lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 2, 2023 17:22:03 GMT -5

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Post by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio on Jul 2, 2023 17:22:03 GMT -5

thread title

U L Y S S E S.

"Don't think I forgot about you, Jayson!" Present behind my back, I stand before him. I promised yesterday when I gave Caspian his vial and Torian his pendant that the next day, I'd have a gift for him. Wouldn't you know, I might have found just the thing for him. When I left to go exploring the woods, blighted as they may be, I came across some helmets, piled up as though the creatures of the arena were collecting them. Slimy on the exterior but sturdy inside, it might be helpful with Jayson's injury. He didn't bleed much after the fight with the horses, but the daze in his eyes was as clear as day. Can't patch stuff like that up as easily as you can a cut, but you can certainly prevent it from getting worse.

I reveal the gift from above, shuffling it further down his head until it covers both sides. "Have to protect that bigass noggin of yours." Hopefully, it's strong enough to protect him from a nasty shove like that again. It's not pretty, by any means. I mean, it's a natural armor. I'll have to ask Torian tonight if he can identify the creature it's made out of. Maybe it's the carcass of some giant bug and some silk? Hard to be sure with the mixture of greens, browns, greys, and whites. The straps at either end of the helmet are the only things that appear human-made. I pull the straps together, buckling them firm against his chin. "It looks like the bicycle helmet my dad made me wear. Only when my grandparents were watching, though." The one time I actually wore the helmet was the one time I fell. Perhaps it'll be more than helpful to Jayson. His resting bitch face, combined with the likes of the skin of a watermelon wrapped around his head amuses me.

A piece of green from the helmet drips off, landing just between his nose and cheek. I pull the cuff of my sleeve down to the palm and wipe it away. "Good as new. Don't take it off, it'll hopefully keep things from getting worse." I smile at him, backing up against the tree beside him. "How's it feel to be twice as sick in the head, now?"

For the past two days, I've struggled to get sleep at night. So much as Caspian sniffling or Jayson turning himself over and night is enough to put me on guard as if our lives depended on it. I'm not sure how long we've been resting today, but it's barely a fraction of what we needed when Torian starts to shout something frantic. I bounce up, sword in one hand and axe in the other, directed toward the screams. I was expecting to see an unfamiliar face with a knife to Torian's, but all I see are his own hands, grabbing at a pair of antlers.

Love Torian like he's my little brother, but I'm not amused by his prank. I'd seen dozens of antlers scattered throughout the bloodbath. I pull my sword back, approaching him. "Hardy har har, bud. It would've been funnier if we weren't running on five minutes of-" My hands reach out to pull the antlers off his head, but they don't budge. Torian's head moves as I tug gently. "SHIT? THEY'RE REAL?"

"I told you!"

With each head picked up, there seems to be a new issue on the horizon. The tattoos on Jayson's skin move slowly, like those old monitors where the logo bounces off of the walls. And Caspian… well. When I was going through my bad acne days, there was this one kid who called me "Fungus Face." Poor guy's hairline started receding this year. To go bald by age seventeen really must be a- that's beside the point. Caspian embodies it literally. Mushrooms grow on his face and arms like the ones from the forest, and even from these woods. Growing on him, like his clock's already run out.

Everyone but me.

"I told you guys to grab sleeping bags from the Bloodbath and clean them before going to sleep." I guess my survival instincts were stronger than a science olympiad star, a boy with mountains of worry, and a punk.

Head held high, I move behind a condensed pair of trees to piss. They must have caught onto some germs that mutate the body into some weird ass shit. With one last shake, I strap the breeches back together and step away from the tr- "Oh…"

Well. Heh. I walk back to the group, red in the face. "You've heard about the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, but have you heard of the Amazing Technicolor Stream…coat."

It's happening to all of us in one way or another, it seems. Weird happenings of the body. Despite the arena being centered in nature, everything here still manages to feel unnatural.

Almost like clockwork– perhaps a bit too literal in this moment– the color in the sky transforms at rapid speed. It reminds me of last year when the Gamemakers rolled through the night within seconds, refusing the tributes any chance at sleep. The colors morph with moving clouds through time until they settle on purples and blues with the sun barely pinching forth. "Can't say I like that very much." Two days and no deaths, it appears those on the outside are growing impatient. If we stay here, they might get pissed. Plus, we need water. And in these dead woods, there will certainly be none.

And travel we do. We travel until that familiar scent of water, mixed with the arena's greenery and dirt. It's like the smell right before rainfall. It draws me in, first in line with my canteen in my bad hand, ready to scoop it up and get to drinking. I really shouldn't have built all of those traps with the mason jars… having the extra containers would've been great here.

But we're not the only ones here. I pull my sword ahead of Caspian, moving the group to the side with little shrubbery left to hide behind. I don't remember all of their names (I don't have that strong of a memory,) but I remember the districts from which they come. In ascending order, I raise my fingers to tell the group. 1. 2. 5. Not ideal, I don't think. No one else I can see, though. There is, yet again, a familiar wave of purple that I'd seen underneath the canopies. I wonder if that's a theme or something in this arena.

Part of me thinks it wise to go back, but we need the water. Jayson needs it with the injury to his head. Dehydration will only add to that. Dry lips are hardly impressive or attractive. More water for us means less water than them. Survival of the fittest. I nod the group forward, slowly at first. As soon as we're close enough to surely get the jump, I move faster.

"We'd like some water, please! And we'll fight for it, to save both of us from an awkward standoff."

[ ulysses attacks perry ; mirrored sword ]
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[ 1071 -- Severed Left Leg at Hip -- 10 damage ]

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Last Edit: Jul 2, 2023 17:22:54 GMT -5 by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 3, 2023 0:51:56 GMT -5

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Post by Tom on Jul 3, 2023 0:51:56 GMT -5

Creating death is easier than he expected; hands covered in the grime of bloodshed, he feels alive. More alive than he expected to be. Cold iron between his palms as he stares at the cold gleam of his own skin wondering if the growths will come back. The ever present feeling behind his eyes is enough to make him blink back to reality. The world still spins all the same for him; bundled in this shadow of his own sorrows built by his own head. Isn't it easier to just pretend he's some normal kid without a hundred voices behind his skull telling him the ways he'll continue to fail? There's no hope for a boy like him. As he stares ahead, there's a whiff of something too familiar, too confusing to be natural.

