if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide}

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pogue
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Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 13, 2021 22:07:12 GMT -5

Quote

Post by pogue on Jul 13, 2021 22:07:12 GMT -5

love bellisario

The tone is somber when he finally returns back from the feast, spiked bat resting light on his shoulder as he whistles a reckless tune from between bloody lips, bags under his eyes looking a little bit brighter as he practices his swing with it in the nearest clearing, licked lips and tightened stance betraying the way his body is collapsing in on itself with every second that he doesn't distract himself with something that screams bloodlust. His heartstrings have severed themselves in a painful formation of one by one, sending daggers up and down his chest as a reminder of the soul he once had and the soul he'd bared at the death of his own allies.

It's his heart that feels like it's going to go first- the way it sinks heavy into his chest with the disintegration of his last heartstring, down into the bloody waves that he'd already lost himself once today, tender flesh on his left hand aching and screaming every time he wraps the hand around the bat. He tries not to think about it, the way he felt his skin splinter crack and shatter underneath the brush and the branches following their fight, feeling the ghostly tendrils of Emerson and Chad carve sharpened claws into thinning skin, pulling back layers of his own diamond studded flesh until he's nothing but trained muscle and bone, desperately fighting against a force that he'd already lost the battle and the war to.

Julian finally calls to him when the day starts to give way to the night, the Sun finally falling from its throne and bleeding out in an epic array of red and orange through the overcast clouds. The evening sky quickly fills in the cracks and the gashes with a blackened sky, stars twinkling softly from eons away.

When he curls his arms around Julian's form he feels a heartbeat that is quickly dying under its own pressure, their legacies two poison riddled snakes intertwining just as they've done nights before these Games, fingertips interlaced and skin rubbing against skin. He'd reveled in it at first, in the way that Julian sank into or around him every night as if he weren't sleeping with the damned and the Devil, as if Love wasn't spitting bullets laced with venom every time he breathed out into Julian's chest, watching them hit and shatter Julian's faux-gold armor as he does.

Now, he just feels haunted.

As if he's walking back on the path that he's carved and created himself from both the Training Center and the Games itself, passing by Chad and Emerson's corpse on his way and watching hollow eyes turn and stare into and through him, as if they'll follow him to the grave and beyond, as if he's digging it himself and they're just simply enjoying the entertainment of a boy haunted by his own words and choices.

He wonders when the rest of his actions will come back to haunt him. The breakdown, the tears, the tapes, they mull at the back of his mind like hyenas circling their prey, laughing and cackling between bared fangs and snarling lips, bloodlust seeping out from hollow eyes.

Chad Chapman of District Five joins the ghosts and the ghouls that haunt his dreams and his nightmares, the border between the two thinning with every night that he curls his body into Julian's form, listening to the music that seeps from his cassette player in between whispers of technical static. In his dreams he watches Chad's form fall to pieces with the waterfall of a split eye, disintegrating into dust before rebuilding himself amongst the dust and the dirt.

Again and again and again and again-

It's only when Love feels liquid seeping from his eye, what he first assumes to be a tear, that Chad's body finally comes to a rest, foggy white eye focusing in and through and onto his body as Chad freezes in place. Love swipes a hand at his own eye, desperately trying to wipe away the tears but he can't, no matter how much skin touches skin he can still feel the liquid seeping from his irises.

Suddenly, the vision from his right eye blurs and cracks, shattering just as fast.

He looks down at his hand and sees not the torn blue of his own tears but red, mirroring the way Chad's own eye is leaking nothing but red. His vision watches as daisies grow like deathly veins all across Chad's skin, sickly hues of green and yellow spreading across his skin within seconds and Love is left to wait until Chad's mouth drops open and the same weeds sprout out from his tongue and down to the ground.

The last thing he feels is the dust and the daisies piercing through every fiber of his skin, tearing him apart from the inside out as his eye leaks sins stained red.

He awakens when a raindrop hits his nose, echoing feeling reverberating through his face and causing eyes blue like the ocean to suddenly snap open from their own grogginess.

He yawns, curling his fingers into Julian's chest and drawing figure eights with his pointer fingers as Julian stirs. It's only when he blinks once, twice, three times that he realizes there truly were tears leaking from his eyes in the dead of the night, redness left in their wake as he presses his lower palm into the eyes in a bid to snuff out the puffiness of his body's own betrayal. "Jules, Waverly, we have to get going." He mutters in between yawns, gaze drifting up towards the army of storm clouds that are quickly imbuing their frustrations through the blue hues of the morning.

The sky is angry, and through gritted teeth he realizes that the Gamemakers are too.

He can't blame them, as they walk deeper into the highest ground available, his hand curled tight around the spiked bat that Liara had traded for him, a rare stricken deal based on the only thing they shared: a love for the home that hated them.

It's a mirror of shattered glass sitting in poisoned smoke, the way the beginning of their fight is almost exactly the same as the day prior. This time, Julian catches sight of their opponents first, raising the shaking paw of a lion painted gold and him and Waverly react accordingly, bringing their weapons close to their chest in a defensive stance as another alliance stumbles into their path.

His stomach sinks, then rises, memories of a shattered voice speaking wicked tongues into a cassette tape flooding back into the forefront of his thoughts as he watches Six and Thad and Evan's eyes shift onto them, raising their weapons accordingly.

He nearly growls, but he can't tell if it's bloodlust or his own shattered heart making the noise.

"Thaddeus. Five and a half." He says to the two boys he'd interacted with with a slow nod, a voice resigned to what is about to happen. His eyes glance briefly to Six's, biting back the shared understanding they both carried and replacing it with raging ocean waves of blue.

His eyes glance back to Julian, then to Waverly, biting his tongue and replacing it with a cold stare. No survivors, his stare says.

And then, before anyone around him can react, he lunges.

He practically throws Six aside, pain flaring up from torn skin as he wraps his fingertips into Six shirt and tugs to the left, scrawny form stumbling out of his way and leaving him a direct shot at the only boy he hadn't shared lies and half-truths with in the Training Center.

There's a million shattered heartbeats pounding in his chest as he swings the bat down towards Evan Macmillan.

[Love attacks Evan; Spiked baseball bat]

4FMa5Ih640spiked blunt

[Miss]

[Accuracy, day 4]

spiked blunt

[Result]

spiked blunt·spiked blunt

Last Edit: Jul 13, 2021 22:07:59 GMT -5 by pogue

d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi
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basically miss america

if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 14, 2021 13:22:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi on Jul 14, 2021 13:22:23 GMT -5

waverly st. amor

It was lonely.

Oh so lonely.

For a place filled with 24 kids, Waverly has never felt more alone.

Each time a new face appeared in the sky it was as if an invisible string had been ripped from her heart. There were twenty three of them, waiting to be torn out, but how many would it take before her heart would collapse? These kids shouldn't matter, hell she barely knew some of their names. She knew they didn't care for her the same way she cared about them, they were strangers after all, but the burning desire to protect them still burned deep inside her. Maybe that's why her body felt so empty, because no matter how much she cared for them they would never feel the same about her. Her heart yearned for something, maybe just a friend, but each time she found someone they were ripped from her fingers, just before she had them safely in her grasp.

