brains and brawn | {the boys v mutts day two}

I sleep like the dead.

The spectres that stalked us in the snow it turns out were nothing more than a pair of scared kids who held fear in their eyes much tighter than the weapons in their hands. Their threats, much like my chest, hollow. Since then they have lurked around this makeshift camp that Jacynth and myself have assembled, not quite attacking, not quite dropping their guard and joining us. Two pairs separated by the faintest of lines.

A silent truce.

I dream of Elena and Glasia. The former has wings, and shakes her head as I declare myself The Godkiller to the hundreds of faceless bodies below me. You're a liar. You are Rene Rallis. And the bodies vanish, replaced by the dolls on her floor and her mother screaming at her. The blood on her carpet, the knives in my back.

Glasia watches from afar, a ghost in the window, a shadow in the hallway. I try to follow her through this broken house, around corridors and up staircases, through into bedrooms that don't exist in the real world. In my world.

I think of how different Elena and Glasia are, the compass and the hourglass, complete opposites with me, a bloody knife of a corpse stood in the middle of them, dragging blood through the kitchen. I turn a corner and she points to a door. Devoid of free-will I walk barefoot on the soft velvet and place my completely healed right hand on the door handle, and open it.

And then I wake up.

I'm blinded by the sheer white, and it takes me a few seconds to adjust to the faint blots of colour trespassing on this great canvas. Our two attackers, Caleb and Andorra, stand on the perimeter of the camp, already awake. Jacynth searches through her supplies, making final checks before setting out for our first full day in the arena.

It's only now that I realise that I am holding a knife in my palm. Curious. It was not there when I went to sleep.

Jacynth offers me some plants she found, and trusting her I take them and stuff them in my satchel.

"Thanks" I say afterwards, wondering if it's an act of charity or if she is keeping me alive for personal gain. I expect the answer is not so black and white.

"Gotta keep our energy up. The gamemakers aren't gonna let us rest for too long." She notes, swinging her bag over he shoulder as I clear up the rest of our camp and follow like I have been since the gong sounded.

The other two tail us - not close enough to stab us in the backs, but far enough away so that we cannot hear what they are saying. Somewhere in between. For now at least they are not a danger.

We approach a cluster of pale ash trees that eject from the snow like daggers pointing angrily at a grey sky they will never understand, let alone break through. A bird flutters down from a high branch and settles near me - an owl. I've never seen one this close.

Curiously, like something not from this world, it begins to speak.

"Emission Continuously Absorbed. Every color of the rainbow, straight to gay, old to young, thin to wide, tall to short. Everything in-between. The scale of one's being. The decider of one's whole. What am I?"

A riddle? I stare unblinking at the sentinel, who's head is cocked awaiting response.

Colour being absorbed continuously, like all the world stacked atop each other, layered so thinly are bleeding into one - a photograph in water that dissipates into phosphorescence. There I see what he speaks about, everything in-between. I'd draw a knife through it if I could, separate the thousand different versions of myself and pull out the answer.

Straight to gay, old to young, thin to wide, tall to short, Elena to Glasia, charity to greed, trust to doubt. None of it is binary.

"A spectrum."

Her brother wouldn't hesitate in killing them. Blood coated weapons and two bodies behind him, Alex would have taken their lives in a heartbeat. He would have watched their lives slip away from their eyes and danced in the ashes of what once was living, but Jacynth wasn't her brother. She was herself; a girl who's used to being on the edge of untrustworthy and broken. Jacynth Voclain didn't trust others, but hearing Nine's words had stopped her hand holding the knife, made her stare silently with a glare into Nine and Five's eyes until she dropped it, letting them survive. A silent truce made between them; hanging over an edge of a cliffside, waiting for the wave to finally come crashing into it.

Andorra Sing and Caleb Genesis could be useful. Alex would have taken them down, but numbers were better in the arena than not. A sigh falls from her lips as she stands down, focusing on the night that falls in a silent wind of snow and ice. A chill already taking over that's surely to make their bodies ache in the morning. Sleep wouldn't come to her in the chill of the night. A heavy truce in the air still filling with tension as night continues, Jacynth holding her ground as she stands on the edge of the camp, comfortable in the uncomfortability.

The one thing her father had taught her.

She knew how to stand along the edges of danger and pretend she was fine.

