the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang]

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 12, 2014 10:56:37 GMT -5

Quote

Post by sbeeg on Jul 12, 2014 10:56:37 GMT -5

Erebus Turner

The anthem was uneventful. Two faces the boy hardly remembered ever seeing period much less in the Games. Despite their time in the Arena, Erebus had only seen Nocturne since the Bloodbath. It wasn't lonely, Nocturne always had words to fill the air or some story to tell that didn't make much sense.

Sleep came easily with a stomach full of water and the next morning the Turner boy awoke feeling surprisingly fresh and energetic. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like this, it was probably before the Reaping when he wasn't crying his eyes out every day. He hadn't cried in at least a day now, but that could have been from the lack of water. Can't cry if you have no tears, can you?

Or it was something else, maybe Erebus was becoming a stronger person? Ehhh, debatable. The boy had been walking around with Nocturne Vargas for three days, that alone could make someone feel like doing something risky. Not to mention the whole Arena setting and lack of proper nutrition and the unbearable heat combined together in a nice mental cocktail. Cocktails, those were those things the Capitol people drank at Lethe's parties. Mother never let him have one, but they had the most gorgeous colors...

The Vargas' gang streak of peace (if you can call devil spiders peace) had been broken. As three tributes made their way into the abandoned settlement, Erebus' first reaction was to grab the hilt of his knife. If this had happened the first day of the Games, the boy would have dived under the desk in the sheriff's office and waited until they left. Times had changed and this town was Vargas-Turner property and it was only big enough for one alliance.

[Attacks Potato]
PBjvoolVknife
[Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage]

knife

Last Edit: Jul 12, 2014 11:03:47 GMT -5 by sbeeg

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 12, 2014 11:54:57 GMT -5

Quote

Post by k!ah on Jul 12, 2014 11:54:57 GMT -5

You hurt. You hurt in ways you didn't even know you could hurt. Your arms felt like they were constantly being stabbed at, every movement caused sharp pains to race through your body making your face scrunch up, your lips pulling away fro your teeth. You and Ingrid had found Potato not long after the fight with the two headed beast had ended. He had looked almost dead, blood running from his body like rain down a window, life and energy following in its wake. You weren't sure how to react exactly, some part of you wanted to cry with him, wanted to empathise with him, but the other part of you was too scared because the pain he must have been in was just unimaginable… so instead you tried to help him feel better by filling up with water bottle and slapping the cool liquid against his skin which was painted in blood- his own and his victims- and fit. It takes a while for you to clean his body of filth and you cant help but feel sorry for him. He had been so strong back there, cleanly removing the head of the career, but now he looked like a totally different person, his whole body deflated of any energy.

You and your alliance had rested there the night, hoping that the careers would leave you alone, to scared to move to much, needing to conserve energy and heal. The night had seemed long, minutes ticking by like hours. You thought that it would never end. Even as the capitols anthem played and the faces of two victims appeared in the sky, the one that had been beheaded and another, the District 10 boy, the name you couldn't place, you feel like time is till begin your enemy.

Your body is constantly jumping, so very scared that the careers might come at you when you are at your weakest, when sleep takes control over your body.

Maybe that is why you don't sleep.

Maybe that is why you sit, the whole night, eyes wide, body shaking.

Why were you here? You think to yourself numbly- for what seemed like the thousandth time- a lonely tear running down your cheek. Because you were weak. You knew that their were people at home who would disagree, people who would tell you that you were wrong, that you were stronger than you thought… but they were wrong, werent they? It was because you were weak you were here now, pain a permanent friend to your fragile body. It was because you were weak that your two allies had to be the ones to save yo twice in a row. If it hand’t of been for them wouldn't your body be rotting in the ground right at this moment? Minimal amount of people crying over your short lived life. You were weak, you were so very weak and it was your fault that Potato was like this. If only you had been strong, if only you were stronger than you could protect him- and Ingrid- like they both protect you.

Sighing you hastily wipe away the tears that had formed more rapidly in your eyes. These tears were more than just you feeling weak. They were ears of fear because you were scared. You didn't want to die and after todays fight, when you were sure that you would not see the sun rise for another day, you realised just how much it meant to you to be alive. All your life, well since the fire, the voices have tried to end your life and all your life you were to weak to pull threw, always needing someone else to pull you away from them and into safety. Never had you ever been able to live for yourself, been strong enough to protect yourself… always replying on others… always.

You were a burden.

You were scared.

You wanted to be stronger.

But you were weak.

Would you ever be able win?

Finally the sun rises and you stiffly climb to your feet, your eyes and body heavy with fatigue. You look over at your allies as they too begin to gather themselves, ready to begin out travels which would lead us to a new destination. You had no idea hat to expect, so far the whole arena had been filled with surprises so when you come across what looked like to be an abandoned town your eyes widen for a moment, confused at what you were seeing. Never had you ever expected to come across something like this, the whole idea seemed surreal to you.

Then to of no where two tributes appear, not pausing even for a moment one of them strikes, his blade neatly cutting the flesh of Potato’s chest. You heart stops for a moment, until you realise that the attack was far from fatal. From somewhere within you, anger flares. And your eyes travel to the boy behind the one who had attacked first. You needed to be the next one to make a move, you needed to intercept the other boys attack- Nocturnes attack. You run for him, but stop. You knew him, in the training centre you had talked with him a little, you had gotten to know the boy behind the name- even if it was just for a few moments. You knew his name, that was more than you knew about the other boy, the one that had attacked Potato.

Exhaustion and pain and the urge to just be free from any sort of violence makes your mind fuzzy. You don't know what to do. It was not like you knew something deep about this boy, all you knew was his name so why was it so hard to attack him? You had attacked Tiger, hand’t you? So why not him? Was it because of the way she died, was it because you didn't want to be responsible for someones death? You didn't want to be a murderer? But you were a murderer. You had killed those avoxes without a second thought. That was different. that was revenge… and those faces didn't have a name, they were mere strangers to you.

You were hesitating.

Was this going to get you killed?

Was this going to get your allies killed?

You have to be strong.

Taking a deep breath you continue on with your path, your eyes closing as you pull your blade back before thrusting it towards the boy whose face had a name. you were to weak to even look him in the eye as you attacked him.

