The Bloodbath

shrimp
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The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 17:10:11 GMT -5

Quote

Post by shrimp on Aug 31, 2019 17:10:11 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 13:06:47 GMT -5 shrimp said:

[3f yejide jonquil - post 1 - no attack]

[3f yejide jonquil - post 2 - no attack]

It's quick, his smile, and for a moment I'm reminded of Home.

Do you remember, Am? We used to run through the streets like we owned it all — tumbling and cartwheeling and hiding in the enclaves, the alleyways that Ma would smack me for if she'd learned I'd been down there. Ade found a dead bird once, threw it at Trini when she was least expecting it.

It wasn't a long time, but it was a time, and back then it felt like forever. We were kids. Despite everything, we still are.

You swing your blade at her and I gasp, and I hate that my first instinct is to step back. keep calm, keep still, keep quiet: it had been whispered in her dying moments, under the rubble. Or so help me I'll haunt you forever.

Sorry, Ma.
But–

I step forward,
drop my knife again,
feeling the warm trickle
of blood from my hand,
and reach out.

My right hand grabs her wrist and yanks her away, my other grabs Ambrose's, holding it in place.

"Nothing, compared to you—stop it."

Behind me there is an echo of salvation. Two boys offer a hand for the end of the world ("We are not each other's enemy"). The words are familiar in ways that make me wish I was back in Three, but not the Three that still stands.

“Hold your knife as though your life depends on it—because it does.”

No, there is no going back. Not because I give in, but because I know statistics when I see them.

The boy from One's facade falls, just for a moment, and a third option arises. Just as terrible, just as unfair. "But there's so many..."

Gently, I place the girl in the hands of Five. I stare right between Ambrose's eyes, but do not speak. If you want to live so much, Am...

I let go, a red handprint left on his arm. My breath trembles, my throat is hot. Screams echo where they should not. The worst of mankind floats above us: those who do evil, and those who watch. I wonder where I fall in.

I swallow, look towards One, and try to muster as much confidence as Mom, standing against a firestorm.

"Fine. I die, I die. Might as well play my cards right."

I sniff.

"Yejide. Three."

[yejide does not attack]

Last Edit: May 8, 2020 21:38:43 GMT -5 by shrimp

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 17:21:35 GMT -5

Quote

Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Aug 31, 2019 17:21:35 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 15:28:16 GMT -5 eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris said:

( 9f dakota lambert | attack 3 | 2075 )

( 9f dakota lambert | attack 4 | 2071 )

and it's my whole heart
weighed and measured inside
and it's an old scar
trying to bleach it out

I am a ruthless girl.

Even before my prey can counter my attack, even before she has a chance to respond to my vicious words — I charge forward. This is not a waiting game, this is not a time to run and hide and strike bargains. The intruder wants me dead. I can still feel the blood dripping down my back.

I cannot allow her to live.

So I strike again, not only because I am cruel and selfish and willing to cheat — but because there are no rules here, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to survive. "If you run, I won't chase you." And I am not lying. My only concern is staying alive. "Or you can stay here."

I'm in her face now, knife hovering in the space between us. I could stab her through the heart if she weren't so wild, so stubborn. I look at this girl and I see a part of myself — someone who could fall dead and still find a way to stand back up again. I have to crush her spirit.

"Stay here, and you die."

And I lash out,

because that is all
I know how to do.

Nothing is safe when I am not free.

"Make your choice."

and it's my whole heart
deemed and delivered a crime
i'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out
i'm on trial, waiting 'til the beat comes out

lyrics : florence + the machine
— which witch

^{[ DARS ]}

( 9f dakota attacks 8f maryam ; knife )
GvVCHBGgQQknife
( Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage (+1) )

knife

Last Edit: Aug 31, 2019 17:25:18 GMT -5 by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

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The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 17:55:16 GMT -5

Quote

Post by fireflyz on Aug 31, 2019 17:55:16 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 13:44:18 GMT -5 fireflyz said:

[d3m Ambrose Pixel, intro/attack 1, 2107 - deep gash on forehead]

d3m Ambrose Pixel, post 2, no attack

Yejide withdrew from him once he made contact with his target, and for a moment he felt a twinge of anxiety.

"Nothing, compared to you."

Blood trickled down the girl's forehead, dripped from his knife. His neighbor - his old friend - locked her fingers around his wrist like the zipties they'd worn into this arena. They might be able to move freely at the moment, but they were still prisoners. They took Yejide for no reason, probably took the girl that he was attacking - trying to kill - for no reason. He was here for a reason. He was beyond rehabilitation.

One boy was dead already, the one that had been attacked by the group of tributes. Severed body parts dotted the grass, and those who still maintained theirs put them to use. Yejide took the hand of the girl he had attacked and placed it in the hand of another boy. There they all were, linking hands like it would somehow save them. One of the boys suggested charging the Peacekeepers for their guns, a suggestion that his friend seemed to be considering. The red mark on his arm mocked him.

"Fine. I die, I die. Might as well play my cards right."

"What right way is there?" Ambrose asked incredulously. "You really think they're going to let you have your peaceful ending?"

