The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST]

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 10:58:53 GMT -5

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Post by aya on Feb 18, 2017 10:58:53 GMT -5

Good morning and welcome to the 75th Annual Hunger Games Bloodbath (Part I), Tributes! Your Gamemakers have developed a very special Games for you. First and foremost, we would like to encourage each and every one of you to read the rules, as it makes life a lot easier for everyone when all parties involved are aware of the rules and expectations.

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

THIS IS THE 11AM BLOODBATH. Tributes who belong in this bloodbath are:
D1F Molly Malachite [MrMista]
D1M Atlas Lumiere [Kousei]
D1M Kyros Moreno [Thundy]
D2F Anise Himura [Shrimp]
D2F Hela Loptrdottir [Anzie]
D3F Ophelia "Wylla" Lysander [Azaleah]
D4F Anarchy Bryce [Flyss]
D4M Ronnie Cheyne [Frankel]
D5F Fallon Payne [Stare]
D5M Callixtus Shim [Mattio]
D6F Elettra Eckhart [Ghosty]
D6F Elva Eckhart [Briar]
D6F Iris Eckhart [Arx]
D6M Ingran Ansgot [Elegant]
D7F Castor Karmichael [Python]
D7F Leticia Wheeler [Gaby]
D7F Raven Barker [Dars]
D7M Seth Brogan [Marr]
D8F Eva Hope [Puppy]
D8M Gentian Hope [Lyndis]
D9F Zanita Luzell [Geebs]
D9M Lucas O'hara [Lance]
D10F Riven Fowley [Solo]
D10M Lazarus Stroms [Pogue]
D11M Tamron Rhodes [Dee]
D12M Affron Williams [Bailee]

New Bloodbath rules:

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

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

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

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

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

3. Other rules about bloodbath combat still stand:
- you must wait until at least three other people have posted before you can post again
- if you are in an alliance of four, you must wait until someone outside your alliance has posted before you can post again
- you can only be attacked six times between each of your posts
- your first post must be an intro with no attacks in it
- your first attack post must be unarmed before you can claim a weapon
- you may not attack in your fleeing post
- if you have a broken or severed leg or leg part, you may not flee without the aid of another tribute, who must also flee. Alternatively, you may flee on your own using three separate flee posts instead of one. For the 74th only, you may ally mid-Bloodbath and your new ally may help you flee. You must post in the Alliance Registration thread to make this official.
- once you flee, you may not re-enter the bloodbath
- fillers are not allowed
- all dice codes must be immediately obvious, even if you are using a table. Either put it beneath the table entirely, or make it easily accessible.
- you must specify who you're attacking
- all items - including weapons - that are picked up by a tribute can be claimed by the tribute’s killer

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

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

To clarify, the Wealth also includes any unclaimed items. You must be one of the first 18 20 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
Clear and sunny
Humidity: 40%
Temperature: 70F (21C)

Tribute Uniforms
Located here

Items Lists
Located here

The Bloodbath will end on the 22nd of February. Anyone who has not posted in the Bloodbath by then will be killed. The first part of Day 1 will end when the bloodbath does, and we will progress to Day 1.5 (more information to come).

five...
four...
three...
two...
one...
[GONG]

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 10:59:12 GMT -5

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Post by solo on Feb 18, 2017 10:59:12 GMT -5

{Riven Fowley || District 10 || Intro}

Riven Fowley

I used to be fearless. When I was a child, I think. I have a feeling it all ended that day in the bull pen, the ground quivering beneath my feet, the beast closing the distance between us, Fear himself creeping up behind me. And then Big Brother's protective arms swept me up into the air, and we were flying back to Safety. The one who holds you and cradles you, until one day when she can't protect you and all the evils of the world tear you apart from her loving embrace. She yearns for you, cries sometimes, but you never really go back to her once you've grown up. When exactly did I grow up? I'm not sure I ever did, but somehow, I've forgotten Safety and made friends with Fear. His icy blue eyes, his hollow cheeks and long, bony fingers, his cold touch. Somehow he always comes back.
I look in the glass and see soft grey eyes staring back. I think there's a child, somewhere in there. Sometimes she comes out boldly and takes over, but other times, when Fear comes to visit, she hurries away and becomes lost somewhere in the dark alleyways of my mind. I look for her, call her name. But somehow I can never find her. She only comes out when she wants to, when it suites her schedule. Today, she is not here. She is lost in her playground.
Shaky fingers pull through black hair.

Y'know you shoulda been called Raven, right?
Shut your trap, Kennedy.

Red jars against the pale white of my skin. The suit fits well, and I'm told it once belonged to a traitor. Someone who betrayed her home for a place where she could sit with Luxury and Riches, the two most arrogant people you will ever meet. Luxury with her seductive curves and pretty smile, Riches with his love for fun and carelessness. Red meets white, and I wonder if this is what my blood will look like when it is spilled.
My hands reach for my bag, sifting through it, sorting out the things I've decided to take with me: a pocket watch, a gold-rimmed monocle, some sort of gold leash, and a black nightgown with tiny pink roses dotted across the material. It's made of silk, I think, although I've never actually seen the stuff. Of course I've never been able to afford it.

Will Dad bring us more chocolate tomorrow?
No sweetie, I'm not sure when you'll get it again.

Feet carry me out to the launchpad, although I don't tell them to. Someone's hands are ushering me along and I just barely register that it's Aster, gushing over my red suit and wishing me the best of luck and darling, of course the odds are in your favor! Yeah, right. The glass cylinder lowers around me, and in the tight space, I can feel Fear pressing in against me. I feel his cold breath against my ear and his pale fingers running down my back. I close my eyes and allow myself a shiver.

This is it. This is how you die, sweetheart.

His words are slow, chilling, icicles dripping from blue lips and frost-covered teeth. I can almost hear the hiss in his voice.
And then suddenly, his arms are around me, tightening, joking, sucking the breath out of me, because oh God, the ground has dropped out from under my feet. I'd scream if it weren't for his hands tightening around my throat. Wind whips past me, the air is squeezed violently from my lungs. Fear laughs softly and kisses my neck with his ice-cold lips. The scream that's formed in my stomach claws its way up my throat and out of my mouth, and Fear's laugh grows to a high-pitched cackle of stones scraping against glass.
Something gentler, something real, wraps itself around me. At first, I struggle, but that only makes things worse, so I force myself to stop. My breath is coming in short, rapid gasps, my eyes wide, Fear blocking out anything I can see or hear. But even so, the world slows, I feel something on my skin, and I'm almost reminded of soft kisses from an old friend. Almost. He's been gone a long time now.
Somehow, it registers in my mind that there's a small squid, maybe half my height, wrapping it's tentacles around me and lowering me to the ground. My bare feet touch something I'm not familiar with. I look down, and realize it's the cement of a chimney. It also registers that I had the option of wearing shoes, but the last thing I wanted was for two sets of bright blue unicorn eyes to be staring up at me when I die. So I opted to go barefoot.
The squid swims away from me, or flies, or...I'm not really sure. I feel a tiny hole form in my heart and wish it would come back to keep me company.

Did you miss me sweetheart?

His words hiss behind my back. Cold air wafts over me, surrounds me, turns me piece by piece into a solid block of ice. My hands are rigid at my sides, my feet rooted deep into the ground. Pale hands rest on my shoulders and bony fingers squeeze sharply. The gong sounds but I'm not sure I'll ever move again.

