The Bloodbath

[k!ah]

May 9, 2020 11:33:39 GMT -5 k!ah said:

[Nadia Ivanov | d6f | intro | no attack]

[Nadia Ivanov | d6f | post 2 | no attack]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(https://i.imgur.com/Nx8fr6b.jpg); background-position: top; background-repeat: repeat-x; background-color: 403722; width: 375px; padding:8px; border: 0px solid #948C75;] n a d i a. ✸   ✸   ✸ "I'm a soldier wounded So I must give up the fight. " The earth is painted with drops of scarlet. In some places it pools, telling a story of greater loss. Nadia watches as the girl before her dives forward, sword raised, ready to attack. No. She hadn't meant to encourage to girl to spill blood. But she did. She threw her blade against the fragile flesh of a blonde girl. It easily rips into her, just above the girls eyes. Tears of red begin to fall down the girls cheek. Nadia cringes, shrinking back. No. She had not meant fight back with physical force. At least not be the first to spill blood. Nadia could understand wanting to protect your self. She could understand fighting back out of fear. That was justifiable. But this girl hadn't raised her blade against a single person. She had been the first to raise the blade. but she couldn't understand this. She is drowning in the screams of clashing metal, children crying. It was pitiful sound. One that would haunt her dreams if she somehow managed to survive this massacre. Then she heard the loudest cheer of all. Wide eyed, she scans the arena and then she sees it. She the first tribute to fall. Her body hits the ground, blood seeping into the dusty earth beneath her. She doesn't get back up. She will never get back up again. She takes a few steps away. Bile rises in her throat and she takes a shaky step back. She nearly falls to her knees again, her body so revolted by watch could see, by what she could smell. Her breathing once again become uneven as she fight back the urge to expel she stomach juices onto the floor beneath her once again. She was stronger than this. She had to be stronger than this. Taking a deep breath she straightens up.Her heart still pounded in her ears, her hands not as steady as they should be. I can be brave. She heard about how kids refused to fight during the last games. She had seen them yelling at each other to stop. Pleading with the kids around them to put down there blades. To not be part of this sick game. But it takes all but one to blatantly ignore this request. To fight, to maim, to kill. After all if one person was fighting, then the games would never cease. If blood was being spilt, then the capitol was winning and we were nothing but pawns for them to manipulate. Stop! Please just stop! she wanted to scream. But what use would that do? The girl had made her choice about weather or not she she was going to fight. She was just doing what Nadia said. Finding away to survive. And maybe Nadia should swing her blade too. Maybe she should fight for her survival by slicing her blade into the flesh of the girl. She tests its weight in her fingers, urging herself to bring it up. But she cant. She couldn't bring herself to to do it. It didn't matter that death was knocking at her door. She would have to outrun it. "There's nothing more for me Lead me away Or leave me lying here."

Nadia does nothing.

[cass]

May 9, 2020 11:50:35 GMT -5 cass said:

henry hughes | post 1 | attack 1019

henry hughes | post 2 | attack 1034

HENRY -

Sometimes I don't sleep at night
I hear the wind in the moaning trees
I wonder how my child will fare
With wars and bombs and thieves

He felt it. He felt the way the sword sliced through flesh, the cold bite of steel as it stabbed into the girl's chest. He stared, watching for a moment where the blade had disappeared into skin and bone. The girl stared as well, fingers tentatively touching the blood that blossomed, pulling away as it began to drip. Her hands shook, one trembling around the hilt of her own sword.

”What the fuck, dude?” She said.

Henry almost laughed, the sound bubbling in his belly, and rising through into his throat, but it was lost at his lips. Instead a choked cough as he felt the blazing sting of exhaustion rush through him. He stumbled a step, and the girl thrust her blade forwards. It cut into his cheek, the cold sting of the air making him flinch as she pulled away. He wondered how she even managed to swing that sword, the one in his hand felt uncertain, clunky, she was half his size.

There was an emptiness to each movement that hadn't been there when he was a Soldier. He had had drive, desire, and a burning need to kill and feel someone's life slip away in his hands. Henry couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt a need to hurt something, it seemed that the last three years had stripped him of everything. Disappointment. it was the next feeling to claw its way inside of him, flowering through his veins. This was not what it was supposed to be, he was supposed to feel exhilarated, feel the fire in his blood as he took hold of his demon and killed.

I'm just out of practice, that was it, he just needed more time, another hit to feel himself reignite. He could do this, it was who he was.

”Look,” he said, hefting the sword up to his shoulder, “I’m a bit rusty, being locked up in a cell for three years and all, so try not to move so much.” He shrugged, eyeing her, as the blood continued to seep from her shirt. He could remember back to a time where seeing that would have simply enthralled him, sent his heart racing with an all-consuming need to stab at her again, and stab again and again until there was nothing left.

