eyes- sorry, eye- on the prize { lionel v lucky day 8 }

Four.

The environment hummed low as Lucky hiked the mountainside. An arena meant to house twenty-four and could house hundreds fell silent. There were only four of them left. The bursts of wind that guided him to Rhys's hiding place ceased more with each cannon rippling the forcefield in the air. Lucky traveled across the mountain slowly. Every wound across his body swelled underneath their bandages, restless from the second he left the mines. But he slept the day away after Rhys, and there was no point wasting good energy licking his wounds.

The only intention Lucky had left was to win.

Lionel, Axyl, and Xov. Those three stood in his way after the anthem triumphed in the spotless sky. Poor Hal. Lucky gave the guy a moment of mourning, but nothing more. Their conversation on the beach offered enough closure to that chapter. His philosophy was to skip to the end of a book when he grew bored of it. Gunner died, Rita died, Xylia died, Hal died. He couldn't tie their stories off in his mind. The thought of doing that amid the Games scared him. He needed to see how it ended before he'd know how he felt about them. It just… made more sense in his head to compartmentalize now and unpack later when he could look at it from the eye of a winner.

Lucky marched down to the base of the mountain and into the forests. He hadn't seen this side of the arena since the avalanche and its subsequent thaw. The heavy trees brought respite from the sun. It was so cold for the first five days in the arena that his body still sweat underneath his cloak from the no more than moderate temperatures. The cool breeze under the shade of winding branches and leaves blew the cloak behind him. It was soothing when a stray breath of wind caught underneath the darkness and tickled his waistline. At the Game's start, he was fully bundled. By day eight, he had his cloak of darkness, a pair of jeans, and one pair of well-worn and well-torn sneakers.

Cardinals and blue jays chirped peacefully in their nests until a wave of gusts blew through the treetops in a creature's descent. The weaker branches tore as a mount plummeted onto the ground. Lucky's arm raised, guarded his face from the dirt and grass that scuffed meters from where he stood.

"Well, isn't this a fucking treat!" Saliva lurked at the back of Lucky's mouth as Lionel slipped from the back of the creature he rode. The expressions between their faces reversed from when they first met. Lucky's eye and body dragged while Lionel was chippier than he'd ever seen the boy. Maybe, of course, that difference was exacerbated by one's method of travel versus the other. "My dude, you look like shit. What happened to your face?" His palm slid across his face, wiping sweat after stopping for the first time in an hour.

Lionel got crafted with his words, talking about Lucky's new eyepatch and how it made him look like a stripper boy. The gems reflected off the thin treetop shadows. He stood, silent, taking the insults as they came. Poledancer, disco, straight out of Mr. Ivan's stash of dirty magazines. Words of a different shade to years ago, when the boys and girls first called him Patchy after returning to school from his injury.

"You know, it kind of makes me want to punch you in the face. Hard."

He did exactly that. Little Lionel, not so little anymore, let his fist fly straight across Lucky's face, between his mouth and the bottom of his nose.

"Mm," Lucky muttered, out of discomfort. He pinched the bridge of his nose while the crimson from his blood vessels began to trickle onto his fingers. "I helped you, didn't I? Kicked your ass out the door."

Taking on Lionel, sure, but the giant creature behind him? "Mouse?" Lucky was less confident on that front. He rubbed his knuckles, priming them for a shot back. His axe could wait. Some things were all the more satisfying felt.

"So rude, Lionel. It costs nothing to be kind." Lucky, the 96th Hunger Games's Mr. Congeniality, said with a wink. One swipe with his knuckles, that's all Lucky wanted. Then, he'd fight like people back home wanted him to. Lucky dropped the Grudge and Xylia's glaive off behind him.

Lucky's hand curled into a ball. "Don't worry– actually, don't be disappointed,– but I'm not going to spit on you again." He shot the brewing saliva into the dirt. "But, just for good ol' memories." His fist glided across Lionel's face.

[ lucky punches lionel back! ; unarmed ]
htg8XyCXt|unarmed
[ 5133 -- Bruised Left Forearm -- 2 damage ]

Man, that felt good.

Lucky grinned wide, mimicking Lionel's. The redness across his knuckles revitalized him. The days past drained him, fighting over morals and how high or low someone's district was and maintaining some level of composure when the pillars around him detonated like landmines. Inflicting pain for the hell of it, for the entertainment factor. Relief buffed through his chest, even as Lionel refused to give him the satisfaction of bending to Lucky's self-righteous sarcasm.

"Kindness is so overrated."

So true.

Lionel faltered no more than Lucky had as they exchanged fists. There was a steely bravery that he didn't see back in the lodge. Lucky doubted himself for only a second, questioning if Lionel got stronger or he got weaker over a week.

