The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale

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d10f ekta ram // [earthling]
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cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 16, 2018 12:06:01 GMT -5

Quote

Post by d10f ekta ram // [earthling] on Dec 16, 2018 12:06:01 GMT -5

"Forever is composed of nows."

Not knowing when the dawn will come
I open every door.

― Emily Dickinson

Welcome to the finale, tributes! Many congratulations on making it thus far. This is it, the end of all things. You may 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:

Bette Sublino - 0.0 dmg

Shy Aubergine - 0.0 dmg
Self Defense

Anatalia Morrison - 0.0 dmg
Target Practice
Self Defense
Firemaking
Rivalry [Denali Lyons]

Denali Lyons - 0.0 dmg
Target Practice
Self Defense

Last Edit: Dec 16, 2018 14:52:45 GMT -5 by d10f ekta ram // [earthling]

credit hesper hart 🐺 d9f

credit [ retro gm ] angel lí ✨

- chars -

L△LIA
RP Tutor

3,567 POSTS

last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 17, 2018 18:41:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Dec 17, 2018 18:41:08 GMT -5

[attr="class","Denali1Container"]

[attr="class","Denali1Title"]shadows settle on the place that you left
our minds are troubled by the emptiness

[attr="class","Denali1Content"]

The quiet of the cage comes from within. All around the birds continue to squawk and get into squabbles, thunder rumbles in the distance, and Denali wills the world to hold its breath with her, pressing her ear to the emptiness in search of the sounds that are conspicuously missing. There should be snoring and wild thrashing. There should be the hushed scraping of a knife peeling bark away. There should be lighthearted taunting that picks on frivolous details in order to distract from the severity of things at large. Instead there is plenty of noise, but nothing there.

Bandages don't stop the bleeding. Denali stitches the crisscrossed wounds back together — Lex's cardinal carving between her teeth — screaming into the dark as the needle goes in and out, in and out of her mutilated flesh. The sliced open back of her hand is more difficult still, fragile skin split from tendon and bone with so little else to soften the sutures. Nearly fainting, she collapses backwards and wins several staring contests with the birds perched throughout the latticework of the vine cage still keeping her here, as if she could go very far at this point.

She's not even sure that she would leave the vineyard if she could. The RLS Trolley Problem is crashed into a hedge wall, tethered down by overgrown greenery, and while she may be trapped here with all of the horrible evidence of the duel she has just won... she's also trapped here with the final remnants of the good she found in this hellhole. The place where Lex bled out is so red and so difficult to look at, but only a few feet away her burgundy suit jacket is still laid out upon the ground. It's a little rumpled and dirty, but bright little grapes dot the earth around it and if Denali looks there and nowhere else then she can rewind time and lie to herself that it's still morning. Lex is running through the aisles, cheering for herself for being faster than Denali or searching for interesting beetles to point out in hopes that the Lyons girl will continue yelling enthusiastically about the wonders of exoskeletons. Maybe there's a caterpillar cocooning itself somewhere or a spider spinning its web in time with new stitching on a battle jacket. Are there bugs like this in District Five?

The thread that remains is used to continue embroidering Denali's jacket. Thrown grapes, knives, and axes are stitched across the front of it with equal importance between whorls of green representing the rows upon rows of vines here. Red is sewn upon yellow upon green upon purple upon orange upon blue upon gray as she attempts to capture the wrecked landship, but mostly ends up with a tangled mess of knotted thread and spends the next thirty minutes sobbing into her knees in frustration that isn't about the knotted thread at all. "Stupid thread," she scolds the jacket, "stupid knots, stupid needles." Wiping her cheeks against her shoulders, she adds Lex's suit jacket to the scene before caging it all in a frame of green vines. Her hands fall still and she hesitates, not quite ready to color in the skulls of today's dead on the back of the jacket.

Staining a new length of thread with grape leaves, she pricks her fingers at least half a dozen times awkwardly stitching a name inside the left chest pocket for safe keeping. The three jagged letters tucked within are guarded by a haunted campfire — a place and time so much better than where everything wound up. It's only once this is done that the battle jacket is turned over to face the mountain of skulls watched over by the mighty, roaring lion of death. The first three skulls are the easiest, all stitched in white for deaths Denali did not witness. The fourth is —

A strand of Lex's hair is threaded through the eye of the needle. Denali can't bear to stitch it black like Maxwell and Quest's skulls, as if all three murders bear equal weight upon her heart; it feels wrong already that even two skulls should match, as if any of the souls sent here might actually be interchangeable. There should be tints and shades. There should be nuance, but instead the mountain is a mountain — white and red and black — and to anyone else examining the embroidery the skulls would simply be skulls.

The lock of hair Denali cut before Lex's body was taken is made up of short strands stolen from the underside so that it wouldn't be too obvious if Arthur Lionel held an open casket funeral for his daughter, so yet another detail of the body returned to him wouldn't be mismatched to his memories. With all those wounds it's unlikely that he would notice such a small, harmless thing, but...

Denali blinks away a sudden memory of opening the rough pine crate Zion's corpse was shipped back to District Five in. Despite the gaping hole in his face exposing his brain, she still remembers the small cuts, the scrapes, the bruises.

It takes the whole lock of Lex's hair to fill in the tiny skull, the short strands not lasting as long as she had hoped. Once it's completed she doesn't know what to do with her hands anymore. New bandages are wrapped around her leg and hand, but after only a few minutes they're so stained that they look old too. The yoga mat is rolled out, but all Denali can do is curl up on it, lost in the pain of her wounds. She cries some more. She tells herself to stop crying in the same thought she tells herself that it's horrible that she isn't crying more. She stares at Lex's blood on the ground and wonders if there is thunder in the distance or if that's just a sound her body makes now. She doesn't sleep and she doesn't sleep and she doesn't sleep.

The rain comes.

The yoga mat is moved on top of Lex's blood so it can't be washed away. It happened. No one gets to pretend it didn't happen.

Huddling into the hedges for cover, Denali counts the bolts of lightning cracking the sky into pieces — forty-two, forty-three forty-four — until she loses track. Her dress is soaked through, but there's too much blood crusted into it for it to wash out at this point. Rivulets of red run down her arms and legs as if that's just the color of the rain itself and the lace remains stained.

The storm stretches time out until it becomes unbearable and she finally braves the torrential downpour and scattered hail in search of her bag. When she nestles herself back into the vines, she hunches over so her body becomes a shelter before pulling out the stack of blank postcards. Pressing the beak of the wooden cardinal to the ink well of her wounds the way she has done night after night, she tries to summon every thought she's ever had that would have been better said than kept to herself. This close to the end all she can do is focus on the love that remains, instead of everything that is already lost. They begin:

Her Majesty Seville, Queen of All Faeries —

My Sweet Songbird —

Ginny —

Wildest of Lyons and Keeper of the Wind —

Mom —

Dad —

Zion, my dearest brother —

They end:

— Your Valiant Knight In Rhinestone Armor

— Your Horribly Tone-Deaf Sister

— Your Fellow Hypocritical Temper Tantrum

— Your Pride, Your Joy

— The Knife Thrower's Daughter

— Your Stupid Daughter

— Love, always and forever, Denali.

Like other things in need of safekeeping, the postcards are tucked into the pocket of her battle jacket.

Eventually the storm relents into a thick fog, remnants of the previous day moving in and out of focus with the rolling mist. One moment she catches her breath at the sight of one of Lex's axes and the next it's gone. Glimpses of burgundy come and go. The wreckage of The RLS Trolley Problem practices a miraculous disappearing act worthy of any child's birthday party. The stunt is so well done that someone, somewhere, is confused enough to send presents for the occasion.

A new vest. Shin guards. A helmet much sturdier than the condor skull Denali wears. Everything is encrusted with diamonds much more real than the rhinestones swirled across the armor she has been wearing this week. It's horrible. She hates it all. She puts it on anyhow.

Sunshine begins breaking through the fog mid-morning and Denali takes her camera out in an attempt to put something between her and everything surrounding her, as if it will be easier to look at the aftermath of her duel with Lex through the lens of the camera. She snaps photos of the murderbirds perched on the ceiling of the vine cage and photos of the weapons scattered every few feet across the ground. Another of the landship overgrown with vines. Lex's suit jacket, muddy and rumpled from the storm. The empty wooden knife block and how she wishes it could stay that way.

"Cassia," She says to the tiny nightmare faced bird when it lands on the knife block and begins chirruping incessantly, "Not now." The twittering continues and Denali sighs. If not now, then when? "There was a bird like you back home. Well," she pauses to narrow her eyes at Cassia's fleshy face, "it didn't look like you, but it was a bird too." A bird is a bird the same way a skull is a skull. "It would peck at my bedroom window to wake me up at odd hours of the night and I always thought it was annoying and that I hated it, until the bird suddenly stopped tapping and I never saw it again. Then I kind of missed it. I don't know why."

She takes another photo of the knife block once all the blades have been gathered up and put back in their places. She tries not to look at the empty place where the paring knife used to go and so it immediately becomes the only thing she sees. She takes a photo of Lex's axes lined up in a neat row on the ground because she doesn't know where to put them now that the shoelace bullet belt that used to hold them is gone. She rolls up the yoga mat that protected Lex's blood throughout the rainy night and takes a picture in case there's an attempt to wash it away again. She tries to take another picture of the vines imprisoning her despite everything that happened here —

Click.

