tell the pride i'm home

lionel ashford. 18. district 2. victor tribute.

[lionelse]

agathamoreau​:

everettlance:

He did step back then, took a few steps, in fact. He was clearly delusional in some way, and Agatha was right — he was red team. But still, there was something about the fact that he was trying to protect him, in a strange way, though it wasn’t really him, that tugged at him, made him feel guilty, like he should get involved. Like he should stop it. Explain what was happening, tell him in a better way that he wasn’t a kid, he wasn’t his brother. But he didn’t say anything; he just stared between the two of them, Lionel’s shouting and Agatha’s axe, a total fucking coward. Because in the end it was him or Lionel, wasn’t it? And he’d let Margot do the dirty work with Marino; why not step back again, why not let Agatha kill Lionel, who was already in a weakened state, who seemed to think that he was protecting his brother? Instead of doing or saying something heroic, he just said, “Make it quick.” He was half-begging, half-commanding, knowing full well that Agatha would do whatever she pleased. But he could hope she had mercy.

@agathamoreau

.

Perhaps her younger self might have felt anything more than pity for him. But in decades and decades worth of Games, she’d truly seen it all, Arena madness included. As difficult as it was to come toe-to-toe with it, it was a rare exception where the answer was not to put the poor souls out of their own misery, because they’d die either way. She readily braced against the grab, Lionel’s grip stronger than she’d anticipated but lacking in real tactic. She was easily able to tuck and roll herself sideways to unlock herself from his grip, turn, and follow the momentum with the swing of her axe aimed for the back of Lionel’s neck. Something fast. He wouldn’t feel a thing, if she did it right, it would simply all go dark. A death she herself had envied, would have begged for in her final agonizing days and hours of her former life.

@lionelse​

His anger turned to desperation when he realized he hadn’t had his weapon, (where did it go?!) and he knew this would not spell out well for him. He had watched too many demonstrations as a kid, seen too many reruns when he’d awoken in his fresh body to know that this wouldn’t work out, not when she had a weapon, and held it like she knew how to use it. “Kit, run!! Fucking run, get out of here!” he screamed, his head thrashing as he frantically tried to find him with blurry sight at his panic. “Kit, Kit, Kit- you, you have to win this. Do you hear me??” he asked, unsure if the boy had already heeded his words or not, god he really hoped so. “You have to win this, you need to be the one to get out of here, whatever it takes- please, please!!” the first of his pleads softly directed at Everett, and the other a strained, angered plead as he looked back up at Agatha, his eyes begging her to let him go, to let him protect.

 “If you even so much as fucking touch him, I’ll, I’ll- I’ll fucking haunt you until they throw you back into whatever shitty little grave they dug you up from, I swear-“ he cut himself off, “Kit! Kit, get out of here, get out, get out, get out!!” he screamed out to him until he couldn’t anymore, until shock and anger and even clarity hit him all at once, in one split second. 

And at that moment is when he finally found sight of his brother, except, it wasn’t his brother, it was Everett. It was never Kit. Something he knew was true, somewhere down below, something he didn’t want to admit that he knew.

Being alive again was just as lonely as life had been before, maybe even lonelier than death had been. There wasn’t hope in death, or friendship, or brothers, or faces. There wasn’t anything. Maybe he wanted to fall back into old patterns of life, he wanted to protect, to have something that gave him a purpose, and when he felt some sort of normalcy in actually recognizing someone when he saw them, when he had seen Everett that day, it set him down a spiraling path of longing for it, longing to be able to recognize someone, to recognize his brother. This was Everett, but did that matter when the feeling was all the same? 

[lionelse]

agathamoreau​:

everettlance:

He had no idea what he thought was going on, but it was clear that Lionel was confused. “Wait, wait,” he said, stepping forward, but the backswing on the sickle made him back up again. As much as he had originally thought of Lionel as a potential friend, he wasn’t taking the brunt of a blade for him. “Agatha, he’s just confused — I’m Everett, and she’s not hurting me.”

@agathamoreau

“He’s on the red team!” she snarled back at Everett, irritated by his determination to do what? Play hero? Did he not forget that doing this was exactly had been his downfall the first time, getting too sentimental then not finishing the things he’d started? She twisted the axe in her hand impatiently, itching to finally reclaim the status she deserved in here as a real threat. “Stand back, Lance.” Then to Lionel, raising her weapon,” I’ll make it quick, darling, but it’s you or me.”