[attacks nocturne -- sword]
vUrVab1_sword
[Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0 damage]

sword

Last Edit: Jul 12, 2014 11:55:32 GMT -5 by k!ah

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 12, 2014 13:07:05 GMT -5

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Post by L△LIA on Jul 12, 2014 13:07:05 GMT -5

The sun rises to the sound of a harmonica, the strains occasionally broken up by a questionably off-key, yelling kind of singing. ("Rollin' rollin' rollin'! Rollin' rollin' rollin'! Rawhide! Move 'em on, head 'em up! Head 'em up, move 'em on! Move 'em on, head 'em up! Rawhide! Ha!") If other Tributes received higher training scores for their vocal talents, the boy from Nine has surely just retroactively lowered his own. As rough and cracked as the earth beneath him, he continues on with a verse or two of Home On The Range before his hands trade the small metal instrument away for other endeavors.

About fifteen minutes later, Nocturne Vargas is walking around with a cow skull duct taped to his chest.

Ten gallon cowboy hat atop his head, red bandana tied up over the bottom half of his face like a classic bandit, and... walking spear-cane in hand, he hobbles off in search of: "Turner!" A wild cackle of laughter erupts in the air, punctuated by the crooked thump thump thump of his limping footsteps. "Turrrrrnerrrrr!" His sing-song voice spins out from his lungs in the kinds of cartwheels his body will never be able to mange, as if there's a strange kind of rhythm to his good-natured madness. "Looky-loo over here at this thing I made!" This is the kind of laughter that couldn't stop itself even if he tried, not when it looks as if a skeleton ghost-cow is bursting out of his chest.

When he turns the corner and finds his ally — "Howdy partner!" — he's so distracted it takes him a moment to realize that all spirits are not as high as his and that the red sun of today's sky is meant for more than just a song. Three other Tributes have wandered into town and Nocturne doesn't like the looks of them, especially when a sword comes flying at his face. He recognizes the girl wielding it; left her a note written in the sand a few days earlier. "Oh come on now. That's not how y'juggle, Sonja," comes out of his mouth even as blood streams down from his forehead and into his eye. It's haunted by that same, terribly persistent thrum of hysterical laughter, even as he tries to choke the sound back down. "Your grandma should have taught y'better."

[Duct tapes a cow skull to himself as improvised chest armor]

[Attacks Sonja with Spear]

v8pnPKhJspear

[Miss]

There's nothing funny about any of this, despite the way he looks and the unstoppable nonsense stammering out his mouth. However, it certainly seems like the kind of thing that makes for a good distraction as he maneuvers his way between Erebus and the newcomers — one part ghost-cow, one part human shield, and entirely ridiculous — and takes a half hearted stab back at the girl who swung her sword at him, doing a fancy twirl with his spear since it's too large to throw into the air in a true attempt at juggling. "Gotta give it some spin or it's no fun." He misses her entirely, flinching as one hand comes up to rub the blood out of his eye, the other taking a firm hold on his spear as he drops the butt of it back down to the earth, leaning his weight against it for support.

Whatever is about to happen here, it already doesn't feel fair.

Still, he forces a grin and straightens up as best he can, casually tipping his hat at Sonja's two traveling companions as if the blood amongst the five of them wasn't already going bad. "Busted up my foot while arm wrestling a bear in a saloon fire the other day — long story — so you'll hafta forgive me for being a little slow getting over here. The kid," shooting the cut on Potato's chest a nervous glance, he nudges his elbow back into Erebus (run, kid) and fleetingly wonders what happens to him if the Turner boy gets the message and really does turn heal and sprint for safety, "he didn't mean no harm. This town here's haunted — that's why they call 'em ghost towns, y'know — and just got a little spooked. Why, there were these spiders yesterday, bigger than houses like y'wouldn't believe, and so we're just gonna keep rollin' along now." Nervously humming a few more bars of rollin', rollin', rollin' under his breath, the sky isn't red any more, yet the color seems to linger anyway. "Giddy-up now, Turner."

spear

Last Edit: Jul 13, 2014 0:02:59 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 12, 2014 14:43:05 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Jul 12, 2014 14:43:05 GMT -5

Ingrid Elwyn

There was new life inside of her. Despite her weary bones and the stinging blisters on her palms from a day’s worth of swinging and digging she felt invigorated. One canteen of water was all it took to feed her with newfound energy. The mud pits were a blessing, a resource they could use for soothing their stomachs and washing their wounds, specifically Potato’s. After shoving her blade through the twin-headed serpent’s eye socket they had collected their shares of precious water before setting off to find Potato. He practically left a blood trail for them to track, and they managed to catch up with him before his wounds could fester. They spent a large chunk of their time cleaning and mending his injuries, using whatever bandages, healing plants, needles and threads they could spare. It wasn’t much, but it would protect him from infection and further bleeding until the end. Fate wants him alive today.

They camped near the edge of the lake’s drop-off, restless and alert. The careers could turn up at a moment’s notice, especially in the evening when the desert was coated black, so while Potato and Sonja lay with pain sinking through their skin Ingrid kept her gaze peeled. She had spent her fair share of nights in the forest back in Eleven, so her eyes could adjust well to this dusty darkness. It wouldn’t be difficult to hear footsteps in the distance or see wandering shadows beneath the stars, especially when there was nothing to conceal them. No trees, to brush, just dust and dunes. The anthem’s white images in the sky illuminated their camp even further. For now, they appeared to be safe.

With a belly full of water she was able to sleep to her heart’s content. She felt relatively well-rested when the trio stirred in their dust beds, the morning sun greeting them like an old, unwelcome friend. The return of the light and its accompanied heat irritated her sunburns while the sand ground itself into the blisters on her palms. She clenched and unclenched her fists to feel the blistered skin stretch and scream. There is no life without pain. Potato and Sonja hadn’t recovered yet from their wounds, and surely the excruciating pain would hinder them. Ingrid was patient, though, and waited on her feet as they gathered their belongings prepared to set off on another tiresome journey. This time we have jugs full of water. It made her smile, knowing that her element was by her side where it belonged.