The smell reminds him of home; a flash of a boy from a few years ago. Memories of tears in a pillowcase on a late night; a flash of lips, dark hair, and pale skin. There's a feeling of dread that sets through his skin as he looks towards the path in front of him. A flash of fingers against his cheek, words whispered into the air as he can remember the voice of a boy who had been a dream. A dream walking with him, only to throw a heart down and crush it to bits. "Cas, We can't." The taste of cigarette smoke on his lips. "You're not worth the trouble." The feeling of dread in his throat as he can remember those rough hands on his shoulders, holding him close for a second before he feels fingertips leave.

A touch of softness burned into skin. The voice in his own head burning the words over and over through his skull as he can remember the desire to stay friends, to stay together, to be with anyone. The words of people becoming overwhelming for everyone who comes near him. The bitter taste of knowing he's nothing more than a curse to be around. People pulling at the strings of those who dared to get closer. As he reaches the vial, he can smell the woodsy smell and a bit of smoke fluttering through the air. The smell is both a comfort and a harm. The memories of holding a hoodie close to his chest begging for something better. As he stands in the rot of the woods, he feels his hands reach the vial and spritz as much of it onto his clothes, unaware of anything. The smell permeates from his clothes for a moment. Leaving behind the vial, he taps a black nail to the glass, leaving it on the mushroom there.

Death lingers in these woods.

It was time to move.

Evening comes with a silent darkness, the sky glittering with stars for a moment as Caspian feels himself grow quieter. Flashes of the day before in his head. Ulysses and Jayson were so... good at being well... hot. They could speak with ease. Words not fumbling over one another. Tongues not tied with worries. A flash of his own attempt filtering his head as he groans outwardly to himself. Black painted nails brushing through sapphire feathers as he sighs to himself. There's an ease in action, almost a soothing calm setting in as his own head berates him for the ways he tried to flirt with Jayson and Ulysses.

God, you really fuck up every time, Cas. His own head supplies as he stays there for a second before looking up. Torian is looking over his own beast with wings; studying the parts that make them up. A sort of silence fills him as he thinks of what's best to do in these moments. The silence of the day's long work having been completed. The quiet of the arena settling in as their wounds are being healed. Caspian can feel the sweat on his brow as he looks away for a second before deciding it'd be easier to get closer. Upon stepping closer, he waits with a calm breath just watching. Eyes looking at Torian as he sets to work looking over his own flying beast.

Sitting down, he feels Sapphire Wings come closer to him, nuzzling against his back as he sits in silence. Eyes absorbing the silence as he waits for the words to come to his lips. If he could just keep up with Ulysses and Jayson. If he could be more like them. If he could joke more like them. If... if... if... He didn't know whether he could muster up the courage to be like them. Instead, he bites his thoughts, settles in for the moment as the words drip awkwardly from his lips. The silence breaking with his own voice.

"Uh... Is there a like scientific way to flirting?"

There's a blink of confusion; the taste of an awkward feeling on his tongue. Caspian can see the shadows extending from the corner of his eyes, but stays quietly focused on his own embarrassment. Is asking a fourteen year old for advice weird? Torian was the smartest kid he knew, surely the boy would know how to flirt. At least from a scientific stand point. Only, the red of his ears burns still. There's a heavy voice in his head shaming him for asking a dumb question, but the next words out of Torian's mouth makes his face burn with the redness of a blush. Blossoming in awkwardness. "Pardon?"

Sitting a bit straighter, he feels the callouses on his own hand, words dripping out embarrassed. "Well... Ulysses and Jayson just do it so well and I don't want to y'know seem like lame... So I thought maybe you'd know if there was a uhm... scientific way to flirt?" Rubbing at his wrist out of discomfort, he focused on the words. His eyes focusing anywhere but on Torian as he feels the heat on his face continue to burn. God was he stupid. He truly knew how to make things awkward, that was a guarantee.

Only, Torian's face seems to scrunch up slightly in thought. "Um...well, from what I've read, eye contact and smiling is important. It helps to have good posture too, it's supposed to makes you look confident. There's also pheromones but I don't think you want to hear that part." The words settle into his bones, jagged and rough as he almost wants to let out a sigh of frustration. Eye contact? Smiling? Good posture? Confident? He really didn't have anything going for him. "I've also never dated anyone by the way so I don't know if you should be asking me..."

Thinking on the words, he gives a sigh as he speaks carefully. "Okay... Okay.... So all qualities I don't have... Well damn." A shrug of his shoulders as he starts to slouch once more. A hand running through the mess of a hair he has. The smell of perfume filling him once more. Memories of a boy with soft touches and the angriest of words. The burn of words left unspoken. The grilling of teenagers pulling at the strings of what once was. "I uhmm... This is still helpful. I've never dated anyone either. Got close once, but... that didn't work out well." Wanting to show gratitude with his first words, he feels himself speaking out of stress, the words spilling out almost out of habit. It's not like he's still thinking of him. Never again. Not after everything that happened.

"Well, I think a lot of people don't have those qualities. They just pretend, right?" The words ring through his ears as he looks down to the muck beneath them. The rot still surrounding everything. His eyes focusing on the center point of the ground as he thinks about the words. Torian's voice causes him to look up a little more intrigued. "I had to do it for the cameras" Pretend. He could do that. Be someone else entirely. Surely, Jayson and Ulysses would like him more if he were someone else. Smile more, keep eye contact longer, and stand taller. Confident. He could try, but there's the voice at the back of his head laughing deeply at the thought.

