girl who seeks enlightenment through death, not at the girl whose face is only painted by cruelty, but I laugh at me. A king, with no crown, destined to die in far from fashionable clothing with no urge to fight back. I shift my eyes back toward her own and I laugh again, through the blood that coats my pearly white teeth, and through the fear that still pulses through my veins.

"Be done with it."

eros does not attack

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

May 15, 2020 15:41:11 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 9 | 1157 + 1022 ]

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 10 | 1160 + 1183 ]

The boy falls to his knees, pain richocheting through him so badly that the sword falls out of his hands, and you know beyond knowing that once again, there's a life at the end of your sword and you've plenty happy to take it.

"Poor little pretty boy," you spit, something sharp and jagged ripping through your chest, tearing your heart piece from piece, aorta separating from left ventricle as you truly except the terrible thing that you are, the thing that you have chosen to become, the thing that you've chosen to let the Capitol and its Keepers turn you into. "Nobody's first choice, huh?"

The truth of the things is this: the monster is growing too big for the space inside of your chest, too powerful to be caged by something as mundane as a set of ribs and a pair of struggling lungs. Your fragile human spine cannot bear the weight of this thing for much longer.

You don't question it when you take that little hop in his direction, don't question yourself or your intentions when you fold yourself in half awkwardly, bring your mouth as close to his matted curls as you possibly can on a single leg. Absently, you wonder what the rest of the world sees in this moment, a child on his knees in front of you and another mirrored behind you.

No matter the image you make, your words are crueler than ever, a whispered breath in his ear before you use your blade against him.

"Looks like even here, in death, you're nothing but a distraction."

[ 9f xime 'attacks' 3m eros, sword ]

vTumO9E104sword

[ 1160 - miss - 0.0 ]

[ 9f xime 'attacks' 3m eros, sword ]

sword

[ 1183 - severed right calf at knee - 9.0 ]

[ permission from jay for the double roll on a peaceful trib x ]

Since stepping foot into this place, you have never once question what it is that these people have asked of you, never once questioned the terrors and the horrors and the atrocities that they wanted you to commit.

They said kill twenty-three children, and you get to live.

Getting to live is the only motivation that you've ever needed. You don't need the promise of money, don't need the promise of glory, fuck, don't even need the promise of peace. The one thing, the only thing that you have ever fought to keep doing just for the sake of fucking doing it, is living.

You're not going to stop now.

"You know what they say about substance over style," you say, voice soft, chest heavier than you could have ever expected it to be before, finally, you turn your attention back to the girl weeping on her knees.

sword·sword

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

May 15, 2020 2:46:45 GMT -5 thompson harvard - d2b - arc said:

[ d5m september yorgos | post #11 | attack 1113 ]

[ d5m september yorgos | post #12 | no attack ]

{ september }

Noelle could never sleep with her door closed. Even during daylight, she did not want to ever be trapped in some place with no escape from any monsters. She thought that closing all your exit routes allows for the worst demons to come out. The ones lurking in the shadows and waiting for the strong to become weak, that’s when they attack. And in her mind, she was one of the strongest people in the world. The strong never had to be strong - they were to be brave, charismatic and ready to serve her people in the most noble way possible. She’s always believed she would be the perfect fit for a queen. She’d be able to get rid of all of the monsters in the world, send them to isolation or execution. Noelle wanted the world to be happier and she wanted to be the cause to make the world easier.

I always played along with her hopes and dreams. In her fictional hopes where she’d grab a long stick and take a seat on the porch as her throne. I would always stand by her and we would spend long afternoons standing there. Noelle had her own mini crown formed from dandelions and grass that she had folded and weaved together with the help of Mum. We would stand there and comment on whatever passed by - the storms (”A storm is approaching, my majesty. I believe we shall enter the palace”), the animals (”My Queen, I believe one of the animals escaped from the zoo”). I would always address her by my queen, my majesty. As she ruled this land and I protected her from whatever monsters hid in the rolling hills of Five, and I truly felt like the knight for my queen. I would do anything to protect her. She was so innocent and pure from the world, and I never wanted that to change about her. I wanted her to keep her crown and her throne, I wanted her to be able to be her own queen over the land. Noelle was everything to me, more than the brain of Octavia and more than the brawn of Argos. Noelle was young, so young, and so so innocent.

