a kiss with a fist [day 3/Troupe v J-Trees]

[ryan]

You can smell blood cant you? Or maybe it is the sweat and the free wafting through the forest. All of it seems to be rushing your way, and you finally feel alive. Alive and so well. Your branches creek in the distance. They slither and slide outwards, and you finally feel free. They shoot outwards slowly, trying to sense. You could fell many things, but you wanted blood. The taste of flesh. Complete and utter chaos. Eyes finally open and you see a girl, and you cant wait to attack. You nearly cry.

[Donatella [Joshua Tree] attacks Bird Ivy || Branches (Knife)]
VNXXFn5yZhknife
[2110 -- Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage
(Knife)]
*Attack will be negated due to Plushie*

She can hear her sister rise, and that ignites something in her. She cant let her have all the fun. She cant even remember the last time she had been able to stretch her branches. Theyve grown so long since she last opened her eyes. But now that they are, she feels like she is unstoppable. She see a pair walking, but Donatella is already on the prowl. Daisy can hear the branches of her sister whirling, and of course, Daisy wants in on the action too. She watches as Donatella's flies to the girl, and so with a new sense of life, hers fly to the boy, in one solid motion.

[Daisy [Joshua Tree] attacks Callum Leare || Branches (Knife)]
knife
[2105 -- Deep Gash on Left Thigh -- 8.0 damage
(Knife)]
*Attack will be negated due to Plushie*

knife·knife

[Azalea]

bird ivy

What the fuck is that?

Oh. It's Callum. Throwing up. He's vomiting. The sound of him heaving is the worst alarm anyone could wish for. It sounds dry and wet at the same time. It sounds like his body is trying to expel his entire digestive system in the morning light, and when I look over, there are chunks of partially digested who-knows-what taking hopeless flight in the air before going splat on the ground. The contractions sound awfully violent, and the congealed remnants of his last meal manage to glint in the early sun. After a few more heaves, the flood starts to finally let up.

The acidic aroma soon warms into death warmed up. I guess I was done sleeping anyway.

"I guess the butterflies in your stomach didn't like that. Boys will be boys and boys will be lightweights," I scoff in his direction, my words stumbling slightly as I inhale and taste the stench. The Hunger Games are supposed to be our worst nightmare: there's murder and broken bones and severed heads and slit throats and people like Kes dying. You can prepare for that though, to an extent anyway, acceptance is somewhat easy — you can't prepare for Callum Leare's vomit.

I collect my things together as quickly as possible. I don't want to be here. With that on the floor. It's worse than a body. "Can you hurry up?" I tut at him, "whatever wants us dead today is going to be nicer than that creamy chyme, Callum. Trust me." I throw my bag over my shoulder and notice a small and chirpy bird floating above my shoulder. Small and dainty, it flies around as if it doesn't have a care in the world. And after only a few seconds of knowing it, I'm sure it's a better companion than Callum. I start marching onwards, keeping a healthy and respectable distance between Callum and myself because I think one more inhalation that even dares to contain traces of the residue on his breath might just knock me out.

The crystals on the ground lose their shine as we move onwards, slowly shrinking in size before they fail to exist at all. Instead, there is a wide and open space. A field that seems to have suck all life from its periphery straight to its core; a tall spire towers over the both us, and when I follow it up with my head, it only seems to confirm my thoughts that this part of the arena is broken. The spire is decorated with a number of vegetation that give it a post-apocalyptic feel — overgrown and forgotten about. A houseplant that has glitched. There's a treacherous path around its edge, twirling and twisting around the monument until it fades away into the thick clouds.

It's intimidating, sure, but something about it is so inviting. It reminds me of the type of magical things my Mom would tell in her story. They'd always end up doing far more harm than good, but they were more interesting than most people. Because they too had secrets they dared to share to people who edged close enough to hear. And when I'm just trying to get lost with no intention of doing anything else, winding up a seemingly endless path to the stars seems like a map to my metaphorical destination. 

"Tall." I say, standing still beside him and staring up at it. "It smells nice here, though," but I'm not exactly surprised.

