The Bloodbath

rook
Veteran Member

2,361 POSTS

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

who needs another thing to be sad about?

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 17:53:08 GMT -5

Quote

Post by rook on Sept 14, 2020 17:53:08 GMT -5

Nieve points out a taller girl, saying how she protected her when she was beaten. Remember? She says it like I was close to her cell, and not at the other end of the stone corridor with the boy who howled all night and the girl who first spoke out. It doesn't matter, if Nieve is right and this girl stood up for her, then she seems as trustworthy as we can hope for.

All I want is for there to be someone else. I feel sick to my stomach as it is, walking around on the ashes of the dead, looking around at these twenty-three other children, knowing that in a matter of hours they'll be lying dead in the sand, me among them. I am trying to be strong, but I don't know if I could take seeing this little girl murdered in front of me, and I think I'd die a little easier knowing there was someone else watching her after I'm cut down.

Breathe, exhale. Catch yourself, Izzy.

I feel like I did at the Reaping, like I'm stood in the middle of a field, atop a hill, and a hurricane is on the horizon tearing up fence posts like toothpicks, throwing farm vehicles and silos up into the sky. I'm exposed, standing here in this arena, just waiting for something to happen. Waiting for the hurricane to come and rip me apart.

It doesn't. Everyone is just standing there, not fighting, not killing. I feel sick.

I try to move, but I can't.

And I feel a little squeeze in my palm, and I look to my left. Nieve has taken my hand in hers, or tried to - at best she has her tiny fingers clutching the space between my index finger and my thumb. It's a reassurance from a very young and fragile girl. For a few seconds I can't breathe. How can someone so helpless and tiny be trying to comfort her protector?

I don't know what it is, but she makes me want to be brave.

Taking her small hand in mine firmly, we move back inwards, towards the tributes who aren't yet killing each other but may soon be killing each other, and I just think how mad this all is. The crowd start to become impatient, and it isn't long before the arena becomes a boiling pot of toxicity.

As we move towards the centre, something hits me on the back of the head, and my heart leaps to my throat. My hand moves to feel what hit me, feeling for blood or an arrow, but there's nothing there, and I realise I am not in pain. I turn and see a hot dog lying in the sand, and then I look up at the layer upon layer of booing onlookers, all throwing food and drinks at us in disgust.

"Don't look at them, Nieve. Don't give them the satisfaction." I say as I half-drag her towards the girl who she said she trusted.

The girl has tired eyes and dark hair, with high cheekbones and a thin frame. She doesn't look particularly dangerous, but then the best killers never do. I'm on my guard as we approach, looking to my left and right at the other tributes. Some just stand there. Other have dropped their weapons. A few are just taking. The atmosphere unnerves me greatly, and I still clutch my sword tightly in the hand that is gripping Nieve's.

Don't let go of her hand.

I won't let go of her hand.

I won't lose her.

"Will you help me?" I ask her, only realising now how dry and desperate my voice is.

"Will you help me protect this girl?"

I try to move, but I can't.

"Please."

It's a simple request, but one that is demanding a lot from this stranger. I can only hope that she holds inside her the same basic humanity as myself. I have to have faith that people are inherently good, and decent, and are willing to do the right thing.

And if they're not, then we're already dead.

[Izzy holds Nieve's hand and leads her to Piper]

an hourglass is just a glass with sand inside

𝓂𝒶𝒽𝑜𝓊𝒽𝑜🕊
Merchant

236 POSTS

Pronouns: She/Her
last seen Dec 9, 2020 11:38:21 GMT -5

away until further notice-

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 17:54:02 GMT -5

Quote

Post by 𝓂𝒶𝒽𝑜𝓊𝒽𝑜🕊 on Sept 14, 2020 17:54:02 GMT -5

Cage rising, my footing felt uneven as the sun’s beams sung to me. Its heat was the only welcoming we received upon our arrival, much better than the chill of the tunnels beneath. Although the stench didn’t expire, clinging to fabric with unevenly faded blotches and a half-washed scent reserved for those who boil cabbage to get by. A cheer howled through our confined dune, an attempted gale of gusto, yet it would take more to resurge your vitality. Are they that daft? What good would jeering do? If they had half a brain, looking around, all they would see is dazed children, deprived of water and food, in a sandbox that was every kid’s dream but ours. Since this sandbox didn’t have hidden treasures we could burrow our hands through to uncover. If you knelt down, the grain would scorch and seer your exposed knees, offering feeble support against your wobbling yet not enough to prevent sinking. Sink too far though, and the dead will hold you from under. If you lie comfortably in it, the severed of the prior three games will grab you, pulling you under.

Sixty-nine children have perished in here, with the ”lucky” three former tributes watching for their embrace. Rust rises from the grain, offering a vague comfort of the shop back home, but it hits you in waves. At first, it is a memory of the past. The second inhale I feel the skeleton’s grasp on my ankle. My leg tugs forward instinctively, popping the wrist from its socket. It clings as if a chain, the pressure tightening as my distance closes to the nearest sword. Eyes meeting the conductor of our demise, sitting comfortably high, the third wave hit me, prefacing what would come soon; death.

The audience gorges on food, as if shoveling our blood down their throats. It offers a light appetizer, a tasting of which palette they are in the mood for. Was it the pale small one that looked too tiny for her cage, or those about to step off the cliff of adolescence, to plunge into the audience’s world. They’d welcome them with curious strokes of the arms upon greeting, cooing praise to the subhuman they regarded hours before. Only because their dogs killed their prey before a bullet was even wasted. Their savagery inspired the hunters, gifting them with their foregone humanity. But it’s obvious by their distancing on the risers their true impression of the three. They’ll never be one of them. Maybe though a younger one they could mold perhaps, but the older ones are difficult to handle. Their faces reflect their shame, while a child is blissfully ignorant. Sure, we are all children, but society only cares for the cute ones. Too big or ill formed and you’ll lie under any boot they press onto your cheek, without a warrant of cause needed.

