even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale

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even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 9, 2017 14:06:18 GMT -5

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Post by Python on Dec 9, 2017 14:06:18 GMT -5

As the final hours of resting pass, the arena comes alive. Vines and roots grow out of every inch of the forests, the fields, and the hills, tangling through open spaces to crush and smother anything that cannot escape. They do not stop until everything has become uninhabitable, driving tributes toward the only safe landscape remaining: the moon pond. Even as the finalists approach, they will find that the water has churned crimson and bled over the grass like an open wound. It has overflowed to a point of no return. As a lunar eclipse pulsates in the sky, finalists will duel in knee-deep pond water.

Welcome to the finale, tributes! Congratulations on making it here! As it's the end of the Games, you have as long as you need within reason to wrap things up, but please be considerate of your fellow tributes and mindful of the site's schedule.

Tribute information:

Cynthia Rose Delgado - 6 dmg
Accuracy
Blades
Self-Defense

Jactina Salazar - 0 dmg
Strength
Accuracy
Self-Defense

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even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 9, 2017 17:47:34 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Dec 9, 2017 17:47:34 GMT -5

stood at the coal face
stood with our backs to the sun
i can remember being nothing
but fearless and young

Apotheosis, the climax, arrived and departed. And with it went the soul of a boy she only knew as Ansel, another soul separated from its living host by her own hand.

Never had the sound of the cannon felt so satisfying, nor so painful.

Not all Careers enjoy killing, you know. A truth, at least in part - one only had to glance at Justice Fray, at Opal Earnest, to garner that truth. And it was true that she hadn't enjoyed the killing of Kraygon Truus, the boy from Ten. It had been a startling climax to an unsatisfying fight, the severing of his head, a death clean yet messy at the same time. Fresh in the world of murder, it had taken all she could muster to not lose the previous night's dinner at the sight.

But this was different. Ansel had been different. Where Truus had been a scared boy from the farming district with not a soul on his blade nor his shoulders, Ansel was a trained killer - of one, of six, she didn't care, for he was dead by her own hands. And that battle hadn't been a lopsided match of a girl who had trained in combat for eight years against a boy that had never picked up a blade in his life, even if the latter had applied to Ansel from Six. He'd fought with the cold calculation of one who was no stranger to the concept of killing, the white hot rage of someone who wasn't afraid to take on someone carrying such a reputation as hers, the practiced skill of a natural who, under any other circumstances, would have defeated her.

And who knows. In another world, another timeline, maybe Ansel from Six had been the name of her death, the boy who had turned six notches on his spear into seven. Had his first stab been just a little more to the left, if the final strike had been that of a fresh warrior and not a desperate hail mary, then it very well could have become reality.

That was why it felt that much better when the sound of his cannon finally echoed across the landscape. Even as she stumbled away from his corpse, swords in one hand and a crumpled photograph in the other, there was satisfaction flooding through her, where once there had been only disgust and regret.

Even much later, with wounds patched up to the best of her ability and the brawl to the death quickly receding further and further into the past, it still remained, a tingling around her heart like she had just achieved some monumental success.

"I told you earlier that not all Careers enjoy killing," she spoke aloud, though by now Ansel was no more than another corpse to be added to the list of souls who had failed to achieve victory in this round of survival. "And that's true. Just like some kids from Six prefer volunteering for a contest that is almost all but certain to end in their death as opposed to working in medicine, some kids back home in One would rather be anywhere than the arena."

His picture is in hand, and the only thing she can make of the man that stars on the scrap of paper was that it had to have been someone close to the boy she had just killed. A memento of a loved one, perhaps. For the hundredth time, she studies it, wondering what Ansel had meant when he'd tossed it on the bloodstained earth.

"I don't need it anymore, but someone else does."

How perfectly vague.

Not that she'd been any better. "But I think that I was premature to apply that same stigma to myself," she admitted, to no one and everyone at the same time. "It's true that I felt nothing when I killed Truus. Not when I sunk my sword through his stomach, not when I separated his head from his shoulders, not even now.

"But you, Ansel. You were different. You fought back not with fear, but with courage. Not with hesitance, but with rage. And you very nearly did me in with all of that rage, just like you did to however many you had already ended with that spear of yours."

She paused, searching for the right word to lace into her next sentence. "When your cannon sounded, I felt so much more. Relief, sure, but more than that."

The photo is lowered, placed back into her backpack. "Killing you felt exhilarating, Ansel." An admission she never thought she'd ever make, but one that felt right all the same. "Like I'd finally found a worthy opponent and triumphed over him with nothing held back. You pushed me to my limits, forced me to use almost every trick I've picked up in eight years to defeat you, and when that cannon sounded-" Pause, inhale. "I had never felt more alive than I did that moment."

Thoughts race through her head, ranging from Thank you to I'm not sorry, thoughts that were only put to rest when the sound of the second cannon echoed across the land.

There was no mystery as to who her opponent would be that day, no wondering which of the remaining souls she'd be pitted against in glorious combat. For two faces had shown in the sky that night, numbers halved for the second day in a row.

"-and if you kill my former ally, you've killed a spoiled girl from a place that sews clothes," Ansel had said.

Looks like I was beaten to that, at least. For following his own face in the sky had been one that could only belong to the girl in question. Daniela Rasoio, from a place that sews clothes, had met death within hours of her last ally.

Which could only mean one thing.

She'd laughed when the news had sunk in, that her opponent was to be Jacinta Salazar of Seven, the very same girl they had stumbled upon on the tail of Mariela's death and had invited to be one of their own. Irony, that her final hurdle would be a familiar face, but even that paled in comparison to the sheer coincidence that had befallen her final step.

Parallels, a tradition at this point as for the third straight time, One and Seven met in battle with everything on the line. Like Opal Earnest - then Opal Shore - and Justice Fray before her, a girl from Seven had been their final opponent.

And they'd both triumphed, escaped with their lives. But she was not so foolish as to believe that this would be a walk in the park either. Twin wounds across her chest from Ansel the day before still stung, the effects of blood loss were noticeable even now, nearly twenty four hours later, and eight days of trekking across the nightmare landscape had worn her down nearly as much as Ansel had.

But even now, even as every section of the arena became overrun with vegetation and plant growth, even as she was pushed into the moon pond, no longer quiet and eerie as the now bloodred water lapped at her knees, even as the familiar shine of the moon above was eclipsed into darkness, she was not afraid.

The calm before the storm, even as her opponent drew near. Parallels, One against Seven, but also of mere days ago, when the fractured remains of two had temporarily united into one against a greater threat - a greater threat that had been all but eliminated in the days that had passed since.

Swords are drawn, both of them painted red in the blood of those she had slain. Eye of the storm, followed by the strongest, fiercest winds in the eye wall, that was how her story was to end, one way or another.

"Jacinta!" comes the cry, not a mocking jeer or a pleading cry but a call, one warrior to another. A hundred thoughts filled with a thousand words dance around in her head, and on another day, in another universe, she would give voice to them all.

But that is not the path she had chosen, not here, not now. Her war of words with Ansel had been initiated by the other, and she had never gained a mastery over them like she had with the weapons of metal and bone.

So in place of worthless platitudes and promises comes a declaration. "This is no time for caution."

We both know what we must do.

The calm before the storm shattered, the apotheosis of her story but mere seconds away, the final chapter of her trial begins with a single strike.

we've become echoes
but echos that fade away
we fall into the dark as
we dive under the way (i heard you say)

cynthia attacks jacinta; sword

wyAy6_uZsword

1082 -- Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage

sword

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2017 17:52:52 GMT -5 by lance

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even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 9, 2017 18:38:40 GMT -5

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Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Dec 9, 2017 18:38:40 GMT -5

since i was young
i knew i'd find you
but our love was a song
sung by a dying swan

Salazars are not heroes. It is a truth that has slowly become clearer to her with every drop of blood she has spilled, with every life that she has taken. Daniela Rasoio and Atlas Shim are dead because of her and somehow, although it has already sunken into her very being like black ink, she does not feel suffocated by remorse. A better person would be crushed to the point of no return, broken on the ground with shattered bones and a cracked heart that could never be repaired.

But not Jacinta.

Though there are moments when she feels heavy on her insides, like her bones have completely solidified into a concrete-like matter. There are moments when she feels like she is drifting through an endless rift of space and time, and yet she is going nowhere. Will it ever be over? That thought keeps her up at night, just like it does tonight. Even if she survives this, she may forever be imprisoned to everything she has seen and done. The guilt may not be getting to her now, but she knows that once those shields of survival mode retract — she doesn't even want to think about it.

She would rather fight hundreds of enemies than actually look closer at the moral dilemma she faces: them or herself. Jacinta chose her side long ago.

