The Bloodbath

[Deleted]

[bg=222222][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style,width: 500px] she can't see the landscape anymore it's all painted in her grief and all of her history etched out at her feet now all of the landscape, it's just an empty place acres of longing, mountains of tenderness Somewhere within my roaring panic, a voice of reason whispers that it might be a good idea to find Emerald. With only the two of us versus the bigger powerhouse alliances that I can already see taking people down, I know that winning the Cornucopia is a fool's dream. A fool's dream that will get us both killed. When the time comes for us to leave, I'd like for it to be together. The prospect of searching for Emmy out in the Great Unknown only brings up thoughts of finding a pack of hunting tributes instead of her, and I'd prefer to not think about what the outcome of that would be. Then again, this is all assuming that we both make it out of here alive. In all this mess, she could already be dead and I'd never even know. "Em-" I try to yell, but the bone-deep fear pulls taut at the muscles of my throat, clamping down on my voice until it comes out as no more than a feeble croak. Stopping for a heartbeat's time to pick up a folded square of tarp laying near my feet, I swallow hard and stand back up, eyes combing the bloody ruin of our first battlefield. "Emerald?!" I can't be sure if it's my voice or my stillness that lures in a passing tribute, and I don't take time to think about it, swinging at them in an effort to give myself an opening to get away. With a sinking feeling, I realize that it won't work. The only way for Emerald and I to find each other in this mess without getting killed is for us to run headfirst into each other. I don't even take the time to figure out the odds of that happening. The fact that I'm here means that they've never been in my favor to begin with. [River attacks Kolo Osei with her flail] [dice=200+12000] [Miss -- 0.0 damage] [River obtains a tarp] 'cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow 'cause it's burning through the bloodline, it's cutting down the family tree growing in the landscape, darling in-between you and me

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[florentine, d4b ❁]

My hearts beating like a rabid raven, and I let out a scream. Just a little longer, Ivy I tell myself. It feels like I'm being held underwater. My wings flapping uselessly as anticipation and anxiety mix together inside my chest and explode.I cast one frantic look around for my alliance, before squaring my shoulders and flapping my wings again.

ivy attacks ashby with Cat o’ Nine Tails (flail)

[dice=200+12000]
miss
ivy collects Socks

Thank you so much to Tristen for writing these for me, they're wonderful and I don't know what I would have done without you <3

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[Nofo]

'cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
'cause it's burning through the bloodline
it's cutting down the family tree
growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

Emerald ran around the cornucopia hoping to find anything laying about that could hopefully be used to build a shelter. Her eyes found a tarp she could use the build a tent but there was a tribute standing nearby. More attacks to get in, she supposed. Every tribute would have to die eventually, this one would be no different. She kept her face blank and calmly walked to the tribute with her battle-axe resting on her shoulders. It reared back in her arms before swinging towards the tribute.

[Attacks Kolo; Battle-Axe]
[dice=200+11000]
[11056 -- Shallow Cut on Right Forearm -- 3.5 damage
(Axe)]

Her hands folded the tarp together and put it into her rucksack. “Good luck, bitches.”

[Emerald grabs her Tarp]

'cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
'cause it's burning through the bloodline
it's cutting down the family tree
growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

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[aya]

We used to wait
Sometimes it never came
We used to wait
Still moving through the pain

Owen Rook —

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Everything was madness as Owen sprinted toward the horn. There was one boy — wait, no, girl — who was getting brutalized, so he stopped to throw a punch, not caring about who it was. He needed to divert attention from himself on his way to the longsword, and as long as this girl was the target, he knew that he would be in the clear. He aimed a kick.

But the longsword was snatched up before he got there, so Owen grabbed a thinner sword, a rapier, instead.

[attacks Ashby]
[dice=200+5000]
[5053 -- Block -- 0.0 damage
(Unarmed)]

[picks up rapier]


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[Lulu]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
you're a canary i'm a coal mine
cause sorrow is just all the rage
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

After the punch I didn't stop to see what kind of damage I'd done—probably very little, since I was scrawny and not very strong—I just ran straight for my allies. "Alright, guys?" I said, giving them all a nod, and signing a greeting to Pyrian. Already I would have to slip into the role of translator between the other two and Pyr; sometimes it was a hassle, but he needed to be kept in the loop.

