bury all we have; nc vs as vs mg [day 2]

i s a a c ;

only the strongest will survive

lead me to heaven when we die

Sunlight paints a golden picture on my face the next morning, rousing me from my slumber.

The lack of a knife in my ribs or a spear in my throat confirms that my allies have yet to lose faith in me. Instead, I've been left to my own devices, free to spend the remainder of my life in blissful slumber.

Hah. One day, all too soon, this friends-with-benefits relationship with death that every living thing experiences for half of their life will be permanent, the precarious line between consciousness and eternal slumber finally snapped, with my soul set free from the prison that it has inhibited for the last eighteen years.

Maybe it'll travel to some afterlife, like my parents believed so religiously. Or maybe it'll dissipate to the wind, scattering into ashes and dust. Who fucking knows.

Whatever the case, if death is like an eternal sleep, I don't think I'll fear it as much as the rest of me claims, clinging to life as per normal biological signs.

Even the tear in the back of my head, even the shattered bones in my foot do nothing to slow the steady beat of my heart pounding inside my chest.

But I digress. No new wounds mark my body, no signs of an attack mark our camp. My first overnight in my eventual grave has been survived, for better or for worse.

Not many others have that luxury. Such as my psychotic district partner, skull crushed in the snow by some tribute or another. Or the two boys and the girl from outer districts, all sent to a grave in which fate had doomed them to.

A sixth down, and I'm not among that number. No reason to worry yet, and yet...

Hah. Overthinking as usual, that's me, for as much good as that does. All the brooding in the world, and the only conclusion that was born was a one way highway to hell.

Not that I'm complaining, hah.

I stretch, limbs unimpeded by the lack of bodies remaining in the tent. Feels good, sore muscles protesting as movement causes fresh blood to flow through them for the first time in hours.

Leaving the tent a moment later, I'm greeted by the now-familiar bite of wind in my face, reminding me that while death is warm, life is so very cold. An interesting dichotomy, though not one I appreciate at the moment. Weeks of comfort have softened me to the outside world, and annoyance sparks my core alight. The ski suit does its job though, and I wonder how someone like Violetta could willingly pass up on such things simply with the excuse of aesthetic. Perhaps the climate is colder in Seven among all the trees, or perhaps the cold isn't a thorn in her side like it has been to me.

Axe claimed from its spot by my bag, my mind wanders to the subject of my allies for the umpteenth time in the last twenty four hours. How Euley, sweet yet deadly at the same time, has the look of an ulterior motive hidden behind her pretty face. And how could I blame her, when the goal of survival is probably one shared by all but myself? How Aeson, eyes ablaze with brimstone and blood and venom dripping from his every word, has as of yet tolerated the company of those he'd sooner kill than kiss. But the fact that Violetta hasn't been butchered, the fact that his spear has yet to break my skin, the fact that Euley's smirk has gained a twin on her throat, proves that the boy from Six finds some value in restraint, at least for now. And I don't think I'd mind if he was the one to end me, not really. Better a nice clean strike through the heart by one I've shared the most intimate of moments with than a clumsy butchering by those who have never carried a weapon in their lives. And how Violetta, the porcelain to Aeson's brimstone and Euley's stainless steel, has fulfilled the role of the wolf in sheeps clothing, forming a strategy as reckless as mine yet as brilliant as Euley's - for what royal heiress would not seek to turn the best of the best into her own personal meat shields?

We're a formidable force, sure, and yet we are not immune to the intrigues of the puppetmasters, for when Aeson moves, it's not towards Euley or myself or even Violetta, but to the trio of bodies that had arrived at our doorstep in my moment in the clouds.

The sound of metal on metal screeches an ungodly sound as his weapon angles towards the smallest of the three, and yet that thought is driven from my head as I realize that the other two - a boy and a girl - are headed towards me.

A half grin crosses my face. Perfect.

The boy swings a spear of his own towards my face, and yet it only takes a lazy flick of my axe into its hilt to knock it away. The girl strikes next, from the other direction, and yet her strike is sloppy, wide, easily avoidable.

A step back gives them a chance for redemption, and yet it is capitalized upon poorly - the boy scrapes across my leg, metal glancing off metal, while the girl aims higher, better, even as my flesh is bitten into with the most superficial of cuts.

The grin fades at their clumsiness. This won't do.

Where I would have gladly engaged in a one versus two, it simply was not logical when a total of four strikes left a single mark on my skin. These two would not grant me the death I desired, not in straight up combat.

What a waste.

So I ignore them, stalking past them without a care in my step, to the only other hostile soul in this flowered environment. She's just a kid - the same one I have the only recollection attacking in the bloodbath, I realize.