An hour’s trek later the trio found themselves among buildings – actual, real-life buildings, except they were unlike any of the structures of splendor designed in the capitol itself. They were decrepit and riddled with holes, and some had been reduced to mounds of rubble. It felt eerie, because none of this belonged and there was nobody to occupy it. She stared at one of the buildings marked “Saloon” and wondered if she should perhaps wander inside to search its bowels. There could be useful supplies inside if it hadn’t been raided already, if the capitol drones had decided to be unusually generous. However, the moment the wooden steps creaked beneath her feet, she heard rushed footsteps behind her and the unmistakable sound of a scuffle.

There were two new faces to meet, one with a gash upon his forehead no doubt delivered by Sonja and her brand new sponsorship sword, and one wielding only a knife in his hand, much like Ingrid was. She approached the group with her blade dangling loosely in her right hand, wood scraping against healing blisters, and paused only to listen to the boy’s rambling about ghost towns and spiders. A ghost town is a proper name for this place. Perhaps she would meet one herself and listen to its tales of death and beyond, if this place wasn’t a complete fake. Or maybe we must make the ghosts ourselves. She stared at the two boys, unable to determine whether they should be drowned or not. Their attempts to flee told her yes.

One of the boys was sporting an animal’s skull on his chest, and he was the one she addressed. ”This is a game of death, you shouldn’t run away from it.”

She surely wouldn’t.

[attacks Erebus – knife]
OTEbZq_eknife
Severed Thumb on Right Hand -- 8.5 damage

knife

Last Edit: Jul 12, 2014 14:59:28 GMT -5 by Python

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 13, 2014 3:13:11 GMT -5

Quote

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jul 13, 2014 3:13:11 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

P O T A T O E A R N E S T

All's that I've felt this past few hours was pain. It's startin' ter feel endless, this here pain. Feels like I been hurtin' my entire life, I c'ain't remember no more what it was like not ter hurt. I reckon it were good, it were nice, ter not feel anythin' at all.

'Afore ther girls found me I reckoned I were gonner be dead. I lost heaps and heaps a' blood, more'n I reckon anyone could actually be holdin' inside'a themselves. Somehow, they managed ter stitch me up an' I waited silent an' sweet like my Ma taught me ter be when someone was a stitchin' up yer bones an' soul. I reckon it were 'cause I weren't knowin what ter say neither. What does one say after he's jus' chopped ther head of a girl off? It were like choppin' fire wood it were an' it felt fine at the time, correct, that's ther worst bit. I reckoned what I were doin' were right.

Last night she haunted my dreams, her pretty face all shocked an' comin' ter a real-eyes-ace-shun all at ther same time. Her face were in the sky, smilin' away, lookin' real purdy among them stars an' I longed ter join her up there. I prayed fer her last night, long an' hard, on my knees in ther sand fer as long as I could take it 'afore collapsing. I were askin' Ripred fer guidance but I reckon she's ignorin' me agin' 'cause I'm still jus' as lost an' confused as I were last night.

I wish there were someone ter fergive me a' what I done. I wish someone would wrap them arms a' there's 'roun' me an' tell me that it was alright, that I did what I hadda do. I know they'd be lyin' but I'd still feel the smallest bit better. The arms I want ain't here though, they be back at that fancy trainin' tower, waitin' fer me ter come home 'cause we ain't been married fer long now, not long at all. I wanner fight my way back ter her but I ain't wantin' ter kill nobody agin'. That were horrible.

I ain't knowin' ifs I even can kill anyone right now 'cause I'm half killed myself. Them career wolves really did a number on me. Now they out fer my blood too, ain't no way I'm gittin' off scott free after murderin' one a' them. It were them or us though I reckon an' I were gonna make certain it weren't gonner be one a' my girls, not that I had a real choice.

I ain't sure what's been happenin' ter me really but every single time I've picked that sword up, every single time I entered battle I been goin' away an' leavin' it ter my body. My body does what it wants an it is wantin' blood, an' heaps of it too. It still ain't satisfied. I can feel myself fallin' inter it whenever I caress the length a' my blade, feel that bloodlust callin' fer me. It puts fear in me an' I know that the next time I pick up that blade ter fight I'll be losin' even more a' me.

Today we're headin' onwards. I don't really know where, seein' as Ingrid is leadin' Sonja an' I along like we're two lame horses, which we might be. It don't matter at this point anyhow 'cause I'd follow these two to the ends of the Earth. I half was expectin' fer them ter leave me ter die from my wounds out in ther dessert, it's a good tactical idea, but they came back fer me an' they healed me up real good. I owe 'em my life an' they owe me their's. Like it or not, we got ourselves a bond.

An' I were hopin' fer at least one day a' rest but I reckon that's askin' fer far too much 'cause just as we enter an area with some buildin', we come across a boy or two an-

ow.

I feel the fresh woun' across my chest an it hurts enough in added pain to the constant thrum of my other pains that it bends me in half. The buildins' swim in fronter my face an' I wince, wrappin' my arms 'round myself, tryin' ter keep myself standin'. Why's it gotter always hurt so dang bad, I wonder. Ripred fuckin' why. I c'ain't stand this pain anymore I wish they'd take it from me, why c'ain't they just take i-

He stands, movements smooth and seemingly easy despite the numerous wounds his body holds. His gaze is cold, calculating, hard. He reaches around and pulls the sword that has yet to gain a name from it's sheath, sliding it out with one quick motion, not holding anything back. His mannerisms are almost akin to that of a marble statue, cold and unfeeling. His ears block out the sound of speech, his hands do not shake as he holds the hilt steady. Something catches his eye; a spear, waving in the heat of the day, at Miss Ingrid.

No, that is against his rules. Attacking one of the girls he travels with is not allowed, he said he would protect them, he promised Ripred, himself, Opal. He made promises he might not be able to keep but he was going to try anyway. His chest was bleeding but it was minor, it served as a distraction from the dull thud of his other hurts. It was nothing. He would ignore it for now, he would fight.

Stepping forward with all the grace of a dessert fox stalking his prey, he moves fast, fierce, force behind every calculated step. He moves to kill.

[potato attacks nocturne]
xLLWv9Tnsword
[Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage]

[presto]

[/presto]

sword

Last Edit: Jul 13, 2014 3:17:40 GMT -5 by gamemaker kelsier

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 13, 2014 16:55:51 GMT -5

Quote

Post by sbeeg on Jul 13, 2014 16:55:51 GMT -5

Erebus Turner

While his knife found its target, Erebus found exactly what he was up against. The boy was older than him, and taller. Not only that but was covered in armor everywhere except his middle that the Turner boy had just happened to slice open. It was nothing big, just a scratch but a scratch is enough to start a fight. The attack left a tiny rip in the tribute's shirt but resulted in Nocturne getting slammed in the head with a sword. One of the girls accompanying the young man Erebus had jumped at jammed her blade into Vargas' forehead sending blood all over the boy's face.

