Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale

Rosetta
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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 13, 2014 11:51:17 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Rosetta on Apr 13, 2014 11:51:17 GMT -5

Congratulations on making it to the finale, tributes! This Games Day has no end date; however, please continue to post regularly so that this fight won't be drawn out. If it takes too long, action will be taken. Please note that stealth still does apply in this fight.

Relevant Stations/Damage Scores

Laila Sycamore
Stealth
7.5 damage

Soap O’Leary
Stealth
3 damage

Let the end of the 66th Hunger Games begin!

^^Made by the excellent Shrimp!

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 13, 2014 11:51:31 GMT -5

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Post by Python on Apr 13, 2014 11:51:31 GMT -5

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L A I L A S Y C A M O R E

{ i've come to burn your kingdom down }

Everything hurts.

A thousand gallons of that sparkling sea water could not remedy her pain. Her right forearm was a mangled stick of red stripes and disheveled bandages, her calf burned with every gentle flex of muscle and several of her dressings needed to be changed in order to maximize healing and deter infection. Unfortunately she had depleted the last of her healing supplies by patching up the worst of the gaping splices on her arm and her calf – old wounds that had been reopened by the maniac Francesca, a strategy that ended in Laila’s perpetual anger slaying the career with a deep thrust to the abdomen, yet after her cannon blasted into a silent sky the opportunity to voice her physical pain had been irresistible. She had ended up sprawled in the dirt, venting her frustrations with groans and cries as she dipped her limbs in water and watched the crimson spread like ink. Since then she had limped her way farther from Fran’s corpse, a repeat of her day with Anni; she didn’t want to see the stupid hovercrafts. It was too much of a taunt from the capitol. ”You’re still trapped, Laila, haha!”

Screw them.

The rhythm of waves felt like her sanctuary. Two days she has been here, walking the thin shores until another human being strayed into her path. She would cut them down, sustain injuries, suffer more and more agony while she thought of what could’ve been if Willis hadn’t abandoned her after their argument. His presence would be a benefit, and a welcome wonder after all of this loneliness. Where the hell was he? He had to be out there wandering by himself, defeating opponents one by one like she was. How low were the numbers now? What if they ended up being the only tributes remaining? How stupid would he feel if they ended up together, swords at each other’s throats? You should’ve stayed. They were both killers, but what if she had to fight him? Laila had sensed losing battles before, and somehow overcame them with unrelenting anger and determination. But Willis?

Fate could be sadistic, but how much would it let her suffer before a meaningless death or a painful victory?

Still, it was the thought of his survival that brought her comfort. When she spotted Francesca’s visage in the stars she counted on that blonde head of hair to keep his name out of her sight. Earlier a second cannon had startled her out of an angry fit, but denial persuaded her that it couldn’t be Willis because he was strong. He could save her ass so he could save his own ass, right?

Wrong.

A breath perished in her throat when Willis Keeni flashed against a black canvas. The fedora she had been twirling between her tiny hands dropped to her feet. No..he can’t be.. He couldn’t be dead, this was Willis. The one who saved her from drowning twice, the one who avenged Claire and could injure with deadly accuracy even when intoxicated with ridiculous amounts of donated alcohol. Eye’s death had been enough of a shock and a devastation that haunted her in the night’s peak, and Claire’s gruesome fate another image never to be forgotten. But there was no way Laila was the lone survivor of their little group. She was the weakest link, the child with scrawny arms and no hope, fueled only by tantrums and childish fantasies. He’s not dead, he can’t be, who could’ve-?

She would not waste her time with tears, not tonight. She buried her face into her hands and clawed her skin until her fingertips left white imprints against flushed cheeks. As the short anthem came to a heavy conclusion she pierced the silence with a ferocious scream – the only measure she could take to obstruct the inevitable flow of tears. She screamed until her throat was raw, until the last whisper of breath abandoned her lungs and forced her to inhale. And then she stood up and screamed again, wanting to be the fire-breathing dragon that everybody feared. You’re too small, Laila, you will amount to nothing. She picked up her sword and thrust it into her erected tent, tearing the fabric in two as she dragged the blade through what had been her shelter for the past seven nights. Everything about this Games had changed. Claire was gone, Eye was gone, now Willis was gone. Everything was gone, and even though she had never bothered counting faces she sensed that tomorrow her fate would be decided.

There was only one other person left in this arena, and she knew exactly who it was and what he had done.

I’m coming for you, Soap.

As if he would be terrified of a little girl and her tantrums.

Sleep was no option tonight. Restless tossing and turning and fading in and out of reality was the closest she could reach until sunrise. With her shelter tattered and destroyed there was nothing to keep the blinding morning sun out of her eyes, but perhaps that was the greatest advantage, for as soon as her bleary eyes blinked in front of a colored horizon she spotted the choppy texture of the water and a rising shadow in the distance. Oh, shit, not again. She was on her feet in moments, stumbling into the opposite direction as a wave crashed against the skinny shore. It wasn’t nearly as massive as the first one, but it still dragged her beneath the surface and twirled her in every direction until it was shallow enough for her to propel herself safely. This time she wasn’t stupid – she held her breath instead of inhaling the water. She needed to save her energy for the final battle: a thirteen year old orphan versus a building of a boy who threw axes at people’s faces.

The air was thicker and blacker than ever. She knew she would end up at this damned mountain again, but this time its belly was churning. She could hear the rumbles and see the ashes being spewed out of its mouth. It all tumbled like a gentle rainstorm, or like the snowflakes of district five during the winter. They were black, ugly snowflakes that made her nostrils burn, but there was no other way she could describe it. This is death. No, this is the finale.

When she spotted him, she didn’t move. Instead, she spoke. ”How did you kill him?” She needed to get the words in before he threw one of those axes at her. Swords and knives she could avoid, but objects soaring in her direction – that was a whole different story. A nasty, painful bloody one that reminded her of the pain her in calf. ”Did he suffer?” She adjusted the fedora on her head and tossed her backpack to the side. ”You helped that girl kill my friend Eye, and now you’ve killed Willis. I have a right to know.” Her tone was level, unwavering.

The calm before the storm.

[attacks Colgate – flaming katana]
VH6fHuy|sword
Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage

range 1-50
extinguished
sword�range 1-50

Last Edit: Apr 13, 2014 12:22:14 GMT -5 by Python

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 13, 2014 21:44:22 GMT -5

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Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Apr 13, 2014 21:44:22 GMT -5

My axe lodges itself deep in his skull, splitting his head in two.

I wonder if a person can even feel that sort of thing, or if it happens so instantaneously that the brain can't even register the agony before it dies.

I killed him. Just like that.

I watch as his body falls to the dirt, but I can’t bring myself to feel anything. I don’t feel sorry, or regretful, or cruel, and when that cannon booms through the air, a sense of triumph swells in my chest. This was the boy who tore my closest ally out of the world with his blade, and I cut him down quicker than the time it takes to gasp in pain.

Truthfully, I hope it hurt like hell.