And as my sword connected with the male’s thigh, I knew I had become that monster she was so scared of. I had become the person she refused to close her door to. I had become the person she wanted dead in her kingdom. I was the biggest criminal in the land. I broke the law of peace that she placed over us. What a horrible, awful knight I was.

My guilt built up like a fire catching onto deadwood and the ashes that came from it. I was a monster. I was Noelle’s monster. I was her brother and one of her biggest nightmares. I killed someone. I stared at the dead corpse before me. I did that. I killed him. Was Noelle watching that? I hope she wasn’t. I really hope she was sleeping - drifting away into some dream that did not include me as the villain, because I did not want to be Noelle’s nightmares. I didn’t want to be the person who removed her fiction from reality. But I was. I’d always be that person if I expected to return to her castle walls. I would’ve been stupid to think I was going to be this noble, clean-handed knight leaving this colosseum. I was always going to be that monster.

I just pray that I’m not Noelle’s. I can imagine her already hiding behind mom’s back if I were to get home. She’d be so so scared of the wolf I became. I used to be one of the other farm animals - the horse, the cow, the pig. I used to be peaceful. But I polymorphed into the wolf. I shed my coat and became the hungry wolf ready to attack anything at it’s notice. It was like I finally evolved into the killer I was always bound to be. But I was so nervous. So scared. I killed someone. I was their god at that moment. I was no God, though.

I was a coward. I was a filthy coward. I was the wolf that attacked the weak sheep because it was the easy way out. I felt so guilty for it - god if I were a god I’d resurrect him myself and tell him to kill me. I deserved it. I deserved being dead because I spent so many years protecting those goddamn rebels. I hated all of them. I hated feeling like I did a good deed protecting all of the rebels because I protected one single person. I hated Mum for making me help them. I was such a guilty sinner. My hands shook in fear and my head buzzed like the rumbles of lightning inside my head. It was already raining. I was so drenched in the downpour of guilt for taking someone’s life that I felt like God’s typhoon was the air surrounding me. My throat was tight with anxiety and my body trembled as if God had sentenced my bones to an eternal earthquake for my deeds.

I was the fool who listened to the serpent in my mind - the one whispering inside that said they deserved it. The brave were stupid. They should never hold such confidence when they’re not guaranteed victory yet. I bit the apple of temptation by killing him - Kyle - and I was a murderer. However, somewhere in my brain whispered that it was inevitable. If I wanted to return to Appa I would’ve done it anyway. I was a killer, of course, and I was not happy about it. I hated it. I hated knowing that the blood on my sword was what ended someone. My heart said I was no good and that I was evil. That I was a sinner. There was nothing worse than a killer in the world. But every sinner was not defined by sin. According to Grandpa, I was a sinner. I was a sinner for falling in love with someone that wasn’t a girl. I was a sinner for blood, a sinner for love. I was a sinner for protecting the rebels.

So, truly, if I were a monster, I believe I was a monster of many motions. The tides of trust, the rush of rebellion. The kick of killing. However, my crimes are still crimes. No matter how hard I try to survive this, and if I do, I won’t ever be able to escape. I’ll be stuck sitting in the stands and watching like the two past victors, feeling so burdened with the weight of watching what I had done years before. My crimes define my path, but they do not define me. I forced my eyes to pull away from Kyle. If I stood there any longer my body would probably be on top of his, and in any circumstance I’d end up like that, I wouldn’t be happy. I backed away from the scene slowly, as if I was trying to not set off a trap. My brain felt like it was moving miles faster than my feet were because it just wanted to get away. I don’t want to see it anymore. That body - that blood.. I didn’t want it in my vision. A murderer is only a murderer if he accepts his crown. I do not accept mine. Yet. His death was not my victory and my deed was not my sin. I was always a sinner, we all were. We were the moment we stepped in here and fought.

In that moment, backing away from Kyle, time felt frozen.

-

*Octavia’s perspective

Well, damn. The dude really did it. He really did it.