THROUGH ALL MY MAKE BELIEVE
THERE'S SOME REALITY

{Word Count: 881 || Riven Fowley enters the Bloodbath}

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 10:59:13 GMT -5

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Post by lance on Feb 18, 2017 10:59:13 GMT -5

lucas o’hara | intro post

l u c a s o ' h a r a

It was a moment that he had already given several titles to in the all too brief span between the moment he had opened his eyes that morning and the moment when he stepped on his plate.

The dawn of the final day. The prelude to the apocalypse. The final countdown to armageddon.

And yet, he could only find one way to describe his own reaction.

He was excited.

He'd wondered whether his state of being would match that of the fateful Private Training session or whether it would stick to his more traditional mindset.

It was a question to which the answer was neither, but something else entirely. It was an answer conveyed in the eerie stillness of his form even as he stepped onto the plate, the cool block of metaphorical ice positioned carefully behind his solar plexus, the heightened awareness to each and every sight, sound, and smell that entered his awareness.

The adrenaline coursing through his veins like liquid fire was invigorating. The heart pounding from within his breast was less threatening than it had been back in the training center, as if it was merely rattling its cage to convey its own anticipation for the event as opposed to breaking free from it entirely.

A more knowledgeable individual would have called a fight or flight response. His solution was far simpler.

He was ready.

For eighteen years, he'd been forced to simply watch the action on the screen, watching as eighteen different warriors from all across Panem claimed victory from their respective groups of twenty four, eighteen that overcame the odds to prove that they held the right amount of skill, strength, and luck to achieve the pinnacle of human achievements.

They were the gods among mortals, the few who had proven that it was them, not anyone else, who had the latent power and ability to outlast twenty three others in contests of will, survival, and combat.

For eighteen years, he'd idolized them from the other side of his television screen. He'd memorized the names of each of the deities that had ascended to the throne in his lifetime, Games reruns filling in the gaps of which the confines of his memory had been unable to absorb.

Heron Kimberling, the legless wonder. Lethe Turner, survivor of a knife to the eye and a fight with a Career. Mace Emberstatt, steadfast veteran of Ten and conqueror of the icy wastes. Julian Bryze, the model Career. Klaus Goravich, the recluse of Three. Peridot Myler, sole survivor of a finale between his alliance members. Cricket Antoinette, master of the flames and a woman who could very well be his own grim reaper. Opal Earnest, the reluctant daughter of a fading dynasty who fell in love with a boy from Eleven. Saffron Lowe, the hardiest of the young. Colgate O'Leary, his home's champion. Leon Krigel, longtime heartthrob of Panem and sole active representative of his District. Patricia Valfierno, the woman with a temper as bright as her hair color. Katelyn Persimmon, selfless warrior of Eleven and supposedly one of the greatest mentors to have ever lived. Kirito Miristioma, the former pacifist with a surprisingly close connection with his feral roots. Harbinger Rhodes, the supposedly impossible final member of the District Eleven triumvirate. Atticus Manor, the deceiver of three, who used trickery to get himself halfway through the games and a surprisingly lethal touch to make the final stretch. Justice Fray, Panem's favorite son, and a boy who's mask is filled with cracks. Ansgar Todd, the zealot with an unbreakable faith and an impeccable aim.

They were the gods among men, the champions of his time.

And now, another was about to join their ranks.

He was under no delusions that the one might be him. In a standard Games, the order would have been tall. In a Games like these, with more than twice the normal amount of Careers and bodies in general, the fact was practically impossible.

But it was a fact that did little to deter him from his anticipation. He would wade through the carnage personally, tapping into his raw strength and instinct in the absence of muscles honed by Career training, and would deal out deaths as beautiful as the ones currently stashed in his sketchbook.

And then when it came time, he would make sure that he too would fall to a glorious end, one that would leave the people of the Capitol talking about it for years to come.

Though granted, considering the apparel he was currently donning, he might not even need to wait till his death before he would be immortalized in Capitolite legend.

They'd stuffed him in a mesh, almost see-through gown of sorts, placed over a strategically knotted length of black ribbon covering his groin, before giving him the finishing touch of a floor length coat and a yellow-green bowtie. A bag, decorated with a design that looked suspiciously like one of the past arenas, was looped onto his shoulder, with his sketchbook and some unknown object placed within. Rounding out the picture were a pair of solid gold high heels that were rather uncomfortable to walk in, not to mention the fact that they added onto his already considerable height of six feet and three inches.

It was the most garish, outlandish tribute uniform he had ever seen, and he loved it. Or at least, he loved how it looked, if nothing else.

The outfit was the last thing on his mind at the moment though, as the glass tube slowly closed around him, cutting out what was most likely going to be his last ever interaction with the real world.

A grin slowly spread across his face, betraying his excitement.

It's here. It's really here.

The plate lurched, and he closed his eyes in anticipation.

But then the ground beneath his feet gave way, and it is so different from the ascent that he had been expecting that his expression quickly morphs into one of surprise, wind whistling past his eyes his ears his face and-

-and the realization hits him that he is

f

a

l

l

i

n

g

down

down

-and he can barely see his surroundings through the gale buffeting his eyes but he swears he sees something giant and marine that should definitely not be airborne out of the corner of his eye-

-and suddenly there is a force on his collar and under his armpits and his descent is slowing and-

he opened his eyes to the strangest of scenes

Around him, his fellow tributes were also gently descending through what appears to be a cloudless sky, held aloft by creatures that are most definitely not avian in origin, dressed in outfits that make his look almost normal by comparison.

Taking a gamble, he dropped his gaze down to the golden high heels still adorning his feet. To his immense relief, what lay below him was not, indeed, open air, but a roof.

But upon closer inspection, realization dawned on him that this was, in fact, no ordinary roof.

At least, that's what he guessed, given the absurd number of chimneys peppering the surface.

Then he spotted the colorful assortment of objects piled in the roof's center, and it hit him.

Oh.

His gaze refocused to directly below him, past his shoes and onto the rapidly approaching chimney.

Soon, he thought, mood turning grim for the first time since he had woken up that morning.

His mind raced as a hasty list of his rivals flashed across his mind, the rough images of some replaced by crystal clear memories of others.

Twelve.

The pair of boys, youthful in face but stubborn in spirit, holding the banner of a place where glory was little more than a memory.

Eleven.

The selfless girl who sacrificed herself for the well being of her home and her faithful protector, both carrying the blood of those that had endured the trials of prior arenas. Two warriors that count among the last of a dying old guard from the embattled district.

Ten.

A set of four to carry on the legacy of the defending champions. The slight girl with the pixie cut, the girl who appeared to be connected to Mace in some way, and the siblings who appeared to hate each other more than care for one another.

Nine.

Zanita, Helios, and him. Three people who couldn't have been more different, and yet a memory of soft sheets and warm bodies can't help but cross his mind, teasing a small grin from the corners of his mouth.

Eight.

One Leviane and two Hopes, both marching with the intent to match their predecessors in battle. More memories, one on the rooftop and one on the eighth floor, cross his mind, memories of intimate moments at a far more innocent time.

Seven.

Both the number of representatives and the district. There was the young couple and the girl that followed in their footsteps. There were the pair of girls from legacies that had stained past arenas with their blood, and the pair of siblings who, like many, seemed to have a desire to match the Keenis in their death wish.

Six.

Three Eckharts, girls who entered for no apparent purpose other than to bring their family name to an early end, and three boys, each with a different purpose. The melancholic, the boy who gave even less fucks than he himself did, and Anton, the wolf in sheep's clothing.

At least, that was the angle he assumed that his ally was attempting to go for, anyway.

Five.

