cry wolf :: chadbin fever vs. mutts :: day two
Jun 27, 2021 14:53:28 GMT -5
Post by napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ. on Jun 27, 2021 14:53:28 GMT -5
“You look quite normal in hologram. Less psychotic, no?”
He threw the crushed hairpin he’d been sponsored at hologram-Love’s nose and snickered when it whooshed through with a ripple of light. In the humid dark, the holographic poster of them glowed brightly like a signboard or a monument to their plan. It had worked spectacularly. To Panem, Love and Julian were love birds caged in a cruel game, oh how tragic of them.
His eyes drifted towards the other then. Sprawled on their bed of grass the way Julian was, he looked oddly normal for once, less psychotic as he’d put it, his cheeks drawn in sharply by the holograph’s light and his eyes dulled by a resting gleam that for a moment, he saw Love for who he thought he truly was – a boy, just like him, here to fulfil a handful of expectations. Will it all be worth it? he wondered.
Will it all be worth the broken bones, the gaping wounds, and the hundred scars?
His thought got severed as Love drawled, “you’re full of flattery tonight, yeah?” He rolled his eyes despite the unbidden smirk that came on. “Got any other insults in your book for me besides psychotic and sociopathic?”
Julian deadpanned. “Yes but those words capture the essence, don’t you agree? And besides,” he looked down at the knife the other was toying with like a restless house cat, “princes don’t insult their subjects outwardly. It’s very uncouth.” And then he let out a chuckle, surprising himself. Word play between them had always been a nice back and forth, making him hate it further. They weren’t close to lovers and they sure weren’t friends. If Love wanted to, he could plant that knife in between his ribs.
The only thought that offered Julian comfort was how he wouldn’t let it happen unrequited.
He ignored his next words, turning back on a subject they had skimmed over before. “What is your plan with Chad?” he asked lowly. “I am no stranger to the ruthless nature of these things but … I won’t kill a defenseless person, Love.” That’s not me, he wanted to protest but ultimately that meant taking pleasure in a lie. Because it did belong to a part of him, a cruel part he desperately kept leashed and sedated. The Gamemakers know of it. Emerson knew of it. He wanted to keep it a surprise from Love but what escapes a fox's eyes?
Nothing, that’s what.
“My plan?” the other tilted his head, eyes narrowing into slants. “My plan was to kill him back at the Cornucopia, which you and Waverly decided wasn’t worth throwing your shattered moral compasses out the window for.” He scoffed. It was true yet he scoffed anyway. “Honestly, Jules, it seems to me like both you and your cousin are strangers to all of this.” And because Love Bellisario loved his wounds slathered in salt, he added:
“or, were, in Emie’s case.”
That would have been enough excuse for his moral compass to permit unleashing himself on the other. That would have been enough, and yet it oddly wasn’t. He searched for ire but instead found pity. That, and a strange kind of melancholy.
“Or, maybe you just want to be a stranger to it,” Love said.
“It’s better than reveling in it,” he replied in a gentler tone than he wished for. Julian then sprang up, drawing in a fortifying breath as he did. “Keep watch of them,” a nod at Waverly and Chad. “I fancy a midnight stroll.”
It was about time to see the stars alone.
A few twenty or so steps in, it happened.
It happened in a searing flash that all but caught his breath, snatched his gaze—and twisted his heart. She demanded it all. There, between clouds, taking to the skies with a burning luminosity, Emerson Le Roux was a sun, a star, a moon, and every luminous thing that all eyes can’t help but be drawn to. Her eyes demanded a look. Her face ordered a glance. She was the only one there and she damned well gloried in it.
And from the dark, Julian smiled. He was proud of her.
He was so damn proud of her.
“What did I tell you about these biceps being nice pillows, darling? You look as well as a freshly-painted portrait.” That was his good morning to Love. But the soft whir of the drone behind them demanded more, so with an amused curl of his lips, he drew closer for a quick cheek kiss. “It’s good luck,” he said and winked.
Foreboding as it was, the arena glowed as they went deeper into it. The longer their tread through the plains went, the more everything seemed like false bliss in their spring-themed hues of rose, emerald, and bronze in everything he saw—grass, roses, trees, spurs, exhilarating to take in. The farthest oaks reaching to the summer sky looked drawn in. The musky sweetness of wood hung in the hot air over a damp perfume of blooming leaves. Light felt shot through the wind, seen underwater. It was heady in all sense of the word, so he sought a balance.
“How many badges did you get by the way?” Julian asked, pacing his steps to match Love’s. “It’s insulting that they haven’t given us a ‘lovers’ one.” Do the Gamemakers know it's a sham? He wouldn’t put it past them. Or, perhaps they were waiting on one of them to die for the widowed badge.
And how apt that at the end of that thought, pain ripped through the back of his head and knocked him off-kilter—right into Love. A cry tore itself raw from his throat. Everything was shapes. The pain. Julian gnashed his teeth, felt his eyes water. And when every color sewed itself back grotesquely together, they were sprawled over the grass, him on Love.
When he rolled off of the other, his machete accompanied the movement with a flash.
“Another to your left,” he rasped at Love. “Waverly, get your weapons out, and Chad—” he paused for a moment, searching his pained daze for what he meant to ask.
“Do you know how to swing a sword, buddy?”
