mannequin paired with marionette [abnb, day 2]

Nothing more is a shock to the ego than a brush with death. Finnagan Davies' has had bad days. Days where he'd end up in the dredges of Twelve with mud and dirt and bruises and blood coating his entirety. Gangs who've seen themselves fit enough in the earlier days of his snitching to tear him apart at the seams. A laughable pain that's wrung through him. Death always seemed to be just a brush away from him. As he watches his strikes do nothing more than slow drain the life away from the beast, he knew there was no path forward in ease. The gamemakers wanted him to suffer for his words. A laughable feeling echoing through him as he rises up to watch Anika finish of the shadow's form. Blood spilling from wounds all over as he can smell and taste the metallic of blood.

Anika rows at that time. Thoughts jumbling up entirely as he manages to essentially lick his wounds after making it out of battle by the skin of his teeth. A red hot searing pain coiling around his heart as he lets the water's shadows fills his face. A reflection of his own pained soul directly in front of him. The voice a boy long passed the point of no return. A memory of the first betrayal he's caused from his own actions flooding back in. Eyes lost into his own head before he can feel the boat stop for a moment. Anika's voice feels far away as if he's no longer there. Emotions swallowed up in a moment as his anger comes flooding back.

"I'm sorry, Finn... can I call you Finn?" A soft nod comes forth in acceptance. "I wasn't nearly as useful as I should have been." The comment is laughable. The two of them were neither helpful in the fight. Only barely cutting into the shadow with their weapons. Finn couldn't even tell where he'd been striking, but he could feel it ripping him asunder. Pulling out memories of the past out by the threads barely there. Tugging and pulling at them as if the thorns of those threads will rip him completely apart. A laughable excuse for what'd caught him off guard. Fuck, he's supposed to be better than all of this.

Silently, he watches Anika pick up her flower crown. The petals a vibrant color as he focuses back at his own hands. The blood dripping from his arms and chest to coat them in sticky thick blood. Red mixing with skin as he let's himself breath in the pain. Too much of his body ached in pain. The burning pain of wounds that'd scar once all of the games ended. Wounds that'll carry a story exactly like the others scattered across his skin. A endless sea of fire burns at his wounds, reminding him of his flaws. An echoing of his confidence being shattered, but Finnagan wasn't one to break down. No, he's a man. Tough as nails. Pretends he's good enough to stand tall. He doesn't need to feel. Feeling is what leads to betrayal.

A promise that he's made to himself all those years ago.

God, it hurt to hear that voice.

"I know you say you're able to take care of yourself, but let me know if... if you need anything."

Anika's voice mixes into his head. An echoing of words from a friend no more. A painful laugh wanting to escape his throat, but instead he boils it down to the depths of his heart. Sealing it away for good. Shaking his head out of the stupor he's found himself in, he nods carefully. Right now, Anika is a means to an end, but she's showing a kindness that he'll have to use for his own advantage. A small smile pulls onto his lips as he speaks. "Thanks. I'm fine though." Maybe if he says it hard enough, he'll believe it. The wounds were nothing unnatural for him, but he'd still never gotten over the feeling of being on the edge. The fear of death boiling in the back of his throat.

"Been through worse. Blood is blood. Winning is the way to survive."

A dark laugh falls from his chest.

"And I don't intend to lose."