{It [ALL] seems .EASY.} <T/N vs. Stallions>

If I leave before you darling
Don't you waste me in the ground

Nash Harvey —

Although it was never anything that Nash had tried to fight much in the past, she had decided that the longer she could go without change, the happier she'd be. She didn't want things to be different than they had been, because the past couple of days had been better than any she would have expected from the Arena — wasn't that supposed to be hell for the tributes? — and had even surpassed any that she could remember having in a long, long time.

After all, the course of the past two days had been drastically different than any in recent memory, and completely defied expectations of the Hunger Games. After all, there had been no fighting for one, so long as the incident in which Nash had almost tried to kill the other girl could be overlooked — and that was a memory she was already making a conscious effort to suppress. So, no, there had been an uncharacteristic lack of fighting. No bloodshed. And no Two.

That was probably the most brilliant of the absences that the several recent days had brought. Although it had messed Nash up pretty badly the last time they'd disappeared like this, she was coping — more than coping — well without. She was more than willing to take a break from sharing her brain with the two abusive voices, the demons that had an annoying habit of manipulating her into doing things that she might not otherwise even think about. In the past week, she could list a few suggestions that spanned from unproductive to unpleasant to utterly horrible: attacking Anani some few days before leaned more towards the former, while committing suicide fell more in the range of the middle. Killing Topaz, though — and the previous day had solidified Nash's certainty of this — was definitely the last.

And there was no doubt that the District One tribute played a big — the biggest — role in Nash's desire to resist change. Because at this point, change would mean less time spent with the other girl. Less quality to it. Less time for Nash to fit in the last bit of living she still actually wanted to do. Spending the day before with Topaz, not really moving, but instead just being, had been the highlight of Nash's Games. It had been perfection in its simplicity, calming but vivifying. And though she'd resolved that she wouldn't be living for very much longer, it was becoming increasingly more difficult to let go. At this point, she was growing more selfishly attached to life than she's been upon entering the Arena.

The nice thing that had come with a second night's sleep in the pillars — this one just as dreamless as all of the rest had been — was the way that the incident in the pumpkin patch was quickly fading from Nash's conscious memory. It was no longer something that sent horrible pangs of guilt that forced Nash's eyes shut in hopes of blocking out the memory or unwriting history; instead, it was beginning to feel more and more as if she'd had a new dream — it was more like a nightmare — instead, and bits and pieces would resurface at random intervals, not all strung together correctly, not in sequence. In any case, the ordeal had receded from the forefront of her mind, and Nash had allowed herself to reclaim the harpoon that she'd stopped using when her arm had been broken however many years — no, days — however many days ago. It was only a few days?

An uneasy twitch had settled over her as she carried her share of their gear, paranoia that the Two would make their reemergence and get Nash to act before she could stop herself, while her ally was too burdened with the other half of their supplies to make an effective defense. It was in that moment that Nash recognized that she did actually fear the Two; something that never quite been an accurate or necessary statement before. They'd never been much more than a nuisance, or they'd never seemed that way. So it both thrilled Nash and filled her with slight terror that Topaz was keen on continuing to keep out the distance they'd removed between them yesterday.

In the course of they day up until that point, they'd made it to the same area of the Arena that they'd fought the orange sheep mutts some several long days ago — a week, was it? Day Two. Before the split with the other members of the alliance — a move, whether prompted by strategy or other motive, that Nash had to appreciate. They couldn't be them in the company of others, she didn't think. It didn't matter that she knew other people were watching as it was — hell, the whole nation — but with the others actually present, she doubted she'd have come out of her shell at all. Neither Takeba nor Anani had died yet, based on the Anthems. Of the seven that were left, four belonged to their initial alliance. As it should be, the Careers (plus the obligatory low-district tribute) dominated the playing field. Nash vaguely wondered if Anani and Takeba were still teamed up, or if they'd split around the time that she had followed Topaz away from the battle, or if they'd gone their separate ways, too. But she realized, that when it got right down to it, she didn't really care. Not about either of them. They were more enemies. Nobody she owed anything to.

As they'd moved deeper into the vibrant foliage, Topaz announced that they could stop, and began talking about setting up camp. Nash, for one, was not too keen on the idea of trying to sleep in a tree — for one, how would they both fit on the same branch to share their sleeping bag? It was a ritual she'd grown accustomed to and nothing she wanted to give up before death if she could help it. She still followed the red-haired girl, however, when beckoned to, and took the cue to put the things she carried on the ground next to Topaz's stuff.