It was lonely.

And who ever survived this would be the loneliest of all.

A part of her, somewhere deep inside prayed it wasn't her.

Waverly had asked for first with little argument from the other two. She sat in front, weapon gripped tightly as dusk turned into darkness and a slight chill entered the air. There was not an ounce of tiredness behind her eyes, but the blare of the anthem still shocked her. There was only one face that lit up the sky, Chad's. His stupid smiling face looking down at her. Frustration coursed through her and she wanted to scream. She forced herself to hold it inside, biting her lip so hard that the taste of iron filled her mouth. Waverly dared to let a single tear fall for another soul she couldn't save.

Praying that the cameras couldn't see her through the dark.

It wasn't the others that woke her up, but the cold harsh rain, the feeling of soaking wet clothes, and the overall unpleasantness of it all. She sighed as she stood, making sure her bag was properly packed, and then the three trudged onward to who knows where. It was like the blind leading the blind in the heavy rain. It was impossible to see more than two feet ahead of herself, but Love seemed to know where they were going so she followed behind the two boys quietly. Eventually, the silence became too much and Waverly spoke out.

"Do you think we'll get lucky today and not run into anyone?"

Moments later, the underbrush grew noisy and Julian's finger pointed straight ahead. Three others stood before us, weapons raised.

"Looks like I spoke too soon,"

"Thaddeus. Five and a half,"

Finally, she raised the knife that was already laced tightly in her fingers.

"I'm sorry," she said, barely above a whisper.

The words would have fallen on deaf ears.

She wanted to save everyone.

But she knew she had to pick and choose.

( waverly attacks evan ; throwing knife )
cih3hMs8r8throwing knife
( dg on stomach - 9.0 )

throwing knife

Last Edit: Jul 14, 2021 13:23:16 GMT -5 by d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi

❝ moon dust in your hair, stars in your eyes ❞

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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 14, 2021 14:01:49 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2021 14:01:49 GMT -5

The previous night when Six was on watch, it was a good thing that nothing happened. He couldn't focus on the task. It wasn't the lack of sleep or the hunger in his stomach that was getting to him that night. It was Mauve. Mauve exposing the truth to the country of Panem, to his family.

He was beginning to wonder if this was all worth it. Everything he did was for his family. But now that they knew the truth, now that his sins were public, did they want him back? Was a gay son worse than a dead one from a religious perspective? He began to pray.

But as he began to pray, something appeared - a mutt. But not one that wished him harm, rather one with a delivery. A cassette tape that simply had a 6 on it. No note and no sender. He cautiously looked at it. Then he pressed play.

"Alright, Six. Congrats on surviving this long, you successfully made it past Emer-"

Click. In a heartbeat he pressed the stop button as he heard the voice of Love Bellisario over the tape recorder. What was this about? Was it because of what he said at the feast? He wasn't sure if he should press play or if he should pretend he never saw the tape. But curiosity got the best of him.

"Thad? Evan? Y'all awake?"

Silence. They were either asleep or faking it. Either way the best time to listen would be right now. And so he did. Then he listened to it again and again that night. The words Love had said meant a lot to him. And he was right. He didn't regret those parts of himself. And even if his family didn't accept him, others would.

-----

Six hadn't told them about the tape yet. He was planning to when the timing felt right. But in something like the Hunger Games, will the timing ever be right? He decided to just do it. Panem knew about it, so why shouldn't they? Isn't trust part of being in an alliance?

"Hey y'all, I have something to tell you-"

He was cut off by the presence of the one alliance he didn't want to see. There was Love, the person he didn't want to hurt. And Julian, the person in the Arena he was most afraid of (except maybe Mauve). And Waverly, he didn't know what to make of her.

"We don't need to fi-"

Before he could finish, he was cut off once again. Love had grabbed him and threw him to the ground to get to Evan. Love didn't want to kill him, not yet at least. Even if Six didn't want to hurt him, he wasn't going to sacrifice Evan for it. Peace wasn't an option. He rolled in front of Love, tripping him up and resulting in a miss.

Once Six got up he felt his heart pounding. This was his first time attacking another human being. He didn't want to hurt any of them. He knew he couldn't hurt Love after that tape and he didn't want to pick a fight with a Le Roux. That left one person. His hands and his voice shook. He wanted to close his eyes and pretend to be somewhere else, but remembered what Ivan had told him.

"I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry."

-----

table by Kaplan

[ six o'malley attacks waverly st. amor with a machete (sword) ]

-

[ severed left ear 8.0 + 1.0 ]

67POLuFUepsword

sword

Last Edit: Jul 14, 2021 14:03:11 GMT -5 by Deleted

napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.
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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 14, 2021 14:34:44 GMT -5

Quote

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jul 14, 2021 14:34:44 GMT -5

julian le roux

There is happiness
Past the blood and bruise
Past the curses and cries
Beyond the terror in the nightfall

Areto’s daggered stare followed him back to the trees.

Something in it made Julian feel guilty, as if he'd done something wrong, and it mirrored the growing framework of guilt taut around his ribs. He hadn't misread it; something about the stare was accusatory, and he had an inkling of what it may be as he looked at Love, recalling their conversation about Emerson. Reece had her blood on his hands, but not her death. He had put his faith in Love Bellisario, and as Emerson, Areto, and countless others had predicted, he had paid the price. It was justified. He'd made a bad bet by assuming that being strategic would help, but there was no room for wisdom in the arena, only savagery. And Ares' furious flame, not Athena's acute wit and tactics, created a lion rampant.

They made camp quietly.

The sky hadn’t stopped rumbling and its grey seemed to represent … well, all of them. In the beginning, they were sunny and hazy summer days of gold, but as time passed, they became gloomy and rumpled, thundering and shredded. Julian missed the heat, missed the light. He was a king that belonged in sun-kissed places and warm afternoons spent lazing with his siblings by the pool, not this endless gloominess that made him less a king, more a monster. As time passed, they had become to unravel too. In the shadows that the lightning and thunder cast, he was no longer a king but something grotesque that existed between a monster and a boy.

The lion, it seemed, had finally come out to play.

They forwent words. Chad’s death hung in the air like a thick mist. Waverly was the one who looked the most outwardly shaken by it – perhaps because Chad had become a friend of hers – but Love too was wrong altogether.

Looking at him reminded Julian of an old passage about rebel troops he had read in his uncle's collection, about how once the adrenaline of the battle wore off, an emptiness was believed to claw at these soldiers' heads, leaving them husks of themselves. Love was a widening chasm, haunted by a past that had done an excellent job of it. Did his old wounds still make him human, or had he gone beyond what a human was? Did the tiny, glistening shards of a boy that had yet to be broken in Love Bellisario deserve mercy or something akin to it?

The answer held no worth.

Neither the arena nor the Gamemakers could worry to care about something as dull as mercy.

