Oh Brynn, she sees through the haze

ooc- don't worry about not having used your char much, Brynn is a completely new character without a bio an old character with a new name

She snorts. It's a cocky sound, it doesn't fit her elevated face either, but after a few years of watching athletes practically write her off for being short, mildly impressive in the pretty-girl looks department, and also carrying a sword, how could Brynn have ever avoided snorting? The athletes did it all the time and she was around the athletes all the time. Simple. Made sense.

What confused her about today, besides the fog previously described, was that this was no ordinary fight to the death. This boys parents, trainers, or interested sponsors had paid to arrange this battle, which usually ended in a new scar for Brynn, or the death of a once-thought-of-highly athlete but today... today she had been paid more money to leave her opponent - no matter how unworthy - unharmed. Apparently there was a girl interested in keeping him. That's all Brynn knew of the situation, but she respected it. Hardly were the women of Panem allowed such valuables as owning men, truly being the dominant to their other half. If some silly rich girl decided she wanted to possess him, at least Brynn was being paid, but if this was a rich, war-lordess than she would willingly celebrate in this battle, for it was a battle of the sexes. She had been informed that the way things played out was crucial. If she won, one thing would happen, and if he won, something else would. Once again, her paycheck-donning friend had declined to offer up much more on the subject but if it were Brynn she would be testing his willingness to live, and if he won, he would win the right to be owned by her. If he lost, then he was not worthy.

Now it was time to offer up the mental part of this challenge.

"Dear boy, what is twenty three divided by sixteen? What was the name of the scribe who originally wrote the treaty of the warring estates of the former North America, establishing the initial rule over a Panemic society?" she asked and eagerly awaited his response. Such questions as these were the keys to unlocking his multi-chambered, complex heart. Personality played a large part in how things would go today. Not to mention, attacking an opponent was so much easier when a stubborn boy was attempting to do supposedly complicated math while stabbing at her.

Hey, her war-lordess, money-paying idol had never specified if 'cheating' was banned from this game, or discouraged. Cleverness and cunning were the tools with which women had learned to live in a world fraught with the dangers of masculinity. Its not sexist, just a fact. Still Brynn gave him a moment in order to work out the answer of her second inquiry. His fighting style depended on his answer, for willingness to learn plays a huge part in how you fight. And what you learn would tell Brynn how exactly you stand.

Brynn could tell several things from the way he answered her questions. He was a clever boy, but stupid. People generally thought of him as being a dumb brute, so to get back at his judge & jurors, he acted more or less... like a dumb brute. The kid was 'misunderestimated' but should indeed be taken as a threat. He also had the fatal flaw of arrogance - this had led to an even more fatal move.

He hadn't anticipated Brynn's great skill.

About a year ago, Brynn had picked up a weapon, a wooden kitchen spoon to be precise, and never had she ever set a weapon down since. From then on, Brynn traveled with a variety of 'cutters on her person. Her big butchers knife. A tiny, poison-coated dagger. A short, wooden spear. Things that drew blood, beautiful, red blood. She found it both wicked lovely and sickeningly gruesome all at once. Red was passion and it was her death - she had dyed her previously fire-licked ringlets a more homely shade of auburn to escape the constant reminders of her destiny, her fate.

Those wisps of red that had clouded both her physical and spiritual vision were tucked away now, tucked in the back of her head where memories of that past life lie half-dead. She had stained her soul when she first whacked her brother into his place in Hell, but need Brynn be reminded of this every second of every hour of ever day?

The answer was no. And true to her nature, Brynn had come to this conclusion approximately three minute before she went out and did something about it. She hurried down to a far-off place, a store that was at least an hour away from her families business, and a world apart from the fancy neighborhood all true Shopkeepers called home. There Brynn bought some scented, stinging color meant to be used in clothing, if memory served. She paid a young girl, just about eleven or so, to wash it into her snarling, tangled locks of hair. She stopped by her house, packed up her things, stole some money and became a professional fighter. The best part was that her father would never know it was her, that half-witted Peacekeeper...