Without another thought, I approach his body and search through his bag to see if there’s anything useful, but the only things worth taking are the weapons and armor. After a second’s hesitation, I stuff his throwing knives into my rucksack and begin taking off the shin guards protecting his legs, and it’s the grossest thing, handling the body of a corpse. At least when I took the gloves off of Lyric’s hands, I didn’t have to do much, but with this boy it’s different. I’ll have to lift up his legs and tug at the shin guards until they slip off of his calves, and he’s not light.

When I tug the armor off of the left leg, I accidentally pull his body a few inches forward, and his head rolls to the side with a small thump. I turn my gaze away and start working on the other one, but it doesn’t come off easy. I end up having to put a foot down on his chest to keep the rest of him from sliding through the dirt, and I almost fall back on my butt when I get the second half of the armor off.

And then there’s my axe embedded in his skull.

I sit there for a minute or two, just staring. I don’t need to retrieve the axe – it might be better to leave it in his brain, especially considering that his body is going to be sent home to his family, and the Capitol people will remove it more cleanly than I can – but I shake my head. It’s gross, but what am I supposed to do? I’ve already manhandled his body to wriggle the armor off of his legs, so any sort of respect for the dead is pretty much off the table.

Whatever.

Shrugging away any hesitation, I press my foot to his chest and set both hands against the handle of the axe, and in one quick movement I wrench the sharp edge out of his forehead. I grimace at the look of it and turn away, but change my mind a second later to wipe the blood and other materials off of the weapon and onto the material of the boy’s uniform, mumbling the tiniest sorry before I walk away.

When I turn, I realize that the tiny white creatures are still looking at me. They don’t really have any expressions, to be honest – their faces are blank and unreadable, neither horrified nor judgmental of what I just accomplished. They’re the kind of creatures that don’t really seem to recognize what goes on around them, but their eyes are big and wide, and they look at me in the same way that a dog or a cat might, as if waiting for attention or offering a sense of comfort.

They don’t look any different than they did before I killed the blonde-haired boy. They are not afraid of me, and do not shy away from my legs when I walk towards them.

In fact, they surround me. I walk into the center of their group and lean over to sit down in the dirt, taking my time to just look at them for a few minutes. They stare back, and occasionally they make high-pitched noises and gesture with their arms as if to comfort me.

When I sit down like this, their bodies hide my view of the dead boy’s corpse. I should move away to let the Capitol pick him up, but I don’t want to go anywhere. I’ve spent the majority of my morning being carried by these bizarre creatures, and for now I just want to stay in the same place so I can calm my frantic heartbeat.

As I rest, the white creatures move closer and closer, and eventually they sit down around me and make even more odd noises, as if they’re talking with each other while they wait for time to pass.

I’m waiting, too, and I decide to heal the worst of my wounds before I lose enough blood to become weak. I work away with the needle and thread on my cuts (wincing a little every time I sew the point through my skin) and bandage up the stab wound that soaks the stomach of my uniform with blood, and by the time I’m done, the stinging has faded into a dull ache. Admittedly, I cannot completely ignore the pain even as it ebbs away, but it doesn’t demand every second of my attention.

After sitting for a long while, I decide to pull out my pen and notebook.

I haven’t touched it since.. since the first day? I can’t remember the last time I wrote something down with pen and paper, but now.. now I feel like I have to. Another cannon has gone off somewhere in the Arena, meaning that I’m one of two tributes left alive. I know that people can see me, and I would feel cheesy talking to myself, or even talking to the little white mutts. I don’t want to say anything that the Capitol people can see, ‘cause they’ve already seen enough of my life. They’ve watched me kill and they’ve watched me cry and they’re the reason my family starves back in District Nine.

I’ve given them so much, but I’m not going to give them everything.

My hands are bloody as I trail pen across paper, but the words are pure.

Dear Mom, and Dad, and the rest I start, chewing on the end of the pen as I try to transfer my thoughts into words.

I’m sorry. I’m gonna stick this paper in my pocket so it doesn’t go anywhere, and if you get it then I guess I didn’t make it back. Well, not alive at least. I don’t really know what to write right now, but I have to write something, you know?

Just.. please don’t think badly of the things I’ve done while I’ve been here. I know.. I know you never thought that I’d be capable of doing any of this, but if I’m dead, I don’t want you to think that I’m evil or cruel or sadistic. I did the things I did because I wanted to save you, and that includes hurting other people. There’s only one other person left, and that means I won’t ever kill more people than I would have saved by being here and winning. It all evens out, or so I’d like to think.

I pause, because I suddenly realize that the death toll will rise significantly if I don’t make it out of this Arena alive. I would have been responsible for the deaths of .. five others? Twelve others, if you count the members of my family, but we were on the track to starvation long before I stepped onto that stage, so maybe it doesn’t matter after all.

Shaking the thought away, I start to write again.

I love you guys, know that. It’s because I love you that I’m able to fight, and without that, I would already be dead by now. I love you more than all the bad and cruel and awful things in this Arena, more than I love the idea of money or victory or the prospect of living a life beyond a couple days from now. I miss you, too. And you know, I don’t even worry about myself. I miss you guys so much that there’s no way I’ll let anyone take me away from you, no way that anyone on this Earth is gonna fight harder than I ever will. There’s no stopping me now, and it’s all because of you guys. I feel strong and powerful and incredible – all the things I never was to anybody else, and if you’re reading this and it turns out that I’m wrong, I’m sorry. Just know that right now, because I might make it back, I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Even though I’ve killed people, even though I hurt you by leaving, I’m happy and I love you and I miss you.

Please know this too: if I am dead right now and my fight wasn’t enough to get me back, you can fight too. If it means your survival, I want you to fight for everything you deserve. Don’t lose hope.

I miss the days we used to have when we went hunting out in the woods, but I’m reminded of them here. Granted, the mutts aren’t deer and things are just a little hectic, but every day, I’m reminded of when I was younger and we used to camp out in the woods for hours, just waiting for something to walk by.

I miss coming home from a long day’s work covered in dirt and soap only to see everyone smiling and laughing about God-knows-what, and I miss being able to plop down on the floor and talk for hours and hours about nothing at all, just to get my mind off the bad things for a while. I could use one of those days right about now, but it’s okay – I’ve had people to talk to so far, and I can last a few more days with just my thoughts.

I miss the way Hannah always rolled her eyes at me when I made a bad joke. (And Hannah, if I’m gone now, you better know I made all those bad jokes because I knew you’d find them moronic.)

Mostly, I miss waking up and giving you guys hugs before going off to work.

Please don’t hate me. I love you more than anything else in the world, and I wouldn’t ever survive knowing that.

Chin up.

- Colgate

I pause, looking down at the words for a few seconds before folding the paper up into a square and stuffing it into my pocket.

A moment later, I push myself out of the dirt and walk far away from the blonde boy’s corpse, far enough away that the Capitol will never see me.

The most surprising thing is that the white creatures actually decide to follow me. I thought they’d leave me alone after their task of carrying me away was finished, but they don’t. This time, they don’t bother hauling me themselves, but they don’t give me a whole lot of breathing room as I walk.