It was then that I spotted something glinting in the grass only a few feet away, right near the mouth of the golden horn. "Hey!" I cried, rushing over it and squealing in delight as I realized it was a sword, a shining, lethal sword that looked a bit heavy for me but could very well be my salvation in this death trap, because if you didn't have a weapon you died, plain and simple. Though I'd never paid as close attention to the Hunger Games as some of my siblings I knew that, at least. So before anyone else could get it I grabbed it and decided to test it on a nearby tribute. Gotta do what you gotta do, yeah?

[attacks ashby, sword]
[dice=200+1000]
[sc left hip 3.5]

[picks up bag]

.:.:.:.:.:.:.
take one for the team
you all know what i mean
.:.:.:.:.:.:.

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[Baby Wessex d9b [earthling]]

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[Kolo Osei]

The sight of battle came to him as he quickly made his way to the Cornucopia to pick something up maybe. He ran as fast as he can and didn't have time to look at other tributes as he tried to look around, searching for anything useful that he can grab hopefully. Seconds went by fast as the sight of strangers murder each other mercilessly. It sickens him, thinking that they can do that but maybe he'll do it too.

Kolo gritted his teeth as he clenched his fist. He's been stabbed with a harpoon in the stomach. It feels painful but he started thinking that it doesn't feel anything.
[attacks Benat]

[dice=200+5000]

[5019 -- Bruised Right Collar Bone -- 2 damage]
[picks up blow gun with 10 darts]

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[Danny]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=style,width: 450px;] <div align="justify"> all the lights go down as i crawl into the spaces if i died on the screens life tearing at the seams I look down to see a pair of socks and slide them into my backpack. I don't think I'll need them. If anything, I'll tie them together to form a headband to collect the sweat starting to form. It's hot, here, especially in the midst of this. And I want to give up. I can feel my body shutting down, but I need to just go a little longer. I need to find something to drink out of and I need to live. [[Attacks Sampson -- Knife]] [dice=200+2000] [[Deep Gash on Right Thigh -- 8.0 damage]] [Essence has collected her socks] they'll get through they'll get you in the place that you feel it the most when you're cornered when it's forming

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[Cait]

A hidden ally, who had never really been hidden. An ally who’d stuck around ever since their first encounter in the Training Centre. The warrior watched with curiosity as the timid girl attacked, fighting valiantly. The girl had never had many friends herself, for she was an outcast in her own home, sent into a silent solitude of abandonment. The opportunity for companionship had never raised its glorious head, and yet here was young Faye Sinclair, fighting alongside the caged bird. She’d never been more grateful to have a friend.

attacks kolo
[dice=200+6000]
welt on right bicep, 2

picks up jar of tar

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[sbeeg]

The gong sounded and, just like he had dreamt it so many times before, Viridian Harper launched off his plate. His feet hit the ground and quickly set into a steady rhythm he had learned from running at home. Sprinting was as natural to him as walking so it hardly phased him to rush towards the nearest supplies. Only there were twenty three other people there, blocking his path. Frustrated, Viridian slammed a fist out towards the flesh interrupting his path.

[Attacks- Cassius]
[dice=200+5000]
5056 -- Gash/Bruised Right Hand -- 3 damage
[Result]

Grabs mace

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[Spesh]

<div align="justify">

This is getting a bit hectic, and I like that. I doubt I will stay in this place much longer without being attacked, and I honestly don’t intend on doing so. I just hope that I’ll be able to get out fairly quickly. That would be the ideal situation. That I can get out of here without being touched. Unlikely, but possible. And I cling to htat possibility, it is what I need. I just want to avoid dying in the least, for as long as possible.

It seems like a good idea living. I mean, that makes sense, right?

And I attack to help my odds.