Once again Brynn went through the steps of her go-to process. In this battle, there was an initial fifteen seconds of composing herself after the boy licked her sweet, precious acrid blood from his blade, then another three moments to move before Brynn did the same as she had, so many months ago. She came to a conclusion. I know who this boy is, deep in his core. Realizing this, was the first step, then Brynn acted upon in - the second of these two very important tasks of war.

Dear sweet boy," she cooed, "For you."

And Brynn brought her lips to her cut, she pressed the blood to her smirking mouth, then brought the flat of her blade to her lips and thrust it out like a lover blowing kisses. This was of course a more deadly sort of game than that of love. Then she lunged.

Knife: [dice=200+2000]
Shallow Cut on Neck.

Alls fair in love and war.

Oh, you are embarrassed of me / ‘Cos I use my tongue freely / Bet you wish I couldn't speak / ‘Cos when I do, you know / I tell you why you're being weak

A few moments before a fight-altering event. Her heart beats strong and the rush of blood to her cheeks shows the only sign of Brynn's pleasure. She had cut him, his neck bled. At least he did that - just like any other human boy. For a moment he had given her quite the fright. Imagine a boy who licked the blood of his enemy, unprovoked. These aren't the Games, this wasn't a fight to the death (or so Brynn knew) This was a match of skills. And she was winning...

...Brynn is glad he's such an idiot.

The sentimental fool had just cut up his own hand. Blood dripped from the presumably shallow cut, Brynn imagined that it was a weighty thing, having unneeded blood dripping from a self-inflicted cut. Back when she was young[er] she would have labeled him a cutter and sneered cruelly in his direction, knowing that he was weak, fearing his infectious attitude. Or perhaps, when she was even younger she would have cared for the boy and sought out a reason to speak to him with kind, gentle words only a mother or a girlfriend has a true right to use. Now, she simply thought of pain as an inconvenience, knives as her only friends, and those childhood tall-trees were no longer for climbing, they were for hiding and whittling down branches into simple stakes. She was a machine, a frowning one at that, and she imagined that the wound would pain him much.

And she also imagined that cutting off that hand would feel even better.

And it was the irony of that statement that led to a howling cackle as moments blurred past her and a few slices later Brynn had lost a few fingers and enough blood to answer her idle thoughts. Yes, every drop of blood that spills is a waste. This boy is a mentally unstable idiot.

Her coyote-cackle died down to a simple wolf howl of absolute horror. Her fingers, the beautiful colors of her crimson nails, detached from her body. So strange. Brynn had never had any part of her cut off, save for the formerly golden locks of hair, dead skin or something of the like, if Brynn remembered her lessons correctly. Nothing living, no flesh that had been so full of strength and life and ability. Her fingers would pain her for the rest of eternity, this fool... this lovesick puppy should not live to regret it. Only Brynn and the telltale scars along her patched up hands would reveal her loss. He would not.

I'll cut those lips right off his bloody face. Her mind darkly commented. And she would.

Just wait, and watch carefully.

Knife: [dice=200+2000]
Deep Gash on Forehead

Hey! Lets imagine his scar is a jagged line that looks like lightening!

Her knife twists up at the last second, petite Brynn had aimed for the jugular, or well, truth be told she had aimed for the general direction of his fleshy, thin neck and hoped for the best (in her case) or the worse (if you go by his case) Her knife twisted up and landed a jagged mark across his forehead. Blood mingled with blood. Brynn's fingular cuts and her target, Marcuss', (if memory served) head wound had made contact for a moment before the fleet fox dashed back, her banner of red hair streaming behind her, a beautiful victory flag being raised and blown about by a brisk wind. She supposed the drama of the moment had gotten to her head, for Brynn spoke then, to her attacker.

"You see? You see me, you understand that you can't win, no, not now. Forfeit," the girl demanded in a queenly way, her chin pushing up in a deliberately flashy move. I'm not afraid, her body sang, I cut your neck but you won't do the same to be.

I'm winning.


ooc- sooorry, I just wanted to give you a post though (: