The Bloodbath

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charade
Retired Staff

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last seen May 1, 2024 12:08:12 GMT -5

Thinking

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 11:58:54 GMT -5

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Post by charade on Jun 21, 2014 11:58:54 GMT -5

Good morning and welcome to the 67th Annual Hunger Games Bloodbath, Tributes! Your Gamemakers, Cadence Fortissimo and Glamour Kinkade, have developed a damn fine Games for you. First of all, we would like to encourage each and every one of you to read the( rules), so no one steps on any toes or slows anything down.

For smooth operation of the bloodbath, please be aware of the following:
- Everyone must make an introductory post; it doesn't matter if you've taken Stealth or not.
- You may not attack tributes who haven't made their introductory posts.
- You must, must, must wait for at least THREE other people to post in between your attacks. If you are in an alliance of four, you must wait for at least one person who is not in your alliance to post as well.
- One tribute may only be attacked six times between their attacks.
- You must also wait for at least three other people to post in between your last attack post and your fleeing post.
- You may not attack in your fleeing post.
- Please be aware that if you have a severed leg or leg part, you may not flee without the aid of another tribute, who must also flee. With broken leg or leg parts, you may flee in three posts as stated above, or you may be carried out by an ally as well.
- Once you flee, you may not re-enter the bloodbath.
- "Generic Attack Posts" are completely, positively, 100% prohibited in the Bloodbath. All posts must adhere to site standards.
- Stations are not valid during the Bloodbath, except First Aid upon fleeing. This means self defense, blades, etc. will take affect after the tribute has left the bloodbath. The same goes for any sponsored items.
- For the 67th, please be especially aware that we will be frequently locking and unlocking the thread. It is YOUR responsibility to check the cbox and the( Games Engine) to determine which tributes are available to be attacked. Gamemakers will post when the thread is locked, and when the thread is once again unlocked, to timestamp each event.
- 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. If we have to scroll within a table to find your dice, the attack will be completely nullified and you will not be able to pick up an item. If you are in doubt, do not use a table.
- Additionally, please make sure that you specify who you're attacking. When you're finished, for the sake of convenience, please edit your post to include the corresponding attack. Include the TRIBUTE NAME, and NOT the owner's name; for example [attacks Mace Emberstatt] is valid; [attacks earthling/Kay] is not.
- Only weapons may be claimed from deceased tributes (by his/her killer). Any other items picked up by a deceased tribute prior to his/her death will be put into the Wealth.

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

Tribute item lists may be found here

The Wealth:

Deep in the back of the Conestoga Wagon, the useful items give way to worn things. A dusty tarp sprawls across the wooden planks. Beneath lies a worn trunk with a heavy iron padlock. It has the initials CF and GK inscribed on the top. It is too heavy to lift, and mired in dust.

To clarify, the Wealth also includes any unclaimed items, as well as the items of dead tributes. The exception to this would be weapons, which can be claimed by the tribute's killer following his/her death. You must be one of the first 18 tributes to post in the Bloodbath in order to be eligible for the Wealth. If your alliance has 3 or 4 people, two members of your alliance must be one of the first 18 tributes to post in the bloodbath.

Today's Weather
Hot and bright
High: 108°F
Low: 79°F

Tribute Uniforms
Male Tributes: here
Female Tributes: here

The Bloodbath will end on Wednesday, June 25th. Anyone who has not posted in the Bloodbath by then will be killed, as always. Day One will conclude Saturday, June 28th.

five
four
three
two
one
…
[GONG]

Let the 67th Annual Hunger Games begin!

Last Edit: Jun 21, 2014 12:00:46 GMT -5 by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]

16 Jul 12, 23:43
GB: I bet you just sit at your computer with a tea cup and a monocle

Sage
Capitol Resident

1,890 POSTS
last seen Sept 4, 2024 17:46:38 GMT -5

"I swear to god you give me the sex talk, I'll kill you"

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:03:27 GMT -5

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Post by Sage on Jun 21, 2014 12:03:27 GMT -5

The pounding on your door the morning you are to go into the arena is what awakens you from quite a happy dream. You'd dreamed of lying in a field with Jill at your side, the perfect afternoon, or at least you thought so. You growled, having taught yourself to growl after you'd come to love big cats and called out a reply. "I'm awake, leave me alone" You heard your escorts feet patter down the hallway towards your district partner, Eiras, room. You hadn't really had a chance to get to know her but that was alright, it would make it a lot easier to kill her if you had to in the arena, no point in getting attached to people. But you are attached, to Future You rolled your eyes at the thought. You weren't attached, at least that was what you tried telling yourself. If you were perfectly honest, the girl from three had you wrapped around her fingers.

You ate quickly before your stylist, Lithius, came to collect you to board the hovercraft that would take you to the stockyards beneath this years arena. You remained quiet as a woman in a white lab coat came to put the tracker into your arm and stayed quiet the entire time until being escorted into the underground of the arena. For someone going off to their deaths, you were awfully calm and collected, your heartbeat normal but you knew that soon fear would engulf your senses and would probably push you to killing someone. Then you'd just become another piece in their games, a pawn for them to manipulate.

You dressed in your given attire before stepping into the tube that would surely bring you to your death. That was when the fear truly set in, you were terrified of what would happen because in less than an hour you could be in a box on your way home. Where would they send you? Would they send you to your parents in the Capitol, did your parents even want you back? You had no time to think about this as the plate beneath your feet began to rise.

Scorching hot sun greeted your face as you were pushed up and into the arena, the sky above you was crystal blue without a cloud in the sky while the arena around you was dry and barren, a wasteland almost. What the hell?. You didn't get much time to think as the seconds began to count down.

60 seconds...
You prayed that Jill was not about to watch you die on her tv screen. You couldn't bear the thought of her shattering on you in that way.

30 seconds...
Your eyes searched for Luna and Future, hoping that they weren't too far away from you that you wouldn't be able to reach them.

15 seconds...
I love you Jill, never forget that

10 seconds...
Almost time to run, your heart pounded in your ears as you readied your body for the dash to the Cornucopia.

3...

2...

1...

0 Gong

You were off like a shot towards the Cornucopia and as you ran, prayed to Ripred that you wouldn't die

[Jix Enters the blood bath]

Ani's Performers
Elegant: oh darling do you really think I was 'gone' gone?

Luna Shim [tribsitter]
Seam Resident

4 POSTS

last seen Jun 21, 2014 15:25:11 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:05:12 GMT -5

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Post by Luna Shim [tribsitter] on Jun 21, 2014 12:05:12 GMT -5

Does, Says, Thinks

Luna Shim

Luna woke up to the sound of screaming, yelling, and the sling of a sword as it decapitates a head, and the sound of billions of cannon fires flashing before her eyes. Luna screamed and clawed at her capitol-designed bed, she was halfway scared to death about the games coming up the next day. Just as Luna was about to fall asleep, an Avox dashed into the room. The avox used sign-language which somehow Luna could understand, the avox asked if the girl was fine. Luna nodded and as the man left she grabbed her little diary she has been writing in and turned on a light. Luna started writing away.

Journal Entry Five. (Probably the last one)
Thoughts are rushing through my mind; I have no idea if I am going to go far or not. I don’t even know if I am going to see this diary again, so that is why I am leaving it behind. If this stays here until the next tribute here, I wish you the best of luck and hope you win. Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.
The girl shut her book and snuggled back up in her bed, just as she was falling asleep, a knock sounded at the door. She grumbled but called a come in and an avox entered, signing to her if she was alright. She nodded and seeming satisfied, the avox left her to go back to sleep.

***

Luna woke up slowly and still awfully tired from her midnight scare last night, Luna did her normal routine for the day before the games, shower, eat, and then just sat down in the training room. What is it supposed to really feel like the day of your death? Worrying? Happy or sad? Anxious or glad? Luna couldn’t really tell. She was too focused on planning for the games, she had to make sure Jix and Future got out of the bloodbath alive. They were her only hope of staying alive, so hopefully she would get to keep her buddies. Luna sat down with her elbows on her legs and her fists on her forehead; she stared at the ground of the training center with all the other tributes for their last moments as being hostile to each other. Once that gong would go off, all hell would break loose. Luna whimpered to herself, how was she going to kill all these people? The girl got up and for each step she took she imaged in her head a cannon-fire, Luna thought to herself that she would die first without anyone giving a care in the world. She gripped the ring her father had given her as a child, and held it close to her chest. Luna was going to use the ring as a token of pride. Not shame, pride.