Argos and I had a talk about if we thought he’d fight someone willingly, let alone kill someone. He did. I shot my head over my shoulder to check for Noelle - we didn’t need her seeing this - and turned back to the television. Argos was next to me and our mother was watching hesitantly from the doorframe. At this point there’s about 7 tributes remaining. I looked at Argos, and he looked at me. But we said nothing. We knew how close he was. We knew. But we didn’t dare speak it into existence. We didn’t want to get hopeful for nothing.

Appa took his reaping really hard. He sat in the loft of the barn where him and September spent a lot of time together. I don’t think he left for anything other than a single plate of food. I think he felt guilty that he couldn’t save September or something. I never really got close to him - none of us did - September and Appa were their own duo that we let bond by themselves. He never even looked at the TV when he entered our home. He’d just figure out if September was alive if September returned, like a puppy waiting for its master at the train station.

-

I found myself back in one of the cages. No clue which one. I just wanted to be back in a cage. Surrounded. Sheltered. I missed that feeling I had with Appa where I could sit on our loft with the barn window open, staring at the sky. Not scared of life, not feeling so scared and lonely and empty. I tried tellin myself millions of times that I was no sinner. That I wasn’t a monster. I replayed the words inside my head like a record player. My body was shaking. My breath was trembling. Every single inhale and exhale was as if my entire body was vibrating. Taking a breath made my body tremble as if it was hard - but god I was so much better and healthier than the corpses lying dead out there.

"imnotasinnerimnotamonsteriamfightingtogethomeiamnotbadforkillinghim” I placed my sword into my belt and I found my arms around my knees and my face digging into my chest. I was so scared. So guilty. The weight of his life laid on me like the weight of a thousand skies and stars. As if everything that mattered lost its weight and it all just fell. My heart felt like it had dropped to hell and my fingers couldn't even grasp each other that well. They were shivering so much that they just could intertwine, there was no way I could clasp my palms together and pray. Not that I deserved it. I didn’t deserve prayer, I never did - Grandpa was right. I was filthy. I was a sinner. Murderer. My heart told me this with the persuasion of the same serpent that took me into its arms to commit it. My brain told me otherwise, my brain in it’s shivering, quivering mind repeated itself. "imnotasinnerimnotamonsteriamfightingtogethomeiamnotbadforkillinghim”.

Again.

"imnotasinnerimnotamonsteriamfightingtogethomeiamnotbadforkillinghim”. I tried inhaling a deep, shaky breath, but it failed. I could not control my quivering body. So much adrenaline, fear, anxiety and guilt filled my veins to cause me to feel like I was being controlled by an otherly force. I was like a baby just learning how to talk. I couldn’t say anything else because I was so focused on telling myself the truth that my head told me. I was so hopelessly devoted to this idea that I was not a killer. I rocked myself in that position, on the ground, rocking back and forth. Whispering to myself the same tune of "imnotasinnerimnotamonsteriamfightingtogethomeiamnotbadforkillinghim”. I was starting to softly cry, not anything close to a wail, because I didn’t dare show that much emotion. They could still be ready for war for all I know.

All I needed to see was the head of the shadow approaching me to turn the crying even worse. It wasn’t a dash, it was a run. I didn’t make a sound, though. I couldn’t. My breath was so choked up that I could barely make a sound. I just kept silent.

"imnotasinnerimnotamonsteriamfightingtogethomeiamnotbadforkillinghim”

Through broken tears and stifled words I kept telling myself the lie of my heart and the truth of my soul. The shadow still kept coming and I had to control my breath for a minute, just a few minutes. I had to whip my stutter into a gallop. My emotions still held onto the reins, but I stopped the tears for the moments it got closer. I didn’t look up, I didn’t move. I kept my head down because I was begging - pleading for any forgiveness. From God, from Noelle. From Appa or from Kyle’s parents. I just wanted to be forgiven for the horrible, awful, disgusting deed I brought upon myself. ”Please…” my voice felt like it was quieter than Robyne’s, her fearful cry in the cage only hours earlier. ”Please don’t hurt me.”

Please do. I deserve to be punished for my crimes. I don’t deserve to breathe - to inhale the air here.

I didn’t have the gut to say it though.

