sic semper tyrannis {the hatters} day 1.5

mat
Retired Staff

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Pronouns: he/him
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sic semper tyrannis {the hatters} day 1.5 Feb 23, 2017 13:06:36 GMT -5

Quote

Post by mat on Feb 23, 2017 13:06:36 GMT -5

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[attr="class","mattioshimimage"]

[attr="class","mattioshimname"]

Callixtus

Shim

[attr="class","mattioshimlyrics"]so i wake up in the morning
and i step outside
and i get real high
and scream from the top of my lungs

[attr="class","mattioshimpost"]Callixtus Shim ran with an assorted rainbow of crayons and small deck of cards from the center and abandoned the bloodbath. His flight finally kicking in as the numbers slimmed by drastic measures. At least two-dozen of the tributes were present, and by the time he left, less than a half-dozen remained in the center.

Once he was far enough to where he felt out of the reach of the other fighting tributes, he took a moment to catch his breath. The crouched down, taking inhalations of well-needed breath after what felt like hours of fighting. Surely it was only a few minutes, not even, but the rush that the bloodbath had brought upon him gave Callixtus unwanted-savoring of time. Every moment could have been his last, yet none were. He looked down at his hands. One clutched the several crayons that he picked up from the bloodbath and the cards, the closest thing Callixtus could get to a weapon. His other hand was free, but it was by far his most stressed body part, the knuckles of his hand a very dark red. Every punch and push had to get by it first, and Cal repaid his debt by letting it get so bruised and beaten up.

The last duty that Callixtus Shim requested of his right hand to do is raise a trap door, the only escape from the rooftop that he could see. He pulled it open, trying to get down the door as quickly as possible. The others would be coming soon, he thought, and surely they’ll come for my blood.

Nobody ever followed to challenge him to a brawl.

Cal continued his retreat down the stairs of the mansion, praying that if he was to encounter someone, he would be able to get away safely. To him, avoiding fights was a better approach to the Hunger Games than picking them, every fight you have is just another chance to die. Without warfare, Callixtus didn’t like his odds, and he certainly didn’t want to deal with even worse ones.

The mansion seemed eerie and confusing like dropping down the tube instead of rising and getting caught by a enormous seahorse. It all felt too insane to be an arena. It didn’t look like it had a theme like the others, a ghost town or a swamp. Now, it just felt like random things were being thrown together. Random clothing, a freefall, a seahorse, crayons, mansions. Nothing seemed to add up. Maybe that was the point of the arena, nothing made sense, and therefore that was the theme.

He slowly creeped down the hallway of the mansion, filled with paintings and antiques. The scenery in the hallway only made Callixtus more uncomfortable and afraid. The mansion looked like it could’ve been many times bigger than his own.

So this is how the rich people live. He continued to walk slowly, keeping an ear out for any intruders. After all, this was still the Hunger Games and people would love to strike him down in a heartbeat.

He stuffed the handful of crayons into his bag that he brought from the dressing room but kept the small stack of cards in his hands, ready to defend if someone was sneaking up on him.

As he reached the end of the hallway, Callixtus Shim finally began to understand what this arena was truly about. Randomness, confusion, and illusion. The stairway led to an end, but many more approached, going all different ways and directions. Knowing that the arena was probably themed on illusions did not help his thought process any, though, as he had no clue what to do or which direction to take to get out.

As the made his first steps, loud noises called out, a banging ringing through his ears.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The four noises felt too familiar. Three of which he knew were for people in his massive fight, but the other could’ve been anyone. It could have been the Shaw girl or someone from his District, it could have been someone he encountered or never spoke a word to. It was that feeling of uncertainty that worried Callixtus. Every cannon that went off could easily have been someone he could’ve used to better his odds of survival. Now, they were gone.

He traveled with the stairs to a new hallway, filled with the same illusion pictures and portraits. He moved his hand up to one, touching the center of a beautiful assortment of colors that all met at the canvas’s center. Callixtus’s pictures were not nearly as good as this, his colors could only complete a little scene of what he wished was him right now instead of fighting to the death.

