The Bloodbath

gamemaker kelsier
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last seen Nov 21, 2024 1:19:21 GMT -5

“And now that you don't have to be perfect, you can be good.” - steinbeck

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:10 GMT -5

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Post by gamemaker kelsier on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:10 GMT -5

The stillness holds you in its metal cocoon, silver fingers holding you in the space between the surface and below from whence you came. You hear nothing in the silence except the sound of your own breathing. Nothing happens for a long moment- perhaps they have forgotten you? Then finally, your elevator shutters back to life and you ascend.

As you break the surface, you see stone flooring cracked and broken up by moss and grasses growing through the cracks. Afternoon sun cascades into the grand room that you find yourself in through large window frames, angry shards of stained glass still clinging to the edges. Between the windows, enormous tapestries hang, worn and dirtied by what must be time’s cruel gaze. At the very end of the hall stands a throne, your destiny awaits you at its feet.

A countdown begins. Remember, time will never be on your side here and the longer you stand still, the more you stand to lose.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1…

The steady and smooth note of a trumpet fills the throne room, your arrival has been heralded.

Go.

Happy Bloodbath Day, Tributes, and welcome to the 98th Hunger Games arena! Your Gamemakers are excited to welcome you in! First and foremost, we would like to encourage each and every one of you to read the rules, as it makes life a lot easier for everyone when all parties involved are aware of the rules and expectations. Please note rules.

For smooth operation of the bloodbath, please be aware of the following:

1. You must wait TEN MINUTES between each of your posts. This counts for every post. This means 10 minutes between your intro and your first attack, 10 minutes between each of your attacks, and 10 minutes between your last attack and your flee post.

2. In order to verify this, you must quote your previous post at the beginning of each new post (exception, intro)

2. a. It is possible to edit the timestamp of your quoted post to make it look like you posted earlier than you did. This is considered cheating. This will not be tolerated. Anyone tribute caught doing this will sustain +20 damage and will have their attack/flee invalidated.

2. b. Please start each post (before any tables) with your tribute's name, what attack number this is, and, at the end, whatever the dice code you roll is. For example: [Arbor Halt, attack 3, 2069].

2. c. When you quote your previous post, please delete EVERYTHING besides the tribute's name, attack number, and dice code (as given above)

3. Other rules about bloodbath combat still stand:
- You must wait until at least three other people have posted before you can post again
- If you are in an alliance of three, you must wait until someone outside your alliance has posted before you can post again
- You can only be attacked THREE times between each of your posts
- Your first post must be an intro with no attacks in it
- Your first attack post must be unarmed before you can claim a weapon
- You may not attack in your fleeing post
- If you have a broken or severed leg or leg part, you may not flee without the aid of another tribute, who must also flee. Alternatively, you may flee on your own using three separate flee posts instead of one.
- Once you flee, you may not re-enter the bloodbath
- Fillers are not allowed
- All dice codes must be immediately obvious, even if you are using a table. Either put it beneath the table entirely, or make it easily accessible.
- You must specify who you're attacking
- All items - including weapons - that are picked up by a tribute can be claimed by the tribute’s killer

ANY violations of these rules will result in an additional 8 damage dealt to the offending tribute.

Each tribute's damage will be updated on the Hunger Games Engine, so pay attention and don't forget to refresh the page!

To clarify, the Wealth also includes any unclaimed items. In order to be eligible for the Wealth a tribute must post within the first 10 minutes OR be within the first 19 to post.

Turn order will be instituted at the end of the Bloodbath (at the discretion of the Gamemakers, when it's clear only a few alliances are fighting for the Wealth).

Good luck Tributes and may the odds be ever in your favor.

Today's Weather

The days still cling to warmth even as the the season turns to autumn, the nights are cool, and the cold seeps in.
Temperature: 59°F | 15°C
Humidity: 70%

Items Lists
Located here

Good luck tributes, and may the odds be ever in your favor.

compendium / avriel
clown car / pietro
2022 tracker / 2023 tracker / 2024 tracker

Cato
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I wish Cato didnt die

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:18 GMT -5

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Post by Cato on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:18 GMT -5

Noah Vau | District 2 | Intro

This morning is horrible. I overslept, I'm being rushed, and all it's doing is making me more apprehensive. I rush myself to get out the door, and I rush myself to the roof to get onto the hovercraft. All it does is ruin my morning and put me in a worse mood. I had a plan. I wanted to stretch and exercise a bit before this all began, but it went down the drain. Maybe having the extra sleep will help me some, but I don't know. All I can think about is the painful death I'm potentially facing. I think about killing others. I think about everything that comes with the games, and I wish I was back in district two because I don't think I'm cut out for this. I'm not a typical career, and this terrifies me.

