panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two

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L△LIA
RP Tutor

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last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 6, 2022 12:37:12 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Mar 6, 2022 12:37:12 GMT -5

Withering Away of the State Street Circus Club
(arachnobat pack: 35hp, knife)

Outside rhogs rage in the streets, Sand-Hides versus Triple Horns. Theirs is an old war of gods and kings. Fearsome battlecries echo through alleyways and blood flows in the gutters like a many-armed river of madness, ever flowing. The bodies pile higher each day and still the generals rally their troops for another round of slaughter while meek commoners hide behind what little protection dirty windows and crumbling walls have left to offer.

It's not safe out there!

It's scary.

Everything is much better inside, where a troupe of arachnobats huddle around an empty fireplace, staring into flames doodled onto the stone hearth with happy little crayons. It's so cozy! And colorful! And no matter how many times the same old campfire stories are told here, the big twist will always feel new if you just try hard and believe in yourself! Yes, everything is so much better inside.

That's why the first rule of circus club is: don't tell anybody else about circus club! Everyone that is inside should stay inside and everyone that is outside should stay outside.

The newcomers clearly don't understand the rules. But how? There's only one. It's not that hard. Humans have so many fewer legs and so many fewer eyes than arachnobats, so they must have so many fewer brains too. Maybe we should be nice, someone frantically suggests as a window is pushed open and two teenyboppers tumble inside. They could have at least knocked first.

It's too late! Half of the troupe has already scrambled up to the safety of the ceiling — quivering in the designated group huddle corner — after the youngest member of their ragtag band of ruffians darted up the chimney to hide. This is why they can't have real fire! Not even for campfire story time. The building's rusty support beams creak under the sudden shift of weight.

It's only the bravest amongst them that have courage enough to hold their ground on the, well, ground, as others flee upstairs or take refuge in corrugated kitchen cabinets and armoires made out of old tin license plates. Someone hides under a recycled teeshirt quilt. The resident escape artist manages to leap down the laundry shoot into the basement, tumbling beautifully in the chute and flipping five times in midair before landing with an absolutely flawless curtsy on a broken washing machine that she promptly conceals herself inside, all eight legs tightly hugging the agitator.

Upstairs on the third floor, their special effects tech hides in the toilet, pulling the seat down in an attempt to stifle their fear-hiccups. Not again... last time was supposed to be the last time! They had decided to be braver. Why wasn't their bravery working when they went through all that effort of training up! Everybody else does daring tricks that defy gravity, but the little old loser tech team can't even look at teenyboppers without their insides getting twistier than their outsides have ever been good at. The toilet seat wobbles on its hinges with each mortified hic! Hic! Hic! At least no one would ever think to look here.

Sure, it's obvious that someone has to do something about the situation, but why does that someone always have to be the ringleader?! She's not like those brute rhogs outside. Being their acrobatic headliner was never supposed to make her a war general. Oh, gosh... Oh, gosh... Oh, gosh! She's gone and webbed herself, legs stuck to the floorboards. Again. A little help please? Anyone?

Looking frantically to the open kitchen doorway and then over to stairs promising a secondary safety route, the ringleader struggles to free herself, dramatically leaning back and forth and giving the occasional jazz hands! to trick her troupe into thinking everything is fine and dandy. Yup, that's it. So fine! So dandy! Legs wrenching free all at once, she covers with a flip and lands in a dramatic flourish... on a teenybopper's chest and face! Ahhhhhhh! Its terrible white rockfangs are right there! Some of her most beloved toe hairs are poking up into its nostrils! (Of course she plays favorite with her toe hairs. Doesn't everybody?)

It's eyes are so bizarre — just incredibly, unsettlingly tiny — as they stare each other down in a moment of shared panic. No, no. She shouldn't be speciesist. It's teenybopper eyes are just fun-sized. That's all. And maybe they used to have more, but they lost some in the rhog war! That's not their fault. Everyone has suffered horrific loss in the rhog war.

Tentatively she lifts a leg to wave hello.

The leg is red with blood! Panic!  

Is it hers?!

Is it theirs?!

No one seems to know! Shouldn't one of them know?!

A shrill spider-scream shakes the room, loosening dust from the cracked ceiling. She scrambles for freedom, but only manages to backflip into the other teenybopper.

Oh, this is bad. Sooooo bad. Perhaps the war is even bigger than they knew. Has it finally come for them? Have the arachnobats been drafted?!