But not all children are blissfully ignorant. Our confused displacement and uneasiness may fan those theories, but they are the real fools. We aren’t the ones easily goaded with a pension for violence, yet too cowardice to drain the life from those below them ourselves. What kind of pathetic power trip does an adult have to have in order to watch children in ill-fitting, defenseless costumes murder one another need to have? A smile found my lips as my hand found my faux armor that hung from my hips. “This is stupid” a mutter tumbled out of my dried throat before surging louder, gaze unwavering from the audience. “This is so fucking pathetic. This is what you call a show?” Base clenched onto my words, echoing slightly. Papa always warned I had a temper like him, but now wasn’t the time for reminiscing. The mockery escaped my palm, gesturing to the odorous garment on me. “We have no defensives.”

Rage bubbled under my skin, digging into my temples. A sigh offered a brief cooling, yet my fingers massaged the pressure away before continuing. “If you wanted a show, you’d at least be smart enough to get people who can put up a fight, but children?” With a shake of my head, the warmed leather of the nearest hilt greeted me. Their gluttony disgusts me, I can’t bother to look anymore. Remember what Ernie said, that’s all that matters. Milagros is all that matters, and I won’t let these puppets win. I won’t let her see me mark the seventieth to join the fallen in the sand, nor will I mark the third in our family to do so. I won’t be shipped back home in a bag for her to have to shove me into a piled pit with the other dead.

Calves clenching in anticipation, swiveling around to my supposed foes, the blade drifted along the sand, cutting off the skeleton’s hands. I put distance to any fears that emerged of leaving Milagros alone once more, closing in towards the center. Searching around at the now somewhat familiar faces, my voice rose above any muttering between. “Look, we’re here now. There isn’t much use crying or shoveling around, being afraid won’t get us out of this.” A pause grounded me before I pressed on. “A majority of us will die today, that’s just how it’ll be. All we are doing is delaying the inevitable. But are we going to just let our people watch more blood be shed without purpose?” Voice slowly rising in force, my words declared a battle cry, “why give those pigs what they want so easily, let’s make them earn it!” Pulling the limp blade towards my center, my grip tightened as I drove my hilt in front of me. Left hand pressing onto the top, I lifted my head to find the rowdy one from underground. Focusing on the boy from six, my chin jutted towards him. “He said it best down there. If they really want us dead, then they’ll get their hands dirty. So let’s let them. Why should we always do the work for them?”

[Paloma talks shit to the audience, grabs a weapon, and tries to hype up the other depressed kids]

kaitlin

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2020 19:54:47 GMT -5 by 𝓂𝒶𝒽𝑜𝓊𝒽𝑜🕊

Knuckles
Librarian

4,984 POSTS
Pronouns: he/him
last seen Nov 24, 2024 0:57:02 GMT -5

probably flailing over something

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 19:03:17 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Knuckles on Sept 14, 2020 19:03:17 GMT -5

Nocte Jay

People are shouting, tributes talking about not giving them what they want, and Nocte isn't sure what to do or what to even think. People are going to die, they're going to lose their lives, and he understand that, but why is it that right now none of it matters? Mario shouts he's not performing for anyone, then Vanya does the same thing, and he just turns looking everywhere, and when he turns back, Nocte notices the way the tribute is staring at him.

Something about her scares him, and makes him want to run away, but he stands his ground trying to act all brave and strong. It doesn't matter here. Acting will get him nowhere, and Nocte realizes that, yet the idea of another tribute seeing him as a piece of meat is the last thing on his mind. Taking a deep breath, he faces her crossing his arms across his chest mimicking her. "Whatcha -" He starts to ask, however he's interrupted by the audience booing, and starting to throw things and telling them to fight. Somewhere people are growing bored, they're yearning for the show to get on the road.

Nocte ducks away scooting closer and closer the wall, and when the tribute gets hit with the food, he can't help but chuckle. Of course, it's not the greatest thing in the world since she looks as though she could kill him without thinking twice, but he can't help it. Out of everyone in the arena, how was she the lucky one? Truth be told, he doesn't even know her name, but it doesn't make a difference here.

"I'll just be going."

His voice trails off as he starts moving away, but he doesn't make it too far because another tribute is giving a speech, telling them they shouldn't do the work of the Capitol, and that they should let them come get their hands dirty. All his life, working and pleasing the Capitol was all he knew, but maybe it's wrong. Maybe following their lead, and standing in those shadows isn't right. But he still doesn't know, and the idea of acting out isn't something he desires.

Staying true to himself is all he wants, but at what cost?

The tributes are on a mission, and maybe Nocte can join in with them. Maybe he can make a difference and show his family that it's okay to stand up against them. Right now he isn't sure what to do. It doesn't matter. None of this does. He looks in every direction trying to one again figure it out, but it's in this moment he realizes it doesn't matter.

Why should he care what anyone thinks?

Nocte didn't start this war, and he isn't going to be the one who ends it. So he stands tall and steady and doesn't move a muscle. Fighting is a death sentence but since he's been sentenced to die, why should he make his death come sooner?

District 9 | 4th Hunger Games

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

lest we forget [the characters]

credit to Zoe

cass
Retired Staff

4,822 POSTS

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

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 19:06:15 GMT -5

Quote

Post by cass on Sept 14, 2020 19:06:15 GMT -5

F I N N

You like to believe that there was meant to be a difference between surviving and living. You think that maybe it’s that part of the world, separated by white floors and luminescent lighting. Where the sky crawls to night and expands into a world of stars, where you can feel the breeze against your skin and the hum of music through the radio. You had a taste of what it felt like, to feel sand between your toes, saltwater coursing over your skin.

That world feels so foreign, buried between a tomb and a hospital bed, so far out of reach that stretching your fingers towards it only hurts. You’ve known nothing more than survival, fighting and fighting until your body was torn to shreds. The wounds covered by your skin are bleeding and pulsating, demanding to be felt and acknowledged as you grit your teeth. You give in, just like you have every time for the past fourteen years, groan slipping into the chilling air as Lumi grabs you.

She doesn’t let go, hands tightening around your hand and you twist your pain-filled gaze over to her. Beneath the mottled pattern of suffering over her skin, she smiles. You stare, and even through the haze of your own agony, you find a shaky smile greeting hers. There’s power curled within the twist of her defiant lips, strength that questions the cards that have fallen around them.