As I stand underground, I look around and do some quick stretches to make sure I'm loose and limber before entering the arena, and then I stand on the metal platform. My heart is in my throat, and I want to get out of this. I'm confident in my ability to use self defense, but I know in this place, it can only get me so far. It'll only do a little bit to keep me going. It might give me one more day, but it wont bring me home. It won't give me a crown. I sigh as I rise into the arena. Every hair is standing, and I'm afraid I'm going to fall over. I focus and breathe and try to do what I can, but I'm still absolutely terrified, and I'm not sure if I can make it any better.

I look at the arena taking it all in, and I just stand there eyes wide. It's so beautiful. It's deceiving, and I know it's going to be my worst nightmare. I shake my head and run my hands along my arms trying to stop them from shaking. I need to remain calm so I can think. I need to remain focused to get through this. I want to make it home, to do everything in my power to wear this crown. I know I might not succeed, but I don't want to die. How can anyone want this? I take a deep breath as the countdown reaches zero, and the gong sounds. It's a madhouse, and I don't know what to do. Do I stay or go? Do I live or die? Only time will tell.

Noah enters the bloodbath

[nyte]
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oof

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:20 GMT -5

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Post by [nyte] on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:20 GMT -5

[maverick hale d5 | intro]

I find my courage when no one else is watching. With my ear on Brad's chest, listening to breaths whistle and hearts mumble, so steady in sleep. I commit the symphony to memory. Something dies tomorrow, be it us or innocence. And it's strange because I'm still waiting for the regret to sink in. I have placed my head beside his, under the looming blade. I shouldn't find such peace in the moments before it falls.

Really, I'm just sorry I can't save him.

I wonder why that's a familiar feeling.

The morning comes, I hold his hand until they pull them apart. I don't tell him it'll be okay, if only because he might actually believe the lie. It's not the first time we've been apart in the training center, but it's the first time his absence carries weight. Anxiety is near indistinguishable from anger when it's this violent.

They dress me up, (don't touch me! i'll do it myself) and I get shoved against a wall for being difficult. They gel curls back behind my ears, so that I don't have the comfort of hiding my face from the cameras. Every time I pull against the strings they've sewn I get another bruise.

But they let me walk myself into the elevator and that feels like a little victory.

When I break the surface of the arena, for a minute, I'm not too sure what I'm seeing. It's like reality has upended and I've become ink on yellowed parchment. Castles do not exist in Panem, this is a cruel mockery. To pretend that this death is noble, that we fight alongside knights.

But I'll wax poetic about the injustice of it all later - my life has a timer.

It's time to start running.

[maverick enters the bloodbath]

Last Edit: Oct 12, 2024 10:00:53 GMT -5 by [nyte]

the m o o n controls the t i d e, it could cause you to d r o w n

Knuckles
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probably flailing over something

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:21 GMT -5

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Post by Knuckles on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:21 GMT -5

Kristof Parks | Intro

The morning flew by, and now he feels more alone, like everything is falling apart, and now he struggles to keep himself going. He takes a deep breath, pushing himself out of bed knowing resisting will only end badly. Yet he wants nothing more than to run away, to escape, to find somewhere to hide, but he'd never do that to his family. Kristof sighs and paces around before getting dressed and follows every command, and before he knows it, he's in the hovercraft heading away from the Capitol.

Everything feels unreal, and now everything feels uneasy, and his mind races rapidly. He keeps to himself, doesn't say anything, and looks at the floor. Maybe it's for the best. Maybe it'll help him stay alive a little bit longer. It's important, and now, now his mind comes crashing down. He takes a deep breath and calms himself without a care in the world. It hurts, but it's enough to keep himself going.

He stands in the catacombs.

He drinks water and then takes his place and rises into the arena.

