wanna go on a picnic? alpaca lunch {gay panic day 2}

[k!ah]

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The axe finds its chest, burying its head deep into the cavity, searching for the heart. It almost finds it, steel kissing muscle when Bell shoves is spear through the mutt's throat, blood raining down on her like rain. It's warm and sticky and thick against her skin. It soaks her hair, paints her face red, leaving her panting as the mutt falls to its knees, choking on its own blood, its heart fluttering like a butterfly with broken wings. Dying.

Grunting, Mauve kicks the beast, forcing it onto its side as its dying whimpers fade. Tightening her grasp on her axe she prowls towards its head, it's eyes were wide open, lifeless and void of light. Mauve presses the toe of her boot into its cheek, looking over her shoulder at Bubby, looking past the state of panic he seemed to have work himself into, "Yo, Bubby, soon this will be you!" Her grin is wide, her words teasing. Though the threat beneath them was not hidden, it was hung in the air between us like a knife, waiting for the perfect moment to drop.

Turning back towards the mutt she puts all her weight behind her axe, lopping it over her head she grunts as she send it straight into the dead mutts neck. The head buries itself into the neck, deep, slicing through the tendons and the thick muscles of the neck. But it wasn't enough. She rips it from the flesh, blood coating the blade, a deep red, the colours of ruby's, but so much more precious. Bringing it down again she hears the crack of bone, a satisfying sound. One more strike and the head becomes separated from the body.

Slinging her axe onto her waist her leans down to wrap blood stained fingers around the beasts antlers, ignoring the way the strain of the muscles causes the torn muscles of her left biceps to scream at her, a searing pain that has her biting down a hiss of pain. "It's heavier than it looks," she grunts, pulling the head towards one of the picnic tables she had claimed as her work bench.

As the fight was ending Mauve had noticed a parachute discarded by one of the tables. A staple gun and feathers. Perfect for Mauves expertise. Atticus must have taken notes from her gift, noticing her talent. Mauve wouldn't be using a rock as a pillow tonight, tonight she had luxury, a throw pillow fit for a queen.

[d4 Panda Scope [Gayton]]

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My stare couldn’t break from the vomit on my hand. The longer I looked, the queazier I felt. It was disgusting. I wiped it off best I could into the grass, with repetitive back and forths through the blades. But I was still stained with blood, drying and chipping in the scorching sun. I removed my sweat-soaked neckerchief, at least I hoped it was sweat and began scrubbing at my arms and face, feverishly.

That’s when Mauve decides to be Mauve. “...Soon this will be you.” After knowing her for two weeks, I should be used to this. I knew what she was doing, so I shouldn’t let it affect me. But it’s the looming, and all too inevitable, promise niched into the tease that sent shivers down my spine.

“Ripred, that hurts” I muttered to myself as the pulse of fear reminded me of the painful gashes in my back. I tended to it, best I could. Applying bandages, and anything I could think of to it. It was just out of reach for me, so I couldn’t do much on my own. I was hoping someone would offer to help me, but I wouldn’t ask. Mauve would laugh in my face. Liara turned out to be just like her, so I didn’t really trust her anymore. And Bellamy, I couldn’t even look at him without turning red as the blood that stained my cheeks.

Maybe, I should have just ran. 

[collects things]

[Cato]

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Thankfully the duo from three manage to kill the other deer, and I stand there watching Mauve hit it over and over and over, and she's digging through it, and she threatens Bubby saying that soon he'll look like that. She's such an odd person, and sometimes she even scares me, but I never let that show. I simply want to stay on her good side because it is important. I'm tugging my own deer behind me. It has plenty of meat, and I want to salvage as much of it as I can. It will last me a while, and it's super exciting to think about.

I sit it on the ground, and I hack at the limbs. I don't need them. The torso is where I'm going to get the most of the meat. I throw the discarded limbs to the side, and I hack at it more and more. Then when I have the meat all chopped up, I shove it in my bag. I know it's not going to last that long, and it might start to stink, but at least I can eat it soon. I can devour it and get the much needed protein from it.

I look at the items I have, and I think about what I need moving forward. Sometimes all I want is alone time, and sometimes getting that alone time isn't easy. I'm constantly being followed. Everyone in Panem knows who I am. I just want to sit in front of a fire and roast my meat, and just enjoy my last few minutes on this earth. I sit down on the ground, and I rest against a picnic table. It's not home, but I just want to be left alone. It's all I can do for now.