I start to begin to scale the spire, Callum following a few steps behind, when the vegetation attacks. Arms seem to twist out of nowhere, its fingers resembling pointed leaves that creep around us and lash out at the little flying companion I'd made in the morning. It is slashed and sliced by a place it should call home, the mutt extending its needle-like fingernails into the creature's tiny body. It darts away. 

"Shit, Callum, quick, vomit on it and make yourself useful," because honestly, I think the strength of the acid might burn the branches to ash. Because that would be like the extraordinary action my Mom told me about ordinary people doing. 

I still think those were the best stories.

[ d12f bird ivy attacks donatella the joshua tree ; spiked blunt ]

z1Eyevt4YKspiked blunt

[ 14040 -- miss -- 0.0 damage ]

accuracy reroll

spiked blunt

[ 14013 -- bruised left collar bone -- 3.0 damage ]

spiked blunt·spiked blunt

[jupiter graves [d1] 🚀 pogue]

C A L L U M   L E A R E 

A short story of the boy and his bottle:

On the first sip, his tongue writhes and recoils as if it is an army taken in surprise by the enemy, acidic sting of the encased liquid singing his tastebuds. Just as quick as the stem of the bottle touches his lips it leaves them, slipping as easily from his mouth as the same broken promises he’d made to the girl that lays dead behind him.

In between the first and second sip he pictures her face, lifeless eyes slowly turning to burn holes into his back and his heartstrings.

The second time he presses glass to lips he forces it to turn from a sip to a chug, drowning sins with sorrows and memories with regret. Deadly combinations are born from even deadlier decisions.

It’s 8 chugs in when the little castle in his mind that has taken to reminding him he will regret what he is doing finally crumbles and falls, flooded and ruined by the same acid he drinks, by the same acid he laces in his words and promises.

He forgot to count after that-

- but the count hadn’t forgotten him, and when he is awoken to the feeling of his stomach suddenly plummeting backwards into itself he doesn’t quite know what to make of it all, heartbeats in his chest a countdown to the danger he assumes is coming. When he tries to stand, he sends a shockwave through his system as if his entire body is doing a somersault without the motion, rumbling and tumbling into itself. The sky follows his own body’s lead, and as he tries to make sense of what’s going on in the world the gemstones begin to blur slightly into one another and his palms press down into his knees as he keels over.

A soft tingle in his cheeks grows louder with every heartbeat.

”Fuck-“ He begins to choke out before his body drowns him from the inside out.

He’d always considered himself more a story teller than a painter, but he sure is doing a solid job of painting every vibrant gemstone below him with a sickly, chunky shade of brown. Abstract art it was, or something of the sort.

It doesn’t take long for Bird to wake up, and it takes even less time for the same scathing tone she’d spat back at him the day prior to once again pierce through his armor, and as she continues her rampage the dirty bile tidal waves that crash within his stomach gradually calm again, leaving him stuck in the same position he had started in, heavy breaths tainted with the taste of a now shattered wine bottle, ugly regrets and broken promises swirling around in his mouth. It dribbles from his chin as he finally stands upright again, using the sleeve of his cloak to wipe the remainder of the vomit from his lips, gathering up whatever spit he has left in his mouth and shooting it down to the stones below.

It nearly hits the creature that scuttles towards him, and out of a mixture of fear and instincts he naturally kicks at it with his foot. The creature goes flying and it’s only when it lands on its back, hopelessly wriggling and rocking back and forth that he realizes it’s a small turtle. His mind flashes back to Kestrel’s turtle plushie that Pisces Gem had tossed to him as they’d fled. It was a small reparation for the fact that he’d killed his ally.

Hopefully the word bomb had found its way and let him know that it was still personal.

Thanks for the sign from beyond, Kes. He thinks to himself, flipping the turtle back over and turning to gather his things as Bird barks insults and demands at him. The creature instead presses against his heel as he walks, following him along. Guess it’s along for the ride.