From the corner of two intersecting tree branches, Jacinta Salazar watches the anthem, her eyes snapping up to the empty black sky when Panem's national song begins to blare through the Arena.

The first face almost makes her gasp.

Ansel Khiev.

Even in a photograph, those eyes still look so cold. She stares intently at Ansel's face until it disappears, unable to look away out of pure shock. Her heart is nearly jumping out of her chest with relief — she won't have to deal with him herself.

The next face that appears in the sky is, of course, Daniela Rasoio. So that only leaves . . .

Cynthia Rose Delgado.

Jacinta draws in a breath and cold air rushes into her airway. So it's just the two of them, just Jacinta and Cynthia. The girl who she once fought alongside, who took her under her wing when everyone else around her died. Jacinta narrows her eyes, looking into the darkness. Hayden's snake, who she renamed Vesper, slithers around the tree branch across from her.

Cynthia is the only one who stands in my way now, Jacinta thinks. She almost shakes her head — it doesn't feel real. Maybe she died a long time ago and this is just a dream, or she never woke up from the night before Reaping Day and she's still sleeping. It would be easier if all of this was just an illusion, if she could go back to the way things were before. Before she was a killer.

But it isn't a dream. Jacinta wakes up the next morning to a crackling and crunching noise. When she looks around to see where the sound is coming from, she widens her eyes when she sees that there is a great mass of vines and roots springing up from the ground and the trees, sprawling all across the ground.

Jacinta grabs Vesper, roping her around her arm, and nearly leaps down from her perch in the tree. "Fucking hell," she mutters under her breath as she sprints away from the quickly encroaching wave of nature's wrath. But it seems that every turn Jacinta takes, she is met with more and more roots and vines. They must be taking up the entire Arena, because they form a path for her to follow, that leads right back to the moon pond. She has no choice but to follow; the Gamemakers must be pushing her back to the pond for the finale, where she will face Cynthia one last time.

She is alone when she reaches the pond. The barriers of roots have not yet solidified; there are still openings in the clearing that is slowly being created. When Jacinta looks at the moon pond, which now holds the reflection of a blazing eclipse, she realizes that the dark water has turned bright crimson. As if it is filled with — blood. She moves back, but the water follows, lapping at the shore at first and then spilling over in aggressive waves towards Jacinta.

It seems that the depths are endless. As she tries to run, more and more water gushes towards her, and more and more paths to the clearing close. Eventually, she finds herself knee deep in scarlet water, staring at a wall of vines.

"Jacinta!" a familiar voice calls to her — a battle cry. She places the voice immediately; it belongs to Cynthia Rose Delgado, her former ally, and the one person whose face she never saw in the anthem. It could not have been anyone but her.

"This is no time for caution."

By the time Jacinta turns around to face her opponent, there is already blood gushing down her back from her head and a sharp pain in her scalp. She backs away from Cynthia defensively until she reaches the edges of the clearing the vines and roots have created. Both her spear and her axe are drawn, one clutched in each hand.

Jacinta grits her teeth and adrenaline begins to pulse through her blood, slowly numbing the pain in the back of her head.

Although her core seems to tremble, Jacinta finds the strength to speak with an unwavering voice. "So you took down Ansel Khiev," Jacinta says, her tone even. She never thought that Cynthia had it in her, that she could best the most lethal tribute of the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games. "When I killed Daniela yesterday, I thought that surely I'd be facing my old nemesis today. And then I saw the anthem."

Ansel Khiev, District Six. She remembers seeing his face in the sky; when it appeared, her gaze was so fixed to the image that she could hardly look away. Jacinta would have stared forever if it had not disappeared.

"Maybe that was him right there," she had said to Daniela. And she was right — that cannon that fired during her fight really was Ansel.

"I keep thinking that I should have killed you in your sleep. I thought about it the night I left you and Hayden," she continues. Jacinta speaks plainly rather than in an inflammatory tone; she does not wish to spark more conflict than there already is. Becoming enveloped in fury may muddle her focus. "But I thought I owed you more than that — that's why I left you be." She remembers peering down at her axe for several minutes, her gaze flickering between Cynthia, Hayden, and her blade. Could a single misjudgment cost Jacinta her life?

"I guess I'll find out if that was a mistake or not."

[Jacinta attacks Cynthia; spear]
_BXIougzspear
[3102 -- Stabbed in Back -- 9.0 damage +1 strength]

and in the night
you hear me calling
you hear me calling
and in your dreams

spear

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2017 19:30:15 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

lance
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even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 9, 2017 19:22:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Dec 9, 2017 19:22:23 GMT -5

stood at the coal face
stood with our backs to the sun
i can remember being nothing
but fearless and young

Twin swords flash, and she moves faster than thought, as one blade digs itself deep into the back of her opponent's head.

But it's not enough - it's never been enough - and Jacinta Salazar stands strong.

Distance is put between them, not that she's complaining - with a lead strike like that, the longer this goes on, the more she'll bleed out - even as Jacinta arms herself with weapons of her own. An axe, familiar, expected, the trademark weapon of Seven, and a wooden stake, a spear, much like Ansel had used the previous day.

Two on two, all attack and little defense, a shared desire to finish this by whatever means necessary, more parallels even so late in the Games.

She only hope that her opponent's skills can match with her own, for if she was to finish this fight the way that she finished Kraygon, then it'd be almost anticlimactic. Peaking at Ansel was never her goal, anyway.

What will you become, Cynthia Rose?

Never had the word victor been absent from her list, no matter how many times she had gone over it in days and years alike. Not when she'd fought Rhaegar, not when she'd struck Moon from Eight, not when a single blade flew between multiple opponents in the same conflict. Not even when killing Kraygon, and certainly not when killing Ansel.

She'd come so far already, that to be submit to the extreme of an easy victory or a humiliating defeat alike would be unsatisfactory.

"So you took down Ansel Khiev." Tone even despite the wound leaking blood from the back of her head, Jacinta speaks, her expression unreadable. A smirk is her only response, even as one word - Khiev, a surname, - makes its mark. Khiev, a family, perhaps just like the man in the picture he had carried. "When I killed Daniela yesterday, I thought that surely I'd be facing my old nemesis today. And then I saw the anthem."

So she'd been underestimated. The irony, that after Kraygon's barely repressed fear and Ansel's naked acidic criticisms, was enough to emit a chuckle deep from within. "Sorry to disappoint," comes the response, light and airy, even though she is not sorry in the slightest.

"I keep thinking that I should have killed you in your sleep. I thought about it the night I left you and Hayden." A confession, one that causes the smirk on her face to waver. "But I thought I owed you more than that — that's why I left you be."

To think that a mere twenty four hours could do to the girl from Seven what had taken weeks to do to her - allow heart to cloud judgement and let potential threats live. But she had been no better, foolishly thinking that just because they had spared the girl from Seven that they were safe around her had been an oversight on her part - one that, clearly, had nearly cost her her own life.

Not that it had done Hayden any good when she'd gotten herself killed the very next day.

"I guess I'll find out if that was a mistake or not." And she says it so nonchalantly, like she had left a cake in the oven for five minutes longer than the recipe had recommended, that this time she really does laugh, mirth bubbling from deep within and leaving her, genuine amusement overriding any other emotion that could have found its way in the midst.

But not completely.

"Oh, that was a mistake on your part all right, Jacinta," she manages after a moment. "Surely you've done your homework on past Games, have you not?"

She doesn't wait for an answer, twin blades flashing in what little moonlight still remains. "Surely you know what happens anytime a One and a Seven meet in the finale, Jacinta."

She is not Opal Shore turned Opal Earnest, nor is she Justice Fray. She is Cynthia Rose, sans Delgado, and she still has her own story to carve out.

A lunge, impeded by water she had forgotten was there, turns into a stagger. White hot pain flares through shoulder blades as it is spear, not axe, that is thrust first, and yet she does not scream.

She turns, blades flashing, and she howls.

we've become echoes
but echos that fade away
we fall into the dark as
we dive under the way (i heard you say)

cynthia attacks jacinta; sword

eRWHCJBjsword

1175 -- Severed Left Ear -- 8.0 damage

sword

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2017 19:30:23 GMT -5 by lance

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even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 9, 2017 20:38:06 GMT -5

Quote

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Dec 9, 2017 20:38:06 GMT -5

you see me falling, falling
breathe in the light
i'll stay here in the shadows
waiting for a sign

Crimson water sloshes around their legs as the two tributes circle one another, weapons poised to find flesh to cut at any moment. Jacinta's heart keeps time to the seconds that go by, and a mixture of adrenaline and anxiety have her gut clenched in a hard fist.

"Sorry to disappoint," Cynthia says with a low chuckle.

