Bon Appetit {Feast, Day 5}

[Lulu]

Welcome to the Seaweed Room at our five star Sandcastle resort! We know you'll appreciate all of our fabulous amenities, particularly the decor; as you can clearly see, we take care to always be at one with nature, with an atmosphere that truly makes you feel as if you're in the ocean! Here in the Seaweed Room we do our best to ensure that your stay is as enjoyable - and short - as possible.

Welcome to the Feast, tributes!

[/center][/blockquote]

The feast will work somewhat like the Bloodbath, but with a few key changes. Please read this post IN ITS ENTIRETY before beginning to post at the feast.

Similar to the Bloodbath, tributes MUST make an intro post before beginning to fight; the stealth station does not apply. Also as in the Bloodbath, there is no set posting order; however, you must have a minimum of three posts before you can attack again, with at least one post being someone not from your alliance. A violation of any of these rules will result in an an added 8 damage points, as in the Bloodbath.

Specific Feast rules:

• You MUST make two attacks before grabbing an item. Please specify at the end of your second attack post what item you will be grabbing.
  
• All tributes are required to grab an item; you may not just enter and flee.
  
• Once an item is grabbed, you must make THREE consecutive flee posts without attacking before you are considered fled with your item.
  
• Should you choose to drop the item after you pick it up, you may flee in TWO consecutive flee posts instead of three.
  
• Tributes caught stalling their entry in order to avoid being attacked will face a penalty. Consider yourself warned.
  
• There is no 'wealth' in this feast. Tributes may take one item, and as soon as the last tribute takes something the table will disappear, sinking back into the sand.
  

So it's all fairly simple. Please see the anthem thread for information on the Kraken alternative to this feast.

And now, drumroll please... here comes the bounty of items that are yours for the taking! On the lovely sand table erected before you, you can see the following treats:

• Antivenom
  
• Antivenom
  
• Medical Kit
  
• Medical Kit
  
• Medical Kit
  
• Filled, Purified Water Jug
  
• Filled, Purified Water Jug
  
• 3 Iodine Tablets
  
• 3 Iodine Tablets
  
• Combat Boots (+3 feet)
  
• Gloves (+3 hands)
  
• Helmet (+5 head)
  
• Cutlass
  
• Small Treasure Chest (contents announced following Feast)

Good luck, tributes!

5, 4, 3, 2, 1 ... let the Feast begin!

[/center]
[/li][/ul]

EDIT: Additional things to know: Please remember that the sandcastle is ONE area. Once you finish with the feast, you are free to go exploring the rest of it for the duration of the Games day. Then for the next day, you may either stay in the castle or travel to the surrounding areas, i.e. the beach or the palm forest. Whichever you choose.
[/blockquote][/size][/justify]

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

This is my December, this is me alone, and I just wish that I didn't feel
Like there was something I missed

I have begun to collect memories, to order them for the end.

Now that there are only three of us, the shifts in the night are long and lonely. At least with four every so often you would have a long stretch of time to relax, or sleep, if it came to you. Not anymore. I felt guilty when I thought such things though; I should miss Mr. Liggens for his off humor, his sweet caring of the rabbit he found, and then accidentally killed. I think of those things too, but I also think about the extra blade we had, the extra buffer for the dark nights. Mace would be proud of the practicality I was exhibiting.

But he would beat me for how close I was coming to the edge.

And there was irony in that, especially since I realized some of the memories I wanted to take were of him, when we were younger and he hadn’t yet learned that while he had no limits, other bodies did. I hadn’t meant to hold onto such moments, and yet here they were on, this drizzling night, keeping me company. How strange to want something so painful. But it was familiar, and in a very strange way, safe. Once Mace learned to be more respectful of his brothers’ smaller figures, it wasn’t so bad, really. At least I could always tell when it was coming.

Not so with the arena. It changes constantly, and it was strange and wild to start. Nearest to dawn it is my shift, and I have taken a perch on a log, sheltering Mahlah from the rain and keeping an eye on Mr. Moreno’s sleeping form across the ditch we have dug. It won’t provide much shelter if someone attacks, and it will fill if the rain gets much worse, but we needed to do something the evening before. Something turned out to be digging a grave for a ghost.

I’ll remember that. And LeBlanc. And Mahlah shouting my name as she charged. I hadn’t expected this of the arena, because no one had told me that you could make friends, that you could find family. But I’d been blind. Mace hadn’t once mentioned the bros, or Alexander, during all of our training, but I watched him through that arena, I saw the videos of him on his victory tour. And it broke my heart when he came to Eight and shattered on that stage.