He threw the crushed hairpin he’d been sponsored at hologram-Love’s nose and snickered when it whooshed through with a ripple of light. In the humid dark, the holographic poster of them glowed brightly like a signboard or a monument to their plan. It had worked spectacularly. To Panem, Love and Julian were love birds caged in a cruel game, oh how tragic of them.
His eyes drifted towards the other then. Sprawled on their bed of grass the way Julian was, he looked oddly normal for once, less psychotic as he’d put it, his cheeks drawn in sharply by the holograph’s light and his eyes dulled by a resting gleam that for a moment, he saw Love for who he thought he truly was – a boy, just like him, here to fulfil a handful of expectations. Will it all be worth it? he wondered.
Will it all be worth the broken bones, the gaping wounds, and the hundred scars?
His thought got severed as Love drawled, “you’re full of flattery tonight, yeah?” He rolled his eyes despite the unbidden smirk that came on. “Got any other insults in your book for me besides psychotic and sociopathic?”
Julian deadpanned. “Yes but those words capture the essence, don’t you agree? And besides,” he looked down at the knife the other was toying with like a restless house cat, “princes don’t insult their subjects outwardly. It’s very uncouth.” And then he let out a chuckle, surprising himself. Word play between them had always been a nice back and forth, making him hate it further. They weren’t close to lovers and they sure weren’t friends. If Love wanted to, he could plant that knife in between his ribs.
The only thought that offered Julian comfort was how he wouldn’t let it happen unrequited.
He ignored his next words, turning back on a subject they had skimmed over before. “What is your plan with Chad?” he asked lowly. “I am no stranger to the ruthless nature of these things but … I won’t kill a defenseless person, Love.” That’s not me, he wanted to protest but ultimately that meant taking pleasure in a lie. Because it did belong to a part of him, a cruel part he desperately kept leashed and sedated. The Gamemakers know of it. Emerson knew of it. He wanted to keep it a surprise from Love but what escapes a fox's eyes?
Nothing, that’s what.
“My plan?” the other tilted his head, eyes narrowing into slants. “My plan was to kill him back at the Cornucopia, which you and Waverly decided wasn’t worth throwing your shattered moral compasses out the window for.” He scoffed. It was true yet he scoffed anyway. “Honestly, Jules, it seems to me like both you and your cousin are strangers to all of this.” And because Love Bellisario loved his wounds slathered in salt, he added:
“or, were, in Emie’s case.”
That would have been enough excuse for his moral compass to permit unleashing himself on the other. That would have been enough, and yet it oddly wasn’t. He searched for ire but instead found pity. That, and a strange kind of melancholy.
“Or, maybe you just want to be a stranger to it,” Love said.
“It’s better than reveling in it,” he replied in a gentler tone than he wished for. Julian then sprang up, drawing in a fortifying breath as he did. “Keep watch of them,” a nod at Waverly and Chad. “I fancy a midnight stroll.”
It was about time to see the stars alone.
A few twenty or so steps in, it happened.
It happened in a searing flash that all but caught his breath, snatched his gaze—and twisted his heart. She demanded it all. There, between clouds, taking to the skies with a burning luminosity, Emerson Le Roux was a sun, a star, a moon, and every luminous thing that all eyes can’t help but be drawn to. Her eyes demanded a look. Her face ordered a glance. She was the only one there and she damned well gloried in it.
And from the dark, Julian smiled. He was proud of her.
He was so damn proud of her.
“What did I tell you about these biceps being nice pillows, darling? You look as well as a freshly-painted portrait.” That was his good morning to Love. But the soft whir of the drone behind them demanded more, so with an amused curl of his lips, he drew closer for a quick cheek kiss. “It’s good luck,” he said and winked.
Foreboding as it was, the arena glowed as they went deeper into it. The longer their tread through the plains went, the more everything seemed like false bliss in their spring-themed hues of rose, emerald, and bronze in everything he saw—grass, roses, trees, spurs, exhilarating to take in. The farthest oaks reaching to the summer sky looked drawn in. The musky sweetness of wood hung in the hot air over a damp perfume of blooming leaves. Light felt shot through the wind, seen underwater. It was heady in all sense of the word, so he sought a balance.
“How many badges did you get by the way?” Julian asked, pacing his steps to match Love’s. “It’s insulting that they haven’t given us a ‘lovers’ one.” Do the Gamemakers know it's a sham? He wouldn’t put it past them. Or, perhaps they were waiting on one of them to die for the widowed badge.
And how apt that at the end of that thought, pain ripped through the back of his head and knocked him off-kilter—right into Love. A cry tore itself raw from his throat. Everything was shapes. The pain. Julian gnashed his teeth, felt his eyes water. And when every color sewed itself back grotesquely together, they were sprawled over the grass, him on Love.
When he rolled off of the other, his machete accompanied the movement with a flash.
✧ Julian attacks Duowolf with Machete (Sword) ✧
aICM44b7cxsword
1177 -- Miss -- 0.0 damage (Sword)
✧ Accuracy Re-Roll | Day 2 ✧
sword
1027 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage (Sword)
aICM44b7cxsword
✧ Accuracy Re-Roll | Day 2 ✧
sword
1027 -- Deep Gash on Left Bicep -- 8.0 damage (Sword)
“Another to your left,” he rasped at Love. “Waverly, get your weapons out, and Chad—” he paused for a moment, searching his pained daze for what he meant to ask.
“Do you know how to swing a sword, buddy?”