Jacinta shakes her head. "I'm not disappointed," she counters. "His death is convenient. If anything, you've done me a service by killing him." Ansel's death may be the one good thing that came from Jacinta's act of mercy towards Cynthia. At least she got that obstacle out of the way before Jacinta had to deal with it.

Cynthia laughs and Jacinta raises an eyebrow sharply. "Oh, that was a mistake on your part all right, Jacinta," she says. "Surely you've done your homework on past Games, have you not?"

She thinks she knows where this is going, although she is not as well-versed on Games history as Cynthia is. Jacinta does not come from a culture that is obsessed with the Hunger Games, but she knows enough about District Seven's past tributes. Their families still remain, constant reminders of their dead children. The Summits, the LaChances, the Tates — there is enough of them so that those memories are never really left behind.

"Surely you know what happens anytime a One and a Seven meet in the finale, Jacinta." She nearly rolls her eyes; history is not meant to be repeated. It is meant to be learned from.

Jacinta shows Cynthia that fact by veering to her side and stabbing her spear into her back. She doesn't scream when Jacinta withdraws her blade, even as blood gushes out of the wound and flows into the already crimson pool at their knees. It gives her no pleasure to watch Cynthia bleed, but it is a necessary evil.

"I'm not Yaa or Iris. And you are no Opal or Justice," she retorts. Not even close, neither of them. "Our districts have nothing to do with it." It is not realistic to generalize by district; Jacinta is nothing like the District Seven females that proceeded her. And the similarties between Justice, Opal, and Cynthia end at the fact that the three are Careers.

Careers have been beaten before, Jacinta reminds herself.

"And there's no need to rub it in that I let you live," says Jacinta. "You're right — I should have cut your head off while I had the chance. I was going to make it as painless as possible." As if that's any solace — don't worry, you would have died peacefully. Now Cynthia may still die, but more painfully, or it could be Jacinta's cannon that fires next.

"But it's a little late for that now, and I don't like to dwell on the past." Clementa, Tobias, Quillon — they are part of that past. They are people she will not easily forget, but in this moment, they are not her strength. They are her weakness, something that could weigh her down when she needs to be lifted up.

Cynthia strikes shortly after the words fall off Jacinta's lips. She sees a flash of metal and blonde hair in her eyes as her former ally lunges.

A roar of blood in her ears and then — nothing. (For a moment.) Fire erupts in the side of Jacinta's head and she nearly screams, would have screamed if not for the adrenaline holding her steadily in place with iron hands. Her ear splashes into the red water, and she nearly drops her axe to clutch the bleeding hole where her ear once was.

A furious agony is ripping through the nerves in Jacinta's head, but she presumes that if not for the exhilaration of battle, she would be on the floor in tears. Instead, it is a white hot stab that slowly becomes less and less intense as the moments slip by her.

Breathe in. And out.

Cynthia attacks with the might of a murderer; such a skilled blade must be far from clean of blood. Jacinta makes a noise between a growl and a groan, and then narrows her eyes at Cynthia, clutching her blades so tightly that her knuckles are pale. She focuses in on her attacker and begins to try to corner her so that she can get close enough to make a hit. Don't let this phase you, she tells herself. It's just — just an ear. Nothing the Capitol can't replace.

"You really are a killer," she says, nearly breathless. Cynthia's attack sucked the air right from her lungs, but Jacinta is unfaltering still. It would be a waste if she were to give up now, after all the lives she has destroyed. "But that's all we'll ever be now, Victors or not."

[Jacinta attacks Cynthia; spear]
n53riuEhspear
[3105 -- Shallow Cut on Back of Head -- 4.5 damage]

as the tide grows
higher and higher and higher
and when the nights are long
and the stars recall

spear

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2017 20:38:44 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

lance
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even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 9, 2017 21:35:10 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Dec 9, 2017 21:35:10 GMT -5

stood at the coal face
stood with our backs to the sun
i can remember being nothing
but fearless and young

Talk of convenience, like having Ansel as an opponent would have been more difficult than having her - as if she had lost the fight against the boy from Six but had survived anyway, as if the fact that luck and reputation were superior to years of training and skill.

Talk of parallels, or rather lack thereof, for there is truth in the statement that she is not Opal or Justice, that her opponent is not Yaa or Iris. She is Cynthia Rose, her opponent Jacinta Salazar, and if battles were won through precedence and reputation alone, then there would be no point in having the Hunger Games, for the victors would be from One, Two, and Four every time.

But parallels in other areas, for she finds herself silently agreeing when Jacinta claims that she does not like to live in the past, for that is a sentiment she's done her best to live by every single day of eighteen years of life, from the day of her mother's death to the day she was reaped to the day she made it to the finale of the Seventy Seventh Hunger Games.

But that too, is now in the past, as the spear exits her back, as her sword cleaves through Jacinta's left ear in a startling case of deja vu - Ansel's ear another reminder of just how close she had come to ending both fights with a single strike. Near misses, both of them, along with nearly every strike she had dealt across eight days of struggle and survival.

To her credit, Jacinta does not scream, a claim she already cannot hope to match. A gash on her head, a neat severing of the ear, and yet the girl from Seven has already proven more durable than most.

Which makes sense, after all, otherwise she wouldn't have made it this far.

The raven calls the crow black, "You really are a killer," the first response to her lost appendage as if she too hadn't killed at least two souls to get here as well. Atlas Shim and Daniela Rasoio must weigh as heavily on her shoulders as Kraygon Truus and Ansel Khiev do on her own, and yet she still stands strong. "But that's all we'll ever be now, Victors or not."

A point as sharp as any she had seen in the arena, and yet not one she fully agreed with, either.

"You're wrong," comes the response, composure regained even as pain flares in her back and exhaustion once again seeps through her bones. "It's true that whichever one of us that leaves here will be a killer, no matter how much we might wish to deny it."

It never bothered me then, and it doesn't bother me now.

"But that doesn't have to be all that we are, either."

Killers, murderers, celebrities for a trial of mind, spirit, and body that was used as entertainment for others, whichever of them won would never be able to escape that label as long as blood still flowed through hollow veins. But that was a sacrifice that she had been willing to make ever since she first stepped into the training academy at ten years of age.

And even then, in the end, she had not been the one to step forward and volunteer.

"Something tells me you know that already, though." A hunch, not one made out of curiosity but simple deduction. "Because if you volunteered simply because of a death wish, you wouldn't be standing here right now."

She almost continues, almost shares her aspirations of freedom and the chance to start a new life not as the heir of Delgado but as Cynthia Rose, as her own person, but stops just short of spilling the beans. The aspirations of the dead matter little to the living, and should things end more in her favor, there would be no point talking to a corpse.

Not like she'd already done that the previous evening, anyway.

This time it is Jacinta that makes the first move, sloshing through already red water turning more crimson by the moment with blood, and she is ready. A strike with her spear that was no doubt meant to pierce through her skull scrapes along the back of her head in an ironic case of deja vu, though the sting that accompanies it is far from crippling.

And once again she counters, twin swords flashing.

This is no time for caution, Cynthia Rose.

Iconic words of a dead girl, or the motto of the newest victor, only time would tell how those words would go down in history.

we've become echoes
but echos that fade away
we fall into the dark as
we dive under the way (i heard you say)

cynthia attacks jacinta; sword

TjRIOo2wsword

1055 -- Deep Gash on Left Thigh -- 8.0 damage

sword

Last Edit: Dec 10, 2017 0:30:40 GMT -5 by lance

credit to darsypoo uwu

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credit to stare!

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anyway don't be a stranger

even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 10, 2017 13:31:42 GMT -5

Quote

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Dec 10, 2017 13:31:42 GMT -5

your goodbye
your goodbye
and in the night
you hear me calling

A golden circle of light blazes overhead, casting just enough light to illuminate Jacinta and Cynthia and refract off of the scarlet water surrounding them. Jacinta gazes up at that starless sky and wonders, just as she wondered on her first night in the Arena, if it will be last thing she sees before she dies.

(She will find out soon.)

If she dies here, what will happen to her family? She has not considered it seriously before. She had been trying to evade the thought, but now it seems to cut into her mind like a knife. Will she be condemning Luzia to the pressures of being the next heir of the Salazar line? If she wins, for that matter, her younger sister may suffer the same fate anyway. Even if Jacinta returned with the power of Victorship, she doubts that she would have control over her parents. Luzia, Violet, Elena, Sebastian — she wonders if they are all watching right now. Are they on the edge of their seats, or are they relaxed on the satin and velvet sofas, nonchalant and insouciant?