[attacks [Sampson] with knife]
[dice=200+2000]
[Deep Gash on Right Forearm -- 8.0 damage]

So I pick up a compass. Cool.

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[Sampson]

The draw was magnetic. It had to be. There was no other way to explain how Sampson found Ivy. In the midst of blood and sweat, their scene painted on a blurred canvas of neon colors, the District 7 girl made her way towards her ally. She couldn’t help it. The pair… coexisted. It was too early to say that they were friends, or even if they liked one another. If anything, Sampson was tolerated by Ivy. But that was enough for her by far. She would just have to work harder to prove herself in the future.
Grabbing the whip hadn’t done her any favors, however. While everyone would be hacking away at one another with their swords, Sampson would be lashing the air—and other tributes’ flesh—with her weapon. It caused a bitter anger to rise in her throat, directed mostly towards herself. Work harder. Do better. Sampson made her way closer to Ivy, but not too close, just in case she really was a sinking ship—nothing good would come if she drowned Ivy with her. As a precautionary measure, Sampson hovered nearby. She would protect and collect, just at a distance.
Reaching down to pull a bag onto her back, fear caused her to lash out as another tribute grew too close.

| Sampson Farron attacks Ashby with her whip |
[dice=200+6000]
(- - Shallow Cut on Left Bicep 3.5 - -)

‹‹ sampson has collected her bag ››

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[Meghan]

| Cassius Birch; District Two|

<div align="justify">

Reasons why Cassius Birch, District Two isn't afraid of dying:

THREE. Tornado whispers spin between thoughts of my own justification, their tone falling in extremes on this scale of life and death. One being, one saying, one demon is urging me towards the cannibalistic fire. My body betrays me;

[/i] it moves to its own accord and tears apart, from limb to limb, whichever tribute just happened to get into my way. (I am not in control of the beast I have become). I used to laugh at the games-hopefuls as they mutilated dummies in their sweet thirst for revenge in their eagerness to prove their worth as would-be-tributes. I thought they were stupid. But now I find myself, just the same, just as pathetic as I fall into trap of my own, dark mind. To die would mean to escape satan himself. I want to escape.</div>[/color]
[/size]

[Cassius attacks Kolo, broadsword]
[dice=200+1000]
[1076 -- Shallow Cut on Left Bicep -- 3.5 damage
(Sword)]

[collects compass]

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[wimdy]

I wake to the raging ocean spilling into my lungs with an untamable force of will, sealing off my supply to air and sucking me under the waves to drown in my own fear. My eyes snap open, searching blindly for a way to breach the surface, but I am shut beneath the waters. The cold currents slam into my body without remorse, my spine seizing and sending me arching from the bed, hands fisted in the sheets as I try to breathe in once more. I am met only with the sharp stab of cold water filling my lungs and suffocating me.

My head swivels frantically, trying to see through the blur of water and pain, but it is a hopeless venture. What little I can see is but a faded memory of a girl lost to the depths, a pale hand wrapped tightly around my ankle and pulling me down, down, down. Her colorless eyes stare beyond me at the surface, but her spindled limbs drag me further into her watery embrace. I am not ready. I am not ready to drown in full. My ballooned lungs slosh with water for a moment longer before I am spewing it back into the depths from whence I swallow it. Then, I can breathe in peace.

My room smells bad when I begin to move, the sour odor of the remnants of my half digested dinner making itself apparent. I peek over the bed, eyes narrowed at the regurgitated food woefully. It would be nice if once, just once, I could keep it down. My body is running on fumes now, each movement jilted. I make a desperate attempt to escape the stench of acid and ash, rolling myself off of the opposite side of the bed and landing with a thump. My body is too tired and I can only lay there uselessly for a few moments before there is a knocking on the door. My reply is muffled by the carpet, but the door opens anyway. An Avox walks quickly through the room, straightening things out as he goes, before moving to clean up what my lungs stomach had expelled. It is then that I force myself to move again. Disturbing the vomit is only making me feel sick again with the smell of it. The bathroom is a safehaven. I'll take advantage of it this one last time.

where once was light
now darkness falls
where once was love
love is no more
don't say goodbye
don't say I didn't try

My heart is hammering in my chest, the violent sea in my stomach only growing stronger with each passing second. I hardly ate this morning out of fear of getting sick all over everyone at breakfast. All of the food was too rich anyway. It's as if they were trying to make us ill. A bagel and some water were enough to fill me, my body trying to revert back to knowing there is little food to come. Soon, I will wish I had eaten like a king on my last day in civilization. Now, though, I am only queasy enough to wish I hadn't eaten at all.

