fifteen candles }} ID, Los [day 1]

[semper]

s h a d o w b i s o n

The only thing that ran through your mind was I made it. Through the carnage you had prevailed against the odds you had set yourself up against. And, logically, you didn’t expect yourself to survive. You were small, frail, and hardly had a mean bone in your body. The sword, too, was quite hard to handle so it was no wonder you didn’t land any good attacks on people. The blade itself was longer than your body and incredibly heavy, so it took far too much effort to even hold it upright. Why on earth would they give us such huge weapons? For the most part you simply dragged the sword around until you came up with the idea to use the strap of the purse to wrap below the hilt, creating a sort of sling to hold it up across your back. It kept you from having to occupy your hands and keep track of it, let alone all your other items, at the same time.

With Eden dead and Hope out of sight, you wanted nothing more than to leave the place where other children had lost their lives. So you headed out, leaving behind the severed limbs and dead bodies, moving toward the hedges that towered above you. You were scared of what lay ahead, yes, but the thrill of running through the bloodbath unscathed prompted you to take the first step into the maze, the comfort of Cassie’s presence close by reassuring your actions.

Is it wrong that I am not affected as much by Eden’s death as I thought I would be? She was such a sly person and you recalled when she tracked a rat that was in your room on the fifth floor; it amazed you how she could be so determined in finding a small creature like that, who could maneuver through the walls and had endless hiding places. In the end you looked up to her, much like you would an older sibling, but that security of having a role model quickly fell wholly unto Cassie’s shoulders after a blade took Eden’s life. I never would have thought that she would be dead in only a day. In the training center you never believed that anyone around you would truly be dead, but you had seen Eden being stabbed, seen her go down, seen the blood pumping out of her neck like a spout with no stopper. There was nothing you could have done and it haunted you. The guilt seized you and you came to an abrupt stop, lead-footed.

I’ll make it up to her – I’ll… I’ll… I’ll do something good!

But what could you do? Only Cassie was with you and you both were exhausted, covered in someone else’s blood, sweating and dirty. You did not have any useful items to help people (although I did help Hope before she fled) but, perhaps…

Isn’t it Emery’s birthday today?

You remembered overhearing a few of the mentors talking quietly, mentioning something about “how sad it was that the bloodbath was on Emery’s birthday.” Whether or not it was really true, it would be enough to make you feel better about making up for the injuries dealt to people by celebrating one’s life they still had.

You searched through the entrance of the maze and found a muddy spot on the ground. You dropped to your knees and used your hands to scoop up the mud, molding it into a shape that very roughly resembled a cake, though it looked more like just a pile of earth. It did not matter to you, however; you picked leaves off of the hedge and stuck them into the mud cake by the stem as if they were candles, and you smiled at your little creation. The thing certainly was nothing to be excited over, but to you it was perfect.

There was a rustling behind you and your attention snapped around, spotting the familiar face of the girl you were just about to go find. You carefully scooped up the mud cake, making sure all the leaves stayed in place before trotting over to her, the tip of the sword bouncing against the ground as you went along.

”Eme—Emery!” You called out, a light grin drawing across your face. ”The other day, um, I heard some of the adults talking and saying that today was your birthday.” You extended your hands to her, presenting the masterpiece. ”It-it’s not much, but I hope you like it. Happy birthday, Emery!”

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[Deleted]

Cassie Radke

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Everything flashes by quickly. Time, your actions, absolutely everything flies by faster than you can imagine and all you can do is watch. As the battlefield was now behind me, I finally started to breathe normal again (besides the running and all, you know what I mean). But as that still wasn’t the main point of importance, I looked around, quickly spotting Shadow and Hope, but where was Eden? I didn’t want to panic, as Shadow was safe and at the moment, that was my main goal, but I was worried about the girl. She was young, I mean we all were, and that’s kind of when the realization hit me, we’re all kids, and we’re all about to die.

I know it seems like I should have realized this sooner but, when you aren’t sure of exactly what is going on around you all the time, you don’t get to take in things too clearly. So, when after a couple of minutes, as that’s all we had to spare, I began to assume the worst. I subconsciously moved closer to Shadow, wishing that he would figure it out so no one had to say it out loud. No one wants to go down that road if they don’t have to. However, I still wasn’t really sure what was going on, but I figured that whatever happened, we’d be alright. I mean we had stuck together this far hadn’t we.

I looked over at Shadow, smiled, and started laughing. We made it. I have absolutely no idea how we managed it, but we seemed to both be completely unharmed. The fit of joy that fell on me hit so quickly I had no way of stopping it as I ran to the little boy and picked him up, hugging him tightly all the while. He was so light, so small and tiny, so breakable. In an instant it made me realize how fragile he was. I realized that for once, I wasn’t just the equal; I was the older sibling. I was the one who had to be responsible and careful, for both of us.

Our surroundings were simple. Hedges. What seemed like miles and miles of endless hedge may not be what was actually there; there is usually more, or in this case less than meets the eye. That didn’t make sense, but does anything really make sense right now?(The answer is no, in case you’re wondering).

I watched as Shadow walked to a muddy spot and started to put something together, and I followed behind, peering over his shoulder intently. Once I finally figured out what he was doing, I smiled again. It was a sad kind of smile though; one of the ones that makes you wish you had done things differently or looked at the world just a little bit sweeter. He had made a cake for Emery, after overhearing that her birthday was today. That had to blow, you’re birthday being in the arena and all, but I suppose it was nice to at least have another birthday.

I followed behind him at a distance, letting him take the lead and be as proud of his creation as he wanted to be. He was thoughtful, and he was observant, both good qualities in my opinion. As he approached her and began to talk, I stayed behind; thinking that now wasn’t the time to interject many opinions. That time would come.

[Cassie collects two bundles of edible plants]

[Deleted]

The party is over.

[/i] I would stay afterwards and help clean up, but it seems that Iago has already taken that job, kneeling beside the District Nine girl who had fallen first. I try to gather my belongings, but my head is spinning, and I feel as if someone has just dropped a sixty-pound weight into the center of my brain. I look down at my bloodied arms, scrapes etched into my skin. However, the pain in the side of my head is greater than any other, so I put my hand to my ear only to find that it no longer exists![/i] Resisting the urge to scream , I move my fingers along the side of my head as I attempt to recall the bloodbath’s events. Eyes landing on the limp body of Ivana Vox, my lips curl into a scowl of pure disgust. She did this to me.[/i]

My scowl slowly fades, only to be replaced by a self-satisfied smirk, but even the smile can’t convince me that I’ve attained my revenge. “Funny how things work out, huh?” I say to the dead – or nearly dead? I don't know. She's not moving – Ivana, her body sprawled across the ground. I wish she were still alive. Dead people are particularly boring, in my opinion. They can’t be harmed. Besides, how can you ever feel like a winner if there’s no one there to play the loser?[/i]

Hoping to fulfill the vicious greed within me, I grab Ivana’s halberd from the ground and bring it directly down on her ear, slicing it right from her head: an ear for an ear.[/i] I look at her deformed, bloodied body, both ears severed, one earlier in the bloodbath and one only a few moments ago. Dead or alive, she won’t be able to hear what I have to say now, will she?[/i] Well that’s too bad; I had a lot to say to that girl who so ignorantly tried to kill me. “Rest in pieces, Ivana Vox,” I whisper, blowing a sardonic kiss her way before I depart. I pass the rest of the dead bodies as I pick up my things and scurry away from the cornucopia. Linus, Vespasian, Sophia…there’s something a bit sad about death.[/i] There’s no prize for killing: no pleading faces, no fearful, horrified expressions. Just a lifeless human being on the ground. I’ve found that the more you hurt people, the more you can get them to do for you, but what the heck are they going to do for you if they can’t even get up from the ground? [/i]

Frustration with my own utter loneliness sends me tumbling forward into the maze. I feel so powerless with only one ear at work, but I still manage to catch the sound of footsteps when I hear them.[/i] I move towards the sound, squinting at the two figures in the distance. The boy turns around and holds out a handful of…mud. I instantly identify the two of them as the district five tributes. ”Eme—Emery!” He says with a grin. ”The other day, um, I heard some of the adults talking and saying that today was your birthday. It-it’s not much, but I hope you like it. Happy birthday, Emery!” He holds out the pile of mud and I’m not totally sure what to say. Where the hell does this kid think we are?[/i]

“How nice,” I say with a false smile across my face. “But oh, how much nicer a joint celebration would be – my birthday and your death day. I left my savings at home, so I really can’t budget two parties here.” I don’t want to kill these two weaklings, of course: not yet at least. I’d rather entertain myself a bit beforehand. I move closer to Shadow, until we’re an intimidatingly small distance away. It really is no wonder that this poor boy’s parents named him Shadow. Honestly, you can tell by his tiny appearance that he will never amount to anything more than a shadow ever has. [/i]There are a lot of oddly named tributes this games. I’d like to know what some of these parents were thinking. For example, Ewe – I can only imagine that “ew!” was the word that came to mind when his mother first took a glance at her son's deformed stature.[/i] Of course, it would be utterly cruel to name a child “ew” so in efforts of being as inconspicuous as possible, his parents must have felt morally obliged to add on “e” at the end and change up the pronunciation a bit, right? I’m glad I never had idiot parents like that – oh wait, I do.[/i]

"The bloodbath wasn't enough for you two? Sure, we can have a party. A nice little party." In one swift motion, I bring my fist hard into Shadow's stomach and then shove him towards the ground, ignoring the mud pie in his hands. I hear footsteps through my halved sense of hearing and quickly look back to see Beatrice approaching.[/i] Not allowing myself to get distracted, I immediately grab the district five girl, Cassie, and get my arm around her neck until I have her in a chokehold, loose enough that I don't kill her but tight enough that she should feel the need to struggle. It's really no fun when they give up right away. [/i] I look over at Shadow, who could pull himself up from the ground and run off any minute.

"Grab him, you idiot!" I call to the approaching Beatrice, rolling my eyes at her slow pace. "Sorry I'm not an octopus. Only got two hands here!" I dig my fingers into Cassie's shirt and tighten my hold, trying to ignore the searing pain in my head.

ooc: guys, let me know if you want me to change anything!

header by Stare <3

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[bg=000000][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style, border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px;] Dear friend, as you know Your flowers are withering Your mother's gone insane Your leaves have drifted away He's so scrawny, I think as I stare down at the boy; I believe he was from District 8 but I can't be sure - all I know is that he's dead, his cannon long since run, the four of us the last ones left as Iago finishes off Eden with a glint in his eyes that chills me to the bone and I'm lucky no one can see me under this mask because I'm sure I'm frowning, trembling as I turn away from the sight and lock my eyes on the one at my feet. I didn't kill you - I didn't. I missed. The others hurt you too much, I didn't kill you. I swung, but I missed - how did you die then? It wasn't me, couldn't have been me I wasn't swinging to kill I was swinging to survive no no no. I'm sorry. I doubt you'd believe that though. I bend down to close his eyes, a last sign of respect but draw back - my hands are covered in red, so much red that spills across my tunic and dripped down to the ground (I think he'd rather have one last look at the view anyway, and not have someone else's blood on his face). The grass must be carnivorous because it seems to have turned red after our foray here. I look around, at the maze that towers above my head, at Emery and Iago who stare at bodies in disdain and then at Matilde, and then at the plethora of supplies that lay around us. Is it ours? I suppose so. I suppose we somehow got to it, scared everyone else out. I didn't mean to, it just happened. I guess Eye taught me something those times he tried to instruct me on the ways of beating someone up. Of course, he wasn't beating someone up with a long pole-blade thing. I think I even attacked Sophia at the end, and there she is, right over there and I can't look. I have to be strong now, not weepy and weak and little ol' Ewe who can't do a thing right. No, I'm Ewe the powerful, Ewe the strong, Ewe the Wealth Winner with a gimp leg and strong heart. That's what they'll say, maybe. Who really knows? These words will spread once I'm dead anyway, might as well make them as wondrous as possible. I walk this way and that, opening the cradle scattered in the middle of the Cornucopia, picking up supplies and stuffing them into my satchel. Things, anything that I can carry, that might become useful, goes into the bag which soon is too full and I know I can't carry anymore even though there's so much more, so much that could have gone to those who need it or used by the dead to protect them from the kiss they've already received. I hope it wasn't too painful for them, although of course I'm kidding myself. I'm sure it was agony. As the four of us begin our foray into madness the towering hall, suddenly, movement. I can see two tributes approaching, but the way they're walking doesn't show any signs of trouble. In fact, someone's holding something - is that Shadow? He survived? That's great for him, not so great for me but you know, breathing is a good thing. He's with a girl, his district partner? To be honest I know nothing about her; she managed to stay under the radar but if she's here even she's a threat. I tense up, hand gripping the pole-blade (I need a better name for this, really) and widen my stance - Eye always said that you have to look tough first, that way people won't pick fights with you. A cake. Emery's birthday? Even I didn't know that but clearly she doesn't care because as soon as he hands her the cake she pushes him to the ground and grabs the girl in a headlock, beckoning an approaching tribute - Beatrice - to help us with, with what? Are we killing them too? I don't want to do that; too much red has been spilled already today, coating the clearing with the fresh stench of iron. Emery, if this is the type of party you want, I'd rather not be invited. Of course, you can't know that, lest I become your next guest. So I say nothing and hope that this will be over quick.

[Meghan]

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Burgundy liquid weeps down my argent dagger with the delicate sing-song call of its former safe-keeper. The solitary symbol of eradication was filled with secure repose; a relic of a consciousness once lived and duly prized. This is my concluding contribution to such a force of energy. Bitterly extinguished death for the sacrificial soul who stood gallantly before my soaring knife. The payback so vigorously distributed to the object of atonement was not purely due to their own bad actions, but rather it became an outward expression of a more rooted issue. The tribute had merely contributed another face to the deposit of their just sacrifices. In sixty-four years, 1,536 children were offered to become the mask of security, yet only one of these children emerged from the other side of the force field each year.

It was almost a pity Siana Felies had to die this way, snuffed out like a deserted pipe-dream in the eye of the quickly moving philosopher. Yet there was no position preferable for me to take. For murder is as murder does and in the arena we all stood guilty. I only did what I was bred to do, completing the task that they engineered specifically for me. Sixty-five years is all it took for the Capitol to reveal this grand, twisted anthem. I was picked to cause destruction, and to deliver murder into the hands of twenty-three others. It was not my fault I had no choice! It was merely my fate, and who was I to fight such a story?

Hands that sat pale and silent only a few hours earlier as they nervously sipped water and counted off the minutes were now covered in the red-mask of blood. Innocence had quickly departed from this godforsaken place. The guiltless had parted ways to be replaced by those guilty, those tributes who were willing to slaughter unjustly, and without mercy.

I thought about the accusations of the victims over the years. Even today young Siana shifted the blame of who was guilty for her death. Traitor! I thought we were friends! How could you do this to me? Why were they blaming the ones who were just as trapped as they? If we started accusing each other then the real blame would be forgotten. How dare they forget who caused this! The sick people who held their hands and told them that everything was going to be okay, that they would live and be free.

Lies, lies, lies, lies! It was all a lie!

A dagger wielded well by one enslaved surely shifted the responsibility to their master? I had no choice in the matter. Siana had to die. Kyle had to die. We all came here to die. I was simply buying into the game I was chosen to play, nothing more.

I almost envied the girl and her newfound freedom. Because of me she could now experience true peace. If I had not intervened at the moment she fell most vulnerable, her suffering may have lengthened and she would have to experience the guilt of her own survival. This was the burden each of us carried upon our shoulders. The whispers of revenge, the encouragement, the sponsors were all merely part of the overall package that created a tribute. We were nothing more than their elaborate scheme, set waiting in their oppressive trap.

I remember the boy with his little sword and a ferocious look of perceived betrayal etched across the features of his face. Mantel, was it? I remember the morning when I taught him how to dance with fire, would he use that against me now that we were finally allowed to die? They had granted me permission to take the lives of the useless, would he be my next victim?

The mania of fear had already pierced his heart, he was just killing to survive out here. You could see it in his actions, how easily he ripped the remaining life from my undeserving district partner. Of course, I had already weakened the boy a considerable amount with this very blade. It was only my temporary mercy that had let him escape, and the District Ten boy had quickly taken advantage of his opportunities. It was only natural to eliminate those who were weak.

Siana's biting scream still echoed in the thump, thump, thump of my heart.

It was a scary image, watching the eyes of your victim become void as they are filled with their final sorrow. Oftentimes, it is the words never said that get to me.

On cold, nightmare nights a photograph of my most regretted memory swims into view and overtakes my consciousness. I was only thirteen, and the hands of my pretend-hero were only meant to protect me. But the man had gotten in the unfortunate path of my temper, and instead of driving my dagger into the heart of the one who had put me in that mess I drove it into his instead.

He was dead in a matter of minutes, and it was all I could do for him to whisper the words of a happy song with my strained vocal chords. God, I was only thirteen and already I had lived up to that expectation!

Did they want me to sing here, in the arena? Surely such a trivial action was meaningless to those who welcomed death, but I could not stop my guilt as I reflected on the heartless words. Was I really so cruel?

Screw it all! Screw the ones who had captured me in their game of cat and mouse! Screw the girl who had fallen so easily to my attacks! Screw the boy who had delivered such a deep gash on my chest! This world deserved to die.

I could feel the pain more clearly as I staggered around each corner of the maze. Where was my disloyal body leading me to? Another fight? Another death?

I pushed my free hand against the open wound in a vain attempt to stop the bleeding. Crimson paint coated my fingers and I pulled them quickly away. It would be a miracle to stop this injury, I could only hope it did not make me weak. Screw this, screw this, screw this!

