stuck between the dead and the living || day 4

On his first night alone he stares for as long as he can at the two plushies that sat in the center of the cloud spire clearing, taking in every blood splattered detail until the sun slips and falls from the sky, and the only mementos of his allies he has left eventually fade into the darkness as well. The bags under his eyes gradually filled themselves with cement, eyelids turning to stone as he huddled under low hanging threads of vegetation that draped from the sides of the spire. 

Dried blood on his cloak and the weight of everything and nothing at all on his shoulders, he promises to himself that he won't fall asleep that night. 

He breaks that promise when the night sky goes still and the insects fade into silence. Sleep is the only thing to make his hands stop their shaking.

Scattered raindrops hang loosely from the vines that wrap above him before falling, splattering against his cheek and forcing his eyes open. Between fluttering heartbeats and the protest-riddled cracks of bruised bones he gathers up his things, keeping his back turned to the makeshift memorial that watched his movements from the center of the spire, raindrops turning red as the dried blood caked into the plushies fur turns to liquid once more.

The burnt scraps of Nico Thorne's note are pressed into the stone now, orange hues dampened as the rain begins to pick up.

The once green landscape of the arena runs red as he makes his way down the spire, grimacing as he reaches the final step before stepping into the red, feeling the cold water soak through his shoes and run into his bones, sending a chill up his spine and burrowing it into his brain. He'd surveyed the surrounding areas on the way down the spire, taking advantage of the fast closing vantage point of the raised height. Both the raging storm of petals and the fields of gemstones had proved fatal, and as he'd passed by the splattered blood that had been ripped from the smile etched into Bird's neck he'd made his mind up that he could not stay in this same area any longer. It was clear to him that he'd overstayed his welcome long enough already, feeling the shadows that trail behind him mock and laugh at his situation.

Cornucopia it is.
He resolves himself to dying in the same place he'd been born into the arena, not wanting to risk whatever slim chances left laced into his skin by traveling to the red beach.

Elijah had told him once that good things came in threes and he'd responded that bad things hardly differ. 

He wonders if this is the final third of a bad trilogy, if today was the day that his blood and his sins would leak from a story written on skin in red lines. First came Kestrel and second came Bird, the only logical resolution to the bloody fairytale would be for the boy with two dead allies and a broken heart to follow right along, to be left face up within the red water he trudges through now, eyes locked on the dim sky, a staring contest neither side would ever win.

Maybe it would be better, he thinks to himself as his gaze scans the never-ending red landscape, distant memories of Elijah desperately trying to find the silver linings in the world playing through his mind.

At least with this red water he won't have to see as much of my blood. The thought is as dark as the growling sky that twists above him, but he thinks somewhere within the dried red blood etched into his memories there's some sort of silver lining to be found.

Almost on cue, the sky lets out one final threatening groan before it lets its sadness be known, sheets of rain pounding into his body as limbs become heavy, cloak plastering itself to his skin as his pace slows down. It's a dangerous predicament to be in, as his viewing distance shortens within the waves of rain and the sound of water slamming into red fills his ears.

It's not until his foot hits a tombstone and he falls forward, face planting into the water, that he truly starts to regret his decision to not stay at the spire.

Fate doesn't give him much time to wallow, the quick creak of a crossbow being loaded barely audible over the sound of the rain. It's instinctual that he raises his sword at the figures that make their way closer to him step by step, raindrops dancing and bouncing off the dried blood on the blade as it shakes within his hands.

It doesn't take him long to realize he's hopelessly outmatched, locking eyes with the girl from Four. She was enough to put him down completely, even with the weight of the boy who cowers behind her.

So he does what any broken, bloodied boy in his situation would do: bleeds promises he doesn't know if he could keep into the air.

Coward, his heart whispers inside of his chest.

"Wait, please just wait!" He shouts, fully expecting his desperation to met with an arrow through his throat.

"I wasn't- I'm not looking for a fight. I promise." and there it is again, that deadly word that he finds himself using over and over again, dragged across bloody broken pieces of his heart. It brings its ugly cousin to the party along with it, snide commentary threading its way into his words as he peers around the girl, recognizing the boy from eight.

"By the looks of him, I don't think y'all are looking for a fight either."

"Hey!"

He hears the boys offended response, something in the back of his mind desperately trying to get him to crack a small grin for old times sake. Instead, he tries to focus his vision on the point of the arrow that's pointed at whatever fatal part of his body the girl from four thinks will be the easiest, steeling his glare. Instead, a shaky voice and a voice crack straight from the depths of puberty reminds him that bad things really do come in threes.

"I have foOd- a lot of it." You yell through the downpour, clearing your throat halfway through the sentence.

"You eat, and I keep my life. For today, at least. Deal?"

The proposal is met with silence, and then.. excitement? His brows furrow as he watched the boy from nine tug and pull at the careers sleeve, going from teenager to child within seconds at the mention of food. Perhaps he'd struck gold by bartering his own luck against their deadliness, because as he watches the interaction take place he can see the annoyance creep across the girl's face, finally culminating in the only victory he  could claim so far.

"Feed him and then leave us alone. I don't care." 

He doesn't breathe a sigh of relief, lessons learned from dried sheets of his allies blood on his cloak, but his muscles loosen as he moves, slowly, to place his satchel on the top of the tombstone and begin to reach in, keeping  his eyes on the boy from nine. The ones that were unassuming always managed to be the deadliest.

"Hey, who's that? Are those your friends?"

Or, as it turns out, the stupidest.

His blood runs cold and drains from his cheeks as he spots the figures charging towards them, the storm finally clearing just in time to reveal the tributes that now brandished weapons towards them.

"Oh, fuck-" The words slip from his mouth as he desperately tries to gather his things, slinging his satchel over his shoulder before stumbling backwards in his haste, feeling pain shoot through his tailbone as his ass makes contact with the ground.

Eyes snap shut and he readies for his blood to spill.

As it turns out, fate was on his side.
For now, his mind reminds him.

It's not always a bad thing to be the odd man out, and as he watches the alliance cut deep into the girl from four before severing the boys arm clean from his shoulder he gulps,

Ripred- 

he only realizes that in his haste he'd bitten through his lip when the taste of iron and sin flows down his throat. He stands quickly, surveying the small fight before deciding to not push his own luck before it turned into lack thereof.

As it turns out, he was already too late for that.

Fate was on his side until, all of the sudden, it wasn't.

He hears the crackle leak from the boys head, the familiar red body of a lobster desperately clawed into his hair as the boy swings. Then he hears it, written in between the lines of a story of static.

A voice.

Bird's voice.

It's me, Bird...

-- don't ~ -- too good.

~ - - but I probably don't either-

It lacks the venomous and toxic lace that he'd become accustomed to, but he can tell that it is hers all the same. His jaw hangs from his mouth and he points his sword to the boy, shaking hands making the point of it draw small circle in the air as he speaks, ever so unsure of the bloody fairy tale before him.

"You-

that voice..

Where is she?"

Callum Leare attacks Oberon Fairbairn with Falcata


RZZDgl1dHysword


[ Stabbed in thigh -- 8.5 ]

Callum Leare attacks Oberon Fairbairn with a tackle?? Idk he's a lil bitch just livin'


C00dMBFaLUunarmed


[ Miss ]


Accuracy

unarmed

[Thrown to ground]