The Bloodbath

[shrimp]

張水銀
séui ngàhn cheung

"Nah, we live towards the center. Fam runs a restaurant." And the corner store, whose inventory he would sort once a week and try to restock in between rush hours, with a cash register that had the shittiest buttons and the coldest fridge money couldn't buy, with the soft hum of the fluorescents and the sound of an eraser scribbling on paper and the tart tang of fruit chews.

He wishes it wasn't, but his first reaction to Paloma is to wonder: Why? What was the point? He wants to live, and singing songs wouldn't stop a Keeper's gun, but would striking someone else down make it any better? What do these Victors have now after living through a massacre? Is it worth it to attempt to join them, even though the odds are slim? Even though all that murder may result in the same situation, or worse?

And while she is from home, is home still Home when he may never return?

He thinks back to that long train ride; his stomach had dropped far beneath the ground, sinking into the core of the earth. He'd wished that he could have a bowl of jūk¹ to settle the acid, but the only thing they'd given him to eat was a cracked cup of water and nearly expired rations. So instead, rubbing his gut, he'd looked outside as they passed by signage: Eight, then Five, then Four. A logo of Panem. The crumbling facade of a ruin.

His family has dispersed: Hēi Tóu forever in One, his Ye Ye² and Yin Yin³ retired in Two, his parents and his siblings surviving in Ten. But he is not going to his grandparents' house. He is not going to Hēi Tóu's grave. He is going to his own.

"You look like shit," Mario chimes, and the words ring loud.

Séui Ngàhn laughs. "I look ten times better than you, man."

They, Mario and Coal and Paloma and Drifter, coalesce in an almost organic way. It's like gravitating towards people whose names you know but not their stories at an orientation, or a new lunch period. And yet it stems from a speech to prepare for your doom, and the decision to flip off the crowd and not start a war, and from the overwhelming presence of death. Underneath the bravado there is a current of dialogue. Do you have my back? Do I have yours? What will happen when the world breaks into twenty-four?

“We’re still here!” Mario stabs and strikes the air, parrying with the crowd. "You had four years and what has it got you? Motherfuckerrrrrrrssss! You can try to make us hate each other, but we’re always going to hate you! You mad?!”

It's a cue.

Séui Ngàhn hears a noise that he thought would only echo through speakers at a drive-in movie theater, or even on the ancient television that sat in their living room. But it's different. Visceral. He turns.

Yes, Mario. "They're mad. Oh, fu-"

The lion lumbers, then leaps directly towards him.

Séui Ngàhn ducks and moves to shield his face as it swipes its claws through where his head would have been just a moment ago. But even if he was in his dancing prime, or had the energy to stretch before the beginning of the show, nothing would have prepared him for this. The lion rakes through his arm like a circular saw making the first inroads into metal, and he yelps as he rolls. But before he has a chance to strategize and catch his breath, the lion is replaced by two more animals: another feline, orange with spots, but not a lepoard nor a tiger because he's taken at least one biology course; and a hyena with an intimidating collar latched around its neck.

Move, he tells himself, and scrambles backwards like a crab, crawling as Drifter turns and--like a scene from a movie--halts the big cat's attack like a god damn show-off. It would be impressive if the whole situation wasn't absolutely terrifying. Is this guy from Five? He doesn't seem the type, but Séui Ngàhn would be lying if he said he knew what someone from Five was even lik-

There is a looming presence to the right, and there is only time to roll again as the lion returns, pouncing, eager to maim him for whatever reason lions have to maim. They didn't even teach accounting in school, let alone the reason lions have for attacking people. And what little Fó Gwōng let slip about the rebellion was never about guerrilla warfare against muttations; it was vandalism and subterfuge, justice wrapped up in fury.

He knows there's no escaping this. He knows he's going to die, and this lion will rip him to pieces, and god he hopes his parents are able to turn off the television in time before-

"STOP RUINING EVERYTHING!"

It's gone.

As Séui Ngàhn pushes himself to his feet as fast as he can, there is another tribute lashing out at the lion with their sword. And then another who moves to punch it. And then a third, who slices at the other cat. And then a fourth. For whatever reason they have to fight, it's given him an opportunity. But what now?

The rest of the troupe has one idea. Coal lunges. "Yall with me? Lets give them hell."

It's stupid. It's reckless. It's going to get them all killed. But he shakes his head, and mutters as he reaches down for his own sword. "Yuht kùhng yuht gin gwái⁴..."

There is a tribute who saved his life. He owes them a debt. It must be repaid.

---

[attacks Grimsby | sword]
saxJfkVX8_sword
[1195 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage
(Sword)]

1: 粥; congee (rice porridge)
2: 爺爺; paternal grandfather
3: paternal grandmother (Toishanese dialect)
4: 越窮越見鬼; "when one is in bad luck it just seems to get worse"


[is attacked by a lion (twice), is indirectly saved by Sage, attacks the lion]

sword

[k!ah]

D U S T I N .

“Dusty!”

Her shriek cuts through the air sharper then a knife, striking him in the back. Fists beating into the side of golden beast he freezes. What was he doing? Nanette had just spoken three words to him that had made his heart fill so full. Three words that had he hadn't realised he had been waiting to hear from her for a long time now... and he had turned his back, his heart hurting at the fact that he hadn't been unable to protect her. That he hadn't been able to shield her from the monsters claws- from her name being called out back in the square at home.

