cask of our blood {rowdy's funeral/end}

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cask of our blood {rowdy's funeral/end} Nov 8, 2015 9:43:31 GMT -5

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Post by ᕦ( ˘ᴗ˘ )ᕤ on Nov 8, 2015 9:43:31 GMT -5

[googlefont="Dawning of a New Day:400"]

rodrick benstaloe

our lives are like a game of cards
the hand we get is determinism
the way we play is free will
and now, it is time to fold

I feel bones crack in half as Jequirity Eckhart swings her sword into my arm. With a quick thump onto the ground, I look to see my arm standing there. Truly, karma is a bitch. An arm for an arm. A murder for a murder. I killed Leo Everitt, and I caused Saxton Hale to lay on the ground beside me. I fall to Jack’s knees, and I drop my weapon. That’s fucking it. I quit. I’m not going to keep trying with this girl. If she wants to have a grudge because I did what had to be done, then so be it. Saxton and Leo both hurt Daria and me, so I have the right to defend myself. If she doesn’t think so, that is her own opinion, and she is entitled to it.

My breathing begins to quicken its pace as people are now scattering. There has been enough bloodshed with Saxton and I’s blood basically scattered across the beach. Jequirity is bleeding, too, but at least she can continue on. I can feel my heart pounding as it tries to circulate blood to help my wounds, but there are too many for them to be tended do. One of the larger boys in the fight help Daria get away, but it takes awhile for both of them. Damnit Daria! You just run away with another boy rather than stay with me? After all we’ve been through.

My stomach wound hurts, my leg hurts, my arm, or lack of, hurts. My head hurts, and I feel like everything is too soft, numb, fragile. I still kneel at the legs of Jequirity Eckhart. Her sword is in her hand, and I feel as if I’m bowing down to the knight who caused my demise. She is the one who caused so much displeasure. After all that we have been through, she is the one who wins our last battle for supremacy. I was the victor of our first three days of fighting, but Daria and I had gotten split up. It all went downhill from there. To me getting attacked by them, and now to the feast. I had taken the life of one more of Jequirity Eckhart’s friends, and now it was my turn to be punished.

The chilled air just makes my body even colder. I’m going to rot away. My moons have become rather limited, and I had no idea that last night’s moon would be the last one I’d see in this dreamlife. At least there’s another story I can be in, right? I just have another dream to dream up, and it will be far away from the games.

I’ve learned my lesson, Dream Master, really! Karma is a total bitch, I get it! I’m sorry, Master. I wanted to go through this lesson accepting my fate, and I will continue. But I have nothing to lose anymore, right? Jack already stripped away all I had left from me. She caused Daria to run away in fear. She herself is now going to decide my fate.

I watch her grab my arm. ”Jequirity, put my arm down. You don’t wanna become even more villainous, do ya?” I speak with shortened breath in hopes that my last ditch attempt will allow her to spare me. But all I can think of is when I choked Leo to death. He begged for my mercy, but I was blinded by the desire to kill him. And now, what should give her a reason to do differently.

Last Edit: Nov 8, 2015 9:43:55 GMT -5 by ᕦ( ˘ᴗ˘ )ᕤ

ali
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Ohana means family

cask of our blood {rowdy's funeral/end} Nov 8, 2015 16:30:34 GMT -5

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Post by ali on Nov 8, 2015 16:30:34 GMT -5

Daria Staite
{district four tribute}

.:: Felt it in my fist, in my feet,
in the hollows of my eyelids
Shaking through my skull,
through my spine
and down through my ribs ::.

Daria Staite screamed. Her lungs filled with fresh, salty, blood stained air and exhaled in one, two, three long heartbroken cries which echoed through her whole entire body like storm waves against her beach. With each falling scream there came another sharp inhale, a stabbing gasp of air before another scream, tears streaming down her cheeks unrelenting. Each scream caused her to tremble, to shake, her lips- cracked, pale, bloody- trembled with each inhale and exhale of the air around her.

Despite her intake of air, she felt if she were drowning. Her body, her basic instinct to survive, was keeping her alive but it still felt as if her lungs were filling with water. The storm was at its full force now, the winds shivered through her and the waves dragged Daria under, foaming, bubbling, arms reached out to the surface in a desperate attempt to reach for safety; but slowly, with each wave which tugged her down, Daria Staite felt less and less inclined to reach for the surface. She felt less inclined to want to live.