[ attacks sven ]
1cXD|DXgPjknife
[ 2107 — deep gash on forehead — 9.0 damage ]

[ attacks canvas ]
knife
[ 2037 — shallow cut on left forearm -- 3.5 damage ]

knife·knife

Last Edit: Mar 6, 2022 12:43:25 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

thompson harvard - d2b - arc
Veteran Member

2,623 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Nov 16, 2024 9:33:49 GMT -5

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 6, 2022 14:20:27 GMT -5

Quote

Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Mar 6, 2022 14:20:27 GMT -5

Sleep was a hard thing to accomplish during that first night. I couldn’t - the number one rule of war was to never let your guard down. Don’t feel safe, because safety is a mask for the impending knife to enter your eye.

To fill the night, I listened to the world around us. The churning winds in the distance, the invisible forces of power that groan and churn and whistle and moan. It’s almost symbolic, maybe the winds act as the building of tension. Will the wind grow stronger as the numbers dwindle? Will the storm reach its orchestral point of suspense in the final dying moments before the victor is crowned?

If this were poetry, it would. If it was a magical movie that sent people of journeys that warmed hearts, raised arm hairs, the orchestra would guide the story. It may be a movie to them, where I’m the protagonist fighting to renew his legacy, but to me, it was life. My entire life has built up to this arena, and I can’t let anything - anyone take it from me.

The occasional grunts of a mutt passing by or sand being shifted along the ground from the push of winds. It was like an old abandoned ship, how the wind passed through rubbled ruins of the various abandoned structures in this makeshift town. It creaked like it bent to the wind, yet, amazingly, it stood strong.

Interesting how life mirrors itself.

Soon, the dark, howling winds of the night shifted to the bright sun that cooked the arena like we were to be served at a banquet. Which could be a possibility.

Fresh tribute limbs, come get em’ while they’re hot!

They won’t be mine though.

Genetic nightmares roam the arena from the sun’s welcome. They’re on the hunt. Bred and born in order to kill, like me, but they’ve been mutated in order to do so. I don’t need an extra leg for running. Or an extra horn for piercing - god would never give one such power. I had my own hands, and by that alone, I will fulfill my duty.

On our walk for the morning - Gamemakers never like it when tributes stand still - Canvas
stopped in his tracks for a moment. I didn’t see any issue, so I kept my pace. I found an elbow to my side and- ”FUCK” - jumping back to the sudden impact - ”what was that for? You could’ve said something instead of knocking the fucking wind o-” The little bitch was still dead in his tracks and now had his hand slapped against my mouth. ”Shut up.” It took every childish urge within me to not lick his hand to get it off, but that may be a weird thing to do for someone I just met.

Soon he takes his hand off and points towards a pack of mutts fighting. I guess there’s some territorial warfare going on, and we almost walked right into a pack of angry, pointed-horned sons of bitches. Okay, maybe his hand deserved to be there. Actually-

I soon locked eyes with one of the horned bastards and I knew that it was time to make a run for it. ”Canvas.” I looked right into his eyes, ”run.”

We made a break for one of the nearest buildings. Of course, all the windows on the damned thing are locked, so it’s a game of finding one to break in through. Soon, Canvas spoke up once again. ”Sven! Over here. Quick.” He had already squeezed through the window by the time I got there, and I followed suit.

”That was close, right?” I exhaled, feeling like I was letting out the air of one of those fat balloons that can carry people in the sky.

I also inhaled that exact air all at the same time once I saw what was in front of me. Spiders. Gigantic ones.”Holy shit-” With so many eyes and legs - they’re definitely not standing here to look pretty, and that was soon proven when my forehead nearly got sliced open by one of the fuckers.

How the fuck am I going to let a spider kill me? Even September would laugh at my demise.

”Alright, guess we’re not done running.” Knife out, knife swung.

”Run.” The stairs became the only option of exit - hopefully they were good to climb… hopefully there weren’t any more right around the corner.

[attacks arachnobat pack, knife]
Sr1bm_uMfEknife

knife

Knuckles
Librarian

4,984 POSTS
Pronouns: he/him
last seen Nov 22, 2024 17:06:40 GMT -5

probably flailing over something

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 7, 2022 2:07:53 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Knuckles on Mar 7, 2022 2:07:53 GMT -5

Sweat rolls from his brow with every step he takes, and sometimes Canvas stops long enough to simply wipe the tiny beads away, but it's never long enough for any sort of rest. Finding a place to hide, a place to sit down and look at the items picked up during the day is important, yet setting up a nice camp is even better. First priority is finding shade for a break from the death star sitting high in the sky.

