Bear in Mind & Bear It All [id v teddies]

[Deleted]

I a g o
I z a r – M c C l a i n e

•••

It came out in explosions, really. Large, brown, syrupy explosions that erupted with the very hellish lava fire that could only compare to what Hope must have felt in her last moments. The diarrhea had started just before the anthem, when I had ducked behind a small patch of ferns to get away from my allies. I hadn’t been the one caught by the jaws of the pitfall lizards, but my body was showing all the signs that something was amiss—sweaty palms, a feverish forehead, cotton mouth—I wracked my brain trying to think just what could have possibly been the cause. The small tin of applesauce, now next to empty in my purse, was the sole answer for my condition. I could only grit my teeth and grunt as I evacuated my bowels with a squish onto the waiting ground. Were people watching this on camera?

[/color] There had to be some sick soul in Panem that was rogering about this sort of thing, no doubt.

I didn’t expect Beatrice to be first. I gagged into my hands when I saw her face, and felt the bile splash through my fingers just as she was starting to fade. I wish I could’ve felt more—especially for the spare moments we spent in the training center together—but who was I to say what I was to feel? Better dead than alive, riddling my thoughts with questions, making me wonder just what she had thought of me. Cerise followed, and much to my surprise, considering how much of a threat she had been. Inbetween squeezing out another explosive spray, I had thought she would have been one of the few that would bring a knife against my neck, but I supposed, much like the mess behind me, she’d been undone through means that were not her choosing. Shadow’s face had me gagging again. I’d felt a cold numbness for him since the third day, and never thought much more than that. He’d burned of revenge and suffered some sort of price for it, I suppose.

The boy from nine was unfamiliar to me. All the better, seeing as I was still doubled over in pain from the fire coming out of my backside. We had never said one word to one another, and I hadn’t thought he would make it much farther than two steps out of the bloodbath. Was that a compliment? I licked my lips and did my best to clean myself. I doubted the others would say anything, save for Emery, about my condition. I didn’t want to show my weakness around all of them, but it was hard to hide the fact that I needed to disappear every so often. That and I threw up into my hands several times—not orange and frothy, but the yellow bile that stuck to my fingers and dripped down the sides of my cheeks. I soldiered on, despite the pain in my stomach. There were but eight others remaining, just a hop, skip, and jump toward home.

From my knowledge, I’d gone as far as any District Eleven Male was intended. Denver Samuels placed tenth, and Benat eleventh. Dying now would leave me an aspiration—god, was this something to aspire to? I bet the mushmouths of district eleven would, though. They were all the sort of idiots that, even when someone was an absolute monster, they could stand behind them as one of their own. I wondered if Sampson saw me one way or another. He could have been the one gathering up the few ratty coins from neighbors, friends, others—all to send me a new jar of tar for the days ahead. I couldn’t help but think that he was the one giving his all. Was that foolish?

It must have been toward noon when we reached the beanstalk. There were stories I’d heard, of giants, that explained an absurd tale about a boy and his chasing of golden eggs. Silly stories, the same ones that my mother had tried to put into my head as a child. They should have comforted me, seeing as so many of them had been turned to life here. I had had enough stories, though. I didn’t need things that weren’t real—god if there was anything that I wanted, it was reality. My stomach let out a low rumble, and I gave a wave to my allies. I felt like falling to my knees then and there, but forced another step. Small, padded footsteps rang out and I blinked, thinking that I must have been seeing things. A trove of bears approached, looking the same as one that Sampson used to cradle underneath his arms. Well, except for the claws at the ends of their limbs and the sharp fangs set about their mouths.

[Iago Izar-McClaine lights his glaive with tar and a match]

[Iago slashes his glaive at bear #1]

[dice=200+13000]
[Result:Deep Gash on Chest -- 9.5 damage]

[dice=50]
[result: Extinguished]
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[Rosetta]

s14.postimg.org/92kjgxsrl/Scout.png

[/img][/center]

Two days of continuous poisoning does not sit well with me.

At night, though finally cured, my stomach at ease, my head gently aching, not thumping, I curl up, shivering. I long for a warm bath, to scrub the layers of dirt off my skin. I long for hearty food to fill this dull ache left behind in my stomach from vomiting. And, most of all, I want clean sheets. Sleeping on the damp ground does not suit me. My back in the morning is searing in pain and it’s hard to sit up.

