running far, running fast [#TUX]
Jun 29, 2022 15:03:57 GMT -5
Post by pogue on Jun 29, 2022 15:03:57 GMT -5
T E X
"Hey-" His own voice sounds foreign at this point, slipping into the air in a heartbeat and dissolving just as fast into the crisp air. "I'm gonna go down to the river, try and wash off what's left of my skin." His voice is deep, stoic, more of a growl than a whisper at this point. They've been moving non-stop since they'd regrouped after the Bloodbath, until their footsteps had grown slow and the red that seeped from their wounds had finally stopped displaying a trail worth following behind them. Now all they can hear is the wind hitting the trees and the sound of the river fighting against it, so calm amidst the chaos, deceiving and deadly and everything in between as he makes his way away from his allies and to the waters, dropping his weapon before dropping to his knees at the edge.
He watches his own life ebb and flow into the running waters, crimson blood fade into the river as he dips his hands in. His own wounds howl and scream under tissue paper skin as he does so, flinching in pain and biting into his lower lip. Beneath him his own reflection shatters and breaks in a never-ending loop, shards of what is left of his own image coming and going as fast as the arena will allow it. It's a hollow reminder of what he is in a world like this, so easily seen and so easily broken, so easily bloodied and so easily forgotten in the current.
He wonders how long he has left, how many more heartbeats will pound in his chest before a cannon fires, a chorus of his own death.
That's when he hears it-
Too late, of course.
What's left in his stomach sinks when he sees Lux Bellisario standing feet away, her shadow stretching the distance between them and cast over his weapon. He gulps, feels what could be his last few heartbeats inside of his chest as he tries to measure the space between them, finally concluding that the Career is too fucking close for him to grab for his sickle, resting softly in the grass as if to taunt him.
Brown eyes sweep over her form, both of them worse for wear and neither wearing it well, she's clutching her arm and he can only assume she'd caught the way scarlet had soaked his backside from a wound that wouldn't fully heal. They're reflections of the same broken image, pulled from the river's current but still shattered nonetheless.
No choices left, he clumsily rolls the dice. "Y'know, back in the Training Center you said Love liked to be on his back." His own memory serves him well, observance and silence and sewed shut lips finally pulling apart. He juts a thumb back towards the cut on his back, trying to quell the way his hand shakes.
"Can't say I'll ever share the same opinion."
[#LOOKING #RIGHT NOW #YOURPLACE]
BGJYVq0Enr1-6
1-6
