guess we'll die trying | disaster gays vs d12

Another day, another conflict. Or so I've been told, at any rate.

The bugs proved terrifying but fragile, all things considered. They took a chunk out of my arm, drew a red smile across Kit's forehead - but a few smacks and stabs with the very icicles that decorate their home, and it is almost laughably easy to chase them away.

Still, I know the reputation of the bugs as well as anyone who pays an ounce of attention to the Games - a reputation build on the back of a humongous swarm of them that had been the end of many a tribute the last time Cricket had been in charge. It is no surprise to anyone then, perhaps, as as we slowly, treacherously navigate the cable bridge, I keep an eye and a half over my shoulder, expecting the surviving butterflies to arrive with reinforcements to finish the job they had started.

But luckily, the odds are in our favor, for once. Not only do we both cross with only a few death-defying moments, but no killer ice butterflies arrive to put an end to our attempts to cling to life.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be grateful or even more worried than before, to be quite honest.

Perhaps that's why when it comes time to choose who takes first watch, there's no room for debate. Kit rests, I keep watch, my brain alive with thoughts swirling around in a maelstrom of chaotic energy.

What if, what if, what if. Hundreds of possibilities, few of them realistic, fewer still desirable.

When it comes time to switch shifts, I'm slow to wake Kit up from his slumber, and slower still to take his place in dreamworld myself. But it must come at some point, because one moment it's dark both under my eyelids and in my thoughts and the next, I'm being softly shaken awake to a beam of sunlight.

It's a peaceful awakening, one I never expected to find after my last night in an actual, proper bed. And as my senses return to me, as the full breadth of the view from our little hidey-hole is revealed not under the twinkling of stars but under the glare of an actual sun (and the thought that it could very well be false like the never ending moonlight of the Seventy Seventh is shoved from my mind before it has a chance to take root), I understand when Kit breaks the metaphorical silence.

.-Jacob, maybe we should just stay here, wait it out until...-. His hands falter, the reality of our situation hitting home not for the first time. Either one of us dies protecting the other, or we end up as the last two.

But I'm not the guy who's going to let myself get consumed by such thoughts. Sure, it was my lot back home, back when consequences were insubstantial and life was assured past the age of eighteen. But something's changed. Maybe it's my newfound acute awareness of my own mortality.

Or maybe it's the sixteen year old boy sitting next to me who, despite anything, deserves more than to die alone and forgotten in an alien world.

.-And wait for those butterflies to find us and decide that we're tasty after all?-. There's a wry grin on my face, the never ending mantra of be the beacon of optimism echoing in my head. .-I don't know about you, but I'd rather do the eating than become the eaten.-.

My stomach growls as if on cue, and I make an exaggerated motion of patting it, even as I shove the fact that I haven't had a decent meal since stepping on the plate that brought me here to the back of my head. Sure, I know that the human body can survive several days without any sort of sustenance, but three days in, and it's becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the effects of hunger.

.-Come on,-. I motion. .-Maybe today we'll get lucky and have to fight the fattest, laziest mutt in the history of mutts, and we can have a feast afterwords!-.

It's unclear if my food-themed pep talk is as effective as the day before, but it isn't long before Kit turns to me. A yellow flower is gripped in his hand, and I watch without movement as he stretches up and places it behind my ear.

.-Good luck for the day ahead, ok?-. he signs, and I find myself speechless at the action. .-Don't take it off.-.

The grin that crosses my face is genuine, this time, and something warm stirs in my chest. .-Wouldn't dream of it,-. I sign back.

Not until the end, I add without words or hand motions.

This time, our watch IDs work, and we find ourselves back inside the mechanical construct that we'd left behind the day prior. It is only then that nerves start to prick my heart with icy points - unlike the first day, not a single face had shown on the makeshift anthem that sounded on our watches.

That meant zero deaths. And I knew all too well what followed a day where not a single tribute had bit the dust.

Perhaps I am too overzealous in my search, for it is not I that finds another moving shape first, but Kit. His grip on my hand is tight and fearful, and for a second I fail to comprehend the meaning of the pointing of his free hand.

Then I see them.

The first shape is one I've never talked to in person, but know all too well from afar. Perhaps the only other kid who knows what it's like to drown in the pressure of their parent's name, though his burden is no doubt greater than my own - Cedar Halt.