— and instead she takes a picture of Bette from fifteen paces away, the cage of vines dramatically unraveled into a dense heap on the ground between them. Temple is nowhere to be seen but the sky.

Once upon a time they laughed together in the training center, Bette running up the handles of the knives Denali had thrown into a wall. She ran so high Denali wondered if the girl from One might be superhuman. It was amazing to see; that skill. It was amazing to feel; that laughter. Once upon another time they sent messages back and forth, despite being told not to care. There wasn't a real reason to. Denali doesn't know why she sent those postcards. She knows even less about why Bette bothered to send anything back.

When they met again at the campfire... Denali's roughly bandaged hand moves to cover the embroidery on her left chest pocket, uncertain if she's trying to hold it close or if she's trying to conceal it like a secret. Brows furrowing, she takes a determined breath and drops her camera to the ground, using her left hand to pull a knife from the wooden block strapped to her shoulder and drawing out the sharpener in her wounded one. Sliding the knife in long, slow strokes down the side of the sharpener, she lets the threatening sound of metal on metal crescendo to fill the space between them.

Scrrrrrrape.

Scrrrrrrape.

Scrrrrrrape.

Another day this distance would have been a question that Denali probably would have answered with a foolish hug, willfully ignoring their future for just a while longer, but today is the day that Denali Lyons, murderer of Lexandriy Lionel, stands face to face with Bette Sublino, murderer of Temple Jones. Neither of them need to ask to know. There are cages made of vines and there are cages made of other things.

If the two of them weren't willing to lay down their weapons yesterday, they certainly won't do so now.

Lex was given a fair fight and Denali's unshakable trust; Bette is given these few seconds of warning before flint strikes metal and a fistful of tar covered blades flare up with hellfire rivaled only by the feral dynamo wielding it. Widening her stance, Denali stands on the edge of the spot where Lex bled out, the sinister crimson stain upon the ground stretched out behind her like a shadow. Gathering all of her determination within her chest until her heart is crowded out, Denali grits her teeth and stares Bette down.

"Duck."

youth daughter

[ denali attacks shy // thrown steak knife ]

YsDT05fCy9throwing knife

[ 9063 // shallow cut on bicep — 3.5 damage ]

[ tar + flint // one ]

1-50

[ minor burn // 2 damage ]

Her Majesty Seville, Queen of All Faeries —

I regret nothing. When we were little and you declared you would never look at me again because I stepped on your toes, so I cut your braid off to see how serious you were? Yeah. Your face when you whipped around to scream at me was so funny that I'd do it again. That time we went swimming in the lake even though Grimgram told us not to and we ended up covered in leeches? Definitely. The weather was too beautiful to stay inside. Coming here in your place? A thousand times. A million times. I love you, Sevy, I honestly love you this much.

— Your Valiant Knight In Rhinestone Armor

[newclass=".Denali1Container"]width:450px; height:450px; background-position:center; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding:20px;[/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali1Title"]font-size:10px; text-transform:uppercase; margin-right:65px; margin-bottom:1px; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali1Content"]width:300px; height:0px; overflow:hidden; opacity:0.9; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:1px 10px 0px 10px; -webkit-transition-duration:1s; transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali1Container:hover .Denali1Content"]height:250px; overflow:auto; padding:10px; text-align:justify; -webkit-transition-duration:1s;transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]throwing knife·1-50

Last Edit: Dec 20, 2018 23:19:12 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

shrimp
Retired Staff

1,953 POSTS
Pronouns: he/his
last seen Oct 19, 2020 18:16:41 GMT -5

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 19, 2018 23:34:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by shrimp on Dec 19, 2018 23:34:23 GMT -5

Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear;
The wheels revolve, the universe keeps running.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

It's strange.

The transition feels like stepping into a pool on a hot summer day. An instant shock, a chill. Then, slowly, she takes one step forward.

And then the next step.

And then the next.

She walks away from Temple Jones' body as the sun starts to dip below the sky, the heavens in mourning. The gentle remnants of fog whirl around her and the trees part to let her through, roots ramshackle and the ground turbulent. It rumbles under her feet, in the air above - striking through the charcoal clouds with slashes of white. It erases her musings, her stomach drops. After a minute, her shoulders relax, and she almost laughs - bile at the back of her throat. She's killed a girl, yet the thought of the world cracking in half still sends her reeling.

Eventually, as it always does, it passes.

Before she leaves, Bette turns back to the shopping cart parked sloppily at the base of a tree. There's a humor in it, she thinks as she grasps the handle. She can't quite figure it out.

With the labor of a grandmother, her walker in front, Bette limps through the woods. She doesn't bother to hide, quiet her steps - what will come will come. She knows the Gamemakers have just dealt a trump card; they wouldn't dare throw one of them away now.

She stops, fixes the bandage around her thigh. It doesn't help much, the water soon soaks it. She moves anyway, feels the beads of water running down her back. It sends goosebumps rolling across her skin, but she doesn't think. She just moves.

For a while, that's all it is. Her footsteps, stepping past muddy puddles and wet bark, percussion pitter-pattering on the forest floor. The air grows dense, the sky grows dark. The cart's wheels are squeaky, but she has no oil to fix it.

Music starts overhead, swimming in her eyes in chartreuse and scarlet, clashing and frothing, oil shot in water. She looks up, blinking as her eyes adjust, locked onto every face that fades into view.

Angel de Costa, serpentine, moving with the current, a paladin of his own design.

Carmen Stirling, hair bouncing as she ran, an optimism that broke boundaries.

Temple, she looks at her eyes, knowing they are nothing more than pixels on a screen, wishing they'd crinkle as she smiled.

Lex Lionel, a carpenter, a rival, an equal.

She sits roughly, leaning her head against the trunk of a redwood, stoic as it looms above.

Almost there.

Just four flies, caught in a web.

The sequoia's needles, its limbs spanning forever, cover her from most of the rain - she takes the time to wring out her jacket, dry her sopping wet feet. She rewraps her wounds - it's longer, rougher, more painful than before, but it isn't right to complain. What's a few more minutes spent cleaning a wound, when three lives have been ended in the blink of an eye? She'd look at the pictures, flip through each memory, but she'd rather have them stored in her head than leak wet ink onto the ground, just for one last glimpse.

Seven days.

It feels longer.

It feels shorter.

It feels...

She doesn't know.

The fog encroaches, and she lets it cover her. It's soothing, almost - there's a warmth around her wounds but she's too tired to move. If this is poison, let Death take her with open arms. Obscured beneath the waves.

Time passes. She must have slept. Bathed in the gray, her mind rattles and shakes, cogs finally fitting where they should. She reasons that she's not dying yet. Not in this moment.

So stand up.

---

Her strength slowly returning, she thinks as she paces, leaving the shopping cart askew in the middle of the path. And there is a path, she realizes: where the fog is less dense, weaving through the trees. When she first realizes it, for a moment she stops, stares ahead with trepidation tapping in her lungs. But she can feel Eve's last words curling up her arm, so she takes a deep breath and moves forward. She takes a picture before she starts, to remind herself to never feel this way again.

Only one way to go.

The path clears as she steps out into the vineyard, a few aisles over from where they first fought the bats, erratic and wine-drunk. She plucks some grapes from the vine as she walks, popping them into her mouth. The syrup is sweet, cloying, sticking to her throat - but refreshing. She stumbles upon a rosebush, and gazes at the two already in her jacket pocket. It's missing some shades - she clips them, adds the mementos to her bouquet.

White and Gold, with spatters of rust.
Red, crackling and brave.
Green, calming and vibrant.
Rainbows, filling the space, their love: garish, corny, abundant.

The path takes her down one row and up another, twisting and turning until she reaches a clearing, vines tumbling around her in heaps as she begins to move slower, hand reaching for Temple's knives as she turns a corner and-

Click.

Red hair. Laughter now gone. Denali. The girl reacts almost instinctively, covering her pocket that's filled, cover-to-cover, with thread. Fates that weave to and fro, ramshackle patterns turned to art. Fingers that grasp the cutting block attached to her shoulder.

Metal grating against metal.

This isn't a welcome, this is a gauntlet, thrown down in the mud. Despite it all, she smiles, closed mouth, exhaustion written in the wrinkles. Even if she must strike Denali Lyons down, it is a relief to know that someone else remembers those embers, drifting in the night sky. That someone else still has that smoke in their lungs.

Footsteps tread in dew-laden grass, and Denali whispers a word that sends her gut reeling.

Against all odds, the voices that command her to disregard, she twists - the knives flying through the air right past her nose - as she opens her own jar of tar, dipping Temple's knives one-two-three-four, striking flint in the air with a thunderous clap.

She knows the two approaching, she's seen them in battle. And to survive, she digs in.

No soliloquies in a bloodbath.

No alibis in a standoff.

{ bette eats (finally) }
{ bette equips her shield }
{ bette lights throwing knives (4) with tar + flint }

{attacks shy; throwing knife}
TTKdcE3G7Kthrowing knife
9013 -- Deep Gash on Calf -- 8.0 damage
(Thrown Knife)

{tar #1}
1-50
moderate burn (+4)

To Eva Descending The Stair - Sylvia Plath

throwing knife·1-50

Last Edit: Apr 23, 2020 17:46:57 GMT -5 by shrimp

ryan
Advertiser

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Pronouns: he/him
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over the moon, where all the wild things are

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 20, 2018 1:03:18 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ryan on Dec 20, 2018 1:03:18 GMT -5

She cant bring herself to move from the spot that she left Angel de Costa.