All the more reason to strike her. There's no way a little girl will grant me release; on the contrary, it would be a mercy to strike her down.

Before Aeson could savage her, anyway.

i am the shadow on the wall
i'll be the one to save us all

e u l e y ;

some ancient call, that I've answered before
it lives in my walls, and it's under the floor
if this was meant for me, why does it hurt so much?
and if you're not made for me, why did we fall in love?

She finds Aeson standing at the edge of their scarlet field, looking to the sky in silence and running a hand along the metal above his chest. Euley wonders if he's searching for a heartbeat, playful grin on her lips, but it's a lost cause. They both know that much. She bends down to pluck a flower from the ground, fresh dew against its petals and torn roots at its base. They think her an anomaly, but beauty and torture have always been faithful lovers. She wears nothing beneath her fur coat, legs bare and feet stinging from the burn of snow. Eighteen years of freezing have taught her to ignore the cold. She shakes the stars from her hair.

"I wonder if you'll be the death of me, Aeson Kight," Euley greets him with one of her common thoughts; more wayward musing than a sincere question. She tucks the blossom behind his ear, features steady when he turns to face her with those dark eyes of his. Their gazes are locked, no fear or love shared between them, but something more primal. A raw desire. She does not name it. It is not theirs to understand. The world will end without warning, no theories to be given, and so the apocalypse just is. Not all disasters have a reason.

"Guess only time will tell if your musings come true," he starts, taking her in with an empty glance before nodding to her hands. "You were the death of someone else, though." She smirks, feeling a twisted sort of pride rush through her veins, and she doesn't blink as Aeson searches her expression for an indication of regret. When she volunteered, she had been wise enough to read the contract before signing it — she knows full-well what her purpose is. To slaughter, or to be slaughtered; the latter does not suit her.

"Are you proud?" she asks almost sweetly, tracing a nail across the stitching of 'E + A' on his sweater. Euley doubts he even understands what it stands for. She'll give the Capitol what they want. "Maybe I'll be the one who kills you." It is meant to be soft, but the sound is choked between her teeth and comes out severe. "Tell me, Aeson. Are you afraid of me?" She would not dare assume. The terrors of a man are not hers to know.

His shoulders are shrugged, eyes rolling humorlessly, and she respects his privacy. "I'm pleasantly surprised," he answers the first of her questions, removing the flower she had gifted him and twirling it between his calloused fingers. When it falls from his grip, resting limp and dead against the snow, her heart does not go with it. These are the perks of a toxic affair. She won't cry when he slits her throat. She'll come to their wedding wearing black. "You're only one in a long line of people who want to kill me, why should I be afraid of you?"

"You're surprised? I can understand that." The challenge is accepted, her voice offering a rare display of irritation due to his arrogance. She does not mind confident people, holds herself just as highly, but this boy is spoiled from his entitlement. Scored an eleven to his ten and having one kill in the Games to his zero, Euley won't allow him to dismiss her. "I thought you would have killed someone by now. Maybe I'm expecting too much from you." He can love himself if no one else wishes to, that she will not fault, but he has no right to crown himself and make the coronation public. Her tiara is simply a mirror. She is the only member of her court.

"You'll have to answer that yourself," she goes on, addressing why he should be fearful. It's not for her to decide. A thunderous step is taken forward, the bloom crushed beneath her heel, and she does not flinch. A match comes to life, held to the gasoline of Aeson's blood, but he does not ignite. Euley respects his control. A reaction is denied, but she is still pleased. Her chosen monster is not all rage and ruination; there's more to be found when you pry back all of the rot.

"I have nothing to prove to anyone, no one owns me after all. I'll kill someone in my own time when I feel like it." She won't get her hands dirty for him. Theirs is a fleeting dance. The crescendo of the music approaches, a lurking danger, and Euley understands that one or both of them will soon drop dead. "Or maybe I'm just saving myself for an even tastier treat, keeping everything I can do to someone a surprise so the fun isn't spoiled. You'll have to decide that for yourself."

Weaponless, she moves closer, but she will not detonate for him. If Aeson seeks his end by her hand, he must wait. Patience is a virtue that both of them will come to learn. His threat does not bring her any unease, only adds to the excitement of their endless duel. It seems they have reached an impasse, their breath forming one cloud between them. It is dark, and a storm lingers on the horizon, but Euley turns away before the lightning can strike. "I'll stay on my toes. Don't make a promise you can't keep."

