The Bloodbath

Lulu
Retired Staff

[M:2982250]

3,114 POSTS
last seen Nov 24, 2023 13:45:22 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:21:01 GMT -5

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Post by Lulu on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:01 GMT -5

[children wake up
hold your mistake up
before they turn the summer into dust]

[/i]

You were seven years old, shakily holding a sword for the first time. Nero had started you boys's training earlier than this, yes, but up until that point you had only used small daggers, and very carefully, at that—this massive blade of purest, sharpest steel was something unparalleled by anything else. Scorpius had already taken his weapon and started hacking at a tree in excitement, nearly slicing off his arm in the process, but you weren't quite as overzealous: instead you held it by the hilt in your hand, staring at it in awe as if you couldn't believe you were holding it. It was beautiful, powerful, everything he'd been told weapons were supposed to be; it hadn't yet occurred to you how much tragedy it could reap.

As he was led into the depths of the stockyard beneath the arena he would soon emerge into, Atlas never once let go of the piece of folded, old looseleaf that he'd been keeping in his pocket. On it was one of the first stories he'd written down on paper in his untidy, kindergarten-esque scrawl, his very favorite, one he contrived while staring up at the night sky on a cool autumn night. It told the story of a young hunter of the stars, one who often went unnoticed, who spent his life trying his hardest to live up to the expectations of his father, the Great Hunter. He tried and tried, and for a while he truly believed that he liked doing what he did; until finally one day he spoke with an older, wiser hunter and made the decision to leave and never come back. This was why his constellation was absent from the night sky.

Atlas believed that hunter was happier, wherever he'd gone, away from the shadow of his father. He hoped he himself would be happy as well, wherever he went after he died in these Games. In truth—though he'd never admit it to anyone—he hoped he'd become a star, destined to wordlessly watch over everyone below for eternity. It seemed an important job, one he'd like to have; and best of all, he'd be where he always felt most comfortable. The massive crowds and cheering people he'd ceaselessly been around for the past week had only better reiterated his wish. And no matter what, he would not lose sight of that. He would not allow himself to harbor the destructive desire to win.

But he had a duty, Atlas Cornell. A duty to live out the last week or so of his life to the best of his ability, and a duty to preserve the lives of his allies, who were all so much stronger than he would ever be. They each deserved a crown, every one of them; and though he couldn't in any way ensure it for all three, he would be able to at least ensure it for one of them. He would hack down the competition with all the force and strength he'd been taught throughout his life, then finally, when the time came, make way for a more worthy winner. It was his duty. It was his purpose. And in the end, he would get what he wanted most as well; a place among the twinkling lights of midnight.

You were ten years old and Nero sat you and Scorpius down to give you your first real talk about what it was like to be in the Hunger Games. "It's a brutal world in there. You trust no one. You rely only on yourself. You remember what I've taught you and will teach you, throughout the entire competition. And you win," he finished fiercely, his eyes narrowing. You could see the gleam of anticipation in Scorpius's determined gaze, and found yourself wishing you felt the same enthusiasm. In truth, though, you were still ten years old, and you couldn't seem to fathom why you were supposed to want to participate in such a bloodbath. Why did so many people vie for a chance? Why did your father want you to?

The Career hardly exchanged a word with Cream as they shared a final meal. Shortly after, the stylist helped him don the designated tribute uniform; he'd hardly believed his eyes when he first saw it. "No," he refused quickly. "No, I won't wear that. I can't wear that." It was the most horrific thing he'd ever seen: a toga. A real toga, the kind he only knew about from his father's teachings of the ancient Romans and their superior fighting skills. Basically, it was nothing but a glorified bedsheet. How in Ripred's name was he supposed to fight in this? It would fall down, and he'd be stark naked for all of Panem to see. Look on the bright side—at least everyone else will look just as stupid as you. "Tough luck, dear, you don't have much of a choice," Cream responded, at least somewhat sympathetically. "Now here, just put it on; you've only got a few minutes left."

Into the tube he went, onto his metal plate. It was almost surreal to be in that position after years and years of watching tributes in the same place on television. But he forced himself to concentrate, block everything else out with deadly focus. This was it. It was time. As the obvious Career pack, he and his alliance would run straight for the Cornucopia, grab the weapons that would be their saving grace, and then pick the others off one by one. Atlas had never killed a person before, and part of him wondered what it would be like. But the other part knew that he'd do it, when the time came: alongside determined Kiera, powerful Peridot, and lethal Wednesdae. They were strong. They were at the top, and nothing would bring them down.

Emerging into the light of the arena, the first thing Atlas noticed was that the shining Cornucopia was no longer... well, a Cornucopia. He'd grown so accustomed to seeing the tall, proud golden horn standing guard in the center of the arena, but apparently this was no longer. Instead it was a polished, floating white marble pillared structure that looked oddly like a mausoleum. He'd seen a few of those in some of the District's graveyards; they were saved for the finest of Two's citizens, made from precious marble or limestone and erected to honor the dead. But why would we be honoring the dead when we're the ones killing them?

And most oddly, it was floating. Floating in the center of an ominous looking river, the shores of which the metal plates of the tributes lined as they waited for the countdown to culminate. Atlas forced himself to focus only on the structure in front of him, the bounty spilling from its mouth, though he itched to observe the rest of the arena: this was more important. There would be plenty of time for sightseeing later, once he and his alliance had proved their strength in the Bloodbath. His vision zeroed in on a sparkling shortsword propped right in the center of the building of death: that was his. He wanted it. Shortswords were his favorite, because it allowed the finesse of sword fighting combined with the brute strength of hand-to-hand. It was meant to be his, in his hand. In just a few seconds, it would be.