It reminds you of Naya, a little broken, but held together by an inner fire that demands the world to know her name. It speaks to the parts of her that hold your heart and push together all the shattered pieces to make you feel whole again. You want to speak it-

Naya. “Lumi.”

You haven’t even paid attention to the arena beyond this small bubble. You’re so used to your world ending and beginning with the four walls of a hospital room, marred by a toilet stained with your own blood. A pillowcase littered with your tears, and a smell, that to this day, makes your nose sting and eyes water.

She calls you lucky and you have to fight down a bitter laugh, the retort blocked by a spike of pain that has you pulling the two of you down and onto the floor of the Arena. You twist, unwilling to let go of her hand as you press yourself up against the wall. Your chest heaves, and you can’t help but close your eyes as you try and calm your racing heart, forcing the air in through your mouth and out through your nose.

“Lucky is not a word I would use to describe myself,” you say, mouth set in a tight line as you battle the bile that rises in your throat.

Naya would sometimes use the word, balanced carefully in an embrace as she told you that she was lucky she met you. But you think she’s wrong, you can’t see how meeting you could be lucky. It’s a reality of your situation, a cruel circumstantial meeting between dying kids.

”I don’t know-“

It swallows you, and you bow forwards, fingers clinging desperately to Lumi as you let out a cry of pain, curling in on yourself as every part within you is set on fire. Your prosthetic leg stretches out in front of you, smeared with dirt, blood, and vomit.

You groan, breathing heavily as your fingers claw against your chest. Gasping for air as you try to blink away the black dots that dance across your vision.

“I-“ you choke on the word, your body trembling as you look at Lumi. You’re not sure if this is a mix of the pain as well as a vicious withdrawal from the medication you’ve spent your life using to live.

The wave ebbs, and you continue to breathe heavily, easing up on your deathly grip with Lumi’s hand. Grimacing, you give her an apologetic smile, “sorry, I didn’t mean to hold so tightly.” You don’t know why you’re still holding her hand, why your fingers are still entwined with hers. But it feels safe, it feels comforting and you’re scared, you’re scared if you let go there will be no one there and then you’ll just die.

But you don’t want to die as you’ve lived; alone.

“I’m scared,” you say, gaze resting on her brown eyes, “you were scared and you reminded me of a girl who saved me. So, I figured it was finally time I returned the favour.”

You turn your gaze to the Arena, eyes flickering over the children holding swords, standing without moving or attacking. “I won’t be of any help if someone tries to kill us,” you give a pointed look to your missing leg, to the way the bones in your arms seem to poke out, to the muscles that just doesn’t exist.

“Why are you helping me?”

As the question leaves your lips you notice movement from the corner of your eye. Two figures have split from the rest of the crowd and have started heading towards you and Lumi. Your hand might be made of skin and bones, but it’s still bigger than the Lumi’s. As much as it hurts you try and pick yourself up, wanting to force your broken body to be a barrier between the danger and the young girl beside you.

Your voice breaks, the bravery that tries to coat your words slipping as the fear in your eyes shines through, “get behind me, Lumi. I’ll-“

You’ll what? Protect her? You can’t even hold yourself up.

O L S E N

kaitlin

Cato
Librarian

3,003 POSTS
last seen Nov 23, 2024 22:34:37 GMT -5

I wish Cato didnt die

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 19:44:15 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Cato on Sept 14, 2020 19:44:15 GMT -5

Andromache Audacia

I do not understand the fuss as these whiny tributes keep going on about not wanting to put on a show. That's what we're here for. We were chosen to fight to the death, but nobody is fighting. Nobody cares. Nobody gives a damn about what's going on, and it's so unreal. I remember watching the previous games and the tributes just started fighting instantly. Some ran, of course, but others definitely fought each other. It should happen here, but I know that staying to myself is more important than anything. That's why it's annoying that this kid is messing with me. All he's doing is standing in my way, and I don't even care about him. I don't care who he is or where he's came from because he wants the same thing I do, and that's to live.

So when he tries talking to me, I simply turn the other way, but apparently that was a mistake. The moment I turn, something slaps across my face, and different types condiments are running down my face. Why would they do something like that? It's not my fault these pathetic tributes aren't fighting. It's not my fault I'm trying to prevent myself from being mobbed and brutally slaughtered. My lip curls, and when that kid starts laughing at me, I don't know what else to do. My hand clenches tighter around my sword, and I'm about to lift it up to strike him down when he starts moving away from me. The kid is smart, and for that I give him props.

I wipe the stuff from my face, and anything that's salvageable, I eat. Why put anything to waste? They offered me this food, and I'll make sure to make the best of it. I don't even know what it is, but it doesn't taste bad. I just don't know what it is, but knowing that the audience was eating it makes me feel a bit safer. They wouldn't eat anything that wasn't good for them, would they?

Part of me wants to follow the kid, and figure out more about him. Dying alone isn't ideal, and maybe having a friend, someone by my side, someone to use as a shield can help me. Only I don't make it too far before someone else starts yelling that we should stop doing the Capitol's dirty work. All it takes is a spark to start a fire, and right now I'm left wondering what type of foolish person this is. We're all likely to die. One of us will make it out of this alive, and I want to be that one. I want to make sure my name is remembered for all eternity. I want people to know who I am.

I just don't think any of this is real. It's a plot to get people to let down their guard before they start fighting each other. Nobody would ever be stupid enough to believe any of this, and right now the only thing I can think about is figuring out how to make sure I stay away from everyone. I do not trust them, but I do not want to be left on the outs. I want to do what I can to make sure that everything turns out in my favor. I clench my sword tighter waiting for a moment to strike. This battle will start soon, and I must be prepared for it. I don't know what will happen, but I just know that right now my life is more important than anything that's going on in here.

District Two

[googlefont="Oswald:400"]

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2020 19:46:38 GMT -5 by Cato

aya
Administrator

6,261 POSTS
last seen Sept 15, 2024 22:06:23 GMT -5

"GUNNERRRRR~"

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 20:11:20 GMT -5

Quote

Post by aya on Sept 14, 2020 20:11:20 GMT -5

[attr="class","w460"]

cat stowe

You would've kept your eyes closed forever probably, or until someone was bold enough to approach with their sword drawn, if not for the light sound of a paper bag hitting the dirt behind you. It's so specific for such a non-descript noise that you can't help but wheel around, expecting to see the houseboat in front of you, your cousin tossing a sack lunch toward you, fumbling it. Morsels of popcorn spill into the sand. You glance up to see who dropped it and lock eyes with a pudgy-fisted toddler, his mouth agape in awe of the foodfight that's taken the place of actual combat.