Even now it doesn't feel like it's ever going to go away.

A parched tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Forming saliva is difficult, and it puts him in a dangerous situation, but some sort of hope lingers on. It's only natural. Something has to keep a fire lit beneath him, and maybe that's why he's falling behind. It's hard to think, hard to see, hard to do anything in this god forsaken arena. Torture only exists because it allows people to see that nothing will ever matter, and that they shouldn't have hope. Hope can go along way. Take it away, and the one thing that remains is fear.

His legs give, and he crumbles towards the ground, but it's nothing major. A break is needed, and it gives him time to look at the manual picked up during the bloodbath. It's clearly important or it wouldn't have been lying around unless it's just a tactic from the gamemakers to try to throw everyone into a frenzy over something that doesn't even matter. Maybe it has something to do with the suit he picked up not that long ago.

Yeah, that's what it's for.

Downcast eyes dart across each page taking it all in, and he only stops when another cannon echoes through the air. It's hard not to shed a tear for the deceased because it could easily be him, and Canvas knows this. Each moment he's alive is precious, it's something he may never get back, and while enjoying what little time might be left seems like an amazing idea, it's far more sorrowful than anything.

A heavy sigh leaves his chest as the sun starts setting for the night, and he puts the book away knowing it's more important to stay focused now that the night is growing strong.

Just as the moon starts shining bright, a loud howl echoes through the sky louder than any cannon could ever hope for. Grabbing the pocket knife, Canvas holds it close to his chest trying his best to remain calm. Every hair stands on end, and he knows sleep isn't going to come. Mutts are nearby, they're fighting one another making it hard to get comfortable in the sand. It's terrifying, and a frantic heart tries to break free of the cage holding it in as the night grows longer, and the fighting continues, but he never says a word to Sven. Talking isn't his strong point in life, and it's easy to think of all the mistakes he's made, and maybe befriending another tribute is one of them.

At least he won't have to die alone.

He can't help the grin that spreads across his face for it to quickly run away as the fighting between the mutts grow louder and louder until they stop. Hopefully they didn't just devour a tribute. No, they couldn't have because a cannon didn't sound.

Not long after, the anthem lights up the sky, and three faces appear. Two he saw lying lifeless on the ground in the midst of the bloodbath, but the other one caught him off guard completely, and it makes him realize that even careers aren't safe from the brutal reality of the game.

Through the night, Canvas takes the stickers and places them all over the mech suit he scavenged from the scrapyard, and then he takes the glow sticks and the wire of lights and makes his suit glow. It's not the best, but it keeps him occupied throughout the night, and it gives him something to do instead of sitting there wondering what will happen next. Then he takes the spray paint, and he sprays it through his hair then quickly runs his fingers through it to spread it evenly throughout. He has nothing better to do at the moment, and sleep isn't coming any time soon. Once it's dry, he takes the hat and places it on his head, and then he puts on his goggles unsure of why he even has them.

This is the most fun he's ever had, and nobody is around to stop him.

As the sun rises, the sand and dust sweeps through the air with every gust of wind as the storm brews in the distance. The storm is coming, it's growing - what's he talking about? The storm is here. They're living through it right now, and Canvas knows something bigger is forming, but until the gamemakers release it, he can only hope to figure out a way to survive it all.

Soon his stuff is packed, and he's following Sven.

Wide eyes focus on the buildings that seem to grow taller the closer they get to them, and for a moment they remind him of the many abandon buildings back home in the alleyways. The railroad tracks catch his attention the quickest, and he wants to go explore them, to see where they take him, but for the moment he keeps the childish whims to himself. Why would anyone want to follow him?

Nothing good can come from this.

Part of him wants to dig through the ruble and go into the different buildings and explore what's inside; however, the other part decides it's best not to because who knows what's lurking inside.

Yet he pauses for a moment hearing growls coming from ahead.

But with a shake of the head, Canvas continues on until he sees them, and then he comes to a halt. Sven keeps moving towards them, and Canvas knows they'll never survive the damage these mutts could give them. There's so many of them.

Sweat rolls from the palms of his hands, each breath catches in the back of his throat, and as he looks towards his friend, and he sees he's moving forward still. A quick sprint brings him closer, and his elbow goes into his side. "FUCK! what was that for? You could’ve said something instead of knocking the fucking wind o-"

Being loud is dangerous, and he does the only thing he can think of, and that is put his hand over Sven's mouth.

