dancing after death || gala vs beck

Numbness has continued to coat me since the fall of Amberly. By no means would I ever consider her a friend, but she was the most sturdiest of conversations that I’ve had since Alexander. Annoyance rattled me with her persistence of me trying to kill her, and though she simply didn’t understand I don’t try at anything - it still made me furious to convince her of otherwise. And despite there being joy at another canon erupting, numbness still followed me at the fact that it was her own’. After repairing my few and far broken patches, I discover myself aimlessly strolling to wherever my destiny is calling me towards.

Out of the mist of humidity a downpour begins rapidly. A chuckle pools from my numbness at the predicament the Game makers seek for us to be in. As if this place couldn’t be moist enough. While still it beams me from my sense of uncertainty, raining me with humor at least. Though the spark of finding comedy in anything nulls the numbness, it doesn’t break me from my directionless wander - worsening it in fact.

But onward I do carry. Cautiously every step is made, a pause not faulting a single move. The taste of only a few of us left licks at my tongue with a promise, a need to continue forward in a hunger to finish all of this. The end game is now the only sight upon my vision, until a pokey plant scratches against my leg. With squinty eyes I study the atmosphere about, my vision finally absorbing the countless rows of pineapple plants surrounding me. This is where he died. This is where I lost the only person I had here.

A mutter comes from behind me, “I’m sorry.” And immediately following a blade brutally bites against my thigh, instantly drawing my attention. My sight turns to steady on a Tribute from another career District. The one from Four, who’s Partner killed Amberly’s comrade while a Capitol’s Beast was upon us. He believed we were all monsters, and I wonder what he believes now - perhaps exactly the same, as he sliced me from behind with an apology to wrap it as a mistake.

Fortunately numbness still coddles me in some ways, as it’s just a bitter sting that clenches my jaw. Nearly immediately it loosens however, a new chuckle emerging at the apology I received beforehand. “Cut the bullshit.” I respond to him harshly, my full attention now facing him. “I get it, you wanna live - I wanna live.” My weapon dances through the air carelessly with my words of understanding. “It’s getting down to the wire, meaning we really have to pluck one another off. But as a fellow career, it is truly wrong to attack from behind. We’re better than that.” Or maybe none of us are, all just desperate for any advantage to make it out of here alive. And with that goal as well, my axe carves my Opponent’s way in return.

Pure vengeance provides as my advantage, nipping across my Opponent’s skin as brutally as he ripped open my own. The satisfactions hugs at my core, warming me from the soaking downpour around. Reasoning for my success in strength isn’t wondered however, learning already that explanation doesn’t power my weapon again for the next round. Just as it’s always been, it’s pure fortune that destines my fate. Through the heavy droplets fading my vision I stare at my weapon with admiration, a smile unfolding from the redness that now freshly glistens across it. It’s not pain that now fuels Four though, but rather my words from before.

Rage furrows his features, spite bellowing his words. “You think I’d choose this!?” To what he’s referring to I’m not quite certain of. The choice of starting this battle while my back’s turned? The choice of being from a career District? The choice of being here? My eyes study deeply into his own’, seeking the answer without further words that could potentially ignite this fight in flames. My eyebrows scrunch together in curiosity as I search for an understanding - while more words brew from him before I can even establish a thesis.

“They never tell us what we’re really in for, do they?” He wonders, his anger sounding to wash completely from him - as if being drained by the rain flooding down him. Further I’m left baffled by his seemingly wise comments. Rather than focusing upon our circle dance of a fight to the death, it has my brain on a hunt for what the hell he’s talking about. Instantly my eyes harden in his direction, suspicious over the moves he’s potentially performing. This is always what I needed Gwen for, to warn me of other’s tricks.

A moment pauses the atmosphere. “I know it was wrong, that’s not what I’m sorry for.” He explains before his axe barrels for me. Automatically my weapon moves to defense, though my eyelids can’t help but wince at this impact. A pain gently stings at my shoulder, more cloth ripping from this war - but it’s no more than that. Uncertainty brings my vision to the tear, feeling an anticlimactic result for that moment. A relieving breath flutters from my lips.