When the day you die comes, are you supposed to check off all of the things on your bucket list that day? Like go streaking, streak during the games, have some nice mine fiestas, whatever on your bucket list that you have the chance to do, should you do it? Luna had so many questions about the day of her death, and what it has to come for the girl. She will never be able to tell what it’ll be like because of how sure she was about dying first, but then again if she actually tried she would not die first. Maybe she would even get first nobody really knows. Luna thought about colors, and how they could represent feelings. Red, strength and blood, Blue, depression and sorrow. All of these colors could do something with your life. They all mean something different, all something specific in life. How red could mean blood, your blood. That is your blood pouring out that body and the sound of a cannon fire rings in your ears. These things cannot be mistaken, one wrong turn can change your life.

On the hovercraft, she was next to two people that she barely knew and sat there awkwardly. Luna put out her arm for the lady to put in the tracker inside her arm, it stung her arm for a quick five seconds then the pain flashed away. Just as Luna thought she was comfortable the hovercraft started lurching up, the feeling of when you’re on the road and you go up and down up and down hills constantly, that weird feeling in your tummy that makes you feel like you’ll puke hit her instantly. Luna grabbed her stomach and covered her mouth, she swore she was about to puke. She looked around at the tributes, some were smiling confidently like they had something up their sleeve and the rest looked like they were scared shitless.

Luna stared into the crystal clear tube that would bring her to probably would be her death, she counted the amount of fingers she had and the amount of toes she had. Luna counted 20 overall, the amount of tributes that would probably die within the coming week. The girl walked over to the tube, and stepped onto the black platform.

The sun flashed into Luna’s face as she rised into the arena, she looked around. Perfect, Luna thought, the arena looked like a desert with quite a few things. Luna couldn’t point all of them out but she saw cacti, a canyon, something that she thought were called buttes, which that the name made her giggle to herself. And way off into the distance in an area, she thought she saw an abandoned town. Luna looked around at her fellow tributes and looked at the clock. The minute started about… Now. Luna looked ahead of herself and saw a particular weapon that caught her eye and she wanted it, nobody else was getting it. That weapon was hers and hers only, Luna started counting down along with the clock and commented along with the time.
50.
Luna’s feet felt like they were sweating inside her boots, and she was awfully thirst already.
40.
Wow, it’s awfully hot in the arena already and it hasn’t even started.
30.
Well, at least we know that the gamemakers will probably be screwing with the temperature these games.
20.
Wait, why am I even commenting? I need to focus.
10.
Oh well, it’s too late now.
0.
DONG!
Luna’s feet lept off her plate as swiftly as can be, she isn’t considered fast, but she is fast enough to get through the sudden rush of chaos.

[luna enters the bloodbath]

Tags: bloodbath, | Words: 1070
Other: All prewrites and the intro are by ArcticWoof.

Made by Kire

Owner: ArcticWoof
Tribsitter: Florence

D3F Future Stine [tribsitter]
Seam Resident

2 POSTS
last seen Jun 21, 2014 12:33:58 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:05:38 GMT -5

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Post by D3F Future Stine [tribsitter] on Jun 21, 2014 12:05:38 GMT -5

“You’re almost there, once you are in the arena all it will take is 23 deaths and then you are on your way home” I muttered that sentence to myself over and over and over again. I was so confident in myself that I would win and now there are all these butterflies flying around my stomach. I just entered a room with an outfit, all the tributes have to wear the same thing and this is what I will have to wear. I walked, up to it slowly and ran my fingers through material, trying not to think about stabbing and ruining it. I hate the capital for taking my rights away on what I want to wear. These outfits have no sex appeal whatever, and with my brown hair I swear I look like a total idiote.

My stylist enters the room and just shakes her head at me, I know that she doesn’t like me much, that too her I am just a stupid little tribute. Too her she might think I will die and she will never have to ever see my face again. I am nothing too her, I am nothing to a lot of people. Too others I am everything, too my family I don’t know what I am. I could be anything really. I don’t know what they think of me, and I don’t want to know, and maybe I’ll ask. I’ll ask them what they think of me, who I am to them. Too myself, in my own eyes I am perfect, and I love being perfect. I am someone that possess the quality of both human and monsters. I can kill without feeling a thing, and I can love and feel everything.

“Future can you listen to me once and just get in the clothes?” her hand pointed to the outfit, where my fingers were running through. I rolled my green eyes at her, she had no right to tell me what to do, and I didn’t even want to, but I knew to win the games I had to get in the stupid outfit and maybe later I will take it off and just run around naked. The idea was much more appealing, if I do die (which will not happen) then at least I lived life to the fullest. I turned around to her and looked at her real sweetly,”You know if I put that hideous stuff on that you call clothes, then I’m doing it for me and not for you, because I don’t do stuff for people that I don’t like” I ripped the clothes from the hanger and changed into them.

The room we were in was rather boring and all gray and black. It feels is the capital wants to mock us, telling us that the rest of our lives will be all gray and black from here, that we will die and hell then end up in hell. I hate the capital, have I ever mention that before. I was going to make sure that my future wasn’t going to be like that. I was ready, it didn’t matter what those butterflies in my stomach say I was ready to go out there and kick ass like a Stine should. I didn’t know what to tell that women, she was no one that I likes and she was no one that liked me.

A voice from the speakers rang and started counting down from ten and I knew that was my cue to got to the tube, I carefully walked there, trying not to admit that somewhere deep down inside I was scared and that I was having some kind of doubts. I didn’t want to admit it, because I was scared to be scared. I wanted to prove that I really am who I say I am. I believe that I am a puppeteer and that I have the whole wide world in my hands. I am something special, and I have to ignore all those doubts that I ever had. They are just something every tribute ever gets and even the best have to through with it. I step in the tube just on time and it pushes me up.
I have few seconds to look around to look for other tributes, and see what I want to do. The cornucopia catches my eye and it gleams. It looks like a treasure chest and that is what it is. I only have 30 seconds now

25… I am ready

20…I will win

15…No one can stop me now

10…I’m going to make my loved ones proud

9…no time to waste

8…I am a champion

7…I was born to win

6…I don’t give a damn on what other people think

5…I’m coming home

4…I will make blood spill

3…no turning back now

2…I won’t die

1…Let the games begin
[Future Stine enters the bb]

Deleted

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last seen Nov 10, 2024 16:09:04 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:06:55 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 21, 2014 12:06:55 GMT -5

charlotte {♔} brownings

Approximately, everybody had four to six dreams per night, realities feasting onto the mind like fucking parasites, but her eyes watched the clock for half the night, counting the tick, tick, ticks, corresponding to each of her other tributes passing into another false sense, trying to imagine what their inner eyes saw instead of the dark filling her eyes like a sink. Maybe they were dreaming of killing her, slicing off her legs or beating her to death- maybe they were conscientiously dreaming it, praying their fists collided with her jaw like tectonic plates knocking her into permanent unconscious thoughts in the night's clock like a damned rat- lusting to be the one to cut down district one female, or a career in general. Maybe the ones dreaming it were the ones she placed some limp trust in, Leon, Aelia, Owen, how the fuck could she actually place some ill forsaken faith in them; one of them was a nutcase, the other a toddler and the last, Leon. What the hell was Leon anyways; the warmest place for him personally felt like the blunt end of her curled fists, nose and head crooking against the force in a pendulum.

