Gimme Shelter [Day7 Ewe v Iago]

I'm running away from the Jabberwocky when the explosion starts. It's not the nest; it's burning and fading, falling with the screeches of the dragon, but there's nothing to make that sound. It's gotta be, it's gotta be - someone sprung my trap. For half a second I think of turning around and heading towards the sounds, but that's far too risky; the other four are in pairs. The other four will kill me because they have each other - I'm the odd one out again, aren't I. So I try not to worry about the fire that must be ripping through the area, the frantic feet racing away, the trip, the fall, the shattering Ewe just drink your water you don't even know if someone got hurt by i- BOOM. It's a cannon - oh my god it's a cannon.

I just killed someone, didn't I. There's no way that they would turn on each other now. It's gotta be me, I have to have done that. But I meant for them to get hurt, I didn't mean... Of course I did, I have to have meant it to kill someone these are the games you have to kill or be killed there's no way around that shouldn't I know that by now? There's only five - no, four - four of us left now. I have to have learned something, I have to have gotten here by something other than sheer luck, right? Who is it though? Whose life did I snuff out? (Did I even do that? Am I to blame for the light going out of someone's eyes? I've never done that before - no the boy in the bloodbath doesn't count I didn't touch him he can't have perished from nothing at all). The only thing I can do now is limp off, wondering who I have to face tomorrow, who will be yearning for my blood to be spilled across the ground.

When I came here, I knew that if I was to survive someone else would have to die; I never really realized that I truly would have to kill someone though, would have to guarantee that they would never go home, never would see their family or friends or feel the wind rush past their face as they walked to the store or the taste of citrus on their lips as they bite into a lemon, whole. When the Boy from 12, when Hope Woodards - when they passed I attributed the blame to someone else. It wasn't my fault. I was just doing what had to be done. I didn't commit the final blow. When Cassie fell, when Shadow and the boy from 3 heaved their last breaths, it couldn't have been my fault, right?

But this, this is completely, utterly my fault. And as the anthem plays and twilight settles in, I know that it's Emery. Shit. It's Emery Moreno, the Career from District One, the cold-hearted callous bitch, the take-no-prisoners partner to Iago, the girl who apologized, the girl who ripped Scout's bear apart and tried to put it together again. The girl who lost her legs, the girl who Iago forced himself upon, the girl who died at the hands of fire and glass. A trap. Emery Moreno has been fallen by a trap. And it's all my fault. I can't be sorry I can't even though I have to be at the same time because it's not right but it's what has to be done Emery I wish I wish I wish...

I don't know what I wish. I just want to go back home with my own two feet. I don't sleep that night, moving past the beanstalk and into a mountain range, one that seems as vast and large as the horizon that is now stretched before me. Huh, I haven't really seen the sun rise here yet. Well neither had Emery and now look she's as dead as a doornail and it's all my-

When the sun rises, it's breathtaking and I wish that I had my pad, my watercolors, my pencil so I could just sit here and draw for the rest of eternity. The brilliant golds and violets and rubies that sparkle across the sky are a treasure for someone who doesn't deserve to feast his eyes upon this spectacle. But I watch regardless, and as the sun finally begins to create its familiar blue hues and the wind dies down I feel myself slowly but surely falling asleep. I can't walk anymore, I never could but this is too much. When I finally awake, the sun's higher up but everything else is far too calm for my liking. It's like something's about to happen, someone's about to appear. So I head down the slope, my eyes shifting left and right and left and right and there's the sound of something being kicked.

There's a paper, crumpled on the ground, tossed aside like the trash that it must be. But why is it here? Curious, I gently pick up the paper before I notice the site before me; it looks like something was buried here, but somehow it was unearthed and for a split second I assume that there's some murderous corpse of a tribute out to get me until I realize that not even the Capitol would allow something like that to happen. I hope. No, no, the Capitol must have taken something from that (grave) hole, and by the looks of it someone or something was buried who wasn't supposed to be graced with such an honor. I tentatively unfold the paper, smoothing out the wrinkles, the chicken scratch slowly become more and more legible until I see words on a page and it's a letter. Both sides of it are written on.