Bird keeps her distance and he keeps his mouth shut, not wanting to test the bloody waters that their relationship already floated in. She’d told him she enjoyed stories to, just not the ones he had ever had the heart to tell, maybe that was why he simply couldn’t find it in his heart to level with her-

Or maybe it was the fact that she’d written this story for herself, raised hands and parted seas to take her place on stage next with him. He hadn’t had that privilege.

It starts as an ominous shadow in the distance, the same way the phantoms and ghosts that rest outside their visions follow them from location to location, but as the ground beneath them goes from rough to smooth and the colors bleed from the ever thinning gemstones they walk on the shadow solidifies and he stares, slack jawed at the sudden monument and expanse that stands before them.

It’s as if the tip of a castle has broken through the ground and soared to the heavens, effortlessly towering over them and casting a heavy shadow as the morning sun beams down onto them.

”Tall.” Bird comments, following it up with a comment about the stench of his own sins. He nods, keeping his mouth closed instead of releasing the regrets that still linger in his breath. Bird leads the way in scaling the spire that rests before them, and as he follows behind her he feels the turtle dart between his legs and in front of him, limbs moving frantically. Stay close, Kes. he thinks.

Fairy tale to reality to nightmare and suddenly the same vegetation that Bird had reached for springs to life, branches rustling and leaves turning to knives before quickly darting forward and slashing at the both of them. He can’t get his sword out in time, and with the beat of his heart he expects his leg to be gone as the creature lunges at it.

Instead, the turtle that followed them jumps and twists, the creatures sharpened leaves bouncing off its shell as he recoils and fights his footing steps away. The turtle darts away as he readies his weapon. Thanks for that, Kes.

”Shit, Callum, quick, vomit on it and make yourself useful.” Bird throws a poorly timed insult his way and he finally speaks up as he steps forward, watching his ally’s weapon bounce lightly off the mutt.

”Yeah, would probably be a shit ton more useful than whatever attack you just tried to land.” He replies, before following her lead and swinging his sword.

[Attacks Donatella with Falcata (sword)]

xcnOsNHw5vsword

[result]

“sword”

[ryan]

You cant even explain how good it feels to feel alive. You feel something soft at the end of your branches, but it does not scream, or even wince in pain. You are amazed at the dexterity of the girl, or maybe you are just a weak shot. It had been so long since you had felt like you had a chance to live again. You would savor this moment. However, you could feel yourself being chipped away by these humans, and you know well that they do not appreciate being skewered and torn apart. You did not care though, because they had traversed just a little too far. They would pay, as much as you wanted to thank them for giving you life again. It would be so sweet.

[Donatella [Joshua Tree] attacks Bird Ivy || Branches (Knife)]
_QbO5buabNknife
[2082 -- Block -- 0.0 damage
(Knife)]

She cant even begin to wonder how her branches had stabbed through a plushie, but she realized that her proud and zealous sister had done the same thing. Daisy knew well that she could do so much better, but she also knew that she had been rusty. She watched as they slashed at her sister and not at herself, and she was thankful that she was unscathed. She didnt want to know what that type of pain was. Not until she tasted blood. Their blood. It would satiate her.

[Daisy [Joshua Tree] attacks Callum Leare || Branches (Knife)]
knife
[2186 -- Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage
(Knife)]

knife·knife

[Azalea]

bird ivy

My new weapon seems to require practice to make perfect because when I lash out the mutt, it gets off relatively unscathed. A little cut that would bloom into nothing more than a bruise, yeah, it's definitely not my finest moment. But I trust myself even less with throwing knives because my failure to act yesterday got Kes killed. 

And I guess I feel a little guilty for that. She died and Callum and I did not. And we could've done better, we should've done, but those other tributes saw that she was down and forced her to taste the ground. I think it takes a certain kind of person to kick someone who is already hurt — a cruel one, but a clever one too. They made it out alive. We did too, but we had to deal with the aftermath of our survival.