Covers sweep past her hands, loose threads getting caught in the rough edges of the choppy bitten fingernails, listening absentmindedly towards the clicking from the wall, reverberating through that thick skull; she was a career, she was supposed to be fucking prepared for this, but something was wrong, something felt wrong. The knowledge of her death inching closer was burned into her skin, her muscles, her bones, and the week before was just the part where the capitol prepares her for slaughter, feeding and prepping her with luxury to be the fattest meat once she was dead- this must she accepted wholeheartedly since she stepped onto that stage (the absent of those pink strands wasn't something she was ready for). Besides, her life was on the verge off falling anyways, tiptoeing towards the cliff of when she would push something too far, push someone too far, push herself too far, something, always pressing her luck into her skin as luck next to the skeleton of her mother's. Hell to it, right? The spotlight was on her for once, not the waste of space she was, but her, not a random career, but her, not Luce or Renevolia or Augustus, but her, so why not take it.

Regret didn't step into her shoes, not fear or anxiety, she was contempt with dying, being noticed wasting in a pool of her blood was better than being wasted alone. Sweat didn't line the under areas of her arms or roll down her back or dance across her brow, the only thing in that bed was her. Her. Finally she wouldn't be just some piece of trash delinquent crashing between Rene's and the streets, she wouldn't be some nameless causality, she would be Charlotte Brownings; tribute, if she made it out alive or not. Fucking strange it was, the only time people notice her living, breathing on her own terms, was when she's already halfway down death row. Tears or self-inflicted sympathy didn't roll down her cheeks- only fucking children cried and she wasn't- only estimates of what Owen's third dream of the night could be (Charlotte bet he only had four dreams a night, gilded and decorated with information painting the structure grey and black and white and short bedwelling onto facts rather than opinions, lame ass) or what Aelia's mind wandering on about when it wasn't busy being a simpleton (probably salty water, feeling the tastes on her tongue that matched the bottom of Charlotte's hand) clogged her mind in place of what was coming in the morning other than food.

Despite the facts, (fuck the facts) she was willing to bet the average one of them only had two dreams, one of them probably revolving around getting slaughtered; cowards always think of dying first, and they're usually the ones that do. Charlotte's own tally marks counting off three that scratched her memory; one of only Luce, his lonesome walking down a street sputtering words to himself that she couldn't damn remember (or scrounger up enough to give a fuck) other than being an epitome of deja vu. Another was her and a dog, but the majority of it was lost in the bags under her eyes, whatever the hell the rest of it, she cared less than she could about that district six girl. The third revolved around straps, dress straps pulling themselves closer together like an anaconda, pale fingers coiled around the edges, burning themselves against the rope. She swore she went to bed sober.

Everything felt blurred among those straps afterwards; getting up, sneaking food into her pockets, being escorted towards the pipelines, meeting the glass panes like an old friend, a love at first sight, having the food emptied out onto a metal table before entering. Damn it all, she'd never been properly drunk but that entire event could satisfy. The fourth dream residing in her head was that she had an idea what'd be like standing on the platform, watching kids on the verge of breaking making plans who to attack first, contemplating if their very existence would reach the next day. Topaz, Peridot, Opal, they were all in this spot and they made it out, so why the fuck couldn't Charlotte; hell, even the last three (Opal, that one brat and the Frances chick) mingled their way to the top five.

What gradient that dream to reality was the fact that she felt everything- dry rubble in the air scraping against her lungs in hoarse coughs, weariness sleeping into her eyes and gravity tugging her gut towards her knees, the white undershirt sticking to her chest, the booties uncomfortably shifting under her weight. She could barely decide how she would end up, mauling some bitches to death or being the one magnetized towards the hovercrafts, but she knew she wouldn't be some piece of trash delinquent or a nameless causality.

She would be Charlotte Brownings, until the gong ranged or a knife slit her throat.

[charlotte enters the bb mhmm]

cass
Retired Staff

4,822 POSTS

last seen Oct 24, 2021 18:11:43 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:06:55 GMT -5

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Post by cass on Jun 21, 2014 12:06:55 GMT -5

Aelia Vanderwell –

I didn’t like this.

I didn’t like this at all.

Odd.

It was the only word I could think of to describe what it felt like to be wearing shoes. I hated them. They were so annoying. What was the point of them? My stylist had said they were to protect my feet, but my feet didn’t need protecting, I loved feeling the earth beneath them. I loved being able to believe that I could understand and truly be in touch with the world around me by touching my feet to the ground. That just couldn’t happen when my feet were covered in leather.

But my stylist had been oh so very adamant in my wearing of them and as the plate shifted beneath my feet, and their face slipped away (I wasn’t ever going to see it again) I decided I would. Because my first glimpse of the world around me left a dry taste in my life. This was nothing like my home. There were no trees, there were no forests, there were no scrubs, shade or comfort. As I gazed at this sand covered land I wasn’t sure what I saw.

The sun burned my face, and I would have done anything, traded my life a thousand times over to see the ocean right then and there. I’d have done anything to be able to run into those salty weaves and wind my body around mounds of seaweed, to have my limbs covered in paper thin grains of sand, to have it crawl down ever crack and crevice and find its way into the very centre of my being. I hadn’t expected this, but then, in all honesty, I didn’t know what I had expected. I didn’t even know what the ocean looked like in the end. Was it the way the books described it? Maybe, or was it more powerful, beautiful and magical then what they all said. I hoped so.

As the time ticked down until the gong rang all I could do was gaze at this land before me. Drink in all I saw and hope, hope from the very bottom of my stained heart that somewhere out there, there was an ocean waiting for me to find. Where my dreams could come true. But after I think I had come to the wrong place for that. He was telling me, like a persistent little seagull, that I was going to be sourly disappointed. That I wasn’t going to drown in that salty goodness, but rather this dry hard air. But rather my own blood and sand.

I begin to hum, arms swinging by my sides, eyes gazing wonderingly around, not even focusing for a second on what was in front of me. And out of the corner of my eye I see the timer.

5

My hair whips around my face, and I can just imagine the ocean breeze, where the air isn’t dry.

4

Where the waves crash against the side of a ship.

3

And the ship rocks beneath my feet, and I sway to the rhythm, because it feels like home.

2

I’m losing myself to my imagination.

1

What.

Gong.

I don’t move.

[aelia enters bb]

Last Edit: Jun 21, 2014 12:07:38 GMT -5 by cass

анзие (Anz)
Retired Staff

1,547 POSTS
last seen Jun 14, 2015 16:34:46 GMT -5

probably away

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:07:04 GMT -5

Quote

Post by анзие (Anz) on Jun 21, 2014 12:07:04 GMT -5

leon krigel

district 4 male

the innocents

Are you ready?

It's not a dream, it's a nightmare.

From the moment Leon opens his eyes everything flows as though he were swimming in the ocean; slow, sluggish, but too fast all at once, with people he'd come to appreciate in the Capitol - Jizav, for example, despite his flamboyant style and his too-bubbly personality is one person who only provided him emotional support throughout the days trapped in the center; and some of the training station masters, all of whom - though he saw none - had been almost endlessly patient despite his often-distracted mind. He finds that the more he dwells upon the memories of their faces, the more he wishes he'd gotten to know them better.

As of now, though, they can only be the people who flit by his life so fast that he can only live in regret for however long he remains alive.

He goes through the motions of his morning routine: taking a shower under the heavy weight of water within five minutes of his awakening, his hair falling into his face (and if he sheds any tears he can't remember, the sheet of water washing away any potential traces; when he stands before the mirror with rivulets of water dripping down his body his eyes are clear and steady, and he doesn't tremble like he thought he would); sitting at the breakfast table down the hall from his room with a pile of food he wasn't sure he could keep down for the next couple of hours (but somehow he does, every scrap of food he'd scavenged from the buffet remained in his body to the last, like it knows how important this is); sitting at the edge of his bed, awaiting the knock at his door calling him to leave.

On the helicarrier everything goes by in a blur.