And then the other-

For a split second, I'm back in the Capitolite cafeteria, an auburn-haired girl leaning over towards me with a smirk I can only assume is heathenish in nature breaking into a fit of laughter, and my own, much more nervous, much less assured, laughing in response.

Red. A girl my complete opposite in personality type, but someone I'd deemed a friend nonetheless. Two unfortunate, unlucky souls from the lowest places on the Panemian tier list, bonding over a shared predicament.

Relief fills my heard for a fraction of a second. And then I see Kit's arm raise, his blaster pistol in hand.

"Kit, no!" I cry aloud. "Wait-"

Too late, I realize my mistake, as my words fall on literal deaf ears. A shot rings out, catching Cedar Halt square in the chest, and I can only watch as Red acts exactly as I would expect her to in response.

The weapon that flashes to life is unlike anything I've ever seen, either in real life or on the television, and yet when it flashes across Kit's chest, it cuts through cloth and flesh as easily as any metal blade.

Oh, no, no, no no no no no no-

Deep down, I know that Kit made the right move. There are no friends inside, no one to chat and laugh and have a good time with outside your own allies. Everyone is a competitor, a rival, a barrier to be overcome on the path to returning home.

Kit La Roux is smarter than I am. Stronger than I am. He made the first move in a fight that will literally determine someone's lifespan.

And he deserves more than to die because of my inaction.

So I grab my own pistol from my side, first with one, than with both hands. That does little to steady the aim, for my arms are trembling so violently that I'm half expecting them to dislocate from my shoulders and take on a life of their own.

But regardless, with my breathing quick, with my eyes fluttering, with more adrenaline than I know what to do with flowing through my veins, I point my weapon at Arbor Halt's kid.

And for the first time in my life, I squeeze the trigger.

He can't hear but he can see and the surprised confusion, then pain that dances across the boy's face brands itself on his eyes. It isn't an image he's likely to ever forget. He can feel a vibrant hatred in the air, an unbalanced beast that he's awoken without thought. A part of him wonders if he's made the right choice, a feeling, deep in his gut tells him that he hasn't. The childish thought in his head that none of them would have to die still lingers. He still wants to believe that it's all for show, that no one really has to die. Kit doesn't want to be a killer but he doesn't want to be killed.

The girl yells at him but she's too far away for him to read her lips. He can read her expression though and she seems to be somewhere between pissed and fucking pissed. Kit glances at Jacob and sees the horrified expression on his face. He's probably gone and done the wrong thing but at the very least, they'll be focused on Kit now, the one who started it all, rather than Jacob. Jacob doesn't deserve to die before him. He's the last that Six has to offer but a disappointment from the start.

So he grins.

His hands shake and his breath comes short from fear but he still smiles at them both, doing his best to look cocky or at the very least, menacing. Kit's never been known to be either of those things but if it meant keeping Jacob from taking a fall for him he'd try anything. .-You should go-. he signs quickly at Jacob, .-I started this. My fault. Go.-. He makes a shooing motion, both hands wrapped around the handle of the blaster to try and keep the weapon from shaking in his hands.

"Don't get all mad," he calls out, words slurred due to his inability to hear them, "You're just upset you didn't shoot first, yeah?"

It's a death game.

There's no losing, you either win or you're dead and Kit had entered them knowing that he was dead. If he dies here, in this green place then that's okay. He'd be okay here. He's not afraid.

Still, the cut hurts. He can't hear the shot that comes after and he doesn't know about it until it's cutting into his arm, two hits too quickly to catch. Kit wails in surprise, a long and strange sound that he isn't even fully aware of. His other senses fail him, every atom of his being focusing in on the blood slipping out, escaping through the new holes in him and sadness hits him hard, grief over the lost pieces of himself that made him so cohesive.

"Jacob," he says, pain sewn into his speech, "Please."

Go.

Kit raises his blaster again and concentrates for a moment, trying to focus through the hurt and horror and aims his gun at the boy from twelve once again.

bang bang.

[kit attacks Cedar with laser blaster (x8)]
2s4CsreJO7throwing knife
[Shallow Cut on Forearm -- 3.0 damage]

This feels wrong.