How could she love him after that? How could she love a boy who couldn't protect her? Who couldn't save her from a death that would last hours. A death that would drag her heart through the ashes of those fallen before her. A death where her blood would pool at his feet, his helpless screams nothing by background noise as her beating heart began to fade in her ears.

And yet, she loved him.

She loved him and he had not said it back. Instead he had retreated, consumed with the animalistic need to rip the eyes out of the beast which had tried to tear her away from him.

He was running away. Running away from his own feelings when it came to her. Maybe he had known how he felt for a long time now. Maybe he had just refused to admit it, scared of ruining their friendship. Petrified of losing the only person left that he truly cared about.

Maybe he was running away from the excruciating pain that was anchored to those three words. If he admitted that he loved her now then losing her now would feel like he was being torn in two, half of who he was lost forever. Admitting how he felt now would mean that the moment she lost him she would collapse in on herself, that she might lose the desire to fight. That she might give up... and the thought of her giving up, even after he was dead, caused his heart to break.

But he did love her.

He loved her with every part of his heart. He loved everything about her, from her big heart, to the way she crinkled up her nose moments before she was about to sneeze. He wanted her to know. He needed her to know. Even if it meant that losing her would mean losing himself.

Beast forgotten he prepares to wear his heart on his sleeve, hoping that it wasn't too late. Hoping that Nanette Emsworth would still accept it.

"Nan," he reaches her and the pain on her face is enough to cause the back of his throat to burn. Looking into her eyes he knew that he had broken her, what had he done? Maybe he was too late. "Nan," he almost whines, hand reaching he gently pulls her into a hug, hoping that she doesn't push him away.His lips pressed against the crown of her head. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He shouldn't have run. He shouldn't have left. He should have stayed right next to her, bared his heart, kissed her.

"Nan," he pulls away, eyes locked with hers he hoped that she could see how sorry he was. He hopes she would forgive him.

He had to tell her now. Tell her before it was too late. Tell her before he had the chance taken away. Before the cruel reality of their futures were thrust upon them. "Nanette Emsworth I'm an absolute buffoon. A fool for not saying it sooner. But..."

He pauses, "this buffoon loves you so much."  

[ post 5 ]

[Lyn𝛿is]

[attr="class","w460"]

BAAL THE BABIRUSA

It had taken a team of humans just to pry him free of Faust and get him loaded in.

Trapped within a dark cube of rumbling metal, with a thin layer of strange grass padding the new ground as the box clanked and lurched and occasionally flung him against one wall of the enclosure when it abruptly changed direction or screeched to a stop here and there, he'd had plenty of time to stew over the unfamiliar handlers that had interrupted his grudge match with his older brother.

They'd given him more treats than he's ever had before, made the sort of human-noises that he knew to mean they were pleased with his performance - and he knew that the humans with slick coats that entered his enclosure expressed their pleasure more subtly than the humans on the outside, who cheered and pressed themselves up to the glass and sent bags of popcorn flying into his enclosure whenever he fought with Faust or Rafe or any of the others.

But what did that matter to him now? A year ago, he would've been satisfied with the food and attention the humans had lavished on him in the past hour. A year ago, when his hooves were weaker and his bite less vicious, he would've been overjoyed that he could at least upstage his brother in the eyes of the humans.

But now?

He had been winning, dammit!

In the dozens of times he'd fought his older brothers growing up, they'd never, ever offered him any respite from their bullying. Every time Faust so much as caught him stealing a glance at Lil's beautiful, feminine charms, he'd punch Baal with his hooves till his face was bruised and bleeding, and then pin him to the ground until and force him to plead for mercy. Every time the food trough ran low, Rafe would sharpen his lower teeth against a tree and threaten him with them until he stepped aside. As the runt of their litter, life had been one endless fight after another, all set against a background of the flood of humans that rushed to the fence to watch whenever his brothers saw fit to subject him to another beatdown.

Baal wasn't going to let that happen anymore. Ever since he'd hit his growth spurt this past winter, he'd towered over both of his older brothers, with all the strength to match them. Last week when he fought Rafe their match had ended in more or less a tie, and Baal still feels a sense of satisfaction when humans gather around the tusk he'd broken off of Rafe, now put up at the front of their enclosure. And now that it was mating season, well, it looked like Faust's girl wasn't going to be his for much longer.

If only the weird-smelling humans had let him fucking finish, and carve open a few new scars on his brother's smug little face until he was the one down in the dirt begging for mercy.

When the lurching stops and the box opens, however, he's not back in his enclosure. The other boars are gone, replaced by more weird-smelling humans that hold him down and fasten something odd and metallic against his neck. He paws against the sand, wanting to dig into it but only finding it rough and unyielding.

A cheer erupts on his left. Baal cranes his neck up in curiosity to see an entire crowd of humans, much bigger than any crowd he's ever seen at the zoo. He watches them throw food at each other and into what he can only guess is his new enclosure, hears them scream in that mixture of tension and anger and excitement that can only mean one thing:

They want to see a fight. He tenses up his muscles and charges forward, all too happy to unleash his pent-up energy from the unfinished fight on his new rivals in the enclosure.