Worst of all, it’s pouring.

My hair, previously puffed up, falls lank around my face, blown about in the humid wind. I glance down at my clothing. I only have my undershirt left, some torn breeches. My socks are nearly in ruins, climbing up my legs in tatters from under my shoes from my desperate attempts to tear the fleas off of me. I groan and tug my hat, which I had managed to keep, further down my forehead. “I hate the rain,” I mumble to Ewe as we walk, urged on and on by Iago. “You know,” my eyes suddenly light up and I glance at the boy limping beside me, “my mom died because of the rain.”

If Ardal were here, he’d say that I have “that glint” in my eye. “My storytelling” glint. Once Ardal commented, most admirably, on my ability to turn even the worst situations into a story. Coping, he calls it. Once, I told an elaborate tale of a boy in my class who had just died of a particularly bad case of the flu. Ardal says I remembered him through my words. All I did was talk about the time we’d tripped over each other in the coat room and how my show-and-tell item, a jar with a single centipede inside, went flying across the room. It seemed to fall in slow motion, me on the ground, in a heap of coats, and he, having stumbled against the wall. The boy, his name was Max, he got it in the nick of time, stepping back hastily and grabbing it with a grin. I didn’t accept his hand that would’ve helped me to my feet, but I took the jar back and, cheeks red, thanked him. And then, two weeks later, he died. My centipede, wallowing about in his jar, died around that time as well. Ardal says because he didn’t like the food I gave him (some leaves and a twig) or he suffocated (he had a few breathing holes), but I think Max took him with him. To remember life in this world. The squirmy feeling of a waxy centipede in his hand.

To Ewe, I tell the story of my mother. “It was raining like this,” I say, hushing my voice against the backdrop of pitter-patters. “Except it was probably colder because it was at night and some kid, some stupid boy,” I roll my eyes, “he gets stuck in a tree. My mom, she, she was the best climber.” My chest is puffed out now and I grin at Ewe, “so she goes out to help him down and I wasn’t there, I was asleep in bed, but it was so dark and rainy and I bet the rain was loud.” I say this because the droplets of rain splashing down upon the Arena sound like thundering horses, galloping down upon us. “So, she falls. The kid gets down just fine, but my mom, she hit her head. On a rock.”

It is with that last sentence that I am transported back to a quiet, dark bedroom. Ardal is speaking in hushed tones in the next room, but the near-dead, I think, don’t have ears. I kneel at the edge of the mattress, chest heaving, yet there’s no air going into my lungs. I long to pull away the sheet that has crept up onto half of her face and roll her onto her back and tell her to stay, that I love her. But, there’s blood on the sheet, right around where her ear would be, so I recoil. She didn’t cry in death or beg. She quietly slipped away from us a few days later, on another rainy night. I wasn’t there.

Walking next to Ewe, I suddenly feel my eyes fill and I try to shake it away. She didn’t cry. She didn’t cry. With a head filled with fire, she was strong, yet I sobbed at my first stomachache. I look away from Ewe, chest heaving. Weak, Scout, you are weak.

[/i]

We arrive at our next location…a giant…beanstalk? My eyes slid right up, but I don’t see it. It’s raining too hard, my eyes are too blurry. Iago is getting sick somewhere. He at least flees as to not show any signs of weakness. Me? I am weak. I am weak.[/i]

The silence in the rain does not last long. It is always meant to be destroyed, here in the Games, because suddenly noise erupts behind me and I turn. For a second, I think it’s my teddy bear, come back to haunt me, but there are ten of them with razor sharp claws and teeth. I want to scream, but I bite it back down. My mother wouldn’t have. Hands flying, I reach for my flail and gathering strength from Iago’s first strike, fly, too, into action.