"Yeah, would probably be a shit ton more useful than whatever attack you just tried to land." Callum pipes up from beside me, his words a retaliation against my own earlier insult. He's just trying to rub salt into the wounds now; first the vomit and now this. I'm not even sure why we're still fighting together when everything between us feels so tense. We've had a few moments together that felt like how alliances are portrayed on the television, but my god, it's so much harder to make friends with someone when all you can think about is murder.

Twelve is full of that, though, and that should be grounds for Callum and I to grow a friendship. But it's so difficult to favour the similarities when there are so many differences; we see the games worlds away from each other. He doesn't get me. I don't get him. There's no use in trying to change that. Twelve probably wants us to be best of friends — sponsors always fall for a powerful duo dynamic and honestly, if scamming Capitolites is all is takes to win, I'd be down for it.

Except, that isn't all it takes. Murder is on both our minds. A lingering feeling. Impending doom. A shadow. The scariest monsters my Mom told me about in stories were never the mythical beasts or animal hybrids. The scariest monsters were human demons; they fester on sanity like maggots and when they've satisfied themselves, all that is left is a wide, empty space. I have my demons, sure, but I think acceptance is doing a fine job of keeping them at bay for now.

I mean, I still hate myself but I still want to get lost. Direction keeps me, well, me.

"Like that was any better," I say, watching as Callum's sword falls flat of making a great impact on the creature. It tries to attack again but there aren't any little companions to protect us anymore, and though I manage to dip away from its spiny fingernails, Callum's armor is broken when it strikes at his leg and draws blood. I sigh. "Okay, let's try not to get our asses beat by a tree. We're a little better than that."

Not much, though.

[ d12f bird ivy attacks donatella the joshua tree ; spiked blunt ]

faTdvR4LDkspiked blunt

[ miss ]

spiked blunt

[jupiter graves [d1] 🚀 pogue]

C A L L U M   L E A R E 

His sword slides through the air backed by the insult he had hurled at his ally, hilt laced between his fingertips burning his skin with the same desire he had felt to protect Kestrel the day prior. The same drive is is own downfall, and as the metal glides against the creatures skin he curses himself under his breath, adjusting his footing and watching the thin line of red mark itself on the beasts face.

It was not enough to keep them at bay, such small amounts of red were never enough.

When he had watched the Games from the discomfort of his own home in Twelve, he had always wondered how the Capitol had managed to write up such bloodthirsty creatures, with broken hearts and fangs meant to make broken skin. No creature is born bloodthirsty, he had thought from within his own naivety. 

As it turns out- they are made.

He had felt it when Kestrel's eyes had chosen a permanent stare up into the setting sky, when he had watched the last bit of blood fade from her wounds and the last drop of life fade from her body. Tears blinked back only to find their way out of his stomach the next morning, he had hoped that the same thirst for the blood of the people who had killed her would have been laced within the acidic vomit he had spat. He had hoped, between heaving breaths and raspy throat that he could have left that desire for revenge justice blood could have been left to rot on the gem stones they abandoned.

He was wrong, it was still there. 

He spares a glance at Bird as she steps back from the creature, steadying herself and readjusting her weapon. It's the same thought that has taken up residence within the back of his mind, in between the memories he was forced to remember and the memories he had worked so hard to forget. Sword threaded in his fingertips and knives and club stored in his bag, the feeling burns at the back of his head and sends a tingling through his face, the same as the wine had done just before he'd imploded.

If it were written in the lines of his story, he could be forced to kill her, sword through heart or club to skull or knife to eye- it's not as if he would have any choice in it all.

Following the lines of a story already written, it was all he had ever been good at.

Bird's comments are just as sharp as the creatures leaf shaped claws, slipping from her tongue with the same ease as the vomit had blown from his mouth. He doesn't have an answer to give her, the soft burn in his gut and the little red line on the creatures forehead in front of him only serving to remind him that she is right. He watches Birds weapon only hit air, the mutts limbs twisting and turning out of the way of her spiked club. Just as quick as they dodge they strike, and although Bird is able to stay out of the reach of the mutts strike he does not fare as well. 