He put his finger nail to the painting, and began to scratch the surface, chipping the piece of artwork.

It didn’t make Callixtus feel anything other than fear and confusion. It had to be disposed of.

made by ghosty.

flyss
Career Tribute

646 POSTS

last seen May 8, 2024 7:21:03 GMT -5

back for tha summer

sic semper tyrannis {the hatters} day 1.5 Feb 23, 2017 16:31:40 GMT -5

Quote

Post by flyss on Feb 23, 2017 16:31:40 GMT -5

Words Thoughts Speaking Others Speaking

When she starts running, she doesn’t stop. Her legs, a concoction of adrenaline and the will to live, propel her forward faster than she has ever ran before, and she finds herself on the edge of breathlessness yet bliss as she pummels further and further and further away from the scent of blood, sweat, and crushed skeleton. It’s enticing, she’ll give it that much, but Anarchy Brice of district four has never been a murderer. She’ll never be a murderer.

It’s not the consequences that drive her away from the thought of killing another-- any bit of mercy was squeezed out of her while growing up-- nor is it the morals (or lack thereof) that are often brought up in companionship with the subject. The sand-headed girl from district four doesn’t yet think she was worthy of taking a life, and she hopes to keep it that way. I’ll have to do it sooner or later, though, she thinks, if I plan on getting back home alive.

She decides that doing it doesn’t mean that she’s meritorious.

She also decides, as she makes it far out of the vicinity of the others, that surviving the bloodbath is an accomplishment in itself. When she finally stops, she’s a good three-hundred feet beyond that moment, and her mind swims in a whirlpool of dizziness with every heavy breath that rocks her body from its head to its toes. Quietly-- or as quiet as a girl without breath can be-- she checks her person for the one item she managed to grab; the shamrock crayon sits in tact at the bottom of her bag, its wrapper peeling slightly but otherwise seemingly untouched. Anarchy breathes out shortly in something resembling a laugh, before observing her surroundings for a way out. A few feet away rests a hatch, presumably to the inside of the mansion.

The hatch, a rectangle large enough for Anarchy’s body to fit through and onto a staircase, is an ashy black like the roof and raised with a handle in the middle for easy access. When she approaches it and gives it a tug, its weight is almost non-existent. With a subtle grin, she credits the surrealism of her environment and begins her descent; the hatch shuts itself as quietly as it had been opened.

Once her feet have been found below her, Anarchy takes her focus off of walking and stops, looking around at the endless steps and nausea-inducing, physics-defying architecture of the mansion. All around her, staircases seem to run uselessly into ceilings and paintings seem to warp into a mixture of oil, color, and wallpaper. Restless to make it somewhere where her mind can have time to itself and she can have time to process everything, Anarchy hurries down to the floor, stepping over two armadillo-like creatures on her way. Their backs show videos of other tributes-- perhaps the other 26-some odd that were missing from the bloodbath-- and momentarily, she wonders where they could possibly be. She hadn’t forgotten about her ally, Rio, that was for sure, but he seemed to have slipped from her mind during the minutes prior to her arrival on the mansion’s top floor.

As her third decision thus far, she decides that if he really wants to find her, he will.

Bringing herself away from the thought of being alone again, Anarchy looks for a way to get out of the open, long corridors and rooms catching her eye until she spots a boy off to the side of one, picking at a painting. He seems distracted, but she doesn’t feel the desire to sneak up on him, and instead keeps her distance for the time being. Trying to recall any memory of him, she makes a list in her head: he’s family of a past tribute, he’s from district five, his name is… And she falls short. Taking in a well-needed breath, her lungs finally having caught up with her, Anarchy walks closer on the pads of her feet, hugging the wall and hoping to ripred that he doesn’t notice her.