You know what, he decided, this kinda sucked.

Saying it out loud made it all worse, a reality sinking in that he had tried to ignore. Henry allowed himself a moment to look at everything around him. This was what it had come to, children hacking at each other, whilst Capitolites watched. At least when he was a Soldier hacking Prisoners to bits he was a hero, fighting for freedom, and democracy and -he hadn’t really given a shit.

He snorted in disbelief, “three fucking years in a god damn cell, and this is what happens?” Why couldn't it just be simple? Pick up the sword, swing, kill, move on. Instead, he felt like an old man, struggling to put on a shoe in the morning, he felt like a fucking fish out of the water, flailing around trying to find his home again. His Pa would call this karma. And his Ma woulda told him to fight because she was the only person who had seen him. Too bad she was dead.

The fighting, hacking and killing was the only thing he knew. He wasn’t much else, other than his ability to do so. Henry shrugged the sword down, fingers tightening around the hilt and he lunged.

- HUGHES.

[d11m Henry attacks d12f Sutton - sword]
HvpDgDXDZwsword
[Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage]

sword

[kap]

May 9, 2020 12:32:21 GMT -5 kap said:

</div>

[D8M Alistair Ranger | Post 3 | No Attack]

[googlefont="Marck Script"]Alistair Ranger

"Wake me up,
Won't you wake me up,
I'm caught in a bad dream,
Caught in a bad dream"

~

Before I can even register what's really going on, I'm pinned to the wall of the colosseum and someone is hissing at me in a harsh whisper, telling me to get it together. The tribute who has me pinned makes me think for a moment that they're going to kill me, stabbing the sword in their hand at the wall right next to me, rather into my flesh like could have been done so easily.

Do I want to be known as the kid who died in my own puke, I was asked. I shook my head no, a startled, or perhaps more scared look upon my face. They move to leave and tell me to wipe my mouth. As I do just that, I see someone lose their head, and my stomach churns again, but I can't let last night's dinner surface again. I'd already let that happen to me once.

I'm released with my life, and I'm shaken. Although, I know now that I can't let myself show it. I quickly go back over to where my sword is and take a deep breath, looking at it. I have to do this, I know I do. Maybe I'll fight, maybe I won't, but I can't be seen as weak. I take another deep breath and I pull the sword from the ground.

It doesn't feel right in my hands. It makes me feel cruel, even holding the weapon, but I know that right now, I have no choice. If someone came at me when I was off guard like that other tribute did, but decided they actually wanted to kill me, I would've been screwed. I couldn't let it happen again. I would hold this sword, and if I truly needed to use it, I hoped I could get myself to do just that.

~

lyrics: "Bad Dream" by Ruelle

[Alistair doesn't attack]

[gamemaker kelsier]

May 9, 2020 12:16:05 GMT -5 gamemaker kelsier said:

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 1, miss]

[Babe Adroxis 9M, attack 2, 1018]

b a b e .

"I do what I want
when I'm wanting to
My soul?
So cynical."

His angry swing misses of course, a sword has a whole different weight than a baseball bat.

Sun beats down so hot and presses on the top of his head, square in the middle, pushing hard. Babe stares at the guy attacking him, then turns to glance at the rest of the arena, taking the moment he lost when the other tribute attacked him to actually see where they are.

Seems about the same as last year with a couple of flourishes here and there. He looks down at his feet and notices for the first time that it's not actually fully sand that he's standing on but an odd mix of ash. He shifts his foot through it slowly, foot hitting something small and malformed, too light to be a rock. He lifts his sandaled foot slowly, eyes on a singed piece of vertebrae.

They stand on the shoulders of those who came before. It's just more of the Capitol's poetic bullshit raining down on their heads.

Babe sighs and lifts his sword to parry the other tribute's but a sudden roar from the crowd throws him off. He turns to see the head of another tribute fall to the ground with a sickening thud. Her body follows moments after, like it only realised it was incomplete when it lost four of its five senses. Babe looks down at his sword, he didn't know that it could do that.

fuck, ow.

He forgot himself for one moment and there was the sword again, this time biting into his thigh. He's lucky it's not his own neck for the stupid way that he's been playing this. Babe steps away for a moment, the fresh blood slipping down his thigh making his skin prickle. "Cy's dead," he says to the other tribute, "Babe works, stick with that."

His opponent is weird, seems more into making jokes than giving a shit but for a second there, his eyes change as if he's gone away and Babe's interest is piqued. They're all just children, they're all picked for a reason. He forgot that he's not the only one with demons. People deal with everything differently, some choose to ignore their own feelings and some laugh in the face of danger.