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

Baal attacks with tusks (knife):

12f - Piper Lacour [ Zoe ]
RI3jD8v9CRknife

2101 -- Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage
(Knife)

4m - Calder Rusolki [ griffin ]
knife

2036 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage
(Knife)

6m - Mario Mario [ Zori ]
knife

2025 -- Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage
(Knife)

7f - Nieve Villanova De Angelis [ Briar ]
knife

2099 -- Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage
(Knife)

4f - Catamaran 'Cat' Stowe [ Aya ]
knife

2183 -- Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damage
(Knife)knife·knife·knife·knife·knife

[kap]

"This is a revolution.
We are rising up."

Sand all of a sudden started to fall through the ground of the colosseum a little ways away from Vanya, and she heard the sound of something creaking open. She looked up and lowered her fist from above her head- it was a trap door, and emerging from it was a lion. It started to go after some of the tributes, and other animals soon followed.

The one that came nearest to her at first was some strange, fat animal with intimidating looking tusks. Vanya had never seen anything like it before. Judging by the metal collar around its neck, glinting in the sun, she assumed that these things were being controlled or at least ordered around by the Capitol. That, and only that, was the reason that she felt okay raising her fists to it. They weren't human, but they were controlled by humans she despised.

Yes, all the while, she felt a little bit guilty being willing to strike one of these animals, but at least it wasn't with a sword. She'd refused to pick up her sword, and at this point, it'd been kicked far away from her. If she was going to fight these things, she'd be using her fists. Vanya raised her fists up in front of her in the best fighting stance that she could think of- not that she had at experience fighting- and swung at the creature.

It's not a person, she had to remind herself. It's okay, it's okay, it's not a person.

elegant & UNSECRET
graphic by mahouho

[9F VANYA MCALISTER attacks BAAL THE BABIRUSA with FISTS]
WU9HLjfTsMunarmed
[5170 -- Bruised Left Hand -- 2.0 damage]

unarmed

[Deleted]

Hey girl, hey! 

Why'd the music stop?

It was totally getting her into like, the groove, you know? Those funky little jazz tunes with the ambient rain in the background, she didn't even notice the move. For real for real, she was just listening to her jazz and then bam, she's not even in water anymore! That's right, Gemma on dry land, no swamp around -- it's not even dry land. This is like, dry dry. Dry dry dry land girl, just wait until she got back to the enclosure to tell Whitney.

All the other kids from her bus ride already got off, snacking away while she made her first steps groggily onto the sand. Gemma was not a fan at all, it stuck between her scales and itched her belly as she walks across it. Tails are shaking and she couldn't understand half of why this was so great and all. Oh well, she's not here for a good time, she's here for lunch time.

^{[ GEMMA RUBS ON LUMI ]}
weXhfYjJMeknife

^{[ PLAY ROUGH! 0.0]}

^{[ GEMMA NIBBLES FINN ]}
knife

^{[ SHALLOW CUT -- 3.5 ]}

^{[ GEMMA BITES LUMI ]}
knife

^{[ SEVERED EAR -- 8.0 ]}
[ SWALLOWED BTW ]

^{[ GEMMA ATTACKS SEUINGAHN ]}
knife

^{[ BITE THAT CALF -- 8.5 ]}

^{[ GEMMA CHEWS ON CALDER ]}
knife

^{[ TWO SWALLOWED FINGERS! 9.0 ]}

It's what her father always taught her: when you're at a buffet, try a bit of everything! And life is the greatest buffet really. You really should tip your toes in every bayou you can, experience is the most important thing -- a really dumb croc can still be a wise girl. It's like, legal. Anyways, we're talking an actual buffet here, she tried some coward, some leg, some ear and a nice hunking portion of fingers. 

And there's nothing she loves more than a finger salad. 

Well, besides eyes, but let's not get too crazy here. She waddled her way through the sand biting and tearing pieces where she could, growing more eager in her speed as she went. Even going back for seconds on one girl when she realized she missed a bit to eat. It all ends up at a rather charming boy, though, and she stares at him with his fingers in her mouth. 

Wedding bells, yeah? A girl can dream! 

You can be the maid of honor, I guess. 

She leans her weight onto the blonde boy, trying to keep him in place for when she's ready for a bit more. Let it be known he tasted good, like sea salt and privileged meat. Could use some mud. 

knife·knife·knife·knife·knife

[d9 kristof parks {ems}]

Nocte Jay

Frantic eyes dart left and right trying to figure out where to go and what to do. Right now nobody is fighting. Nobody is doing anything, and the audience is growing impatient - Why don't they come down here and fight? But they won't because it doesn't matter to them. They're free. They don't have anything to worry about, and yet they don't understand the fear that's running through his own mind. Death is a scary thing, and knowing that it's coming petrifies him. He has no idea what to even expect, but right now Nocte will simply do what he can to continue laying low.

