The Cornucopia Strikes Back [Day 3]

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Too many sharks
Not enough blood in the waves

This was just the beginning.

Warren’s fascination with unpredictability and Charlie’s knack for technology paired together formed something that the tributes couldn’t even begin to suspect. The steampunk Cornucopia was due to rise from the Earth any minute now, but first they had to wait.

And wait they did.

The salt storm stirring up the Arena was fairly practical, as it drove the tributes straight into the Cornucopia’s mouth for shelter. Of course, everything was emptied from the inside; there wasn’t a single weapon or a match left for the tributes to utilize.

Well, supposedly.

The Gamemakers knew better, and they waited until daylight – just before the sun rose in the sky and the salt storm ceased its howling – before they signaled the start. Instantly, the ground beneath the Cornucopia began to shake violently, shedding dust and salt as the giant structure arose from the dead, its long, sharp metal arms revealing themselves for the first time.

”This thing is fucking badass,” Charlie uttered from where she sat, manning the controls.

Warren Whip watched with a grin on his face, eager for the first time to think about how the Capitol at large was reacting to such a sight. Charlie could be credited for the mechanics of it all, and he was thankful that she was the one working with him. Without her, none of this would exist – or, if it did, none of it would be quite so elegant – and today would be remembered.

”Go ahead and throw them out of it,” Warren said, pointing at Charlie. Other Gamemakers oversaw their cameras, analyzing the fight and keeping track of tribute data, including their damage levels.

A moment later, the Cornucopia – now raised up on hundreds of tiny legs – tilted forward, spilling the tributes out of its mouth like a disgusting meal it couldn’t keep down.

”Attack the large alliance,” Warren ordered, eyeing the group that won the Wealth. This was, after all, their party, and they would need to fight for what would be rightfully theirs.

In an instant, the Cornucopia swiped forward with sharp metal arms, and two projectiles spewed from little slots on the inside.

[Cornucopia attacks Wyatt w/sharp arm (knife)]
KgcleFsOknife
Deep Gash on Forehead -- 9.0

[Cornucopia attacks Noah w/sharper arm (sword)]
sword
Stabbed in Eye -- 40 damage

[Cornucopia attacks Sue w/throwing axe]
throwing axe
Bruised Head -- 3.5 damage

[Cornucopia attacks Maya w/throwing knife]
throwing knife
Shallow Cut on Forearm -- 3.0 damage

knife�sword�throwing axe�throwing knife

[Preston Garrity d4m [Tribsit]]

DAY THREE | WORDS: 1104 | HP: 39

The direction had pointed turned out to be the way back to the train tracks. Before us sat the large, sleek shape of the train we had taken to get here. While nothing had gone wrong while we were aboard, I was a little hesitant to get on. Inside of the train car we would have no control of where we were going, but by walking we could pick a direction and always turn around if we changed our minds about a place.

- - -

We had pressed on from the moment the mutt had died. Even after watching its systems crash and its body come to a halt I still felt the unease that had accompanied its presence. In my ears I could only hear it's screams, the two stuttered last words that were the last process it ran before it shut down. "F-F-F-FUCKING PRESTON-N-N-N." I shake my head in the hopes that maybe the memory will become dislodged like a drop of water and fly from my ear. No luck.

"Where do you think we'll end up at?" Asher was hovering like a bodyguard near me, always wary. There was something comforting in his being there but at the same time his constant shadowing of me, like he didn't trust me to be safe the moment he stepped away, was more annoying that I'd admit. It was like I couldn't handle myself, even though I was the one to kill the dog.

The resistance of the blade as it hit steel, it's squeal, the sound of flesh being shorn. It came back in seconds as though it had just been moments since it had happened, rather than hours. "Do you think there's any water, other than the rain, in this place?" I just shrugged to both of his questions. With all the sounds in my ears I didn't think I would be able to talk for fear of making a shriek of my own. Besides, it's not like I had the answers. "Let's stop here for the night." We were still in the middle of nowhere, but it was away from the abandoned factory so we both felt some comfort in that.

I nodded, my jaw still clamped shut, and we settled down. The anthem had revealed no new faces, though the lack of cannons had already indicated as much. There were twenty-one other people in here with me, and it could be any one of them that killed me. Even Asher, for all his show of protecting me, could be the one to jam a blade into my flesh and watch the life fade from my eyes. If I didn't perform the obligation first. "Do you think you could keep watch for a few hours? I just need a few hours of sleep." Nod. I nestled into a more comfortable position, using my backpack to prop myself up. My mind was still racing from the day and there would be no way for me to sleep anyway.

The world became muffled again, as though some invisible person was cupping their hands over my ears in an attempt to protect me from my thoughts. It didn't work. As I watched Asher's breathing lengthen into the sweeping inhalation and exhalation of sleep, I stared up at the sky. Fake as it was, there was a certain beauty to it that was perhaps enhanced by the fact that it wasn't real. A star blinked at me, glowing red, and I stared at it, fascinated. When it began to grow bigger I realized that it was a sponsorship gift. There was a larger one and a smaller one.

They landed and I tried to grab them as quietly as I could. Beside me, Asher made only a gentle breathing sound. Another gift fell by his head and with a quick check I saw it was for him. My two gifts were unwrapped in a matter of heartbeats. The first one was a little yellow package, very thin and square, with a black smiley face on it. I looked at it warily, leaving it as it was - there couldn't be much of value in it - but placing it in my pack in case the use became clearer later. The other gift made my eyes widen and my parched mouth feel even drier. At any moment I thought my tongue might crack.

The soft sloshing of water reminded me that I hadn't had anything to drink in nearly three days.

I glanced guiltily at Asher, knowing that I should probably share the spoils, but surprisingly resentful of the idea. Instead, I removed the empty jug from my pack and replaced it with the full one. As silently as I could, I placed the empty jug beside Asher's little square packet and tied the parachute that had been attached to my water to the gift. The guilt I felt eased a little bit, but then came back stronger as I realized that I was telling another lie.

I hoped wherever we were going had water, for Asher's sake.

- - -

"Preston?" I jerked out of my reverie at the sound of Asher's voice. I had been gazing just to the left of my lie and its false parachute when he had woken up. "Still here." I coughed as my dry throat became sore from sudden use. "We gotta move." I went back to my system of gestures, nodding to show my agreement. After we had made sure to gather all of our things we had moved on to find the train.

- - -

We boarded without fuss, keeping an eye out but not doing a search of every nook and cranny for the sake of resting a bit. Today could be a long day, and there was no point in us wasting all of our energy. The weight of the jug of water in my pack was both comforting as distressing. Each time there was a shift I thought that Asher might hear the sound of the water sloshing in its jug. I couldn't hear anything else, except maybe the pounding in my ears.

As we slowed I stood, bracing myself against a row of seats as we decelerated. We agreed without speaking that our weapons would be drawn before we even exited the car, and so when the doors opened we leapt down, ready to attack. It was a good thing too, because not far away from us I noticed a shape. "Ugh, fuck. Here we go again." I looked at Asher, hearing the dog-mutt's screams clear once more in my head. "It better not be another one of those things."

Even if it was, it would still end up dead in the end.

[Preston Attacks Cornucopia]
ADtjXDuCsword
Severed Right Ear -- 8.0 damage + 1 Blades = 9.0 damage

Car radio - Twenty One Pilots

One thing consists of consistence
And it's that we're all battling fear

credit to nat of adoxography.

sword

[Asher Rainer 7m {tribsit}]

Something beautiful

ASHER RAINER

or something free?

TAG: WORDS: 1300. NOTES:

Surprisingly he was still alive. Both of them. Preston and Asher. No cannons sounded throughout the day meaning only two tributes have died so far. Two unlucky souls, but it was better them than Asher. Exhaustion was kicking in. Mind racing he needed a place to sit down. A place to rest, but leaving the younger tribute on watch wasn't the smartest idea, yet it was better than no watch at all. Heavy bags formed beneath his eyes as the whites became red. The dry patch on his tongue became worse with each passing second. Little saliva forms inside his mouth. The pounding in his head grew louder and louder. Water was needed. More than the constant rumble of his stomach. Food could wait, but Asher knew water was needed right away.

It took every ounce of strength for him to move, yet he kept going. Every movement felt foreign. His legs shook under the weight of his body, but he blamed it on the amount of blood that poured from the gaping hole in his hand. The arena almost took part of him away, yet it wasn't enough. He was still whole. Still pure. Asher had yet to kill anything, however, he aided in the death of a creation sent to kill. Sent to destroy those journeying throughout the arena.

He was pleased when Preston decided to leave the area. A home for a night was a risk, yet staying even longer had the chance of ruining the night forever. Especially since the rabid, robitic dog kept shouting the words spoken between the two of them. Quite terrifying in reality. Knowing that if anyone was in the arena they would hunt for those who called the names. The names belonging to the two tribute journeying together. Somewhere hidden in the vast area was Gunner. Deep inside Asher hoped she was alright, but he couldn't bring himself to think about her anymore because the odds of finding her alive become worse as minutes pass on.

His feet carry him in a direction away from the fight. Whatever he ran into next was beyond his wildest imagination, but hopefully tributes was slim to none. It was beyond his wildest imagination about the diameter of the arena, and personally he didn't want to find out. All Asher wanted was to put as much distance between himself and the abandon factory. Preston's words still ring through his mind. Over and Over. "No more abandon things." In truth he should've realized traps lurked throughout the games whether they were created by the hands of gamemaker, or the hands of a tribute living inside fighting for the chance to survive, he didn't know, but for the time being, he was afraid to find anymore.

"Where do you think we'll end up at?" He asked Preston. Not that it mattered because as long as he walks through the arena, a living hell stood around. It changed people. Turned them into a being created by a monster itself. Not a single person ever wins the games. The victors come out alive, but were they who they were before entering into the horrible place? Asher moved around carefully waiting for Preston. Every now and then he stopped and took in the view. Nothing for miles upon miles except the clouds in the sky leaking droplets of rain towards the ground. Perhaps if he could only catch a single droplet of water in his mouth, the thirst would go away. But the idea of standing in the middle of a warzone with his mouth opened wide didn't seem like a good idea.

At least Preston received a full jug from the sponsors. He could drink it right now if he wanted to, and nothing would matter. Thankfully Preston handed over the empty jug. Maybe he could find a place for water, or maybe he could catch enough rain drops to fill it up, but that would take forever. "Do you think there's any water, other than the rain, in this place?" His heart raced behind his chest prancing like a dog. Dirt scattered in every direction as his feet moved across the ground. Dying of thirst wasn't a good idea. The pain was devastating at the given moment. Every part of his body ached, and his brain screamed to give up while his heart pleaded with Asher to keep going.

"Let's stop here for the night." Asher stated plainly as the anthem blasted throughout the arena. No faces appeared in the sky. None that reminded him of the horrible place he just came from. Twenty other tributes were scattered in the arena. Twenty-one stood in his way of returning home to his family.

He said nothing as he moved the bag behind his head after laying down on the ground. If he was lucky, the younger boy would kill him in his sleep to end the painful suffering he's going through, but he didn't want to die. He wanted to live. He wanted to survive. To keep himself going. To win the games. Become the first district seven victor. He paused for a moment, resting his eyes, Asher turned to the kid from district four, "Do you think you could keep watch for a few hours? I just need a few hours of sleep." His voice quiet as he hoped for just a few short hours of rest, but he was gone before hearing an answer.

Whether or not Preston tried waking the sleeping tribute, was beyond his wildest imagination because when Asher opened his eyes, he saw it was a new day. "Preston?" He asked quietly looking around hoping he didn't ditch him, yet the moment his eyes rested on the silhouette younger boy, relief flooded over him. The anvil bashed against his skull with every beat of his weak heart. The outline of his hand was fuzzy, in fact everything around him was a blur, and the dry patch became worse with each passing second. Bringing himself to a sitting position took more work than it should've. His entire body was slowing down.

Breathing was hard as each breath he took was growing shallow with each passing second, yet he used all his strength to stand on his own two feet. The world moved around him as all the blood rushed from his face leaving him a ghostly pale. "We gotta move." His voice cracked, for the time being he didn't care. His main goal was making sure that Preston made to safety. Was the tribute from four feeling the same effect of dehydration as himself? Asher wasn't sure, but he hoped with all that he had he could keep the younger tribute alive for as long as possible.

Asher was pleased as they hoped on a train away from the horrible area. His mind was racing, but for once he felt slightly calm despite the thirst which grew stronger and stronger with each passing second. Thankful for the empty jug, he knew later he would need to fill it somehow, but he wasn't sure what to do. His body ached. Sweat refused to roll from his brow anymore as his face grew pale. Thirst was such a horrible way to die. A horrible way for a life to end. All he could think about was the pain. His mind groggy as he tried to form words, but for the moment, it was completely okay. The doors of the train flew open, and Asher wasn't sure what to do, but he jumped out as quickly as possible landing awkwardly on his feet. Vibrations ricocheted through his legs up and down his body, but what he saw next was truly amazing. His mind stood still as he launched a knife as fast as he could.

Asher attacks {cornucopia} throwing knife
C60kY9_Nthrowing knife

result: 9166 -- Shallow Cut on Cheek -- 3.5 damagethrowing knife

[Deleted]

S U E T A T E

Death and blood, it scratches at their skin and chomps down on their bones, cracking and snapping their structures as they stand, one foot in their graves and the other hardly holding their bodies up, shaking and trembling under the weight of their sins.

His bow hits the ground next to him, tottering before collapsing onto his right foot, blood droplets falling from gash to skin to ground as he stands, eyes wavering as he stares at the mutt in front of him.

It roars once, it's bones twitching and gears grinding before everything stops, and it's body hits the ground with a one two

slam.

One breath, two breath, the third sends a volcanic eruption of blood from his neck, blood seeping from the gashes on his soul. The mutt in front of them sways once, twice, before collapsing to the ground, blood thirst eyes fading into the abyss as a dust cloud rises up from beneath the behemoth, its bones cracking and gears grinding before everything stops.

One two three
Everything's alright

One knee, two knee, he collapses to the dust and dirt, shadow of the abandoned factory laying over the tributes as they stand in silence. His eyes move once, twice, flitting from alliance member to alliance member, looking at the gashes and cuts that litter their skin.