You pull the stale crust of bread from your pocket and consider pelting it at the inattentive father that decided the best thing to give his little boy was a front-row ticket to see the slaughter. Bread becomes popcorn. A fairer exchange than any of the other opportunities that have been presented to you.

"BOOOOOOOOOO!" An entitled jeer cuts the din of the crowd, and you stop glowering at the display of poor parenting to reflexively glance toward its genesis. "BOOOOOOOOOO!" You spot a sneering woman, hands cupped around her mouth like a megaphone. When she catches you looking, she doubles down on her derisions, as though egged on by your attention. "Yeah! You!" She points at you, makes sure you know that you are the fount of her fury. "Yes, you! I am booing you specifically! BOOOOOOOOOO!"

This is when you choose to drop your sword. Tongue stuck all the way out, a scowl on your face in mockery of hers, you flip her off with both hands. "Go talk to the manager about it!" you suggest, punctuating the outburst with a kick aimed at the ground that sends a cloud of sand up into the air, before rolling your eyes and turning back to center.

[cat drops her sword, flips off some karens, kicks sand into the air]

[newclass=".w460"]width:460px;[/newclass]

{characters}

certified kindergartener
stranded in "beach" "city"
leader of the crystal gems

[nyte]
Head RP Tutor

4,678 POSTS

Pronouns: he/him
last seen Nov 15, 2024 13:09:48 GMT -5

oof

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 20:32:37 GMT -5

Quote

Post by [nyte] on Sept 14, 2020 20:32:37 GMT -5

lumi cartwright

There's only so much you can see in thirteen years. Her mother slapped her father once and he left for the weekend. Tori was crying because he always was and of course Mother expected Lumi to hold the sad thing to her chest while she took off after the man she broke. Lumi hadn't. She'd slammed the door to her room and listened to his wailing until it lulled her to sleep. Does she regret that day? Lumi doesn't know what that feels like. If it's a visceral twisting in her gut? Like someone's plunged a hand through her chest and ripped her lungs out through her ears?

If that's what regret feels like, then maybe she does.

Finn looks like he's about to die. She's rendered breathless as that night, eyes wide with panic as she watches a battle flare inside his skin. One he's quite obviously bound to lose. She's not strong, but she's stronger than him so of course she tries to keep him upright. You're supposed to whisper comforting nothings to hurting people, but her mind draws blank as she helps him to slump against a far wall. "Yeah no, I take the lucky thing back."

She's never seen anything like this and, honestly, he scares her. More than anything she wishes there was a door to slam between the two of them so that she needn't see those tears welling up in the corners of his eyes or the pain that twists already ruined features. His labored breaths could lull her to sleep and she'd never have to think of him again.

But Lumi doesn't want to die with regrets, not anymore.

"I won't be much help if someone tries to kill us either," It's less comforting than anticipated when she says it out loud, something she realizes a fraction of a second after it's already escaped. "I mean, at least we won't die alone!"

That's worse.

"Sorry." She mumbles.

Then he asks why she's helping him and there's not a sane answer she can give. She's a child in bloody rags, not a knight in shining armor, but for some reason she can't bring herself to let go of his hand. "'Cause I want to help you." A lame answer, but the only one she has. Any other excuse would be a waste of precious breath in this decaying hourglass.

She tries to make Finn comfortable, fussing over the way his uniform falls so that it may cushion him against the rough stone beneath him. Maybe that's why she doesn't see the strangers approaching or maybe Lumi has never been terribly observant. She still can't stifle her laughter at Finn's attempt to protect her and she squeezes his hand with fondness she'd only briefly felt when she'd hugged her brother for the last time."You'll what, Finn?"

She scrunches her nose at him, a look both disapproving and amused. For the first time since he helped her to her feet, she lets his hand fall from hers in favor of marching in front of him and facing the newcomers with her fists set firmly on her hips. "Leave him alone, we're obviously no threat."

It's not so bad to die with purpose.

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2020 20:34:09 GMT -5 by [nyte]

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

✨ zozo.
Retired Staff

8,205 POSTS

Pronouns: she/her
last seen Nov 24, 2024 0:15:02 GMT -5

bloomtodeath

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 20:35:20 GMT -5

Quote

Post by ✨ zozo. on Sept 14, 2020 20:35:20 GMT -5

LEAD ME TO
THE TRUTH AND I

It's not your fault you think the worst when they step forward toward you.

An instinct, your hand goes to pick up the sword and as soon as you feel metal against your palm your arm shrieks with pain. A wince, you bend over in pain and clutch your broken, mangled fingers as your teeth bite down and spill blood from your lip.

Agony, if only temporary. You know deep down in your heart it is not the last time you'll feel pain before you die. And as the boy steps closer you brace yourself for another blow, gritting your teeth and licking the blood from your lips as you glance at his sword.

You wonder what it feels like to be cut into, butchered and bleeding. Dying in pieces for a District you never called home.

"Will you help me?"

It seems you might not know, if only for a few more moments.

"Will you help me protect this girl?"

His voice rasps against the distant booing of the crowd, their impatience lingering with the tension in the air. The little girl you tried to help last night holds his hand, and you marvel at her. How unlike she is to anyone you've ever seen before. But she is small, and dainty, and bruised just like you. No wonder he begs for your help - perhaps he'd seen you call out to the Keepers in the dark. Perhaps he was hurt trying to protect her while you sat in the shadows and cowered away.

"I-"

Your own throat is as dry as the sand you stand on as you stammer for a response. His eyes glisten, through the dark of them. He is tired - tired of this war. Tired of fighting. Tired of begging for help from strangers. You can guess that much about him: he's never been one to ask for a hand unless he's desperate.

"Please."