He looks around and his eyes grow wide. It's a fairytale. Something out of his dreams, the stories he wants to tell. It's incredible, and he knows it's going to be a war.

Kristof sighs and decides the best thing to do. He takes a breath and watching the countdown get closer to zero, and now, he doesn't know where to go or what to do. None of this really matters anyway.

And then it's time; and he hesitates for just a moment figuring out the best thing to do. It might help to stay behind, but he knows that the games have only begun.

Kristof enters the bloodbath

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

ryan
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over the moon, where all the wild things are

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:22 GMT -5

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Post by ryan on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:22 GMT -5

[pearl mcclain | intro]

she is still just a little salty that the game makers werent a fan of her training session. oh well. she thought she had done a good job diving underwater and making them a pearl necklace by hand. she left it with the trainers, it wasnt that important to her.

she was more focused on getting into the arena. she took a deep breath, the air starting to feel just a little too thick as she was taken out of her room at the training center and placed in front of a large spread of food. she watched as avoxs had begun to pour her coffee and place food on her plate. she ate reluctantly, but the moment she had just enough coffee down, her hand had "slipped" the mug falling to the ground and shattering.

she always would feel proud of herself for that one.

she did not wish florie luck, in fact, if she could, she would have wished that she stepped on a piece of glass as soon as she walked off the platform. that was going to be the rivalry to watch during the games. she already knew it.

flying from the training center to wherever the fuck they wound up happened quicker than she expected. maybe they had moved things around this year... or maybe they were just slacking. whatever it was, pearl wasnt going to let it keep her mood from staying the same. she was chosen this time around for this, and she wasnt going to lose focus.

the outfit had been an odd choice, but pearl did start thinking about what could be waiting for her as soon as the stylist had put it on her. she had to admit, it looked good on her, which probably meant that floerntia looked more like a rat than she already did. she smiled at that one as the stylist had whisked her into the tube.

as she ascended, she focused on everything in front of her passion for making it out of this thing alive. when she saw everyone on the platforms around her, she just thought that she needed to make it out of this alive.

she had a game plan, and the clock started ticking down.

she thought about how proud her mother would be for her getting to this point. she had done the work, she was ready for slaughter.

she just had to make sure that everyone knew that she wasnt the pig.

no.

as the clock counted down.

she was the wolf.

she was the survivor.

[pearl enters bb]

thompson harvard - d2b - arc
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The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:25 GMT -5

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Post by thompson harvard - d2b - arc on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:25 GMT -5

[thompson harvard, intro]

A three?

Thompson scoffs once again, laying in bed and staring up at the ceiling. He personally thought he deserved better than a 3, but apparently that’s all he was. Low-scoring music performances. Unfortunately for the Capitol, Thompson was still planning on bringing the flute into the arena. He’d soften the amount of time spent playing it, though. The boy had to retain some sort of dignity - that flute was no way of managing it. The first step of managing that dignity was actually living.

The day of the bloodbath arrived, and the boy was admittedly scared. Thompson had learned over he course of the pre-games is that he was absolutely not fit to fight. Maybe with a bow, he could fight from a distance, but he ain’t gonna walk in with that luxury. Thompson’s got hands only for that first small bit of the Games. That probably won’t fare well for him. Maybe that’s what would make him easy to be overlooked. Thompson can’t fight, wouldn’t you rather face the bitch than the lion at the end of all of this?

He pats his legs, feeling the billowy breaches that they gave him. There’s a flow to them, the one that makes fabric dance in the wind. It rests at his waist, with a tucked-in royal-purple-colored blouse. A brown-and-cream short-sleeved tunic covered that, with a pair of small sandals to cover his feet. He’s supposed to run in these? He can only imagine the blisters that are about to form. If anything, he’s a peasant at best, which fits with the district. They are shit.

He holds his breath and says his goodbye to the stylist who has been so kind to him the entire time. They probably see him as a dead puppy. They look at him with a sadness, a coo lays within their pupils. They don’t think he’s got a single damn chance. Not that Thompson disagrees, but now he just wants to help the people that do have a chance. He’s the knight’s peasant - whether August or Tsiuri - they’re the knights; he’s their peasant to toss to the streets. Thompson has always been good at helping, which feels like a good omen.

