The Bloodbath

[WT]

Welcome, tributes and spectators, to the Cornucopia! Before the 56th Games can get underway (and I’m sure you’re as eager as I am for that), there are a few things to be gone over. First of all, it’s never a bad idea to take a look at the rules. If you don’t at least flip through, things are going to get very confusing for you. Please also take a look at the Tribute Maintenance and Movement so that you know when to PM me so that certain things don’t get muddled.


Some rules specific to posting in the Bloodbath! First of all, you must have an intro post before you attack anyone, just like with any other fight thread; you also cannot attack someone who has not made their introductory post, because that would be rather inequitable to the poor person being attacked. Also concerning fairness, you must wait for at least three people to post after your post before you may post again; if you’re in an alliance, at least one of the three must not be allied with you. Finally, a tribute can only be attacked six times in a row, at which point they may not be attacked again until they’ve had a chance to defend themselves or flee. (This is to avoid people ganging up on the same tribute while that character’s owner is offline.)

Any breach of these posting rules will result in 8 damage points being added to your score- and when you have an HP of forty, that’s no small matter. Just follow the rules, folks.




When attacking, please remember not just to specify who you’re attacking, but also to edit your post with the attack that corresponds with your number. (To figure that out, go here.) The finished post should look something like this:

As of late, Cadia has been refusing to give me a coherent post. In frustration, I decided to attack her. Normally I would never attack someone who could kill me, but I’m her creator so she can’t do anything about it.

((Attacks Cadia))

(attack)[/center][/quote]



[b][u]The Bloodbath Items List[/u][/b] may be found [url=http://www.thehungergamesrpg.proboards.com/index.cgi?board=56thinfo&action=display&thread=11576&page=1]here[/url]. For information on what do to with it, look at that thread.

[b][u]The Wealth[/u][/b] is a little different- you don’t earn it by making attack posts, but by being the last tribute (or alliance) left at the Cornucopia. This consists of all unclaimed items (that is, things on the Bloodbath Items lists that weren’t picked up because that tribute didn’t post enough), as well as items dropped by killed tributes (excepting weapons, which may be claimed by the tribute’s killer). Also present will be:

-4 Iodine Tablets
-1 Tent
-Sunglasses
-6 Strips of Bubble Gum
-4 Matches
-Flashlight
-4 Pliers
-5 Arrows
-2 Throwing Knives
-1 Hunting Knife
-Armoured Vest (+10 torso)


[b][u]This Games Day[/u][/b] will end on Saturday, September 25. This thread is mandatory, and any who don’t post on it by then will be killed, no questions asked and no leniency given. Once you’ve left the Cornucopia, you’re free to start another thread, but these threads may only last until the 25th.

[b][u]Weather: Day One[/u][/b]
Overcast
High: 86F (30C)
Low: 70F (21C)
Wind: NNW; 4mph (6.4kph); gusts up to 6 mph (9.6 kph)

[b][u]Tribute Uniforms[/u][/b]
-Cotton t-shirt (orange, 3/4-sleeved)
-Dark grey slacks (no pockets)
-Dark grey socks
-Dark grey athletic shoes
-Green headband



Any questions? Feel free to PM me.[/justify][/blockquote]
[center]Sixty...
forty...
twenty...
ten...
five...
four...
three...
two...
one...
[GONG!]

[i]Let the 56th Annual Hunger Games begin![/i][/center][/size]

[Skylar]

Ocean Jones

^{a million years.
spent without ears.
for a single moment.
death.}

What was a living a life of love if it hadn't existed in the first place? Ocean Jones had many questions running through her head as she was encased in black. The question that stuck out to her was the one that was stated, however, and the more she thought of it, she realized that, well, love wasn't something that'd ever been a part of her life. A life of fake hugs, fake 'I love yous', fake smiles, fake happy family gatherings, fake feelings, all around. 'Pass me some fake love, please?' 'Oh sure! Plenty of it to go around.'