If he knew anything about the world he lived in, it was that taking the easy way out never worked. "Do you think you can just ignore it all? It doesn't work that way, Yejide."

Maybe he was a cynic. Maybe the keepers would entertain their show of solidarity and kill them all, but maybe they wouldn't. Either way, he was itching for someone to fight back, someone to cut him down so he wouldn't have to stand here lost anymore. He eyed the girl whose blood he had drawn, his jaw tight and hands shaking.

"Would you rather die at the hands of the Capitol or die right here, on your own terms?"

[ambrose does not attack]

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The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 18:30:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2019 18:30:09 GMT -5

[Anapos Jinx/Post #1/Attack #1]

After they freshen you up, they force your hands behinds your back with zip ties, a clearly unnecessary precaution to ensure that you don’t go after each other before you can get on camera. You don’t understand why this must be televised. You cannot fathom the purpose of this ” pageant” as they called it. There seems to be little is any pomp and circumstance as they just left you in your street clothes and only bothered to give you a shower with no other show. They even left you in the clothes that you were kidnapped in, a black tank top, and ratted jean shorts. Really classy as the last outfit to go down in. If you are going to have a pageant, you need to go all the way. The line you all up single file, with two Peacekeepers on either side of you, as if you are going to do something stupid, that’s not you want to do. You just want to go back home, and maybe take President Snow down with you.

As you are led out to the sunlight, you realize that your preconceived notions are right, this is an old football stadium. You never understood why this game was a cultural phenomenon, it is just a softer version of another old pre-Panem game called Rugby. If these guys really wanted to prove how tough they were, they should stop caring about what others think of them. You can still see the old blue and orange in the seats and on the field. It makes sense that this would be the setting for The Hunger Games. This stadium used to be a breeding ground for aggression, dominance, drunken stupidity, and it reeks of testosterone. And not the sexy “I know you want me, so I’m going to be dominant if you give me consent” kind of testosterone. You’re starting to wonder how you even got a boyfriend in a first place, let alone Chance you just sat there as you went off on you rants against the societally upheld standards of masculinity.

The line you up on the side of the field once you get out of the old concrete tunnel, and you notice 12 other kids that weren’t with you in the locker room prison. You guess they did not want you to all talk with each other beforehand. Maybe they thought that you were all rebels, planning on attacking them, it would not be smart though. You are all outnumbered two to one, and they have rifles, you don’t know about them, but you would prefer to not be shot. You also notice on the fake unnaturally greenfield, a knife at your feet. The Capitol really either must have not planned this out well, just like their crappy tyrannical form of government, or they must really want to see the carnage. Honestly, you would not be surprised if it was some combination of two. You are starting to realize why the old civilization fell, seeing how artificial everything they revered is. You being to wonder if everything about the Capitol is as fake as the ground you currently stand on.

Guards walk up behind the tributes cutting the zip ties off of your wrists, and with the unified snaps of the restraints, kids are already going at each other’s throats. By the time that you gain awareness of what is happening, a kid already dead, unceremoniously carried off the field, you begin to feel the anger from the war build up in your chest again. They turned the efforts of the war onto the rebel districts, making you all fight this final act of attrition against each other. Part of you doesn’t want to give the Capitol the satisfaction of succeeding in turning you all against each other, but you also realize that you want to go home.

You pick up your knife and notice a child you shouldn’t even be here in the first place. He can be no older than 12, maybe 13 years of age. How he ended up in this hell hole of an Arena, you are not sure. But you just hope you can send him out in a humane way, he doesn’t belong here, with the monsters of children that the Capitol forced us to grow up to be, but you’re hoping you can send him home in the most painless way possible.

[Anapos attacks Jack Imberline; Knife]
7iGsbGLNylknife
2036 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage
(Knife)

knife

Last Edit: Aug 31, 2019 18:32:38 GMT -5 by Deleted

charade
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Thinking

The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 19:16:20 GMT -5

Quote

Post by charade on Aug 31, 2019 19:16:20 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 11:00:19 GMT -5 charade said:

[D4F Alicia Sykes, attack 1, 2174]

Something close to satisfaction tugs at your heart. Your knife draws blood. First blood. For a moment it feels like the squad is with you again.

But only for a moment.

You can hear some of the others begin to whimper. To cry. To pray. It galls you. These were the people you were protecting. These cowards who were huddled in their homes, pretending that the war would never arrive on their doorstep. Those who hid while you and your comrades fought for their freedom. Bled for it. Died for it. One girl’s voice rises above the rest.

She is begging the peacekeepers to stop.

You lip curls in disdain. You have never begged. You have never bent over for anyone, and you are not about to start now. There are more minnows than sharks. You expected as much. You take your eyes off of your target for a moment and see tributes hugging each other. There is a young girl crying in her pajamas. For her sake, you hope it will be quick.

You will see to it, if necessary.

A few are stirred into action by the loudmouth’s plaintive cry. They aim to shut her up. The tall girl raises her voice and you feel like she would have gotten along with the Commander.

Kill the pigs!, Kill the traitors! Free the districts! Free Panem!