Leon thinks he's alone there, can't recall any living being sitting beside or opposite him; he spends the time with his eyes shut, focusing on steadying his breaths and trying to avoid thinking about the inevitable Bloodbath. I could live, or I could die. But he could have done that anyway, couldn't he? It's all just been accelerated. For all Leon's cold words ("Don't fear the reaper.") and fancy displays (the remains of a flower crown scattered on the ground, beautiful and tragic because no matter who wins, they are still dead), he recognizes the desire to live, the fear of leaving - because he's not done enough yet, he's not gone far and seen things he should not have seen, he's not made the mistakes of a child and he's not tried to get himself out of the scrapes those mistakes inevitably lead to; and Leon wants it, Leon wants all that life can offer even if he doesn't know where he'd start if he were given this second chance.

Maybe I'll find it.

He's put into clothes - a white tee with a black vest (That's you, isn't it, Glamour Kinkade?), blue jeans and black cowboy boots, and isn't that telling of the situation he's going to be thrown into, the type of arena he'd be facing. Leon remembers that a boy - from Two, he believes - is named Cowboy Dan, and isn't he going to just fit right into the scenery.

Jizav sees him into the tube. Leon meets his gaze with as blank an expression as he can give, his hands folded calmly behind his back to hide the tremor that started- started a while ago, he can't even remember when. Jizav smiles, taps the tube and mouths, May the odds ever be in your favor.

One in twenty-four of seeing him again.

Breathe.

Leon is lifted into an unnatural world; the sun blinds him, and Leon squints, wobbling, almost losing his balance before he finds it again.

A minute.

It goes by too fast.

Seconds tick.

Fast.

Faster.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

Gong.

// Leon Krigel enters the Bloodbath

✨ zozo. made this. she is my spirit animal.

basic table guide

Deleted

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last seen Nov 10, 2024 16:09:04 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:07:17 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 21, 2014 12:07:17 GMT -5

owen {♔} bowers-fox

If there’s one thing I never understood (and I haven’t understood a lot of things, mind you) it was that people said adrenaline would make you forget the immediate problems and focus your thoughts simply on survival. I’m not entirely familiar with adrenaline and the affects that come with it, but I’m sure that it hasn’t taken away the anxiety that’s racked my body from the second I awoke this morning. Actually, the angst began the previous night, as I had laid down in a normal bed for most likely the last time, pulling the covers to my chin and letting the sheets rest against my bare chest. Needless to say, I hadn’t slept well, and most of the night was spent staring at the ceiling tiles, counting for the sixteenth time how many tiles covered its surface. Six ran lengthwise per row, and four ran widthwise. Twenty-four tiles covering the ceiling that I had so blankly stared at for the last two weeks.

It wasn’t that I pondered death while I was laying there, well I did some, but not as much as you’d expect. I thought more about the fact that when I died—not if, when, I died, Duncan and Cody would carry on their lives as normal. Of course, they would be upset, or at least, I hoped they would be, but eventually sorrow would turn to a pain that they would no longer feel, and their actions and lives would resume as normal. The only difference would be the fact that I was never there to bug Duncan or to cry in Cody’s arms. It was almost as if it would be for the better, because now they wouldn’t have to worry about me. Duncan would have no one obligating him to stay at home, hell, Cody won’t ask him to stay, in fact, I’m sure he’ll help him pack his bags. Cody—what will he do? I suppose he’ll spend his time at the desk where I frequently spent meaningless hours, but instead of my imperfect drawings scratching at the wood it’ll be his formulas and textbooks, his elbows leaning against the splintered wood as he chews on his pencil. I won’t be there to hold him back anymore.

When Cody and I were younger, we would sit out on the simple steps that led up to the front door of our house, and we would talk about the things that interested us. Well, he did most of the talking, I just sat there and got lost in the way he rambled on about the sun and the stars and the moon and all the other facts about the world we lived in that he had read in the old book our father had given to him. The concepts he lay in front of me were too complex for me to understand, so I simply nodded along and pretend that everything he said was crystal clear, and in turn he would continue on. The fact of the matter wasn’t that I didn’t completely get the mechanics of what he was attempting to explain, but that I was so engrossed in what he was saying that even the simplest explanation would have flown over my head. Besides, I’m more than positive he already knew I didn’t get it, but he wasn’t content to let his own knowledge sit in his head unshared, so I was his outlet, his silent listener who never gave words of critique or criticism.

He would in turn let me talk to him about the things that had caught my visual attention, and the frustrations I was encountering in my attempts to put the scenes to paper. Occasionally, he would take me back to where I had first seen them, letting me use his textbook as a stable surface while he sat there and watched me press graphite to the stained paper in attempt to make something beautiful. He would peak over my shoulder and tell me he loved it, and point out the things I got correct in an attempt to take away from the negatives I so intently focused upon. I would press the tip of the pencil harder, waiting for it to snap under my hand before cracking under the pressure myself, and I would bury my head in his shirt as he slipped the paper from my grasp and held onto to give back to me at a later date.

But he wasn’t here anymore, and no matter how much I cried and hoped and wished that he could take me through this, he couldn’t. He would be at home, sitting on the old couch with mom and dad (hopefully Duncan would be there as well, if he had listened to me like I had asked, but really, it was the least he could do). They would watch in silence, and eventually Cody would become so infuriated that he’d retreat back to our room, thumbing through the crumpled pieces of paper he had done his best to flatten out by pressing them in one of his heavy textbooks.

The sound of the sixty second warning brings me back from the dream I’ve been trying to live out, and I swallow the urge to cry as the seconds begin to tick by (60, 59, 58). Only a minute stood between me and the clutches of death, and as desperately as I tried to slow down time, it refused, only seeming to pass faster-- (57, 56, 55, 54, 53) and faster (52, 51, 50, 49, 48, 47, 46). My breathing was hitched at this point, catching as each number fell through like sands in an hourglass, (45, 44, 43, 42, 41, 40).

The thoughts of my allies doesn’t cross my mind until this point, and I glance around quickly to get a general idea of where they are (39, 38, 37). Aelia seems calm, her thoughts probably lost in the waves of the ocean that floods her mind, and I almost wish that that same peacefulness would rush over me (36, 35, 34, 33, 32, 31, 30). Casting my glance the other way, my eyes catch on Leon, and for the first time in half a minute, I exhale and relax my rigid muscles. He seems as though he isn’t facing death, and I longed to be in that same position. He had a chance, didn’t he? He was from a career district and all (29, 28, 27, 26, 25, 24). Speaking of careers, Charlie stands cross-armed in the midst, almost directly across from Aelia and I. In fact, I couldn’t even see her at first, and I only caught sight of here as she peered around the side of her plate, scoffing all the while (23, 22, 21, 20, 19, 18, 17).

(16, 15, 14, 13). I’m on a downward spiral into an insanity that can only be stopped by my heart ceasing to beat, (12, 11) and I am not ready to face it.

I am Owen Bowers-Fox, (10, 9, 8) the boy from district eight who’s only remembered because he stepped in for his younger brother and lit his artwork on fire, (7, 6, 5, 4) and I am afraid of losing more than I’ve already lost (3, 2, 1).

[Owen Bowers-Fox enters the Bloodbath]

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The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:08:01 GMT -5

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Post by Python on Jun 21, 2014 12:08:01 GMT -5

I N G R I D E L W Y N

Ingrid was at peace.

Breakfast was silent and ridden with anticipation. The flavor of terror in the air was stronger than that of the fruit she slipped between her lips. The atmosphere was glum, and Ingrid drank it all as if she were a plant drinking the sunlight. She found it tranquil and soothing to be a statue in the midst of quivering bodies, blessed with knowledge of the afterlife that would become her paradise. She did not fear pain or death because she knew what lay in store for her. There was no victory destined for District Eleven, not after the drought that had cursed their land. They were a companion of curses and misfortune, the favorites to be preyed upon if one neglected to remember the poorest of Districts (their scrawny tributes were always an evident reminder). There would be no hope for Ingrid or Potato to survive this Game designed by false gods, and she knew it.

She could play along, though. She could ensure that the deserving drowned in their blood while the rest perished in an unholy grave. The power of judgment was a gift singular to her. She understood them, she knew them, she knew what they wanted and what they hated and she would be their trident until her reckoning came. Perhaps they would favor her for this task. Why else would they grant her this ability, this knowledge? This was her duty, she was special. The dead visited in her sleep, the burden of pain never fazed her with its wrath. What other explanation was there? The angels of the ocean were watching, and they were waiting.