[ edit; forgot to say no attack lol oops ]

[ali]

May 14, 2020 12:56:11 GMT -5 ali said:

Desdemona Shaw // Post #10 // No attack

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #11 // No Attack

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?

There was no reply.

Desdemona sobbed into her hands, her whisper melting away like spring snow. She felt hollow, her heart hudding painfully inside her chest. She wanted to scream, to curse, to spit on her forgotten God for leaving her but she was too tired. She could barely keep her hands lifted to her lips. She knew her God had forgotten her here like a play thing, tossed aside by a disinterested child because of the blood that stained her nail beds. 

"The crime wasn't something you chose," the voice was sudden, and Desdemona found herself flinching slightly as she looked up to meet the woman who'd spoke. Her dark hair hung in tight curls around her face, blood spattering the warm brown skin like the freckles that were delicately painted across the bridge of her nose. She was a heavenly being, in the form of a girl. Her reckoner. 

"But if it's mercy you want, all you have to do is ask."

Before you can reply, she moves with Godlike swiftness despite the lack of leg. Her blade glistens golden, like the fury of God, as she drives the sword through his body as if it her nature. His body falls away, crumbling at her hand, and he hits the ground with the same sickening thud as Petra had done. Desdemona barely flinched as the murder unfurled before her, her eyes unblinking as the girl turned to her, her blade dripping with the strangers blood. 

Her lips twitched into a smile. tears streaming down her face. She could taste her tears on her lips as she spoke "Please." she whispered softly, her arms falling to her sides as she slowly accepted her fate. Her hand carefully wrapped arond her own weapon and before the girl could react, to try and defend herself, Desdemona extended the handle of the weapon towards the angel, the harbinger of death before her. 

"..I have never been able to make my own choices....but...but this." She said, reaching forward with her shaking finger tips to move the girls free hand to the hilt of Desdemona's sword. Clasping the angels fingers around the hilt, holding them tightly there for a long second. "....this...this will be mine. My choice alone..." her voice is barely louder than a whisper as she drops her hand away from the girl. 

Her eyes glistened, ocean blue, as she closed her eyes softly and waited. 

[Desdemona gives Ximena her sword to kill her with]
lyrics: no time to die by billie eilish

[shrimp]

May 15, 2020 20:21:16 GMT -5 shrimp said:

[zephyr] kestell | post #8 | 1075

[zephyr] kestell | post #9 | no attack

[attr="class","w460"]

Despite your denial, you could have stopped, though it would have led to your death. But you didn't, and here is where all your paths have led--to a sword and a strike and a blade dropping as their knees follow suit. Seven looks to you, in this moment, and you see a glimmer in their eyes: of fear, of mourning, and you are not sure whether it is for themselves, or for their family, or for a future stolen, or for a future that will forever be blind. But it is certainly not for you.

They deserve better. "We all do." And they squeeze their eyes tight and bow their head, the wind turning to a shriek, echoing the cries of a ravenous choir. You cannot respond: what else can you say to allay their fears? You are already Death's weapon, or even Death herself. An apology will do nothing but put more strain on their soul, give them more work to do as they walk towards their end and you try to lift the burden that settles heavy on your frame. No, you promise the forest, who reaches out for its child. You will make it fair. Not just; but with ease, like breathing.

Your hand, clasped tight on their shoulder, is the only solace you can give.

_\|/_

When they are still, gravity helps you lay them down. It is here that your fingers begin to tremble, and your stomach feels like it's tearing in two, and your eyes sting with a mixture of long-settled dread and ever mounting guilt. It takes longer than it should; you take their sword and you take their cape, and you drape the latter carefully over their body because this, at least, shows the smallest of respect, one the Capitol doesn't deign any of you worthy to bear--just worthy of them to take. You remain there, crouched, for a time; Seconds? Minutes? Eons? The clamor of the arena has died with the voices who fought for their lives.

Congratulations, you've made it this far. Was it worth it?

