The Bloodbath

[L△LIA]

( A E S O P M Y K O N O S B L O O M )




Everything is going to the beat
And you said it was like fire around the brim
Burning solid, burning thin, the burning rim
Like stars burning holes right through the dark
Flicking fire like saltwater into my eyes

[/i][/color][/center]

I know immediately: It is not enough. Staring into the creature's mouth, I can see straight through to the darkened pit of its stomach where the emptiness lies. Although it refrained from biting my hand, it is clearly dissatisfied, expectant of what I will choose to do next. It demands offerings in exchange for peace. On the ground beside me is a pair of pliers, sunlight glinting off the silver-bright metal, and I scoop them up and thrust them into the jaws of my terrifying companion. Its belly sags, bending its lips into a devious smirk with the movement; It is pleased.

A rush of exhilaration floods my veins in response, crackling and sparking as it reminds me to move. My body becomes a celebration of accomplishment as I find my footing and not only manage to keep it while standing still, but after flinging myself into motion once more. I am running with wings on my ankles, a messenger between realms of consciousness, and more than that I am dancing. Each flutter of my limbs against the wind seems to twist my body like a flag, an ethereal shimmer on the air. It is only a haphazard collision with an outsider that mars my careful footwork, causing weapons to clash and ruin the moment.

[Aesop picks up pliers]

[Aesop attacks James with his switchblade]
[dice=200+2000]
[miss]

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[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

This was beginning to feel like one of those restless days on the ranch, the weather notwithstanding. The sort of days when everyone in the house had too much energy, repressed and jittery. He hated those days for a myriad of reasons, primarily that he felt just as anxious and annoyed as the most active toddlers. It was never a happy time, and it was even worse as a memory, because he wanted to be back there so badly, brawling with the boys, putting Cygnus in his place.

This wasn’t quite the same, but there was a touch, just a hint of that same attitude. Fighting was fighting, and in the end it wouldn’t matter if it was a tribute in the arena or a lucky shot from his brother. Death didn’t care. So Mace tried to put himself in that mindset, to recall how it had felt to know he would dominate. He flexed his stomach, his arms, felt the power therein. He could win this fight, and for now, that’s all that mattered. He needed to focus on attainable goals, otherwise the arena would crush him before the Games had even begun.

So he focused on his feet first, on moving one and then the other, shifting his weight, readying for the fight. He forced himself out of the pessimism that defined him, allowed a little bit of hope into his mind. And then, he struck.

[[attacks James, thrown knife]]
[dice=200+9000]
[[miss, 0.0]]

[[MAce picks up empty water jug]]

[rand=4410689550993000517301481825760356043455459074928766192112784961194]

[charade]

Well, that about settles that. I do think that I've grabbed just about as much as I can carry. Or at least as much as I can grab safely. Hopefully, Charas has gotten away safely; with a good haul of things to use. Hopefully. Anyway, it's time to get the heck out of dodge. I really am sorry about any pain I may have unintentionally caused, but, as the saying goes, All's fair in love and war. And this definitely qualifies as war. That dude whose foot I hit is toast. Dear god, I need a smoke in the worst way possible.

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

[Sawyer has Fled the BloodBath; First Aid?]

[shrimp]

s u n d r a

And then suddenly everything erupts into chaos. She sees the first two fall quickly, then the third is sliced open and District 1 is out of the running already (silently, she hopes that Topaz Ross is able to go through the mourning process much swifter and easier than the one that she was forced to bear). But then eyes turn to see Arden fall, and she screams. The first thing that she wants to do is run towards him, try to help him escape, yet he’s lying there, unmoving and she knows that he’s gone. Somehow, she’s able to discern Ember amidst the bloodshed, escaping, and she vows to remember which way the girl from eight went. Tears streaking down her face from Arden’s death, she runs instead, curing herself for her selfishness.

She knows that she has to get a weapon, but everything’s blurring, havoc Is abundant and the only thing she can see is Arden’s blood spilled all across the floor. She continues to sprint though, eyes barely glancing at the weapons (she seems to be on autopilot), and nearly runs smack into another tribute, who is already getting bombarded with attacks by the males that checked her out in the training session (she’s not deaf, Aesop Bloom). She manages to duck just in time, only to accidentally bump into the boy from seven, her hand flying towards his face as an “Oh, shoot! Sorry,” rings from her mouth.