When the boy recovered, the dramatics came. "Oh, how you wound me Lucky Nachtnebel! How will I ever be able to sleep again knowing that you won't spit on me again… I think I will live." Lucky's hands joined together to applaud him out of genuine amusement. Had Lionel considered Shakespearean acting? His flannel's the next piece to go in the show, his old mark dropping onto the ground. Lionel hadn't forgotten about the moment, and neither had he. Lucky could see now how the adrenaline washed over him and how unhinged he became. Monster to the poor, innocent Lionel.

No one confronted him with the hurt he caused before Day Three. Before Gunner pressed his lips against Lucky. In an agonizing kiss, Gun told him seven silent but haunting words: I love you, but you're killing me.

It was in his blood to hurt, and his punishment was the earthquake rumbling at his feet every time he took it a step too far, telling him he was too late to change it.

His mouth opened to speak, but Lionel continued.

"Last time we saw each other we promised that our next meeting would be fun."

The words took to the tip of his tongue and no further. If I could change it, I would.

Lionel's blade readied for the first swing, no more fisticuffs.

"I think its time you were on your knees, I'm in the mood for some begging."

Aftershock. Too late. Aftershock. You'll never be forgiven. Aftershock. Lucky Nachtnebel, the eternally bad guy.

He could beg and beg and beg for forgiveness, but it would never come. Would anyone forgive him?

The sword tore through his jeans. Lucky knelt on his right knee, doing exactly what Lionel asked. The pain tickled in comparison to yesterday's onslaught from Rhys.

"Please," he begged on one knee, feigning more hurt than what he felt. "Can you please stop the foreplay already?" Lucky thought of the look on Mr. Ivan's face (ironic, given the image Lionel burned of the man reading paperback smut) in the pool room and the Training Center when he divulged his plans to the Gamemakers. Impressed, proud, or so he hoped. The Gamemaker's sponsorship note crackled in the pocket of his jeans as Lucky shifted his elbow over his thigh, poised to strike. Mr. Ivan was perhaps the one person left on the planet who he believed would not hate him through all of this. How could he hurt him by doing him proud? Gaining his approval? By winning?

"Skip, skip, skip. Let's get to the good stuff." If Lionel wanted Lucky to be his bad guy, he'd do it. He'd be his undoing, too.

Still on one knee, Lucky swung. Blade against skin and blade against blade, the birds of the arena flocked to, in tune with the suspense.

[ lucky attacks lionel ; pike (axe) ]
IsfEUrumIgaxe
[ 11108 -- Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage ]

Lucky had him going for a second. As if a swipe across the back of his thigh would be enough to get him begging for mercy. Lionel backed off from the swing of his axe, the blow at eye level, the weak strike for weak strike. The Hunger Games were much more nuanced than David launching a rock at Goliath through his slingshot. Eight days in and an agonizing chase through the mines made Lucky wiser to it, and the disappointment on Lionel's end made it a lesson quickly handed down.

"But the foreplay is the fun part," the coyness in each of their voices dragged past the cannon that echoed by them midair. Three. "You must be a real hit with the ladies and gents if you can't handle a little foreplay before the fun." Odin, the way Lionel shot sarcastic insults at Lucky infuriated him. He thought about spitting back at him right then and there: foreplay's only fun when the other half isn't a bore and a freak.

Lionel came up to his ear, whispering more secrets about Mr. Ivan's struggles in bed. Back in the Training Center, Xylia mentioned something about Ivan Korsch's smut stash with Lionel in passing, but Lucky always thought she was joking. His eye shifted upward toward the sky– do you hear that, Ivan? Smite him with your magic powers. The boy's old breath faded away as Lucky rose from his position. "But I digress, this isn't about Ivan. This is about us– aw, cute! Us"! He played along, full grin and all as Lionel readied another swing.

He could hear Eunice's pen scratching paper as she began her enemies-to-lovers fan fiction. The odds of this camaraderie turning into a hateful makeout session grew by the second. Obnoxious, gross. The thought made him want to hurl, so his eye closed, and he imagined Rita or Gun on the page instead. Better.

Before Lucky could answer as to where Lionel should aim, his sword struck his collar, etching light across his bone. "Anywhere–" One hand clutched a low branch to keep balance while the other struck over his heart, pledging to the bit one last time. "–anywhere but my heart, Lionel!"

It cracked night after night, and the last thing Lucky could stomach in death was Lionel Estrada stamping it out.

Lucky released the tree branch, swinging it back into position. He stood tall once more ahead of Lionel. "All this talk of foreplay and kinks… I'm starting to think you're a freaky dude…" His lips hung open, wondering just how he could get under Lionel's skin. "I'm sure your family's very proud of that," Lucky said dryly. Good or bad, family triggered something in everyone.