"Shut up." He whispers quietly before taking his hand and pointing towards the mutts ahead. Disturbing them isn't good, and instantly his eyes dart around trying to find place to escape the center of the streets. This isn't how he wants to die, nobody deserves this, but what can they do?

"Canvas."

He doesn't even need to know what comes next.

"Run."

Before the word leaves his lips, Canvas sprints as fast as he can towards the building, and it's hard to run against the rubble and the dirt. Every now and then his toes catch the edge of a corner and it becomes a balancing act. But each time his palms reach for a window trying to push it open, nothing happens, and for a moment it feels as though every door is locked, and that they aren't going to escape this mess.

This isn't how he wants to die.

Yet each window is failing, and in this moment he doesn't even look at Sven because the situation is dire, and his life comes before anyone else's. It's selfish of him, but this is a selfish game after all.

And then it happens, a window slides open, and he crawls through the crack inside a building.

"Sven! Over here. Quick!"

Once their both inside, a sense of relief flows through him. That was a close one. It was almost too close. He nods his head at Sven as he speaks, but then he turns around and finds himself standing face to face with a giant spider. There isn't only one spider, no, there's many of them.

His eyes widen, and he slaps his hand over his mouth to prevent him from screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Alright, guess we’re not done running."

Nope. Not even in the slightest.

Canvas pushes buttons on the mech suit trying to remember what he read from the manual the night before.

The first run took a bunch out of him, but the strength to keep going pushes him forward as he aims the cannon at the spiders hoping to put some distance between them.

"I fucking hate spiders." He says between breaths as he runs towards the stairs afraid of what might come next.

credit to griffin <3

canvas attacks arachnobat pack
cxHybP7|Bathrowing axe

10044 -- Axe in Hand -- 8 damage +1 target practice

throwing axe

Last Edit: Mar 7, 2022 2:09:40 GMT -5 by Knuckles

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

L△LIA
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BOOM SH△KALAKA

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 8, 2022 12:43:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Mar 8, 2022 12:43:28 GMT -5

Withering Away of the State Street Circus Club
(arachnobat pack: 17/35hp, knife)

The fly tamer is having a rather fantastic day, if he does say so himself. Last night he managed to curl up just right in the sweetest little upstairs nook, blocking out most of the death keening of the fallen rhog soldiers outside, and oversleeping well into the morning. Oversleeping is just the best. Pure luxury! No better feeling in the whole world, he reckons. The grogginess of a new day makes his brain feel all fluffy and when he finally gets up to make his way towards the bathroom, his stumbliness looks as though he's attempting an interpretive dance with too many feet.

Ha! As if there could be such a thing as too many feet.

Knock-knock! The bathroom is occupied. Nobody better be trying to steal from his fly traps. Not again. Flies are friends, not food! How is he ever gonna get his act ready to go if his friends keep snacking on his other friends? It took SO LONG to scavenge the miniature golden hoops and an itsy bitsy firecracker cannon to launch his proteges through them. The least everyone could do is let him fire off one little fly before letting hunger get the best of them.

Apparently he's not the only one trying to get in line for the bathroom.

Turning around to see what all the rush is about, the sight of two robot-teenybopper hybrids thundering up the stairs brings up terrible flashbacks of the days before the circus club found their forever home here — memories of a HellKat 09 squadron cornering them in a Junkwall deadend and batting them around like oversized katnip toys for days. No! Not again! Never again!

  Panic-stricken, he immediately crashes into a stash of spray paint cans. The cans rattle down the stairs, caps popping off and nozzles spritzing neon paint and glitter with every bump. Color arcs through the air, bright and friendly, and it's a nice enough sight for the fly tamer to gather his wits back. Someone cheers from below, like he did it all on purpose and... yeah! Yeah, he totally did that on purpose! You're welcome, everyone!

If their circus club can survive HellKat 09's then scaring off HellTeenybopper 02's should be easy peasy.

Scuttling about with purpose, he sends more spray paint cans tumbling down the stairs, knocking a rusty bucket of nails over for good measure. Some of the corroded cans pop against the nails and suddenly the arcs of spayed color are dotted with little booms of paint explosions. This is good! He should totally put something like this in his act!

