god help the children | girls vs wendihoes vs hollow

m a r g u e r i t e

Something's got a hold of me lately
No, I don't know myself anymore
Feels like the walls are all closin' in
And the devil's knockin' at my door, whoa

Another night without a face in the sky.

Maggie had wandered through the snow, teeth chattering, stewing.

She didn’t wish death on anyone, though she didn’t care about any of the others enough to wish that they would survive the night (save for Ines, for now). But somehow had to be close to dying of exposure by this point, didn’t they? And what kind of a games was it if they went two whole days without another death?

Azure had been the only person to fall so far, which didn’t reflect particularly well on their little group, now had it?

When the sun had started to go down, Maggie had offered a solution to getting out of the cold. “Let’s head back to the lodge. Everyone’s going to try to camp near the water or get as far away from the mines as possible. I’d rather get a good night’s sleep.”

The wind had howled, and fat globs of snow had fell. Maggie didn’t regret her decision. When they came upon the old hunting lodge from the first day, she hardly remembered where all of the chaos had unfolded. She pressed up the steps to the porch, and held at the cold handle of the front door.

This was probably stupid, locking herself away in a house that could be stormed at any moment by man or mutt alike. Except she hated how cold her fingers were, and her toes, and that for the past three days she’d been opening her eyes in fits and starts just to get a few hours of sleep.

“Here goes nothing.” She’d opened the door with a sprawling creak, only to find darkness. “Looks like nobody’s home.” She’d said and stepped through the entryway. Each step had drawn in a creak from the floorboards, and Maggie couldn’t help but hear here voice shake with each breath. At last, she came to another door along the hall, and found a room with a queen bed and a cozy chair. “We can sleep in shifts. I’ll watch the door.”

Maggie had offered, though she kept drifting off now and again in the warmth of the room. She didn’t dream, which probably had been for the best. Somehow it felt wrong to dream in the arena, where the world was watching them live out a sick fantasy.

When it had been her turn to sleep, she’d curled up into a little ball, head tucked to the pillow, hands legs to her chest.

She didn’t know how long she was out, but the sound of one of the shutters banging against the window stirred her away.

“I-Ines?” Maggie rubbed the sleep from her eyes and groaned. She cracked her neck and slipped out of bed.

… can you help us?

“Oh fuck no.” Maggie hissed as she pressed her ear to the door. The haunting sounds of the hollows echoed. She drew up her glaive and pointed at the door. On three? She mouthed to Ines.

One.

Two.

“Three!”

She flung the door open and charged out into the action, right past one of the freakish little imps.

Three was already on them, looking worse for wear. One, a career she’d scarcely had time to register was there, too.

‘You gonna just stand there or are you gonna help?’

A cannon rang out.

Marguerite understood consequences better than most.

She didn't know either of them. Hadn't bothered to have a conversation. She'd seen their reapings, but beyond that, she couldn't say much.

If she helped three and one, they would be in her debt. They might all survive another day, and it’d earn her favor going into what could’ve been a feast. No animosity built and no danger for her or Ines.

She could have helped them.

But she also gamed out what it would mean to take no action against a weakened enemy. She could kill one of them, or both of them, and be two steps closer to the end. She’d earn the curiosity of the capitol. She’d be able to pilfer whatever useful things they had on their bodies. And above all, she wouldn’t have to worry about this help – this act of kindness that three suggested – being used for emotional manipulation in the future.

“Help you?” Marguerite smirked. “But you’re doing such a good job. Better than the career, even. No offense.”

Maggie brandished her glaive.

“You shouldn’t have come here, three.” Marguerite’s eyes narrowed. “Ines – take a lesson. Today’s a numbers game.”

She sidestepped, drew back her glaive, and lunged.

[maggie attacks harley royce with her glaive]
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[result:miss]

accuracy, day 4
glaive
[result: Stabbed in Stomach -- 9.5 damage + 1 blades]

The loud one's axe, swung like a baseball bat, sends the closest Hollow toppling over the rails and crashing into the floor below, landing on top of some of its brethren in a heap. The blonde swings at another and misses as it takes advantage of its small height and ducks beneath the blade. The other career seems to get the bigger picture more quickly than the others, though, and uses the opportunity to attack the other tributes. Smart, that one.