As she gains ground, she takes notice of his height, his stature only inches off of hers, but still noticeable. It’s complimented by short and fluffed brown hair, slightly damp from his effort in the bloodbath but still standing enough to even the two out, and while he’s not unattractive, he has a boyish glow about him that makes Anarchy stare. She inches closer and makes a fourth decision to approach him.

At first, she walks quickly, but reminds herself to even out her strides and soon finds a more capable pace. She does not take out a weapon. She does not turn back. Instead, Anarchy Brice of district four holds her head high and keeps moving until she’s near him... or near the ghost of where he was, she doesn’t take notice as to if he had moved or not. From where she stands, though, she is far enough away to where she doesn’t feel she poses a threat, but is still close enough to see what he’s doing.

“Having fun?” Her voice is steady, unyielding. A certain challenge lies low in her tone, but she doesn’t emphasize anything out of caution; she wants to see how he will react, to see if he’s worth her time.

She hopes that he is, because something about the simplicity of his actions and how they can be so calm in the midst of chaos makes her want to join him. Anarchy wants to stand by his side and figure out how he works and discover the little things that make him tick. That’s how she’s learned to cope with herself, and thus, she takes a step forward to give him more urgency in his response.

It’s a nudge but not a push, carefully planned.

credit to shrimp for the graphic

Last Edit: Feb 23, 2017 16:32:16 GMT -5 by flyss

Credit: Shrimp

Credit: Avalon

"I could have been so much more than just Neptune.
I could have been a whole damn
galaxy."

mat
Retired Staff

2,404 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Nov 18, 2024 14:54:08 GMT -5

sic semper tyrannis {the hatters} day 1.5 Feb 23, 2017 18:56:58 GMT -5

Quote

Post by mat on Feb 23, 2017 18:56:58 GMT -5

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[attr="class","mattioshim"]

[attr="class","mattioshimimage"]

[attr="class","mattioshimname"]

Callixtus

Shim

[attr="class","mattioshimlyrics"]so i wake up in the morning
and i step outside
and i get real high
and scream from the top of my lungs

[attr="class","mattioshimpost"]His fingers were at a slow crawl as he chipped his half-week old fingernails to the paintings that lined themselves up on the wonky walls. His heart, however, hit the ground and ran away from Callixtus Shim when a voice approached him from behind. He gripped the cards as tightly as possible, ready to watch them sink into the voice’s skin if need be. The girl’s voice retrieved his heart and brought his brain back to the trouble that seemed to be at hand.

Why didn’t she strike? He was completely unaware of his surroundings, too busy trying to unravel secrets of the arena that he kept no eyes or ears on guard in case danger decided to pounce upon him. Instead, this girl left her body as a distance, not taking the opportunity to hurt him while he was at such a disadvantage. He took one step back, but the girl made an advancement, pressuring Cal to respond.

”Uh,” his speech only proved that he was at a loss for words. The girl seemed to be around his height if not taller with hair a little lighter than chesnut. She was intimidating to Cal nonetheless because he could easily lose to her in a fight even with his knives. He wasn’t the strongest fighter, and in fact he never would be. Callixtus, in all honesty, didn’t even expect to live more than minutes after the Games began, yet now he stood at a confrontation with someone, minutes that felt like milleniums in.

”I guess you could say that,” he was uncomfortable when he spoke. Just kill me already.. Just do it. He returned to his work, taking one of the purple-colored crayons, placing the tip on a portrait of the wonderful President of Snow. He figured that if he were to die, then he might as well humiliate someone in the process. His arm began swiping back and forth on the President’s painting, allowing an array of aubergine-colored crayon shade onto Panem’s finest resident. He drew with the purple crayon the figure of an axe, praying that it would send Callixtus’s message.

If I die, at least I can pretend that you die, too.

Just like that, with the final shading in of the axe, it almost looked as if it was coming alive. Forming a real and dense object, the picture that Callixtus originally intended to be a symbol turned into something much more tangible and usable.