It was not your intention to die fighting for your District - let alone another child. Your father had told you to keep to yourself, to stay out of sight, to let the chaos unfold with you as far away from it as possible. But Piper Freeman never cared for her father's warnings - even if her deaf ears took her to this place.

The crowd rumbles, and tributes yell, and you catch word of a girl bolder and braver that you'll ever hope to be.

"This is what you call a show...?"

You can't quite tell if she's speaking to you or the crowd - but when you look up from the begging boy to find her, there's no denying who she is and who she chastises.

"...but children?"

Children, she asks the crowd. Children. You're one of them, but you never felt like a child. Not since Thirteen. Not since before the war. When you arrived in Twelve you felt alien. Other. Not a child, not yet a woman. You never fit in, and you never would let yourself, and you'd hold your head high like this girl and refuse to apologise for what you felt to be true.

Children should not have to fight a war they did not start. Not you. Not he. Not the little girl with skin so fair and a hand outstretched to you, the one who makes you turn your gaze and make a choice.

"Okay," you say, trying desperately to hide the tremble of Piper Lacour in your voice. You had been her for so long, you almost forgot who you were. If you're going to die today, you'll die the girl you were born to be. "I'll help."

Piper Freeman from District Thirteen nods toward the boy and takes the little girl's hand in her own.

WILL FOLLOW YOU
WITH MY WHOLE LIFE

piper takes nieve's hand!! post 3

lyrics - mumford & sons baybeeee

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2020 21:06:21 GMT -5 by ✨ zozo.

“and men said that the blood of the stars flowed in her veins.”

charade
Retired Staff

3,811 POSTS

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

Thinking

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 20:55:07 GMT -5

Quote

Post by charade on Sept 14, 2020 20:55:07 GMT -5

nanette
emsworth

Is this the calm before the storm? The wind before the rain? I feel that I have no tears left to shed. Dustin says to stay alert. But for what? For the moment I feel a blade between my ribs? When a sword pierces my heart? When my blood waters the sand beneath our boots?

But I would follow him anywhere. In this life or the next. So I let him lead me, away from the throng and towards the outskirts of the ring, to where a boy leans on a girl the way I lean on Dustin.

I want to tell him. I need to tell him. I love you. It’s on the tip of my tongue, swirling around in my chest as my heart beats out a rhythm. Ba-bum, ba bum ba bum. I love you. I love you. Love is a promise. And I promise I have never felt like this about anyone before.

And I never will again.

At last a voice breaks through the murmurs and the tension. Sharp like a knife and dripping with venom. My eyes are drawn to her the way someone’s eyes are drawn to the aftermath of an accident. I want to look away, but I can’t.

She calls out the crowd for enjoying this. Talks to us like we are her comrades. Says even if most of us are going to die, to give our deaths meaning. To make our executioners work twice as hard to see us dead.

I don’t understand. What is the point in prolonging the inevitable?

If a man is hung from a tree with few witnesses, it’s possible that his killers may be found to be at fault. But if you make a spectacle out of it, if you build some gallows in the center of town and encourage people to watch—half the crowd is just happy to belong to something greater than themselves.

Spoon fed ideology because critical thinking is too difficult. The other half won’t speak up because they would be admitting their part in it. They are all guilty now. A few of them throw food at some tributes, demanding that something, anything happen to distract them from their boredom.

Something to distract them from how meaningless their lives are. I don't know what she intended for her speech to do. We are the condemned. What does it matter if we die now or fifteen minutes from now?

The pair we were approaching practically back away. I catch a name. Lumi. As he begs her to get behind him. She tells us leave him alone.

And I realize that they are afraid.

Afraid of a boy who takes care of horses and the girl who takes care of the boy. In their minds either one of us could be his grim reaper. But I don’t have it in me to kill someone. I have meekly accepted my fate.

I just wish Dustin wasn’t here to see it.

“We won’t hurt you,” I say quietly, my eyes are haunted, I’m sure. I point my chin towards the makeshift sling that he made for me. “I won’t be hurting anyone.”

[post 3]

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

Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]
Administrator

9,638 POSTS
Pronouns: She/Her
last seen Nov 10, 2024 11:48:08 GMT -5

cameron stood in line for an hour for a stupid ride for me <3 best <3

The Bloodbath Sept 14, 2020 21:43:16 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Sept 14, 2020 21:43:16 GMT -5

[attr="class","w460"] cypria graphic

"Why shouldn't we kill you?"

We.

The little word fills her up. She's heard it so rarely before and never quite like this. There is power in the we Knox de Sol invokes. Cypria grips her sword a little tighter in her left hand, her face as tight and blank as ever.

While Knox hashes things out with the blonde boy, Cypria watches the other tributes. There's some yelling now, some whispering. Tributes are starting to group together. She hadn't thought anything of the little pairings in other Games, but now she can see they are important - a lifeline at least, if not something more.

The crowd grows restless. She ducks as something sticky flies overhead. "Gross," she mumbles, keeping her gaze firmly on tributes, sand, Knox. Never the booing audience.

Never the faces of people who paid to watch her die.

“This is stupid.”

The voice so startles her that Cypria takes a step forward. "Knox," she whispers with urgency. "It's the girl from the cells. The one who asked if we were afraid."

"A majority of us will die today, that’s just how it’ll be. All we are doing is delaying the inevitable."

Cypria's mouth quirks into a tiny smile. "Charming." But there's a promise in the girl's words - a rebel no doubt - and it's that promise which has power. She is building to something, to a declaration, and Cypria is mesmerized.

"If they really want us dead, then they’ll get their hands dirty. So let’s let them. Why should we always do the work for them?”

The sword feels heavier, a weight anchoring her to the dusty arena. Them and we. She's never thought too hard about where her loyalties lie. Being employed and spoiled by the Capitol made it easy to not even pose the question. But here, trapped with twenty-three strangers who will only make it home if she dies before an audience who surely want her dead, she's starting to struggle with which them to trust.

And then there's Knox and his easy we.

Around them, tributes are partnering up. A trio joins hands.

Was the Speaker right? Would someone intervene?

Would that help her and Knox?