Julian hadn’t learnt everything about Love’s past but he was confident that his was better than the other's. Maybe he had it better than most. It was certainly better than Ridley's, and another knot of guilt wrapped itself around his ribs at that thought because, despite everything, he was loved by his mother and his siblings. He'd even say he was loved by his father, although love between him and John Le Roux had always been a rigid thing born of exchanges. He would have to make his father proud, and only then would he be praised. But nonetheless, John Le Roux had never branded him with hot iron or given scruff tattoos on his skin as a punishment for mistakes. Julian was loved enough. His childhood was whimsy and stories. He crafted wood figures for Sunny and he wrestled with Jackal before dinner. He teased Larissa and collaborated with Aria to pull off spectacular heists. He made fun of rich folk alongside Silk and even got wasted by Emmett’s stolen liquor once.

All of this served as proof that he was allowed to have a childhood, a thing Love skipped on.

Julian missed his childhood dearly. He was becoming weary of playing king. It was a silly thought because him as a king was meant to be, but sometimes he wondered who he would be if he didn't have the invisible crown on his head, the Le Roux name on his reputation, or the masks and facades he wore. Did someone exist under all that? Did someone live beneath it all? Ridley’s voice echoed questioningly, ‘who are you without the name?’ The fear he had kept buried and leashed finally let out a whimper. Yes, someone did exist under all that.

Beneath all the gold, lived a scared eighteen year old boy desperately trying not to die.

His skin had turned to gold, to bronze, to flesh.⁽¹⁾ He felt bare, miserably raw, and when he called for Love, he knew he was making another bad bet by calling for comfort.

But somehow, even the worst monsters can turn out to be warm and gentle in the dark.

The first rain drops awoke him as well, and by the time they began their journey, they were fighting against the deluge.

Everything shrieked, the leaves, the wind, and the rain, as if the three souls who had been reaped were becoming restless, lonely, and, above all, wanting. Julian knelt numerous times in the mud, looking for paths, but the weeping trails caked with children’s footsteps were all but trustworthy. So many ghosts roamed this place. He thought about the creature in the camping uniform they saw the day before, and he thought about Emerson. He thought about Love, Waverly, and he thought about himself.

Indeed, so many ghosts roamed this place.

As they resumed their match, he tried not to think of the tears he saw glinting in Love's eyes when he awoke. But he was sad for him, he realized. Somehow, the distrust towards the other had become a gentle melancholy, and that was another bad bet he couldn’t stop making over and over again. He found the calloused hand of the other and he squeezed. For the first time the tenderness was genuine, but he would never admit it to Love.

His fingers let go after a moment.

That was when a sound reached him from their left. Julian, a few steps ahead at the helm, held up a hand. Footsteps. It was the sound of footsteps. And from the way they landed heavy, the tributes weren’t trying at stealth. He shot a look over his shoulder at his allies, then drew his own weapon.

The three tributes flickered amongst the greens of the many rain-misted leaves before they showed themselves. It was both frustrating and relieving to not see the Sevens’ or Areto’s group. But he took in the others that stood in front of him now – all boys, whose names took a moment to emerge. “Thad, Six and,” he tilts his head almost curiously, with the hint of a cordial smile on his lips, “Evan, right?” Ten, Eleven, and a Twelve. Something in him warned against undervaluing them. In spite of everything, it was the Sevens who had a kill under their belts. Numbers and, to a degree, names were insignificant here. Le Roux or not, his name will become etched in stone all the same if they die. At the very least, it will be etched in gold.

“I advise you to draw your weapons now, boys,” he drawled at the others. His golden armor snapped back in place. As Love and Waverly charged in, he stood to slick his wet hair back and out of his face, gauging the battlefield like a tactician – looking at Six’s reluctance, Thad’s scrutiny, and Evan’s caution. But Ares' furious flame, not Athena's acute wit and tactics, created a lion rampant. There would be no survivors, and definitely no mercy. Neither the arena, the Gamemakers, nor him could afford to care about something as dull as mercy.

The lion did not apologize to the sheep; they accepted their role and they had a feast.⁽²⁾

But the sheep had bite, too. It happened in a flash but he watched as Six's sword arced through the air and- his stomach turned. “No apologies,” he said, dipping his head towards the other in a stiff yet formal nod. Love's voice echoed through his mind. Good careers and bad careers: are you trying to convince me or yourself of that, Jules?

“We're just doing what we have to.”

- Julian attacks Six with Firepoker (Spear) -

u9E4n21JqIspear

3117 -- Stabbed in Thigh -- 8.5 damage (Spear) + 1.0 (Strength)

Haunted by the look in my eyes
That would've loved you for a lifetime
Leave it all behind
And there is happiness

Lyrics: Happiness, Taylor Swift
⁽¹⁾ reworked quote from George R.R. Martin
⁽²⁾ inspired by a unknown author

spear

Last Edit: Jul 14, 2021 14:51:19 GMT -5 by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

堕落天使

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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 14, 2021 22:31:16 GMT -5

Quote

Post by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio on Jul 14, 2021 22:31:16 GMT -5

The dark clouds hanging overhead dominate the night's sky. Evan can barely see the anthem's hologram show up in the sky. It's a short anthem, only one name and face, Chad Chapman, District Five. He wonders if they're hiding the lack of bloodshed. Are the Game Makers afraid, ashamed at the lack of killing? The mutts have seemed to consume all of his attention, between the smaller jaguar and its friend to the pack of wolves on the prowl. He's killed three of them with his spear, yet it hasn't touched a single tribute yet.

The night grows tall and he watches the other two sleep. Thad and Half-Dozen, his two best friends in the whole arena, vulnerable once again. He studies them, even when they recommend he get some rest while they take to watch. He told them the first night that he didn't sleep. Three whole days into the arena, though, and he still doesn't feel tired. Maybe's he's sleeping and can't tell through the darkness and the disability to tell time. But wouldn't he dream? Wouldn't Evan remember his dreams and what happened, even with the smallest details?

Come to think of it, Evan hasn't dreamt in a long time, not since he left home and came to the Capitol for the Hunger Games. He draws pictures on the pitch-black dirt beneath his log with his spear. Quite disappointing that a fun gathering between all of the tributes was not met with fireworks, or better yet, giant works of art made of fire. He considered it before the koalas came, lighting a cabin or two on fire. That would be enough chaos to show he meant business, and his old man would too.

{"Why won't you take the fucking shot? They won't know."}

He wants to, desperately, but there are too many people nearby. It could start a whole new bloodbath if he isn't careful, and Evan remembers vividly how much of a bust that was a few days ago. Hurt jaw, scraped knees, bruises that still tickle on contact. The voice is relentless, fixated on Half-Dozen O'Malley and Thad Pepperwood's demise.

{"Why are you so scared to play the game, Evan? Is kill or be killed too much for you?"}

{"The storm will swallow you up and suffocate you if you're not careful."}

The storm swirls above them still, refusing to let out any rain. It's been like this for a day now, holding everything in and waiting for a release. Evan could swim, surely. Not that he'd ever tried it in Twelve, but it can't be that hard. Just move your arms and legs, keep going and going. Water fights may be a little more chaotic and strength-oriented, too. The tip of his spear cuts at his sock, startling him back from fantasizing about killing someone in the water. Not by drowning, but an underwater battle where those who don't make it just rise to the t-

{"Kid. Don't you care about your fucking legacy? The mines? Keeping all the maggots in line? MacMillans like you aren't allowed to grow soft, and here you are fantasizing about killing."}

Evan gets flustered as his old man's strict commands and insults pack on. He breathes a bit quicker now, searching for the mask in his bag. It calms him down in times like this, sets a good boy right when he's not thinking straight. He presses his face up against the mask, letting the air gather in his chest for a few moments before releasing it all like a paper bag. The pressure gets to him. He's got to kill someone, anyone. Or even stab someone, hurt them to calm himself down a bit. He looks at Thad, still asleep. All too tempting.