Step by step, I become closer to my fate. Each pace forward is a mile closer to my death, even if I simply walk in a circle in my room. I continue anyway. River had left moments before, all wild hair and deep breathing. In just a short time, she won't be my ally anymore. She won't be there to stand by my side and defend me or tease me. Soon, she'll probably be on the opposite end of a knife fighting for one day more upon the land. Soon, she'll struggle daily to live within a world infested by all things meant to make a child cry and a teen bleed dark into the soot. I don't want her to change. I don't want her to die, but she will. I just hope it won't be by my own doing.

My reflection catches me in the mirror, eyes locking with an identical twin beyond the world of glass and light. He's as trapped there as I am here, clutching himself around the stomach and willing the nausea to fade. It doesn't work for either of us, it seems. He just keeps on staring. This may be the last time I see myself, so I'll take it while I can. My eyes travel across the sharp lines of my face and the low furrow of my brow. My eyes slide across my tired face and down to my neck where- what the fuck is that? I pull at the collar of my shirt, turning my head a little to see the mark better. Marks, rather, in nice curved rows and inked into my skin in a dark purple and red. Ripred, Pyrian. You were supposed to be a sub, not a dom. The scratches on my back I knew about. The hand print on my hip was practically seared into my bones. The hickeys on my chest were hard to miss. But this? The commentators and tributes alike will have a field day.

My thoughts are interrupted by the knocking on the door followed by a creak as it stutters open. Nothing happens after that for a moment. It is silent and empty and I am struck by the thought that I really am all alone in this. I have no alliances to be made, no friends to stick with. I am on my own. And then Patrick comes crashing through the door asking where Dirty Dan is and insisting that we should just take all Latch Crabs and burn them in a fire. I raise an eyebrow, but I don't question him. I never really have. I just can't. He straightens up, smoothing out the lapels of his suit coat and striding over to me. Patrick is by no means a very tall man, but it still feels like he is towering over me now. I don't even know how old he is, but he is older than the mountains in wisdom in my eyes and I am young. I am young and full of life and being sent to death. His eyes are glassy and misted over and I can't help but wonder exactly how high he is right now. I've seen him high a lot, but he's never been so dazed looking. It's the most sober he's ever looked in my eyes because he's not faking anymore.

When he puts his hands on my shoulders, I know that this is the beginning of his goodbye. I let myself be drawn into his arms and he cries. He cries against my hair in great heaving sobs, each one wracking my body and sending the waves in me spilling from my own eyes. My lungs are caved in and my heart is flat-lining and this is it. This is real and this is killing Patrick anew, spearing him through as he loses another person to the Games. No more Sandra Chieks or Warden Squid. No more Robert Sponge. No more Noah Ripley. He pulls away, holding me at length for a moment before sitting on the ashen bed behind him and just staring. His lips are split open, his mouth spewing quiet murmured apologies and regrets. "I'm sorry for letting you die, no... no- no. Ah... I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Robert, just don't leave again..."

And when he finally tips back and falls asleep, I take my leave. Again.

these tears we cry
are falling rain
for all the lies you told us
the hurt, the blame
and we will weep to be so alone
we are lost, we can never go home

I feel like a giant, walking watermelon and target. No doubt the latter is the point. My shirt is a vibrant shade of pink, my cargo pants a sickly lime green, and my sandals the color of the yellow-but-almost-white sun. I feel sick just looking down at myself. No matter where I am going, this attire could not possibly be appropriate. These are a Games in which standing out means dying, and I am a walking bullseye for marksmanship.