You hear a few murmurs of agreement. But not as many as you would have liked. You make ready to finish off the boy in front of you when a girl dives in the way. You almost stab her out of habit, but restrain yourself long enough to hear what she has to say.

Stop! She screams. Can’t you see that this is what they want, you’re going to kill each other.

Yes, you think. That’s kind of the point.

Still, you stay your hand and let your gaze wander around the ring. A girl with wide eyes come to the defense of the shield-basher. You neatly sidestep a boy with glasses as he snarls and stabs the girl who tried to get you and the tall girl to stop. Another girl, one that reminds you of Canary, save for her hair, tries to get the others to stop as well. She is standing still and you resist the urge to shake your head.

You make yourself a sitting duck, you are liable to get shot.

You are proven right a moment later when a boy opens her forehead, making it weep crimson.

The stick-thin girl whose lips promise salvation but whose eyes tell a story of damnation stands with a boy. You cannot make out their conversation. One boy stands like a shield in front of someone else. You have not dropped your defensive stance for a single moment, but you are nearly stirred to action when your initial target speaks. And does he speak. He calls the rebellion a poisoned chalice. Says people like you are reckless. That all they know how to do is hurt.

He yells to kill the rebels, the traitors, the criminals.

You grimace. He speaks like one who has never gone to bed hungry. Who has never clutched a dog tag until it has left a red mark in the palm of your hand. He speaks like someone who is content to lay back and let the Capitol fuck him silly. He thinks that it is better to live on his knees, and you wager he has spent some time on them. As a child, you learned that those who were unwilling to stand for something, would fall for anything.

People catch crumbs from the masters table and are convinced that they were invited to the feast.

He tries to stab the tall one and she parries it easily, sinking her knife into his leg so hard that he goes down. And stays down. Good, you think. One less to worry about. You find yourself standing near the tall girl again. She gets it. You think the boy with the glasses gets it too, although he is being carried away by the blood lust. The battle frenzy. You have seen his kind on the field of battle.

They were the most dangerous to themselves.

The girl that tried to get you to stop succeeded, if only briefly. She has not been able to stop him, and her thumb lies on the grass because of it. For a moment, you wonder how sheltered she grew up, because she cannot recognize a fight or die situation. You take a step towards her. Only a few people in your squad had nicknames. Skipper because of his boat. Canary because of her singing voice. You had a nickname too. On account of all the sentries you dispatched in the dead of night.

Your squad took to calling you the angel of death.

“You have a good heart,” you mutter to the girl. “But you do not understand."

You fall back into a fighting stance.

"I’ll try to make this quick.”

[Alicia attacks d5f Devon Mercier]

wdjpaccVH5knife

-- Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage

knife

Last Edit: Aug 31, 2019 19:23:52 GMT -5 by charade

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

goat
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kindness, kindness prevails.

The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 20:22:24 GMT -5

Quote

Post by goat on Aug 31, 2019 20:22:24 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 15:00:34 GMT -5 goat said:

[8f maryam volk, attack 2, 2086]

[8f maryam volk, no attack]

maryam volk

“I won't regret killing you.”

The girl’s knife caught on your pant leg and you winced. It was shallow, nothing bad, but it stung. The pain that was supposed to be where your finger once was still hadn’t kicked in. You wondered if it was adrenaline, or if the nerves had been destroyed. You decided it didn’t really matter right then.

“I might regret killing you,” you say. “We’ll see.”

The girl got close to you, so close that you could see the color of her eyes. They’re dark. “If you run, I won't chase you. Or you can stay here. Stay here, and you die. Make your choice.”

“Who died and put you in charge? Because it certainly wasn’t me.”

For your joke, you get stabbed.

Maybe you deserved it.

The knife goes in and out of your bicep like it’s fucking butter. You suck in a gasp, a whimper, try to keep the noises from escaping your mouth. It’s not that you don’t want to seem weak, but you think that you don’t want to seem weak.

You had never really been afraid of dying. It seemed inevitable, you laying your life down for the cause. You’d imagined yourself going down in a blaze of gunfire on the battlefield, body covered in ash and left behind because giving a rebel a proper burial was too dangerous. You were fine with that.

You had never imagined yourself dying like this because something like this hadn’t existed up until a few weeks ago. There was a first time for everything, you supposed.

Maybe there didn't have to be.

“Guess I’ll fuck off then, huh,” you say. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

You throw your knife up in the air, catch it despite being down one finger, and walk away.

[no attack; obvs]

turn soft and lovely any time you have a chance.

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The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 20:54:07 GMT -5

Quote

Post by sbeeg on Aug 31, 2019 20:54:07 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 12:58:54 GMT -5 sbeeg said:

[d11m Union Lot | Attack 2 | no attack]

[d11m Union Lot | Post 3 | no attack]

”I won’t hurt you.” The older boy smiles at him and Union feels his panic ebb away at such a simple gesture. "You’re going to go home and be safe and happy, okay? Just trust me."

The boy grips his hand and leads him towards others. Does he know where safety is? No where is safe. They have been thrown into an open area surrounded by people in masks.