And she that was because she did not feel right about it.

He was the last person that she cared about in this arena, and now he was gone. By her own hand as well. She wished, no, prayed that the outcome would have been different.

She wanted so much not to go up against the person that brought her closer to home.

But there she was, sitting over his body, in a silence that she hadn’t experienced since she watched Dymas died with Angel Mer right by her side. She was broken then, and now. Nothing seemed matter in a world where happiness did not exist.

And losing Angel de Costa was just as hard as losing Dymas Nyx.

They would never equal each other, but they would.

They would until the end of time.

And Annie finally stood, watching as the night seemed to engulf the arena around her.

She peeled off mountains of protection off the boy she murdered, and she placed it on herself. She convienced herself that this is what Angel would have wanted.

He would have wanted her to go home, but now, she wasn’t sure if she deserved such a thing.

This was the first person she killed, and it had to be the boy that she spent the most time with.

She thought losing Parson was hard. She thought that losing Hellion was harder. But Angel? Angel de Costa was her lifeline.

And now he was gone.

But that didn’t mean she couldn’t try to carry pieces of them with her.

Parson’s notebook was slid into her Birkin clutch, along with mementos from both Angel and Hellion. They were items that Annie felt were important to them. To their character. To the people that they wanted to be. Annie would try her hardest to make sure that would be remembered. Remembered for the people they were, as weird as it was for Annie to think about.

She wished they were all still alive.

But they weren’t.

They were gone, and now that Annie was the last one alive, she felt crushed under the weight of their deaths, but she knew better.

She needed to turn that weight into strength.

She needed to prove that she could turn hell and heartache into power and heaven.

She needed to win. She needed to do this for herself.

She needed.

She needed.

She needed.

She began to walk around the tide pools, wading into the water multiple times as she waited for Angel’s body to disappear. She didn’t want to see it anymore, because the constant reminder of what she did would always be burned into her memory.

No one told her that killing someone would be hard, and no one told her that she would have to kill people that she was close too.

Annie tried so hard not to care, but that didn’t work.

She fell hard for the people around her, and her heart shattered every time one of them perish.

First Parson.

Then Wander.

Hellion.

And now Angel.

She dipped her head into the water and began to soak her hair, running her free hand through it. She heard the sounds of hover crafts in the distance but she didn’t look back. She knew what was going to happen.

And instead of acknowledging it, she kept her hand busy.

Cause that was all she could do.

And when she pulled herself out of the water, she came back to nothing but a blood-stained puddle.

And she sighed with relief.

She sat up against a tree and looked out at the night sky. The crispness in the divide made her think of times when she would go out night surfing with her mother.

Her mother always told her that the tides could be unpredictable during twilight, but that’s what made them so much more enjoyable.

And for some reason, Annie played that thought in her head over and over again. She couldn’t fathom the importance of it, but she knew that it meant something. She just needed to figure out what that was.

Clouds in the distance started to form, and it took a while for Annie to move.

As much as she was living, she felt hollow inside. But she knew it would pass.

Everything would pass when she got home right?

That’s what she told herself. But she knew that was a lie.

The only thing that kept her going was the thought of seeing Angel again. Her Angel. The boy that she protected from her father. The boy who loved so much even though it was ripped away from him.

The boy that would ground her into reality.

And so she stood up and climbed the tree that she was resting at.

Her one hand working hard to balance her body as she reached for the branch.

She forgot how much strength she held in her arms, and for once, she was appreciative of it.

And she sat up, slicing at the branches to give her a view of the storm that wouldn’t drench her.

And then the Anthem played in the rainy sky.

Annie couldn’t help but think that it was fitting.

If she had to go up against Angel de Costa, that meant that the remaining tributes had to go up against the people they cared about as well.

The first face in the sky did not surprise her. A tear had formed in the corner of her eye, but she quickly wiped it away. ”Fucking rain.” She lied to herself, trying to be stronger than she seemed.

Then came the girl from eleven. Annie didn’t know her name, but she did remember a time when they interacted in the training center. Annie called her stupid for her blind ambition, but obviously if she made it that far, she had to have been doing something right. ”I take it back Eleven.” she muttered to herself as she tried to hold her focus to the sky.

The next was Temple, the girl from ten who had killed Hellion the day prior. Annie could help but take a deep breath, trying time and time again to focus on what that actually meant. Bette was alive, and Annie knew that she was going to be a force to reckon with. She needed to be prepared. For Temples sake, Annie hoped she went quickly, just like Hellion did.

And then finally Lex Lionel shined in the darkness. Annie didn’t know what to say, except for realizing that Denali was still alive. Lex was kind to Annie, and so that would be a death that would affect her more than she realized. But that had to come later.

The Anthem ended and Annie looked out into the horizon again, gritting her teeth and holding a knife close. She needed time to process.

She had time to prepare for whatever might come.

And so she shut her eyes, the sound of the rain hitting the wood around her in small bits of thunderous echoes.

And she drifted off for just a moment.

She dreamt of a time when all of the people she cared about.

And she felt warm to see them again.

The sight of Wander made her smile, as ve tried to explain to her the strength she needed to have take herself home.

She saw Parson and Angel, but happy with where they were now. They offered her tidings that were happy and sad at the same time. The mixed emotions dripped from their lips as the disappeared into the ether.

And then Hellion popped out of nowhere, telling her about what it was like back home. Annie could feel she had more to say, but she did not press, because it would not matter anymore.

None of it would.

And then they all came together and told her come home.

But Annie knew better. She did not want to go to the home they lived in now.

She wanted to be in the comfort of her own bed.

She wanted to be next to Angel, sitting by the ocean with her head leaned on his shoulder.

And the world would stop around them for a moment as they both remembered people that they had lost.

And that would be what carried her through.

And her eyes shot up as the fog enveloped the area.

Her knife was out of her holster now, but she did not move.

She didn’t know what was going to happen, but she had to start moving. She didn’t want to be hunted when she was so close to making her way home.

And so she moved down the tree, the grass now sopping wet under her stilettos.

She could feel her shoes slinking into the ground, but she pulled them up as quick as they would sink.

Her knife was in her hand as she began to walk.

The fog blurred her vision, but she did not care.

She knew that further she went into it, the more likely she would find whatever the game makers wanted her to find.

That would be the only explanation to what was going on.

And so she took a deep breath and made her way into the darkness.

Not certain of what she was going to find.

But ready.

And when she got to the other side, the sun had risen. The way the sun illuminated the rain that had fallen the night before made rainbows appear at every step that Annie took.

She thought of it as a good omen.

A sign that her alliance was watching over her from wherever they were. And that was enough to motivate Annie to keep going.

Annie followed the path, vibrant bushels of grapes popped into her peripheral. However, she did not pluck them from their location. She wasn’t here to eat.

She was here to go home.

And she knew what she was going to find at the end of this rainbow.

She just wasn’t sure if she was ready to do what needed to be done.

And then the smell of fire permeated the area. Her nostrils flared as hints of ash and vines mixed together to create something that wasn’t pleasant on the nose.

The sounds of armor crunching in the distance worried her for a moment, so she peered through one of the many bushels of grape vines to find Denali, throwing a knife at the boy from two.

She took a deep breath, knowing that this was it.

This was the finale that they were building up too.

She continued to look onward, the sight of Bette in the background as well.

Everyone was here, and Annie wasn’t sure how to feel about it.

Her memory of the 79th flashed before her, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to experience what the boys went through that games.

She could only imagine what Mackenzie Pryce felt as he claimed the title.

But right now she needed to think about herself.

She needed to prove to the world of Panem that she was worthy to come home.

But she could not bring herself to do it. Annie preferred to wait in the shadows and wait till they were weak. That would be her best opportunity to strike.

Or at least, that is what her father would tell her.

And she shook her head at the thought. She knew better. Her father was nuts, and that was all there was too it. If she was going to die here then she would do it on her own terms.

She would do it honorably.

Fuck being a career.

The moment she stepped out of the shadows, she watched Bette throw a knife at the boy from two as well, and that’s when Annie realized that this fight would not be what it was cracked up to be.

Four titans came together, but each one more broken then one could even fathom.

Annie pulled out her tar and knives, something that became almost customary at this point. She lathered them up with tar and lit them on fire with a snap of her fingers.

The smell of fire in a place so sweet made this more tragic than it seemed.

”I’m sorry.” Annie screamed as she locked her eyes on the girls that were in front of her.

She didn’t want to harm them. Because she knew what they all had to go through the day before as well. All of them broken down to the bare bones. For the capitol see.

She wanted to go home though.

Just as much as they wanted too.

Annie took a deep breath, a blue knife brandished in flame, a heat source that oddly felt comforting in a hell like this.

And she threw it.

Not regretting anything anymore at this point.

Because the only way this was going to end was with death.

A truth that Annie realized the moment she let go.