@lionelse​

Lionel either couldn’t decipher the words or he chose not to, shifting into a sort of protective, self soothing state. Because if this was his brother, he had a reason to protect, a reason to even be here still. “I told you- I told you I wouldn’t fucking tell you twice,” he shouted, surging forward to tackle her down to the ground, dropping his weapon without a second thought in favor of going to grab at her shoulders, “Why would you- why would you even try to lay a finger on him— he’s a kid!! He’s just a fucking kid.. what kind of monster are you?!” he shouted, his voice cracking and breaking, and his breath shortening, leaving him desperate for air. ‘He’s my baby brother,” he whispered out. 

@everettlance​

[lionelse]

agathamoreau​:

everettlance​:

He had just run into Agatha again — it seemed that fate kept driving them together, and while he wasn’t a huge believer in fate, he did know that he was lucky as hell that she was on his team, because it was the reason he was still alive. He liked to think she might be warming to him ever-so-slightly, but it could simply be in his imagination.

Everett turned when he heard a familiar voice say an unfamiliar name. He had been dreading running into Lionel, not sure for how long he could trust the boy clad in red; in another version of the Arena, they might have even been allies, but now, he had just been hoping to avoid him.

He was confused, though, clearly, and Everett looked around him. “Who’s Kit?” he asked, a glance at Agatha and then back to Lionel.

@agathamoreau​

Lionel appeared far worse off than their last run-in, and just the proximity made her shoulder smart. She was happy to see that she had managed to give him a good cut to the face, that it was still there, but she wasted little time on her own pride. She could do one better and finish the job. She raised her axe. If he was hallucinating, then it was well beyond his time to go anyways. “Sorry Lionel, but you’re not going to get off so lucky this time.” 

“Get the fuck away! stay away-” he bellowed when he saw her raise the axe, pushing past Everett as he swung his sickle towards her like he would a sword, severely missing his target. “Fucking stay away from him, I-” he growled through heavy uneven breaths, “I won’t tell you twice-” he gripped the sickle with both hands, a nasty scowl on his face when he swung it again. 

[lionelse]

A silver parachute drifts slowly to the ground. A small container is attached with a note from anonymous. Inside is antiseptic wipes and a small meal. The note reads: “Doing great, I'm not li-on.”

[lionelse]

He escaped the woods and all the visions of North – for what he hoped would be forever. 

He ran on unsteady legs until the scenery shifted from foliage and desolate forestry to a different kind of desolate, to the huge empty houses long abandoned. He ran like he was in search of something, desperate and frantic. He longed for something familiar, for something comforting. 

“Kit..?” he stopped in his tracks as he turned a corner, eyes wide as he looked at the man, his brother, right there. He was taller than Lionel now and his shoulders were broader, but Lionel paid no mind to the fact, remembering how much his younger brother had complained about growing pains when he'd visit Lionel before his death. “When did you- How did you.. How did you get here? When did they put you in here?” he started to shout as his chest fell up and down rapidly, walking towards him and reaching a shaking hand out. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? How long have you been here?” he asked in quick succession.

He felt panic bubble in him as he couldn’t think straight, screwing his eyes shut as he begged his brain to slow down, the throbbing of his head only getting louder, making him feel just as sick as he had been in the forest. He opened his eyes again, this time finally noticing the figure next to Kit, his grip around the sickle immediately tightening. “Who.. who the hell are you?” 

@everettlance @agathamoreau​

[lionelse]

strained roar | self para

Cold, burning light. Light that didn't reach the corners of the rooms, traveled at a snail's pace and shrouded the room in darkness when no one was there to bear witness. 

She was there. It didn't make sense, but she was here, and suddenly it felt like he had entered a vacuum, and everything was so, so heavy. 

Cold, burning light.

He learned then that the universe would always get its way. It gave no regard to whether he or anyone there wanted to be alive or not, if they were okay with what should have been the impossible. And even though he wasn't the only one, he felt so alone in that fact, so isolated. When he woke up, there was no one who had meant anything to him in a past life, and now, with the silhouette of North giving her last fight that had been burned into the back of his mind, he wished he would have savored being alone. Being alone was better than whatever hell this was.

The sword in her hand refracted light from seemingly nowhere, bringing him back to the finale of his games, the pain that came with it was almost expected. He had been staring, unable to look away until he felt his stomach turn like spin cycle, forcing him to turn away to empty his stomach next to a nearby tree, the bile clinging to his lips, Lionel unable to wipe them clean.  Why did it have to be her? 