This wasn't supposed to happen, was it? After practicing on the mutts Erebus thought fighting tributes would be easier but he was dead wrong. They were out numbered and out armed. These kids clearly knew a thing or two about wielding a weapon and all Erebus had done was butter toast in District Five. It took the boy about two seconds to realize his mistake but by then it was too late. All the kids had their blades out and were attacking each other. Nocturne fumbled with his spear, missing the girl who attacked him by a mile. They were in over their heads. Erebus had watched the Games his whole life and if there was one thing he had learned over the years is that once a fight starts it takes a death to end it. The question now was not if someone was going to die but who.

He looked at Nocturne's bloodied face and started to back away from the group. Could he run away and shamelessly leave his ally, even if it did save his life? Guilt twisted inside his gut for a crime he had yet to even commit. He couldn't leave Nocturne not now and not ever. The older boy had taught him plenty about relaxing into life but not so much that you lose your morals. He could fight but what chance did the Turner boy have against three armed tributes? They were all older than him, willing to kill by the look of it. Erebus was just a farm boy who happened to have a famous sister. If it wasn't for Lethe no one would have given him a second glance and doomed him to a Bloodbath casualty.

It was all because of others that he had gotten this far. Nocturne's spirit and knowledge and Lethe's name and he couldn't throw that away. So, Erebus started towards his friend ready to defend Nocturne from the second girl who was staring him down. That is until she turned around and sliced Erebus' thumb clean off his hand.

The pain filled every part of him to the point that it was numb. He didn't scream like in his encounter with the spider, nor cry like he did in the Bloodbath. Erebus just stood there dumbfounded by the fountain of blood spewing from his hand. The digit was lying in the dirt in its own pool of blood and even though he was staring at it it didn't feel real.

People in District Five lost fingers all the time, but never like this. Never deliberately by another person. The games are about surviving but no where else Erebus had encountered or even read about did children behave in such ways. He couldn't dwell on himself now, Nocturne was getting pounded while Erebus slouched around crying over a missing thumb. Vargas had a lame leg and he had done just fine in the Games so far. Plenty of people made it through the Games without fingers or without sight, even without their legs.

A thumb is nothing in the grand scheme of things and it is nothing now.

[Attacks Sonja]
NyokTgvGknife
[Block -- 0.0 damage]

knife

Last Edit: Jul 13, 2014 16:56:41 GMT -5 by sbeeg

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 13, 2014 19:25:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by k!ah on Jul 13, 2014 19:25:09 GMT -5

You open your eyes to your blade slicing a deep gash onto the boys forehead. You grunt slightly, as you pull your blade back to your side, your eyes watching as blood form tears which leak down the side of his face and off f the edge of his chin. “Oh come on now. That's not how y'juggle, Sonja, your grandma should have taught y’better.” He taunts reminding you of the only conversation you had ever had with him.

”Heard her tricks during the Sixty-Third were all computer generated special effects anyhow. I bet she juggles worse than I do."

"I think anyone could juggle better than you, my grandmother, who is dead, could juggle knives better than you.”

“So, can you juggle knives better than your dead grandmother?”

Frowning you watch as he aims his spear for an attack, its tip missing your body by far, a small rush of relief filling your tired body. “I may not be better than my Grandmother, but I am far better than yourself,” you coiner, dancing away from him. You don't want t be fighting anymore, you wished the five of you could just sit down for the day and allow our bodies o rest, to heal- but you knew that would never happen, not after the way Ingrid’s blade slices off the thumb of the boy who didn't have a name. You watch as the tube of skin falls to the group, a small imitation of the way Tigers head had been remove from her body. You step away, your feet trying to carry you as far away as you could from the situation in front of you. You dent want to be here, you were weak and you wanted to be safe in your bed, in District 6, why couldn't you get what you wanted? Because you signed up for this. Thats right, another show of your weakness.

Suddenly the other boy leaves Potato alone, his blade flying to break the skin of your body. You turn around, your blade coming up to meet his, knocking his knife away easily with the long blade of your sword. “That was rude,” you mumble under your breath as you regain your posture, no longer trying to scurry away from the fight, but instead standing strong and walking back over to it, to the boy who had just tried to make an incision on you pale skin. You were sacred, so very scared because one wrong move could end the life that you so desperately clung to. But you couldn't run, running wasn't an option as your two allies stood and fight, as Potato lunged for Nocturne, his own sword grazing the skin of his hip.

Lots of words fly at you all at once as Nocturne tries t tell us about how this place is haunted. Was this mean to scare you? because it didn’t. What scared you was the result of this fight because you were tired of hurting people- unconsciously your eyes travel to the deep laceration on his forehead- you were tired of making people hurt because you wanted to live… you were scared that your next move may be more than just a flesh wound, that it may go so far to sever the life line that held a soul to a body. You new the chances were small, but the chances weren't zero and that scared you because each time you lifted you blade it wasn't just to hurt, it was to kill.

Wasn't it funny how quickly people changed when they needed too? Because before the games I was that clumsy girl who people could go to to talk about themselves, to make the weight on their shoulders lighter, mine heavier. But here no one talked and barely anyone heisted when it came to striking their prey- you were one of those people. No longer that crazy girl but a girl who was a killer, a girl who had blood on her hands and not only her own blood, but the blood f other.

“I am really sorry, you know. I am sorry that I have become this person, I am sorry that I have changed… You know I never wanted this- they made me do it. If only I was stronger- I am very sorry.”

It takes you a moment to figure out that you ad said the words out loud You had been thinking of the people back home, about how they would look at you differently, no longer that silly child who lived next door and you didn't want that and you were so so sorry. You are sorry to Rafe, sorry to that kid with that leg that would never be able to work again, sorry to Grandpa Jekkins (He had taken you in after finding out you had no family and treated you as his won, tucked you under his wing, even though he was in the hospital because his lungs were no longer as strong as they used to be.) You had always though of the capitol as monsters when really, right now, you were no different.