She takes one last look at the trio, glances down at her broken right wrist, and in an attempt to offer her good hand to her district partner, waves her sword around once wildly before shifting her grip over the top of the hilt. Fist balled up over the knob, Cypria offers her knuckles to Knox as best she can. "Maybe we should get out of the way of the food fight or whatever. I don't look good in mustard."

[/div][/div]
[newclass=".w460"]width:460px;[/newclass][/font]

Last Edit: Sept 14, 2020 23:28:42 GMT -5 by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]

credit umber vivuus 12b 🥀 [dars]

credit ✨ zozo.

- chars -

Kire
Retired Staff

2,937 POSTS
Pronouns: she/her
last seen Jul 16, 2015 21:45:21 GMT -5

thinking about thonking

The Bloodbath Sept 15, 2020 0:10:52 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Kire on Sept 15, 2020 0:10:52 GMT -5

Josephine Bartlett

She watches the girl scan the crowd, as though the mention of them had suddenly recalled their presence to her. There is a light layer of disdain dusting her features, the look of someone who despised what they were looking at but were trying to be polite and not show it. Somehow, though, she didn't think it was manners that was keeping the raw emotion at bay. Fear, it was what they all had in common right now, at least to some extent. Each of them felt some manner of it and tried to deal with it however they knew how. She was trying to keep away from those who would hurt her - the other tributes, and the mob-like crowd that had resorted to throwing food in their anger - while others faced it head on and still more tried to shield others from it.

Around them, the feeling in the ring was shifting from separate zones of panic into groups of mild reliance. The subtle trust that began to form between one or two tributes, some which seemed had possibly existed before this point, it was nearly palpable. But only to the ones on the same level. The crowd could only see their collection of tributes refusing to behave as they wished them to. She felt a chill up her spine at the thought.

She holds her gaze to the other girl's, waiting for the tension between them to snap. If she had thought wrong, if she had misjudged, she would be dead within minutes. Then everything would fall apart, but at least she wouldn't be alive to see it.

"Good." The thud of the sword striking into the ground sent a shudder of relief through her. She had had the right of it. This girl had been the one next to her, taking her punishment like a warrior. Now, they had subtly extended olive branches and realized they may have some common ground between them. "You shouldn't be."

Joey watches as she traces the walls with her eyes. She also looks to see what caught the other girl's notice and finds the names of the dead greet her. Catullus Brown. Jonas De Lange. Grover Oz. As she read each name there seemed to be another one after it, endless. Her name would be on that wall soon, she knew it. The names of all of them would be. They would all die here in this pit, together.

"Who needs blood and fame, when we've already been broken?"

The words strike true, hitting her in the chest like one of the punches thrown last night. Only it wasn't just last night this girl was referring to, it was their entire lives. From the moment they had been born they had been oppressed by the Capitol. Now, after years of misery and greater defeat, they were being completely crushed under their heel.

Being ignored and left to starve had been better than this. At least the rebels wouldn't have pit children against each other in a death match. Wouldn't they? Does anyone really know what they would have done? Not that it mattered now, not for her, not for anyone in this arena with her. All of their lives were over, they wouldn't see anything change before they died.

More shouts rise up around them, more yelling at the crowd. Another name floats over to them, "Vanya McAslister". So in here there was a Mario and a Vanya, two names of twenty-four. Did the crowd even know any of their names? She certainly only knew the two that had been shouted and her own. The real question is whether she wanted to know any more. Was it better to know the name of your killer, of your momentary ally, of your victim? Surely ignorance was bliss.

"I'm Josephine, Joey." Her mouth made its own decision, robbing the girl of her choice in the matter, robbing her of her own. "What's yours?"

She is distracted by the sound of a single voice rising above the other sounds around them. This voice was familiar, decisive, filled with contempt. "This is so fucking pathetic. This is what you call a show?"

This was the voice that started the beatings last night.
This was the voice that had called those peacekeepers cowards.
This was the voice that would make things worse for them again.

Did it get much worse than this? She couldn't see how. Still, the mounting sense of dread seemed to gouge out her insides in a way a sword surely would moments from now. This painful waiting was an agony that she almost wished to be spared from, because surely dying wasn't as bad as waiting for it to happen.

"We have no defensives." She is performing, almost, this girl. Standing before the crowd making gestures, yelling. She was trying to attract attention and was certainly doing a decent job of it. "If you wanted a show, you’d at least be smart enough to get people who can put up a fight, but children?" This could have been a play memorized, a show rehearsed, the words she spoke held such conviction. Inside, Joey felt herself sinking with the knowledge that this changed nothing. Everyone knew that you give the bear space, you didn't poke it with a stick.

She can't stand to listen to the hopeless pleading - for that was all it really was. Berating the Capitol when they had you at their mercy was beyond desperate. It wasn't what they wanted, sure, but they had already shown they would throw a tantrum like toddlers when things didn't happen as they wanted it. She wasn't sure she wanted any more of their ire focused on her.

The speech went on, but turned toward the tributes now. She was seeking people to stand with her, to rebel in some way. Once a rebel, always a rebel. Once more she felt crushed between two sides, invisible to both but suffering because of each of them. The Capitol had stolen her away from home, ripped her one prized possession from her, and tossed her in a pit with twenty-three others to die. Now this girl, and the other rebellious fools with her, were going to bring some new level of horror upon all of them.

They had destroyed an entire district due to things like this, she would not put it past them to make their last hours even more horrible.

Turning back to the girl, she tried to gauge how she was taking all of this. "Does it really matter what we do?" She sighed, looking at the rumblings that moved around the arena, like water stirred in a pot. There are tributes shouting back at the crowd, others huddling together and attempting to shield one another. Some are holding hands. This could have been anything but what it was. The Hunger Games had never seen something like this. They were thirty minutes in and no one had died.

"Can we change anything?"

The sense of pointlessness threatened to overwhelm her.

On hills and waves on stormy days.

Python
Retired Staff

4,515 POSTS

Pronouns: She/Her
last seen Oct 27, 2024 23:26:22 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 15, 2020 0:15:56 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Python on Sept 15, 2020 0:15:56 GMT -5

The outrage was fascinating. Sage watched the crowd beyond their raised middle fingers and felt a rush of adrenaline - yeah, fuck you, you don't deserve entertainment at our expense! They found themselves smirking at the crowd, amused by their impatience. It wasn't until they spotted the projectile that Sage realized how utterly ridiculous these people were. A cup struck the side of their head, coating them in a cold, green slush, that smelled faintly like...apples?

