wash away your sins [LN@WB day 5]

kap
Retired Staff

6,018 POSTS
Pronouns: they/them
last seen May 1, 2024 15:06:33 GMT -5

goomy goomy on the brain

wash away your sins [LN@WB day 5] Nov 19, 2021 8:37:48 GMT -5

Quote

Post by kap on Nov 19, 2021 8:37:48 GMT -5

We sped away from the short-yet-bloody fight in the jeep, Whiskey behind the wheel. I hadn't even gotten a single strike in, which I'll admit, disappointed me at least a little bit, but we were safe, and had one less opposing tribute to worry about, so I suppose I couldn't complain about it.

Abel had killed that girl so quickly that I was impressed. Sinead was a little banged up, even though the fight had gone really fast. I hoped she was hanging in there okay. She'd been taking quite the beating these past few days.

At the start of the fight, I'd been nearly trampled by a giant dinosaur, so I wasn't completely free of having to patch myself up. When we finally got somewhere safe, I got out of the jeep and started to do some first aid on myself when I noticed something. Abel was praying.

He must've felt guilty about killing that girl. I should've guessed that he would have, though. He was definitely the religious type, to the fullest extent, from what I'd heard. Which, I suppose made me a but surprised that our first encounter involved him on the search for alcohol. I didn't think too much about that, though. I wanted to know what was running through his head in this very moment.

"You praying because of what just happened?" I asked him. I paused for a couple moments before I continued.

"You know, you don't need to feel guilty about it. You can even feel positively about it, if you want to."

I wasn't quite thinking about my words, and let something spill.

"I tell myself it's a good thing, killing the other tributes. It's one step closer to getting home. I wouldn't hurt any of you three, but getting the other ones out of the way makes things better for the four of us." I had realized that what I was saying probably sounded bad, so I corrected myself, making sure that he knew I didn't plan on hurting or killing any of them.

I glanced at Wiz and Sinead to see if they were listening in before I decided I didn't care, and returning my focus to Abel.

I sighed briefly.

"What I'm getting at is, you don't need to feel bad, but I want to make sure you're alright," I explained.

table by griffin
[actions in maint]

Deleted

0 POSTS
last seen May 3, 2024 15:51:20 GMT -5

wash away your sins [LN@WB day 5] Nov 19, 2021 14:46:37 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Nov 19, 2021 14:46:37 GMT -5

a b e l .

"we were alive that night.
we watched the dark
bleed into twilight,
watched the sunrise."

I couldn't process what had just happened.

I wasn't aiming to kill, believe it or not. At least not consciously. I wanted to hurt her, yes. But not kill her. I didn't even think I was aiming there. Part of me thought back to shooting that bird in the eye with a dart. That was so hard to do and so luck based. I told Arthur it was divine intervention from God. And now I'm almost positive God was guiding my javelin.

Once we were to safety I sat down on the ground and prayed. I asked for forgiveness, and I knew I would get it from him. God was what was keeping me alive. If I angered him his grace may end. And if I forgot to ask for forgiveness before I died? A life full of prayer would do nothing to save my tainted soul. Part of me wondered if my soul was beyond redemption at this point, but I tried not to think about it.

After I finished, I realised they were staring at me. Nixie had assumed I felt guilty, to which I shook my head. I did feel guilty. In fact I felt ready to throw up right here and now. I killed a human being. Even if it's what God wanted me to do. Even if I was a step closer to going home. I killed someone. I didn't need to tell them that though, especially Whiskey.

"It doesn't matter how I feel, it matters how God feels. And the bible is pretty clear on it. Thou shalt not kill. But, by asking for forgiveness I'm saving my soul if things go South and I keep God on my side. He's the only reason I've gotten this far, he's the reason I've killed what I did, who I did."

Then, again as a message from God, I saw a parachute dropping down from the sky. I quietly moved from Nixie, wanting to change topics as soon as possible. I grabbed the parachute and the box that was with it. It was a four-pack of some sort of alcoholic beverage called White-Claw. And as soon as I saw the note, I knew who it was from.

"Good job kid - K"

"I have something for y'all, courtesy of Kassandra Nerys and God."

[ table by elegant ]
[ quote from "for instance" by shane koyczan ]
[ actions in maint ]

pogue
Graphics

1,811 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Apr 16, 2024 18:41:45 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

wash away your sins [LN@WB day 5] Nov 19, 2021 18:13:50 GMT -5

Quote

Post by pogue on Nov 19, 2021 18:13:50 GMT -5

W I Z

They leave behemoth and goliath behind as they speed away from their short-lived fight, the echo of the girl's cannon still ringing in his ears as he looks up and watches the tail of a mutt ten times his size swing over their jeep. Sweat gone cold and spit on his tongue gone dry, he's gulping down ash and vomit as he jerks the steering wheel left, then right, swerving away from the mutt's claws and into the landscape.