Isn't that what he tried to do before? Ending up with a busted nose and a handful of bills taken from his wallet. There's a moment of silence between his own head and the next words he speaks as he looks in Torian's eyes carefully. "Interesting. Well, I guess I'll just have to pretend." The confusion comes across as he remembers the last part of Torian's words. For the cameras? Did Torian have to pretend to be confident? For a moment, he keeps his eyes focused on Torian, trying to stay focused. "For the cameras? In what way? Mine was uh... much more pathetic." Only Torian responds with ease to his questions.

"Like, during the interview. My team told me how I was supposed to act." His team had tried to do the same, but Caspian felt so nervous to be in front of all of Panem. Millions of eyes staring back at him as he felt all the millions of words ripping at his back. Pulling him under a wave of self hatred. All he wanted was to go back to his room and sleep for the rest of his life.

"Oh, well that's a smart move I think?" The words slip out as he pauses to remember his interview. There were too many memories of school and kids laughing at him. The stuttering of his own words as anxiety fills him to a frozen stage. Kids laughing and laughing as if he's there for their amusement. People pushing him around for the sake of feeling better about themselves. "I didn't really do well with the interview. I was so nervous. I'm not really a well uh... speaker? I used to get laughed at by the other kids when it came to school projects and stuff." It's a grating feeling to admit it, but he gives a small dark smile to Torian before he hears his words once more.

"Well, you don't have to do that here."

A brief snort leave his body as he responds with an awkward, but friendly feeling.

"Yeah, I guess I don't..."

There's a silence for a moment as he thinks of all of the times before. Only, he's filled with the inherent knowledge that he's always going to fuck up. He's always going to be Caspian, the boy who can't be happy. The one with a voice that's always so much more meaner than anything anyone else could ever say. The self hatred burning in his chest as his voice is a whisper in his own mind, but almost bleeds with the same fervor as the kids in his own classes. "I'm sure I look pathetic enough as is..." Pathetic. It's all they ever labeled him as.

A waste. Pathetic.

Lame.

As the words fill his head, he feels as if he goes into autopilot, moving around the area setting his bedding up for the night. The sky looming over them as he thinks of the rot around him. The smell of a memory filling him with some ease as much as the rot around him. The comfortability of the death around him almost easing him far too deep into his own head. It's easier to be pathetic. It's easier to just accept it. For Ulysses and Jayson, he'll be someone else. They wouldn't want him as he is. He's already broken, pathetic, and useless. He could be better. He could be someone else.

He could be what they deserve.

Someone better than Caspian Einfallen.

Morning is a chaotic storm of voices as he jumps awake hearing his allies moving around. Sword covered in fungus and metal; he rises up only to notice Torian and Ulysses. There's a strange feeling of comfort filling him as he stands up. There's a calm in his form as he watches with ease at the surrounding area. There's a comfort in the air, almost as if it's easier to breath. His eyes can see the rot, but a part of him feels as if he's never been safer. There's pieces of rot on the ground that feel comfortable as he stares down. Was there always mushrooms here? Only, he realizes the dirt wasn't a pale color. No, that was his skin. Mushrooms were growing from his pores as the sky seems to shift into almost a dark. The glow of the sky and the area around them being the only light, but he can see the fungus growing from his skin. Ripping once of the mushrooms, it lifts off gently before withering in his palm and an almost exactly the same mushroom grows in it place. A chill runs down his spine before he hears Ulysses' voice.

"Hardy har har, bud. It would've been funnier if we weren't running on five minutes of-" Only he can see Ulysses pulling at Torian, until he realizes what he's pulling at. Were those antlers coming out his head? Oh fuck, they really did something huh? "SHIT? THEY'RE REAL?" Only then does Caspian jump up almost surprised. There's a second where he can feel the silence stretch for a second before Torian is the one to speak next, almost reminding Caspian of his own panic.

"I told you!"

Only Jayson's next to him, there's a moment when Caspian notices for a brief second. Movement along his body as the artwork begins to move on it's own. Cool, but also terrifying in a way. The only one without something strange happening seems to be Ulysses. A brief panic of his own throat sets in. Air seems to be harder to breathe, but then he realizes the air is still coming in. The mushrooms almost fanning at the feeling and he feels almost dizzy at the realization. This was not natural at all. What did the Capitol do to them? Would they forever be this way? God, Caspian couldn't have fungus growing out of him forever.

"I told you guys to grab sleeping bags from the Bloodbath and clean them before going to sleep." Okay, so maybe he should have cleaned his before using him, but how could anyone blame him. There's no reason to clean something when it's going to get dirty later anyways, plus that's so much work. A sigh falls from his lips as Ulysses steps away to relieve himself. A sort of sigh falls from his lips as he begins to pack up their stuff, ready to get moving for the day, his voice careful as he speaks to Torian and Jayson. "So... Am I the only one freaking out right now?" His hands waving above his head as the shadow of his own form moves with a snicker. This time grey eyes are staring back at him and he almost jumps out of fear. Oh god. Yep, he was cursed by some Capitol thing. He's not sure what, but this was nowhere near natural.

"You've heard about the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, but have you heard of the Amazing Technicolor Stream…coat."

Watching Ulysses coming back red in the face, Caspian can only respond in one way, his voice filled with exhaustion already.

"Fuck me."

The sky switches from the morning to the moments before evening in a matter of seconds, the mushrooms growing in the new found darkness as he grimaces at the feeling. There's an itch around the bottom of his eyes where one of the flat mushrooms grow to give him sight still. Hearing Ulysses' words are enough to make him nod in response. He didn't quite like the new scenery they've found themselves in now. The cover of the blues and purples would not do well for them. No one was dead and soon enough they'd have to kill in order to stay alive. Death seems to breath in his vicinity as he feels the cool metal in his hands almost a bit too uncomfortable now. The mushrooms seeming to avoid the cold metal when he bring sit close. Almost a shudder through his body as he does so.

The travel is dull for him. Scenery starting to morph as the blight begins to move underneath them. Black rot beneath their wings as he stares quietly down. There's an unnatural feeling of comfort there. A dark feeling of ease that comes with being surrounded by rot. The ruin of a place so beautiful beneath him as he stares, until there's water. Water ringing through his senses as he follows Ulysses with ease. Diving through trees and trees, he can feel himself latch towards the water. Only he waits behind Ulysses. Eyes focused on the surrounding area, until he feels them move once more.