His axe swept in toward Lionel.

Lucky leaned in after. "Don't worry, I'm proud of you." It was his turn to whisper, mostly in earnest if Lionel wanted to believe him. Proud of him, for everything. Hated him, deeply at this very moment, but proud. "We're all a bit messed up," Lucky confessed.

The fumed bloodlust in his eye and his fingertips made that obvious.

[ lucky attacks lionel ; pike (axe) ]
MvJIcLgfbfaxe
[ 11054 -- Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage ]

A set of fingers collapsed around Lucky's arm, dragging his axe away from Lionel's body. The muscles in his body tightened as he pulled back, and Lionel stuck with him. They took each other on, shot for shot. He waited for an opening; the right moment and its perfect angle were waiting, and Lucky just had to wait for Lionel to reveal it.

"Yeah, you could say I get a little freaky in the sheets." Lionel's stare lingered just below his lips. Lucky's mind wandered, fathoming– quite regrettably– about just what Lionel meant by freaky when he hadn't seriously considered the kid to have been in the sheets ever. Lucky hadn't either until his birthday afterparty with Rita, to be fair, and he wasn't sure if he could count that entirely if he was just along for the ride. But little Lionel? "You interested, Nachtnebel?"

Lucky shook his head swiftly. Heck no. Gross.

Lionel held his grip, and Lucky didn't back away. His head began to feel light again with all the new cuts and scratches across his body. What was the point of the hours spent last night closing all his wounds if the next day, they were all going to twist open again? Noble as a lion, the boy from Five said he didn't need to impress anyone. Lucky's lip dropped again at Lionel's defense. Did he realize there was some truth behind his compliment? Or were his words, truth or lies, treated as hostility forever more?

His grip on Lucky's arm tightened. The steady beat from his heart grew faster and harder as the grit behind Lionel's words hardened. You're messed up. I'm messed up. Let's not deny it.

Lucky ducked from Lionel's incoming arm. His sword clipped the back of his ear, drawing blood like the end of an injection. It'd be fine.

"Everyone keeps telling me that, Lionel. That I'm so messed up." Harley, Juno, Xov. They all saw him as a boy too far gone and trying to drag everyone else down with him. Perhaps she'd still be here if he had taken their advice and kept a distance from Rita instead of clinging to her to protect himself from loss after loss. "People tell you something enough times and you'll start to believe it's true." Lucky slid his arm up and out of Lionel's grip. He took three steps back and let a wide smile open. "I need people to start telling me I'm a stud again…"

He paused, letting the wind catch up again. "Lucky… you're a stud," he spoke of himself. "It's always good to start with some positive self… aforementions."

Lucky pointed at Lionel. "You next! What's your self aforemention?" Completely oblivious to that fact that he used the wrong word, Lucky moved forward and swung.

You're a god, he thought, affirmatively.

[ lucky attacks lionel ; pike (axe) ]
oULiKjFxUFaxe
[ dmg ]

–

[ self defense ; day 8 ]
3-8

His head cocked slightly to the left as Lionel blinked away at his question. "Aforemention…" he spoke as if the question was on quantum mechanics and physics, puzzled. Was it that hard for him to say something nice about himse- Oh.

Affirmations. Right. Not aforementions. Lucky blushed as he was corrected. That's a you problem, not a me problem. Huh? Lucky rolled his eye as Lionel continued on, their footsteps burying into the dirt as they sunk into the fight and soon one of their graves.

"You know what else is a you problem, stud? That fucking bejeweled strap of horror on your face." In the shine of his axe, the colors shimmered: amethyst, peridot, ruby. Each of the gems sparkled as Lionel went on about how a Gamemaker sponsoring a tribute was back for the Games's optics. Did he forget? Lucky pulled his original patch, snapped in two from Rhys's sword, and dangled it ahead of Lionel as he swung across Lucky's side.

"The first one broke," he held it, backing away from Lionel as he recharged whatever energy was left in the tank. "I couldn't put it back together." The eyepatch, which had become a piece of him since he was fifteen, stayed with him wherever he went. At home, Lucky cleaned it religiously, and his mother would sew any rips or tears. Defeated, he stuffed it back into his pockets. "Mr. Ivan said the skin where my eye used to be was an eye sore, so he gave me a new one." His eyepatch pushed against crinkled paper as Lucky stepped forward again.

Lucky would take as much heat as he had to– he deserved it, anyway. But Mr. Ivan, who did more than he knew to make him feel comfortable and respected in the Training Center? No, he couldn't just let that fly. "Haven't gotten many sponsors, Lionel? That stinks. Have you tried… being likeable?" It hurt him to say as much, because with every second that passed in the fight, he was growing to like Lionel more and more. Okay– like may not be the right word– but appreciate.