There'd been enough of it as Ocean Jones had thought about it. If she were loved, would her dad, would her mom, have came and said goodbye to her before she left? Sure, her dad's face was heartbreaking as she volunteered, but maybe it was because he felt sorry for himself, not Ocean. He'd have to be nagged at all the time of how he felt about Ocean, would have to have constant attention on him, more than he usually did, and he'd have to put on a front. There'd been no love, the whole time.

Perhaps, once, though, when Ocean Jones was able to hear, she'd been loved. A 7 year old girl that was seen as the snobby rich kid of District 12. The girl with the mayor as a dad. Oh, how she envied the thoughts of it. Sort of like a twisted up case of nostalgia. Sure, she wasn't liked by the District, nor had she ever been, but at the time, what did it matter? She was the mayor's daughter and she got everything she wanted. She'd been able to run around in the backyard and pick flowers and hand them to her dad, tell him to take a big whiff of 'em and then he'd over exaggerate it and act like they were the best thing since sliced bread.

The metal plate she stood on carefully began to move upwards. A shake came with each inch, both in her body and the plate moving up the rusted enclosure. She saw nothing, she heard nothing, and for a moment, it seemed as if Ocean Jones had been born this way and that she'd never been affected by it. All of the loss of sight, the loss of hearing [only one was actually real], didn't make her emotions change it all. She could feel the plate, she could see nothing, and all she worried about was if she was loved as a child or not. She wanted to be, [who wouldn't?], but at the same time, when she faced reality, she realized that what she wished probably wasn't good enough to be true. A glow slowly emerged from the tube, and when she finally saw the landscape, she began to puke.

She felt the blood vessels in her face pop from purging so much, and as she wiped her mouth to rid of the vomit that had been left on her mouth, she noticed a certain Trace Rowgan that made all the nerves in her stomach come back. In fact, it was the same nerves that had made her vomit. Her feet lay in the vomit, and she knew she couldn't move until others began to run without risking slipping and being blown to bits. Well, would it really matter, though? She wasn't gonna win anyway, and it wouldn't matter when, would it? Besides, everyone that was anyone would love to see someone be blown to bits because of a slip in a pile of puke.

Trace Rowgan seemed to be sent to the Capitol just for Ocean. Sure, Trace seemed to be a Career looking Tribute, looked to be one to kill everyone there was to kill, but to Ocean, she saw a a very well fit man with tons of heart. Ocean would most definitely stand by this boy throughout the Games, no matter the consequences. Maybe it would turn out that everything Ocean had went through was simply a mask that was put on to conveniently put at least one kill on his list before he died. But through the pulling of glass, the staring of eyes, the conversation after a bucket of tears, and things that only Ocean could explain as "sweet" seemed to not be a mask. True feelings for a real girl. Maybe Trace Rowgan seen Ocean as what might be of Trace. A fake girl trying to win over the hearts of people just to take them down. Ocean hoped not, but she couldn't resist the doubting.

Ocean wore simple clothes. An orange shirt that was almost fully sleeved, though cutting off halfway down the forearm, black slacks with no pockets, black tennis shoes, and a very green headband. Ocean's hair was pulled back in her signature Training Center look, a ponytail with a black ribbon.

She carefully wiped what remained of her puke on her bottoms and waited for the Tributes to jump off of their metal plates. She had no sense of hearing, only an airy type of sound that got louder or softer with the movement of the head. Sort of like having water eternally stuck in your ear. She couldn't hear the announcement by Claudius Templesmith, so if there were to be any changes for this years Games, well, she wouldn't know. If she lived long enough, how ere she to find out about the Feast?

She desperately wanted to know when she'd be released off the plate. The items at the horn, so inviting, yet so deadly. So, so deadly. For a female Tribute from District 12, if she were to get even remotely close to the Cornucopia rather than a few steps or so, she'd be dead before she could say the word 'life'. She eyed the ground, looking for any thing that might be of good use without going too far into the Bloodbath. She eventually saw a very beautifully crafted spear, and though it might've been deeper than she'd wanted it to be, Ocean would get it. She'd spent all that time in the Training Center on those damn treadmill/treedmeel things that she'd be fast enough to get it and get back before anyone next to her could get their first item.

When will we go?

When?

Now?

No.. Now.