Desperate for water, he brings the flask up. There's a moment where he's about to approach the water, but he can feel a shift in the air. The mushrooms on his skin almost flattening up as he feels spores begin to drift from his skin as he looks in a direction. Ulysses moves ahead, but Caspian feels himself pause for a second. The feeling is familiar as he looks in Ulysses direction noticing Perry. Was that Le Roux and uh the guy from five? She'd made some interesting allies. A familiar purple of the sky rises above him as he looks back. Light seems to come from Le Roux almost similar to their own features having taken over for them. Carefully, he watches Ulysses move.

Water. They needed this water. Caspian knew without water they'd die sooner rather than later. While he wanted to not fight, he understood there wouldn't be a chance of getting water without some blood being spilled. "We'd like some water, please! And we'll fight for it, to save both of us from an awkward standoff." Ulysses jumping into action against Perry. There's a grimace as he watches the mirrored sword cut into flesh, unable to look away. He stays quiet for a moment, only beginning to move for a second, until he realizes something else.

Spores springing from his skin as he moves, his senses almost becoming too strong as he feels, no smells blood of wounds not fully healed. Wrapping his hands around the hilt of the cold blade made of shrooms, he can see the final figure. Someone alone and easy enough to target. If he wanted to prove his worth to Jayson, Ulysses, and Torian, he would have to hold his own in a fight. A grimace falls onto his lips as he steps forward. It's at this small moment that he notices Numair from Four, the last tribute to flee from bloodbath. The one who promised he'd be back. Caspian can't wait. There's a dark feeling of worry in his chest as he really panics over the idea of having to kill someone. There was only one way.

"Y-You picked the wrong time to come back, Four."

It's a brief feeling of nervousness as he feels himself lifting the sword with a heavy feeling in his chest.

"S-Sorry about this, but y'know gotta kill in order to survive."

(Caspian attack Numair Black; Gloomblade [sword])
U89MOvBKONsword
(Stabbed in Eye - x)

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Last Edit: Jul 3, 2023 0:54:56 GMT -5 by Tom

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 3, 2023 12:33:52 GMT -5

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Post by hesper hart 🐺 d9f on Jul 3, 2023 12:33:52 GMT -5

Technically, you could say they'd been flying for days. Mostly because they'd already been in the sky for a while when someone in the gamemaker panel seemed to stumble into the time toggle. Daylight in an instant, a brilliant sun creating shadows which yawned and stretched along the valleys like fingers, nighttime a moment later with a bright moon arcing overhead like a beachball, plummeting back beyond view. But also, for what it was worth, the three of them had also been flying for a really long time. Larissa had it easier, she knew- since Icarus was younger and smaller than Perry's gryphon, Myrtle, it meant Larissa got to ride on her own while Perry taxi'd Bellamy behind her.

It'd been another sleepless night for her, though. She lacked the patience or the desire to talk to her allies about what they got up to last night, so they'd taken to the skies soon after waking. Since she'd given up trying to sleep during the night at all, the quiet while they rode combined with the wind in her hair and the regained ability to blink without blinding herself were making it difficult for her to keep her eyes open. She'd need to rest sooner or later, she knew- it was risky and stupid not to. She'd tried to get the hours in right before sunset, when the glow was still manageable enough that it was more like sleeping with the lights on, but then, you know, every little sound sent her bolt upright, sword in hand, and Bellamy and Perry were both drinking so they were making plenty of noises.

She looked over at her allies. Perry's hair whipped into Bellamy's face nearly constantly, which made her giggle every time she saw it, but her steed was looking a bit more tired than Larissa's. Which was fair- the poor girl was bigger but she was also carrying twice the people. She figured she and Icarus could've held out another thirty minutes or so, but Perry seemed fine with breaking sooner, so she dipped them toward a break in the canopy of trees. There was a sizeable hole in the ground there, full of sparkling blue spring water. Her studies said that tended to be the sweetest kind- her mouth watered. She thought that of all the flavors she might never be able to taste again, sweet might've been the one she missed the most. This was perfect for them to take a quick break in, except for one problem-

There were other people. A lot of them, in fact. She supposed the best watering holes were always going to attract the most animals. One of them stabbed at Perry and Bellamy, and Larissa watched in shock as a boy who seemed to be crumbling into yellow dust or something stabbed another right in the eye. A cannon followed. She was struck with the realization that it was the first of the games. Of course she had the awful misfortune of somehow still being present for it. Every death that this games caused was another tragedy that would go unforgotten when Larissa rebuilt this country after tearing it to the fucking ground.

"Back to the skies, bitch!" She screamed to Perry. They could land somewhere else, or come back later. There were still four that Larissa could notice at a glance which meant that there were more foes than friends, which was never a situation Larissa would stay in for long. Not that she wanted them to know that, so she added a little flavor in case they had ideas of trying to follow- "They're all waiting on us!" There. That'd be enough to throw them off.

She did notice at the last second that one of the people on the ground was the little boy from 7 whom she'd taught to trap food. Seemed to be doing quite well for himself out here, she thought. She wondered if maybe she had been bamboozled by a tween- tricked into sharing trade secret survival hacks to someone who already had a lot of survival potential of his own hidden away somewhere. If that was true, she was too impressed to be annoyed. She nodded to him once, though she wasn't even sure he'd noticed it was her. Icarus kept her hovering maybe fifteen feet above the ground, his white wings creating gusts of wind below that slowly began to flare up small clouds of dust and debris.

"Shooting Star!" she called. Icarus cawed again before shifting his position and bolting them back into the sky.