Sage couldn't believe it - they were actually throwing food at the tributes. Capitolites are such fucking children.

They frowned at the immaturity, gently dabbing their tongue with the green slush. It indeed tasted like a twisted, sugary version of apple. It stained the back of their throat, making them cough at the strong flavor. They wondered how Capitolites treated themselves to such garbage. Look at them all - eating fresh meat and snacks while they watch us die. Did Sage's mother think this was okay? Would she be among these idiots if she had the chance?

Outrage was met with outrage. Sage could hear their fellow Six yelling at the riled crowd, "I AIN’T PERFORMING SHIT FOR YOU!"

They heard a familiar voice from the cells, and Sage turned to look at the girl with blazing eyes. She was onto something here.

"Yeah, make them earn it!" Sage echoed, "They don't deserve shit!" A vow not to hurt another tribute; Sage could do that. Make the Capitol hurt by refusing to play their game. If they wanted bloodshed so bad, they could climb down from the stands and do it themselves. Or was throwing food all that these pathetic sheep could achieve?

Sage grabbed their sword and raised it, turning back to the crowd to make eye contact with anyone who dared. Come and get it, cowards.

Last Edit: Sept 15, 2020 0:18:33 GMT -5 by Python

k!ah
Retired Staff

4,636 POSTS
Pronouns: She/Her
last seen Nov 19, 2024 4:03:09 GMT -5

#expensivetrash

The Bloodbath Sept 15, 2020 1:08:04 GMT -5

Quote

Post by k!ah on Sept 15, 2020 1:08:04 GMT -5

D U S T I N .

She doesn't protest as he laces his fingers with hers and pulls her towards the pair. Each step he took he felt his stomach tightened, fear surging through him, as he hoped that each step closer they took wasn't towards deaths gates. Gates that he wasn't ready to pass through.

There were so many things in life he still had to experience. He had only lived eighteen years, eighteen short years...

His eyes quickly examine the people in the crowd. They had begun to become impatient, cheers turning to jeers. But it wasn't the yelling that cause his heart to pound quicker, the small ember of hate that he deep within his chest flared into a flame. It was the fact that the faces that he could make out seemed aged, matured. His face would not get to wrinkle from age, his beard would not turn grey as his life slipped by him...

It was the fact that he saw children in the crowd, hands pounding into the air as they peered down at the tributes in the stadium. He could hear as they taunting us. Children younger than him pounding on the railing, demanding we pick up our blades and rip the life from one another. He saw a child perched on his fathers shoulders, pointing down at one of the tributes at the centre of the stadium, the child's face was filled with joy, excitement that seemed contagious amongst the crowd.

It was disgusting, when did the world become this cruel? Had it always been like this? Maybe it had been, maybe it was always destined to be. Dustin remembered the time he had sat in the fields, Nan beside him, watching as a hawk dove into the prongs. It moved so fast, tucking its wings in tight, lethal beak slicing through the air as it disappears for a moment before re-appearing, wings spread wide, talons clasping a struggling rat.

Quickly it retreats, and soon it's nothing but a dot in the horizon, its prey soaring towards its death.

There was no escaping death.

But a week ago he had thought that he would be walking side by side with Nan towards the market, not desperately clutching her hand as the kids they approach backed away, fearful of him and Nan. It hurt him to see them shrink away, to think that they genuinely believed that he might raise his hand against them. That he might attempt to murder them.

Murder.

Huh. The word seemed darker than kill. But that's what they were expected to become in the last few moments of their lives: murderers.

“get behind me, Lumi. I’ll-“ the boy says, struggling to climb to his feet, pale daunt face saturated with sweat, eyes sunken in. "You'll what, Finn?" The young girl- Lumi- responds unable to hold back the slight laughter that escapes her lips as the sight of the sickly boy trying to me a knight in shinning armour.

"Leave him alone, we're obviously no threat."

Nan speaks first, an attempt at reassuring the pair that we had no intentions on hurting them. Dustin tried a reassuring smile, letting go of Nan's hand for a moment as he raises his hands to his side unthreateningly. "I don't know about that,” he says, his words laced with amusement in an attempt to try and break the tension. It was a bad habit of his, turning to humour when situations get hard. "I think you could take us," he tells Lumi, dropping to one knee so that his eye level was below her own. "What about you, Nan? You think she could take us both?"

[ post 3 ]

Last Edit: Sept 15, 2020 2:30:52 GMT -5 by k!ah

✮ UPAT ✮

mat
Retired Staff

2,404 POSTS

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

The Bloodbath Sept 15, 2020 1:18:58 GMT -5

Quote

Post by mat on Sept 15, 2020 1:18:58 GMT -5

Disapproval from the audience multiplied rapidly, as the descent in the stands went from general groans to objects being shot at the kids in the arena. Ander felt lucky that he was able to avoid the various foods, drinks, and some things in between as they were hurled at the rest. {"BOOO! Pick the sword back up."} It appeared that those who didn't comply seemed to take the brunt. With his sword in his grip and blood muddying up his fingertips, the Drifter felt safe. For now. {"You stupids!"} Ander couldn't put it past the Capitol's beasts to crawl down from their high-up seating and begin to strike the tributes themselves. Then, and only then, would it end up turning into the bloodbath that they all desired. Ander faced displeased mobs before, and a sword would clear them quickly.

"This is so fucking pathetic. This is what you call a show?"

The voice was easily recognizable from the cages. The face matched her voice pretty well, but it was her size and stature that shocked Ander. Her countenance was bold and unforgiving for someone her presumed age. He smirk caught his lips as the girl continued, just as she did during the riots down below.

"A majority of us will die today, that’s just how it’ll be. All we are doing is delaying the inevitable. But are we going to just let our people watch more blood be shed without purpose?"