Impressed by the spectacle of bravery, the club's aerial silks trio rushes across the ceiling, coming in as reinforcements. Dropping down with perfectly practiced precision, they whirl artfully through the air on silken cords. Such twisting! Such turning! It's a marvelous sight. Their bodies turned into wrecking balls, they do their best to knock the teenage machines back, fur flecked with glitter and dazzling swirls of rainbow paint.

This, too, should definitely go in their act! He thinks about looking for a crayon to try to write all these ideas on a wall somewhere so he doesn't forget, but he hasn't quite figured how to get crayons to do much besides roll around on the ground, so maybe he'll come back to that later. It's probably better to focus up right now! Time to put all that oversleeping energy to good use and spin some tripwire webs down the hall. Yeah! That'll really get everyone cheering!

[ attacks sven ]
MkBsSqzvVBknife
[ miss ]

[ attacks canvas ]
knife
[ 2133 — deep gash on left bicep — 8.0 damage ]

knife·knife

Last Edit: Mar 8, 2022 14:25:59 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

thompson harvard - d2b - arc
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last seen Nov 16, 2024 9:33:49 GMT -5

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 8, 2022 15:15:57 GMT -5

Quote

Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Mar 8, 2022 15:15:57 GMT -5

As soon as the stairs become the plan of exit, it’s almost mechanically programmed that a ton of cans of air paint come tumbling down the staircase. We become a part of the freak show within a freak show. I start to wonder that there’s some sort of gas that was released by us entering the house. Like we weren’t supposed to come in, and coming in was a deathtrap. The Capitol laced the building with some sort of gas that makes us hallucinate - like seeing giant spiders and stumbling over cans of paint as we try to flee up the stairs. The various colors dusting the air, splattering the walls and stairs and railing and entering through the various, light cracks of broken machine start to be the only thing I can smell. It’s a really weird smell. Is that the gas? Were we just poisoned?

The rolling paint cans reach the bottom of the stairwell (was that a cheer?) Followed by another grumbling of cans as they begin their second descent down Mt. Circusstairs.

Am I about to get killed by paint cans? Why are these spiders so big? Do spiders even make sounds? What the fuck was that sound?

There’s no room to think of what will happen to me. Well, that’s the main thing that’s got me here. Maybe the thought of what I should do will be more helpful. We - Canvas and I - have got to think quick. I know I didn’t spend my entire life looming over September getting killed by a knife to the eye for me to die from a bunch of dog sized spiders.

We reach the top of this staircase to see a trio of these spiders slowly sliding down a set of silks. The muses of spiders, or whatever, maybe. I don’t know. Muses weren’t a thing I read into in that penthouse, okay? The trio was whirling and swirling and twirling down those soft silks, trying to distract us, I presume.

”What the fuck is this place?” I exhale, looking over at Canvas in disbelief. I turn around to make my way down the hallway - maybe there was a door we could try to block ourself into. Taking the first door to the left that I see, I try to open it. It’s locked. Maybe that means something good is in there. It has to be, right? Pressing a few buttons that I think does what I want, there’s soon a success when the robotic leg hikes up and kicks the door down. Inside is a spider sitting on the toilet. Reading some old magazine from the 67th.

What the fuck?

The spider sitting there looks up in disbelief, I guess knocking would have been more appropriate, but god I don’t care.

Which leg do they even use to wipe?

Whatever- we’re here fighting for our lives, not wiping for our lives.

[attacks arachnobat pack, knife]
3XJIpZiE1aknife

4.0

knife

Last Edit: Mar 8, 2022 15:19:46 GMT -5 by thompson harvard - d2b - arc

Knuckles
Librarian

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last seen Nov 22, 2024 17:06:40 GMT -5

probably flailing over something

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 8, 2022 22:34:24 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Knuckles on Mar 8, 2022 22:34:24 GMT -5

Each stride towards the stairs brings him one step closer to freedom, at least that's what he wants to believe, but Canvas isn't sure what waits upstairs. Truthfully, he isn't wanting to find out, yet his legs carry him forward. These spiders are huge, and for a moment, he looks at the window and outside are the mutts. It's almost like they're waiting for them to return, and he wonders if his odds against them are better than these creepy crawlers.

Only he can't think this way.

What's done is done, and now he's climbing the stairs only to stop in his tracks the moment another giant spider appears at the top. Freedom isn't here, it's not going to exist, they're never going to find it. But it can't be that bad right?

Wrong.

