good things happen to people that are bad {fast & bi} day 1

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

good things happen to people that are bad {fast & bi} day 1 Feb 22, 2021 19:31:47 GMT -5

Quote

Post by rook on Feb 22, 2021 19:31:47 GMT -5

fridae drummond

what doesn't kill you makes you wish that it had
and good things happen to people that are bad
so when the party came to life, i wish i'd stayed in bed
but when i went to say goodbye, all of my friends said

I never thought that after losing everything in a cage fight I'd still enjoy getting hit so much.

It's kind of fucked up how high I get on that adrenaline. Fucked up in that it's dripping out of my stomach, red and angry, and I can't feel a damn thing. My brain is doing everything it can to keep me going, even preventing me from feeling pain, just so I can live for a few more hours. Just so I can continue. And here I am half-laughing because it makes me feel good, because it means I'm alive, because it means I'm not dead.

The thing is, I've felt nothing for so many months that I'm not even sure if I'm me anymore. I've become detached from that wide eyed journalist who set out with such excitement, keen to document and expose all the corruption in Nine. That girl is gone, she's nothing more than a memory to me now, a fragment replaced by something that isn't any less broken by any stretch, just not the same.

I feel sick, and I don't think it's the blood loss. An overwhelming sense of longing pulls my chest, and I realise just how sad it is - leaving behind all those different versions of yourself. They were cast aside like they never even mattered to me. It's like I miss something I've never had, I miss history I never experienced, people I never loved.

My smile fades into a grimace, and I follow my allies around the circumference of the Cornucopia. The area is mostly abandoned, some Tributes remain - the ones that fought off all the rest to win their pick of the wealth. The rest of us circle around, picking at the earth for scraps, hyenas in the wasteland. Everyone is too tired to fight, too wounded to want to try and retaliate, and there's almost this unspoken truce written in the distance between the remaining groups.

Turner limbs alongside me, bleeding as much as I am after being stabbed, but in remarkably better spirits. He's a Career, built like a brick shithouse and towering over me in height. Much like me he took some bad stab wounds to the abdomen, but instead of treating it effectively, he keeps agitating it with his fingers instead, some kind of morbid curiosity in his eyes.

I start to feel a little sick now.

"Can we stop?" I don't know why I'm asking, because I've already stopped walking and sat down in the dusty earth.

The adrenaline has worn off, I'm in a lot of pain, and I'm losing blood by the litre. I feel a cold chill running through me, and although I try to fight the shakes my body starts to quiver uncontrollably nonetheless.

Turner stands monolithic above me, his shadow like a cloak over my slumped body. I don't know if it's sympathy in his eyes or pity - maybe disgust? Careers don't have a lot of time for weak middle district girls with gaping stomach wounds, if history is anything to go by.

"I-I've never been stabbed before." I say it out loud, and then it becomes fact to me.

This is not something I know how to process. I'm probably in shock. I'm definitely in pain. Fear chokes me, two hands around the throat and tightening with every second that passes.

"You have to breathe. You're going to be fine." Turner says calmly, reaching down and dragging me up and onto a rock, where we both rest.

I open my lungs and swallow what I can, exhaling through my mouth slowly to reduce my heart rate, like they told me in the Capitol. My hands shake, bruised knuckles purple under a poisoned green sun. The air here does not taste right.

"I've seen kids ripped apart by sharks worse who have been fine. Its just gonna hurt like a bitch for a while, a bad bitch." He says with a great white smile on his face.

I nod like I understand - I don't. 90% of confidence is pretending you know what you're doing, and the other 10% is actually doing it. If I do what Turner and Silk say then I've got a better chance of surviving than on my own. The only problem is, they won't keep me around if they don't think I can keep up with them. They need to know I'm in their league. I take a few more shaky breaths and do what I always do - fake it till I make it.

"Dude, I am the bad bitch." I spit a glob of ruby red blood into the dirt.

oh boy here comes the killjoy
chill the fuck out, you're so young
just shut up, you're bringing me down
and parties are supposed to be fun

lyrics: killjoy by baby queen

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

Arrows
Retired Staff

3,236 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him
last seen May 23, 2023 16:50:31 GMT -5

your resident blonde bisexual boy

good things happen to people that are bad {fast & bi} day 1 Feb 23, 2021 18:51:53 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Arrows on Feb 23, 2021 18:51:53 GMT -5

What a shit show.