A blinding arc of sunlight replaces the low hum of the machine. It smells… fresh, somehow. Tall, white walls with crumbles torn into the sides. There’s a panel of colored glass windows, making the floors glisten with a hopeful palette that shouldn’t exist. At the front of this abandoned throne room is a chair with items scattered around it. He knows what he has to do - serve his knights.

The first part of that is to avoid dying, though.

[thompson enters]

Tom
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OowoO

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:30 GMT -5

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Post by Tom on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:30 GMT -5

[Kingston Cesaire D3A | Intro]

K I N G S T O N
C É S A I R E
♕ ♕ ♕ ♕ ♕

Morning comes like a mourning; the death peering endlessly through his bedroom windows where the scenes of everyday people reside. The sun gleaming down against the bedside table where Kingston Cesaire's last wishes remain; a note to hope that Klaus will find when all of this is over. The last dying breaths of a boy who was one of the greatest minds; he stands in the mirror hoping the dark circles aren't as noticeable. Panem would be watching today; with endless eyes and quiet whispers. Enough of a metaphorical cutlass against his skin waiting to cut through him, this was it.

Breakfast is empty; there's no conversation with Esther. He's eerily quiet; mind always running. Gears turning over and over and over again. Friends weren't easy to make when it comes to him. Too many people see him as just a mind to hone, to control, to outwit. Perhaps, he should've worked more on his social skills, but he's never been outspoken in a way that's meaningful. Instead, he played with the computers all over the Capitol. Screens across every surface as if he couldn't stop himself from seeing how each of them worked. Ripped apart and put back together. Piece by piece, he learned the technical aspect of Panem's progress.

Three was a crime in comparison to the capitol. There's nothing more dated than his old laptop back home where he can still remember the way his hands couldn't quite keep up with his mind. The Capitol was a gold mine in comparison with their massive technological advances. What he would give to study more and more of it. The creations he could've made with any of this, but instead he's here. Shuffled around a room where people start to plaster him in an outfit he'd already seen previously.

The pirate outfit fitted him too perfectly; measurements having been taken too many days ago for him to truly care about what he's wearing now. They start to shuffle him into a blouse that's too worn; a coat that hangs over his thighs. The buckles start to click and the empty sheath hangs from his back. The boots he wears are leather and perfectly sized, but he can see the empty sheath for some sort of small knife that could be fit into the side of his boot. A laugh wants to echo from his chest, but he holds it in as he stands there endlessly amused knowing it'll be the only time he could be amused without being analyzed.

Soon enough, he rises. A slow and steady rise as he prays to the gods he doesn't believe in for an arena he could handle. As the slow crawl happens, he can feel his brow lined with sweat, his heart beating out of his chest. There's a slow crawl until he's finally adjusting to the light of the room. A castle. Remnants of pillars. Images of beautiful colors as a sort of king is crowned in some way; he can't quite make out the angle as he's behind some of the pillars and having his view obstructed from the full image. Banners hang down and he's only noticed the way they sit with colors and decay. The destruction of a place so beautiful and yet too perfectly destroyed. Like a story waiting to be uncovered.

Kingston Cesaire only can't stop himself from whispering in reaction to the sight.

"Fuck. There's no tech."

It's ridiculous to think about now, but he can't stay on the thought.

The time goes down and all he can feel are his feet and the sound of the timer. There's no time to lose focus.

It was do or die.

The fuse was lit.

Either he blows up in an explosion of his doom or rises to the top with a crown on his head.

The sound goes.

He runs.

(Kingston Cesaire Enters)

Made by umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay
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The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:30 GMT -5 via mobile

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Post by revel latimer, 11b 🔍 jay on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:30 GMT -5

revel latimer | intro

You believe they dressed you as they see you - as they see everyone from the lower districts: below them, wriggling bugs underneath their shiny, new boots.

It makes you sneer at your reflection in the glass, the tube enclosing around you. Your hands grab at the loose tweed fabric, almost wanting to rip it off your lanky frame. Even if it was just an added "fuck you" to the Gamemakers. You might play their game, swing a sword, draw blood, and take a life. But you won't give them a show.

And that pains a part of you. You've always had a candle of a flare for dramatics - prolonging one of your (~~ultimately unfounded~~) investigations just to wring out one last detail and entertaining the ghost stories spreading around Eleven, despite claiming you only deal with reality. But the truth is you'd chase down any lead if it actually led anywhere. Because P.D. Revel Latimer has no discoveries under their belt, just inquiries and questions and dead bodies that you're not even allowed to examine.