The clumsy crawler stumbles into a box, and cans of spray paint tumble down the stairs heading towards them full speed ahead. That's not the worst of it, no. Several cans burst open, and it's as though he fell into some sort of comical nightmare where spiders become interior designers. Vibrant colors spew through the air covering the ceiling, the walls, the floors, the handrails to the stairs, and him. It's hard not to stand back and enjoy the art as it's being created, and for a moment, Canvas wants to turn back towards the angry mutts waiting outside the window.

It would be much quicker, and getting out of this freak show they ventured into is better than nothing.

Right?

Shaking his head, Canvas steps up another step only placing his foot on one of the cans, and his feet fly above his head and he lands hard on the ground knocking the wind out of him. Must've jarred his head too cause he swears the giant spiders are cheering or something.

What the fuck is this?

Kicking a couple cans, he pushes himself into a standing position once more and starts climbing the stairs again only for another assault, and once again becomes part of a fashion show only they're ruining everything. What's the purpose? Why make such a mess?

Should've learned to pay attention though because another can ends up under his foot only this time Canvas falls forward onto the nails the creepy crawlers knocked over. Is that blood dripping down his arm? Is it red paint?

Who knows!

Canvas shrugs his shoulders and makes it to the top of the stairs only for spiders to fall down before him bopping him in the face. A bloodcurdling scream leaves his lips, and deep inside he knows it won't do any good, but he can't help it between the fear and the buffoonery going on. It's the worst way possible to die.

Taking a deep breath, shaky hands push two of the spiders out of his way bonking them together hoping to stun them because it'll give him a chance to find Sven. But every hair stands on end knowing he just touched eight legged freak, but this is what he needs, not to mention it gives him a chance to see what other sorts of chaos is awaiting them.

"What the fuck is this place?" Sven asks, and for once Canvas doesn't have an answer, but it's clearly a reality, and he can see it now as all of Panem watches them walk down the runway created by some freak spiders.

"I..." He stops because there isn't an answer. "I don't know."

Wiping the paint away from his face, his eyes watch as Sven kicks down a door, and looking inside, Canvas can't help but take a step back. "Is this some sort of dream?" His eyes wide as the question leaves his lips.

Maybe it's the paint.

A shrug of the shoulders is all he needs, and Canvas aims the cannon at a box of paint and nails. Maybe it'll help him, maybe this will push them further away. Maybe it'll bring them closer to freedom, yet it's hard to see the buttons beneath the paint. Hopefully it's this one.

Otherwise they're all likely doomed.

credit to griffin <3

canvas attacks arachnobat pack
LCysSMruLlthrowing axe

{10144 -- Deep Gash on Calf -- 8 damage + 1 target practice}

throwing axe

Last Edit: Mar 8, 2022 22:35:03 GMT -5 by Knuckles

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

L△LIA
RP Tutor

3,574 POSTS

last seen Jun 24, 2019 15:25:10 GMT -5

BOOM SH△KALAKA

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 9, 2022 15:59:45 GMT -5

Quote

Post by L△LIA on Mar 9, 2022 15:59:45 GMT -5

Withering Away of the State Street Circus Club
(arachnobat pack: 4/35hp, knife)

While this certainly is quite the story, it truly wasn't the kind of adventure the circus club had in mind when huddling up for story time this morning. The teenyboppers who've broken into their home rage up the stairs, bonking the aerial silks performers into one another hard enough that their cords snap and they go tumbling down the steps, tangled up in their own webbing. The fly tamer dramatically leaps onto the banister to slide down after them, waving the ringleader over to help roll them away to the safety of the basement. (Tumbling down one more flight of stairs should be okay, they hope! The first fall didn't look so bad, despite the rusty nails and small explosions...) The escape artist will know the best way to free the silks team from their own restraints.

Seeing an opportunity for escape, the arachnobats who had hidden in the chimney and the kitchen cabinets run to join them. One by one they scurry to shelter, closing the door behind them and swiftly working to barricade it shut by piling up old mop buckets, laundry baskets, and whatever else they're able to find hoarded away in the basement. Anyone stranded on the upper levels of the building will surely discover their hideout sooner or later, sneaking down the laundry chute or through the ventilation system. They'll be okay! Yes, everyone will be okay... right?

Upstairs the bathroom door is kicked down in a burst of splinters and snapped hinges. Objectively it's an incredible entrance and the special effects tech would be in awe if they weren't so utterly terrified. They should learn how to make things crack and fragment like that!