The boy from 1 still had a hold of her and she let him drag her across the beach until the feast was only a speck in the distance. Oh it may have only been just a dot on the horizon but Daria could still smell his blood and her blood and it made her stomach twist and turn. It was a rancid, overpowering smell of death and it made Daria sick; she couldn’t even smell her own flesh, smouldering from Saxton Hale’s knife. She couldn’t even feel the pain which accompanied her wound.

She couldn’t feel much under the weight of what heartbreak felt like.

Suddenly, Daria felt the urge to run. She needed to get back to Rodrick, maybe he could be saved. Maybe if I go… she thought desperately, hopefully, as Harbinger continued to drag her across the beach. The small pixie girl shrugged herself forward, violently, breaking from the boys grip. She fell face first into the sand- forgetting she only had the one foot- sharply. She gasped as the air was sucked from her lungs, violently, and for a moment she was dazed. Blinking Daria looked ahead of her to the horizon.

And so she began to crawl. A hand would reach forward, then her leg, then her other hand and then her foot-less leg would drag along after her; she knew the bandages on her leg needed changing, she blood was beginning to ooze from between the bindings but she did not pay much attention. Her mind was a loss to her, it was as if she were stood in a thick, morning sea fog which reached its pale tendrils in land and blanketed the world. She felt blinded, lost, but that didn’t stop her from putting one hand forward, then her leg, then her other hand and then her footless leg; blood soaked sand clumped together between her fingers but she did not stop. She didn’t stop.

She didn’t stop until she saw him. Rodrick!! She thought, her heart soring for the briefest moment, a break in the clouds let sunshine through and she could see clearly again. Rodrick!! She thought, crawling faster, as fast as her legs could carry her, her eyes widening at the sight of him on his knees. He was dying. It was a realisation that Daria refused to believe but all in all was a nagging sensation at the back of her mind for the entire time she made her way to him.

Tears filled her eyes, glistening, hovering there for just a moment before spilling down over her cheeks as she reached him. Oh Rodrick… she thought, letting out a heavy, shaking breath. Her hands, her blood stained, dainty, pale hands reached up and touched his face softly. Her finger tips brushed against his skin, the bruise just beneath his eye as she held his face between them gently as if he would break. She did not want to break him. She wanted him to live, Ripred please, please god let him live she let out a quiet sob as she brushed blood drenched hair from his face.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

cameron
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MY SHIT IS TOGETHER - Shy Aubergine

cask of our blood {rowdy's funeral/end} Nov 13, 2015 12:08:41 GMT -5

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Post by cameron on Nov 13, 2015 12:08:41 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

[googlefont="Satisfy:400"]

Heather Tenley

I followed Chatter's snickers away from the fighting, Spreadsheets fluttering inches behind me. I knew I was ditching Tyler and more importantly ditching the Queen and her pet, but they'd be just fine without me, I was pretty sure. And besides, when my body slapped into Beretta's face my hands got a good grasp of her hair, and now I had her scent etched into my fingertips. I could survive for the rest of the Games on this alone.

Okay, that was an exaggeration, but that was allowed. All I'd eaten in days was Tyler's lovemaker, and as delightful as that had been it didn't exactly fill my shrinking stomach.

Chatter continued to kick the corpse head forward, cackling all the while, and I followed as closely as I could. It wasn't until he came to a quick, sudden stop that a familiar smell found my nose. Spreadsheets smacked into the back of my head and cried out a squeaking HO-O-o-onk as it fell to the ground behind me. But I paid her no mind, instead focusing on the form of Rowdy before me. But it wasn't Rowdy as I knew him. He was.... he was dying.

For something I thought had no emotions or empathy, Chatter seemed highly affected by the diminishing heartbeat of my ally. The misty hyena pawed forward, nestling into Rowdy's side and laying there, his head planted on his arm stub. Daria was there, crying beside him, and I wished I could do something for the two. I wish I could offer Daria something to wipe her tears away but I left my clothes in the bog and I didn't really have time to run there, get my clothes, and run back here to let Daria pat her face dry with.

The only thing I could do was play the bagpipes.

So, I pulled the instrument out and positioned my fingers just the way Rowdy liked, and I played. Spreadsheets got up and flew to my shoulder and I smelled salt water in her eyes. Chatter's usual chuckles turned to whimpers, and I played harder. I didn't know how long Rowdy would last like this, but I was determined to play until I heard that heartbeat fade away. I was determined to play for him. He deserved it.