But of course, nothing seems to be accidental in the arena, and she’ll be lucky if she isn’t bombarded with attacks, all of them intended for her early demise.

[attacks Alexander | unarmed]
[dice=200+5000]
[5038 | Gash/Bruised Right Foot | 3 damage]

[rand=1870998392524001521823749304998640490853937515008947639026917918774]

[Mocking James]

James ran. There was no time to stay as long as he had been hopeing. H would be dead if he stayed. He ran as fastsas he could to the Cornocoupia. He was in trouble. It seemed that a couple of tributes were already dead. He couldnt see who, because at that instant, as he was about to reach his destination, he was swarmed upon. He was first hit right on his right foot. It hurt, but the next few attacks easily took the pain from his foot away. A stab in his bicep. Another stab in his back. The pain shot through James' entire body. It hurt like hell, but he made it to the the Cornucopia. Without his right ear. It felt weird as well as it hurt like a bitch. blood was everywhere and he grabbed the first thing he could see. A whip. Kinky he thought as he turned around to inflect some form of pain of the people behind him. "Hey look," he called to the tribute who had just attacked him "Im holy now!" and with that, he attacked.

[/color]



[[Attacks (Alex)]]
[dice=200+6000]
[rand=3619291163049638380283556180074886250930838286883863878019619733]

[aya]

Alexander Hood —


They were making short work of the boy from District Twelve. While his districtmate had been decidedly competent, this boy was being sliced to bits by Alexander and her alliance. Her falchion found his ear and cleanly lopped it off, staining the snow — already turning to slush from all the blood at this point — with even more scarlet beneath their shoes. Some girl came down hard on Alexander's right foot, but turning her blade on the enemy revealed it to be the girl that Aesop had pointed out the first day in the training center. Something kept her from swinging at this girl, so she turned her blade on the District Twelve again.

[attacks James]
[dice=200+1000]
[shallow cut on right shoulder — 3.5]

[rand=709900982445105909468903881497681659430945990607124449917138554156]

[L△LIA]

( A E S O P M Y K O N O S B L O O M )




They couldn't think
Of something to say the day you burst
With all their lions
With all their might
And with all their thirst

[/i][/color][/center]

Flailing my steel fist at yet another heathen child come to interrupt my dancing with their blasphemy, I throw my arms wide and hurl myself into the breeze once more. I am a skeleton wind-rider, the breeze passing right through me. My bones are made of oxygen and my blood is the breath of distant clouds. The world erupts in shades of blue, snow shadows flickering at the edge of my vision as they disappear from sight in a rapid blur. Blunt shapes are smoothed out and I am free — until the unhappy demon on arm swings up into the air before me to remind me of its presence.

Despite the pliers taking the edge off its hunger, I know the creature has not been sated yet. More pliers. The beast demands more pliers and its demands will not be ignored. Yet, around me there is nothing but snow and scattered patches of ice like landmines. Panic flares up in my chest like a fever, hot and thick, until my eyes lock onto a clump of fabric on the ground. It isn't much, but perhaps it will be enough for now. Wrenching it free from the ice, I stuff it into the open mouth of my companion and continue my frantic search.

[Aesop attacks James with his switchblade]
[dice=200+2000]
[Deep Gash on Chest — 9.5 damage]

[Aesop picks up a t-shirt]

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[Deleted]

“Ugh, come on.” I tug Aesop along with me, looking frantically across the bloodstained snow for the rest of our alliance. Could it be possible that one of them is dead? Both of them? The idea makes me feel like my stomach’s sunken down to my shoes. It can’t be, they’re both so strong, such fighters, and yet if I can’t see them…

“There! There’s Mace! Okay, let’s go get him and then we’ll find Alexander and get the hell out of Dodge, sound like a plan?” Grinning slightly at the realization that at least over half of my alliance is still alive, I almost allow myself to feel like maybe, just maybe the four of us could come out on the top of this insanity. While I wouldn’t call it bloodlust, per se, there’s now an age-old desire to win thrumming through my veins like liquid fire, spurring my knife through the air towards another tribute.