A flash of light, a cry of pain - Cedar turned to nurse the burn that Kit had inflicted, and far from missing, my own blast of energy, heat, whatever runs in this goddamned device hits the boy right between the shoulder blades.

I'm a coward. I can't look at the damage I wrought. But I don't need eyes to hear Cedar's cry of pain, pain I inflicted-

And then another shot rings out. Face scrunched up with fear, pain, perhaps something else, the boy from Twelve isn't quite as precise with his aim as me or Kit was - but not quite still counts as a hit, as the flesh on one of my ally's arms burns.

Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit-

I knew this was inevitable. Naive as I know I am, I knew that the chances of me getting home without engaging in at least one fight, without killing at least one other soul who had no crime other than the misfortune of standing between me and my mama, were slim to none. But every time I'd imagined it, they were nameless, faceless - someone I recognized from passing, not from a conversation or two.

But Cedar and I have interacted, even if I never acted upon my curiosity towards the burden his name put him under. My watch feels heavy, and it's hard to forget that not forty eight hours ago, he'd feigned disgust at me flirting with Ike.

He knew my face well enough to create a rough drawing of it, even if I couldn't say the same to him.

And Red...

Well. I knew she had a temper. Observing her from afar had told me that much. But I'd genuinely thought that I'd never have to worry about running into her once we'd stepped inside the arena - and if we had, that our past would grant us at least one get-out-of-jail-free card to avoid a fight and go along our merry way.

But Kit had other ideas. And despite what my heart complains, my head knows that he is right - that he did the smart move, aimed to eliminate our competition from the mix - instead of pretend that there was any hope of playing nice.

If it gets down to it - no, when it gets down to it - something tells me that it will not be me that breaks up our pairing, one way or another.

-You should go-. Kit signs to me, and there's a mixture of emotions in his eyes, on his face. .-I started this. My fault. Go-.

He accents the measure with a wave of his hands, as if he was shooing a stray dog that had wandered too close. And part of me wants to. I am a coward, and conflict is not in my nature.

But I remember a conversation from the very first day, a conversation complete with a bandage patch on a cheek and mutual, genuine laughter.

And so I shake my head. .-No way,-. I sign back, as quickly and effectively as I can with, well, hands shaking from adrenaline and a blaster tucked under my armpit. .-We made a promise, remember? We go through this together-.

I glance towards Cedar, towards Red, and then back to my ally.

No.

Back to my friend.

.-We're a team, remember?-.

I turn to face Red, as for a moment, she pauses to consider me. "I figured a sweet boy like you wouldn’t pick an ally who starts fights that we all know ends bloody," she exclaims, and I swear that if looks could kill, I'd be a corpse with half a hundred holes perforating each and every inch of my skin. "I wonder which one of us is wrong."

I can only shrug in response. "What can I say?" I respond, my words surprisingly calm for the amount of adrenaline still freezing through my arteries. "He's smart, and strong-willed. And I have a soft spot for the smart and strong-willed."

For a second, I hope that my words had an effect, that my attempt to butter Red up and perhaps seek a peaceful conflict to this brawl has worked.

And then a shot rings out, Kit sending another bolt of red plasma towards Cedar. And Red notices me no more.

And as she carves a red smile on my ally's stomach, I almost feel sick. Every instinct in my body is telling me to run, to maybe knock out my smart, strong-willed, stubborn ally and hope that Red is too focused on tending to her own ally than seeking retribution on mine.

"Jacob," Kit manages, voice cracking from pain, or perhaps disuse. "Please."

I know what the unspoken word following his plea is.

But for once, I decide to ignore it.

I'm not going anywhere, Kit La Roux, I decide, a steely determination meeting the liquid nitrogen in my veins. We're a fucking team, so get used to that.

When I raise my pistol for a second time, I find that my arms aren't shaking quite so much. And why should they? I've found a purpose. I've set my heart in stone and my nerves in iron. I will protect Kit La Roux with every fiber of my being.

That feels right.

It's important to look on the bright side of things and the bright side of being deaf had maybe one or two things going for it, one of those being that it was incredibly easy to ignore a person. Kit doesn't look at the angry girl from twelve and just like that, everything she has to say to him falls on literal deaf ears. He isn't naive enough to think that they wouldn't have to end up killing each other in this arena anyway, he's glad for her if she's naive enough to think so, but he already knows what and who he is and he's no villain. He won't take the brunt of anger that should have been directed at their jailors.