He pulled himself from against the tree with a huff and turned away from North, hoping to make a lucky escape, but instead she was standing right a few feet ahead of him, slightly obscured by the trees. 

He felt his head pound at the sight of her sword again, and suddenly it felt like his victory was right in front of his hands, if he could only fight back. The sickle in his hands felt like some sort of taunt, like North was taking revenge. It was her turn to win. It already felt like she did, like she planted her sword in his skull this time. 

He stumbled his way through the woods to try and escape, running as fast as he could. Even if it was all just a vision, his choking breath felt more like blood running down from the blade, and pouring down his throat relentlessly. 

Somehow, he escaped the woods, but now he was stuck like this, with the sword that wouldn't be twisted, no, he'd have to live with it — just like he did before.  I have to say goodbye. 

[lionelse]

agathamoreau​:

She couldn’t imagine a more perfect setting for the television, she almost envied being able to watch this unfold from the outside. The fall of evening, the dark ushered in far too quickly with heavy clouds and lit only with bursts of lightning. The greenish-gray of the sky, the fogginess that hung around cloudbursts rolling toward the town, though rain was already falling here. It was coming thicker, faster, pooling in the streets as the crumbling remnants of storm drains struggled to keep up. She rounded a headless statue, slick with rain and slimy from wet, encroaching moss. Behind it, a flash of red. A wicked grin curved at her lips, the hatchet twirled in her hands. Finally. Finally. She was fucking sick of finding her forced teammates when she instead craved to put these Games to rest as quickly as possible. It darted behind a sign, but she only chuckled to herself. “Come out, now’s not the time to play hide and seek,” she called over the wind.

Well, shit. There went his hope at an upper hand. He hadn’t let himself get too hopeful anyway, considering he readied the sickle in his grip all the same. It would have only been nice to have some sort of element of surprise. No matter, though. Lionel could handle himself, he just needed a new plan. He did as the source of the voice said, stepping out from behind the sign, “You found me,” he shouted, hands up as if he was surrendering. “Why don’t we change the game up a bit, then?” he mumbled, likely leaving the words to be lost to the space between them. His eyes darkened a split second before he was suddenly sprinting towards the other tribute.  

[lionelse]

everettlance​:

The team thing, it was fucked up, pitting them against each other. They could have been allies. What if everyone else he trusted was on the red team as well? What if he was to be completely alone in here? He suddenly felt very small, standing there in the river. “Good point,” he said with a nod, beginning to wade towards the bank, keeping his eyes on Lionel as he did so, his grip still tight on the knife.

He didn’t know why it frustrated him that Everett didn’t trust him— it made sense in every way that he didn’t. Lionel didn’t know if he trusted him, though he sure as hell knew he wasn’t supposed to. Despite his own uncertainty, it still made him mad that the other didn’t seem to be anything but cautious of Lionel. He took a few more steps back with his eyes still locked with Everett’s before turning on his feet to jog out of there. He didn’t care to turn to check to see if Everett had kept his word, just running as far away from the area as he could. 

[lionelse]

surfin-again​:

Mako gasped for air as he stumbled away. He could see a getaway plain as day, but it was a getaway with no guarantee of a weapon or water or food or life. Someone with a weapon could connect with him within moments. He looked at the scythe, then at the man reaching for it. Aware of his own limitations, Mako quickly assessed he wasn’t strong or big enough to check the man. Instead he took a long bound forward and leapt up onto the man’s back, trying to get a stranglehold on him.

“What the fuck-” Lionel had been able to grab hold of the sickle, but now he felt the weight of what he could only assume was the boy on him, arms at his neck. Oh, this boy was dead now. If he had simply run, Lionel might’ve just left him to his devices in favor of getting out of there himself so he could get a closer look at the weapon before he used it. But it looked like he was just going to have to learn by getting some practice in. With all the force he could muster, he tried to shake the boy off of him, hoping to send him slamming against the ground. 

[lionelse]

amphora-helia​:

Amphora nearly jumped out of her skin when she heard the whistle. It wasn’t very loud, not really, but it still felt to be the equivalent of the blaring sound of a train whistle. She stayed still, trying to keep her breathing as shallow as possible until she saw a familiar red glow. The boy it belonged to wasn’t familiar, and unfortunately wasn’t Lucius, but there was as least some comfort in seeing a someone else dressed like her. She’d heard the rules loud and clear. She was safe around anyone red. At least for now. 