Normally I'm not nosy. But I suppose this is a different circumstance.

Sister,
I have seen you look death in the face with little more than a passing glance. You do not care for the troubles that this world so easily partakes in, for your world has passed by.

I regret letting them destroy you with my passive indifference and unsubtle fear.

Who is this? Who wrote this? Who is it for? I read on, eyes widening at I am the reason for your death, Beatrice. It's Beatrice, it's Beatrice Birch, and she's been dead for three days. It's from a, from a Vinnie and I don't recall if Beatrice talked about her family in the interview (I was more concerned with not looking like a complete failure with my fucking twig for a leg and my inability to form a coherent sentence). I turn the letter over, but quickly realize it's for a certain Iago -- and I'm not the one who should be reading this it's not meant for me Beatrice meant it for someone else and I can't break that trust. I read it anyway.

And I don't know what to think. I just know that she's dead and her brother must be mourning her now, now that he couldn't protect her, now that everything he wished to happen is gone. Did he get to meet her? He must have - she must have brought it into the arena with her. This must be her token. How many times did she read this? How many times did she know that he cared? Does it matter now? I stand near her grave, where someone - I don't know who - must have respected her enough to bury her (unless if she was buried alive, but I don't even think Iago would be willing to do that). I pushed away from you, Bea, but I know, I just know that I could have saved you. If only I had tried... I can feel the paper crumple back into a ball in my grasp.

I hope Eye doesn't feel this way. He knows - he must know that he's done everything possible to be the best brother and yeah he had his faults but it's not like I hated him or anything. He knows that I love him, I know that he loves me. Right? He did all he could for me, he couldn't possibly feel guilty over... No, of course he does. No, no no no I have to get back to him, I have to show him that I can take care of myself, that he doesn't have to worry about me anymore. I need to get back I need to get back I need -

A sharp pain in the back of my head distracts me from all further thoughts and I swiftly turn around, swinging at the general direction of the attack.

[ewe attacks iago | glaive]
[dice=200+13000]
[13121 | Deep Gash on Left Calf | 8.0 damage]

It's Iago.

Iago --

I don't know if you'll ever see this, or if I'll ever see you again but I just wanted to tell you-

"You've got mail," I utter, and I throw the letter at his face.

If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried If only I had tried..

[Ewe throws Beatrice's letter at Iago]

I am the reason for your death, Beatrice Ewe. Without my frigid actions you would not be in this standstill of time, just waiting for a sword or arrow or knife to strike you down. They have taken away your innocence. I could see that from the moment we met I saw your eyes in the victory tour on the screen.

Nonononono you're not you never could be no stop don't think that, please. You were always the best. You taught me how to stand my ground, how to do the right thing. You taught me that I shouldn't give a damn about what anyone else thought (even though I never could truly follow your sage advice). You taught me that I was more than a leg, more than a defect in my genetics. You taught me how to fight, you taught me how to respect. You taught me all I need to know to survive here, Eye. Now I just have to use it to get back to you.

He killed her he killed her not me but how why I don't understand. My trap went off, Emery Moreno sprung it and it went and killed her how could it not have been me? Did he deal the final blow? That's a mercy killing, not anything else. Did she not set the trap? Does it even matter? My mind is reeling for a second and I manage to skirt out of the way of his blade but not before is scratches my shoulder, sending droplets of blood out into the distance, smashing against the ground. It doesn't bother me as much as it did before; the pain's almost normal now, in this world that's filled with shining weapons and rivers of red red red.

But is that really true, Iago? Do you really have no heart beneath your stone mask? Can we be truly heartless? I don't think it's possible

They didn't understand why I made it; nobody ever really did.