[attacks bear #1, flail]
[dice=200+12000]
[broken ribs, 7.5][/size][/color][/blockquote][/blockquote]
[rand=64897775687695047241561379406867815124690692835424085128457163]

[shrimp]

The needle in my arm hurts more than the faces in the sky, staring stoically back at me. It's kind of unnerving, that I can stare at the graphics knowing they're dead, even being somewhat relieved at their passing. We've fallen quickly from our standards or morality - or at least, I have. I'm not proud of it, I think, rubbing my right thumb across my left, the antivenom lying by my side as Beatrice's face fades from view (replaced by Cerise "11" Mehfistinyourface). But it's not me who's lying in a hovercraft, eyes staring emptily at the ceiling. That's something to be happy about, right? No, no it's not. Not at all. Slowly the dizziness, the numbness that overtook me after the fight is fading and by the time the boy from 9's face is obscured by darkness I'm almost back to normal.

When we wake the rain is uncomfortable on our weathered bodies and my mask is slowly shredding as it's hit with the water, drop after drop after drop and for a moment I panic as I remove it, tucking it into my bag. The air feels cool on my face and I blink as the raindrops land on my cheeks. I shiver once as we make our way to the spiraling tower ahead. “My mom died because of the rain,” Scout comments, and as she tells her tale and weaves a picture of District 11 for me Snow is sure to cut this out of the feed I realize how little I really know about the people I've come to know as allies (for as much as I don't like them I trust them enough to not kill them in their sleep. Not like I could anyway). And they don't know much about me either.

It's been hard to remember sometimes; my life in District 4 seems so far away, so unattainable. Sure there are only 9 - no, 8. That was a cannon - of us left, but that still means I only have a slim chance of surviving (1/8 = .125 so that means 12.5%? Better than the original 4%) and everyone else is so much stronger, so much tougher than I am. Truth be told I don't know how I've made it thus far. Emery is full of anger and spite, pummeling anything with her fists and knowing that she could easily win. Iago is a terror, a nightmare who's just admitted to himself that he wants to return to the land of endless crops and terrifying Peacekeepers and Scout probably has the entirety of Panem on her side. Then there's the District 5 girl, Cassie who's been through hell and back unscathed already, Saffron who's intimidating with her 8, Lucy who could be anywhere at all and then Jim, who's even more terrifying because I know nothing about him.

I'm not strong enough to win, I've always known that. I've just been lucky, undercover, and as the numbers dwindle I'll be more and more noticeable until they can snuff me out with a simple 'huff'. And I'm not ready for that. Scout and I don't talk any more as our destination comes into view - it's not a tower, as I thought, but a twisting, winding beanstalk, leading up and up to who knows where. Is it a good idea to climb it? Is it a good idea to even come close to the mysterious plant whose top is covered by a blanket of clouds? Probably not, but since when have I made a good decision in this arena?

Ten figures loom in the distance, and as they come closer I can see that they're warped teddy bears with fangs and claws and my heart sinks as we have to battle once again. Iago and Scout quickly spring into action, taking one of the creatures down before they have a chance to retaliate. Now it's up to Emery and I to use the remaining time to deal as much damage before they make their assault.

{ewe flails at bear #2; glaive}
[dice=200+13000]
{Miss; 0.0 damage}

[rand=53296698298710376260568635417979100831185107966513873257157001663]

[Deleted]

Last night, there were more faces in the sky than I cared to look at. Ewe, Iago, and Scout had their eyes plastered to those bright banners that reach across the stars each evening while I instead, secluded myself to a small tree trunk, my eyes focused in the opposite direction. The sky never gave me any answers before – the stars never granted any of my childhood fantasies and the moon never revealed itself as cheese – so why should I think that looking up there will give me any satisfaction now?

Every face is the same; every tribute is just another pawn to knock over, nothing more. There’s no use in getting caught up in who’s still alive and who’s already dead, because by the time this week is over, there will be twenty-three dead hearts for every living, beating one. I don’t care if it was Beatrice who died or Lucy who died or even Sticky who died today; the fact of the matter is that there are nine people remaining, and only one of those people will be coming out dead alive. Dead…alive…what’s the difference, really? I wish I knew.