Annie lights 4 knives on fire with her tar and fire making. (the blue, dark blue, violet, and purple ones)

Annie attacks Denali|| Flaming throwing knife #1 (the blue one)
LjiL8Kd2WMthrowing knife
[9036 -- Knife in Stomack -- 6.5 damage + 1 for Target Practice + 1 for Rivalry = 8.5
(Thrown Knife)]

fire roll
1-50
[+0]

throwing knife·1-50

Last Edit: Dec 20, 2018 1:04:33 GMT -5 by ryan

uwu
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Pronouns: You
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*cries in watermelon*

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 20, 2018 9:45:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by uwu on Dec 20, 2018 9:45:54 GMT -5

Shy Aubergine

Whatever tomorrow brings
I'll be there with open arms and open eyes
Whatever tomorrow brings
I'll be there, I'll be there

Yelling comes from the lips of 5. I didn't expect her to change much. I do think she turned into more of a butt, though. 4 was only... wait. Anita? Ana? Something with an A. I really should learn her name. "It isn't her fault for being more human than you." A thought had escaped my brain through my mouth before I could help it. Deep down I know I wouldn't get to her. Words would never get through to someone like her. Nothing but senseless violence. It's almost as though she's just as bad as the careers.

"Did that radio just smile." I forget that there are some tributes who have never experienced the blessing of being with JANET ever. I nearly respond, but I know it's futile. There's no point as to explain something that unimportant. However, JANET decided it was worth her time. "Thank you for calling me a radio. I am programed to make this face because that is what my programers wanted c:" Thanks, you robot.

A of 4 goes of on the other girl about emotions and how much of a jerk she's being. The words must have distracted me so much that I didn't notice the flaming knife fly towards my face before it was too late. Everything slows as the knife comes closer and closer to my eye. My body, out of all the times it should react, doesn't. My life flashes before my eyes as it slowly comes closer to my face. Suddenly the knife disappears. I blink once. Why does it feel like I'm winking? I blink another time. I'm definitely winking. What the heck? I lift my hand up and move it to where my eye should be. Before I even get to my face, I feel the hilt of a knife sticking out.

I should be dead. The reality doesn't sink in. I should be Dead, but i'm not. I look at the one who threw the knife. "You thought you could get read of me that easily, didn't you." Laughing erupts from my lunges. "You thought wrong." Uncontrollable laughter continues to flow out of me. I know that I should be dead. If it was any other situation, I would be freaking out, or probably dead. Yet, something about having someone try to kill me, come so close, and fail tickles my funny bone. "Maybe next time." I give her a friendly smile. I'm indestructible.

The music had changed from the loud noises that I had requested JANET to play to something more... happy? I think? It's definitely different than anything it has played before. Maybe it'll help me better at killing things and people. It's catchy enough, and it's not scary. I pick up my next javelin and light it on fire. "Hey, 4. I think your name is Anita, so I'm gonna call you that." I point to the jerk. "If I die, make sure that one doesn't win." I fling the next javelin at her at full force. She doesn't deserve to live.

lyrics: Drive by Incubus. Table: Lyndis

Attacks Denali with a flaming javelin #1
G7y92OoNr9javelin

Fire roll
1-50

OOC: A big oof on my part happened and I accidentally wrote over my old post with my new post. This is why you don't write tired, folks

javelin·1-50

Last Edit: Dec 22, 2018 1:31:37 GMT -5 by uwu

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[/a]

L△LIA
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BOOM SH△KALAKA

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 20, 2018 22:51:21 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Dec 20, 2018 22:51:21 GMT -5

[attr="class","Denali2Container"]

[attr="class","Denali2Title"]if you're still breathing
you're the lucky ones

[attr="class","Denali2Content"]

The knife has a memory of its own; it thinks: Over there is a place that I know. I have been there before. Maybe if I go there again, it will feel like home. And then it throws itself, body and heart, into the upper arm of a boy who is nothing like the girl the knife recalls from yesterday, but who feels just as warm. It presses against his flesh like an unwelcome hug, offering up all of its own scalding warmth, but the boy does not embrace the blade like it remembers. He does not lean in. He does not make himself a willing target. The knife plummets to the earth in rejection and disappointment.

Somewhere a voice screams out in apology. "I'm sorry!" To the knife, perhaps. It can't be for Denali and the blade unceremoniously embedded in her kevlar gut. At least, it can't be for Denali and be sincere. They are all a breath away from home or death and neither option should be wasted on lying that any of them would regret being the one who survives. Regret would be an insult.

Denali can only hope the apology was said for the sake of the knife. "You better not be," she hisses, wrenching the weapon out of her vest and hurling it to the ground just in time to look up and see a flaming javelin headed directly toward her face. Raising her forearm to block the attack, it strikes the vambrace with an echoing CRACK! The flames scald her skin, but the weapon itself ricochets off harmlessly. "Anybody who wants to kill me just so they can spend the rest of their life crying over it like a worthless sadsack can line the fuck up to die right now."

Anybody who kills her had better have one hell of a life to live for.

Guitars rage in time with Denali's indignation, turning the air as savage as the four children aiming to tear each other's throats out. A gathering of serial killers is no place for the spineless. All of the innocent are dead at the end of their weapons and it's laughable to feign otherwise. Up above the birds swoop and cry out in knowing agreement, vultures hungry for the feast that must come as the crows prepare to bicker for scraps. After all, it was the youngest and smallest among them that bashed in the skull of someone twice his size. The first stone of death was not cast by a devil hewn from a mountain of muscle and nightmares; the first fatal stone was cast by a scrawny kid with sky blue eyes and a cowlick.

Staring down the boy from Two, he almost looks like Zion. There is something sweet about the worried turn of his lips and if Denali hadn't been personally traumatized by witnessing exactly what he's capable of right from the beginning, then surely her knife would have found a different target. The girl from District Five wants to ruffle his hair and tell him that if he keeps on going down the road until he comes across a big brick house with a girl about his age sitting on the front porch — probably feeding sugar to the ants coming over to say hello from the rosebushes or weaving flower crowns or discussing the meaning of life with the wind itself — that if he scampers off in that direction and away from this nasty Big Kid Business, then he can ask that little girl for freshly baked cookies and far better friendship than he'll find here. On the other hand, Denali Lyons — Captain of The RLS Trolley Problem, Mother of Birds, Goddess of Avians with Issues, Her Majesty Queen of All Rhinestones, High Postmistress of Insomnia, Premier Photographer to Natural Disasters, Monarch of Macaroni Mosaics, Bloodthirsty Butcher of Trees and Tyrants — well, she wants him dead.

She wants the same thing as her knife and she will not apologize.

youth daughter

[ denali attacks shy // thrown fillet knife ]

bvFRC1zLqlthrowing knife

[ 9009 // miss ]

[ tar + flint // two ]

1-50

[ 10 // extinguished ]

[ accuracy ]

throwing knife

[ 9169 // miss ]

[ magic wand ]

throwing knife

[ 9103 // knife in eye — 40 10 damage + 1 target practice ]

My Sweet Songbird —

Yours is the heart I hold my own to. There are times when I can't help thinking that everything in this world is horrible and ugly. That there's nothing that isn't hopeless. Where there is good there will inevitably be ruin... and then you take my hand and you tell me I'll be alright and I believe you. No matter what happens, you're never wrong.

— Your Horribly Tone-Deaf Sister

[newclass=".Denali2Container"]width:450px; height:450px; background-position:center; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding:20px;[/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali2Title"]font-size:10px; text-transform:uppercase; margin-right:65px; margin-bottom:1px; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali2Content"]width:300px; height:0px; overflow:hidden; opacity:0.9; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:1px 10px 0px 10px; -webkit-transition-duration:1s; transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali2Container:hover .Denali2Content"]height:250px; overflow:auto; padding:10px; text-align:justify; -webkit-transition-duration:1s;transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]throwing knife·1-50·throwing knife·throwing knife

Last Edit: Dec 21, 2018 13:10:32 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

shrimp
Retired Staff

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The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 22, 2018 0:02:05 GMT -5

Quote

Post by shrimp on Dec 22, 2018 0:02:05 GMT -5

The asteroids turn traitor in the air,
And planets plot with old elliptic cunning;
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.

"Play us a tune," Shy Aubergine commands the machine, Quest's radio under new ownership. It responds in kind, and for a moment Bette is shocked, staring as guitar beings to scrape against her eardrums, an infernal confidence mustered up into one screech. He's twelve years old, and the music choice shows.

Bette deadpans quietly, but she's sure they all hear her. "Did that radio just smile."

Despite her interest, it doesn't matter. She'll have time to inspect and dissect if she gets out of this alive. She's not ignorant - survival has never been handed out on a silver platter. But she knows she could. She knows they all could, knows that they all should.

Fate would say that her hands are tied, but Bette knows there's no such thing. There is only a fork in the road, a decision made while the heart thrums. The consequences will fall with the leaves, with the vineyard's grapes laden with growth: quick, heavy, impactful. Around them the smoke curdles in the air: sour as lemons, bitter as rubber.

"I'm sorry!" Anatalia says as she throws her knife, the epitome of a hypocrite. And as Bette turns her head - thought I'd told you to never run into me again - Denali takes the stage.

"You better not be." Shy's javelin hurtles towards her and she swings her arm, the spear bouncing harmlessly off of her armor, crackling and splintering into the ground below.

"Anybody who wants to kill me just so they can spend the rest of their life crying over it like a worthless sadsack can line the fuck up to die right now."