He wasn’t the same after that. Well, he wasn’t the same before it, either. I can’t imagine having to go through that, but I feel fairly confident I won’t face such a punishment. My left arm is sore, stiff, unmovable, even without the bandana Mahlah ties and reties faithfully. The constant pinching of my broken nose has turned to a dull ache, but I wonder if the bone splinters are waiting for the right moment to move into my eyes or into my brain. It certainly feels like there is something looming. Perhaps it’s just the dawn.

And while no day is like another in the arena, this day has the flavor of promise after a long drought. I feel it, and so does Mahlah when she awakes. I don’t think Mr. Moreno is so superstitious, and I don’t blame him. But I tingle as we gather our things, moving every onward to our death.

I feel a twinge just before the voice fills the arena, fills that long silence that has carried us through the night. A feast, in the sand castle, and I remember the structure, know that we were already inadvertently heading in its direction. The sand is slick with yesterday’s rain but drying rapidly as we approach the castle. It is foreboding, forbidding. And yet, what choice do we have? We have walked here without discussion, listened to the promise of things we may need. I have no doubt that the either other tributes have done the same, and there are so many that I haven’t yet seen. We’ll see them all today, I would wager.

And I can add their faces to my memories.

But there's no one yet, the room is silent. Eerie. I step on the floorboards, hear them give and creak under my thinning weight. "It's okay, we're alone," I say over my shoulder to Mahlah, and then nod to Mr. Moreno. We've come to an understanding in the last twelve hours, since Mr. Liggens' death. While Mahlah and I have known that our rhythm is more than friendship, more than two souls forced together, I'm not sure Jae recognized it, until we all sat that lonely vigil. We know now, though, that this is the family.

And I would do anything for that love.

[[ Elon enters the Feast. ]]

banner credit: it's a love story
lyrics: linkin park my december

[sbeeg]

Mahlah Shea

The sun was no where to be seen behind the clouds when Mahlah finally reached the sandcastle. It had loomed in the background for the entire Games and finally she was accepting whatever lurked inside. She stood with her hands by her sides, switchblade in her right and her left empty for once. No fingers were interlaced with her own. The tribute stood by herself, and she'd enter this new territory by herself. When the voice boomed through the Arena announcing a Feast Mahlah and her remaining brothers had been wary but as her eyes caught the abundance of supplies hidden in the Seaweed room, she knew that this was a good choice.

Only in a Feast, you're never alone. Others were there, others who could take the supplies, other tributes who could kill her just like she killed the District Eleven girl. Just like Walker, Noreen and Pandora all died. Her small fingers gripped her switchblade harder and she fought the urge to grab at a brother's hand. She would not look weak today, not in this room full of tributes and supplies. Not with the country watching. Not anymore.

[Mahlah Shea enters the feast]

[/size]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

<div align="justify">

I died during the night.

I couldn't sleep, and I suffocated underneath the weight of my thoughts. They attacked when the night fell, just as they did the other times. I didn't think I would actually be affected, but Walker's death had a profound effect. My alliance held hands when we walked away from that fight - or what was left of us - and it seemed like I stood out more than usual. Me, giant and angry, holding hands with two gentle allies.

It still irked me when I made an attempt at sleeping, and that's when the other thoughts started all over again. But this time they were different. I couldn't place them as words or ideas or grasp what was wrong. This rage overwhelmed my mind and made me feel absolutely uncomfortable, shaking as I lay on the sand. When the anthem played, I had to remind myself: You are in the Games. Unplaced emotions aren't more frightening than dying, but they sure felt like it. I wanted to get up, to move around and do something to distract myself.

No luck.

I rested there, holding my knife in the right hand and the chain and anchor in my left. Sleep was an impossibility, so I tried to calm myself down. I thought, "Why am I freaking out like this?" except I didn't dare say it aloud.

Hours later, the feeling hasn't gone away. I watch my allies as they sleep and as they wake up, and I wonder why I haven't bothered to slit their throats while they dream.

I must feel sentimental.

The uncomfortable feeling refuses to give in this morning. When Mahlah and Elon wake up, I try talking with them, try feeding myself, but even these actions aren't enough to dull the emotion. I'm a regular human being now, I suppose. It's gonna kill me.

Even the announcement that rings through the air doesn't shake the feeling away.

A feast.

The Kraken doesn't cross my mind, but I hear a giant swell of displaced water, and I turn, and there is the beast, waving its giant arm in welcome.

I refuse to die by muttation. If I die, I will be brutally murdered, my throat slit or all my limbs chopped off - something respectable. How much am I hated? They'll all attack me - every single one of them. For some reason, I don't care. The mindset of social strategy has all but disappeared in my mind. But really, it shouldn't have. Nervous feelings dominate my every movement, and only one idea burns in my brain like a flashing sign.

Fight.