In the morning, Iago’s barfing all over the place, and he isn’t all that much unlike sick little Scout from a few days ago. It must be a District Eleven thing: more susceptible to sudden sickness or something. There’s something to respect in Scout. Maybe it’s the fact that she’s slaying mutts left and right or maybe it’s the fact that I would be dead had her mentor not sent down an extra antivenom for me. Of course, how could I expect Opal Shore to help me in these games? Either she refused to send down that little parachute or simply could not get enough money to do so, both of those explanations being highly probable and also highly accurate. I think the only reason I’d ever want to win these games would be to show up Opal Shore and that idiot grin I’d like to tear right off her face; and yes, that is the first thing I plan to do if I ever get out of this arena.

As we start walking towards what seems to be a gigantic beanstalk, a peculiar thought finds its way into my head: these people walking next to me are probably the closest things to friends I’m ever going to have. Most of the friends I’ve had in the past have tried to kill me on more than one occasion except for Rolex but let’s forget about him for a moment please please please it hurts. It’s not an odd thought that one of these idiots might be the one to put a knife through my heart. I guess that’s just how friendships usually go anyways. Whatever. People suck, and that isn’t going to change anytime in the next century, so why even bother dealing with their crap?

But you know, Scout and Iago and even Ewe – although I quite disliked his little confrontation with me back at the ice cube – haven’t been all that bad. They’re my friends now: yes, my friends, and I know that means absolutely nothing – everything means nothing, really – but at least it gives the illusion of meaning something. And right now, an illusion is enough if it can make me happy. Of course, the tiny spark of warm feeling inside me only lasts for a moment before we’re being attacked by these stupid little teddy bears. Scout kills one – you know, maybe I should say something nice to her. I haven’t really expressed my gratitude, have I? Another teddy bear comes running towards me and I immediately lunge forward, throwing my fists in front of me.

[emery attacks teddy bear #2]
[dice=200+5000]
[knocked backwards - 0.5]

Then, I quickly bend down and grab the dead teddy bear, some sort of blood-like fluid seeping from its gashes. “I never got to say thank you,” I say quickly to Scout. “For the antivenom.” I’d be dead now if she hadn’t given her extra to me. I awkwardly hand the dead, half-deformed teddy bear mutt to Scout. “So here, take it…since you had to throw out your last one. Sorry for ripping it up by the way.” She’d better be so darn thankful right now. You know the last person I said sorry to? Yeah, I don’t either. I look back at the rest of the living teddy bears as they close around us. If my little thank you spiel just cost us time which we could have used to flee, well then...eh whatever, we're dead anyways.

[ooc - ahh I'm so sorry, I've barely had any internet/time these past few days because of thanksgiving/my uncle's wedding]

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[Lulu]

The ten tiny, treacherous teddy bears that terrorized the 65th arena were named for ten disastrous plagues, and rightfully so. These terrible creatures might have looked fluffy, cuddly, and inviting, but as soon as anyone came close, they would pounce. They have vicious, sharp teeth, and pack a powerful punch in those meaty paws of theirs. Their thirst for blood and vengeance against those awful humans who tried to use them as pets was so great they could hardly contain it; that was why when they saw a group of them lumber unsuspecting over to their beanstalk, they were not going to let them leave alive. The teddy bears would have their revenge.

But these humans were not completely helpless, much to the bears' dismay. Blood was the first to fall, which was, in some ways, surprising, considering he was always their leader, but he was also the first one to throw himself into precarious situations. Frog was hit as well, but only a bit; he would still be alive to fight for a while yet. The bears formed an angry circle around the humans, the body of their only fallen lying off to the side. No more bears will fall. But humans, these four humans, would be dead in seconds if the bears got their way. Some bit, some clawed, some punched with their paws, but all did their damage.

[Frog attacks Iago, teeth (knife)]
[dice=200+2000]
[miss 0]

[Gnat attacks Scout, claws (knife)]
[dice=200+2000]
[slit throat, X]

[Fly attacks Ewe, paw slap [(club/blunt)]
[dice=200+7000]
[broken left shin, 7]

[Pestilence attacks Emery, teeth (knife)]
[dice=200+2000]
[sc left forearm, 3.5]

[Boil attacks Iago, paw slap (club/blunt)]
[dice=200+7000]
[broken left hand, 6]

[Hail attacks Scout, paw slap (club/blunt)]
[dice=200+7000]
[void because insta]

[Locust attacks Ewe, claws (knife)]
[dice=200+2000]
[severed right ear, 8]