I don’t mind much – I’m alone now, and their presence is comforting.

As the day fades into night, the Anthem rings out, loud and terrifying as the faces of the dead are displayed against the clouds. One of them was the boy that I killed, and the other is the face of a girl that I didn’t know. Their pictures confirm what I am already aware of: only two tributes are left alive. But who’s the other? Save for my alliance members, I never bothered to learn the names of my fellow tributes, so there’s no telling who I’ll face in the coming hours or days.

Not that it matters. Careers might take time to prepare or strategize, but I’ve never been trained in combat strategy. All I’ve got is brute force, and I can only hope that it’s enough to overpower whoever I’m up against.

Time passes, and I walk back into the group of weird white muttations and let them surround me, and I lay my head against the dirt and close my eyes. Hopefully, if the lone tribute left in this Arena passes by, all they’ll see if a herd of mutts and turn the other way, leaving me to sleep.

When I sleep, I dream of my family, and home, and a life beyond all of this.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, I awake in a panic as the earth below me begins to shake.

I’ve never experienced anything like this before. It’s unstable and frightening, and within seconds of the rumbling, boulders begin to tumble down from their perches. It starts just to the west of me, but I can feel the power begin to grow beneath my feet, and soon the rocks around me begin moving as well. The little white creatures are already moving away from the area and towards the North, and I can’t help but think that this is the fault of the Gamemakers: they’re trying to push me towards the end, towards their finale.

(But it will not be my end.)

Without pausing to look back, I throw the rucksack around my shoulders and follow the muttations in their tracks, stopping only for a second to pick up a parachute that fell a few feet away from me during the night.

Twisting the container open and peeking inside, I find a single jar of tar, meant to set my weapon alight.

If I’m being pushed somewhere, it is because the Gamemakers want me to move towards someone, and I need to be prepared, so I find an area with relatively few crashing rocks and cover my weapons with this new gift. Hands stumbling in a hurry, I rush to create a spark that will spread a flame across my weapons’ sharp edges.

When fire springs up before my eyes, I spring back into motion.

I don’t know how long I walk for, but it feels like hours. It probably isn’t, as I’m closer to the north edge of the Arena than I am to the south, but time passes slowly when you’re looking forward to something, I guess.

What’s worse is that the air is choked with a dark substance that looks like snow, except it’s not. It looks like the ash from a fire, but that’s not logical – there’s no fire on earth that can create this much ash, at least not that I know of. I suspect it’s a Gamemaker trick meant to make our finale.. more exciting? More ominous? Who knows. Either way, the ground soon becomes filled with the stuff, and walking becomes harder as the air thickens. I end up covering my mouth with the collar of my uniform, and as I trek further I finally see the source of the flame.

The giant mountain in the fiery area of the Arena has.. well, I’m not exactly sure how to describe what it’s doing; we never had any problems like this back in District Nine.

As I set foot on the charred earth, I finally see who I’ve been walking towards.

The tiniest, youngest tribute, and she sees me too.

”Did he suffer?” she asks, moving closer. At first, I’m not sure who she’s talking about, but she mentions the boy by name – Willis, who must have been the blonde-haired boy whose skull I split in two.

When I speak, my tone is almost calm, but even I can’t hide the aggression behind it.

We both know why we’re here, after all, and it’s not to play nice.

”No, he didn’t suffer,” I say, wondering if it’s true. ”He died quickly.”

(And I don’t say it, but she will too, because I’ve got so so much to fight for.)

[attacks Laila Sycamore with flaming throwing axes]
Lbn4VkIEthrowing axe
10179 -- Shallow Cut on Bicep -- 3.5 damage
(Thrown Axe)

1-50
0

throwing axe�1-50

Last Edit: Apr 13, 2014 21:44:50 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 14, 2014 18:02:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Apr 14, 2014 18:02:54 GMT -5

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L A I L A S Y C A M O R E

{ i've come to burn your kingdom down }

The air tasted of ash and fire, and she immediately thought of Claire. Somewhere in this dry desert of black flakes the imprint of her charred corpse was being buried beneath layers of dust and debris. Laila could see her opponent through a grey haze, and wondered what it looked like to their audience. For once it was impossible not to remember that they were being broadcast on national television, that people – families – would be on the edge of their seats right now, chewing their nails as they watched a tiny girl face a giant. The ashes falling from the sky were probably for dramatic effect, but who knows what else they might have in store for them? She didn’t know much about mountains – only the one in the Quell from the previous year, but that one had been snow-capped and beautiful. This one was hot, rocky, and menacing, and if it could spit ash it might as well spit fire.

They danced with sword and axe; she opened a wound on his leg and his flying axe caught her arm. She didn’t feel the sting of a burning flame so the wind must have snuffed it out during its journey, and she was grateful for it. Unfortunately the same could be said about her sword. Fire was evidently no comrade of hers – it burned her house and her friend, and even though it was a passionate flame that scorched her heart to fuel her anger the element refused to be her weapon in battle. Time and time again sponsors sent her gifts of tar, and time and time again their donations ended up being for naught. It was irritating and unfair. She could see the orange orbs glowing around the giant’s form – he still had five more flaming axes to hurl at her bones, and she was without the luxury. Even when this place was alive and breathing fire into their pores it refused to cooperate with her.

Well, screw you too.

When the giant called ‘Soap’ answered her, an abrupt wave of relief surged past her senses. Then as quickly as it crashed, it shrunk itself back. ”You better not be lying to me,” she accused, expression scrunched into a glare. How could she possibly trust his word? She could only trust three people, and they were all dead. Dead, lifted, and shipped off to be buried in their rightful districts. If Eye was correct, they would floating among the stars right now, shielded from her vision by ash, clouds and sunlight. Francesca had mustered the bravery to try and speak to these stars, her fallen comrades. Laila failed to understand the temptation. If Willis, Eye and Claire were finally free of this wretched earth, why would they bother listening to her? Who would want to open their ears to the Games, to listen to a whining child when they could be at peace? Laila was young, but she knew better. She knew they wouldn’t listen. I wouldn’t either.

”I want to know how he died. Did you slit his throat? Cut his head off?” Images of Willis with a gaping gash through his neck plagued her thoughts, but she didn’t care about the gore or about how badly it made her heart shiver. She needed to know, in case she died. Claire had burned and Eye had bled, but Willis? She couldn’t leave it a mystery, not if she was at risk of leaving this world early. Don’t you want to be a star, Laila?

True, but what if Eye was wrong? What if they weren’t stars, what if they just vanished?

”Don’t keep anything from me,” she pressed on. ”I’m not some little girl who’s worried about the gore or the truth. I killed three people.” And she thought she deserved to know how exactly she lost what she lost. Admittedly, Willis was still her friend despite their bitter argument. She smashed his bottle of alcohol and he trembled with anger until she was sure he would snap. That didn’t change what happened before, though. Sharing tents and healing wounds and chuckling by a campfire while they each contemplated the reality of the Games that they would never understand until three were dead and one was left – that being Laila, who was naïve then and suffering now. She thought about Savannah, who had called her allies “family.” In a way, she had done something similar. They had all been comfortable and peaceful to a certain extent, but she had warned herself of their demises, reminded herself that they could not live in harmony forever. Yet nothing had prepared her for the truth.