Three. Two. One.

Zero.

[if the children don't grow up
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up
we're just a million little gods causin rain storms
turnin' every good thing to rush]

[/blockquote][/size][/color][/justify][/center]

{lulu's cast}

Deleted

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last seen Nov 22, 2024 8:26:31 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:21:05 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:05 GMT -5

KIERA NIAMH DEMPSEY

time it took us to where the water was
that's what the water gave me
and time goes quickly between the two of us
oh, my love, don't forsake me
take what the water gave me

Her heartbeat is roaring in her ears.

The frantic one-two, one-two, one-two reverberating through the walls of her veins and down to the marrow of her bones drowns out everything Kaiser is saying to her, a muted picture show of mumbling, collagen-infused lips that she nods to every so often as he winds her hair into a tight, multi-hued braided crown around her head, making the aesthetic choice of tucking a few silvery leaves between the strands. She is the very image of the perfect sacrifice, dressed in white and cloaked in purity, a lamb trying desperately to escape the Capitol’s knife. Kiera knows herself to be a divine force, knows that nothing awaiting her in the carefully-crafted hell waiting above her head has the possibility of harming her, but her body’s inherent response to danger outweighs her mind’s elevated knowledge of her own prowess. Everything is lost beneath the adrenaline surging beneath her surface even as her uniform settles on her shoulders; a white linen dress-type affair that’s breezy and comfortable but still won’t offer much protection from the elements. The visceral drumbeat clouding her hearing only quells when Kaiser’s careful fingers push her hair aside to fasten a necklace he made to hold her token around her neck, the delicate glass vial settling into the hollow of her throat and the water within singing a calming song of reassurance and peace against her skin.

Thirty seconds till launch.

[/i]

She glides to the clear plastic tube in the corner of the little room with all the ethereal grace that has been hers from the start, planting her feet firmly on the metal plate beneath her. Sparing one last took for her stylist, Kiera offers him a tight-lipped smile, her fingers ghosting across the beautifully-made necklace at her throat. ”Thanks for everything, Kaiser.”

”Don’t mention it,” he replies, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. ”Good luck, kid. See you soon.”

Either way, he isn’t lying, Kiera realizes as the plate begins to rise and the tiny underground room disappears from view, her world plunging into a cylinder of darkness. Kaiser will definitely be seeing her again, but it’s up to her to determine whether he’ll be prepping her for her Victor presentation or fixing her mangled body into something half-decent for her family to bury. [/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]

so lay me down
let the only sound
be the overflow
pockets full of stones, lay me down
let the only sound be the overflow

When the dark, silent void around her gives way to light, Kiera can’t help the shaky exhalation that puffs over her lips, silently rejoicing at the fresh air cycling through her lungs after the claustrophobic journey up the tubes Her eyes narrow into amber slits, squinting against the light as she tries to make sense of where she is - the fact that she’s standing on the precipice of carnage and destruction is something she already knows, but Kaelen always said the advantage was in the details and right now his wisdom is her hope. Blue sky, fields in the distance, normal looking enough. The only problem is that there’s something in the immediate area reflecting the light and causing a glare to lower itself over Kiera’s vision, blocking out blind spots of dabbled light. Scowling slightly against the intrusion, she looks to her feet in investigation only to have her face split into the widest, most feral of smiles.

She is surrounded by water.

It isn’t like the sterile, soulless water of the Capitol, either. No, the tributes are standing suspended in the shallows of a real, living river, water so clear that she can see the thick silt lining the riverbed around her platform. It murmurs a welcome to her in its rippling ebb and flow, licking along the metallic edges of her plate like a mother longing to embrace her prodigal daughter. Her smile softening from one of ecstatic satisfaction (she has proven more than once that she is deadly when given access to water, and while it is her tool of salvation in the outside world it will be her greatest weapon here), Kiera crouches down on her plate, careful not to lose her balance as her fingertips skate over the water’s surface, a whispered greeting ghosting past her lips in a language only she understands. The river hums beneath her hands, or maybe that’s just the sound waves from the ticking countdown on the Cornucopia before her, fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty seven… something taking shape beneath its surface like the phantasms in the Oracle of Delphi’s scrying plate. Cocking her head curiously to the side, Kiera stares intently at the reflective surface until the form becomes all too recognizable, pulling a gasp from her lungs.

”Kaelen?”

and oh, poor atlas
the world's a beast of burden
you've been holding on a long time
and all this longing, and the shields are left to rust
that's what the water gave us

He is nothing, the mere ghost of a memory conveyed by the river’s soul into her own because the water knows her, knows her soul and knows that she needs him more than anything right now. She could almost recite his words along with him, the Bloodbath strategy he’d talked through with her a thousand times during breaks in training floating across her consciousness.

Always be aware of your surroundings. Get a fix on your allies before the chaos breaks out, look around and see who’s looking at you like you might be a target. Get a knife and put it in their back before they put one in yours. Obeying his command Kiera’s eyes flick up (fifty-three, fifty-two, fifty-one…) to search for the members of her alliance, her gaze crossing Peridot’s determined focus, Atlas’ steady composure, Wednesdae’s barely-hidden derangement. They work as a well-oiled machine, have trained for the past week to ensure that much, and Kiera knows people to the extent that she is content with trusting them… for now. As for the other tributes, she doesn’t hold any sort of truce with them, and can only assume that they have as few qualms about attacking her as she does them. From the plate next to her, she catches the girl from Eight, the one who came in close to Peri in training, sizing her up, eyes all dark and analytical and brewing with convoluted intention. Kiera’s face curves into a positively frightening grin, teeth flashing sticky-bright in the afternoon sun across the few feet between them. ”Try me, princess. Go ahead and try me.”