Gloves and the cozy jacket keeping her warmer than before, keeping out the icy chill of her own creation. A silence fills her as she keeps watch knowing Caleb is also up. Trust wasn't to be made; not in a place filled with icicle shards and broken snow patches. They didn't have to get along, but Jacynth didn't want to kill them. Not yet. Nine and Five could prove themselves as useful in her climb to the top of this winter wonderland. A silence fills her as the night continues. A pointless conversation with only one answer given. Tribute insurance seemed like a pointless interest for her. Jacynth wasn't planning on dying. Caleb continues with whatever she does in that binder of hers.

"I'm not gonna need it."

Jacynth wasn't going to die.

Night passes into morning; she's left tired from a night of staying on edge.

Jacynth Voclain wouldn't die in her sleep.

She refused to die like a weakling.

Looking through her supplies of mostly just large javelins, she preps for the day. Snow covered grounds with holes expanding before them; grass frozen away with a chill to them. Naturally unnatural from what she can tell, but realistic enough to frighten regular tributes in the arena. Fingers stop shuffling when Rene comes around; sleep in his veins. A knife in his hand; a smile to her lips as her amusement of Eight continues. Silently, she remembers the plants she had gathered through the night, remembering they were edible and would provide some source of energy to keep them moving.

Her fingers extend a bundle out to Rene, not daring to watch for too long as he takes it. "Thanks." As thoughtless as the response is, something in her stomach churns at the word. A simple thanks throwing her off for a moment, knowing she's never been thanked for anything. Make a few poisons for the family business and no one cares enough to thank her for keeping their home running. Her father had never said the word in any of it's forms. Always a demand for perfection and how she could do better than that. For a moment, she stares into the distance, pretending to be watching Caleb and Andorra.

"Gotta keep our energy up. The gamemakers aren't gonna let us rest for too long." The shrug of her shoulders fills her head with pointless thoughts about home, so she does the only thing she can to starve them. Throwing on the pack, she pushes forward, knowing Rene will follow. Nine and Five might, but she could care less about them right now. She needed to be away from the thoughts of home. Her black eye certainly would be a reminder of her father, the throbbing being no longer there. An easy thing to forget now with the day passing by them.

Mornings were always her favorite time of day. The time where everything was just waking up and the sun barely dipped over the edge of the horizon. The sand would crunch underneath her feet with a calmness that made her forget about the screaming and the violent outbursts of the evening before. Poison no longer in her veins as the waves would lap up on the shore, but Jacynth wasn't there. The snow crunching was almost the same sound, but there was no waves or freedom here. She's locked away once more, but this time by her own doing.

Trees break through the snow like a gleaming beacon of something living other than the frozen grass surrounding them. It's an eerie silence until the owl flies down into a branch with it's large eyes and careful movements. Expectations of the bird going away as it speaks in words that are understandable to them. A riddle from it's lips built up by a sea of tension over them.

"Emission Continuously Absorbed. Every color of the rainbow, straight to gay, old to young, thin to wide, tall to short. Everything in-between. The scale of one's being. The decider of one's whole. What am I?"

Color doesn't exist in snow. It's white purity sitting amongst their footsteps, tensions growing with a certain quietness as the riddle rings in her ears. Everything in-between. The scale of one's being. Everything is on a spectrum of black and white. Everything bleeding somewhere in the center where the gray lives; hearts no longer red, but gray with the pointlessness of weak and strong that people force them to believe.

"A spectrum."

Rene surprises her.

It's not the first time, but it certainly is the first time she's snapped her head around to look at him for a moment and truly see something more than a useless boy with missing fingers. For a moment, she stares with a curiosity in her veins. Andorra breaks it with the words upon his lips, knife glittering a silver color. "We've got to go, now," Eyes glancing back to him for a moment as he continues. "And," He moves towards Rene. "I don't trust this fuckin' thing at all." The knife glitters with a silver before it's coated in a crimson against the white snow filled area.

A spectrum of trust and the lack of it.

A scream from a beast she's only seen in replays of games. A bestial sound that echoes along her spine as she raises her own knife, flipping the blade out with a razor edge. The furry beast rushes them, loudly with a roar in it's step. The crunching of snow is surprising as the power behind the beast comes forward against her, a sharp pain ringing out in her ear. A soft crunch of something hitting the ground as she knew it was her ear going into the white snow ruining the perfection like she always did.

