sunset dunes [LN@WB day one]

kap
Retired Staff

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last seen Jul 4, 2024 19:59:43 GMT -5

trans rights are human rights <3

sunset dunes [LN@WB day one] Oct 20, 2021 13:11:54 GMT -5

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Post by kap on Oct 20, 2021 13:11:54 GMT -5

n i x i e .

"do I remind you of
somewhere you wanna be
so far out of reach"

Surviving the bloodbath was something that I expected to do, but I don't know if I truly expected all of my allies to do the same. Sure, I was hoping that they would, and I'm glad that they did, but it wasn't exactly what I expected, especially with the amount of hits that Tsara took.

Speaking of Tsara: I helped her patch herself up after we all met back up. She'd asked me to, and it felt good, knowing she trusted me to help her. I didn't want to hurt her. I genuinely wanted to give her the aid she needed, and I was able to do that, which felt good. Plus, having someone who trusted me was a different feeling. Sure, I had people like Marina that liked or even loved me back home, but I wasn't sure there was anyone who just easily and openly trusted me like this. It was really nice to feel appreciated.

As we made our way away from the cornucopia and crossed the bridge the rest of the way, we reached a hilly part of the arena. The ground sloped up and down, as if it were trying to hide something in between its crevices. The hills bask in a red glow that reminds me of Four's beach sunsets, or perhaps something a little less calm and a bit more unsettling instead. Blood, perhaps. It was as red as blood.

Trees and shade are few and far between, and dust blows in the air. I feel and see it getting caught in my hair, and I try to keep my mouth shut while we're moving along.

Eventually, we stop and find a place to settle for a little bit. The red glow is ominous, and it keeps me on guard, especially with little to no cover here unless you're down between the hills. If you're down there, though, it's harder to keep an eye on anyone who might be nearby. It's really a situation with more cons than pros.

"I think we could stop here." As I said this, I looked back at the others. I'd been leading the way without really meaning to, so they'd all ended up behind me.

"You all hanging in there alright? Tsara, you keeping up okay?" I asked.

I looked at each of them for a moment. Tsara was beaten, scared and scarred. Sinead and Whiskey were barely touched, like myself. I suppose our opponents went for who they thought was the weakest link in the bloodbath: the young one. Boy were they wrong, though. She was stronger than they thought. She was still alive, while four others had fallen.

"You three feel free to get yourselves situated. I'm going to keep watch." I told them. For some reason, I felt the need to be the protector right now.

elegant

[Nixie collects: bundle of firewood, machete (sword) and full medical kit]

bailee
District Mayor

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last seen Feb 1, 2024 16:13:02 GMT -5

come snuggle bro

sunset dunes [LN@WB day one] Oct 20, 2021 14:18:13 GMT -5

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Post by bailee on Oct 20, 2021 14:18:13 GMT -5

Death was no stranger to District Twelve. Growing up in a neighbourhood so ravished with poverty and starvation had her staring in the eyes of death frequently. Bodies covered by old bed sheets, taken by the grapples of starvation or hypothermia or both were not an infrequent site in the Seam.

Yet death seemed so much more different here - she couldn't help but think about what the four cannons meant. Four. That meant besides here, there were 19 others in the way of a train ride home, 19 others who wanted to . 15 if you didn't include her alliance - although she wouldn't be surprised if Whiskey was plotting to kill her, too, judging by the glares he frequently sent in her direction.

Tsara had calmed enough for the four of them to move along into the arena. She had wondered why Tsara had been targeted in the Bloodbath - she was the youngest, perhaps they saw her as an easy target.

She looked to Whiskey, his words about Tsara's encounter with death still fresh in her mind. It was like he wanted her dead. She trusted Whiskey the least out of the three - something was off about him. He didn't fit in with the likes of them. There was no reason for him to be here - yet, here he was.

He was lucky she trusted Nixie's judgement. He did, after all, concuss Nylon Gingham before the Games even started.

"Whiskey," she looked to him as Nixie walked away to keep watch, her words gentle but subtle with a tinge of aggression. "How're you feeling?"

It would be best early on to determine whether he was worth keeping around or not.

[sinead picks up machete & medical kit]

warehouse

Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]
Administrator

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last seen Nov 5, 2024 0:27:19 GMT -5

cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

sunset dunes [LN@WB day one] Oct 20, 2021 16:25:52 GMT -5

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Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Oct 20, 2021 16:25:52 GMT -5

t s a r a .

"there's always some reason
To feel not good enough
And it's hard at the end of the day."

The ache had set in shortly after the stepped off the bridge. Nixie had done good work in that Tsara was no longer bleeding. She had stitches along her sternum - apparently that was the wound she ought to have been worried about, not her face - and bandages stuffed into her nasal cavity. She pinched it every so often as she walked, as much to feel the thrill of a fresh bout of adrenaline, as to staunch the bleeding.

To add to her discomfort, they had wandered into a desert. Ash and sand mingled on her tongue, coating it in a scratchy paste. She spat out a particularly viscous bit of grit when Nixie addressed her. "You all hanging in there alright? Tsara, you keeping up okay?"