He isn't a fool and letting emotions get to him was last on his list. He doesn't feel angry at the other kids, none of this is their fault. None of them actually wanted to be here and if they thought that they did, frankly, they were wrong. They'd been sipping too much of that career brainwash juice perhaps. Whatever it is, Kit doesn't blame any of them for the ways that they were broken, least of all Red.

His body almost feels numb to the new pains that have ailed him and Kit smiles half-heartedly at Jacob, staying despite everything. That's kind of good, he doesn't actually want to die alone. He may hate himself for what he did to Sam but he's still afraid and that's ok. He's allowed to be afraid even if he did start this because objectively, he's a sixteen-year-old deaf kid in an arena full of other kids who want him dead and- oh dear -that's probably a bit too much blood loss.

He blinks slowly, head spinning a little bit, he's probably supposed to be keeping a bit more of that red stuff inside of himself. He places a hand on his side and lifts it away again, palm coming away red and nearly dripping. "Shit," he mutters, "Not good."

I'm not going anywhere, Kit La Roux.

He nods. That's good. Kit's starting to get tired, he doesn't think he can hold his own body up. He looks at Red first, then Cedar, gazing hard at the other boy. He's got more kick in him than Kit does at the moment, probably has a good chance of walking away now. Even if they'd all walked away from this alive, the arena would have found a way to punish them all for it. The way Kit sees it, dying here like this saves three lives, at least for another day.

That's probably all he can really ask for. Maybe he can die with a little bit of peace, going out the way Sam did with his arms wrapped around the people that he cares about. He just wishes he can say goodbye to Ike.

For now though, he raises his gun, giving Jacob the cover he needs to get a little bit closer.

[kit attacks Cedar with laser blaster (x8)]
zeRXTQMBl9throwing knife
[9108 -- Severed Finger -- 8.5 damage]

It hits me like a freight train.

"Right, picking a fight in a place that only ends things in death is a very smart move." There's sarcasm cascading like a waterfall from Red's words, but I can barely hear her as realization sets in.

Realization that Kit La Roux never picked this fight with the intention to win it.

I can only watch as, instead of cutting his own losses and running, he sends another bolt towards the form of Cedar Halt. I can only watch as, instead of running and maybe preserving his own life for another day, another hour, another minute, he turns towards Red as the latter lowers her light blade and charges.

I can only watch as, instead of choosing to live, Kit La Roux opts to die.

I don't remember screaming. I don't remember forgetting about my own safety and rushing to his side as Red's blade impales my ally through the chest - a mortal blow no matter which way you choose to spin it. One moment, there's a blade of light poking out of Kit's back; the next, Red has backed off and I'm on my knees, holding onto his limp form.

I watch as recognition flashes through his eyes as one hand cradles his head and the other pulls him onto my lap. There's a weak smile, or something, crossing his face.

I listen, as he takes one last, shuddering breath.

I watch, through blurred vision, as Kit La Roux fulfills his last wish.

I'm dimly aware of the cannon going off as I press my forehead to his. "You're safe now," I whisper. And I dearly hope that is true - that if there is an afterlife, if Ripred herself has taken this poor soul under her wing, that somewhere, all of the pain and suffering that my ally had endured has been washed away with the rising moon.

I hold him there for seconds, minutes, who knows. Time is irrelevant when you can count your remaining days on one hand. But eventually, I let him go.

Realization kicks in yet again, several facts coming to light all at once. Dimly, I realize that Kit's blood soaks my hand, my legs, my body, and not just the steel floor.

But more importantly, I realize that the pair from Twelve have opted to flee in the chaos of distraction. Nor had they chosen to strike me down - not yet, at least.

I stand. I turn. And I face the killer of my ally and her own, the boy she was simply fighting to protect.

"He got his wish." My words come out sounding more like the croak of an ancient, dehydrated toad than of an eighteen year old boy. "And for what it's worth, I'm sorry for the pain that was inflicted because of that."

My entire body is trembling, perhaps with fatigue, perhaps with emotion. But even so, I find it remarkably simple to reholster the laser blaster at my side, before I collapse to a sitting position once again.

"You'll get no further resistance from me," I decide. There's no point - not now, at the very least. "Do what you will."