And she chuckles, because...

...

Because of Carter, eleven heartbeats before the end.

Because of the twins, impish and otherworldly.

Because of Yusei, too gentle for his own good.

Because of Quest, rage touched with thoughtfulness, staccato beats ringing.

Because of Lex, handiwork shown with pride, pocket whales delicate where she was not.

Because of Wander, standing vigil at the end of the world.

Because of Eve, a statue even in the worst of times.

Because of Temple, the warmth that lasted against her lips.

Because, it's true.

She falters, though, as Denali's knife lands straight in Shy's eye. Bette grips her second knife, waiting for the cannon to come. But it doesn't - the blood pools down and she can tell that he'll never be able to see out of it again, but still - he stands. Tall.

Moments flash back to when she first saw the boy from Two, and in bits and pieces she can see Eve, her rainbow shawl flying, swinging back at him with a fervor. She can see Temple, a bull charging at her prey. Seeing red.

The camera flashes, Quest recoils.

Her arm pulls back, in the seconds of opportunity she makes her mark.

{attacks shy; throwing knife}
McM3|sNM|athrowing knife
9084 -- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage
(Thrown Knife)

{tar #2}
1-50
Minor burn (+2)

To Eva Descending The Stair - Sylvia Plath

throwing knife·1-50

Last Edit: Apr 23, 2020 17:47:21 GMT -5 by shrimp

ryan
Advertiser

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over the moon, where all the wild things are

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 22, 2018 0:49:03 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ryan on Dec 22, 2018 0:49:03 GMT -5

Nothing seemed to make sense to Annie in this moment.

Everything blended together in a gristly and bloody fashion that continued to get darker by the second, and not one of the remaining tributes seemed to care.

There was nothing but blood and tears pooled into the battlefield, but that did not stop them from sucking more out from each other.

Vampirious leeches were the only thing that Annie could think of to describe the two woman in front of her. Despereately trying to kill the boy from two so they could probably turn their knives on Annie, but she would not allow that.

Annie had to stay on the offensive.

And so Annie took a deep breath as she watched the boy from two try to strike, but nothing but a small bit of fire scorched the skin of Denali Lyons.

The motion she did to block the spear coming towards her was impressive, but Annie could not even bother with being amazed right now.

She was going to die if she got the slightest bit distracted.

She wanted to make a comment. A comment about Shy being a career. A comment about how much he did not know how to use the weapons that were at his disposal. About how different they were.

But Annie shook her head as he commanded a boom box to play some weird music that she had never heard before. And Annie didn’t know how to feel.

There was something odd about it, and that was saying something because Annie had not heard too much music in her life. The crescendo of guitar and bass made Annie worry.

None of that seemed to matter though, because not one person stopped to ask why the hell the boy from two had such a weird contraption.

Not even her.

And then Denali spoke.

And Annie could not help but scoff at the words that came out of her mind.

She was tired of people telling her how she wasn’t allowed to feel anything. First her father, then Bette, and now Denali.

It was enough to make her crack.

Something that happened slightly the day before, except now the crack was slipping down the side of her soul.

She could feel the pressure but she did not feel the pain.

No.

She turned that into her strength the moment she killed Angel de Costa.

The moment that she watched that spear go through Parson Cham’s neck.

The moment the knife flew into Hellion Mo’s eye.

The moment she left Angel Mer to sacrifice her life for the entertainment of the capitol.

She was done.

”Will you stop telling me how I should feel? You don’t know who I am Denali.” Annie shouted in a fury that felt like lightning cracking across the sky.

”I am a person. Someone’s daughter. Just like Bette and you… Just like the boy you are trying to kill right now is someone’s son. I am not yours to control.” Annie snapped back, now starting to feel the redness in her cheeks.

She had never felt the need to explain herself, but if this was going to be her last stand, then she was going to just speak.

That’s all she wanted to do.

Speak what she was feeling, and she wasn’t going to let someone like Denali tell her that she did not deserve her voice.

But then she watched the knife fly into the boy’s eye, and she expected him to die on the spot, just like Hellion and Angel did.

But he didn’t. No cannon in the distance. No crescendo of lightning. No knives coming at her in retaliation of her words.

But she could not pause.

”I’m just tired. Don’t you guys see? Arent you guys tired as well? Tired of watching people die? Tired of pretending that we are going to be alright after this?” Annie posed questions quickly, because she did not know what else to say to them.

”Whichever one of us goes home, has to live with death on their hands. Death of people that we loved and lost. Death doesn’t care about your feelings, so why should I?” Annie realized, speaking words that felt like knives coming out of her mouth, ripping through her cheeks and teeth like they were cotton.

”But to think that you are going to kill me Denali? That’s not going to happen.” She pronounced, making her own mark as a girl who did not want to die here.

She wanted to live.

She took a deep breath, looking at Bette and Denali as they both attacked the boy from two. And Annie could not help but think about how much of hypocrites they were.

”JANET, play High Horse for me.” Annie shouts amongst the music that was already playing. She smiles as the song starts playing.

”This one is for you Denali.” she says as she readies her knife.

And she throws it, the glimmering sunlight catching the beauty of the dark blue knife even though it was covered in fire.

And she just hoped that this was going to end soon.

Annie attack Denali|| flaming throwing knife 2 (the dark blue one)
oc18qJtcQethrowing knife
[9145 -- Shallow Cut on Bicep -- 3.5 damage
(Thrown Knife)]

Fire Roll
1-50
[+2]

throwing knife·1-50

Last Edit: Dec 22, 2018 0:49:55 GMT -5 by ryan

uwu
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*cries in watermelon*

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 22, 2018 1:29:40 GMT -5

Quote

Post by uwu on Dec 22, 2018 1:29:40 GMT -5

Shy Aubergine

Whatever tomorrow brings
I'll be there with open arms and open eyes
Whatever tomorrow brings
I'll be there, I'll be there

Attacks Denali with a flaming javelin #2
fKeKut32Qzjavelin

Fire roll
1-50
What I've learned from the past few fights is that the dice hate me
It probably is also hard to aim with only one eye, too

Accuracy:
javelinjavelin·1-50·1-50

Last Edit: Dec 22, 2018 9:38:00 GMT -5 by d10f ekta ram // [earthling]

[ahref="http://hungergamesrpg.com/thread/60901/character"]l

[/a]

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BOOM SH△KALAKA

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 22, 2018 23:13:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Dec 22, 2018 23:13:23 GMT -5

[attr="class","Denali3Container"]

[attr="class","Denali3Title"]most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs
setting fire to our insides for fun

[attr="class","Denali3Content"]

The serrated knife sinks into the eye of a boy who could almost be her brother — deeply into his eye, as if trying to prove that he is her brother wearing the face of another person. Denali's stomach turns, present reality glitching with memories that still feel worse than anything she has experienced here. Blood pours down his face and something even more gruesome oozes down the blade jutting out of it, dripping down the handle. She sees a pine box. She sees Faux Rhodes's face smashed into nonsense with a club full of nails. She sees her sister hunched over their brother's corpse like a surgeon, picking packing peanuts and dead flies out of Zion's exposed brains. She sees the drip... drip... drip... of Shy Aubergine's eyeball and —

"Will you stop telling me how I should feel? You don’t know who I am, Denali." — wha? The Lyons girl feels her rattled soul jolt back into place within her body. A world spinning out of control between the horrors of past and present screeches to a dizzying halt and Denali whips her head around to gape in disbelief at the blonde who has decided to provide commentary in this particular moment. There's a kid with a knife in his eyeball and this girl is irate that things aren't all about her right now? "I am a person. Someone’s daughter. Just like Bette and you…" Denali rolls her eyes so hard they nearly get stuck that way. "Just like the boy you are trying to kill right now is someone’s son." I guess we're ignoring the part where you're both trying to kill me too? Where we're all trying to kill each other? This is not a fucking kumbaya circle. We are not at summer camp. What in Ripred's name do you think is happening right now?! "I am not yours to control. I’m just tired. Don’t you guys see?"

It's awfully big talk from a career.

"Aren't you guys tired as well? Tired of watching people die?" Fucking excuse you?! Every inch of Denali's body burns as red as her wounds as she tries to figure out if the girl from Four seriously just asked the sister of Zion Lyons if she is tired of watching people die yet. If this self-righteous egomaniac just asked the girl who volunteered to save the life of her little sister if she is tired of watching people die yet. "Tired of pretending that we are going to be alright after this?" Oh, gee golly whiz, Anniecakes, I dunno! I was having such a swell time of things before I came here! This has all been the sugar on top and — oh me, oh my! — bless your heart! If you aren't just the cherry! I couldn't even begin to imagine what a girl like me did to deserve all this.

At least when Denali was institutionalized from the grief over her brother's murder, no one asked questions quite this patronizing. Only someone outrageously self-absorbed could ask the girl who already spent the last year trying to figure out how to be alright again if, perhaps, she had paused to contemplate what life after the Games might be like? Hmm? Had Denali thought about that for even a single moment? Maybe? Just for one itty bitty second? For fuck's sake. "Whichever one of us goes home, has to live with death on their hands." All four of them are living with death on their hands right now. If you're so fucking tired, lay down and take a nap.

"Death of people that we loved and lost."

Denali wants to scream Zion's name like it's her own.