One by one they were ripped away from her, and now she had the misfortune of remembering how each one of them died.

All except for one.

[attacks Colgate – katana]

|S9qv9F6sword
Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage
sword

Last Edit: Apr 14, 2014 18:19:37 GMT -5 by Python

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 14, 2014 21:00:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Apr 14, 2014 21:00:08 GMT -5

The girl’s so small, I can barely see her through the dark, ashy snow.

What’s her name? I should have asked. Not that asking would get me anything, in this fight – it would only give me one more reason to think that what I’m doing is wrong, and now is not the time for that. I’ve seen her before, at least that I know; I remember her face in the fight against the largest alliance, the day Savannah died. I aimed my axe at her before I even knew what I was doing. All I knew right then and there was that she was partially responsible for killing my ally, and I wanted her dead.

I could have done it, too. I could have killed her on that day, and then where would I be now?

She escaped from us before we could hurt her - ran far, far away before we could cut her throat open for doing what she did.

I was going to kill her then, and I’m going to kill her now. It’s just as simple as that.

The first time she thrust her sword at me, it tore a hole in my armor but didn’t cut through to the skin. This time she pokes the sword in my general direction and it cuts into my right forearm, an injury far less painful than any from days past. I can still feel the stinging from the stab wound that the blonde boy – Willis – gave to me just yesterday, but the bandages have stopped the bleeding. Other parts of my body are cut, but I can’t complain. I’m still breathing, still walking, still fighting. If it takes a little pain to make it out of here alive, so be it. I can handle a stupid cut if it means I’m not being hurt worse.

Backing quickly away from her sword, I shy to the side and my eyes catch a glimpse of the little white creatures, watching me from the side. When I look at them, I swear some of them look more wide-eyed than usual, as if they’re watching the end too, as if we’ve got their full attention and their hearts are pounding, just looking at us. Standing there like that, they look like a tiny little army, congregated against the dark ash of the sky. They stick out of the landscape like a light in the darkness, and a part of me is thankful that they’re here to watch over me. When I step away from her sword, they make high-pitched noises, and I can’t tell if the sounds are random, or if they mean to cheer me on.

I’ll believe the second option.

”I want to know how he died. Did you slit his throat? Cut his head off? Don’t keep anything from me. I’m not some little girl who’s worried about the gore or the truth. I killed three people.”

This girl can’t stand more than 5’3”, and compared to me, she’s like a child. I’ve gotta be at least a foot taller than her, but there’s no way in hell I’m getting close enough to that blade to compare. I’m all skin and lanky limbs and she’s round-cheeked and puny, and it’s a wonder how either of us ended up at this finale, two of the wimpiest-looking tributes there ever were. Only problem is, aiming at me is like aiming at a wall or at the ground – you can’t physically miss, unless you really try. Her, on the other hand? I couldn’t have thought up a smaller target.

Shuffling my feet through the layer of ash beginning to accumulate over the ground, I tighten the grip around my next axe and hold my chin up.

”My axe hit him right in the brain,” I say, pointing at the center of my forehead with my free hand. ”Nobody lives long after that, believe me.”

I keep backing away from her sword, for my advantage lies at a distance. I don’t have to get anywhere near her sword to inflict damage, so you can bet I’m not gonna go anywhere near it. I don’t even want to see her face.

”What’s your name, by the way?” I ask, as calmly as I can, just before I release another axe.

[attacks Laila Sycamore with flaming throwing axes]
o5IWJj6xthrowing axe
10037 -- Axe in Chest -- 9 damage
(Thrown Axe)

1-50
+2

throwing axe�1-50

Last Edit: Apr 14, 2014 21:01:22 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 14, 2014 21:38:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Apr 14, 2014 21:38:54 GMT -5

[newclass=.scroll]background:transparent;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]border-radius: 0px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar]width:4px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-track]background-color:#333333;border-radius:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable]position:relative;overflow:hidden;width:400px;height:500px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable .lailSlide]position:absolute;left: 0px; right:0; top:-400px;-webkit-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -o-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -webkit-transition-delay: 0.3s; -moz-transition-delay: 0.3s; -o-transition-delay: 0.3s;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable:hover .lailSlide]top:0; bottom:0;[/newclass]

[attr="class","lailTable"]

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[attr="class","scroll"]

L A I L A S Y C A M O R E

{ i've come to burn your kingdom down }

He was lanky and slow, like an awkward praying mantis with human intelligence and axes that burned like torches in the darkness. The orange flares were the only way for her to keep track of him in the black fog, to follow his location and try her best to stalk through the shadows and thrust her sword at him. He was very much unlike her previous opponents – he was male, he was a giant, he was calm and collected somehow, and he wielded disposable weapons instead of a sword or a knife. He could steal the advantage by straying farther and farther away from her, and on top of everything he was a friend of fire. She felt the weight in her chest when the realization sunk like a boulder in the sea; I don’t stand a chance. Fate had already decided her path. She was to die here, the last of her alliance. She was to die a thirteen year old orphan with corpses for friends. She was to die while the capitol spat on her remains and cheered on the murderer who stuck an axe through her skull – or whatever he would do to finish the job.

She wanted to be angry, she wanted that rage to return and help her fight.

All she felt was terror in its stead.

”My axe hit him right in the brain,” he replied, and she could see it. She could see the axe embedded between Willis’ dazed eyes, an expression of awe and confusion and pain etched into his pale features. She could see the blood dribbling and his eyes fading, mask turning vacant as his body collapsed. ”Nobody lives long after that, believe me.” He was right, it was a quick death. Perhaps not merciful, but quick. With this truth in hand she wasn’t sure what to feel. Closure? Yes, it was the knowledge she wanted, and she would possess it at a heavy cost. The images flashing in her head prompted her to back away and recapture held breaths. Get it together, Laila. She had seen death before, so why should this bother her? Why should this distract her?

”What’s your name, by the way?”

She glanced up, and he was gone.

Shit! His silhouette had faded in the ash backdrop, and he vanished like a ghost. He was praying in the shadows while she was lost and frantic, gaze darting from empty patches of soil to jagged rocks that jutted from the ground. He can’t be far, he can’t be, it has only been a few seconds.. And then she spotted something in her peripheral vision: a flash of orange and black, but it was too swift and too blurry for her to register in time. From an angle it lodged its sharp edge into her chest – an axe, what else would it be? – and singed the flesh around its new home. A panicked scream ripped through her as the force knocked her to her spine. I’m dead, aren’t I? I’m—

She rolled onto her side and pushed the wooden handle with her free hand, cringing and whimpering as the steel slid out. No, it hadn’t killed her. An axe to the chest wouldn’t kill, it would only maim. ”FUCK YOU, THAT’S MY NAME!” she screamed into the dirt. Stop acting like a child. She grabbed he sword and heaved herself up, free hand clutching at the slit in her chest. It missed her heart by a mile, but it still bled profusely. Another scar to heal after she was dead. Or, if Ripred blessed her with a miracle, it might be something the capitol could mend for her before they sent her back to district five on that nice train with the tasty food and the polite waiters.