[flee]

Last Edit: Jul 3, 2023 20:58:20 GMT -5 by hesper hart 🐺 d9f

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 4, 2023 19:31:24 GMT -5

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Post by Python on Jul 4, 2023 19:31:24 GMT -5

The human body was capable of amazing things, all while being soft and easy to break. If Torian was going to survive, he needed to habituate to pain, which was something the body was more than capable of. "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger," they say. The statement has some merit to it. Repeated exposure to pain would yield the results he wanted, but it was a process. A miserable one. The way his stitches grazed against the gryphon's sharp-sided feathers made him wince. It throbbed when he sat, when he walked, and the only relief came in the evening when he could lay down.

He distracted himself by examining his feathered friend, who he had named Thagreon (after the Pythagorean Theorem, of course). He attempted to figure out what its wings were made of - gemstones? crystals? Something synthetic? He searched for arteries and found none, wondering if this creature possessed any blood flow. He didn't plan to hurt it to find answers, so he settled with giving up and nestling with it instead. It was a surprisingly friendly creature, and tolerated Torian's desire for protection in the night.

He was unraveling spider silk when Caspian walked over, asking a bizarre question that he wasn't sure he heard correctly. "Uh... Is there a like scientific way to flirting?"

Torian blinked at him. It was a weird question, especially in this context. "Pardon?"

"Well... Ulysses and Jayson just do it so well and I don't want to y'know seem like lame... So I thought maybe you'd know if there was a uhm... scientific way to flirt?

He hadn't noticed that Ulysses and Jayson were flirting at all. In a place like this, that was hardly the priority. Romance in the Hunger Games was not unheard of though - in fact, he remembered kids gossiping about who would kiss who, which was odd to think about when you knew at least one of them would be dead soon.

Still, Torian had read about romantic and sexual interactions in books about human behavior. "Um...well, from what I've read, eye contact and smiling is important. It helps to have good posture too, it's supposed to make you look confident. There's also pheromones, but I don't think you want to hear that part." He rubbed the back of his neck. That was a little too detailed, and humans didn't like to be reminded that they were animals.

"I've also never dated anyone by the way, so I don't know if you should be asking me..." He trailed off. Maybe he should've started that, but it was too tempting to answer Caspian's science questions. He had grown up like this, cursed with a mouth that moved as quickly as his brain. People warned him that 'know it all's were annoying, but that was basically his entire class. He couldn't be the worst. He also didn't have girls or guys fawning over him, but he figured that was because he rarely showed interest. He had crushes, but he was too busy to pursue - thanks mom and dad!

Caspian mentioned his lack of those qualities, and Torian shrugged. "Well, I think a lot of people don't have those qualities. They just pretend, right?" He would bet that most of the tributes in this arena were half as confident as they acted. It was all a show, fake it til you make it. "I had to do it for the cameras."

"For the cameras? In what way? Mine was uh... much more pathetic."

"Like, during the interview. My team told me how I was supposed to act." He admittedly hadn't watched Caspian's interview, but 'pathetic' never crossed his mind. A little mopey sometimes, but overall he thought Caspian was a sweet guy. Those were hard to come by.

"I didn't really do well with the interview. I was so nervous. I'm not really a well uh... speaker? I used to get laughed at by the other kids when it came to school projects and stuff."

Torian could count on two hands how many damn presentations he had to do. "Well, you don't have to do that here."

The time for appealing to sponsors was over. They were in survival mode now, and fortunately for Caspian, they didn't need the approval of wealthy Capitolites anymore. They had fought for the treasures they owned, and in that way, Caspian was not pathetic.

--

After another deathless evening, Torian woke up to chaos. It started slowly at first, sitting up and realizing his head was heavy. His hands crept up the sides of his temples, searching for a hat that didn't exist, and wrapped around something solid. Something that branched out into several pointed ends. His heart skipped several beats as he tugged on the base of it. There was no attachment or headband - it felt like it was coming out of his skull.

"Oh my god.."

He rummaged through his bag until he found his semi-reflective canteen. What he saw was enough to send him into a panic. "I HAVE ANTLERS?"

He then looked over at Caspian, who had mushrooms sprouting from his skin. Jayson had tattoos that were moving.

Ulysses hardy har'd at him and tried to pull the antlers off of his head. It didn't hurt, but it jerked his head forward. "SHIT? THEY'RE REAL?"

"I told you!"

He spent ten minutes or so examining them, feeling every crevice, and muttering about how none of this should be scientifically possible. Then again, his classmates had said the same thing about those serums a few Games ago. Werewolves and vampires were "technically" real now, and what was he supposed to be? A mutant? A half-deer child? He held his head in his hands until it was time to leave. The prospect of potentially turning into an animal with hooves and horrible eyesight weighed heavily on him. Caspian was turning into a fungus. Who knows what Jayson and Ulysses were doing. Pissing rainbows? That sounded suspiciously like poison, but he displayed no other concerning symptoms.

The whole fiasco had him feeling mopey as he half-walked and half-limped to their destination. A sinkhole full of crystal clear water should've bolstered his motivation, but the person standing near the water and the group flying in on gryphons spoiled everything. It was the guy from the Bloodbath, the one who said "I'll be back, friends." And here he was. Had he been stalking them?

It didn't matter - Ulysses and Caspian surged forward, having chosen to fight for this water rather than negotiate. Torian wanted badly to just talk things out, but Numair was on the ground in seconds. The incoming cannon made him jump. his ears rang. There was a faint "Back to the skies, bitch!" in the background, and he was certain that was Larissa's voice. He heard the massive fwoosh of gryphon wings. It seemed the battle for resources was over before it began.

Torian didn't look at the body. He didn't want to. Instead, he turned to Jayson, "We should just get the water and go..."

[flee]

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 5, 2023 21:41:09 GMT -5 via mobile

Quote

Post by lance on Jul 5, 2023 21:41:09 GMT -5

J A Y S O N

One moment it's laughter and flirtations and joy. In your mind, mutts this early on nearly always looked scarier than they actually were, mere puppets hoisted on strings meant to generate entertainment for the Capitol and give the tributes a handful of battle scars in the process. To you, they were nothing to take seriously.

Then one of the horned horses rears up, and too late, do you realize, oh, shit.

Then it's white and red and pain all over.