She never really had a strong bond with any of them, save for Luzia. She was never allowed to. Her parents shipped off to boarding school before she had the chance, leaving her ostracized from her younger siblings. Even on the holidays, Jacinta was confined to Meriweather's School for Girls. She missed ten Ratmases and ten birthdays. Only when she turned seventeen was she allowed to return home, and it was like she was living with strangers. Violet was not the tiny girl she once held up to the Ratmas tree so she could place ornaments onto the branches; Sebastian was not the baby boy she could cradle to sleep in a knitted green blanket; Elena was not the sister who would beg Jacinta to do her hair every morning before school. Even Luzia had changed — she never smiled anymore. Her parents must have carved all the life out of her while Jacinta was gone.

Letters were not enough to keep the bond with her family alive. They were just ink words on a page, not a warm hug.

Do they even care that I might die here?

Cynthia's voice breaks her train of thought.

"You're wrong," her opponent argues. "It's true that whichever one of us that leaves here will be a killer, no matter how much we might wish to deny it." Jacinta does not wish to deny it. If she lives, she will live with what she has done. She will live with the blood on her hands and she will never try to hide it or wash it off. It would be a disrespect to the people she has killed.

"But that doesn't have to be all that we are, either." Maybe not all they are — but still, the blood they have spilled leaves such a dark mark on their souls. How could Jacinta ever forget what she has done? Although she has been trying to block the guilt from stabbing into her, over killing Atlas, over killing Josephine, she does know that it was wrong. And that she will have to pay the price for it.

"Something tells me you know that already, though," Cynthia goes on. "Because if you volunteered simply because of a death wish, you wouldn't be standing here right now." No — Jacinta was never like Clementa in that way. She never wanted to die; she just wanted to save Jezebel Zodiia. Her best friend, the only person who she kept her bond with while she was away at boarding school.

Cynthia's sword cuts deeply into Jacinta's leg and blood flows down into the rising pond like dark waterfalls. She breathes in heavily, a sharp almost gasp in reaction to the slight sear in her flesh. But still, Jacinta does not falter. She cannot afford to, no matter how much blood she has to lose.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Jacinta says. "I volunteered for a noble cause, to be a hero. And now look at me." It all seems to absurd now, volunteering in hopes of being able to be something she is not — a savior, a good person. But heroes do not kill people and walk away with light shoulders and their piece of mind. (Salazars are not heroes.)

"Look at us, Cynthia," she continues, peering into their reflections in the bloody water for a moment. A pair of warrior women, dancing with blades in a crimson sea. "I don't know what you mean when you say, 'whichever one of us that leaves here will be a killer.'"

Nothing can erase a death like that. Cynthia killed Ansel Khiev, and likely Kraygon Truus. It couldn't have been Hayden, who died to Daniela; it couldn't have been Alfie, who died to an unknown; and it was not Jacinta or Ansel, who together killed Josephine. That only leaves Cynthia as the possible killer, meaning that the two girls are equals. They have both taken two lives, and that will not change once they leave here.

Jacinta shakes her head. "We are already murderers. There's no going back from that now. Even if you live through this, if I live through this, that fact will always remain with us."

She knows, just like anyone who ever killed before, that blood does not wash away. It stains deeper than a tattoo.

"And when we die, whether that be now or later, we still carry it with us to the end."

That is the thing about death — it is never a question of if. It is a question of when. Before the Hunger Games, she had never thought of the when. It was always the if; if you travel into enemy gang territory, you will be shot and killed. If you fall off of the bridge, you will drown. Death seems so . . . so solid, so inevitable now.

It looks her right in the eye but it doesn't shut her down. It animates her, brings her to life when she should be petrified. Because she has looked Death in the eye so many times that by now, death is simply a side effect of breathing, of existing. A part of life.

A life that she fully intends to keep living.

[Jacinta attacks Cynthia; spear]
I_h|JHEkspear
[3056 -- Stabbed in Stomach -- 9.5 damage +1 strength]

you hear me calling
and in your dreams
you see me falling, falling
and in the night

spear

Last Edit: Dec 10, 2017 13:32:35 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

lance
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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 10, 2017 14:16:42 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Dec 10, 2017 14:16:42 GMT -5

stood at the coal face
stood with our backs to the sun
i can remember being nothing
but fearless and young

It is the thigh that her blades find next, bone tearing through flesh and muscle to draw crimson gold, and yet it still is not enough, for limb still remains attached to hip - how in the world did that kid sever Atlas's leg? - and Jacinta still stands.

And she grins, for even here, bleeding from several different wounds and muscles laced with fatigue and exhaustion, even here, eight days into the most taxing trial she has ever been forced to partake in, even here, with freedom as the reward and death on the line with a single mistake, she feels alive.

Just like when she was trading words and blows with Ansel, Jacinta is a worthy opponent, one who, through chance or through blind luck, is keeping up with her move for move, possessing endurance that would make half the new recruits back home jealous and a tenacity that even makes her a little bit envious.

Blood rain, blood river, overshadowed by a golden halo with one of Seven's greatest standing across from her - this would not be a bad way to die.

But it'd be an even better way to win.

"Ironic, isn't it?" the other asks suddenly. "I volunteered for a noble cause, to be a hero. And now look at me."

And she wishes she could laugh, wishes she could mock the confession like she had done with Ansel, but she finds that she can't, for this one hits too close to home.

Hadn't she planned on volunteering the very next year hoping for a test of honor and glory to mark her ascent to her freedom? Hadn't she decided that, when fate had decided to draw her name from the glass bubble one year too soon, that even without the extra year that she was ready and willing to become the postergirl for One, and with it, the next receiver of the crown?

Hadn't her cause also been noble, if selfish, at least at the start?

"Look at us, Cynthia." Yes, look at us, Jacinta. Just a pair of foolish girls who fell for the same old trap that so many before us succumbed to. A pause, then a continuation. "I don't know what you mean when you say, 'whichever one of us that leaves here will be a killer.'"

Exactly what it sounds like.

The girl from Seven shakes her head, almost disapprovingly. "We are already murderers. There's no going back from that now. Even if you live through this, if I live through this, that fact will always remain with us."

And that was a sacrifice I deemed necessary.

"And when we die, whether that be now or later, we still carry it with us to the end."

Her guard had dropped, and her reflexes, already hampered by fatigue, were too slow to avoid the spear that buried itself in her gut. Her insides ignite as a scream, real this time, escapes her lungs - realizing full well that she does not possess the inner steel that Jacinta Salazar does, the ability to choke back a scream even in agony, yet for that one instant, she does not care.

The point withdraws, and it takes everything she has not to collapse to her hands and knees as another crimson waterfall opens up in her flesh. Death beckons, never before had its embrace been so strong, for even when she had been fighting with Ansel the reaper had always had a tighter grip on him than it had on her. Such was not the case with Jacinta, who even after losing an ear and suffering two direct hits, still possesses a will of iron and veins of steel.

Everything she herself had thought she was, until the Hunger Games had ground her down to dust.

But irony does not escape her like iron does, and a choked laugh sounds from within her chest. "It's almost funny how similar we are in some aspects," comes the confession. "When I was chosen, one of my primary thoughts was that this was my moment. This was my chance to fight with honor and glory and forever make my mark on history."

A cough interrupts her, just for a moment. "I was wrong." Another admission - Ripred, I am making a lot of those lately. "There is no glory in chopping off the head of a boy who had never before picked up a blade in his life. There is no honor in slowly hacking someone to bits instead of granting them the quick death that everyone deserves."

She laughs again, the sound hollower, bitter. "But I don't care."

Muscles tense as for the umpteenth time, she prepares to strike. "If I must toss aside everything I had believed growing up, if I must become a murderer and live with that stain on my honor for the rest of my days if the end result is my survival, my freedom-"

Blades flash, scarlet droplets leaving a trail behind them.

"-then that is a sacrifice I would make a hundred times over."

we've become echoes
but echos that fade away
we fall into the dark as
we dive under the way (i heard you say)

cynthia attacks jacinta; sword

Ipj81vcTsword

1054 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage

accuracy reroll

sword

1045 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage

sword�sword

Last Edit: Dec 10, 2017 14:20:40 GMT -5 by lance

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credit to stare!

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anyway don't be a stranger

even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 16, 2017 1:14:40 GMT -5

Quote

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Dec 16, 2017 1:14:40 GMT -5

and in the night
you hear me calling
you hear me calling
and in your dreams

The end of her spear stabs into Cynthia's stomach, the second time now that Jacinta has run her through with her weapon. Even as Jacinta withdraws it from the wound she has made in Cynthia's flesh, the girl from One does not fall. She almost expects, or rather, she simply wishes that her knees would buckle and she would fall into the crimson pool. Then Jacinta could just end this.

But it doesn't stop. Time continues and Cynthia is still standing, features contorted as the pain sinks in.

