Recieving End [Day 1]

[rook]

p a n d o r a + w o o d a r d s

_{a warning to the people
the good and the evil
this is war}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

<sub>Oh sweet Ripred that was a mess. I cocked the Bloodbath up so much I'm kicking myself as I stumble through the overgrown trees of the Arena Jungle. Of course they chose to team up on me. I have no alliance, no friends and I got a big arrogant Nine in training. I was always a target. I'm dangerous, but alone. How did I imagine it to go? The Careers would take me in and let me get supplies? I was lucky to get any weapon at all.

I swear under my breath as I crash into the branches around me, making no attempts to be subtle. My leg was slashed by that Walker kid. Then Elon, the party guy, I thought he was alright up until he stuck a knife into my forearm. Ripred isn't favoring me today. The wound in my arm is much worse than I thought originally, I need some bandages fast, else I'm going to lose a lot of blood. Then that District Six moron Cyrus launched a harpoon at me. My word, everyone wants me dead.

I stop for a minute's breather. I'm a good distance away from the beach - not the other tributes - but away from chaos. I gather my thoughts. The arena isn't too bad, I can deal with the beach and trees, at least there are resources. The weapon is a very pirate-like Rapier. It's a beautiful sword, the hand-guard is a stunning gold and the blade infinitely long. No doubt I've picked one of the best weapons in there. I saw Moreno with an Anchor and Chain, laughable against my quick blade.

My leg hurts from Walker's strike and running is painful. I limp to one side as I make progress more slowly. The adrenaline from the bloodbath is gone and the pain is starting to sink in. I wince and push through the undergrowth. Is anyone hunting me? I wonder where the Careers are? Jae, Stark, Walker and Elon. I knew that Mini-Mace was more than a good-guy looking to chill. The party must have been a ploy to get us to trust him. So much for trust.

I sit down and assess the wound on my leg. I'm not going to get very far with a limp. I put pressure on it and treat it with several massaging techniques that I learned in training. I stand up a few minutes later, it feels somewhat better.

My breath doesn't seem to slow as I make bad progress. I need water if I want to survive more than a few days, but I prioritize getting some aid for my arm, before it gets infected.
Are you watching Rubik? Are you watching me suffer? I think of my brother. I know he's rooting for me, urging me to find water or food. Or aid. I wince, but look to the sky for a moment with a smile. I wink at where I imagine a camera to be. Pandora may be in pain and wounded, but he's still got that charm. I chuckle and press on. Maybe some sponsors will come. I doubt it, I've been pretty useless in the half hour since the Games. I started as somewhat of a Dark Horse, now I'm just a dead kid walking. A lone wolf ready to be shot down. I have no doubts now that the Careers are on my tail.

Where is Destiny? I worry for the girl I met in training. I saw little of her in the scramble for my life, but somehow I know she's a fighter. She'll have allies, hopefully she'll come to my assistance. Ripred knows I'm in desperate need of aid. My leg is in agony and my arm won't stop bleeding. My Rapier is sheathed around my waist, I consider drawing it as precaution, but I hear no rustling or footsteps. I limp, staring at the ground. My game-plan is gone. I am alone. I am vulnerable. But I am very much dangerous.

[Pandora uses First Aid to help with the Bloodbath wounds, -3]</sub>

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<sub>narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: yayPan.
theme: "This is War" - 30 Seconds to Mars.</sub>

[cyrus]

-----
There's a little bird
Somebody sent down to Earth
To live on the wind
Blowing on the wind
And he sleeps on the wind
This little bird, somebody sent
-----

[/color]

And there in the setting sun—could he be sure of what time it was?—there came the huffing and puffing of one Cyrus Malloc, the district six tribute. There was no fear in his heart now, only the roughness of the day that had shaken him to his foundations. No, the anxiety that welled up inside the boy who could not contain it, the one who had promised Fawn his trust and left her to burn in the pit of the bloodbath, the boy who fell into a pack of wild animals and tried to take the life of a boy who was already dead, the boy who felt nothing at all now. Nothing but a numbness that left him shaken. He could only hope his search for firewood and freshwater would pacify Fawn, whom he’d left to rest and tend her wounds.