The creatures claws strike easy through the handmade armor he had made the day prior, slashing his calf. Pain blossoms from his leg as he stumbles backwards, finding his footing as the bloody gemstones fall to the ground.

For the second time that day he has painted the stones with pieces of his own body. He doesn't know if the vomit or the blood is better.

"It'd help if we could even hit one of these fuckers." He responds to Bird, tightening his grip on his sword before swinging.

[Attacks Donatella with Falcata (sword)]

ICHdHWnDzssword

[Deep Gash on Right Thigh -- 8.0 damage]

sword

[ryan]

They stab at your branches, but you have already felt worlds of pain before they had even been here. They did not know what it meant to be created, placed here for the sheer joy of this moment. This is what you lived for, and you would savor every last moment of it. It felt delicious being able to move, and while you had been getting used to being alive again, you did not want it to cease. You wanted to keep going, to thrive. To survive. However, they made it clear, it was you, or them... and you would make sure that it would always be them.

[Donatella [Joshua Tree] attacks Bird Ivy || Branches (Knife)]
Nz2GDDStT2knife
[fat miss]

She felt elation as she hit the boy, however a crunch and a crackle made it very sure that she did not do much to him. If she could feel emotions, she would feel disappointment, but she was not as bad as her sister. No. She was better. She could at least muster a scrape, or a cut, or even a sever. She knew that she was the skilled fighter here, and her sister would have to watch her as she would not attempt to fly towards the sun. With the boy in mind though, she would have to be careful if she flew too close. She wouldnt survive.

[Daisy [Joshua Tree] attacks Callum Leare || Branches (Knife)]
knife
[2085 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage
(Knife)]

knife·knife

[Azalea]

bird ivy

And again, there's trickery from the beast that deems my retaliation useless. A slight movement is all it takes for my weapon to swing through the air and miss the target completely. I look at it with its claws like pine needles and leaves as armour wondering how the two of us will ever be able to take it down. We only have each other, ourselves and the weapons we hold — and really, that isn't very much at all.

I think I'm used to that, though. Not having much. It's the norm in Twelve because it's such an awful place that you just learn to accept it. Because people die. Children die. People you love die. And there's nothing you can do to stop that because we're made to believe it's just life. We've been conditioned to think that we deserve it, in a way, because we're poor and they're rich and somehow that creates an unsurpassable divide between us. 

They could do with being told a story or two by my Mom. If only she wasn't dead. Yeah, they'd probably learn a thing or two about how we're always underestimated but sometimes, only sometimes, manage to pull it together when the time comes. And though we lose a few friends along the way, the ones we so strongly root for — I think it makes us stronger. A kiss or a cry isn't weakness, it's a goodbye. Being able to say goodbye is the strongest thing anyone can do. It's moving on.

I'm not strong enough to do that. Nah. Not me. That's why I'm so caught up in the stories Mom told me because I think I'm desperate for her to tell me just one more. Sure, her star is probably above me somewhere watching over me, but that doesn't offer the same solace that her words did. The safety of the danger she could create was the only real thing I loved in Twelve. 

But that's gone now. Twelve and her stories. I wanted my own so bad. I've got it now. The escape I've always wanted, and yeah, it isn't what I was expecting but I'm lost. I'm not in Twelve anymore, and for that, I'm happy.

The creatures lash out once again and destroy the makeshift armour Callum had fashioned from the gemstones at yesterday's battleground. They crash to the earth battered and bloodied, his open leg exposed to the elements and whatever lurks between them. I dodge its darkness once more, slipping through its fingers as it tries to snatch me from the safety I've made for myself.

"It'd help if we could even hit one of these fuckers," Callum groans, and it seems the reassurance is all he needed because his sword comes down against one of its branches and slashes it open. And that's all I need to assure myself that a pair of trees are not going to beat our asses.

"Well hey, look at that. That was pretty good, actually," I say to him, careful of my choice of words because if the universe really is listening, I don't want to tempt fate too much. And then it dawns on me that it's my turn to attack the beast again.

I take the weight of my weapon in my hand and stare at the mutt. It moves and I move, it strikes and I do too. It's time to say goodbye.