Later, they lie beside each other in their tent, but no blades are pressed to their backs. The dark holds no harm for the Ninth Circle, the wind quiet and distant, and Euley does not scream when Aeson's thrashing wakes her from her dreamless sleep. He whispers, voice frantic and forehead wet with anxious sweat, but she does not shame him. The unbecoming of a boy is a tragedy she will not scorn. She strokes his hair, brushing blonde strands out of his face and humming gently. The song does not end until his nightmare subsides.

---

Morning rises alongside a lone sun — and when the twin moons make their leave from the first night of the Games, nothing of Euley is spirited away to join their departure. Her heart is still beating, claws still extended for the kill, and she wears her savagery without any strain. She'll see them again come midnight. They'll look down to find the same girl staring up, red from her sins and still daring to wear white. A bee sleeps by the curve of her neck, stinger ready to strike, but it only buzzes contently from the warmth. The blood sacrifice is complete, her soul has been given to the flames, but she awakes in the meadow with dry cheeks.

Euley's alliance packs up their camp without words, strapping on their armor and pulling their layers of clothes tighter around their forms. Weapons gripped with conviction, the muttations and their sleigh are ready to travel further into the area, but then a massive foot comes crashing down. The earth shakes and she nearly trips, catching herself on their transport and exhaling in awe as she glances upwards. The beast is massive, the largest creature she's ever scene, and there's an itch to chase after it. To climb its leg and to perch on its shoulder; to try and tame what should never be controlled.

Instead, her bee-companion buzzes jealously by her ear. She glances down with a soft smile. "You're enough, friend," and the buzzing stops. The giant is gone as quick as it came — and the Ninth Circle begin their journey. Most of them walk, but Euley keeps hold of the reins and guides the sleigh across the sea of crimson flowers. She basks in the breeze, the splendor of this experience, but reality soon calls for her in the form of three rival tributes. And a large goat-muttation, creeping closer from the opposite side.

She recognizes them; the boy that had attacked her in the bloodbath and the allies of the one that she had slain. No smile is offered, no taunting to be said. To make jokes about the fallen is in bad taste. She hungers for something more. She exits her chariot, nodding to the plant-hedgehogs and commanding them to stay still. Nothing will hurt them as long as she is at their side. The battle begins before anyone can suggest a peaceful agreement. "I'm not going to hold back, Euley, and I don't expect you to, either."

A scoff escapes her lips, crampons digging into the ground as she prepares herself. Aeson's expectations are correct. She strays from the group, bodies crashing together and targets selected, but something wicked this way comes. The goat joins the fray, its aggression easily noticed by the trained tamer, and she approaches it with arms raised. It looms above her, though dwarfed by the earlier visitor, and she gauges its temperament once more before making her decision. If these fools want to distract themselves just long enough to be trampled, then so be it.

Let this intruder dare to crush her;
she'll tear it down to her height.

a knock at my door, I thought I was alone
unaware of what I thought I needed, I drop like a stone
if I'm not mistaken, then I was the last one to know
and if you return for me, I'd never want for more

i s a a c ;

only the strongest will survive

lead me to heaven when we die

Steel hits flesh, and crimson gold is spilled. But there is no killing blow to be found from my blade, my hands, not today.

Just as well. My soul's already pockmarked with the stains of a dozen different attempts to pierce it, and the last thing I need is that unlucky number thirteen to guide my descent into whatever hell has been designed for the sins of the murderer.

Hah, I'm becoming almost zealous in my old age. What a fucking concept.

We've split into two, I see, the classic Hunger Games formation. Aeson and I largely ignore the two spares as we hack away at his kid of a district partner, while the ladies seem to have found themselves caught in the ire of a gigantic muttation that vaguely resembles a... Goat?

My mind flashes to the giant chicken of two Games ago, though this beast is nowhere near as tall, nor half as stupid, either. The swing of its head is fast, and had Euley been any less of a Career, she'd have been impaled on the wrong end of one or both of its horns.

An urge within beckons me to join them, and yet common sense holds me firm, for death by mountain goat is not the way that I'd envisioned my end.

Besides, the girl is tougher than she looks, and in the Games you can never be too careful. She stands firm despite the slice on her forehead, despite the fact that had she not been as armored as her opponent she would currently be a shish kebab on the end of Aeson's spear, whereas there were kids her age back home that I know for a fact would have burst into tears had one or the other befallen them.

Then I remember. She's not like so many other children thrust into the carnage, not like Violetta who was chosen against her own will and is attempting to make the best of a poor circumstance. She's like Aeson, like Euley, like me, an individual with a death wish or a wish of life through blood and steel, one that chose to be here.

And I wonder, for rarely does one so young enter a place like this of their own accord, wonder if she'd thought it through enough, wonder if there are any regrets flooding her mind right now.