She stifled her discomfort inside of the hovercraft. The windowless walls could not stray her from the truth of how she was flying so far away from the ground that she could probably touch the clouds. Everything about it was wrong, but she didn’t protest. She had no say in the matter so there was no use pestering her pilots and stylist. Diam – the capitol drone that had waxed and burned every hair below her neckline and labeled it “beauty” – escorted her into a barren room and fitted her to the arena’s official uniform after the hovercraft landed. They were underground now, she realized. That was how all tributes entered the arena – from openings in the soil that lifted their bodies on platforms, and the little tube in the corner was enough of a signal to draw her forward. She didn’t say a word to Diam, and Diam granted her the same pleasure. She had learned slowly that Ingrid would constantly refuse her company and ignore her advice. A Capitol drone’s opinion was no matter of hers.

She felt confined in the glass cylinder, but when it began to rise she felt lighter than air. Sunlight poured into the tube and into unblinking eyes as her head crowned the surface, hands and legs twitching in anticipation to remove herself from this tiny space and explore. A wave of heat accompanied the yellow rays, a familiar sensation that bore down on her and summoned memories of the drought in Eleven. Such heat murdered plants and dried lakes and burned the flesh of the innocent. It was not a welcome heat. What is this? Everything was painted yellow but the sky, which loomed cloudless and empty above bodies that would surely begin to sweat soon. The ground was shriveled and cracked, not a drop of water to feed its thirsty sands. There was nothing green, nothing but grey tumbleweeds and brown sticks. What kind of Hell was this?

Outrage. All of this, it was an outrage, every fucking bit. Where was the water? How could there be a land with no water? How could such a barren waste exist in such a beautiful world? Her throat suddenly felt as parched was the dirt. Panic seized her heart and anger seeped behind her eyes. This couldn’t be happening.

Before she knew it a gong had echoed and tributes were on the move. She was duly aware of the wagon stationed in the center of the platform circle, a canvas stretched over what was surely bowels full of treasure. I can’t stay frozen. She took a hesitant step onto the withering earth and cringed. She was too far from home, this place was too unnatural.

Run.

She released a silent prayer. This arena was a place of torture, but pain was not her enemy.

Run.

Somewhere there was a water source, otherwise the tributes could not survive. Wherever it is I will find it. They need to hear me. She would make it her mission to find it.

Run.

But first she had an agreement to keep. There were three people awaiting her, the closest thing she had to friends. They were called allies in a place like this, but an agreement was an agreement and a promise was not worth breaking in a Game.

Run, you idiot!

She ran.

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The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:08:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by gamemaker kelsier on Jun 21, 2014 12:08:00 GMT -5

[presto]

[/presto]

P O T A T O E A R N E S T

I wake up extra early jus' ter watch her sleep. It's hard ter disengage myself from 'round her, like I'm forcin' my own limbs ter bend an' snap inter place when they were never invented ter move from that spot in ther first place. But I do it still so's that I can move ter ther window an' watch the sun rise up, so's that I can capture her softly smilin' restin' face an' remember it ferever. I reckon I could have loved her until the stars themselves faded out but now I'll never git ter find that out.

I know that there ain't no way I could love her better. Even when I'm dead an' I'm gone I will love her until she c'ain't remember pain. I will watch her from up in Heaven with Ripred 'aside me or maybe from down bellow in hell, where I can watch the places her feet touch. I will watch her fall in love agin' with someone else, watch her change her name ter there's an' smile fer it 'cause I will be happy that she is happy too. That's all I want really, I reckon, fer her ter be happy. I want her ter be as happy as she makes me.

An' I reckon it was real selfish of me ter ask her ter marry me an' then only have two days left with her. I reckon that it ain't what a gentleman woulda done but I am past ther point of carin' 'bout that. I love her more than I love gardenin' an' that is a hell of a lot.

If I had ever learned my letters I mighta' written her one an' tucked it unner her piller ter find later. I mighta said all a this an' more if I knew my letters. If I could draw I'd sketch her right in this momen' with the way her hands are tucked unner her head an' the blanket is pulled down ter jus' below her bare waist.

The leg rests 'gainst the wall 'aside the bed an' unner ther covers there's a lack of it there. I know it made her worried at firs' like all a sudden I was gonna freak out 'bout it or somethin' silly. As if anythin' 'bout her could ever give me discomfort, as if I weren't thinkin' jus' then an jus' now 'bout how ripred damned gorgeous she really is.

I wish I didn't have ter leave her.

I kiss her on ther forehead, like I'm jus' gonner grab my briefcase an' go off ter my office job. I'd be back by five I would tell her an' when I got home, she'd be covered up ter ther armpits in ther dirt from her garden an' there'd be dinner an' maybe even a kid or two. We'd have fence that weren't no white picket, but it'd serve an' I would love her until the galaxies hidden in my bones disintegrated.

Las' night is when we said our goodbyes an' I told her that in ther mornin' I'd be gone 'cause I had ter go to my stylist ter get my hair dyed an' made inter a fierce lookin' warrior. An' we didn't cry or nothin', we just held each other an' made monuments ter our love.

I don't go take a shower, I will go inter the battlefield with ther scent a' her on me.

Zell works hard on me. A real number. She was all intent on me lookin' natural fer my interviews, lettin' me wear overalls so's that I would look like the seven I got myself in my trainin' score an' all. Now it seems that she's goin' fer the opposite. She lines my eyes with permanent charcoal, says it's waterproof an' developed jus' fer the games ter be a-dur-a-bal. She takes my hair an' dies it a bleach white colour 'cause when it gets spattered with blood it looks cool.

I stop payin' attenshun ter the things she's doin' until she tries ter take a file ter my teeth. I ain't no animal, I ain't lettin' her do that I tell her. She only looks put out for a while an' then quickly moves on. She buzzes the freshly dyed hair on ther sides 'cause then it will be easier ter care fer. An' I think all this is pointless anyhow 'cause there ain't a doubt in my mind that I won't die today.

'Cause no one likes a boy who oversteps his boundaries an' marries a victor, ain't no one who likes a boy who gets that much attenshun from the audience. Marryin' Opal Sh-Earnest might have painted a huge target on my back but it was still ther best decishun I ever made.

'Afore I know it, I'm standin' in an elevator, wavin' goodbye ter Zell an' askin' her ter please take care a' Opal. She promises. I like Zell. She's a calm person in a dust storm. She don't wear all ther stuff that most Capitolites wear, instead optin' fer a turtle's neck an' slacks. She's real pretty an she knows it, I guess that's why she don't paint her darker skin an' try ter tame her afro 'a hair. I'll miss her too. It's a weird pang.

60

My mouth tastes like mint from Opal's toothpaste

59

this elervater thing is weird and makes me feel a bit too cramped, like a message in a bottle.

58

One a' my nails has already got a catch on it, despite ther extrer strength nail polish Zell put on me.

57

I start ter pick at it as we rise

56

Heck, I mighta jus' tore too much.

55

Awww gee, it'sa bitta blood wellin' iup even.

54

I might need a band-aid fer this.

53

Firs' in-jor-ee a' ther games right here

52

It's a torn nail, go figure

51

I suck on it a bit ter stop ther bleedin'

50

What if I bleed outta my fingernail 'afore ther game even starts now that'd be awkward

49

There's Miss Ingrid, lookin' fierce an' vaguely annoyed

48

Miss Sonja, pretty as a picshure. A picshure interersted in tearin' out throats

47

Miss Siren lookin' ready ter drag a sailor or two inter the sea

46

I give 'em all a lil' wave 'cause they are ther ones who I'm meant ter stick ter like glue.

45

I'm glad of that 'cause frankly they are terrifyin'

44

An' I'm pretty sure that Ingrid is a friend

43

I certainly don't wanna kill her

42

Gee whiz it's warm

41

I think my finger stopped bleedin' which is good

40

This place ain't really lookin' much like a place where plants grow

39

The more I think on it, it's lookin' how eleven was lookin' durin' ther drought

38

A pang a' hurt shifts through me at that

37

At how nothin' I planted would grow an' my parents died on me.