I don't wait for Mahlah or Elon - I just pick up my stuff and go. Walker used to walk in front of me, which helped with the seeing on my left. Every now and then I stumble, and it makes me so angry, because here I am, Jae Moreno, and I'm tripping over logs on my way to another bloodbath. The third time I almost fall headfirst, my feet catch me and my left hand flies to the left side of my face.

"Fucking eye," I whisper, picking up my feet with extra force as I move, twirling the knife around in my right hand.

The more I stumble, the worse I feel. I swivel my head around and look, but every once and a while there's something that I don't see. I don't look for Mahlah and Elon, instead fixing my gaze on the prize ahead. The sand castle is gigantic, but my idea of it is skewed now. It's like back in the Capitol, when I first saw the buildings for the first time. The image of such places were only imaginary up until that point, but standing beneath them.. they became the most spectacular things I'd ever seen. Now, the sand castle isn't quite that mesmerizing, but when I rush towards it and get a close up view, I thank my lucky stars that I've still got one good eye.

Still, as I enter the left end of the sandcastle, I miss it. I want to destroy something, to fight until I die or I gather the sense to run, to be strong again.

I hate all these fucking emotions.

[[ Jae has entered the Feast. ]]

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

[aya]

Heaven and earth are mine, says I
Heaven and earth are mine, says I
Heaven and earth are mine, says I
Heaven and earth are mine, says I

Stark Harper —

[/i][/color]

The previous night, stupidly, Stark had attempted to catch an extra fish or two, just to pass the time. She hadn't even needed it; she still had the grilled — charred, really — fish that she'd caught the first day in the arena, which would provide some sustenance later that evening. She hadn't managed to catch anything new, though a shark seemed to think that she was using her fingers as bait, so three fingers on her right hand had been bitten off.

It wasn't exactly a clean amputation, of course; the bite left a knuckle each of her middle and ring fingers and her pinky hung on by a tiny strip of flesh — she gritted her teeth and tore the avulsed digit from her hand, casting it aside without a second thought, not wanting a necrotic distraction dangling from her once-dominant hand. Though she was bitter about random chance depriving her of the ability to flip people the bird with two hands simultaneously, Stark Harper had no trouble going lefty.

In fact, when a medical kit was delivered for her via silver parachute, she had no trouble stitching up the wound with her left hand, even though her work was quite crude. That didn't mean she wasn't swearing all the while, of course; true to the arena theme, Stark fully exercised her pirate's vocabulary from the time she waded out of the warm ocean water and stormed up the beach until the the time she leaned back against the sphinx's corpse — its stagnant blood still tepid with the last remnants of life somewhere beneath its flesh — to watch the anthem and drift off to sleep.

It seemed that the Capitol had other plans for her, however; not long after the faces of the dead — two lower district boys: the male from eight who'd pulled a nine in training, and the guy from nine that Stark remembered as the sunglass-clad kid from Moreno's eclectic crew — had faded forevermore into nothingness, Claudius Templesmith's voice boomed like cannonfire across the arena, jarring Stark from her almost-sleep. She didn't want to listen to his boring introduction, since she knew based on her studies of the Games that nineteen times out of twenty, when there was a mid-Games announcement, it was for a feast. By the time he'd finished, Stark was absolutely beside herself with excitement. Not only did a feast mean an opportunity to snag some useful, valuable items that she'd been unable to grab in the Bloodbath, this one was also mandatory, and therefore would be an excellent opportunity to up her kill count a little bit, to get the fight she'd really been asking for the previous day.

She collected her belongings, tucked her sphinx feather behind her ear, and started heading toward the sandcastle far off in the distance. "Come on, loser," she called over her shoulder at Dante, "We're going shopping." In reality, she was much more excited about the prospect of new kills than the prospect of new supplies — after all, she clearly had sponsorships pouring in — but that didn't mean she couldn't grab something nice at the second bloodbath. A mandatory feast with still nearly half of the playing field remaining would function similarly to the classic Games opening, only this time the stakes were much higher. After all, those that remained were clearly the most suited to playing the Games themselves.

She ran through the tributes she was expecting to see in her head. There was, of course, the biggest threat out of all of them — Stark Harper — and she had it on good authority that the scarlet-stained blonde was headed towards the sandcastle as quickly as she could. Her district partner, Baby Rey, wasn't yet down and out for the count, unless she'd missed something. For her sake — and for the sake of her district's dwindling dignity — Stark hoped that he'd ditched that ridiculous anchor and found something more suited to his caveman intellect: a rock, a club, or perhaps a sharp stick.