I've fought for so long with everything around me, but just when I need it most, my spirit flags and falters. I am leaning against the wall farthest from the clear tube that will lead me to my death, the chill of the tiling cool against my feverish skin. My breathing is stuttered and halting, each unfinished breath leaving my body quaking and in need of more. I deprive myself of air so they cannot do it for me. My every cell is trembling, every inch of me shuddering at the thoughts racing through my head. River in pieces and Pyrian alight and Ivy all strung up and Penelope beckoning from her watery demise with her cold eyes and gaping mouth. Stomach rolling again, I nearly collapse against the wall before I feel arms pulling me upright. My eyes lift to see Jiz standing in front of me, that blank look with more words than can be spoken said in his eyes and I am afraid. I am afraid of what it means. Was it this way for Penelope too? And Learna? And Fitz?

I wouldn't wish this feeling of helplessness upon my greatest enemy. I am a spineless sop of a boy chosen to be slaughtered for the entertainment, and the captivity, of the masses. My death will ensure their submissiveness and the Capitol's domination. Nothing I say or do can change that. I will die as the tribute from District Four, a boy who fought well while he could but simply didn't have the power to overcome the others. I will be the boy on his own in the end, falling beyond where anyone can find me right into her arms. Here and now, however, I am just the boy who cannot stop jittering. Jiz taps against my neck, right where the bite mark is hidden under a layer of makeup. His eyebrows rise a little in warning before he pulls away, staring at me in that same calm, professional manner. Then, quietly, he gives a command.

"Stop shaking."

I let out a shuddered breath before breathing in deep, trying to stop the anxiety that rushes to the forefront of my mind. It screams for attention to boost its ego even larger, expanding it until it is of an untamable size. It pounds through my system and sends my body into a frenzy of panic-induced tremors. I am not ready for this, not when Jizav is suddenly pulling me forward and guiding me to the tube; not when I take two steps into and turn around to find it sealed; not when Jizav puts a hand up on the other side for me to mirror. I do it, breathing in quickly and trying to stop my thrumming heart from racing. That fleck of emotion in his eyes is unclear and disturbingly mysterious and I find myself amazed by just how little I know. His mouth moves and I can hardly hear him through the barrier.

"I was wrong, before. You're more like him that you'll ever know." I shake my head slowly, ears ringing and mind racing. I am not like him. I am nothing like that boy, that traitor, that brother. I am his opposite, his better. I will never be anything like him and Jizav is wrong. He is still stoic for a moment, just before the platform begins to slowly rise. When the mechanism clicks and I begin to rise, he says one last thing. "Stop shaking... and stay safe." His hand disconnects from the glass and he watches blankly as I rise away from him. I am rising away from him and now I know exactly what that look was. I know that face from my interview preparation and all the other times we've been together. He pities me more than he can explain because I am Fitz's brother, because I am the sibling to a boy he'd sent off to the war. Down to the last detail, he'd played his part well. His face disappears and I know it will not remain with me, for his sadness is too late to save me now.

So in the end
I'll be what I will be
No loyal friend
Was ever there for me
Now we say goodbye
We say you didn't try

My eyes burn the moment I reach the surface, face scrunching up in order to try and block out the blinding rays hitting my face. Water sprinkles across my nose too, cooling the burn of the sun and heat. I attempt to open my eyes to see what lies before me, but the light is still making everything blurry and distorted in my vision. The second thing to press upon me is the sheer humidity, the air thick and soupy. Heat in and of itself is bad enough, but when it is mixed with the tangible moisture that refuses to keeps its distance from the overheating bodies that now occupy the space. Already I can feel my skin burning with the trace beginnings of sweat. When I try to open my eyes again, I am able to squint just enough to see what lies before me. And then I am drowning all over again.

"Five."