"I don't think Mr. Ivan liked me at first. Made me his personal janitor after the B-Day Bash. But he came around, everyone does."

Lucky aimed high this time, ripping a swing toward Lionel's head.

If he didn't come to on his own, Lucky would bend and break him to force his hand.

[ lucky attacks lionel ; pike (axe) ]
Y4LgUYdT_paxe
[ 11085 -- Severed Right Calf at Knee
9.0 damage + 1.0 Strength ]

"Being likable is also underrated."

That was where they diverged. It took guts from the lion to reject the rest of its pride. It went against all odds, and against what Lucky adopted as his strategy, but for Lionel, it worked. It puzzled Lucky. The thought of one person disliking him, like Harley in the mines, made his head spin. Why? Why didn't they like him?

For years, the question was what was wrong with them?

The Hunger Games spelled him, a crystal ball showed him the truth: what was wrong with him?

Lionel lunged for him mid-thought, pouncing at the opportunity. He thought the boy was about to go in for another swing. His right fist curled, ready to go back to hand-to-hand, but Lionel dug in. Into the pocket of his pants. Lucky squirmed backward, trying to shake him off and away. What the heck was he…

In his hands was Lucky's leather eyepatch, torn and tattered and filled with his blood. "I think I will keep this" The leather slipped into Lionel's pocket, and just like that, it was his. "Thanks."

Lucky buried his courtesy in his stillness. His knees wavered where he stood. Again. It's happening again. The jewels strapped across his face shimmered, he could see them in the grey and hazel of Lionel's eyes. He stood, unprotected.

"Oh, Lionel."

It took every strand of being to remain decent. The expression on his face dropped. No more amusement. Anger and frustration tingled at his fingertips.

"Ohh… oh Lionel."

Stay calm. Stay composed. Don't disappoint him.

The sound of Gunner's blade dragging across the shotgun came back to him in a flash of anger. Each line was etched into the sawed-off, driving Lucky mad on the other side of the lodge. The Grudge. He couldn't follow through on killing a boy he demoralized a week ago.
Gun was poking fun at him again from the other side. Weak, that was what Gunner would tell him he was for letting a dirty freak like Lionel get away with this.

"When I kill you…" 'when' he said as if it was any guarantee. "Ohhhh Lionel, when I kill you. They're gonna have to cut every single camera and microphone in this whole forest. It's gonna be that bad, that painful, that slow. It's gonna… it's gonna be priceless."

Lucky eyed down every inch of him. Where to start?

"You want the messed up Lucky? Fine. Have him."

[ lucky attacks lionel ; pike (axe) ]
da4A5sTvcyaxe
[ 11129 -- Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage ]

The boy's words grated on him. Lionel was not afraid of Lucky. His expression brightened with every threat he spoke, no matter how grotesque or painful it sounded. Lucky's words made him burn inside, but the little lion continued to make a joke out of it. Out of him.

"Bring it on, pretty boy. Better make sure that you are true to your words, otherwise Ivan might drop you so quick for the next pretty thing to be dropped into his lap.'

Why was he so hellbent on attaching Lucky to Mr. Ivan? All he gave the boy was an eyepatch to replace his old one. To protect him, to protect everyone from feeling uncomfortable. Lionel's arms opened wide, come get me. The bullfighter against the bull in the ring, Lucky charged him, shouldering LIonel as he recklessly tackled him to the ground. He fell, too, onto the sharp grass. It stung every open wound across his body, but the feeling of grabbing Lionel and hurting him again was too good to pass up.

"You are just… the worst." Lucky spit at the ground beside them. He wasn't thinking now, the words fell through as he slammed the earth beneath. "You are a weasely, low-life, poor freak. You know why I did what I did? Because nobody was gonna stop me! Not you, not Xylia, not the friends you don't have."

Lucky picked himself up from the ground, wiping the green brush off his arms and white shirt. "I was starting to think I got carried away back there, but looking at you now…" His axe dangled at rest. "Now… I just want to finish what I started with you."

He let himself slip. Before, he had a way of maneuvering situations, pestering the other tributes into thinking he was obnoxious and a white-collar boy who treated everyone around him as an oversight. Lucky's eye observed them all. They were intricate pieces of the puzzle, his puzzle, waiting to be exploited.

Lucky swung his axe at Lionel from below, yelling as he played the bull, ramming and ramming and ramming, bloodied as he was. "Are you gonna stop me, little Lionel?"

"Huh?!"

[ lucky attacks lionel ; pike (axe) ]
oYUO0M1xMNaxe
[ 11050 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage ]

–

[ light step on attack 1130 ]
1-10
[ fail ]