Poison in her veins as she touches where her ear was for a moment. Hot red liquid covering her fingers as she pulls away with a pain that echoes along her body. Anger boiling beneath her skin as she pulls the knife back. A storm brewing in her heart as her mind is blinded by the rage of losing a piece of her. No one gets to take away any piece of her. She's already lost enough in this world.

She didn't need to lose anymore.

Perfection wasn't apart of the spectrum.

It never has existed.

Jacynth Voclain was the storm.

The girl who would come back with the scars of her own creation.

"We've got bigger fish to fry than that fucking owl."

The pained call of the bird as it tried to fly away, blade barely catching it's leg filled the air, joining with the roars of the yeti. I was the monster that Belle thought of me, the roar of Rene's voice in my ear stung louder than the frozen air ever did. The anger that rose in his voice, it scared me, more than anything, like a wild animal craving it's first meal, inhuman. "Why would you do that?" the anger seething from every word, as the blood drips slowly onto the snow. 

The words die on my tongue, frozen like every fuckin' thing in this arena, like it always would be here. I was a part of these games, in this howling wind. What else could I say? Cold blood boiled into lava, knife shaking in my hands, as I feel my legs take a step back and another. Away from Rene. He scared me more than that yeti, blood-stained fur and all, Jacynth's blood matting into frozen clumps of fur. 

"Listen, what else was I supposed to fuckin'  do, huh? Let it explode or something?" The words stumble out, adrenaline rattled throat calling out words that I didn't believe in. Belle's words filled my mouth but I couldn't let them out. Because I'm a monster. Vati, I could see, doing his actions in my head, whispering quiet words over that little book on my behalf; he always did that a lot.

"You are as empty as you are stupid, get out of my way." He pushed his elbow against my shoulder, knocking me another step further away from him, as he threw his knife into the air twice. A show off to the world that he was better. It was a threat to me. Facing the yeti-- I wouldn't stop him killin' himself to that fuckin' thing, towering over the lot of us. The flapping of wings called louder than the beating of my chest, of the alarms ringing like a drum in my head. 

I turned in time to stop it taking a chunk out of my arm, the grip of the knife wavering as it caught that instead. I swipe back out at the bird as it flew away, hoping to catch something from the air. 

Although my balance awkward and my left hand unnatural in holding the blade, my strike is true and honest, and I draw a line across the beast that beats red and burns into it's white flesh. I take another step and throw myself forwards into a roll, quickly changing direction again, kicking up short sprays of ice as I dart left and right, light on my feet, absent of mind.

Sometimes I am sick of this world. In the times before I fought for it, wore the injustices like badges of honour to become a martyr for. I dreamt of that, and that my death would mean enough for things to change, or something along those lines - rising from the shadows to die in the light. I suppose I would have enjoyed the concept of being reaped back then. I would have savoured the chance to be sacrificed, a ragged effigy burning brightly on a thousand television screens in the name of tradition.

But there’s a bittersweet tranquility to be found within life’s adversities. The rawness of your breath, the blood like fire in your veins. Knowing that I will return into the ground from which I was reborn, to make new life again. Part of something bigger. The struggle, the pain, that is life in its purest form.

I will be reused again.

The beast catches me, and as I try to dart away, my left hand trails, and I feel searing, burning pain. The Yeti's teeth are red, and the index finger of my left hand hangs from it's mouth, dripping and fresh. The burning shoots up my arm, and I shake, staring down at my severed finger. I drop the knife.

From ten fingers, to five. Down to four.

With each passing moment destiny seeks to make me more and more useless. I expect I'll be nothing left but a bleeding limbless sack of bones and organs, somehow still breathing and alive, cursed to remain in this plane of existence until I've suffered every waking second of adversity in store for me. When will I have fate's blessing to finally die? Is this not enough? When will it be enough?

I don't scream, I don't cry, I just stare at what was until ten seconds ago my good hand. I have no good hand now. I barely have a hand.

It seeps red, a spider's web spreading across my palm. It shakes violently as the adrenaline thunders through me, my ribs a canyon around which they reverberate, and become a storm inside of me.

With four fingers I pick up the knife, and the Godkiller awakens.



[rene attacks the yeti, knife]
4uHAuEkTRQknife
[Shallow Cut on Left Thigh -- 3.5 damage]

Filler:
-Jacynth notices her knife cut deep and is proud of herself
-Watches Caleb actually hit hard and says "I guess the stomach works too."
-Watches Rene lose another finger, this time to the yeti.
-Sighs in frustration
-"Let's just end this."