More items are thrown into the arena, and the lady he's been eyeing has been hit with more, and Nocte can't help but chuckle, only this time something lands on the ground beside him. Cocking his head slightly, he reaches down, picks it up and reads the words inside. Fight and I’ll see that your family is saved. - AF It hits him hard. Maybe someone can really give him a chance. Maybe his family will be okay, and Lunar will have a chance at life reading all the books, but this could all be some sort of hoax to get the action started. The tiny plane falls from his hand landing on the ground before him. Fighting when nobody else is fighting is a death sentence. Right now he has a chance to appeal it and maybe escape this place alive, but raising a weapon first to anyone here would seal the deal.

He sighs wondering what else to do. Wondering what will happen -

Screams erupt from within the arena, and Nocte turns around and screams as these giant creatures come barreling into view. The Capitol has clearly had enough, and now he just wants to figure out his best plan of action. For a moment, he sees the person staring at him, and all he can do is leap back as this giant cat comes prancing forward slicing through the air with its giant claws.

What is this?

What is going on?

Everything went from standing to moving extremely fast, and Nocte isn't prepared. His eyes dart from tribute to tribute trying to take everythign in;

"Do you need any-" He can't even finish his sentence because the tribute slices the paw clean off the cat without a second thought. "I guess you don't need me." He keeps slowly backing away wanting to run and escape the madness that he's found himself placed in. Everything is spinning. Weapons are flying, and he still doesn't know what to do.

Fighting is a way to get himself killed, but if they're willing to release these ugly creatures into the arena when they don't fight each other, what would they do to his family? What would happen to them?

The thought of keeping them alive is what drives him. To keep them from getting hurt. He takes a deep breath, turns around staring down the mutt that is missing a paw. Sometimes everyone needs help, and maybe this is a way he can do it without anyone trying to bring him down.

Stumbling around, arms flailing, he runs towards the beast. Maybe a distraction is better than nothing since it doesn't involve raising the sword. Something has to work, but hopefully this mess up won't cost him his life.

District 9 | 4th Hunger Games

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

Nocte Jay attacks Majjati unarmed
rpE1ez|FLNunarmed

{ 5097 -- Gash/Bruised Left Shin -- 4.0 damage }

unarmed

[rook]

"I'm from Thirteen."

Of course. She's the girl who I heard muttering to herself whilst the howling boy was screaming to the gods in the middle of the night. Again and again she had affirmed to herself of her origins. It makes sense, thinking about it, how a refugee from a bombed district could end up in Twelve.

The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and a wave of uncertainty ripples through me as I see her expression drop. There's a shaking underground, and I turn over my shoulder tentatively to see just what it is that has Piper Freeman from District Thirteen transfixed.

Then I see it for myself. Creatures, animals, monsters, things emerging from the ground, with teeth, and claws, and fangs, and blood-lust in their eyes.

And I should have realised sooner that if we refused to kill each other, they'd just do it for us.

"Run".

I don't need Piper to tell me twice. I pick up my district partner's sword. Then, with Nieve's hand gripped firmly in mine, I sprint with Piper away from the beasts, so fast that the poor little girl between us is practically being lifted off her feet as we half-carry her away as fast as we can.

Behind us, I start to hear the screams of other Tributes, and the roaring of the creatures as they start their massacre. I don't look back. I don't look back for a second.

But there's only so far we can run.

We reach the arena walls, and I look up at the spectators, who point and laugh at us as we realise that we have reached the perimeter. We're in a dead end. They jeer and point and revel in our situation, and I look up at them to see if there is any humanity behind their eyes, and I quickly come to the conclusion that the real monsters are in the stands.

There is a noise, and a scream, and something throws us. I let go of Nieve's hand and fall flat on my chest, dust and sand covering my heavy armour. Her sword falls away from me, lying motionless in the ashes of the fallen. I turn and see a red flower blooming on the back of Nieve's pale white head, her helmet split in two.

"NO!"

Please, fuck, no. Don't be dead, don't be dead.

The creature withdraws a little, ready to attack again, but I put myself between it and Nieve - Piper to my left. I make myself big, spreading my arms like a human flesh shield. I daren't look over my shoulder to see if she is moving or not, I can't bring myself to do it.

I try to move, but I can't.

Another flash of movement. Something snags my arm and drags me sideways. I roll again in the sand, which sticks to my open wound, stinging as I scramble to my feet, my hand reaching, searching, desperately trying to grasp the hilt of my blade, all the while the nearby crowd laugh and cheer at us.

My fingers find the blade, and I grip it tightly.

You want a show? I'll give you a fucking show.

[7M IZZY ZAFIRIS attacks BAAL THE BABIRUSA with SWORD]
mY_rN7Bd5Hsword
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

sword

[я𝑜𝓈𝑒]

n i e v e

For a fleeting moment, you think, maybe the Games will be off if no tributes agree to fight. A false sense of security sets in as the two older tributes flank you on either side, their hands clasped protectively in yours.

Piper is the girl's name. She says she is from District Thirteen, the place that was turned to rubble and ash after the rebellion. You wonder if Piper has anyone in her family left, if she lost someone in the bombings like you did at the Reaping.

You want to ask her, but before you can even conjure the words in your mind, the gates of the Colosseum open and a pack of vicious, snarling mutts are released. This time, you can't hold in your shock and fear as a squeak crawls its way up your throat and out of your mouth.