You don't remember much after that. Strong hands, wrapped around your chest, your waist, pulling you away. A prick of something sharp in your head, a drop of something wet on your face - instinct dabs at it with two fingers, comes away red red red - and it's Ulysses standing over you, deft hands patching you up, placing something on your head, asking you-

"How's it feel to be twice as sick in the head, now?"

It hurts to grin, but you've never let something as simple as pain from stopping you anyway. "Guess..." you try, and oh, why is your tongue so heavy, "guess that means you finally have an equal, huh?"

The world passes in a blur, and then there is only darkness.

A scream wakes you up for good (not that you'd really slept much in the first place - stitches and painkillers can only do so much when you almost just got your head caved in by an undead horse), yet it still takes several minutes for everything to register properly.

(Was it always this bright when you woke up? Did it always hurt so much to look at anything not covered by the shade?)

All you can discern is that Torian's screaming, and Ulysses is screaming, and Caspian looks even more ready to freak out than he usually does, and your head is fucking killing you and you cannot take anything in at the moment until it stops so you half-stumble, half-crawl to where the medkit from before was stashed. No time to take it with water - like yesterday, you take them dry, ignoring the way they all but stick in your throat - and shakily stand up, and-

Okay, those were definitely not your rides taking off away from you, right? Cause nope, your purple-winged beast is still with the others, feathers on end and snarling at something or another but very much grounded, and there are bodies on those beasts but you count one, two, three standing around you, and- and why are Ulysses and Caspian's weapons dripping red?

Wait. You can see without pain, and even Capitolite sponsored painkillers don't kick in that fast. Holy shit, has it gone dark again? Did you just straight up astral project several hours into the future?

Then, movement, out of the corner of your eye, on your arm - you instinctively slap, because hey, wouldn't be the first time you'd had to get rid of a bug that'd deemed you tasty enough for dinner - but flesh only hits flesh with a resounding smack! and, oh.

You blink. You blink again. Carefully this time, you poke a single finger to your arm.

Fuck. Either you're hallucinating worse than you thought, or your tattoos are fucking moving.

Okay, Hope, you're obviously dreaming, or your head wound is actually driving you insane. Inhale, exhale, everything is fine, everything is fine-

Torian's voice sounds off to your right. Okay, that at least sounds real, unchanged. You turn to agree - something about water? Fuck yeah, you're fucking parched - and your words die on your throat, because-

Okay, yep. Definitely a fucking hallucination. Because-

"When the fuck did you get fucking antlers?!"

elegant

Last Edit: Jul 6, 2023 18:18:58 GMT -5 by lance

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 6, 2023 1:53:50 GMT -5

Quote

Post by calla on Jul 6, 2023 1:53:50 GMT -5

So it turns out that being hungover is a really good excuse for avoiding the dreaded morning after.

They've all done a pretty good job of just not talking about last night, and Perry's been doing a pretty awful job of not thinking about it.

It's like her plan backfired, because Larissa's just been ignoring them. Just like she ignored the show last night. It puts Perry in an even worse mood, lengthening her headache, making her snappy and miserable and drawn. It's not fair - they were just having fun, hello? It was supposed to be fun. It's not like Perry left Bellamy with any scars or anything. He's fine!

Honestly, Larissa's just being a stick in the mud. Live a little, babe! Shouldn't Perry be praised for trying to keep up alliance camaraderie? Shouldn't they be getting a little reward for surviving the night? But no. Of course not. The universe is punishing her and now she's saddled with swaying lover-boy while Larissa flies ahead of them doing her best impression of the sun.

Distant, and still as hot as ever.

Perry just groans and keeps her head down as they soar over the canopy. Awful. Terrible. Awful terrible idea to fly today. Bellamy's riding behind her on Myrtle, and Perry made him wrap his arms around her waist so he wouldn't fall off and smash his pretty little head open. She makes sure he gets a mouthful of hair every time she turns back to snipe at him.

"If you throw up on me," She shouts over the wind, "You're walking."

God, they're stupid. Never again! She's never doing that again. No sir. She's going to be good from now on, no more bad decisions, no more temptations, she's gonna live monk style. Focused. Dedicated. Boring (safe!).

The thought makes her want to vom. The height doesn't help.

Larissa finally slows and starts to circle something. Perry squints down at the little puddle she's found, spotting the little figures huddling at the bank, "Hey!" she points, "I know them!"

So it's probably fine, right?

She'd wondered what kind of people her little emo would latch onto. Good to know that Cas found at least one competent person - she still huffs at the sight of Jayson. And okay, she'll admit it - Myrtle drifts down and Perry realizes that maybe she's made another error. Maybe they're not so friendly. Caspian's little pal decides to ruin the party before they've even properly arrived and Perry recoils at the suddenness of his blade swinging high and carving at the curve of her hip.

"Get off me, freak!" She shrieks frantically, kicking the little shit to get him and his sword dislodged. She swears at him, at the sudden fire that licks up her side, slipping backwards and colliding with Bellamy as Myrtle bucks up and snaps at this little bit of man finally on the menu.

And silly little Cas, Perry's sad little sack of a boy, she catches him jerk through her haze of pain, but the rest of it happens too quickly. She can only process the agony for a few seconds before a cannon booms and Myrtle takes off after Larissa, shooting into the sky and forcing Perry to make a mad scramble to hold on, caught between clutching at her leg or clutching at the gryphon. Her head swims at the sudden change in altitude, her entire being shifting to stop herself from blacking out and slipping from the sky.

And oh god, she's bleeding now. Like, really bad. Like, really, really bad.

Just her luck, huh? You try to do one good thing-

perry flees with bellamy

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 6, 2023 12:30:33 GMT -5

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Post by d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris on Jul 6, 2023 12:30:33 GMT -5

"If you throw up on me," Perry begins, voice like a knife's edge against his exposed throat, "you're walking."

He remembers the touch of her jagged teeth on his soft skin, the taste of iron and salt and hedonism heavy on his tongue. The blood pooling in his mouth. In the hours that have followed, Bellamy has not yet processed his betrayal, but he cannot dismiss the fact that his girlfriend had probably been sitting in front of the television screen when he made his choice to indulge in Perry's company last night. The alcohol in his system does not excuse this.