Another showing of well known names and dynasties, mixed in with a couple of new faces as well. Cree and Payne were not as well known as Shim or Ruined, but none of them had had quite the impact on the crowd that the name Turner had generated.

He, for one, wanted to see how beautiful the death of the Victor's daughter was firsthand.

Four.

A surprising turnout even for a Career district. Among them were names he had gotten to know well - Cheyne, the male O'Hana- mixed with names that he had interacted with far more platonically - Destin - and then the five that he had not seen neither hide nor hair of whatsoever.

The odds were in their favor, sure, but only time would see if luck was, as well.

Three.

A low turnout even for a less wealthy district, consisting of just two. One was a girl he did not know, and the other was the twelve year old he, along with Lorenzo and Anton, had decided to take under his wing.

Though he could guess at the Eckhart's reason for volunteering, he was unsure as to what had compelled Wylla to sacrifice herself at such a young age. With any luck, it would be a mystery that he would live to see unraveled, as well.

Two.

Six battle-hardened warriors from Antoinette's district, only instead of being under her tutelage, they would be at her mercy, instead. Though, given the victor-turned-Gamemaker's track record, he mused that it would likely make little difference either way. The well known names of Shaw and Hammerfell, both names of those that had reached the final four, stood out from amongst the newer names that filled out the group.

One.

A Fray, a Lumiere, and a Moreno. Two of the latest dynasties of One meet with an elder to form one of the most famous trios ever to grace the Capitol before the Games had even begun. Add in a young girl obsessed with shiny objects, and the luxury district, though lacking in the numbers of its fellow Career districts, brought its own cards to the table.

Zero.

His feet touched ground, and the grip loosened. Looking up, he managed to catch sight of a creature, large and almost amorphous in shape. If it wasn't for the eight whip-like tentacles sprouting from its body, he'd think it was just some kind of blob.

He watched for a second as the creature floated off, before the severity of the task at hand once again hit him.

Right. Bloodbath time.

A gong sounded, though whether or not it was real or simply a figment of his imagination was something that he was unable to determine.

Let's do this.

Leaping from the top of his chimney onto the rooftop below, Lucas O'Hara charged into battle.

lucas o'hara enters the bloodbath

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 10:59:23 GMT -5

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Post by d6a georgie cham 🍓🐢 frankel on Feb 18, 2017 10:59:23 GMT -5

[Intro | Ronnie Cheyne]

”Ronnie, would you volunteer?”
”What? Volunteer for what?”

”The games you idiot!”
”No, they are boring.”

”Well that is somewhat assuring.”

Conversations can be embedded into the mind, like a memory never to be forgotten; even a small exchange of words can remain in the mind for a long time. Unfortunately for Ronnie, that conversation was not one to be remembered.

”You are an idiot Ronnie! You said you would never do it.”

”Well, it seems I just did.”

In that exchange of words with his twin, he wanted to tell him, the truth. But the voice said no and well, it’s reasoning is understandable to Ronnie. You did it to protect him. There is no other way that he can think of, the traps never worked, how is he supposed to defeat an invisible enemy? An enemy only visible in his own dreams. When questioned, Reggie has never mentioned seeing it before, that is why Ronnie has to save him as he won’t know what is coming for him.

The days have dragged in the Capitol and he has filled every second with some excitement, otherwise he would have been bouncing off all four walls of the training centre. He has indulged, as insisted by his escort. Free goods have been offer; Ronnie cannot turn his nose up at such things. There have of course been the drugs, but the alcohol and food has very much complimented that. He may well have put on a few pounds; he’ll be surprised if he has not put on a few pounds in the short moments that he has been here.

Nerves do not fill his gut, nor does excitement, it’s just a foreign emotion that takes over, maybe it was the hit of cocaine that he had for breakfast, messing with the functions. This morning will have been the last time, how is he to cope without the enhancement? He just hopes he can get a kick out of something else while being in the arena. He has not questioned the uniform that the Capitol has thrown him into, he has already had to endure an array of bizarre outfits, and well, he enjoys the attention he gets when a collection of people surround him. Oh boy! How arousing it is.

He had done what he does best and acquainted himself with plenty of people, one way or another. He does not think he has made any enemies, well he hopes not but he blames Henrietta if so. Blood thirsty Hettie, as so many referred to her as back home, how she totally tarnished his reputation. Blood is above all, one of the things he does not desire to get his hands onto, that is unless the mysterious enemy possess blood but that is the only exception. A family name ruined because of that stupid red headed cousin’s antics, people sometimes ask him ”Shouldn’t you have red hair?” He is sure that Henrietta dyed hers, despite her little brother having a mop of ginger locks himself.

The Cheynes are not all the same.

Ronnie has killed once, and that was an accident. His brother Reggie is more of a hot head than him, even if he is far more intelligent. Oh, how he wished that he had a brain like Reggie’s.

He is pushed onto the metallic plate by the force of a peackeeper.”Darling, you don’t have to be so aggressive.” Slowly, the glass wraps around him, containing Ronnie in the tube. So it’s just a ride up now, like he has seen on the screens, an elevator rising up above into the arena, he hope it is designed well.

Three

Two

One

Drop.

It gives way below his feet, his body falling into an abyss, they have killed you already Ronnie. It is an ocean, he is certainly dead, he is back home. ”Is this what death is then? How boring.” Movement diverts his attention, there are fucking fish, he is certain this is the after effects of the drugs kicking in already.

One nibbles at his fingers, while another wraps its mouth around his right ear, one glance to his right and his vision is graced by a blue metallic catfish looking creature. His left hands slowly travels to the fish but the journey takes a long time, it feels as though some energy is pulling his arm back but he defeats it. One pat on the head of the fish but its mouth transfers from his ear to his fingers. ”Ouch!” His reaction is premature for the fish is toothless and it just proceeds to hold onto the tips of his three middle fingers.

There are others, all fifty-one of them, descending down with him; it just confirms that he has certainly not died, not yet anyway.

His feet make impact first, landing firmly onto an un-steady surface, a chimney, everything quickly expands into his vision. He is immersed by it all, the design, but he is still adamant that this is all just an illusion to him; surely it must be the drugs.

”Oh boy, this is going to be electrifying!”

[Ronnie Cheyne enters the bloodbath.]

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 10:59:25 GMT -5

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Post by pup on Feb 18, 2017 10:59:25 GMT -5

[Eva Hope|Enter the BB]

[googlefont="Sansita:400"]

eva hope

My soul is quiet and weary after four days of using my coal to burn the fire inside of me.

The flames have died down low as I awaken this morning, my green eyes full of fear. Fear that Lily must have felt. Fear that Paige must have felt. Fear that Gentian must be feeling right now in the room opposite of mine.

I push myself out of the comfortable capitolite bed that they have provided for us to stay in. It was almost like it was a joke.

I can imagine Cricket chirping laughter at us, "You were in a horrible district with no comfort?" I can imagine her saying to us, a gleam in her eyes. "Well here's a comfortable bed and delicious food and wonders you couldn't describe if you tried." I can imagine Hera saying to us, her little toy tributes standing in a neat row. "Now we will rip it away from you." I can imagine Cricket finishing off.

It was one last act of dominance over us. They want to show that they are the ones in power, not us. We have no power compared to them.

The first act of dominance was when they tried to make us think we had a choice in the matter. They pretended that we could decide our own fate even for a moment, but we never really had that choice. They had the choice over what we would be doing. Even if I didn't volunteer, even if Gentian or Lily or Paige or Shelby or any other tribute didn't volunteer, they would be the ones deciding when we did or did not die.

The second act of dominance is allowing us to see the capitol. Snow was flexing his muscles at all of us as he paraded us around in gleaming gold chariots, saying that one of us would be the next victor, but no one ever truly wins. No one ever really is able to come out of the games and be happy about the horrors they have seen. Well, nobody except for Cricket that is.

This is the third act of dominance over us tributes. Telling us that we get to rest in their comfort and care until they deem it necessary for us to die. It is time for 51 of us to die now.

I push myself away from the comfortable sheets and walk out the door to be greeted by two peacekeepers who drag me away before I could say my final goodbye to my cousin in the room opposite. No one visited me at the Justice Building to say goodbye except for those with cold hearts, and no one is visiting me now except for the same brand of people with cold hearts.

They push me into a room, with a plastic tube and order me to change into my new clothes. I don't look at what they are, and I don't care. I don't care if Cricket and Hera are forcing me to wear a flamingo hat with a dress made from denim. I don't care if I need to be killed in an outfit ridiculed by those back home.

I put the clothes on.

The peacekeepers come back in almost immediately. They wanted to make the illusion that they weren't watching my every action, but I knew they were watching me change to make sure I didn't slip a bread knife in with my pajamas. I don't care anymore if anyone sees me naked now. My clothes were stripped away to show me to the world the moment I volunteered.

They force me into the plastic tube and then I begin to rise.

There is a countdown in the back of my hearing. I don't pay attention to it, I drone it out just like I droned out everything Cricket and Hera said to us above their podium in the training center.

I look back into the reality before me, if it even is reality.

Then when I see the others leaving their platforms, I know it is time to go.

Then I run.

^Made by the amazing Onyx^

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 10:59:44 GMT -5

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Post by Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy] on Feb 18, 2017 10:59:44 GMT -5

1M Kyros Moreno // Intro

______________________

And all the gods in all the worlds
Began colliding on a backdrop of blue

I’m

Falling

Falling

Falling.

I almost don’t notice the drop in my stomach because I’m used to the feeling. It feels like a dream, like I’m floating through air for a period of seconds that doesn’t want to end. This falling is nothing different from what I’ve felt for the past week. Dazed, lurching, falling into my life on accident.

For a moment, there is nothing.

And then there is color. There is color and there is light and there are fish, soaring through the air like they’re falling into the same daze that has taken my consciousness on a ride.

They snatch me from the air like they’re the ones fishing me, but I would feel no different plummeting through the clouds. This indifference might just kill me, but I don’t mind.

I’m

Drifting

Down.

Down.

Down.

I rest on scales as they descend, floating on an emotionless cloud of indifference and slime. I’m deposited on a chimney. I watch my life as if I am watching it happen on screen, all the good slow-mo parts. Nothing feels real, and it hasn’t felt real for a long time.

I don’t mind.

Time slows to a stop, and I still don’t mind. This stoppage of time is accompanied by a far-off gong and a flurry of motion, but I sit

And sit

And sit.

I think I might wake up soon.

For now, I stare at the clouds.

[Kyros enters the Bloodbath]

warehouse

kousei ♚
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now and forever

The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 10:59:55 GMT -5

Quote

Post by kousei ♚ on Feb 18, 2017 10:59:55 GMT -5

{atlas lumiere | intro}

"I am lost and lead only by the stars. Cage me like an animal; a crown of gems and gold. Eat me like a cannibal, chasing the neon throne."

These tired eyes never touched the night sky for I told myself it would be illogical to lose sleep over something that could never hope to bring my crown to a kingdom to its full circle. Something that would never step and prevent the inevitability of regicide in itself, constellations that I have a real possibility of never seeing ever again. I closed my eyes and didn't dare let them open until they faded and the ticking stopped. Whether I could've let an empty wish sound upon a dying star I would never know, I didn't look.

"I am not a statistic."

It's barely louder than a whisper to the fogged mirror, my reflection holds its hand over its bleeding chest in anticipation -- it doesn't hurt. Numb to downfall, blind to consequence I let borrowed time tick but I've concluded it's simply below me to scramble to a for a rewind button and beg for one chance too many.

Strike blood against the clock broken for one cycle too many, not even the rarity of a blue moon and a red sun can prevent the corrosion of the humanity I struck one match upon too many.

Hand against my bleeding heart, I know I am caustic.

But I cannot corrode the rusted gears that turn borrowed time but every new tick-tick that marks the encroachment of fifty-two lifespans has become as trivial as the golden sunlight against my skin, as significant as the fog that leaves my reflection marred to the eye. I am caustic but I cannot corrode the mechanism that drives reality towards regicide.

I cannot break or halt the mechanism driving time and reality towards synchronized decomposition but I was named Atlas for a reason; I'll carry the weight of the world on my shoulders.

("do you know why we decided to name you 'Atlas', son?")

I wanted to say because they thought it sounded nice but the answer was a spear thrust into my gut before I could even answer.

("because we knew you've be strong enough to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders if you wanted to")

To embody strength, passion and burdens. There is a reason they didn't name me after Icarus -condemned to burn in my ambitions- after all.

For a man of such strength, my worth is so easy to define. It relies on the evasion of the inevitability that I could become just another statistic, that the only mark I'll leave on this infinite timeline will be no bigger than a thumbprint to be lost as everything stretches on. That I'll be just another fool with a red cheek - ("just make it quick, Atlas") and my sister's words will cut through sub-zero and pierce reality like the blade of an axe.

The sweet nectar of blood on my hands is bitter -- I am still no less caustic.

Shadows twist along the walls and dance with the threads of fate twisting against my limbs, they were never mine to control even when I was within the confines of my so-called kingdom that never stretched beyond the confines of my manor. So long as my heart beats with nothing impure iron and the next distraction I can be nothing but a lost liar waiting to be found and stripped of the kingdom he desperately clings to.

I throw everyone a confident smile because it's a reflex. "Tonight, we dine in hell." And my stomach churns and my lungs suffer and wheeze under the pressure of ash, smoke and mirrors. I am drowning under the salted sea.

It's a pleasant surprise, inhaling fresh air through the noise of the whirring of the hovercraft.

My hands are empty and my jaw drop when he hands me the clothes; I'm shaking my head rapidly, fists clenched at my side and demanding to know if this is some kind of joke. "I'm not wearing a fucking dress, I'd rather die." I say sternly, my family pride was already wounded once by a madness deceased for over a year, I will not have it shattered by running around the arena in a dress that doesn't even fit.

"I'll make adjustments."

Rage and commands rushing through my veins, I grit my teeth and almost spit. "Yeah, you better."

I turn away, left with nothing but silence broken by blades tearing through the fabrics of potential humiliation.

He calls me back over and hands me the best he could do, the feathers torn off and the dress opened so it can be wrapped around my waist and worn like a toga with no top. "This'll do I suppose." I mutter, gritting my teeth at what the gamemakers think they're playing at. At least the bag will be good, the one with a signature I do not care to read scrawled along it. A month ago I would've jumped and giggled at the chance to hold a bag autographed by someone famous -- now it just leaves me numb. I treat it how it is and throw the rest of the items into it with the exception of the over sized hat.

Time ticking, borrowed time launched and destiny calls - riptides rise in the distance.

I give him a nod and a smile because that's the best I can give with my devoid of anything but the threads of fate I have no control over.

"It's okay."

(who am I trying to convince?)

I'm screaming.

('do you know why we named you 'Atlas' son?')

