madness reaching down // octopi vs. remnants
Apr 1, 2017 15:47:01 GMT -5
Post by sadniss everdeen on Apr 1, 2017 15:47:01 GMT -5
Gabrielle Bellamonte
Day Four comes and you haven't slept at all.
Not for lack of trying - your whole body is exhausted, every wound throbbing off-tempo, each and every decision that led you here repeating and replaying until it's all you see behind your eyelids. You still taste Anise in your mouth and there's nothing to wash it out.
(You aren't sure you want to, but she looks away when you lock eyes and you can see the purple rose flowering in the hollow of her throat. It's beautiful in its own deadly way, your teeth a ring of deeper violet and sharper than the axe that split you open.)
The two of you get ready in relative silence. In this reality that was taken from you and then given back, there are no frenzied beasts that raze the ground you walk on. Though dawn has barely broken, the orchard glimmers like the brightest lighthouse you've ever seen. It leaks its light into the sky to create false stars, pinpricks of blue and yellow and red, an aurora of green that ties it together like a ribbon. It draws the two of you, moths to an ethereal flame, and you don't even have to discuss before you begin moving in that direction. You leave the lifelessness of the Plains behind, the pristine landscape scoured by footprints and spilt blood.
As you have for the past two days, you go to touch Anise's wrist and begin the long hobble forward, but she brings it back to her side more sharply than you expected. "I'm fine," she says quietly, heaving herself to standing with her new spear. Some part of you aches when she says it, just a little, but you lock that away in the vault along with all the new things you've learned about yourself over the past few days.
"Suit yourself," you say, at once tired and uneasy, shrugging on the batpack and stretching out. Your wrist cramps and it isn't just due to your injuries. "It'll be a long walk."
Turns out to be long and slow. Anise doesn't ask for help and you don't offer it, even with the implication of it hanging thick in the air. When your tongue touched her skin it broke whatever strange, working camaraderie you had between the two of you, and now those jagged pieces dig under your soles with every step you take into a new area. You thought this reality would be kinder, but all it did was take away the one thing that make this hellscape more of a dream than a nightmare.
She'll turn on you, you know, whispers the voice in your head, she doesn't need you anymore. It would be better to escape.
You flush with shame - she always knows what you're thinking. Whenever you got too close, your first instinct was to pack up and leave, never letting anyone get close enough to care. When they do, they never find what they're looking for, and, well... it's better if you're the one that runs instead, right?
But there's nowhere to run in this arena, and even fewer places to hide. For once in your life you'll face it head on instead of leaving, flirting with the uncomfortable truth that she may not need you, but you still need her.
As you walk, colour bleeds back into the world. Mushrooms as big as your head and the colour of your vambraces, water-grasses the shade of the evening sky. This place swells with life so loud it's disconcerting after the silence of the flats and the plains alike, the feeling of a million eyes watching you through trees that share their light until you're halfway blind. You take a breath and the air is damp, heavy with rain that you didn't see fall.
"It's beautiful," you murmur, touching a tantalizing blue apple that dangles over your head. Your fingers tingle where its skin touches yours, but it's only pleasant for a minute before it starts to hurt a little. You grimace and push your fingers in the wet reeds to soothe the sting. "Dangerous, though. Why am I not surprised?"
So much food but spin the roulette to decide if it'll kill you or not. Your stomach howls - the impromptu meal last night left a different hunger in you, something not quite so easy to sate.
A crunching of leaves, followed by voices. Every muscle in your body turns hard as stone and you take a few paces back until your arm bumps with Anise's. She doesn't pull away this time, her fingers flexing on her spear.
"Think they're friendly?" you ask, though deep down you know the answer. You're only here to kill until someone else gets the upper hand, after all.
She shifts her weight, gripping her trident with both hands. You can almost hear her readying for battle, her muscles tensing, a deep breath before settling. "Doesn't matter."
The grin you give is vicious, mostly teeth. Your hand goes into your pocket and finds your timberwolf crayon, crushing it into a crumbly pile and pressing it onto the metal of your blade. Glow, you will, and the wax melts and seethes until your knife roars to life in a whirl of white flame.
"Couldn't have said it better myself," you say, just before you lunge. Your fist burns with judgment, but your cause isn't holy.
Doesn't mean the flames of retribution won't hurt.