Maybe they should have done something. Maybe they should have done something before all of this.

Union sticks close to the older boy, his hand woven tightly in a stranger's fingers. He followed behind, like he used to follow father. As tall as a mountain and as strong as an old oak. As a little boy he'd climb up to his dad's shoulders and it felt like the highest peak in the world.

The view from Father's shoulders seems to be made of miniatures compared to the scale of metal and concrete around them.

The boy pulls him closer to another girl. There's a scuffle- a boy with a knife attacking someone. Another one- there's too many people, too many faces- a girl hauls the boy away. then she links the older boy's hand with the attacked girl.

Union peers around the boy to look at her. She has a warmness about her, but her face looks pale. Her hair is long and brown. She looks kind. Too kind to be here. Union moves forward, wrapping his other hand around the older boy's hand.

He looks back at the other girl- the one who had joined them. She had turned back, facing down a pale boy with scruff along his jaw.

"Yejide. Three."

"Yejide." He whispered the name to himself.

She turned to the side and in her profile he could see Lemione.

Would he ever see his sister again?

They didn't let him say goodbye.

His grip on the boy's hand grew tighter and he leaned in closer to their huddle. As if turning their backs to the bloodshed would make it stop.

The boy said that they would go home. That he'd be happy.

Union looked up at him. He didn't look like a liar, but he looked scared.

They were all scared.

Ripred, help him. Help them all.

table by griffin

Last Edit: Sept 2, 2019 20:45:19 GMT -5 by sbeeg

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The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 21:48:20 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Aug 31, 2019 21:48:20 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 18:30:09 GMT -5 @dreamerkid said:

[Anapos Jinx/Post #1/Attack #1/2036 - Miss]

Anapos Jinx/Post #2/Attack #2

You missed the child and landed face down on the ground. In all reality, you're glad that you missed him, you didn't want to inflict him any pain but just take him out as smoothly as possible. You take in a deep breath of the turf, smelling the plastic of the turn and feeling the rubble of the fake soil in-between you finger. You hoist yourself up into a sitting up position and take a moment to reflect on what you just thought. You ask yourself "How am I any better the Capitol, for wanting to put him out of his misery in the name of protecting him? How does my 'justifications' work out any better than the ones the President and the Capitol propaganda machine told their soldiers and their citizens?" You take a moment to ponder your thoughts, wondering if you have become a pawn for the Capitol while claiming to be fighting against their so-called values.

After your moment, or at least as close of a moment as you can get within this context, you notice what is happening around you. The boy was killed by who you assume was the girl from his District, you guess that either they had some form of beef between them before they got here, or that he was a Capitol sympathizer. If the former, you do not really approve of killing as a form of conflict resolution. If the latter, however, he fucking deserved to die then. It would be funny if the first kid to die in the "pageant" created by the Capitol were the biggest Capitol fanboy. You never understood why people in the District's fled to their side, did they not remember the iron grip that they held on us, that they were only giving us scraps of everything that we made. We shouldn't have to give everything to a power that doesn't even bother to try to keep their workforce alive. They only steal and act like we only live to serve them and work to respond to their every whim. If we were giving back to our individual districts, or if a certain amount of your resources went to helping the Districts in need, you would not mind that.

The fact that people seem ok with being walked all over is disgusting. Hell, some of the kids are literally begging to the Peacekeepers as if they were empathetic to our plight. If the Peacekeepers actually cared, they wouldn't be fighting against us in the war. It is pathetic that these kids are begging for their life they didn't have to compete in the battle. As if they weren't fighting for their freedom every day for the past six years. It pisses you off that these kids took everything that you, your family, your friends gave for their freedom for granted. You see your district partner walking towards some girl pleading for her life and decide to follow suit.

As you stand yourself up, you notice two kids walking towards the bleachers giggling and starting to grope each other. You can't believe that these kids can only think about getting some action before they die, you guess they already resigned themselves to death. You shake your head as you walk over to your district partner, hearing her say "you have a good heart, but you do not understand." You wonder what she could mean when she says mostly to herself, "I'll try to make this quick." And then she attacked the girl, getting a decent gash on her stomach.

You look over at the girl your district partner, seeing the warrior rebel that you say from home. Attacking those who support the Capitol, who does who remain subservient trying to keep the peace. They don't realize that by trying to keep the peace, they are siding themselves with the Capitol and telling us who fought that our freedom isn't worth it. You can't help but see this poor girl trembling as another soldier, another Peacekeeper that is in your way. You reach out an arm to attack this girl that is pleading for her life. You know that there is no pleading, it's either kill or be killed in this war. You wonder what Styx and Krios are thinking, what would Chance to think about your actions.

"I can't help but wonder what everyone back in Four thinks about this. Why are you still fighting?" You direct this question towards your District partner, wondering what she has to say about everything.