Ander understood what she meant, but it didn't force him to agree with it. No, he laughed at the thought of any of these kids around the arena being his people. His people passed whiskey and cigars around a campfire cackling from the day's success. They laid with each other, slept with each other, breathed each other's air for years. A momentary experience like this couldn't dare compare to the Drifters. He was not her community, nor was he anyone else's here. The Drifter's membership within the colosseum walls was one: him. And besides, the Drifters weren't watching. They probably snuck back out into the woods by nightfall, just as Ander had with them three years prior. Overstaying a welcome was the eighth deadly sin for the gang. If any were to be captured or killed, Drift instructed them not to bat an eye. Keep moving, mourn if you have to, but never lose sight of the vision.

"If they really want us dead, then they’ll get their hands dirty. So let’s let them. Why should we always do the work for them?"

Objects continued to pelt themselves down at the tributes' whose flailing arms could only do so much in fending them off. Some had already given up trying to dodge and deflect the shit from the grandstands, locking arms with one another instead. They'd protect one another, to death.

Ander couldn't move towards anyone but the girl who called for justice and unity among the tributes. She had a smart mouth but knew how to use it well and to her advantage. It was charisma like that that he was drawn to, just as he was with the gang as Drift patted his back as Ander took an inhale during his first cigarette.

He placed his right hand gently on the girl's shoulder, sword still piercing the ground as a walking cane. Ander gave her a nod of approval for her calls to action earlier. The tips of his bloodied fingers pressed up against her cape. If she wanted to be his people, and he hers, his blood would need to be her blood, too.

"Come on, folks! There's no such thing as a good show without some positive audience interaction. Turn those frowns upside down!"

Ander took pride in being able to mock the crowds. Where would the fun be if all they could do was launch condiments and meats, bottles and cans, and plastic silverware? Death by drowning in all their trash would be incredibly underwhelming. Sarcasm and petty remarks gave him the strength he needed to turn away from fear's eye-piercing glare for a moment, or at least make it not as obvious that there was a hangman's trick tightening in his stomach.

He whispered in her ear as his arm wrapped to her shoulder, "What's your name?" Ander hadn't asked that question in over four years. "Just asking so I can say fuck you whenever the tables turn and this isn't funny anymore."

Fear had a way of doing that to Ander, forcing him to swallow a poison pill within a tiny knot.

[post three, ander gang gangs with paloma!]

shrimp
Retired Staff

1,953 POSTS
Pronouns: he/his
last seen Oct 19, 2020 18:16:41 GMT -5

The Bloodbath Sept 15, 2020 1:24:15 GMT -5

Quote

Post by shrimp on Sept 15, 2020 1:24:15 GMT -5

張水銀
séui ngàhn cheung

He has always been an outsider. It's been built up since he was born, like rivets into steel, facets of a derrick. No matter how witty or kind or quiet or loud, no matter how far he twisted himself into amalgams, he was always the other. So, they had said one night, after Séui Ngàhn sat on top of an amp and listened to the strumming of his father's guitar and the raspy alto of his mother's songs, we don't talk back.

"We become better. We prove that we belong. We prove that we are not expendable."

But this promise is empty, and if he could scream at the sea of talking heads he would. But time is precious, and he is too tired to hand this audience the gift of his frustration, too tired to waste another puff of air. His eyes glance upwards, towards the Keepers in white who hope for their deaths, towards the Victors in black who do not lift a finger, towards a rainbow of Capitolites who jeer and pelt food, towards his fellow sacrifices clad in bloody red.

And then he realizes how much time has passed.

"This is stupid," Paloma utters. He agrees.

Bending is a struggle, but he picks up the sword closest to him and drives it into the ground, the tip digging into packed earth. And again, and again. Slowly, surely, he drags himself towards commotion ("AND I AIN’T PERFORMING SHIT FOR YOU").

He knows this type of foolish game; he was always on its periphery, a part of a cohort that hung out in the quad after the bells rang, who said stupid shit but were all bluster, who made up their own steps amid the static-clad waves of a seventh-hand radio. They called him Chop Suey. They called him Merc. They called him Soy Sauce. They called him Hg.

But at least it was with respect. And they hung out at the corner store when he had the night shift and they had no place to go. And they made him laugh. And on his birthday they brought him a cake. And they may not have understood him, but at least they didn't judge him.

"Demanding an encore?" He says it to Paloma with the slightest of grins, and to the two next to him, and to himself, and to the unbroken expanse of twenty four still alive. "Don't know if my ribs can handle any more of that." He tries to stretch, and his muscles protest as he bends, though not as much as he thought. Perhaps they're bruised instead of fractured. And as he hears the pacifist offer up a name, he gives his own. They all already know Mario's.

"Séui Ngàhn, Ten."

What's a little more pain? It may be light's out tonight, but still, there's light.

Pacifist - Coal

[uses sword as a walking stick; joins Mario & Coal, acknowledges Paloma's speech]

Last Edit: Sept 15, 2020 1:27:19 GMT -5 by shrimp

Info

Panem Post (98th Games ed.)

Links

Staff

97th Hunger Games Victor

Canon Directory

Monthly Spotlights

97th Tribute Quotes

Damage Calculator

Attack Lookup

Word Count

Post by rook on Sept 14, 2020 17:53:08 GMT -5

Post by 𝓂𝒶𝒽𝑜𝓊𝒽𝑜🕊 on Sept 14, 2020 17:54:02 GMT -5

Post by Knuckles on Sept 14, 2020 19:03:17 GMT -5

Post by cass on Sept 14, 2020 19:06:15 GMT -5

Post by Cato on Sept 14, 2020 19:44:15 GMT -5

Post by aya on Sept 14, 2020 20:11:20 GMT -5

Post by [nyte] on Sept 14, 2020 20:32:37 GMT -5

Post by ✨ zozo. on Sept 14, 2020 20:35:20 GMT -5

Post by charade on Sept 14, 2020 20:55:07 GMT -5

Post by Baby Wessex d9b [earthling] on Sept 14, 2020 21:43:16 GMT -5

Post by Kire on Sept 15, 2020 0:10:52 GMT -5

Post by Python on Sept 15, 2020 0:15:56 GMT -5

Post by k!ah on Sept 15, 2020 1:08:04 GMT -5

Post by mat on Sept 15, 2020 1:18:58 GMT -5

Post by shrimp on Sept 15, 2020 1:24:15 GMT -5

Quick Reply