She wants to burst out sobbing because she can't decide which is worse: the idea that everyone here has already forgotten watching Denali's brother being slaughtered last year... or the idea that everyone here remembers exactly what happened and says hateful things like this to her anyhow. That they forget or remember while mailing her jars full of piss. That they forget or remember while telling her that she deserves to feel pain. That they forget or remember while trying to send her corpse back to her parents with the same killing blow to her face that their son was returned with.

"Death doesn’t care about your feelings, so why should I?"

Annie rambles hypocritical nonsense for so long that she forgets her monologue began with how they should all hold hands and care about each other's feelings. I guess it really was more about how they should all hold hands and care about Annie's feelings.

"But to think that you are going to kill me Denali?" Have I thrown a knife at you yet? Today? Ever? Didn't think so. "That’s not going to happen." The truth about who Denali Lyons is as a person is apparent in the way she doesn't want to kill Annie out of pure spite. One of them trained for this. One of them didn't. One of them came here in hopes of money and pride. One of them simply didn't want to watch more of her family hacked to pieces on national television. One of them wants to wax poetic about how sorry she is and how she'll cry forever over killing all of them... and one of them wants to live so she can actually live. So she can hug her mom and listen to the twins play piano and hold her sister's hands when they have nightmares about dead boys in boxes and save Seville from the guilt of Denali dying in her place and give her father back the drawing he pulled from his wallet in the Justice Building, reassuring him that she is still the girl in the picture, no matter what she has done. "JANET, play High Horse for me. This one is for you, Denali."

High Horse?

"Sounds like you mispronounced your own name, Annie."

The kid with the fucking knife in his eye is still there, standing just on the edge of Annie's own personal spotlight.

Drip... drip... drip... oooooze.

"It isn't her fault for being more human than you." He laughs. For a beat or two Denali laughs with him, because everything is so absurd right now — Annie's holier-than-thou lecture; the way Shy is just standing there like he's fine; how Bette is kind of off to the side like the audience of a bad sitcom, there and not there, hesitant to make herself part of this ridiculous narrative — that all of this can only be some kind of cruel prank. They're both struck manic for wildly different reasons, but it feels bizarrely like sharing an inside joke. Of course he should think the girl murdering him is less than human — he's got a fucking knife in his fucking eye. That he can still speak gives him a free pass to say practically anything he wants. Denali actually attacked him and hers is no shallow cut. At least he has a legitimate reason to retaliate against her, verbally or otherwise.

"You thought you could get rid of me that easily, didn't you?" Denali has never thought any of this felt easy. Not this Games. Not last Games. Not before that when the kids at school accused the Lyons children of stealing what they too thought was rightfully theirs — shoving Denali inside lockers, nearly drowning Zion in a toilet, accusing the twins of being an escaped muttation. "You thought wrong." It's true that she has been proven wrong about plenty of things. Time after time Denali talks herself back into believing that not all kids are as cruel as the ones that seem to take such joy in bullying her and her siblings. She believed Shy looked innocent the first time she saw him. She believed she could bite someone's throat out with her teeth and feel nothing except the snap of cartilage. She thought if anyone in the whole stupid world could understand her that it might be the twenty-three other kids damned to this hellscape. "Maybe next time."

Yeah, maybe next time.

She could burst with incredulous laughter again if it weren't so depressing that everyone demanding that Denali see things from their point of view turns out to also be completely unwilling to pause and think from her perspective in return — now or ever. Maybe Denali is selfish too, for disregarding anyone this quick to turn their nose at her, but it doesn't feel like it. Everyone she meets seems to want her to justify her life. How dare she be born into a successful family. How dare she raise her fists when fists are raised against her. How dare she mend her heart in the wake of soul-breaking sorrow and relearn how to be content, much less happy. They call her greedy. That, most certainly, she is. For every wrong done to her, there is something overwhelmingly wonderful in her life to compensate far more than anyone could deserve. The love of her family is greater than the collective hatred of strangers and she will not give it up willingly, even when it feels like more than her fair share.

Her brow furrows.

Anybody who wants to kill me just so they can spend the rest of their life crying over it like a worthless sadsack can line the fuck up to die right now.

The sentiment of her words is, apparently, irrelevant. Despite the harsh phrasing, there is nothing but kindness at the core.

Anybody who kills me had better go on to live happily. Don't cry over me. Don't cry over these other kids you didn't really know. Go home to your family and smile when your overjoyed mother kisses your face. Then keep smiling. Live a good life. Live the good of twenty-four lives.

If you won't, I will.

Let all of this end with something worthwhile. There's no point if the heart of the person who leaves here doesn't actually leave here at all.

Please.

Don't let them take us all.

"Hey, Four. I think your name is Anita, so I'm gonna call you that." Denali pushes her indignation down. She won't waste what might be her last breath on anyone who has decided to waste their own on hatred. Maybe if Annie wins the crown she'll watch back through the footage of these Games and miraculously understand the raw desperation of a girl determined to breathe out the bullshit of the universe before it can rot her heart. (Fuck yeah.) Probably not. What matters more is that if Denali Lyons leaves this place alive, it won't be so she can drink herself to death over that one time she killed Lex Lionel.

Shy Aubergine.

Annie Morrisen.

Bette Sublino.

Re-centering her thoughts, Denali exhales the negative energy of all the knuckle-draggers and the totally fucking crazy bitches that plague her, exhales every failed attempt at communication, exhales the voice of the child throwing javelins at her — "If I die, make sure that one doesn't win." — her grip tightening on the flaming knives in her hand. You are in control of your own world, no matter the chaos. Do not allow that chaos to come for you. Be the chaos and come for the fucking world.

Another javelin ricochets off Denali's vambrace: CRACK!

Fire cannot burn fire. The javelin fizzles out.

She breathes in. Remembers who she actually is instead of worrying about what anyone else decides to think of her. If someone is going to confuse Denali telling them how she feels for Denali telling them how to feel then fine. Whatever. She takes it back. (No take-backsies.) Everyone can go ahead and be miserable shamefaced booze monsters if that makes them so happy. (No guilt.) Sooooooo sorry for offending. (No apologies.) Anniecakes. (No name calling.)

There sure is a lot of privilege here, but not a lot of honor.

youth daughter

[ denali attacks shy // thrown knife ]

Vz9ph9ds7Sthrowing knife

[ 9169 // miss ]

[ tar + flint // three ]

1-50

[ 38 // moderate burn — 4 damage ]

Ginny —

Hug your sister before reading any more of this.

Damn it, you precious monster. Don't you dare let your savage affection get the best of you. Remember who you love most in this world, even when Lulu is driving you crazy. You've never needed me to fight your battles for you as much as you needed me to remind you who those battles were actually against.

Hug your sister again. This time for your own sake.

— Your Fellow Hypocritical Temper Tantrum

[newclass=".Denali3Container"]width:450px; height:450px; background-position:center; background-repeat: no-repeat; padding:20px;[/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali3Title"]font-size:10px; text-transform:uppercase; margin-right:65px; margin-bottom:1px; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali3Content"]width:300px; height:0px; overflow:hidden; opacity:0.9; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:1px 10px 0px 10px; -webkit-transition-duration:1s; transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali3Container:hover .Denali3Content"]height:250px; overflow:auto; padding:10px; text-align:justify; -webkit-transition-duration:1s;transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]throwing knife·1-50

Last Edit: Dec 22, 2018 23:15:59 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

shrimp
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The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 23, 2018 2:48:29 GMT -5

Quote

Post by shrimp on Dec 23, 2018 2:48:29 GMT -5

Red the unraveled rose sings in your hair:
Blood springs eternal if the heart be burning.
(Proud you halt upon the spiral stair.)

"Jesus christ-" Bette mutters as the robot - Janet, who is not the turkey, apparently - talks at her, enunciates a smile, and even for a woman who can see sounds this shocks her. Just how much was Quest Hertz, with a near miraculous 1 in training, able to muster in sponsorship alone for this AI assistant? What stunt did she pull? At the very least, she got a 2 here - in all the ways that count.

Bette wishes she could tell Quest how impressed she is, wishes her last exchange wasn't a threat, but Quest Hertz is no longer breathing. She lies in a morgue, her skin turning gray and her eyes already clouded over. No more music written and conducted. No more card tricks or heists to pull. Just twenty tributes, bodies on slabs, cooling by the minute.

And for what? A squabble, tilted on its foundation. Anatalia talks, and talks, and talks, fatigue wearing on her as in a fit of frustration she makes the exact opposite point she was intending. Shy Aubergine picks a fight, wrath written in his toothy grin, the blood trickling down his cheek. They pick at the pebbles, the breadcrumbs scattered across the floor - but the pieces are minutiae, pawns cut in two and thrown at their feet. She does not bend down to pick them up. There are bigger games to play, bigger odds at stake.

"If I die, make sure that one doesn't win."

”JANET, play High Horse for me.”

"It isn't her fault for being more human than you."

Acting like children.

They are children.

She feels like she's back in the kitchen, stuck between Hedy and AK as they scream at each other from across the room, Aja next to her cutting onions with increasing intensity. With each interval the chopping becomes faster, louder, until all Bette can hear is the rapidfire audio of a machine gun. Until all that matters is the consequences, the aftermath, the vapor that tears up her eyes.