This kid laughs.

For some reason, it makes Babe feel kind of bad.

"You shouldn't joke like that," he says, "Could be your head next, you know Pal?" He goes to swing at him again and then pauses briefly, "Wait, what's your name anyway?"

And resume.

[babe attacks arcturus with sword]
2NBdsAgO6csword
[Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage]
sword

[revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay]

d3m eros desrosier | post 1 | no dice

E R O S

desrosier

I have always wanted to be a king — a man that clenches a golden fist at the sides of his faux fur coat, a man with a dozen twinkling rings at the bases of his fingertips, a man that can make other men's knees tremble with a single arch of their lips.

But the only time I have gotten to wear a crown was when I forced my mom to cut out a paper crowns for my birthday. This one girl — Eleanor Hayward (and what a dumbass name!) — tried to take one of the crowns, so I smacked her right on the hand with a ruler my mom found stashed in a box in my older sister's abandoned bedroom. And in doing so, she knocked over the delicately stacked pile of paper crowns. In complete honesty, I am still astonished by her expecting that I was going to share my power.

This isn't charity, Eleanor.

---

The first thing I heard when I woke up was the way the grimy floor of my cell trembled and shuddered. The cell was cold and dark — bleak like the grey expanse of the sky before a thunderstorm. And I never liked thunderstorms - there wasn't enough splashes of color for me. I hugged my knees to my chest, silently playing  and pulling at the hairs on my barren ar-

"No, no, no."

Gone was my cherry-red waistcoat and golden pendant that gleamed like twinkling stars, gone was my buckled leather boots that shimmered from the polish. My fancy, yet stolen, wardrobe was replaced by an old-fashioned leather tunic. I know I'm not going to die today, but if I was I would want to at least look magnificent doing it.

"This is utter blasphemy - where the fuck are my clothes?"

The curses under my breath were cut short by a floods of sunlight and sand seeping into the dark and damp cell. My mouth was agape and my hands clenched fists of whatever faux garments the capitol put us into, eyes doe-like and wide — almost like I was a deer caught in headlights.

The first thing I noticed a gleam under the glow of the sunlight. There was a sword laid nearby and I frantically reached out for the worn metal hilt. My eyes darted around, noting the blonde with tears trickling down his face to the left and the one with hair akin to tree bark on my right.

I held out the sword in one hand - twisting and turning my head, desperate to catch my reflection in the steel sword. I moved the sword like a mirror in every angle, noting how the capitol garments hugged my chest.

"Thi-this does not do me any justice, I mean look at my ass, it makes it look so flat," I briskly curse under my breath. I need to look good for when I get my crown.

"It's wrong - making us kill each other on top of the ones they've already killed," the boy with streaks of tears stained upon his youthful face whispers. He had a point, it was barbaric, but if it meant I get the crown I've sought after since I could understand the stories my parents used to read at the strokes of midnight, then I would kill every last one of them.

"It's all up to us I guess, and most of us don't want to be one of those names etched into the stone," my voice trails, "Do these clothes fit me good - my reflection says it doesn't, but they look good on you."

eros does not attack

[D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler]]

May 9, 2020 12:52:09 GMT -5 D'Arcy Mason d6b [Tyler] said:

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Intro/Post #1 | No Attack]

[D11F Daisy Holliday | Post #2 | No Attack]

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

Daisy Holliday

2. Deadheads

So I pick up the sword and start running, but I kid you not, I maybe get two steps out of the gated room when I see some girl's head get chopped off of her body. Like, CLEAN off, bones and all. Some boy seems to have taken that sword we all got and sliced through the little lady like she was a warm stick of butter. I didn't even see where her pretty little head went, I was too busy watching her body. Just toppled right on over. She looked like one of those puppets with the fancy names. Mary-Annettes or something. They have those strings that make 'em move? Except it looks like the puppet master lost the strings.

I gotta say that stopped me right in my tracks. I was pretty sure that girl was dead. Like, dead dead.

Well shoot.

I guess I hadn't expected the deaths to be that messy. In my mind I figured we'd all just throw punches around at each other until we all died. Heads attached to bodies. But here we were, first death and already a girl with no head. I had been a little hungry earlier; I remember because I thought it was kinda funny that I was going to be hungry in the Hunger Games. But I definitely ain't hungry no more.

That's when I started to hear cheering from somewhere up above the arena. You know what I saw when I looked up? People! A whole bunch of them, all sitting around watching us all kill each other. A bunch of them seemed to really enjoy that first kill. Bunch of weirdos.