[[attacks Sundra, knife]]

[dice=200+2000]

[[deep gash on back, 8.5]]

For the first time since this horror story began, I don't grimace when I feel the blade bite into flesh, but rather smile with grim satisfaction. And I don't apologize. There are bigger fish to fry.

“C’mon, we need to keep moving.” Motioning Aesop forward, I lean down and scoop up what looks to be some kind of insect net, shoving it in my bag with another irritated huff of air. Sure, I’m getting items, but they all seem pretty useless.

[/color][rand=064661344047635868990236450918020049932496622204789495198067743331]

[shrimp]

s u n d r a

She steps on his foot, which is a bit better than breaking is jaw or anything, but that means that attention has been diverted to her, and soon they will be upon her. So instead, she backs away, doe-eyes wide open as she begins to run away, yet she knows that it will be likely that she will be dead in just a few minutes. So she sprints, but her foot kicks something that bangs against another thing with a metallic hinge, and she looks down to see a crowbar, out of all weapons in the arena. Yet, it is a weapon nonetheless, so she picks it up, ready to wield it if necessary (she does have some upper body strength after all, even if it is only from lifting hay bales.

Perhaps the guy from 12 is dead already, perhaps he’s not, but Sundra knows that she has to get out sooner or later, So that’s what she does, muttering a quick "Have fun killing people, crazies," (Arden's death is still very much in her mind, and although they were not the ones to kill him, they most certainly helped) sprinting the same way that she saw Ember flee, hair flying as she escapes from the massacre. She barely even feels the attack on her back until she finally has left, but the blood still drips down out of her back, splattering the crisp, clean floor with a gingerbread trail of red wine-colored liquid.

[escapes with a crowbar xD]

[chaseee]

[/center][/ul]

Legs jittering as she waited for the official call, it was only reluctantly, after several pleas from her stylist, that she managed to stomach a bite of the food they had laid out before her. It was no surprise to the two of them that she was feeling a bit queasy. Bets were being placed on her lifespan, and in a few minutes she would be forced with the dire task of battle. Yeah, no big.

"Cassandra."

Mouth dry, she managed a Thank you to her eager stylist for waiting with her, and stepped on board the metal plate held steady for her. The man nodded once, and the plate zoomed upward and out. Cassie found it was much easier to ignore her surroundings for the moment if she closed her eyes and held her breath, envisioning herself at home, where she and her family would have just taken their spots on the sofa to watch the opening battle, dubbed the Bloodbath.

A breeze lifted several strands of hair from her smooth face, a brisk cold shaking her from head to toe. Finally mustering the courage to open her eyes, she found there was reason for the heavy coat and underclothes they had forced her to put on. All she could see in any direction was white. White white white. Snow, ice, everything coated in cold. She had faced terrible winters, sure, but nothing like this. The wind made her want to stand in front of a large fire, her fingers aching as they closed into fists, muscles aching for some degree of warmth.

The Cornicopia seemed to lay miles away from where she stood, and glancing around at the others, she felt the white-hot fingers of dread taking hold of her fast beating heart, planting itself there to unfold into pure terror. She would most likely die here, at the hands of other kids her age.

It seems like an eternity passes before the gong sounds, and even then she is unprepared. It takes her a moment to realize she is meant to run, to fight now, to show her will to live. She thinks she is the last off her plate, running for the supplies, the other tributes having gotten way ahead of her in just the short few seconds it took her to get ahold of herself. Even still, she took off in the same direction as most, anxious to at least get her hands on a weapon, to go down with a fight.

Cassandra Hearsh would fight.

[Ray]

Zynna Yondall

Zynna swept her gaze around the area surrounding the cornucopia. There were fighting tributes everywhere, and the smell of blood filled the air. There were already several people on the ground, the life seeping out of them. Zynna just hoped she wouldn’t soon be on of them. She slung her bag over her shoulder and gripped her flail, glancing towards an icy forest off to her right. She would go there, before she received any more injuries. She held her flail, her lifeline, tightly, preparing to fend off anyone who would try to stop her.

