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

Ingrid Elwyn

Death might end up with two guests today.

They were rapidly losing blood, and everyone was helpless to stop it. Blades were draining them like leeches, decorating the dusty earth in shades of red. It was unclear who would collapse first if left unattended – would it be the boy with the crumbling cow skull taped to his chest, face painted a gory color from his wounds? Or would it be Sonja, the friend screaming for survival with open smiles on her flesh? Both would not accept death with open arms, that much was certain. People fear the unknown. She wished she could tell them the truth about death, that it wasn’t just a disappearance from existence but a passing from the solid world to the afterlife. It was eternal paradise in the deep depths of the ocean. Nobody ever believed her, though. They always wrote her off as delusional, and that was the last thing she wanted to hear from a friend right now.

Delusional, crazy, weird...

In the end, labels were empty. They accomplished nothing, and Ingrid learned overtime never to take anything to heart. Why should she hurt because of their ignorance and denial? I hate denial. That was what it was, after all – a denial of the truth. Avoiding the thought of death because it seemed so far away. But it could happen at any time, at any place, and right now it was staring all of them in the eye, Sonja and the cripple especially. Which one would it be? Or would fate take both on this blistering day?

The heat is driving us mad. Beneath layers of sweat she tried to remain composed. The sweltering temperatures were the biggest hindrance she had been confronted with thus far, and it was an overwhelming force to bear. Heat drove humans into uncontrollable bouts of rage, and it made them weaker. It might be safe to say that Sonja and the enemy were running on these fumes, and now both of them were on the verge of death, one unable to finish the other. What did that say about pointless anger?

I need to drown one or the other, and soon. A knife in the lung would finish the job, but which one? She rather liked Sonja’s company, and losing her would be a disappointment despite its imminence. Perhaps if she finished off the one boy Sonja could escape with her life. Unless the other one charged for her, of course – but he was crippled now, made sluggish and clumsy by Potato’s sword. Body parts were piling up, and it made her wrinkle her nose in distaste. This was not how battles should be fought. Why couldn’t it be quick and merciful? That was the cleanest method, the most natural. Not this torment. Blame the Capitol drones. It was their fault for arranging this. It turned humans into paranoid, skittish weaklings who were robbing themselves of proper deaths. No death should be painless; it was always a struggle to drown, to find oneself devoid of oxygen and life. But severing body parts was just unnecessary. The angels did not demand such odd sacrifices.

She angled her blade toward the boy and lunged, determined to summon a conclusion. One or the other, who will it be?

Ingrid Elwyn

Fate made its decision when her blade struck his neck. But was it deep enough? She couldn’t see the wound nor feel how deep the knife sank into his skin. She only saw him collapse, drained of blood and kissed by death. She didn’t know if he was drowning or not, but she would leave it up to fate to pass judgment. Right now Ingrid was merely a vessel delivering their wish, whether it be wicked or blessed. What happened to him no longer concerned her. It was out of her hands, and the sound of cannon fire warned her that it was over. There was nothing left to do with him, yet the fight had not yet ended. The footless friend of the corpse was limping after Sonja, determined to end her life just as Ingrid had ended two lives before. One hit is all it will take.

She curiously watched the scene unfold. Sonja had fallen to the ground, but despite her heavy wounds she was not lethargic nor hindered. Lifting her sword she deflected the boy’s little knife with one swift motion, and that was when Ingrid knew. Sonja will live today. Her smile quickly faded when the girl’s body fell limp, and for a moment she felt her heart sink. But the echoes of a cannon did not follow, which meant there was still a heartbeat. She was still alive and breathing, and before the boy could take advantage of her vulnerability Potato was there to pluck her out of the dust and hoist her onto his back. He turned in the opposite direction and started to walk. ”He seemed like a good guy, that Vargas," he said. Ingrid glanced at the corpse and said nothing, thought nothing. If he was a good guy, she would never know. It didn’t matter anymore.

Tending to Sonja was more important than killing the footless boy, so Ingrid silently followed until they were out of range. When Potato set the bleeding body down, it was a slight surprise to see her chest moving. In her state she looked more like a murdered corpse than an unconscious survivor. She will pull through. As Potato rummaged through his satchel she started cleaning her gashes one by one, starting with the one across her abdomen. As sweat continued to bead across her brow she worked until Sonja’s eyes fluttered open, then let her finish the rest on her own. While they busied themselves she decided to seek shelter inside of the “Saloon” building, where it was dusty and stuffy but away from the sunlight. Behind the bar there was nothing to find – no supplies, no water, not anything despite its promising appearance. It’s just for show, she thought bitterly.

The aroma of cooked meat drew her back out into the heat. Sonja was roasting a slab of mutt meat over a small fire. This was good – sustenance would give her strength, and now that they had water it was about time to rip into their catch. Ingrid pulled out her own chunk of raw meat and pierced with her new spear. She had claimed it from the boy’s corpse, leaving the cow skull there to wither away since it was no longer useful but for decoration. There were feathers on the opposite end, tattered and fluttering every time a tiny breeze rolled by. It was a weapon much more suited to her purpose, much like the swords were well-suited for Potato and Sonja. She was glad to tuck the knife into her bag rather than slip it into her belt. This is exactly what I needed.

She bit into juicy flesh and smiled at their victory. More time to spend with my friends before we all end up like that crippled boy.