She deperately tried to trigger the movements of the other Tributes. She needed the weapon and then she needed a way out. Sure, she'd be dying, but death, though it would encase her and 22 others, she wanted to stay alive for as long as possible. She'd had her depression moment at the beginning of her arrival in the Arena, but now that she thought of it, the idea of three District 12 Victors seemed amazing. She'd fight as hard as she could.

The deaf girl from District 12 with a Training Score of 1, would fight hard to win or die trying.

No, she wouldn't turn into a cannibal bloodthirsty blade-happy machine, but would she be afraid to take a life to save her's? No. Unless... Unless it was of Trace's or Joshua's. Joshua. Where was he? He was on the other side of the Training Center when he'd stopped what he was doing to come and comfort her. Sure, Ocean Jones saw him as trustworthy as Trace [which is saying a lot], but the feelings she had toward Trace were just never there. In fact, the feelings for Trace had never been there for anyone else. Ocean refused to accept it as love, for love couldn't develop in such a short period of time, not in her eyes, at least.

It was then that the first person jumped off of their plate and darted off towards the Cornucopia, no bombs exploding in the process. The time was now.

She smiled.

[/blockquote][/color]
[/size]

[peanutpie]

I had always been known for my fanciful imagination, the way I thought through the processes or reality or fiction. I could cease the lines, I could make the colors fade together into a simple harmony. In my world, blood could be purple, and unicorns could replace any building. In my world, daisies embordiered my hair naturally, I could walk across a path made of pure moss without getting wet. I had white patent leather shoes and a pink dress that flowed to my feet. I could eat flowers, and make it taste like caramel. I would parade to the edge of a river and go for a swim, and come out completely dry. I would braid my daisy hair, toying with its ends. Fantasy could engulf my mind, filling it with beauty and uniqueness that could only be me. I could pet deer and leap across a river, my hair streaming behind me in ribbon like curls. The grass would be mint green, the sky a harmonious blue, pink flowers peeking up from the grass, clear blue water, a white sand beach. A cream cottage, a front porch. Sounds girly, but it was pure awe. Butterflies like crystalline lining the buds, sipping the syrup from the gardenias that sat just south of the lake, hummingbirds following in example. Where life could be free of horror, be free of any physical boundry. A small white dog sleeping on the porch, a pitcher of lemonade and little strawberry muffins next to the pitcher.

This is what I emerged from, the darkness filling the room. A buzzer was going off, my alarm clock flashing, followed by the waking of a mans voice. “Good morning Capitol! Today is an exciting day, because it is when the games begin…” The voice was for 258.7 FM radio, Jack Chamberlin. It was a morning talk show that was hosted by one of the most loud talk show hosts I could imagine. I sighed. I guess it was the time now. I gulped, blinking twice, still watching the numbers blinking infront of my eyes. They were orange. I sighed again and stroked my head. I was surpised I even slept last night, I was so anxious. I was sure some capitol person put sleep gas in my room, so they would have the most bushy and bright eyed tributes possible, but I just shrugged at myself, continuing to listen to Jack’s extremely upbeat detail on the games. Blah, de blah de blah. The only thing that passed through my ears was the list of names, which I picked up my own. The side comment added was “Wow, shes the youngest in the games!” Followed by Coles name. I sighed, and finally decided to emerge from bed, my nightgown following me. It was one of those extremely long ones, so it draped along the ground, making me appear to have a train. I went into the shower, pressing a few buttons that I carefully followed the directions for, creating a medium intensity steam shower with orange and lavender soap and shampoo, followed by a warm rinse of water and a sponge massage. My hair was cleaned twice, then rinsed. The shower door opened, the mechanical voice announcing “Done” in a district nuteral accent. I pressed my hand on the box, and my hair dried. I put on a robe and waited for my stylist, Fabio to emerge from the door. (Oops, I mean closet)

He finally came in, leather jumpsuit and all, bright crimson hair everywhere but nowhere. He sighed, and gave me an undershirt and underwear, then unzipped the dress bag he had in his hands to reveal a pair of black pants, a orange cotton shirt and a pair of black shoes and socks. I slid on the outfit, reality suddenly setting in. But, I couldn’t break down now, I couldn’t. Not even from the reflection in the mirror of me, in my tribute uniform. The words I tried to force through my system, which immediately snapped back into realism. I sighed, and crossed my hair. The prep team followed, the youngest putting my hair into three braids braided together. I found it pretty, so I left it in. They sprayed it with canned glitter, and it settled into the crevices of the braid, glinting.