The idea of blood staining her skin has a dark allure to it, one that she doesn’t like coiling up right alongside the inherent purity in her soul, but if there is one thing that Kiera has learned it’s that there such things as necessary evils in the world, and the greatest of them all now sits on her shoulders.

so lay me down
let the only sound
be the overflow
pockets full of stones, lay me down
let the only sound be the overflow

Take your conscience and hide it somewhere it can’t touch you, Kaelen’s memory-ghost whispers from the river’s surface, almost as if it sees the way she looks at the girl from Eight’s poor crippled little brother, cruelly deprived of his wheelchair and tottering uncertainly on his plate. Put your mercy on the shelf and keep it there until you’ve got a Victor’s crown on your head. That’s the only hope you’ll have of making it out alive. You hesitate before you kill, you’ll end up dead.

Nodding mutely in understanding, Kiera lets her eyes drift shut (forty, thirty-nine, thirty-eight…), scraping the light from the inside of her soul and shoving it down to a place so deep that its absence leaves her frighteningly hollow until the velveteen siren song of destruction fills her up from within, a smooth caress of raw power licking along her veins. She wonders fleetingly if this is how Kae felt all the time, brimming with the prospect of ruination, an icy chill beneath his skin that could freeze the universe to its foundations. When her eyes open to find the little boy from Eight again, there is no sympathy for him behind them. Unbidden, something bubbles up from the space behind her sternum and spills over her lips, a chillingly dark laughter, something empty and merciless that she would have never thought herself capable of producing. Within the water, Kaelen’s ghost smiles approvingly.

'cause they took your loved ones
but returned them in exchange for you
but would you have it any other way?
would you have it any other way?
you could have had it any other way

Casting her gaze to the ever-ticking clock (twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty seven…), Kiera kneels once again beside the water, pressing her palm against the reflection of her cousin’s the last of the scared little girl within her playing itself out in a flicker of uncertainty across her features. ”What do I do?”

She knows that this Kaelen must be an illusion, because she has never seen him smile so warmly, never seen him look so proud. Fear is the most powerful of motivators, Kiera. You’re every bit the goddess I meant for you to be. Now it falls to you to show that power. Make them fear you. You have a Victor’s spirit, cousin. You simply have to bring it to its full potential.

With that, his image dissolves into the glassy surface of the river, leaving her feeling far more alone than she really is even as her resolve bolsters itself and she stands upright again, a rigid set to her shoulders and a defiant smirk quirking at her lips. It might be hard for some to make a field of tributes fear a scrawny, malnourished wisp of a girl from the slums of One, but it is all too easy to make a horde of mere mortals feel the diving wrath of an avenging goddess. Something shifts within her, the floodgates falling and awakening something that overtakes the entirety of her being, seeping from her skin in an aura of palpable, fearsome power that could make the world tremble on its axis. Make them fear you.

And fear her they shall.

'cause she's a crueller mistress
and the bargain must be made
but oh, my love
don't forget me
i let the water take me

”Daddy?” she asks, six-years old and struggling with her tiny fingers to pull a grown-up sized pencil across the paper on their kitchen table. ”My teacher says we gotta ask our parents what our names mean and tell the class tomorrow. Why’m I called Kiera?”

”Well, you were named after your great-grandmother on your mother’s side. Her name was Kiera. We named Siberia after your great-grandmother on my side. It’s your middle name that’s interesting, munchkin,” her father smiles, pulling an old leather-bound book down from the shelf in the living room and flipping through dusty pages before he sits it down in front of her, stopped on a picture of a beautiful woman rising from the glassy surface of a lake with a gleaming sword in her hand. ”You remember who that is?”

”That’s the Lady of the Lake!” Kiera replies in a flash, knowledgeable of the book after years of hearing it as a repeated bedtime story to lull her and Siberia into the land of dreams. ”She was really beautiful and really powerful, and she gave King Arthur his sword Excalibur to defeat the bad people in the world.”

”Exactly,” her father says fondly, ruffling her hair into a dark, wavy mess. ”And some translations, like this book, give her a name. Niamh. So there you are, Kiera Niamh Dempsey. My little Lady of the Lake.”

In this moment (ten, nine, eight…), she ceases to be simply Kiera, growing into her true namesake as a force of the universe to be adored and feared by all who look upon her. When her gaze falls on Atlas, Wednesdae, Peridot (seven, six, five…), it is something more primal than she has ever experienced, the thrill of predators banding together before a chase, relishing the fear budding in the eyes of their prey. Make them fear you.

”TONIGHT,” the Lady of the Lake screams until it tears at the fabric of her throat, impending wrath humming in the very center of her being as the gong rings and the carnage begins, sending her running into to water’s embrace. ”WE DINE IN HELL!”

so lay me down
let the only sound
be the overflow
pockets full of stones, lay me down
let the only sound be the overflow

[/size][/justify]

Wonder
Career Tribute

675 POSTS
Pronouns: they/he
last seen Aug 11, 2023 10:06:03 GMT -5

everything is zoe's tbh.

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:21:13 GMT -5

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Post by Wonder on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:13 GMT -5

I wait on the Emerald Isle for you to come and rescue me,
from every step that I take. Feet don't you ever break,
drag me over that line, halfway around the medicine ball is far enough
to blow me back, like you broke the bank on the ticket
worth every damn nickel, you got me that time.