[Anapos attacks Devon Mercier, D5F; Knife]
t31FFYh2Xmknife
2075 -- Shallow Cut on Left Calf -- 3.5 damage
(Knife)

knife

Last Edit: Aug 31, 2019 21:49:57 GMT -5 by Deleted

Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]
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cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 22:53:27 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Aug 31, 2019 22:53:27 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 14:04:43 GMT -5 Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] said:

[D10f, Scorpion Praxis, Non-Attack Post 2]

[D10f, Scorpion Praxis, Unarmed Attack Post #3]

SCORPION PRAXIS

It one slightly awkward but truly endearing motion, Elmo shouldered her as though she were a sack of flour - or whatever they grew in Ten. (Sigh. She knew damn well what they grew in Ten, but it was nice to pretend like she was above the slick black oil and radioactive chemicals.) He cuffed her hands together, holding her close, binding her tight. "This feels familiar," she purred.

Then he started running, which felt like galloping, sending percussive pain up and down her spine. She realized the morphling was fading fast, which meant she needed to make some important decisions right now before pain warped her mind. She needed to know:

how far could Elmo run? (Farther than she could, so good enough.)

was everyone else going to play along? (No, probably not.)

were there other rebels in the mix, or were they mostly citizens like Elmo? (Unsure.)

could any of them be bribed? (With what?)

was there a way out? (Certainly, since there had been a way in).

how long would she and Elmo stay loyal to one another in the face of torture, both mental and physical? (Unsure for him. A goddamn long time for her.)

"Scorp," he called her.

And then he ran right into the fray. "No, the other bleach - look out!" She warned the tribute as they barreled past, grazing him. As they raced past, Scorpion reached down and swatted Elmo on the ass. "I need a halter for this stallion, know what I mean?"

[Scorpion attacks D3M Ambrose Pixel; unarmed]

6eOZ||dszLunarmed

[Gash/Bruised Left Arm -- 3 damage]

unarmed

Last Edit: Aug 31, 2019 22:54:26 GMT -5 by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]

credit dars

credit ✨ zozo.

- chars -

cameron
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MY SHIT IS TOGETHER - Shy Aubergine

The Bloodbath Aug 31, 2019 23:58:26 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cameron on Aug 31, 2019 23:58:26 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 16:51:22 GMT -5 cameron said:

elmo latch | d10m | post 2 | no attack

elmo latch d10m | post 3 | attack 5137

Her hands in mine, her warm breath in my ear, her body snaked around me, it all- “-feels familiar,” and a laugh caught in my throat, hung on my adam’s apple, ‘cuz there wasn’t any more time for laughin’. But her words slipped down my spine like molasses, sweet as the pancakes Ma and Pa made the day they wrote all our death sentences, the day they engraved our tombstones with traitorous, with treasonous, with vulgarity spray painted by vandals.

My sisters could never lead a normal life. Not like they could before, when their only known existence was war and famine, when their parents were nothin’ but a bump in the road they’d miss altogether. Now they were alone. Scorpion’s purrs confirmed I wasn’t, at least not for now, but they’d always be alone in ten, alone with no friends, or family, or future, unless this hell shit continued and the capitol kept punishin’ us for the sins of our fathers, the sins of those they can no longer atone.

“Look out!” Scorp called, and my feet stopped fumblin’ forward, twistin’ my torso to see what was wrong with the only girl who’d ever given me the time a day. Another boy stumbled back, musta swung on her as I raced past. “Don’t fuckin’ touch her, pork rind,” and I rammed into him, baring my weight in my shoulder and bracing my body to not cave in. “Don’t nobody fuckin’ touch her!” and I carried her from the chaos, from the destruction, and she slapped my ass and asked for a halter.

At the edge of the violence, I set her down gently. “I’ll do ya one better.” An unclaimed knife laid by my boot. I bent down to grab it, stood and sliced the dirty keeper uniform from my waist up, slid out my arms, and wrapped naked bicep around her backside. “I’ve never fought for nothin’ before, Scorp,” I picked her up, her face inches from mine, our noses brushin’ tips, our lungs sharing air, “you’re worth the change.” My mouth lingered, lips parted, chest poundin’ with my heartbeat. I stepped out my pants legs, back into nothin’ but the boxers they dragged me here in, and kicked the whole uniform up to my hands. Quickly I shifted her to my back, slung the white fabric around her, and tied all four sleeves to my front.

(Nobody gets to leave me behind again.)

elmo latch d10m attacks ambrose pixel d3m unarmed
Q8pIylNfdZunarmed
fat lip 1.5

unarmed

Last Edit: Aug 31, 2019 23:59:16 GMT -5 by cameron

charade
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Thinking

The Bloodbath Sept 1, 2019 0:39:19 GMT -5

Quote

Post by charade on Sept 1, 2019 0:39:19 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 19:16:20 GMT -5 charade said:

[D4F Alicia Sykes, attack 2, 2103]

You frown.

If the knife was the right size, the girl in front of you would have been disemboweled. You will have to compensate and lean into your swipes if you want to do any lasting damage. You know this because your parents starting teaching you how to fight when you were seven. By twelve you could take a rifle apart and put it back together. War is all you know. You parents taught you well. Taught you not to cry.

How to put pain out of your mind. How not to feel. You have always been a good soldier.

They are gone now.