A shadow moves in the corner of your eye and you turn. Your hand grips your sword tighter, but the figure is too far away to do any damage; instead they look at you and they look at Seven, and they say Thank You, and with those words the dam cracks and you inhale, an ugly sob escaping from your throat. No, you think, and try to will it back down, but it is as if Atlas, holding the world, has slipped from the perch, and now all the pressure is in the wrong places. Tears, boiling with anger, find their way down to the tip of your chin; you wipe them away with the back of your hand. It is not the time, and you distinctly feel like it will never be the time. Why should a killer deserve to feel remorse? Why should a killer deserve to feel anything at all? It's almost funny, how one tribute has no arm and this one has no eye and yet they seem more whole than you will ever be.

You respond when your throat is capable of speech; not smooth and polished like when you command a room, but hoarse and quiet, and somber, and true. "They have sisters." It was the least you could have done.

You inhale again, this time with more stability in your lungs, breathe out and wipe your face once more, and in the gaze of this other you find yourself self-conscious, judged starkly. "Sorry, it's...I've seen bodies," laid out in rows in a hospital ward, sediment from the buildings' collapse still hovering in the air. You remember tying a cloth around your face to protect your lungs and then digging through rubble with bleeding fingers, finding twisted metal and tattered paper and suddenly, [Moment], broken, but alive. But never [Anchorage]'s weathered hands. "Not like this."

You thought, trapped in your cage with the clock ticking, that you could handle spilling blood for another glimpse at life. But there is still some good in you yet, and it screams. The only one who can hear it is yourself.

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

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

May 15, 2020 21:55:09 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 10 | 1160 + 1183 ]

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 11 | 1014 + 1106 ]

The boy is dead, and you don't have a single word left for him.

Please, she begs, and you think that you should probably feel shivers run down your spine, but all you feel is the burn of adrenaline, covering you in a strange kind of peace. You don't know why you made her ask for it, her own death, don't think there's many people in the world who would force a person to say those words out loud, but you did.

Maybe if you were a better person, you'd have killed her quickly, the second she fell to her knees sobbing, put her out of her so desperately apparent misery quicker than the time it took her to fall to her knees and pray. You wouldn't have to play pretend when you act like you care if she lives in her misery or dies to find her peace, wouldn't have to even think about whether or not killing her makes you a bad person.

Because, really, shouldn't it be obvious?

You're not good.

No matter how hard you've tried in this life, and to be sure, you haven't tried hard, but even if you had you don't think that you'd have turned out any differently, not the way that you grew up, not the way you knew spilled blood better than you knew the ancestral version.

And you've never been any good at saying sorry, so you won't apologize for the beast beating against your chest, tearing your heart apart and building it back up into something stronger, something better, something that could win.

She takes your hand in her own, presses her own sword into your palm, and this one is different from the one you picked up for yourself, more different even still from the one you stole for the girl with the speech. Both of your have killed now, but there's something in this blade that the girl gives you that you don't know how to put into words, don't know if you'll ever be able to fully understand, but you're standing there on one leg, dropping your own sword to hold hers, and a voice, soft and gentle and kind, whisper from the back of your head.

It's a blessing, it says.

If you listen closely, it sounds like Papa.

You don's say anything when you shift her blade, the silver of it catching in the light.

[ 9f xime 'attacks' 2f des, sword ]

0yQcf3WR5_sword

[ 1014 - sc left hip - 3.5 ]

[ 9f xime 'attacks' 2f des, sword ]

sword

[ 1106 - sc on back - 4.0 ]

[ permission from ali x ]

The adrenaline is a flood in your veins and you know that it's surely the only thing thats keeping you swinging anymore, the only thing that is saving you. Well, as much as it's saving you, it's also probably killing you, keeping you moving, keeping you fighting—but you can't stop. Not now. Not two dead girl's blades in either of your hand, one of them at the end of her own blade.

It's a fire in your blood to outshine the red sun beating down on you, blistering your skin and blinding your eyes.

"I hope you find your peace," you say for the second time since stepping foot into this place, a hollow reincarnation of the words that you had given to the girl standing her ground before. "I hope that it's worth it in the end." Your peace has never been sitting still, safe and quiet in the light airy places of your house. Your peace, if it is to be anywhere, is here on the battlefield, following violent orders from above.

You're covered in warning signs saying as much.