Eleven.

The number seemed to shroud over everything in my life. There was nothing but a big fat eleven hanging over my head as I walked down dark hallways escorted by Willis and Carmel. The stares were enough, even Kiera had taken to gawking at me each time I entered the room. An eleven was impressive, and clearly it made me something else, all for venting a little anger. But that venting a little anger helped tremendously in the end, this was a game where sponsors meant everything, and sponsors I would get with the highest training score this time around.

Maybe now, I was a career. It'd taken years of training, years of mocking and teasing and giggling as I so gently picked up a sword in hopes that maybe I could swing it with a certain ferocity to get to this point. But who was I kidding, I was never a career. Despite day in and day out spent in the body-odour filled gym with brutes of boys, and girls who could sink a knife into your head faster than you could count to three, that was a place that I never could quite fit in - and I never would. Teasing was a thing that went on for years and years, the mockery of my fellow trainees, the name calling, the sparring that had ended in total utter defeat, just because they could. That was not me. I was not a boy who would kill for fun, but that is what my life had now become, kill or be killed.

This was no longer just a place where I had to train in order to ensure that maybe this time around, I wouldn't get knocked to the ground in the hallways, this wasn't a place that I needed to be able to push back when I fell and make a fight in the middle of the crowded halls to show people that Peridot Myler couldn't and wouldn't be bullied, and tolerate it. This was the Games. There was nothing else to do in this place except die, or live, but the chances of the latter were so slim that it was unbearable. I was no career, but in these Games, I was. There was something mystic about this eleven that was completely unexplainable. I was treated differently, that's for sure, a certain air of respect seemed to shoot my way from Carmel, a respect I hadn't nearly gotten before. But there was also a sense of fear, I hadn't told a soul what I'd done - and they were scared for that, what on earth could this child have done in order to score an 11 with the Gamemakers? Just how deadly was he?

But despite all the magic surrounding the number, and despite the worries that maybe in twenty-four hours, it would be my face lying dead on the ground, the night before the Games was perhaps the easiest one yet.

-

I woke to the shrill cries of Carmel, her voice slowly but surely becoming the alarm I was getting used to - but today it had to stop.

-

We loaded into the hovercraft swiftly, the morning was going so fast it was near unbearable, but it was the constant moving that got my going, got my blood warm and ready to go - ready to kill.

-

The toga was uncomfortable, that's for sure, yet it was easy to move in. The fabric was as soft as any Capitol clothing, but yet I felt slightly exposed with it only covering half of my upper body, sure I was in shape, enough, but I wasn't necessarily prepared to go out and show my everything to millions of people - I wasn't Reyes Moreno, and I never would be. There wouldn't be a trend of District 1 males stripping naked, but there would be of them getting far.

-

The tubes snapped shut before I knew it, it was enclosed and dark and near frightening as it slowly moved upwards towards my doom. I hadn't seen anyone besides Kiera that morning, and yet I wish I had before having this chaos break out.

-

The arena is different, mucky, gross, nothing like the tropical paradise of last year - this year they weren't fooling around. The cornacopia didn't seem to shine as bright as usual - but the items looked even grander. The whole thing was surrounded in a river, dark and gross, and swirling. It seemed like it carried dead bodies everywhere - and that would soon be the case.

-

I look for Kiera, and Atlas, and Wednesdae, and take a mental note of where they all are. Without them, I was nothing but an eleven, an eleven with a target on his back and death waiting for him to come home.

-

Time seems to jump, quicker and quicker, and as fast as the morning passed, the gong sounds quicker, and we're all off the the races. Kill or be killed.

[PERIDOT MYLER ENTERS THE BLOODBATH]

peri-snot styler

vitani
Seam Resident

13 POSTS
last seen Sept 24, 2012 15:21:21 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:21:43 GMT -5

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Post by vitani on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:43 GMT -5

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” She raged toward another tribute swinging her sword. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” There was no time to think, only to act. After all, who the f—k wanted to die in the bloodbath? “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!” She let out another yell as she raised her sword. Maybe if she was loud they would freak out, too? She swung her sword downward and looked to connect to her target. It was nothing personal, only that she wanted to slice him up into a million pieces.
[attacks atas with sword]
[dice=200+1000]
[picks up compass]

[just negate this because i'm dumb.]

[/size][rand=346816592616960402690980350598693105511720292270185864962155465037]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 12:23:56 GMT -5 by vitani

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Sept 26, 2023 15:42:53 GMT -5

who needs another thing to be sad about?

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:21:46 GMT -5

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Post by rook on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:46 GMT -5

good morning, today is WEDNESDAE and the weather looks bright with a slight chance of obsessive murder

i'm torn in opposite directions
the plot sucks
but these killings are gorgeous
god damn, these killings are gorgeous

[/i][/right]

The last I saw of it, day was spilling into night as I was pushed from the last of luxury and into a vehicle to be taken to the Arena. Now several hours have passed, maybe more, day and night have become one. There is no light seeping into my holding chamber, a small room that is mostly empty, except for the tube that will take me up to my fate. Now more than ever, I feel like a plaything for the Capitol. Now the reality is in front of me, now I feel helpless. I need to stay focused and shake out these sudden doubts that swirl around in the pool of my stomach. Doubt is cruel, doubt can be costly. I need to get into the mentality that I have worked so hard to build up.

