The Crescendo of Demise [Arbor vs. Anastasia]

Halt, Arbor C.

How had this come to be something of a confessional? The tributes were having a heart-to-heart conversation in between attacks. It was as if both had, on some level, realized that they probably would not be making it much further in the Games. One would have to die here, while the other still had four others to contend with.

"Hm." Arbor didn't remember too much about the Feast. For the most part, the fight had been a blur. All the fights had been a blur. The whole length of the Games had been a blur. The days had no numbers. "I feel as though the list is atrociously long for both sides. No one who has lasted this long is innocent."

"Although I do not deny being more zealous than most." Arbor had calmed down significantly from his various outbursts throughout the fight. He felt peaceful. Rational, even. It wouldn't keep him from attacking his new friend--that was inevitable. He couldn't give up.

"You're probably right. Should there be anything beyond the Arena for me--beyond Panem, beyond life itself--I will most certainly be reuniting with him in due time. Shortly." His mind fairly well settled allowed Arbor's smile to be warm and genuine. "though I doubt I'll be seeing much of anything either way. Nonetheless, I wish the same for you and Rocko."

It seemed like, at this point, death was the nicest thing to wish on someone. Death was inevitable, anyway. Yet still they both seemed eager to postpone it all the while. Arbor swung his knife-arm at Anastasia again.


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Halt, Arbor C.

Both tributes were slowing down from their accumulated injuries, as well as the sheer length of the fight. It was draining mentally as well as physically, as demonstrated by the length of time it had been since anyone really landed a solid hit on anyone.

Arbor sighed. It was time to end the fight. He considered it to be something of a shame, as he had enjoyed getting to know the girl he was fighting. Their conversation-combination-demoralization had left him feeling more normal than he had in days. He didn't mind it, but it was slowing him down.

So he stopped. He stopped speaking, stopped shouting, cursing, blessing, stopped confiding. He'd leave the job of creating a noise backdrop to the icy wind that grazed the tundra, and let the footfalls and sharp breaths of his opponent guide his attacks. It had worked out perfectly well during the rest of the Games.

So, wordlessly, Arbor brought his knife down again, no longer eager to hear what more the other tribute had to say. It would be easier that way.

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Halt, Arbor C.

Her attacks came in slower and slower; Arbor managed to block the second in a row. It wasn't as if he was doing much better, of course--he hadn't made a real hit since he'd gashed up her face, seemingly hours ago.

The thrill of the fight had evaporated fairly quickly, and, with the absence of his manic episode, Arbor felt drained. It was as though he'd lost the will to even try. He didn't want to do this anymore, didn't want to put so much effort into killing someone he'd just gotten to know.

But there was no other way. He had to persevere, and he had to win this one, even if it meant that this girl would die--even though it meant this girl had to die. The sigh Arbor gave as he lunged in to attack again--replacing the feral growl of earlier fights--was more exasperated, more shameful, than anything he'd done or said in a very, very long time.

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ooc- just a fyi, prior to my attack, Anastasia's at 36 points, and you'll be receiving an extra 1 point no matter what at the end of this hit for the turn delay bonus off the Gash on Face.

Halt, Arbor C.

Arbor's last hit had done some damage, based on the awful, cringe-inducing noises that the other tribute made. He'd give her credit--even after, she'd managed to drag herself to her feet and attack him again.

Unfortunately for her--fortunately for Arbor--his leg armor from the feast was finally coming in handy. The attack may not have been so bad, but the armor stopped it completely, protecting his leg, as it was meant to. It seemed to only be able to take a minimum amount of damage, however--by the Capitol's design--and seemed to have begun falling apart ever so slightly.

It needed to end, and quickly. Arbor was in pain, and, by the sound of it, so was Anastasia. He brought his knife down, with the intent to finish her off.


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Halt, Arbor C.

Arbor, blind though he was, blocked the incoming attack once more. It was clear that Anastasia was not going to last much longer. She seemed to have realized this, resigning to her fate--she hadn't given up, he gave her credit for that. But she wanted a favor.

"Don't know," he said. The expectations of the boy who had scored a three in training had long since been surpassed. Maybe his lucky streak was almost finished--and with it, his stint in the Games. "But I'll try."

He had never understood why people asked for promises in the Arena. Sometimes tributes asked their killers to finish off someone else--that was reasonable. Sometimes tributes asked for someone to be kept safe--that was irrational. No one was safe in the Arena, and no one could be kept alive out of someone's dying wish--someone who died at your hand.

But a favor for the outside of the Games? That was manageable. "A favor? I can try."

The attack was half-hearted; he wanted to hear her out.


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Halt, Arbor C.

He smiled. At first, Arbor had thought that Anastasia was referring to the other tributes. But that didn't make sense--if he were out of the Arena, he would have taken them down already. But her meaning became clear. Them. The Capitol. Take them down. Yes. He would do that.

"With all my heart and soul," he promised. They were enemies, he and Anastasia--but only because the Capitol had made them be enemies. They weren't enemies. The Capitol was the enemy. They needed to be destroyed.

As Arbor made his attack, at this point to finish Anastasia off more out of mercy than anything, he did something he had never done in the Arena. Not for anyone--not the two girls from early on, not for the boy they fought the next day. Not even for Archer, his friend, as Arbor contributed to his death sentence.

"I'm sorry," he murmured.



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