He comes to the conclusion that two things have died from their fight, one being the mutt in front of them, and the other being their pristine condition. A puddle of blood forms right next to his left knee, blood sliding from the gash in his neck, trickling through the hand thats thrown on top of the cut, desperate attempt to cover up the wound left by the mutt. The blood trickles down across his arm, sliding down his wrists before falling off and down down down to the ground below, pooling at the edge of his sanity below.

And it seems endless, the time they spend in silence. At some point he gives up on trying to heal the wound with his own hand, and instead runs the digits through his beard, caking the hairs red with blood. And then it drops to his side, bloody handprint on the thigh of his pants.

It could have been a minute, it could have been an hour, he loses count after the twenty seventh breath, and instead resorts to feeling the sun's rays on his skin as it's pulled towards the ground with night and all of it's misgivings. At one point or another he sees the silhouette of Wyatt in the corner of his eye, dancing

WIP cause this dumb asf lol im going to eat

[sue tate attacks #356; fire gun]
tntGDKWl1-50
[extinguished]

1-50

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

M . X

The sky rings with the Capitol anthem.

The cold winds brush past my face as the lights dance around the blankness, yet, this night, there are no faces to watch down over us. I wasn't expecting such a peaceful second day in the arena (especially after our fight, I could only assume some had it worse).

I blink and the remnants of the lingering light were gone, the once salmon and lilac sky obliterated by the plummeting night. It's all jet-black now and is vast, engulfing us and everything else in this arena. The stars glisten like a canopy of diamonds, blinking against the blackness.

Around me lies silence. I fee it caress against my skin like a gymnasts ribbon, soothing my soul, wearing away my sharp and pointed edges. The lack of noise feels cold as blood and when I hear any sound, near or far, my heart races in an instant: as fast as a gunshot.

And all of a sudden, sleep hits me like a guillotine to a neck. I had tried to fight it, unsuccessfully, again like last night. In this hell, it makes me feel vulnerable. Countless defenceless hours where I'm left open and oblivious to my surroundings make my skin writhe with uncertainty.

I turn to my side and feel my eyes begin to close as my thoughts become intertwined with my imagination: creative yet impossible ideas and hopes. I pull my coat closer to me, seeking protection. I don't know how long it'll be before I'm conscious and at one with the world again.

--

My eyes open suddenly, my brain becoming overwhelmed once again with the looping thoughts in my mind. My face feels fresh and new, but my eyes feel raw with restlessness. I wish that I was out for longer so I could haunt the blissful ignorance of the dreamworld.

I look up and see Sue, his hand on me, shaking me so that I'm fully awake.

I remain silent as the world around me begins to awaken, although a faint grumble of dissatisfaction manages to escape from between my lips.

We rise from the ground like shoots from soil, grabbing our backpacks with tense fingers. My bag feels heavier than yesterday, though it is probably my shoulders weakening with its weight.

Wonderful.

Our feet move us across the dusty ground, the air brisk and misty with the colour of the orange. IT flies past us and beyond the horizon, edging us to come closer and entice us into it. We follow, but it just keeps on going. Until there's a change.

A storm of sorts, crashing against us- we continue to move but out efforts are unappreciated.

Our location is new, and we stand at a place familiar. But it's different: The Cornucopia. There's no blood on the ground, no gifts in abundance just us, them and it.

Them.

I look at the structure and decide it'll hurt, hard. I imagine the crimson flowing and drenching, drowning me.

We dart to follow it, to inflict pain, I run and--

-- I watch as blades and arrows reign down over it like Kings and Queens.

----

[maya attacks #356; knife]

rChAej5Fknife

[deep gash on cheek-- 8.5]

knife

[Deleted]

W Y A T T  O ' C O N N O R

Every exhale into the night sky pushes agony through my veins and fear into the chambers of my heart.

Flat on my back with my eyes pointed to a starless sky I flinch at even the slightest involuntary motion of my body— tear the stitched skin loose and the dried blood would be overshadowed by a shade of red I was yet to label. Eighty-six was still etched upon my wrist in a shade known as fear, unseen in the dark but felt deep within the brittle bones of a breaking skeleton.

To be afraid was to strike a match upon the kindling of fear itself—one fire I could not control even with two unmarred hands.

The urge to skim a finger across the braised skin rises as silence looms over the area in which we’ve laid out camp, but I force self-control down a dry throat and attempt not to choke on my cracking tongue. I had believed dying to be better than page eleven of that clinical depression, but between the torn pages and loss of blood a sense of questioning had arisen in my mind.

Doubt was quite the unattractive trait.