Like her own district, District Two would be fully represented in the Bloodbath 2.0. Stark's personal bitch would be making his entrance around the same time that she did, and though he was mostly useless at everything, even the icy blonde had to admit that he did get a lucky hit in every now and again. Aside from being Cyclops's district partner, Stark realized that she didn't know very much about the Destiny that hailed from District Two. She ran with the career pack that had, in all likelihood, got the majority of the supplies that were present at the initial bloodbath and that she had made at least one kill. Stark had seen her swinging a crowbar initially, but by the end of the fight she'd traded up for an axe or something of the sort, which is what the District One girl expected to see Destiny wielding. Good — their spears should be an advantage over the short-handled hacking weapon.

District Three hadn't been eliminated yet either, which wasn't entirely surprising, considering its decent track record in the past six or seven Games. Though the girl from Three was a mere twelve, and that was never a benefit. Stark surmised that it was probably getting her pity from Reyes Junior and Mini-Mace, with whom she was allied — or, had been on the first day, at least. As for the boy, all Stark remembered was his inclusion in the big career pack from the bloodbath and his reasonably impressive training score.

And then there was Four. The fishing district had the edge to begin with these Games, considering the scenery and the thematic weaponry. Their reaping tapes indicated that both of them seemed to know each other from before the Games, which meant they'd probably have better fighting chemistry than most, and based on how the bloodbath was going when Stark decided it was time for her to leave, they both had harpoons — a specialty from District Four, that much she knew — and were set to obtain the wealth. Even discounting the fever dream that ended with Stark's death on Penelope's harpoon, the nightmare that she'd she'd had the last time she'd really slept, the career girl knew her biggest threats were found in these two.

And then there were the lower district tributes: that talkative, rambling, naïve kid from Six, whom Stark saw as such a minimal danger that she hadn't even bothered to remember his name. Then there was the girl who'd been with the coconut kid from the first day; she'd seemed so eager to run away that Stark wondered if she'd even bother to show up at the feast. Maybe some people saw running straight into the beak of a massive sea monster as preferable to fighting with their peers — well, in that girl's case, the remaining tributes were clearly her superiors — but it might be a middle-district thing. And, surprisingly, Stark had no opinion about Mini-Mace, the victor's younger brother. The elder Emberstatt, she remembered, fought with throwing knives, but when she'd seen the younger version, he'd only had a single knife.

By the time she'd run through everything she knew about the remaining ten tributes that currently shared the Arena with her, Stark had made it to the sandcastle that was the designated location for the feast. Her hook gripped firmly in her left hand, she brought her guard all the way up as she sauntered into the giant sand structure. Quietly, she snickered, thinking of how if she were Head Gamemaker, she would bring the sandy walls down and trap the tributes together until a victor emerged. This being Day 5, though, Stark knew it was much too soon for a finale, and wasn't particularly worried about that scenario. Not that she was afraid of not having an exit strategy; Stark knew when strategically fleeing was necessary, but even if it became nine on two, she was confident in her ability to use Dante as a human shield until the others all met their end on her hook.

When she entered the room that the feast was hosted in, Stark could see that a one-eyed Moreno, Mini-Mace, and their mascot had already arrived. "Well, Baby Rey," she called out, addressing her district partner by a diminutive of his dead brother's name. "Aren't you just a sight for sore eye?" she cackled, her smile reflecting how malicious she felt. She twisted her hook around, scanning the room for a) feast items and, more importantly, b) the rest of the tributes; just under half were accounted for. Though on paper it would be a good thing if half of her targets had decided to face the Kraken, Stark knew she'd be sorely disappointed if the turnout stayed as bad as it was. She craved cannon fire.

[Stark enters the Feast]


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

[Snakebird]

I sat awake to watch the anthem, leaning up against the rough side of one of those little tree things that grew on beaches. They had the same name as something on my hand. Finger trees maybe? Or was it thumb trees? Thumb trees sounds better. The bark was rough, but it was worth it to have a resting spot. I watched as Stark waded out into the ocean to catch some fish, and then somehow managed to get some of her fingers bitten off. I chuckled to myself, and started thinking up good names to call Stark. Captain Hook seemed the best one. I was so engulfed in that singular thought, that I almost fell over at the sound of the anthem.

The boys from Eight and Nine were dead, leaving the only lower district tribute as the Elon kid. His brother was a victor, so maybe he learned stuff that made him last so long. The girl from some other district was left, and she was fast. I bet she lives because she can run. It's not any skill, like with me and Stark. I heard a voice coming from the sky, and almost started praying before I realized it wasn't a god. It was just the announcer dude inviting us all to a mandatory feast. He has a really annoying voice, and it made me want to punch a tree.