Your skin is rough around the edges enough as it is, a lifetime of scrapes and bruises have made permanent homes across the planes of your body. Little jagged lines where a bullet grazed you or an enemy shoved you to the ground and into a puddle of sharp rocks. Standing there over this girl, your body is a weapon, even cut to pieces, your nails and teeth spikes and claws, tongue sharp like barbed wire.

If they cut off your arms too, you'll rip someone's neck out with your teeth.

Just watch.

sword·sword

[gamemaker kelsier]

May 15, 2020 3:26:42 GMT -5 gamemaker kelsier said:

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 8, 1162, 1024]

[Babe Adroxis 9M, post 9, no attack]

b a b e .

"This is a game, no wrongs, no right
Only a winner and a loser
You and I, oh you and I
We're not that different, you and I."

He gets blood on his cheek.

It's from the female tribute's body, from where her hand has come off at the wrist and in the end, he lied, he butchered her.

Babe wipes it away slowly and stares down at her. She looks even smaller like this when there's no life left within. He waits quietly for the numbness he feels to recede, for him to feel anything about her at all but it doesn't. He doesn't feel guilt or relief, there's just the knowledge that she's dead. He waits for a moment longer, watching as her blood gets soaked up by the ash and sand, her addition to the arena already beginning.

Years from now, tributes will have to wade through the shifting sands and ash of fallen tributes and Babe will be there in the thick of it, layers of sediment finally letting him rest in the packed sand below.

He reaches down and tucks a stray strand of the girl's hair behind her ear and then carefully runs her fingers over her eyelids to shut them. Babe has always been this way, cruel and cold in one moment and gentle in the next as if he's in a constant battle with himself. He doesn't know which is against his nature, he's afraid to find out.

Tribute after tribute falls around him and the fight meets a lull. The audience cheers as children meet their ends and Babe turns to stare at the stands for the first time. People sit far above the chaos below and shout abuse while eating and drinking. His tongue lies heavily in his mouth, he's thirsty. The sun is hot and there's sweat dripping down his back slowly.

Babe shuts his eyes, this isn't his first time on a battlefield and it's not the first time he's killed, just the first time he's killed someone so obviously innocent. His eyes search for a camera, he knows the gang is watching him back home, that Burma just saw him slaughter a little girl that couldn't have been older than his sister had been when Capitolite forces took her down.

But they had wanted this for him and when he was taken to the train station, they yelled after him and told him he'd better make it out alive. He opens his eyes and looks down at his hand and for a moment, there isn't a sword in it- just a gun.

He slips it into his belt and starts walking back the way he'd come from, there's a figure sitting in the girl's cage and for a small moment, he wonders if it's her already back to haunt him.

The closer he gets, the more he sees that it's a boy.

He's not the one from earlier, who Babe told to back off. This one sits wrapped up tightly within himself and Babe stops, a hand on the hilt of his sword. He isn't delusional, there can't be a break in this. The whole event is meant to be over in an hour and this boy just looks like another person in need of a quick end.

Babe's father releases the safety on his gun and gestures at the cage impatiently. He wonders if this is now going to be a regular thing, if his father is just going to keep existing outside of his dreams like this and more importantly if he's finally snapped. Either way, he almost pulls his sword from his belt but then something stops him.

The kid is muttering something to himself and at first, it's unintelligible. Then Babe slowly starts to hear it.

"I'm not a monster. I'm not bad for killing him."

Babe remembers his first kill too, the way that it shut down his brain. Tara had had to drag him home through Nine's underground and he'd been a basket case, unable to even catch his breath. He'd wake up in the middle of the night sometimes, short of breath and with blood on his hands.

He moves closer and the kid begs Babe not to hurt him, sounding just like the girl he just killed. It doesn't work like that, this kid has to know that but he isn't in his right mind. It'd be easy to end him right now, while he isn't in his right mind and Babe holds no sense of honour about the thought. This isn't a game, it's not chivalry or whatever, it's life or death and in the end, Babe is a survivor. Always has been, the bullet hole an inch away from his heart like a badge of honour.

Leaving this kid to his own worry wouldn't be hard but Babe's always had a bleeding heart.

"Embrace it," he says quietly and kneels in front of the kid, "If you want to get out of here, you're going to have to embrace it, kid."

"This is a panic attack, we're going to take breaths together, ok? Follow my breathing."