Metal walls and floors surround me as I am dressed into my tribute uniform, a strange toga. It’s not as tight as I thought it would be, they actually managed to get my size right this time, unlike my training center kit. It’s surprisingly comfortable, but this is all I’m given, along with my token - That damn watch. I feel slightly naked with just clothes and the watch, I’ll have to build my own inventory up there, where the chaos brews. The Cornucopia. I return fully kitted to my cold, metal bench, where I sit and ponder once more before I’ll be asked to step onto that metal plate and confront my destiny.

I think of home, firstly. I’ll probably be too occupied with other tributes to have time to think of my family, and so this is the last chance that I’ll get to say goodbye - In my head. The visions of my father, my rock. He has always been there for me, training me to be the perfect blacksmith. I doubt that he knew he’d create such a monster, but still I owe everything to him. He taught me never to settle for second best, always go for the gold, strive for perfection. I made me have this condition, this nagging nagging nagging in my head constantly. What did that dweeby doctor call it? Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, or something. A disease. Someone so perfect was corrupted by their own perfection, making them imperfect. Not possible. I see my obsessions as the reason for my perfection. Without the urges and the habits, I would be normal. I would be at home. I would be nothing.

I hold the watch, its annoying tick-ti- drives me insane as it fails to complete that half second. A broken watch is all I have in terms of equipment, never quite moving from its position between eight and nine seconds. It flickers between the two, still ticking and half-ticking as if it is counting time, but trapping it again. It is restraining the precious minutes I have left before I’m thrown up to fend for my life. It’s cruel, I’ve been given something so useless and pathetic that I can’t even use it. What use does a broken watch serve in my life, if not to remind me that home is imperfect and damaged? I can’t tell the time - its primary function damaged, rendering it unusable. I have to keep it on me, I have to use it to spur me onwards, the only incentive is that the glory of winning will be so much better than returning to the cesspit of District Nine.

Tick-ti-… Tick-ti-…

I shove it back into my pocket and sulk, my head is thrown into my hands and my lip pouts childishly. I am bored of waiting. My entire body is fuelled by some strange adrenaline. I will kill the first thing that isn’t an ally. My muscles twitch, my hands shake. I want this, I want it so badly. A hunger is in my eyes, a strange desire to consume that I have never known - I am here to purify, cleanse the pathetic and the lowly for all of the world to see. Oh, and I need to win. Cleansing these people won’t be enough. Once I have the power and the authority of a victor, I will return home, to District Nine and cleanse the people there. Not by killing them, but by showing them the ideal world - A world that I will make. District Nine will be transformed under me. And then, once my district is perfect, the others will follow suit. I’m not here to win some child’s game, I’m here to change the world!

One thing at a time, Wes.

Yes, of course, how could I get carried away? The games must be first, for I can’t move on with my vision until I’ve killed every snot-nosed brat that walks the arena. My enemies, the neutrals and even my allies must die. Sure, I need them now, I rely on them to push me forwards, but when the time comes, I will stick a knife in Atlas’ back. I will slit Peridot’s throat. It’s a necessity - I hope someone else will do it for me, because I admire the Careers, how perfect their bodies are, how precise and superb they are in combat. I am honoured to fight alongside them, as their partner. Yet even perfection must die sometime, because there can only be one who can win, and if Kiera stands in my way, I’ll pin each of her limbs to a tree and leave her crucified.

But I hope it won’t come to that extremity.

Again I feel a chill ascend up my spine, shaking my body with excitement. Surely it is time for me to go? The Capitol is holding me back, waiting for the right moment before they jettison me into the Bloodbath that will follow. I think of the other holding pens, the other chambers where tributes lie dormant, thinking the same things that I am. I wonder how many are sweating in fear. How many have broken down into tears or swallowed their grief? Not me. I am of the select few who brim with confidence. Doubt and other petty restrictions will not hold me back where others will falter, because I know that such emotions are weakness. If I am to succeed, I must rise.

I’ve made sure to eat well during my long journey to the arena, stockpiling carbohydrates from filling foods such as bread and rice. I’ve not been gorging on luxuries as others may have, but carbo-storing for the marathon that is to come. My body will be prepared for the vigorous exercise and possible days of starvation. I am hydrated, because nothing is more dangerous to me than my throat becoming a burning desert and starving my brain from the inside - No danger is as unforgiving as dehydration, so I make sure I have drank before I’m thrown into the fray upstairs. I make water my priority, even if Atlas will probably have the authority. Kiera is the unspoken leader, in my eyes, she was the one who invited me into their little party in the training center, so she holds us together. Yet there’s something daunting about Atlas. The District Two boy didn’t get anywhere near Peridot’s Eleven in training, but his dark presence makes him hard to overlook - No doubt he’ll want to be giving orders up there.

I have a feeling that I’ll be bottom of the pecking order, being from District Nine. I got the second highest in training, so hopefully I won’t be seen as a lower-district addition because Atlas couldn’t get his District partner to join the rest of the Careers. I’d like to be seen as my own person, because nothing drives me to insanity more than being looked down at. I am a God here, I will not take snobbery from the lower-district tributes, even if they are my allies. They won’t be for long if they adopt that attitude towards me. They know me. They have studied me. They are aware that I am dangerous. They are not oblivious to the fact that I crave perfection more than my next breath.

Two sleek doors glide open, allowing a clone Peacekeeper through. No doubt he’ll be seeing me to my pod. I feel so stupid in this damn outfit, but I suppose it could be worse. I get a rough idea of what the arena could be like - The uniform is usually a big hint. The white drapes suggest something ancient. Some kind of ruins are my guess, which unnerves me. Ruins are derelict and decay. I dislike the has-been feel of something broken. Like the watch, it will be a reminder of everything that’s wrong with the world. I hope it’s not the case, because I’d become to obsessive with the dirty, wrong environment.

