`` i thirst for {real} blood // bb vs hb

She considered this a day of success. As the red towers faded to mound-shaped silhouettes beneath a rising darkness their trek in the endless ocean of sand continued with purpose. After a day spent recuperating from their mutt encounter they thankfully wouldn’t abandon the red fortress empty-handed. The shearing and slicing of bulky corpses had proven itself a tiresome task, but with fresh meat tucked away in their bags the sweat and the misery would be worth the effort. We have food, and plenty of it. All of that dancing around in the sand reeking of perspiration and animal odor was outweighed by their prizes, even despite the gash on Sonja’s arm and the fractures in Potato’s wrist bones. A bright purple mark was painted on Ingrid’s shin from a clash with one of the beasts’ hooves, but it did nothing to weaken her pace. She was as sturdy as ever, with a knife in her belt and red sleeves made of mutation’s blood.

Fatigue stalked them like shadows. Eventually it was too much for her friends to handle. ”Can..can we stop for the night?” Sonja asked as she dropped her burden into the sand. Ingrid said nothing in return, but nodded and relieved herself of her own bag. There was no shelter in the area, no way in which to hide other than to bury themselves in sand, but Ingrid was not eager to drown herself with something so dry and lifeless. If tributes happened to be lurking in the night, let them come. She may be drained from a day’s journey beneath the worst heat imaginable, but her body was designed and trained to withstand a constant stream of adventure. However, for her friends’ sakes she prayed that they would be left alone. At least until the sun forced them out of their sand beds.

The scheduled anthem brought no surprises. Two deaths, Districts Twelve and Three. If she were not too exhausted to stir she would’ve shrugged before she closed her eyes and willed sleep to swallow her. Their deaths did not matter to her, only the deaths of her friends and the enemies she encountered. Drown every last one of them. Drown them unless they deserved a permanent visit to the pits of Hell, then she would gladly grant the flames a fresh meal. The ones from the higher districts might deserve that type of punishment. She smiled at the thought, and the image of their distraught faces melting in red fire lulled her to sleep.

The next morning her mouth felt drier than ever, as if she had been licking cotton balls in her sleep. It made her crave the juices in the animal’s meat, but they had yet to find any firewood in this desolate place. She would gladly eat it raw if the situation demanded it, but there was no need to do so until they ran out of options. Water was a much higher priority, and so far they had no luck finding a source. Without water the meat was worthless, and without water their bodies would wither. Without water this will all be pointless. She could not let herself die of dehydration. When I die, it will be with water or blood in my lungs, and she would embrace it like a lost love.

They decided to continue their desperate search for water with necks and faces flushed red with sunburn. It wasn’t until the ground turned flat and hard that Ingrid noticed a change in scenery. They were reaching a newer part of the arena, a place with no sand and cracks in the earth. Then she spotted something that made her heart soar; as her feet reached the edge of a dip, she saw something brown and murky, a substance that flowed and spread. A mud pit! She immediately sprinted to it without hesitation and dipped her hands inside to replace the blood on her arms with a coat of cold liquid. It feels like heaven. She breathed a sigh and smiled with teeth, giddy enough to laugh if she hadn’t heard the background noises of oncoming danger.

Footsteps, voices.

She turned and withdrew her knife when she heard a woop. Flashes of silver and red were blinding in this heavy light, but she could see them clearly enough – careers. Careers and that fool from Seven she had spoken to in the training center. They were ambushing her friends, spilling their blood into mud as if to contaminate the precious source they had finally located. They were fighting back with all their might – the screams and empty protests of a silly career girl filled the air to show for their effort – but they were up against a powerful force. Potato found himself with a knife in his chest and a spear in his abdomen, and Ingrid felt her heart lurch. Is it his turn to drown? If so, it was not in her jurisdiction to stop it.

”Back off!” She heard one of them shout – the one thrusting his spear into Potato’s squishy organs. The statement made Ingrid tilt her head, so calmly in the midst of this fight. It was hypocritical to ambush a group of people then demand that they “back off.” Were the careers stupid as well as unholy?

”Your friend attacked us first,” she said, and then she lashed at him like a cat with claws.

As she grazed the career’s hip she heard a different voice answer her call. ”You're goddamn right I did.” She turned to face the annoyance with a deadpan expression, eyes flickering to his whirling axe for only an instant. His words didn’t strike her as intimidating - I don’t fear pain or death, but perhaps her friends would. ”I wasn’t talking to you,” she said, blade at the ready in case he charged for her. He aimed instead at Sonja, and maimed her further with another swing of his axe. Her screams and sobs shook the air, reaching straight for Ingrid’s chest as she helplessly watch the blood pour from her lacerations. They were like ugly red smiles on her arms. Pain is part of nature, life, and death. Sonja would have to endure it. It wasn’t a pretty sight and it would not sound like a soothing song to Ingrid’s ears, but this was meant to be. As long as she drowns, everything will be okay. She wondered if the career with the axe would grant her that mercy, or if Ingrid would have to finish the deed herself.

”I won’t give up!” It was Sonja, trying to draw a line of division between life and death. Ingrid nodded despite drawing very little attention with her presence, proud that Sonja could accept the pain and fight through it. Her blade clashed with the other female’s, and then Potato followed suit.

Ingrid blinked once, and a body crumpled.

A head of blonde hair rolled across the cracked surface of the emptied river, bumping the limb of her friend – Gavin, his name was. Did Potato do that? Only his weapon was capable of such a feat, of beheading someone so in-humanely. It was a quick, painless, unnatural death. It was unholy. He sent her to Hell. Perhaps she deserved it. Ingrid would never know, but she would accept it as is. The dead girl's friends did not take kindly to the act, however. Gavin spat curses and death threats at him, lunging for his exposed body with his bloody spear in hand. Ingrid watched him miss vital organs by a mile and tear a gash into his arm. She recalled the other career’s words as the blonde ambushed him as well, scarring his face red as if trying to carve into his skull and beyond. ”You said you were short on bodies to bleed dry.” she declared, glancing at the axe-wielding man as she tucked her knife away. ”You can have this one.” She gave the headless corpse one last glimpse and turned around.

Her battered allies would not last much longer in this fight. ”Sonja, Potato, run!” If it was not their turn to submit to fate’s will, then fate would show them an escape route. If it’s not their turn to die then we shouldn't stay. These people will only torture them. Although pain was necessary for survival, perhaps the worst of it could be avoided. These people were unholy, after all. They lived to cause unnecessary suffering. They lived to break the laws of nature.

But they live to die, just like the rest of us.

As she broke into a sprint she called out to her allies. ”Let them mourn their friend.” It was the only thing they deserved.