But in the dark of night, this could not be seen, even if I was searching for it. The mask to all my problems—I truly thought I would be fonder of something that could offer my shaken soul so much. But in that loss of depth perception I could find nothing more than the uneasy feeling of fear lingering above my face—five inches or five feet, I cannot tell.

Half the thought crosses my mind to reach out with bruised skin and missing finger to swing at the darkness in search of it, but the stitching that stretches with one breath too heavy leaves fear creeping through my veins at an agonizing pace.

“I do not want to be afraid.”

Whispered into the night air it is lost in the same, sinking beneath the weight of a world we cannot even see.

Yet I was still unable to put a finger on the specifics of that night or the source of fear itself, for death was never a negative factor in itself, neither the dropping of the sun from the sky. The beast from the day before had fallen by my hand, and if a heart of metal could be taken down by a swing and a miss, what was to stop a heart of flesh from falling in the same way?

The same could bring a halt to my own pulse, too.

Stretching the stitching and laying a hand across my heart the rhythm falls slower than what I expected of fearing fear itself. Moments of pondering pass until a realization cross my train of thought and my pulse increases—perhaps I had always been afraid. Of what the idea never sets in, but the mere existence of fear in eighteen years I cannot revise leaves me staring into the blankness of a night that will not be shaken with the morning sun.

Passing from that fearful unconsciousness into the light of morning sun leaves me with a biting headache and a lack of will to pull myself from the ground. Sue and Maya are shaken from their places by some force other than pure will—I refuse to believe it, and it’s only their first steps off from a safe base that leave me struggling to my feet, careful to avoid the blood-stained stitching the stretches down my upper arm.

There’s half a thought to rip it out if only to feel the difference in my pulse, but what stands in front of us threatens to do the same and even more for half the cost.

Worth nothing to begin with—they couldn’t decrease my value.

[wyatt lights 4 of his throwing axes on fire using jar of tar + match]

[wyatt attacks #356; flaming throwing axe]
u5eW_WlRthrowing axe
[deep gash on thigh-- 8.0]

1-50
[+4]

throwing axe�1-50

[cachi olentzero | 10b | tribsi]

I’ll slip through your hands, I am one single grain of s a n d.

I couldn't see anything because the wind was whipping my face and driving tears into my eyes. I clutch my arms to myself, trying to block out the blistering air that's filled with a million grains of sand. There was no way for me to judge where I was going, but I just kept walking. Eventually I heard something over the sound of the wind and I reached for my weapons. The sandstorm began to fade as the noises got louder until I finally could tell what was causing them.

I started shaking.

There was a large thing scuttling after what looked like a group of people. It was massive, and staring at it made me want to turn around and run away. There was yelling, though, and I saw weapons fly at the thing. It was only when the light caught on the golden surface that I realized the entire Cornucopia had grown legs and started chasing after tributes. If I could help them, maybe they'd help me. I was tired and sore and a little lonely. Company and rest would be nice.

So I charged into the fight, swinging an axe up over my head before tossing it at the thing with all my strength. Kill it, kill it, kill it. I was chanting in my head with each step. Save them, save them, save them. Though any one of their deaths would mean that I would be closer to going home, I still hoped that saving them would leave them in my debt. Or maybe if the cornucopia hurt them enough then I could kill them and take their stuff. Being prepared is good, and the more stuff I had the better prepared I could be.

Kill, kill, kill.

In truth, everyone else could drop dead. I just wanted to go home.

OOC Notes

Lily attacks Cornucopia
uraIfkVj200+10000
10090 -- Miss -- 0 damage

200+10000

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Too many sharks
Not enough blood in the waves

”Oh, my god.”

That’s all Warren could mutter when he saw the Cornucopia’s arm shove itself through Noah’s eye.

”Charlie, look at that.”

Nobody had expected the Cornucopia to lay out such devastation in such a short amount of time. Warren thought that perhaps it would miss, or shove the tribute over, but to see the metal arm thrust into the boy’s skull was something that shocked him back into reality. He didn’t feel any particular way about it except surprised. As it was, there were 22 tributes at the beginning of Day 3 – something that was completely unprecedented, and some other Gamemakers (namely Glamour Kinkade) never failed to let him hear about it.

To some other Gamemakers, his teamwork with Charlie was already deemed a failure.

But this – this was his backlash. His way of holding his head up and letting the others know that there was a reason for holding back.

They didn’t know what would happen, but he did, and that thought was like armor against others’ disrespect.

The Cornucopia was like a freight train the way it attacked, moving so swiftly that it was difficult to even trace its attacks as they happened. It was hit, hit, expel a weapon, shoot forward – all within a matter of seconds.

And in a matter of seconds, Noah Bowers had died, and it was time for another round.

”Change it up,” he ordered, ready to draw the attack away from the others to keep things fair. ”Attack the others.”

He watched Charlie as she obliged, toggling controls and targeting tributes with ease.