Stark began walking towards the massive castle that stood in the distance. When I'm a victor, that's what my house will be like. Except it won't be made out of sand, it will be made of money. I'll be so amazingly rich that everyone will love me. I was so wrapped up in thinking about my house, I almost lost track of Stark. I ran to catch up, and entered the room full of seaweed. I saw another person with one eye, and I started to get pissed. How dare that little bitch steal my trademark deformity. "Yo, I'm the only one allowed to have one eye!" I shout, and start moving towards the table of supplies.
(Dante enters the Feast)

[Stare]

It's time for a champion
Soothe the soul of the land
Mend the heart from the sea and the sand
Until the sun comes up again

In bittersweet darkness I heard them, their murmurs of mourning and sorrow echoing through my mind long after the others had fallen asleep. I could hear men and women and children raising their voices in a chorus of despair, whimpering and calling and wailing to each other across the voids of darkness in my mind. It was the poison. It had to be – what else could make me hear voices in the dead of the night, when the only noises that rode the air were the waves’ quiet hushing and the sound of my allies’ steady breathing. I was absolutely silent as I stared up at the darkness above me, listening to them with my jaw set and my gaze cold, one hand always on my weapon. At one point I tried covering my ears, but the voices did not stop. The symphony of the dead would not be silenced. My only comfort was that they could not last forever. At some point or another, the miniscule amount of poison lingering my blood would have to vanish completely, and with it their cries would fade. And I was right – sometime around sunrise, when the first few rays of golden sunlight began to glow on the horizon and leak out onto the darkened sky, they fell off into silence.

The voices would have scared me before, but they have a different affect on me now. They have fueled the already burning flame within me that is now determined to fight. Determined to kill. The era of fear is over in the Games. This sand holds too many tears, the sky has heard too many wails, and the cannons have been met with too horrible a silence. This Arena has been met with too much terror. No more. I’m done being afraid of myself. I’ve admitted that I am despicable, and now it is time to face the unavoidable head-on. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get out of this Arena because I am selfish and I want to live. My grip on the handle of the hatchet tightens with this thought, and I rise up onto my feet, not even noticing how exhaustion makes me unsteady on my feet. Somehow, in the middle of all this cannon fire and bloodshed and death, I am able stand. I am able to lift my chin high in what might almost be pride. And while I do not smile (we do not dare smile amid all these horrors), my leaded spirits finally lose their burdens and fly once more.

It’s time for a champion.

My allies told me of the mandatory feast announced during my breakdown. I know what it means – almost all of the tributes will appear in our castle, in our kingdom, very soon. One of them may be Pandora’s killer. I promised I would avenge him, and now is my chance. My eyes flash with a momentary rage before settling back into their normal frostbitten gaze as my allies awaken around me. It was an unspoken decision that we would rather face our fellow tributes than the mythical Kraken. Besides, there might be something of use to us in the feast. With the exception of my severed finger, which cannot be saved, we are all in decent shape. I joined an excellent alliance – brave, strong, with just the right amount of regret laced into their actions. They have left me feeling as if there isn’t anything extra we really need. The Capitol has been watching, however, and they might spot a potential problem that we do not. Perhaps they have put something in that feast especially for us. Or perhaps we are marching off to our death for absolutely no reason at all (as if I haven’t done so once already in this lifetime). Either way, it’s not like we have many options.

“They’re coming,” I say softly, though I’m not sure any of the others hear me. I spin my axe upward, feeling its weight swing comfortably, and then settle into a defensive position for a moment. I think this is the first time I’ve actually practiced with the weapon – so far, all of my attacks have been wild and without strategy or experience. I never used a hatchet in my old life, but in the Arena, you learn fast or perish. Now, I feel the blade’s weight, the way it moves farther than I intend it to sometimes. I then retrieve my armor from my bag, carefully securing it in place on my body and running a hand over the smooth surface. Whatever happens after this will be bloody. I must be prepared. I take a few more practice swishes, warming up for the battle ahead, before raising my eyes up and nodding shortly. I’m ready.

It’s not a long walk to the room where the feast will be held. I bite my bottom lip hard, trying to keep from trembling. I keep expecting to see the floor melt into an ocean of crimson, to hear my mother’s screams, but everything remains steady and clear. The memories are still vivid, though. They’re still real. But I do have to do a double take when we first enter the room, eyes widening in surprise at the table in the center. Items are piled high atop it, and I have to admit, I’m more than tempted. If I had known about this bounty before hand, I may have come even if it wasn’t mandatory. But my eyes are quick to spot the other tributes, and my jaw clenches. “One of them did it,” I whisper hoarsely, eyes blazing. “One of them killed him.” But this isn’t even about Pandora anymore. This is about greed, and this is about fear. I want to go home. I want to live. The scary thing is, I don’t even care anymore if they die for me to get my wishes. Slowly, carefully, I draw in a deep breath in an attempt to sooth my pounding heart.

And then I, the champion, launch myself into battle.

((Destiny enters the Bloodbath.))