Ancient.

The word rings in my head, louder than the voice of the Peacekeeper, who needs to repeat his instructions to me louder. Get up. Climb into your pod. The words hang in the air, half-formed in this numb feeling of anticipation. Could be nerves, can’t tell. Nonetheless, I do what I think he asks me to, and walk into the pod, saying the last of my goodbyes to the perfect Captiolesque room. So metallic and well-crafted. Luxury under hell. I stand on the solid metal of the platform, the glass door makes a bleeping, electronic sound, before closing in front of my face. It begins to rise.

And so begins my accent to glory.

I’m greeted with blinding light, alien to me after so many hours hidden from the world. I feel the eyes of millions burning on me, judging me, assessing me. The countdown blares into my ears, pounding at my brain. I can’t get a grip of my surroundings. Gray. The earth is gray. I’m outside, which is a relief - It’s not some underground ruin. The sky is a strange color, indescribable in fact. The earth is loose and blows freely in the slightest of breezes. I see dots of white fleck around the overwhelming gold of the Cornucopia, which stands as a beacon. Weapons scatter this gem in the dirt and swampy water that I discover laps around our feet. Swords and maces catch my eye, I wonder which I will get. I was never overly quick, but there’s more than enough weapons to go around, so I’m not worried. The sound of a nearby river quenches my newborn thirst already, hinting to me that there will be more than one bloodbath - one here, and one at the nearest river, if it is as close as it sounds. We stand in mere puddles, but I sense that it all leads somewhere. A smart move would be away from the river.

30

I spot Peridot nearby, he seems raring to go, and not far from him is Atlas. I don’t spot Kiera nearby, for she is deceptively small. I try to gain Atlas’ attention, staring at him until he looks at me, because eventually I figure he will locate his allies. I shoot him a nod, am I looking for confirmation? They’ll stick with the plan, hopefully. This should all run smoothly. I smile, excited for what will follow.

I clear my throat, leaning back slightly.
“We are gathered here today…” I begin, sounding a lot like some kind of ceremonial preacher, “For the cleansing of humanity itself!”[/b], and a sick smile creeps onto my face, infectious as my body shakes with anticipation. Here is where I begin the bleaching. Here people will die at my hand, in vision of a better life for myself. They stand in my way, mere insects to my unstoppable boot. My hair blows in the ominous wind, chasms of goosebumps litter my bare arms, twitching and tense. I have gathered the attention of one or two tributes, which makes me smile a little more.
“Heh….”

20

“…And it will be glorious!” I continue, raising my arms like I am some kind of demi-god in this strange wasteland that I am yet to figure out. Its plains stretch far and there is much to discover, no doubt. Here and now is all that matters, because what use is planning if I get caught up in the Bloodbath? I would never forgive myself in the afterlife, an eternity of regret and imperfect hindsight.
“I’m going to enjoy this, kids…”[/b] I continue, my eyes a blazing blue in this land of desaturation. They burn with fury and ambition, something that the rest of these grimy, lazy, scummy brats lack. They will be punished. Another flicker of a smile, my frown increases with it.
“And y’know what?” I ask in a final question, “I think you will too…”

10

No more talking, no more messing around. This is the here and now, because I need the mentality to win. I have it, the formula for confidence that a rare few share. A rare few that I will hunt down and slaughter in order to ensure that I am the predator in the land of the lost.

5

This is just like training. A mere exercise, I tell myself. I am more dangerous than any Career, or backwater Dark Horse, because I have a disease, a disorder. I seek perfection in the strangest of ways, in this case murder, which does not bode well for the other tributes. Obsession is a virus, bloodbound that controls and infects you, driving you on with it’s fever until you do everything that satisfies its boundaries. My killings will be every inch as the nagging tells it to be, I will do it as exact as it is in my head. That’s why the others should fear me, because I am not a child.

4[/I]

I

3 [/I]

am

2

a

1

Madman…

GONG[/color]

it's like a bad dream
something from the back of a magazine
black and white
and cheaply put together

[/i][/right]

[/size][/color][/blockquote]

notes: Showtime!

theme:[/color] "Pulp Fiction" - Motion City Soundtrack[/color][/size]

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

School is the bane of my life
Career Tribute

[M:9285]

579 POSTS
last seen Mar 22, 2013 11:41:07 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:22:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by School is the bane of my life on Sept 22, 2012 12:22:09 GMT -5

There comes a time,
When you need to trust,
When your whole life,
Trust had been nothing.

What was he doing? Who was he hurting? Nothing made sense all he could figure out another storm was coming towards him. Just a few more items he muttered to himself, he would stay around just for a little more and try not to die. It was his plan, he was ready. He knocked in the arrow and pulled back the string and like a natural respond. He fired.

Attack Atlas
Bow: [dice=200+4000]
Miss (arrow broken) -- 0.0 damage

He picked up gloves and slipped them onto his hand

[rand=6136327792135371404352711919343895143518805896286388976564174507]

Last Edit: Oct 8, 2012 18:52:09 GMT -5 by School is the bane of my life

Lulu
Retired Staff

[M:2982250]

3,114 POSTS
last seen Nov 24, 2023 13:45:22 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:24:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Lulu on Sept 22, 2012 12:24:08 GMT -5

[i guess we'll just have to adjust
with my lightning bolts glowin]

[/i]
People were tearing each other apart rapidly, the sort of vicious looks Atlas had never expected to see in children plastered across their faces as they fought with a lion's strength for their lives. Blood stained the water of the strange river red, splattered across the pure white walls of the floating mausoleum that was the Cornucopia. It was a scene of utmost death, and in a moment, Atlas and his alliance was about to add to it. He spotted Kiera and Peridot coming up from one direction, and Wednesdae from the other. "You guys ready?" he muttered, staring around at the massacre. "Because it's time to go."