The only family you have left is your uncle and his brood. He was content to keep fishing. He is not like your father, and that is why he is still alive. Someone draws close to you and you start to raise your blade warningly. He goes for the other girl instead. It is the one face you recognize.

The technician.

He wonders aloud what the people back in four think about this. Why you are still fighting. You shrug. A wolf does not care about the opinions of sheep. There were people whose opinion you cared about once.

They are all dead now.

Why are you still fighting?

The question tugs at something in you, but it is not something that you are equipped to describe.

“I don’t know how to stop,” you admit, looking from the knife in your hand to the girl with the missing thumb in front of you. “What would you propose I do instead?” It is a rhetorical question. The answer to that of course, is lay down and die, but you leave that unsaid. If your competitors haven’t figured that out yet, they will soon.

Sometimes the only choices you have are bad ones. But you still have to choose.

Your eyes wander over across the tributes that thus far have refused to fight. A pair of them are even getting handsy, losing clothes and holding onto each other. Civvies. You roll your eyes. You look to the ones willing to spill blood. Soldiers like yourself. You look at the dead boy. Tall girl said there were traitors in your midst. She must have known him beforehand. If that was true, you wonder if some of the other fighters were sellouts, betrayed by the very hands they sold their souls to.

It does not matter.

You, or someone like you will survive this because most of them do not have the stomach for it. Regardless, If the survivor cannot keep the fires of rebellion burning, then the twenty-three people not walking away from this will have died for nothing.

That cannot be allowed to happen.

You look back to the bleeding girl. She had begged the boy with glasses not to do this, and he replied that he was an executioner. You do not think that she will last much longer. She is brave, you think.

Naïve.

But brave in her own way.

She has done more than cry and wait for death. She tried to stop it from proceeding.

It is brave. But ultimately futile.

You raise your blade and then pause. Glasses will finish the job sooner or later. Of that you have little doubt. You are not certain that you want to wet your knife with her blood again. She is not like the Capitol lapdog the dead boy outed himself to be.

You take a step back.

Decision making was easier when all you had to do was follow orders.

[Alicia does not attack]

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

✨ zozo.
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The Bloodbath Sept 1, 2019 2:45:05 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ✨ zozo. on Sept 1, 2019 2:45:05 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 16:13:33 GMT -5 ✨ zozo. said:

audrey manning d7f; post 4

audrey manning d7f ; post 5

There's blood trickling down her angel's arms and throat, a pathway travelling from her voice to her hands. Audrey follows the lines all the way down and back up again, looks at the lines around her own wrists, the blood speckled across the fabric of her top - nothing compared to the older one who had taken her hand and told her to run.

Her angel is dying, and it is all her fault.

"You survived the war," her cell guard had said. "That's what you did wrong. You survived."

And now Audrey understands.

She thinks of her father in-between blinks of her eyes. Hauling her towards the basement, locking the door from the inside out, kissing her cheek and telling her it was going to be okay. How he threw himself at the Keepers, begged them to save her, took a bullet for her sanction. It's what a parent would do. It's what this girl had done for her. A stranger throwing herself between Audrey and death over and over and over - not with a doubt, nor a protest, nor a second of hesitation.

Hadn't her angel told her that she was a mother?

There is no time to think about dead men now. More children huddle in the distance and spit at each other, lunge knives at flesh and bone and hair - Audrey will be next, surely. She creeps towards her dying angel, not caring about the boy she'd shoved toward the ground mere moments ago, nor the nasty girls bickering to the side of them, nor the circle of children to her left no doubt planning her demise.

It is now her turn to hold out her hand, begging the older girl to survive. Begging her not to leave Audrey alone in this place to die.

"Don't let go," she whispers. Pleads.

"Don't let go."

Last Edit: Sept 1, 2019 2:47:51 GMT -5 by ✨ zozo.

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin.
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The Bloodbath Sept 1, 2019 7:40:33 GMT -5

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Post by gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. on Sept 1, 2019 7:40:33 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 11:15:40 GMT -5 gamemaker tallis 🧚🏽‍♂️kaitlin. said:

oliver vos | attack 1 | 2021

oliver vos | attack 2 | no attack

I stand among chaos and feel myself drown.

The chaos is more than I have ever been able to understand. I have stayed away my entire life, pushed my siblings beneath floorboards and into hidden basements to protect them, kept them and myself as far away from the violence as anyone was ever able to get. Ma ate a runaway bullet and it killed Pa instead, and I have never had any loyalties to anyone but the kids ever since. I am not a rebel and I am not a Capitol ally. I have no stakes in this war except to make sure that food ends up in front of the kids at mealtime.

The cold concrete of the cell is still buried in my bones, and I am afraid that I can feel it leaking into my motions, feel myself freezing up and wanting to run. The are no tears in my eyes, only an ice-hearted determination, but there's something about this fight that he's tried to jump into that makes his stomach roll.

The girl who attacks first misses, or she blocks, but then there's a steam of blood from the boy's bicep and he's matching right back to her with a gash in her arm to match.

There's a shove by the first girl, a hunger for blood and for righteousness and all that my stomach does is flip over again and again and again.