[uwu]

[thompson harvard - d2b - arc]

May 16, 2020 0:27:42 GMT -5 thompson harvard - d2b - arc said:

[ d5m september yorgos | post #12 | no attack ]

[ d5m september yorgos | post #13 | attack 1086 ]

{ september }

I probably looked stupid. I was in the Hunger Games, I just killed someone, and I’m sobbing. I looked like an idiot for sitting here on my hands and knees crying. I wanted to stop it but my body just was shaking so uncontrollably that I couldn’t ever stop myself. My brain logically kept telling myself that I was not doing anything bad but my heart buckled under guilt. It surprised me that I was still breathing - it was so easy for the shadow before me to just end it. But they didn’t. I haven’t even seen them yet. The shadow knelt down, I can see it out of the gap of my knees. I didn’t see a sword ready to attack, so I assume they were peaceful for the moment. ”Embrace it,” the voice said. I lift my head to look at him, my eyes red as my sword. I felt so silly. I laughed out of embarrassment that I was crying so hard. ”If you want to get out of here, you’re gonna have to embrace it, kid.”

Kid.

I was acting like one. I was acting how I wanted Noelle to see me because I was so scared of her fragile innocence being taken away by her brother killing someone that my body had broken down so heavily from the thought. I didn’t want to be this monster to her because I failed to realize that I would be that monster either way, but my heart was still on its sprint from the crime I committed. It makes sense though; I was a child in a murderer’s clothing. I was shackled to this arena and the only way my chains would be broken would be if I became that monster. ”This is a panic attack,” the boy continues. ”We’re going to take breaths together, ok?”

[/i] I gave him a subtle nod while still trying to control my body. ”Follow my breathing.”

So I did. As he inhaled I inhaled as well. He’d then exhale, I would then exhale. It was simple, and in that moment, we were one. Not sexually, not romantically. We held that peace that the fallen eye had been searching for. Eventually after this routine I found my breath back to it’s normal pace as my heart. It came back to its steady march of health. I was healthy and I was alive. And he was right, I need to get used to it. I let out a deep sigh. ”Thanks.” I looked up at the male with a mask of embarrassment. ”I knew, I guess.” I lifted my shoulders in the form of a shrug. ”I knew that I’d have to kill someone, I guess just in the moment afterward I panicked about how my younger sisters would react to seeing it.” I shook my head in disbelief to my fear and looked down at the ground again, sighed and then composed myself one final time.

My new friend gave a shake of his head. I’m not sure if he was actually a friend, just one of the first few friendly experiences I had in here, so it felt like as good of a friend I’d get. ”And when’s the last time a monster worried about that?” He offered it up as an anecdote to my earlier fear ringing like a bell, I was no monster. I was just trying to get home. ”Come on, it’s almost over.” I nodded and stood up slowly, dusting myself off in the process. ”Well, I guess we’re down to the last few.” I gave a look out of the cage to only see four other people. One of the girls I fought earlier was still alive, but heavily damaged, so I can only assume she was near her bed. Another guy was almost as bad, so I hoped that they just ended up being each other’s company for the next fight.

There were four of us that seemed pretty equal compared to the other two. Six. There were six people left and I’d have to kill at least one of them. The four of us seemed to gravitate towards one another - slowly - as if we knew they were our final opponents here. I pulled my sword back out of my belt to grip its handle. There was a girl of darker skin and dark brown curled hair, she was beautiful. Her face was lightly dusted with freckles, she almost looked like an actual doe. A mother, a protector. But I was the last person to assume what she was, I can only assume what she is.

All I knew was she had to be just as equal a killer as me at this point.

”Hi.” I didn’t really know what to say to her before sending my sword at her because it felt so weird at this point to try and make an actual friendly conversation as you’re fighting. I wanted to say I was sorry and I wanted this to be any other way but it can’t. I had no option but to fight. Looking at the other two I turned back to her, a statement for all three but directed to her in this moment. ”Good luck, I guess.” We all knew we couldn’t do anything about it. This fight was inevitable and we’d have to finish it sometime. So as the hunter in the forest, I aimed for the doe.

[attacked xinema, sword]
BjOuiGirD9sword
[sc]

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sword