And he lashed out with his fist at the first tribute he saw, planning on running to the Cornucopia afterward to grab that sword he so desired.

[attacks Almar]
[dice=200+5000]

[i can see where I am going to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand]

[/blockquote][/size][/color][/justify][/center][rand=8943965814542025286975941387936565487523144111049576290012337267]

{lulu's cast}

vitani
Seam Resident

13 POSTS
last seen Sept 24, 2012 15:21:21 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:25:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by vitani on Sept 22, 2012 12:25:00 GMT -5

“Look out!” She almost fell backwards onto her butt as another tribute rushed past her. She truly didn’t mean to become so part of the fray, but if she could stay longer, if she could get more she would. That was all that she wanted, then, was to get as much as she could before getting out. They were all so worried, they all wanted to be the only ones that it was a mad scramble. They were animals, then, torn apart and broken down into their worst urges. She didn’t blame them for wanting to get out of here. She wanted it, too. It was why the cut of her blade wasn’t so vomit inducing. Watching the blood splatter on the ground meant that she was getting closer to getting out of her. She pressed on, thinking of herself as a bird, flying above the rest of the heap. Because I don’t need to turn into a wolf or a bear, or anything too powerful… just give me what I need, and a chance to escape.
[attacks atlas with sword]
[dice=200+1000]
[picks up pliers]

[/size] [rand=6166713375132531869874540250748484535861015319822642706772312522]

Wonder
Career Tribute

675 POSTS
Pronouns: they/he
last seen Aug 11, 2023 10:06:03 GMT -5

everything is zoe's tbh.

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:25:10 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Wonder on Sept 22, 2012 12:25:10 GMT -5

I wait on the Emerald Isle for you to come and rescue me,
from every step that I take. Feet don't you ever break,
drag me over that line, halfway around the medicine ball is far enough
to blow me back, like you broke the bank on the ticket
worth every damn nickel, you got me that time.

The chaos erupts quicker than expected, no one could really be as fast as they were going but it seemed when one was running for their lives, there was no other option to go faster than your legs demanded. And yet, there was always something safe about hanging out a bit, catching your bearings, watch what’s going on. The bloodbath was quick – that’s why they always had to slow it down in broadcasts, show it from any and all angles, but it was far from slow here. It’s the small girl from eight out first, the girl who called me needleboy, but I had no cute nickname back. Fight after fight, everyone seemed to be taking each other out, quickly, swiftly, and I had yet to do anything. I ran over to the nearest person and threw my fist as quick as I could. This was not a waiting game.

[Peri attacks Almar unarmed]
[dice=200+5000]
[Miss -- 0.0 damage]
[Peri picks up Glaive >]

[rand=77794415433891126435725113842636624988845549523818914166139438748]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 14:44:10 GMT -5 by Wonder

peri-snot styler

Deleted

0 POSTS
last seen Nov 22, 2024 8:26:31 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:25:59 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Deleted on Sept 22, 2012 12:25:59 GMT -5

KIERA NIAMH DEMPSEY

always kept quiet
clenching my teeth
find me fighting the floor
raise me from my bones once more
you're way past praying for

It’s immediately evident that this fight will not be an easy one, even though Kiera is more than confident in her own abilities. The muddy floor of the shallows clings stubbornly to her feet when she moves, tiring her muscles and slowing her progress. First rule of the Arena: get your hands on a weapon as quickly as possible. This is a fact drilled into her head more times than she can count, and although there is a wealth of gleaming, razor-edged swords and knives closer to the Cornucopia Kiera knows that running for them unarmed would be a terrible idea. There is, however, a sturdy-looking quarterstaff stuck upright in the mud a few yards away, and that will suit her purposes for now.

Changing course abruptly, she pivots and runs for the staff, the thick silt around her ankles making loud slurping noises every time she lifts a foot. Already the skirt of her toga is becoming rapidly soaked with dirty water, absorbing the linen and weighing her down, but the fact passes beneath her notice as another tribute runs between her and her desired weapon. Years of training and careful instruction to never hesitate are what propel her forward, lunging towards the body separating her from her goal, striking out hard with her bare hands. The time for blood and screams will come later, but for now the lesser forms must be taught a lesson to stay out of her way.

{Kiera attacks Almar Nichols unarmed}
[dice=200+5000]
{Thrown to Ground -- 0.5 damage}

{Kiera acquires a quarterstaff}

[/color]

heaven forbid, well aware of your sins
in the wake i'll be just like the rest
tell the sun don't fall so we'll never forget
heaven forbid, well aware of your sins
in the wake i'll be just like the rest, past praying for

[/size][/justify][rand=97947941051757546423629808626744256548984957332706374112358788742]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 12:27:00 GMT -5 by Deleted

School is the bane of my life
Career Tribute

[M:9285]

579 POSTS
last seen Mar 22, 2013 11:41:07 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:26:20 GMT -5

Quote

Post by School is the bane of my life on Sept 22, 2012 12:26:20 GMT -5

There comes a time,
When you need to trust,
When your whole life,
Trust had been nothing.