Because it's better than being named after Icarus, cursed to burn in his own ambition before plummeting to despair with nothing but ash in his lungs and the realization that his dreams were nothing but smoke and mirrors to dissipate before his father's eyes.

I'm falling -- in love, in space, to doom.

All of a sudden I am Icarus and I am caustic.

I shut my eyes but the inevitable thud that comes with terminal velocity doesn't fill my ears in a pink splatter of bone and gore. The wind pries my eyes open and I'm surrounded by colors shifting and moving-

(monsters from the deep)

- my fall slows.

It's a soft relief to be smelling something other than ash and smoke - sea water and salt. Clutching onto the fin rested on its top, the danger of latching onto the servant king of Neptune is much smaller than the danger of latching onto nothing and letting terminal velocity take me, better than inheriting the curse of Icarus and taking the dive.

But when we near the roof top it rolls and I'm falling again but hit the roof that shakes more than the trembling skin of less than fifty-one. My heart skips a beat and I clutch onto the chimney because the servants of Neptune are gone and they're not coming back.

I only see Ronnie and I only see a glimmer.

A lie, for I see borrowed time winding down -tick-tock- but miss the saviors of Neptune leave their mark in the sky and leave me with a number less than I anticipated and the shifting numbers meld into nothing as the countdown winds. I'm cold, topless and running a rough hand through my hair as it its weaved with wishes and stardust, there is no heavy crown resting on my head but it's insignificant now - even kings suffer from being finite. Despair flooding through my veins, I close my eyes and giving up is a very real possibility.

("Just make it quick, Atlas.")

Phantom through the cold countdown, my sister's voice is sharper than any god-killing spear that spills ichor from a Lumiere's veins. Movement automatic, I stand tall and bear the world on hollow shoulders, inhaling blackened ash and all.

Corrode the kingdom to save its people -- I am still caustic when borrowed time hits naught.

table: briar

[atlas lumiere has entered the bloodbath]

Stare
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and i will hold you tight / like the moon in the arms of the sky

The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 11:00:04 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Stare on Feb 18, 2017 11:00:04 GMT -5

Fallon Payne / Intro

oh my one, rushing away
with a bag full of bones
i know the place you left
still won't leave you alone

(What do you believe in, Fallon?

There was no snow for her when she awakened on the morning of the Games, and the silence was so heavy she could feel it pressing down upon her ribcage and crushing against her lungs. She gasped in a breath as if it was her first, fingers curling into the wrinkled sheets. It took her a few moments to orient herself, to understand the lack of shouting outside her door and the rainbow city she could see through her window. Memories came back in waves, one after another crashing against her.

She sat up slowly, pressing her palms against her eyes. Someone was knocking on her door and then opening without permission (Mama would have thought that was very rude) and she heard a quick ”oh good, you’re already up” before hands were wrapping around her wrists and sweeping her away. She was still tired and groggy, but as she was dressed and prepared she remembered one thing clearly.

Today was the day she began slaying monsters.

(I believe in heroes and rescuers and brave people.)

Somehow she ended up stripped down and a basket of clothing was placed before her. Fallon frowned, confused as she sifted through the items.

“Mama… I don’t think Mama will like any of these.”

She was hurriedly helped into the pieces of clothing she finally selected. Someone laced the black corset over her blue blazer, and she clumsily stepped into the trousers as the feathered hat that almost reminded her of home was placed crookedly on her head. “We’re late,” she heard someone hiss, and she just barely had time to shoulder the tote bag and slip on the boxing gloves before she was rushed toward the glass tube.

“I don’t match,” she pointed out, but no one seemed to care.

(I believe in friendship and love and a family that cares about me.)

The round glass door sealed her in, and Fallon barely had time to press her hand against it before the floor beneath her dropped and she was falling.

Fear struck her like a hot blade through her chest and she was gasping all over again, arms and legs flying out in an attempt to slow herself down. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and tried to ignore the fact that her heart suddenly seemed to have moved into her throat. Not real, not real, not real. But when she opened her eyes again she was still falling, and the sky was filled with sea creatures.

Something gray and smooth slipped beneath her and she grabbed onto it for dear life. A high pitched sound was ringing in her ears and it took a moment to realize it was her voice. She was screaming. Was she crying, too? No, she was pretty sure she wasn’t crying. Yet.

(I believe in snowstorms and ghosts and monsters.)

She’d seen the creature beneath her arms in picture books about District Four. It was a dolphin, and it was smiling at her. She clung to it even more tightly, head whipping around as she tried to find Stupid Head and Zanita and Tamron and Lorenzo Not-Ruined and Chaos and Lightning. It was pouring down tributes - shrieking, flailing, all being rescued by the sky-sea creatures.

And everyone else seemed to see it, too.

Fallon gasped when her feet finally touched against something solid and the dolphin slipped away from beneath her arms. Her perch was precarious, and she immediately dropped so that she was balancing on both her hands and knees. Each breath was shaky and heaving, a desperate attempt to steady her heartbeat. Through the roaring of blood in her ears she distantly heard the sound of the timer counting down, but she was too disoriented to care much about it. Her eyes darted up and her heart stopped when she realized she couldn’t find Lorenzo Not-Ruined or Chaos or Lightning. Had not all the tributes been saved? Were they gone forever?

(I believe in the things people can’t see or hear or feel. I believe in the things people are afraid of. They’re real.)

Something blared, Fallon lost her balance, and she was falling again.

the crow, the cat, the bird and the bee
i'm sure they would agree
that my one is falling for tricks
smoke and mirrors playing your wit

Lorenza Aita ~ D1f {Sitter}
Seam Resident

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 11:00:10 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Lorenza Aita ~ D1f {Sitter} on Feb 18, 2017 11:00:10 GMT -5

Tamron Rhodes / Intro

A score of 3. It was far higher than I expected, considering I had nothing to present but also due to my name. I figured they would try to paint a target on my back, the most effective way being a 1, but maybe they had a different plan. It didn’t matter anyway. Fifty-two of us were going to be fighting for our lives in a few short moments and no reassurances would have helped. I knew Harb and Kirito would have my back but there was little they could do but garner support from the wealthy Capitolites willing to spend all the money they had. I knew my stylist would root for me, an inkling of sympathy for the plight of District 11. None of these calmed me as I stared at the door, waiting for them to call my name once more.

The outfit was ridiculous, over-the-top even for a Capitolite. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, I was certain my brothers would have had a good laugh. Maybe if I survive this, I’ll bring it back as a souvenir. It was wishful thinking but the thought did give me a good chuckle just as the door slide open.

It was time.

Forgive me, Harbinger. Forgive me for putting our family through this once again. The way to the arena was silent but my mind raced through all of the things I wanted to say to my family and friends. To Elidor. To Harbinger. To little Vera. To my father. To Elise. But that time had passed and I could only hope that they all knew what I had wanted to tell them.

When I had opened my eyes, the setting had changed and they were now telling me to step into this capsule. Perhaps if I had Harbinger’s or Crusader’s size and strength, this would have been the opportunity to fight back, but I lacked in both and was therefore easily pushed into the vehicle that would bring me death. I bit my lip, glancing upwards, hoping to glean some information about my new home. Would it be a field of ice or sea of sand? Would there be tress that completely shrouded us or would we be as exposed in the plains like a newborn child?

Whatever the environment would be, I never would have predicted the sudden sensation of my body dropping like ball from a child’s hand. Am I…falling? Many of my dreams involved being in the sky but I never thought that I would actually be in the sky. Wonder filled my mind first before fear registered that I was falling fast toward the ground with nothing to stop my descent.

