tempest in a teapot || day 3 fight

She did not pity Weaver.



The boy from Eleven was strong, kind, and had a heart full enough to burst. How much had he cared for Iona, knowing that their time was limited? Yet there he had risked everything, just so the two could live another day. He was a Rhodes, his name already carried the weight of a hundred dead tributes. What of her, if the situations reversed? No one would care for Travers to fall, no one would mourn the cannon shot left to echo across the arena. Hers would be a shallow grave covered with a single flower, his a tomb with weeping mourners, bouquets, a hero’s celebration. They could not have been more different from the start, the boy from eleven and the one from two. Weaver Rhodes was exactly who he said he was; Travers was unknown, a canvass still filling with brush strokes. He was the clumsy soldier to her mechanical prowess.



Travers could only feel the burn within her chest grow. There were the wounds licking across her skin, scarring each inch of her body, but worse than all of them was the sight of his face. The sweaty reminder that Weaver was exactly was Travers wished she could be. She could not deny her envy. The boy knew exactly who he was, he had lived a whole life and was ready to give it away. Wasn’t that to be expected? She barely knew her own name, let alone anything like the countless years he’d had walking through life as Weaver Rhodes. Now he would rip that chance away from her, would make the copper in her throat turn to ash, and steal the breath from her chest. And the world would turn onward, forgetting the little shapeshifter from two so that it could cheer their hero.



Fuck him.



Travers spat out more blood and took another breath. Though she was close to death, she would not die here. Not among the winds and tributes that had not seen the expanse of her power. She had been slashed and knocked down but, she had not been knocked out. Weaver, Iona, Daniel, and Minos too—Emmery, Iris for good measure!—what did they know of Travers? This world was too new, too fresh for her to leave it so soon. She would not die today. And because repetition bred confidence, she told herself once more. She would not die today. There had been so many cannon shots, she would not be lost in the sea of faces the coming day.



“You don’t deserve my pity,” She whispered out at first, hands tightening on her sword. She took a step to the left, and dragged her other behind before shifting into a stance. “You and all the rest of them should see just what I’m able to do. They’ll know who Travers was, and you—” She felt the sweat drip down her brow and mix with the blood dripping from her mouth. “You’ll be rotting in some tomb. Some f—king tomb, just like the other twenty-three.” She could feel her heartbeat quicken underneath her shirt, and her muscles tighten.



“The last thing you’re going to see is my eyes before you die, Eleven.” It was not a threat. Not a promise, either. Just the truth—because Travers was living nothing but the cold, honest truth from then until her final breath.

[Heathcliff Travers strikes Weaver Rhodes with her sword]

63wBS5kWsword

1015 -- Deep Gash on Right Bicep -- 8.0 damage

(Sword)

Made by Frankel

my heart throbs and my head pounds.

for a moment, i forget the words that have become routine- blink, breathe, move because i've been so lost in the adrenaline rush i haven't been able to consider what i'm doing. my blade meets thin air and i am knocked off guard by the sudden missed strike. he does not fall. he does not fall and the hell is dragged down into an even more dire state as chaos breaks loose in the eye of the storm.

the boy i failed to kill strikes at travers and his weapon slashes across her cheek, opening a small wound - i am so caught up in watching him attack i barely notice the arrow flying towards me, and my heart seems to stop as i step forward and the arrow scrapes my arm, opening up a cut like the one the boy gave travers. minos, the boy from home, home attacks my ally and she strikes back with her hands as travers slices open a deep wound in the dead boy's leg.

though he's not dead yet.

tears form at the corners of my eyes and sting, they sting with the storm and they sting with sadness as i watch the fight turn into a bloodbath. when iris punches at minos, i choke out a word i've wanted to say from the start but haven't been able to bring myself to, bring myself to speak, because how can i speak? i shut myself out for what seemed like years. i don't even know how long i was gone, how long emmery johnson was dead before the cruel hands of fate revived her and forced her to die all over again.

"s-stop..."

the word sounds gentle and frail and is lost in the wind, but i'm close enough to iris that i hope she hears. stop. don't let the only thing that feels familiar to me die.

i know what i have to do to protect home and my allies. so i turn on the boy, the boy who did nothing wrong, the boy who was brought into this fight the same way we were all brought into the games- by chance, and twisted fate. i turn to him but the tears are gone, swept away by the howling wind and removing evidence of weakness from my face. but maybe my eyes are too wide, maybe i'm too shifty or nervous; i can't make myself seem strong. so maybe i will just have to prove myself.

i want to apologise, but i can't speak again. my throat is dry and i can barely choke out a single syllable. so i talk with my eyes, offering the most pitiful look to the boy before i slash back at him.

fate chose me to play my part in these games, so i will show fate that it messed with the wrong person.

Made by Frankel

Weaver is dead. It was all his fault. Minos choose to protect them and yet they still fell. Their bodies letting the blood out, pooling in the windy area. The third day of the Hunger Games was the hell that the gamemakers were building up to. Tributes dying one by one. The cannons that had gone off while they had fought made him realize that the chaos was deepening itself deep within all of the living corpses. Death surrounding her boney hands around them all. Fate’s eye watches from far away, a cackle leaving her lips as his fate had been sealed. The district five male suffering from the events of the day that would destroy him later that night. Weaver and Iona were dead, just like District Eleven’s dreams. A fate sealed by an arrow and a knife.