Even if it burns his life away, leaves him standing in the ashes as someone unrecognizable, bare and raw, Bellamy does not know how to deny pleasure when it is offered to him. Impulse control does not count as a talent.

Desperate to be the top student, the star athlete, the favorite child, the most worthy of being loved in any space he enters; he has lived inside this wanting for a very long while. This flesh feels familiar, inevitable, like the brush of his fingertips against Perry's waist as he holds her securely. He has no intention of dying here, even if he lifted his hand and volunteered to take a bullet. Always, there will be some essence of him that is convinced he can survive any danger.

Even her.

Even himself.

And if his ambition is going to be his end, blade jutting out of his chest, an endless stream of blood pouring from his open lips, well... Why spend what could be his final moments in misery? He is no fool. Even if he comes home with a crown, he will have to answer for his actions, for the metaphorical gun he placed to not only his own head, but to his loved ones' as well. But that time can wait. For now, he has nothing but time to think of the story he might spin to defend himself, or better yet: maybe he'll stop lying.

If it means finally discovering who he truly is, does it matter whether or not he likes himself?

His eyes glisten like rose quartz as he chuckles beside Perry's ear, voice like honey on the tongue, a needle moving through the skin, a thread being pulled taut. He could stitch their destinies together so easily. "I'm not as queasy as you give me credit for," he chides gently, removing his hands from her waist just long enough for her to consider if she misses the warmth of them; he spreads out his arms like wings, torso tightening to balance himself, a boy in mid-flight. He smiles, laughing, the pink in his gaze turning to gold and back to amber again. The world is beautiful from this high up.

He watches Larissa charge ahead on her steed, pristine white wings unfurled, sepia fathers absorbing the sunlight with each stroke through the air. It disappoints him that she doesn't turn to glance over her shoulder, making no rush to join Perry and himself in their debauchery despite their open invitation... prudence bores him, but power enchants him. And so, he feels terribly caught in the wake of her storm, her ascension to godhood unraveling before them all. He returns his grip to Perry's waist, and he lies to himself that this is a treasure that he could be content with on its lonesome.

Sighing, ignoring the sting of Perry's pitch black strands of hair whipping against his face, he trusts his alliance to guide him. Minutes pass, and like temptation beckoning its finger at each of them to follow, he grins at the clearing that expands beneath them. It holds the promise of water and sanctuary alike, and Larissa is quick to start her descent on Icarus as Myrtle follows closely behind. Bellamy holds Perry tighter, brown curls lifted into the air, his expression still one of excitement and glee. The height makes him feel dizzy, but in the best way. This could be a dream come to life.

The unfortunate thing about losing control of your senses is that it makes it difficult to spot the danger until it's too late. They've all but landed before other tributes reveal themselves in the area, a quick and unstoppable ambush. There is nothing Bellamy can do as a boy bolts forward and drags his sword across Perry's leg, cutting almost down to the bone. She gasps in pain, falling back against his chest, and when he hears the cannon blast for a moment he's almost convinced it belongs to her.

He reaches up an instinctual finger to place against the curve of her throat, touch warm and soft, a kiss of flower petals; and he is grateful to feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat, the ringing in his ears subsiding with his adrenaline and revealing her grunts of pain. Of course, it would take much more than that to fell Perry. He scans the space to make sure Larissa is safe, and he can see that she is clearly unmarred and in the midst of planning their retreat. An unfamiliar tribute lies still in the grass, all life expelled from his lungs, a blindfold of scarlet seeping over his face and shielding him from all the terrors.

They caught up to him in the end, but he's the only one escaping today.

"Back to the sky, bitch!" Larissa urges Perry, and for his part, Bellamy reaches forward and around the wounded girl. He secures her in place under the folding of his long arms, taking hold of Myrtle's reins with his hands closing around Perry's. "I've got you," he comforts, warns, ensnares. They glide upwards, higher and higher, away from this nightmare and on to the next. But they are alive, and as bad as the gash looks, he knows that his ally will pull through. He listens to her hisses of pain, and he attempts to distract her from the hurt, a warm and low laugh leaving his lips.

The trapdoor spider slams the door shut.

"If it's really that bad, I could always try kissing it better."

{ bellamy flees with perry }

Last Edit: Jul 6, 2023 12:35:59 GMT -5 by d7f amber bosch 🌿 tris

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 6, 2023 14:43:02 GMT -5

Quote

Post by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio on Jul 6, 2023 14:43:02 GMT -5

U L Y S S E S.

Her leg is the closest thing that I can take a swing at without jumping onto their creature. A pair of them on one gryphon and the third on the other, it appears that we're not the only ones who became friends with the arena's amicable fliers. The girl, who I recognize is from District Two, kicks her hard back heel between my collar and shoulder. "Get off me, freak!" I stumble back, tripping into the shallow end of the water. Her maned companion growls in my direction, its claws spiking forward in the wet earth.

It's Caspian, though, of all people, who takes everyone's attention. I hadn't even noticed until the sharp piercing sound of his sword that Caspian found another target, one with a mount of his own. Familiar violet cloaks around his back, Caspian speaks to him. It's Numair, the last person to be chased away from the bloodbath. He must've been in the forest while Elijah and I had our stand-off in the forest lines.

Shit. Was he the one who'd left the vial there for me that day? Out of gratitude for letting him live? "I'll be back, friends."

The girl from One, Larissa, takes the cannon's boom as an opportunity to get away. She says that the others are waiting for them to return. Peregrine and Bellamy (I think… I tried to remember everyone's names just in case I needed an empathetic bargaining chip) follow suit with their gryphon, drops of blood raining from the sky as they take flight.

I sink my hands into the bottom of the shallow water behind me, digging them into the grain to catch my breath. Had Larissa's command been any later, their gryphon might have stomped me hard enough to meld my body into the earth for good.