Dream on.

Despite the pain she recuperated and managed to balance herself on her two feet again. ”It’s Laila." She called out to nothing. She still couldn’t see him, but she was on the move. She refused to stand there and simply wait for her own demise. Finales were long, drawn-out, always pleading for the ruthless and painful death of a final tribute. She didn’t want that. She might have to accept it soon, but for now she was not going to stand idle. She would search for her prey just as he would watch her from his hiding place. ”I know your name is Soap, but that’s a stupid name, I know it’s not real. What’s your real name?”

When she spotted him, she didn’t hesitate.

She charged like a bull.

[attacks Colgate – katana]
eEXBynKHsword
Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage

sword

Last Edit: Apr 14, 2014 21:51:02 GMT -5 by Python

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 15, 2014 1:02:15 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Apr 15, 2014 1:02:15 GMT -5

I hear the way my axe collides with her body, a harsh thunk that means it hit right on target- and hard. That wasn't some shallow cut on the arm or even a stab wound to the stomach. No, my axe must have lodged itself deep in her torso or leg or neck, cutting through the skin and muscle as it embedded itself there.

A second later, a harsh reply rings through the air: "FUCK YOU, THAT'S MY NAME," she screams, and it's a violent sort of sound, not what you'd expect to eat from a girl that small and young. I think she meant it to sound threatening, but I can't help relate the noise to the way a dying animal sounds, just before you cut its throat. It's brave and spiteful, to be sure, but it means nothing if you're already on your way to the grave.

After a moment, she speaks again, and the sound lets me know where she is, hidden in the darkness. "It's Laila," she says matter-of-factly, her voice louder and closer than I originally thought it would be. She knows I'm moving farther away, knows I'm trying to avoid her blade.. and yet she's moving closer, her footsteps muffled by the layer of ash now beginning to coat the ground. It's warm underneath my shoes when I stay in one place, but I don't let myself- I back farther and farther away, searching for any sounds of her movement in the air.

She continues on, and her closeness startles me. Quickly, I back away before she can slice at me, and doing so might just have saved me from being gravely injured - she stabs forward with her sword before I can avoid it entirely, and the steel cuts lightly into the skin of my forearm through the bloodied uniform.

"I know your name is Soap, but that's a stupid name. I know it's not real. What's your real name?"

I shake my head and fly backwards to avoid any further assault, and I smile through harsh breaths.

"Toothpaste," I say with a small laugh, hesitant to make too many sounds that will direct her sight towards me. "Dishrag. Sponge. Mud-puddle," I add, stifling another laugh as I step closer to get her in sight.

When I'm right behind her, I speak again.

"But you can call me Colgate."

[attacks Laila Sycamore with flaming throwing axes]
IXXgfqvHthrowing axe
~~miss~~

1-50
0

[accuracy reroll]
throwing axe

throwing axe�1-50�throwing axe

Last Edit: Jun 26, 2014 13:33:06 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 15, 2014 14:28:49 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Apr 15, 2014 14:28:49 GMT -5

[newclass=.scroll]background:transparent;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]border-radius: 0px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar]width:4px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-track]background-color:#333333;border-radius:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable]position:relative;overflow:hidden;width:400px;height:500px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable .lailSlide]position:absolute;left: 0px; right:0; top:-400px;-webkit-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -o-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -webkit-transition-delay: 0.3s; -moz-transition-delay: 0.3s; -o-transition-delay: 0.3s;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable:hover .lailSlide]top:0; bottom:0;[/newclass]

[attr="class","lailTable"]

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L A I L A S Y C A M O R E

{ i've come to burn your kingdom down }

She practically stumbled off of her two feet trying to sink her sword into one of those massive limbs. She left a cat scratch of a wound at best, but she couldn’t even see it through the thick, acrid rain of ash and smoke as he swiftly moved away from her, fully prepared to take advantage of the field. The harsh environment was starting to burn her eyes and her nostrils, leaving a bitter flavor on her tongue. It was a familiar, unwelcome sensation that reminded her of the Sycamore fire years ago. The plumes of smoke that had shrouded their land with darkness were actually nothing compared to this mess. The mountain coughed and coughed until its looming silhouette was the only landmark in this area that she could recognize. There were jagged rocks here and there for her to evade, and somewhere she heard the hiss of magma in narrow pits. Liquid fire, a terrorizing thought. She had no plans to see what it truly looked like, or feel the agony that it could cause.

”Toothpaste.” An answer called from a distance. She had lost sight of him again. Could he see her, or was he just as lost? ”Dishrag. Sponge. Mud-puddle.” Those were not real names, those were nicknames and insults. She didn’t know what game he was playing at, but she refused to answer lies. Especially when she was vulnerable and dizzied by the heat smothering her pores.

”But you can call me Colgate.”

She froze, and her heart nearly stopped mid-thump inside of her ribcage. He’s right behind me.

She dropped everything and dove for the ground, knowing exactly what his game plan was at that moment. Sure enough she heard a swish in the air and felt the thump of something against her arm. She grunted at the stinging sensation and grimaced at the warmth of the blood flow that followed. It was painful, but it was a hell of a lot better than the alternative. If she hadn’t ducked he could’ve lodged an axe right into her brain or her spine. I won’t be killed with my back turned. She immediately climbed to her feet and whirled around to face him. He was already backing away from her, but his flaming axes were like orange beacons in the haze. For a moment she saw all of him, even his expression. The sight made her pause.

”Are you smiling?”

She couldn’t be hallucinating, right? The smoke had not burned false visions into her eyes. That was a smile she saw, wide and eerie and ill-fitted for a situation like this. Was he laughing at her because she was losing? Was he one of those sadists they always spoke about during a Games? Like that evil boy from the Quell? This didn’t make sense. She remembered finding his stash of items: the cape, the medical supplies, and the little note that said “Chin up!” Why, so you can slit my throat? She didn’t understand why he would leave such useful supplies with a note like that, unless it was some sort of charming trick. She didn’t know anything about this boy, honestly. Maybe her impression of him was all wrong, maybe he was just some kid that was sick in the head. He was the one with the perfect training score, after all.

He was like a career.

”Don’t tell me you’re one of the crazy ones,” she said, gaze trained on the flames that shined like beacons to lead her way. As long as she kept her eyes focused on these orange bundles of light, she would be able to find him. Granted, he would be able to see her as well if he turned around in time, but she had the advantage of speed and size. Smaller frame, smaller target. Lighter body, quicker reflexes. Still, she needed to be stealthy. Making conversation wouldn’t help, but how could she resist? He had been smiling, for Ripred’s sake! She needed to know if he was off his rocker, if he was unstable.