I don't know where I learned to bagpipe so well, but clearly if I survived the Games I would have a fallback plan if being a rich fancy Capitolite didn't work out for me. That was a nice assurance. Because I was a dope ass bagpipist.

Spreadsheets nuzzled into me, and once she got a feel for the music, she began to HONK along to the beat. Chatter joined in with a howl or two. And I didn't stop playing.

ooc: heather serenades a dying rowdy
heather gives daria -3 with f/a
heather eats 1 bundle of edible plants
chatter and spreadsheets cry bc they love rowdy more than they like heather alol

lance
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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

cask of our blood {rowdy's funeral/end} Nov 13, 2015 18:19:25 GMT -5

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Post by lance on Nov 13, 2015 18:19:25 GMT -5

TYLER WESTBROOK

He had traveled in the wrong direction for a while, and maybe spent too much time trying to keep an eye out for Heather, but at long last, Tyler finally found their supplies.

Well, to be more accurate it had been Ahooga that had found them, the word alerting the blond boy with a rare helpful HONK. Heather and her assorted pals were nowhere to be seen, and rather suspiciously, neither were the bagpipes.

Letting out a sigh of exasperation, Tyler plopped down onto the sand, exhausted to the core from the day's events. Sure, he had somehow not gotten struck a single time throughout the feastbath, but striking out at others and almost killing not one but two other tributes had a way of seeping the very life force from the blond boy.

Hunger, however, soon overcame exhaustion.

Drinking water on a semi-regular basis had kept the worst of the hunger pangs at bay, but it was now day five and the luxurious cuisine of the Capitol seemed like a distant memory.

A distant memory that triggered a new wave of pain through Tyler's painfully empty stomach, causing him to curl up in discomfort. Back in Five, he had known hunger, but at least he had had something to eat every day. This was on a whole new level.

The pain subsided, and Tyler slowly unwound himself from his fetal position. He was sure that there had been some edible plants in their supplies somewhere.

After a minute of fruitless digging, the blond boy finally found a bundle tucked away in Heather's belongings. Sorry, Heath, he thought, before ravenously chowing down on the helpless plants.

Five minutes later, the plants had ceased to exist outside of Tyler's stomach, and the hunger had, at least temporarily, gone away.

It was then that the faint yet unmistakable sound of bagpipes filled the air.

The next thing he knew, Tyler was up on his feet and running through the sand, all feelings of exhaustion vanished.

Only one person had possession of bagpipes as far as Tyler was aware, and for all he knew Heather Tenley was simply dancing a jig with her mist hyena and overly honkable word.

Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

***

What Tyler came across instead was most definitely not a jig.

Heather was standing with her back turned to him, and was playing a rather crazy tune on her bagpipes. Occasionally, a HONK from her word or a cackle from her mist thing penetrated the noise. The blond boy watched with annoyance as Ahooga, who until then had been sitting quietly on his head, suddenly took off in a burst of feathers, adding her own honks to the tune.

The next sound, however, chilled Tyler to the bone.

For Daria Straite had never talked, and to hear her make any sort of sound was startling enough on her own, but to hear her scream, to hear such a loud, raw sound coming from the small girl, as she stood over the fallen body of-

Oh dear Ripred no

Rodrick Benstaloe, the tall, powerful boy from Ten, the one who had traveled and fought and lived beside Tyler as one member of their alliance, the boy who had always seemed like he was in a trance of some sort yet still had been an integral, irreplaceable member of the alliance, lay broken and lifeless on the sand.

Rodrick Benstaloe had died and Tyler had been unable to prevent it.

Rodrick Benstaloe had laid there, dying, and the alliance had gone from four to three.

Rodrick Benstaloe was dead, and it was all Tyler could do to not collapse into tears and join Daria in screaming over his dead body.

Rodrick Benstaloe was dead.

Rodrick Benstaloe was dead, and as the grief overwhelmed Tyler, he sank to his knees. He was dead. One of their mismatched quartet was dead, one of the four that had gotten tangled up in the arena, who had fought and survived through two brutal battles, only to break at the third.

"Farewell, cowboy." Tyler whispered, voice quivering.