"Kill the pigs!" she fucking shouts, and it's only then that I really realize exactly how close to her I am. I wonder, does she realize that I think they're all the same? "Kill the traitors! Free the districts!" She screams, blooding running down her arm and it looks like some of the paintings that Clara loves so much to make. The rebel girl has fire in her eyes and she looks so irrevocable human, blood running free and wild and true. "Free Panem!"

Could she see it in my eyes?

I take a step back, want to be anywhere but near her, but then I scold myself, feel weak and small and hidden. No! I head over and over and over again, see the image of the twins screaming, huddled together and locked at the hip as I am dragged out the front door in chains.

The boy whose back I attacked responds, says the exact same thing but from his side of the aisle, and I can't help but wonder how they don't fucking see it.

What's the fucking difference, I want to scream.

Somewhere in the distance, across the field or maybe right behind me, I hear shouting that we're giving them what they want, that we don't have to kill each other. How fucking blind.

Then the rebel girl sticks her knife in the boy's thigh, and he's dead.

Quick as that.

I thought that it would be harder to watch, that I would feel more and more I would feel less, that it would empty me out and ruin me. I thought that seeing death first hand would be hard, but it happens one moment and then it's over the next. The boy I attacked it alive and then he is dead, and that's the be all end all of it.

I should be nauseous.

I am not.

I back up though, make my eyes look away from his body leaking crimson red so dark it almost looks brown. I watched the rebel girl spit in his face not two secons ago, and I know without knowing that she wouldn't hesitate to do the same thing to me, so I must find someone else to try and kill before she kills me first. (I try, desperately, not to ask myself the question: what has this world come to?) My eyes catch sight of a boy with curly brown hair, and it makes something twist in my stomach again when the sun catches him. Is it strange to notice beauty in the carnage? In all this red?

It's what Clara would do.

I step away again, in the direction of the boy with a wicked smile at the edges of his lips, and then a step closer. He's not attacking anyone, and as much as I understand, I'm not sure I respect the choice.

But then he speaks. Shit-keepers guns. In another life, I might have laughed at the joke.

Instead I shove him, not hard, but it's still violence and he still might die in the end of this.

~~Or maybe it'll be me.~~

"That'll never fucking work." I don't know where it comes from, but I think that I almost smile. A half-alive thing, monstrous but beatific, layered thick with darkness. "You think you try and charge them, you won't eat a bullet?" I shake my head, still half-smiling. "I mean, by all means, for the good of the group give it a go I suppose, but you'll go down in history as fucking stupid."

I don't think about how we could do it together. I don't think about how we could band together, fight back. My entire adolescence has been sitting quietly, has been minding my business and making sure that my family survived. I have never cared about others, barely even care about myself.

Maybe that makes me weak.

I can't be sure until I live or die.

♦ ♦ ♦

[ no attack ]

references to adder, dimitri, and malachi

what are men to rocks and mountains?

a haunted house.

marguerite harvard d2a (zori)
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The Bloodbath Sept 1, 2019 9:36:25 GMT -5

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Post by marguerite harvard d2a (zori) on Sept 1, 2019 9:36:25 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 13:12:18 GMT -5 marguerite harvard d2a (zori) said:

Uxue Izar, D11f | Post one | attack N/A

Uxue Izar, d11f | Post 2 | N/A

The world rages around her, and in spite of the protest, more blood is drawn. The little one cries for help but Uxue doesn’t find the strength to raise a fist or grab hold of a knife. She didn’t know any of these people, not enough that she wanted to draw their blood or break their bones. But not knowing them didn’t mean that she wanted them to die. There was a vast gulf between outward hatred and calm indifference. She supposed the war had raged long enough that many had forgotten loving thy neighbor didn’t include to hate those that were different than them.

Eleven had always taught her that hard work and patience would raise them from the dirt and grow them into someone beautiful. She thinks now of the calm of the fields, and the slow moving folk that hunched over each day to plant crops. The summer evenings that she could have whiling away on a screen porch with a fold-out table, sitting on old-wooden chairs, playing dominos and sipping on lemonade (and a splash of alcohol, if her uncle Hector was around). Who they were had never been defined by material things, or what titles they held. Only that they loved one another, helped one another, and minded those that may have been a bit worse off than they were.

Uxue knew that hate was born from want; they could never know happiness while what they had was taken from them.

Her daydream explodes in a shower of blood from her forehead.

The boy that stands before her is ready to kill, eyes wild. She staggers back as the blood trickles and she catches a taste of copper on her lips. “Hostia puta…” She wipes a hand across her brow and stares at the blood. She doesn’t want to admit that death is coming. She’s not ready for death, not yet. She’s selfish to think that by being one of the last bodies to fall, her end will mean anything more.

She stands ready to be struck again, her hand folding into a fist; at the least she could hit back should he bear his knife down again. But she wonders if she can even do this, when the world has come to break her down. Taylor would say to stand her ground, but he enjoyed a fight more than what he was fighting for.

The girl name Yejibe intercedes, and wrenches Uxue back. She pulls her toward a younger boy, and Uxue can’t quite place what to do. She takes his hand and does her best to not let the pain or fear (or even anger) get the better of her.

