Tri-District Tournament Semi-Finals: Scarr vs Le Roux

If I thought I was tired two days ago, I’m completely wiped out by the time the Top 4 announcement is made.

It’s not even from the fighting itself, my body all but healed of most of the collateral damage. It’s rather the exhaustion of the rinse and repeat of match-up after match-up. Not for the first time do I find myself astounded at how severely I’ve underestimated the importance of endurance.

There’s still so much I have to learn.

I can hear my mother’s voice following me: if you hadn’t killed me, you wouldn’t be so naïve. You would be better, stronger.

This is your fault.

The ghosts of my past don’t leave me alone – not even now, as I stand in the centre of the training centre once more and look at my opponent, already waiting for me.

Eden Le Roux, and I really should know better than to place weight on names but it’s an intimidating fact that I am a nobody, and he is a somebody. It was bound to happen eventually, but it doesn’t make me feel any more prepared.

I’d seen a few minutes of his fight with Noel Fray yesterday to know he’s not the typical blonde-haired, golden-eyed child of Eurydice, cousin of Ridley. His name isn’t even one of note, unlike the rest of the family whose names are like legends around District Two, as much as we hate to admit it. The boy in front of me is an anomaly, a surprise, and part of me is grateful for the anonymity he possesses. Like there’s less pressure on me now, knowing he’s not a real Le Roux.

Damn, I really have to stop putting so much damn meaning on a fucking last name.

At the same time, it frightens me more. That threat of the unknown is real now – a tangible, breathing boy with black hair and dark eyes. I’ve grown used to the darkness, pulled like cotton over my eyes. Been told to fight through the unknown all my life, even when I begged to fight with fire familiar so I wasn’t blind.

But there’s no flames dancing on the end of my weapon, and the silence Eden Le Roux has carried with him throughout the entirety of the tournament is on full display again today.

I lean forwards into it, welcoming it, dancing with it.

xx attacks eden with naginata (glaive)

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sc right thigh -- 3.5

The hilt of his sword glints with the Le Roux family crest – a talisman, passed through the hands of fallen tribute after fallen tribute. When I look into the future, I see more ghosts from their family name, replaced easily and swiftly at the turn of each new season.

I wonder if Eden Le Roux will be the next casualty.

I wonder how it makes him feel.

I wonder what it would be like to belong to something bigger than yourself. To have the security and protection of a single name, when the rest of us have started with a handicap. A wrist tied behind our backs and told to fight on a playing field that’s never been levelled.

He surges ahead, jumping onto the red carpet laid out for him as that very same rug is pulled out from under my feet. It’s the same old story – why am I surprised?

He moves quickly, crossing the floor and finding his mark behind me, and I can’t turn away from his blade in time – react a split second too late to the sight of his sword coming down on me.

I fall to my feet, shocked by the pain radiating from the fresh wound on the back of my head. The migraine takes hold of my hand and I struggle to my feet again.

It’s fine. I’ve been better, but I’ve been worse.

A few droplets of my blood spill on the ground in front of me, and dizziness threatens to pull me down along with it. There’s a roar in my ears but I can’t tell if it’s from my own frantic heartbeat or the sounds of the audience around us, excited and bloodthirsty.

My teeth chatter, my hands shake, pressure building in my chest and making my limbs heavy. The room wobbles as the sounds reach crescendo, amplified by the silence at the centre of our universe.

I swing blindly, wildly, desperately.

xx attacks eden with naginata (glaive)

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dg left thigh -- 8

I like the quiet of our fight. No theatrics, no crawling beneath the other’s skin with words twisted and slung directly at each other’s hearts. There’s just the sounds of our weapons flying through the air, the choir of our grunts and gasps like a metronomic lull.

But the creeping audience grows restless – they want a show of venom I can’t give to them. I can’t

think

– there’s no room for anything other than dodge, swing, watch, wait, strike. All my energy is focussed on avoiding the sword in the boy’s hand, seeking out the open wound at the base of my skull that is throbbing too fast, like a second heartbeat.

I squeeze tighter, tighter; the world quietens for one delirious moment.

Blood loss is out to get me – it leaves me swimming in the too deep water, yet through the waves I can see his next attack coming fast, aimed at my head once more. I’m prepared this time, somehow. I throw my glaive to the side and roll out of the way of his sword, tumbling across the floor and picking up the crimson droplets smeared across the mat on my way. He stands above me as I remain crouched low, reaching out for my blade again. I find the handle like an old friend and let the familiarity of its weight spur me on as I drive it upwards.

xx attacks eden with naginata (glaive)

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stabbed through heart -- 40 10