“Um…” What was she doing? She’d fled, but she was at the end of the running part of that. There were several things that needed to be done next - find water, food, a better shelter, maybe even more people in red suits. She hadn’t even had a chance to weigh the pros and cons of seeking out members of her assigned team. “I was going to wait until the sun came up. Well…see if it did come up, I guess.” They were all glowing targets. She could see the benefit in the Gamemakers keeping it dark, though she hoped to see a sliver of sunlight soon. “I don’t think we’ve met.” With so many tributes, she hadn’t gotten the chance to know them the way she had some of the tributes in the 107th. 

Lionel’s eyebrow lifted for a moment, giving the girl a once over. He couldn’t be one to protest whether or not they had met or not before, though he figured she was right. There were just so, so many of them. “I’m Lionel,” he said, crouching down before her, extending a hand out to the girl. “Red team-,” he gestured down at his suit, “as you can see. So I guess we’re... teammates.” It felt weird to admit, especially considering a past version of himself would have detested having anything like a teammate. The career pack was simply a tool he used until he didn’t need it anymore.

“Do you really think there's time to just.. wait here? Just... doing nothing?” he questioned. Not only was she right— the sun might not even come up here, but he also thought of the rules of the game they were playing here. One tribute had to die every twenty-four hours. A whole night would be foolish to waste.

[lionelse]

The sirens showed no signs of stopping and the migraine that came with it was like an old friend pounding at the door — familiar, though unwelcome all the same. Lionel had made his way into town when he first heard the sirens from the outskirts, hoping the nightmarish combination of the sirens and weather would flush out any skittish tributes from the area, giving him the perfect opportunity to stumble upon them. He almost didn’t see the flash of a blue suit until lightning lit the sky, revealing just what he had been searching for. He ducked behind a nearby shop sign, hoping he hadn’t been seen. He pulled out his sickle before crouching forward, eyes blown wide as he scanned the area for the tribute again. ​

@agathamoreau

[lionelse]

everettlance​:

Shit. He cursed internally as Lionel raised his voice, seemed to get heated, and he felt control of the situation slipping. What the fuck was he supposed to do if Lionel decided to attack him with that damn sickle? He thought of all the ways he could stab him; tackle him into the river; he’d need to get the weapon away from him. But his shoulder throbbed and he doubted he’d have the mobility he needed to win a fight with a real Career. “How about I walk away first then?” he suggested. Maybe a stupid move, maybe Mav was watching and shaking his head, but it was the only thing he could think of. “It’s not a good look to kill someone from Two, you know. I’m not going to do it. I don’t want to be hated back home.” It was both true and a reason why Lionel should leave him, too, alone.

Lionel stayed silent for a moment, his jaw tightening as he deliberated over whether or not this would come back to bite him in the ass. What good is district pride if you’re dead? At least, he could use it as a reason to leave Everett be now; he would just have they won’t cross paths again. “Fine, alright,” he gruffed out almost silently, taking a step backwards. “If you’re not gonna go after me.. I won’t either,” he loosened his grip on the sickle, the color returning to his knuckles as he took another step back. “Stay out of the fucking open like this. You’re gonna get yourself killed.” 

[lionelse]

everettlance​:

“I saw the red and assumed the worst,” he confirmed. His feet were still in the water. He was at the disadvantage with only a knife, a hurt shoulder, slippery footing at best. He could try to get Lionel down, bash his head with a rock perhaps — a clumsier kill than the knife would have been, but who the hell was he to rate kills? Since when was he this person? “Hoping you changed your mind when you saw it was me? I’m tired for the night. Would rather not fight.”

Lionel let out a breathy chuckle when Everett voiced out exactly what was happening. Despite whatever part of him wanted to leave him be, he couldn’t help feeling like he wasn’t supposed to let that show. He was merciless in his last games, what would it look like now if he just let him go? “Ev, this isn’t the fucking dinner party games,” he shouted, “We’re on opposite teams, for Christ’s sake. How am I supposed to leave you with the threat that you might be right on my tracks or just waiting for me to turn around? I can’t trust you like that anymore.”

[lionelse]

everettlance​:

“Boy from Seven,” he said. “Burly.” Saying his name felt like the right thing to do only until it was out of his mouth, at which point the aftertaste of it on his tongue was like rust.