Suddenly, she felt a sharp stinging in her chest, near her heart. She felt a blade rip through her shirt and pierce her skin. She whipped around, seeing a knife covered in her blood imbed itself in the ground next to her. She turned to see who had thrown it. It was him, one of the first to start the onslaught of the attacks on her. She couldn’t remember his name, only knew that he was the one who had decided it was her time to die.

She tried to move, tried to run, but her legs didn’t want to obey. She trembled in place for a moment, trying desperately to hold on. She dug deep inside herself, reaching for some strength stored away that would carry her to safety. She didn’t dig deep enough. Zynna couldn’t find the strength to continue.

She crumpled to her knees, then fell down on her side. She breathed heavily, each breath ripping at her insides painfully. She knew her last moments were upon her. No, this wasn’t supposed to happen to me. Zynna knew she would die, but she didn’t expect it to be so soon. She didn’t expect to have so many tributes upon her so fast, each calling for her blood.

She pressed her hand to the deep wound on her chest, trying to stop the flow of blood, even though she knew it was futile. The blood poured through her fingers, turning her hand and the ground around her red. She knew the cameras would be closing in on her, trying to catch her last moments on film, for all of Panem to see. She moved the hand covering the hole in her chest to her arm. She needn’t try to stop the blood anymore. She knew it wouldn’t affect the outcome. Slowly, she rubbed her hand back and forth across the word she had written on her arm that morning. The word ALONE slowly changed into nothing but a black smudge. Taking in short spurts of air, she dug inside again, trying to find her inner strength once more. She heaved herself over, turning her face to the ground. She wouldn’t give the Capitol the satisfaction of seeing her face this time. She wouldn’t force her family to witness this last moment of her life.

Zynna may not have been able to find the ability to leave the cornucopia, to carry on to the end, but she could do this one thing for her family at least. She was satisfied. She wondered if they were watching. If all of them were watching. Mom, Fara, even Dad and Kai, who she hadn’t seen in years. Would they even remember her? Yes. They will remember me. I know someone out there will remember me.

The pain in her chest and her arm were becoming too much for her. A steady throbbing started up in her head, and the smell of blood was not all she sensed, but also the taste of it in her mouth. She knew the end was rapidly approaching now. She was glad that she had turned away from the cameras, so that no one could see as the tears started to flow, and mix with blood on her face and on the ground.

Zynna took one more labored breath, but when she tried to draw in another breath, she couldn’t. The air wouldn’t come in, no matter how hard to tried. Her lungs started to burn, and the throbbing in her head faded away. Soon, the pain in her chest, her lungs, her arm, everything, left her. Her vision blurred, and then shut down all together. The sounds of fighting moved to the background. She had nothing now, no sight, no sound, not even the feeling of pain to help her know that she was at least still alive. Zynna Yondall was empty, and would remain that way forever.

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

It was time to dance, which was something Mace had never been particularly good at. District Ten didn’t have many excuses for such an extravagance, although occasionally a major wedding (like the Mayor’s) would warrant an occasion. He’d never been fond of it though. Too many stupid rules. Who cared if he put his hand at the waist or at the shoulder? It all was appropriate, and it didn’t really matter. But dancing was a sport with very defined boundaries, and it took him a long time to understand why.

Rules dictated control, helped a person understand how to move, how to be. Fighting was no different, only he’d learned that by nature, by brawling. It might’ve even helped him to waltz, the way he was he moving and weaving now. So many regrets, and so very little time left. But if he couldn’t learn to dance back in Ten, why, he’d learned to skate on the ice, using the terrain to his advantage, slipping and sliding. It wasn’t quite the same, but damn if he didn’t get a little thrill from it.

Mace eyed his enemy, his tribute, his peer. It wasn’t at all like dancing, in the end. To dance you led a partner round and around, pulled and pushed, held them close as a lover. He might hold a tribute, to ease their suffering, but it would not be the gentle pleasure of dance. It would be the gruesome waltz of killing.