Instead of screaming or crying out, Cynthia laughs weakly. It must be all of the adrenaline burning through her body "It's almost funny how similar we are in some aspects," Cynthia admits. "When I was chosen, one of my primary thoughts was that this was my moment. This was my chance to fight with honor and glory and forever make my mark on history."

Glory, honor — things that have never been important to Jacinta. The Salazars often seem to bask in the glory of their own name, in the weight that it carries, the fear that it inspires into other District Seven crime rings. They could have all of the glory in the world, and they would never have honor. But the Salazars never cared; they didn't want honor.

It is not honorable to kill. Not honorable to contemplate stabbing your allies in the back or purposefully slitting to throat of an innocent. Not honorable to act as Jacinta has, conquering and plotting with a harsh tongue and a steel fist. But she doesn't care; she will never be a hero. She doesn't believe that humans are inherently good or evil, but she knows that she is certainly not good.

Cynthia chokes on her own staggering breaths, a cough breaking her speech for a few moments. "I was wrong," she manages. "There is no glory in chopping off the head of a boy who had never before picked up a blade in his life. There is no honor in slowly hacking someone to bits instead of granting them the quick death that everyone deserves."

There is no glory in the way that Jacinta killed Atlas and Daniela, in the way that she seeks to kill Cynthia now. Glory, honor — perhaps those are the things that cannot exist in this place. Ansel had once told her that beautiful things could never exist in the Arena, but he was wrong.

Cynthia laughs once more, this one so hollow and raspy. The sound of a dying girl who still somehow has the strength to go on. "But I don't care."

Jacinta watches as Cynthia positions herself to strike. Despite her failing body, despite all of the blood pouring out of her and trickling into the already crimson water at their knees, she does not falter. But, she supposes, they are equals in strength, both warrior women with breaking, bleeding bodies. It is only a matter of time before one of them fades. "If I must toss aside everything I had believed growing up, if I must become a murderer and live with that stain on my honor for the rest of my days if the end result is my survival, my freedom —"

Her sword slashes at Jacinta's chest, ripping open a section of the fabric of her shirt. Blood spatters into the water with a splash, like crimson raindrops, and Jacinta fights back a scream, more in shock than in agony, as she staggers backwards, clutching her wound with the arm that still holds her axe. She heaves, her shoulders pushing down and back up again, as she tries to steady herself. A wave of fatigue washes over her, pricking into her skull like needles. It is as if she can feel her soul being slowly ripped from her body, like Cynthia is slowly cutting each individual thread that tethers it to her.

"—then that is a sacrifice I would make a hundred times over," Cynthia finishes her sentence.

Jacinta will not fall. Even if she dies, she will die standing. If she is defeated today, she will not allow Cynthia to crush her spirit or diminish her strength. No matter what happens, she promises herself this — to die with dignity.

"I've already left behind everything I believed in," Jacinta tells her. It is a truth that she hates to admit, but the truth regardless. A truth that she must live with for the rest of her life, as short as that may be. "I am exactly what I never wanted to be." Like her mother and father, like the other Salazar heirs before her. Serpents, ruthless players of their own twisted game.

She wanted to be a hero — and now look at her. No better than her mother, killing without hardly blinking an eye. Jacinta killed Daniela without hesitation, just as Marina Salazar fired on the man against the brick wall, spattering blood and the contents of his brain all over the concrete floor. She did not even think twice about it — killing her was a necessity. It shouldn't be, but it is.

"I left it all behind all for the sake of living. Sometimes I look back and wish that I was still her — still that girl with big ideas about morals and heroics. But I think any sacrifice is worth it." She had never considered just how valuable the price of life truly is before her time in the Games. She never realized that although she would like to think otherwise, she would pay anything, any amount of blood or gold, just to live. To breathe, to exist — it is everything.

"I never wanted the people I killed to suffer, but —" Jacinta heaves again, short of breath but still mustering all of the strength she has left in her to speak, to fight. "— I would rather suffer forever than die."

She wasn't sure if she believed that before, but as she teeters on the brink of death, she knows now where she stands.

[Jacinta attacks Cynthia; spear]
vK0V4OrCspear
[3108 -- Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage]

you see us falling, falling
breathe in the light
and say goodbye
breathe in the light
and say goodbye

spear

Last Edit: Dec 16, 2017 1:16:13 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

lance
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gay and chaotic? call it gayos

even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 16, 2017 2:18:30 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Dec 16, 2017 2:18:30 GMT -5

stood at the coal face
stood with our backs to the sun
i can remember being nothing
but fearless and young

A feint, Rhaegar's sword passing through thin air - and then the strike, the hammer to the anvil, as her own dug into the chest of her opponent, tearing flesh like it was paper and unleashing yet another crimson waterfall from the wound.

What will you become, Cynthia Rose?

What would she become? Whether she lived or died by Jacinta's blade, would the end result be any different? Would she triumph over death itself only to find the sacrifice too great, burn brighter than any who stood in her way only to burn herself out from within, win her crown and her freedom only to become a hollow shell of the girl that she had once been?

-a sacrifice I would make a hundred times over.

A sacrifice made twice when she'd killed without honor in her heart, without glory on her mind, killed when the only thing that she gave a damn about was raw, bitter survival. And more parallels, for hadn't the majority that had entered and come back out been pushed to the same extreme that she had been only fought for nothing else but their very lives?

And yes, there had been those that had been hollowed out by the endeavor. Those like the Justices of the world, who had claimed a crown they had never wanted but had grasped in a time of need, only to realize that the life they had fought so hard for would never be the same.

What will you become, Cynthia Rose?

Was that to be her fate, doomed forever to her own ghosts?

What will you-

No. She would not be a Justice, not an empty shell of the Cynthia Rose Delgado that had once been, sustained entirely on alcohol and depression.

Yes, her fire had burned bright and had burned fierce. Kraygon Truus had been incinerated before he had come anywhere close to extinguishing it. Ansel Khiev had matched her blow for blow, heat for heat, but in the end, it had been her that had burned through his soul, not the other way around.

And now Jacinta, another girl with a fire that burned brighter than any she had seen before. Perhaps it burned higher than Ansel's had, perhaps it was fiercer even than her own. The fact that she was still standing where Ansel had already collapsed, where she had been driven to hands and knees, stood testament to that.

And yet, she hadn't been cowed yet.

Damaged, weary, her vision flickered in and out of focus. Pain, exhaustion, as if there was nothing more she'd rather do than collapse into the crimson waves and sleep, even though the rest would almost certainly be her last.

Was this to be the place of her eternal rest?

No. She had not burned so bright, bathed her blades with blood and burdened her shoulders with the souls of two only to collapse under their burden a stone's throw away from her freedom.

Only Jacinta Salazar stands in her way.

"I've already left behind everything I believed in," says the other - a deathbed confession, a declaration as to her firm dedication to victory, who fucking knew - and one that she listens to with rapt attention. "I am exactly what I never wanted to be."

How strange. One girl on the edge of becoming that which she had dreamed about for years, and the other the exact opposite - parallels, turned perpendicular with coincidence and rotating back into parallels that she would never have imagined possible.

"I left it all behind all for the sake of living." More parallels - but her aim was not to live, but to escape, to thrive. "Sometimes I look back and wish that I was still her — still that girl with big ideas about morals and heroics. But I think any sacrifice is worth it."

Then at least we're on the same page.

"I never wanted the people I killed to suffer, but-" She pauses, air struggling to enter tortured lungs, and her mind flashes to Ansel, a boy she had never wanted to make suffer like she had.

And yet she'd rammed a sword through his chest, taken off one of his hands at the wrist, even nearly cleaved his head in two, and yet the killing blow hadn't come until well after the fact.

Why had she not delivered a quick death like she had with Kraygon?

Who fucking knew.

But...

"-I would rather suffer forever than die."

The boldness of her declaration takes her aback, if only for a second.

For that statement, that reason that she had not fallen, had been the very same reason she had been so eager to enter the Hunger Games in the first place.

What was a lifetime of torment to the sweet release of death itself? She found she'd rather die than know.

But Jacinta Salazar clung to life so tightly that no cost, not even that of eternal torment, would convince her to relinquish her hold.

And that alone made her stronger than she would ever be.

"How admirable." Her response is soft, weak even - for she too is fading, for death is no further from her doorstep than it is of Jacinta's - and yet, she presses on. "For you to deem that even conditions such as that are worth living for, you are stronger than I ever will be, Jacinta."

Once again - for perhaps the last time, for even fate is not so clear - muscles tense even as they scream in agony. "But even then, I cannot fall to you." A cough. "I have not come so far to fall so short at the very end."

Blades flash, blood spraying from their forms like a crimson comet.