How he had wished that it all came as easily as it did for the other tributes. There seemed to be whole packs of them ready to attack and kill, and here was Cyrus Malloc, the boy who could only say please, excuse me, pardon me as he thrust his harpoon toward his target. He could still see the blood he’d splattered just hours ago, and couldn’t shake the faces of the boys and girls that had fallen. They sunk into him like an anchor into the ocean. There it went, deep down, further below the surface, until clanging against the solid earth. There he could see their faces, their life flowing from their eyes and out into the air.

Could no one else see them now? What of their families? What of the ones that had wanted them to win? Does no one here feel something for the dead?

-----
Light and fragile
And feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
he flies so high up in the sky
Way out of reach of human eyes
-----

This boy could see logic and reason clearer than most, though he could not speak to the emotions flowing through him. No, his aspergers drowned out the melody of emotion that some thought was easy to figure out—to Cyrus it was a confusing jumble, a code unable to be deciphered. Instead he was left with a bitter cold inside of him. He tried to understand even Fawn, graceful and pretty Fawn, attacking and trying to kill the boy whose face he’d seen fall to his feet. And the blood, the horrible, no good, awful stench of death that hung in the air. If only I could keep running, keep myself here until I could gather the courage… the strength to stand up to them. To those… He couldn’t quite figure out the word. What could he call those who were trying to survive, but had chosen death over life?
There were times when Cyrus had wanted to abandon the urge to be good. To not think of what his blade would do to those in front of him. It would be so easy for him to just give it all away, to just let the arena take him over and to kill. He could rip their lives from them just as mercilessly as the District One Tribute—Stark, was that her name—and move on until they were all a bloody pile. He could put away all feeling, all thought, and just do as he had been told. He had done it enough back in district six where no one minded him and people discarded him as useless and just another cog in the machine. The shadows were best for Cyrus, where he did not think or bother or disrupt anyone. Instead, he had whittled down to nothingness. Nothing but a shell[/i].

-----
Light and fragile
He's feathered sky blue
Thin and graceful
The sun shining through
-----

[/color]

When he heard a sound in the distance, he knew it had to be another tribute. It had to be someone that would try to take his life just as the others had. And he tried to push away all thoughts of running—no, let whoever it was come, let them face me, let me be the one to snap a neck[/color]—but the desire of such things was not in him. His harpoon was readied in his hands to lay a blow, and yet… he packed it away into his bag and stood. He waited. Waited for the face of the boy he would have to kill. You are not like the rest of them. You never have been like the rest of them. You are always going to be this way. But you can be free—oh, how you can rise above and be free and even if, even if it’s you, even if it’s you… you have to live free, live fighting those who choose death over life. That they are living to kill and not to save life.

(Cyrus Malloc attacks Pandora using unarmed)
[dice=200+5000]

(bruised right arm, 2.0 damage)

Even in his haste, he knew he had to give some kind of attempt at a shove, and came face to face with what could be his killer. Pandora, the boy that had so valiantly fought in the bloodbath now was in front of him. He looked banged up, and Cyrus knew he was in far better shape than this boy. There was the flash of his fist hitting his skin. Of his harpoon scraping the boy’s arm. Of fleeing before seeing what had become of him. I did it to stay alive. I did it like the rest of them. And what of him? What will he decide of me? Will he come with me? Will he kill me?

Cyrus stood and extended a hand to Pandora. “Please…” He said as he looked at the boy, who must have thought him crazy. He was ready to get his harpoon if this failed. He was ready to fight for life—for his life—if he so needed to. “Please Pandora, please…[/i]” Cyrus could feel his voice break looking at the boy. He didn’t want to have to kill anyone, not now, not today. He just wanted to rest, he just wanted to be free of all of it. Just for a little while. “D-don’t do anything. Please. I c-can get you food. I can help you, please, just say you won’t do anything. Please… let’s just run, let’s just go?[/b]”

He knew that this was unorthodox—would the gamemakers not take out their vengeance on him for not killing a tribute? And yet, I am free here, to offer my hand to the one that I tried to kill.[/i] He could not help but look at Pandora’s face and smile. Was he a fool? Of course Cyrus Malloc was a fool. He believed in goodness and love, not malice and evil. He believed in a world where this would all make sense someday if he stood on the victor’s stage and wore a crown. And so he stood, offering his hand to Pandora, come what may.

