{vengeance} gypsy vs. owen

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
when rome is in ruins
we are the lions
free of the coliseums
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

As I stared at my former ally turned assailant I realized how little I knew about Owen Rook. He was just a strong tribute who I'd stumbled upon in training, and we all agreed that allying would be in our best interests. Over time I'd grown to feel like they were my brothers—and not just the one that was, biologically, my brother—but Owen had always been a bit of a dark horse, y'know? I mean, I knew everything there was to know about Pyrian; we'd spent life as a team. Asunder, he tended to wear his emotions on his sleeve. Before he died... at the hands of Py. Then there was Owen. He'd always been there, always done his part, but rarely allowed any insight to his life. Who was he, this boy who'd been the brother of Alexander Hood, a former District Seven tribute? Who was he, this boy who had tried to kill my brother, his ally, with absolutely no remorse in his eyes? Can't be that much different than Pyrian, who did the same thing. Except he succeeded. I shoved the thought away angrily; Pyrian was not like Owen. They were as different as different could be.

"There wouldn't be six of us left if your idiot brother hadn't gone after Asunder. Unprovoked." I snorted. "Oh, come on, you honestly think Py did that without a reason? You don't know him like I do," I contradicted, a flame of indignance shinin' in my eye. "He told me he did it cause Asunder killed Noah. Don't ask me how the hell he even knew Noah Ripley, because I've got no damn clue either." I couldn't help but feel anger, confusion, and hurt that my Pyrian hadn't explained this to me before he'd gone off and thrown a flaming knife at Asunder's head. "And I'm not sayin' he should've done it. I don't think he should've. But it's damn ignorant to say he didn't have a reason. Asunder did somethin' to upset him, so he attacked. Isn't that what these entire fuckin' Games are all about?" It was kill of be killed, here. And after vein' babysat by the rest of us since we'd entered the arena, Asunder was probably better off.

He blocked my knife with his sword, and the flame went out immediately. Angrily I chucked it at my feet—one fire-weapon wasted, before I'd even gotten a chance to use it—and pulled another fiery knife out of my fist, prepared to use it. Suddenly, though, his sword came flyin' at my chest, too quick for me to duck out of the way; I braced myself for the impact, but instead of breakin' skin it sliced clean against my armored vest, and I swear to Ripred I'd never been more glad to have it since the Games began cause I knew that if it hadn't been there that would've hurt. Its flame went out as well, and I couldn't help but grin with satisfaction. He'd only had one jar of tar left, I remembered. His final fire had just gone out, whereas I had a fistful of five throwing knives—or regular knives, however I wanted to use 'em—still lit. I had the upper hand, because who else could play with fire like me? "Looks like your flame's been snuffed out," I sneered. "Pity, isn't it?" And, separatin' one knife from its flamin' friends, I attacked.

[attacks Owen, flaming knife]
[dice=200+2000]
[stabbed in hand, 8, -3 with his gloves]

[dice=50]
[moderate burn +4]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
tonight the foxes hunt the hounds
and it's over now before it has begun
we've already won
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

My knife connected with his hand, and the flames burned right through his glove to make a pretty big welt on his skin. Though the armor had cushioned the blow a bit, the blade still was able to draw some blood; I grinned with satisfaction, thinkin' that maybe with a lame hand Owen wouldn't be much of a fighter. The advantage I had in this fight was pretty obvious; though he was usin' a sword, my flaming knives were nothin' to sneer at. I knew how to use 'em, I had practice usin' 'em, and my fire had not yet failed me. Though I'd been through a ton during these hellish Games—though I'd seen death many times over, and caused it plenty myself—I still swore that if I had to die, I would go down fightin' with flames.

"You don't have a clue, either. So what makes me the ignorant one? You're blindly defending him because you shared a womb." I pushed away the truth of this statement, because I knew full well that Py and I couldn't be a team for the entire Games, but I could sure as hell take care of him for as long as I possibly could till the end. It was what we'd always done for each other, and I wasn't about to be the one to fuck that up. "Yeah, and isn't that what you do for your family?" I spat angrily, rolling my eyes. "Don't tell me you wouldnt've done that for Alexander, if the two of you'd been in the same Games." I didn't care if I'd touched a nerve, bringin' up Owen's lost sibling from the 59th Hunger Games four years back. "Look, I'm not stupid, and I'm not one of those damn idiots who defends their kin to the death, alright? If it comes to it, I know I've gotta kill Py," I explained, and my stomach squirmed just thinkin' about it but I knew it was true. "But I'm sure as hell not gonna leave him in the dust till I've really gotta. I owe that to him, at least."

Owen took another shot to my torso and managed to slice his longsword across the last remainin' bit of my armored vest. It was just a scratch and it didn't do much damage, but the brief moment of pain suddenly made everything just a bit sharper, a bit more intense. It occurred to me that if I let my guard down even for a second, Owen would kill me, no remorse. That would be it—Gypsy Keeni would be no more, nothin' but a fadin' memory in the minds of the people who knew her. I can't let that happen. Determined and slightly panicked now, I clenched my fiery knife all the harder as I lunged at my enemy once more.