I was brought to the top of the building, where a red headed woman directed hovercrafts towards the arena and towards the building. A man put a tracker into my arm. “Estelle, right?” He asked. I nodded, and he directed for a hovercraft. I was let into the interior, which was really a plexiglass door between the pilot and me, and a chair made of velvet. I stroked it, then in a few minutes, I was released. And by released, I mean I was unloaded onto a loading dock, where I stood on a golden circle.

Minefields. The word circled my mind. If I were to move, I’d die. I felt the pendant, my token around my neck and felt instantly more secure. I had sixty seconds before the gong banged out the lovely tune of death. Sixty seconds. I tried to think of a sixty second story I could say to myself.
I started to say in my mind:

I gathered a bunch of roses from the bushes in the small field, and gave them to my favorite children, May and Kaylee. They took up to making crowns of roses, circleting my head, they would say. Twilight had begun to fall upon the small field, and I watched the children settle onto their little coushions they had sewed from a few of my old pieces of clothes. The coushions were stuffed with wood shavings, but the children loved them. They sat upright, their eyes smiling, ready for a story. Maya finished the crown, and Kaylee placed it upon my blonde head. We settled down, and I started to tell the story of the four frogs.

“Once upon a time lived four frogs who lived in a shack by the woods. Each of the frogs were very intrigued in a certain plant. The first frog loved corn, the second pansies, the third liked mint, and the last frog the potato. The frogs always shared their plants, until one day, the first frog decided he wanted to keep all the corn to himself. So he hid it underneath the front porch of the house the frogs lived in, and when he went to get the corn, he found it turned to fungus. Deadly fungus.” A gasp had come from the audience. “So the frog decided to see what happened with the pansies. The same happened. And with the mint, and finally the potatoes. The other frogs were getting hungry, so they hopped down to the river to try and get some flies that circled the top of the lake. With their tounges they snapped up the flies, but decided not to show the frog how to do this. Pretty soon, the one frog was very hungry. He couldn’t find an edible plant for miles, and was thirsty. Then, he saw the other frogs using their tounges to snap up the flies. He tried to do this, but his tounge was rusty. The other frogs just laughed, and a small group of faeries watched from the creek bed.” A quick falsetto came from my mouth “’My oh my!’ the blue fairy said, so she gave him a small bundle of flies to nibble on. Of course, the second fairy was annoyed by the generosity towards the one frog, but…”

The words in my mind was cut off, because I heard the person next to me counting down the time. Five, four, three two, one. The gong went off and I took off running, my hair behind me, just like in my fantasy.

A fantasy that may come true. Only if I die.

[Ray]

Agatha Mirell

I breathed deeply, standing straight and still as my stylist adjusted my headband. I know everyone wears the same thing, but I hate the colors. The green headband clash with my fiery hair. How can I think about something as silly as clashing colors, when I’m about to walk to my death? I think. I almost laugh out loud. I stop myself just in time. There’s nothing funny about the day that starts the deaths of twenty three innocent people.

My stylist finishes fixing my outfit and careful slips my distict token on my wrist. The woven bracelet my mother wore when she was in the Games. It makes me sad when I think about my mother dying, but it could bring me the strength in the arena that my mother had lacked. Hopefully. My stylist gives me one last smile before stepping back. The tube lowers around me and the last thing I see before being sent into total darkness is my stylists smiling face. I’m sure she will see me die today. I don’t have much confidence in my ability to stay alive.

I’m lifted into bright sunshine and start unconciously counting down in my head as I look around. Only sixty seconds to get a good grip on my surroundings and formulate a plan. I see the huge Cornucopia, full of the things I will need to survive. I don’t think I have the courage to go so close to the place where so many tributes have died. I’ll just get to the essentials, then get the heck out of there.