They only slow when they can't even see the shuffling silhouettes of the tributes they'd faced in the rearview mirror, snake eyes narrowing and watching the hells of the nesting marsh fade into the distance before he finally rests up on the gas, the Jeep's engine screaming in protest before finally sputtering into silence, vehicle bouncing awkwardly as he presses too fast and too hard on the brake.

Stomach lurches, forms fly forward and then settle, and then there's silence.

He slips into the void of out habit and out of instinct, climbing up onto the back of the Jeep and setting the rifle into his lap. The sunlight scatters and dances across its surface, a million little gashes of jeweled bloodlust and Wiz heaves a sigh of... relief? Desperation? Defeat? He doesn't know anymore, but he knows he can practically feel the ghost of a cigarette laced between his fingers and the smoke curling inside of his lungs. Glass would laugh at him if she were here, watching him look all longingly to the sky as if he had anything other than rage and grief and the Finch curse running through his veins, drowning in withdrawal from a cigarette he can't have.

He pulls his gaze from the sky to Abel when he hears the boy's knees hit the dirt and his hands clasp together, words of the wicked slipping from his lips and Wiz cranes his neck, watching with narrowed gaze until he finally realizes what Abel is doing.

Whiskey blinks and feels his soul drift back into his own, tattered and torn and lit ablaze just to see if there's anything left to burn. Childhood hands clasped together, dirt laced underneath the fingernails and a long since broken thumb that never healed quite right sticking disjointed at the ends. Whispers spread like a sickness in a place like Seven, all blight and rot until there's nothing left but words destined to decompose. That's how he'd heard it, tales told underneath the afternoon sun of a man all the way upstairs, one that could answer all your questions and fix all your problems so long as you just believed in him.

Gold dusted shit, but he'd always been so naive when he was a kid. A million prayers sent and not one answered, kicked to the curb and the dust and left to rot. He might be dumb when it comes to the books, but he's not blind when it comes to life. Decompose and watch yourself fade into nothing, it's all a Finch could do in Seven.

"The Career finally shows her true colors." He mocks, twisting around on the top of the vehicle until he's facing them, legs dangling down against the seats. "And just like that... poof! The facade is gone." He smirks towards Nixie, a playful shrug tossed out into the distance between them. He knows what she is, and she knows what he is.

His eyes drift to the seats of the vehicle he rests on, making sure that Abel's javelins are sitting far away from the boy before he turns his fangs towards his newfound ally, their rant falling on deaf ears and Whiskey's eyebrow raised. "Ripred, O'Malley." He comments, laughing. "You know you're prayin' to no one right?"

There's a wicked grin that dances across his lip in tune with his head shaking, pity and amusement on his features as he watches Abel rise from the ground. "What, big man upstairs held your hand and guided the spear into that girl's eye?" He waves his palms in the air, mocking all the ghosts and demons and horror stories he'd ever been told back in Seven. "Sounds like you're pullin' the padge to a to lie there bud."

Knuckles crack and Whiskey swings his feet back and forth like a kid enjoying the playground, all childish glee in the form of nasty words. "Might as well just buck up and own that you killed someone kid. You, not some magic man in the sky."

The thought brings entertainment and Wiz's words bring comfort, a million and one memories of every verbal fight he'd ever gotten into back in Seven flooding his mind as he jumps down from the Jeep, dusting the dirt off his pants before looking back towards his allies. "Only twelve more to kill-" He cuts off mid-sentence, eyes looking up as he runs the mental math in his head and counts on his fingers. "Sorry, eleven more kids to kill. Then you can go home and beg for forgiveness you don't deserve for the rest of your life."

He shrugs, walking towards the pack of seltzers that had descended into the grass. "If that's what you're fightin' for, that's all you then."

"What are you fighting for then, Picasso?"

Nixie's words reach his ears halfway towards the pack of alcohol and Wiz grinds his teeth, momentary amusement dashed into nothing and replaced with hollow rage and uncomfortable silence. Eyes dart from Abel, to Sinead and finally to Nixie, all huff and puff and big bad wolf brought back down to earth.