As if answering my thoughts, I Found myself surrounded by sea animals? before my fall slowed significantly. It was the first time I had the chance to look at my surroundings and what sight it was. There were tributes scattered throughout the sky, holding onto animals that did not belong in the sky. Between this and our clothes, it became difficult to determine if we were in a Games or a show production. They are pretty similar, at any rate.

It felt like we had been falling forever when my feet finally felt the first solid material since the plate gave way. A…chimney? This was Games was becoming more bizarre by the minute and it took all of my sanity to remind myself that this was very real. It was at that moment I realized,

I’m going to die in a clown’s dream

{Tamron Rhodes enters the Bloodbath}

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«Success consists of going from failure to failure without loss of enthusiasm». (Winston Churchill)

The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 11:00:22 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Sleepy Fluttershy on Feb 18, 2017 11:00:22 GMT -5

{Leticia Wheeler, d7, intro}
Before I land in the Cornucopia I close my eyes and try to ignore the nasty feeling that is coming up my throat. I have been doing the gymnastics stuff that involved high jumps, but this is different. I can't control my flight and it feels more like falling down in some sort of a nightmare. The only difference is that I am not going to wake up because it is all real. Suddenly a memory of Luke flying down helplessly pops up in my mind. Damn! I have to forget about it right now. I must concentrate on the things that will be going on around me in a matter of seconds.
This place looks weird and so do I. I don't understand how I actually allowed my stylist to put these clothes on me. I look absolutely horrible in them. Well, the only positive point about this is that I get to wear black leather pants. They look almost like the ones I was wearing back home.
10...
Damn!
9...
Is this happening already?!
8...
Please don’t kill Marcus
7...
Please let me live
6...
Dammit!
5...
Please spare my allies...
4...
Please show mercy to my district partners
3...
I just want us all to get out of here...
2...
Mom, Luke, Aileen, please remember me...
1...
I am sorry about everything...
Dammit! I want to go home! There is only one way home now. And I don’t want this way for myself. But for now, I just want to survive the Bloodbath. And I will do everything in my power to live.
[Leticia Wheeler enters the Bloodbath]

(graphics by Kaplan)

☆GABRIELLE☆

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They'll either want to kill you, kiss you, or be you.

The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 11:00:32 GMT -5

Quote

Post by * on Feb 18, 2017 11:00:32 GMT -5

20...

Twenty things in a day I always forgot to do included some of the most miniscule things. Greet my sister and acknowledge her more than just an annoying sibling was one. I never brushed my teeth in the morning. It was always after lunch - mom always yelled at me for that. Dad never got the respect he deserved and I should have given it to him, but he left me with nothing to respect most of the time. He was always too hard on me and never my younger sister. My mom never got the correct form of 'I love you' from me. It was always about falling a tree. She deserved to hear it. There are so many more things that I should have done but never did. Too many things I can't remember. Now that I'm here, standing in this tube, waiting to go up into the arena, I can't even remember what else there is.

-Tick-

-Tock-

10...

9...

The time is ticking too fast for me to even comprehend. I stand unsteady on my feet. My prostetic not wanting to cooperate with my nervous ticks. I can't stand straight up anymore. I'm plastered to the wall of this tube, my eyes looking up to the ceiling waiting for the opening to show light. Where am I going to end up going? I question everything and I'm suddenly messing with the latches and straps under the awful clothing I'm deemed to wear. The shoes had already been taken off the moment I stepped into the tube.

"I have a wooden leg. I don't do stilettos, people. What the fuck are you thinking?" I grumble and close my eyes. The last few ticks of the clock are near.

3...

"Mom, I'm sorry. I love you." I manage to studder out and my fingers clinch to the tube.

2.

"Dad. Please forgive me for not making it into work the other day. I really do have a legitimate excuse."

1!

"Marcus, don't die!" My eyes peer up the exact same time my stomach drops out of my body. Wails escape as I try to make heads or tails of the reasoning that I'm falling. The only reason they wanted 52 of us was to drop us out of the sky. Surely a handfull would be able to live through the landing...

"STOP THIS MOTHER FUCKING RI..." I scream when I hit something that stops the momentum of my body. My who world is flipped upside down for a mere moment when I land on some form of animal, but I don't stay stationary on it's back for long as my hands grasp for anything that I can. My fingers anchor around two steady bars. My one good leg kicking at the air for stability and solid ground. At first glance, I see teeth. Rows of teeth lined and sharpened to a point and my heart leaps into my throat.

"SOMEONE FUCKING HELP ME!" I murder the air around my lungs and thrash momentarily as I realize this is the only thing holding me up.

I hold on for dear life - my life.

"Don't.. eat me. Don't hurt.." I beg as the thing starts to thrash slightly with me holding onto its head as if I had a choise of where I landed. "Nice.. hammerhead. I won't bite."

And just like that, moments later, the creature shakes me off and onto solid ground. My heart still beats like a mad drummer. My fingers shaking with every ounce of nerves left in my body. My eyes peer around my surroundings and at the chimney's placed all around. Where's Marcus? Where's Sage? I wonder curiously as my gaze settles on to the surrealism that is this arena.

"Where the hell are we?"

[Seth Enters the BB]

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 11:00:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by mat on Feb 18, 2017 11:00:54 GMT -5

[cal shim d5m // intro]

trying to keep him warm
Trying to keep him
Out of the {cold}

Callixtus’s skin performed an ugly jig as he laid in bed. It was morning, the sun in the Capitol shining as the big day’s commotion was already at full speed outside. He could hear it from his bedroom, but the excitement that these people had was not the kind that Cal had. Instead of excitement, his body shivered in fear. Every minute that he laid wide awake under the covers would only add another layer of the cold. He was frightened, and he wished he could run back in time and change the moves he’d previously made. He would have got a good night’s sleep, and maybe then he would have been smart enough to keep his mouth shut that morning.

This morning he did what he prayed he could have done on that day. No words, just thought, just breathing, just a heartbeat that picked up it’s pace with every passing moment. Was this what they felt, Luna and Sol? Emptiness, confusion, loss? Probably not.. they knew it wasn’t in their cards when their names were called. Cal didn’t need his name to be called to be foolish enough, he was plenty a fool.

The more tributes that volunteered in the games only gave Cal a slimmer chance to survive. There was twice as many tributes. Less than a two percent chance to live, not even putting into consideration the advantages that the strong and intelligent had over the weak and silly. He knew which side to place himself it. That side only tarnished his chances.

He mourned the loss of his collection of wine bottles stashed under his bed at home. His family probably found it by now when they likely cleaned out his room knowing he had no chance of going home. What Cal would give just to let one of the bottle’s fluids touch his lips once more… the drive it would give him.

Slowly, the Shim boy travelled out into the apartment’s living room. There’d been more tributes usual inhabiting it, five rather than two, but the bigger population didn’t change his eagerness to look for something to drink.

All he wanted was one glass of wine, just to reminisce and remember what it tasted like to have the drink of life. He figured somebody would have wine around whether it be the District Five stylists or escorts, Lethe or Trix, or maybe some of his district partners. It was his parting wish, if he could have just one sip of wine, any kind, Cal Shim would have the strength to push on.

Even with the time before he was retrieved to prepare for the games, he couldn’t find the wine that would help him persevere through this mess. All he thought of was Luna and Sol’s strength, despite going against all odds. Callixtus Shim was planning to do the same.