Only thirty seconds left, I think. Half my time gone. I search the faces of my fellow tributes. The people who will have to die so that I can live. One of these people will live. I don’t count myself among the people who have a chance. My only goal is to live as long as I can, but when it’s time to die, not make it too painful on myself.

I shake my head. I can’t think this way. I close my eyes and shut down my mind. I’m no longer Agatha Mirell of District 8. I’m no longer a person at all. I will have no feelings at all for the next week or so, if I live that long. Feeling is a weakness here. I remember the last Games clearly. The love some of the tributes formed for their allies led to their deaths. I won’t be like that…

Suddenly, the gong rings and everyone is off and running. I’ve missed my chance and am getting a late start thanks to my reminiscing. I mentally curse myself for not focusing and take off running.

[∂αмєη]

Most people say that when you are about to die, your life flashes before your eyes. Oh, how I wish that was true. The only thoughts that are bombarding my mind are that of strategy. Only a few things are obvious so far. I need to find her. Ocean Jones. I need to be with her. Then, I need to live. That’s definitely an important point. Live through the bloodbath, and you might have a chance to get to the end. But my mind is filled with more thoughts than just that. Where do I go? What will this arena be like? What will the mutts be like? I’m assuming they are only deciding to hit me now because I’m close to death.

I've only ever felt close to death twice in my life. The first time was when I had my sentence in the Detention Center. The bite from Flight, the shots from Clayburn. All of it added together, and left me with the fear of being dead. A cold corpse, empty of the life form that filled it at one point. Nothing measures up to this moment though. No. This moment is the moment of truth. Kill or be killed. Fight or die. The moment where my life can be ended with one movement, one person, one weapon. This is the moment.

The glass slides up around me, and it reminds me of being trapped in the Detention Center. Shut into a dark, cold place. You never know if you will be coming out again. You never know what is waiting on the other side. The screeching that the plate makes as it scratches across the wall makes me flinch. Everything seems to be purposely making me more tense. The bread that doesn't want to go down my throat. The saliva that isn't building up in my mouth. The anxiety of wondering what is waiting on the other side of the plate above my head. But it's opening too fast. Too fast for me to realize that this is it. I place a smile on my face, and lift my chin higher in the air. This is it.

My eyes adjust to beauty. It's like a scene out of a children's book. The forest with the beautiful yellow, orange and red leaves. The luscious forest behind it. A large lake covers most of my left side view. That is water. That is life. To my right is a creek, which rests beside a large field. Pillars stick out of the ground, developing an air of mystery. I want to stay away from there. My eyes fly past the pillars from the ground, and lock on a large pumpkin in the distance. A pumpkin patch? It brings a laugh from my throat, and I'm sure a tribute has heard me. They must be thinking that I'm insane, laughing when I'm about to kill. So I move on. There's dead trees directly behind me, and a grain field rests beside it. Perfect. Lots of food, and lots of water.

My next goal is obvious. To find my alliance. To find Ocean. There's something about her. Something different. She isn't like any other girl. When I look into her eyes, my whole being seems to float away. As if there is nothing in this world that I need to worry about. I can't mark the feeling though. It's too early to be love. I know that much. But could it be? If we weren't both heading into the final destination? If one didn't have to die for the other to live? I think it could, and that puts a bigger smile on my face.

But these are the games. It's all about three things. A social game. Alliances bring you quite far. They are generally somebody you can rely on to watch your back. The next thing is strategical. You need to have a great strategy. Where do you go? How do you get food and water? What should you do, fight, or run? The final thing is competition. You need to be able to compete with the other people, providing either brains or brawn. Otherwise, your corpse will be sent back to your district, all prettied up in a coffin. The thought of my lifeless body laying in a coffin makes me focus.

Focus for the gong that is about to sound. I prepare to run.



And then it sounds.

[Skylar]

She was flustered at the start. The push of her feet off of the metal plate scaring her. Almost as if she'd still blow up from the mines if she touched the ground around her. Or perhaps, she wasn't at all anxious to actually begin to play this Game, if you will. Sure, there was an excitement that came with the item grabbing, the dodging of blades, hammers, death. It probably wasn't in her best interest to want to dive in and get the weapon, for she was almost positive that she'd get shot at, at least once.