At some point hiding inside the toilet started to feel like overkill, even for them. The door was closed nice and tight and it would be far more comfortable to take a relaxing seat and browse the conveniently located reading material while waiting out whatever was happening outside of the bathroom. Sure, their fear-hiccups hadn't stopped yet (Hic!), but sitting on the toilet instead of inside of it was a big bravery step for them! Their fur had just started to dry a bit when the door burst apart. At least the magazine helped to shield their eyes from most of the shrapnel.

HIC! HIC! HIC!

Oh gosh, here they go again! Dropping back down into the toilet, the magazine flutters to the floor and the arachnobat squishes into the bowl enough to pull the lid down for a little bit of extra protection. It's immediately obvious that it won't be enough. These teenyboppers are robotically enhanced! They're total nightmare fuel! The tech specialist takes a not-so-calming breath and tries to think strategically. They can get out of here if they're smart enough and being smart at things is what they're best at! Everybody else might be extra good at flips and daredevil tricks, but they're the one who figured out how to push the button on the lighter to make the fireworks go BOOM! They're the one who discovered the secrets to doorknobs and light switches! No one is better at compensating for not having thumbs than the special effects tech; it's how they proudly earned their title.

This should be easy! Except for the part where everything feels super duper hard.

If only the fireworks stash were stored in the bathroom. Why wouldn't they store fireworks in the bathroom? Obviously that's the most sensible place! If they make it out of this then they're definitely reorganizing EVERYTHING.

Sometimes the special effects tech fantasizes about being a daredevil, even though they've never told anybody this. If they know all of the stuff there is to know about fire effects and the math behind trajectories or other stuff like that then it's only sensible that someday they become the one who is best at applying all of their knowledge to action. Maybe today is finally that day.

Okay.

Yeah!

It's today, it's definitely today. It has gotta be today. Yeahyeahyeah! Rah rah! Hyping themselves up, yeah, hyping themselves up! Just adjust jumping momentum to compensate for being all wet again and multiply that by their desperation to get out of here and then you get... oh, you definitely get something. But what? Golly! What do you get?!

Not enough time to think anything through properly, that's what.

Ohhhhhhhhhh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no! They know what that means. The time has come to improvise! They really hate improvising. It's so much scarier than having a tidy, well-practiced, and reliable plan. Plans are the best. Making stuff up as they go along is the worst.

The rusty metal toilet seat clatters loudly as the special effects tech leaps out from their hiding spot, making a desperate vault for the ceiling. Murky old water splatters out in all directions, dripping down the walls and the half-metal, half-fleshy faces of their teenybopper aggressors. Muddled strings of webbing spit through the air in little sputters, fear clenching their muscles up too tightly to get any good silk going. It's pretty embarrassing, but at least it gives the teenyboppers something to struggle with as the arachnobat scurries toward the doorway. Something is definitely better than nothing.

If they weren't so wet then they probably could have pulled the whole thing off pretty well, but it turns out that gripping the ceiling is really hard with slippery feet! Urgh, they know better than this. This wasn't smart at all...

Dropping downwards, they aim their body at the light switch, clawing around in a mad grab for the tiny lever, and manage to successfully plunge the bathroom into darkness. This totally works better than the ceiling idea! Except for the part where the teenyboppers glow in the dark. How are they doing that?! The special effects tech really, really wants to know how they've achieved phosphorescence and if it's possible for arachnobats to glow in the dark too, but this obviously isn't the time to admire their luminosity skills or the extremely cute little stickers dotting their ghastly mechanical bodies.

Bouncing off the wall, they roll backwards on the fallen door. Seizing hold of the doorknob with half of their legs, they use its rotation to spin back around and launch themselves right through the legs of the teenyboppers, pinballing between their calves until the arachnobat ricochets out into the hallway and sweet, sweet freedom.

Now that... that was extremely cool of them! Their scream of fear turns into something more like adrenaline or possibly even genuine excitement. They're doing it! They're really doing it! What could be more daredevil than this? Nothing! That's what. WOOHOOOOOOOOO!

Rolling to a halt, the options suddenly feel endless. Up? Down? Left? Right? Where do they go now?!

They make a choice that only a special effects tech could.

Spying expended cannon ammo scattered across the floor, the special effects tech curls up into a ball next to one. Making themselves as small as they can, they fluff their damp hair out into their own attempt at matching spikes and will their body to mimic the ammo as best it can. Ha ha! Camouflage. Hiding in plain sight is a total stroke of genius, except for the part where they're laughably larger than the little landmines are. Not realizing that makes things both better and worse. It sure feels like a great idea, but it definitely doesn't look like one.