[attacks nocturne -- sword]
45ZrXJm1sword
[Shallow Cut on Forehead -- 4.5 damage]

sword

Last Edit: Jul 13, 2014 19:26:22 GMT -5 by k!ah

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 14, 2014 16:42:48 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Jul 14, 2014 16:42:48 GMT -5

For as long as the amnesiac from Nine can remember, he has struggled both with the idea of knowing who he is and who he wants to be. Every moment of his life is a game of pretend and when he stops to think about that instead of cracking a joke to hide the truth or filling in the empty places within himself with lies, well... let's just say that he admits the truth as little as possible, even to himself. Somewhere along the line he has become someone, however, and maybe the Nocturne Vargas he's been for the past two years isn't anything like the Hawthorne Hamilton he was for the sixteen that came before that or maybe he is. (You'll have to ask his mother, because he certainly doesn't know.) Right this moment, the mystery of his own name and history doesn't matter; he's finally realizing he knows a thing or two about himself regardless.

"This is a game of death, you shouldn’t run away from it." It might just be the stupidist thing he's ever heard and he turns to Ingrid Elwyn and tells her exactly that:

"That's the stupidist thing I ever heard. I mean, d'you have any idea how many stupid things come out of m'own mouth every day? I just told you I arm wrestled a bear in a saloon fire, but you —" His disbelief is genuine, his head spinning from more than just blood loss and the probability of a concussion. "— you win. Y'talk crazy even better than I do." There's a crackle of pathetic laughter bouncing around, unreleased, within his chest. He bites it back, knowing it's a sound of madness. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not running. Fucking can't. Y'all are picking on a cripple right now, Miss Morals. Con-grat-u-lations." Trying to give his bum leg a shake for emphasis, he damn near falls over and doesn't care. He already feels like he's lying belly up and knows the chances of him getting out of this fight aren't good. "I would if I could though. I'm ridiculous, but I'm not insane." If these are his last words, then maybe he really isn't half as crazy as most people seem to write him off as being.

Somewhere in the tussle of words and weapons, Erebus loses a thumb and the boy with the bum leg and a new wound on his hip can't move quickly enough to stop it. For some reason, seeing his ally's stomach gashed open by a spider that had crawled out of the hellish guts of another's corpse wasn't as bad as this. Not because he could make wisecracks about how they were stomach wound buddies now, but because his thumb is more connected to the ground than his hand and he can't fix it; can't stop it; can't do anything but idiotically wave around a spear that makes more sense to him as a walking cane than as a weapon. He attempts something like a retaliatory lunge at Erebus's attacker, but only manages to send shooting pains through his own leg and earn himself a round of taunting from the girl he'd met in the Training Center. "I may not be better than my Grandmother, but I am far better than yourself."

An intensely sarcastic, overwhelming sound of frustration charges out of his throat to suckerpunch the air, "Good!" Once again, it's true. He doesn't want to be better at killing people than Sonja or her stupid grandmother. Except for the part where he's about to die, he's perfectly fine with being a lousy murderer and even feels a little proud of himself for it. His shoulders straighten out and the unsteady quaking in his left leg lessens slightly and he almost feels a little dignified for some reason he can't explain. "Y'get to have better aim than me and I get to be the better person and —" Violent adrenaline is slamming into him with each miserable pulse of his heartbeat, blood flooding up to press against the walls of his skull until he's so miserable and pissed off he whips around to yell at Erebus as a blade flies at his head once more. "— are you going to fucking run or not?!"

Even through all the blood and anger, he can see the truth. There's a guilty kind of greed in the Turner boy's stance, an obvious display of fear that confesses at least ten thousand reasons for wanting to run away. It's what he should do; it's what anyone should do. Just the same as Nocturne told Ingrid earlier, he's crazy not to.

But he won't.

Regardless of the desperate pleas from his feet, begging him to turn heel and get away, there's a stubborn, downright stupid resolution in his eyes that insists he's going to stay put. So long as Nocturne's alive, Erebus isn't going anywhere and the boy from Nine can't believe what he's seeing. Jaw dropping and eyebrows furrowing in some kind of horrified confusion, right then and there: it breaks his heart. "You're stupid too," he mutters, but it lacks the venom he's been spitting at the other Tributes, his free hand reaching back to tousle the kid's hair as he whips back around to swing his spear for a reason that has nothing to do with Ingrid's chiding about this being a game. Instead it has everything to do with how right now, who Nocturne Vargas is and who he wants to be are the same thing. He may not be a good murder, but even if his leg weren't busted up, he wouldn't be very good at abandoning people either.

[Attacks Sonja With Spear]

ZrKoEvvMspear

[Shallow Cut on Right Thigh — 3.5 Damage]

spear

Last Edit: Jul 14, 2014 16:53:56 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 14, 2014 17:51:31 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Jul 14, 2014 17:51:31 GMT -5

Ingrid Elwyn

To separate one’s body into irreparable segments always seemed rather brutish. Only the worst of the worst deserved such punishment, and the pretty blonde’s detached head suddenly came to mind. I didn’t know her, but she must’ve deserved it. Body and soul were two different entities, yet there was a line of thread stretched between them, and when one disturbed the body it would send shockwaves surging through the invisible thread to rattle the soul. That was why one’s death affected the outcome of their afterlife – Hell or paradise, as determined by steel edges in this Capitol Games. When her own little blade bit off the boy’s thumb, she didn’t know how to read the mistake. Was it fate warning her that he didn’t deserve to be drowned, or was it her own clumsiness? She blinked at the fleshy knob leaving bloodspots in the sand, mulling things over until the other boy’s voice cut through her peace like a razor.

When she glanced up at him she was only half-present, expression deadpanned and eyes glazed over in contemplation. He wanted to emphasize his crippled state, his inability to flee the scene and run away from the game of death. Call it stupid, but the truth can be stupid sometimes. She didn’t know what to make of cripples. They were born human with unfortunate side effects, in this case a defective leg that would slow him down. But he still had a soul, he could still be drowned and led to paradise. No additional treatment was required. Souls were perfect, so he would walk again once he died – assuming he drowned – and perhaps today was his day. But does he deserve it? Crippled limbs were not an automatic ticket to paradise, right? They could still be damned, they could still deserve punishment for wicked ways.