It felt as if I wandered for hours, but really it must have only been thirty-minutes. Would I ever escape this maze, or was this the whole arena? Such a place would be the definition of lame. Imagine dying with only the vision of never-ending hedges! No wonder the two victims felt so infuriated, they lived a meaningless life and died in a similar fashion.

I began to lose faith in the viewers above. Surely a death like this would be without the excitement they so vulgarly craved. Perhaps just one of them would give into my silent begging and send me another object of rescue.

Cricket must have been waiting for some non-verbal sign because the minute such thoughts crossed my desperate mind another package parachuted gently from the sky. I grabbed at it with needy hands and ripped the paper open. Inside was nothing more than a basic medical kit: fifteen feet of bandages and two sets of needle and thread.

Relief floods through my tired veins and I thread the needle with clumsy hands. Patience is no longer a virtue, abandoned for the small chance of survival I now held. I cleaned the wound on my chest with the corner of my collected t-shirt, and then sloppily counted each stitch until the gash was hidden from plain site. I would only look haunting as I bounded through the arena wearing my battle scars. Let them look, it held no consequence to me.

As soon as I felt clean and cared for I found myself sprawled out on the ground, inspecting each of the items held in my hands. Rope, flashlights, a compass, three weapons, and a tiny token. Earrings I suppose, ripped straight from the ears of those who only wanted a little reminder of home. Too bad with each murder I became their master, and the arena started to feel a lot more like my home.

I hope to never go back.

I needed a way to show the other tributes who their better was, what power I held in the edge of my knife. What would be a proper warning?

My eyes glance down at the earrings still held in my hands and my face twists into a classic mask of sadism. Without hesitating, I pop each piece of Siana's home into my ears. They become a reminder of what was loss, and a symbol of what I could do. Let them be afraid.

Voices that were once only a thing in the lingering distance grow stronger now, and I find myself approaching the most peculiar scene. Three tributes, open and exposed to the world around them, arguing over who gets to survive.

"Now what do we have here? Miss Moreno and the little children from five. It must be my lucky day!" I walk at my own pace, my dark-red knife held at the waiting at my side. Would the trio choose to hurt me? I only wanted to play with them!

"Oh, hold your horses, Emery. Unlike some of you, I have not been sitting around doing nothing all day. I had to dispose of some of the vermin, of course, and now I only wish to rest my feet." I push my damp hair past my shoulder sand dare them to look. I hope they feel afraid.

Without questioning Emery's motives I grab the pipsqueak from her armored hands and pull his body up so his face is level with mine. "Couldn't stay away from me, eh, Shadow?" I coo ever-so-sweetly into his stuttering face. Was he going to cry again? God, I hoped so. "Hasn't anyone taught you not to play with fire?" I shove the boy to the ground and he lands with a thud. Before he has any time to collect himself I pin him down and lean into his ear with warm breath. "I'm going to teach you a lesson, my dearest Shadow. I really think you'll enjoy it!" See how nice I am? Informing the monkeys of their fate before I take advantage of them. That is not an action most killers would take.

With the boy still trapped beneath my knees I rummage through my endless supplies until I find the one thing I desire. Twine, stolen from the little girl, would serve my purpose without fail. Quickly I capture the boys struggling hands and tie them behind his back. My rope rolls around his feet and across his chest until he's completely crumpled within himself. I speak to him as I work, a smile upon my lips. "Do you think this is a life worth living, Shadow? Such a meager existence such as your own should be unworthy of my precious time. Yet here I am, full of my undying mercy, allowing you yet another minute of breath. You ought to be thanking me, I do not allow everyone such an easy death." I hope the audience is grinning at that one, but I do not allow myself to linger on such thoughts.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity of capturing the little beast I tie a bow with a flourish around his neck. "Ah, you're perfect!" I exclaim as I move off of him to examine my handiwork. He wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon. "But where should I put such a rat like yourself? You haven't done anything to deserve more of my famous mercy. Perhaps I can leave you as a present for your little friends? Oh, that would be a treat, wouldn't it, Shadow?"

I cackle as I rummage through his stuff, thankful for his utter helplessness. "I hope you grabbed me something good in your final battle! Or else I might have to drag your death out a little more. You would need to pay for your failure, would you not? Come on, pipsqueak, agree with me!" His silence pisses me off, and I take a break from my shuffling to run my knife against his cheek. It would be so easy. Yet something told me he wasn't meant to go this way, that the game-makers had a more evil plan in store for such a soul. So I returned to his items and made my final selection, one jar of tar for future use. He wouldn't miss it too much!

I can hear footsteps quickly approaching our party, and I knew I had to make a decision fast. Sure, I could just leave him in the middle of everything for the masses to enjoy. But that wouldn't be any fun! Better to use him as bait, to win their trust. Thinking quickly I stuff the boy in my empty duffel bag. "No, that won't do," I whisper as I examine the prize. I want him to make an impression, so I pull my tube of red lipstick and run it over my dry lips. I add a dash of the blood still dribbling from the haphazard wound on my chest and then gently press my mouth to Shadow's forehead. "Sweet dreams, my little gift. I hope you enjoy your new home." The zipper closes and I hoist the much-heavier bag into the air. It is my presentation, my peace offering to the group of warriors that stand before me.

"Hello Matilde, Ewe, Iago." I greet them each by their name. The dry blood caked on the hands of the district eleven boy does not escape my notice, and I make a mental note to ask him who he had to kill to get it there. "I bring you an offering of great joy and peace!" Step by step I walk until I'm standing in front of their weapons. I drop the bag at the feet of Iago Izar-McClaine and give him my most handsome smile. "Open it up, brave warrior! I think you'll like what I've stored within."

I let my eyes become pointed daggers as I attempt to stare into the very soul of the boy who I once embraced in tears. He could not be allowed to see my weakness here.

[Beatrice receives a MEDICAL KIT from sponsorship]
[Uses one needle & thread for -5 damage]
[Brings damage down to 0.5]
[Puts SIANA FELIES token, cat earrings, into her ears]
[Steals a jar of tar from Shadow with Semper's permission]
[All action taken against Shadow was done with permission!]

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Word Count: 2410

Thanks to Onyx for help with the header and dreams for fixing the table!

[semper]

s h a d o w b i s o n

What were you expecting? This was the games, people died and the rest were left defending the only thing they valued most. (Well, most of the tributes valued their own life. Some were keen to just toss it all away and give up.) This was definitely not the place to try to celebrate anything, let alone with an alliance you only vaguely knew. (But you also hardly knew Cassie so what was the difference? She wasn’t trying to kill you?) You hadn’t met Emery before so her reaction was rather unexpected. Didn’t people like having a day dedicated to them? The smile fell from your face as her poisonous words sank in – a sharp gasp sounded from you as her fist collided into you, knocking all the air from your lungs.

You fell to the ground, dirty hands clutching at your belly as if there was a string you could pull to allow precious air back into the lungs. Your chest screamed and ached and your eyes grew wide, mouth hanging open and wordless grunts sounding until you were able to finally breathe once again. The gasps came jaggedly but it was enough to quench the burning.

”Grab him, you idiot!”

You looked up to see Cassie held in the iron grip of Emery and panic began to seize you. (Cassie was in trouble – but so were you.) Your hand instinctively began to reach out for your district partner until you saw the fire girl out of the corner of your eye.

She looked far more terrifying than she had in the awful lighting of the elevator (when the lights were still on, anyway). Blood was splattered against her uniform (surely she had killed someone?) and you swallowed hard against a very dry throat and mouth, retracting the trembling hand that was going for Cassie. You didn’t need to consciously decide that running away would be useless because you already knew she would chase you down.

The fire girl – Beatrice – pulled you up to her level with such great ease. Her words were far more venomous than Emery’s and each syllable sent a wave of icy panic through you, making you shake. You wanted so desperately to retort much how you had done to Iago but the words were dead on your tongue. Instead you flinched away, eyes shut tightly as if she would disappear. (You couldn’t see her so therefore she didn’t exist. Things only existed if you saw them, right?) Much to your dismay her words still cut through like a hot knife, disarming your wish of her nonexistence.

She threw you down roughly and you didn’t have enough time to catch yourself. Your hands flailed uselessly at your sides during the impact but you then quickly put them against the earth to push yourself up. Beatrice’s slithering word fire still bounced around in your head and you felt your lip beginning to quiver, remembering how she had taunted you in the broken elevator. She had lit a match and used the residue inside your empty powder horn to create little puffy explosions, each of which brought out a terrified scream from you. The girl had only laughed and it hurt you to think that she was only toying with your emotions because she could and because you didn’t even try to stop her. What if you had put up a fight? She was certainly bigger than you and held that advantage, but if you had abused her in return for all the torment she berated you with then would she be approaching you with twine? Would she even dare to show you some “lesson?”

All you could do was whimper as she wrapped the twine around you, tying your hands together and forcing you to curl up. The sensation of being trapped was not as horrifying as the fire girl hovering above you with that nightmarish smirk on her face. You shut your eyes again, trying to not hear the words of your meager existence and how she was being merciful by not killing you off immediately. (Either she really was being merciful [and she just did not realize it] by only torturing and not killing you right on the spot or your time would come very quickly.) She finished off by making a small bow on your neck and you flinched away from the harsh thread of the twine on your skin.

Your blurry, watery gaze followed her as she moved to the pack with your items. A helpless whimper sounded and again the words died in your throat. The silence did not appeal to Beatrice, however; she put her knife to your cheek and it was then that the tears spilt out of your eyes, streaking down your dirty face.

(“Daddy I don’t want to die. It’s scary.”)

You were terrified of the unknown and death was no exception. In your father’s stories it had always been the bad guy who died and the good knight who got to live, not the other way around. The villains always got what they deserved and Beatrice was a villain so she was the one that had to die, not you. So why were you giving into her like you did in the elevator? Why were you not snarking and giving witty retorts? Because you were terrified, weren’t you? You feared for your life, you feared for losing Cassie, you feared for losing yourself and your one shot at seeing your father again.

She pulled the knife away and took an item out of your bag – which one it was you could not tell – and she quickly returned to you, bringing along a duffle bag. Despite your attempts at wriggling away she managed to hoist you up and into the bag (and, honestly, it surprised you that you even fit). You shut your eyes and just let the sobs rock you, turning your face into the fabric of the duffle bag’s side.

You gave in. You truly did. What else could you do? You were trapped and failing to even hold back the torrent of tears that were streaming down. You were useless and weak and you knew it. Only moments ago you were beaming and so proud of yourself for surviving the bloodbath unscathed, even confident enough to present a makeshift birthday cake to someone outside of your alliance. The self-esteem had been ripped away just as the air had been taken from your lungs with a single punch to the belly – and when you heard fire girl’s voice drop a certain name it makes your blood run cold.

No, no, no! Not him!

In an instant you began to squirm, thrashing around as best you could in dwindling hopes that you could escape. You yelped loudly as the bag suddenly dropped and landed on the ground, moving around with you as you still tried to squirm away from the devil of a boy that was Iago.



[forcibly gives one jar of tar to Beatrice]
[just verifying that I did give permission for Beatrice and Emery (and Iago whenever he posts) to take all those actions against Shadow >:D ]

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[atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: e1e1e1; border: e3e2f2 solid 0px; width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 10px 10px;] The ragged spot where my hand used to be absolutely screams, the pain blazing up the enter right side of my body and blinding me as I stumble through the complicated maze of shrubbery, dragging my axe behind me. I have nothing now. Vespasian and I had a silent sort of understanding that we’d stick together after the Bloodbath, but I saw him go down right before that little punk sliced my hand clean off. I know I need to find something to stop the bleeding, maybe light a fire and cauterize the wound, but right now it’s just a blind sense of moving forward, stumbling one step at a time. Maybe I’m just waiting to die. That’s all anyone does in the end, after all. I’ve watched so many replays of Uncle Arbor’s Games that I used to think that I’d become unattached from all the death and violence. But it’s different now that I’ve seen the light leave someone else’s eyes right in front of me, different now that I’ve felt the cold steel of a blade and seen my own hand go flying through the air. I used to think that the Games was the landscape of heroes. It’s not. It’s just hell. And amidst my thoughts of hell, I can hear demons laughing ahead of me, see them when I round the next corner. Maybe it’s just the blood loss, or maybe it’s just my way of making myself cope with the knowledge that I have to hurt people, but it’s somehow easier to see my fellow tributes as just another monster to fight. Maybe that will help me sleep tonight. My remaining hand tightens on the handle of my axe as I advance, telling myself to be brave but utterly failing to take my own advice. I could make the first move, but I don’t. I could rush in screaming battle cries and swinging my weapon wildly, but I don’t. I could be the same brash hellion that I’ve been my whole life, just armed with a deadly weapon this time instead of my fists, but I don’t. I look at them. They look at me. There might be a fight coming, but something in me won’t let me start it. Maybe it’s just that there’s still a part of me that’s terrified of hurting people, maybe it’s because I remember some of them, remember talking to them in the Training Center, remember thinking that in another life that some of us could have been friends. The pretty little girl from Eight is crouched in the foliage behind me. I look at her. She looks at me. We look at them. They look at us. I’ve never been able to back down from a fight in my life, but my life will be over soon if I don’t learn the very crucial lesson of picking my battles right now. This is not my battle. “So, uh… nice day we’re having,” I say around a forced laugh, maintaining a careful distance from everyone and wondering when the other shoe is going to drop. If there’s going to be a fight, I shouldn’t start it. Five on one isn’t the best of odds. The parachute plunks me right in the forehead, the water jug and big plastic box smacking into my skull as if to say Duh, Bren, about time you started using your head. “Thanks, Uncle Arbor,” I huff out, looking up at the sky and rethinking every prejudice I ever had. Maybe Victors really are superheroes. You’d have to be one to make it out of here alive. [brendon acquires a water jug and medical kit via sponsorship] don't try to sleep through the end of the world and bury me alive 'cause i won't give up without a fight

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[rook]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, border: F5F6FA solid 4px; width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px 0px;][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 1f0b0d; border: F5F6FA solid 4px; width: 500px; height: 181px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 13px 13px;][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] HOPELESS something stops me from seeing too clear a misty haze floats 'round the room the murmurs make it hard to hear the voices and the words "I'm starting to like her. She's got this tenacity that I can't describe. She's the image of Pandora when he started out in the 61st. She's got that fire in her!" My blade is cursed with the blood of the Career boy - If you can call him a Career. He's so young that his training probably hadn't even started before his name was drawn and he was thrown into the Games. The steel of my broadsword is more or less completely stained red. All the people who have shed blood at my hand - the boy from One, the girl from Seven, Ivana Vox from Six. Worst of all I attacked Linus, my own District partner, and found myself glad he was gone. Relief. It was just relief. I keep lying to myself. How can I think I'm so pure and innocent when my clean slate is already so dirty? Maybe I didn't do this out of kindness or pity, maybe I did it to get away from Eight, because my life there was hell. Maybe I want this. The trick to lying is being able to convince yourself that you're telling the truth. A boy lies dead back there. He was right next to me, just a few feet from me... Dead. I dare not look back, instead choosing to run through the maze hoping, hoping that I can find a way out before someone finds me first. A cannon cracks overhead, and I have to throw my left hand over my mouth to stop myself from screaming. I stop running and lean myself against the hedge, catching my breath and my sanity. Kyle Jones' face looks down at me solemnly and I can't bring myself to match his gaze. He's just another Tribute gone. A name and a number, nothing more... I have to keep moving, but my chest burns with lactic acid. My stomach is sick and I can't slow my breathing down. I am dirty and exhausted, with no plan. I have no motive, nothing to fight for and no hope. Yet I find myself pressing on slowly still. Why? I raise my sword again and carefully turn the next corner in the maze, hoping that it's not another dead end or a group of Tributes. There are so many alliances and truces that I'm scared of being on my own. I'll be swarmed because I am alone. Even in here there are strength in numbers. I'm starting to wish I hadn't left Shadow and Cassie, I could do with someone having my back about now. They hate me though. I let Eden die. Why should they have my back when I failed to have Eden's? It's just as much about trust as it is spite. I burst through a clearing and stop dead in my tracks. I freeze on the spot, before rushing back around the corner. Did they see me? I don't risk looking around to see, but I have to be certain. I saw a group of about six or seven, all standing around like they own the place. There was someone held in a headlock - A loner, like me? I didn't see. It was a boy, that's all I glimpsed. He must have been captured by the large group and now he's like a pig to slaughter. The maze is more dangerous than the Cornucopia. Here there is panic and mayhem as wrong turns lead to death. For once, luck is on my side as the Minotaurs of this labyrinth find someone else before they find me. I have to be sure they didn't see me, and so I listen in to their conversation. Why are they talking? They're in a death-trap and yet they stand around making small-talk. Obviously they're confident in their own ability. "Oh, hold your horses, Emery. Unlike some of you, I have not been sitting around doing nothing all day." The voice is distant, but piercing. I recognise it from a ten minutes ago. Beatrice Birch, the Career from Two. She's every bit as sadistic as her District is stereotyped to produce. She attacked the boy from One, like I did. We shared a glance as we beat the boy bloody with our swords. A mutual glance. She could have turned on me there, but instead she was occupied with hurting her fellow Career. Was he a Career? He didn't put up much of a fight, nor was he a physical threat. Maybe she disapproved of him. Maybe she wanted more from the District One boy. Something catches my attention. A blur in the corner of my eye. I turn my head too late, he's already on top of me! But he isn't. He's just standing there looking at me. Twelve. He's from Twelve. They talked about him in the Capitol - The nephew of the famous outlying Victor Arbor. I raise my sword defensively, trying to keep quiet. He'll blow my cover for sure, if he doesn't kill me. Why isn't he killing me? He's standing there with a bemused look on his face. "You gonna fight me, or what?" I say, biting my bottom lip and tilting my head backwards, pointing my sword at him like a finger. Like a dare. He's not afraid of my sword-waving, his arms at his side and his expression calm. "Erm, no. Why would I hit a girl?" He says, like I'm the stupid one. Some people weren't meant for the Games. I'm not saying that I was, but this kid is a walking disaster. I frown, standing taller and waving my sword closer to him. I slash downwards and he darts out the way. "No? How about now?!" I say, gripping my sword in two hands. The voices ring out again from the other side of the hedge. I can hear a struggle going on, and Beatrice's voice is still as sharp as the blade she holds. "Do you think this is a life worth living, Shadow? Such a meager existence such as your own should be unworthy of my precious time."