“I’m Uxue Izar. From Eleven.” It felt strange to share her name, as though it should have been secret. She felt silly for keeping it to herself.

Yejibe squabbles with the boy she knows.

‘ Would you rather die at the hands of the Capitol or die right here, on your own terms?’ He calls out to Uxue.

Maybe she needed to find her nerve. What about her father and mother? And Taylor? And Xuxa?

She imagined her wedding dress collecting dust in her closet, so yellowed and aged that at last a great-grandchild would have the courage to ask, why don’t we just throw this away?

It sits with her for a moment, bubbling in her stomach.

“You don’t know us. You don’t know how we break our backs in eleven.” She snaps back, blood trickling down her cheeks. “None of you, the ones that want us to play this game. And you want anyone that stands in your way to be an enemy. I’d rather die who I was than what anyone else – rebel or capitol – makes me become.”

But there’s no reply - at least, not then.

Only blood drawn from the rag-tag boy and girl that come from the side of the field to strike the boy from three.

Uxue tensed and back pedaled, pushing toward the side where the bleachers were.

There was no reasoning with anyone, and she still knew she was afraid to die. So she did the only reasonable thing she had left.

She prayed.

She dropped to her knees and clasped both hands together. She pressed her thumb to her forehead, and stared up at the sky. She tried to think of the words her grandmother would say on Sundays, sitting in an old wicker chair and holding a long string of beads in her hand. She’d watch the children from the window, her face always with a smile when caught her staring. Her voice was flat but calm – like a boat rocking gently across the ocean.

“Padre nuestro, que estás en el Cielo…”

[Uxue talks to Yejibe/Ambrose/Edison and pulls away from the group/prays/possibly tries to collect smols]

Last Edit: Sept 1, 2019 9:40:18 GMT -5 by marguerite harvard d2a (zori)

dars
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The Bloodbath Sept 1, 2019 10:04:37 GMT -5

Quote

Post by dars on Sept 1, 2019 10:04:37 GMT -5

Aug 31, 2019 11:55:22 GMT -5 dars said:

Lennon Greer | D12F | Attack #1 | 2151 -- Block -- 0.0 damage

Lennon Greer | D12F | Attack #2 | 2055 -- Two Severed Fingers on Right Hand -- 9.0 damage

Chaos came in the form of a girl with dark hair.

From the second Lennon had laid eyes on her, all tooth and claw, she'd witnessed true violence. The kind that was remorseless; the kind that was fueled by hatred and, as a result, only created more hatred in the end. The kind where someone dies at the end.

No matter it be a slice of the finger, or burying her blade to the hilt in someone's leg: the girl in front of her was a warrior; the thought of it alone was enough to pull the little one closer to her. There was no question of friend or foe here; Lennon felt a pang of sadness.

Maybe this girl didn't even know how to have a friend.

Maybe she would die before she ever got to find out.

She stood by, watching with horrified eyes, begging herself to do something. Run, protect the little one, fight. But for a long while, she could not. She could only wait consumed, all-encompassed by every emotion she'd always been the most reluctant to have.

It wasn't until the fight between the two girls was over that Len realized she'd been holding her breath, clinging to the little girl like a child's toy-- like her own baby clung to her.

The pain came all at once: a slice to the neck. Potentially lethal if he'd been a bit more accurate in his actions or a little less accurate with his accusations.

She was crimson: all blood and pain and a screaming little girl breaking the tether she'd been so keen on keeping.

"No."

He could've done it in those moments, looming over the frail thing with Len's blood on his blade. A single swipe and a precious thing would have existed no longer: reduced to a limp pile of meat for the crows to feast upon. The little girl did not seem to realize this, shoving her hands into the boy, screaming in his face. Such small hands. So difficult to hold on to when there was so much pain. She didn't even realize she was racing forward to snag her back until the little girl was in her arms again.

"Don't let go."

She wouldn't.

Even though it would've been so much easier. Even though she could not save this child if she ever wished to see her own in the flesh once again. A thousand reasons to, but she would never let go. Live or die, she would do so hand-in-hand with her.

"When they get me, I need you to look away, and I need to you to run." She was disgusted with herself and proud all at once. A girl who wished to live, but a girl who knew better. A girl whose blood trailed her like an arrow, pointing to every spot of weakness on her body. Promising the vultures an easy meal. She couldn't stop that, but she could still help the little girl. She was not strong, and she could not stop her voice from trembling, but her death did not have to be pointless.

"You're fast, I bet. Don't look back. And don't stop fighting, alright?"

She cupped the little one's cheek with her hand and stood to face the boy.

"It's okay," she said to him; she could see her own fear reflected in his eyes.

"You just want to live. And you can try to kill us if need be," she didn't know if the wetness on her cheeks was blood or sweat or tears but she hated that it made her look even weaker than she must have already seemed, "But I'm going to get back to my son. One way or another."

She was not a fighter; she never had to be. But against every instinct that told her that the end was near, against every instinct that told her to run, she raised her knife into the air and she fought, for the first time ever in her life.