Francesca had been unstable, and Laila had butchered her in a matter of minutes.

[attacks Colgate – katana]
a4oON3Ynsword
Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage

sword

Last Edit: Apr 15, 2014 14:29:09 GMT -5 by Python

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 15, 2014 21:20:34 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Apr 15, 2014 21:20:34 GMT -5

”Are you smiling?” she asks in disbelief.

At first, I don’t understand the question. What’s the problem with smiling? I made a joke, but I guess she didn’t find it quite as funny as I did.

Ever since I was a baby, I couldn’t stop smiling. Mom says every time anyone would walk into the room when I was little, my face would light up like nothing else. Even when I got older, when I started working all the time, I’d try my best to smile at people, or just smile to myself. And it’s not like I ever had a reason to smile, either; my teeth have always been ugly and crooked, and when I laugh, most people just think I look gross. But I smile anyway, you know? It’s like my brain’s hardwired to make my face look happy even when I don’t want it to – even now, at the worst of times – because that’s how I survive. I used to make a game of it, used to put on a face so my family wouldn’t worry about me, and somewhere along the way it just became natural. I can’t help it.

I guess I’ve fallen back into the same pattern – but the thing is, I’m not even sure if I’m pretending anymore. I’m so close to the end, so close.. and that would make anyone happy, right?

”Don’t tell me you’re one of the crazy ones,” she says, tearing me away from my thoughts.

I shake my head, but realize that she can’t see it. ”No,” I choke out, throat dry from the ash, rushing to defend myself. ”You’ve gotta understand – I don’t like doing this. I don’t like hurting people."

Backing away slowly, I search through the darkness to find her shadow, but she strikes before I can even make out her figure. Gasping in surprise, I stumble backwards, but not before her blade slices into my calf.

Shit. But it's only a tiny cut. If I didn't know better, I'd say she's so short and small that she can barely lift her sword, but assumptions like that are dangerous. I back away again to put more space between us, but not so far away that I can't see her silhouette through the raining cloud of ash.

"You've killed people too," I continue, readying another axe. "I'm normal, you're normal, and yet here we are, trying to kill each other. Why do you think that is?"

I don't give her time to mull it over before I strike again.

[attacks Laila Sycamore with flaming throwing axes]
MkXOFRXTthrowing axe

1-50

throwing axe�1-50

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 16, 2014 22:40:30 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Apr 16, 2014 22:40:30 GMT -5

[newclass=.scroll]background:transparent;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]border-radius: 0px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar]width:4px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-track]background-color:#333333;border-radius:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable]position:relative;overflow:hidden;width:400px;height:500px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable .lailSlide]position:absolute;left: 0px; right:0; top:-400px;-webkit-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -o-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -webkit-transition-delay: 0.3s; -moz-transition-delay: 0.3s; -o-transition-delay: 0.3s;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable:hover .lailSlide]top:0; bottom:0;[/newclass]

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L A I L A S Y C A M O R E

{ i've come to burn your kingdom down }

I hate him.

She knew why, of course. He was the enemy; he had slaughtered Willis by splitting his skull with an axe, he had lent a deadly hand in butchering Eye until he bled to death and he had lodged an axe into Laila’s chest, opening a wound that drained quickly enough to weaken her as each minute passed. Most of all, he was winning. He was a large target yet impossible for her to severely injure with her sword. It was frustrating, it was absolutely positively fucking infuriating that this stick figure bastard was slowly but surely forcing her to meet an end when she was supposed to be avenging her friends – but where she hoped to find rage kindling in her heart she found terror instead. Its overwhelming, icy aura smothered all traces of the emotion that gave her strength.

I hate him, but I can’t beat him.

She was tired, she realized, and not just emotionally. Blood loss would take its toll soon enough if she didn’t kill him, and judging by how the fight was progressing it would take a miracle for her to cause his downfall. Her pathetic slash left another scratch on his leg, and he was speaking to her again before she could react. She struggled to match his pace as he backed away from her, but this time they remained within spying distance, able to watch each other’s shadows in the ashy fog that polluted their lungs. ”No,” he said. So he wasn’t crazy, or was he lying? ”You’ve gotta understand – I don’t like doing this. I don’t like hurting people." She didn’t know whether to believe him or not, but there were a lot of mysteries in the world that she should never try to understand. His honesty? Whether it was real or not she would never know, yet that fluttery sensation of relief briefly followed. It was short-lived due to her pain, but she felt it.

”Good,” she breathed between heavy pants, ”I don’t like it either.” It was complicated, but she knew enough about herself and about this shitty Games to confidently admit that she had wished over and over for people’s deaths, yet if given the opportunity to hire someone else to kill them for her she would accept in a heartbeat. She did not take pleasure from the sensation of plunging a sword into someone’s flesh – the squelchy sounds it made, the echoes of steel cracking bone, the endless pools of red that stained her clothes. All of it was repulsive, but she would not regret killing all of the tributes she had killed. Thistle, Anni, Francesca – they all needed to die in order for her to live. Her hands were stained with sin, and she wouldn’t deny it. But at least she wasn’t a sadist.

” You've killed people too,” he suddenly piped up, and she could see him through the storm of ash. He was raising one of his axes, preparing for a strike. She would be ready. ”I'm normal, you're normal, and yet here we are, trying to kill each other. Why do you think that is?" She hardly registered the question as he let loose another axe. She ducked and lifted an arm to protect her eyes, and the blade struck skin and bandages, drawing a yelp out of chapped lips. When she could finally think straight, she began to boldly move toward him. ”Because we want to live.”

Why else would two ordinary people try to butcher each other?

”And because the capitol didn’t give me much of a choice.”

Kill or die, pick one.

Kill, obviously.

If I can.

[attacks Colgate – katana]
XrpDZk1Vsword
Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage

sword

Last Edit: Apr 16, 2014 22:40:59 GMT -5 by Python

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 17, 2014 1:16:10 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Apr 17, 2014 1:16:10 GMT -5

The worst part about all of this is that the girl Laila looks sorta like my little sister, all young and smart and fierce. There are differences, of course: my sister’s much taller (as most of my family is), and she’s got darker hair, but the resemblance in their movements and their tone of voice is striking. I can’t help but wonder what Hannah would think of it, what she would think of me..

Does she think I’m an awful person, now that she knows what I’m capable of? Is she mad that I chose to leave, or does she understand why I had to do it?

Even at twelve, she knows she’s hungry.

I don’t wanna be hungry anymore. What’s more, I don’t want my family to feel like they don’t have enough; I want them to feel full and be able to go to the nicer markets in District Nine and buy those fancy Capitol fruits and just die when they bite into a peach for the first time. I’d fight just to see their faces again, but I’d fight even harder to see them smiling and happy and healthy.

I did everything I could to make it to this point. I killed a girl in training just to prove myself, but I don’t feel guilty for that. What is life without a tongue, without any sense of free will, without the ability to have a life of your own? She was dead long before that day. I guess I did prove myself, because the Gamemakers gave me that bright, shining 12 for my efforts, and because of it I got the sponsors that have kept me alive and fighting. And then.. and then I slaughtered my way through four other tributes to survive.