His fingers went to touch the axe, and when they made contact it dropped from the painting to the ground, clanging like metal to the floor.

”The fuck…” he could not finish his thought, and instead picked it up right away and turned back to the girl. Axe at the ready, he prayed that she would not return the encounter with combat.

”I’m not into the whole murder thing, so please…” he said, looking at the image of President Snow.

”Don’t make what is going to happen to him, happen to you.”

With one swing of the eggplant axe,

he caused and indentation in the wall,

an indentation in the painting,

and an indentation that separated President Snow’s left eye from his right one.

made by ghosty.

***might form Dick Axe??? Eggplant Axe? Aubergine?

ali
Retired Staff

1,729 POSTS
Pronouns: She/Her
last seen Dec 5, 2023 17:17:50 GMT -5

Ohana means family

sic semper tyrannis {the hatters} day 1.5 Feb 28, 2017 16:57:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ali on Feb 28, 2017 16:57:09 GMT -5

I'm headed straight for the castle
They’ve got the kingdom locked up
And there's an old man sitting on the throne that's saying
I should probably keep my pretty mouth shut

She was falling. It had happened so suddenly, she hadn't time to breath when suddenly her whole body jolted downwards and the sky- along with the girl and the boy- fell away from her, like smoke slipping through her fingers, she reached for the fading sunlight as she fell through damp, dark earth. Then the sunlight was gone and she was falling through the abyss in the earth that had swallowed her up.

Tumbling through the dimly lit earth, the blonde tried her best to reach out at the roots that jutted from the tunnel but it was no use, her finger tips would brush the edge of one and it would send her saumersalting as if she was weightless and then she may hit the side of the tunnel and bounce off it. While she should be quite familiar to falling now, she could not help but let out a cry when she first began to fall but that soon drained out as she became bored of falling; the tunnel was endless, neverending and she was certain that there was no end.

Then, at the end of her limbo, she saw sunlight and then suddenly she was crashing against the cobbled path she had been stood on only moments before. Dusted with dirt she rolled, using the momentem of her crash landing to halt herself before she could go sprawling into the rose bush. Head snapping up, she was quick to realize where she was. Where she had just been. But as her huntress gaze stalked the area around her for her prey, she noticed something was different; it was not the roses which wept red until they bleached themselves white or the distant growl of something among the gasrdens or the whistle of the wind through the ghost game of croquette.

She was alone.

Leaping to her feet, the blonde turned in circles, an expression of frustration forming on her face. Cheeks flushing red, she stepped foreward, away from the rabbit hole, teeth bared like a wild beast "WHERE ARE YOU YOU COWARDS!" she bellowed into the lonliness that hung around her like a comforting blanket, a familiar peice of home. "SHOW YOUR FACES!" When only the wind replied, the blonde made her way down the path she had- seemingly- only just come down.

Anger simmered beneath her skin, her world boiled with the rage that set fire to her soul as she began the search for the prey she had been so very close to capturing. With quick stride, the woman stormed without care towards the mansion, kicking aside the croquette ball and bat that sat abandoned on the lawn. The urge she felt, burned brightly inside her eyes, desire that peaked when she heard the sound of canons- at least six of them- thundering in the dusty blue sky. She did not pause to glance up, hoisting herself up onto the steps of the mansion as she stormed inside in search of the green jacketed girl.

Snaking through the shadows of paintings, Cassia's gaze swept the maze of staircases that opened up before her. "Come out, come out where ever you are!!" She sang, stalking up- or was it down- a set of stairs past the painting of a man with an apple for a face. "I know you are hiding little girl" Her voice snarled with anger as she heard movement up- or behind- ahead. It was confusing, the sense of direction in the maze of corridors, doorways, archways and stairs that lead to nowhere. Cassia could not tell which was up and which was down, but sense of direction was the least of her concern now.