She nodded, eyes still wide with pain and fear.

With Nixie on watch and Sinead and Whiskey talking, Tsara collapsed on the leeward side of a hill. She gathered her plastic bag close, hugging it to her chest. She offered a little prayer to any gods that were listening for her to find some pain medication and a portable air conditioner.

She unzipped it.

And sighed. "Still the same crap."

With the others occupied, Tsara set about scouring the area for anything useful. She managed to unearth a medical kit but it was lacking in anything that could quell the throbbing ache. Some wood, an empty canteen (which just further unscored how dry and hot and gross it was), and a very shiny sword. She dragged all of it to her backpack and began sorting out what she'd taken from the Cornucopia when she found a little black box.

It took her a moment. "Is it a phone?" She asked the sky.

The wind blew.

Ash fell on her eylashes.

If she hadn't been looking at the sky, she would have missed them. But there, on another hillside, two tributes scrambled. They were digging through the debris too and talking to each other, although she couldn't make out what they were saying.

Tsara hunched behind the plastic backpack, as though that would somehow keep her safe. She thought about calling out to Nixie, the black box in her hands growing slick with sweat, when one of the tributes turned around.

And she recognized Arthur Rollei.

Tsara stood up so fast she felt woozy. She waved, just once, and then thought the better of it. She didn't know anything about the other tribute, and she didn't know what her allies would think of Arthur. That she might be a danger to someone else dawned suddenly.

The box in her palm cracked.

Tsara blinked, then toggled the dials. A squeak of feedback. "Hello?" She asked as she held it to her mouth, feeling a little stupid. Was it a phone? A radio?

"This really should have come with an instruction manual," she mumbled to no one in particular.

table: elegant
lyrics: "angel" by sarah mclachlan

[Tsara collects stuff from the Dunes.]

Last Edit: Oct 20, 2021 16:39:28 GMT -5 by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]

credit umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

credit ✨ zozo.

- chars -

pogue
Graphics

1,890 POSTS

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last seen Oct 19, 2024 11:07:44 GMT -5

Is she trying to interrupt our henna session?

sunset dunes [LN@WB day one] Oct 22, 2021 14:31:32 GMT -5

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Post by pogue on Oct 22, 2021 14:31:32 GMT -5

Wiz cements his position as the outsider of their rag-tag alliance by bringing up the rear as they walk, footsteps hitting softly against the ground as they move from the bridge near the Cornucopia out towards the outer area of the arena. Their pace is a slow crawl, with Nixie leading the pack and supporting Tsara and Sinead following closely behind them. He walks in the wake of their shadows, eyes counting the spots of blood that fall from Tsara's wounds and onto the grass as they walk.

He knows he should be counting his blessings, should be thanking ripred and everything else for the fact that the four of them had managed to escape the Bloodbath alive and, for him and two others, largely unscathed. But bitterness is embedded in a Finch's veins and pessimism written all over their souls, generations and generations of watching the worst happen embedded into their memories. He can't help it, the way he knows what will come and what needs to happen in the next few hours and days.

He's like a snake swallowing a bit of its own venom whenever it bites, years and years of expecting the worst and beating it to the punch.

It's why the Finch's have survived for so long, and it's also why they're a dying breed.

The green of the Cornucopia eventually loses its life as they walk, waves and waves of endless black and red drowning out the color and replacing it with only crimson as they stumble into a new hellscape. The heat immediately clings to his skin and pulls sweat to the surface, and it's as he's swiping the back of his hand against his forehead that he hears Sinead's words hit his ears. "Whiskey," she says softly, turning to him. "How're you feeling?"

How the fuck do you think I'm feelin'?

He feels the words dance at the edge of his tongue but bites them back, all bitter and nothing sweet. "Like I'd love to have a beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other." He says, a poor man's attempt at comedy falling flat to the dead ground. The words hang between them for a moment and he feels the awkwardness, drops his gaze and drowns in his own lack of charisma.

"Thanks." He finally mutters to Sinead, stoic and cold as they walk. The words drip from his tongue and it's as if it pains him to say it, the way he diverts his gaze from her as soon as his voice hits the air and focuses in on the fields of red that span for what feels like miles around them. "For throwing Nylon off of me in the Bloodbath."

His lip throbs with what's left of Nylon's little lip biting stunt in the Bloodbath, a weak phantom that spreads softly out from the wound whenever he speaks. "She has it out for me, in more ways than one I guess." He continues, and it's instinct that runs through his veins and curls his fingers into his palms, white-knuckled fists a contrast to the bloody crimson around them.

The ash echoes and swirls around them, dry claws reaching their throats and choking out whatever little air is left swirling in their lungs. He raises his forearm up to cover his mouth, heat poking and stinging at the edges of his eyes. "We should collect what we can and leave here quick." He mutters, moving his gaze from Sinead to Tsara and watching the heat swirl around the youngster, as if threatening to take her down first.