I can’t worry about that. Not yet. Twenty-three were going to die anyways; the Capitol is not merciful. That’s just how it goes, and I’ll be damned if I’m not the one who reigns victorious.

”Good,” the girl says, panting through her words. ”I don’t like it either.”

She bears my next attack with a harsh yelp, but it only grazes the edge her skin. A moment later, she’s speaking again as if my onslaught isn’t bothering her, but I swear I can hear the weakness behind her words.

”Because we want to live. And because the Capitol didn’t give me much of a choice.”

Ha.

I clench my jaw as she lurches forward for another attack, but her sword barely touches my arm. At this rate, I’m so full of adrenaline that the pain doesn't even register, but the surprise does. I hurtle backwards a few steps and shake my head, and now I can see her clearly.

I’m sure she can see me too, with an image of fire reflected in my eyes.

I stare her down unflinchingly, tilting my head to the ground just to meet her gaze.

”The Capitol never pulled my name out of a bowl,” I say after a moment, shaking out my free arm in preparation for another attack. ”I chose this. I chose it because I was already dying. I don’t like any of it, and .. and it’s not just me. I’m not fighting for just me. I never have been.”

And that is exactly why I am going to win.

[attacks Laila Sycamore with flaming throwing axes]
UBX3mftdthrowing axe
10049 -- Deflected -- 0 damage
(Thrown Axe)

1-50
Minor burn +2

throwing axe�1-50

Last Edit: Apr 17, 2014 1:20:44 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 17, 2014 2:01:39 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Apr 17, 2014 2:01:39 GMT -5

[newclass=.scroll]background:transparent;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]border-radius: 0px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar]width:4px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-track]background-color:#333333;border-radius:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable]position:relative;overflow:hidden;width:400px;height:500px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable .lailSlide]position:absolute;left: 0px; right:0; top:-400px;-webkit-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -o-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -webkit-transition-delay: 0.3s; -moz-transition-delay: 0.3s; -o-transition-delay: 0.3s;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable:hover .lailSlide]top:0; bottom:0;[/newclass]

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L A I L A S Y C A M O R E

{ i've come to burn your kingdom down }

She grazed him again and huffed in frustration. This was a pathetic excuse of a cat and mouse game. Was this what she had worked so hard for? Lopping off a boy’s head, watching her friends perish in methods she had not imagined, enduring Anni’s torture, bearing Fancesca’s harsh treatment, starving, sleeping in tents, crying for every new wound she sustained - all of that shit for nothing? All of that stubbornness, that rage, that diligence and that will-power wasted away in a matter of minutes? Her bones were creaking from aches and her veins were running dry, and for what? Her story had been building and building bloody brick by bloody brick just for her to be slain right before the resolution? With victory staring her in the face, with Edgar’s voice just a cannon away?

What a waste of a life this had been.

He didn’t bother to hide from her. They were now beyond tricks and strategies – it was time to draw forth the gruesome conclusion to this shitstorm. They faced one another in this ashen land, in this literal Hell on earth with smoke and heat breathing down their necks until it rubbed their skin red. They were so close that she was forced to crane her neck just to stare up at his face when he spoke to her. ”The Capitol never pulled my name out of a bowl,” he said, and she carefully followed the movements of his arm. Well, wasn’t he fucking special? A volunteer. She should’ve known. ”I chose this. I chose it because I was already dying.” He was from a lower district, she understood that. When the Sycamore house burned and bled it was scraps for dinner and hunger pains for weeks. Perhaps they hadn’t ever reached the verge of death due to a lack of sustenance, but somewhere in her bones the record of her malnutrition was present.

”I don’t like any of it, and ..and it’s not just me. I’m not fighting for just me. I never have been.”

His axe spiraled in mid-air, but this time she raised her sword in an attempt to deflect it. The force of the impact sent microscopic shockwaves into her puny arms and the discomfort made her grimace from the pins and needles that followed. A small sizzle licked the edge of her hand during the process, and through gritted teeth she hissed before raising her sword, aiming the tip toward the face she wanted to split in half. ”Well neither am I. I’m supposed to be fighting for Claire and Eye and Willis..” she said, voice quivering from her own fears coming to light. Her guilt, her failures, her shame – this was all a sick joke life was playing on her. A joke with no laughter or happy endings on her part.

”Apparently I was born for nothing,” she continued, ”Lilith and Edgar always told me that I would grow up and get married and have kids and be happy, but look how that’s turning out!” She raised her hands in a wide gesture to herself, drawing attention to everything that she was – or wasn’t, in this case. She was everything she didn’t want to be. ”I hope you’re all fucking happy that you made my life a waste!” she shrieked at the sky. Let them see her in all of her childish glory – throwing another tantrum for her eager audience. She had promised them tantrums, hadn’t she? She had plenty to offer.

While she was fired up, she might as well channel her anger at the capitol toward the only tangible target in front of her. The one trying to kill her, even if it wasn’t really his fault.

”I should’ve died in that fire,” she muttered, but for once she was only speaking to herself.

She had never felt so honest.

[attacks Colgate – katana]
MTNfV7pLsword
Deep Gash on Right Calf -- 8.0 damage

sword

Last Edit: Apr 17, 2014 2:08:29 GMT -5 by Python

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 17, 2014 2:30:22 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Apr 17, 2014 2:30:22 GMT -5

The shin guards I painstakingly peeled off of the blonde boy's legs have clearly outlived their use, because one second I'm feeling fine and the next, I can finally feel the cut of Laila's blade tearing into my leg.

Needless to say, it hurts like hell.

Oh, I've been dealt a series of pains before. Mutts have almost torn me to shreds in days past, and this is no different.. but I can't have another one like it.

I need to cut her down, and quickly. The Capitol likes their finales to be long and drawn out, but I'm done playing games. This conversation is only giving away my location and making me prone to moments of weakness, and what is left to say?

Absolutely nothing.

I'm not running away from her.

I am not afraid.

I don't care what she has to say.

Instead of shuffling away from her sword, I refuse to move.

I pull that little note out of my pocket.

And I lift the corner to my last flaming axe.

Fuck it all.

The note burns away right before my eyes, and I drop it into the dirt with a smile.

I pause for just one second.

When I finally run at her, I am screaming.

[attacks Laila Sycamore with flaming throwing axes]
lbhmHm8Rthrowing axe
Miss (axe lost)

1-50
Minor burn (+2)

throwing axe�1-50

Last Edit: Apr 17, 2014 2:32:18 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 17, 2014 10:37:56 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Apr 17, 2014 10:37:56 GMT -5

[newclass=.scroll]background:transparent;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-thumb]border-radius: 0px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar]width:4px;[/newclass][newclass=.scroll ::-webkit-scrollbar-track]background-color:#333333;border-radius:0px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable]position:relative;overflow:hidden;width:400px;height:500px;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable .lailSlide]position:absolute;left: 0px; right:0; top:-400px;-webkit-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -moz-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -o-transition: 0.7s all ease-in-out; -webkit-transition-delay: 0.3s; -moz-transition-delay: 0.3s; -o-transition-delay: 0.3s;[/newclass][newclass=.lailTable:hover .lailSlide]top:0; bottom:0;[/newclass]

[attr="class","lailTable"]

[attr="class","lailSlide"]

[attr="class","scroll"]

L A I L A S Y C A M O R E

{ i've come to burn your kingdom down }

Too slow.