I stared up at them for a good pocketful of seconds before I remembered I was just standing there gawking. When I looked back around the arena, I coulda swore it was like people had already forgotten the dead girl. Some people were in the mix of it all, swinging swords and fists at each other, while others seemed to hang back from the kerfuffle. A lot of people seemed to be talking; some people in the middle of slicing each other up saying witty jabs at each other; some people just straight up starting conversations. I don't get it, what would you say to someone here? "Hey, I'm Daisy. Love your name, can I kill you please?"

I knew I had to think of something, but thinking ain't exactly my party trick. Right now I was just kinda standing there not doing much, which is the exact opposite of what I wanted to do. I wanted to get moving, but now I was worrying one of these kids was gonna chop my head off if I just ran into the fights, you know? I coulda gone back to my gate and tried to hide but there was no way in hell I was gonna let people back home watch me hide. Whelan Frey could've been watching me right now! Or… ugh… Hazel Sloane. There was definitely no way I'd let her boy-stealing ass see me cowering in the corner.

I'm a doer.

So I decide to put on my fiercest looking face, say a silent prayer, and try to look as scary as possible as I toss my sword all around me. If I ain't gonna fight, I'm at least gonna try and look like a badass.

Daisy flails her sword around but does not hit anybody (does not attack).

[pup]

May 9, 2020 13:27:11 GMT -5 pup said:

[arc dorado d2m | attack #2 | 1091]

[arc dorado d2m | attack #3 | 1007]

Like a snake, I get ready to strike. My fangs bared in the steel glint of my sword. It falls at him, striking the boy on the thigh. When I asked him the question, my sword had clearly chosen for him. There was no backing out of this fight now, I would need to strike again quickly, letting the defeat seep through him like toxin.

His face shifts, looking down for a moment at something beneath us. I can't see what it is. It looks like a pearly, malformed rock jutting out of the ground. Then the ashy sand makes sense to me, and it seems like it hit him at the same time too. Beneath us lay the deceased, the souls who couldn't find it within themselves to do what needed to be done. They are the ones who spent too much time keeping up their facade of tranquility, refusing to give into humanity's natural instincts. They are not the victors.

"Cy's dead," The boy says, and I let out a small chuckle at his flat tone. I knew ever since that fateful day that the dead were meant to be left in memory, an ode what not to become. Leave their ghosts in the past, but let the warning stories haunt you and remind you of how to live. My dad left that warning for me when he left and got killed. He wasn't looking out for anyone. He had been tricked into thinking that fighting a meaningless fight for somebody else was the way he would gain respect and power.

"Babe works, stick with that." He says again, readying his sword as I ready mine.

"You shouldn't joke like that," he chastises, "Could be your head next, you know Pal?"

Doubtful.

His sword begins to strike down at me, and as I bring mine up to parry his strike, he pauses for a moment, throwing me off balance as he says "Wait, what's your name anyway?"

I grunt as manage to dodge the sword from slicing off my arm, letting it nick me slightly.

"Arc, your worst nightmare, death himself," I say with a grin, "Whatever you want, babe."

It doesn't matter. All that matters is that I finish him off soon enough for me not just to become that one person who only killed one other. The one that fades into nothingness once my meaningless legacy has been left to dust like the tributes before me. I just need to make sure that my sword gets to know the boy a bit past surface level.

Then, I pounce, my sword baring down on him.

---

[attacks Babe 9m with sword ]
l8A5_9eZDCsword
[1007 -- Shallow Cut on Right Thigh -- 3.5 damage
(Sword)]

sword

[Cait]

May 9, 2020 12:33:17 GMT -5 Cait said:

[d10f - robyne hawn - intro - no attack]

[d10f - robyne hawn - post 2 - no attack]

robyne hawn

The sounds of battle are deafening. To my left, screaming. To my right, metal slicing skin. I try to close my eyes, will the battleground away, but the noise is only amplified by the loss of sight. I snap my eyes open again, only to confront the boy from District 5 once more.

Maybe I should have kept them shut.

The tremors won’t let up, fear practically radiating off of me. I clasp my hands together to try and keep the shivering at bay, but all it does is remind me of the single layer of flesh that separates me from life and death. Too easy to break through.

I don’t want to die.

“I’m not here to kill you.”

And I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. The relief washes over me instantly, but it’s short lived. It was only a matter of time before the tides turned.

”I don’t want to hurt you. I’m probably just as scared as you.” It’s hard not to laugh straight in his face, despite my incessant sobbing. Him, scared? It didn’t seem possible. At least he knew how to hold a sword. At least he wasn’t scared enough to turn his back on the killing thing. He probably stood a chance amongst all the bloodshed.

Me? I gulp. I already know.

He sighs, so heavy, and I feel my heart breaking. He really doesn’t want to kill me? At least, not yet? He drives his words home by tucking the weapon into his belt, leaving his hands free. He holds them up in surrender as he crouches down to look me in the eyes.

