:.the {blood's} run {stale}.: Peri v. Bran/Day 7
Nov 10, 2012 11:07:52 GMT -5
Post by Rosetta on Nov 10, 2012 11:07:52 GMT -5
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[/color][/size][/blockquote]~Bran Wolfe
The world had turned black or at least Bran thought so. It was late day and finally, Curtis was able to put Bran down on the smooth stone of this new level of hell. They'd been making their way up towards the river Bran had barely seen since his first day in this hell when they'd been forced to turn back by the Gamemakers, using their black magic to force the tributes into one another.
The area they turned up at was a place Bran never in a million years would willingly go to. Smooth and dark, the area had an evil feel to it. The stone that Bran was placed on was so smooth and polished he could vaguely see a blurred reflection in it of a pale figure with dark hair. Perhaps it was a mirror to the realm of the dead, like in one of Aria's stories. One of her stupid stories, that is.
Back at home, Bran would be lulled to sleep by the fantastic stories that Aria had filled his head with. Such as the hero who had ridden Hodor into battle. They filled his eyes with blazing gold banners, scarlet blood, drip-dropping and rearing horses, the hero with his arm raised high, the steel of his sword biting the open air. He used to smile even when imagining himself on that horse for one day he would be able to ride. One day he'll be able to walk and climb.
Now, it was getting harder and harder to believe in heroes in a hell where there was no nobility to be found. Now, Bran knew that Aria's stories were just a veil, an illusion meant to confuse him, meant to hide her true nature. She was just as bad as the rest of them.
In the mirror of the earth, Bran watched as a pale hand come up to the pale face and ran its fingers over the stiff, dried blood on the soft skin that was there. The hands fingered what coated its cheeks, nose and even lips, crusty, but still as metallically sharp-tasting as the day it had been shed. He was a bloody, bloody dead boy in this black pool of souls. But, more souls were appearing across, approaching, barely blurs at first, but soon becoming long, distinct legs, torsos, arms and even faces and Bran's eyes widened because they weren't- "Curtis!"
Flipping around, Bran frantically blinking through the haze tried to catch sight of Curtis, but he was already overtaken by another tribute and Bran was alone, trying to see, but it was so dark.
Someone once told him, Sarita perhaps with her silly poetry, that the darkest hour was just before the dawn. But, it was broad daylight in Hell and nothing was darker than the slaughter of children.
That's when Bran saw him. He seemed to have materialized from the dark, stone mirror, rising up out of it over Bran who gasped. It was him. Aria's little pet.
Bran's replacement.
Bran had never quite gotten his name, but what did it matter? His hand reached for the knife in his pocket as his eyes narrowed, that new emotion he'd learned yesterday bubbling up in his stomach. Bran was sending him to his maker nameless and naked as the day he was born.
Without speaking a single word, for all was explained in his blazing eyes and he threw himself up and forward and suddenly, he was sinking his wolf teeth into flesh and the boy was crying out a name. A single name.
“Aria!”
And Bran hated him for it.
[attacks peri with knife]
[dice=200+2000]
It was the back of this wretched beast and Bran welcomed, with a satisfied sigh, the warm flow of blood over his stabbing hand as he jerked the knife out. However, before he could drive it down again and again and again, he felt his entire being jerked back and suddenly, Bran was lying on his back and there was something slimy all over him and Bran gagged and struggled, his heart racing in horror, overcome with its slimy weight, its putrid smell and perhaps he was dying as it overtook him and it was all dark and he must've passed out from the sharpness of the odor for a short amount of time and the next thing Bran knew, he was blinking awake and it had relieved its body of him, but left behind several other things.
For one thing, Bran was now covered from head to toe in a slime that smelled strongly of gasoline. Secondly, his toga appeared to have been ripped from him and in its place a...another outfit just barely covered him. Something that Sarita would wear. Garish, golden and...furry...just covering what was below his waist and covering his chest as if he were a girl. Bran's cheeks burned and he made to pull it off, but he realized, in horror, that he was chained down by his hands and ankles (though they were lifeless anyway). Bran's eyes were wider than saucers. Was he dreaming? Had he passed out and that boy killed him?
No. The clanging of weapons was all around him and the smooth stone below him reflected his red face...and something else. With a jolt, Bran slowly raised his head to what was breathing hot air heavily on the back of his neck.
With a gasp, Bran nearly fell back, but caught him just in time with his elbows, before his head hit the stone and he passed out again. A large, slimy worm was coiled next to him, raising what appeared to be its even slimier blind head at him. For a long moment, Bran and the worm had a standoff and Bran's mind was racing from one solution to the next. Struggle, break these bonds? Where was his knife? Could he kill it?
However, before he could even work out a single solution, the worm dived down towards him and Bran screamed, but it didn't hurt him, but rather nuzzled his stomach, purring. Actually purring. Bran couldn't believe it and he was disgusted, but vaguely intrigued. And this is what appeared to have chained him up...and put him in those outfit. All urges to fight were forgotten now as the worm curled its slimy body around Bran, cuddling with him.
Oh brother. It was going to be a long day.
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