no rose left on the vines. | lenox + garrison, day 5

no rose left on the vines. | lenox + garrison, day 5 Mar 26, 2021 16:09:29 GMT -5

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Post by d4 tati pelotte [azalea] on Mar 26, 2021 16:09:29 GMT -5

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There's a body on the ground. Lifeless. Cold. There's a chill that can't be compared to leaving the window open in winter, nor stepping into the snow barefoot. It's a sting, like a poison, and it only gets worse when I trace the source back to Garrison.

It's one thing to see someone you know die - someone you've come to be familiar with, their presence almost like a second skin that makes you feel comfortable because there's something to fall back on, someone to catch you. Kane and Fitz died horribly, and I'll never be able to erase that image from my mind, nor the sounds, nor the thoughts, frustrations, details, silences - no, it's permanent. The feeling that comes with seeing someone close to you die is something I should have grown used to by now, it's happened countless times before, but it always finds a new part of my mind to hurt. It sticks its fingers in and twists. It's painful and I always feel so guilty.

It doesn't always make sense. My mind is in a thousand different worlds at once, trying to comprehend them all, desperately trying to find an exit. But an escape isn't always found, and whilst the isolation sure is lonely, the four walls of my skull are starting to feel more and more like home every day.

But this time - it's not one of us who has died. It's one of us who has killed. And in theory, that should be a good thing - one of us being a killer means that we're both still standing. Our blood pumps, we take another breath, we live to see another day. I should be thankful that Garrison was able to step up to the plate where I've failed. Yet it's so goddamn bittersweet because we just killed Benedict Nolan. And in that name, there's everything that is within mine, too. Family, history, future, everything in between and everything beyond that never gets to be experienced.

There's blood on my hands. I know that tears won't be able to wash it off, but it doesn't stop me from crying. Because every time I start to feel close to conquering this guilt, it finds its way back to my core. I'm beginning to think that it is eternal, and like the restraints of time, I'm just going to have to accept it. But I really don't want to, I really, really don't want to and I would truly do anything to just be able to live. To make a chair, to not force a smile - I'd give anything.

I sit on the ground. I don't care that it stinks here, nah, it's been a long day and my body is aching from the weight of literally everything my mind burdens me with. I look up to Garrison, staring at my hands with wide, solemn eyes.

"I guess you've proved yourself, now," I say, replaying the moments from a few hours ago. "Career, I mean, and now you've actually killed. Do you feel some sense of satisfaction... or what?" Because I was instrumental in killing Benedict too, and all I feel is bad. And I don't want to feel bad for fighting for my life, I just want to feel whole.

I don't feel so dead anymore. Watching so much death - no, I'm not dead but I'm barely breathing. I don't feel so dead anymore, so I guess that's something.

But it's not enough, I know that.

"As sick as it sounds, I thought killing someone would be that pivotal moment. The moment where it all started to make sense." My fingers lace themselves together, pulling my knees up in front of me. "Almost like, killing someone wouldn't be bad. It would be good, you know? Give me hope... but I don't know. Maybe I just don't feel it like I'm supposed to."

Growing up so surrounded by death has certainly left some scars. I think I'm finally uncovering them now. I'm tracing my fingers along the lines and understanding what it means to have experienced trauma. I'm emotional. I get in my head too much. Nothing seems to make sense. Even when I want it to. Even why I try to make it make sense. I'm just another loser from Seven. Just another legacy. Just another Lachance.

"There's no way out for people like me."

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[ d7f lenox lachance does stuff in maint ]

no rose left on the vines. | lenox + garrison, day 5 Mar 26, 2021 17:02:33 GMT -5

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Post by grant on Mar 26, 2021 17:02:33 GMT -5

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With the musky dust still hugging them and the darkening skies creating a still atmosphere, Death watches on from above. He can still hear the canon he caused. He can feel the exact moment in his soul, and can see the pale eyes of the victim looking back at him in the dust plane ahead of him. He has been the cause of death for plenty of things in these Games. The beasts he had slain were enraged and deadly. Benedict was a child just like Garrison, yet slain like a beast for the entertainment of others.

The loss of mortality makes him think inward so much that he zones out. His head catapults to a totally different space. The same dusty but thinner, and in the wake of an early rise in District Two. He imagines the last real fight out-width training that he had. Some bully, an idiot, who goes to the same class and training centre as his twin sister. The pain feels the same, the guilt from inflicting so much damage, but that’s what happens when somebody crosses Garrison, or anyone he is protecting. He is relentless, and will fight until the end just to ensure their safety. Back then, after the fight, he looked at his twin and told her “I’ve got your back.” All while he whined in pain on the floor.

He can’t look at Lenox yet. They both attacked and defended themselves, but for the first time in the arena Garrison has taken command, and on his lead they murdered someone and left another alliance one man down. For all he knows, each of them will be targeting him for revenge. Coming to take down both him and Lenox for the lack of mercy he showed their friend. He knows how that feels. He’s scared, now. Fear builds sun light of the worry that he is now easy pickings. Left near to lifeless again by a conflict he caused. But, it can’t be his fault.

He has trained for this since he can remember, but that somehow makes it worse to know that when killing somebody, finally, he wasn’t even ready.

"I guess you've proved yourself, now," she says, looking up to Garrison for the first time. The voice pierces through the thick silence. “Do you feel some sense of satisfaction... or what?"

“I can’t feel very much right now.” He begins mending his wounds, and seeing to the damage caused to his foot, wincing with sheer pain.

“I can’t see myself winning this Game anymore,” he begins, knowing that opening up like this is dangerous. That a knife in the back is always a threat, but it’s true. His passion is fading. “Killing isn’t the same when it’s a plastic dummy. Nobody teaches you how to unsee the blood, to deal with that inside while fixing the damage on the outside. I’m fucking tired, aren’t you?” It is no longer a game of survival, but a challenge of seeing where in the pack he ends. “I’ve lost count of how many are left, but it always feels like 23. Except... Now we know it’s at least 3 less than that.”

Then she tucks in to her knees and says the words Garrison had been thinking since the fight. "There's no way out for people like me."

“There was a way out for that kid just now, and there’s a way out for us. We just have to fight until we find it. At least we’re in this together. I’ve got your back.”