”It makes no difference to me that you’re crippled,” she said, taking advantage of the pauses to continue analyzing him. He didn’t seem like the wicked type at all, just flawed and human. Like Potato, like Sonja, like herself, perhaps like this other boy whose name she never bothered to learn. Names aren’t important. It was clear that both were determined to live – however, one had the option of escaping. ”Are you going to fucking run or not?” The one sporting animal bones kept turning to his friend, even as Sonja lashed at his forehead to coat his face in blood. It was evident that neither of them would be fleeing this fight. That was what Ingrid liked to see. Face death, it’ll be much easier. That was why she was never afraid of it.

The cow’s skull posed as a nuisance of an obstacle, but pretend-armor could only last for so long. I’ve made my decision. She joined Sonja in her quest to shed this boy’s blood, because that was what her instincts demanded.

[attacks Nocturne – knife]
dOwNXm3Fknife
miss

Accuracy Reroll:
knife
Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage

knife�knife

Last Edit: Jul 14, 2014 17:52:31 GMT -5 by Python

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 14, 2014 21:15:10 GMT -5

Quote

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jul 14, 2014 21:15:10 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

P O T A T O E A R N E S T

He was gone.

It was his hand that was connected to the blade, yes, but he himself was gone. He didn't know where he was either, it wasn't like he was conscience of it, it was more like he was resting even as he wasn't. His eyes were shut but they were open too and he was doing everything on his own and with his own hands but he wasn't. It wasn't him that was swinging the sword so readily at the boys in front of him, it wasn't him that had cut off the head of that girl because he wouldn't do that, he would never attack someone like that, never set out to hurt anyone.

This boy with blood dripping down his blade was Potato and he was a murderer and he was a bad person who would kill people given the chance and he was proving it right in this moment. For all that he said and pretended to be, he was a terrible human being with no self control. It was the only way to explain this, this thing that had become.

Or maybe it was that he really was too sweet, unable to cope with the lot he had been given in life. Maybe he could claim insanity to explain away this split personality. However, it wasn't enough. It was a lie.

He's had this in him all along, this cold and cruel streak. He was made for blood, to water the earth with it, no matter what he was before, he is now this. No matter what horror it gives him this is something he has to take responsibility for, no excuses. The boy who swings his sword is also the boy who wields it and he has no one else to blame but himself. There is no who can take responsibility for his actions and he can not give them away because they are his own.

Forgive him for leaving himself when he picks up a blade because he knows not what he does, he only knows after. That is the cruelest prize for surviving he can be given.

Here and now none of this matters. He steps forward, blade sweeping up from where it fell against the ground. He does not like the way that the boys attack Sonja, who is sweet and hurt enough already. Why do they insist on attacking them? Why does anyone attack them? He is so weary, so tired. He wants to lay down and rest. He wants to sleep.

Opal. He has to stay alive for Opal. He presses his thumb against the 'O' on the blade, as if for good luck, as if Potato really still is in there somewhere. However, the next action he takes only serves to disprove this fact.

[potato attacks erebus]
vP8LW5MVsword
[Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage]

[presto]

[/presto]

sword

Last Edit: Jul 14, 2014 21:16:53 GMT -5 by gamemaker kelsier

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 15, 2014 11:07:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by sbeeg on Jul 15, 2014 11:07:08 GMT -5

Erebus Turner

"You're stupid too" his ally mutters in that thick drawl that Erebus thought was so ridiculous when he first heard it. Now it held a strange sort of comfort in it, a familiar tune in the song of the Arena. He was stupid. If Erebus had any kind of brains he would have legged it out of there the instant the other tributes showed up. If Erebus had any sense, he would have left the crippled boy he hardly knew and tried to live another day to see his sister again. Erebus Turner is a smart boy, but his heart is bigger than his head and that will be his downfall.

Nocturne's fingers fumbled through white blonde hair, rearranging all the cowlicks in the Turner boy's dirty hair. Erebus glanced at the older boy who fumbled with his spear to defend himself against one of the attacking tributes. Despite Vargas' spirit his fighting looked pathetic: he could hardly stand, his face was drenched in blood, and it was becoming more and more obvious that he hadn't touched a spear before coming to the Capitol. Erebus was not much better, his attempt to slice something off one of the attacking girls had failed, morphing into a struggle to keep his knife in his hand. His palm was coated in blood making his fingers stick together, but was slick enough to make it difficult to keep a grip on his knife.

The boys were a mess. They had been doing fine the last few days, doing okay in quarrels with mutts and using basic survival skills to stay alive but this was something different. Fighting people was more terrifying than any mutt. These tributes knew exactly what they were doing, they weren't scared or programmed to defend their territory. Of course this is what the Games are.

Erebus tossed his knife into his left hand which felt just as awkward as holding it in his wounded one. Stepping closer to Nocturne, Erebus gave his ally a weak half grin "I know."

[Attacks Sonja]
goPPKgxQknife
[Two Severed Fingers on Left Hand -- 9.0 damage]

knife

Last Edit: Jul 15, 2014 11:07:48 GMT -5 by sbeeg

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 15, 2014 14:07:42 GMT -5

Quote

Post by k!ah on Jul 15, 2014 14:07:42 GMT -5

What really defined someone as a monster, wasn't it different in the eyes of everyone? Like the Capitol didn't see themselves as monsters, but yet they killed people off like it picking daisy from a field. Maybe it was because the Captiol was a whole wasn't the monster and the monsters were really the people who lived their, the people who encouraged these games, the people who bet and sponsored their favourites because they were the monsters. The ones who betted were disgusting, the ones who sponsored were even worse. (this was because they gave hope; hope that was only short lived; hope that was demolished when the next fight ams around.)

But as an individual people may not seem as a monster but as someone who is truing to survive. People look past that fact with Potato though, because he wasn't just a feeble kid trying to fight his way threw to the other side, he had lived the head of a girl cleanly of her shoulders- the wouldn't people view him differently to you? Wouldn't they call him a monster over you? After all they don't know that you were already a murderer, they don't know that the glove of blood on your hand.