[Darkness attacks Emery, paw slap (club/blunt)]
[dice=200+7000]
[bruised right collarbone, 2]

[Death attacks Emery, claws (knife)]
[dice=200+2000]
[sc back of head 4.5]

[/size][/color][/justify][/center][rand=55089836101979027559992363676429002968399319797754337698854063637555]

[Deleted]

I a g o
I z a r – M c C l a i n e

•••

She didn’t have a say in whether or not she was going to live or die. Her named got pulled from the bowl, not mine. Still, she’d fought harder than any of us—just twelve years old, and already they were writing her eulogy. See, with her flail she’d smashed the same bear that I’d cut through as though it’d been nothing. I’d lost sight in the rain of her, just as soon as the bears swallowed all of us up. I didn’t have two moments before a few of them swatted at me, one of them smashing hard into my hand with a snap.

[/color] I let out a yell and spun around when one of them gutted right through her throat. It was then I stopped, the rain streaking down my face, to watch the blood coursing out her neck and lips. The way it dripped down her tunic and at her feet, as though she hadn’t meant anything to them at all. Her cannon would sound soon enough, and we’d have to carry on.

I’d hated each of them since the moment I set foot into the training center. What was I supposed to feel?[/color] As though each of us were going to stay up all night talking about how great it was to spend our last moments together, discovering things about ourselves that we’d never known? I knew everything there was to know about me; I didn’t need some half-hearted attempt by Emery or some gentle whispering from Scout to reveal something new. Numbness runs through me now as I charge forward, my glaive trailing down behind me. She’d been from my district, she’d come so far. [/color] A good hearted kid like Sampson, torn down by horrible monsters—set upon us for flying too close to the sun. It wasn’t her fault that she had died; the fault lay on our hands, and in our feet. But that’s the truth, isn’t it? We’re all only as capable of what’s inside of us. Scout was a warrior, but no victor.[/color] Because victors are not winners, they’re just survivors by a different name.

The rain continues to come down in sheets, and in a flash of lightning, I can see Ewe and Emery becoming encircled. The bears snarl and blood sprays as they catch Ewe’s ear. We won’t be long if we stay here.[/color] I stare from Ewe to Emery. I watch the blood ooze out of Scout’s neck. I clutch my glaive tighter and feel my heart ready to beat out of my chest. There are only eight—seven?[/color]—of us left. And in this moment I feel my stomach rumble again, but there’s nothing left to purge. You a liar?[/color] The voice of Sampson rings through my ears, and I shake my head. The world is slow motion. I stomp through the mud, splashing through thick puddles, rushing at Emery. My heart hits its crescendo, and I clasp my hand in hers. It’s lightning between the two of us, and I give a tug.

“We can’t stay—he’s dead weight!” I cry out, knowing I have spoken the death of my ally. You a liar?[/color] At home they will write poems to Scout, they will speak of her virtues, and they will paint portraits of the good little girl that had done her part. They will cry to the heavens over Ewe and his bravery. Emery will have busts carved out of marble and gyms named after her. But I am a survivor.[/color] What was seven would become six, then five, until at last there is only one. The boy with the lame foot has not future with me, and I—none with him. I give one last look. We both knew it would come to this, we both knew that there would be an end.[/color] Better like this than at my blade.

My hand is tight against hers, and I blink back what must be tears. God I must look so weak to her.[/color] She knows me—doesn’t she? Please say she won’t be such an idiot, and a fool, and everything that makes my blood boil.[/color] Just come with me now, and let us live to fight another day. Because Ewe and Scout had had each other—just as all the others must have had someone, anyone. But we are kindred, and we are alone.

“We can get out of here!” I shriek, turning to run.

We[/b][/color] can.

[Iago Izar-McClaine decides to flee, but does not lend aid to Ewe Saw]

[Iago receives a number of things, to be detailed later]

[sorry for holding this up, I’ve been very busy!]
[/blockquote][/size][/justify][/color]

[Lulu]

Alright I would love for this to continue but unfortunately you guys took way too long posting during the week and as scheduled, I'm doing the anthem right now, so I'm going to have to call it here xD Next time please don't take so long to post, you guys had the entire week.

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