“I just didn’t want to be alone. And well, you looked alone.”

I am, I’m so, so alone, and I don’t want to be.

“You just want to sit?” I shouldn’t trust him – not here, not now – but my resolve is shattering and all I want is a friend. Someone to help me wake up from this terrible nightmare.

I nod slowly.

“Bu – but if you try anything, I’ll – I’ll kill you!” I throw out the words with all the confidence and bravado I can muster, hoping they sound at least somewhat threatening. But I know better. To September’s credit, he doesn’t laugh – the only give away for my weak attempt at bravery is the corners of his mouth turning up in a poorly hidden smile. I can’t help but mirror it. My own small grimace. I'm not a warrior, and we both know it.

I look over at my sword, untouched.

If it came down to it, could I attack him? Could I wound him – kill, even?

I don’t want to think about it.

“I’m Robyne. District Ten.”

I don’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s just my mum and dad and me, and they told me we would be okay.

What happened?

I’d ask for his story, to take my mind far away from here – to a place reminiscent of home. But we don’t have the luxury of time here. No friendships. Simply acquaintances in tragedy.

“And I’m really scared.”

I hear my voice break, feel my bottom lip quiver. I know I’m pathetic, weak, soft, but I’m just a girl protected from the war. I wasn’t born to fight.

I’m scared. For myself, and for him. For the lives we haven’t even got to live yet.

Does he feel it, too?

The air between us, changing. It’s not as frosty, and I don’t feel so cold. I know this can’t last forever, this camaraderie we find ourselves slipping in to. The fight has only just begun, and before the day is up, we’ll all be d e a d.

And there’s nothing I can do about it.

“I don’t think we’re safe here,” I whisper, and I know it’s true. The world is moving at breakneck pace around us, and we’re stuck in time sitting on the floor of death row. They’ll come looking for the weak ones first – the easy prey.

If we’re destined for a dance with death, I don’t want us both to be in that waltz.

template by Chelsey

[Arrows]

May 9, 2020 11:03:05 GMT -5 Arrows said:

[Remus / No Attack / Post #1]

[Remus / Attack #1 / 5114]

REMUS

A single shaft of sunlight spins Remus' blade into a dagger of gold. He watches while a droplet of his tears trickles onto the illuminated edge. How can something carved for cruelty contain such a significant sense of beauty? Remus has always been drawn to the ethereal elements of reality, wishing to wistfully wash away on a breath of breeze. Even now as he stands in the ashes of what once was someone's child, he chases the mesmerizing metal with his eyes. Maybe the Sun's reflection can send him somewhere beyond this growing grave.

A free hand wipes away the water beneath Remus' eye, phoenix's are bright. If he keeps crying any longer he will extinguish the light of the flames he's promised to protect. Somewhere past the screams and sobs of dying children, Levi's lost laugh lightly seems to shimmer through the cloudless sky. That's right, Remus has already lost everything. Bodies burned and bodies buried have been his past. He's here to fight for a future of flowers and for the chance to hear the Nordic songs swelling over some distant sea. If he has to first wear a crown of thorns before he can wear a crown of petals, then the tears of a broken boy shed for the children he's standing on top of must quiet.

The boy Remus was talking towards isn't the one who's voice first finds his attention. The calm composure of softness spurs from the lips of another boy stepping forth from the shadows of his own cage. His words are the representation of his heart, gentle and true. His eyes are clear tunnels to the tender soul that resides within him. Remus has seen his type before, the ones who fade from violence and find promise in peace. They are the ones Remus constantly had to identify as casualties of crossfires. With every ounce of himself, Remus wishes he could claim such softness.  Alas, the blonde boy from District Four has always found something worth fighting for.

"No," Remus' voice whispers barely breaking over the sound of striking swords, "I've been fighting my whole life."

Blue eye meets brown. Remus welcomes the invasion of the boy's soul. There is no mind trick or strategy. There is simply two boys staring at each other on a field of ashes with swords in their hands. Remus' feet belong to the fields of flowers, he can't stop running now. A phoenix must learn how to fly out of the ashes. Remus hopes this other boy can see that beneath the scars of his skin.

"I want to see the flowers."

Remus says shoving the boy back while making sure to shelter the blade from his skin.

"I never wanted to fight, but a world like this one means I have to."

Then...

Remus remembers going to the fish market for the first time. The strong smell singed his nose, but his Father made certain that his boy stayed stoic and kept his fingers from clenching his nostrils. That was when Remus watched while a fisherman removed the whole head of fish in one fell swoop. There wasn't even a second of recognition. The body went still and blood burst across the counter crawling in slow slipping rivers. Her head is a little like that.