It's a question he's wrestled with ever since he dangled his foot over the edge of that Bloodbath podium and pulled it back, ever since Mackenzie Pryce convinced him to fight instead of falter, focus on living instead of accepting that he's going to end up dying.

"I'm not the first Finch in these Games. Fun fact." He finally spits out, and the words stumble from his lips in an uncertainty that feels so fucking foreign to him. "Yeah, fifth games. One-eye Boone. Total fuck up, couldn't even see straight." Whiskey chuckles, nodding at his allies inquisitive stares. "Fucker died quick. Like, quick."

Crack, dirty fingernails open the can of seltzer, liquid spilling all onto his fingertips. "Y'know, ever since then the Finch's have been pretty much fucked." He licks the liquid from his fingers, iron of dried blood mixing with the syrupy flavor. "Alcohol, avoxes, executions, abandonment, good ol' Finch curse."

He trails off, and it's like he's only figuring out the answer as he speaks.

"I was actually gonna blow my ass to smithereens before the Bloodbath even started. Make my family some money off the popularity of a death like that."

He shrugs, "Guess it's a good thing I didn't, considering all those idiots that bit the bullet in the 'bath this year."

His gaze hits the dirt and the silence feels like knives against his heart. "But..."

But the words don't come as easy as he wants them too.

"I think I want to live to break that cycle. Go home with the crown and the riches and..." He bites his lip until he feels crimson and iron stain his tongue. "Be the Finch that actually made it, for once."

To make sure no one else has to make it, either.

He reeks of uncomfortable silence by the time he's done, because the words feel raw and they feel wrong and they feel like everything he'd held back for seventeen years of a life that he was convinced wasn't worth living.

An old dog doesn't show off anything but old tricks, and Whiskey deflects like a motherfucker to hide his own discomfort, turning his gaze back to Abel. "Or, y'know, maybe I'll just hope the magic man will let me live." He says, taking another sip of the drink in his hand.

Last Edit: Nov 19, 2021 18:16:24 GMT -5 by pogue

bailee
District Mayor

718 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Feb 1, 2024 16:13:02 GMT -5

come snuggle bro

wash away your sins [LN@WB day 5] Nov 19, 2021 22:11:46 GMT -5

Quote

Post by bailee on Nov 19, 2021 22:11:46 GMT -5

After what seemed like a never ending day of fighting and pain and mourning, the moist ground of the nesting marsh seemed like a pillow. She gently ran her fingers over the spot where her ear used to lay, wincing at the raw skin and dried blood that covered her skin. Although in the moment, the pain had numbed - stopping to rest had the bullet that Gavin had seared into her back more and more painful.

She was glad she could at least take his arm as payback. It was a much better fate than Abel's javelin landing square into that one girl's eye - it wasn't even like he hesitated. She had seen it before - the bloodthirsty nature that eventually came over all of those who made it this far into the games. She hadn't experienced it yet - the desire to kill, that is, like Nixie and Abel had.

She knew that would make the whole killing-to-make-it-home thing easier, but for some reason with every arrow she sent and every movement of her sword that connected with the skin of others, she prayed that someone else would kill first so she didn't have to. Prolong it as much as possible before she had too...

Or whether she died. Whichever one came first.

But maybe it didn't come as easy, as she watched Abel wipe off her knees of debris from his prayers. She supposed maybe they did that in District Eleven - no one in District Twelve was fortunate enough to believe in the goodwill of a God, but she wasn't going to judge.

After all, Abel had taken a life so she didn't have to, and she was certainly grateful for it.

Sinead took the can of Whiteclaw from Abel's hands and cracked it open, the fizzing of the carbonation and the slight scent of tangerine filling her nostrils. Mixed with the images of her sword cutting through Gavin's arm, it wasn't appetizing.

But she figured maybe if she got drunk the images that wouldn't escape her mind would finally go away, and she could be a killer like Abel and Nixie, or even as carefree as Whiskey seemed.

"My brother died in the 75th," she chimed in as she took a sip of her drink. It was bitter and didn't taste nice - but she continued to drink anyway, as the carbonation felt nice against the back of her throat. "Some girl from seven knocked him out cold before he could even get a weapon. He was the first one to die."

It was the first she had mentioned her brother in the arena.

"He was dead last. 52nd. He volunteered 'cause his boyfriend did. And they both ended up dead."

She sighed and chugged her last few sips of her drink. It seemed to numb her.

"So if its any consolation... I think the magical sky man doesn't like me much, either," she turned to Whiskey and offered him a half smile.

(sinead does stuff in maint)

warehouse