[Cornucopia attacks Preston w/sharp arm (knife)]
QFzk6QaLknife
Stabbed in Hand -- 8.0 damage

[Cornucopia attacks Asher w/sharper arm (sword)]
sword
Shallow Cut on Right Forearm
(Sword)

[Cornucopia attacks Lily w/throwing axe]
throwing axe
Axe in Bicep -- 8.5 damage

[Cornucopia attacks Sue w/throwing knife]
throwing knife

Deep Gash on Calf -- 8.0 damage

knife�sword�throwing axe�throwing knife

[Preston Garrity d4m [Tribsit]]

DAY THREE | WORDS: 557 | HP: 31

I never expected to see the Cornucopia to come to life. Originally I had simply spotted the group of four tributes but now I stared in horror and the monstrous thing that chased us all. One of the four simply stared in horror at the mutt as it lashed out. One sharp arm drove itself into his eye and deep into his head. I felt my stomach drop and wanted to throw up but had to keep going. I didn't want to end up as a tasty kebab on the end of one of its skewering arms. The blood from the boy's head leaked everywhere, followed by what looked to be brain matter.

It was all I could do to keep from screaming.

My sword screamed instead as I struck the broad metal sides, a sound even shriller than when I struck the dog-mutt's steel bones yesterday. There was no true sign that I had damaged the beast, but I was glad to see I had at least marked it. A long scar showed in the golden surface, its shiny coat now marred. There was no blood, though, nothing to show that this thing was any more than a large metal creature. It wasn't living, but it definitely wasn't dead - not yet anyway.

Asher's throwing knife clipped into it, leaving a mark that wasn't as deep or as large as the one I had made but it was definitely a mark. Perhaps we could shave enough off of this monster in order to leave it dead like the machine dog.

Surprisingly agile, the giant mountain-like mass of metal neatly avoided the flame from an odd gun one of the four, three now I guess, was carrying, the wind from its passing making the fire die away. The next two attacks were more successful, leaving long marks like the one I had left and even making a scorched part on the brass that shone in a myriad of different colours.

When an axe comes sailing in out of nowhere and misses the beast by a mile I jump. I was lucky I moved because I swear it would have hit me otherwise. From the place where it was thrown I could see a little girl and it takes me a minute before I remember her: Lily Hope. She's one of the other thirteen year olds in here, so I suppose I should feel some kind of similarity between us. I can't find it, though. I'm here, fighting with Asher and three other tributes by my side and she suddenly shows up. What is she thinking? Surely she could have avoided this fight, left us alone and stayed safe. I hadn't seen her anywhere near here a moment ago. Did she want to die?

Whatever she thought, I was perfectly happy with continuing to breathe.

It took me a moment to remember how to as a blazing pain shot up my arm, originating from my damaged hand. "For fucks sake!" I looked down to find the end of a pointed metal arm embedded in my hand. It withdrew in a moment, leaving a hole in my flesh and streamed blood. The monster had struck me, and from the sounds of yelps and yells it had attacked the others too.

Finally taking a proper breath again, I went to score another notch in the giant metal body.

[Preston Attacks Cornucopia]
j70M3uLnsword
Deep Gash on Back of Head -- 9.0 damage + 1 Blades = 10.0 damage

Car radio - Twenty One Pilots

One thing consists of consistence
And it's that we're all battling fear

credit to nat of adoxography.

sword

[Asher Rainer 7m {tribsit}]

Something beautiful

ASHER RAINER

or something free?

TAG: WORDS: 323. NOTES:

He stood in awe. Jaw dropped to the ground as the Cornucopia came into view. What was going on? Asher didn't understand, but his movements were slow. He could barely stand on his own two feet as the world spun around him. Was that thing alive? Surely not. Shaking his head, he blinked a couple times hoping that the dehydration was only playing tricks on him, but he wasn't. He never expected for any of this to happen. Was his family watching? Would Zach watch him die by a moving cornucopia as it swung weapons around? His heart was heavy as each word caught in the back of his throat especially as he watched one of the other tributes fall.

Frantically he searched for Preston hoping he was still alive. Hoping that he hasn't ran away because in this moment nothing made sense except a few words resting on his brain. Ripred, help them. He wanted to stay alive. He wanted to find a place to go. A place to hide an find something to drink because in this very moment all that was left was the largest dry patch his mouth could ever imagine. Slowly he looked around grabbing another one of his knives as the cornucopia turned towards him. His eyes wide with fear as all hairs stood on end. Asher wasn't ready to die. He wasn't ready for anything except the pain that never truly came.

Asher scanned the area as fast as he could. Trying to figure out what to do, yet when he realized that all of them were working together, he stayed focused on the contraption in front of him. Steadying himself, he released another knife hoping to do something because he wanted to play his part. For the time being he pushed away the idea of having to kill them. Asher would work together for a common goal if only to prove the gamemakers wrong.