You try to move, but your body roots itself in place as you stare with wide eyes at the mutts who begin to charge the tributes. All the blood in your body has turned to lead, freezing up your heart. Blood is rushing in your ears, but you can't even process the sound. You feel so cold, as if all the warmth of life has been drained from your body.

"Run," Piper urges, and then the two of them half-carry, half-drag you to the edge of the Arena, closer to the stands where Capitolites chortle and cheer at the bloodshed. As you are running, a the claws — or horns, perhaps — of a mutt pierce into the back of your head, tearing your flimsy, misfitting helmet in two and leaving an arc of blood on your scalp. You fall to the ground, your hands grasping at the ashen sand in an effort to keep yourself from collapsing. Blood spills down your head to your neck, crimson staining the locks of your snow-white hair.

You scream and tears burst from your eyes, running down your cheeks uncontrollably. But even as sheer terror rips through you, so does anger. The ice in your body fades, giving way to fire. You do not want to die here. You cannot die here. You are twelve years old, you have a life to live still, a checklist of things you always wanted to do. (At the top of that list was kissing Esmeralda Salazar. You never got to do that, and now you might never see her again.)

Your gaze flickers up at the jeering, laughing crowd, and a surge of anger burns through your chest. You don't want them to win — even if you die here, you decide that you will not go down without trying to live, without trying to grasp at the possibility of survival. It is what your mother would want if she were alive, although she did not raise you to be a warrior. Your pale, almost invisible brows furrow on your face as determination steels within you.

Izzy must have picked up your sword, because it now lies on the sand. You take it in your hands, using both to lift it. The blade feels lighter than before, the adrenaline coursing through your veins giving you the strength to carry it. Still, it is no easy feat to swing the blade towards the mutt who now lunges for Piper. You let out a cry as you do, bringing the sword down in a rather uncoordinated, yet purposeful manner.

[nieve attacks baal with sword]
4HTkeGJv|6sword
[1124 -- Severed Right Leg at Hip -- 10 damage]

яose

sword

[ghosty]

"Run."

He knew the peace could never last. Sickly cheers grew louder, all around. Reflecting off the walls, the dirt. His ears rang with the noise, louder than he expected. His eyes caught movement, non-human and fast. Heart shot down into his stomach, fear filling his every living thought. Adrenaline shot through veins like a bullet, eyes darting to anything that moved, other than the jeering crowd that circled the dusty arena. Their entertainment was here, and he was the one to pay for it. Auden was fresh meat to hungry eyes.

Auden was prey.

He was in the circus now, without a doubt. Animals circled around, swiping at anything that moved. He saw the blood flop onto the dirt, soaking in almost in an instant, swapping to another child immediately. They were fighting another war in punishment of the first, and they were all on the losing side. Auden saw something move in the corner of his eye, but it was too close, too fast. Too late to react. He tried to turn but the flash of pain shot through faster than anything, balance shifting backwards to keep him on his feet. 

He'd never realised how hot blood was, almost as hot as the spitting sparks from iron tracks. Leaving tiny marks on clothes. It was his blood that fell in a river to the grey dirt, flooding it red and leaving it wet under foot. It dried fast. The creature ran past Auden, the damage done. Finding it's next attempt at a meal. 

It rushed back past him, Auden reaching out as far as possible with the hardest kick he could manage, reactions taking over. "Leave  me alone! You hear?!" He knew it'd be back, or one of the other things that were dotted around in with them. 

All Auden hoped is that it'd give him time to run.

[ auden attacks gilda, unarmed (foot) ]
Ld_RS5vAhMunarmed
[ 5171 -- Block -- 0.0 damage ]

unarmed

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

“I used to be from Four, too,” he says and my eyes glimmer before a soft laugh escapes me.

        Of course, he is.

If there is one thing I couldn’t escape from, it’s district four, it’s the salt-water on my skin, it’s the way our hands cup each other like spin-drifts weaving together, like barnacles on sea-smoothed stone. As along as Rusolki blood flows through my veins, so would the sea’s.

“Pretty neat place,” I murmur with a smile – regardless of the ache it makes in my bruised cheeks.

“Haven’t met yer’ before thou’ – but then 'gai, wasn’t much allowed to meet others.”

The Rusolkis kept to ourselves, all our beliefs and practices stacked onto shelves as leather-bound books and all our blood sacrifices washed away by the sea. No matter how much sea-gull blood stained my hands, it would be gone at the end of the day, rinsed clean, the carcasses fed to the waves. The war was an afterthought to us, though I used to squint my eyes and wonder what the smoke in the distance when I was eleven. War is a trivial matter, my mother would say to me in her thick accent, invented by fools for fools to kill kills.

        Everything except the sea was foolish to her.

She grew up near it and then became reverent of it. There was magic, she’d say, in those depths beyond the shallow waters and the great stone spires, a place where everything gleamed opalescent and fishes talked in high tones and all the sea-gulls they beat to death with stones were reborn as winged, deep-sea creatures.

They were tall tales I believed in until one day, I shook free of the horrible spell they’d put me under.

The tides hid starfishes and anemones, not grand kingdoms crafted from sea-glass. There was no paradise in the depths. The fantasy my family held onto was as elusive as moonlight, as water, yet it had them spellbound. After all, none of us knew a world that lacked the sea in it.