It's all just a game, like this one. But this - this is real. And you've promised yourself that you'd survive. That and nothing more. You won't exaggerate your own death, or another's. You won't have a monologue as your flesh is separated from your skin.

You'd keep your humanity, whatever of it left you have.

revel enters the bloodbath

minie
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The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:30 GMT -5

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Post by minie on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:30 GMT -5

[Tsiuri Dermott D11a | Intro]

The outfit was plain in comparison to the one I wore during the opening ceramony. The frills and intricate patterns replaced with a simple whiteshirt tucked into a long dark skirt. An outfit that I had worn moe than often at home. Despite the plain nature, it was a quality that I had not experienced before, feeling soft against my skin. A cold embrace of my stylist to keep me company in the arena. My long black hair had been tied up into a bun resting against my neck. A few curly strand loose around my face, a dark red bandana protecting the top, tied tightly to keep it all together.

It wasn’t long now, not much time left. The days in the library had flown by quickly, suprising in nature; the reality that I felt standing here before a glass tube. All of my worries and woes would be irrelevent in a matter of moment. I did not want to think about my sisters in front of the TV. My mom possibly praying for the first time in years, begging for a miracle. No one had ever spoke the words out loud…but it would take a miracle.

Something non of us had ever spoken out loud.

“Ready?”

“Is anyone ever?”

I climbed inside the tube and held my breath as it shut close, soon enough pushing my body upwards. For a moment I thought I would black out, fall flat on my face and before I knew it; I would be dead as can be.

Non of that happened, I kept my footing as I reached the top. Walls covered in ivy, greeting me. A scene from one of the fairytales found between the pages of the book. The place looked abondones and lost in time, walls crumbling together and fighting to keep what is left standing. Around me the other tributes all in different outfits. Everony’s slightly different from the next, not one was the same. Some more intricate and grandiouse whilst others like myself were nothing special at all.

As the seconds counted down, I swore the walls around me started to close in. Forcing all of us closer together, directing our attention to the gold mine of the cornicopia. Alluring, taunting me to go, I wanted to run towards it. It was filled with riches to get me through it all, but I had always survived with much less. I did not need what could just might cost me my life.

When the countdown hit 0.

I ran.

[Enters bloodbath]

Characters//UPAT Tracker

tick 12a / calla
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just a litle creacher

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:31 GMT -5

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Post by tick 12a / calla on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:31 GMT -5

tick anwar 12a | intro

The notebook gets left in the suite. 24 pages, most of it memorized, but not all of it. As much as he could, given the circumstances.

The material Bellezze drapes over him is gauzy. Purple. And he’s already scheming which pieces he can drop, as soon as he can drop them. The sleeves are so impractical, and the cut of the pants, the way the stitching catches the light and shines from a mile away. He can already predict tripping over the cloak. And the hat.

Bellezze seems quite taken by it, flicking the brim as Tick settles into the elevator.

He’s less steady than he wanted to be, pride a little to the left, not quite as ready as he needed to be. That ache is back, like something living along the tissue lining of his skull.

He goes over the notes in his head as the platform rises. Fat lot of good it’ll do him in the face of a blade, eyes meeting over some Bloodbath spoil, but still. But maybe.

[ tick enters the bb ]

⇀ tracker ↼
⇀ 2024 upat ↼

eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris
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The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:32 GMT -5

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Post by eulalie blake 1a 🍒 tris on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:32 GMT -5

( 1a eulalie blake / introduction )

Let's begin here: at the climax.

The first thing Eulalie's eyes lock on is a vacant throne, overgrown with roots. It beacons to her, distracting her from the rising circle of tributes who join her on their own metallic pedestals. The walls seem to have aged with time, a breath away from crumbling. Sunlight trickles in through the cracks, making the floor shine. Treasures are scattered across the surface, the most precious resources hidden under the shade of the looming throne.

Eulalie lowers her body into a sprinting position, her harlequin hat jingling as she does so. It doesn't matter if her prey hears her coming. Her heart should be racing, but all her senses seem to quiet as she becomes hyper focused on the time as it is audibly counted down. Her heart beats calmly, she inhales through her nose, then exhales out her mouth. She has already noticed an axe. Her best weapon, right there calling out to her.