She desperately tried to get to the Spear, though the trembling of her legs, the shakiness of her body, seemed to slow everything down. She felt like she was running through a pool filled with caramel. She made progress, but in inches. Step by step, she got that much closer to the spear, and though she was making progress, and fast, she felt the need to cry at the shear amount of anxiety that was suddenly rushing over her. She was running, however, and for some reason, the tears wouldn't fall.

Has she wasted all of them the night before? No. Couldn't have. She didn't cry at all yesterday. She felt quite proud actually, for it was the first time since she'd arrived that she hadn't cried. Maybe she'd cried in her sleep, though. It was then that Ocean Jones realized that there was no importance in it.

Her nerves finally let up, and she was moving in a quicker pace than she'd realized. She dove for the spear, though off target, bumping into a girl whom she'd not once socialized with. It was the District 8 girl, but Ocean had no idea who she was. She was suddenly shocked by the red color of her hair, and a quick rush of envy rushed over her. There was no point to be envious in the Games, for no one cared of looks. They cared about staying alive.

"Sorry! So sorry."

She was absolutely horrified at the accident that had occurred, and Ocean was flustered like no other. What if the girl was savage? Mistakes had already been made.

agatha. unarmed.
[dice=200+5000]
bruised right wrist.
2 damage.

Ocean landed among the girl's wrist as she landed on the ground near the spear. Her hands shook, but she managed to scoop up the spear. She felt the need to flee at that moment, but the bag that lay even nearer to her than the spear did caught her eye.

ooc.- No hard feelings. The three people that had posted were put into a generator, and you were the one that popped up. So sorry.

[rand=7531112574506551470600250642746789993533492088328834121178369969]

[peanutpie]

I rushed to the cornucopia, my thoughts racing. I looked around it, thinking faster and more complicatedly. Adernaline rushed through my system, my eyes flickering between the cornucopia and the people racing near me. My feet pattered, and I was glad for the shoes that were athletic varity. I ran faster and faster, thinking about where I had gone.

Defense would be hard. I would have to do something new. I would have to fight. But, I havent gotten a weapon yet, so I thought about what I could do. I could go fist to fist. Could it, would it work?

I was afraid of doing something irrational, but, instead, I just headed towards the nearest tribute.
(Attacks Agatha)
Unarmed
Unarmed: [dice=200+5000]
Bruised Back.

I rushed and grabbed a spear from the pile, ready to defend myself from anyone.[rand=9052670506856588917464620411397972171179250945927556643217149569]

[Ray]

Agatha Mirell

I dove for a spear and slammed right into another girl. I had been hoping for longer than a few seconds without having to hurt anyone. Of course, no one would mind hurting me, so I shouldn’t, but- no. had I forgotten that I had promised not to feel just moments ago? The girl started apologizing for running into me, than I felt the sting of the blow she had just sent my way.
I was slightly numb as I realized what was happening. This wasn’t a game anymore. This was it. The real thing; and I was the target. I would be killed if I continued to stand there, paralyzed in shock, like an idiot. I swallowed back my fear and set my mind.
Two girls were attacking me. I needed a weapon. One girl already had the spear, but I saw a hammer just a few feet to the left. I could cause a good ammount of damage with it. I flinched as I swung my fist, almost as if the punch I was sending to this girl, who know recognized as Estelle, was meant for me.

.:Attacks Estelle:.
Unarmed: [dice=200+5000]
(Miss)

How had I missed? I make a mental note to myself. Try not to close your eyes when attacking. It's not a good way to hit people. I duck to the side and snatch up a hammer. It feels good to have a weapon, even if I don't think I can bear to use it.
[rand=3860907133602491487076109540302539178808996637915522009160816883]

[∂αмєη]

This is it. I run as fast as I possibly can towards the Cornucopia. I've never been the fastest, due to being so large, but I still push myself as hard as I can. Then I see her figure running to my right, and I spin around, and direct myself at her location. That's when I see her attack somebody, and I grin. That's my girl. I smile, but within seconds, I've arrived at where she is, and am forced to run into the girl. I throw a punch.