[attacks Raven with butterfly knife]
QXxGzo0Nknife
[severed finger on right hand, 8.5]
1-50
[extinguished ]
Day Four comes and you haven't slept at all.
Not for lack of trying - your whole body is exhausted, every wound throbbing off-tempo, each and every decision that led you here repeating and replaying until it's all you see behind your eyelids. You still taste Anise in your mouth and there's nothing to wash it out.
(You aren't sure you want to, but she looks away when you lock eyes and you can see the purple rose flowering in the hollow of her throat. It's beautiful in its own deadly way, your teeth a ring of deeper violet and sharper than the axe that split you open.)
The two of you get ready in relative silence. In this reality that was taken from you and then given back, there are no frenzied beasts that raze the ground you walk on. Though dawn has barely broken, the orchard glimmers like the brightest lighthouse you've ever seen. It leaks its light into the sky to create false stars, pinpricks of blue and yellow and red, an aurora of green that ties it together like a ribbon. It draws the two of you, moths to an ethereal flame, and you don't even have to discuss before you begin moving in that direction. You leave the lifelessness of the Plains behind, the pristine landscape scoured by footprints and spilt blood.
As you have for the past two days, you go to touch Anise's wrist and begin the long hobble forward, but she brings it back to her side more sharply than you expected. "I'm fine," she says quietly, heaving herself to standing with her new spear. Some part of you aches when she says it, just a little, but you lock that away in the vault along with all the new things you've learned about yourself over the past few days.
"Suit yourself," you say, at once tired and uneasy, shrugging on the batpack and stretching out. Your wrist cramps and it isn't just due to your injuries. "It'll be a long walk."
Turns out to be long and slow. Anise doesn't ask for help and you don't offer it, even with the implication of it hanging thick in the air. When your tongue touched her skin it broke whatever strange, working camaraderie you had between the two of you, and now those jagged pieces dig under your soles with every step you take into a new area. You thought this reality would be kinder, but all it did was take away the one thing that make this hellscape more of a dream than a nightmare.
She'll turn on you, you know, whispers the voice in your head, she doesn't need you anymore. It would be better to escape.
You flush with shame - she always knows what you're thinking. Whenever you got too close, your first instinct was to pack up and leave, never letting anyone get close enough to care. When they do, they never find what they're looking for, and, well... it's better if you're the one that runs instead, right?
But there's nowhere to run in this arena, and even fewer places to hide. For once in your life you'll face it head on instead of leaving, flirting with the uncomfortable truth that she may not need you, but you still need her.
As you walk, colour bleeds back into the world. Mushrooms as big as your head and the colour of your vambraces, water-grasses the shade of the evening sky. This place swells with life so loud it's disconcerting after the silence of the flats and the plains alike, the feeling of a million eyes watching you through trees that share their light until you're halfway blind. You take a breath and the air is damp, heavy with rain that you didn't see fall.
"It's beautiful," you murmur, touching a tantalizing blue apple that dangles over your head. Your fingers tingle where its skin touches yours, but it's only pleasant for a minute before it starts to hurt a little. You grimace and push your fingers in the wet reeds to soothe the sting. "Dangerous, though. Why am I not surprised?"
So much food but spin the roulette to decide if it'll kill you or not. Your stomach howls - the impromptu meal last night left a different hunger in you, something not quite so easy to sate.
A crunching of leaves, followed by voices. Every muscle in your body turns hard as stone and you take a few paces back until your arm bumps with Anise's. She doesn't pull away this time, her fingers flexing on her spear.
"Think they're friendly?" you ask, though deep down you know the answer. You're only here to kill until someone else gets the upper hand, after all.
She shifts her weight, gripping her trident with both hands. You can almost hear her readying for battle, her muscles tensing, a deep breath before settling. "Doesn't matter."
The grin you give is vicious, mostly teeth. Your hand goes into your pocket and finds your timberwolf crayon, crushing it into a crumbly pile and pressing it onto the metal of your blade. Glow, you will, and the wax melts and seethes until your knife roars to life in a whirl of white flame.
"Couldn't have said it better myself," you say, just before you lunge. Your fist burns with judgment, but your cause isn't holy.
Doesn't mean the flames of retribution won't hurt.
[attacks Raven with butterfly knife]
QXxGzo0Nknife
[severed finger on right hand, 8.5]
1-50
[extinguished ]
knife�1-50