Sunset I let myself down
Found the ground beneath my heart gone
No more words were there to speak
On that day my song was born

[/i][/color][/size][/blockquote][/justify]

[Lalia]

<div align="justify">

( P E N E L O P E C A L Y P S O L I B E R T I N E )

Oh
Penelope
Are you filled with air?
Swallowed oxygen
That made you float up?

There are a thousand ghosts in Learna's head and today, I might become one of them. This thought is at once wonderfully comforting and a complete and utter tragedy. To return to my family so easily seems a blessing, but I can't help feeling that my homecoming will be a curse. Even if I were to come back within my own body, walking and talking as though I were still a human being, there will surely still be some denial of life. The death of a body or the death of a soul, one sacrifice or another must be made. Only, I can't help thinking there will be a soul struck down either way. For if my sister carries me home within her, with all my guilt and awfulness, it won't be anything like the ghosts she's used to and that might just be enough to tear her apart.

Is it dropsy?
Where your lungs swell?
It's depressing me
To see you
Struggle

[Pen enters Feast]

</div>

[wimdy]

<div align="justify">

Sleep is a valuable this late in the Games. It can make you or break you, depending on how much or little you get. Every minute of sleep counts, but too long of a nap and those minutes count against you. Each passing grain in the hour glass (though, the hour glass isn’t nearly as bad as the red sanded beast of the 60th Games) counts against you, whether you like it or not. With each passing moment, it becomes more and more likely that I’ll lose, or that I’ll win. My heart thumps painfully in my chest, trying hard to deny the surge of selfishness that rushes through me at the thought of going home. I want it. I would kill for it, but I can’t. If I go home and Penelope lies beneath the ocean for the rest of my life, I would never forgive myself and neither would Noah. I would be damned beyond help. That doesn’t mean the dreams and hopes of it aren’t nice. Last night I’d dreamt that I went home, Penelope holding my hand and our district cheering us on before we’d kissed. It had seemed so real. I could almost taste the sea on her lips and the sun on her skin. Then, I woke up. The reality I faced was a sore cheek from rolling onto a pointed shell and an aching body as I stood. My aggravation grows as a loud blaring trumpet is blown in the air, my eyes wildly searching for who must be playing around with a conch shell or something, but there is nothing. All I see are my sleepy alliance members, their faces equally drawn and peeved as we all wake up.

"Congratulations on your longevity! You've made it to the top eleven; only ten more have to die before you make it home…”

I groan low in my throat, stretching and letting the popping of my joints block out the annoying rattle of the announcer. I’ve grown tired of games, their pomp and circumstance giving me a raging headache to add to my current list of bodily ailments. It seems like no matter what we do, there is always something waiting to drag us down, something waiting just beyond the corner of the castle to strike us where we least want it. I want nothing more to be curled up in my dirty bed at home, inside a tiny shack along the borders of our town in District Four, and dig into the afterlives of those around me for the rest of my forsaken life. Nothing had ever sounded better, not after I’d killed a girl and had to fight snakes and slept upon piles of sharp shells; not after I’d been forced to watch people die before me at the hands of my sister and ally and brother (because I’ve only ever made hammocks with my brothers upon old trees and towering seashell walls); not after I’d felt the anxiety of not knowing if it was safe to sleep at night for fear that I might die. After so many years of looking for an exit from the hell I’d been raised in, I’d finally found it, only to be desperate to return. I’d jumped from the frying pan into the fire and I wanted nothing more than to climb back into the pan as quickly as possible. Maybe, just maybe, there is hope. My ear just barely catches the word Feast before my attention is drawn again. There haven’t been any Feasts in the recent years. The promise of new items doesn’t sound too bad, especially not if my alliance is there. We were solid enough at the Bloodbath. With most of the tributes meeting up again, hopefully a few more people will fall. It sickens me that that thought is now normal in my head.

Our alliance is a quiet group, in general. We don’t talk much, when it comes down to it. We do what needs to be done and say what needs to be said. Once, I almost wished that those snakes had killed us right then and there. I would rather die than have to kill one of the girls or the boy who stands beside me. They, in their silence and solidarity, have become my makeshift family of the sea, an extension of myself. Without them, I wouldn’t exist. At least, I wouldn’t exist any longer. Had they not been my allies against all odds, I would have died in the Bloodbath without a question. I would have been gone before I’d arrive. Maybe I would have even been facing the Kraken myself at this very moment. I can hear it raging in the distance beyond the shore, it’s angry bubbling growls calling across the sand and shaking through my bones. I was the Kraken on the shore as a child, waving my arm tentacles and legs and lashing out at everyone and everything. I know that feeling of rage and a want to destroy everything in sight. Part of me must have a death wish, my body stilling to listen to the Kraken’s cries one last time, because part of me is begging to go after it and see the creature of myth with my own eyes. I shake my head as I reprimand myself under my breath, stealing into the Seaweed Room quietly together.