-----
And the only time that he touches ground
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird, little bird
Is when that little bird dies
-----

[/color]
[/blockquote][/justify][/size]
[rand=510598393157124582421389012597592337476159445943900009368080646]

[rook]

p a n d o r a + w o o d a r d s

_{a warning to the people
the good and the evil
this is war}

[/sub][/color]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

<sub>My thoughts are with Hope at this time. I think of my little sister, how innocent she is. How she must have watched them cut me up in the Bloodbath. Was she ashamed I fled? I had to leave. I was a target. I was ready to be killed. The only way forwards was away.

And then I'm hit. Something or someone, I don't know. I'm on the floor, in pain. That hurt. A blunt pain that knocked me down. I spin rapidly onto by back to see the District Six kid. Cyrus? The guy with the Harpoon! He's wearing rage on his face, flustered and desperate. Upon seeing me, he panics and stands up, stepping back. He shakes, holding his hand out to help me up.
Oh no. Oh no you don't...
I push myself to my feet, I'm angrier than he was. I'm more desperate that he is. I draw my Rapier and point it directly at him. I rush forwards, stopping a few feet from him. His hand is still extended.

"You wanna go?!" I yell, my face full of rage and frustration, "I will cut you up, right here!!" Somehow I see he's backing off. Maybe it's best to let him go. Let someone else kill him. He's taken the message that I'm not to be messed with. Right? His offering stands. His hand outstretched. Even after that, he's offering peace?
Peace? I'll kill you...

“D-don’t do anything. Please. I c-can get you food. I can help you, please, just say you won’t do anything. Please… let’s just run, let’s just go?”

He's scared. He's alone.
But that makes two of us. I consider his proposal. Venom is still rife on my face as I think about how long I'll survive alone. A day? Two days? With him a lot longer. Despite him attacking me in the Bloodbath I know that he's serious. He won't turn on me. I'm bigger, more vicious and a lot less of a pushover. He seems the type to be mentally fragile.

Fine. I'll go with him. I sheath my blade and grunt.
"Alright. Let's get out of here before I get an crossbow bolt in the face..." I say, my voice is vicious and harsh. I gather my stuff and limp quickly into the undergrowth. I've ignored his outstretched hand, but he knows I'm with him. If he's smart, he'll follow and lead me to what I hope is safety. I check my wound again before I press onwards.

[Pandora Flees and uses First Aid, -3]</sub>

---

<sub>narrative
thoughts
personal speech
speech of others
singing

notes: Hnng.
theme: "This is War" - 30 Seconds to Mars.</sub>

[cyrus]

And so it went. Just as with Nonnie, Cyrus had added another misfit into the fold. There was a momen where his heart pitter pattered in his chest as he looked at Pandora. Though he could not be sure of him yet, he did not want to kill him. No, the furthest from it. He had not been like the others and taken a life before his eyes. He was instead a good boy, a sweet boy, one who was trying to survive. He could put trust and his faith in him, at least for now.

As the sun set, Cyrus went about tending to the boy’s wounds and helping him along further down the clearing. He would have to be careful not to attract the other tributes lest they spend their last night together. No, they could be safe, for now, couldn’t they? He brushed the sweat from his brow and made his way along the clearing to where he’d left Nonnie and Fawn. He had yet to hear any sort of general alarm from their direction, and he hoped them safe.

Put on the full armor of God, that you may be able to stand firm against the schemes of the devil.… Cyrus took another few steps into the clearing, drawing his harpoon. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness

[/i]…
[Cyrus Malloc uses first aid on Pandora for (-3)]

[Cyrus Malloc has fled]

[/justify][/blockquote][/size]