what the {water} gave me :: TSH vs C vs E vs I

i never imagined you
d e a d
but tell me
are you even
a w a r e

I hear their wings in the air around me, but they are not the same. Not heartbeat. Not lifeblood. Not almostdeath. These butterflies swoop without vengeance, a fluttering halo of motion around me, the flight-paths of their swarm attuned to my every step. I am brightbright in the early sun: neon tourniquets made from strips of torn clothing and fragments of Nakom wings still stuck to the dried sweat of my skin from yesterday's battle. Winged bodies as large as my palm are woven into the tangles of my hair. Colbalt. Magenta. Chartreuse. Viridian. I am a corpse-carrier and their blood is splashed like war paint across my cheeks and arms. These innocent cousins of my vanquished enemy that soar around me, they bear no teeth or ill tiding. They cannot tell that the colors I wear are a warning of danger.

There is something stubborn within me, the thrumming of a soul that has kissed Death's cheek and lived to tell the tale. All the aches and pains — including the desert-thirst of dry-throat misery — are distant, belonging to someone else. All that remains within me is victory and I wear it as a crown forged from the broken remnants of my enemy. This is why I do not hesitate, throwing myself toward a scattering of desperately thirsty Tributes, despite the marks of damage that mar my body. It is not simply that I do not feel the wounds; it is that they are not mine to feel.

The impulse that pulls me off my feet and onto my hands is not a secret, the world flipping upside-down in a practiced tumble of limbs as I set flame to my weapon and come face-to-face once more with a girl who knows my habit far better than the rest of them. "Deja vu, Destin?" Beside her is the girl from One, one of the few who has carved a place in my selfish memory — Shore — who has enough ambition marking her movements to be kin to my own aspirations. My bow is griped between my toes, a blazing arrow cocked and aimed straight at River... but this is not the same accident as our encounter in the Training Center. Here we are meant to trade blows instead of smiles, but that doesn't stop the smallest hint of a grin from slipping into the corner of my lips at the memory of her mimicking my current stance. Only, the moment passes and this time I let my arrow fly, my butterfly-followers dancing around it as it twists through the air — a ballet; a waltz; a prelude for a mother's mourning — and toward a face less familiar.

[Cricket Uses Tar + Firemaking // Attacks Ezra // Bow & Arrows]

[dice=200+4000]

[Miss]

[dice=50]

[Severe Burn — 8 Damage]

a constellation of tears on your lashes
burn everything you love then burn the ashes
in the end, everything collides
my childhood spat back out
the monster that you see

It's a sort of sixth sense that makes me aware of the flaming arrow leveled at my heart more than actually seeing it, the world swimming in a kaleidoscope of chaos around me even as Cricket vaults up onto her hands in the corner of my vision. "Deja vu, Destin?"

And really, I think that this must be it. My lungs stutter to an anticipatory halt, eyelids fluttering closed and waiting for the end. I can only hope that Cricket holds me in high enough esteem to make it quick. There is no pain, no tunnel, no white light - only the continued clamor of battle as something lightning-fast passes my ear with a deadly whoosh and a flash of heat, making contact with flesh that isn't mine. Eyes snapping open, I direct a look of grateful confusion at the District Two girl, a little smirk-smile that holds a certain amount of pride in the hope that I'm not dying. Not today.

"Not exactly the kind of nostalgia I was looking for," I snark back, vaulting out of the way of an errant swing in a heels-over-head tumble that would make even the Contortionist Queen herself proud. Balancing precariously on my palms in a strange echo of that first day at the training center, I shoot Cricket a wink before launching back onto my feet.

(Or maybe I am a monster. That's the only explanation of why my heartbeat is steady in my ears, how my muscles don't hesitate to put a weapon to use.)

The boy from Three is already crippled by my first attack, his knee a grisly mass of blood and bone that pains me to even look at it. He won't last, not alone in the Arena with a bad leg to slow him down. While Cricket's not looking exactly at the top of her game, it's still clear that he's the weak link here. That, and something won't let me try to hit her after she spared my life by a bowstring and a few inches of air. Suddenly, I find myself wishing that I had a more elegant weapon, could be skilled with a bow like Cricket is or wield a sword with the same finesse as I've seen Emerald do. Bludgeoning people to death is a monstrous way to kill, and I don't need to feel any more like a monster than I already do.

[River attacks Ezra Argrow with her Flail]
[dice=200+12000]
[Broken Left Collar Bone -- 6.5 damage]

my songs know what you did in the dark
so light 'em up, up, up, light 'em up, up, up
light 'em up, up, up, i'm on fire
so light 'em up, up, up, light 'em up, up, up
light 'em up, up, up, i'm on fire in the dark, woah

glowing sun
now that you’re awake
everything seems different
i look around
but there’s nothing at all

Tbh, it's really hard to respond to fillers, rofllll, and I honestly can't think of what to write right now. So I will write a post tomorrow night after work... or Sunday after work if I get distracted by real life. But this will be filled in; I just don't want to hold things up.

[Cricket Attacks Ezra // Bow & Arrows + Fire]

[dice=200+4000]

[Miss]

[dice=50]

[Moderate Burn — 4 Damage // Death]