I'm out here limping along like I just got my ass kicked- correction, I did just get my ass kicked. What the hell happened to the 11 that little miss Le Roux got? She was about as useless with that blunt in her hands as softie with his spear. Still though, I sincerely doubt that her opening performance will be revealing of her overall show. Hopefully Ridley has half a sense in her mind to get her own blood relative something she can actually stab with. That would be nice change of- oh fuck.

One of my hands presses to my stomach where it meets the scarlet circle left there. I breathe slowly out of my nose letting the wave of pain pass. What's even bigger bullshit is I don't know who shoved their spear into my stomach. Like, I'm not the most observant guy in the world, but you'd think I would remember the face of someone skewering me to high hell. I spit out annoyed while walking on with Fridae around the edge of the tower.

The slickness of blood on my skin brings my eyeline downward. It's been a long time since I've bled this badly. I was eleven, out way beyond the breaking point of a wave set. The current was churning the crash towards shore so I went deeper looking out for smoother surf. The sun was brighter than I thought it would be, practically blinded my ass out on the waves. I was the literal dumbass of the day as I call them now. People with no business being out on the ocean cause they don't know their lefts from their asses. I got slammed.

Before I could blink to even ask myself whether I was alive or not, my side went straight into some submerged rocks. Oh I knew damn well in that moment I was still alive from the pain that ripped through my body. I broke the surface covered more in blood than water. I got lucky that my board didn't break in the set and that I could even ride it in to shore. One long line of stitches later and a scar along my right side, I learned real quickly that I don't exactly enjoy being stabbed. Which, you know, I suppose is a pretty logical human thought so that's nice.

Still, I can't help but let my fingers follow along the torn edges of my skin. Every adjustment sends a small sharp jolt up my spine. I don't even notice my jaw clenching as I poke around at myself. This is either some severely masochistic shit, which hey, I'm not alright? (Yea, sure pretend I didn't hear you thinking that.) Or, they are small sharp reminders that I'm actually alive. Something that can get through the panes of the mirror.

Oh-

I tap my chest twice subtly, breathe Becky boy breathe. I'm not dead yet, now get up and get me some damn meds.

Fridae's voice pulls back my focus as I watch her figure slant to the ground. She is about as screwed up as I am and I can tell it's taking its toll. Back in Four we're taught to toughen up, take the hit, and keep going. What a load of bull- that's why I've always tried to punch first and let the other person deal with all that internal warfare or whatever. Too bad that's not how it went this time.

I step towards her and help her up onto a nearby rock. Yea, I'm cool and so tough, but I could definently use some rest too. Boys from Four don't cry, right dad? Yea, I'm not gonna unpack that right now. I go back to switching myself off in favor of looking towards the smaller red head from Nine.

"You need to breathe, you're going to be fine."

Is that true? Am I fine sitting here bleeding on some rock while someone half-drunk bets on whether I stab Fridae right now or not? I feel fine, so I guess let them take their bets. I've existed in the inbetween for a while now. Like I've said before, I am that point between whether you'll reach that surface for the next breath or not. And maybe I would stab her, if the circumstances were different. But there's no point to that right now. Believe it or not Mr. Sanderson(my therapist), I keep my violence to necessity. (He's such an asshole, honestly just read the bs he writes about me.)

"I've seen kids ripped apart by sharks worse who have been fine. Its just gonna hurt like a bitch for a while, a bad bitch."

I curl my lips up into a smile because it is true. Poor Shawny Tillson was practically chum, but even he managed to make it minus a couple limbs of course. Fridae's response bring a laugh to my lips and I let it out despite the pain it brings into my abdomen.

"Right, tell that to them."

I flick my head off in the direction of the tributes now claiming the Cornucopia as their own.

"Fuckers!"

I shout out to them, probably too far from them to even notice, as I stand up and flip them the double bird. A bout of laughter brings me quickly, and painfully, back down to the rock though.