“Then what are you sorry for?” Bluntly exits from my tongue, with a load of genuine curiosity to go along with it. “Is it because we’re all monsters?” I question, memories flickering back to only days ago. He had said we were all monsters, but that the purple beast upon us was something else. “Was he really that different from all of us? He was sent out to kill just as all of us were.” And knowing I’m no different, my axe wields to kill once more.

Weapon clashes against weapon, in a denial for my own blade to penetrate his skin with my seek for survival. Immediately my axe withdraws from the rejection, purely to wield once more and strike again. Fortune doesn’t grace my strength currently however, my second swing missing him entirely. A curse mutters beneath my breath with disappointment dripping from my lips. To think his scratch of a result was anticlimactic after his bellow of words before, while my weapon doesn’t even paper cut him after my own now.

He absorbs my wonders at least, even if not my weapon. “I wish I was a monster.” He comments gently with pure sorrow lacing his voice. Conflict seems to be weaving through his features, as if uncertain of who he is or who he wants to be. A tight grip brings his axe to his chest, hugging his weapon like the protection it is. Confusion glues my stare from budging away from him, as unsure of him as he appears to be. “I want to kill you.” The obvious is stated, not bulging my expression in the slightest. “But I hate that I want to. That’s why I’m sorry.” Those words do throw me off guard however, furrowing my brow with further confusion.

With his weapon embraced against his chest, my remains at the ready - though it doesn’t waver in a threat to attack just yet. Battle-ready it stays, while my ears crave to listen to his words. “I just hope you don’t hate me. No matter how this ends.” His request surprises me even more so, glitching the moment like a faulty projector back home. And before I have a chance to react, numbness carries my sight as I watch his axe miss me entirely as well…numbness continues to sway me as I’m unable to deflect from his second attempt, that cuts my free hand off entirely.

Time continues in its slowness as I witness my right hand collapse to the muddy grounds beneath us. It bounces once, before discovering its place within the shallow puddle of rain and dirt. A scream pierces from my throat, despite the numbness that stays upon me. Sight threatens to flicker me into the darkness, before I steady on the massive rain that’s dropping on my amputated hand. “I don’t hate you.” I mutter rather sincerely, as the fingers upon my left hand flecks around my axe’s handle - checking that it’s at least attached.

“I get it.” Is reassured; my nub of an arm sinking into my stomach as if in search for security, while my other hand has never budged from its form of defense. “In a place like this we have to kill to survive. As careers we’re trained for exactly that our entire lives. Of course there’s going to come a point that we don’t want to just kill out of necessity, but a desire as well.” An understanding I’ve known all along breaches from my lips, before I steady myself for what’s to come. Just because there’s an understanding, doesn’t mean there’s a crave to do differently - and without hesitation, my axe seeks for revenge.

Like an uncared for trapeze, the success of my weapon rises and falls - with no certainty of when it’ll finally snap, for better or worse. This round it carves deeply into my Opponent, glowing my core with its usual joy from getting a good bite…and now a sting of guilt to go along with it. My eyebrow arch together once more in confusion, before his voice can even begin to brew again to baffle me. A hand is missing from my right limb, and I’m feeling bad for gifting him with just as much pain in return? His strategy with words is just as powerful as Kyanite’s is.

The scream is erupting from him now. But just as I did, he gathers his focus to return to the task at hand - surviving. His determination returns to his features rather swiftly, mixing my take on his character even more so. “That’s not fair, is it Gala?” He wonders, and I wonder if it’s rhetorical - or what it is that he’s even referring to now. The situation? The game? The Panem itself? Or perhaps the words that I had spoken, that eventually we’re given a crave to kill. Despite my uncertainty, I feel closer to the truth for this than any of his other wonders.