"I'm not sorry, Jacinta."

we've become echoes
but echos that fade away
we fall into the dark as
we dive under the way (i heard you say)

cynthia attacks jacinta; sword

_IaFOAmasword

1114 -- Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage

sword

Last Edit: Dec 16, 2017 2:21:05 GMT -5 by lance

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anyway don't be a stranger

even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 16, 2017 4:05:53 GMT -5

Quote

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Dec 16, 2017 4:05:53 GMT -5

do you believe in reincarnation?
'cause i thought i saw your soul
flashing and dancing on the horizon
shades of jade and emerald

Crimson — they are reflected in those red waters, a sea of scarlet below their knees. The blazing eclipse wavers in the ripples of the surface as Jacinta strikes, her spear just lightly pierces Cynthia's skin. Jacinta is losing her touch, her power — she can feel it fading, ripping and tearing away from her, slipping right through her fingers like fine grains of sand.

"How admirable," Cynthia says. A frail voice, but soft and genuine. Jacinta finds herself taken aback; she means it. Cynthia Rose Delgado, who she always thought to be far more noble and honorable than Jacinta could ever be, admires her in a way.

She would have said something if she could find the words before Cynthia speaks again.

"For you to deem that even conditions such as that are worth living for, you are stronger than I ever will be, Jacinta."

But she knows that isn't true. Cynthia is still alive, is she not? A weaker tribute would have fallen by now; no, Jacinta Salazar and Cynthia Rose Delgado are as equal as they come. While Jacinta would normally be more prideful, she finds herself humbled by Cynthia's words.

"That means something," Jacinta rasps, her own physical wear betrayed by her voice. "You may be my opponent today, but you were my ally before. Thank you." She looks into the eyes of the girl she should have killed, but this time, she does not wonder if leaving her alive was a mistake. Rather, Jacinta looks at her and feels nothing but respect. It is futile to wallow in any regrets about letting Cynthia live now; it will give not Jacinta the crown.

"But even then, I cannot fall to you." Another cough racks Cynthia's body, and in a moment of weakness, Jacinta feels sorry for her. She does not deserve to be in pain — none of them really did. In retrospect, even Ezen Moreno was as great of a villain as she once thought. He just wanted to live, just like her. Just like Cynthia. "I have not come so far to fall so short at the very end."

Cynthia slices into Jacinta's calf, and her eyes dart down to the wound, almost expecting to bleed out that very second. But her gaze travels back up to Cynthia's face and for a moment, as she looks into those copper eyes, she loses sight of reality and wonders if she is staring right into the depths Death's eyes. She isn't — no, Jacinta Salazar is still alive with the strength to fight. And fight she will.

Weakly and almost trembling as the shadow of death bears down on her, Jacinta backs away defensively from Cynthia. Her core is quaking within her body, but she remains almost still as she gathers her nerves and energy together.

Inhale — pieces of her childhood flicker into her mind, like her brain is running over sections of old film. Walking back from the market, playing hopscotch with Luzia and Violet, tying ribbons into Elena's hair. Remembering the feeling of the sun on her skin, hugging her body with a warmth that she has not felt in weeks.

Exhale — Meriweather Boarding School, writing letters to Jezebel, playing in the courtyard with the other girls, turning the green tie on her uniform into a bow. She was only popular at Meriweather's because of her surname, but some of the students and staff hated her for it. The Salazar name has always come with great responsibility and privilege, but it certainly has its burdens. Sometimes, she would sit alone under the willow tree by the lake on the grounds of Meriweather's, reading stories about far away worlds that Jezebel had sent her. Everything was always so much nicer in fiction than in the real world.

Breathe in — her mother's smile. A rare occurrence, but Jacinta had seen it once before, when Marina had given her the necklace with the pendent of her the Salazar family crest. She had smiled at her with that rare, genuine once-in-a-blue-moon smile and told her, "I'm so proud of you, Jacinta. Your father and I could have never imagined a more perfect heir." She wonders if her mother still thinks that, or if she is a disgrace now. (Did Marina ever love her? she contemplates. Or did she love what Jacinta could give her? She may never know.)

Breathe out — Returning home, learning about the truth about the Salazars and finally understanding the meaning behind her mother's rose and crossbones tattoo. Her father sat on the porch one morning, sapphire blue cigarette smoke curling into the lavender dawn sky. She opened the screen door to the veranda and crossed her arms, and he turned to her once he heard her close the door. "If you don't start acting up, we could easily just deny you of your inheritance," he told her smoothly, seeming to sense the fury radiating off of his daughter. But Jacinta told him that he wouldn't do that. Not because he loved her, but because he needed her for his empire of crime. And she was right — she was only ever a convenience to her parents, an heir perfectly groomed to carry the Salazar name. Normal children do not question if their parents love them; it is the one thing in life that Jacinta has never had. She once wanted for nothing, until she realized what love looked like. That was when the loneliness sank in, but with it, the burning desire to reach for more than this. To find someone to make up for what her parents could not give her. (If they do love her, they certainly have odd way of showing it.)

Between every heartbeat, every breath, is a fragment of Jacinta's life, everything she has lived for, loved for. It all seems so far away now, as if an eternity has flown by since then. Only two weeks have passed since she watched the sunset fade into blue dusk with Tobias in the Capitol on balcony of District Seven's floor. It has only been five days since Jacinta and Clementa shared a bed, since they were wrapped in each other's warmth and comfort. And only three weeks have gone by since she said goodbye to her family, to Elena and Luzia and Violet and Sebastian. She remembers Luzia's anger, how she reprimanded her for her heroics.

"You should have just let it go, Jacinta! You should have let Jezebel die!"

Jacinta wants to live, but she doesn't want Jezebel to die, either. But she supposes it doesn't matter how she feels about it now; it is far too late to go back on her decision to take Jezebel's place in the Hunger Games.

She looks back at Cynthia, eyes ablaze with sheer willpower. Regrets don't matter anymore, but what she chooses now will decide her fate forever.

"I'm not sorry, Jacinta," Cynthia asserts as thin lines of blood from Jacinta's wound trickles down to her knee and into the crimson waters.

She is not surprised; Cynthia has nothing to be sorry for right now. Jacinta doesn't either. There is nothing to be sorry about as you fight for the air you breathe, nothing to be sorry for when your heart could be beating its final beats. The two warriors are standing toe to toe on the brink of death; there is no room for apologies.

"Neither am I," she tells her with a nod. "Sometimes, I wish that I was. I wish that I was sorry for everything I've done." (And for what she intends to do.)

Sometimes, Jacinta feels a slight push against her shoulders; guilt bearing down on her bones. But it never crushes her, never breaks into her body. She is not like Ansel, not an empty shell that has been molded into a remorseless killing machine. Her emotions fuel her, empower her. Fear does not break her down like it should; it ignites her, drives her forward into acting on her impulses. There was a time, the night after she killed Atlas, when she felt that guilt pressing down on her chest. It encased her like a coffin. But it lifted away once she realized that because Atlas was dead, she was alive. And as selfish as it is, that is all that truly matters.

Pain, guilt — they are things that fade. They are temporary. But death, death is forever.

"I almost am — almost. But I can't be, because everyone I've killed has sustained my own life. And I could never be sorry for living." After this is all over, she may finally feel that crushing weight of remorse sweeping down on her like a harsh, brisk wave of icy water, but it would all be worth it. She will live without her left ear, without Ment and Tobias and Quill, without relief from the magnitude of the dark deeds she has committed. And maybe someday, she will become so worn down and dejected that she stops feeling anything at all, just like Ansel Khiev. But empty or not, she would still be alive. (And that is all that truly matters, as selfish as it may be.)

"It's okay if you can't, either."

Opponents, enemies, allies, friends — no matter what the two women are to each other, they have an understanding. They stand on equal ground, at equal level to one another, both remorseless for their intentions, both set on a certain course of action. An understanding — something that Jacinta never even had with her parents or her siblings.

Inhale, exhale. Time begins to slow and Jacinta is almost suffocating in the rising tension between she and Cynthia. With one final attack, her fate will be set in stone; she does not have enough blood left in her body to continue past this point.

She uses the rest of the strength in her body to make one final stand against death.

[Jacinta attacks Cynthia; spear]
T5xC7E8Bspear
[3192 -- Stabbed in Eye -- 40 damage]

oh i'm a bad girl 'cause i turned
the whole world into a crystal pearl
and we were loveless
oh it was pure bliss

spear

Last Edit: Dec 16, 2017 4:14:08 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."

lance Librarian 3,638 POSTS Pronouns: He/Him/His last seen Apr 25, 2024 11:59:08 GMT -5 gay and chaotic? call it gayos	even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 16, 2017 4:24:59 GMT -5 Quote Select Post Deselect Post Link to Post Member Give Gift Back to Top Post by lance on Dec 16, 2017 4:24:59 GMT -5 filler death post bc i am going to write one - it's just really late atm and i don't want to delay briar at all congrats fam! you deserve it. ily
	credit to darsypoo uwu credit to fireflyz! credit to stare!

