burn it all {Day 3 -- TLD vs HH}

Erik Strauss, the boy that had laughed with her, and the boy that just wanted to be remembered.
Motel Hunt, the boy that had drank bottle after bottle of alcohol with her.
Sierra Birdbrook, the tiny little girl that was the closest thing to a sister she had ever had.
Locust Lovelace, the girl she was slowly falling in love with.

Why was there so much here? Why was there so much in a desolate arena when every person in this godforsaken place wanted to kill her? How in the world had Opal Shore ended up in a small enclosed arena where the people in her were more real, more kind and caring and friendly then those back in district one. It was a cruel, testing fate and one she knew that would end in despair and more agony then it was worth. The people she was fighting against were so much more real than the blood thirsty machines back at home. And it was killing her to think of how this – everything around her was affecting them all. The sight of Akasha mutilated body was enough to send tears springing to her eyes. Opal could not kid herself into believing that she was some ruthless killer with a mind capable of whacking away the very idea that she had killed. Anyone thought that killing was easy was an idiot. Anyone that believed they could get away with killing another life and suffers with no consequences was a maniac. And one that was more monster then human. A human being could not kill, a human being could not live without feeling the guilt tear into their very being and not want to close their eyes and dream of being in another world.

Oddly enough as she glanced at Locust Lovelace she found her stomach clench as though she was seeing the very image of her mind before her. With this new pain weighing on her shoulders she could see how unaffected the girl was by the death of the district nine boy. She could see clearly, like black on white that Locust Lovelace could not give two shits about the fact that she had killed Samuel Tulius. She even turned her eyes briefly to Opal’s as though she found the whole idea of Opal displaying a little bit – an awful lot – of emotion towards killing Akasha as a redundant unneedful thing. That hurt. What hurt more was the fact that the girl seemed to lack all feelings for anything, but Yaa Valarro. The sassy, snarky girl from district Seven. Opal had tried and was still trying to ignore the fact that Locust held a walkie talkie which she knew was being used to communicate between the two. She had tried to remain ignorant, but every time she saw it being drawn out she’d have to look away, a small ball of anger whirling in her stomach. Yaa Valarro was attractive, rude, crude and powerful, she was a player and Opal had no doubt in her mind that the cunning district seven girl was in more relationships then Opal had ever had in her life – just in the arena.

Sighing heavily she hefted her sword up, the weight of it in her hands growing more uncomfortable with every passing second. And odd form of pain seemed to be spreading through each of her limbs, making them heavier and making her heart feel as though it were about to explode. She felt awful, guilty and as though she did not deserve to live. How could she have any possible right in killing another human being? Why had her life been any greater than Akasha’s? Why had she kept going, why had she attacked Luciana? Why? Why was she still fighting? Earlier that morning she would have been able to answer that question without hesitating. Earlier that morning she had been excited and even delighted at the prospect of spilling blood and killing. But those had been the thoughts of sweet little Opal Shore the girl stuck in her little garden, with the flowers and bees. Those had been the thoughts of an excited child, eager to please. She was hardly that any more.

[The boom of another canon caused her to jump and she flinched instinctively trying to throw the sound from her mind. Another death. Grimly she turned away, shielding her eyes from the others as she bit back a fresh wave of tears. Emerald would have laughed at this. Pyrite was probably laughing at her right now, screaming at how stupid and pathetic and weak she was that she was so stupid that she was crying over killing one person. Maybe in the end she was simply being stupid. She was here, in this arena and she had to fight. If she didn’t it meant death and she was wailing over the death of one girl. Insignificant in comparison to the deaths that occurred every day, daily out there in Panem. But she could hardly say that. Who knew what kind of family Akasha had, did she have sisters and brothers? What about a mum and a dad? She did not know, and maybe there were people out there cheering her on and begging with the gods that they might bring her home safely. And how on Earth could Opal possible justify killing her? How could she say her life was more important than that? She had no one waiting for her when she got out. All she had was a bitchy family, where you had to be good to mean anything.

That was unfair of her to claim what she had. And the guilt weighed down heavily on her. She could feel it. Closing her eyes briefly she breathed, feeling the fresh air tug itself into her lungs, where it stayed, as every bit of oxygen was sucked into her body before she expelled it. She stood there for a few moments, focusing all her spiralling attention on breathing, listening as the world moved around her and as her mind spun in circles. You need to focus. You don’t know if she had a family, you don’t know if she had anyone. Think that she didn’t. Think that she was nothing and a nobody. That will get you through it. With the first swing of her sword she had proclaimed herself more important than the others. She had begun this game with the notion that her life was significant. Otherwise she would have curled in a ball and let herself die. But she hadn’t, she had chosen to fight and with that choice she had to accept that there would be consequences, that there would be pain and agony, because in the end every choice was a mistake. She just had to learn and make it through this one, in the games there were not right choices, and every single one of them was wrong. And Opal had to deal with that, she just had to find a way to cope with it and be strong.

And she did just that. The sound of Sierra’s cries shattered her piece and she tore her eyes upwards. This time, however, when she glanced at Sierra she forced herself to look at the girl, the little girl she had talked to and cared for. In the first glance she had spared for the tiny fragile girl there had been care. There had been admiration, and affection, Opal had felt something for her, as though she was a sister, a plant that she had to care for and prevent from breaking. But now, now as she turned her brown eyes onto the small figure of Sierra Birdbrook they were cold. They were detached and unloving, two brown pools of sadness and stony silence. And maybe if she was not facing the realisation she was now she would have pleaded with Sierra to forgive her. She would have begged and cried her little heart out, hoping that some great good would come from Akasha’s death and hoping that there would be more than a dark void awaiting her. But there was nothing and when there was nothing she had to feel something, and that something could no longer be affection or kindness. Humans did not feel that way. Just as Sierra was saying, just as she was screaming. And Opal agreed with every word that leaked from her puny lips.

Opal smiled. She smiled, unable to understand how Sierra could scream such things, but glad the girl had. She was grateful, a strange amount of relief flooding her as Sierra screamed and yelled and called them monsters. The underlying meaning behind her words as clear as crystal to the smirking Opal. Opal turned, shrugging her shoulders, as though suddenly uncaring of their situation. Turning to face her allies she shoved her sword back in its scabbard, the movement filled with a steady calmness that had escaped her these past days. The past terror and pain that had encompassed her faltered and disappeared to be replaced by a composed almost casual posture. “The weak never get anywhere. If I’m going to play these games I may as well be heartless –ruthless. Better to go down as a monster then a coward.” She said her tone hinting at sweetness. Her hands did not shake at all as she pulled her hair back and tied it up with a bit of torn clothing. Glancing at the rest of her allies she took the briefest of moments to assess their conditions, forcing herself to not roll her eyes at the once more shocking state of Drace she turned around and strode away from the blood. Each of her steps was filled with an odd amount of confidence, grim determination vibrating from her body in a way she had never felt before.

Erik Strauss, the boy that had to die.
Motel Hunt, the boy that would die.
Sierra Birdbrook, the girl that would fall.
And Locust Lovelace. Unrequited love could be a bitch.

[Opal uses first aid on Xanthus for -3 damage]
[Opal collects three bundles of plants, gives one to Drace and one to Locust]
[Gives her to full water jugs to Drace, he boils them and gives them back]
[Uses 5ft of bandages to bring her damage down to 0]
[Opal drops her broken pokcet watch and frying pan]
[Opal takes Akasha's glaive and Full water jug]
[Opal flees]

I'm waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
I'm breathing in the chemicals
I'm breaking in, shaping up,
then checking out on the prison bus

ooc --