My lips are split ajar, while my voice pauses for his own to return. “Why do you want to live?” He speaks of a more sturdy question, though one with just as much depth. Before I can answer of course, his axe pierces for my skin. And just like my luck, his power waves with the fortune of the moment. A mere scratch rips across my hip, while it’s a sting unfelt below the pain of everything else.

With the blood of many, including my own, painted across my exterior, with wounds of different battles licked across my body, and with a will to live hugging the handle of my axe, I stare at him with a debate of what to address first. “Life’s not fair. Pretty sure we all learn that at young ages.” I shrug off his potential attempt at uniting us in another understanding, as if seeking for a way to not relate with him. Death must conclude this battle, pulsing my heart with a desire to step away from his wise confusion.

But his second question still manages to pause at my thoughts. “I want to live for Alexander.” Because I told him I would, and though I have other reasons - it’s now the only one that matters. “What’s your reason?” I turn the curiosity back over to him, though not purely with an identical question. “You came in here with others, right? Did you know from the beginning that your life would eventually kill them? Or did you want to stay oblivious to that fact until it was too late? Unless you just found your will to live?” A load of question loads upon him, while my weapon does as well - seeking to steal his breath before his potential oblivion could be taken instead.

Fortune may determine its arrival, while vengeance never seeks to fail me whenever it does return. Disbelieve bulges my eyes with uncertainty, unable to swallow what I have just done. Not too far from where my right hand lays blanketed in the mud, half of his leg now collapses - not quite an eye for an eye, but revenge all the same. “Ok.” He speaks as if in acceptance, though pain still rattles his voice. “That’s my leg.” Is stated so matter of factly, and I’m left in conflict of whether I should chuckle or simply remain silent with my lips ajar.

“Well least you still have your wits.” I mutter not an apology, but a lick of humor with a gentle half grin to go along with it. That numbness returns to my core. A conflict of right and wrong, and whether there’s an exception to those rules when it’s in the case of survival. There’s guilt that’s riddling through my veins, while there’s also a sense of accomplishment warming at my heart. Eyes remain upon my unfortunate Opponent, my body utterly still in a combat position, as I watch his vision flicker back and forth between his leg and myself.

Truth begins to pool from his shock of pain, his eyes blinding with sincerity. He shares of how he simply didn’t consider the killing aspect, that it never occurred to him - and I wonder if that’s changed for him. “I was dying anyway. They were gonna kill me.” Once more my eyebrows furrow in confusion at his words, though I try to absorb them despite. “This was my only chance to live.” And I’m curious just how far that truth of his reaches.

“Who is Alexander?” He questions out of the blue, before his axe swipes across my chest. Luckily I manage to step just slightly, avoiding his blade from burying deep inside my chest before I have a chance to answer. With my nub of a right hand still cradled to my stomach, I’m left in complete debate on who will walk away from this alive - if either of us even will.

With the rain bouncing across my skin, I remain alert to all occurring. A mere scratch newly marks my chest, which isn’t bad. He’s now missing a leg entirely, which is good. And I’m still alive, which is best. “He’s…” My attention returns to Alexander, though my words cut me off before I get too far. “He was… my person, before all of this even happened. He was killed by a brunette Tribute on day four. I don’t know her name. But I will kill her before all this is over, nameless or not.” That promise is spoken, in a reminder of why I must survive this battle - guilt or not.

“I have to kill her.” My eyes pierce into his’ with the vow. “I have to. And to do that, I have to take your only chance to live… I’m sorry.” And now I’m the one with the stupid apologies, as I return to what has to be done. Without a second thought to reconsider, my weapon aims for him once more.

Of course the neck of his weapon rejects the blade of my own from carving into his exterior. His leg was just chopped off by the dance of my determination; yet now that determination is taking a break from my ability, blocked instead by that man with that missing leg. Inner cheek slithers between my teeth in a tight clench of further confusion and a new frustration. Whether it’s guilt or pure luck deciding my fate, it’s a flavor I can’t afford to taste. Though the pull of this battle isn’t the sole factor occurring at the moment.