This time when she lunged, she caught him with his guard lowered. With a sickening squelch her steel punctured his calf, biting through muscle and nerves to draw the blood from within. I hope you enjoy limping. She quickly withdrew her sword and hastily backed away before he could heave an ax across her face. Weakening his pace was the most damage she could deal at the moment, and whether or not it would actually mean anything for her evident waste of a life was beyond her knowledge. Maybe it would make a subtle difference, maybe it wouldn’t. He said he was fighting for other people, right? Did he mean his dead friends, or were there others? Family, maybe? Laila had family too, or a pathetic excuse of one; a bunch of broken teenagers living under the same roof, hardly speaking to one another until Edgar or Lilith gathered them for a family meeting or for a relaxing dinner. There was no reason to fight for them – they weren’t the ones in peril. She would fight to see them again, though. To see Lilith and Edgar and exchange all of this pain for just a smidge of happiness.

Somehow, this dream she fought for was not strong enough to ensure her victory. Whatever he was fighting for was stronger, unless she was just weaker. I killed three people, I shouldn’t be weak. But she was, wasn’t she? That was why she had torn that golden cape into shreds. Capes were for heroes with strength and for knights with honor; Laila was not honorable or strong, she wasn’t even close. She was nothing special, really. Just a child with tantrums boiling her blood. She wasn’t sure she had much blood left, though.

Laila anticipated anger, but his scream still startled her. The flaming axe he hurled at her face missed by only a few inches, yet it still left a painful kiss of fire across her arm. The fresh scratches and cuts along the quivering appendage were minor and seemingly insignificant until they started to add up. Blood was oozing in different trails down the sides, and with both limbs mangled and bleeding it was difficult to grip her sword properly. ”And I thought I was being dramatic,” she choked out, voice barely above a mutter but still audible to the giant standing before her. A child screaming was normal, she figured. She was immature, she was a fireball waiting to expand and engulf in her last moments before she was smothered by death’s cloak. But Soap? A grown teenager? Why was he screaming? It sounded in-humane, it sounded frightening. It made her blood run cold as it seeped through the wounds scattered across her tiny frame.

She must’ve pissed him off.

I don’t care.

She was going to die anyway, right? Might as well be a death worth watching. Anger versus anger. Whose fire would be stronger?

The answer was clear, but she charged anyway.

[attacks Colgate – katana]
dv1uSlEHsword
Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage

sword

Last Edit: Apr 17, 2014 10:42:48 GMT -5 by Python

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Suffering Will Be Your Teacher - 66th Finale Apr 17, 2014 16:59:57 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Apr 17, 2014 16:59:57 GMT -5

There was a time, when I was just a little kid, when my parents first taught me how to use a bow.

I don’t remember how old I was; it had to be back when the District still allowed us to roam the forests with weapons, but time becomes all tricky when you’ve got nothing to anchor it with. We were always out there, in the woods, even before my parents taught me how to hunt for myself. When I was even younger, I remember skipping around the trees, laughing like an idiot, only to be scolded by my father for being too loud while he was trying to bring down game.

”They’ll never get anywhere near here if you keep making noise,” he whispered to me, and I think my little kid self didn’t quite understand, because I asked him why.

And he explained: “They know we’re dangerous.”

Dangerous? I thought. No way.

I quieted down after that, and Dad taught me how to walk like a hunter, light on my feet, quiet through the trees. I probably still made lots of noise (‘cause we never seemed to kill anything when he brought me along) but I didn’t mind. The woods were vast and beautiful and full of life, and it sure beat staring at the insides of our dirt-floor, ramshackle house. Plus, I seemed to get better over time, because one day Dad told me it was about time to learn to handle the weapons that he used.

I remember when he handed his bow to me, and the weight of it was so unwieldy in my palms. I couldn’t stop staring at it, and after a minute Dad just kinda grunted and shook his head.

”Well?” he asked. ”Are you going to try it out?”

And it’s not like I hadn’t seen him hold a bow before; I had the general idea.

I didn’t have any reason to be, but I was shaking like crazy when I lifted the bow and nocked an arrow. I guess I didn’t like the idea of being watched so closely by my father, having him stare at my posture and the way I pulled the bowstring back and how my feet were oriented in the dirt. ‘Cept he never once told me how to do anything that day; he just let me fire arrow after arrow after arrow at a giant hay bale target. In my mind’s eye, I was staring right at the center, but every time I’d let an arrow loose, it flew in all sorts of directions. My arms were too weak to hold the bow steady, I think, but really.. I was too anxious, so focused on hitting the target that I didn’t once think about where my arrows were actually flying, so long as they vaguely hit the mark.

Over time, I became better. Dad gave me tips and taught me how to stand and how to move and how to remain calm and steady, and then he introduced my to other weapons, other means of bringing down game.

When I let the last of my fire go, I know that I’ve already missed my target.

This Laila girl is not an animal I’m killing for practice. She talks, and she laughs, and she fights, and she sees me before I make a move. When I run at her, she drops out of the way, but not before a flame jumps across her skin.

”And I thought I was being dramatic,” she says, but the sound of her voice is already fading as I move out of her sight.

When I move away from her, I think of what my father would tell me to do.

Walk quietly, he would say. Calm, easy breaths.

If I’m quiet, there’s nothing to give away my location, now that the last of the tar has been put to use.

Chin up, boy.

And I lift my chin up in the air, because that’s rule #1.

I’m walking farther and farther away from her now, completely out of sight. Ash is falling from the sky even quicker than before, and it catches in my hair and in the folds my blood-soaked uniform, camouflaging me into the backdrop.

Wait.

The Arena has gone silent. I do not move, and when I breath, it is behind the cloth of my collar to keep from choking on ash.

If you’ve injured an animal, you’ve gotta cut its throat.

Quickly, quietly, I step over to my pile of items and lift the sword from the dirt.

I don’t speak. I don’t breathe.

I move forward as if I am stalking a deer, holding my father’s words close to my heart.

They know we’re dangerous.

They know we’re dangerous.

They know we’re dangerous.

I never understood it as a child. My dad always told me I was a threat to them, but I never believed it. I was always that little kid who roamed around the forests, running and screaming and smiling while all of the animals in a one-mile radius took flight, their pulses rising as my childish voice struck fear into their hearts.

Even then, I was dangerous.

And you should see me now.

[attacks Laila Sycamore with sword]
mTcHvjAJsword
1072 -- Deep Gash on Stomach -- 9.0 damage
(Sword)

sword

Last Edit: Apr 17, 2014 18:11:56 GMT -5 by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]

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