Asher attacks {cornucopia} throwing knife
PHB4ff9ethrowing knife
Miss -- 0.0 damage

Accuracy reroll
throwing knife
Deep Gash on Hand -- 7.5 damage
throwing knife�throwing knife

[Deleted]

S U E T A T E

Its the tall tale story of Sue Tate's disintegrating heart.

He sees himself in the light that bounces off it's metal hull, flashing across his face, dancing up and down on a dance floor of bruised bones and lips stained with the lies he tells. One foot in his grave he watches the beast sputter and groan, the gears inside its belly echoing the rat tat tat of it's legs, metal body covering the Death it contains inside. 

Seven years old, he's got wooden branches sticking from the broken bones in his body. One hand marks an X on the soul while the other catches the tears that fall from his face, firelight dancing across his face. 

He hears a door slam and then the one two three one two thr- footsteps of his father, floorboards creaking and his knuckles cracking with every split second moment he takes making his way towards the boy with the broken everything. 

One two crack

One two crack 

His knuckles snap, half-snap, and snap again before he reaches the door, wails of a lost Mother and breaths of a lost Son the only distinct sounds in a house full of strangling, choking silence. 

Cracked knuckles bloody knuckles, there's no difference when skin meets skin, and bone grinds against cheekbone. 

Rag doll, rag doll, he's broken like the branch of a tree and when his father's sole drives itself into his own cracking soul he lets the darkness that he's feared for so long take over, and lets the fire flames dance him to sleep. 

The toughest fight he thinks he's faced is fighting against the rising of the sun, one hand on a quiver of breathless shots and the other on a soul thats been stitched together with treetop strings and truth-drenched needles, breaking down piece, by piece, 

by piece, by 

One two three, One two three 

He wishes for the night to stay with them, and then he wishes for a wish to come true, before realizing a wish never carries truth within it's grasp. 

He feels his wishes and his own lies walk hand in hand away from his reality. 

As the morning light cracks into his eyes he reaches over and shakes Maya awake, watching her eyelids flutter open before he lets the sunlight dance across the desert wasteland of his skin, a twisting tree of too long branches and cracked, bloody, bruised knuckles.

They'd walked for what felt like nothing to him, mind lost somewhere between the forests of Seven and the Hell he'd thrust himself into. At some point, he'd turned around to the three tributes behind him, Virachne's poison fresh in their bodies and even fresher in their minds. 

"We're going to be alright." 
I think
He doesn't know if that ones a lie, he's lost the ability to tell. 

He's pumping the nozzle of a child's play toy and his life source when the beast rears onto it's hind legs, metal beams blinding him for a split second and as he blinks once twice and as his eyes flutter up and down 

He watches a one two strike before the beast drives metal into cornea and Noah's body stutters once, twice backwards, weapons hitting the ground with some inaudible thud, meeting Sue Tate's jaw on the ground. 

He's behind him as he falls, all trust that a liar had built lost as the dead body of a live man fell into the arms of one that was already dead. And he can't breathe anymore, watching the walls of his It'll be alright collapse down down down around him.

There's blood int he abyss of an eyeball, and he swears, he to feel the pain of losing the ability to see this, to see all of this shit. 

It's not instinctual, his arms haven't carried death in them, only logs and branches. 

It's not instinct, it's simply the actions that Sue Tate takes when he slings Noah Bowers' dead body up up up onto his shoulders, one hand raising a pumped up fire gun into the air, dancing flames versus dancing light rays. 

He doesn't breathe once, or twice, thats stopped the moment Noah Bowers' breaths stopped coming. 

One hand on the gun, the other clutches the leg of a blood body on his shoulder. 

He sees Death in the flames.

[sue tate attacks #356; fire gun]
ezydvZG|1-50
[]

1-50

[D6f Carmen Cantelou [aza]]

M . X

Filler 

----

[maya attacks #356; knife]

g0kDaujKknife

[shallow cut on right shoulder-- 3.5]

knife

[Deleted]

W Y A T T  O ' C O N N O R

Hidden behind the smoke screen from my own throwing axes it takes one moment only to see him fall—I was supposed to have the hatchet driven through my heart while seeing the smoke rise.

His name catches in a dry throat— we will die without the feeling of new water on our tongues.

Fire flaming in front of my eyes I drop an axe to my side and sink to bruised kneecaps—collide with the ground and (“Can you do anything right, Wyatt?”) I cannot. Tears falling to blur with blood I turn my head to stare Sue in the eyes, a silent plea for him to drive his hatchet through my heart and end it all, yet no words are exchanged— maybe the silence is too thick for any syllable to pass through.

Words do nothing when sliced apart by the beast standing six feet too tall to touch with tingling fingertips.