36

At how I ain't even laid eyes on my sister in two years

35

I wish I coulda said goodbye ter her

34

Maybe one day Opal will find her an' tell her 'bout us

33

I hope she calls herself Earnest when she introduces herself ter her

32

An' I hope Sis' is still alive. I could fergive her easy on ditchin' out even if she weren't dead like I reckon she is

31

She musta known 'bout ther games, c'ain't think why she never learned me on 'em

30

She was tryin' ter protect me I reckon

29

Aw gee, I really do need a band aid 'cause it's bleedin' agin'

28

An' that's why Ma always said not ter pick at my nails

27

Everyone's lookin' real tense

26

Ter be honest, I think some a' these folk are real keen ter start attackin' each other

25

The thoughta that is real sickenin'

24

I don't want no part a' this

23

An' I c'ain't jus' give up neither

22

Not with Opal watchin' me

21

That'd be a betrayal

20

Who stood on my disk last year

19

Did he pee himself as the numbers came lower an' lower

18

I'm real afeared right now but I ain't gonna pee myself

17

That would jus' be distractin'

16

I went 'afore we left like my Ma always taught me

15

if he peed himself would I be able ter see it on this disk

14

Don't seem ter be nothin' there

13

Could be a differnt disc though

12

They said he was fourteen

11

I'm eighteen, a man, an' I feel like I could pee myself any secon' outta fear

10

I decide that he probably did pee his self

09

I ain't gonna though

08

I c'ain't in front of all these folk anyhow

07

Oh Ripred please

06

watch over me an' protect me in

05

my time a' need 'an please

04

Watch over Opal

03

An' Zell an' Ingrid an' Sonja an' Siren

02

an' sis' an' ther potatoes an' eleven

01

an' thank-you ripred fer all tha-

0

I run.

And when your house, begins to rust
Oh, it's just, metal and dust

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

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The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:08:03 GMT -5

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Post by k!ah on Jun 21, 2014 12:08:03 GMT -5

The night had seemed so long but yet here you were. Standing, beneath the surface of the earth, your arms shaking, your legs threatening to collapse in on you. There was only one other person in this room and that was your stylist. You say nothing to him, after all he was just like the rest of them, eager for you to break the surface and face 23 others who were either trying to kill you or not exactly trust worthy. Trust no one. Thats what you had told yourself since the beginning. The voices had told you to trust them, that they were the only people that you could trust but they were the reason you were in this position in the first place. There may not be people of you to trust but there were a few people that you thought would protect you if you protected them.

You had meet Potato first, he was the one who introduced you to the other two, Siren and Ingrid. They both looked rather scary, Siren a career who you knew could easily snap your neck, Ingrid obsessed with water and every thing about it. She was the one who seemed unstable to you… Her and you, I guess. You had decided that you would become there allies in the hope of some sort of future longer than a few hours. Had you made the right decision? I guess you wouldn't know until you were up there, until that gong sounded. So many things could happen in that short 60 seconds Your allies might change their mind about you and gut you first, or you might change your mind, the voices would be there, in that moment of weakness, that moment which would ran pst you in a blurred panic. Will you be able to fight them off, make your own decisions? ~~The voices would be in everyones head, they will be whispering things into everyones ears making them turn on one another. they cant be trusted.~~

You are told to enter the tube that would release you, like an animal, into your cage. You walk over to it and as soon as you step onto the plate you are sealed in by a thick sheet of glass. Frantically you turn to face your stylist who just smiles at you and winks, but not a friendly wink, one that was knowing. Knowing that this would be the last time you see him and he couldn't give a shit. You swallow hard. Fuck him. Fuck everyone. Closing your eyes you feel yourself begin pushed upwards, your face breaking through the surface first. Instantly you are hit with a wave of parched air and a frown slips onto your face.

Small piles of sand have formed around your plate and as soon as you look up you are hit with an ocean of yellow sand. You were in a dessert and your heart begins to pound in your chest. You look to your left. Most sand. To your right. Even more sand. Behind you and in front of you. Where was the water? The trees? What the of fucked up arena was this? You weren't quite sure what you had been expecting, you knew the Capitol was unpredictable, but this? This just seemed so surreal, so fake- you must be still dreaming, asleep in your bed in the Capitol, this couldn't be real. You were an animal that needed water, not a dessert creature.

thirty, twenty nine, twenty eight, went seven, twenty six, twenty five…

You going to die here little lamb. Your body is going to be buried with sand and you are going to perish alone, in this place, this desert, this nightmare. The voice is different, it is not harsh but knowing. It didn't doubt itself for one second that you weren't going to make it. You could do it. You would do it. You had to win. Beat them. Beat the voices, beat the tributes, beat death.

Twenty four- Siren. Twenty three- Ingrid. Twenty two- Potato.

The three people you knew you had a chance to count on. The three people that you had to find, that you had to seek to because you knew you had a chance of survival with them. Do you really think they will let you live, little lamb. They want to win as much as you do. They will slice your throat open in seconds. Step off the plate, little lamb. Step off it now. Save yourself the trouble, end it all, be safe, with me, die. step off the plate. Your foot twitches, you hold it back. No. You would not step off. You could not lose to them. You had to beat them, just this once. Ruby wasn't around to save you anymore, it was all up to you. You ad to win, you had to beat this.

Twenty one, twenty, nineteen, eighteen-

Help yourself, step off. No.

seventeen, sixteen, fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten-

Last chance little lamb, last chance before a painful death. Step. Off.

No.

Nine, eight, seven, six, five-

You have won your first battle.

Four, three, two, one.

GONG.

You jump from your plate and rush towards the place which contained items which would prolong your life, which would help you win this war. You would beat them, the voices in your head would lose.

✮ UPAT ✮

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The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:08:05 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Kire on Jun 21, 2014 12:08:05 GMT -5

She hadn't slept at all last night, despite Plato coming in to check on her multiple times and telling her to rest. Eventually he just went to bed himself and left her to her sleepless night. As the seconds ticked by she sat quietly, unsure whether she even wanted to sleep. It seemed like time would pass all too quickly if she laid her head on the pillow. So instead she sat on the edge of her bed, and then the edge of her chair, and then on the dresser. She found every nook and cranny in the room, flipped through every garment in the wardrobe - rolling her eyes at the amount of frills on the fabric - and paced the room so many times she memorized the amount of steps from one side of the room to the other.

One, two, three, four strides from the head of the bed to the end. One, two, three, four, five from that corner to the wardrobe. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven from the wardrobe to the dresser. One, two, three from the dresser to the door. One, two from the door to the bathroom. One, two, again from the bathroom to the right side of the bed. One, two, three, four, five, six around the edge of the bed to complete the route. Around and around she went. She stopped at the head of the bed for a moment each time to check the clock before beginning her circuit. One, two, three, four, turn. One, two, three, four, five, turn. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, turn. One, two, three, turn. One, two, turn. One, two, turn. One, two, turn, three, four, turn, five, six. Stop, check the clock, begin again.

Soon she realized she would just wear herself out more than was needed, more that she already was, and she sat on the edge of the bed again. Lifting the clock in her hands she brought the device close to her face, inspecting it to see if she could watch it work. No matter how she turned the thing it never revealed anything about its inner functions. Trying again, she attempted to pry the cover off of the face of the clock but once again it foiled her efforts. Fed up, and annoyed with the entire state of everything, she threw the clock at the ground and watched it crack. It wasn't the spectacular shattering she had hoped for, but that clock wouldn't be working properly any time soon. Still unsatisfied, she nearly got up to resume her pacing when she forced herself to continue sitting. While she knew that she would fall asleep if she lay down, she also felt the itch to keep moving.