Jayson and Torian both step toward the water, jugs in hand. "Water feels nice." I turn back to splash my face. The arena's been dry for the most part, especially after yesterday's journey into those dead woods. I look forward with a smile, trying to lighten the mood after what just happened. But no one looks slightly impressed. Especially Caspian, across the water.

Will I ever tell Caspian that it was Numair who left the blue vial for me? The one I'd given Caspian to heal his cuts and bruises?

I splash my face again, holding my tongue. He's been through it already. He doesn't need more.

[flees]

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lavender forever | bad influence v. faemous v. numair (day 3 Jul 7, 2023 2:01:59 GMT -5

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Post by Tom on Jul 7, 2023 2:01:59 GMT -5

The cannon sounds; echoing loud with the recoil of his own hands. The burning feeling of a heavy feeling through his throat. Cold, heavy, and dark. The sword pierces with a broken sound of his own words hanging quietly through the air. The battered feeling of his own hands shaking with the hilt of the sword as he watches in fear, in a heaviness he can't swallow. Death lingers to his skull; a taste of the hellish person he's always thought of himself as. The pathetic voice of his own ringing over and over and over and over again. Pieces of himself lingering beneath the surface; spores drifting in the wind as he can feel the mushrooms of his pores ache with an unfamiliarity. Blood drips ever so slowly from metal; drop by drop as he can see the unprepared eyes of another. A human. Just like himself. A human who carried more than just the simple words he'd heard in the chaos. A story unwritten by his own hands; unraveling with a single pierce of a blade.

There's a gasp; it's his own.

Words tumble from beneath his lips; burning with all the guilt of a boy who's always been the worst of the worst. Told he'll never amount to anything more than the broken kid he always has been. The hatred hidden behind his own eyes as he stares into that one blank and dying eye. Weight drifting underneath him as he knows he needs to rip his weapon free. Only, he can hear wings beating away. "I-I... N-No... H-How c-c-could I..." There's a ripping of his own heart for just a second as he reaches forward, trying to hold the dying person in his own grasp. A moment where he's panicking beneath the darkening sky. Metal glittering with the red drops, one by one, over the ground below. His voice is wrecked; destroyed beyond recognition as he feels broken guilty tears falling down his cheeks. The tears catching on the shroom heads beneath his jaw.

"I-I d-didn't me-mean..." to kill you. His voice supplies beneath the surface, ripping at the metaphorical flesh of his own emotions. As he can feel the life drifting from his fingertips; the death lingering behind his palms coated in the red of a boy who'll never get to breath the same air again. A story left unwritten. A family left broken. Friends left with empty memories. A dream to never be lived. A fate worse than death. Pieces of a chess game scattered about the floor. Would he had done the same? Mourn over the body of a broken boy known as Caspian. Only, he can't ever know. The blood's been spilled; the flowers bloom. Sprouting out of the rot of the cenote; surrounding the guy from bloodbath. Panic filling his lungs as he can't breath.

There's sound around him; allies moving about for water, for supplies, for anything. He can't hear them. His ears are muffled as his heart thrums over and over and over. A heavy beating of his own pathetic life. Voices of a thousand different sounds echoing with the hatred he carries. The burdens he's been born with on his shoulders; a weight unable to be measured. It should've been him. It should've been him to be the first cannon sounding. The first face in the sky. The first death to be forgotten about for good. Rot beneath his skin as he reaches with heavy breaths for the metal. The metal to rip away a life. Metal to flesh, bone to skin. The sound burns through him as he pulls and pulls. His throat feels as if he's choking on death; burning with the feeling of blood coating his hands.

Desperate, he pulls.

The hollow feeling in his chest doesn't respond. The voices are heavy; reminding him how much of a loser he really was. This wasn't the first time he'd seen death, but he'd been so much younger then. Felt the cold hand of his own family walking along the path to death. His fingers brush gently against the boy from Four, laying him to the earth around them. Flowers blooming with the ever growing pain in his chest. He's dead. Deader than anyone he's ever seen. Body still warm with the life he'd just taken. The empty feeling is unnatural; hidden beneath all the panic. The sorrow digs into his ribs; finds a home behind the parts where veins were meant to meet.

Only, the unnatural feeling grows.

Almost a voice beneath the surface, fluttering with the shadows of the earth; spores spreading along with an ease.

"Back to the rot. Back to the rot. Back to the rot"

Eyes staring back at him; lips moving, but only a voice he can hear. His shadow speaks; words left in the wind as he can feel his fingers shake with an unnatural ease, only he's fighting the feeling. The unnatural feeling of need. The unnatural feeling of rot beneath his skin. Pleased by his actions, his shadow moves ever so slowly, but he ignores the shadow. Pulls away and lets out a sob; heavy and filled with all the guilt of a boy who's never felt anything right. All he can do is falter; break beneath the crushing weight of death.

Turning away, there's a pain to his heart.

A gold crown beneath his feet, reaching down to pick it up. What was he meant to be? The worst kind of king; death beneath his fingers. A tyrant to be cut down. Isn't that what makes him the worst? All he'll ever do is take and take and take. No one deserves to be around someone as awful as you, Cas. The voices of the past ring; empty and hollow. The cold rush of them filling his chest empty. A heavy chill spreading across his shoulders, empty and never-ending. Caspian doesn't breath as he turns to see them.

The people he desperately clung to. The idea of being someone they could need. Someone they could trust. Someone they could like... or be even more with. Only, he had known what he'll always be. Another pathetic boy, someone who deserves all the hurt given to him. There's no smiles, no laughs, nothing more than a serious heaviness. Torian can't even look his way. Jayson's acting strange, almost as if he's unable to process what he's done. And, Ulysses... smiles for a moment, but there's no light beneath those irises. Filled with the knowledge of what comes next, he freezes. Eyes looking downward towards the ground; his flask dipping in the water.

They know who you are, Cas.

The voice screams.

Just another useless boy.

The skies are easier to run to.

Tears beneath his eyes;

he knew they would eventually see him the same way as everyone else does.

(Caspian Einfallen flees)

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