Remus doesn't even see the severing, just her head rolling across the ashes. Then there's the boy, sword swathed in scarlet standing as a butcher above her body. Remus has seen bombs that haven't done as much damage as this. He doesn't know her name, but that doesn't change the fact that the girl was a rebel from home. She doesn't deserve to become the next layer of ash on this pit of peril. Yet that is exactly what she will be now, what they'll all be, just ashes underneath the feet of falling children.

Apparently that is what sparks the first boy Remus saw to speak. He seems almost intrinsically abrupt, completely coarse when letting humor hover over the brutalized body of Remus' District Partner. Normally Remus wouldn't get wound up over such a small thing, but when it disgraces the dead it breaks through to another level. This other boy clearly doesn't know what its like to physically bury the dead. He wasn't the twelve year old burying bodies, that was Remus.

"No one wants this, to be burned and thrown beneath boots. What we look like doesn't matter. They'll just burn it all away. This isn't a joke!"

Remus attacks Eros Desrosier :: Unarmed
oy1D78Ov1cunarmed
{Gash/Bruised Left Arm -- 4.0 damage}

unarmed

[ali]

May 9, 2020 12:28:44 GMT -5 ali said:

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #1 // 1052

Desdemona Shaw // Attack #2 // 5077

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?

The sword is heavy in her arms, it swings and falls just as a pick axe would, her shoulders aching from the memory of crouching in the darkness, sparks igniting the dark as metal hits palid stone. There is a moment where Desdemona believes her blade would not make contact with someone’s skin but she watches as silver cuts through peach coloured flesh, blood seeping from the thin line she draws on the strangers forehead. The girl, she stares, at the bleeding girl with an almost dumbfounded expression- but there is no smile on her lips as the girl she’d attacked turns to her with an emptiness in her eyes and as she speaks, there is a hollowness in her voice.

“Big Mistake”

Desdemona feels all the air rush from her lungs, like the air is being pulled and tugged from within her by an outside force. For a moment, she is shrouded in darkness, trapped in the labyrinths of the mines of District 2, her only way of escape taken from her in a bang so loud that it tears the air from her lungs as it throws her back, further into the darkness. She had been trapped there for three days, in the heart of the Earth. How her overalls had clung to her skin, and her nails filled with blood and dirt as she desperately scratched at the wall of her coffin.

“I’m sorry” is all Desdemona can muster, though she is not quite sure if she says it because her voice sound so distant that it isn’t until the crowd swells in a cheer that she is brought back to now, to the present, and does not find herself in the sweltering center of the world. She turns to the girl beside her, who looks mortified that her words of encouragement might have led to such violence. Without thinking, Desdemona finds herself lashing out, grabbing the small girls arm as the other girl- the one she attacked- raises her sword.

“What else was I supposed to do?!” Desdemona cries, tears filling her eyes again, strands of blonde hair clinging to h er face “We have to fight, this is what fighting means!”

Before she can continue, she catches the glint of the strangers sword out the corner of her eye. She shoves the little girl, pushing her away as she feels the strangers sword slicing through her as if she were nothing more than a piece of slaughter, being carved for the dinner tables of Panem’s hungry children.

Desdemona Shaw [D2F] attacks Nadia Ivanov, D6F [Kiah] Unarmed
ZSETXekLq5unarmed
[5077 - Bruised Head - 3.5 damage]


lyrics: no time to die by billie eilish

Unarmed

[alex 🐺]

May 9, 2020 12:17:58 GMT -5 alex 🐺 said:

d12f | sutton phillips | attack #1 | 1120

d12f | sutton phillips | attack #2 | 1118

Her world ended the moment her name rang out across the District Square. She knows that now, because standing in the Arena, as her heart pumps blood that was quickly covering her leather tunic, she is dying. Sutton says as much to herself, her chest heaving and copper flooding her mouth after she strikes back at the boy, her sword barely caressing his cheek and she really was a pathetic excuse for a warrior.

Beau, from home, who had been in the cell next to her, sees the carnage, sees Sutton stagger and nearly drop from the impact from the boy’s sword, but he quickly dashes away. Self-preservation knew no sense of loyalty, it seems. She’s not surprised.

Home, the thought makes her think of her. How her last memory of Sutton was being dragged away by the Peacekeepers. How it wasn’t the kiss they shared. How maybe, just maybe, she is watching Sutton even now, stumbling blindly through this game with ichor streaming from arms and hands she had touched once before.

Looking back at the boy, a hand to her chest to stem the bleeding, she is more fury than girl, more anger than sadness, more rage than a dying sun. Her heart is a violent bird between her ribcage, refusing to be contained, but overexerting itself with each flex of the muscle.