[ d12f bird ivy attacks donatella the joshua tree ; spiked blunt ]

xZF5evVmuTspiked blunt

[ block. ]

spiked blunt

[jupiter graves [d1] 🚀 pogue]

C A L L U M   L E A R E 

Whatever beings are telling their story hear his plea and pay what he asks, his blade finding its home within the creatures leg. Unlike his previous attempt, it doesn't slide and graze the creature meaninglessly, leaving thin lines of red within its wake. Instead, he feels the sparkling iridescent blade of his sword bury deep into the creatures flesh, severing the stitching of the creatures skin and exposing the raw bloody mess underneath. He can't help but recognize that the creature screams and shrieks and opens and bleeds the same way Kestrel had- the same way they all would.

Wonder what Elijah thinks of me now-

It's the same thought that he's been forcing into the back of his mind and into the bottom of a broken heart, burying it under all of the words and sins that dripped from his lips all throughout his life. Knights and castles, fairies and demons he'd uttered into the void of Twelve every friday of the week, creaking classroom chair his throne and each young mind his followers. All that time he'd thught the lies had been for their sake, shielding bleeding hearts from the horrors of a District long since forgotten by the rest of the world. Even at six years old he could see the pain brewing in their eyes, with thinning bones and dirtied skin, already adjusting to the world as it was instead of the world that it could be.

Yet, it took him twenty broken heartbeats and the death of a girl with hope to realize those lies had been for him. Marked by the coal laced sins of Twelve he had managed to convince himself that there was a better world out there for himself. One that he was owed, one that he deserved if only he could pay the price.

One brother and severed heartstrings later and he thought he had fulfilled his fee to open the kingdom gates.

Turns out, a sacrifice paid is a penance owed, and he was written to be damned.

He hopes Elijah doesn't think of him at all, not after what he had done to him.

"Well hey, look at that. That was pretty good, actually."

Yeah, I know.

Bird's voice lacks the usual venomous, toxic tone that is normally laced within her words, but it'd help if she could spit that poison onto her blade and actually land a hit that was more than a little cut or bruise or, the worst of it all, nothing at all. Instead, he watches as Bird's pages turn and she half-pledges herself to her own chapter, her weak swing easily blocked by the creature with its wooded skin and bared fangs. He grimaces and gathers up his own little bit of poison, spreads it across his tongue before tossing it Bird's way, returning the nice little favors of insults she'd been tossing his way since they'd arrived at this hell hole.

"Ripred fuck,  Bird. Throw the fucking blunt away and go back to your knives."

The only way to spit an insult is to follow it with another-

"I’d be having more luck if the fuckin' turtle had stayed in the fight instead of you.”

[Attacks Donatella with Falcata (sword)]

DIMqOV4FB_sword

[Miss]

[Accuracy reroll for the love of fuck please hit this fucker]

sword

[DG on right thigh I think I didn’t fully read the thing but - 8.0 damage]

sword·sword

[ryan]

She watched her sister stop moving, and she felt nothing. She knew that she should be sad, but nothing would have excited her more than to stick her branches into one of these tributes. Ending their lives was her only goal, and she had been well enough, and equipped enough to do so. She pulled her branches back for a moment, raising them up into the sky and waving them with malice and vigor. She would pick up where her sister left off, the girl had proved to be little help. Her sister's death would not be in vein. Besides, she knew she was the better one..

[Daisy [Joshua Tree] attacks Bird Ivy || Branches (Knife)]
4O3|QPbzjRknife
[2093 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage
(Knife)]

knife

[Azalea]

bird ivy

Goodbyes are never meant to be easy. But they are necessary. It's a given that saying goodbye is hard, sure, you say goodnight and you're not sure when you're ever going to see someone again. I said goodbye to my Mom and now I only have a gravestone to keep me company. I said goodbye to Twelve and now I have the memory. I tried saying goodbye to these awful tree creatures but somehow, they're a tattoo in reality are seem impossible to erase.