She was like a tiger in a box that was much too small, and lacked any kind of distraction. Soon she would be released upon unsuspecting victims, but until then she had to lurk in a place devoid of anything of use. Tension in her muscles kept her from becoming comfortable, and each moment she was agitated lead to her becoming more and more wound up. It wasn't long before she regretted breaking clock, for there was no longer any way to tell the time. It left the time to pass by itself, and she was left feeling timeless. As much as the slowly passing minutes aggravated her, she didn't want to close her eyes and lose her the few hours she had left. Sleeping would waste time that she could spend being alive, really alive, and she wouldn't take that risk.

There were no guarantees in the arena, she knew that, and so she didn't want to assume anything. Just don't let me die first. As a career she might have the advantage of training, but surely there were tributes more desperate than her - people with someone to go home to. Tributes like Potato and someone like Opal. It was no secret that they had grown more than a little fond of each other, and more than a few whispers about marriage had made their go around. But she had her brothers, didn't she, and they counted as someone surely. The image of Reef and Ray watching on made tears rise to her eyes. She fought them fiercely, not allowing herself to cry even when she was in her own room alone. Letting them fall once would mean they would fall again, and again, until she was no longer able to fight them at all. She couldn't let herself grow weak. This is a Game, and I have to play it.

Outside the colours of day trickled in to cover the colours of night with lightening shades of blue. It was almost dawn, almost time that she would be taken away to never return to this building - unless she won, but she wouldn't put too much faith in that. She was one in twenty-four, those odds were too long to be called reasonable. Even with her training she felt no real confidence, luck sometimes was as strong an opponent as skill. Besides, with four rival careers and her district partner also out there she was not going to expect anything but one hell of a fight. Now, with the eve of her journey at hand, she still didn't regret not sleeping.

A knock at her door made her jump and she went to reach for something as a weapon. Her hand found the broken clock - which she had replaced to its spot on the night stand - and she quickly put it back down as the door opened. "Oh good, you're up." Oblivus' drawling voice rolled towards her, his smile not far behind. "It's time to go, sweetheart." Instead of snapping at him for the hundredth time not to call her "sweetheart", she merely gritted her teeth and complied with his instruction to slip on a shift over her underclothes. Pretending to need his guidance - still unsure whether she had really been allowed on the roof or not - they ascended to stand on top the building. It was a nice view from up there, but all she could see when she looked past the railing and beyond was the time she had spent up here with Colgate. Silently she wished him well, and hoped she might be able to return to her family - and maybe him - like he had returned to his.

She was ushered to a ladder that dangled from a hover craft and told to climb. Meekly obeying, and grinding her teeth the entire time for appearing so weak, she grabbed onto the ladder. As soon as she was two rungs up she lost control of her muscles and was frozen in place. They drew her up into the hovercraft like a fisherman might draw in a fish, smiling at the catch they had landed. Once she had reached the end of the line she was, instead of being released from the hook, stuck by a needle. When they released her she really felt like a fish and nearly flopped forward onto her front. She was guided to a seat and strapped in. Others were there, and then a few attendants, but it felt like the hovercraft was quite empty. Looking around and gazing through the windows, she had to bite down to stop herself from yelping as everything suddenly went dark. The hatch she had been hooked through was now closed and the windows had been blacked out. With a low humming resonating through the floor she realized they were moving.

The journey to the arena may have felt long to the others, but after the hours of waiting sleeplessly for the dawn to arrive the time spent felt like nothing to her. If only she could pace, but then again there was the returning problem of sapping her strength. Instead she tried to focus on not dozing off. The tug of her eyelids grew stronger until she finally couldn't fight it any longer and let herself fall into a half-sleep. The minute they touched down her eyes snapped open and she fought to wipe the drool from the side of her mouth. Hopefully no one had seen. One by one they were released, guided to the hatch, and told to descend the ladder. When it was her turn she went without much help, climbing down into a large concrete tunnel that must run under the arena.

Two peacekeepers immediately swept her up by the arms and practically dragged her down the tunnel and eventually to a heavy steel door. With a punch code the door opened with a near silence that gave her shivers, thinking about how easily they would keep her there until it was time for her to kill or be killed. She had no chance of escaping, though by this point if she had not accepted her fate she would have considered herself moronic. It was obvious there was no turning back - there had been no turning back since the moment her name had been drawn out of that glass ball what felt like aeons ago.

When she entered the room she saw that Oblivus was there, suddenly excited as she entered his clutches once again. Immediately he came over and grabbed her out the the peacekeepers' grips, whisking her into the room as the door shut them in. "You should see what you get to wear, it's exquisite." She grimaced at his rough handling, and the thought of what his notion of "exquisite" might be. With a flourish - as was usual for him - Oblivus brandished her uniform at her. It took her a moment to realize what it was, he was shaking it so wildly, and she could only think that there were worse things to wear. Skinny jeans and a tight-fitting white t-shirt, with a belt and massive belt buckle. There was even a brown vest which matched the knee-high leather boots. The best part about it that she could see what a small blue jewel in the buckle that reminded her of the ocean.

Grudgingly, she let him dress her in it. At least they had made everything to her size, so it wasn't like she was wearing hand-me-down sizes that might fit, but only kinda. Oblivus cooed and preened over her like a peacock, telling her she looked so fierce wearing those boots - but she didn't really believe him. In truth, she never felt more ridiculous. Once she was dressed she sat on a chair in stony silence, half glaring at Oblivus as he nattered on about nothing of value, and half lost in thought. It was almost time, and that scared her more than she wanted to admit. After spending so long trying to create and uphold a tough, stolid appearance she might just crack at the most vital moment of the whole Games.

A robotic voice broke the moment, echoing through the small room and finally silencing Oblivus. "Thirty seconds to launch." Ready to be done with Oblivus, and to leave her weakness behind, she stood up sharply. Trying to adjust her clothes to make them more comfortable, she stepped into the metal launch tube that would send her to the surface of the arena. Glass closed in front of her, giving her one last view of Oblivus as the twenty second warning sounded. Silently, there was no way he could hear her through the glass, she saluted him. The tears brimming from his eyes showed that he took that as a show of affection, though in truth she had been saying goodbye forever out of politeness. It didn't matter, he could think what he liked. There went the ten second warning.

Ten.. nine.. eight.. seven.. six.. five.. four.. three.. two.. one.

And she was moving upwards, shutting her eyes and tilting her head back as she rose towards the end of her life. Somewhere in this arena she would kill or be killed, and there was nothing anyone could do about it now. It was almost a relief to have it finally start, after so long dreading it. Now it wasn't a matter of patience, it was becoming a matter of training and skill. Time to show the world what she was capable of - time to show her brothers she wouldn't go out quietly. As a faint light entered the tube she smiled broadly and lifted her hand in preparation to salute all of Panem. Her eyes flicked open and she saw she was halfway out of the ground. Two breaths later and she was standing tall on a metal plate, ending her salute curtly and maintaining her huge smile. It was always good to make a show of things, they were on camera after all.

Her eyes darted around, finally starting to take in what kind of a place she had been sent into, and her heart sank. There was nothing around her except hot sand, and across the Cornucopia's golden shape she could see more dry land, except that it was much more rocky, and there were tall green plants. It was hard to make anything out with the heat waves rising from the ground and turning everything into a wavy copy of itself. It was even hard to make out her fellow tributes, who were much closer. The bounty in the middle of the cornucopia also blurred and stretched strangely, making it impossible to properly judge what was there. Giving up on trying to make out what everything was, she focused on the lit numbers hanging on the golden horn. They were frozen at sitxy, but no sooner than she had turned her attention to them had a voice come booming over invisible speakers. "Let the 67th Annual Hunger Games begin!"

Despite what the voice said, they didn't start right at the end of the announcement, instead waiting for the now ticking numbers to reach zero. Right now they were down to 59, 58, 57, and she breathed in. What did she have to do now? 55. She had to find Potato, Ingrid, and Sonja. 53. Then they had to grab stuff. 52. Then what? Kill people she guessed. 51. That was as good of a plan as she was going to get on her own. In the end, it all came down to killing anyway. This whole damn thing was kill or be killed, and the motto was there was nothing you could do about it. 47. She would have to get her hands dirty, it was just a matter of time, and in truth she was looking forward to it. The whole truth was there had always been a part of her that had been looking forward to it. Kill or be killed, she had been trained for that her whole life and now it was time to live up to it. Her parents insistence that winning was everything might grate on her nerves, but their knowledge that you had to go down swinging was something she had whole heartedly taken on.