But here I am, shaking hands with a boy whose eyes whisper of new worlds, places I’d wanted to travel to – forests, maybe, or meadows where everything gleamed russet. One, he says and I try to picture it as thoroughly as I can, a place that holds the perfect idea of wealth, grand houses and picket-fenced mansions. I run and the sting of sea-salt is nowhere to be found on my ruddy cheeks.

The picture fades in an instant like a candle flickering out as pain sears through me and I gasp out, stumbling onward – eyes wild – and imposing the entire heft of my form onto the boy’s shoulder. Breaths come in broken spates, sharp and uneven, and the world reels. I dig my hands into his shoulder, ball up the tunic, and bite down another cry.

The sounds come in fragments. “You have to help—!” “—have to get him towards the outer walls, they won’t be able to attack u—”

“N—No,” I hiss against the sweat-stained skin of his shoulder-blade and steady myself on my two feet again, mustering the scrapes of strength left in me. Okay, Calder. I trust you. That trust is a thing to be treasured. I have never been trusted before. Heck, I haven’t even had friends before. The sea was my friend and I was almost drowned in it.

I draw the sword out from the sand ferociously as teeth come for us a second time, and use my free hand to push the boy from One away. A beak narrowly misses him. More creatures emerge around us, taken out of the storybooks. There’s a maned beast that roars and I can’t remember its name but I know it’s supposed to be majestic. There’s a bird with a sharp beak and it’d look so funny to me, if I wasn’t bleeding so profusely. There’s a crocodile and—

        “HECK!”

My two fingers disappear in its maw and the pain is salt on an open wound, is unimaginable. I grit my teeth to bottle the next sound that crawls up to my throat, and it’s useless, the agonized moan flowing free nonetheless. “Run,” I plead as I search for the boy from One’s gaze, those eyes brimming with new worlds and strange places. “Please, please, please, run – l-leave me.”

       What had he seen that I haven’t? that I want to?
       I wonder as I swing my sword at the crocodile.

It doesn't register to me if the blade meets flesh or not. Everything is shapes dancing against the bright of my eyes. As my breaths come out in shallow pants, the words escape me on their own, raspy. “Yer' haven't given me yer' name, right?” I don't check to see if he's left.

        I hope he has.
        I hope he hasn't.

[ oh shit cute frens, must protecc ]

[ CALDER attacks GEMMA | sword ]

ZBMy1R6yGnsword

1140 -- Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage (Sword)

sword

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

[attr="class","w460"]

"I used to be from Four, too.”

Cypria's gut twists. Her brow furrows as she takes in Knox de Sol anew. Many families traveled before the war and she's even made a circuit or two of the lands adjacent to One. But to claim loyalty, to be from Four as well... Something about that throws her.

She has to remind herself that she doesn't know Knox that well. That he may surprise her. People usually do. And this small surprise is nothing compared to the beasts now stalking the tributes. Knox's scream joins her own, although his mellows far more quickly.

She cannot seem to stop, the sound lodged in her throat, the only defense she has.

"CYPRIA!”

She stumbles, as though struck by the weight of her name. It's just enough to nudge her out of the path of a rampaging cat. A big, big rampaging cat, like none that she's ever seen.

It works. Cypria closes her mouth, swallows the scream, and fixes Knox with wide, white eyes.

"You have to help me! We have to get him towards the outer walls, they won’t be able to attack us from behind again if we can."

She will not open her mouth. She will not release the scream. So, she nods and trails her sword in the sand as she follows her district partner. That's all the help she can, another body between Calder and the cursed things that have been unleashed.

In the race to the wall, Cypria nearly collides with another tribute. The back of her neck prickles. In the moment she can't process the feeling, but the fleeting image of the girl clinging to sword and popcorn stays with her as she collapses against the stone.

“Please, please, please, run – l-leave me.”

Cypria shakes her head vehemently. No way. She drops her sword in the sand at her side, puts her hands to the warm stone, and trying to find a rhythm to her breaths.

It's a good plan. They need to rest and breathe and Calder needs to stop bleeding --

It's a good plan, but the beasts have a better one.

Cypria opens her mouth.

And screams.

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

[gamemaker kelsier]

"What the hell is he doing?"

"Running, he's a goddamned Emu, Brian," Queenie said as she stared intently at Thor. He was around the outskirts of the arena now and she was certain that he'd broken his personal speed record of thirty-five km an hour. She was proud of him, thrown into an arena with twenty-four kids, two cats, a pig and a gator. The drug that she'd been working on seemed to be doing its job as far as she could tell. It would run him ragged into the ground, all of his energy used in this moment. The chances of him living through this project were so slim that it wasn't even worth calculating.

Already, she was starting to detach herself further from the Emu. In the end, he was just another science experiment, not the animal she'd raised from a test tube.

"Well get him to attack the kids!"

She turned to glare at the Peacekeeper stood beside her at the window and wondered if they tested IQ's before acceptance into the academy. Obviously not, the man had a one-track mind, he just wanted blood. Queenie was far more interested in the experiment itself, in the culmination of her life's work playing out in front of her eyes.

"How do you propose I do that, hmm? You can't control an anima-," she paused, an idea germinating slowly within her. The drug could be adapted perhaps, it would take so much testing of course, maybe even years of work, but...