With their eyes squeezed shut, all they know is how they feel and how they feel is like this is definitely gonna work. This is a super smart idea and they're definitely the smartest arachnobat there is!

[ attacks sven ]
WVY6m3Hj7Oknife
[ 2011 — shallow cut on right calf — 3.5 damage ]

[ attacks canvas ]
knife
[ 2062 — deep gash on left forearm — 8.0 damage ]

knife·knife

Last Edit: Mar 9, 2022 16:01:09 GMT -5 by L△LIA

( C H A R A C T E R S )

thompson harvard - d2b - arc
Veteran Member

2,623 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Nov 16, 2024 9:33:49 GMT -5

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 10, 2022 11:48:16 GMT -5

Quote

Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Mar 10, 2022 11:48:16 GMT -5

The body of the spider inside of the intruded bathroom gave a light jolt, and a hic followed. Now, I can only imagine this is one of two things. It’s either the hiccups or a bomb. This is a war field created in order to kill us, so my brain immediately connects it to a bomb. But maybe the little eight legged shit is actually hiccuping - this building is like a fever dream at this rate.

Canvas is also equally confused by the clusterfuck appearing in front of our eyes, but we can’t find any other words than that. The spider-thing quickly latches itself inside the toilet, hoping that the shell of a bowl with a lid will provide a safe haven. Which, given that there’s not much of a hand to open the bowl with, is a pretty smart idea. These spiders have the ability to slide down silks, close lids, use bathrooms in the first place, coordinate attacks… it’s as if they’re fucking mechanics. Like if I were to pour water on them they’d start to short circuit. But obviously they’re not because one of them just voluntarily took a dive into dirty toilet water.

Gross.

Something about the spider then coming back up out of the tolet, dripping the dirty murky water nto the tributes. Landing on the floor, catapulting between the legs, and into the hallway. More chaos. Sven is still thinking “what kind of cocaine did they feed these spiders”

sumn sumn I don't know how I'm fighting a freakshow within the freakshow, but I guess we're all freaks putting on a show anymore. A dirty, disgusting, blood splattering show.

The show goes on, I guess.

[attacks arachnobat pack, knife]
i_iTHwOJJPknife

knife

Last Edit: Mar 12, 2022 0:09:18 GMT -5 by thompson harvard - d2b - arc

Knuckles
Librarian

4,984 POSTS
Pronouns: he/him
last seen Nov 22, 2024 17:06:40 GMT -5

probably flailing over something

panic! at the circus :: cansven vs arachnobats, day two Mar 11, 2022 16:44:28 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Knuckles on Mar 11, 2022 16:44:28 GMT -5

For a moment he stands perfectly still with his mouth to the floor. Must be something in the air, yeah, that's the only thing possible because Canvas swears a spider is sitting on a toilet reading a magazine of sorts. But why?

No, not why.

How?

And it takes another second to even realize that his eyes aren't playing tricks on him.

This isn't a fun house, it's not something found in carnivals. Who would want to see something like this? But it's all coming to an end, and Canvas just stands there watching the giant spiders leap from the toilet to the ceiling, and part of him wants to scream again. Are they afraid of them? Are they just as scared as they are? They're the ones created to kill, yet the tributes are made to kill too.

Perhaps they aren't so different.

Webbing shoots from the spiders, and Canvas ducks and dodges and tries to hide from it all. It still manages to cover his face. It's stickier than he ever imagined, and it's hard to remove, hard to get rid of, and a frantic mind starts screaming for something to happen.

Then the lights go out.

What is going on? What is this place?

Shaking his head, he turns towards Sven wondering if he's seeing the exact same thing he is. Spiders the size of dogs, on toilets, reading magazines, flying through the air, it's something beyond any sort of reality.

"I think I've had enough for one day." Canvas speaks through the darkness after finally freeing himself of the webbing the spiders shot at him. "I'm going to get out of here."

A heavy sigh leaves his chest as he moves towards the door, and then his eyes see the mess for the first time. Spray cans and nails cover the stairs, and it's nearly impossible to know where to set a foot before moving another. One wrong movement could send him tumbling.

But then he looks at the window, and thankfully the mutts have passed by.

Entering here wasn't what he expected, but it gave him something more. Everything is possible in the midst of the hunger games even if he doesn't want them to be.

credit to griffin <3