Her voice shatters his insides. His heart of stone cracking with the simple word she spoke. His home was quiet, but he heard it like it was a scream in the air. Emmery Johnson’s words stab him in the chest like no other blade could. ”s-stop…” He couldn’t move, stone heart cracking at her words and every tear that fell from her face. The sharpened horn feels heavy in his hands, knee bruised from Iris’ push. The world was spinning and everything in it was wrong. Emmery wasn’t supposed to be there. Emmery should have been home, with some guy and have a happy life with some sappy and romantic guy, not facing death straight in the face like Minos deserved to. Blood had been shed and now his own heart was breaking with the sight before him. A girl who reminded him of home standing before him and all the lonely days stuck on some street corner starving to death comes to mind.

Daniel looks monstrous with the bloodlust that he can see coming off of him. A life already taken by him, bow and arrows still in hand, wanting to kill his home. Minos’ couldn’t let that happen, not then, not ever. The world felt the chaos, collapsing upon all of them, Heathcliff looks like a bloodied killer, just like Minos had looked after killing his twin brother. The screams of his mother being exactly the same as Weaver’s screams from before. They’d haunt him until the day he died, another sin to carry on his own, no one to ease the load. Protection was useless for them, Death had already claimed their lives from the start of the fight. All Minos wanted to do was scream his lungs off, but it wasn’t something he could do through the shock and panic of the fight.

Emmery’s eyes look hollow, like she had died before him for a second, he thought she did. Knife still in hand, Weaver’s body laying before her. A girl who had been someone who seemed unlikely to kill. As she stood there, he couldn’t help but compare her to the reaper. Emmery Johnson, the reaper. Heathcliff, the bloodied monster. Daniel Tate, the bloodlusting killer. Iris Flower-Oak, the fastest woman in the area. And then there was him, Minos Vallanso, the protector of the fallen. And his voice hits the air like a knife, tension being sliced in half. ”Damn it all to hell!”

And he was moving. Feet tapping roughly on the ground as his body lurched into motion. Daniel was his goal. Daniel was his priority, not Emmery, she could handle herself from what he could see. Daniel and him needed an escape from the hell that they were trapped in. They needed to find their friends, Hypatia and Natalie. People used to tell him home was where his heart is, but home was where his scars were. Home didn’t exist for Minos. Home was the place where he starved, the place where the drugs controlled his life, the place where he would be pitied or pushed aside like nothing but trash. Emmery was home and yet she was not, she reminded him of the home he once had. A home of happy memories and families who smiled upon him. A home before the drugs took over his mind. The aching want still hidden under the surface, from the adrenaline and pounding of his heart to hold him down.

Heathcliff’s dark eyes stare towards him as he reaches near Daniel. Arms already trying to reach Daniel and help him up. Minos’ voice filled with anger, ”This isn’t over, Two! You’re a fucking terror, and when I kill you, I’ll spit on your body, as they take your lifeless body back to the place where no one cares about your fucking life. Mark my word, you made yourself enemy number one on my fucking list.” Minos’ blood was boiling, just like the molten gold that they had encountered the first day. His thought wasn’t done. And as he was helping an awkward Daniel up onto his shoulder, the cane that sort of helped in Daniel’s hand, he spoke. ”And you know what? Fuck you, Heath.”

Walking away from the bloodied mess was hard, the horrors before him still stuck in his head, Iris’ quiet voice in the air, ”I’m sorry.” No turning back then, no turning back on his words. All he said as he walked away was to Emmery, ”I’m sorry. Take care of yourself.” Daniel Tate and Minos Vallanso, share a stare for a moment, he could tell the anger in Daniel, but nothing could be fixed. Not like it was before. All he wanted then was to hug Daniel, to feel his body in his own, as Minos cried. A soothing hand to his hair to calm him, but that was only a fantasy. A fantasy that he could want, but never have. That’s what fantasies are. His words calm and steady, even with the anger that he held, ”Let’s go Daniel. We need to find Hypatia and Natalie. I’m sorry for everything, but right now that’s not important, lets go find our friends.”

The field of winds and blood disappeared as they made it farther away. A tear falls from his eyes and he hoped Daniel noticed. Minos wasn’t afraid of hiding his pain. Minos had nothing to hide from him. His walls and heart of stone breaking down in front of the District Seven male who had just killed someone he was trying to save. Emmery in his head still. The tears falling from her face. And the look of before when she had slashed at Iona and Weaver. Thoughts lost in his head, I’m sorry Emmery. I’m so sorry. Fate had picked them all for a reason. Her eye saw something in Emmery, in Daniel, in Heath, in Weaver, in Iona, in Iris, and in Minos. Death loomed over all of them, yet Minos had escaped her hands for the third time in three days. The storm was raging and Minos was nothing but a corpse, crying over the dead in the eye of the storm.

Made by Frankel