An absolution is paltry, petty at best. In a world where they've killed, and killed, and killed, why draw the line here when it's already been erased by the waves? By the shifting sands of what is appropriate, what is just, what is entertainment?

Angel. Boom.

Carmen. Boom.

Temple. Boom.

Lex. Boom.

Did they die, just so someone could ask for a pity party? Someone else to blame so they can be the victim? They're all victims, and they're all perpetrators. They made their decisions when the blades were driven into their allys' backs.

Murderers, and this is what they say.

Murderers, and this is what they say.

The disrespect. Twenty bodies should be dredged back up, just to pull them all back down with them. Maybe that would absolve them of their sins.

"Janet," she says, voice hoarse. "Please play something that doesn't make me want to rip my eardrums out." To their credit, Janet obliges. Asoundtrack rises among the cacophony: Ambient noise and digital musings, piano keys and trumpets calling, clear among the static, the pomp and circumstance.

She scowls, feet taking her backwards once, twice, three times. "Feel how you want," Bette says, her knife twirling, "But don't ask me to lend you a shoulder to cry on. I'd sooner slit my own throat." Irrelevant. Ignorant. Wander deserved better. Eve deserved better. The fire whips around, heats up the tips of her fingers. She doesn't care. The flames dance in her golden eyes, screams echoing in her memory. Temple, cackling, yelling until her voice went hoarse. Temple, her body growing colder as the hours passed.

"And throwing down the gauntlet, Shy? Don't worry then, I've got you." And she lunges, commits, her knife clearing her path.

{attacks shy; throwing knife}
yhlMYEfjB2throwing knife
9194 -- Knife in Chest -- 7.0 damage
(Thrown Knife)

{tar #3}
1-50
*SEVERE BURN*, +8 dmg

To Eva Descending The Stair - Sylvia Plath

throwing knife·1-50

Last Edit: Apr 23, 2020 17:47:49 GMT -5 by shrimp

ryan
Advertiser

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over the moon, where all the wild things are

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 23, 2018 3:39:04 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ryan on Dec 23, 2018 3:39:04 GMT -5

Words cannot be taken back.

Annie knew that. She grew up wishing a million times over that her father would wake up one day and tell her that he was sorry.

But even at the justice building, he stood there, stoic.

He did not have a word to say to Annie, and she figured that was because he had already said everything that he needed to.

He prepared her for this moment, but that did not mean Annie accepted it just like that.

None of those words could prepare her for what really went down here in the arena, and some days Annie wished that adults could be reaped for the games as well.

Then they would know what it is like to be subjected to the horror’s of this hellish place.

Nothing was said to her from Denali, and Annie simply took a deep breath. If she wasn’t going to dignify her with a response, then Annie was done speaking.

She didn’t have anything else to say, because it was very obvious that no one cared for what she had to say.

She would always be known as the career who talked way too much. And she wasn’t sure which one that she hated more. Being a career? Or sharing her feelings when it was obvious that no one cared.

It was like she was talking to a closed door, and there was no point in trying to slam her hands against something that would not open.

And that was just something that she was going to have to accept.

But then Shy spoke to her, and then Denali in succession.

Words that sounded like they were pointed, their own form of knives that couldn’t do any physical damage, but do enough to kill someone’s confidence.

Annie took a deep breath, realizing that Denali did not care for her words, and that was enough to speak volumes to Annie.

She knew now that this was not the place to care.

That it was probably best for her to retreat to herself, and just worry about her.

But after losing her alliance day by day, she couldn’t do that. No.

She didn’t want to do that.

She wanted to be an advocate for the people that she loved, the people she lost, but it would never click in her head that they had all lost people too.

And maybe that was what Annie wasn’t understanding about all of this.

Sorry was a word that should have never existed here in the finale.

And that should be enough to tell Annie to shut her fucking mouth.

But she didn’t want too.

Annie took a deep breath, looking at the boy across the way. ”Annie, and don’t talk in such a way. Youre still kicking. Fight like your life depended on it.” Annie paused for a moment. ”Because it does.”

The javelin however scraped more of Denali’s armor, and Annie wondered if they were ever going to shred apart the many skins of the girl from five.

Soon two more knives followed in succession, and Annie watched as they one missed the boy and the other impaled him in the stomach.

His skin scorched in so many areas that Annie wondered if he was going to be recognizable after all of this.

Annie took a deep breath, trying to find her footing both mentally and physically.

Nothing was adding up to her, a brain that could crunch outcomes quicker than a statistician in the capitol. And that is what worried her.

However, she did not stop wanting to go home.

That is what she wanted at the end of the day.

And the only way for her to do that was to get through the three tributes that were in front of her.

As Bette readied her knife, she spoke to Annie, something that she didn’t even expect her to do.

But Annie couldn’t help but catch the faint hint of ridicule in her words.

And while the old Annie might have offered up some sort of retort, trying to prove that she was above the girl from one, she didn’t.

She wouldn’t.

The new Annie wasn’t sure if she gave a shit anymore.

About Denali, about Bette, and even about Shy. None of them mattered to her, because it was obvious that none of them cared.

And maybe that was Annie’s weakness, that she cared.

That she was willing to let her emotions get the best of her.

At this point, Annie was fine just keeping quiet for the time being. She was distracting herself from the fight too much.

But the words that Bette spoke struck a chord.

And Annie just needed to open her mouth.

”I don’t need your shoulder Bette. But if you wanted to kill yourself, be my guest.” Annie said as she raised another knife high in the sky.

Her eyes locked on Denali, even though the words that were spoken were more than enough for Annie to turn her knives on Bette.

Maybe it was because Annie had an understanding of Bette, even though they didn’t even know each other.

At the end of the day, Annie was going to go with her emotions because they had never steered her wrong before.

And if she was going to survive this hell, then she was going to need to put all her faith in this choice.

And so she took a deep breath and pulled her arm back.

With a deep breath, ”Im sorry.” she muttered again, not giving a damn if they wanted to accept it or not.

It was going to be the only thing that would help Annie accept the fact that she might die here.

But for now, she released the knife.

And she watched it fly.

Annie attacks Denali|| Flaming throwing knife #3 (the violet one)
eYvA6M966ithrowing knife
[9162 -- Deep Gash on Forearm -- 7.5 damage + 1 for Target Practice + 1 for Rivalry = 9.5 damage
(Thrown Knife)]

Fire roll
1-50
[+0]

throwing knife·1-50

Last Edit: Dec 23, 2018 3:40:41 GMT -5 by ryan

uwu
Capitol Resident

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Pronouns: You
last seen Mar 26, 2024 10:21:50 GMT -5

*cries in watermelon*

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 23, 2018 10:33:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by uwu on Dec 23, 2018 10:33:54 GMT -5

Shy Aubergine

Whatever tomorrow brings
I'll be there with open arms and open eyes
Whatever tomorrow brings
I'll be there, I'll be there

My target blocks the javelin AGAIN, with her second vambrace getting destroyed. Why can't I just do any damage every? That would be nice. Maybe... Another knife is thrown my way. Panic sets in and I barely move out of the way in time. Though the knife missed, the fire sure didn't. I didn't even notice the second knife coming in until it was popping out of my stomach. Not only did it come to firmly lodge itself inside me, but also it happened to bring it's own friendly fire to burn me some more. Quite lovely isn't this? If I survive all this, maybe I'll just become a knife rack. I already got 2 right now, might as well add some more eventually.

”Annie, and don’t talk in such a way. Youre still kicking. Fight like your life depended on it.” I look at her, slightly surprised and a little confused. I know I still have a chance. I always have a chance. I really want it to happen. I need it to happen. For everyone who died for me. I can't simply let them die in vain. I have to survive. ”Because it does.” I nod. It does. I have to survive. I need to make it out of her, even if it's the last thing I do.

The fight, the blood, the hatred, it all fills me up with... Determination. Get your stuff together, Shy. People are counting on you to survive. Friends, I guess family, fans if I have them. When did I ever care about fans? I guess the are still hoping I'd win regardless if I care about them or not. But I'll do it for everyone. I light my next javelin on fire. How the flame moves like an elegant dancer on the pointed end of this sick puts me in a trance. I almost don't want to throw it so I could continue watching it. But I know I'll have to throw it regardless. Maybe I'll get lucky and the flames will find a new home on my target. We'll just have to see if it does, won't we?

Drive by Incubus. Table: Lyndis

Attacks Denali with a flaming javelin #3
UnKecGFoFMjavelin
15062 -- SHALLOW CUT ON RIGHT FOREARM -- 3.5 damage
(Javelin)
1-50
+8
javelin·1-50

Last Edit: Dec 23, 2018 10:36:51 GMT -5 by uwu

[ahref="http://hungergamesrpg.com/thread/60901/character"]l

[/a]

L△LIA
RP Tutor

3,567 POSTS

last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 23, 2018 17:34:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Dec 23, 2018 17:34:23 GMT -5

[attr="class","Denali4Container"]

[attr="class","Denali4Title"]we are the reckless
we are the wild youth

[attr="class","Denali4Content"]

Exhale the negative energy of all the knuckle-draggers and the totally fucking crazy bitches that plague you. Below her feet, the blood of the craziest bitch of all catches Denali's own. Red upon red, one life was lost to another. This is the way of things here. Lex promised she would haunt her, but there are no earth quaking snores rattling the breeze, no scent of freshly whittled redwood when she breathes.