Once, one of the graves we’d been pilfering had been underground for a bit of a long period of time. We had missed it somehow, but when we’d come across the gravestone, we’d known we’d never hit it. It was the most difficult dig we’d ever had to do. The dirt had compacted and grass has begun to grow over it and the water had helped to glue it together, not to mention I was only fourteen and still getting used to the process of digging up dirt that had been shoveled in with the intention of staying down. Graves weren’t meant to be revisited, not in the way we’d done it. They weren’t supposed to be reopened and sat in with shovels and dirty hands trying to pry open nails that had begun to rust against the damp wood. After what seemed like hours of pulling nails out of holes and trying to shove the lid out of the way in the spitting rain, we finally did it. However, the sight we’d met was why we then made the rule to never miss a new grave. The corpse inside no longer looked like it was sleeping. It was paler than snow and colder than ice, chilled to the bone. Its hair was disheveled and growing longer, its teeth yellowed and faded, and there, where an eye should have been, was an empty socket filled with little squirming maggots that refused to stop moving long enough for us to get our job done without vomiting. I didn’t sleep for days after that dig, refusing to go to the graveyard until Jude finally forced me back into the dirt.

As the other tributes start to slip into the room among seaweed and slime, my heart stops. One of the boys before me is my nightmare come true, though I only catch a glimpse of him for a moment. He wasn’t the shining boy I’d remembered from the party nor the savage attacker from the Bloodbath, but a walking corpse, his brother’s corpse, though they didn’t look a thing alike. He looked different, but we all did at this point, five days into this blasted fight and even the strongest of the strong, the pride-filled girl from district one had been torn down and mauled – these games hadn’t been easy for anyone it seemed, I was no exception. But it’s slowly become a question of how long will I be torn down before I become another victim of this sand-filled kingdom.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]</div>

[Fitz enters the bloodbath]

Graphics credits to the wonderful South<3[/size]

[florentine, d4b ❁]

KLAUS GORAVICH

[/center]

♕ DISTRICT THREE ♕

[/b]

For somebody so bright, you're awfully stupid.

[/color]

"'YOU SWORE YOU'D BE HERE 'TILL WE DECIDE THAT IT'S OUR TIME- "

"'-BUT IT'S NOT TIME, YOU NEVER QUIT IN ALL YOUR LIFE."

[/center][/b][/color]

Apologies for the terribleness of this post. I wrote it, and then I lost it. Re-writes are never the same.

I awaken ready to face the last battle with my makeshift army. They are my family, my friends, my support and my structure. But they will not be for very much longer. There is a feeling deep in my chest which grows heavier from the moment I lift my eyelids to greet the sunlight. A feeling that for whatever reason, this will be the last sunrise I meet with them by my side. Perhaps today will be the day I die. Maybe it will be the end for all of us. Whatever happens, I want them to know exactly how much I love them. Only I can't find the words to say this without becoming a shell adorned with tears, so I smile and turn away from my makeshift family to look up at the castle. It reaches up so high that I can barely see where it ends, and a strange feeling bubbles in my swollen throat. Pride envelopes me, just for a second, as I lie on my back and gaze up the walls, shimming with reflected light. To think that I climbed there, found my way amidst all the fear and blood and death to a place where I felt safe. Only nowhere is really safe anymore. I am glad that Fitz convinced me to fly, because if he hadn't I would never have been brave enough to try my wings. Perhaps I would never have gotten the chance to feel this pride welling up inside of me, sweet and pure. I was brave. I don't like to think about what I would do if I didn't have Fitz and Penelope and Destiny - the children who are not only the warriors who fight alongside me but the only people left to save me. And although they were not born into the same family, I feel something far stronger than blood running through my veins when I think of what they have done for me. My family sit at home, helpless. They cannot save me, no matter how much they might want to, my real brothers and sisters and father have no say in any of this. By chance, they are not strong enough to help me. After this battle, I feel that my pretend family will be unable to extend their strong fingers and from then I will need to help myself. I am stronger, I am braver - but perhaps I am not strong enough for all that.

I remember the anthem last night. Two faces in the sky I didn't know the names of. Two children I did not kill, but because of me they will never be able to see their families again. Two bloodstains somewhere around the arena, seeping into the sea. Two lies surely whispered by parents warding off the nightmares - it's all alright. But despite the light still lingering in my heart and the smiles that paint my face, it is not all alright. No matter what happens, nothing will ever be alright again. Not for me, not for anybody else here in the arena, and not for anybody else at all. But that doesn't mean we can't be happy. I always pictured this day as some kind of inescapable darkness weighing down on me, whether this darkness be death or guilt or a kind of broken I could never imagine. But it is not like that; there is still light, streaming from the sun onto the shells and into my soul. Just not quite in the way I thought. In my mind, I thought being a murderer would make me different, but it hasn't. What's worse is that if I could do everything over, start again, I would do everything the same. No regrets; if I could do over, I would still take the lives I took. What does that make me? I guess it just makes me a boy fighting for himself and the chance to see his family again. Doing what it takes to get home.