Turning the corner, round the one she had heard the muttering, she did not find who she had originally been looking for. Immedieatly she took a defensive position, body straightneing as the sound of her clicking heels came to an abrupt halt. A girl- older, more pale than the green jacketed girl and roughly the same height as Cassia herself- stood with her back to the eager career. The girl was not familiar as Cassie racked her brain for names she did not know, but it was the face beyond the dusty blonde that caught Cassia's attention.

"Calixtus?" she said with scrutiny, eyes narrowing into an almost glare as her lips twitched. "Well, well fancy seeing you here" she teased, her blue eyes glancing from the painting to the axe in his hands. She raised an eyebrow- she had not seen anything like that in her Bloodbath. "Having fun with your girlfriend?" She questioned with a smirk, dusting her card with care; a puff of air and dirt flittered in the air before falling to the ground.

Cassia had a lot of questions, but she knew Cal was not like the others and judging by his defensive position, it looked as if the dominos inside his fragile soul had already begun to fall. "Nice Axe..." she tilted her head to the side, still watching it. "Pretty...be a doll and give it to me will you?"

Cassiopeia Shaw

District 2 Tribute

“It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”

Tom
Moderator

5,218 POSTS
Pronouns: He/Him
last seen Nov 19, 2024 9:23:58 GMT -5

OowoO

sic semper tyrannis {the hatters} day 1.5 Mar 1, 2017 1:14:58 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Tom on Mar 1, 2017 1:14:58 GMT -5

There's no reflection in his eyes.

Only pain. Only a broken man. Dreams scattered around the stairs that were easy to get lost within. Salome Izar had done a number on his emotions. Kindness was real. There was still a part of him that wanted to believe her. He, so badly, wanted to believe kindness was out there. Locked away in a pandora's box, waiting to be released from it's confines and revitalize the world into a place that no one had to suffer through. It would only take one person to crack the box open and release kindness back into the world, but that was his hope. Reality of pandora's box was all the bad had escaped, the good was locked away deep within his heart.

A hollow feeling in his stomach to never be quenched by the amount of happiness he can create. It eats away at his heart. Bit by bit, until it's full of the person that had been Riordan Einfallen. There was only a fraction of the Riordan Einfallen that Jequirity had known left. Only to be replaced with the new teen that had no reflection his eyes. Every day felt like an uphill battle of emotions and loss as he had walked miles and miles doing the things that used to give his body life. Only for it all to feel like an aching pain that never fully goes away, no matter how much he drinks. No matter how much consciousness he loses. The hollow feeling swells deep in his chest as he slams a fist against the wall. Decorative spurs jingling against the floor.

I'm glad to have met you.

Six words ringing in his head. Time and time again, he's heard the same words from the lost. Their whispers in the night telling him so. A gentle brush of the ear as words would ring to the canal and sing a melody of sweetness to lull him to sleep. Feet taking him somewhere else and away from the bleeding garden of roses that looked too much like the nightmare recurring every night since he's volunteered. The drip of red onto the ground as he wanted to scream in frustration. That was all behind him now. Vanishing behind him like a memory that was useless. A hand slams into the wall again, a guide to make sure he's still sane somewhere in the maze of staircases and walls.

Up was down. Down was up. Left was up. Right was up. Left was down. Right was left. Left was backwards. Down was left. Up was down. Directions for the mansion seemed impossible. He's walked past the same painting over and over again. This was just like last time when he was trying to find Anarchy. Lost in his own mind and lack of direction in the mansion that seemed to flip everything on it's head. Lost amongst the photos upon the walls, bland stairs that go on forever and ever as his feet begin to pound in exhaustion. Anarchy was out there and he needed to find her before anyone else could. Unfortunately, he was late to the party.

Anarchy was there.

Around the corner with a boy, who was a Shim, and Cassiopeia, the girl who he had just ran into. Eyes catch them as he hears Callixtus' name said out loud by the Shaw. A girl with so much pride and strength that made him feel the fear within his heart. Mind screaming at him to run away, but he couldn't let Anarchy be in the middle of that alone. Terror could break out at a moment's notice with the cards in Cassiopeia's grasp. Gold Glaive in his hand, eyes steady as he can hear Cassiopeia's voice in the room.