"Well, at least not yet."

She took out a worn notebook and handed the Peacekeeper her cigarette, suddenly intent on writing.

Thor pecked at the wall of the arena. It seemed to be made of something impenetrable because even his mighty beak couldn't get through it. His heart was racing, tiny brain empty except for the fear and anger that drove it. There were enemies all around him, large predators that wanted to eat him and tiny animals that liked to sit directly in his path.

He wanted to go home, the sound of screaming filled his ears and he tipped his long neck back to scream with it, his booming sounding feral. Thor wanted to go home and eat some goddamned bugs, maybe curl up in the corner of his cage so his back rested against the emu that was in the cage beside him.

He missed the quiet, the joy in that strange togetherness. He screamed again and pawed at the dirt. He'd never truly craved flesh before but something was blossoming beneath his feathers, a strange urge that zeroed in on the children.

e a t

Came Queenie's voice, a ghost of a command built into chemicals and bacteria.

The fear drained away, rage and curiosity remained. Thor charged back towards the children, this time much more purposeful.

Target One: 3m - Auden Wren [ ghosty ]
DK_sQWV_Asknife
[Deep Gash on Left Forearm -- 8.0 damage]

Target Two: 3f - 2f - Andromache Audacia [ Cato ]
knife
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

Target Three: 3f - 8f - Luella Duval [ Tom ]
knife
[Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage]

Target Four: 4m - 6m - Mario Mario [ Zori ]
knife
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]

Target Five: Piper Lacour [ Zoe ]
knife
[Shallow Cut on Right Shoulder -- 3.5 damage]

knife·knife·knife·knife·knife

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

        They haven’t left.

Despite the fire in my gut, I plaster a feeble smile onto my bruised face. They haven’t left. Perhaps it isn’t time to be hopeless yet. Perhaps, by some stroke of luck, we could brave this together. The feel of the boy’s hand on my own lingers as I press the bloodied mess against my own bare skin and it hurts the way the icy sea in the winter months is—a bone-numbing hurt that sends stars careening across my sight.

        It hurts but I grit my teeth and brave it.
        I have friends to protect.

As my double vision steadies, I notice that the sandy grounds ahead of us have gotten a new coat of red paint. Everything is chaos and mayhem, teeth and blood. My throat makes a whimpering sound as I see faces as young as twelve, maybe even younger, drawing swords at the monsters. I am supposed to be a hero but my sword’s stuck in stone and I feel each wild pulse-beat of my heart make the bleeding stronger.

What would my mother say about this? Foolish Calder. You should’ve let the sea take you under and be at peace. But I imagine myself as one of them sea phantoms, sailors that’d died horrible deaths in the waters, haunting the depths for all of eternity, and I shiver. Here, I’d die with the sun on my face.

Everything ripples and becomes shapes again; I stumble back to the boy’s side. My eyes take in the girl mere moments before she lets out another scream and I wince.

“I-If we’re stayin’ together, we got—gotta’ fight together.” I rasp at her and weakly jut my chin at the sword, readying my own. “Better to die tryin’ to fight back than leyin’ ourselves down for ‘em.” I give the boy a look, and then swing at the first creature that draws near to us.

[ CALDER attacks BAAL | sword ]

Dsjrsw7NoKsword

1067 -- Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage (Sword)

sword

[𝓂𝒶𝒽𝑜𝓊𝒽𝑜🕊]

Each minute that passed, the heat seemingly rose. Perhaps it was the heat from our words that fanned the flames that seared from the audience through strewn luxuries and food, melting with our impending grave below. Although they’ve taken everything from us, it didn’t take a watchful eye to realize those who sat on makeshift pedestals weren’t far off in stature from the supposed savages sent out to die. You’d think age would bring forth the best attributes, yet it weakened them. Because adults carry an ego, that rots the brain as their pride swells. They sentenced us to death since they feared if we tasted anything but defeat, that we would rise above; because those who haven’t been handed everything in life fight the hardest. We’re the ones who cling no matter the grain piercing under our fingernails, dripping our lifelines down the sinking table. We’re the ones who climb higher since even if they hold the saw that broke our stability, they won’t win.

With a sly smile and a nod from my new comrade, Mario’s words prompted an unwritten contract of unity between the lower districts; the districts that were the last to fall and ones with nothing yet everything to lose. Séui Ngàhn, the laid back boy who I could have known and befriended in a lifetime before. After all, he was only from the center. Maybe in that timeline, papa would have taught me to drive his old pickup truck by then, and I could have visited that restaurant one day without meaning to. Then there was Coal, the boy who hung past the prideful with a calmed reassurance that reminded me of a rushed maturity. Howler, or the proclaimed stranger as Mario put it, hung around my shoulder like an alley cat. One of a foreign familiarity, vaguely reminding me of how Aarón used to hold me while walking back from working in the shop after a long day of slaving over oil and grease for the ungrateful white vultures. The outspoken ringleader from the district of waste pumped his weapon above his head, declaring a battle cry towards the audience. Although in a large sandbox that smelt like death, a comfort settled in me that drained the pressure from my temples. For once since arriving here, I didn’t feel so alone. Yet was this the melancholy of times that I never was afforded to have because of the paths Aarón and papa laid out for me, or were we boiling frogs?