"There are so many places I'd love to shove my warhammer right now. How about you, bad bitch?"

Last Edit: Feb 23, 2021 18:54:45 GMT -5 by Arrows

Graphic by the Breathtakingly Talented Stare

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

good things happen to people that are bad {fast & bi} day 1 Feb 23, 2021 19:24:06 GMT -5

Quote

Post by rook on Feb 23, 2021 19:24:06 GMT -5

fridae drummond

what doesn't kill you makes you wish that it had
and good things happen to people that are bad
so when the party came to life, i wish i'd stayed in bed
but when i went to say goodbye, all of my friends said

I try to smile, I try to look badass or whatever will get me the most sponsors. It's fake as fake comes, unearned confidence plastered on my face like cheap makeup, and beneath is all is a hollow girl grieving for the life she could have had.

I look at Turner and his boyish charms, and how back in Four all the other kids would be swooning over him. Over the ridge is Silk, a girl carrying such great expectation on her shoulders, and it doesn't even break her stride - her gaze is distant but deep. Saylor walks around feebly, his nose broken and the spear in his hands as alien to him as the sickly earth we walk on - he's more lost than any of us.

By the end of next week, we'll probably all be dead. One will carry on sure, for a little while, but then one day they'll be dead too. Eventually there will be no one left, not even in the Capitol. The lights will go out, this dead rock will keep turning, and all that will be left of us will be the cities standing like monuments, reaching out to the stars. Reaching, but never grasping.

I think of the colour that Ken brought to those dark days. Purple bruises like constellations on my face, countless red rags soaked with iron, hair that was candy-floss pink. It made the days less grey knowing I had someone in my corner. She wasn't anything special, I certainly didn't feel anything romantic or sexual towards her - I guess she just made the world feel a little less empty to me.

"I'm gonna do what I always do." I say in response to the Career.

I let go of the brass hilt of my warhammer, and watch it fall into the dirt. A small cloud of dust is unsettled at the impact, and then it lies there powerless. Anyone can swing a weapon about, hoping to deal damage, but I'm only good at one thing.

I look down at my shaking hands, and I turn them over to see the horrible split of red and purple canyons running over my knuckles. I ball them into fists and breathe.

"Punch my way out of this."

oh boy here comes the killjoy
chill the fuck out, you're so young
just shut up, you're bringing me down
and parties are supposed to be fun

lyrics: killjoy by baby queen

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte]
Head RP Tutor

4,677 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Nov 1, 2024 16:42:16 GMT -5

oof

good things happen to people that are bad {fast & bi} day 1 Feb 26, 2021 18:38:17 GMT -5

Quote

Post by maverick hale 🌧️ d5 [nyte] on Feb 26, 2021 18:38:17 GMT -5

s a y l o r .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

I'm exhausted and bloody and tired and lost. Worst of all, I'm alone. I've known my share of aches and pains but this is bone deep, all encompassing and overwhelming. Like I'm trapped in a sensory overload, lights flaring in time with my racing heart. My gait is confused, rabbit tracks trailing through the dust - crisscrossing and doubling back from time to time. I know I left the Bloodbath with Silk, but I lost her somewhere between the ringing in my ears.

I miss them. It's a strange thought that strikes like lightning. I want to call them friends but that's wrong, they're more like strangers that have become inseparable from the notion of safety. And while I'm sure that's delusional, it's no less comforting. Clinging to broken optimism isn't the worst way to spend the rest of my life.

Tears make this harsh wasteland seem softer, distorted around its blurry edges. The clouds kiss upturned mud as I rush to blink them away, stopping to survey my surroundings. I've not got the privilege of a clear head as I try to distinguish my allies footsteps from those that have grown claws.

Fridae's not in my line of sight, but she's here in my head telling me to do better.

So I catch my breath and I keep running.

And I hope that makes her proud.

I'm two seconds from lighting my lungs on fire when I find Eden, familiar faces draped across a rock and leaking ichor. The spear in my hands splits my face in two, the weight of the smile it's carved soon buried in Turner's shoulder. A moment too late, I realize what I'm doing and let my arms go limp, falling to my sides as my spear clatters onto the ground for the second time today.