[[Attack Agatha]]
Unarmed.
[dice=200+5000]
Miss.

I swing past the girl, missing her by just a bit. I curse, and then turn back to her after reaching down to grab a hammer.

[rand=57068965677171954853048659861088155689821578562266800013976171613]

[Skylar]

Ocean Jones. She had a spear in her hand. Her mind was running a mile a minute, and she couldn't hear a thing. What was it that made her so anxious to kill? Was she already bending under the Capitol's pressure? It was nerve-wracking, to say the least.

She saw Trace coming towards her, a look of fear and vengeance in his eye. She was trembling, and without thinking, she let the spear fly towards the unknown girl.

agatha. spear.
[dice=200+3000]
stabbed in foot. 8 damage.

She saw the spear enter her foot, and Ocean was appalled by her actions. She was a killer already. It didn't stop her from picking up the bag that had caught her eye, however.

ooc:- The random generator hates you. DDx I'm so, so sorry! Forgive me, please? The next post won't be an attack on you, I promise.

[rand=7510487609542906543284920509904671743505774065856983204847201705]

[peanutpie]

We all seem to have a common target. Outside of Agatha, who has just tried to take a swing at me and misses me. Im not a target, I would think, for the stronger tributes. I try to go to a happy place before attempting to spear Agatha. I try to imagine the meadow. The meadow, the meadow. I try to recall this morning, i try to recall the normality that I lived in before. I was going to attack. I was going to Attack Agatha. Why? Because Ocean was DEAF and Trace... you didnt want to get on Traces wrong side.

So, I lifted my spear, and speared it.

Attacks Agatha
Spear: [dice=200+3000]
Shallow cut on forehead

In haste, I grab my rucksack[rand=2812897244714939471119383430716016131122103795975163779891203384]

[Ray]

Agatha Mirell

I take a deep breath and suck my cheeks in. My foot was already bleeding from someone who had just thrown a spear at me. I was being wailed on and wouldn’t last another five minutes. I had to attack someone , get my weapon, and get away from here. Now.
I guess I’ll stick with the one who I was attacking in the first place. No point in attack people who I knew would kill me instantly.

.:Attacks Estelle:.

unarmed:[dice=200+5000]

Hah. I give a small smile of triumph as I throw the other tribute to the ground. Not much in the ways of hurting someone, but it's enough. I scurry over out of reach of my attacker and snatch up the first thing my hand finds. A bag. Not the most helpful thing in the world, but in the Games, everything counts.
[rand=7910084038395361117027198186981162385568114971587222748367714755]

[∂αмєη]

I can't believe I missed. This is life or death, and I miss. No. My anger is boiling up. I need to protect Ocean. My hammer settles properly in my hand, and I target the girl. This needs to hit. This needs to hurt. I swing towards the girl.

[[Attacks Agatha]]
Blunt Weapon.
[dice=200+7000]
Bruised Ribs


I hit the girl in the stomach, and grin. I must've bruised some. I reach down, grabbing the backpack nearby.

[rand=34469497203826904375884974375367167232079589739442090908064506948]

[Skylar]

The spear entered her foot, and Ocean quickly pulled it out. The sight of blood spilling from the girl's foot was enough to make her tremble. Ocean couldn't deal with someone suffering, and death would be the quickest way out.

agatha. spear.
[dice=200+3000]
stabbed in stomach 9.5 damage.


ooc.-i said wouldn't attack, but I really really need the jug. ocean will be fleeing next post, so... you definitely will not be attacked next time. no lies at all. i absolutely 100% promise

[rand=85205848910845824952020444907248288463203236460706682911654934287]

[Ray]

Agatha Mirell

I glance around. I know I need more to survive, but I’m getting pummeled. I need to get out of here now. I quickly spin around and survey my options. I see some forests, a creek, and some creepy dead trees that I won’t even think about. Not much to choose from. Water. That will be the most important.

I fight the urge to laugh again as I sprint out of the bloodbath towards the creek. The water will be moving, so it'll be less likely that I'll need to purify it. The Hunger Games have begun, and I'm getting out of here.