Perhaps we were, since the howler from once before voice sank towards the back of his throat Mario raised his sword over his head, shouting in defiance towards the squawking audience. The calmer Coal asked with a softness unfamiliar in an arena surrounded by stone, “I wonder how much longer they are just going to let us idle by?” I offered a halfhearted shrug as my eyebrows raised in an unsure knit. “The audience seems pretty angry” he laughed, mine mirroring his as he stuck out his tongue. My smile retreated slightly at our surrounding reality. We were children counting down our minutes before death, and even in these moments, we couldn’t enjoy it. Coal’s movements, although playful, seemed weathered. Looking at everyone surrounding, all of us were littered with blooming wounds, whether they be visible or internal. Another bloomed off the howler’s tongue as he offered his name.

“Drifter” slid off his tongue, his sound wrapped in hints of tart. As if having bitten into a fruit that was deceivingly ripe in appearance, yet youth hadn’t left its grasp; the regret hanging off your tongue. “My name is Drifter.” My head tilted past my collar bone, eyes attempting to meet his. But a frosty look had overtaken the boy.

“Drifter? Are you sure of that? That doesn’t sound-” his bloodied fingertips sagged in a heaviness, tugging against my silk laced braids uncomfortably past my cape that felt too large for me. “-right” escaped my lips as large doors opened. The heat raised further, climbing higher as colossal beasts padded in. Briefly glimpsing back at those to my side, my shoulder sunk down as I freed my salvation crafted of iron from the grain. Jumping backward, Drifter and a barreling, lawless hyena separated me. The beasts rushed forth against Séui Ngàhn’s frustrated cry. The quiet Coal was the voice of reason as he cut through our hesitation. “Y’all with me? Let's give them hell.”

An opponent emerged of proportions I have only seen in statues approached, his mane looking as intimidating as in stone. Yet no matter these beasts, they were all the same to me. Faceless fired bullets, lions, or children’s blades, death is death. And the dead can’t protect the living. Waving over the drifter who drifted closer to death the further he strayed, I shouted, “You, come on! Drifting away may have made things easier, but now isn’t the time. We need to stand up and fight!” Rushing forward, not awaiting his feet to follow, I swung my blade forth towards the lion that dared swung at the one from home. He may not be much, a stranger at that, but district ten has lost enough blood. I won’t let more pour just yet.

[Paloma was having a bonding moment before the mutts ruined it, so rude! She smacks Grimsby with her blade. Bad kitty! No biting people!]

|hh1QXg5gwsword

[1121 -- Deep Gash on Back -- 8.5 damage]

kaitlin

”sword”

[✨ zozo.]

LEAD ME TO
THE TRUTH AND I 

Your plan is fool-proof, until you hit a wall.

Panic rises as the three of you look up in unison at the brick, stretching for what feels like eons until it touches the sky. Closer to the edge you can hear the cheers of the crowd, the stamping of their feet, the rumbling of chaos that drowns out the sound of-

You don't hear it, but you feel it burning into your cheek like a brand. As you clutch at your face, tender and swollen you hear Izzy scream -

"NO!"

From the ground he crawls upwards, dusty and bruised - yet still standing. Nieve stays there, blood pooling from the back of her head.

"N-" you try, but every movement of your jaw causes your cheek to burn and tears swell, blurring until you can't tell Nieve's snow-like skin from the sand or the scarlet of her blood from her helmet. From fear, from pain, from mourning - you cower, whilst Izzy stands and fights.

Your heart yearns for the sword you'd abandoned by your cage. Nieve's, you think suddenly - and as you turn to grab it from where it lies you find it disappeared. But where-?

There she stands - you gasp, relieved, astonished. So tiny, so scarce of fear. Izzy swings and misses at the beast that attacked you all but Nieve brings her sword down hard and fast as it charges forward and it buckles, crumpling and screaming, its leg cut straight clean from its body.

In shock, you stumble backward - the world tips, you with it, and when you hit the ground another animal beelines its beak toward you. Instinct kicks in as you curl up into a ball, a lesson learned from the cages last night, but it still manages to peck at your arm for a few moments as your bloody, mangled cheek smears into the dirt and sand below.

Coward, your memories jeer. If a little girl can take down a beast and a boy can put nothing but himself between you and a monster, the least you can do is show them some gratitude. Fight alongside them. Besides - you're a girl of your word.

You're Piper Freeman, and you're from District Thirteen, and you promised to protect them until your end. If nothing else, that is who you are. So with shaking arms and blood dripping down your neck, you hurry to sieze an abandoned sword punctured into the ground and hold it as confidently as you can.

A wave at Izzy, you jab a finger towards your two comrades and the leg-less monster writhing on the ground. Another to your chest and the bird that circles back toward you. Finally, a nod, and you take a long hard look at them. How brave they are. How fearless, even in the face of death.

If it's the last time you see them, you think as you grit your teeth through the pain in your broken hand and lunge, you want to remember them as they are.

All courage, right until the end.

WILL FOLLOW YOU
WITH MY WHOLE LIFE 

post 5, piper frantically lunges at emu (remembered his name is thor) with a sword
will probably miss bc her hand is busted JK
JMnXyv2DVgsword
Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage

sword