я𝑜𝓈𝑒
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even in the shadows, we are worthy // 77th finale Dec 17, 2017 21:36:15 GMT -5

Quote

Post by я𝑜𝓈𝑒 on Dec 17, 2017 21:36:15 GMT -5

i'm the king
of my own land
facing tempests of dust
i'll fight until the end

Jacinta Salazar looks into the eyes of the girl she should have killed days ago and runs her spear all the way through her skull. She hears it split — CRACK — as she drives it into Cynthia's eye and all the way into her brain and to the end of her head. Blood spatters onto Jacinta's face, already streaked with grime, and into her hair and the water below. Drip drip drip, like raindrops.

BOOM. The final cannon of the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games fires. Cynthia falls, but Jacinta falls with her. Completely and utterly drained of physical, mental, and emotional strength, Jacinta's knees buckle from beneath her and her almost lifeless body crumples into the deep crimson pool. She collapses, like an old, crumbling stone pillar shaken by a storm.

Just like that, Cynthia Rose Delgado is gone. A quick death — painless. She would revel in victory, triumph in the fact that she is the one who lived, but shock has absolutely wiped her mind clean and all she can do is hold herself up on all fours and stare at her reflection in the water. Cynthia was right — there is no glory in this.

Her eyes move between the eclipse reflected in the crimson pool and the top of Cynthia's head. All of that golden hair is stained red now and Jacinta's spear is still sticking out of her skull. She gasps for air, her lungs deflated and burning and her body broken and bleeding from Cynthia's sword. Blood is still gushing out of her head, legs, and chest, and just as she is about to take another breath, she chokes on a warm, thick liquid that has washed up into her mouth.

She coughs — a deathly, hoarse sound — sending blood spilling into the already scarlet water. The more she tries to breathe, the more blood runs up into her throat and mouth, forcing her to retch and heave and cough it out until the walls of her throat feel like sandpaper.

As the adrenaline that was blazing in her body, keeping her alive and ignited when she should be long gone, begins to settle down, she starts to feel the pain that it had been numbing. There is a new fire in her body, but it is does not fuel her like before. It does not animate her, does not invigorate her — it breaks her down. White hot agony sears through her nerves, like someone has set a knife on fire and is slowing cutting through her insides. Pain is such an odd feeling; somehow it is as heavy as lead but moves as quickly as a wildfire. It shoots through every nervous pathway in her body and pools at all of her wounds. In some areas, it is just like an assault of tiny needles, while in others, it is like a blazing dagger twisting and twisting.

It rolls through her in brisk waves. Sometimes, it subsides, and just as her trembling body is about to stand, it racks her again, twice as hard as before. Jacinta cries out in agony, lacking the strength or fortitude to silence herself. One can only endure so much before finally reaching a breaking point.

Those are just the physical aspects. Inside of her head and her heart, the situation is much more dire. For days her heart as been a wasteland, encased in ice and shattered inside. Too cold to love, to care anymore, but not strong enough to block out the pain. Compassion, remorse, the capability to let go of her selfishness — she wonders if she will ever get those things back. They have been for so long and she doesn't know where they went. Perhaps they are just lost somewhere, floating in some endless abyss of oblivion until she seeks them out again. Lost things can be found but she doesn't know if she has the strength to find them.

And her head — so many things are trapped in there forever now. All the memories from her time in the Arena are spinning by her in an endless roll of film, flickering through beautiful moments but terrible ones, too. Clementa Lowe, her strawberry blonde hair and expressive copper eyes, how she smelled like citrus and lemongrass. Tobias LaChance and how he seem to trust her when she shouldn't have, simply based on the fact that they were from the same district. She never understood that innocence, but she admired it nevertheless. Quillon Blackfare and the way he smiled at Tobias, the way he would glance at him, and how he always seemed so loyal. (Jacinta could have never been like that.)

Those people, her allies, her friends — she had plotted to kill them in their sleep. She probably would have done it, too if given the chance. (Even Clementa? Maybe.)

(You really are everything you never wanted to be.)

Ansel, Cynthia, Hayden, Daniela, Atlas, Josephine, Ezen. They are all trapped in there too; she is a tavern to their memories now and she feels the weight of her souls now crushing against her frail body, pushing her down to the ground. She is still holding herself up with her arms and her knees even they are trembling with everything she has seen and done. Slitting Atlas's throat, mocking Josephine for her compassion, hating Ezen for what he did to Clementa, plotting to kill Ansel and Hayden time and time again, spearing Daniela through the chest, stabbing Cynthia in the eye. It's all too much.

("Ironic, isn't it? I volunteered for a noble cause, to be a hero. And now look at me.")

Will she become a prisoner within her own body? Is that the life she has been sentenced to?

("I would rather suffer forever than die."

Were the sacrifices you made worth it, Jacinta?

~~No.~~ Yes.)

This moment may be marking the beginning of a life of suffering, but at least she has a life to live. At least she is breathing. At least her heart is still beating. She looks at her reflection, at the mangled girl with dead eyes and hollowed cheeks, and back at Cynthia's submerged body again, at the spear in her head. Unlike Cynthia; there is no life left in her to live.

I did that. Me, she tells herself. There is no glory in this; no glory in being a murderer. Victory feels so . . . so hollow. She never believed there would be much glory, if any at all, but she did once think that it would be enlivening. It is far from it — she feels more broken and dejected than she ever has before.

Maybe it's guilt, maybe it's just weakness — but she doesn't even have the energy to contemplate it. Her mind is as twisted and tired as her body and she just wants to lie down for an eternity. Maybe that is what death is like, what she has just evaded — an eternal slumber.

There is a humming in her ears — to her surprise, her hearing has not been terribly altered — and she tilts her head up the obsidian sky to see the outline of a hovercraft passing over the blazing, iridescent eclipse. Home, she thinks. It's going to take me home.

Home to Luzia, to Violet, to Elena, to Sebastian. She inches towards the wall of enclosure of vines and roots and leans her back against it so that she is facing the sky. A wave of fatigue washes over her, the blood loss finally eating away at her consciousness, and her eyes begin to flutter shut as they become heavy with exhaustion.

She glances at her snake for a moment and breathes in weakly as Vesper slithers toward her outstretched hand. Jacinta is fading — but dying, she doesn't think so. It can't end now; the Capitol wouldn't allow it. Maybe that is why the hovercraft is speeding towards her, quickly descending onto the clearing to collect her and Cynthia's body. Jacinta winces in pain as she tries to reposition herself, but gives up when a stabbing sensation jolts through her chest. She looks to the sky again, to the hovercraft drawing nearer and nearer, a beacon of hope. Thump, thump, thump — she lets her heartbeat guide her breathing pattern, forcing herself to slowly breathe in and out.

Her eyes close and she is plunged into darkness, but there is no cannon fire. Only the silence of solitude.

The last thing she sees is the eclipse burning in the endless black sky.

creatures of my dreams
raise up and dance with me
now and forever
i'm your king

♛ END OF THE 77TH HUNGER GAMES ♛

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.

Wow. I don't even know where to begin here. I never thought that I would actually win a Hunger Games, especially after some of my experiences before the 76th. There's a lot of people who deserve my appreciation on this list who supported me in one way or another during these Games. Everyone I name here has been an integral part of my journey to the finale and to victorship. I love you all so much, and I'll always be here supporting you guys in future Games as much as I possibly can.

Dars, for always being one of my #1 Jacinta fans from the very beginning. You were such an amazing ally, and I am still so heartbroken that we didn't get to write everything we wanted to. I always wanted to further develop Jacinta and Tobias's relationship in the Games, and I'm so sorry that we didn't get to accomplish that. But even though you died before your time, you remained to be such a valuable part of this Games experience after Tobias's exit. (Hence why you got MVP, you nerd — congrats!) I'm hyped as fuck for all three of our Jaci ships and I look forward to writing with you and your stylist so so much <33

Rave, for being so supportive and kind, and for being such a lovely ally. I wish we could have written more of Salmenta, because I lived for how gay and cute it was. Salmenta lives on forever in my heart, but hey, we always have like 1,000 other lesbian ships to write. I adore you so much as a writer and you've been such a good friend to me, especially these Games. You listened to me and my raving about the finale and made me feel a lot better about any of my worries. Thank you for being a brilliant listener and so compassionate. Love you Rave!