[attacks Owen, flaming knife]
[dice=200+2000]
[block]

[dice=50]
[moderate burn +4]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
come on make it easy, say i never mattered
run it up the flagpole
we will teach you how to make boys next door out of assholes
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

I spat a string of swears under my breath as he managed to block my knife's blow once again, though the tips of my flames caught his skin and singed it a bit. Burns blossomed up on his pale skin that was usually shaded by the trees of Seven, and I had to admit it gave me some sadistic pleasure to see 'em, see what I'd done. I'd been leavin' my trail across the arena: burns, ashes, soot, smoke, remnants of the flames that obeyed me and me only. "You don't know shit about me and Alexander." I gave a cackle of disbelief. "Then what makes you think you know shit about me and Py, smartass?" I began to pace, twirling my knife and watching the fiery pattern it made across the air as it spun. "Why don't you mind your own fuckin' business, and then maybe you'll realize you don't actually know everythin', much as it'll hurt to admit."

He got in another shallow cut, this time on my head; I winced, but it didn't hurt for long. What did hurt, though, was the jab he took about Pyrian not bein' here with me, bein' off somewhere on his own, the whole world silent to him. "Like I said, I'm not gonna defend him to the death. He left somewhere, and I ain't gonna follow him. But I have a feelin' that killin' you would make him happy enough to make up for it." I pictured Owen's body layin' on the ground, bleedin' out, enveloped in smoke residue from my knives. A morbid scene, and my fault. But I had a feelin' that after the fact, if I ever got out of this place alive, that kill would be the one that would stand out in my mind forever.

[attacks Owen, flaming knife]
[dice=200+2000]
[dg chest 9.5]

[dice=50]
[minor burn +2]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
come on make it easy, say i never mattered
run it up the flagpole
we will teach you how to make boys next door out of assholes
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

My eyes widened as I buried my flamin' knife deep inside Owen's chest, as if I hadn't known I was capable of such a strong hit even though it had happened often enough in these Games. The spurt of blood that followed nearly doused the flames, but I pulled it away quick enough to make sure they stayed burning. I thought if I were fighting anyone but Owen Rook, they might've given up by now. But this kid was no quitter—if I hadn't learned anything else about him during our time as allies, I had learned that at least. He made sure he fought with all his strength against every enemy he'd faced, and he'd made a fair amount of kills, too. People had died because of Owen. Only here I am, hardly hurt and beatin' his ass. It showed that size and strength weren't everything, right?

I had to admit, though, with every slice of my knife, as he got closer and closer to dyin', I couldn't shake the feelin' that I was a monster for killin' someone I'd had a personal connection with durin' these Games, however insignificant and temporary it had been. We were allies. I tried to tell myself that he'd broken the alliance before I had so I was no way responsible for this, but technically it had been Pyrian, my own flesh and blood, who had screwed everything up. It was rare that I actually felt any sort of animosity towards my brother, but at that moment I was pretty damn pissed off. Not enough to side with Owen over Py, but enough to at least see where he was comin' from. But this alliance had never been destined to last, anyway, so what did it matter?

[attacks Owen, flaming knife]
[dice=200+2000]
[block]

[dice=50]
[moderate +4]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
come on make it easy, say i never mattered
run it up the flagpole
we will teach you how to make boys next door out of assholes
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

Even as beaten up as he was, Owen was damn good at blocking my attacks. Three times he'd managed to knock my small blade away, still gettin' singed by the fire but not gettin' cut or gashed. I bit my lip in frustration; I just wanted him dead fast, because the more drawn out this was the harder it would be for me to do it. And the more he was able to hurt me, the less ready I would be for the eventual showdown that I knew was comin' soon. The Gamemakers wouldn't leave us in here for much longer. We'd been in here for over a week, and it was time for the outcome of these bloody Games to be decided. One of us would win, the rest of us would be corpses. Either way, it was almost the end.

I gave a small wince as he sliced another small cut on my hip, but he had yet to make a hit that actually injured me significantly. I think he was probably losin' his steam, and to tell you the truth, I was, too. Only the difference was I wasn't bleedin' badly from two places and nursin' smokin' skin from four. "Hey, Owen?" I said, all traces of ferocity gone from my voice. Instead I was talkin' to him the way I'd talked to him since day one. As a friend. A partner. Not an enemy. "It probably doesn't mean shit now, I know. And you probably just want me to shut my fuckin' mouth and stop makin' this a hundred times worse." I held back my knife for one second, just one more second. I'd finish him off soon, but first I had somethin' to say. "But I just want you to know that I'm sorry." There. I'd leave it at that. Let him make of it what he wanted, because I was sick and tired of explainin' myself to everyone.

[attacks Owen, flaming knife]
[dice=200+2000]
[dg right thigh 8]

[dice=50]
[moderate +4]