SO now, as you swing your blade you see yourself as a monster- not when you killed the avoxes, but now. Never in your life had you ever wished to physically inflict pain upon another, all your life you had been a caring girl, always helping those who could not help themselves because that is what you did, as a human begin you were obligated to help those in need of it. Living in a hospital, even though it was fro the wrong reasons, had also given you insight-

A pain like no other pain you had experience thus far blossoms in the fingers that you placed upon the top of the hilt of your sword. You look down, your eyes truing to pinpoint the source of the pain, desperate to finger out why you felt like some part of you was missing- wait, where were tour fingers? You swore that only moment ago they had been where you left them, clutching the hilt of your sword tightly as you moved it towards Nocturne if efforts to end his life. Your eyes winded because it slowly dawns on you that the two stumps that exist were actually your fingers. Blood pour from the end of them, blood that was symbolic of the pain that was surging threw my body like the angry waves of the ocean. A scream- a delayed one, but one filled with utter agony- escapes your lips and you almost drop your sword, the metal hitting the ground loudly at your feet. Instantly your uninjured hand cups the one that no longer had five fingers on it but three.

Crimson liquid dripping down your arm, splatter across the ground, wiped onto your face as tears slipped from your eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much, never had you ever felt anything like it. it hurt, it hurt, it huuurtttttt.

You stare at your hand for war seems life forever, before a frown slip ins into your pretty face, your eyes looking up to meet the boy who had removed your fingers from the place where they had always been- it was like losing a part of you; literally.

“You bastard! That fucking hurt!” Never before had woods this foul ever been said aloud past the pull lips they escape now. “Why the would you do that? Were they not pretty enough? What did they even fucking do to you? Its not like i took your thumb!” you screech as him, your hands reaching out to pick up the weapon that you had dropped. “You know, Nocturne is right, you should probably get the fuck outta here cause your not gonna like what happens next.” You didn't know what was going to happen next, but you knew you were going to keep your blade away from the stupid sand colour hair boy. Why wouldn't he run? was it because he didn't want to leave Nocturne? if so, you would make him hurt, you would make Nocturne hurt just how much you hurt right now.

“You have your friend to blame for this.”

[attacks nocturne -- sword]
yK4Cx9UVsword
[Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0 damage]

sword

Last Edit: Jul 15, 2014 14:08:34 GMT -5 by k!ah

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 16, 2014 19:31:18 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Jul 16, 2014 19:31:18 GMT -5

i chase that feeling
of an eighteen year old who didn't know what loss was
now i'm a stranger
and i miss the days of a life still permanent
mourn the years before i got carried away

Everything is in fast-forwarding slow motion: Blades. Blood. Blasphemy. Okay, so the last one is mostly Nocturne after sharpened metal slices into his forehead yet again, swearing as if he doesn't care what the motherfucking goddamn fuck his last bitchass words are. Fuck. In the blurring clash the string of expletives probably translates as little more than incoherence, but cursing the excruciating pain is just about the only thing that actually feels good right about now so, "Fucking fuck, yeah, that fucking hurt!"

There's yet more babbling incoherence, aimed entirely at Sonja, the other girl's attack deflected by the improvised cow skull armor that has turned out to be both hilarious and surprisingly functional. "Neither of us give a fuck about your fucking fingers, y'fuckwit — hellooo! — you're trying," and succeeding, "to kill us. So fuck you!" He can literally feel himself bleeding halfway to death, yet he decides to devote a portion of his remaining energy to contorting his face into a comical, exaggerated mimicry of her own hypocritical disbelief. "And yes, I just said fuck more than you. You have been out-fucked. Learn a new curse word, that one belongs to me now and I'm taking it to m'fucking grave with me."

The ridiculous smartass means it, biting down and swallowing as if that will pull the word into his stomach so that when he dies, it will rot into the earth with the remains of his body, never to be spoken again. It's not an over-reaction, not really, not when he's about to die here and now and Sonja has the gall to rant about getting a finger or two chopped off. No. "Blaming him for what you're doing to me would make me just as stupid as you are for blaming him for what y'made him do to you. I wanted to walk away. You wanted to get your fingers chopped off. You're welcome." And he taunts her with the biggest, brightest, most shit-eatting grin of his entire life — every tooth in his mouth bared and glittering in the sunlight, blood running through the cracks as his cheeks and dimples scream at him for being pulled at so mercilessly.

This is it and he knows it. The three of them aren't going to run, Erebus won't, and Nocturne can't. It's the Turner-Vargas Gang's last stand and since he doesn't have any other option, he'll fight like hell, just in case he can find a way for the last words that leave his mouth to be a little more eloquent than: "Fuck you, Sonja, and y'ugly fingers and y'even uglier soul. Fuck-fuck-fuckity-fuck-fuck you."

[Attacks Sonja With Spear]

MiZnQeBPspear

[Deep Gash on Stomach — 9.0 Damage]

spear

Last Edit: Jul 16, 2014 19:32:41 GMT -5 by L△LIA

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 16, 2014 20:15:16 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Jul 16, 2014 20:15:16 GMT -5

Ingrid Elwyn

As if to grant them vengeance for Ingrid’s mistake, an outside force allowed the thumbless boy to sink his knife into bone and muscle, separating two fingers from Sonja’s hand. It painted an ugly picture in the dirt – two fleshy knobs to keep the thumb company, each with its own little pool of drying blood gathering beneath ruined bone. Her grip around the hilt of her knife tightened, sending new bouts of stinging pain into her blisters. It relaxed her. She needed it, because Sonja’s screams weighed her down, and the curses were like sharpened daggers in her ears. She was furious, and who wouldn’t be? Digits belonged to the body, not to the sand, not to the capitol or anybody else but their owner. At this moment they were toying with each other’s threads, inflicting unnecessary torture on their souls. This needed to end quickly.

Cow skull boy’s face would become unrecognizable if Sonja’s aggression continued. For the third time in a row she raked her blade across his forehead, deepening the bleeding lacerations until a waterfall of crimson formed. By now it was obvious that Sonja’s lashes were fueled by rage and pain rather than the calculated intent to kill. Pain is part of nature, she wished she could say, but Sonja was far too distracted to listen. Don’t let emotions control you. Unless it was blissful joy there was no reason to burden oneself with emotions during a fight. Ingrid’s own anger toward the Capitol drones was tucked away behind bigger priorities and higher hopes. Those feelings would resurface at a later time, when she needed them. Right now there was no reason to be angry. Now was the time to focus.