"You are stronger than this. You are fully awake in both mind and spirit," Denali murmurs under her breath, still trying to calm herself so distractions don't get the better of her this close to the end. The knife she throws flies wide, fire scorching her target as the blade misses altogether. "Breathe in only the bright and sparkling hope of escaping this hellhole," she recites the affirmation quietly, eyes wide as the knife that follows her own sinks deeply into Shy's chest.

The smell of burnt flesh fills the air.

The next knife slashes all the way through the ruined vambrace and down into Denali's right arm; she screams, head thrown back to the sky, voice grating against itself. The force of the throw extinguishes any flames, but the blade itself carves a wicked path from wrist to elbow and blood pours out, dripping from all five of her fingertips. A thick smear of hot tar stings the wound. There's barely time for her to press a hand to the gash when a javelin doubles down on the attack.

Fire from one weapon catches the remnants of smeared tar from the other and suddenly Denali's entire arm is ablaze. What was a scream before transforms into something unnameably ugly. There is sound and there is... something else that shrieks from her throat in an other-language of spirits from across the void. Pieces of her exist in this world. Pieces of her exist in the next. Hellbeasts and ghosts sink their teeth into the cracks of her soul, looking for whatever they can steal, and the sound that is not merely sound but something much worse asks Denali: Girl, do you surrender?

Unable to speak, the ghost of the blood below answers for her — Not to you! — and kicks out Denali's knees.

The smell of burnt flesh fills the air, but hidden in the smoke is the subtlest hint of redwood.

Everything stops as the Lyons girl drops to the ground, her cheek pressed against the blood of the girl she murdered. Eyes rolling back into her head, there's no sarcasm in the situation, just wildfire melting the skin off her arm. It's nearly impossible to think through the pain, to remember to be brave instead of stupid, but the wind whispers a reminder: Roll! And so she does.

The inferno of her arm clutched to her chest, Denali disregards the complaints of her injuries and barrel rolls to put the flames out. Awkwardly turning round and round over the ground, she doesn't realize she's about to collide with Bette until the other girl is jumping over her, toes tickled by the flames. There's a soft thump that follows, but it doesn't register, not to the girl still howling into a void only she can see. It's only when she crashes into the edge of The RLS Trolley Problem wreckage that the unholy cries are swallowed down enough to hear.

Panic devours her whole. Scrambling for something — anything — with her good hand, Denali grabs onto one of Lex's axes that she'd lined up on the ground this morning. Flinging it blindly and immediately grabbing for another to throw, both axes lodge themselves uselessly into the overgrown mast of the landship as Denali heaves for breath and sanity.

There is a voice that shouts: Breathe out the idiocy of the universe!

But the voice is not her own. Maybe it's stupid, but she feels compelled to follow orders. When she breathes in, a little bit of smoke is cleared from her mind.

The voice says: Breathe the bullshit of the world back out through your mouth! Inhale the splendor of nature and exhale all of the fucked up shit the world has piled on you!

Clarity begins to return and Denali grits her teeth and growls. "My mind is clear," maybe they got her to roll over, but like hell she's ready to die, "and focused on being a badass bitch in a battle jacket." Eyes snapping open, instead of grabbing for another axe, her hand finds the hilt of Lex's sword. "I am relaxed and calm —" Liar. "— and ready to wreck shit as it tries and fails to come for me." Using the sword as a crutch, she hauls herself up from the ground, still smoldering. "Fuck yeah." Fuck yeah!

Smoke curls up from the raw flesh of her arm and she breathes through her teeth, through the shooting pains, through the knowledge that if she looks down at the sizzling skin she won't recognize herself. "I am at peace within myself and at war with everyone else," she mutters under her breath, scanning the battlefield. "I am detached from everything except my weapons," she leans her weight onto the sword as the breeze against her charred arm threatens to topple her once more, "and my infallible willpower."

Breathe in. "My thoughts are quiet." Denali's heart is a battle drum within her chest. "My fists are loud." Breathe out. The wind blows a stray lock of hair away from her eyes, knowing it's the small things such as this that she cannot do for herself in this moment. My mind is highly focused and perfectly. Fucking. Calm. Mental serenity is mine, bitches. Suck it. There are much bigger things left to be done.

There are much bigger things left to be undone.

Steadied on her feet, Denali locks eyes with Bette. Something flashes in her expression and there's a raising of her chin so subtle she wonders if she imagines it.

"The bullshit of the world can't fucking touch this," Denali hisses, whipping around with the full momentum of her body — Lex's sword in hand — and inexplicable trust that a true foe stands behind her. "Fuck yeah."

youth daughter

[ denali attacks shy // the golden gate sword ]

53GWwzSXa2sword

[ 1006 // shallow cut on left bicep — 3.5 damage ]

Wildest of Lyons and Keeper of the Wind —

My little imp. I would say that I hope you're not up to any trouble, but the truth is that I hope you are. Drop some glitter in Ginny's hair and shout that it's from me when you run away. Pester mom until she lets you throw a few knives too. Pull every weird face that has ever existed in the history of the universe until Tallulah laughs through her crying. Steal the whipped cream. Bring home a stray cat and hide it in Seville's closet. Fake sick and con dad into staying home with you. Stay bright. Stay wild.

— Your Pride, Your Joy

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[newclass=".Denali4Title"]font-size:10px; text-transform:uppercase; margin-right:65px; margin-bottom:1px; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali4Content"]width:300px; height:0px; overflow:hidden; opacity:0.9; font-size:10px; text-align:justify; padding:1px 10px 0px 10px; -webkit-transition-duration:1s; transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]
[newclass=".Denali4Container:hover .Denali4Content"]height:250px; overflow:auto; padding:10px; text-align:justify; -webkit-transition-duration:1s;transition-duration:1s; -moz-transition-duration:1s; [/newclass]sword

Last Edit: Dec 23, 2018 17:36:33 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

shrimp
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The Righteous and the Unrighteous | Finale Dec 23, 2018 23:10:04 GMT -5

Quote

Post by shrimp on Dec 23, 2018 23:10:04 GMT -5

Cryptic stars wind up the atmosphere,
In solar schemes the titled suns go turning;
Clocks cry: stillness is a lie, my dear.

It buries in his gut, flames igniting. Flesh singes and sears, but Two's tributes are made of stone, of iron, of ore burning bright in the mountainside. They do not scream in the darkest of nights - they stand still, the world turning around them.

But Bette still remembers the afternoon Eve's cannon rang, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. The pain was so much to bear, too much to bear - and Bette's grasped the hypocrisy of inflicting the same pain on someone else. It still wrenches her gut but she's long past apologies.

Still, Shy Aubergine does not falter, he does not scream. He simply turns towards Anatalia and nods - once, a curt one. But he is dying.

Their two weapons fly towards Denali and she screeches in pain, the fire bubbling against her skin, inkwell black against crimson and starlight, accented with an agonizing vermilion. She drops to the ground and rolls, and Bette has to leap over her form to keep from being knocked over like a domino. Landing steadily on one foot - then the other - she strips the camera case from her person, placing it delicately on the ground next to a rolled-up yoga mat, tinged with rust.

She half laughs at Annie's retort - she does, truly, respect her for digging in - but it's threaded with distractions, eyes wide and alert as Denali slams an axe into the side of the beast, the RLS Trolley Problem shuddering with the impact, already overgrown with vines. Incantations leave her lips, and Bette knows they're not for her. She instead focuses on schematics, a battleground on the remains of a heartbreak (for she knows the way Lex looked at Denali that night, felt the tension when they first locked eyes. Rust, here, is not attributed to metal).

Her eyes, now, are trained on Denali's.

The last time, the journey was still young, the floors pristine marble instead of grasslands, the ceiling a cluster of fluorescent instead of digital panels. She'd stomped with the energy of a firework, spun like a carousel. Her smile was wide, her eyes spoke of possibilities.

She'd reminded Bette of Reshma's exuberance, of Tharshana's prowess, of AK's unpredictability.

She still does.

She'd found bits and pieces of her family here, and she'd kept them close. But they are nothing like the real thing.

Duck.

Bette sprints towards the girl from five, but launches herself upward instead, skidding against the RLS Trolley Problem as her foot lands on the first axe. It shakes - she doesn't waste time to estimate how long it'll hold for as she leaps towards the second axe, skewed away from her and slightly higher. She remembers what she told Denali, all those days ago.

Commit.

She lands, heavier than she'd like but she doesn't spend time bemoaning the imperfections. If it works, it works, and she's in the air once more, her flint sparking the last bits of Temple's tar. From her vantage point she can see Denali swinging at Shy with her sword, the tops of the row to the north - but she's focused on the blonde hair, floating in the breeze.

Her flames lick at Bette's hand: a presence, a gift. She will not waste it.

{attacks annie; throwing knife}
Dp1fAFuKQhthrowing knife
9035 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage

{tar #4}
1-50
Fire 7 is *FIRE EXTINGUISHED*, +0 dmg

accuracy reroll

throwing knife
Attack 9175 [Thrown Knife] is *MISS*, +0.0 dmg

To Eva Descending The Stair - Sylvia Plath

throwing knife·1-50·throwing knife

Last Edit: Apr 23, 2020 17:48:11 GMT -5 by shrimp