luck of the draw // esther, post-bloodbath
Oct 17, 2024 21:56:22 GMT -5
Post by lance on Oct 17, 2024 21:56:22 GMT -5
E S T H E R
You're alive.
There's an arrow in your arm and blood leaking down the back of your skull and your lungs are burning with exertion, but you're alive.
Whether that's by fate or by design is still a conclusion you have yet to reach.
Still, something had possessed your legs and forced you to run once you realized that there were far fewer people duking it out for supplies than you might expect for a bloodbath. The chaos of twenty four was manageable - it was easy to slip between the cracks in a situation like that. Cut it down to....four? Five? other kids, and suddenly you're not the anonymous wallflower you've done your best to appear as for the past week, but a nail sticking out of a piece of wood like a sore thumb.
Yet despite that, you still draw breath. Despite your clumsy escape, there hadn't been a ghost of a pursuit. That you couldn't control. Fate, it seemed, had other plans.
The terrain is wholly unfamiliar to the flat, sharp surfaces of the Capitol buildings, and the weapon you'd grabbed and swung exactly once - a sword, surprisingly mundane for such an extraordinary event - had taken to acting as a makeshift walking stick. You were armed, you had a bag and something or another that sloshed - some sort of drink? - and yet the inability to guess what was more than two feet in front of you was seriously hindering your movement.
Maybe that's why your attackers had let you be. No point in chasing down what could be caught at the pace of a brisk walk, anyways. Something something, tens of thousands of years of human evolution, only this time you were the prey.
You don't have time to ruminate on it further, however - for your sword slash walking stick, at this point only scraping on gravel or clacking into stone, suddenly crashes into something that lets out a loud CLANG of metal on metal. You pause, intrigued - some sort of metal pillar, perhaps?
A closer inspection (carefully done, lest you cut yourself further) reveals something else entirely. Another weapon of some sort, only this one seems to be important - you'd hit its hilt, yet the rest of...whatever it was seemed to be encased in some sort of stone. Stone adorned with a plaque, though you'd only managed three letters through touch.
You pause, pondering.
Fate. Right.
Then you step forward, grab, and pull.
There's an arrow in your arm and blood leaking down the back of your skull and your lungs are burning with exertion, but you're alive.
Whether that's by fate or by design is still a conclusion you have yet to reach.
Still, something had possessed your legs and forced you to run once you realized that there were far fewer people duking it out for supplies than you might expect for a bloodbath. The chaos of twenty four was manageable - it was easy to slip between the cracks in a situation like that. Cut it down to....four? Five? other kids, and suddenly you're not the anonymous wallflower you've done your best to appear as for the past week, but a nail sticking out of a piece of wood like a sore thumb.
Yet despite that, you still draw breath. Despite your clumsy escape, there hadn't been a ghost of a pursuit. That you couldn't control. Fate, it seemed, had other plans.
The terrain is wholly unfamiliar to the flat, sharp surfaces of the Capitol buildings, and the weapon you'd grabbed and swung exactly once - a sword, surprisingly mundane for such an extraordinary event - had taken to acting as a makeshift walking stick. You were armed, you had a bag and something or another that sloshed - some sort of drink? - and yet the inability to guess what was more than two feet in front of you was seriously hindering your movement.
Maybe that's why your attackers had let you be. No point in chasing down what could be caught at the pace of a brisk walk, anyways. Something something, tens of thousands of years of human evolution, only this time you were the prey.
You don't have time to ruminate on it further, however - for your sword slash walking stick, at this point only scraping on gravel or clacking into stone, suddenly crashes into something that lets out a loud CLANG of metal on metal. You pause, intrigued - some sort of metal pillar, perhaps?
A closer inspection (carefully done, lest you cut yourself further) reveals something else entirely. Another weapon of some sort, only this one seems to be important - you'd hit its hilt, yet the rest of...whatever it was seemed to be encased in some sort of stone. Stone adorned with a plaque, though you'd only managed three letters through touch.
You pause, pondering.
Fate. Right.
Then you step forward, grab, and pull.
[esther attempts to yoink the sword]