And the next thing she knew, she was being kissed again. Quickly, somewhat less forcefully than before. There was a sense of urgency to it, although Nash let herself enjoy the spontaneity of it. In the week she'd been accompanying the other girl, it had become increasingly clear that Topaz was not the sort of person who really planned too far ahead; she winged it. Still, Nash couldn't help thinking that a bit of indication would be nice the next time. So she could be more of an active participant in the actual kissing, rather than a recipient of the other girl's lips. She couldn't be mad, though. How could she be mad?

The District One tribute started to speak again, perhaps to give an explanation or merely just to say whatever was on her mind. With the other girl interrupted, however, by a syncopated drumming that could only signal an end of the peace in the Arena, however, Nash never caught the words, or the meaning behind them. There was one voice that was able to cut through the cacophony, and it hit Nash's ears like ice:

Going to get a move on, sweetheart? You know you don't have all day.

Between the startling return of the Two — Nash considered it safe to assume that the other one would be back, as well — and the lack of time to recover from Topaz's most recent kiss, she was barely able to grab up the harpoon and ready an attack by the time the two massive horses burst onto the scene. She jabbed her spear in the direction of the same one that Topaz had attacked, disappointed with the change that had come anyway, despite her longing for everything to stay the same. Because some things couldn't be helped. On a long enough timeline, the survival rate for everyone dropped to zero. This was the Hunger Games. It was bound to happen sooner or later.

[Attacks first Stallion (same as Topaz)]
[dice=200+3000]
[shallow cut left thigh; 3.5]

and i rationed my breaths
as i said to myself
that i'd already taken
too much today

Nash Harvey —

Figuring that either way it was better that the mutant horses keep attacking her, Nash was almost relieved to take the minimal damage that came next — a pair of strikes that had been much than the jaw-shattering one she'd received before. On her knee, there was no damage worse than a future nasty bruise, although reverberations of the attack of an equally minimal strength that landed on her head echoed protest in her newly-broken jaw. She could feel herself pale under the increased tension of it, although, really, the damage could've been a lot worse. She never came to a resolution as to whether it would've been luckier if the hoof had smashed through her skull completely or not, even though she knew her automatic response should have been that yes, it was best that she was still alive.

She'd been flip-flopping on the issue of her mortality for some time now, and this was all without any input from the Two. On the one hand, she had come here to die. It wasn't a goal, per se, but it was the end result, no matter what she tried to do about it. Her death meant life for someone else, which seemed noble enough in its own right. But that was before the proper examination of the scenario: death for her may very well mean death for someone else. A pit in her stomach formed at the very thought of it.

With the understanding that she ought to be focusing on her assailants, worrying about whether or not she should be alive after she'd successfully lived through the fight, Nash could not help but cast a quick glance at her ally. She knew that she was presently fulfilling the duty she'd assigned to herself: diversion, attack dummy, shield. It had some how worked out that way since the bloodbath; Nash had always been the one to bear the brunt of the damage, for reasons completely beyond her. She wasn't complaining, of course, she just didn't get it; after all, it was Topaz who was stronger, better trained, more capable in combat, who'd scored higher in training, who'd radiated leadership since they'd first met however many years — no, weeks ago.

Mentally, it was easier for Nash to drift back into remembering; clinging desperately to the past at the expense of the grim future held a much stronger appeal. There was an endorphin released by nostalgia, the District Two tribute was certain of it, because there was no better place in her mind than the one where she was still leaning against her ally in the pre-sunrise chill of the previous morning. Slipping out of the pain, and out of reality, to fade back into her own mind — a comfortable seclusion she had grown used to — wouldn't be a bad way to spend the last thirty, twenty, ten, five minutes of her life.

But that's cheating. Why not give it more of a shot? You know,

actually live instead of think about living? Lazy ass.

But when the sun breaks
To no more bullets in Battlecreek
Then will you make a grave
For I will be home then

Nash Harvey —

Additional filler. So that no waiting for Matta is necessary.


[attacks Paris]
[dice=200+3000]
[Shallow Cut on Left Bicep; 3.5]