He strikes again and her left arm bears witness to his brutality, the blood lost in that which had been spilled before. She barely feels it.

She nearly misses what he says, his words washing over her as her, “Look, I’m a bit rusty, being locked up in a cell for three years and all, so try not to move so much.”

Sutton laughs, the noise lacking all mirth as she studies him. He is rough hands and sharp edges, he is bleary eyes and skin too pale. He is fragmented pieces making up a whole and he has torn her asunder with one stroke.

She licks her lips again, her skin feeling as if it’s been twisted in two and her bones are inside out and is this what it is to die one beat of your heart at a time?

She glances at the crowd, their divinity a dark muddy hue, their mouths snarled in sneers and jests as the tributes kneel before the altar of their sadism.

“You know you don’t have to do this, right? No one is making you tear me to shreds.” Gathering up both hands on the pommel of her sword, Sutton takes a step around the boy, facing him down, as she wills herself to keep speaking, keep fighting.

“But, if you keep swinging, I’m gonna have to swing back. My daddy didn’t raise a girl to back down in a fight, you fucking peacekeeper wannabe. That’s what you are, right? You played rebel and got locked up for it.”

She thinks of her father, of his pointless, empty fight, condemned to fail. She thinks of how he escaped punishment for years, of how he was wrong, how she was the punishment. The sins of the father wrested upon the daughter always had such a hint of poetry; the least she can do for him is fight back and give worth to his careless wants.

She lunges, bringing her sword down. Pain tips through her at every movement, but she pushes through.

[d12f sutton attacks d11m henry; sword]

NUNgMJ94JQsword

1118 - DEEP GASH ON RIGHT FOREARM, +8.0 dmg

sword

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

juno del air / post one / no attack

Sometimes I fear my own death—and today is one of those days. The sun may rise but I cannot be sure that I will see it set, the sky may be blue but I cannot be sure that is how I will see it, and though stars fall all the time, how can I be sure that I won't burn out with them?

Though I am used to life putting forward the most difficult moments, this situation feels too alien to be real. It is a combination of fighting for love and loss, where I stumble over the 'fighting' to even consider the love and loss of whoever stands opposite me. And I have never done anything like this before—I am just a simple girl who manages to be at the wrong place at the wrong time far too often than not, and though I may have survived that before, the Hunger Games are made for people who are born to win.

I'm just Juno.

There's something powerful about being one thing but something heartbreaking too, and I can't quite figure out what that is. Perhaps it is the unchanging aspect which makes the heart feel something, because it is a failure to grow with the times. I'd like to think that I am capable of standing my ground and speaking out for what I believe in, but when what you believe in is a world away from what everyone else believes in, is it enough to stay alive?

I close my eyes and think of home. Broken but better than this because I have Lark and Lark has me—except he doesn't anymore. That is easily the worst thing about this ordeal because I want to know that he is happy and safe, I need to know that he is warm and will live to see the sun rise even if I do not. I fear that losing my life might mean a part of his is lost too and it would be an awful thing for a boy to be stranded in such a big, wide world.

I think of him and think of how I never got to say goodbye, how I never got to hug him or tell him that everything would be alright. That even if I do die, the stars will still shine and I'll be amongst them, watching and shining most days but listening forever. I did not get to tell him that I love him and that makes my spine shiver more than anyone in this arena could because that is my own doing. And it's such an easy thing to say in hindsight, but so difficult in the moment, and now that I'm here—dressed like a hero despite feeling zero—I don't think it would mean the same coming from a caricature of who I am.

The show must go on. The first and second Hunger Games proved that our worst fears would be realised. Though words uses the same letters as sword, one is sharp and completely brutal, but one is physical and that is how the worst pain is done.

An applause rippling through the air is haunting but I am used to living with ghosts.

I do not pick up the weapon. Instead, as perspective become key, I stare into a camera and sign I love you to Lark. And though it may not have the same weight, it surely must mean something, anything—and that is what I hold onto.

And then I stare out.

I feel the cold but stand in the flames. It is bloodshed that burns and I see it all around. Sometimes I fear my own death, but today, I fear my own life.

Because this is all I've known,
but everything I never became.

[fireflyz]

May 9, 2020 11:53:39 GMT -5 fireflyz said:

[ d6m quin sepulveda | post #1 | no attack ]

[ d6m quin sepulveda | post #2 | no attack ]

At first, it looks like one of the girls tilted her head back to avoid the other tribute's sword. Then it keeps rotating and falls from her neck and her body crumples to the ground and Quin realizes she's dead, just like that. The boy wore a carnal grin on his face, and Quin absently pulled his sword loose from his belt, although he made no effort to get closer to the one who had just made the first kill of the game and looked so proud doing it. The crowd roared, and it merely made Quin more afraid, brandishing his weapon as if the audience were to simply leap over the walls of the coliseum and devour all 23 of them whole.