And then Aeson's spear enters her back, and I remind myself that this is no time to get caught in daydreams. Not if I want any say in how and when I die.

I move to follow up his strike with my own, axe raised, muscles tensed-

-and then I recoil as the most ungodly screech of steel on steel sounds right in my fucking ears.

My free hand flies to the back of my head, feels the gash in the metal that would no doubt had been my head had I opted not to put my helmet on before this conflict began, and a spark of annoyance alights my core into flames, my mind already well aware of the fact that Euley's hard work from the night before had almost been undone with a single swing of a spear.

It is only then I turn, gaze falling on the girl that had nicked my arm earlier. Her companion had disappeared in the direction of the giant goat, no doubt seeing that as a greater threat to his survival than me, but the girl would not be so easily deterred.

Even if her perception was a little off.

Eyes narrowed, the thought of Really? reverberating within my skull, I nevertheless decide to ignore her. As things currently stand, she's no threat to my being, seeing as she's now had three chances to land a solid hit on me and failed every single time, and I really can't be assed to grant her wish of a fight.

So instead I turn back to the little girl, any reservations or remorse that I might have felt gone to the wind, and I strike.

i am the shadow on the wall
i'll be the one to save us all

e u l e y ;

some ancient call, that I've answered before
it lives in my walls, and it's under the floor
if this was meant for me, why does it hurt so much?
and if you're not made for me, why did we fall in love?

Her leg stings from the impact of her kick, crampons slick with the mountain goat's blood, but a red thrill is still a thrill. She crouches down, inhaling the air and watching the beast's movements. Calculation is key when fighting animals; knowing the strength of your abilities and still not daring to act without caution. It rears in agony, hooves scratching at the clouds, but no rain comes. She does not fear the flood. To drown would be peaceful — and to burn is the birthright of a witch. Who will bring the flames?

Violet threatens to ignite when she charges forward, but her attack lands short with a blur of slipping feet. Euley does not scold the younger woman after she crashes and hits the ground, doesn't berate her for the failed attempt. She runs to her ally and gently helps her to stand, taking a cold thumb and brushing dark hair from a flushed face. "You okay?" she asks, voice sincere and almost warm. Not enough to save anyone from a blizzard. "Just breathe. There's nothing wrong with being afraid."

The emotion grips her as the beast charges, distracted just long enough to leave the both of them vulnerable. There's no itch to run and leave Violet to fend for herself. Euley's first instinct is to shove the girl away, leaving only herself at risk of taking damage. Its head is bowed, horns rushing forward, and she holds her breath. Limbs rest flat against her curves, body twisting with the blessing of all her agility training, and she doesn't exhale until the storm has finished raging. "See, Vi? You have control."

She rises up to find her footing, running a hand through her hair and brushing snow from the locks. The bee buzzes from beneath her hood, frazzled and nearly thrown from its perch. She laughs and strokes its antennae with a steady finger, rolling her eyes. "There's no reason for that, is there? I wouldn't let anything happen to you." Voices surround her, accusations and biting remarks, but she doesn't involve herself in the drama. She keeps her gaze on the muttation, watching as it circles back.

Ice cracks behind her, nervous steps approaching, and she turns to find the male from Nine. The one that had accepted her challenge in the bloodbath and fought back. She doesn't grin. "Are you going to kill this thing like you did Alejandro?" There's hesitation in the words, a want to forgive and a desire for revenge. His spear does not come to greet her stomach. "I guess it was going to happen. It just has to, doesn't it?" She nods, a ghost's name weighing heavy on her shoulders. "I will help you."

A weak smile is offered. "I'm going to try." She doesn't look down to her boots in shame, doesn't feel any unease talking about the boy she murdered. Her jaw holds firm. "His name was Alejandro? I'll remember that." She sighs, smoke rising, but there's no fire here. "You're right. It was going to happen with or without me; to all of us. We can't live forever." Her bones will be immortal. "So, I can't say that I'm sorry. I'll lose no sleep over what I've done." She grips his shoulder like an old friend.

"My name is Euley — and I won't forget Alejandro. That much, at least, I can promise." She steps away, cracking her knuckles and lowering herself in preparation for another strike. Her temporary companion misses with the swing of his spear, just as Violet had with her blade, and she gives him the same reassurance. "Don't rush into it. You have to focus." She closes her eyes and finds her center, feeling the vibrations of the earth run through her palms. She'll teach by example.

Watch her;
fear her.

a knock at my door, I thought I was alone
unaware of what I thought I needed, I drop like a stone
if I'm not mistaken, then I was the last one to know
and if you return for me, I'd never want for more