The numbers continued to tick down - 32, 31, 30 - and she continued to try and think of every last possible thing she might be able to do to get herself out alive. 28. She would have to avoid Dan and his little group, that was for sure. They were intimidating alone, but together they would be deadly. She almost grimaced at the thought, but that wouldn't look very good for the camera so she stayed smiling. If it worked for Opal Shore it would work for her, surely. 20. Not long now, twenty seconds and she would be off. 18. Eighteen seconds was easy to watch pass, how many sets of eighteen seconds had she seen pass just last night. Easy. 15. A quater of a minute, almost there, almost there. 13. This must be the longest minute of her life. 12.

While last night had seemed to have crept by slowly, it was no comparison to how long these seconds were taking to go past. It felt like each was a minute, not a second, and that they were required to stand here for an hour instead of a minute. Didn't they realize that everyone wanted to just get this whole thing over with. These extra seconds of life weren't worth the overly large amount of pressure they were exerting on them all. Breathe.

5.
Almost done, just five more seconds.
4.
One for the money.
3.
Two for the show.
2.
Three to get ready.
1.
And four to go.
GONG!
Now it was time, after so long of sitting around and then standing around and waiting and waiting and waiting it was time.

Time to kill or be killed.

[Siren enters the Bloodbath]
_{Word Count: 2778}

On hills and waves on stormy days.

sbeeg
Retired Staff

3,503 POSTS
Pronouns: she/they
last seen Nov 1, 2023 5:54:37 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:08:13 GMT -5

Quote

Post by sbeeg on Jun 21, 2014 12:08:13 GMT -5

Erebus Turner

Erebus Turner had cried from the moment his name was called back in District Five, through his journey to the Capitol and even during his training. When he wasn't tearing up he was straight faced and sulking around the tribute quarters. A grin had only been welcome in the company of the District Nine boy, but he was not here now. Erebus was by himself, walking into the launch room with a Keeper on either side of him. Lethe had taken this walk years ago. She didn't cry when she was raised into the Arena, and neither would he.

His arena uniform was all new fabric and felt odd against his skin. Nothing like the shirts he wore at home that were patched at the elbows and discolored from washing. The boots pinched his toes, but he didn't mind much. He was just glad there wasn't any wool in any of the materials. His fingers drummed against the metal button shoved in his pocket and his teeth chewed at his lip. He was scared, there was no denying that. He jumped at the sound of the door closing behind him and flinched at the sound of the Peacekeeper's boots clicking together.

Hundreds of children had made this journey before him. Some of them must have been excited, but most of them were probably terrified. I must be strong like my sister he thought to himself, stepping up onto the metal platform in the middle of the launch room. He wouldn't let them mourn him, even if he was young and by no means a fighter, Erebus couldn't let his family shed a single tear over him.

The plate began to rise, and the darkness of the launch room was replaced by a blazing sun. Redish brown dirt blew across the ground and as the metal clicked into place below him Erebus was already beginning to sweat.

The minute he stood on that plate seemed to last longer than the boy's entire life. His mind skipped around thinking off all the people he'd be disappointing by dying. His mother, of course, who has already been through enough by having one child int he Games. All his sisters, although who knows they might like the house without him there. Eden would miss him for a time, but she's young now and as she gets older she'll forget him easily. But Lethe... he promised himself to be just as strong as her. He wouldn't let her cry over him... only she already had.

Gong.

[Erebus has entered the Bloodbath]

Luna Shim [tribsitter]
Seam Resident

4 POSTS

last seen Jun 21, 2014 15:25:11 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:08:35 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Luna Shim [tribsitter] on Jun 21, 2014 12:08:35 GMT -5

Does, Says, Thinks

Luna Shim

Luna remembered watching the games at home, and feeling sorry for the suckers that had to deal with the drama and blood of the games and sometimes even made fun of the tributes for being probably sent to their death. Now, she felt like a hypocrite. Luna was in the drama and blood, she was fighting her way just to win some stupid game and earn fame and fortune. She wouldn’t mind that, but she would mind the killing and the endless deaths. Luna imagined winning the games, she’d never be able to forget the stories that should be told about what had happened in the arena and she’d never forget how much pain she felt watching her allies and enemies die. Sure, they were going to die but still. She couldn’t imagine having to wake up every morning to living in a mansion just because she killed people, it seemed just rude and plain disrespectful. Luna thought on the bright side, she’d have a good house, she’d get attention, her mother might be actually proud of her and she might get to live alone. She was too busy thinking, while fighting to pay attention what she was doing. She liked that, she didn’t want to know if she killed someone or not. Luna had saw a weapon on the ground, it was a slingshot. Oh well, it’s something.
[Luna attacks Aelia unarmed]
3|p73mL6unarmed
[result]
[picks up Slingshot]

Tags: bb, | Words: -
Other: All prewrites and the intro are by ArcticWoof.

Made by Kire

unarmed

Owner: ArcticWoof
Tribsitter: Florence

Berett△ Corléon, D2F [Tribsit]
Seam Resident

10 POSTS
last seen Oct 10, 2015 11:12:13 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Jun 21, 2014 12:08:38 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Berett△ Corléon, D2F [Tribsit] on Jun 21, 2014 12:08:38 GMT -5

The Kid is officially a badass. Dressed like this, he is prepared to tip cattle, sucker-punch coyotes, and rescue the kind of devastatingly gorgeous can-can dancers from a burning saloon that are bound to give a man an achey-breaky heart afterward. After all, these boots were made for stomping — and that’s just what they’ll do — because today’s suddenly the day The Kid is going to stomp all over twenty-three of you.

“Yeah, okay, my hair looks fine,” he whines, wrestling himself away from his stylist, pawing his hair down in rebellion of Lepitera’s excessive fluffing. The shaggy strands flip themselves every which way and the woman next to him just about has a heart attack over seeing her painstaking work demolished in an instant. The boy from Nine couldn’t be less concerned, humming to himself as he haphazardly ruffles his hands across the top of his head once more before taking a firm hold of the lapels of his unbuttoned vest and giving the garment a good shake.

Across from them, the perfectly polished mirror reflects both his best attempt at gruff self-confidence and her unabashed horror. “What I want to know is: where’s my hat?” If there’s one thing Nocturne Vargas thinks he knows about outlaws, it’s that they’ve always got a ten gallon hat — “And my spurs?” — and spurs that sound like rattlesnakes live in the soles of their feet — “And my bandana?” — and bandanas to hide their faces when they’re robbin’ trains and banks and the hearts of those swooning can-can dancers — “And, seriously, where are my guns?” — and a pair of old timey six-shooters, firing shots off into the air and howling at their horses to giddy-up for a getaway.

Lepitera’s looking at him with her jaw unhinged, but it’s difficult to say if that’s because she’s still upset over his hair or if she was actually listening to the ridiculous, blabbering nonsense that just came out of his mouth. Without a hint of anything less than complete sincerity in his face, he gives her the laaaaaaaaaazy eye, breaks out the finger guns, and fires off a few shots around the room: “Bang, bang, bang!”

The riot of laughter that echoes throughout the room afterward belongs to just one of them and it’s only once ten more minutes of their showdown has passed that The Kid is finally wrangled onto the metal plate and rising up into an Arena he’s desperately trying to convince himself he’s prepared for. Suddenly there are so many things he can’t remember and the amnesia isn’t to blame.

Nocturne Vargas cannot remember how to breathe. How to blink. How to think. He is wide-eyed, suffocating panic and there’s no joke or smartassed game of lies that can save him from the oppressive claustrophobia of this tunnel and where it’s taking him and what waits above and—

and —

and —

…everything.

But sky stretches itself out above him, bigger than he’s ever seen it before, and all the things he has forgotten don’t matter much. As far as the cameras, the invisible audience, and the other Tributes can tell: The Kid actually does look like a badass. Although, he still thinks he’d look better with a hat.