"No," said the boy next to him, who he still hadn’t learned much about. "I’ve been fighting my whole life."

"Looks like we're not the only insane people out here," Quin remarked before feeling a hand press into his shoulder and knock him aside.

"I want to see the flowers," the boy said as he walked by, and Quin wondered where anything could bloom here. "I never wanted to fight, but a world like this one means I have to."

Then he walked off and collided his fist with another kid’s arm, and Quin realized with a jolt that there was no time to mull about, that even the most mundane people could have a face-heel turn in the blink of an eye. So he scanned the arena frantically and caught sight of a blonde girl twirling her sword like it was a vibrant banner rather than something that could kill.

Quin approached her cautiously, careful not to stand in the line of fire.

"Hey, you’re really gonna hurt someone with that," he ventured. "I would say that’s the point, but you’re not standing near anyone, so…"

[quin speaks to daisy]

[gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.]

May 9, 2020 12:49:54 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

[ 9f ximena wright  | intro ]

[ 9f ximena wright  | post 2 | — ]

You hold the girls sword out to her, but something malicious and terrible and unabashedly you is shouting in the back of your head.

You don't even really pay attention to the other girl, although something about her softness, the curve of her mouth and the slope of her nose and the way she's taken her costume and turned it into something entirely her own—you think, if you maybe stopped to think about her for more than a collection of seconds, you might find something interesting in her, something that might make you want to listen when she finally speaks again.

But you mostly reserve those moments for your brothers, the patient ones, the kind ones. The moments where you're more girl than gone.

Like a gasp, or a stutter, the flickering out of a light, between one word and then next, you tinkle with sharp laughter and take the extended sword in your hand and yank it back away from her, blade precariously stretched out behind you now that the hilt is at your hipbone. "HA!" you exclaim, grin hooked and sharp. "Too slow."

The girl didn't even seem like she was reaching out, but you had an idea for a cruel thing to do and your orders are to kill everyone in here if you can. They didn't say anything about how you had to go about it. 

See: you cannot contain the feral thing that you have become.

"What," you ask, twisting both of the swords around in wide circles with a flick of either wrist. "Don't you wanna play their little game?"

[ xime taunts iphigenia ]

[cass]

May 9, 2020 20:04:05 GMT -5 cass said:

henry hughes | post 2 | attack 1034

henry hughes | post 3 | attack 1028

HENRY -

The thunder has begun
Some are blind, but choose to see
Lies into the truth they weave

He thought for a moment, giving her an appraising look, sword hanging limply by his side. No one had made him do anything in his life. Every time his Pa had found him out back playing with a cat's dead body, or twisting the wings off a chicken -no one had made him do it. Everyone had tried to make him stop, they always did, his Ma tried pleading with him, telling him that God ain’t like this kind of thing and that if he keeps hurting these innocent animals he’ll go to hell.

When that stopped working she started to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, there was a demon, a monster inside of him and he had to be a hero and fight it. She’d tell him to be brave, make him promise that he would try his best to beat the demon that was making him do such awful things. Henry would always agree, hands clutching tightly onto her eyes she held his gaze. It was hard to say no to her, she’d always had a way of making him promise the impossible.

”No one made me murder all those Capitolite soldiers. It was my job, you go in, you kill or be killed.” He laughed at her, a full laugh that was cut off as her blade sliced into his forearm. Pain flared in his body, and he looked down at the bleeding wound. Every day of his life had been painful, in one way or another. The past three years had left him a skeleton, where the pain ebbed and flowed and he was just so used to everything hurting that it all just blended in.

He narrowed his eyes, “Peacekeeper?” Henry smirked, lifting his blade. “You’ve got me all wrong. I don’t care what name they call me, what side I’m on.”

He took a step closer, “I wasn’t in the war to win or lose, no matter what side you’re on you’re a monster to someone -we were all monsters.” He got to be exactly who he wanted to be, and no one could say he was wrong. When he killed it was just part of the job, when he enjoyed it, he was a friend to the people he was saving. It was the perfect scenario.

Henry’s hand twitched. The exhaustion in his body seemed to lighten, ”do it,” he hissed, his eyes glued to hers, “attack me, make daddy proud.”

His gaze was predatory. It was a gaze that decided how he would skin a rabbit as it breathed, or how he would break a boy's skull open with a rock. Just one more, he decided, one more life he wanted to claim before he died. One more to be satisfied, it was all he needed.

- HUGHES.

[d11m Henry attacks d12f Sutton - sword]
U7o74TXbEisword
[1028 -- Severed Right Foot at Ankle -- 9+1 damage]

sword