I shouldn't get annoyed. I know I shouldn't. This is what I signed up for. A volunteer, but not just any volunteer — a volunteer from Twelve. I gave myself up because I was sick of the world around me back there and yeah, it was probably a stupid thing to do but I can't turn back the hands of time. This is what I came for; I wanted to get lost.

I can't risk forgetting that. It is my direction. I look between Callum and the creatures and take a deep breath. Direction and focus are key. If I forget what I'm fighting for, I'm going to start fighting for myself. If Mom was in charge of my story and figured that I was doing that, she'd kill me for being so selfish. I think I'd deserve it, too.

The thought of Kestrel's lifeless body on the ground flashes into my mind like a lantern clinging to the light. It's nothing more than a flicker but it reminds me of the blood that has to be bled in order for the story to go on. No story ever told was told simply, with such ease that it made it seem more of a poem than a journey. No. I don't think any story goes like that. Even ballads have a dirty pace.

I guess that now I've accepted death, I have to accept the difficulty that comes with it. Because everyone makes dying seem so easy — but the world is so big, there's still so many things to see and do. And all that crap makes it harder to die. How can someone bite the bullet when they haven't sharpened their teeth on life's edges? I think about it for a second. Twelve. The forest. Home.

And there's so much. So fucking much. So much that it just makes me want to forget and lose myself completely.

"Ripred fuck, Bird. Throw the fucking blunt away and go back to your knives. I'd be having more luck if the fuckin' turtle had stayed in the fight instead of you." Callum's own words become a bullet that I do not want to bite or swallow. His tone resembles my own only moments ago when he was throwing up on the ground and forcing me to breathe in the scent. He's sick. He's really sick, but as much as I hate to admit it, he's right. I'm shit. A turtle probably would be more useful.

"Fine. Since you clearly know best," I say watching as he slashes the creature down. It's dead, I think. "Fuck these trees. I'll use the stupid knives. I'll save the blunt for you, Callum." I glare at him in frustration before putting that energy into the knife I throw.

[ d12f bird ivy attacks daisy the joshua tree ; throwing knives ]

Xxr8ongJUFthrowing knife

[ 9143 -- severed finger -- 8.5 damage ]

throwing knife

[jupiter graves [d1] 🚀 pogue]

C A L L U M   L E A R E 

Heartbeats thunder in his chest as he takes a small moment to admire his initial work, a rough draft of his own making spread across the beasts right leg. Blood pours from the wound and drips to the grounds they stand on, and as the creature thrashes and tumbles around with sins of agony erupting from its mouth that same blood sprays and flies all over him, etching a mark of the dying into his clothing and across his face. The taste of iron spills across his tongue and he instinctively gathers up spit in response, launching it into the ground beneath him. Split, chewed through lips had granted the same taste on his tongue the day prior. Hollow, cold, metallic.

So different than the creatures in front of him, yet so alike in the same way.

If he were shouting in agony, voice screaming sins in the air and body letting the life pour out of itself, would he want someone to put him out of his misery?

Maybe it's selfish to think anyone in this arena had the heart to do that for him. He's always been good at that, at being selfish.

From draft to finished he swings his sword again at the bloody gash in the mutts thigh, feeling the weight of his own broken kingdom in the metal of the hilt that is laced between his fingers. When it hits the same gash it slides right through the creatures limb, blood spattering and spraying all over as the creature howls one last time, stumbling backwards before kicking up dust and every sin it'd spilled.

Then, it is silent. Just as terrifying, forever as deadly, but silent.

A heartbeat and a half and he steps back from the creature, adjusting his footing and the sword within his grasp before Bird's voice chimes in once more, the same level of malice and poison once again found within her words. She was funny like that, he'd noticed, forever using the poisoned tone to try and defend herself. It's what makes the liquid in his gut boil up and over, and if he hadn't seen the wine bottle shattered when he'd woken up this morning he'd have thought it'd been the reason for his own vomit. He had only himself to blame for that last part, though.

"Fuck these trees. I'll use the stupid knives-"

Good. She'd finally listened to him.