[/i]
Shadow. They have Shadow. My heart leaps to my chest and the guilt paints me black again. It's my fault. I left him. I left him and Cassie and they've gotten themselves captured. It's my fault again. I grip my sword, a fire filling me. My breathing slows down and my chest feels lighter. Is this what drive feels like? I look to Arbor's nephew. If he's not going to kill me, he might as well help me.

"Shit." I glance around the corner to confirm the numbers. There's Cassie with Shadow, who's being held by Emery and Beatrice, but there are more arriving.
"Hello Matilde, Ewe, Iago." Beatrice greets them with open arms. Shadow shifts uncomfortably at the mention of their names, or more specifically Iago's name. His ridiculously high training score and ruthless attitude in the Captiol earned him a reputation that Shadow's clearly terrified of. And there he is.
"Ripred." I curse. He makes my stomach turn. I see the way he walks about the Arena like he owns it. It's a facade. An act. There are people like him every Games, like Walker in the 61st. He was every bit as cocky as Iago, yet he fell at the blade of a Woodards. Maybe history will repeat itself. My soul turns a little blacker as I play with the thought.

"Right. Follow my lead," I say, motioning for Brendan to follow me around the corner, "This could get messy!" I grin, sneaking around the bend. Brendan crashed through loudly behind me.
"So, uh… nice day we’re having," He says, destroying our element of surprise. I grimace, questioning why Ripred put me in this position with such a clown for back-up.
"What is wrong with you?" I growl at him, a frown still fixed on my face. I point my sword wholeheartedly in the direction of Iago Izar-McClaine. I am not afraid of your facade.

Pandora would be proud. Rubik would be ashamed. Here I am standing my ground, hideously outnumbered with no plan, defending a boy who is terrified of fire and a girl who clings to him like a brother, and the only back-up I have is a the hugely disappointing nephew of Arbor Halt.
"Leave 'em alone, or I swear to Ripred I'll cut you up!"
Oh well, a girl can hope.

the days seem to drag away
my speech is sparse and tends to slur
i wonder what happened to my friend today
can't hear the words
your name has slipped my mind again

lyrics by ultravox - graphics by rook - template by kire

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[Deleted]

I a g o
I z a r – M c C l a i n e

•••

{I feel numb most of the time}
{The lower I get the higher I'll climb}
{And I will wonder why}
{I get dark only to shine}

•••

What words could we say while scavenging the dead that would meld us together? I hope the cameras show me grabbing at pieces of armor and steadying over a coil of rope, hands all bloody red. We are at war.

[/color] I could see it on the faces of every tribute in the bloodbath. Not just with each other—that is the easy, self-defeating notion that they will latch onto. Oh no[/color], it is the internal struggle that will inevitably rip each of us apart. Donning my helmet, I resign that there will come a time when I have to slit each and every one of their throats. Looking at Emery, I would much rather do so in battle—she is the proud sort that would want that. Ewe would be much better to kill in the middle of night, while his eyes are closed and he is dreaming of home. I have forgiven but not forgotten his lame foot—he will be a weight on all of us the further he progresses[/color]. Matilde—curious, she is mouthy and opinionated for someone her age. Best to hold her face under water until her last shouting breath bursts her lungs with a tide of water and a sea of agony.

I hold rank at the end of the pack. Marauding through the maze proves difficult, with the hedges too tall to see over and the lush plants block most sound. The sound of metal on metal rings out. Our armor weighs heavy on our bodies. The bloodbath was easier in that there was a certainty to its end. Here we have only each other as guides. A pack of waiting tributes could be just feet through the wall. I tighten a grip on my glaive. If I were stupider I would say to let them come. But I think it better to conserve our strength not knowing how far we may have to go, or what other creations Invidia had lay in front of us to block the way. I turn back at the sound of a branch snapping, and narrow my eyes. I have no energy to waste on a quarrel with the tributes. My hatred has been reserved for those that tried to apologize away their handiwork.

A boy’s voice carries through the brush, and Emery is first forward. I can’t believe my ears when the pathetic boy from five invites her to a birthday party. How unlucky Emery was, being born just two weeks too late.[/color] I stand off at the hedge, debating whether or not to send my glaive through his neck or if I should take out the girl first. I’m not fast enough, it seems, as the girl from two storms in to help with this little soiree. She struggles with Shadow the same way a mother does an infant. Still on guard I hold up my sword, ready for all the fun our voices must be attracting. Were there more cannons just a minute ago? Where is Cerise, and how long before she tried to give me the same broken arm that I gave to her?[/color] A heavy bag lands down at my feet and I give it a nudge with the end of my glaive. I unzipper the thing slowly to reveal the thrashing little pup—Shadow Bison.[/color]

“Don’t you know little boy, there’s no running from a coming storm?” I smile at Beatrice and pull closer. This is as much of a prize as I could want. How I could squash him like the bug he was, cameras rolling on his pathetic little attempts to escape. And yet there was no fun in such an easy kill.[/color] I wanted to hear the thunder roar, I wanted him to wail out to the heavens and wake the dead with what I had to give him. Such a pathetic and empty kill was reserved for the likes of the rest of them. The same that would apologize and beg for forgiveness the rest of their lives. As though there was any reason to be sorry for a boy like Shadow.[/color] A grin spreads wide across my face, and I wrap a bloodied hand around his neck. “I never told you my secret, little boy…”

I angle my glaive to his cheek and let out a snort. “Pretty… little… boy…” I whisper the words, my hand tight on his neck. My heart beats fast as I stare down—tower—over the little Shadow. This was the world we should have been living in, not of how to avoid death but to bring it to others. To rend their eyes shut and to steal their souls. To show the world that he was the sum of his parts: a bloody, pulsing waste of flesh that would soon be no more. I lean closer, ignoring the stare of Beatrice or the eyes of Emery. A steady calm possesses me as though all that matters is my blade and Shadow’s tiny little mouth. That he could still speak would be a wonder, but that wouldn’t be much of a problem anymore.

“There is only one thing you can count on, your whole life through…” I press harder with my blade, though not enough to let the blood trickle down. I let out a chuckle. “Well, as short as that’s going to be, anyway. The only thing you can count on in your entire miserable existence, Shadow, is never understanding why.”

Leave 'em alone, or I swear to Ripred I'll cut you up![/color] I hear a voice call from behind. I turn to stare at the little girl and her sword, and then back to Shadow. It’s a pity. A girl like her should already know her place.[/color] Her brother lost to the games, and she, the fool had stepped in to take on what she thought was her right. Pride. It was the only explanation I could come to. I weigh my options for but a moment before turning back to Shadow. I shove my fist into his mouth and grab at his waiting tongue. With my glaive I lay a cut, and then another—it is particularly difficult and not as easy as I thought it would be to slice out—but at last, after six or seven slices I sever half. Blood drips over my fingers, and I play with the tongue in my hand. It’s a little like a chicken after taking out the bones.

“You ought not to tell me what to do.” I stand. I’m done with the disgusting little bitch between my legs. I take the tongue and hurl it towards Hope’s feet. I cock my head to the side. The way she holds her sword almost has me laughing. “You’ve got pretty eyes, you know? They’d be perfect to cut out of your pretty little head, little girl…”

[Iago has cut out Shadow's tongue, with permission]

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s h a d o w b i s o n

You shook terribly, sobbing into the nylon fabric. You didn’t want the devil boy to find you but it was inevitable. Much like when your father would force you to face your own shadow, you had cried and begged not to but he grabbed onto your shoulders and twisted you around so that you saw your silhouette and how it danced the same as you did when you tried to squirm away. Even though you knew it trailed behind you everywhere you still refused to pay any attention to it, so facing it set off an eruption of nerves in your belly. The same explosion of anxiety struck you under Iago’s frightening presence but with a fierce intensity. Your life was at stake and you had no way of defending it. What could you do to protect it? Absolutely nothing.