One more item, one more. He muttered to himself, his bag sagging so bad. His hands were still gripped on his bow, sweat dotted on his forehead. Like every tribute he needed to survive, one more item and he would be good to go. He passed it without knowing but stopped, a needle and thread? The only thing left that would fit in his bag. As he leaned down to get it, he shot another arrow randomly.

Attack Altas Bow:[dice=200+4000]
Shallow Cut on Stomach -- 4.0 damage

He picked up the needle and thread.

[rand=62816413322871414639457903109467802455500557983696348808349334]

Last Edit: Oct 8, 2012 18:46:55 GMT -5 by School is the bane of my life

vitani
Seam Resident

13 POSTS
last seen Sept 24, 2012 15:21:21 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:26:48 GMT -5

Quote

Post by vitani on Sept 22, 2012 12:26:48 GMT -5

Strike again, harder this time. When the blood was flowing through her she didn’t stop to see what she’d cut or how it’d come out. There was only the thrill of the blade. Fly high and strike low… She told herself as she pressed onward, thinking that time must have slowed itself for this fight. Did the gamemakers know then, how to do such things? She could imagine the numerous cameras all around, spying on the group of them. Wondering if her family at home could see her, if they could see that she was brave and taking chances. She was trying to be as brave as they would let her. Her back was already getting heavy and she assumed that there wasn’t much more that she could possibly need.
[attack atlas, sword]
[dice=200+1000]
[picks up woven golden rope]

[ughhhh how did that not post... grumbles...]

[/size] [rand=422063425881788131993238101713359455723602510988718783031187485904]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 12:29:21 GMT -5 by vitani

Wonder
Career Tribute

675 POSTS
Pronouns: they/he
last seen Aug 11, 2023 10:06:03 GMT -5

everything is zoe's tbh.

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:28:01 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Wonder on Sept 22, 2012 12:28:01 GMT -5

I wait on the Emerald Isle for you to come and rescue me,
from every step that I take. Feet don't you ever break,
drag me over that line, halfway around the medicine ball is far enough
to blow me back, like you broke the bank on the ticket
worth every damn nickel, you got me that time.

The air is thick with anxiety, crushing in on my lungs and suffocating me. Twenty-three pairs of eyes are searching desperately for something, anything, that will give them an edge for just a moment in time. That's all we've really got here. Each of us has been ripped from our spindled thread of time, just a fragment held up for the Moirai to snap their scissors over. They were just waiting to cut our lives short in this arena of antiquity and lore. There is never enough time, never enough life left to live. I'm clinging to the hope that my thread won't be cut just yet as I duck through the throng of clashing weapons and mangled cries, trying to block out the sounds of death that are starting to slip in with the sounds of mere pain. I try not to pay attention to anything as I swing my glaive as hard as I can outwards and hope to cut a mortal's string.

[Peri attacks Almar with glaive]
[dice=200+13000]
[Severed Right Hand at Wrist -- 9.0 damage]
[Peri picks up bag]

[/blockquote][rand=37650006706826394748162988107651573796863015741114600860709324479]

Last Edit: Sept 22, 2012 14:45:13 GMT -5 by Wonder

peri-snot styler

fomerly known as [tennis]
Merchant

[M:-650]

223 POSTS
last seen Dec 19, 2013 3:59:45 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:28:53 GMT -5

Quote

Post by fomerly known as [tennis] on Sept 22, 2012 12:28:53 GMT -5

Almar Nichols[/i][/color]

Great.. It was just Almar's luck. He had ran into the big Career from Two. Well, he couldn't be discouraged, not now. So he lunged at him full force.[/color]

[attacks Atlas Cornell]
[dice=200+5000][rand=581696167475204319660018265798307318989591463768807614190627667916]

Lulu
Retired Staff

[M:2982250]

3,114 POSTS
last seen Nov 24, 2023 13:45:22 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 22, 2012 12:29:40 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Lulu on Sept 22, 2012 12:29:40 GMT -5

[i guess we'll just have to adjust
with my lightning bolts glowin]

[/i]
Atlas felt his leg sever and he knew he had to get out of there fast. It would take him a while to flee, he knew, so he had to get going immediately. Knowing she would have more use for the weapon than him, he tossed his trusted sword to Kiera, who was struggling with a quarterstaff.

[flee number one (yes I can do the triple flee, believe me), throws Xiphos to Kiera]

[i can see where I am going to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand]

[/blockquote][/size][/color][/justify][/center]

Last Edit: Sept 23, 2012 13:13:06 GMT -5 by Lulu

{lulu's cast}

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Panem Post (98th Games ed.)

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Post by Lulu on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:01 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:05 GMT -5

Post by Wonder on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:13 GMT -5

Post by vitani on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:43 GMT -5

Post by rook on Sept 22, 2012 12:21:46 GMT -5

Post by School is the bane of my life on Sept 22, 2012 12:22:09 GMT -5

Post by Lulu on Sept 22, 2012 12:24:08 GMT -5

Post by vitani on Sept 22, 2012 12:25:00 GMT -5

Post by Wonder on Sept 22, 2012 12:25:10 GMT -5

Post by Deleted on Sept 22, 2012 12:25:59 GMT -5

Post by School is the bane of my life on Sept 22, 2012 12:26:20 GMT -5

Post by vitani on Sept 22, 2012 12:26:48 GMT -5

Post by Wonder on Sept 22, 2012 12:28:01 GMT -5

Post by fomerly known as [tennis] on Sept 22, 2012 12:28:53 GMT -5

Post by Lulu on Sept 22, 2012 12:29:40 GMT -5

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