"See you on the other side."

table coding (c) ghosty

more maint stuff
tyler ~~borrows~~ and eats heather's last bundle of edible plants as per cam's permission
tyler mourns over the dead body of rowdy

credit to darsypoo uwu

credit to fireflyz!

credit to stare!

ᕦ( ˘ᴗ˘ )ᕤ
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cask of our blood {rowdy's funeral/end} Nov 13, 2015 20:46:10 GMT -5

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Post by ᕦ( ˘ᴗ˘ )ᕤ on Nov 13, 2015 20:46:10 GMT -5

[googlefont="Dawning of a New Day:400"]

rodrick benstaloe

our lives are like a game of cards
the hand we get is determinism
the way we play is free will
but now, it is time to fold

My own limb was the cause of my death. Jequirity Eckhart is the reason I am dying. If she had just left me alone rather than continuously going after me, none of this would need to be done. We could’ve parted ways after Odile, but we went in the same direction by odd luck. Then we went to Leo, and then Daria and I got into a fight with Saxton and Jequirity. They have caused my stomach’s ongoing pain. And now at the feast, most spared me aside from Jack and Saxton. One of them perished, and the other barely got away. Yet as Daria stares to me and Jack goes away, she does nothing. I see two blonde-haired friends come toward us, and they do not help me. They aren’t caring for me. I cared for them. Do they think that I’m done?

The pain is too intense to take an inhalation of oxygen, and Heather’s two birds whimper. It’s blurry again, everything around me, but this time, I feel blood soak my arms on the rocky beach. Those creepy beasts. They chased us down here. It is their fault I ended up her. It’s Jack’s fault I’m dying. It’s Saxton Hale’s fault that she got what she deserved. I struck her down, and all I could do was get struck down with her. It is Leo Everitt’s fault that Jack hates me. He hurt Daria, so I had to hurt him back. It is also Rory’s fault. He knew that with my injury I wouldn’t be cut out for this. Rodney was my caretaker, and it is supposed to be his job. Everyone is at fault for my death. For hurting me, for not defending me, for chopping my damn arm off for revenge. It’s Mace and Saffron’s fault for not preparing me.

It is the birds’ fault that I almost break into tears. I should be dead by now, but I suppose I can hold my breath long enough. I’ll hold it until I die.

It is the Dream Master’s fault for putting me into this lesson. I was enjoying life up until now. It’s all their faults.

Y’know, Rodrick. If you’re blaming everyone for reacting to decisions you’ve made, isn’t the real problem you?

Me? The bloodied boy is at fault? If anything, it is their fault. I’m just the victim.

So is Saxton, and Leo. So is Odile. They made choices that got them killed. So did you. Accept it.

It’s not my fucking fault they Jequirity Eckhart has hurt me! It’s her fault, and the choices she made should be getting her killed.

I begin to listen to the awkwardly out-of-tune bagpipes being played. Bitches. They’re going to mourn me before I’m even dead. Did you hear the cannon blow? No. I’m not done yet. I open my mouth and spit out a red liquid. Blood. It tastes sour, just like what happens when you lose too much of it. First, you have little splotches of blood. But then, they turn into painful wounds. They get infected, and then more people stab into you. Each cut with a blade or arrow makes the pain grow deeper. If you get too much pain, you’ll eventually just die from it. I don’t feel any pain, so I’m not going to die. I feel absolutely nothing, so I’m absolutely fine.

I’m not going to die. No. Hell no. You’ll have to through me off those cliffs if you want me to die. You’re not going to get rid of me, Jequirity Eckhart. I’m still going to be there, Jack! You’re just a figment of my imagination, and I will make sure that you die in this dream. Whether I kill you or anyone else, I vow that you will die. And if you don’t die now, I hope you die a painful death in the future.

Maybe it is my fault that I have ended up here. Maybe I truly deserve it, but my hatred for Jack will never end.

I hear several words from Tyler. Farewell, Cowboy. See you on the other side.

I can only cough out a few more words: ”It’s my fault, and I’m sorry,”

The colors around my blurr even more, and it looks like a palette of colors have mashed together. I speak four more words as the pain reappears all over my body.

”Go stab a bitch.”

And I hear a cannon blow. The colors around me dim. Am I going away? They continue to darken. Was that the last I’d seen of Daria Staite? It’s black.

I can’t see or hear shit. It’s my fault I ended up here. But, where is here?