Potato was silent and persistent, still healing from yesterday’s torment yet clearly capable of defending Sonja’s life. Today was not his day to die, and it was not Ingrid’s day either. But it might be Sonja’s. However, all of this could be an illusion. Like yesterday. Potato almost died, but it wasn’t his turn so he lived instead. The same could apply to Sonja. Today could just be her day to suffer nature’s pain, delivered by unholy hands through the Capitol’s irksome games. It was pain all the same; it didn’t truly matter who caused it, it only mattered how.

The squelch of steel splitting skin and muscle shook the air. The disabled boy’s shouting was more obnoxious than the music of gore, but Ingrid was determined to tune both of them out. The animal skull on his chest had suffered a scratch from her knife, cracks etching themselves around the edges. The bone was weak, and one more puncture could shatter its defense. She adjusted the blade in her blistered hand and wondered if his chest should remain the true target. His neck was more vulnerable, and one well-aimed thrust could leave him choking on iron and water. But does he deserve it? His comments about Sonja were almost wicked, she noticed. He called her soul ugly, which was a lie. Ingrid knew Sonja’s soul – it was angelic and beautiful and deserved to be treated tenderly.

She furrowed her eyebrows at him. Don’t lie to us.

[attacks Nocturne – knife]
Tv3gS5Noknife
Shallow Cut on Right Calf -- 3.5 damage

knife

Last Edit: Jul 16, 2014 20:21:48 GMT -5 by Python

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang] Jul 16, 2014 22:05:27 GMT -5

Quote

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jul 16, 2014 22:05:27 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

P O T A T O E A R N E S T

When he was younger he hadn't worried so much about other people. Sure, he was aware that they lived down the dirt road from him and he saw them at church on Sundays, but he never thought much of them in a scary way. It had never occurred to him that people would ever take up arms against each other and try to kill one another. That was a wild idea, they had no reason to fight each other, not when they had a common enemy in the Capitol. He hadn't even known about the games before this year, when Opal had told him about how she'd lost her leg.

He'd been innocent in a sense because his parents had never bothered correcting him when he'd assumed that the reaping day tradition was just to see who the able bodied children were that would be planting and reaping the crops this year were. They'd never told him that his friend had not died of a tractor accident but by the sword of another tribute. They'd sheltered him, not even his sister Nightshade had had the heart to tell him about what it all really was. They were letting him live unaware, not even thinking about the fact that one day he might be reaped, or one day his children might be.

Maybe they were simply hoping that one day soon there would be a life without the games, that everyone would survive and live together with no more segregation. Those were pipe dreams, half-baked and not helped by the fact that they could not lift a finger themselves to change anything. All that they succeeded in doing was raise a kid who had no chance of survival because he never really knew what the hell it was all about.

Maybe now he knew a little bit better, after their last couple of days. Maybe now he almost understood what it was to be a tribute, what it was to be a teenager bent on killing someone else for survival, what it was to hate the Capitol so much that it literally made his insides burn. If it weren't for Opal he wouldn't be fighting, he might have stepped off of his platform within the first fifty seconds of the games.

He didn't want to live for Opal necessarily although that was a key part of it. She'd simply succeeded in reminding him why life was worthwhile. She'd made him remember how much he truly loved life and giving it to plants. he'd loved digging around in the dirt and tending to his fields more than anything. There was no one else, nothing else that he wanted more than to have Opal Shore in his arms, in a little house in District Eleven and surrounded by fields and fields and fields of plants.

Even if he survived, that would never happen. Even if his chances of survival weren't so small, it would never happen. He didn't want to think of the fact that he could never truly be with her because she was from One and he was from Eleven. It hurt to think about that, it made him doubt when he couldn't. He had to stay resilient in his wish to live.

Beside him, his friends were being hurt. Ingrid and Sonja who had found him last night when he was going to die and he knew it. There was no way that he would be standing here right now without them. They had sewn him up and bandaged him, made him drink water and let him rest without fear because Ingrid had taken watch while Sonja and him had rested. He owed them his life and would have given it to them gladly if it weren't for Opal Earnest, waiting for him to come home, probably half crazy having to sit home and watch him die all over again.

She'd saved him once, she shouldn't have to do that again. It was his turn to protect her and if he could do that by staying alive then he would try his hardest. Even if it meant digging hi blade into the bodies of his peers again and again, he would do it. He would become a devil for her and through away his chances of getting into heaven, for her. He would do anything. That is what made him dangerous, that is what gave him his madness. His willingness to sin for the happiness of his wife is the one thing that made him what he now was.

He wanted to hit harder, to end this. He could hear the cries of the girls and it made him livid, it made hatred fill him. He would not be done here, he knew, no matter what until one of them was dead. He didn't want to kill them but he had to. He had to do it for her and he had to get home to his wife who was waiting for him. He had to wrap his arms around her at least one more time and taste her on his lips.

please, ripred make it so

Until he could see her again he would keep on fighting until he could only crawl to her, even if he was blinded and lame he would go home to her. "I will see you again," he said softly and then in the same breath he lunged forward in the hopes of drawing blood.

[potato attacks erebus]
h7byF3H8sword
[Severed Left Foot at Ankle -- 9.0 damage]

[presto]

[/presto]

sword

Last Edit: Jul 16, 2014 22:07:08 GMT -5 by gamemaker kelsier

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the good the bad and the ugly [3some vs Vargas Gang]

Post by sbeeg on Jul 12, 2014 10:56:37 GMT -5

Post by k!ah on Jul 12, 2014 11:54:57 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jul 12, 2014 13:07:05 GMT -5

Post by Python on Jul 12, 2014 14:43:05 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jul 13, 2014 3:13:11 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Jul 13, 2014 16:55:51 GMT -5

Post by k!ah on Jul 13, 2014 19:25:09 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jul 14, 2014 16:42:48 GMT -5

Post by Python on Jul 14, 2014 17:51:31 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jul 14, 2014 21:15:10 GMT -5

Post by sbeeg on Jul 15, 2014 11:07:08 GMT -5

Post by k!ah on Jul 15, 2014 14:07:42 GMT -5

Post by L△LIA on Jul 16, 2014 19:31:18 GMT -5

Post by Python on Jul 16, 2014 20:15:16 GMT -5

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jul 16, 2014 22:05:27 GMT -5

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