It had been late at night, when I couldn't sleep (even then, the nightmares had already started, dragging me into the pits of death with angry claws and burning graps). My skin had been cold and clammy to the touch, my eyes bloodshot and glazed over, my body aching with fatigue that would never dissipate. But all I could think of was what they would see on screen; would it be my head that detached from my body? Would my blood pool out of my body like a waterfall? Would it be slow? Would it be quick? How much longer would they have to be tortured by my pained cries, my wretched sobs that only a weakling like myself could ever emit from my feeble frame?

I couldn't let that happen, I couldn't let them see me at my worst because they had to see me at my best, they had to let go when I finally exited stage left, they had to live, even if I died. And if the last thing they could remember of me was my face right before all the life faded out of it, they would never be the same. Maybe, maybe with something to cover it they'd move on, maybe with something that protected me from them, that made me less human that made me less me they'd forget I was here, they'd believe I was just out at the docks, sketching a boulder or the ropes that the sailors tossed onto the wooden planks. Maybe they would think I was drawing a portrait or climbing up up up into the treehouse, anywhere but underground in a pine box.

Am I a liar, Iago? I never told the truth, but I never uttered anything false either. I pretended to be something I'm not; that's not lying, that's acting. They always said to fake it until you make it. Who was I to argue against their logic? (Yet did I ever believe they were speaking the truth?) That's why I donned the mask, Iago. But of course I would never tell you that - you're not worth an explanation. So don't disparage something you don't have the mental capacity to understand: You look like an idiot.

His blade doesn't pierce anything but the wind's still knocked out of me and I'm flung backwards, gasping for air and holding my stomach, feeling at the cracks in the almost useless exoskeleton that must have been preparing for this moment. I could have died I should have died but I'm not dead. No, no I'm not dead yet Izar, just you watch me. Vinnie's words echo through my brain again as I spring forward, swinging with all my might as his frame, so much bigger and stronger than mine will ever be. But here we are, equals on this plane of earth so long as one of us is breathing, maybe even after our hearts have stopped.

If only I had tried If only I had tried If only If only If only- I won't let you down, Eye. I'm trying my hardest, so please don't worry.

[attacks Iago | glaive]
[dice=200+13000]
[Deep Gash on Forehead | 9.0 damage]

"You talk too much, you overdramatic shithead."

It's deep, it's dangerous and I know that it's crucial as the blood runs down his face. Instead of his usual ferocity he just gives me a smirk before swinging at my own forehead. I barely step back before I feel it slice my head, the blood trickling down the topography of my face; I wipe at it, my hands stained cherry from the liquid life that's leaking away bit by bit, drop by drop. For a second we stare at each other again, that grin still on his face and I'm about to swing at him again when he speaks.

"You got something on your forehead." And it something so painfully obvious, so ridiculous to say in the heat of what's a fight for our lives that even I laugh, a chuckle that grows louder and more obscene until I cut it quick before it gets out of hand. I examine his face, his eyes, his posture - is he trying something? No, he's just... I don't know, we've both lost a lot of blood, we've both lost a lot of energy. I smile in return, my eyes narrowing ever so slightly, one eyebrow slightly raised.

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

[attacks Iago | glaive]
[dice=200+13000]
[Severed Right Arm at Shoulder | 10 damage]

"You've got a bit on you too - maybe you should see a doctor about that."

The words come out of my mouth just as the blade hits flesh, just as his arm goes flying off of his body and he yells and my eyes widen but these are the games this has to happen there's no other way deal with it and move on he lost an arm you lost an ear. I thought he was going to scream and curse, but there's just one yell and then... And then nothing. He looks at me, somehow managing to get another comment out. "You're right. Well... at least I won't have to worry so much about how I put on my shirts, now will I?" And once again I smile because this has become ridiculous and almost cordial.

Then he stabs my good leg and I grimace as the pain spreads throughout the leg. "Sheesh, is one bad leg not good enough for you guys?" I loudly mutter. As soon as I regain my breath I respond. "True, half the limbs, half the trouble."

[attacks Iago | glaive]
[dice=200+13000]
[Shallow Cut on Neck | 4.0 damage]