"I'll save the blunt for you, Callum."

There it is.

Her actions betray her words though, and as her knife flies through the air his eyes follow, a smirk breaking through the bloody stains on his face as the creature recoils in pain, one of its sharpened knife-tipped fingers falling to the ground beneath it. He lets out a half-laugh, shaking voice giving way to one of slight arrogance.

"Save the attitude too, while you're at it." 

He points a still shaking finger to the mutts finger on the ground before readying his own weapon.

"Cause according to that little limb on the ground, I was right.

[Attacks Daisy with Falcata (sword)]

0XDavYzyd0sword

[Result]

sword

[ryan]

She watched as the girl she had hit threw something sharp at her. Daisy felt pain, she felt it way too much if she was being honest. This was her chance to prove that she was the strongest of the bunch. They would regret walking this path in the arena, and Daisy wanted to avenge her sister. She wondered how much these two could take. She was angry, a branch hanging on the ground instead of being attached to her wooden body. The girl had to be stopped. Daisy would make her pay.

[Daisy [Joshua Tree] attacks Bird Ivy || Branches (Knife)]
Kc51JcI56Lknife
[2102 -- Slit Throat -- 40 damage
(Knife) (fuck me again)]

knife

[jupiter graves [d1] 🚀 pogue]

C A L L U M   L E A R E 

His sword only cuts through the air, tense and heavy with the anger and frustration Bird and him had spat at each other. He bites his lip before his teeth chew through them completely and slip into one another as he bites down hard on nothing at all, a vibration of pain echoing through his skull. The creature shuffles and steps backwards before screeching and diving for his ally.

War, from what he has gathered, is a vile concoction of different elements. One part jealousy and two parts greed, three parts ignorance and all parts grief. Pages turned and chapters written, kingdoms rise and kingdoms crumble, swords clash and big red lines find their way onto hardened skin.

Even within the soft-hearted fairy tales he had buried his mind into back in Twelve he could not discount the fact that war was ever present in-between the lines, lurking in the shadows with the ghosts and demons that haunted his own world. Inconspicuous, for sure, but never silent. War had never been silent.

So when Bird's insult does not clash against the forces of his heart as his pathetic swing comes to pass, he initially does not know what to think. Steeled skin and shaking bones as his eyes open again, a chorus of half-pledged heartbeats fluttering in his chest as he turns to glance at the girl who'd wanted an escape.

A breath in his throat tries desperately to blossom into a scream.

When he sees her body laying on the ground, it scampers back down and plants itself on a heavy heart, sharp roots spread into his last tethered heartstring.

After a moment and a half, that heartstring snaps.

"Bird?" 

He manages to let the words stumble out of his mouth before the cannon booms and the world starts spinning. 

It's deep in his gut, the way his stomach hardens before twisting and collapsing in on itself and if there were anything still left in his hollow shell of a body he might have puked for the second time that day, free of Bird's wandering insults. Instead, he feels his mind goes numb as he watches the way the blood pools spreads underneath her body the same way Kestrel's had. It's not a stage this time, there's no performance to be had anymore. Just one quick slash from the creature that now dances in victory. 

There's no words written on the line across her throat, only red.

War is never silent. Until suddenly, it is.

That's how you know you've lost.

[Attacks this fucker with Falcata]

xJ8aXqUdgPsword

[Severed Right Ear - 8.0]

sword

[ryan]

Her blood tastes divine. Daisy feels proud of herself, watching one of them fall. Obviously she wished it would have been the boy, seeing as he was the one that killed her sister, but the girl would do nicely. Her branches glided right along her neck and thats when she knew she had it. However, she did not expect the boy to lash out on her again. She thought he would have run, seeing as he had just learned how lethal she could be. If he wanted to fight to the death, then so be it. She would spread as much ruin as she possibly could. Just another dead body in her wake.

[Daisy [Joshua Tree] attacks Callum Leare || Branches (Knife)]
OVNFmzN_sIknife
[2050 -- Shallow Cut on Left Hip -- 3.5 damage
(Knife)]

knife