The zipper sounded and you looked up with wide, fearful eyes into the bloody face of the devil boy. He held a hellish grin on his face and you were far too panicked to even emit a scream; your breathing came jaggedly once again, chest straining against the twine to expand in order for the lungs to pull in enough air. You began to quickly feel lightheaded (oxygen deprivation or the verge of passing out from fright?) and you tried to wriggle your way back into the interior of the duffle bag, only to have it capture you and prevent any further movement. Like a mouse being trapped by a cat you squeaked and cringed, trying to make yourself as small as possible in order to not be seen. Iago’s dark voice, however, reminded you that he was very real and present.

His hand snaked around your frail neck and you whimpered. ”Pretty… little… boy…” You flinched away from the words, turning your head this way and that in more futile attempts at escaping. The cold blade on your cheek was terrifying, and tears streamed down your face still as he spoke.

”… never understanding why.”

As much as you hated the devil boy you knew he was right. Yes, you were miserable, and yes, you didn’t understand why. Why were you afraid of shadows? Why was your dad so ashamed that you fled to him for security? Why were you scared of everything except cows? Your father had told you multiple times to stop asking why and just accept it – was that not the rebuttle for Iago, then? ”You don’t have to understand everything, just accept what you don’t get.” The words were quiet and unsteady but you recalled the time you yelled back at him in the dining hall and how bulletproof you felt after it. You didn’t feel bulletproof now, however, but hope began to kindle once more when Hope’s voice cut through with a threat.

”Leave ‘em alone, or I swear to Ripred I’ll cut you up!”

Your attention turned to see her standing at the ready with her sword drawn. A smile almost – almost – drew across your face as the devil boy became distracted. (So, now, if only you could crawl away—) He turned back to you in a whirl and his hand pried your mouth open, pulling out your tongue. You started to protest when he brought the glaive down to its bumpy surface, and at the first slice you let out the scream that had been lying dormant since the beginning.

Again and again you screamed, responding to each cut as if someone had stabbed you. Fire shot through your head and you thrashed against the twine, desperate for any sort of escape route. With your tongue being sawed off you yelled for Hope or Cassie in your head while neither name made it to a verbal word. (Someone! Anyone! Please!) The desperation became so intense that you even thought to cry out for Iago, the devil boy, wanting nothing more than for him or anyone to just make the pain stop.

(“You and I, little buddy. We’ll take care of each other.”)

Where was Cassie then? Emery must still have had a hold on her. If she was saying anything you could not hear it above your own agonized screams, and Hope, too – if she said anything, you had missed it. No one took a step forward while Iago worked, separating your tongue into two pieces, and even once he was done no one appeared to make a move. You wept bitterly, curling into the ground as your little body shook and trembled. You only wanted Cassie in that moment – you so desperately wanted to be tucked into her sisterly embrace where you knew you were safe. She could take the pain away, you knew she would. But the fire and white-hot pain still raged, rattling your skull and teeth, making the pressure inside your head inflate until it felt like it would explode.

Just make it stop, please. Make it stop.

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[Rosetta]

Matilde"Scout"Watson

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The Cornucopia had mocked us. As we trudge away, I can feel tears pooling in my eyes, my teeth grit, as my hands tighten around the paw of the teddy bear I'd picked up. These vile people who had sent us here to die hadn't even the decency to respect our age; they'd mocked it, fooled us. And all Ardal had ever said was to respect children as they were taught to respect adults. We have more-no, we are more than they think. Yet, to them, we are the playthings they handed to us in that cradle.

My backpack is heavy, but I refuse to let it show upon my face. Ewe would probably start babbling about something silly, Emery would shoot me a death glare and Iago would make fun of me if I heaved a resigned sigh or began to complain. With my teddy bear clutched in my hand, a prize from the mock wealth the Cornucopia had to offer, I remain silent as we drag our feet (or at least I do) towards the hedges. We're all walking away unscathed and the sky seems to radiate pride down upon me. My father was, or rather is, not a fighter, but the sun gives me his warm hand on my back and the wind presses his kisses to my forehead.

The hedges are thick and before I know it, we are engulfed. I walk a little behind, keeping pace with Ewe who I know really can't go that fast anyway. We don't speak. I don't have much to stay to him which is odd because I usually have something to say. My eyes do not follow him, but rather the fall of that boy back in the Bloodbath.

It had been a madhouse. My heart was racing, my hands were sweaty. All it took was a minute for me to swing my weapon around and then the boy I had hit stopped moving. I thought he would get up again-like he did all those other times the other kids had hit him. But he didn't move. At all. There had been a weird expression on his face when I made the final blow. Like he'd suddenly remembered something before he sank to the ground and stopped moving. What did he remember? Or is that how we all look when we die?

I don't recall with much gusto how I reacted to the immediate fact that the boy was dead and I had killed him. Maybe I screamed (but my voice isn't hoarse). Maybe I cried (yet my face is dry). Maybe I laughed (my ribs aren't sore). All I know is that sooner or later everyone was gone and I was turning, preparing to fight once more, eyes wider than saucers to see that it was just Ewe, Iago and Emery. We were the last ones left.

Yet, there is something I do remember. As we considered the cradle before us, someone's warmth left my side and Iago was moving away. I not sure if the others saw, or maybe if I was imagining it, but there was a body on the ground and Iago was leaning over it-and did I see a foot just twitch? Hands shaking? Were they alive? It was too far to see, but the longer I watched, the more butterflies cultivated in my stomach and the more my upper lip sweat. I knew I was watching something I wasn't supposed to be and it made me uneasy. Enough so that I look away and back to the cradle and when it's time to go, I disregard the fresh blood dripping from Iago's hands.

He's my District partner. He isn't any better than me in any way, shape or form. Yet I let him lead the pack. There’s something about him that makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up on edge. He’s unsettling. He’s nerve-wracking. He is Iago. So, it doesn’t surprise me that as soon as we hear voices, Iago is drawn to the noise.

They’re other tributes and there’s only one I recognize. Shadow. And it’s Shadow who bounds straight up to Emery, telling herself. To the scene, in the presence of other tribute-all blood-soaked, mud-stained, seemingly too tired to lift a finger-I feel disconnected. Like they’re underwater and I am on land. Or more like the other way around.

And I can’t swim.

So, when the next series of events unfold, I drown. Shadow is on the ground. There’s blood everywhere. There’s laughter. Emery is joining in and another tribute and then Iago. I am rooted to the earth, mud fills my mouth. Suddenly, I glance backward and I see Ewe standing back. Maybe it’s the deformity that’s inhibiting him from acting, but his eyes say differently. When I turn back around, Iago has something pink and bloody in his hand.

I don’t even want to recall what I had for breakfast this morning because now it’s rising up in my throat, but I clamp my mouth shut, my eyes watering. Iago and Emery. My allies. For a moment, I feel myself teeter. It’s like the time Carlos put me on the seesaw for the first time and when he was on the bottom, I kept pushing down, down, trying to make him budge, teetering so slightly. I am teetering. My mind says run, run from this vile boy, your District partner, but my mind says he’s useful. And Emery. Their power. Ardal would never approve, but I am Scout and I see the potential in their power.

And so, I know instantly my eyes will not do.

With a swallow, I hastily swing around and grab Ewe, dragging him hard against a shrub. “Listen,” I whisper through gritted teeth, “we didn’t see anything.” Behind us, Shadow is in agony. “Nothing happened. We didn’t see it.”

Behind us, Shadow must be crying.

Behind us, Iago holds his prize.

“But, we saw nothing.”

{ooc: shrimpeh let me know if you don’t want scout touching ewe and I’ll edit it out! Sorry!!!}

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[rook]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, border: F5F6FA solid 4px; width: 500px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 0px 0px 0px;][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true]

