TEST: Holt v Sunny v Charlie

Truth be told, Sunny doesn't plan on winning the Hunger Games.

Not particularily. Having a plan would require having a goal beyond wild impulsiveness. John Le Roux's youngest has never had that ambition of the lions. The rebellious streak, yes. But none of that grace, that poise. Her sister had it. Larissa, a name that drips off of tongues. A name of a dead girl. Julian, even, had possessed that strange bravado - so like Malachi in so many ways. Even in the grassy wildlands with matted hair and teeth bared, Sunny Le Roux was no lion.

Wolf girl, prowling and lonesome. Her kills were cheap tricks. Nothing proud about them. Messy and ravenous but in an ugly, brutal sort of way. When she bared her teeth there was no cat-like grin, just the jowls of a beast dripping with spit. Too far gone to be molded by her aunt, no hope left to shape her into something the Le Roux's should be proud of. She is her father's daughter, yes.

But she is also her mother's.

Her real mother's. Not John's wife. No, that woman had sauntered in to the Justice Building so casually, sunglasses still on, auburn and silver amongst the gold of her family and Sunny had just grinned. Skye had smiled back, like calling to like. "So you know then," she had remarked, face and eyes completely unreadable.

"How could I not?" Sunny had replied, shifting her weight and meeting those eyes so like her own.

Skye Frasier had just scoffed, and looked at her then. "Wicked little thing," a gentle touch of her daughter's hair. "So terrible, aren't you?"

Sunny's grin had grown wider then, fire in her eyes Her mother's eyes. Two wolves in the lion's den. Two children atop a grassy hill, three of them left. That primal instinct to charge head-first into a fight worth her weight sparked something so intrinsically familiar in Sunny's chest that she'd almost laughed when Holt had slashed at her, just as wicked. Just as brutal. Like calling to like.

At least he'd had the guts to strike first. "I knew I liked you," that almost-laugh a huff of air, a hiss, a strange mix of both as she surveys Holt and Charlie with narrowed eyes. Sunny spits out a tooth that a Twelve had half-disloged in the Bloodbath, a fist to the jaw he soon had regretted. Her attention finds that wound slashed across Fier's eye, jagged and gory. It'll make a sick scar when it heals. If it heals.

Sunny strikes with no plan, just a thought: let's add another.

sunny attacks holt, knife (blades station applied)

EeyfaCyZvuknife

block, 0

Holt parries her with ease, as she'd expected. But it's not enough. He's not enough. Greedy, one apponent isn't enough to satiate the primal needs of the wolf. Her knife aches for more. Bloodlust thrums in her lion-slick veins. So she scurries past Holt and charges at Charlie Fray with a recklessness that may cost her, using the speed she picks up running down the slope of the hill to propel her thrust forward and slice through the side of the girl with those mesmerising, cat-like eyes.

Diseases in blood, yeah. Sunny knows all about those. John Le Roux put something sick in her veins. It's that feral thing that makes all Le Roux's think themselves better than. That they can win this thing. Ha. Ain't it funny that the only one who's made it out of the arena doesn't have a drop of that disease in her system?

There's blood bubbling between Holt's lips. Sunny licks her own, cracked and splitting in the dry grasslands heat. But he's got stamina, that kid - it's not going to be as easy as a slit throat once was. He'll be fine. It's just bad blood, that's all. Bad, diseased, rotten, cursed blood; drying in the gaps between her teeth.

Remember when she thought she was adopted, too? Standing in Ridley's kitchen, arms crossed and nervous. Like it was a bad thing. Like she was a bad thing.

Something so wrong with her.

But Sunny knows better now. She's lionfolk, yeah. Bad luck that John Le Roux is, in fact, her father. Sky Frasier told her so. But she's also something else. Those grey eyes looking at her, the woman that stayed away - but not because of Sunny, not because of what she was. Because of that pride of lions pacing back and forth through the den and that survival instinct, take what you can get and run. Wolf cub, howling at the moon. Then the moon howled back.

Sunny slashes out at Holt, then Charlie. Again, again, again. She takes their lives, slowly, frantically, snarls when she strikes. Again, again, again. She wants in the wolfpack, fuck the lions. Fuck John. Fuck Eurydice. Fuck 'em all.

They can keep their den of ghosts, kids turned rotting carcasses. 

sunny attacks holt, knife (blades station applied)

Ikrzyb6xt7knife

4.5

sunny attacks charlie, knife (blades station applied)

knife

9 +1