The bird of prey makes her lethal dive as the gong sounds.

In this moment, she is no longer just the great-granddaughter of Cordelia Blake, victor of the Sixth Games. She's fucking Eulalie Blake — and this is her story. If she has her way, it'll be just as bloody and glorious as the legacy she has always been owed.

^{( eulalie blake enters the bloodbath )}

all my girls got their lace and their crimes.

august vance d7b
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The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:40 GMT -5

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Post by august vance d7b on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:40 GMT -5

[7b august vance - intro]

The morning is a total blur. By the time I hand myself over to the stylists, I have no memory of the time that has passed since breakfast. Somehow I brushed my teeth, picked the crust out of the corners of my eyes, combed my hair, and made it to this room full of bright lights, expensive makeup, and mirrors. I might have said some passing words to Laurel, though they were definitely not good luck. Time had ceased to matter. My muscles were tense, strung tight with energy. All I could think was, I wanna get in there. So I can get it over with.

Lazarus works quickly, insisting that I don’t look until the end. Maybe he thinks this is going to be like a Ratmas present for me–the big reveal. In reality, I couldn’t be less interested. His hands seem to multiply like tentacles as he works his magic, tweaking a piece of fabric here, a lock of hair there. The fabric of my outfit is soft, stretchy, and altogether thin-feeling. Green. Flimsy, almost, like a Halloween costume, with some kind of plastic breastplate that can only be for show. But I don’t want to offend him by mentioning it. I’ll be doing enough damage soon enough.

When he turns me around I’m speechless, my eyes widening in surprise. I hadn’t even noticed that he put pointed prosthetic ears on me; he’s so careful, I didn’t even feel the glue. Or maybe there was no glue–some kind of Capitol magic.

In my fairy tights and false armor, I don’t look the least bit intimidating, but there’s something else that makes my breath catch when I look at myself. I’m taller, more lean and graceful-looking. The makeup under my eyes picks up flecks of green so they harmonize with the costume, while a trio of dark green stripes across each of my cheeks, like war paint, lend a fierce quality to my face. My hair is gelled into wispy curls that catch the light. I’m someone out of a fairy tale.

I’m…superhuman.

I let go of the breath I’ve been holding. Lazarus is busy putting away some supplies, but I reach out and catch his elbow, which seems to surprise him.

”Wow. I don’t know how to thank you, but… thank you. I’ve never worn makeup before, but… I think you made me look stronger.” Not so far off from a Ratmas present after all.

I leave feeling like I’ve shed my old skin for a new (stretchy, green) one. Something to protect me while the old pacifist dollmaker August waits in a safe place. Woodland Elf August has some business to take care of. New ears so they’ll never sneak up on me. New eyes for all the scary shit that I’m about to see. In here, I will need to be a superhuman. Otherwise, what chance will I have against someone like Noah or Andromache?

I think to myself, I would be like Mackenzie if I could. Managing to outlive everyone while somehow maintaining his sense of humor, and an easygoing kindness with people. I collect each piece of his advice like a marble in my pocket– carrying it around, taking it out, looking at it, putting it back. Pondering every word like the sheer act of thinking about it is going to reveal some deeper meaning: valuable words from someone who lived and didn’t go crazy. At least, I don’t think he has.

He’s the last person I say goodbye to. A handshake seems best. I think it’s what my dad would do: manly, respectful. In my getup, though, it feels like I’m offering him a truce between elf- and humankind as I stick out my hand.

”You got any more advice?”

He returns the handshake, then places his hand on my shoulder.

”If it comes down to you or another person, choose yourself. Even if you think you’ll never forgive yourself for it. Choose yourself every single time. And if you still want someone to blame after, you can blame me. Got it?”

I don’t think. Just stare really seriously back at him through my forest green face paint, and nod. Because I know he has to be right--otherwise, how could he be standing here in front of me, looking back at me with that concerned-yet-proud look?

As I step onto the platform, I think about Tsiuri and Thompson, and our new pseudo-friendship. Could I choose myself over them if it came to that?

I really don’t know if August could. But Woodland Elf August might just have to.