Here is a land of no pain. Two other figures are beside me. I walk to them.

ali
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cask of our blood {rowdy's funeral/end} Nov 13, 2015 21:26:34 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ali on Nov 13, 2015 21:26:34 GMT -5

Daria Staite
{district four tribute}

.:: Holy water cannot help you now
Thousand armies couldn't keep me out
I don't want your money
I don't want your crown
See I've come to burn your kingdom down ::.

Rodrick Benstaloe’s last breath had tickled Daria’s face, his head in her lap, her lips pressed softly against his forehead as tears welled in her eyes. His last breath was warm, soft, all that a dying breath should not be; it was strong and daring and it slipped away, stolen from between his lips like a whisper in a hurricane. His chest rose, then fell and rose no more and Daria did not know he was dead until she felt the rattle, the rumble of the canon rock through her tiny form causing her to flinch, her eyes opening.
No her eyes yelled but her mind whispered softly, she could not believe it. She could not.

But she did.

Daria felt her breath being stolen and for a moment, she thought that death had stolen that from her too and she would join Rodrick. Her eyes would close and she would slip into a never ending sleep, only waking when she got to heaven with Rodrick, his hand in hers; happy. Except after a second she realised as the sound passed through her lips- a sound, twisted and agonising in its vibrations, it tore through her like a fire- that it was not death stealing her breath away but it was guilt. Pain. Fear. Sorrow. All wearing deaths masks, all pretending to be someone they are not, and she could feel their laughter as she let out a hollow cry, throwing her head up to the sky as if Ripred himself would hear it.

Suddenly the air burnt. She inhaled and the salty, bloody air scolded her throat as she let out another agonising pain filled scream, tearing at her body, pulling her apart in pyroclastic envy. Her screech pattered out and she collapsed again, forward over Rodrick body, her hands fisting at his blood stained shirt as she let out a sob; the fabric twisted and curled between her fingers and she swore that she would never let him go. Her whole body shook with her sobs, her nails leaving crescent moons in the palm of her hands where the fabric did not fill the space between them.

She could feel the void between her and Rodrick, the place in her chest that she thought would never be filled again. As her body shivered against Rodrick, his warmth slowly fleeing him as the entrails of death slowly left his body as it took his soul with him. It was an emptiness she had not felt before, she would not even describe it as emptiness. The feeling was like someone had blown out the candle, sudden, sharply, the light was there for a moment, a time and then the next it was gone, leaving behind its skeleton of smoke which drifted away slowly.

Except, the flame inside Daria was not snuffed out. If anything, the emptiness ignited something that should never be lit. She had felt it, building inside her, since the day she had set foot in the games, since her foot had been hacked from her leg, since Jerquity Eckhart had bought the sword down on Rodrick’s arm and cut it clean off. Actually, Jerquity Eckhart had been the final straw, the domino that had toppled, tumbling through the air before it hitting the next domino, causing a chain effect, causing all the other dominos to tumble one after another.

The pressure had been building up for some time, and the final straw had released it all. Everything was still, quiet, filled with a sickly sweet calmness of time before a storm and then she burst. She erupted in rocks engulfed in flame, hot ash climbing above her in a plume of swirling dark grey cloud, raining fire upon the world around her. Her world quivered, shook with the force of this eruption. She was blinded by fire and brimstone which bubbled up from the hell within her and she raised her head and screamed again. This time, the noise was deep, echoing, and rough against her throat like a roar of fury.

Gritting her teeth, putting a stop on her cry, her roar of intense rage was silenced, the rough echo stopped suddenly as she clamped her jaw together. He’s. dead. She thought, her nostrils flaring as she inhaled, exhaled, each breath fuelled the fire which raged within her, her eyes, red, puffy, glaring at the distant horizon where the grey sky met the dark grey beach and the darker grey sea lapped against the edges of the world as the world breathed with Daria. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Except the world around Daria was calm and she was a blaze. It was in her eyes and in the air that she breathed. The fire and the brimstone engulfed her, it had consumed her entirely.

She closed her eyes, and she saw the world a flame. She saw Heather, Tyler, Berretta, Kitty, all the tributes lying in the soft ash around her, dead. Fire and flame licked the sky which burnt a deep umber red as lighting flickered across it, leaping from ash cloud to ash cloud as mountains belched fire and brimstone from the belly of the earth. She opened her eyes and stared to the sky. She was going to watch the world burn and I don’t care who I take with it.

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”