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[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: 1f0b0d; border: F5F6FA solid 4px; width: 500px; height: 181px; padding: 0 0 0 0px; border-radius: 0px 0px 13px 13px;][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true] HOPELESS something stops me from seeing too clear a misty haze floats 'round the room the murmurs make it hard to hear the voices and the words "She doesn't look like a killer. Hope has gotten herself into a tight situation, and it'll be interesting to see how she gets out of it, if at all..." Rubik once told me that friends are a key part of life, but they are not a constant. They come and they go at different stages of your childhood, each leaving to do different things and slowly becoming more distant. He always said that family was the most important thing. Family is always there for you, always caring for you. I'm starting to think he was wrong. Where was Rubik when I volunteered? He ran. He refused to see me, to support me. He said family was a constant, but Mother died giving birth to me, Pandora was killed in the Games and Father topped himself shortly after. My family has become so inconsistent that I barely know the people left. Rubik isn't what he was, and Hitch claims to be the closest thing I have left to a brother. I suppose that Shadow Bison is not a constant. He'll die here, probably. They have him in their grasp and they don't look like they're going to let him go just because I've asked nicely. My words have little effect other than drawing attention to myself. A few smile, but Iago only takes out his knife and shoves his free hand down Shadow's throat, grasping at his tongue. My heart leaps and I try to take a step forward, I try to shout out... But nothing. I am frozen again. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Pandora would help. He'd want me to help. But do I want to help? I'd only get myself killed. White turns blacker still. My clammy hands shake, causing my sword to tremble feebly. My gaze is locked with Iago's as his blade slowly cuts away at the tongue of Shadow. The boy from Five squirms, unable to break from his inevitable fate. All I can do is stand here pointing my sword, like that can make them stop. The tongue is tough and takes several strong slashes to sever. The final hack cuts away the remainder of his tongue in a red mess. Kill him. Just kill him. Why make him suffer like this? Iago is supposed to be a facade, remember? It's all just an act, this ruthless angle. He's playing the bad guy to get more sponsors and create a sense of fear. It's not like that though, and I'm lying to myself again. This kid is messed up in the head. He's gone and Avoxinated another Tribute for his own sadistic pleasure, and no one is brave enough to try and stop him. Not one person. "You ought not to tell me what to do." He growls, asserting his dominance. Someone needs to. He shifts, throwing the bloody remains of Shadow's tongue at my feet. I stare at it, watching it lie motionless like a dead slug. "You’ve got pretty eyes, you know? They’d be perfect to cut out of your pretty little head, little girl…" He taunts, sending a chill down my back and arms. My skin ripples with goosebumps and I adjust my stance to a more steady one, still awkwardly holding my sword. He seems unphased. My eyes? Why does he want my eyes? I find myself becoming very self-conscious and very afraid. Pretty? Just thinking about it sends another shiver through me. He's not killing tributes, he's humiliating them. He's trying to make them as less human as possible, cutting out tongues and eyes and all the parts of the body that give us freedoms such as sight, speech and free will. He wants to deprive us of our sanity, too. That's his goal. Every fibre of my being is telling my mind to run. Just get out of here, or you're next! I have no doubts that he'll stay true to his threats, and I give Brendan an uneasy glance. The boy from Twelve seems odd, but he also seems to have his heart in the right place. He followed me into what could be a massacre without so much as questioning my motives. So yeah, he's got heart. That, or he's stupid. I'm not afraid of him. Pandora wouldn't be afraid of someone throwing their weight about. He'd use their own weight against them and watch them crash as he stood strong. I'm not Pandora though. I don't have his confidence, nor his luck. I'm not afraid of him. The trick to lying is being able to convince yourself that you're telling the truth. "No, I'll tell you exactly what to do..." I kneel down and pick up the dirty, red remains of Shadow's tongue, throwing it back towards the group of tributes. I walk towards Iago, still pointing my sword at him with my right hand. I make sure keep an eye on the boy from Four and Iago's District partner, all the while. The pluck of courage has come from nowhere again. The same that made me volunteer, insulted Caesar, lashed out in my training session and now this. "Take your pride and your ego, and all your little friends, and fuck off." It's a dark side of me, and I think I like it. the days seem to drag away my speech is sparse and tends to slur i wonder what happened to my friend today can't hear the words your name has slipped my mind again lyrics by ultravox - graphics by rook - template by kire

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“…and now I only wish to rest my feet,” the district two girl says. “My apologies, Miss Birch, let me direct you to the spa,” I mutter, rolling my eyes at this girl’s arrogance. She starts tying up the boy from five and I only further tighten my arm around Cassie’s neck, watching Beatrice scornfully. I had other plans on how to dispose of these two, but I figure that I might as well let this district two girl bathe in her pride a little longer. Anyways, my thoughts are tired of being restricted to the cells of my mind, held back by the barring silence. My lips are rather restless also, bearing a strong urge to get the taste of loneliness out of my mouth. I might as well talk to Cassie, since it seems like Shadow’s the one getting all the attention here. Poor girl. It’s a lot more fun to be hated than to be looked upon as nothing. Lucky little Shadow gets to play the star of the show, but Cassie really deserves a little more spotlight, don’t you think? I’ve spent enough years of my life playing the underdog, so I would at least like to pretend that I understand.

“My, I love your hair,” I whisper in Cassie’s ear (in an attempt to give a compliment?) as Beatrice continues to tie up her ally. “Do you think blood could ever work as a hair dye substitute? I might try it out – after I kill you, of course. Then we can be twins.” I flash a crooked smile Cassie's way, but of course she can't see -- not while I'm basically choking her, at least. When Beatrice ties a little bow on Shadow’s neck, for a second I start to think that maybe this will be my birthday gift, but no! Instead, she stuffs him into a bag and gives it right to Iago over there. Okay, thanks Beatrice. I see how it is.

It seems like everyone is having too much fun with Shadow right now and seeing as this is my party, I really should be making a more proper appearance. Besides, I’m tired of waiting on everybody and keeping Cassie company is quite a dull task. Someone else can hold Cassie down if they really want. I release her neck and throw her to the ground, pointing a finger at her and sealing the action with a cold glare. “Stay there,” I command. Then, I move towards the rest of the group just as Iago throws Shadow’s tongue at a couple of newcomers. “You’ve got pretty eyes, you know? They’d be perfect to cut out of your pretty little head, little girl…” Iago says as the new kids approach, and again, I roll my eyes. What is up with this arrogance? It’s as if everyone here thinks they’re the most badass thing since Stark Harper. “You sure think you’re something, huh Izar? Training score of ten, yeah?” I get real close to him, my eyes in his face as I recall the day I’d broken into his room and attempted to smother him in his sleep. If his stupid escort hadn’t caught me, oh god, how I would have.

“Funny how that’s the same number of fingers I plan to rip right off your little apple-picking hands,” I say, “And I won’t need no stupid glaive to do it.” There’s something to admire in the way Iago so firmly asserts himself – and my number one job right now is to kill that admiration. Kill it, kill it, kill it, kill it like everything other darn tribute in this arena, because I’ve already had to kill the care I had for Rolex and I don’t need any more of that to add to my already heavy satchel. Ewe and Scout – they’re just dead weight and probably won’t do any good to me in these games, but they can at least be my target practice when I need a place to throw my sharp words. Beatrice on the other hand – she needs to go too. Once I get Iago out of the way, she’s most certainly next. And the newcomers? And Shadow? Cassie? Their crybaby attitudes are what makes keeping them alive great fun. But I like Iago. I like him a lot – which is why he’s gonna die before any of these fools, I swear it.

I throw him a glare just as the new girl approaches. What was her name again? Faith? It was definitely one of those stupid virtue names, at least I remember that. Anyways, she points her sword at Iago, but the big words that come from her mouth don’t seem to match her small stature. I turn around and walk over to the tongue which is still on the ground where her feet used to be. I brush off some of the dirt, wrap my fingers around the bloody thing, and move back towards the group. From my years on the streets, I’ve learned that you always gotta clean up after yourself, no matter how big or small the mess. You don’t walk away from a fight with people’s organs scattered across the ground, because someone will come after you with a bone to pick about that. Right now is no different, is it? “You are honestly disgusting, Iago. Put that thing back where it came from,” I say with a roll of my eyes. I move to the tied up boy and pry open his bloody jaw, shoving the tongue right back in. Maybe it’s the psychotic activity that seems to be ensuing around me, or maybe it’s my own screwed up head that produces the next moment’s events – who knows? Either way, a vicious smile stretches across my face, and two commanding words escape my lips as I stare at the poor boy from district five with a lustrous light in my eyes.

“Eat it.”

header by Stare <3

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[shrimp]

[bg=040201][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=width,500,true][atrb=style, border-radius: 30px 30px 30px 30px;] .:: Wait, I'm wrong ::. .:: Should have done better than this ::. It seems that we've come to a climax. He's wrapped up like a present (Happy Birthday Emery, I guess this wasn't the present you were looking for but knowing you it's a good one) and packaged for delivery, except it goes to Iago, who's pushed ahead of Scout and I to center stage, waxing just as much poetic as Beatrice as he smirks as the boy - and it seems like the devil himself has come out to play - “Don’t you know little boy, there’s no running from a coming storm?” He's right, there's no escaping this hurricane which snaps at his mouth with a blade, digging and tearing as all I can hear are the screams, the screams, the screams and they'll haunt me until my last breath I know it. I see two others approach, telling Iago to stop but he won't, I know he won't. What have I done to ally with these two, who find the thrill in murder and send a scarlet tidal wave in each direction they choose? How long until they direct it at me, until I'm the one in their sharp claws being ripped to shreds? I don't know why they allowed me to follow them - I'm just dead weight, limping around after them like a lame horse, desperately trying to catch up but knowing it's futile. Sooner or later they'll tire of my antics and they'll tire of me and then I'll be sent off on my one-way-ticket and that can't happen it can't it can't I have to get back (even though ever cell in my body knows that I will be returning home in a wooden casket, never again feeling the salty sea foam lap at my feet. They will forever be waiting for me to come home). And then I'm shoved, hands scraping against leaves, head nestled in shrubbery. Scout's brown eyes stare back at me, urgent and pleading, cold and indifferent. “Listen,” she whispers, a scratchy breath that can only be heard by the two of us, unlike Shadow's whimpers which grow frantic and frantic as the cacophony around us expands and the droplets of wine become puddles too bitter to drink. “We didn’t see anything.” And of course we haven't - we can't, or how else will we be able to continue? My feet just want to run, flee, get away from the girl from one and the boy from eleven but Scout knows better and I know that I do too. They think they'll use us to survive but they forget that it's a symbiotic relationship, and that we survived the Bloodbath for a reason. We're not backing down, and when the moment comes we'll strike. Hopefully we will, Scout's the only one I feel that I can trust at the moment; Sophia's boarded the train already and I never like Beatrice - she seems like she'd be a better fit for Emery and Iago, but she's the mercenary who does what she pleases after all. She's better off alone. With others she might do something drastic. “Nothing happened. We didn’t see it.” I pretend not to glimpse the girl from five gasping for air, nor the dead tissue in Iago's hand, on the floor, now returned to its owner (“Eat it.”). I pretend not to hear Shadow's gasps as he - he's only twelve, what has he done to deserve such a fate? Has his attempts to be human deemed him unworthy in your eyes, Emery? Iago? - cries and shrieks and only has his pain to comfort him. I pretend not to notice the two who tell us to "fuck off," or the branches that scratch at my back or the darkness that surrounds the two holes in my mask (there must be more out there than that scene and all I can see is Scout's eyes. Nothing has happened. Nothing. I meet her gaze for what seems like an eternity before ever so slightly nodding my head, and walk a few steps away from the massacre, the cries refusing to embed themselves in my brain. Of course, they fail. Miserably.