Evan pushes his spear towards Thad's chest. The amount of power he possesses simply from agreeing to take watch excites him now. His anxious breaths are hidden away by the tight quarters in his mask. Probably best so he doesn't wake him.

So close, he could pierce his chest in just a matter of seconds. The thought of bloodshed sends his teeth biting at his tongue and gums, his pinkie finger curls to get a steadier stab, and he's ready to kill.

It wants him to kill. The voice, the pressure, his old man. His legacy is built on death. Evan is built on death. A tower can't fall without human error. Evan can't be the error, it wants him to kill and he has no choice. He has to kill, he has to want to kill. He must.

A splash of the raindrop water lands on his mask and he pulls himself back. The rain is finally coming.

{"Don't be so slow to act, maggot boy. Now do it."}

The rain relentlessly falls afterward, forcing him and the rest to their feet. The water gathers and climbs up through the soles of his shoes and doesn't give up. Evan tosses the mask back into his bag, hoping they didn't notice his half costume. They have to get to higher ground. He looks to Thad as he wakes up, trying not to make eye contact. He points to the trail that seems to go pretty steep. Go up with the rest or stay down. Up or down. Up or drown.

He goes ahead of Sixty and Thad to keep his mind off of causing while climbing the hill. Any premature chaos and he won't be able to kill them and survive. The rainwater floods the arena quickly and any waiting could be punished.

"Hey y'all, I have something to tell you," Six O'Malley says. Evan can't focus on the boy's voice. It's like a chocolate bar, you tear it once and take a hit, and suddenly you want more and more. The kill is all he can think of but he wishes to focus on anything else.

Half Dozen's voice is cut off by another tribute pulling him down. They're close enough to the top where the water might be backing off for now.

The fight begins. A couple of the opposing tributes come to Evan, swinging a bat and aiming their knives at him. He hears the one apologize for what she's about to do. Her knife spins into his stomach and his legs dip for a moment in pain. That one was not pleasing, not at all.

Evan gets closer to her so not even the rain can hide his words.

"Don't apologize. It's part of the game."

Six takes his machete to the girl's ear and he takes another step closer. Rain pulls every fiber of his clothing down and his hair drags down to his eyebrows.

"The objective of any game is to win. Can't fault you for it."

His spear advances and he prays for the release to come.

{"Kill."}

{"Kill to win."}

{"Kill to carry on the legacy."}

{"Just kill, maggot. Kill."}

"Let's kill them, my friends."

-----

table by Kaplan

[evan attacks waverly st. amor d8f, fire spoker // spear]

kQGOAooa0zspear
[3075 -- Shallow Cut on Right Bicep -- 3.5 damage]

spear

Last Edit: Jul 14, 2021 22:31:54 GMT -5 by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio

djed carnelian . d8m [kap]
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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 15, 2021 8:30:05 GMT -5

Quote

Post by djed carnelian . d8m [kap] on Jul 15, 2021 8:30:05 GMT -5

I had taken first watch that night after Chad Chapman's face shown in the sky. Although, I doubted Evan was going to sleep at all. I don't think he had slept since we'd gotten here. Nevertheless, I sat there, thinking about everything that had happened so far. None of us had killed anyone. At least, not yet, but I could tell that Evan was probably itching to do so with the way he spoke in our fights against mutts each of the previous days.

The guy was kinda scary.

Six? Well, I wasn't sure exactly how he was holding up. I figured it was best not to pry too much. I didn't want to cause an argument. Arguments were the last thing I wanted in a place where everyone was not just allowed to kill one another, but it was encouraged and to an extent, mandatory, at least by the end of it all.

When it was time to switch and Six was on watch, I laid there, trying to sleep. For some reason, though, with thoughts rushing through my mind like horses on a racetrack, I just couldn't get my brain to chill out enough for me to sleep.

I tried, though. I closed my eyes, listening to the sounds around me- the sounds of the night. I hoped it would help me relax, only to hear part of a recording play, and Six asked Evan and I if we were awake. He was met with silence from both of us. I didn't respond because I didn't want to interrupt him from whatever he was trying to listen to, and honestly, I was curious as to what it was.

I listened as Six played the tape the first time through, and part of the second time before I eventually fell asleep.

-----

When the sun rises, the clouds finally let loose. The rain begins rushing down on us, and it seems like it's going to flood, so we move to higher ground. Unfortunately, it seems that some other tributes had the same idea of not wanting to deal with floods. Love was there, along with Julian and a girl I believed was named Waverly, if I remembered correctly.

Six had started to speak moments before we encountered the other trio.

Love acknowledged the presence of Six and myself, but I was confused for half a second as he referred to me as 'Thaddeus'. That wasn't my name, but I suppose it was rather close. Oh well, can't help when someone just doesn't pay attention to what you're called. Then again, I didn't pay attention to the names of most tributes in this arena.

"Er- Actually, it's just Thad," I start to say before Six is thrown to the side by Love.

Love aims for Evan but his attack doesn't connect. Before I know it, everyone's fighting, and blood starts to flow. Waverly attacks Evan, but then she loses an ear to Six's machete. Six had apologized before his strike, but I knew apologies didn't mean anything here. In the arena, you do what you have to do, and you really can't show mercy when it comes down to it.

Julian seems to have at least a similar thought to myself, saying that we're just doing what we have to.

Still, though, as his weapon pierces Six's thigh, I know that I'm not okay with what's happening.

Evan also says not to apologize, too, and then says something that makes my heart start racing.

"Let's kill them, my friends."

That one little phrase then repeats itself in my mind, over and over again. Let's kill them. Let's kill them, my friends. My friends. What was happening?

Was this real?

It had to be.

I'd wanted this, and now, here I was. I was facing it.

Time to find out if I truly did regret it. I'd never turned my weapon on another person, but now was the time to see what I could do, and how it would make me feel.

-----

table by Kaplan

[Thad Pepperwood attacks Julian Le Roux with Fire Poker (spear)]
XSWdsQHl1uspear
[3146 -- Shallow Cut on Left Forearm -- 3.5 damage]

spear

Last Edit: Jul 15, 2021 8:30:28 GMT -5 by djed carnelian . d8m [kap]

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Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 15, 2021 11:42:42 GMT -5

Quote

Post by pogue on Jul 15, 2021 11:42:42 GMT -5

love bellisario

It's when Love is going to swing towards Evan that he feels Six kick out his legs out and towards Love's ankle. He stumbles forwards and Evan reacts too quickly, diving out of the swing of his weapon and out of his reach. Anger surges through his veins as he looks towards Six with a hollow stare, cocking his head in a menacing manner. His miss has left him wide open to attack, but Julian and Waverly slink in between the cracks and cover his six before any of their opponents can take advantage of the opening. Waverly's knife embeds itself into Evan's stomach and rep begins to seep from the wound, and as he glances towards the boy from Twelve Six's blade suddenly swipes forwards towards Waverly and returns red with red.

"Waves-" He breathes as the girl's ear falls hevay to the ground. He yanks Six back and away from her as she screams, stepping in between the two of them and hearing the rest of his competitors, ally and enemy alike, speak somberly.

Their fight is laced in mutual understanding and Love dives right into it, lacing his fingertips around the bat and pointing it towards the boy he'd bared a dying heart to the night prior, voice scrawled forever into the veins of a metal cassette.

"You're pissin' me off, Six.." He warns once with his words and seconds it with a cold stare towards the boy from Eleven, narrowing his stare and feeling ocean waves turn to ice. Don't push it. He warns, but his mind is biting at the edges of his own shame, memories of his breakdown from the night prior coming back to the forefront of his mind.

They're poltergeists, flipping over his head and his heart and curling blood stained claws across thinning skin. He hates himself for the way he broke and shattered in a forest clearing, the way his emotions spilled out into the ears of his competitors through the tapes, at the way he'd bared his own failures so prominently, at the fact that someone like Six thinks he understands it.

He hates that, maybe he does. It's something he never wanted and something he never needed- no, that's not true.

The best emotional attachment is the one that's severed, he thinks his Father would say. It burns in the diamonds that scar his chest, constant reminders that even after all the training and polished edges he'd done nothing but shatter.

It's as his eyes are focusing down on the fire that sprouts from Six's head that he feels a hand wrap around the back of his uniform and yank him backwards, his form stumbling into Julian's chest slightly at the sudden pull. His body escapes a narrow swing, Thad's weapon scraping across Julian's arm and leaving a sliver of red bubbling up in its wake. Love snarls with anger, at himself at Six at the misses-

At the way his mind pulls forth every memory of skin to skin and curled fingers when Julian's hand brushes against his back to steady him, at the way they feel like betrayal and scorn and everything in between, toxic venom seeping into frayed heartstrings and embedding itself into his veins. His eyes drift to Julian's in the spare heartbeats between the swing of weapons, teeth clenched and expression a deadly mix of monstrous bloodlust and resigned defeat. Thank you, the words hang at the edge of his tongue, as if his mind can't force himself to show gratitude if it wasn't etched into the smoke and the mirrors of a loosely held facade.

He doesn't know if Julian recognizes it or not, the way waves crash and fight in his eyes, but he saves him again with a return to the banter they built a kingdom off of.

"Get your head in the game." Julian half-snarls at him, a patronizing look dancing in his eyes at their brief stare down. Love chews on the words and the way they falter and dissipate between the two of them, feleing his heart hammer in hollow chest before he nods and slips back into his own lies, a spiders web so deep he can't tell if it's himself or Julian caught in it anymore.

"If you hadn't kept me up all night with your tossing and turning I'd be much more coherent."

He lies, biting the truth back on the edge of his tongue. In distant memories laced into the back of his mind the ghosts of Emerson and Chad laugh.

He moves quickly past his fellow Career, slipping like a spirit towards his stored weapons just behind the fight and wrapping his hand around his spare axe. "I'll get my head in the game, but you need to get yours out of it." He says as he raises the weapon and adjusts his stance, and he doesn't know if he's spewing the warning in physicality or emotion, telling Julian to get out of his way on the battlefield or to get out of his way while he still can, before a boy like Love bleeds him dry just like every other thing that had ever cared about him.

"By that, I mean duck." He says, before twisting on his heel and launching the weapon over Julian's quickly crouched form.

[Love attacks Evan; Thrown Axe]

0mKjF5gdyhthrowing axe

[Bruised head -- 3.5]

throwing axe

Last Edit: Jul 15, 2021 11:44:46 GMT -5 by pogue

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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 15, 2021 23:27:06 GMT -5

Quote

Post by d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi on Jul 15, 2021 23:27:06 GMT -5

waverly st. amor

She had thought she had felt pain before.

At the hand of her father, she thought she had felt the epitome of pain when his hands found her skin. The bruises he left, the marks from his belt that wouldn't fade, and the cigarette burns when he couldn't find anywhere else to put them out.

She thought she knew pain.

But nothing burned quite like this.

The scream was delayed. It took Waverly's brain a full minute to recognize what had happened. The sharp blade of the sword had cut through her flesh so easily, how could it even hurt? Then she saw it, laying on the ground next to her. Her ear, still pink and probably still warm. Her hand immediately reached towards the side of her head where all she found was a hot, sticky liquid and a missing ear. The scream that left her throat was loud and it was piercing, enough to chill anyone to the bone. The pain came over her in waves.

And threatened to send her tumbling to the ground.

It was enough to distract from her from the second weapon that came hurling towards her, but thankfully she moved quick enough out of the way and was only nicked by the boy from Twelve. It was enough for Waverly to gather her bearings and force herself to stand tall even as the hole in the side of her head throbbed.

"Don't apologize. It's part of the game. The objective of any game is to win. Can't fault you for it."

Even the ringing in her ears and the torrential downpour of rain wasn't enough to block out his words. It hit her like a ton of bricks as a creeping realization grew over her.

"You think there's a winner in this game? Everyone loses. The only ones who win are those who die quickly and painlessly," she said, her face stone cold. It didn't matter how much they fought or how hard they tried, whoever survived this would be the biggest loser of them all.

But still she raised her weapon.

No longer sure what she was fighting for.

( waverly attacks evan ; throwing knife )
lYRZezhxV8throwing knife
( knife deep in neck - 9.5 )

throwing knife

Last Edit: Jul 15, 2021 23:28:24 GMT -5 by d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi

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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 16, 2021 0:34:29 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2021 0:34:29 GMT -5

Everything was happening all at once. People were talking, Waverly was screaming, he felt the sharp pain of a spear entering his leg. It was reminiscent of the Bloodbath. The chaos that had ensued. But, here he couldn't escape. They wouldn't let him. And this time, he felt an odd sense of calm. He felt confident in his survival, at least more than he had when he heard the snap of his leg in the Bloodbath.

When the spear left his thigh, his first instinct was to put pressure on his femoral artery. So he took his hand and did just that, taking deep breaths as he tried to work through the pain and Love ripped him away from Waverly. He wanted to close his eyes and imagine somewhere else. But, the note from Ivan was fresh in his mind.

The look and threat that Love gave to Six terrified him. But, he knew those words being spoken made no difference. He may have trusted Love, but Love was in it to win it. Julian was as well. Six being alive - any of them being alive - was a risk that this alliance couldn't afford. He knew it, they knew it, and so did all of Panem.

"Even if I am pi- angering you, you don't intend on letting any of us leave this fight alive, do you?"

Despite his brave words, his lip quivered. The fear on him was palpable from his soft voice to the shaking of his hands. Six O'Malley was scared. This was the last alliance he wanted to fight, even without Emerson. And that's when he got an idea.

This alliance was set on killing him and his allies. His words wouldn't change that. All he had to do was outlast them. And to do that, he needed Julian to make a mistake. Right now the other two were focused on Evan, trying to take down the biggest threat first while Julian tried to make a quick kill of the weak link. Julian was his biggest obstacle in surviving, unless he made a mistake.

Rage could make Julian more desperate to kill Six, but it could also make him more likely to mess up in that blind desperation. He couldn't bring himself to hurt Julian, not yet at least. When he looked at him all he saw was the ghost of Emerson. But, it would be the words of that ghost that would make this plan work.

He remembered the day he met Emerson in the Training Center. He remembered what she told him. We are all surviving, every single fucking day that we are in this place. So, learn how to swallow all of your fear and your excuses, and if you’re really fighting for your siblings, learn how to swing a fucking sword. Because from where I’m standing, Eleven, when the cannon goes off and the Bloodbath begins, you won’t last long. (1)

Well he had learned how to swing a sword. He had swallowed his excuses and did all he could to hide his fear. He managed to make it past the Bloodbath and outlive three shots of the cannons. But now? Now he had to make all of that worth it.

"Julian, I met Emerson back in the Training Center. You know what she told me? 'My family has shed blood in the name of the Games and it is an honor to fight and die for my family...' (2). She died an honorable death, I'm sure. But did you feel honorable running away like a coward instead of fighting to save her?"
Part of him knew he was going to regret saying those words. He was also glad he decided to leave off the part where she called him a pathetic excuse of a tribute. He wanted to anger Julian, make him sloppy. But he knew that would be a double edged sword. And he knew there was no way of telling how the sponsors would react either.

He was going to leave it at that when Waverly said there were no winners. He thought for a moment she might be right. And if you asked him four days ago if he agreed it would be yes. But, remembering Emerson and what she had said was starting to get to him. She reminded him what he was here fighting for. What he had cut of Waverly's ear for.

"I'll know I'm the winner once I see my family one more time and feel the warmth of their hugs. Once I step foot on O'Malley Farms again, I'll know what victory tastes like.".

And with that, he took one more swing at Waverly. This time he wasn't apologising beforehand, though if he severed another body part he'd probably apologise after the fact. In his head, he just pictured his family sitting at home - praying for him to return to him. And that was all of the motivation that he needed.
-----

table by Kaplan

[ six o'malley attacks waverly st. amor with a machete (sword) ]
[ (1), (2) credit for both quotes goes to alex writing as emerson le roux (our queen) ]

-

[ shallow cut on back of head - 4.5 damage ]

v15Jkl4iRxsword

sword

Last Edit: Jul 16, 2021 0:35:43 GMT -5 by Deleted

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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 16, 2021 13:37:52 GMT -5

Quote

Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jul 16, 2021 13:37:52 GMT -5

julian le roux

There is happiness
Past the blood and bruise
Past the curses and cries
Beyond the terror in the nightfall

Although most things had deserted Julian, his career training had not. As soon as his spear made contact with flesh, he sensed resistance and twisted the dark head further in. He didn’t care for the squelch it made, or how it sounded like Emerson's throat as it was cut open.

And being caught in his thoughts made Love’s words register late. As Julian crouched, the axe zipped by a few inches shy of his dark locks, and – ripred, the bruise on Evan's skull could have broken his head. He gave Love a look that was equal parts disbelief and surprise. “That,” he panted, cocking his head towards where Love had thrown the axe, “could have been high treason.” Was it a plot to assassinate him? He sincerely hoped not. Julian, on the other hand, would not be surprised if it was. That was the dangerous price of loving a monster: it can always destroy you on a whim. But what if he was becoming a monster as well? Would that help?

Would their monstrosities cancel each other out?

He redrew, took a step back, accessing the battlefield. “Keep on Evan,” he told Love without looking at him, but did touch his back for comfort. Waverly was bleeding and when she stumbled, Julian was quick on his feet to support their bait – friend – valkyrie of steel – with a sturdy hand to her back as well. “I’ll patch it up,” he told her, suddenly grateful for the rain, which washed away the worst of the blood. There was so much of it. Crimson pooled at their feet as if they were wading in the shallows of a red lake.

But Waverly did not – Waverly did not waver. He smiled at both the innuendo and her strength.

Thunder crackled, and its sudden rumbling seemed to have given Six the strength to speak. He digested the words, feeling a muscle tic in his jaw at the end of it, but the rage was quickly washed away as well. He wasn’t angry. Instead, he stepped forward, whirling his spear, with a smile on his face. Thad approached from the left, as if grabbing the opportunity, but he moved quickly to match, clanking his vambrace against the spear's edge. As he pushed Thad's weapon away, Julian let the gold bracers crack. There was a metaphor in that.

He eyed them both through the rain. “You are brave, Six,” he said with a light, respectful dip of his head. “It’s a pity that bravery doesn’t change a thing here.” It did not. Because the arena spoke not of brave deeds and gusto, but rather roared and hissed for blood. The language of the arena was gore. It had always been. He read about how in the first Games, the blood on the arena’s hot paving stones never ran dry.

And someone with his blood had bled on them. Julian saw Malachi as more of a myth than man, but his blood ran through him. It was the blood of a rebel. He had no idea what it meant to have rebel blood in his veins before, but he did now: perseverance. The decades couldn’t erase Le Rouxes from the face of this wretched world. The rebel in him would never die. The lion in him would never yield.

And both of them, hand in hand, would never falter.

“You know to know a thing about lions, Six?” He smiled then, a tight-lipped twist of his mouth as he twirled his spear, then tested its weight. “They live in prides, and they are ambitious. And yes, they know honor, but a lion cares more about their next meal than anything else.” And he was hungry. He was born hungry. Something in Julian had always been ravenous for the crown, and the glory it brought with it. He knew the power was something he could use to his advantage, to make it his own. He just needed to have it.

He took the other’s next words in stride, but they spoke the difference between boys like Julian and boys like Six. Six was wheat fields in the sun, the green of a corn maze, and Eleven was rooted in his bones. Julian, however, was a sword bedecked in jewels, gleam of a chandelier, and he was One’s rightful heir. He nodded at the boy. He respected the cause he was fighting for. But Julian had come to know that in these games, the only thing worth fighting for was your own damned, battered self.

“In One, we’re all born winners,” he said, and lunged.

Not at Six, but at Thad, and yet before he attacked, he whirled around on alternating feet, like a waltz performed in a ballroom, and suddenly skidded to a halt behind Six. “Another thing about lions: you never, ever corner them.” He showed a modicum of the honor Six spoke of by not attacking the other from from behind, instead whirling to face Six with his spear in hand.

- Julian attacks Six with Firepoker (Spear) -

n8jkS4yjbnspear

3058 -- Shallow Cut on Back -- 4.0 damage (Spear)

Haunted by the look in my eyes
That would've loved you for a lifetime
Leave it all behind
And there is happiness

Lyrics: Happiness, Taylor Swift

spear

Last Edit: Jul 16, 2021 13:58:01 GMT -5 by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.

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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 16, 2021 14:36:37 GMT -5

Quote

Post by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio on Jul 16, 2021 14:36:37 GMT -5

The girl he speaks to is stone-cold in her response. "You think there's a winner in this game? Everyone loses. The only ones who win are those who die quickly and painlessly."

Evan finds it amusing, really, that people continue to go on about how nobody wins the Hunger Games. It's delusional, wishful rather than practical. He volunteered weeks ago for this moment, to return interest to the grateful family and friends of the kid he saved. Hopefully, by now, his old man's mines would be filled with people feeling indebted for his bravery and potential sacrifice. Surviving would simply be like putting the hundredth jewel of a crown in place. The other ninety-nine precious jewels matter just as much to Evan. He's already winning as his spear makes contact with her leg. Every drop of blood is a promise that his legacy will prevail, with or without his return home.

The boy that swung his bat at him previously resorts to spinning an ax in his direction, but it only grazes Evan's head with the dull handle. It disorients him, just a bit, but he regains his footing in the muddy ground to see the girl's knife flying his way. It lands on the side of his neck. Evan's words come out in an exhausted whisper as blood hurries down his neck alongside the relentless rain. "Fucking hell," he mutters, looking at her with a countenance of rage rather than hunger or desire. He hurt her, not once but twice now, but Evan MacMillan stands tall, ready to return the favor.

He'll kill her if it's the last thing he does.

After a few painful breaths, he rushes towards her again. "But those who die quickly aren't remembered. That's how you win, you know. Be remembered," Evan pushes his spear at her once again as the chaos around him continues and the thunder shakes overhead. "A killer doing it for his family. That's how I want to be remembered. It's my motive, that's how I win."

Perhaps if both of their preferences are fulfilled, they'll both be winners by nightfall.

-----

table by Kaplan

[evan macmillan attacks waverly st. amor d8f, fire spoker // spear]

cDgcYZyPqTspear
[3020 -- Shallow Cut on Chest -- 4.0 damage]spear

Last Edit: Jul 16, 2021 14:36:57 GMT -5 by LAIN 🍽 1M | Mattio

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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 16, 2021 15:52:37 GMT -5

Quote

Post by djed carnelian . d8m [kap] on Jul 16, 2021 15:52:37 GMT -5

The banter back and forth between the other tributes keeps me out of the conversation, which is probably a good thing. I'm not all that witty with my words.

My strike on Julian meets his armor, barely making a scratch on him when I break through it.

Now they're arguing about what it really means to be a winner here in the arena, and I realize that I'm not sure where I stand. Dying certainly doesn't make you a winner, but does killing? I mean, technically killing and being the last tribute standing makes you the winner, but there's gotta be some guilt that comes with it for most people. People who aren't like Evan and want to be killers.

Evan and Waverly take the brunt of the hits. They're certainly more beaten up than the rest of us, and it makes me wonder which of them will fall first, or if they both will. Maybe we can even all stop here, go our separate ways and no one dies. Although, I bet if that happens, Six and I will be dead at Evan's hand by nightfall.

That guy really wants the blood on his weapon, and he wants it to be human blood. Maybe he's having a bit too much fun in here.

I don't feel any guilt so far for attacking Julian, but perhaps that's because I've barely done anything. I felt guilty over the mutts, but not too bad until I killed them. Maybe the guilt will hide until I'm a killer.

I suppose there's only one way to find out- try to become a killer.

I aim my fire poker at Julian again, and I try.

-----

table by Kaplan

[Thad Pepperwood attacks Julian Le Roux with Fire Poker (spear)]
zGOEid099Espear
[3181 -- Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage + 1.0 for strength]

spear

Last Edit: Jul 16, 2021 15:53:05 GMT -5 by djed carnelian . d8m [kap]

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Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 16, 2021 16:47:49 GMT -5

Quote

Post by pogue on Jul 16, 2021 16:47:49 GMT -5

love bellisario

His axe flies forwards over Julian’s crouched form and towards Evan, spinning wildly with the throw. Evan sees it a heartbeat too soon, attempting to duck out of the way and it does nothing but bounce against his skull, thrown off course and embedding itself into the grass behind him. Love grits his teeth for a moment in frustration, pulling out his spare Axe and wrapping his fingers around the handle until it feels as if the skin and muscle and bone and wood will split into pieces all at once.

Red springs forth from Evan’s throat as Waverly’s knife finds a home in the flesh of his neck, sending him stumbling backwards. Love’s eyes widen at the sudden river of red that drips out from the wound, staining the metal of the knife and the green of the grassy ground below in a paint fit for the damned. His gaze travels over to his ally, approval flooding through his system at her jumping at the opening his weak axe throw had given her.

”Nice hit.” He mutters to Waverly, nodding in approval. She was dangerous with a knife and some distance, he’d noticed it in their past three days together. A long way from when he’d first watched her pick up a bow in the training center, struggling to fight against the pressure of the string itself and a stance that would have only led to a missing shot.

Now, she’s embedding metal into flesh like her life depends on it. And, in a way, it does. She’d survived longer than both Emerson and Chad, a bait piece of a tribute turned towards a killer, dangerous even. He’d have to remember that.

Waverly’s voice rings out in tongues of truth, her words falling on ears too keen to listen and Love turns back to the fight at hand, chewing on his own thoughts at the declaration of the only form of mercy in the Games- death. ”She’s right.”, he starts, pointing the blade of his axe forwards towards their opponents. ”Rolling over and dying might be the best option for all of you.” He says somberly, flashing a cold stare towards Evan, Thad, and finally resting on Six as the latter speaks back in a voice, his trembling words betraying the false act of confidence he’s trying to put on.

"Even if I am pi- angering you, you don't intend on letting any of us leave this fight alive, do you?"

Love chews on the words as Six spits them out, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head. This facade Six was coating himself in was cute, he’d admit it, but it wasn’t sustainable. False bravery was no more than just that, false, wavering and ready to crack at any moment. Six is a cracked facade staring down smoke and mirror in the form of Julian and himself, and he wouldn’t win this fight with clever wordplay and acts of bravery that were just as easily seen through as they were created.

He finally shrugs at Six’s words. If the boy from Eleven wanted banter he’d give it to him, coated in venom and toxins just like he’d been known for. ”You might leave this fight alive, Six. But this arena will be your coffin, and I’m not going to apologize for that.”

”She died an honorable death, I'm sure. But did you feel honorable running away like a coward instead of fighting to save her?"

The fight goes silent when Six O’Malley mentions Emerson Le Roux, and Love’s eyes widen for the briefest of moments, his hands wrapping tight around the handle of his weapon. Six was going past bravery and into pure stupidity, poking a lion that had done nothing but bite back his roar since the first day in this arena. Love knows it well, the way he can feel anger seeping out from Julian’s form at the way his heartstrings are being pulled and plucked with Six’s words, and Julian knows it too. He speaks of corners and animals, bared fangs and false bravado and Love merely nods solemnly. He’d cornered a lion the first day in the bloodbath and watched her fall, cornered another and watched it bare its fangs before it’d turned his luck on him.

Julian had torn him to shreds at his own game. He’s right. He thinks to himself, twirling his axe in his hands before he moves towards Julian in one swift movement.

”I’m not going to kill him. But hey, that’s not stopping you.” He whispers to Julian, his fingertips drifting down and squeezing his hand gently. It’s genuine, for a moment, foreign and abstract and everything Love never thought he’d get to. ”Show him how the lion roars.”

He doesn’t wait for Julian’s response before he charges past Six and towards Evan, swinging his axe down towards the boy from Twelve.

[Love attacks Evan; Axe]

umsD8A79FOaxe

[Deep Gash on Left Bicep — 8.0 + 1, Strength]

axe

Last Edit: Jul 18, 2021 14:53:00 GMT -5 by pogue

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if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 16, 2021 20:23:39 GMT -5

Quote

Post by d1b. xylia fray ♕ kaяi on Jul 16, 2021 20:23:39 GMT -5

waverly st. amor

Hope.

It's useless, really.

Waverly was once foolish enough to believe in it. She would clutch on to hope like her life depended on it, wrapping her fingers so tight around it that she crushed it in the process. She had hoped that her family would all be safe once she finally got rid of their father, but they were all still broken. She had hoped that she wouldn't be caught and no one would discover her treacherous deed, but it only took weeks before the Peacekeepers started uncovering the truth. She had hoped that maybe, just maybe she would somehow make it out of here alive, but then Emie died, then Chad and who knows which one of them will be next.

Hope was a useless thing.

All it did was tear her apart more.

If she learned anything here it was that you couldn't rely on hope, you couldn't rely on the sponsors or the Gamemakers, and in the long run you couldn't even rely on your allies. The only person in the whole world you can rely on is yourself. So, even with her blood pouring from the whole in her ear and her body aching she stood a little straighter and gripped her weapon a little tighter, ready to take on whatever happened next.

"I'll patch it up,"

Even with the ringing in her ears, Julian's voice was loud and clear. "Sure hope you know how to sew," she said with an airy laugh even as the left side of her head throbbed. "Maybe then I'll look war ready."

But the war began long ago.

Even as her head spun, Waverly managed to mostly duck out of the way of the next two attacks. The first, a sword aimed for her neck, but she moved quickly enough so it only nicked the back of her head. She grunted as she stood back up, narrowing her eyes at the boy.

"I'll know I'm the winner once I see my family one more time and feel the warmth of their hugs. Once I step foot on O'Malley Farms again, I'll know what victory tastes like."

"A hug? Who in their right mind would want to hug a monster?"

The spear came swiftly towards her, but she caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and stepped back. The blood loss was begging to get to her because her movements weren't quick enough as it still managed to skim her chest. She cried out and pain and tears began to fill her eyes, but she wouldn't allow any of them to fall.

"But those who die quickly aren't remembered. That's how you win, you know. Be remembered. A killer doing it for his family. That's how I want to be remembered. It's my motive, that's how I win."

"Being remembered? What good is being remembered if you're dead? Sounds useless to me."

And all any of them were going to be was dead.

( waverly attacks evan ; firepoker (javelin) )
Anu3zagtfmjavelin
( result )

javelin

❝ moon dust in your hair, stars in your eyes ❞

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last seen May 9, 2024 9:40:37 GMT -5

if i did i menage with 'em {CF vs Riptide} Jul 16, 2021 23:36:44 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Jul 16, 2021 23:36:44 GMT -5

A monster. She had called him a monster. That was the very thing he terrified turning into the moment his name had been pulled out of that glass bowl. A monster. A sinner. Something unholy and unredeemable in Gods eyes. Though, part of him felt he was always like that, he was born a sinner.

Tears welled up in his eyes. He felt like a monster. And he felt like giving up. Until he remembered the Justice Building. The Peacekeepers insisted that he didn't have enough time to see all sixteen of his family members, so he only saw two of his siblings and Vasco Izar. But those three conversations kept him rooted, reminded him of who he was. He may not be brave, but he sure wasn't a monster. He was Six O'Malley. He wouldn't let the Capitol nor Waverly take the last shred of identity that he had left.

Vasco was the last one he spoke with, and perhaps the conversation that stuck with him the most despite that being their first meeting. Maybe Vasco Izar was insignificant to the other tributes, but he was important in the hearts and souls of every citizen of Eleven. He represented hope for them, something much of Panem had given up on.

“We’re taught punish ourselves for the bad things we do – putting people in prison forever – for the entirety of their lives. Without a chance for redemption. Nothing else on earth acts that way. Except us. And no matter how many times we punish someone for the same crime, it’s not going to bring things back to the way they were before.” (1)

Then he thought of Fly, his younger sister. She had always wanted to be a hero. And she was brave. Far braver than Six would ever be despite her young age. He hoped that he would be alive to see what amazing things she ended up doing. And if not, he could take solace in the fact that she would never see him as a monster. To her he would always be her big brother Six.

"Then, when you come back, I can give you the biggest hug ever. You can do this. I believe in you, Six. I love you so much, and I can't lose you. That's why you have to win, or at least try your best to win, okay?" (2)

And finally there was Lock. Lock was the first and only O'Malley for him to come out to as bisexual. He also was a devout follower of their religion - even more so than Six. Yet, he still treated Six no different despite the sin that he was. Surely if Lock forgave him for one sin, he could forgive the sins he had committed in the Arena. And yesterday when he had prayed to God, God had answered by giving him the strength to live. Surely that had to mean something.

But, his false bravery was gone. Snapped away in an instant. He was back to being scared little Six O'Malley, the same Six O'Malley who had a breakdown on national television the previous day and would soon be having one again - this time caused by Waverly St. Amor. His fake confidence was gone and he could hardly look at her, let alone in the eye. That would be his downfall. Perhaps if he didn't glance away he would've been able to warn Evan. To save him.

"My older brother Lock said God will take me home. I trust him." (2)

Then it happened. A blood curdling scream. Red oozing out of Evans chest. Then nothing. Followed soon by the shot of a cannon. Evan Macmillian had died, in an instant. Six froze and this time he couldn't hold back the tears. Kassandra was probably at a bar somewhere, about to smash the television if Six cried one more time. But, he couldn't help it. He cared about Evan. He felt deep down he was a good person.

But, he wasn't going to let them take Thad too. Maybe Six was a monster in the eyes of the Capitol and the eyes of Panem. But he knew who he was. He was someone with empathy. He was someone who cared about other people. He wasn't able to speak as tears continued to pour down his cheeks and he let out quiet sobs. But, actions speak louder than words. He stood in front of Thad, drawing his machete as he shook like a leaf. He wasn't going to let them take everything from him, not this time.
-----

table by Kaplan

[ six o'malley attacks waverly st. amor with a machete (sword) ]
[ (1) credit for the quote goes to zori writing as vasco izar ]
[ (2) credit for the quote goes to kaplan writing as fly o'malley ]
[ (3) credit for the paraphrased quote goes to bailee writing as lock o'malley ]

-

[ shallow cut on stomach - 4.0 damage ]

prfIlkI8Qlsword

sword

Last Edit: Jul 16, 2021 23:37:33 GMT -5 by Deleted