“Sophie.” It’s a single word spoken so quietly I almost don’t catch it. Assumptions puzzle together with a guess of Sophie being the girl he was fighting with the other day. A new side surfaces in my stare at him. Had he suffered the same fate as Alexander and I have? Brought into a land with his person, knowing though they enter with one another - they can never exit the same way. But, unless I’m mistaken, he hasn’t yet had to endure the suffer of losing her. Empathy sinks my eyes like never before.

There’s a slight wonder of why he’d leave her, though I don’t question it any further. If Alexander and I were still together… surely we’d force ourselves to separate from each other by this point to, even if we did promise to endure this together until the end - to eventually combat each other in a final battle. “How about a deal?” His generous voice distracts me from the thought of my one. With eyes still upon him, they now focus in my concentration upon him. “Sophie Fray. She’s mine. My person.” He shares, and automatically my head nods in understanding.

“Be gentle with her, if you make it. And I’ll avenge Alexander for you. If I do.” The most generous words I’ve absorbed within this place speaks from the last expected - a fellow tribute who’s not Alexander. A salty droplet gathers in the bottom of my eyelid, threatening to escape though fortunately it does no more than that. An offer I feel I couldn’t live, or die, without has been gifted with a golden bow. Again his weapon bites into my skin, while still my head nods again in agreement, a soft grin managing to my lips.

With new blood boiling upon my hip, my heart still warms as I’m left speechless. “Yeah… You got a deal.” Somehow my words pull out sturdy, with a hint of my gratitude lacing in my tone. “But why?” Out of no where my curiosity can no longer be restrained, breaching for the information it seeks. “No one in here cares about a stranger. But you? A fellow career? Why do you care?” There’s no certainty even that I would ever bring such an offer, though I do bring my axe towards his existence again in my strive for survival.

Confusion rattled from his truth, from his kindness, from his generosity - and still my axe rumbled for his demise, licking across his head to leave red to paint through his hair. His ability to remain upright is just as much baffling, while my head no longer seeks an explanation for the wonders. Guilt is stinging at my heart, while a desperation for survival is boiling at my core, and I know my head can’t absorb any of it. There’s an instinct urging at my muscles to collapse the violence and help him, and there’s an even stronger direness to continue fighting until someone’s breath seizes. Death is clawing for one of us, and though debates are rolling in my thoughts, I do understand that it’s death i’m trying to dance from.

“Why wouldn’t I care?” He once more breaches me from my concentration upon the task at hand. “Those of us that are still here? We’re the only people left who can understand each other.” Finally he speaks words that I can easily swallow, easing my whirlwind of thoughts if only slightly. There’s an instinct to survive surely, while there’s at least comfort in the idea of not incase I don’t.

There was a reason to live for him, for Alexander. After days since his death, his killer’s face has yet to follow him into the sky. And though a couple eruptions has shaken the rain, there’s no promise that it was her’s - Porcelain’s. But the enemy before me, the one seeking to kill me, has promised to eliminate her if he succeeds in surviving this battle… if I’m to be the next to decay. My crave to live doesn’t lessen, though my fear of a reaper’s welcome does at least. His explanation is clear as to why, all of us in here are the last to understand each other - we’re killing the last of our kind, our kind that we saw as pure enemies.

“I came here to play this game my way.” He states, lunging towards me in preparation to attack. “and I’m not done yet.” Skin splits across my forehead, blood joining the rain flooding down my face. He most certainly is playing this game his own way, in manners I’ve never witnessed before within my research - in an aspect I’ll forever respect. My arm wipes at the goo pooling at my eyebrows, as I’m trapped deeper into my personal realm of confused wonder.

A gulp slithers down my throat, my fingers lacing tighter around the handle of my weapon. “We’ll never get them back.” My eyes flash into his own, wondering if he’ll truly understand as I now do. “Even if one of us makes it out of this place, it won’t be with our person.” Because I have to know now, while there’s still someone left from this place that I can actually talk to. “Will it be worth it?” I question with a desperation to know while I still can, though my weapon flings towards him before he has a chance to answer.