[[attacks Cassandra, thrown knife]]
[dice=200+9000]
[[shallow cut on back, 4.0]]

[[Mace picks up rope]]

[rand=353491212870625736504573522603925092647473417446671818155172150776]

[aya]

Alexander, older brother
Set out for a great adventure
He tore our images out of his pictures
He scratched our names out of all his letters

Alexander Hood —


The girl from District Five vanished as soon as Alexander turned her attention to the boy from Twelve, who was now dead in a heap, courtesy of Aesop's switchblade. But it seemed as though as soon as one tribute fell and another escaped, there was always someone around for a replacement target. There was something unique about attacking people rather than the dummies in the training center, and if she'd had the time to sit down and dwell on it, Alexander would be sickened to learn that she preferred the former more than the latter. However, she did not have any time for anything but contributing to her alliance; her falchion came crashing down upon the newcomer instead.

[attacks Cassandra]
[dice=200+1000]
[Severed Right Leg at Hip — 10 damage]

[rand=61593303969129922281690142117440795315828360617168030866628978401]

[Deleted]

“Hey, Mace! Mace!” I’m flailing around like a madman, a whirlwind of lanky limbs and shouting that’s pleading for the District 10 boy’s attention as we run over the crimson-stained ground. I almost trip over the snow shovel, and I have to smile at my half-decent fortune of finally getting an item that I can use. It takes a few seconds to shove the thing in my rucksack to the point I can carry it effectively. In the time it takes to put the thing away another potential attack is raining down, and I strike out in response.

[[attacks Cassandra, knife]]

Knife: [dice=200+2000]

[[severed finger on right hand, 8.5]]

[rand=939974415814504797587411710992556516037159599363820179863832891]

[chaseee]

[/center]

Cassi smiles like Cassi doesn't care
She lives in her world so unaware
Does she know my destiny lies with her?

Feet sliding around in the snow, it's hard for the District Three tribute to run, her heavy clothing also paying its toll as she tries to catch up with the others. Already, some have reached the heaping pile of weapons and necessities, spreading to fight. Already bodies lie, abandoned and uncared for, left to enjoy last moments alone. Cassandra silently hopes she won't soon become one of them.

Her legs nearly fail her as one of them approach her. They've been doing all of the killing, it seems. All of them rushing at one target, quickly taking them down and then moving on to their replacement. It makes the girl sick to her stomach to watch them kill so easily, so efficiently. Are they what passed as Careers nowadays? So violent, so ruthless. Almost as if they were born for this type of thing. He carries a falchion, and glancing into his eyes tells Cassandra that she will not get out of this fight very easily, if at all. Something tells her this person, this monster, won't stop until Cassandra Hearsh of District Three ceases to exist.

Cassandra would not allow that to happen.

The tribute stood in the way of her weapon, of the supplies she would need to live. She would have to be removed. Halting and cocking her head slightly, she mutters under her breath, "Alexander? Yes, I remember you from tra-" The sentence runs off into a drawn out shriek, sudden pain spiking in her hip, in her leg... which was now lying on the floor. Her eyes widened as she took in her severed limb... Her own damned leg, lying there in a pool of her own damned blood. And she had to hop, she had to push herself to remain standing, to look her opponent in the eye, to remain strong. And dammit, this was so unfair.

Unbalanced, Cassandra toppled. Her hands lashed out, her muscles tensing, preparing herself for the pain of the ground against her pain-filled body.

[Attacks Alexander; Unarmed]
[dice=200+5000]
5032 -- Gash/Bruised Left Femur -- 4.0 damage

A small victory, the girl silently chastised herself for being unable to do any better. A small blow to her foe's femur wasn't satisfactory, it wasn't fatal, it wouldn't even cause that much pain. And here she was, curled on the floor, gasping for breath, willing the pain to go away. Still, she was here to fight, not wallow around like a baby crying because her blasted leg was cut off. Death was inevitable here. But that didn't mean she couldn't go down trying. She extended her arm, fingers grasping, groping the freezing snow. Finally, her knuckle bumped against something, a solid object. She pulled it closer, so as better to examine. She had retrieved a Quarterstaff. It probably wouldn't be very effective against a falchion, but it was a weapon nonetheless. And damn it, she would fight while she still could.

[/ul][rand=1541039636358618774514215067029487621493637561807694028387777507]