My throat constricts suddenly as the final countdown looms overhead. The Cornucopia glints a pale, ethereal gold in the morning sun. Beam after beam strikes and splinters within the delicate carvings along the surface, each outline of unknown origin soaking up the light and glowing. I cannot decipher any of it, but my heart sinks at its mere presence upon the horn of wealth. The grounds around it are flat and littered with treasures untold, though some are already visible. Backpacks, bows, swords, water jugs, and more are scattered across the grass like presents. How kind of the Capitol to give us such extravagant means of passing, such wondrous tools of entropy. A great favor has been given to us all, of course, in allowing us to compete for the honor of representing our respective districts in the 63rd Annual Hunger Games, a victorship to be fought over and killed for and spilled for. I feel sick again, but my face drops into a determined scowl.

"Four."

My eyes adjust a little, allowing me to look farther than the Cornucopia just before me. The tributes circle the mouth of it, creating a wide arcing semicircle in the cold mud. I realize now that I don't even know half of their names, not to mention that I haven't talked to them at all. Some of them look downright ready to piss themselves. Others look ready to be the wheels upon which the slaughter will roll. Still more look unable to feel anything. I sweep over every one of them, my eyes coming to rest upon the rest I do know; the ones that I will distance myself from; the ones who will die. River stands proud, her hair flowing in the wind as she stands tall in the glen. Her eyes glint dangerously and I know she is not the same sad girl I met at the beginning of all of this. Ivy is just a few down from her, looking demure but confident. She has herself set steadily, ready to take off. She'll be just as dangerous with a knife as she is with her tongue. Last is Pyrian, eyes ablaze and skin shimmering gold from the fiery light. I can only look at him for a moment before returning my eyes front and center.

"Three."

I can practically feel her hand around my throat, pulling my skin back slowly to expose what lies underneath. The fragile beat of my heart flutters against her hand and she relishes in how close it is, oh how she has been waiting for this. She has waited for two years to bring me back to her; to pull me close into her arms; to sink me down into her dark depths until we are but flotsam and jetsam in the sea of death that becomes us. I don't want to drown just yet. Her hand is frigid against the bare flesh of my windpipe and I feel it breaking with what little pressure she places on it, sanding me a reminder that she waits but that she cannot wait much longer. She is ready to claim what is hers once more by marking it with the most eternal of tags: death. I'm going to pop that tag, remove it, run from it until I can escape no longer. Now is not the time.

"Two."

And here they are: the road and the damned. This path has been chosen by force for our souls to travel on until we make the final cut, reach the end complete. Soon there will be no world for tomorrow for we twenty four tributes. The dead will pass in ten speed, through blood and burial. The living will be willing well, but unable to thrive. This is where everything begins and everything ends, at the question of which path we should choose. The path is paved with stones of gold, but the barking and biting at our heels is too much to stop for. We forge onward instead, having to choose where we will travel, what decisions we will make. There is a split second in which I am lost, in which I am unsure of where I should go. And then-

"One."

-there is clarity.

Gonggg.

The Games have begun and I throw myself head first into the fray.

These tears you cry
Have come too late
Take back the lies
The hurt, the blame
And you will weep
When you face the end alone
You are lost, you can never go home
You are lost, you can never go home

[Noah Ripley, of District Four, has entered the Bloodbath.]

Artist: Emiliana Torrini
Song: Gollum's Song

[Nofo]

'cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
'cause it's burning through the bloodline
it's cutting down the family tree
growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

Water. Water was a necessity, wasn’t it? She needed to find a water jug. She couldn’t just hope sponsors would get her a water jug. It was her duty to find one herself and take it for herself. That’s when she spotted it. Two water jugs together, she would take both to be safe. That would be two days of water if she could get the filled. Emmy walked over and picked up a jug, starting to pick up another but a tribute walked by. She tossed the jug into her bag and swung.

[Attacks Kolo; Battle-Axe]
[dice=200+11000]
[11122 -- Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0 damage
(Axe)t]
“My name is Emerald ‘For Serious’ Shore. You killed my father. Prepare to die!”

[Emerald grabs her Empty Water Jug]

'cause she's just like the weather, can't hold her together
born from dark water, daughter of the rain and snow
'cause it's burning through the bloodline
it's cutting down the family tree
growing in the landscape, darling, in between you and me

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