*x*

The outfit wardrobe for this Games was… a bit random. His stylist had free roam around the clothing he was given. Together they formed an outfit. The goal was to be creative. Cal and his stylist decided that little was much better than a lot. Together they unwrapped lace from tall boots and snipped the sleeves of the green tuxedo. He put on the green suit and let his stylist wrap the lace around his arms. He intended from them to look like vines. It was his way to remember wine… they grow on vines. Cal was happy with the outfit, although given any other choice he’d prefer regular close.

His stylist hurried Cal into the port. He knew how this happened, the slow and nerve-wrecking lift up. It would be the same… he prayed that Sol ansd Luna would look after him. Slowly he felt a shift, but his body was not rising. It took a few seconds… but he was…

Falling. Free.

It’s over… it’s over… it’s finally.

Something managed to catch his fall, though, despite his prayers that those were his last breaths. He didn’t want this.

By instinct he clutched onto the slimy creature that saved the life he didn’t want to have, holding on as it swiftly rode him away like the train that brought him to the Capitol. He opened his eyes to see a creature that was meant for the sea but looked nothing like a fish. It’s brown color and swirls and twists of its body made it nothing like the ideal type of sea creature. Instead, he acknowledged it to be a seahorse.

It bobbed back and forth, taking it’s sweet time to move to a tall podium. It was like those chimneys that he’d seen puff out smoke in the factories of District Five.It helped him to his place, and then Cal realized that this was the arena. It looked as if it was made in seconds, random ideas thrown together. Maybe that was the theme this year, randomness.

The time before it began was too generous. Callixtus Shim wanted everything over with, but he knew it wouldn’t be the case. The human body was not one to just give up, it’s fight or flight instincts would kick it. He couldn’t choose whether to live or die, but he could hope, hope that it’s over sooner than later. I didn’t want this… I don’t deserve this… nobody deserves this.

He felt the adrenaline rush, not out of excitement but out of pure terror.

As the clock counted down, he heard the same voice that got him into this mess.

”Cal, I believe in you. Believe in yourself.”

Cal refused. He couldn’t believe. The odds were against him, and he didn’t mind. His body was almost tempted to run off and explode, but he couldn’t do that to his family. Giving up was not in his nature, neither in Sol’s nor Luna’s.

Callixtus Shim needed his life back, he didn’t need to go with the voice like it told him weeks ago. He wanted to go back and erase his past. He was ready now to fight.

He started to go when everyone else did, his heart practically beating out of his chest.

He prayed that his fight or flight would help him to survive or it would fail and everything would be quick and easy.

[callixtus shim d5m enters the bloodbath]

Callixtus Shim

District 5 Tribute
~table by Ali

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 11:01:00 GMT -5

Quote

Post by sbeeg on Feb 18, 2017 11:01:00 GMT -5

[Zanita Luzell | Intro]

z a n i t a l u z e l l

She dreamed of Sebastian. Of smoke from long dead campfires. Of old shirts and canvas tents. Of soft kisses and deep laughs.

She didn't open her eyes at first. Merely cuddled closer to the warmth in her bed. She laced her fingers with his before lazily opening her eyes. She was on an actual mattress in a room with a big window. The bed sheets were white, and in her hand in her's was so pale and thin.

Zanita forgot she wasn't at home anymore. The hand was not Sebastian's, and this room was not her's.

She stole her hand away and yawned. Sliding out of bed, she took a moment to look back at her bed partner from last night. Rio. From what she could remember they had a long, wild night. His lips had tasted like liquor and desperation and she was sure her's had as well. They were both looking for something in each other that was simply not there. The ring on her finger felt oddly heavy.

She grabbed her shirt off the floor, stuffed her head through it and started for the door. She looked and felt like shit and would rather get back to the Ninth floor before Rio or one of the million Eckharts woke up. As she reached the door Rio mumbled something in his sleep. Zanita didn't stop to listen.

It's easier this way.

Back on the Ninth floor, Zanita managed to sit in her assigned bed for another half hour before her stylist rushed in. Nile was carrying a large bag overflowing with strange fabrics, looking through them all and scoffing as he was reintroduced to each piece.

"Honestly, do they think I'm a miracle worker?" he asked, ushering her out of the bedroom and into the dressing room for prep. A very small woman started plucking at her eyebrows and Zanita had to dig her fingernails into the arms of the chair to keep from growling at her.

Nile dumped the clothes on a end table, a mess of stockings, jewels and ruffles.

"Come here, Zanita darling, we have magic to do."

In a few minutes Zanita was looking at herself in the mirror, dressed in a full fishnet body suit that covers a lot less than it sounds like it would, a cone bar that glowed in the dark (Nile turned of the lights to show her, despite her concerns about being hunted in the middle of the night in the Arena), an oddly conservative blazer in light pink that was covered in ruffles. On her wrists were large copper bangles, on her feet were high heels encrusted with jewels of every color imaginable. They were rather pretty if they weren't so hard to walk in. Her outfit left nothing to imagination downstairs as just a thong was provided to cover her body, that and some thigh highs pulled over her bodysuit. Nile, flustered with left over pieces, tied a pair of pantyhose around her waist mumbling about sticking things in it and draped boxing gloves with the laces tied together around her neck.

"There you look... fine."

Feeling more like an abuse coat rack than a tribute, Zanita was escorted upstairs and into a hovercraft. They stuck her arm with needle and mumbled something about a tracker but she wasn't really listening. Once seated on the hovercraft, she twisted her ring around and around her finger.

Oh, Sebastian what have I done.

Soon they landed, and there was nothing but harsh lighting and concrete walls hiding whatever terrain she would be thrust into.

"Alright, Honey. Go have some fun." Nile said, blowing her a kiss as the tube closed around her.

Thanks?

There was a moment, still enclosed in her tube but not in the Arena that the full realization hit her.

She was a tribute in the 75th Hunger Games. By the end of the week she would most likely be dead.

I'm so sorry Sebastian.

Then the floor fell out from beneath her and she was falling.

The girl wanted to scream but couldn't remember how to. There was only blue- light blue everywhere. Was it all a cruel trick? Have all these kids volunteer just to kill them right at the beginning?

Suddenly, her back smacked into something... fleshy. Fingers struggled to find purchase anywhere. The girl flipped onto her stomach to see she was sitting on... a monster? It was white with a large head, with large fins to each side. She turned around to see its long tale behind them. A fish of some sort? What was it doing in the sky? The little beluga carried her down and as the clouds parted Zanita saw other tributes coming in being helped by other little sky fish. Jellyfish wrapped around limbs, a swordfish with a tribute hanging from its nose.

As they descended, Zanita made out the ground below. It seemed to be a house with a thousand chimneys on it and the big Cornucopia. The baby whale brought her close to one of the chimneys and jerked a little as if to say "here's your stop." Zanita fumbled for a moment in her strange outfit but managed to slip off and stand on top of the chimney as her ride swam back up into the clouds.

She looked forward to see that the Cornucopia she had spotted for above wasn't there. It was simply painted on the top of of this... building. Then, Zanita looked around for a weapon to grab when the gong sounded but found this roof was covered in nothing but crayons. Crayons and playing cards and other useless junk.

What a cruel terrible trick.

Zanita thought back to Cricket calling them all boring and the girl's blood began to boil. Just because she likes fire and glitter and glow in the dark cone bras doesn't mean all these tributes do. Zanita had been forced to watch the games her whole life and she had never seen anything like this before. What was she going to do? They all volunteered thinking they knew how this would go down but the rules had all been changed. She felt lost in a sea of nonsense without a life line.

She took a breath. There was nothing to worry about. She still had her fists and her wits. Zanita had made it this far in life with just those two things, she could handle the games with them.