(Is the wood durable?) I rush to pick it back up, busying myself with dusting off the hilt so that I needn't meet their eyes. "Sorry I-" Can't speak. Can't breathe. My grin strains the nose Sutton broke, a fresh wave of rust trying to pry its way between my lips. "I lost everyone in the chaos and I was so-"

Silence reigns as I take in the state of my allies and wonder, for the first time, if I even have the right to feel. I'm farthest from death and closest to breaking down, all tears and snot and bitter weakness. "I was scared." It slips out anyway. I've always had a selfish streak.

"I uh- I picked up a lot of great things." Like the clump of slightly dirtied bandages I hold out to them, desperate to make myself useful. To earn the right not to wake up with a slit stomach. "So I can... help."

This silver tongue tastes like charcoal.

elegant

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

lance
Head Librarian

3,669 POSTS

Pronouns: He/Him/His
last seen Nov 14, 2024 8:50:32 GMT -5

gay and chaotic? call it gayos

good things happen to people that are bad {fast & bi} day 1 Feb 27, 2021 0:47:03 GMT -5

Quote

Post by lance on Feb 27, 2021 0:47:03 GMT -5

Defeat was not in your plans - not today, not tomorrow, not ever. To plan for defeat was to invite it to your front doorstep - to only ever plan for success made the odds of that success more likely.

And even as you flee the bloodbath with as many items as you can carry in your hands, shoving items here and there into your backpack, it's not a total defeat. Total defeat only comes when you are dead - as long as you are still breathing, still moving, even if your legs are broken and your weapons stolen from your body, it is never a loss until your dead corpse is staring at the yellow sky through glassy eyes.

But even as your living body does the same through clear hazel eyes, you cannot help but feel a twinge. Whereas you'd brought Turner and Friday on board, it seemed that your rival Careers had done the same - and if you had underestimated Grim Mercer and her motley crew once, you would not make the same mistake again.

You were not immune from mistakes, after all. Fool you once, and that's a chance to learn. But you will never be fooled twice.

As you stuff a needle and thread, partially used on yourself, into your backpack, you notice a beeping sound coming from above. Curious, your attention drawn, you gaze to the sky - and your heart skips a beat when you recognize what's coming down to your location.

There's a certain childlike eagerness fluttering inside your chest as the sponsorship package lands in the dirt by your feet. And even as you can clearly recognize the weapon as the first part of your gift as the spear (and send a private thanks for whomever had splurged to send you such a gift, as your crowbar had been forgotten in the scramble away from the bloodbath), the second puzzles you.

It's a...plushie, to say the least. And not even a typical plushie, like a rabbit or cat or dog, but a fish. A fish, with the most comical Xed out eyes you'd ever seen in your life.

For a moment, you wonder why someone would have wasted the money to send you something like that, before it clicks. The plushie itself isn't important - the message it sends is.

Fish. Dead fish, at that. Does that mean literally dead fish, or simply a fish that's dead inside?

If it's the second, well, you're not sure why your nameless sponsor is sending subtext about Turner Grey to you, but it's something to worry about later.

For at that moment, you take note of the button on the hilt of your spear. And, like any rational person with ounce of curiosity in your system, you pick up your weapon and press it, eyes widening in shock as arcs of blue electricity crackle over the point of the weapon.

Slowly, your shock melts away into a smile.

"Wicked," you breathe.

Who cares about any lost crowbar now? You'd just been gifted something far more badass.

That's how you find your allies a little later, wounds freshly patched up, backpack over your shoulders (with the plushie zipped safely within - that's not a conversation you're ready to have just yet), gas mask on your face, a gun in one hand and your newfound spear in the other.

Forget having just lost the wealth to a rival alliance - right now, you feel invincible.

"Sup, mothers and fuckers," you greet the others with a nod as you saunter up to the makeshift camp. "Now that that's over-" and you take that moment to press the button again, setting your spear alight with electricity "-who's ready to fuck some shit up?"

Confidence in a unit, after all, starts from the source.