[august enters the bloodbath]

table by minie

florentine, d4b ❁
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last seen Nov 21, 2024 4:54:43 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:43 GMT -5

Quote

Post by florentine, d4b ❁ on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:43 GMT -5

(4b florentine / introduction)

dear dead mom,

do you like what you see? are you, proud, now, of your girl, pirate queen, crouched on her podium? do you like the way the sun refracts through the stained-glass windows, shimmering on her cheeks? are you happy to see me, life between my teeth, dazzling, glittering, poised to take the throne?

do you see the cracks in the windows? they let in the draft, leave great shards of glass exposed and pointing, accusatory, at the sky. do you notice the way the trees are swallowing the castle? the tapestries are yellow and faded. the roots burst through the floor, they devour what used to be sacred. i am here, but something greater was here before me. do you know? or do you pretend, like you always used to, that things are not as eroded as they seem?

perhaps you're peeking in through the gaping hole in the ceiling, picking favourites and pointing fingers. i bet you like all the ones i hate. i bet you still don't choose me.

i laughed when i saw what they dressed me in. to live or to die and to do it wearing an overcoat and feathered hat, the irony of the exaggerated truth in it; to pirate, to rob or plunder. and those things i have done, and will do, again and again until somebody puts me out of my misery.

oh, mother, you'd have hated to see it, see the way i fell, so low i had to scrape and claw in the dust for scraps; scraps you wouldn't have fed the dog from our banquet-table. it gave me satisfaction to remember how much you would have detested it, how embarrassed you would be. anything, dear mother, to separate myself from you, to draw a line between us.

we are not so different, though. today, i wait for the sound of the siren to tell me it is time. and when it's time, i go toward the throne, toward the riches there, ready to stuff my empty pockets, ready to claim my place. beside me, the porcelain princesses i have hand-plucked from their rich-girl existences, let the rest of them take our leftovers, let us bleed them for all they have. let them eat cake. let them scatter from the throne room in defeat, bow down to us, kiss the soles of our feet, you would have loved it. after all, i am you, a copy-and-paste, white-haired wisp who cannot let a single thing go, not once in her life.

we were both liars, back when you were here. sometimes, a whole conversation went by without either of us uttering a single word of truth; the pretences were so familiar that they became their own language, just for you and me. when it happened, i thought, typical you. it seemed like something you would do. spearheading a revolution seemed like something i would do. i think that makes us even.

what now? are you still watching? do you see me?

do you believe me?

do you believe me, now?

^{( florentine enters the bloodbath )}

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Izzabel Bennet D8A (Jorg)
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last seen Nov 21, 2024 3:28:48 GMT -5

Wishing I was Ryan Gosling’s Ken, Knowing I’m Scott Evan’s Ken

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:44 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Izzabel Bennet D8A (Jorg) on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:44 GMT -5

[Izzabel Bennet D8A | Bloodbath Intro]

I was never blind to the reality that I find myself in. Yet, as I sit in bed, becoming well acquainted with the nerves my mother claims that her close personal friends. Only these nerves serve a grave reminder; my days are either vastly numbered, or will be perpetuated through the blood of others. I only wish that Cynder and I can circumnavigate the other tributes before the Gamemakers force our hands.

“Have I prepared enough for this event? Is anyone every truly prepared for a death match?” I ask myself as I make my way through the 8th floor apartment of the training center. I take some last few moments to appreciate the amenities that many would kill to have experienced. For the amenities that I am about to massacre for. I’m not a career, who was raised and trained with the expectation that I might die in the Games; and the nerves are only amplified when I hear a knock on a counter. A knock that resounds more like a bell ringing in the tower.

“It’s time to go,” Rocko states in a flat tone. I can’t say that I fully blame him for the lack of empathy either. I am most likely another tribute in a continued line of those who do not make it home. I intend to prove him wrong. I follow him out of the apartment without pomp and fanfare, and I can’t help but feel like the silence envelops me in a blanket of trepidation. It’s disquieting to experience. The silence continues as we make our way onto the roof, and it feels as if the silence carries the apprehension of the Capitol and a tightrope ready to snap. When I make my way into the hover craft, and I remind myself the other tributes are only mutts trained to kill me. Even Cynder will turn on me when the mutual benefit of our alliance runs dry.