-does things-

[Tom]

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Shock. It's the first feeling that burns away at the edges of his skin. Blood dripping from the fire poker as the metal goes completely through the neck. Bellamy's never killed a living creature before, but watching those eyes go from living to dead makes his stomach churn in disgust. The shakiness of his own hands come as he pulls the fire poker out, blood dripping from the wound, until his eyes catch the unnerving ones of Mauve. Blood coating her hair, outfit, and face; the deep red adding to her already terrifying look. Sweat dripping down his sides as the feeling of weakness comes forward again. Mauve's foot kicking the creature to the side, blood dripping from it's lips.

"Yo, Bubby, soon this will be you!"

Death. It's never quite pretty. Always filled with red blood and the metallic smell of iron in the air. A smile staring over to the rest of them with an axe raised to the air. A slam of blood and metal cutting through bone; an echo of death throughout the area as the head rolls away for a second. His eyes widening in terror for a second, a breeze making a chill run up his spine as he watches. Holding the head by the antlers, he can feel his heart in his chest beating. The air on his lips having gone soft. The panic setting in as Mauve lifts the head up and moves towards one of the picnic tables. "It's heavier than it looks." The blood drips behind it as he avoids looking the creature straight on. Hands shaking from the realization of his own deadly potential; ripping through a mutt with emotions and life. The feeling makes him sick to his stomach as he realizes the truth.

His father's killer and him weren't different anymore.

Bellamy's killed a living creature with no remorse; his heart hammering in his chest at the memory of wanting to survive and be stronger like Liara and Mauve. Parachutes fall for him and Mauve; a message to clearly be taken that Atticus had faith in them both to keep moving forward. The panic in his chest easing just a little bit as he watches Bubby move to start patching himself up with supplies. Liara goes to cut up the meat of the mutt she had killed. The panic burns alongside his chest and stomach; blood dripping from his shallow wound as he can feel the air disappearing from his chest. Heavy breaths as he stumbles back onto another picnic table. Opening the silver parachute with a heavy fear in his eyes, he stares at the items inside. A medkit to patch up the wounds he had, but his eyes catch on the glint of metal, noticing the knife inside. His eyes look up to a camera hidden away; wondering if Atticus had a plan for him to use the knife, but he lets himself stop for a moment.

Bellamy Scott didn't want to kill anymore.

This wasn't a game he wanted to play anymore.

No, he wanted to survive and make it out, but he wasn't a killer. Blood coating the fire poker hadn't made him feel strong. No, he felt weaker staring at the blood of the mutt, but he wouldn't tell the others. Instead of letting them look at him in this state, he pulls himself on top of the table, ignoring the obvious spot of a seat in the wood. The table's surface felt more comfortable and his eyes stare heavily into the metal of the knife that flips open. His mind is racing, until he comes across a single thought, catching his arm in his eyes. The flesh looked bright against the descending sun as his mind comes to a single conclusion. The piece of technology that the gamemakers put in his arm must have been a tracking device; a way for them to have control over what they meet.

An idea flashes across his mind and the panic still setting in. Blood has already spilled, but he didn't want to have to kill again. Bellamy didn't want to be a killer like the person who killed his father. The smell of gunpowder pushing through his senses as he feels himself back in that closet once more. His eyes fall to his arm, taking a deep breath. It's now or never and he could use the device to create a deadly weapon or trap to keep himself safe. Let the other tributes fight it out while he sits back, unable to be sent in the directions the gamemakers wanted.

Metal meets flesh as he groans in pain, but desperately digs for the device, knowing he could do this. Lucas would have called him an idiot, but he's trying to play this smart. Having no way for the gamemakers to track him would make things easier and so he digs in his arm with a knife, looking for the device. The blood dripping down the sides as he can feel the pain pouring from the wound. Gritting his teeth, he digs deeper, until he hits metal. The small sound rings in his ears with success, until there's a major shock going through the knife and his arm. Dropping the blade, he feels the zap of electricity run it's course through him.

"Such a dumb idea, Bellamy."

Picking up the knife again, he puts the bloody metal into his bag, pulling back the medkit and starting to get to work stitching up his arm after purposely trying to get the tracker out. A failure of a test, but he could figure out how to get it out, one way or another. He wasn't going to play the game anymore. Killing a living creature had already been enough. A silence fills him as he sets to work.

The smell of gunpowder continues.

His heart sinks with the feeling of failure.

(Bellamy picks up some stuff and receives sponsorship; more to come in Tribute Maintenance) [-8 for cutting arm open and -3.5 for electrocution]