Largely, the crowd stands unmoving. Still, the tributes paying enough attention woill be certain that more of them pour in from the various doorways, filling in any empty standing space, watching. Gawking. Waiting. They don't seem bothered by Harley's attack- even the one that had fallen is now standing back up. It jerks at unnatural angles, bending to straighten itself, but eventually it comes back to a standing position before tilting its head back to look up at the four girls above.

"I suppose," it says, its voice now warped and haunting, "We'll have to help ourselves."

At once, the crowd of them surges. Four sets of tiny hands, five, six grab at the tributes and pull at them, separating them from their neat little pile. The tributes can see below the hoods and gas masks of those closest to them large, unblinking eyes peering back at them. They can feel the unnaturally strong grasp of the small fingers wrapping around their wrists and yanking them along by their clothes. One girl gets slammed up against the wall. Another, pushed toward the stairs. A third is briefly buried beneath a pack of the hollow and the fourth is being shoved dangerously close to the railing.

"You're not our Mommy, are you?" they whisper, accusatory. Each voice feels hauntingly familiar, the one distorted voice providing an unsettling harmony to the perfectly paced repetitive chant:  Are you?

"Are you?"

"Are you?"

Like dominoes, one after the other, the four girls are brought to their knees.

"Stay down," the one with the distorted voice coos, a vague sense of innocence replaced by eerie resonance, "Or it will hurt more."

r  i  t  a
jakov

"I don't know!" She screams back over her shoulder, watching as one of these little fucking creeps in a gas mask evades her strike with a speed Rita has never, ever witnessed before. That was absolutely not natural. 

Fucking mutts, she said to herself, brow furrowed in disbelief. I hate these fucking things.

But then Harley answered her, and it pulled her focus. "What if you attacked the people trying to kill you?"

filler filler filler the rest for now, mostly bc im randomizing attacks and will fill in after said roll! but also i have plans tonight :/ so i shall fill in more tmrw

but basically rita is PISSED that harley is seemingly behaving like a straight up DOOFUS 

m a r g u e r i t e

Something's got a hold of me lately
No, I don't know myself anymore
Feels like the walls are all closin' in
And the devil's knockin' at my door, whoa

"Get OFF of me!” Marguerite’s voice came muffled underneath the pitter-patter of feet crawling over her body. The hollows showed her no concern.

Play or pay.

Even with a ringing still gripping her left ear that definitely would give her tinitis later, she could put two and two together. The creatures drawn to violence, away from those who took swings at one another. Another curated mutt sent to wring chaos out of the four of them. Fight or perish.

“… that’s the way it has to be,” Maggie muttered as she pulled off the floor, chest aching, pride bruised, but no worse for wear. She pushed back her braids and slid to her feet.

She searched the darkness then and cocked her head.

Thumping from the stairs. A voice calling out at Harley. A clatter of a knife against a wall.

Ines.

“Out of my way,” She commanded to the creatures at her feet, ducking and weaving between them. She drew her bloodied glaive again. Her heavy footsteps rattled the floorboards as she made her way toward the stairs.

Marguerite Harvard had never met a job that she could not finish, whether through force of sheer will or utter determination, and now – having felt the full sting of a flare to the chest – had her sights set on three.

Why hadn’t she taken a swing at her?

“Forget about me already?” Maggie fumed.

She brought hands across the leather handle of her blade and held at the top step. The hollows would make it hard to get a good footing, even if she had the higher ground. Maggie didn’t trust cornering Harley here, though. Not when Rita lurked nearby (though the least Ines could manage would be to draw her fire).

“Smooth move back there three. I think it’s time for lights out for you, though.”

[Marguerite attacks Harley Royce with her glaive]
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[result: Deep Gash on Left Calf -- 8.0 damage + 1 blades]