Blood dripping over the bridge of my nose to touch my lips, a stain of copper on scratched skin I cannot bring myself to wipe away. Eighty-six has been marred by fresh blood run anew over a canvas already painted upon—when did blank space become a burden?

Eighty-seven— I am lost within the maze of that which has been touched by a blade of death and that which lingers in anticipation of the worst result, blurred one into the other I can no longer see the path that lies two inches from my face.

Drawn to stuttering feet I stand, axe still at side threatening to torch the tattered cloth that lies over tired skin— temptation could last ten seconds longer without the repercussions.

Through blurred sight and scrambled mind I watch flames fall from Sue’s fingertips like matches of their own accord, only to sputter on the dirt at the beast’s feet. Smoke rises in his wake and I expect Noah to emerge from the ashes—the phoenix must first burn to revive.

But moments turn to minutes, and patience turns to desperation in its wake— I am afraid of only fear itself—never a pulsate in the rhythm of my heart save only for the fact that it had been planted in its crevices far longer than I can put a day to.

Eighty-eight—I wipe the blood from my eyes with back of a battered hand, art covered by new graffiti—vandalism on the palette of my own skin to show that I was nothing more than that to be tagged by death and despair itself.

If bodies were a temple, maybe it would do me well to pray to a god of worth.

Hollow walls, there were no prayers to be found here, not in the moment when Maya strikes, shallow like the intent of the being whose skin is scratched by her blade. Sincerity was not to be found in these empty words.

“I pray th—” One look at Noah’s body and the thought stutters to a stop, the definition of hypocrite lingering on my tongue like the catalyst to increasing my pulse—all we had to fear was fear itself, the only difference that now it was personified in the beast that stood in front of us.

We thought that our point of time marked as death would matter on this infinite timeline, but the passing moments after his cannon disprove the theory entirely and we are standing in the silence of death and the residue it left behind.

Bomb yourself to fix the bullet holes, even if there is no longer a life to save behind dead eyes.

[wyatt attacks #356; flaming throwing axe]
D18aIf5vthrowing axe
[axe in chest-- 9.0]

1-50
[fuckin immolated bye]

throwing axe�1-50

[pup]

I’ll slip through your hands, I am one single grain of s a n d.

I was scared. I am scared. The sand had just been whipping my face as I tried to make it to the train, but then I found myself at the Cornucopia, and it was alive. I could barely see what I was doing and I threw and axe, what good would that do though? I though it was made of metal? I shake in pain as my axe seemingly flies out of nowhere and hits my arm. I cry out, and I don't know why. I see others beside me, it is like the last painful day when we had an unspoken truce just to kill the mini dragons. It is like that. We all realize that we once ran towards two days ago is now the larger threat than each other. I see someone from another alliance fall. I see the boy who had screamed at me a few days ago in the training center throwing knives at the monster. I close my eyes and throw another axe. I won't make it out alive. I mean who am I trying to kidd. All these other people have sponsors, wealthy sponsors. One boy is even sporting a gun that is shooting out fire. I stand no chance whatsoever against people like them. Why not just die now? Get it over with. If the wolf was still alive I might even be hunting her down so she just kills me. I just want the pain to end.

(Lily Hope Flees)
(Lily uses first aid for -3)

no roll

[Sunrise Rainier D2 // [Thundy]]

Too many sharks
Not enough blood in the waves

”No,” Warren said, staring up at the screen as Wyatt set the Cornucopia completely ablaze. He could see its inner working bends and some of them break, and when he looked over at Charlie, he was worried for their creation.

”It’s not getting much of a fight,” he said, watching the Cornucopia sway as Charlie tried to avoid the tributes’ attacks. Not that he minded much – he knew that the spectators would breathe a sigh of relief knowing that the tributes involved in the fight were almost safe. Just a few more good strikes would take it down, and he believed that the wealth alliance would be worthy of it.

One tribute had already died, and others were fighting on the screens to his right and left, and he knew that the Capitolites cheering for blood would be satisfied at the day’s end, if only for a little while.

Still, the Cornucopia displayed on the screens was not dead, and Warren crossed his arms, looking at the weaknesses in its metal body. It was still ablaze – remarkably, given that the metal was difficult to burn – and weakened with every second.

”We should attack again before it dies,” he said, pointing at the screen. ”It’s failing.”

A moment later, the Cornucopia threw forward its standard attack like normal, locking onto the alliance and striking forward.

[Cornucopia attacks Maya w/sharp arm (knife)]
NhoPPiIAknife
Stabbed in Eye -- 40 damage

[Cornucopia attacks Sue w/sharper arm (sword)]
sword
Deep Gash on Left Thigh -- 8.0 damage

[Cornucopia attacks Asher w/throwing axe]
throwing axe
Miss -- 0 damage

[Cornucopia attacks Wyatt w/throwing knife]
throwing knife
Miss -- 0.0 damage

knife�sword�throwing axe�throwing knife