[Meghan]

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one, two, three, four,

I watch the tide turn with wide-open focus, my heart fluttering at the site of Shadow Bison's life-source. The return of action in response to my quick sacrifice is nothing short of wonderful. My choice in the reigning god is not an ill-fated decision, for the calculated movements of Iago Izar-McClaine enchant my sadistic soul. I draw near to the duo as Iago works his cutting motions. I select only to pay attention to the bloody, screaming dance in front of me. I ignore all other, inconsequential comments for just a moment.

Wakey wakey
Rise and shine
It's on again off again on again
Watch me fall
Like dominoes
In pretty patterns

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Iago works like a master artist, the little child's tongue being merely the finishing touch on his ever growing masterpiece of gore. Would I have screamed so much if I was chosen for this path two years ago? Part of me thinks that I would show no such weakness, but is that really true? Before Cassius died I must have been nothing but fragility. The glass that was always waiting to break, ready to shatter into a thousand pieces. Had the surface of my virtuous disguise splintered before our savage eyes? Was I wearing the mask of malice so intimately chosen for me?

Fingers in
the blackbird pie
I'm tingling tingling tingling
It's what you feel now
What you ought to what you ought to
Reasonable and sensible

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My quivering body rises in the dusk and I creep ever closer to the spectacle ahead. Would my movements disturb the tranquility Iago surely must be experiencing as he reveled in the howls of his martyr? Raw eyes regard the rough exterior of a boy already changed by circumstance, has he embraced his destiny in this game of wicked souls?

Dead from the neck up
I guess I'm stuffed, stuffed, stuffed
We thought you had it in you
But no no no
For no real reason

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"Iago..." My voice has become harsh and gruff from the pressure to behave. I feel like the idle sock-puppet, my throat itchy from the words I was no longer allowed to say. I lift weary limbs from my balanced pose and tip-toe through crimson grass towards the vulnerable form of the insatiable district eleven tribute. Quiet fingers stroke the armor on his back with gentle reverence as I dare to step into a space most would only fear.

I let my dirty fingernails feel the coarse outline of his helmet as I tread ever closer. Who is this boy to have captured the keys of my budding bewilderment? I certainly did not feel intimidated by his almost scrawny figure, yet the strength so clearly held within calloused, working hands was undeniable. Surely, he would not hesitate to kill me if I tormented the right part of his soul with my regrettable words? Could I draw him closer to causing my death, to assuring my deliverance into the hands of fear and circumstance?

I pull uncomfortably close, not caring that we are surrounded by no less than seven others. I only want to set him off. Would he dare murder me now, while everyone else has their guards down? I could feel the suspicion breathing down my neck. Nobody trusts me here. Nobody would ever again confide in me, would they? My days of comforting words had passed, I was only left with the isolation of causing terror.

Luckily, I did not have to be alone in my words of affliction. Iago had proved that much to me in our few minutes of interaction. The corner of my lips give him the slightest smile as I stare into his face with curiosity. I'm almost begging for him to hurt me now.

Squeeze the tubes and empty bottles
And take a bow take a bow take a bow
It's what you feel now
What you ought to what you ought to
An elephant that's in the room is
Tumbling tumbling tumbling
In duplicate and triplicate and
Plastic bags and
Duplicate and triplicate

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The boy on the ground is still whimpering, even as he is forced to chew on his own organs. I don't bother to look at him, my gaze only reserved for the perverse vision of his inflicter. "Iago." My voice repeats, but it is so quiet that only he can hear. "Look what you have done," I allow my tingling breath to release on the stillness of his righteous armor. I hope he can feel its warmth, but I have to ponder, is he afraid of me?

"I bet he's proud of you right now." I lean my mouth close to his ear and push his sweaty hair out of my way. "He's probably wondering if you'll be able to come home, now that you've proved yourself with a weapon. Oh, how I envy you, sweet Iago. The only person who ever wanted me to return alive has already been stolen from this life, hasn't he?" A broken chuckle escapes my stomach, but it feels as fake as everything else in this godforsaken place.

I run a finger along the scales of his right glove, and allow my thumb to linger on his wrist. "You could do it you know," My words are only a challenge to his silent lips, he wouldn't dare. "You could kill me. Nobody would stop you, now would they? What are you waiting for, Iago? Forgiveness?" A real laugh comes stuttering out and I take a step away from him, "If that is what you are waiting for then you have a long way to go!" I could never forgive you.

"Kill me, I-ah-go. I dare you. Hit me!" I smack his chest with feigned strength and twist myself into my best stance for taunting. "You could not hurt a fly if it offered itself to your waiting foot!" I only wanted to feel the pain. Why wasn't he striking me down, like he had to the rest of them? It made me want to scream right in his face.

"You're too afraid of consequences, Mr. Izar-McClaine. Being proper has its time and place, but surely this is not it! What makes you so afraid of my agony? Why do you hesitate? Is it because I am not the weakened fly, bound up for your pleasure? Do you want me to be as weak as them?"

I leap away from Iago's useless weapons and pin the struggling little twerp from district five to the ground once more. "Did you enjoy the experience of such merciful torture, little Shadow? Do you look forward to the days to come, knowing that he's the one you have to watch for. I wonder if your friends will be able to save you from such a fate, my dear boy. Do you welcome their deaths as well?"

He says nothing, only looks up at me with his tear-stroked eyes.

"Well, answer me, you useless chimp." I shove my hand against his neck, and apply just the slightest hint of pressure. "Oh, I forgot you couldn't talk. How impratical have you become to us all. We can't even hear your excuses as we take your life. What a pity it is for us!" The boy doesn't answer me with any viable defense. Instead, he spits the bloody remains of his lost speech right into my face.

Dead from the neck up
I guess I'm stuck stuck stuck
We thought you had it in you
But no no no
Exactly where do you get off
Is enough is enough is enough
I love you but enough is enough, enough of that stuff
There's no real reason

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I grab my knife and hold it tight against his throat, bile rising in the pit of my stomach, the flesh having made its home upon my flushed cheeks. "Go to hell." I murmur at the little boy, anger coursing through every bone in my body. "Eternal torture is all you deserve now."

The twine around his crumpled form is easy enough to undo. I am not careful with Shadow as I spin him around and around in the grass until all of my precious rope is collected. I don't even bother wiping my face of his blood, it is like a badge of honor.

I give the idiot one last kick and then step away from his mutilated body. Let him rot. Turning towards Iago, I pull the flesh from the skin of my face and rub it smoothly against my arms and up my neck. Then I take one more dare forward and cake the remaining bits of tongue into the front of his uniform. "Your reward, kind sir." Knees lock in a sarcastic bow and I draw my hand across the splattering of blood that seems to have worked itself permanently into my features. I rub it across the forehead of my newest enemy and give him one last smile.

"You should have hit me when I gave you the chance." My foreign voice mutters, and I raise an eyebrow at the boy. "Catch me if you can, Izar."

I walk backwards and slowly walk away from the crowd. "I dare you." One last wink, one last nod, and I'm gone. Wandering through the bushes again.

You've got a head full of feathers
You're gonna melt in to butter.

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Word Count: 1522

Thanks to Onyx for help with the header and dreams for fixing the table!

[Actions taken against the other tributes were done with full permission from their respective owners, so don't sue me.]
[Beatrice is still in this thread, fyi. But she's essentially gone until day 2. Thanks!]
[Also she leaves her duffel bag for Shadow to take.]
[Shadow eats his own tongue, as requested by Semper.]