Fight 1: Main Chamber
May 6, 2024 19:36:58 GMT -5
Post by Benson Sharpe D3M [Tom] on May 6, 2024 19:36:58 GMT -5
Blood.
It drips from the blade; a crimson reminder of his own creation. There's a gasp in his throat. Caught in the headlights of a camera somewhere else. The film kicks into action. The sound of blood rushing in his ears setting the scene. Fear is an unwavering emotion; trapped in the back of his own head. Lashing out with fear; protecting one's self from death. Benson Sharpe was meant to be a star. A perfect boy in a family filled with imperfections. No matter how much paint and glamor thrown onto the walls, the floors, and the people couldn't hide how despicable he feels in this moment. Blood dripping down from the blade in his hands; a whisper of a memory in his head. A boy smiles behind his eyelids; the softness of a heavy arms holding him, but he's no longer there.
Instead, he falters backwards ever so slightly. The words of another much younger boy ringing elsewhere. Kasia calls herself a princess. A duel begins across the way, he can't focus on the chaos. Head still spinning with flashes of color behind the darkness. The woozy feeling of his stomach burning as he stumbles a little bit more. Blade moving back as he falters, unable to feel his hands. Is this what his father helped to support? Films made for the betterment of Panem. Blood drips from his hands, his knees, and his head. The smell of iron and waste settling horribly in his presence. All he can hear is his heart, thrumming over and over and over again.
The thrum stops; eyes finally catching the sight of the other girl in front of him. Young. Too young. The same age as his own younger sister. The blood drips from her neck; a reminder of what he's already become. The fear still remains, but he can't let down his guard. The shakiness of his hands stays; eyes still peering at the girl in the dark. Too young. Too much life ahead of her. It's a bitter feeling knowing he's trapped there. Kill or die. Blood for blood. "That feel good for you?" It's filled with a dangerous tone. Predatory towards him. Hands shaking beneath his grip of the knife in his hands. Adrenaline coursing through his veins; the films he's filmed were always about heroes. The people who rise above everything and win for the good of others. Proud to be apart of Panem. Proud to support the Capitol.
A breath.
The shakiness falters; instead he can feel his fingers shake still. The fear remains. Impacted by the sight of a girl younger than him, he steadies himself. Always given the opportunities he's always wanted. His father's words still filter through his mind somewhere. Steel yourself, boy. They smell weakness. The first time he'd been introduced to the heirs in Three. Was this the same? Steeling himself, he drops his shoulders. Cold, calculated eyes starting back at the girl who's from eight. Voice tense, still shaky despite everything.
"No."
Blood drips from his shoulder where her blade connects, crimson dripping from the wound. A blade to the shoulder; he's never felt metal as cold as that blade. Muscle memory hits as he swerves to the left, almost remembering how he'd moved on the matts back home. Blade held tightly beneath his palm; crimson falls to his shirt, but he can't focus on the way it stains his shirt then and there. The rush of smell makes him teeter ever so gently, but he catches himself against the floor and tumbles back towards the girl. Blade extended out with all that fear, all that steel.
"I've always hated fighting."
It's barely a whisper; a gentle caress of his spine as he imagines Axis once more. Too many physical fights leading to verbal ones; he's never loved the adrenaline, the fear.
"None of this feels good."
Sweat drips from his brow; a hint of desperation in the air.
"I just refuse to die."
[Benson attacks Setta Furey D8 with Clean Knife (Knife)]
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