wrath of god iii {{ day two ; outlanders/lenny

As ever the stunningly beautiful tribute from district one was pissed. She was fuming as she trudged behind her allies. Her wonderful time spent catching snakes and playing with corpses had been crashed by some twats sitting on their high horses, slicing their way into Celia. What the fuck? She vaguely remembered hearing one of them scream out Andy –whoever the fuck that was, before diving for Celia. Her only response had been, “that little District Twelve Shrimp hadn’t killed anybody.” Before being dragged away by the rest of them. Why the hell had they all been on their righteous high horses in the fucking forest? She supposed dangling someone’s chest on your torso did leave a few heavy implications, regardless of the matter.

The worse part of it had been when she’d not been able to grab her axe and take one of the bastards down with her. The others had run, probably tired for the day, and so she’d been dragged with them, even though Scout was, quite frankly, positive she could knock out all four of those cocksuckers. They had been lower district scum, after all.

So here she was now, knee deep in mud, feeling the weight of the world on her body as she tore a mud covered foot from the ground. She couldn’t even remember where she had lost her shoes (thank Ripred), but they’d been sucked into some alternate dimension the moment she’d almost lost her foot to the mud. She wasn’t getting those back, which she was thankful of. Honestly the Gamemaker’s were a bunch of idiots, first off they’d gotten their knickers in a knot because –Ripred forbid, now it’s not like you’re supposed to do that or something- she’d killed someone, and now they had dressed them up as a freak show. As a bright spot in her swirling annoyance she’d received an item from sponsorship, a shovel had fallen beside her head, and a devious amount of ideas had crossed her mind. With the arrival of her saviour, her foul mood had slipped away, night turning to do, Anthem blasting overhead like a magical pipe dream.

It never seemed to last, though, but she doubted it ever would. It was hard to keep yourself cheerful when you were permanently cooking in your own juices, because no matter how many times you wiped yourself you were still wet. She was sure that these wrinkles on her fingers would disappear when she left the arena. She damn well hoped so, it had alarmed her, when she looked at her hands this morning, seeing those wrinkles. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had them, it was probably when she took that bath after she’d bathed in her victim’s blood (trying out a new craving, hadn’t been that nice, in the end, blood went everywhere, all those cracks and holes –everywhere).

“Is this mud ever going to fucking end?” The subtle curve to her face as she raised her eyebrows was perfection. She’d mastered a sneering look with a questioning attitude. With a face all hard edges and razor sharp points she’d be designed to look this cruel. She hoped, with a tiny bit of hunger, that one of her allies would offer her some form of a snarky reply to feed her inner demons. She was dying to release her pent up rage, digging holes all night hadn’t been enough to snuff out that burning flame of hatred. As now reply came her cunningly, cruel, flirtatious expression transformed itself into a foreboding scowl that promised harm if you pissed her off.

To her absolute delight that had her tight expression loosening slightly, she had a yell, and a bang up ahead. That could only mean one of two things (both as wonderful as the other) 1. Quadrys had finally face planted, landing chest first on his weapon, said weapon had been covered in mud so now he was a fondue of mud with a crimson river. With the lack of entertainment so far that'd mean she'd be able to help him remove his protruding weapon and in all her innocence she could have some fun with it. 2. There were tributes p ahead for her to kill. Both sounded wonderful, and with a leap and a bound as new energy spilled into her veins she moved, ignoring that awful, ear tearing sound of mud sucking at her feet.

There was cursing, and in a flash she was there, weapon raised, but she watched, as Quadrys swung at Celia Mortuus, his weapon biting viscously into her skin. And that was it. Rage filled her veins, as she stepped forwards, she slammed her axe into the ground.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK QUADRYS!?"

She snarled, storming towards the scrawnygood-for-nothing prick, her face twisted into a terrifying snarl of uncontrollable anger. "YOU DUMB SHIT, FUCKING IDIOT, YOU THINK YOU HAVE A BRAIN? YOU THINK YOU HAVE THE RIGHT TO THINK FOR YOURSELF?" She snapped. "YOU DON'T!"

"If you think when you don't have a brain, you're going to fucking hurt your head." She screamed, pointing at her own head to emphasis the point. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been this livid. They didn't get to decide who died, she chose, because there was weak ass piss that needed to be killed off first. Lest of all the one other fucking girl in this arena beside herself that was actually worthy of going home. "I swear to Ripred you piece of piss, if you attack her again I'll rip your head off." She growled, jabbing a finger into his side.

"Look at me, you asshole." She'd be damned- "I'll be damned if you attack the one other person in this god forsaken arena who is actually worth something." If anyone was killing Celia it'd be her, if anyone was taking out that soul as beautiful tainted and twisted and distorted as her own it'd be her. "You don't get to touch her, she's mine." No fucking one was taking out Celia, it was going to be a battle at the end between the two of them, a twisted messed up battle where she could torture and maim and hurt, and now that if she didn't come out at the end of it, it was fine. It was a twisted sisterhood, that Scout thought of, a messed up version of seeing her brother inside of that girl (let's be honest here, Scout just misses him and is using Celia to replace him).

"I don't think you want to be on my bad side." She growled, narrowing her eyes. Her tone had shifted from rage to ice, as she glared at the boy. "As far as I'm concerned she's far more worthy of keeping alive then you are." She raised a finger, hoping he understood what she meant. Her finger touched her neck, "you ain't worth shit, boy. Stop before you can't take this back." With a slow, deliberate motion she dragged it across.