He stood in a way that he hoped hid the shooting pains in his shoulder, the insistence of his bones and muscles that something wasn’t right. A look at it would show him that, but he couldn’t show injury or weakness. “How about you? Any kills so far?” He asked it casually but maybe he was trying to gauge him; maybe he was trying to find out if he was the only one with sin. As if for Lionel to have done the same would be absolution.

If Lionel did notice any show of injury from Everett, he chose to ignore it in favor of focusing on his words; Everett got a kill. He got a kill, and Lionel didn’t. He knew he should have been worried by that fact, but he felt nothing besides something that would’ve been described as relief had chosen to identify it. 

“Ah, no. No kills just yet,” he admitted just as casually as Everett had asked. “I won’t lie and say I wasn’t looking to change that when I came over here,” he didn’t think it really had to be said, but Lionel had never been cautious enough to beat around the bush, to let them both ignore the obvious that hung heavy in the air for too long. “But I’m sure I didn’t need to tell you that. You didn’t exactly look like you were expecting a tea party when I showed up,” it sounded half accusatory, as if Lionel had any right to accuse Everett of anything besides reacting as anyone would.

[lionelse]

surfin-again​:

Mako felt something around his neck. He thought maybe as a clone, the worst of his pre-arena memories wouldn’t be so vivid. Maybe this body didn’t remember the physical trauma from Anchor, but his mind did, and it told this body to react. There was little concern for the weapon in his hands, only a need to stay alive. He dropped the weapon but didn’t try to slip away, instead starting to swing his bony elbows as hard as he could behind him and kick up his right leg in search of bone or flesh to connect with.

When he met no resistance as his arm found its place around the boy, he thought maybe he could get an easy kill; that the boy who was now dropping the weapon would hand his life over that easily to Lionel. He hadn’t expected the boy to have so much fight in him, to have the power to knock Lionel back, or to even get him to let him out of his grasp at all. "You little shit,” he whispered out lowly, still recovering from having his breath knocked out of him when the boy’s elbow connected with his stomach. Despite how much he wanted to go after the kid now, he had to make sure he got the sickle, swiftly ducking down to where it was on the ground. 

[lionelse]

everettlance​:

“Yeah, I don’t know if they put a walker in the Cornucopia,” he said. He watched his gaze as he looked down into the river. He felt a pang of something distant; something that wanted to be felt but could not quite, not directly, not yet. It was the Games. It wasn’t time for regret or guilt.

“I did. Not everyone.” They wouldn’t know how many until later, until the sky lit up. Would it do so before dawn, or would they wait? Would it do so at all? He’d gathered that there would be no cannons to mark the deaths. But would he see the faces of those who had died?

He bent down again, slowly, deliberately moving the knife through the water.

He saw a glint of something move through the water — metal, he thought. It had to have been a weapon. He tapped a finger on the sickle that dangled in his hand, casual in a sense, though held with an iron grip. “That must not be your blood, then,” he said decisively, although it very much still could have been. He felt something bubble up in him at the thought that Everett may have gotten a Bloodbath kill. Was it.. pride? Was he proud of him for getting that kill? Or did he just want a reason to not discount Everett, a reason to turn and leave the man there, unharmed? Because Lionel only had a sickle, not a sword or a knife or anything familiar, and maybe Everett was more dangerous than he thought. Maybe that was it.

[lionelse]

Lionel had a far larger weapon than he had, and he cursed himself for thinking that a knife would see him through these Games as well as it had done in his last. “I was gonna say red wasn’t yours,” he replied, trying to recognize what was in the other boy’s voice. He was District Two. He was a friend, or could have been, in another life. And Burly… Burly whose blood was still fresh, whose blood he’d just been washing from his hands… he had been attacking. He’d been attacking. Everett was sure of it, though the specifics of the moment were already escaping him. “I wonder how they chose the teams.” Were all of the tributes from his District on red? Was Agatha? Was he the unlucky bastard who’d have all the Careers against him?

“Yeah, same here,” he drew out slowly, “though I’m sure you’re glad you don’t have to haul my ancient ass around,” he said, an attempt at their previous banter that just fell flat now, like an unwarranted comment. His face twitched, a small sign of the discomfort that rose in him now  that he couldn’t just say things like that anymore. It had been decided for them: they were not to be friends. His eyes twinkled as he caught sight of what he thought was blood flowing through the river. “You made it out of the bloodbath,” he said the obvious, though the gaze he held on the blood in the water almost demanded some sort of an explanation from Everett.