She gave her ring a final twist and then readied her body to pounce off her chimney to grab as many fucking crayons as she could. If Cricket wanted to see a tribute stab another one with a tribute by Ripred she would get it.

Gong.

[Zanita Luzell enters the Bloodbath]

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The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 11:01:02 GMT -5

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Post by gamemaker kelsier on Feb 18, 2017 11:01:02 GMT -5

INTRO

[Ingran Ansgot / Intro]

It smells like burned toast.

You've gotta be a fucking dumbass to burn toast.

The wall in my room is set to six, nothing in particular. It’s just an old alleyway. It’s dark still, a streetlamp painting brick wall fluorescent yellow. Graffiti makes it dirty, there, faintly in the corner is a skull and crossbones. I remember painting that. Two years ago, after Amity got me my alias.

Crossbones.

She’d told me to get rid of a kitchen, didn’t give me anyone to help me. I gassed them out.

Steam comes out of a vent in an endless stream in the image and I wonder if its meant to make me feel more at home, less erratic. I don’t feel anything.

It takes so much to.

Three in the morning looks good on us like someone dipped their fingers in gold and struck me in the face. Light from the hall lines my cheeks, vibrant.

It becomes legal for me to kill today and I wonder if it will feel any different from when it isn't. Maybe some of the thrill will disappear, maybe it won't. It's something interesting to think about.

At three thirty the dining hall is still empty. I drink a coffee with my eggs, losing interest halfway through. I dump five packs of sugar into it and then a spoonful of jam I find on the table out of boredom. It's raspberry. Little seeds float to the top.

I go to see Skye.

"You really aren't scared, huh."

I shrug, apathy wafting off me like the perfume she squirts at me. She can dress me in whatever she likes, style my hair how she pleases. I couldn't give a shit how I look. It will get ruined by the blood either way. She isn't asking, not really. She can tell with a look. I might die today, but I might've died yesterday too, or the day before that. I could die ten years from now.

It doesn't really matter.

When I die, I'll die.

This way, I won't be dead.

I will exist still, in the frame of a television screen, at least for a few moments.

Immortality has never mattered much to me, the concept of dying has never bothered me, but it's good somehow, like this.

Skye places a bed of roses on my head. Hands me a tiny piece of fabric encrusted with jewels to cover myself with. There's a black coat slung over her arm and a corset with large wings protruding from the back. The boning might deflect a blade.

She takes a can of gold paint and dips her fingers in, placing a handprint on my cheek that reaches across my face, covering over one eye. She paints a gold target on my chest and a scar on each shoulder. Lucifer.

The gold itches, annoying. The flight seems long in the hovercraft. I can't tell if it actually is or if my senses are off. The coat itches on my bare back and I feel thorns stabbing my skull. Annoying, it's all annoying.

I'm only standing still for a second when the floor opens beneath me and I am falling.

I think this is meant to scare me but I only watch the ship grow further away from me as it moves on. I bend myself back, speed picking up gradually. Around me, there is screaming as others fall from the sky. No, it isn't sky. Sky is not meant to be sticky. They aren't birds there. That one is too big.

I reach out and wrap my hand around its long tail, tugging on it until I can pull myself onto it's wide, flat back. It's got large wings that are built from its body and it's stable. We go down together in a swirling arc. I find my footing and slowly extend my arms, finding my balance soon after. It becomes easy, smooth. We glide together until I'm close enough to a chunk of stability and I jump off the thing onto a brick chimney.

It glides away. I watch it go. It looks like it’s swimming.

We are arranged in a circle, classic bloodbath positions.

I look for the twins and the small mad thing.

All I see is the girl. 1/2 of that strange whole.

Our eyes meet and I see fear in the way she stands, even though she's across the circle from me. That fear better make her psychotic and not a fucking puddle. I'm not here to save her.

I look down at the emptiness below. There's nothing there, but I know that there's got to be.

It'd be a waste of their entertainment if we all just fucking died from breaking our necks.

The canon goes.

So do I.

[Ingran Ansgot enters the 75th Bloodbath]

Last Edit: Feb 18, 2017 11:04:05 GMT -5 by gamemaker kelsier

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does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker? ✯

The Bloodbath: Part I [11am EST] Feb 18, 2017 11:01:08 GMT -5

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Post by Lyn𝛿is on Feb 18, 2017 11:01:08 GMT -5

Gentian Hope | Intro

gentian hope

Red light shone from the digital clock blaring out 4:29 am, its glow seeming to mock his inability to sleep. His mind felt foggy, but his body refused to let itself rest, already tensing in anticipation of tomorrow's danger.

Fifty-two tributes. A regular Games was bad enough, but he'd never imagined there would be so many willing volunteers. They all had their reasons, one way or another - Salome for her district, Molly for presumably the riches, Eva for... it was the hardest to be sure about the one he thought he knew the most. And what were his own reasons - or had he just stumbled in, blindly following in the light and heat of Eva's flames?

Always chasing footprints and growing into new states of not-yet-ready - four days was not enough. Two weeks wouldn't have been enough, when time was constantly dragging him headlong down its path, too fast for comfort.

Abandoning his futile attempts at sleep, Gentian opened the door and slipped out into the hallway. It was utterly quiet - quieter than District Eight at any hour, or so it seemed - a calm before the storm. Pink light faintly glowed from the window, heralding another beautiful sunrise. The sun didn't care whether he'd still be around to see it tomorrow. The sun wouldn't even care if the Capitol were bombed to shreds and Panem were replaced by a wasteland.

Perhaps he spaced out. Or perhaps he was just lost thinking in circles. In any case, it still isn't sleep, and he's all the more tired when the stylist found him early in the morning to present the most eclectic Games uniform - if it could even be called that.

A number of the items he had flat out refused to put on. Underwear that chafed and twisted, some sort of black netting that looked like it'd be more useful to catch small animals than on his body. The giant cape with Cricket's face - he didn't want to so much as touch her picture. The mustache and flowers, not to mention the long flowery nightgown, were ridiculous but would have to stay. And anyway, if he only wore the items that didn't look completely ridiculous, he'd have to enter the arena naked.

That mental image was a lot worse than a hundred pink-rosed nightgowns. He was grateful, at least, that the footwear was marginally better than last year's high heels. Besides, the corset was surprisingly comfortable. He could always pick off the jewels later, when the stylist wasn't there to stop him. Maybe the roses, too.

He thought back to the bin of scrap fabric and unfinished projects in his room at home, and wondered if they would stay unfinished forever.

Sixty.

The Cornucopia glimmers below as he rides on the back of a large crab. Its carapace is solid enough, but it disappears as he alights on the rooftop of the mansion. There's nothing around them but dozens and dozens of crayons.

Fifty.

There is no time to think about colors and art, no matter how much the crayons tempt him. He spots Molly and Eva on their own atarting plates, but Salome is nowhere in sight.

Forty.

He wonders if they are underwater, and takes a deep breath of what in all respects feels like air. He is not floating.

Thirty.

He doesn't see how it's possible for any part of the building to be standing. He thinks perhaps he has finally managed to fall asleep, and this is all just a dream.

Twenty.

The corset presses against his ribs. It is the only thing he feels that bears any resemblance to reality.

Ten.Nine.Eight.Seven.Six.Fivefourthreetwoone-

Time seems to speed up as the gong sounds.

Gentian Hope enters the bloodbath

"Yeah… You have to be careful when placing labels on good and evil, Celice. Never waste your anger on individuals. Always focus it on the evil within all of us."
- Lewyn, Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War