Zoe, for being my absolute queen, inspiration, and Jacinta stan. Quill was gone too soon these Games, and I regret that we didn't get to write more. But, you stayed supportive even after your death and always cheered me on throughout the Games. Thank you for being a part of Jacinta's character, and for inspiring me to be a better writer. I still remember when I was twelve years old and read Saffron in the 65th. It was the reason I joined the site, because I read Saffron and I thought to myself, "Wow someday, I want to write a tribute like this in the Games." And then you won and it was always my dream to write a Victor as good as yours. I hope I can live up to that. You've always been so inspirational to me; Saffron is to this day, four years later, one of my favorite victors of all time, and you are definitely one of my top favorite writers on the site.

Lance, for being such an amazing sport and a spectacular ally. You and Jess took me in after my entire alliance died, and I'm so grateful for that. I don't think I would have made it past day five if it wasn't for you two. I adored Cynthia so, so much, and I have never enjoyed a 1v1 as immensely as this finale. Everything about it — your writing, the dialogue we shared, everything — was better than I could have hoped for. You really are a truly outstanding writer and you continue to get even better with every tribute you write. I'm sorry that you didn't win this one, but I wish you the very best in future Games. You'll win someday, Lance, and I'll be there supporting you when you do.

Nyte, for taking in Jacinta and for being my protective #momfriend. You're literally one of the sweetest people that I know, and I am so blessed to be friends with you. Listen, I know I'm problematic sometimes and difficult to raise (uwu), but you put up with my shit and love me anyways. I loved Hayden so much, and I'm so glad that you got as far as you did in the Games. She was such a beautiful tribute that was so much fun to read. You killed me with every post, and I can't wait to see more of your tributes in later Games. I'm so happy that you play one of Jacinta's siblings now, and just so you know, we have to write them all the time, thank you xoxo. I'm so so excited to see what you have in store for Luzia, and as I said, it was a great decision choosing you to play her.

Kari, for being my ride or die and one of my closest friends on the site. What can I say — real thotties stick together. I love you so much and you'll always be my favorite thot — and I guess I'll always be your smol hoe. You're always there for me to vent to you, whether it be about the Games or boys, and I truly do appreciate that so much. Thanks for putting up with my bullshit uwu. I live for our conversations, our plotting, and your ideas for your Salazar. She's about to be epic and I just can't wait to write Jacinta's family with you. Someday, you will make it farther than you did this time around, and I hope to be right there with you. Please get reaped in District Seven (@ Aurelie) so we can thread even more, thx xoxo. You're such a valuable friend to me, and you always will be. I'm so lucky to be able to call you my friend; thank you for your kindness and support.

Arx, for your unconditional support and love. You always made me feel hopeful and excited during the 76th, even when I was feeling down and nervous about how the Games were going to go. I was on the verge of not wanting to enter the Games anymore because I kept losing my favorite tributes early, but you encouraged me and made my Games experience so memorable and amazing. Emberly will always be the one for me, and you're part of that. You and Clementina contributed so much to my Games experience and made me remember why I enter the Games, why I love the site. The 76th is still one of my favorite Games, and you were a huge part of that experience. If not for that, I don't think I would have entered the 77th, and I wouldn't have a Victor right now. Thank you for being such an amazing friend, and 10/10 would ally with you again. I look forward to writing Justice and Jacinta; it's truly an honor to be able to even plan writing all of the Victor things.

Python, for being one of my favorite Gamemakers ever and for being such a fun friend to hang out with. Our movie/show binge-watching sessions give me life and I always enjoy memeing it up with you. You've always been there to listen to me and give me advice about the Games and real life; I'd probably be lost without your wisdom and logic. You may not have been a tribute in these Games, but you were such an active, outstanding Gamemaker. You're a huge reason why these Games were so much fun, and I hope I'll have the privilege if being in your future Games. You really are an exemplary Gamemaker and a wonderful friend to have. I'm so glad you asked to play Jacinta's sister, and I'm even more excited for you to put Violet in the Games. I know she'll be amazing — I mean, come on, it's a Claudia character.

Ghosty, for being a brilliant Gamemaker and a wonderful friend. I still adore all of the writing we did together with the Eckhart twins, which is how our friendship bloomed in the first place. Despite what you may say, I will always stand by that I think your writing is absolutely gorgeous. I hope to be able to support you in Games to come and write with you again. These Games, you were such a great Gamemaker and you're a part of why the 77th was such a blast. I hope you feel proud of yourself, because the three of you always made good decisions and thought of new ways to make the Games fun. Thank you so much, Ghosty.

Ali, for being a part of the golden GM trio and helping to make the 77th such a wholesome Games. You're a lovely person and a wonderful Gamemaker; your RE's were always interesting, as well as your mutts, and I think you have very creative ideas. I'm grateful for you and your fellow Gamemakers leading such a fun Games. You guys really did a good job!

Kousei, for writing Jacinta's ultimate rival and for your memes and kindness. You're definitely one of my closer friends, and I adore our friendship — I swear, 50% of our conversations are "you're gay" "and this is how you tell me?" or just me roasting drunk!Kousei. You wrote such a beautiful tribute these Games; I had so much fun in our fight, and I felt that Jacinta and Ansel had such an interesting rivalry. Thank you for being so fun to talk to, even when our tributes were plotting to kill each other. I adore our friendship so much and I look forward to writing our ships and writing with your future tributes.

Tristen, for your love and our amazing friendship. You weren't a part of these Games, but you did support me through them. Thank you for being so lovely and for writing lesbians galore with me. I look up to you a lot as a writer; you're always so poetic and everything you write always just hits me right in the heart. You'll always be my FC partner in crime, and I'm excited to write all the victory tour things with you.

Tom, for supporting Jacinta and being a part of the middle district trio. I'm beyond hyped to write with you and Mylee, not to mention to write all of the Jezebel/Jacinta threads! Thank you for being such a wonderful friend and overall, such a kind person. I'm so glad that you won with Teddy, and I'm even more happy to know that I get to write with you as a Victor. I adore you so much, Tom, and I'm so grateful for our friendship.

Kay, for being understanding and kind. You have always listened to my side of things and considered my point of view, especially in these Games. Thank you for being considerate, and also for generally being such a fun person to talk to, and overall, a brilliant admin. I look forward to writing July with you (; and possibly even Mace/Jaci threads, y/y?

Frankel, for coming in CLUTCH for me with that healing potion, writing a brilliant 1v1 with me, and being one of Jacinta's cheerleaders. You're one of my vet meme bros and you're always so fun to talk to. You're a lovely friend and such a talented writer; I absolutely loved Daniela and the 1v1 we wrote. And for real, I would have died if you hadn't saved Hayden's healing potion, and you even reminded me to use it for the finale. Thank you for supporting Jacinta to win and for rooting for me. I really do appreciate it; it made me feel so good about my writing in this finale.

Elegant, for being a wonderful friend and for always letting me use your beautiful tables. You're such a sweet person and definitely one of my inspirations, concerning both writing and tables. I'm so lucky to have you as a friend, and my one regret about winning is that I won't be able to enter your Games. But, nevertheless, I'm still excited to read them and your Gamemaker. I'm sure you have so many fun things planned for the 78th! Just be sure to GM again in the future and I'll slide into your Arena (;

Mylee, for being inspirational and for being a part of the middle district Victor trio. I'm so excited for any threads in the future that we'll write together, and I'm honored to be a part of the middle district trio with you and Tom. You have such an awesome Victor; I still can't believe I actually get to write with Shelby. Thank you for congratulating me and for inspiring me to become a better writer.

Solo, for writing a great fight with me and Kousei. I love your writing and how positive you were throughout the fight. Thank you for always being so lovely in literally every Games you've been in. I truly enjoyed the dialogue Josephine and Jacinta shared.

Kire, for cheering me on during the finale. You were one of the people who was very supportive throughout the fight, and I'm so grateful for that. Thank you so much for being a good friend to me and hyping me and Jacinta up.

Rook, for always inspiring me. As I've said so many times, you're one of my biggest inspirations on the site. I've looked up to you since I was twelve years old and reading Willis Keeni in the 66th, and you have only continued to amaze me with your other characters. I'm so blessed to be able to write a Victor with Patricia, and I look forward to our future threads.

Everyone else who congratulated me and supported Jacinta and I through the Games, thank you so much for your love and support! Each and every one of you are a part of this amazing Games experience. Thank you so much.

Tags:
admin dars , @fabulousraven , [ retro gm ] angel lí ✨ , lance , ᴥ , d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi , arx , Python , ghosty , ali , kousei ♚ , gamemaker 🍒 maryn hale , Tom , admin kay , gamemaker ☢️ ivan korsch , ✌ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ , solo , heather - d2 [mylee] , Kire , rook

Last Edit: May 17, 2020 23:03:33 GMT -5 by я𝑜𝓈𝑒

"even stars burn out."