"Having fun with your girlfriend?"

Eyes widen at the words. Anarchy could be using him for her own gain. Would she do that to him? He couldn't truly know. He couldn't truly know anything anymore. Someone could see him easily, but he had stopped walking. The spurs not making any noise. Silently, he watches them, taking in the scene. A painting on the ground. A purple axe of some sorts. Anarchy steady in her looks, like she was born for this. Born to volunteer to experience it all. A true career in his own mind. Callixtus Shim with an interesting look upon his face as Riordan thinks. Cassiopeia's smirk still burned into his mind as she fell into the ground, flowers bleeding blood that he swore was hers. Only a lie by his imagination.

"Pretty...be a doll and give it to me will you?"

Something within his heart lights on fire. Fear washing away in something different that he didn't want to think about. Kindness still existed in their world. Salome Izar had tried to show him, but he was selfish. There was no need to be selfish anymore. No need to care about himself when all that was to come to him was the peaceful reunion with his lost loved ones in the world beyond. Glaive in his hands, he escapes the shadows with his own smirk, deciding to play it cool. Deciding to show that Riordan Einfallen wasn't a boy meant to be kicked around by the bullies in school. No more critics to tear his productions apart and exposing him to the world of disappointment. Spurs click upon the ground as he runs to Anarchy, eyes scanning her face for any sign of emotion. Words tumble out quickly.

"Anarchy. There you are. I was so worried."

Smirk turned toward the other two now as he stands near his ally. Glaive in hand, pointing toward Cassiopeia. A blink as he stares at her. THe gorgeous looks don't show the evil heart that lies within the body. He's faced so many fears time and time again, until he couldn't stand never facing one again. Cassiopeia Shaw was the next fear he had to face in the grand scheme of it all. Hands grip slightly tighter upon his gold weapon as he catches eyes with Callixtus' eyes. Words fall from his lips as he speaks.

"We meet again, Shaw. Like I've said before, I don't want any trouble."

One hand moves the snapback backwards upon his head. Hairs sticking out the back of it as he smirks at the career girl. No trouble is what he wanted. Proof of that is what he was going to have to give. Lowering the gold glaive away from both of them, Rio places a hand upon his hip. Eyes scan the painting of a known friend of theirs. A chuckles escapes his body as he looks towards Callixtus Shim. The Shim boy clearly younger than himself. Brown hair sticking out and yet he still looks adorable like the little brother that would try to probably kill him. A laugh escapes from his body with the words he speaks to the Shim.

"Aren't you adorable? No wonder Anarchy is dating someone as cute as you!"

The urge to pinch the boy's cheeks subside as he lazily sticks a hand into his jean shorts' pocket. Diorite Fray's voice whispering in his ear again. You are not alone. He wasn't alone in the world, but it felt like the weight was upon him. Reflections of his form lifting the sphere of the world upon his shoulders. Everything was upon his shoulders. They could be dead. The Eckharts. Brooke. Diorite. Ivar. They could all be dead. He's heard ten canons that entire day. Ten deaths to start off the first day of the bloodiest games to have come. This was only the first act of show. The second would be just as big. Final acts were coming for them all. The show must go on. Eyes catch Anarchy's as he lets out a breath of relief in his body. The want to tell her of the adventures he's already found in the arena come flying forward, but this wasn't the time or the place. A smile upon his face as he speaks again with a hint of teasing upon his lips.

"Anyways, I'll let you love birds continue, but no funny business."

A fatherly look directed towards Anarchy, with a small smile upon his face. Relief washing over his system, but internally he was broken already. Zanita's smile, the last thing he could remember before the games even started. The way she had looked in his arms as they both peacefully fell into their dreams. This was the reality of the games. People died. There was no joke here, only serious fighting and killer teens who could use him as a toothpick.

"I mean it, you two."