Post by penelope marcet ✦ d5f ✦ tris on Oct 12, 2019 13:32:30 GMT -5
The woods are lovely, dark and deep — and I have no secrets to keep. They run down my legs, down the curve of my back; they are flowing with my blood. And I stay standing, leaning against the closest tree and digging my nails into the bark. This is not a pain that I am familiar with, something more than the ache of sore muscles and pulled joints.
I am torn. My skin does not knit itself together again, my hair does not fall back into a braid. It hangs by my face in slick, black waves — and I reach up to pull my bonnet off, throwing it to the ground with disgust. "That was a real thrill." I look over to Vargen, a wolfish grin playing on my lips. "You're my white knight, aren't you?"
Then I hear the soft crunch of twigs, watching as shadows close in around us — and I cross my arms when Slate appears, followed shortly by Reggie. "How sweet. Our allies finally join us." I hide my anger behind a sickly sweetness, biting back any accusations. I can't fault the younger girl for saving herself, and as far as the boy from Twelve goes, I expected as much.
"So many selfish creatures here," I say dryly, lowering myself to the forest floor and pressing a hand to the cut on my thigh. "That just won't do." I wave in Vargen's direction, wrist twirling through the air. "Be a good forest prince and find me something to stop the burning." I look up to see no sky, only gnarled branches and the light of a distant sun.
Post by reggie blume / d12m [sidney] on Oct 12, 2019 14:29:04 GMT -5
My feet move faster than one would think possible at a time like this, with my head throbbing and limbs aching. Blood still gushes from my nose, drying and staining along my neck and collar. It flows as freely as my guilt does—for being as useless as I had claimed Penelope was, for being as selfish as she claims I was just now.
The problem is I know she's right.
But the words go dead atop my tongue. There is no excuse I could muster that would change the wounds she's sustained. There is no explanation I could come up with that would heal any of them, nor take away any of their pain.
I'm sorry, I think it quietly to myself, turning away from the group to lick my own wounds, though they pale in comparison. Rest is suggested, but long after I've turned my back on them for the second time today, finding respite atop a stump a few feet away.
I find punishment in my own cruel way, balancing my index and middle finger of each hand on either side of my nose before sucking in a sharp breath and then twisting the cracked joint harshly forward and to the left.
"Fuck," I cry out but do my best to stifle it, though it's quite useless. My voice echoes through the trees, and I swear the forest comes alive if for just a moment at the sound of a foreign form of life.
More blood spills onto my hands and tears gather in the corners of my eyes, ready to pour down my cheeks and betray my every sense of confidence. But the truth is...
I'm weak, and it's going to get me killed.
[ reggie heals, collects med plants & more in maintenance ]
Post by vargen forrester; 7m [ɢʀɪғғɪɴ] on Oct 12, 2019 14:29:12 GMT -5
I was a starved wolf.
The hunger that had howled inside my gut earlier ebbed away and became replaced by ache—rusted anchors winding themselves around my limbs, tied to my calloused wrists. But, wounds could be licked away and sewed together; they faded over time:
the bitter taste of defeat in my mouth did not.
I craved and yearnedto feel the warm swell of Cole’s throat against the curve of my hand, hold his feverish pulse as though it were a bird and wring it dead as one would a bird-boned thing.
Penelope’s words coaxed me out of my reveries. “A white death, darling,” I corrected her, mirroring the grin radiant across her face. We were two wolves, two monsters, both the divine beauty and the feral beast.
I would not find another as ravenous as me.
“Sapphire’s not as harmless as I thought she’d be.” It was her spear that stabbed Penelope’s back. “But, they won’t follow us,” my head craned to the path we’d chosen; a crescent moon of a smile waxed upon my mouth, “sadly,they aren’t as insane as we are.”
The forest spoke in rustles and murmurs around us, the thick leaves a dappled sea of green, branches as magnificently intricate as a thousand stags’ antlers. It would be beautiful, if it weren’t for the mangled faces etched upon the bark, each one aghast or petrified. What atrocities these faces had sighted, I would never know, so I deemed the atrocities as Penelope and I.
When Slate and Reggie appeared, I cannot rein in the scowl that unfolded across my features. But, with effort, I smoothed it over ; we weren’t comrades here: I couldn’t blame them for wanting to save themselves.
“I am not your assistant, Penelope,” my words seemed barbed—but they were only teasing; jestful. Yet, they held a cadence of truth also: I was not her servant. “You should practice saying ‘please’ the next time you ask me for things.”
Carrying myself closer towards the serene forests, I searched for the flowers looked familiar in the foliage and the shrubs that matted the floor below us, counting the petals, scrutinizing the stems.
It comforted me: the dirt underneath my fingertips, the fragrant moss over the stones, the whispers adrift around us from the forest.
“We’ll set up camp here,” I told them.
（ Vargen collects med-plants; other things in maint. ）
Post by slate • d9f • zoë on Oct 12, 2019 15:40:07 GMT -5
She's mad. In both senses of the word.
Furious, cursing Four's name as she presses her bloodied palms against her screaming chest. Her gash oozes and stings and thuds, bolts of pain shooting through her nerves. It's not the first time she's been stabbed and it certainly won't be the last, but she's pissed that she could be wounded so quickly, so easily, that her plan veered off track within the first few minutes of the game.
Crazy, hissing death threats and laughing underneath her breath. Wide-eyed and panting, her axe is held out in front of her and it cuts away at every tree branch and clump of orange leaves with manic swings of her free arm. Slate is paranoid, fueled by the knowledge that she's weak.
"I'm gonna kill him, ha," she mutters, nonsense stumbling along with her steps. "Hope he likes an axe to the back of the head, ha, wanna see how much I can hurt, hurt, I'll hurt him, I'll kill him, I'll.. ha... haha... hahahahaha ha-"
"How sweet," drawls Penelope, her familiar voice drawing Slate towards her. "Our allies finally join us."
Heaving into view, Slate grins manically - blood between her teeth - and gestures toward the gash on her chest.
"Hahahaha HA!!!" and a gasp at the way her furious laugh disturbs her wound - the nerve of this girl. She too was bleeding and broken. If anyone could sympathise with her tardiness, it should be Penelope.
"Don't mind me!" she squawks, not caring who can hear them - perhaps an axe to the neck by her own hand would cure her rage. "Just trying not to bleed out over here!!!"
And with that her knees buckle and she slumps to the floor, head light and vision dizzy from shock and blood loss.
collects firewood, performs first aid on herself for -3 more in maint im sure!!
“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”