And then a familiar voice shakes me from my nightmares daydreams, and my eyes glance upwards, towards the soaring turrets of the castle. The voice is not comforting; I can almost feel the blood stop pulsing through my veins, my heart falling silent in my chest. "Attention, tributes! Congratulations on your longevity! You've made it to the top eleven; only ten more have to die before you make it home!" His words sound almost excited, as though only ten more deaths of the innocent is a good thing, a job almost done. As though, now that there are barely anymore people left to blindly slaughter, it's time to relax. The rest of the words he speaks tangle together in my mind, but I can make from his words one blaring fact: there is a feast here at the sandcastle, and I am to attend. Mandatory. Compulsory; the punishment for not attending surely more of a death threat than the deadly party itself. Then I remember who else will be there - that face I search for each night in the sky. I haven't found him yet. Perhaps he is already heading here, toward the sandcastle, towards us. Maybe he needs something. I just need him.

My sword feels as rough as ever as I pull it from my rucksack and sling it over my shoulder. It feels wrong, because what right do I have to be more than just a boy? When did it become okay for me to be a boy with a sword? A boy with a sword quite prepared to use it.

[Klaus enters the feast.]

"SO JUST TAKE MY HAND, AND KNOW THAT I-"

[/color]
"'-WILL NEVER LEAVE YOUR SIDE."[/center][/b][/color]

Speaking
Thinking
Expression
Body
Headings

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

[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

[/size]
[rand=3288625879213214591943496139720186603891965933144354605730623007]

[sbeeg]

[/size][rand=11035864219712754675008225824511775933604710757427276547246270014]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

[/color] I say with a small smile. I hope he doesn't think I'm trying to murder him as I take his face in my hands and force my lips to his.

An angry shock hits me a moment later, a violent sting that leaves me somewhat confused. The boy - Fitz - felt it too, but he.. the shock did more damage to him.

.. This is not my fault. What have the Gamemakers done now? I swing my head around and look at the others, but only Elon and another boy seem to have felt the effects.

"What.. are you okay?" I ask the boy, surprise painted on my face - Ripred he's actually good-looking - and then I realize.

This is the Feast and not an opportune time for kissing boys.

It happens fast – too fast. Sometimes I really wonder what Elon’s angle is, since most of the time he’s pretty useless, even though he’s got one good arm. Put that dagger in his hand, and he’s something else entirely. I’m not overly concerned with his motives, as long as his blade doesn’t go near me. And it’s not. He’s picked a girl, and so I follow suit.

[[ Jae attacks Penelope; Knife ]]

[dice=200+2000]

[[ Shallow Cut on Right Hip -- 3.5 damage ]]
[/ul][/size][rand=45064174290123893076204667872659117617550142222847336671065335722]

[Lalia]

<div align="justify">

( P E N E L O P E C A L Y P S O L I B E R T I N E )

Oh
Penelope
Are you filled with air?
Swallowed oxygen
That made you float up?

My body weighs more than anything I have ever known. Each time I raise my arm I begin to fear the infinite heaviness of my hands will crack my bones. Any moment I am bound to shatter into ten thousand fragments of myself. Still, I continue to raise my cutlass anyway, following the deadly sharp point of the metal as though it were a compass that might lead me in the right direction. As if there is anything left in this place that is right. This is a weight I will have to learn to carry and I don't think it will ever feel like less.

Is it dropsy?
Where your lungs swell?
It's depressing me
To see you
Struggle

[Penelope attacks Dante with her cutlass]

[dice=200+1000]

</div>

[rand=188039818259814206795931294030666169387305554279536188321000592166]

[wimdy]

The castle walls seemed to shake and shutter with immediate violence – it was no longer the shiny gold of the cornucopia that signified a large battle, it was the golden light of the compact sand around us. The tall walls and the structure that I’d, we’d, come to call home in the past two days has become a home for violence and death, and soon would bathe in the blood of people other than the mutts they’d fought yesterday. There would be death – there was no denying. But would it be his body that lay like a king resting in his castle, or would it be Pen? Even Klaus or Destiny could die here and now, the bloodbath had gone well for them the first time around, but looking around, there was no doubt that it wouldn’t be as simple this time around. Violence, it was the only option.

[/blockquote][/blockquote]

[attacks dante – spear]
[dice=200+3000]
[Stabbed in Bicep -- 8.5 damage]

Graphics credits to the wonderful South<3[/size][rand=129024657420814049099689074791968388819081708788875990314946975559]