The Way you Numbed All the Pain // [Day 3 MWW v. TLC]
Oct 29, 2019 17:58:38 GMT -5
Post by Stare on Oct 29, 2019 17:58:38 GMT -5
“I’m taken. And besides, Ridley is much prettier than I am.”
"Debatable," Ridley countered. She was starting to have trouble keeping track of all the dialogues spinning around, making her feel like she was being orbited by a certain kind of chaos that training and even the streets had never prepared her for. Even in dirty fighting, when she'd been pulling knives in fistfights, there was some level of order.
But not in the Arena. Never in the Arena.
"Ridley." Torren's voice pulled her back into some semblance of sanity, an echo in the eye of the storm. "Tell me one of those poems. I want to hear one."
And then he hacked Milo's leg off.
"Milo." It came out as a half gasp, breathy and barely her own voice, as she lurched forward on his wounded side and ducked under his shoulder for the second (third?) time that day. "I - I've got you. Hold on."
I'm not exactly a people person. Does that make it easier or harder to kill them?
There was a buzzing in her ears that drowned out whatever it was that Sapphire was saying, and all Ridley could process was Milo's body heat, the overwhelming smell of the blood pouring out of him and into the water, the reflection of the lanterns on Torren's face. She stared at her district partner, wild and half desperate, not at all in any kind of position to start spouting poetry. "I can't," she told him, her voice strained, because she could see that he was dying, too. "I can't."
And she knew what she should have done then. She should have struck him down, released her wrath upon him. But even with Milo suddenly on the verge of death, she couldn't find the fury she needed. Not for Torren. Abstract ideas of nobility and bravery and skill swam through her mind. What would a Le Roux do? What would a Victor do?
What would Ridley do?
"I know you, and you know me, and we're fighting each other anyway. What else can I say?"
"Debatable," Ridley countered. She was starting to have trouble keeping track of all the dialogues spinning around, making her feel like she was being orbited by a certain kind of chaos that training and even the streets had never prepared her for. Even in dirty fighting, when she'd been pulling knives in fistfights, there was some level of order.
But not in the Arena. Never in the Arena.
"Ridley." Torren's voice pulled her back into some semblance of sanity, an echo in the eye of the storm. "Tell me one of those poems. I want to hear one."
And then he hacked Milo's leg off.
"Milo." It came out as a half gasp, breathy and barely her own voice, as she lurched forward on his wounded side and ducked under his shoulder for the second (third?) time that day. "I - I've got you. Hold on."
I'm not exactly a people person. Does that make it easier or harder to kill them?
There was a buzzing in her ears that drowned out whatever it was that Sapphire was saying, and all Ridley could process was Milo's body heat, the overwhelming smell of the blood pouring out of him and into the water, the reflection of the lanterns on Torren's face. She stared at her district partner, wild and half desperate, not at all in any kind of position to start spouting poetry. "I can't," she told him, her voice strained, because she could see that he was dying, too. "I can't."
And she knew what she should have done then. She should have struck him down, released her wrath upon him. But even with Milo suddenly on the verge of death, she couldn't find the fury she needed. Not for Torren. Abstract ideas of nobility and bravery and skill swam through her mind. What would a Le Roux do? What would a Victor do?
What would Ridley do?
"I know you, and you know me, and we're fighting each other anyway. What else can I say?"
{D1F RIDLEY LE ROUX attacks D7F SAPPHIRE DECARIA; scythe (GLAIVE)}
gtFMZ1vzTJglaive
{shallow cut on stomach, 4.0}
table credit goes to the fabulous shrimp!
![d10f ekta ram // [earthling] Avatar](https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/81/Simone_Ashley_en_2022.jpg)