The flight to the Arena was too fast for my tastes, only drilling the reality of the situation deeper into my soul. We are escorted one by one out of the hover craft in the bowels that run under the final resting place of the other tributes. Concrete walls envelope us as I follow my stylist into the launch room, no other tributes to be found in sight. A tense silence passes between the stylist and myself as they dig out the uniform out of a black, windowless bag.

“It appears that the Gamemakers are really honing in on the storybook theme this year,” they comment as they laid out the uniform before me. A long navy tunic, made of comfortable fabric sits over what appears to be tight fitting breeches. The outfits is decorated with stylistic shoulder paddings, black leather straps and shiny black boots. At least the boots look comfortable and should provide good movement. The look is completed by a thin cloak adorned with a bright silver button. It wouldn't do much to proved warmth, but still looks quite attractive.

"This almost reminds me of one of the knights in the stories that was provided in the Library." I comment, more to myself than the stylist as I run my hands across the fabric. I refuse to let this become my funerary garment.

"You are quite right." they agree with me before turning around. One last decency before we all turn into savages in an foreign land. I make quick work of getting changed. There's no point in delaying the inevitable, so why should I? The only thing I can do is ensure that I don't mess up my aim with my knife. Or if I have to make sure I don't miss with my blade. Once I finished I give a quick knock on the table. No words pass between us as we wait, our faces saying it all. Their wishing me luck, me appreciating it. These last minute trivialities are almost demeaning for they are empty words. The Capitol forms para-social relationships with us that only lasts weeks if not months, only to fawn over the newest batch of tributes. I never comprehended the phenomenon, so instead I try to focus on the relationships I have back home.

My older sister Janae, soft and kind, she's someone who can't find anything negative to say about anyone. Moira, so studious and manages to always find the outside perspective in any situation. Even Kat and Lyndsey, or Lyds in their frivolous nature managed to find humor in the most inappropriate moments. I can only imagine how my mother is handling everything right now, going on and on about her nerves. I manage to laugh through my own think about how she's reacting to this. I do feel an extra pang of grief for my father though. We were always so close, and I was just ripped away from him. I'll find my way back to my family though.

“It’s time,” the stylist says to me as they usher me into the tube. "Are you ready?"

"No, but I hardly believe than any tribute who is not a Career is fully ready." I say with sarcasm dripping like venom.

"Valid," they reply. "Still try your best ok?"

"I don't have any other option." I say as the door to the tube closes. The platform raises me upand I keep my gaze skyward, not wanting to see if anything is surrounding me. I'm not sure what is worse, being murdered, or dying because I got trapped in this god awful tube. As I break past the horizon, I notice that we are in a ruin of some sort. stone pillars still stand tall, but light breaks through opened walls and ceiling. Colors and pure light paint the floor in shattered murals, and an untouched, almost pristine stone throne sits centered in the back of the room. The only reclamation of nature on it's face is the vines and branches that cover its seat. Various items sit on the dais, but that's not my concern. I need to find Cynder and make a quick exit. Where are the doors? Where are the exits? I do a quick scan of the room, finding potential doors and crack in the wall big enough to sneak through, and wait for the counter to down.

10....

I find Cynder in the semi circle.

9....

I notice everyone is dressed in pairs.

8....

I find a cute wicker basket.

7....

I think about fighting to protect my sisters.

I let the countdown finish, and kick off once the sound chimes off.

Skiplaurel Hayjer - D7a
Merchant

114 POSTS
last seen Nov 5, 2024 17:17:02 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Oct 12, 2024 10:00:44 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Skiplaurel Hayjer - D7a on Oct 12, 2024 10:00:44 GMT -5

s k i p l a u r e l !

O c t o b e r 1 2 , 2 0 2 4

Laurel resists the urge to vomit the way she did before her Reaping. This was it, the arena, the Games, it was all coming home now.By the time the day has ended, Laurel imagines a good amount of them will be dead. Laurel begins to wonder if perhaps she had taken her own life for granted up until this point. In some ways, maybe.
Laurel thinks one last time about her family before things get rolling. She is afraid, and that fear is what is going to keep her alive. She had to trust it, embrace it, master it. All she had to due was stay alive. And to do that, she just had to keep moving.
[Skiplaurel Hayjer enters the Bloodbath]

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